#it's all for nothing

[dresden-syndrome]

8/VII-1965. EESU State Security department.

Today there was unusually cold outside - Radim could tell that by drops of rain banging on every window and the little breezes sending shivers down his skin. He was serving another punishment, sitting on the cold hallway floor, strapped to a pipe by a short chain. To him it was a lighter one, an easy one - Radim was almost thankful to get this instead of anything worse.

Two hours ago Erhardt grabbed his arm too forcefully near the office door, clenching his fingers right on the spot of a really painful bruise. Radim wasn't ready for it - the tugging pain on his wrist along with being pulled around like a rag doll was too much to handle. He twitched his arm, pushed himself to get away, struggled to free himself from the grip, making Erhardt pin him down to the floor with even more force.

It took a few minutes for comrade Gunther to hold Radim down until he stopped fighting. A few minutes of delight to watch his pet squirm under his hands. Angry, rebellious, disobedient, defiant, powerless. Hissing in a futile attempt to turn around, glaring at him from below while Erhardt didn't even make a move.

"I know, kitten. I know you don't like being held like that," - he started in a condescending tone, "Shh, calm down. You know it's all for nothing".

When Radim finally stopped struggling, his owner freed his hands, grabbed him by the collar and dragged across the hall. Then Radim was roughly pushed into the corner, a chain got attached to his collar and locked around the pipe.

"You remember what I've told you about fighting. Now sit there and think about your behavior. We'll have to talk about it once more when I come back."

As Radím sat on the cold dirty floor, hugging his knees to keep himself warm, he wondered, where would he better be? Where did he rather want to be? Shivering from the chill wind reaching the corner, he hugged himself tighter, wishing for a blanket, a cup of tea, a ray of sun for a brief moment of warmth. Dozens of officers have walked through the room, throwing condescending looks on him, "the Comrade Minister's pet" as they said about him, some stopped to stroke his face, touch his old leather collar or just stand there straight, enjoying the sight of a "people's enemy" left to freeze down in the corner. That's what Radím was - a people's enemy, even in the uniform, trained for simple department work. It's the law: once a traitor, forever a traitor. Traitors don't get blankets or hot tea. Nobody's here to risk getting scolded by the boss for messing up his pet's punishment.

The cold was getting worse, the discomfort turned into pain Radím restlessly tried to soothe by moving his aching legs side to side. He couldn't stand up or turn around - the chain attached to his collar was way too short for it. He pushed his neck one time. Another. The chain didn't move. Desperate to move away from the corner, even a bit, Radim leaned to the wall, his hands now reached the collar in an attrmpt to tear it down. No, no way. It hurts. His neck hurts, his hands hurt. The collar is too strong to break. He starts to fight, again. And stops, again. It's all for nothing.

Day 8 of Whumptober

Prompt: "It's all for nothing"

Art taglist: @painful-pooch @prismpanic @generic-whumperz @suspicious-whumping-egg @onlywhump

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Hand in Hand (part three)

@whumptober No. 8 "It's all for nothing."

cw: violence/beating

previous ///// au masterlist ///// next

~ ~ ~

Dan is awake long before the cell door swings open. The only way he could sleep with even a little comfort was sitting up, back pressed into the wall, and now he's stiff all over. He can't imagine how Wes feels. His arms must be dead from the partial suspension, shoulders aching, legs well-past being asleep. If he begs Swift, will she at least loosen the chains enough for him to lie down? He's willing to try.

But it isn't Swift who steps inside. It's a pair of Riot Kings. Both are wearing masks. Pointlessly; he knows who they are, but maybe it's in an effort to make themselves feel better about this. They must feel at least some kind of shame, right?

"Peres. Sawyer," he says. "What can I do for you gentlemen?" One of them, Sawyer, freezes in place as he's named, but Peres is undeterred.

"Swift wanted another demonstration with him," he says, jabbing a thumb in Wes's direction. "But I figured we'd offer you a deal."

A deal? Dan doubts it's anything good, but if they feel guilty enough to try and hide behind masks, maybe they still have the decency to not want to hurt Wes. "What sort of deal?" he says.

Peres lays a hand on his shoulder. "I'm gonna unchain you, and I'm gonna beat the shit outta you."

Dan makes an effort to hold still, not letting his apprehension cross his face. "Doesn't sound like the kind of deal I usually make."

He's expecting the backhanded blow Peres deals him, but it still stings. Behind him, there's the clank of metal-on-metal as Wes throws himself against his chains.

"Fucking traitor! Leave him alone!"

Peres rolls his eyes and gestures to Sawyer, who's quick to gag Wes. Dan regretfully agrees with the decision. It's probably for the best if Wes is unable to piss these guys off.

"You didn't let me finish," Peres says. "I'm gonna beat the shit out of you. If you can take it, if you don't try to run or fight back, we'll leave him alone this time. Got it?"

Dan closes his eyes with a grimace. This will be fun. "Got it," he says flatly.

He sits perfectly still as Peres unlocks the cuffs, hands in his lap, flattened to keep him from clutching at the fabric of his pants. Even now, he needs to look stronger than he is. That's how it's always been, and he refuses to let his own mask slip now.

Dan knows he'd stand a chance against the pair, even aching and exhausted, even outnumbered. He can wait until the chains are gone, strike when neither are expecting it, and win. He could free himself and Wes.

But why unchain him at all when they could get the same result without the risk? If they want to hurt him, why not tie his hands behind his back so there's nothing he can do? Maybe they want him to try and escape, maybe they're expecting it. Maybe that's how they plan on justifying hurting Wes more, and insisting he's to blame for it.

Dan isn't about to risk it. As long as he's in this cell, surrounded by his former allies, he's powerless to stop them from hurting him, from hurting Wes. All he can do is take what he's offered and---

A fist collides with his stomach and he doubles over with a grunt. He doesn't even have time to catch his breath before it's followed by two more. Cheek, chin. Powerful enough to daze him.

"Stand up."

Dan does, getting his hands under him then carefully pushing to his feet. He doesn't stay up for long before Peres hits him in the stomach again.

Can he even block it? Move his body in such a way that he takes the least amount of damage? Or will they count it as fighting back?

