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houseofhurricane · 3 years ago

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ACOTAR Fic: Bloom & Bone (16/32) | Elain x Tamlin, Lucien x Vassa

Summary: Elain lies about a vision and winds up as the Night Court’s emissary to the Spring Court, trying to prevent the Dread Trove from falling into the wrong hands and wrestling with the gifts the Cauldron imparted when she was Made. Lucien, asked to join her, must contend with secrets about his mating bond. Meanwhile, Tamlin struggles to lead the Spring Court in the aftermath of the war with Hybern. And Vassa, the human queen in their midst, wrestles with the enchantment that turns her into a firebird by day, robbing her of the power of speech and human thought. Looming over all of them is uniquet peace in Prythian and the threat of Koschei, the death-god with unimaginable power. With powers both magical and monstrous, the quartet at the Spring Court will have to wrestle with their own natures and the evil that surrounds them. Will the struggle save their world, or doom it?

A/N: The High Lords' meeting! After this chapter, Bloom & Bone will be going on hiatus until August 19th. My goal is to be able to post straight through to the finish after that. In the meantime, I'll be launching a giveaway tomorrow on my Instagram, so follow @house.of.hurricane to find out more. You can find all previous chapters here, or read Bloom & Bone on AO3. Thank you for reading! ❤️

Lucien has been over every word of Tamlin’s speech, has brilliantly strategized his way through each potential question and argument, every terrible scenario and rousing win. Still, despite the ocean breeze wafting through the window, the scent of ripened fruit, it’s all he can do to keep from pacing as he waits for the rest of the High Lords to arrive.

Tarquin and his retinue are stationed near the door, ready to welcome their guests as they enter. Tamlin stands at the window, watching the waves, his hands clasped behind his back, and Lucien can tell, in his posture, that each muscle is coiled to spring. He wants to walk over, remind Tamlin that he cannot look desperate, that he should be the commander he’s already proved to be over centuries, the High Lord who killed Amarantha, who defied Hybern, not the beast lurking in the woods, but if Tarquin hears, if there is gossip that the High Lord of Spring requires constant reassurance, equivalent damage will be done. Instead he walks to the table set at the side of the room, laden with fruit that glisten in the summer sunlight.

Elain comes to stand next to him, the beading on her dress giving away her trajectory. Melis had completed the intricate embroidery on the golden yellow silk late yesterday, the only activity she’d been allowed in her makeshift prison cell. And seeing Elain in the dress before they winnowed here, Lucien understands her insistence on Melis’ abilities. The golden embroidery, beaded with hundreds of pearls and tiny diamonds, the scattered gemstones which make her golden brown hair look like something crafted by a master jeweler, all combine to give Elain a glowing presence. She has always been beautiful, even as a scared human girl, but now she could easily be mistaken for a goddess. Or a female anticipating her mating ceremony, which is exactly the tale she’s helped him weave.

“He knows the speeches,” she murmurs, spearing a slice of starfruit.

“Tam always likes a mission,” he says, forcing himself to sound confident, the mask of the courtier slipping into place, confident and not a little awful. “If only today’s involved a sword.”

Before she can respond, the delegation from the Dawn Court enters, Thesan and his mate leading a group of High Fae and Peregryns, all bland courtly smiles that make Lucien aware of the small size of his own party, only the three of them with so many favors to ask. He manages to greet them with a real smile. He knows Thesan’s court well enough, likes them well enough, this court of tinkerers and inventors and alchemists, but knows they eye him now with real suspicion, aware of his shifting alliances. They all watched Tamlin’s outburst at the last meeting of the High Lords, likely wonder why he stands at the side of this High Lord. He steels his spine, introduces Elain with a deference that is mostly fictional and makes her blush.

The skepticism does not fade from the eyes of the new entrants, the denizens of the Winter Court and the Day Court arriving together, Helion and Kallias making stilted conversation, the High Lord of Day slipping on the haughty mask he prefers for inter-court business. Lucien presents Elain to Helion as a stranger, and her mask of shy amusement does not falter even with Helion’s dismissive greeting. Helion had warned her, two nights ago in his private library, after Lucien and Elain had recounted their visit to Koschei’s world, the sensation of the magic, which Lucien had spent hours afterwards diagramming.

The greetings continue, all eyes on the glittering, golden female in their midst. Met with Kallias’ ill regard, Viviane’s curiosity, Elain’s expression does not falter. Lucien thinks, even as he tries to focus himself on the task at hand, that Vassa would be so proud of her in this moment, the way Elain has learned to use her quiet loveliness as a diplomatic asset.

As the room fills, Tamlin still stands alone in the window. Even when the Night Court enters, the largest group and the loudest, too affectionate for the formality court technically requires, Tamlin continues in his contemplation. Elain shifts from foot to foot under the eyes of her sisters, glances that give nothing away, not fear or sympathy, love or hate.

“They love you,” Lucien mutters to her, as he detects the looming breakdown in her facade.

“But what if I’m the monster?”

There is a question beneath her question, but the room has filled with all the expected guests. Beron, as they’d anticipated, had never sent a response to their invitation.

“For now,” he tells Elain, extending his hand, to lead them to their spot in the assembly, “you are soon to be the Lady of Spring. Or else they’ll think we’re secretly lovers.”

He can tell from the brief flare of her nose that if the eyes of the room weren’t on them, she would try to level a blow at him, too confident from the training Tamlin has provided. In return, he shoots a smirk her way, offers the expression to everyone who watches, who might doubt their small group, its sincerity and affection. As he leads Elain to her chair, she follows his lead by offering her own bright smile, winking at her as she settles her skirts. A bride whose joyous anticipation overflows onto every interaction.

Lucien had warned Tamlin that Tarquin might conveniently forget to make an introduction, and sure enough, the High Lord of Summer lounges in a position of honor as befits his status as host, and despite the expectancy that rises in the room, he does not speak, only watches.

Now, Lucien thinks, crossing his ankle over his knee, trying to look artfully bored, start speaking now.

He has never known himself to be a daemati, but this is exactly the moment when Tamlin turns from the window and begins his address.

“I have asked you to come here because I discovered an army from the Autumn Court, led by their High Lord, marching through my lands on their way to the human realms. If our goal in this realm is peace between the fae and humans, this army must be contained, or there soon will be no human lands in Prythian, only more Autumn Court.”

Tamlin pauses, as Lucien had suggested, and in his chair, Lucien tries not to slump in his seat from relief. He’d spoken confidently but had never crossed the line into arrogance, his warrior’s posture working in his favor, as if he would strike Beron at any moment if only the rest of the room would agree.

But the silence in the room drags on. Lucien had anticipated an interruption, confusion or indignation, the tone of this meeting to be revealed at the outset. He had been so sure of this that he’d mapped the rest of Tamlin’s speech according to the tone of whatever comment punctuated his opening salvo. But the High Lords and their chosen courtiers only wait for Tamlin to continue.

He clears his throat.

“My army has been severely depleted. I acknowledge my own contributions into its small numbers, but I am asking that you--”

“All of our armies were hit hard during the war with Hybern,” Kallias says, the winter wind in his voice, cold and biting, “but we have been hard at work restoring our lands. All the while, you have been in the forest.”

Tamlin’s face goes pale, then his cheeks are red, blotchy even against his tanned skin. Be honest, Lucien had told him, but now he finds himself clutching the seat of his chair, knowing that Tamlin will explode in a rage.

And then he looks at Elain, meets her eyes for a few long seconds. His demeanor changes, calms, and then Tamlin heaves a sigh so deep the whole room can hear it.

“You are correct, Kallias,” he says, raising his gaze so that he addresses the High Lord of Winter. “I failed my people. And I -- I will tell you what the stories do not. Why I hid. I believed that any invading army, any territory bent on expansion, would rule them better than I could. Because I had failed them over and over. I failed to protect them from Amarantha, sacrificed them for love of a female who rightly knew she needed to leave me, left them to the whims of Hybern because I thought only I could know what was best. These are not the actions of a worthy High Lord. But they were my actions. You are right to judge me. I have no great explanation which will transform me in your eyes. Only recently have I begun to seek out the citizens of my court, to listen to them. I have canceled the ancient tithe which my ancestors instated millennia ago. I am visiting the villages every day so that I may learn in time how to rule them well. Still, these are farmers and weavers, blacksmiths and seamstresses and poets. It is possible that they will go to war for a noble cause. They may still have that much faith in me. But it is unlikely that they will prevail against an army.”

Kallias has no rebuttal to that rush of words, and Lucien wonders if maybe this silence is appreciative. He tries to meet Tamlin’s eyes, but that green gaze goes out over the crowd, meeting each face in its turn. He has just spoken of his failure, let the horror of it rise in his voice, and still, on his face he wears the look a ruler has, when addressing beloved subjects.

“And how can we be sure this isn’t an attempt to impress your mate?” Feyre’s voice is gentle and angry and devastated. Tamlin winces at the sound of it, retreating back into himself. They had discussed Feyre, what she might say, but the reality of her, that deep kindness that undergirds her every action, is unsettling when it turns to fury.

“I treated you horribly, High Lady,” he says, his voice scraping, raw in his throat. “I know that -- I deserve your scorn, always. I am sorry for how I treated you.”

“How can we be assured that this isn’t an act?” Feyre’s voice has not changed in pitch or tone, and still it is clear in the room as a ringing bell.

“Have you ever known me to have an abundance of self-control? The kind required for that level of deception?” The laugh in his words is ragged.

“Elain is my sister,” Feyre says.

“I swear on my life that I will not harm her.”

“And she is free to leave your court whenever she chooses?”

“Always, High Lady.”