"Hold him up." This is directed at Sawyer, who quickly moves behind Dan, grabbing his arms and keeping him steady.

It's all he can do to keep breathing as Peres whales on his torso, punch after punch, sharp and rapid, until Peres is panting and Dan is retching.

The other man grabs him by the shoulders and jams his knee into Dan's sternum, then lets him go. Dan doesn't even try to break his fall, just tries to keep his chin tucked as the men above him kick at his back and ribs and legs.

Beyond the blood rushing in his ears, beyond the pain the crashes down on him like a wave, threatening to completely overwhelm him, he can hear Wes's frantic shouts, muffled by the gag.

Peres---or maybe Sawyer, he can't tell anymore---gives one final kick to his stomach, and Dan cries out.

"Stand up."

He tries, but it hurts to breathe, and he can't figure out how to get his legs beneath him.

"Stand. Up."

Wes screams through the gag again, and Dan knows he has no choice. It's tedious work. A palm first, an elbow over it. A knee on the ground, and then he's slowly pushing himself up, swaying on his feet.

Peres punches him square in the jaw, and he's on his back, staring at the ceiling in a daze. One of the men above him grabs him by the hair and drags him back to the wall, locking the manacles back in place. It takes a tremendous effort to sit up, to ease the strain on his shoulders, and once he does, he can't keep his head up.

"I'm surprised you actually held out," Peres mutters, then nods to Sawyer. "Grab the cattle prod."

Dan shudders. Aren't they done? But through half-closed eyes, he sees Sawyer closing in not on him, but on Wes.

He sits up, wincing. "Y-you said--"

"I didn't think you'd make it," Peres says. "And I'm not about to go against orders from Swift."

~ ~ ~

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast

[rd-eternity]

Whumptober Oneshot: Day 8 Prompts - “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.” | Overcrowded ER | Outnumbered | “It’s all for nothing.”

Words: 3.2k

Summary: Theo puts together enough signs to know his time in Beacon Hills is running short. Either he goes after the pack's newest enemy alone, or he'll be dragged back to hell with Tara. At least, that's what he thinks is going on.

Red flag #5: The sword Liam has a piece of Kira’s sword in his room.   The same sword that sent Theo to hell, the one that he made the pack break in order to get information out of him, as insurance to not be sent back with his sister. He’s not meant to see it, he knows.  He goes into Liam’s room while the beta’s napping, fallen asleep on top of his schoolwork and cuddled adorably in his messy blankets on the bed.  Theo only wants to know where he wants to get dinner from while his parents have date night, and turns to leave the second he sees Liam asleep.  Beacon Hills is throwing more and more supernatural nonsense at them in recent weeks, ramping up to where Scott called Peter for backup. Since he’s taking a gap year after this semester, and taking over protecting Beacon Hills from Scott, Liam’s had enough on his plate. Coaxing the beta to wake up from the couch to go to sleep in his own bed is hard enough work.  Theo takes what he can get. The chimera shuts the lamp in the corner off, but his eyes catch something in the dark, like light hitting metal just under Liam’s dresser.  He kneels and touches at it lightly, then jerks back, nearly falling on his ass. It’s cold, but just a touch burns Theo’s skin like nothing else. When he realizes what it is, he gets out of Liam’s room as fast as he can, nearly falling down the stairs and into Jenna, who’s packing her purse up to leave.  She gives him a reassuring smile, but what he gives back has to be anything but calm. Why does Liam still have a piece of the sword?

[iriel3000]

When Will You Let Her Go?

Whumptober Day 8: “It’s all for nothing.”

LAURA WHUMP, emotional whump, light whump

DISCLAIMER: I am legally allowed to torment the fictional character of Laura Barton (and Bruce Banner) this month.

AN: You are going to learn a lot about my writing process this month, sorry. Most of the whump fics will be 3rd or 4th round drafts. I normally spend weeks, if not months editing. Many of these pieces will be written days, if not hours, before the prompt is due. please forgive any spelling or grammar errors, or if these don't seem up to my usual standard.

thank you for indulging me tho😘

Summary: Laura calls the kids while they are in New York with Clint and Kate. part 1 of 3

“Hey, is everybody having fun?”

“Hi, mom!” Lila circled around Kate Bishop's penthouse with her phone, making Laura dizzy on the facetime call. “We’re having the best time! Look at Kate’s place!”

Clint was in New York helping Kate get ready for her first round of SWORD training and had taken Cooper, Lila, and Nate with him.

“Summer in New York is sooo much better than the winter.”

“What have you been doing? Where are your brothers?”

“They’re right here.” She turned the phone towards Cooper and Nate.

Laura blinked. She thought she was looking at an arcade. The room was huge with various ping pong, fooseball , and pool tables, along with old, upright video games. Cooper was playing online games on a theater size screen and Nate had VR goggles on, punching and kicking the air.

“Hi Mom!” Cooper shouted, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“Hi, sweetie. Hello, Nathan.”

Nate continued playing.

“He can’t hear you.” Lilia swung the phone back around. “Anyway, we swam at Kate’s friend’s house. She has a pool on the roof of her apartment building!”

“Wow, that sounds fun.”

“Way more fun swimming at the Waverly community pool. We also saw Rogers the Musical again and got to meet the entire cast afterwards.” Lila went into the largest bathroom Laura had ever seen and rummaged through some drawers.

“Thought you guys said that play was silly when you saw it at Christmas?”

“Yeah, but we met some of the actors in Central Park a few days ago, it was really cool. The guy that plays dad does not look like him at all.” She laughed and began putting on makeup. “Ms. Nadia gave us box seats.”

“Miss Nadia?”

“She plays Aunt Nat. She's super nice, Mom, and really pretty. She could be Aunt Nat’s twin; they look that much alike.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, and she taught me some ballet moves to take back to my class. Ms. Nadia says I should take jazz classes if I want to be on Broadway like her.”

“But, I thought you were…”

“She’s an amazing dancer, Mom. Dad said she can do all the moves from Swan Lake, like Aunt Nat. She said she would teach me those too.”

“Is your dad there?”