In the quiet that follows, Lucien hazards a glance at Elain. Her face is drawn and pale, her brown eyes a whirlwind. I am tired of being an ornament, she’d said, although she’d also agreed this was the best play, her relationship to Tamlin a better lure than even the candid admission of his failures. That, mute and glittering among the rulers of Prythian, she would be more effective. Still, he understands the toll even a well-intentioned role requires, especially beneath the gaze of her sisters, the rest of the Night Court.

“You were speaking of the army you require, Tamlin?” Feyre asks into the quiet, her voice a little gentler. In response, the room seems to breathe a sigh of relief.

“The Autumn Court army has at least a thousand troops, from what I can tell. They are currently stationed within my borders. I am not sure if the plan was to provoke me into an ill-fated attack, or join with another force on the coast. I have not been able to make a close enough approach. I have also not been able to discern whether any of Beron’s sons have been involved, the sole exception being Lucien, of course.”

“Azriel can assist you,” Rhysand drawls, studying Feyre’s hand as he entwines their fingers. “Nobody notices a few rogue shadows.”

The tone in the room shifts at this remark, and whatever he might feel about Rhys personally, Lucien is grateful. The problem was never going to be the action taken. Beron has invaded another High Lord’s lands and threatens to undo their tentative peace, and fighting against any of this is right and proper, even honorable, for the other High Lords. The problem was always going to be Tamlin himself. Even with every note hit beautifully, the way he’s spoken and carried himself today, his history, his failures, his isolation would make any potential ally tentative. But an offer of help from a nominal enemy shows everyone else that they can ally with Tamlin without fear of reprisal.

“But regarding your forces, while I am happy to offer you an army of volunteers, I will not force the citizens of the Day Court to fight simply because it’s taken you years to recognize your mistakes.” Helion’s arms are crossed over his chest. There’s a murmur in the room which suggests this sentiment is not unwelcome. Tamlin’s face clouds. Control yourself, Lucien thinks at Tamlin, keeping his expression a careful blank. Beron might not be present, but there are still too many eyes to safely acknowledge the High Lord who fathered him, to show any disappointment. Perhaps later Helion will offer additional forces.

“The Valkyries will make up the gap,” Nesta Archeron says, from the back of the Night Court retinue, a death-queen in her black gown. “I still remember what it was like to be human.”

“The Winter Court will send volunteers,” offers Kallias, his fingers tented.

“We will put out the call in our court as well,” Thesan says, his mate nodding along, which could mean Peregryn support, particularly valuable given Beron’s lack of aerial forces.

“As will the Night Court. But I do not think we cannot offer the Illyrians.” Cassian, looking grim, nods his agreement with Rhysand. Lucien had thought the talk of rebellion had been put down, but apparently the losses against Hybern have caused a more permanent rift.

Now, everyone turns to Tarquin, awaiting his answer. But the young High Lord does not betray nerves. Instead, the serene smile on his face is a mirror of Elain’s.

“I will offer you my army on one condition,” he begins, and somehow Lucien knows that Tamlin will be able to meet it, that the threat from the Autumn Court will be put down, that they can go back to saving Vassa, and he almost allows himself to smile when the door bangs open, nearly thrown off its hinges.

Beron stands in the doorway, alone. Despite the wards in place, Lucien would have thought the position dangerous, except for the power which ripples off the High Lord of Autumn, more than he has ever known this male to possess, not in all the years Lucien lived under his roof, or in the years Beron did his best to be a terror at any social or diplomatic gathering.

Elain turns toward him, her eyes wide with concern. When she begins to mouth at him, he thinks she’s asking if he’s all right and he waves her off. She plucks at his sleeve, keeps moving her lips until she realizes she’s mouthing Koschei.

The magic is depthless and flashing, lightning in a howling storm. He’s encountered it before, run towards it with a sword in hand, and suddenly the sound of Vassa’s screams fills his mind.

“I see you decided to begin without me,” Beron says, and even his voice has changed. Gone is that jealous, brittle anger. Now he’s practically smirking, knowing what he holds over them. The immense power he wields, now greater than that of anybody in the room.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Rhys shoots back, positioning himself so that Feyre is behind him. “You must have known you could not cross into the Spring Court without at least informing Tamlin.”

“And you must have thought you were quite the politician, conspiring with Eris. You’ll notice that my firstborn isn’t here with me today.”

Murmurs in the room at that secret revealed. Lucien feels himself begin to rise from his chair, wants to charge at the male who raised him, this curse of a father. Elain’s hand is on his arm, pulling him back.

“How does your tethering spell work?” she asks, and at first he thinks she is only trying to distract him, keep him from doing something foolish, and then he sees the determined set of her jaw, realizes she’s formulating a plan.

“It won’t be enough to carry all these people,” he says, shame welling up inside him. His magic has never been a well of raw power, but a matter of finesse, quickness, a well-placed strike. “And who knows what Beron would do if we left this court without defense.”

Near the door, Nesta, Cassian, and Azriel have stood to block off Beron from the rest of the group, the Peregryns flanking them, though their expressions are noticeably reluctant. Rhys’ covert politicking will not be well received. No matter how disagreeable Beron might be, the rule of the High Lord is absolute in his own territory.

While Lucien considers this, tries to map out the next step, the declarations his father will make, Elain darts forward, grabs Rhys’ sleeve, and whispers something into his ear. He disappears, and when Elain dips her head to convey the message to Feyre, the High Lord of the Night Court quickly vanishes. She turns around then, nods at Tamlin, who unsheathes his sword in a fluid motion, strides toward the High Lord of Autumn without hesitation.

“What are you doing here, Beron?”

“I’ve come to watch you attempt to convince these bleeding hearts that you’re a competent ruler. You think I didn’t spot you in the woods? My army is better trained than that.”

One moment, Beron is blocked by a dozen trained warriors, and the next, he simply appears in the middle of the circle where the High Lords are clustered. There is no trace of magic, not even the lightning that betrays Koschei’s involvement in this tableau. He feels Elain stiffen in her seat.

“You will always be too weak to achieve the peace you desire,” Beron says, looking on each High Lord in turn, smirks when he notes Rhys’ absence. “Has it occurred to any of you, how the Night Court hoards its power? Do you ever wonder what it will do, how it will strike, as soon as you step one toe out of line? Why Tamlin invites you as a courtesy to this meeting, when all he needs is Rhysand’s approval in order for the rest of you to beg?”

“You are becoming boring,” Helion drawls through the developing monologue, though Lucien knows his mind is working quickly, laying out all the ways this meeting could develop, the course of action. Wondering if there’s a kernel of truth in Beron’s ranting. “What are you doing in Tamlin’s territory?”

“You think I’d tell you in the name of peace and cooperation?”

“There are only so many options,” Helion shoots back, and Lucien knows on instinct alone that he’s basking in this moment, when he can trounce Beron with his mind alone. “Invading the Spring Court, invading the human lands of Prythian, invading the human lands on the continent. I don’t think even you would be stupid enough to invade Rask or Valhallan, and there’s no reason they’d ally with a single High Lord. Unless Koschei has made you a substantial promise.”

Beron’s face curls into a snarl.

“I’m sure you and your son have spent hours speculating,” he says, and then he turns to the small group from the Spring Court. To Elain. But first his eyes rest on Lucien, suggestive and damning and enraged.

Tamlin strides forward, his sword in one hand and his power gathering in the other, and on instinct, Lucien opens his hand and builds a wall of flame and light around them, so bright he knows it’s blinding to everyone on the outside. He’s always had to hold in half his power to avoid some catastrophic discovery, but now that Beron has decided to officially reveal his parentage, he can ensure that the HIgh Lord of Autumn cannot land a blow.

“You will not harm my friends,” he says, willing the hurt and anger from his voice. This male cannot torture him any more. He is no longer alone in this world.

“What if I proposed a trade? Your so-called mate for the human queen you think you love?”

Despite the light he’s conjured, the world goes dim around Lucien.

For years, it was an act of will not to think of Jesminda, her smile, her expression in repose, the sounds she made at the back of her throat when he kissed her. The color of her eyes and hair, the way her hands had sliced through the air when she’d spoken. Because though all of these memories on their own would have been painful, each memory was intermingled with the sights and sounds of Beron’s torture and killing. Her screaming and her blood, her skin lifted from her like a garment, his horrible relief when she’d finally gone still, saved from torment at last.

All along, he has told himself that there is no way that Koschei is subjecting Vassa to the same treatment. He has been determined to keep her alive. But if Beron is involved, then it is possible that Vassa’s life hangs by a thread. Already he can hear her screams when Koschei grabbed her, rising to drown out every other sound in the room. It is likely that if he hands Elain over, that in moments those will be her screams, instead.

“You need to give me up,” Elain murmurs to him, barely audible over the crackle of the wall of sunlit flames.

He is about to argue with her, offer up an alternate plan, when he sees the expression on her face. He’s seen it on Tamlin’s face dozens of times, the warrior ready to lead their troops into battle.

As he gives her the barest nod, he watches her mouth one word to him, in the same motion as she reaches back to squeeze Tamlin’s wrist.

Once Lucien drops his shield, Beron does not wait for Lucien’s assent. He lunges forward and grabs Elain by the back of her neck. Her startled cry, the scrambling from Nesta on the other side of the room, is drowned out by a sound of a dozen tapestries being torn in half.

When the sound dissipates, the world around Lucien is barren and gray, robbed of color. It’s saturated with Koschei’s magic. Beron’s now seems like a poor echo.

And that same High Lord now whirls on him, flinging Elain’s body in front of his own, a shield.

“Take me back to Prythian or I’ll destroy her,” he growls. But Beron’s eyes dart around at the world, the wide open plains and stubby dried grass which offer no cover, no protection. He does not have Lucien’s talent for the analysis of magic, but even he must sense the air clotted with unsettled magic, thicker and more terrifying than anything in Prythian.

“I think you’ll find that will only strand yourself,” Lucien says, dropping the tethering spell between himself and Elain as a precaution, schooling his face blank as Tamlin approaches, then presses a dagger to Beron’s neck.

“Let go of my mate,” he growls, his power filling the plain, “or I swear I will drop this shield and leave you for the monsters of this world to feast on.”

For years, Lucien thought that this High Lord was his father, and for this reason only he wonders at the lack of sympathy or remorse at the blood that wells at the edge of Tamlin’s blade, the rage and horror on Beron’s face as he sees the green-gold shield formed by Tamlin’s magic, the creature on the outside, a giant winged snake, circling and looping, its prey so close and yet untouchable.

“And you will not defend the male who raised you?” Beron’s eyes are on Lucien now, which is when Lucien realizes the true extent of the High Lord’s fear. In all his life, Beron has never thought he had anything to give.

“Let go of Elain first,” he says, calm as he’s never been before with Beron. He holds his composure when Beron’s fingers loosen, when the knife falls from her neck and Tamlin pulls her behind him.

Then, before the High Lord of Autumn can lash out with a power that is more formidable than Lucien’s, he summons the light and fire of his magic and drives it in a bolt through Beron’s heart.

For a moment, Beron looks stunned, and then there is a horrible gurgle in his throat. The grass crackles with the weight of his collapsing body.

Lucien doesn’t realize Tamlin has moved until he hears his friend’s voice in his ear.

“He would have killed us all without a second thought,” Tamlin is saying, extending his sword toward Lucien, in case he’d like to bring down a final blow. Lucien waves it away. The male he called father for far too long is dead now, his blood soaking into the dirt of this barren world.

“The Autumn Court will be in chaos,” he says, his eyes still on Beron’s body. Even knowing that Beron is dead, he still expects it to rise, to attack Elain and Tamlin, to summon Vassa from Koschei’s side and destroy her.

He cannot believe that after three centuries, he is finally free.

Minutes pass, or maybe days, and he watches the world grow dark outside Tamlin’s shield, the monsters outside circling. He does not know what happens next, in this new world, in any other. He can do anything he wants, and yet those possibilities all overwhelm him, are mixed with all the sneers and beatings Beron delivered over the years, the punishments because he was not like his brothers, was not cruel enough.

“We need to return soon, Lucien,” Elain says eventually, her voice as gentle as a Spring Court breeze. “Do you think that we should bring his body?”

“My brothers will know he’s died. The power will rest on one of them.”

“The funeral rites?”

He wants to tell Elain that she does not understand what it is to have a father who doesn’t just misunderstand you, but spends your trying to unmake and destroy you, who was never your father at all, but her eyes on his are so earnest, so instead he says, “I gave Beron a kinder death than he deserved. My brothers can retrieve his body if they feel so inclined.”

Elain gives a little nod, and Tamlin’s hand is on his shoulder, hard and solid, and so Lucien takes one last look at the corpse he once knew as his father, winds the tethering spell around their three living bodies, and watches this world fade into the one he knows.

The High Fae male appears at the lake a few hours before sunset, and though Vassa cannot quite comprehend what she sees, she studies him, the red of his hair, the arch of his ears, the elegant jacket which is torn and bloodied, the rich fabrics giving way to the pale skin below. He is a study in the colors of autumn, the gold of his eyes and the greens and browns of his clothing, embroidered to match his glinting gaze. The red hair that is so familiar that Vassa gasps, the sound subsumed by the body of the firebird.

This male is not Lucien but so much like him. He paces the lake, his hands tearing at his chest and shoulders, the places where Koschei’s spell weighed down on her hardest in Prythian. Another captive, then. The only one she’s ever seen. Whom Koschei has ever allowed her to see.

Her brain tries to put together the forces that have brought this not-quite-Lucien as a captive to her lake, but the firebird was made for seeing the world too deeply without the mind to comprehend that vision. Once again, for the thousandth time since Koschei took her captive again, Vassa is forced to bide her time.

As the sun makes its way to the horizon, Vassa formulates her questions for this male, bubbling inside her skin as she circles the waters. They are mostly stupid questions, but they will form a ladder toward the information she needs.

Not for the first time, she wishes that she could fly, get a better sense of her surroundings, understand whether this male is one of many or if he has been deposited here alone. But lately Koschei has taken the strength from her wings, made her too weak to fly.

Instead, Vassa waits until the sky darkens, glides to the edge of the lake, and becomes herself again. With her human eyes, she recognizes Eris Vanserra instantly.

Only, he is not looking at her. His gaze is off in the middle distance, and his body glows, the power thick and sulfurous around him, the center of a flame.

Finally, his gaze snags on her.

“My father is dead,” he says by way of greeting. “Our agreement to Koschei is broken. So if you’d like to leave the death-lord, Queen Vassa of Scythia, I suggest you start running now.”

She does not bother with so much as a nod, only hitches up her skirts and starts running for the woods, away from Koschei’s home.

Behind her, she hears Eris footsteps, hears the crackle of the trees she’s passed, now set aflame.

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bubble-tea-bunny · 7 years ago

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what to do when you have a crush on your best friend

[peter parker x reader]

author’s note: watched homecoming last night and i loved everything about it. this took a while to write because i kept getting distracted, and that title is whatever because i literally couldn’t think of anything else lolol

word count: 2,369

Peter gets the text message that afternoon during physics.

Happy: Tony’s got a new mission for the two of you.

Chat bubbles appear and two seconds later another message pops up.

[Name]: OMG. Down

Happy: What?

[Name]: You know

[Name]: like

[Name]: I’m down for a new mission ???

Happy doesn’t respond, but he’s probably shaking his head because working with “kids” (as he likes to call the two of you) is very nearly out of his pay grade most days. It makes Peter wonder just how many gray hairs he might’ve gotten since Tony recruited you and him. He smiles as he glances up at where you sit across the classroom. You give a glance to your phone before turning your attention back to what your teacher is writing on the board. There’s a hint of a smile on your face.

Peter looks back down at his phone and types in his own response quickly.

Me: Yes! Let’s do it!

Suddenly the vector diagram on the whiteboard is the least interesting thing in the world. Peter’s fidgety and in order to alleviate it, he bounces his leg. Just the thought of going on a new mission is making adrenaline rush through his veins. It had been a while since the last time you’d been called in by Tony. Between such calls, the both of you have been handling things in the neighborhood. It still kept you on your feet of course, and with two of you in the area, the work could be split evenly. At one point there had been an agreement that you would switch off, so that one person could take the extra time to concentrate on school, but you never actually talked about it anymore than that, didn’t figure out who would go out on what nights. You’d both just show up whenever there was a robbery to thwart or a stolen car to retrieve, clear evidence that you’d rather do the work together.

When 2:45 rolls around, Peter, you, and Ned walk out the front doors of Midtown High School. The flow of students is like a flood, some getting onto the buses, others walking down the sidewalk.

“I got the Imperial Star Destroyer set yesterday,” Ned begins. “We should build it tonight. It’s not as big as the Death Star one so it shouldn’t take too long.”

“Maybe not tonight,” Peter tells him.

Ned looks up at him, brow raised. Peter doesn’t say anything, just gives him a smile that’s half apologetic and half excited. Then Ned glances at you, and your smile is much the same. It clicks then, and his eyes light up. “Something came up with the internship?” he asks eagerly, voice hushed. He already knew your secrets, working for Tony as superheroes and such, but you’d all agreed to continue calling it the internship so as not to arouse suspicion if Ned got a little too animated and forgot to keep his voice down. The calls from Tony are few and far between still, picking and choosing as he is what missions to assign to you until you’re ready for tougher ones, or at least more frequent ones. And because these missions seem to appear once in a blue moon—at least, that’s how it feels to the three of you—it’s easy to get excited.

You crack first. “Right?" You practically squeal, thrilled as you are to have a change from nabbing bike thieves and saving cats from trees. “I mean, what do you think it’ll be this time? What if our assignment brings us to Manhattan?”

Manhattan is where all the bigger crimes happened, since it’s the economic and administrative hub of New York City. Tony had never given you missions in that area, preferring you to stick to easier ones for now. Besides Manhattan attracting more dangerous criminals, all the skyscrapers and bumper-to-bumper traffic made damage control a challenge. With each day you and Peter take to the streets of Queens in search of miscreants, you’re honing your skills. It’s slow, but it’s consistent. You might not notice the improvements and increased control of your abilities over time, but maybe now they’ve gotten good enough that Tony will let you take on the big guys.

At your speculation, Ned gasps, becomes just as giddy. “Dude, that would be so awesome!”

Peter laughs at your guys’ antics but to be fair, he feels really excited too. Just getting a call-in from Tony is amazing in and of itself, no matter if it took you two to Manhattan or if you were staying in Queens. Whatever the mission might be, it was one brought to Tony’s attention and one he wanted you to take on yourselves, and that’s incredible to consider.

The three of you part ways at the end of the block. “Good luck,” Ned tells you both. “Tell me all about it when you’re done!”

You laugh. “If you don’t see it on the news first!”

You and Peter go to his apartment to wait for Happy, who would be picking you up to bring you to the Avengers facility upstate for your briefing. It feels like it takes the subway forever to arrive today, and Peter is jittery again. He wrenches his hands together while the two of you wait on the platform because he doesn’t have anything else to keep them busy. He rocks himself to and fro on the balls of his feet. He sighs heavily as he stares at the tracks which disappear in the distance, willing the train to just show up already.

“It feels like we’ve been waiting forever,” he remarks.