“No, Kate is with us.”

“Why? Where did he go?”

“He had to help Ms. Nadia get some stuff for her Black Widow costume. Guess what?”

“What?” She asked, not thrilled with this new information.

Why would Clint need to help the Black Widow dancer with her costume? The play had been running for almost a year.

“Kate got us Taylor Swift concert tickets!! A suite by all of the celebrities. And we get to take a huge purple, Hummer limousine. I can’t wait!”

“You guys are supposed to come home tomorrow.”

“Dad said we could stay a few more days to go to the concert and to the Hamptons with Kate and her friends. It's summer vacation, Mom.”

“I know.” Laura tried not to sound too disappointed.

This weekend was her and Clint's wedding anniversary. The children were supposed to go to their cousin's house to spend the night so she and Clint could have a romantic evening.

They hadn't had much alone time. Since his retirement, Clint had been keeping busy fixing up the house and visiting New York every couple of months to help Kate.

“Come on, please.” Lila begged.

“Lila! Where are you?” Clint hollered in the background.

“Daddy’s home!”

“Home?” Laura balked, but Lila ignored her.

“Dad! Talk to Mom. Shes using that voice when she doesn’t like something.”

“Why?” Clint came in and gave Lila a hug.

“I told her about staying a few days and she has that tone, as usual.” Lila handed the phone to him.

He covered the screen with his hand.

"I'll take care of it." Laura heard Clint whisper.

“Hey, hon.” Clint removed his hand and she saw him check on the boys.

“You’re staying longer?”

“Is that a problem?”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“When I got back here. Didn’t know the kids were going to call you.” Clint walked down a long hallway to a massive kitchen.

“I called, she emphasized the 'I', “ because you were supposed to call me at noon.”

“Kate, where’d we put the putty?” Clint hollered to his protege somewhere in the penthouse.

“Clint!” Laura yelled.

“What?”

She blew out a breath loudly.

“It’s only our anniversary this weekend.”

“Oh, yeah. Happy anniversary, babe.”

“No, this weekend…”

“I’ll send you some flowers and New York candy. The kids and I went to Dylan’s and went crazy.”

Kate came into the room.

“Tell Cooper to finish his game, we gotta go.” Clint said.

"Is that Nadia? Tell her our matching shirts for the concert came in"

“No, it’s Laura.”

“Oh, hi, Laura!” Kate stuck her face into frame and waved.

“Hi, Kate.” Laura tried to muster some enthusiasm.

“Cooper, get Nate and let's go!” Kate bounded out.

“Clint.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He finally looked into the phone. “What were you saying?”

“So, when are you coming home?”

“I changed the flights to Monday.”

“That’s almost another week.’

“It’s not like the kids have school.”

“I thought we could spend our anniversary together.”

“Seventeen years, it’s not one of the milestones.”

“That’s rude.”

“I mean,” he rolled his eyes, “our daughter has a once in a lifetime opportunity to see her favorite singer at Madison Square Garden in premium seats. For free. We could not afford to do this for her. Do you really want to make her come home so we can go to Applebee’s?”

“I guess not.”

“She’ll think you’re the best mom for letting her stay.”

“Well, let me talk to her one more time.”

“She’s already out the door with Kate and the boys.”

Laura didn’t hide her annoyance.

“I promise she’ll call you tomorrow. We have to go meet Nat and the others. Have a good time with your girls.” He set the phone down.

“What did you say?”

“Have a good time." He picked it back up but all Laura could see was walls. "I’ll tell the kids you miss them. Bye, hon.”

“Wait…”

He hung up.

Laura stared at her phone for a long moment before flinging it on the bed. She gathered up the little, black nightie she’d bought for this weekend and shoved it back in the bag.

find the whole series here....laura whump

[foreverchangingfandomsao3]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi Characters: CC-2224 | Cody, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious Additional Tags: Whumptober 2023, Whump, Hurt CC-2224 | Cody, Emotional Hurt, Umbara Arc (Star Wars: Clone Wars), Waxer's death means so much to Cody, CC-2224 | Cody Needs a Hug Series: Part 8 of Whumptober 2023 Summary:

After the battles on Umbara, Cody gets the list of the dead and one name makes him question everything.

My fill for whumptober day 8: No. 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.” Overcrowded ER | Outnumbered | “It’s all for nothing.”

[meetinginsamarra]

Whumptober Day 8 "It's all for nothing"

The adrenaline pumping in John’s veins made him fling his bad shoulder full force against the door and luckily it burst open at once.

Taking in the scene playing out in the hospital room, John was stopped short by having to witness a sight right out of his worst nightmare.

Culverton Smith was bent over the bed and Sherlock’s motionless form. His hands were still clutched firmly over Sherlock’s nose and mouth when he looked up at John, startled by the noise of the door slamming into the wall.

Smith’s face distorted into a vicious grimace. Furious of getting interrupted while doing what he enjoyed most. Killing anybody. Because it made him incredibly happy.

Pure unadulterated hatred swept over John. He was ready to fight, ready to kill the man who was attempting to kill Sherlock. But then he registered that the heart rate monitor was showing a flatline and all the pent-up energy suddenly evaporated while John’s heart forgot how to beat and froze into a rock of black icy fear.

The enormous shock of being made to watch Sherlock die again sent John swinging. Helplessly, blindly, he fumbled around to find something, anything to cling to and stop him from collapsing right on the spot.

Nonononoooooo!

It’s all been for nothing!

—

Please tell me if anybody wants to get tagged or untagged (just say it, I won’t get mad).

@helloliriels @calaisreno @7-percent @lisbeth-kk @inevitably-johnlocked @peageetibbs @gaylilsherlock @totallysilvergirl @alexisnoir @blogstandbygo @jobooksncoffee @missdeliadili @kabubsmagga @mary-johnlocked

[ragecndybars]

“Megumi afureru sei Maria,” she mumbled into the beads. Hail Mary, brimming full with grace. At this point, her own voice sounded foreign and faraway, as if it came from somewhere outside of herself, echoing back to her from the chapel rafters above. “Shu wa anata wo erabi, shukufuku shi…” Listlessly, her eyes flicked up to the statue at the head of the chapel. Mary’s glassy, supposedly benevolent gaze stared pitilessly out over the empty pews, her stone hands spread to appease an invisible crowd of their invisible worries, even as her foot ground down upon the carved neck of a serpent. That would be just like her, Saori thought, the nostalgia unbidden and bitter to the taste. Though, more likely, she would pick the snake up and dispose of it safely somewhere out of sight, where it wouldn’t scare anyone and no one would take its life, either. That was what she did whenever some student or other was shrieking over some spider or beetle they’d found tucked into a distant corner of the library. What she had done.

Fandom: Persona 3 Characters: Hasegawa Saori, Shiomi Kotone Relationships: SaoriHam Summary:

Brown in some lights; red in others. Both her hair and eyes were like that; they weren’t really the same color, but they both seemed to catch the sun and transform from wood to precious stones. Like well-polished mahogany beneath warm light, or rosy rooibos tea swirling in a china cup. Everything about her was like that. Had been like that.

Word Count: ~3,000 Notes: Persona 3 spoilers. Also I made myself sad lmao enjoy. Whumptober prompts used: No. 7: "Can you hear me?" No. 8: "It's all for nothing." No. 9: "You're a liar."

[secretwhumplair]

Alleyway

183 words | Sequel to You'll never make me

Prompt | No. 7: Alleyway & No. 8: “It’s all for nothing.” - @whumptober

Content | Escape, referenced: possession, murder

Notes | Ittle thing for the weekend lol

They didn’t really have any idea where they were going. It was, it turned out, getting late in the evening, darkness engulfing the streets. It was protecting them from view now, but how long could that go on? Surely they would be hunted, like the wild animal its attack had made them look like.

Their legs felt weak, whether from the days without use or the blood loss or both, and their whole body was aching, and they eventually found a cozy back alley to collapse in.

They couldn’t go on - they couldn’t go anywhere. They’d soon need something to eat and shelter and they had no idea how to go about getting these things without being seen.

Maybe they should turn themself in. Who knew what else it would do while on the loose?

Maybe they would have done better to stay where they were. At least they weren’t endangering anyone there. Well, except their captor.

They pressed a hand against their mouth, stifling a sob. All they had gotten out of this was another murder that would be blamed on them.

[off-brand-likes]

All for Nothing

Okay, I'm actually pretty happy with this one! It's set fairly soon after Kallus defects.

The Imperial officers at this outpost didn't really have the authority to interrogate Class One prisoners in their poorly organized basement/storage space. Since this lieutenant was questioning Kallus about rebel activity, he should've summoned a prisoner transport to take Kallus to the kind of core world facility the ISB preferred to work in. Instead, the lieutenant had decided to beat on his Class One prisoner like the amateur he was, for two hours so far.

Aside from the broken nose, which Kallus hated getting fixed, and the cut entirely too near major blood vessels in Kallus's arm, which was exactly why outpost personnel were not supposed to be interrogating class one prisoners, damn it, the interrogation had been more tedious than alarming. If the Empire knew anything dangerous about his mission to Barkhesh, then Lieutenant Tellme hadn't read the most recent reports. Another reason why outpost lieutenants--

A blow to his cheek snapped his head to the side so hard that Kallus greyed out for a second. It rocked the chair he was bound to, though not hard enough to knock it over. The lieutenant bellowed "Tell me what you were doing in the spaceport or I will begin cutting off pieces of you!"

Kallus rolled his head slowly back to face Lieutenant Tellme. Nothing wrong with his neck, but his cheekbone was probably cracked now, and his broken nose hurt worse than ever. "If you bleed me to death, the ISB will have you digging ore on Kessel this time next week."

While Lieutenant Tellme's face turned an interesting shade of red, and Kallus resigned himself to losing a few fingers to the bastard, the elevator that got people in and out of this basement opened to admit excited-looking aide. "We've caught another one!"

Kallus frowned. That hadn't been part of the plan. He was supposed to be holding Lieutenant Tellme's attention.

"Not one of ours." Kallus made an effort to sound more disgusted with these people than he already was.

Lieutenant Tellme raised a hand in a weak attempt to convince the aide not to announce any more interesting intelligence in front of the prisoner. He had his vibroblade out again, set against Kallus's little finger.

A finger which would not be easily replaced in a backalley clinic or the supply-strapped medbay on base. Kallus didn't have Imperial medical support anymore. Perhaps he should exercise some self-preservation.

Speaking slowly and in a tone Lieutenant Tellme must've thought was menacing, the lieutenant said, "Tell me who 'your people' are."

A worrying possibility occurred to Kallus. "Alright. Alright, I'll tell you." He listed some random names and threw "Jabba" into the mix. Just as he feared, that one startled a smile out of the aide jittering beside the elevator.

The vibroblade's low buzzing lifted away from Kallus's hand. He affected a sigh of relief.

"We'll be checking each of those. I believe you'll soon find that all your resistance was for nothing." 

Kallus couldn't help but feel proud of the way the lieutenant backed toward the elevator, well after he was out of kicking range, before turning to join the aide in meeting their next supposed victim. Kallus the traitor had built himself a reputation for danger that his Imperial self would've envied.

If the rebels needed Kallus free ahead of schedule, something must've gone wrong. And Kallus needed to get out of this chair before Ezra got himself hurt. He rocked the chair onto its side and kicked it apart. This was why the ISB designed special equipment for holding prisoners.

Now, to get to Ezra. The elevator security code wasn't even enabled, so that gave Kallus no trouble. These people were so indifferent to procedure that they might've already sold off his blaster. He hadn't seen it on Lieutenant Tellme's belt, anyway.

The elevator door opened. The lieutenant stood directly in front of it, which put him in perfect range for a punch. The aide holding Ezra's arm hadn't even bothered to draw his own weapon. Ezra, hands bound in front of him, stepped to the side to give Kallus room to punch the aide out out too.

"Aw, I had this whole thing where I'd hit them with the binders. They would've never seen it coming." Ezra's binders clanked onto the floor and he waved his free hands like he'd done a magic trick. His eyes focused on Kallus's injuries, a list to which Kallus could now add split and bleeding knuckles. Ezra's smile faded. "Looks like I got here just in time."