You glance up at him amusedly. “We’ve been waiting for two minutes.”

“That’s so long,” Peter drags out the last two words in a tone of exasperation that’s equal parts joking and genuine. “What if Happy gets there before us and wonders where we are?”

“Doubt he’ll beat us to your apartment. He’s probably stuck in traffic.”

You end up being right. Happy arrives fifteen minutes later than the time he gave in the group chat. You and Peter slide into the backseat and as soon as Peter’s closed the door behind him, Happy’s merging back into the street, muttering something about “stupid traffic” and “people don’t know how to use blinkers do they even know what blinkers are?”

Unfortunately the mission doesn’t bring you to Manhattan. The two of you are tasked with following some vehicles carrying suspicious cargo. In Tony’s words: “I want you to tail ‘em, find where they hide out, and shut ‘em down if the operation isn’t large-scale. If it is, let me know and I’ll bring in backup.” You and Peter are sitting at a conference table, the wood cool to the touch, as you watch surveillance tapes. They give you an idea of where to start, and what the trucks look like. Come nightfall, the two of you are suited up and staking out a warehouse the trucks are supposed to be leaving from within the next twenty minutes.

“What do you think they’re carrying?” Peter asks you, the eyepieces of his suit shrinking slightly to imitate the way he’s narrowing his eyes as he stares at the loading bay.

“I want to say pastries, but I think that’s just because I’m hungry,” you respond easily, eyes also watching the loading bay attentively.

“An underground pastry trafficking organization?”

“Dangerously delicious and highly lethal to your health,” you quip playfully.

Peter laughs, thinks that if such were the case, he’d be curious to try one of those pastries himself. He glances at you. You’re not wearing a mask since you don’t need one for your superpower, and while the place you’re hiding out in is dark, his suit HUD adjusts accordingly, allowing him to see you clearly. Usually you like to tie your hair to keep it out of your way, but you’d lent out your only hair tie earlier in school today and you’d depleted the spares you kept in Peter’s room (you either lent them or lost them). So tonight it flows freely over your shoulders. Your [eye color] eyes are full of focus, your face etched in concentration. He smiles almost subconsciously as he studies you, but you can’t see it because he has his mask on.

“Hey, they’re finally leaving.” At your words, Peter turns his attention to the loading bay. Two trucks enter out into the street, but before the two of you can get a move on, the vehicles go in two separate directions.

You and Peter look at each other in confusion. “Think they’re heading to the same location?” he inquires.

You sigh and stand up. “Only one way to find out.”

“Stay safe.”

You look back at Peter and smile softly. “Always am. You stay safe too, Spidey.”

His cheeks warm at the nickname and he stays where he is when you jump down. You start shifting, no longer an unassuming teenage girl but a large and menacing werewolf. The suit you wear had been engineered to adjust to your size whenever you shifted, so it fits snug to your body as you take off after one of the trucks, keeping a comfortable distance as you follow it. These trucks take industrial roads so there’s no reason for you to be worried about being spotted by anyone else, especially at this time of night. Peter gets his bearings back quickly and takes off after his own truck before it can disappear.

“You like her,” Karen speaks up, her voice a familiar presence while he’s in the suit.

“Who, [Name]?” Peter plays dumb. “Of course I like her. She’s one of my best friends.” He really hopes that’ll be the end of the conversation, but knowing Karen, it won’t be.

“You’ve got a crush. I can tell.” If Karen had a face, she’d be smiling teasingly.

“I do not have a crush,” he says, cheeks burning all over again.

“Your heart rate’s increased.”

Damn. He’d forgotten about that feature. “I’m just excited the mission is finally getting started.”

“It increased when the two of you were still hiding. Before the trucks left. While you were staring at her.” Right. She could see what he saw. He forgot about that too.

“Okay, maybe I do like her a little.” A pause. “Or a lot.” There’s no sense denying it anymore. He’d basically revealed his crush on you to Karen without meaning to. When he’s in the Spiderman suit, it’s like she’s a part of him.

“Have you told her?”

“No! What if she gets all weirded out? I’m not risking our friendship!” He cannot believe he’s having this conversation while tailing a truck.

“She won’t be ‘weirded out.’ I promise.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because you’re Peter Parker, and your heart is gold. If I were her, I wouldn’t be weirded out at all.”

A warm feeling settles in his chest at Karen’s words. He swears she's like his personal cheerleader. Despite being just an AI, she seems so human, perfectly willing to give him advice outside of what’s relevant to his missions. She reminds him of Aunt May, encouraging as she is. He smiles. “Thanks, Karen.” He means it with his whole being when he says that.

She hums as though to say you’re welcome, another mannerism that’s so reminiscent of humans. “Ask her on a date,” she suggests.

“How?” They seem to be closing in on the hideout now.

“Just ask. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. It could be while you’re doing homework.”

The truck starts to pull in to another factory building, and Peter tries to find you, hidden somewhere in the darkness, to confirm whether or not the trucks had indeed been traveling to the same place.

“Karen, help me find [Name], will you?”

“Initiating thermal vision.”

The HUD turns blue and Peter scans the area, searching for heat signatures. There are some he can spot inside the factory. He sees you behind a power box, just outside the fences. The form is no longer a werewolf but a person. You’d shifted back. He goes to find you and drops down next to you. You don’t flinch when he does.

“Looks like they did come to the same place,” you comment.

“Yeah,” Peter agrees as his HUD switches back to normal. “It didn’t look like there were many people inside. I think this is something we can take on our own.”

You nod. “Okay.”

“And, um, [Name]…”

Peter trails off and doesn’t actually finish the sentence, and you look over at him. He’s not looking at you, instead staring at the ground. “Hey, you okay?” you ask worriedly.

“Did you uh…” No turning back now, Peter. Spit it out! “Did you maybe wanna go get some ice cream after this?”

It takes you a moment to realize just what he’s asking, but when you do, your grin is wide and your stomach is doing somersaults—and not because you’re hungry.

Peter hasn’t looked up, too nervous that you might reject him, and he’s surprised when he feels you kiss his cheek, lips passing over the smooth material of his mask. He looks up at you, eyepieces widening, and you laugh.

“I’d love to get ice cream with you.” Your smile is bright and gosh, you are so pretty. Peter feels light as air and he swears he can fly all the way to the moon. You look so happy to have been asked, as though this is something long overdue. Now he wonders why he ever felt any doubt, because clearly it was misplaced. He can’t but smile too.

“Now come on, let’s clear out that warehouse before Baskin Robbins closes!” Before he can respond, you’ve jumped over the fence, shifting mid-run and taking off toward the loading bay, where the doors are still open—your ticket inside. Peter follows, clearing the fence easily, and sets off in a run.

“Hey, uh, Karen?” he begins. He doesn’t worry about you hearing him since you’re just a tad out of range.

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Peter.” He can practically hear the smile in her voice.

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #spiderman #spiderman imagine #spiderman x reader #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #marvel #marvel imagine #bubble-tea-bunny

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leosault · 5 years ago

Text

Princess Erica Varellan of Varellia

"Cheren, it's time for your greeting lessons, dear." Erica looked up to see her mother stood over her and her brother, who had been reading quietly next to her. Cheren looked at his younger sister and raised his eyebrows in smug satisfaction. Erica simply huffed in response and went back to reading her book. She was sick of the fact that her brother, who was only twenty years her senior, was being groomed for royalty and she was left to her own devices. Her parents, the king and queen of Varellia, were under the impression that Erica would never see the throne and it hurt her deeply. Despite her brother's apparent attempts to coerce them into training Erica as well, Erica still resented him after she had once overheard a damning conversation between Cheren and their father that always replayed in her mind whenever he was called away for his royal grooming.

It was during the previous summer and she had spent the afternoon in the royal gardens with her brother reminiscing about their childhoods and talking about how the official royal training would be starting soon. Erica and Cheren had always gotten on well beforehand; the fact they were so close in age was a key factor in their closeness. When they had gone back into the palace they were greeted by the royal advisor and Erica and Cheren had looked at each other in excitement. "This way..." said the advisor and held out his arm to indicate the room in which they were headed. Erica and Cheren began to walk towards the door when the advisor raised his hand in front of Erica. "I'm afraid the Princess is not required." he said abruptly and turned away from her to follow Cheren. Cheren looked back at his sister in confusion but was guided into the room by the advisor before he could say anything. Erica could hear the mumbled voices of her mother and father greeting Cheren that were soon silenced when the advisor closed the door shut behind them. Erica felt dejected, why would they train her brother to become a future king and not train her to be a future queen? There was only 20 years between them which in elven terms made them practically the same age and it wasn't like she was uneducated or not knowledgeable enough to become queen; she spent most of her time studying history and the arcane arts.

Determined to discover that there was just some kind of mix up, Erica decided she would try and listen in onto what was happening to see if she could work out why she wasn't invited. She took one of the secret passages in the west wing of the palace that she knew went along the back wall of the room they were in. Once inside, she found a small crack in the stonework and pressed her ear up against it.

"What you've got to understand, Cheren my dear boy, is that your sister is not like you or I. She covets beauty and magic over the wellbeing of others. She wouldn't last five days as queen."

"That is not true! She cares for us and I have seen her at balls and galas. She definitely cares about the nobles and the people she meets. And what is wrong with seeing the beauty in this world and understanding her gift? I sense there is more to this that you are not telling me."

The king paused and sighed deeply. "Fine. You see... Varellan girls, whether born a Varellan or having birthed a Varellan child, have a curse that has plagued our family for millenia. The moment they reach the age of 200, their looks deteriorate rapidly. Your mother here used to be a fine beauty, if you can believe that, and now, well... look at her." Erica frowned in anger at the remark but noticed that her mother didn't correct him or oppose what he had said at all. Maybe there was truth in her father's horrible words.

"Erica will be no different" continued the king, Erica listening intently once more. "and by the time she would come to the throne, if ever, she would be downright hideous. The populace would never accept rule from a disgusting hag as reigning Queen." The king chuckled but cleared his throat when no one laughed with him. "You know, as soon as she was born and we discovered she was a girl, I ordered for her to be left at the orphanage. Your mother, however, persuaded me not to. I was only trying to protect the image of our empire! With that in mind, once Erica withers she will likely be shunned so you would be better off to exile or imprison her before she ruins your image as future king."

Erica's chest felt as if she had been impaled by a fencepost. The thud of feeling that hit her almost physically knocked her back and tears began to fill her eyes as she bit her lip to stop any sobs from sounding out. Her hope to become a monarch lay shattered inside of her but for a brief moment, she knew her brother would help piece it back together by arguing her case with their parents. That glimmer of hope was soon destroyed when she heard her brother suddenly burst into laughter instead.

"Well at least my throne will be safe once I succeed!"

Erica couldn't listen to any more. She ran back out of the passage in tears and straight up into her chamber, sat on her bed and continued to weep. How could her brother turn on her so easily like that? How could her own family, who she loved dearly, disregard her so easily purely because of some apparent curse? Her own father was willing to abandon his daughter at the city's orphanage just to protect the royal image! After hearing all this, Erica spent the next few days in her room crying but even once she had finally run out of tears, the hurt still continued. Her relationship with her brother became one of secret loathing and while she had never divulged the fact she had overheard that despicable conversation, there seemed to be a mutual feeling between them that each other knew about it. Their parents acted as if nothing had ever happened and Erica tried not to let it show that their silence on the matter hurt more. She would never forgive the words her father had said and the fact her mother wouldn't even stand up for Erica was also unforgivable in her eyes. This left Erica completely conflicted. She loved her family but also hated them all at the same and her heart felt as if it was tearing in two every time she saw them. If they had all been honest with her and hadn't been so insulting then Erica thought she would have eventually been able to get over the lies but the disregard for her entire existence and future is what pained her the most and had left her in this torn state. To hear that they had already had plans to exile or imprison her and that she was almost abandoned as a baby had cut so deeply that ever since then, she had been obsessed with breaking the curse and keeping her beauty, no matter the cost.

Maybe...

Maybe if I find a way to break the curse...

They will accept me.

If I stay beautiful...

I will be loved and adored.

I am beautiful...

I need to stay beautiful...

To be loved...

They only want beautiful things?

Then I will dedicate my life to sustaining beauty.

Beauty...

...equals love.

As soon as Cheren and their mother had left the library, Erica quickly stepped to the back of the library to continue what she had been doing since the day of that hurtful eavesdrop. For the past several months she had scouring all the books she could find that might have any kind of information on their family's curse or ways to keep her beauty. After several hours of searching well into the night, Erica closed the book she was reading with a huff as yet again she found no mention of their curse. As she pushed the book back on the shelf, she heard a thud from the other side of the bookcase, as if she had pushed a book out with the book she was replacing on the shelf. She wandered around the bookcases into the next aisle and saw a peculiar looking book and a small painting on the floor in front of her. She bent down to pick it up and her eyes never left the painting for a second as she stood upright once more. It was a painting of a beautiful elven woman dated some 250 years or so ago that looked vaguely familiar. Erica noticed the artist's signature as one of the royal painters and turned the painting over. Scribbled on the back was a date and the name 'Shira Varellan'.

Erica's mother.

Erica quickly turned the painting back around and stared at the portrait once more. Her mother had been astoundingly beautiful and yet ever since Erica had been alive, a mere 106 years, she had known the withered, average looking woman who had raised her. Erica quickly did the maths, her mother was 447 years old; which meant she was 341 when she gave birth to Erica and would have been 197 when the painting was commissioned - just three years before the curse struck. Erica took the book and painting back to the desk in the dark corner of the library and clicked her fingers, lighting the candle on the desk and the immediate area dimly with her magic. When she finally put the painting down and looked at the book, Erica noticed it was old and peculiar as it had strange symbols all over the cover and what looked to be some kind of ancient writing. She opened it up and was met with more ancient language and some strange and disturbing diagrams. There were creatures and demons depicted - the likes of which Erica had never seen - and they were performing all kinds of horrendous acts and rituals on what looked to be humans. She flicked through the book briefly and saw that most of the pages were very much like this and placed it back on the desk, leaning back in her chair and sighing deeply. Seeing her mother in this new light and confirming the curse was real made her want to break the curse so much more but it looked seemingly more impossible than ever. "I just want to keep my looks forever..." she said to herself as she slowly began losing the will to search for a way to break this seemingly inevitable fate.

Suddenly, the book started to jitter on the desk in front of her and black smoke started to rise up from its pages. Erica gasped as a dark shadow leapt out of the book and landed beside her. The shadow then transformed into the form of a giant marble-white humanoid creature with tattered grey wings.

"I believe I can help you with your dilemma." the demon said, smirking at Erica whilst stretching his muscles. "Ugh, it's been a while since I've been in this mortal realm." Erica continued to gaze at the sight before her, open-mouthed and speechless. "Let me elaborate. I'm-"

"Malkizid..." interrupted Erica, recognising the demon almost instantly. She gazed into the dark pits where his eyes should have been and gulped slightly. She had read about his betrayal of the High Solar and being cast into the Nine Hells, even his exile to the Blood Rift. She knew of his very distinct and chequered history with elven-kind and had her wits about her until she had a better idea of his intentions.

"Ah, I see from your face that you are familiar with my work. Well, let us skip the pleasantries and get down to business."

Erica glared at him warily and never let her gaze falter as he got down on one knee to bring his ten feet tall frame a little closer down to her level.

"I can grant you lifelong beauty. I can freeze your current appearance in time so you will never look a day older than you are now until your dying day, whenever that may be. Visually, you will never age, and you shall not succumb to the effects of the curse that haunts your family."

If a demon wasn't knelt before her, Erica would have hugged whoever had said such words to her and would celebrate wildly. However, Erica was well read on demons and knew that offers like this did not come out of the kind will of their hearts.

"And the catch? What do you get out of this?" she asked confidently, making sure to show the demon she could not be intimidated into making an unfavourable deal.

"All I require is the soul of the King's first born. Your brother. Kill him and I will fulfil your desire. Failure to do so and I will take yours instead."

Erica's eyes widened.

"Before you answer" the demon continued before Erica could respond, "I must explain the manner of this task. The only way I can acquire his soul for the purpose I intend for it is if he is slain by a certain artefact of elven make. I do not know what it is or where to find it, but I do know that it will react to your touch, revealing itself to me. I shall inform you when you have found it and your fratricidal plot can begin."

Erica sat in silence to ponder over the offer. Her first instinct was to take it; not only would she break the curse so her family would truly love her but it would also put her first in line for the throne. Then the reality hit. She would have to find the object without anyone knowing what or why she was looking for it. She couldn't hire anyone to search for it as she was the one who had to touch the item. Getting people to bring items to her would raise too many questions. Would she have to leave the city and search for it herself? It could be anywhere; and Erica had never left the city, let alone ventured outside the kingdom. Perhaps she could learn to become an adventurer; they travelled the world and she could also pick up some skills that could help her assassinate her brother and get away with it. There may even be someone who could teach her how to use her magic effectively, rather than the small prestidigitation she could perform currently. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense to her. Learning from books and teachers would make her a fine queen, but learning from real world experiences would make her a great queen.

"Very well demon, we have a deal. What would the time frame be for such an endeavour?" Erica asked tentatively.

"Before I end your life and take your soul, you mean? You have until your 200th nameday, when the curse takes effect. After that point, I cannot reverse the effects of such an affliction. And I will take my payment. As a sign of good will though, I shall begin the process of fulfilling your desire as soon as you sign the pact." The demon produced a piece of parchment, laid it on the table before Erica and handed her a quill that looked like it came from one of his tattered wings. "If that's all, sign the pact and we have a deal."

Erica read the pact carefully, took a deep breath and signed it. Just as she laid the quill down she felt a short sharp slash through the palm of her hand and looked down to see the gleaming scarlet of her blood drip down onto the parchment and form a perfectly round blob. She watched as it slowly flattened out and turned into a seal depicting two halves; half of Malkizid's mark on one side and half of the Varellen royal seal on the other. Erica's hand suddenly stopped bleeding as the wound sealed itself and the pain faded away almost instantly. She looked up at the demon as he rolled up the parchment and held it in his large fist.

"You'll notice your hand hasn't scarred or even left a mark. A perk of my gift to you and proof of my word." the demon said as Erica looked up from her hand. "I've also amplified your magic somewhat and bestowed additional powers upon you to help with your journey. You are now a warlock, myself as your patron, and will learn a unique school of magic under my patronage. I will also grant you additional skills and powers if I feel you are learning well. You have an arcane focus I presume?"

Erica shook her head.

"Do you have an item you keep on your person that is important to you?" the demon inquired. Erica looked about her person but all she could find was an intricately detailed handmirror with a green silk ribbon tied around the greenish-gold handle. "I have this; my brother gave it to me as a child for when I used to play dress-up. I only keep it on me for fixing my hair occasionally." The demon smirked and Erica took that as a good sign. "Perfect. The link to your brother will improve your affinity to the magic of our pact. That mirror is now the source of your new power and you must treat it like an extension of you. Guard it well." Erica nodded and looked down at the handmirror which now seemed to give off a faint silvery glow.