Kallus really would've missed that finger the lieutenant was moments from cutting off. He shuddered as he checked through the drawers, shelves, and boxes near the elevator, looking for his blaster and watching for troopers. "What's the emergency?"

"What?" Ezra asked from the elevator, where he'd taken the useful initiative of hiding the unconscious officers.

"What's gone wrong?" Ah ha, the lieutenant put Kallus's blaster in his own desk drawer. "What do you need my help with?"

"Nothing!" Ezra got the binder keys out of Lieutenant Tellme's pockets to unlock the two pairs dangling from Kallus's wrists. "We're running early. Hera's going to put it on her calendar as a galactic holiday when she finds out. So, we thought you'd want to..." Ezra was trying not to stare at Kallus's swollen nose and cheek. Kallus probably still had blood on his chin. "You know, not get tortured any more?"

"Oh." If there was no rush, then they could afford to be more cautious leaving this outpost. "It was fine. There was never any danger of that brute getting me to say anything useful." Kallus took the lead clearing their path to the exit.

"No, I mean--" Ezra ducked as the troopers outside finally realized they were under attack and started shooting. "We didn't want them to hurt you more than had to happen for the mission," Ezra shouted over his and Kallus's blaster fire.

Kallus spared a glance at Ezra to see if he was joking. He looked... Disturbed? Worried? Unsettled, anyway.

"I said it was fine." There was a lot happening just at the moment. Ezra must not've heard Kallus the first time.

They were past the outpost walls and halfway to their pickup point before it occurred to Kallus that Ezra might mean that he and the others didn't want Kallus hurt. They weren't doubting his ability to resist torture. They would simply prefer Kallus not get more injured than necessary.

Practical. Recovering agents weren't of any use in the field, and seeing evidence of torture damaged morale. Or...

Perhaps they didn't want their ally to be hurt, because... They valued the lack of pain that highly? They wanted every sentient on their side to be comfortable? The whole galaxy, once they'd won?

Wasn't that a strange possibility.

On the Ghost, Zeb had to nudge Kallus's arm with the end of the bacta canister to remind him to spray it on his injuries. He must've said something, too, but Kallus was still too stunned by this revelation about the rebels' philosophy to pay attention. What a wonderful galaxy these rebels were fighting to create.

[aquietwritingcorner]

It's All for Nothing

Title: It’s All for  Nothing Day: Whumptober 2023, Day 8 Prompt: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier” Overcrowded ER/Outnumbered/”It’s all for nothing.” Fandom:  Fullmetal Alchemist Word Count: 846  Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating:  T Characters:  Dr. Knox Warning: Ishval Summary: Dr. Knox didn’t just do autopsies in Ishval. Sometimes, when the casualties were high, he was called in to help with the wounded—something that, surprisingly, felt worse to him than the autopsies he did.    Notes:  NA AO3 || ff.net

It's All for Nothing

Even though his primary function in Ishval was to do autopsies, Knox still ended up pulled into the general hospital tents from time to time. And every time that he was, he hated it, because it meant that there were too many wounded, too many dead or dying for the regular doctors to handle. This time was no different.

Soldiers were everywhere. They surrounded the tents, sitting, laying or just collapsed all around with no clear end or boundary. Nurses and a doctor were already moving among them, triaging the soldiers as quickly and as best they could. It was a grisly job at the best of times. At times like these? It felt dehumanizing, in the sense that one couldn’t think about the wounded as people with lives and families, but only as a collection of tissues that may or may not be able to be knit back together.

Knox shook his head, breaking free of those thoughts for the moment. There was no way that all of these soldiers would be able to be seen. There were too many of them, and too many of them were wounded. Which commander was in charge of this? Then again, it didn’t really matter did it? Whichever commander it was, it was obvious that he didn’t care for his men.

“Cannon fodder,” he muttered under his breath as he waded into the fray, ignoring the pleadings of the people he passed.

The wounded outnumbered the doctors and nurses at least eight to one, if not more. At least one of the doctors and a team of nurses were out there, doing triage on the wounded, laying tags on them. Knox knew the system well. Reds would be taken first, followed by yellows. Greens wouldn’t be seen unless all of the reds and yellows were taken care of. Blacks wouldn’t be seen at all. They were as good as dead, if they weren’t already, and it was no use wasting resources on them.

It was a harsh, callous way of thinking, but it was necessary. Save who you could, and don’t waste on those you couldn’t.

Knox recognized the doctor who was doing the tirage, Dr. Fredricks. He was a fine surgeon, although a little too soft-hearted for his own good. Knox could see him wavering over some of the decisions that had to be made, could see how they pulled at him. Knox knew that he would do more good on the inside, where he could be saving people, not out here where he was condemning them. And with the way that the medical tent already looked overcrowded, they could definitely use a surgeon that knew his way around an operating room.

“What unit are these people from?” Knox asked as he approached.

Fredricks whipped his head up. “Fessler’s,” he said with a hint of anger in his voice. “They’re all under Fessler’s command.”

Fessler. Knox had heard of him. He was in it for the glory of war, for the mighty commands, and cared little to none about his men. Knox had no respect for him.

“Figures,” Knox said. He made a motion for the tags that Fredricks had. “Gimmie those.”

Fredricks blinked at him. “What?”

“I said, give me those,” Knox repeated, a little harshly. “You know the staff and the way things work in there,” Knox said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder towards the overflowing medical tent. “And I’m used to dealing with bodies. I’ll know who’s not going to make it.”

Fredricks looked a little shocked and taken aback at Knox’s callousness, but he handed over the tags, nonetheless. They both knew the truth and logic in Knox’s words, even if they were harsh. Fredricks paused, gave Knox a nod and then ran off towards the medical tent. Knox snorted, and then started looking around at the soldiers and the nurses.

“Alright,” he said. “I’m in charge of triage now. Don’t take your time! Assess, label, and move on. We don’t have time to coddle anyone!”