"I'll see you soon I hope, and not in 94 years time." Malkizid smirked before turning into the shadowy creature once more and leaping back inside the book. The book closed itself with a jolt as the last of the black smoke was sucked into the pages. The book then caught fire and turned to ash in front of Erica's very eyes before a seemingly impossible breeze whipped the ash into the air and swirled it towards an open window and out into the night air.

Erica looked at the mirror again and noticed that she looked ever so slightly different. She looked closer and noticed that her small imperfections had seemed to have disappeared and her pale skin was now flawless. Her emerald eyes shone a more vivid green than ever before and her ruby red lips seemed to be just that tiny bit more plump. She was at her peak of beauty and while Malkizid had said he would freeze her current looks in time, Erica figured that he must have given her just a little boost before freezing her looks as further proof of his word. She smiled broadly and stood up taking a quick look around to make sure she was still alone.

Erica realised that if she was to venture out and become an adventurer, she would have to leave unannounced and discreetly. Leaving the palace was easy as she was left to her own devices most of the time anyway but leaving the city would be a a little more difficult. She was the beautiful princess of Varellia and would be recognised instantly by anyone in the city. She would have to leave now, tonight, in the dark of night if she was to have any chance of escaping undetected.

After grabbing a few supplies from around the palace and a large black robe from the cloakroom, she left the palace quietly whilst putting on the dark robe, blending her into the night. Sneaking through the city was simple; she knew it like the back of her hand and so took a route through the less populated and residential areas of the city where everyone was either resting or too drunk to notice her. Getting through the main gate however, would be a different matter. As she approached silently, she noticed a couple of guards leaning up against the wall of the guard station chatting about nothing in particular. Erica wondered if she could distract them with some of this new magic she had been bestowed with. She pulled out her handmirror and held it towards the guards. She focused her mind and her magical energy down through her arm and into the mirror. Suddenly a large beam of crackling energy blasted from her mirror and sent the guards crashing through the wooden wall. Erica almost shrieked in shock but quickly darted through the gate and out into the forest before the guards could gather themselves. That's if they were even alive at all; Erica was too panic stricken and intent on escaping to have any form of concern over the two men she may have just crushed to death with magic.

Once far out into the forest, Erica lowered her hood and thought about her next move. She knew of a ruin nearby that contained many tiefling artefacts but she knew that there was a famous elven artefact amongst them that could well be what she was searching for. However, the ruin was ransacked and pillaged years ago and most of the items were stolen, and the tieflings killed. All except one. The small tiefling girl that occasionally appeared all over the kingdom. The tales told that this girl had been the only survivor of the raid and was only ever spotted amongst civilisation in search of food before disappearing as quickly as she appeared. No one knew where she lived; the ruin had been searched for scraps many times since the raid and no one had come across the girl and she definitely wasn't seeking refuge in any of the towns. If she was living in the city, Erica would know about it so she searched the depths of her local knowledge to try and figure out where she could be.

Suddenly, Erica was hit by a brainwave. She had read that the tiefling ruins had once been a grand underground city of beautiful blue and green stone that shone brighter than the midday sun. There was only one place in the kingdom Erica knew of that was anything like that environment and only the royal family knew about it. The Crystal Caves of Ellesfir were a set of former mines that her ancestors had discovered when the kingdom was in its infancy. They used the gemstones and precious metals found in them to create the first crown of Varellia back when the Ellesfir family were the chief crafters and artisans for the Varellan royal family. However after they betrayed the Varellans and were exiled from the kingdom, they were slowly written out of the history of Varellia and the caves were long forgotten. Erica knew of them thanks to her love of history and recalled that they were described as having 'walls of coloured crystal in all colours of the rainbow'. Erica was willing to bet the tiefling was living there.

After a few days of travelling, Erica located the caves and walked inside anxiously. She had no idea what this girl was like; she could be feral, aggressive towards outsiders, territorial over her caves, anything. Erica's nerves dissipated though when she caught sight of the beauty that was the inside of the caves. They were more beautiful than the books could ever have described and she was mesmerised by the incredible colours shining through the crystal walls. She didn't know how long she had been just staring and taking in the incredible aesthetic before a small quirky voice broke her from her trance.

"Hi new person!"

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foundlingtale · 8 years ago

Text

Settling in

When Frisk woke up they were greeted by the darkness of the room. Rubbing their eyes with their balled up fist they sat up and slid out of bed. The smell of the pie that his grandmother promised filled up the room. Frisk carefully felt around the walls for a light switch. There was none in the room but Frisk did come across a lamp.

With the luminosity of lamp the room was no longer dark. In the center of the room on the floor was culprit of the wonderful and divine scent. The butterscotch cinnamon pie. And man did it look good.

Frisk sat in the center of the room and picked up the plate of pie. Wasting no time, they dug in chowing down the pie in record time. Frisk didn't realize they were starving until now. Once done with the slice Frisk stood up and carried their plate quietly out the room peeking out the door to see if Toriel was around. Seeing she wasn't they walk out the room and quietly closed the door behind them self.

Walking to the left there was two other rooms one that had a sign that said "Room under renovations". In the middle of Frisk's newly acquired room and the renovating room was what Frisk assumed to be Toriel's room. Frisk gently knocked. Hearing no answer they walked into the room. The room was large and spacious. A large bed was in the left corner of the room. It was neatly made and looked like if Frisk sat or laid down on it, it would swallow them whole with no way out.

In front of the bed was a desk with a chair in front of it. There was writing utensils and an open journal with a circled passage. Frisk decided to read the circled passage.

What did one toilet say to the other?

Man you look flushed.

Oh my. That was eggcelent, I just crack myself up. I didn't think I had such a potty mouth.

Frisk couldn't hold back the cringe. Next thing they know it, a black bar appeared in front of them There was a question:

Would you like the true reset?

Yes No

'No' Frisk thought. 'Not yet.' Frisk then backed away from the journal like it had the plague, and then left the room closing the door behind them. They let out a sigh and walked in the direction of where they assumed the kitchen and their grandmother was. Seeing they were correct they pulled at her dress looking up at her.

"Oh! Hello my grandchild. Did you sleep well? I hope you enjoyed the pie I left you. It might of burned a bit because it was in the oven too long, but I do hope it tasted alright."

Frisk shook their head and showed off their small fangs as they smiled. "It WaS aLrIgHt. It TaStEd ReAlLy GoOd."

Toriel smiled running her paws through Frisk's hair. For a few moments her beautiful eyes were glassy. She mumbled something along the lines of 'You look just like them...' "Oh... T-that's good to hear!" She blinked away the tears that were building up and gave Frisk a smile. "You know, I'm reading a really interesting passage about snails. Did you know that snails have a chainsaw like tongue called the radula? It's very fascinating! Would you like to see how it looks ?" Toriel asked with a small smile. Frisk hesitated but then nodded, they wanted to see what their grandmother was so excited about.

Toriel turned the book around to face Frisk. Frisk was able to see a diagram of what the 'radula' was, how it looked, and most of all how it work. And they couldn't help to be fascinated too. They listen as their grandmother read on, telling Frisk fact after fact about snail. Soon enough Frisk was sitting down at Toriel's feet listening intently to the soothing sound of her voice, and to what she was saying. Around the 15th fact she read out to Frisk she closed the book and let out a content sigh.

"You know I wanted to be a teacher. For children around your age at least. But as queen I am unable to do so. But maybe I can fulfill those fantasies with you. There must be a lot of thing you don't know correct?" Frisk nodded to Toriel's questions causing her to smile widely. "Then its official. Your lessons shall start next week, if you don't mind of course."

Frisk felt like even with Toriel's kind personality they would still have to go to these lessons no matter what, so they nodded. "Yes GraNdmOthEr." This caused Toriel to smile widely and gently ruffle Frisk's hair.

"That is wonderful to hear my grandchild. I am very delighted that you are willing to help me out with my dream and let me enlighten you about the underground and how it runs. Would you like another slice of pie as I read the next few facts to you?" Toriel asked. Frisk immediately nodded their head at the mention of the pie. "How many slices?"

Frisk thought for a moment before holding up two slightly furry clawed fingers. "Two PleAse." they eagerly said. Toriel nodded and got up putting her book down in the process. Tilting their head to the side, Frisk read out the title of the book. ' 72 uses for Snails.... Wait USES FOR SNAIL!? Does that mean that there's snails in the pie!?... Eh.. its still good.' Frisk thought with a shrug. Toriel soon came back into the room and then gently placed the plate with two slices of pie down in front of Frisk and handed them a spoon. "ThaNk yOu."

"It is no problem my grandchild. I am just glad you are fairing well and here with me now. And your grandfather and I will make sure you stay here safe forever. We'll take good care of you. And when he's not here I'll be here taking care of you. It get quiet lonely down here you know.. Never mind that now where was I" Toriel sat down and opened her book back up again. The only difference this time around was that Frisk wasn't listening. They were processing Toriel's words.

'Forever is a long time.. Even if it's just an ideology.. an idea. The way grandmother Toriel says it is... unsettling. Like its a prison I will never gt out of. But I'm sure there's a way out. I just hope I don't get in trouble or get hurt.' Frisk held in a sigh as they finished their slice of pie. They decide to not eat their next slice of pie just yet.

"Oh! Here's another interesting one! Did you know that when snails mature they flip their digestive system? Or that-" Toriel was cut off by the sound of rapid knocking at the front door. "Oh? I wonder whom that could be?.. Excuse me my grandchild but I must check this out." Frisk nodded in understanding and stayed seated. They could hear the muffled ribbit of a froggit and his grandmothers worried voice

"How did that-.. OK but why-.. I still don't-... OK just give me-.."

Frisk could only make out bits and pieces of what they were saying but they did understand that it must be serious for if Toriel sounds so worried.

"I'm sorry my child would you be OK for an hour on your own? There seems to be a fight going on near the entrance of the ruins in which you came from and the puzzles are involved. Someone may get hurt or worse. I must leave immediately and I'm trusting you to stay here until your grandfather comes. OK" Toriel rushed out causing Frisk to nod. Toriel quickly kissed Frisk's forehead before rushing out the door with the young froggit. Frisk took this as a chance to get the piece of cloth off the table to wrap up their last slice of pie and put it away for later. Taking a glance in the direction Toriel left in Frisk glanced at the chair.

An idea popped in their head and they rushed back to room they owned for less than a day. Opening the toy box they pulled out a crayon and piece of drawing paper and wrote, 'will be back soon, one day. i promise -frisk. " , in their sloppy handwriting. Frisk folded the piece of paper once and put it on the chair Toriel was sitting in. Frisk hesitated still holding the crayon before adding on, ' p.s will give back book too 'nother promise.' , to the note. Frisk took the book holding it close to their chest before rushing over to the staircase that lead to what they assumed was the exit to the ruins. Frisk jogged down the seemingly long corridor before reaching a large door. The door was a struggle to open due to Frisk's occupied hands and small size but eventual they were able to open it. Stumbling through the door, Frisk ended falling face first into the ground.

"Huh, You think you're so clever don't cha?" looking up Frisk saw Flowey with a smug look on their face. Frisk slowly stood up unsure of what they should do. "Don't worry kid. I won't hurt cha... yet. After all in this world its KiLl Or be KiLleD." Flowey laughed maniacally before sinking into the ground leaving behind a dumbfounded Frisk. Frisk stared at the spot the flower once was before stepping over it and jogging once more.

The more they jogged the faster they decided to run until they were in an all out sprint. Frisk ran straight, not turning left or right even when there was a fork in the road. The cold air kept hitting Frisk's face, causing their eyes to water. But that didn't stop Frisk. They just wiped their eyes and kept sprinting. Frisk ran past many monsters. Some tried to interACT with them but they didn't stop. They didn't know where they were going but they still didn't stop. Until they were stopped, by bumping into someone. Causing Frisk to drop the book.

"Owwie..." Frisked groaned out, rubbing their head. When they opened their eyes they say a bony hand. Like literally a bony hand.

"need a hand?" Frisk heard a deep voice ask. They nodded and reached up grabbing the hand but as soon as he gave it a slight pull it came off. Causing Frisk to gasp in shock. "there now ya' got one."

Frisk blinked twice looking at the hand and then the short,but taller than them, skeleton. Frisk eyes widened when it all clicked and let out a little laugh into the back of their hand. This caused the skeleton to smile "finally someone who can handle my punny jokes.". Frisk laughed again but a little louder this time. "the names sans. sans the skeleton and this is my little bro papyrus." the skeleton, now named sans, step to the side relieving a smaller skeleton that was about Frisk's height, if not an inch taller. The younger skeleton handed Frisk back their book.

"HERE YOU GO. AS MY BROTHER ALL READY INTRODUCED ME MY NAME IS PAPYRUS. WHAT IS YOUR NAME?' Papyrus asked kindly while helping Frisk up. Frisk handed Sans back his hand, and it snapped back in place with a click.

"F-FriSk.." they responded with a small smile showing of their small fangs while doing so. Sans took notice to this. Papyrus did not.

"WELL 'FRISK' MY BROTHER AND I WERE HEADING TO GRILLBY'S WOULD YOU LIKE TO JOIN US?" Papyrus asked while walking in the middle of Frisk and his brother. Frisk nodded, holding their book to their chest, and Papyrus smiled widely. "GREAT!"

"yep great i guess" Sans responded. Leading them to Grillby's as Papyrus told Frisk everything he knew about Grillby. As they walk Frisk took in the chilly and snow covered environment around them. Another human would be freezing but Frisk felt just fine. The occasion breeze was chilly but overall Frisk felt content. Not paying attention to where they were going Frisk bumped into another person.

"Opf!" Frisk grunted out stumbling back a little. When they looked up they saw a large body hidden with in a cape.

"Oh! Watch where you're going young one, you might get hurt if you don't. Oh? You don't have a sweater or jacket? You might get sick. Here take this." the large figure said. They took of their cape and wrapped it around Frisk's body. "You know you look familiar and so does that book, I believe my wife has the same one. Maybe its just my old age getting to me though."

'So this is my grandfather? He's huge!' Frisk didn't say anything only nodded bashfully Their grandfather chuckled and ruffled their hair carefully after taking notice to their horns. "OH! WHAT ABOUT ME KING ASGORE!?" Papyrus asked with eye sockets filled with admiration. Asgore chuckled and pat Papyrus's head before leaving and waving goodbye. Papyrus let out a squeal "NYEH HEH HEH!! DID YOU SEE THAT SANS!! KING ASGORE PAT MY HEAD!"

"ya bro. and tibia honest that was pretty cool." Frisk let out a small chuckle, causing Papyrus to get a weird feeling in his chest, but he brushed it aside. The king just at his head and smiled at him! That had to be a sign that he'll be let into the royal guard when he grows up and he won't let one tell him other wise! Beside he just made a new friend so everything can only get better from that.

#part3 #part2 #part1 #founflingtale #undertale #frisk #sans #papyrus #asgore #flowey #toriel #chara #froggit #mention of grilby #ruins #escaping the ruins #snail facts

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sueboohscorner · 7 years ago

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#TheWalkingDead Season 8 Episode 2 "The Damned" Recap Plus Questions

Sunday, October 29th

*WARNING: THIS ARTICLE CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS FR SUNDAY'S EPISODE "THE DAMNED" IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE EPISODE, TURN BACK NOW. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!*

Oh my Lord! What an episode! I mean seriously, holy great balls of fire! That episode was jam-packed full of F you's to the Saviors, holy sh*t was from the fans and smacked full of surprises. Then, Morales reappears?! Oh, my GOODNESS! Oh, the game just changed... let's get down to business!

War has commenced in the World of the Dead. And it isn't about where the next meal is coming from... right now. In the opening scene, it shows everyone either in laser beam focus or a daze. Then, it cuts to a group of Saviors in a gun assembly order. A female is in charge, she radios into another Savior, receiving no callback she calls to another. Finally, she hears back and tells them to close off the stairwells. Then, as if on cue, shielded vehicles drive up and start taking fire. Then, we see Eric leading the group. Sweet! Morgan and a group organize a plan outside the compound they once raided two seasons back. Morgan plans to do his part alone.

The King and Queen are seen in a smoke field. Walker growls are heard. The group commences to beating the undead down while Ezekiel shouts, "The Damned are upon us!" They quickly take them all out. Carol tells them that they need to find the Savior before he reports back to the compound. Ezekiel insists on trusting the King. He gives a young guard a mission to release Shiva. They move out to find the Savior. Back at Eric's firing range, they're flying led on the Saviors. Two who guard a building get headshots as Rick, Daryl and their group moves in. He and Daryl go one way while the other men take another route. Eric's brigade is keeping The Saviors at bay, but the female in charge wants to drive out.

Morgan is approaching the far end of the fence. The walkers are seen piling up which distracts the two Saviors. They get shot dead then Tara and Jesus move in with the others. They kill off the Saviors within the compound. Rick follows a diagram, but Daryl backs Dwight's handy work. They decide to move upstairs. Eric's crew fire as Saviors moves closer. Aaron tells them to keep the Saviors back. Eric and Aaron fire. Tara and Jesus move in. They mow down the Saviors. Morgan and two men aim at a door. When it's opened, they shoot the only Savior. But then, they drop dead! What?!?

Daryl opens up the roof of the elevator, and he and Rick get to the top floor. They're looking for a gun supply (probably the guns Rick supplied Jadis with). Tara and Jesus find a guy cowering in a closet covered in his own urine, his hands raised. Tara wants to shoot him, but Jesus won't let her. They pull him from the closet. They interrogate him, finding his name is Dean. But, one thing leads to another and Dean takes Jesus' gun. He takes him as a hostage and puts a gun to his head. After a bit of nagging, Jesus whoops on Dean and pistol whips him. Tara still wants him dead. They get a call, and they move out. Jesus shows them a back away out. Then, wait, Morgan's alive?!? He's... untouched? He rolls out!

Tobin's hit! Aaron and Eric's crew still fire on the small Savior group. The lead female sees one of her men turn then her throat is ripped from her neck. Carol and the King talk while they move onto the next compound. "Fake it 'til you make it, baby!" Ezekiel tells Carol that's what he did. They find a blood trail. Daryl busts in a door, finding an abandoned makeshift office. He finds a torture chamber in a back closet. He remembers. Rick walks down a long corridor. He clears, finding a bedroom. He is about to clear another room when a man jumps on his back. They fight. Finally, Rick wins as the guy is shoved into the wall spike. Morgan is plagued with his own words as he embarks on a killing spree. Jesus and Tara's group surround a garage door. The Savior inside raises the door and drops his gun, making the others with him. Morgan kills on. He comes upon a bright light that throws him into a single focus view of the Savior that killed Richard. Jesus stops him.

Rick continues to search. He finds a nursery. A baby lays sleeping in a crib with the name 'Gracie' written above in bubble letters. He looks up and sees himself in the mirror and walks out. Carol and Ezekiel follow the blood path. Ezekiel sees something that makes him run for it. He watches as Shiva malls the runaway. Eric and Co fire on. Marcy is shot. Aaron is desperate to get to Eric, so he hops in a car and mows down some Saviors. He runs to Eric, finding out he's been shot in the gut.

"And there it is, our certain victory. This, I am not glad for his death." He says as he pets, Shiva. They hear on the radio that their jig is up. Ezekiel isn't done, though. They still have much to do.