The nurses and the soldiers looked at him a little wide-eyed, but Knox didn’t care. He didn’t even care when her heard some of the things muttered about him. No, instead he focused on doing his job. There seemed to be an unending number of wounded coming in, clearly outnumbering the medical staff—and the mortally wounded outnumbering those that would survive. There was no time for Knox to care about his reputation.

And as he worked, placing black after black label on soldiers that he knew would not survive, all he could think was that this was all for nothing. Chances were these men’s sacrifices would be for nothing at all. Fessler would have killed all of these men, and the territory would just be retaken. Then the state alchemists would move in and retake the territory, and Knox would have fresh corpses to autopsy again.

Just like there would have been, even if Fessler had waited.

Which made these soldiers’ sacrifices all for nothing.

He grit his teeth and kept working. What a waste.

[hithertoundreamtof23]

Whumptober day 8

Prompt- "It's all for nothing"

Rated- G

Stephen deals with Clea's untimely death

Whumptober2023 masterlist

[callaeidae3]

Whumptober2023 Day 8/9: "İt's all for nothing" | "You're a liar"

A combined prompt for the last two days!

This is both Kyle and Minharh grieving their lost father-son relationship, lost through Minharh's own faked death.

For Kyle, it's a betrayal of trust, and five years of enduring and adapting to a life without his dad (and only friend).

For Minharh, he knew he'd have to reveal his identity to Kyle at some point, if the ever reunited. But Kyle saw through his lies first.

This scene would fall right after the end of Chapter 1 in The Deliverance of Kyle Kindall (KK3)

[kaesaaurelia]

pop quiz!

For @whumptober day 8, using the prompts “outnumbered,” “it's all for nothing," and the song prompt ("All These Things That I've Done" by The Killers).

Continued from Day 5, wherein Aziraphale returns to Earth, hoping some allies he's contacted will be able to help him, has a big fight with some archangels, and is horribly injured leaping in front of Crowley, who wasn't supposed to be there.

(Crowley's prior experience with Cerviel is something I wrote about in an ark of acacia wood in 2019, but you don't need to have read that.)

He could hear Crowley swearing and scrambling to get out of the passenger side door -- had he been hit? Aziraphale couldn't let any of this happen, but it already had, and oh, he was so stupid, so utterly stupid. At least they would die together, though he would have preferred if Crowley had lived, at least. He would have preferred if they both had lived. He wanted to see Crowley's eyes again, and tell Crowley how much he loved him, and to kiss him, and now he would never get to do any of that.

Crowley was shouting and Michael was closing in, now wielding her sword.  The only thought left in Aziraphale's mind was that he must do everything he could to incapacitate her or she might kill Crowley. He pushed himself forward along the spear, enduring the agony of it to lunge towards Michael, and with the last of his strength he grabbed her wrist and shoved the sword away from Crowley.  (Away from him, he would later realize; she hadn't actually been trying to get at Crowley at all.  Aziraphale was not sure he would have been able to muster the strength to save only himself.)  It cut a wide arc through the air in front of him, and though he was in great pain from the spear, the sword had miraculously missed him.

There was a brief, undignified struggle for the sword, but Aziraphale's complete lack of self-preservation and the borrowed strength of his Supreme Archangel's title won out in the end and he managed to grab the hilt before the sword fell out of Michael's grasp. Aziraphale swung wildly, trying more to keep his balance than to hurt Michael, but he sliced a streak of red upwards across her cheek.

"No!" she shouted and sank to her knees, feeling the wound, looking for all the world like some doom was upon her.

Aziraphale gripped the sword tightly and looked around for Crowley. His knees were giving out, but that was all right, actually, because the spear was supporting him, keeping him painfully upright.  He saw Crowley coming around the car now, and he wondered if perhaps he would have a chance to say goodbye after all.

"Oh god," said Crowley, forgetting himself for a moment, forgetting that he didn't swear to God, and Aziraphale had to smile. "Aziraphale. Fuck. We have to get you out of here," he said, putting an arm around Aziraphale so he could support him.

"Not so fast," said Uriel, and Crowley turned and hissed at her, as if that would help. He was such a dear, and Aziraphale hoped desperately that he would survive. "Looks like it will be me after all," they said, closing in on the two of them, their own sword drawn. Michael was clutching her face, but she was still alive, he thought, wasn't she? It wasn't even that bad of a wound.

"Angel, I'm sssorry, I -- I don't think I should pull the sssspear out, but," said Crowley, frantic and hissing and not paying nearly enough attention to Uriel.

Aziraphale forced himself to concentrate, forced his remaining blood into his brain so he could speak. "There's a book in my inside pocket," he whispered to Crowley. "Take it and run."

"I don't care about booksss, I care about you," Crowley snarled, and he was so angry, only he didn't understand, and Aziraphale wished he could explain it all.

"Please," said Aziraphale, "it's not -- it's --" He couldn't find words anymore, and after a moment of struggle, he gave up on consciousness.

--

"Back away and I might let you live, serpent," said Uriel.

Crowley had been panicking, but their threat gave him a sort of light-headed clarity: if Aziraphale died, Crowley did not give a single shit what happened to him anymore.  He knew he ought to, but he hadn't done what he ought to for a long time and he certainly wasn't starting now.

"Fuck off," he said, planting himself firmly in front of Aziraphale. "You don't ssscare me."

"Then why are you hissssing?" Uriel asked, with a sideways smile.

Crowley opened his mouth to say something very clever and found he had nothing.

"Are you still dealing with this idiot?" the Metatron said, staggering. "Just stab him and be done with it. Michael, I'm very disappointed in your performance today," he said to the other archangel, who was still on her knees on the ground, apparently in shock. This statement caused her to make the sort of growling sound he'd never heard come from a human throat before and dive towards the Metatron like a furious animal.  But the Metatron kicked her aside easily, as if she was not the Archangel Michael, as if she was not only not a threat, but not even a person. "Handle her, Uriel," he said, and as Uriel turned towards Michael, she struggled to her feet and fled. Had one little scratch with a sword really lost her all her standing?

"Crowley," said the Metatron. "Come now. We both know you're not brave. Stand aside."

Crowley did know that about himself, but he did not care. "Doessn't change the fact that I'm not moving. Go to Heaven."