In the final scene of the episode, Rick finds a photo inside of a room, recognizing the person(s). A Savior walks up on Rick and...oh my God, Morales?!? Rick names him immediately. Daryl is seen in a daze, Morgan similar. Aaron is trying to get Eric to safety. Ezekiel is smiling, Carol too. Then, Rick is seen staring down Morales as he pulls the hammer down!

My brain does not have enough power to digest this episode fully! What did you guys think? Was Rick hallucinating? Was Morales there? Who's baby was that? Will the Kingdom crew be successful again? Will Eric survive? Tell me in the comments below!

A new episode airs Sunday at 9 p.m. only on AMC.

Editor: Joeleen Gatlin

#TheWalkingDead #TheWalkingDeadREcap #TheWalkingDead Recap #TWD #TheWalkingDead TWD TWDS8 Negan RickGrimes MaggieRhee DarylDixon Carol

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royalnovels-blog · 7 years ago

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MGA Chapter 2015

Chapter 2015 – Merging With The Three Immortal Profound Techniques “Little friend Chu Feng, you absolutely cannot do this. The Immortality Peaches are extremely precious. Earlier, you already gave me three. I already can’t thank you enough for that. As such, I absolutely cannot accept these two Immortality Peaches,” the Snow Blade Mad Demon refused repeatedly. “Senior, I am not giving you these two Immortality Peaches because I feel sympathy for you. Rather, I am doing so to express my thanks,” Chu Feng said. “Express your thanks?” Snow Blade Mad Demon was confused. “If you didn’t uphold virtue and condemn evil by saving a family that was unrelated to you, your family would not have met their tragic deaths.” “You are a kindhearted man. Else, you would not have courted that disaster. I am thanking you on behalf of the people of the world,” Chu Feng forcibly pushed the two Immortality Peaches into the Snow Blade Mad Demon’s hands. Then, Chu Feng turned around to leave. He was afraid that the Snow Blade Mad Demon would refuse again. After Chu Feng left, Snow Blade Mad Demon held the two Immortality Peaches in his hands and stood there motionlessly for a very long time. Then, he wiped away the tears on his face and looked to the many memorial tablets behind him. He said, “I will definitely avenge you all.” The next morning, Chu Feng called for the Weaponry Refinement Immortal, the Immeasurable Immortal, the Snow-haired Immortal and Zhang Ming, the several Dragon Mark Royal-cloak World Spiritists in the Cyanwood Mountain. “What? Chu Feng… you plan to merge the Gold Immortal Profound Technique, Wood Immortal Profound Technique and the Earth Immortal Profound Technique into your body all at once?” At that moment, the Dragon Mark Royal-cloak World Spiritists present were all startled. “The Five Elements Secret Skills contains a treasure. I need to obtain it,” Chu Feng said. “But, the Five Elements Secret Skills cannot coexist in one body,” The Weaponry Refinement Immortal said. “It is not that they cannot coexist. Rather, they have a relatively high requirement for a person’s soul.” “I wish to give it a try. The reason why I called seniors here is because I wanted seniors to help me with one thing,” Chu Feng said. “What is it?” The Weaponry Refinement Immortal asked. “If I am to fail, seniors, please help me set up that protective barrier around the Cyanwood Mountain so as to ensure the safety of our Cyanwood Mountain,” Chu Feng said. “Little friend Chu Feng, why must you put yourself through this? Even if you wish to fight against the Dark Hall, there is no need for you to be this impatient,” The Weaponry Refinement Immortal and the others tried to urge Chu Feng against it. None of them wished for Chu Feng to take this risk. The reason for that was because this was truly too dangerous. Even though Chu Feng had successfully managed to have the Water Immortal Profound Technique and the Fire Immortal Profound Technique coexist in his body, it did not mean that he would be able to have all Five Elements Secret Skills coexist in his body. Since ancient times, many people had attempted to assimilate the Five Elements Secret Skills into their bodies. However, even for the person who had managed to accomplish the best result, he had only managed to contain three of the Five Elements Secret Skills. Furthermore, not long after he succeeded, his body exploded and he died. As such, in the end, he had still failed. Right at that moment, the Immeasurable Immortal said, “Everyone, since little friend Chu Feng is already determined, it is useless for us to continue urging him against it. Rather than pressuring him, it‘s better that we support him and give him some motivation,” “Immeasurable, you can’t say it like that. Naturally, we will support Chu Feng. However, we couldn’t possibly support him with everything regardless of what it might be, no?” “We clearly know that this is an extremely dangerous matter. If we still allow Chu Feng to do it, wouldn’t it be us harming him?” The Snow-haired Immortal was insistent on not having Chu Feng merge with the other Secret Skills. In fact, when the Immeasurable Immortal voiced his support for Chu Feng, she even displayed a displeased expression toward the Immeasurable Immortal. As for the Weaponry Refinement Immortal and the others, they were not as emotional as the Snow-haired Immortal. However, it remained that their expressions were slightly ugly. Like the Snow-haired Immortal, they also did not wish for Chu Feng to do such a dangerous thing. “While others cannot accomplish it, that doesn’t mean that it would be impossible for little friend Chu Feng. Before this, has there ever been anyone capable of creating a spirit formation that could safeguard against attacks from peak Martial Emperors? No one was able to accomplish that. However, little friend Chu Feng accomplished it!!!” “Furthermore, why did the Underworld Palace’s Palace Master insist on giving little friend Chu Feng the Earth Immortal Profound Technique? It’s because he wanted Chu Feng to undo the mystery of the Five Elements Secret Skill,” The Immeasurable Immortal said. “The hell do you know,” The Snow-haired Immortal was so angered that she actually cursed out at the Immeasurable Immortal. “You are beyond redemption,” The Immeasurable Immortal snorted coldly. Then, he turned to Chu Feng and said, “Little friend Chu Feng, this old man supports you.” “Thank you senior,” Chu Feng clasped his fist toward the Immeasurable Immortal. Then, he turned to clasp his fists toward the Weaponry Refinement Immortal, the Snow-haired Immortal and the other Dragon Mark World Spiritists, “Seniors, if I am to fail, I will have to depend on you all for that spirit formation.” Then, Chu Feng did not bother with their reactions. He took out the outline of that grand defensive spirit formation, and began to explain the various essential aspects of that spirit formation to the several Dragon Mark Royal-cloak World Spiritists present. In response, the Weaponry Refinement Immortal, the Immeasurable Immortal and the others began to carefully listen to Chu Feng’s explanation. Even though Chu Feng’s outline diagram had already simplified the grand spirit formation enormously, it was still extremely difficult for them to set it up. However, after listening to Chu Feng’s explanation, everything became clear to them. Soon, they understood the various aspects of the spirit formation that they were unable to understand before. The reason why they listened to Chu Feng’s explanation so earnestly was not only because they wanted to grasp that spirit formation. In addition to that, it was because they knew that Chu Feng was determined, and they would not be able to stop him. They were truly afraid that Chu Feng would fail. As such, they did not wish for the Cyanwood Mountain to be unprotected after Chu Feng’s death. Thus, although they did not accept Chu Feng’s request, if something were to happen to Chu Feng, they would still set up that grand defensive spirit formation over the Cyanwood Mountain to protect the people of the Cyanwood Mountain. After two entire days and nights, Chu Feng finally finished explaining the essential aspects of that grand defensive spirit formation to the Weaponry Refinement Immortal and the others. The reason why Chu Feng did this was merely because he wanted to guard against the unexpected. He did not really think that he would definitely die should he attempt to assimilate with the remaining three secret skills. In fact, Chu Feng felt a great certainty of success. After all, when Chu Feng assimilated the Fire Immortal Profound Technique into him, he did not feel any pressure whatsoever, This led him to know that his spirit and soul were extremely powerful. He was certain that they would be able to withstand the pressure from the Five Elements Secret Skills. After the Weaponry Refinement Immortal and the others left, Chu Feng did not hesitate. He immediately closed the doors to the room and took out the Gold Immortal Profound Technique, the Wood Immortal Profound Technique and the Earth Immortal Profound Technique. However, Chu Feng used a special method to remove Her Lady Queen from his world spirit space. This was also because Chu Feng wished to prevent against the unexpected. If he were truly unfortunate enough to fail, then he would die. Chu Feng did not wish for Her Lady Queen to die together with him. “Milady Queen, if I am to truly die, I hope that you will not blame me.” “It is not that I am shortsighted and only seeking instant benefits. It is merely that the current situation is truly bad. If the Ancient Era’s Elves are unable to hold back the Dark Hall, even if I am able to set up a spirit formation that could defend against peak Martial Emperors, it would not be able to defend against the Dark Hall forever.” “I must increase my strength quickly so that I can help the Ancient Era’s Elves defeat the Dark Hall. This is my responsibility. After all, that Dark Hall’s Hall Master is my fellow clansman.” “And now, these Five Elements Secret Skills are the greatest opportunity for me to increase my strength. I cannot miss out on this opportunity,” Chu Feng looked to the sleeping Lady Queen and spoke with a beaming smile on his face. Then, before Her Lady Queen, Chu Feng removed the seals on the Gold Immortal Profound Technique, the Wood Immortal Profound Technique and the Earth Immortal Profound Technique. “Hualalala~~~” The unsealing of the three Supreme Secret Skills in unison caused the palace hall that Chu Feng was in to tremble, and boundless might to appear out of nowhere. Soon, three boundlessly imposing figures appeared before Chu Feng. These three silhouettes were all emitting ample auras of immortality. They were the Gold Immortal, Wood Immortal and Earth Immortal. Previous Main menu Next Click to Post

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