"Oh, please," said the Metatron, rolling his eyes. "He must not be that important to you. If he was, you would have taken Heaven's offer.  Let us deal with our own internal discord and we'll pretend we didn't see you here."

Crowley gritted his teeth against the guilt. These mind games were so stupid when Aziraphale was behind him, bleeding out, and he wished he could sink fangs into the Metatron and watch him succumb to the agony of death by venom. 

He was gathering his thoughts for either something withering to say to the Metatron or a really stupid attempt to incapacitate him or maybe just a desperate, weak punch, when he heard an odd noise coming closer. Someone was running towards them, and when he turned to look at the newcomer, Crowley was very surprised to see who it was; he could not have guessed it in a million years, because he hadn't seen the fucker for -- well, all right, not a million years, but it had been several millennia.

The last time Crowley had encountered Cerviel, the angel had been serving as the Power of Jerusalem and he and Aziraphale and Dagon and Crowley had been involved in a very stupid scuffle over where the Ark of the Covenant was.  In the ensuing chaos Cerviel had apparently discorporated Aziraphale with his spear by accident while trying to deal with Crowley, and Crowley had taken offense to this, turned into a snake, and discorporated him right back by crushing him to death.  (Aziraphale had got better, although Crowley hadn't found out about that until about a decade later.)

Now Aziraphale had been speared on purpose, and he wasn't going to get better, and Cerviel, for some perplexing fucking reason, had come all the way from New York City just to murder Crowley while the Metatron watched, and it was all a horrible, nonsensical palindrome. Crowley had never expected the end of his life to be at the hands of some random Power, but there was nothing much he could do about it now except try to keep his dignity, so he gave Cerviel his least-impressed sneer.  "What do you want?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Cerviel said. "You can't just drive through a bunch of pedestrians like that."

This was a confusing note to start his imminent destruction on, and when Crowley hazarded a glance at the Metatron, he seemed just as confused.   It was a nice change of pace, at least.  He had to give Cerviel that.

"And you!" Cerviel said, rounding on the Metatron.  "Hold him up, I need the spear," he told Crowley, nodding at Aziraphale, and something in Crowley decided that he might as well, so he did.  Cerviel wrenched the spear free and pointed it at the Metatron, who looked very affronted, and Crowley guided Aziraphale gently to the ground to lean against one of the Bentley's front wheels.  He pressed his hands over the horrible wound in Aziraphale's chest to keep the blood in, because humans always seemed to do that in films, but he didn't know if it was helping, or if he dared use his demonic power to heal an angel on the verge of discorporation.  Aziraphale's breathing was weak and shuddering, and even though Crowley knew Aziraphale's body was only breathing for him out of habit, the fact that it was having such trouble doing so was concerning.

"Are you working with demons, Cerviel?" said the Metatron.  "Really?"

"Don't you even fucking start with me, asshole," said Cerviel.  "You've screwed me over so many times and I am sick of it.  And so are the rest of us."

This sounded like it was going to be a whole conversation, and Crowley decided he might as well at least get Aziraphale into the car.  Maybe he could somehow sneak away from the angelic confrontation.  In a large black vintage car that was right next to them.

As he was dragging Aziraphale into the car -- Aziraphale and the stupid sword he'd got from Michael, because he had a death grip on the thing -- it occurred to him that actually, probably this had something to do with the phone call he'd got earlier today, letting him know Aziraphale was likely to be returning to Earth.  It had been from Muriel at the bookshop, but they'd mentioned something about several Principalities being about, and they'd also said Crowley ought to be careful and come right to the bookshop without trying to rescue Aziraphale.  So perhaps Cerviel was on Aziraphale's side?

(Crowley hadn't done what he ought to in a very, very long time, and he loved Aziraphale too much not to rush to him like a fool.)

Aziraphale took a deep, wheezing breath.  "Crowley?" he asked, so quietly Crowley could barely hear him over Cerviel's enumerations of the indignities he had suffered at Heaven's hands.  "You --"  His chest rose and fell laboriously.  "...not supposed to be here."

"Well I am here," said Crowley, "sso that'ss jusst too bad, isn't it?"  He opened the back seat of the Bentley.

"...bleed all over your car," said Aziraphale, sounding like he was about to wink out of existence at any moment.

"Oh, it's not our car anymore?"  His tone was harsh but he was as gentle as possible moving Aziraphale into the backseat.  "Did I get it in the divorce?"  Aziraphale didn't look dismayed so much as confused, and Crowley couldn't tell if it was because he didn't know what divorce Crowley was talking about or because he hadn't quite heard what Crowley had said.

"Can I -- your face," said Aziraphale, haltingly, reaching down to squeeze his hand with the hand that wasn't clutching the sword.  "I want to see..."

"I'm right here, you can see my face perfectly well," said Crowley, irritably.

"Your eyes," said Aziraphale, sounding more alive than he had for the past few minutes.

Crowley found that he was tearing up, and the last thing he wanted to do was show anyone that.  But.  Ugh.  Fine.  He took off his sunglasses.  "There.  Are you happy?"  He tried to ignore the tears rolling down his cheeks, because they were ruining his whole aesthetic.

Aziraphale beamed.  "So happy," he said.  There was a lump in Crowley's throat and he didn't trust himself to speak, so he just... sort of propped Aziraphale up against the seat back and pretended the Bentley had always had seatbelts -- special ones with cushioning to keep from aggravating large chest wounds.  He shut the door and hurried to get back into the car on the driver's side, passing his hand quickly over the gaping hole where Michael's spear had got stuck.  He loved this car, but he hated how easy it was to heal when he hadn't been able to do anything about Aziraphale.

As he started the car, Cerviel was accusing the Metatron of being a "wannabe Wizard of Oz fucker," so that was fun.  Crowley began backing away, but Cerviel stopped the car by the simple expediency of sticking one hand in the window and yanking it forward without even turning away from his argument, so that was very rude, but then Crowley began listening.  "...just one question for you, Mr. I Talk to God and You Don't," said Cerviel, gesturing slightly alarmingly with Michael's spear.  "Where's the Ark of the Covenant?"

The Metatron looked very bored.  "Ah, well, of course it's in an undisclosed location, but rest assured, it is very secure and --"

"No, you don't understand, this is a pop quiz," said Cerviel.  "Where is it?  You get one guess."

The Metatron hesitated for just a moment, and then sighed and said, "You've hidden it in the desert in --"

"Wrong!" said Cerviel, gleefully.

The Metatron's face became furious.  "Where have you hidden it?  Where is it, Cerviel?"

"Right now, I don't know," said Cerviel, shrugging, "but if it's important, I'll make a few calls and find out.  Anyway, good talking to you, don't follow us, and maybe just go to Hell.  It's not like you're not collaborating with them anyway."  He sidled around the Bentley and got into the front passenger seat before Crowley had quite realized what was happening, but Crowley supposed he wasn't about to be murdered, so he stepped on the gas, bowling over several Archangels in the process.

[adzeisval]

It's all for nothing

Good morning, I have more whumptober, also on AO3.

Edward Teach hadn’t been a pirate for very long but he knew that for many it wasn’t a long career. Death was all around him. It was a good day if the people dying were on the ship they were raiding but that wasn’t always the case. 

Still, the majority of deaths happened on the other side. Captain Hornigold knew what he was doing and was king of the sea and his pirates were the best and they brought havoc and death to the ships they raided. 

But Hornigold wasn’t perfect. 

Edward was watching the raid. He wished he had been chosen to go on the raid but for some reason he didn’t quite understand Hornigold seemed to be mad at him. Edward sighed. He was so bored. Ed was contemplating making some excuse to board the merchant ship and help with the raid when said ship exploded. The air was filled with fire and smoke and screams.

Ed had been bored a moment before but now everything was chaos.

“Teach!” 

Edward looked back to see their surgeon, Thorn, yelling at him. 

“Wounded will be coming back, bring them below, the Captain and first mate first, don’t bring me anybody who is gonna die.” 

Edward nodded but how the hell was he supposed to know when someone was dying? He had a bad feeling that if he messed up he was going to get lashes for it. He’d concentrate on the first part to get Hornigold and Samuels to Thorn first. 

Dinghies of wounded men arrived at the ship. Edward looked for Hornigold and Samuels. Hornigold was hurt and being helped by Samuels so that took care of that. Most of the men coming back were walking on their own so Edward didn’t think any of them were dying. The ones who were truly dying had probably been left on the now sinking merchant ship. 

A few men collapsed in fits of coughing as they got on the ship. Edward wasn’t sure whether or not to help those men. He let them be until one caught his eye. It was the last dinghy and the last few wounded men returning. 

One of the men collapsed to the deck in a horrible sounding coughing fit. It was another one of Hornigold’s new men; Izzy Hands. A lot of people didn’t seem to like Izzy but Edward didn’t have a problem with him. Izzy didn’t seem to look down on him like some of the others on the ship. 

Edward went to Izzy. 

“Keep these coughers up here,” Thorn called out then disappeared back under. Well that was all Edward had to do with that then. 

Izzy had collapsed on the deck of the ship and was clearly having trouble breathing. He was trying to hold himself up but his arms were shaking. Edward sat down next to him and put his hand behind Izzy’s back to help him sit. Izzy coughed and gasped for air as he looked at Edward. 

“I’ve got you Izzy, just try to breathe.”  Edward tried to clean Izzy’s face a bit to get rid of the soot. He ran his hands over Izzy’s clothes to feel for any blood or injuries aside from the breathing issue. 

But the breathing issue was bad. Izzy was coughing so hard and long he could barely get any air into his lungs.  Edward didn’t know what to do; he didn’t know if there was anything he could do. He wanted to do something.

“I’m here Izzy,” Edward said. Izzy looked at him in the short time between coughs. Izzy’s eyes were wide in fear, red rimmed from the smoke, tears fell freely from his eyes. His skin was pale, his lips turning blue. When he wasn’t violently coughing he was trembling. 

Edward hadn’t been a pirate long but he had seen people die and…and it looked like Izzy might die. Edward looked up at the other’s who were coughing and he noticed that a couple of them had slumped over and…fuck…

Izzy whimpered and Ed realized the man had followed his gaze and had seen the dead men. Izzy clung to Edward. 

“I’ve got you, I know you’re scared and it hurts but just try to keep breathing Izzy,” Edward said, “I’m not going to leave you.” 

Time passed and Izzy kept breathing and after a while it seemed that he was coughing less. Instead he was wheezing and Ed didn’t know if it was better or worse. Izzy was also starting to go limp in his arms. Izzy was exhausting himself merely trying to breathe and Edward didn’t know how long he could last. 

Thorn emerged from below deck at last and started to treat the wounded on deck. Ed felt his temper rise that Thorn didn’t come to check on Izzy immediately. Couldn’t he see how fucked up Izzy was? 

Finally, finally Thorn came over.

Izzy was still breathing, but he was drifting in and out of consciousness. He was still pale but not quite as pale as he had first been. The fact that Izzy was still fighting made Ed hopeful. Thorn took a moment to listen to Izzy’s chest and sighed. 

“You should put him out of his misery, Teach. If he doesn’t die in the next few hours he’ll get a lung infection and be dead within a week.” 

“You…you’re sure?” 

“He’s going to die, Teach, and Captain isn’t going to like you wasting time taking care of him. Little bastard isn’t worth the resources. It’s all for nothing.” 

Thorn walked away without another word. Edward was devastated. He heard Izzy whimper again and he looked down. Izzy had been awake to hear Thorn. Izzy was crying. It…it wouldn’t be that difficult to kill Izzy. Ed could lay him down and cover his nose and mouth and suffocate him, it wouldn’t take much. 

He didn’t even have to set Izzy down. 

Ed put his hand over Izzy’s throat. Izzy’s labored  breathing grew faster. All Ed had to do was squeeze. Izzy wouldn’t be able to fight back, not with enough strength to stop Ed and…and Izzy was going to die anyway…

But…

Izzy was fighting so hard to stay alive. Ed moved his hand from Izzy’s throat and cupped his cheek. 

“Do you want to keep fighting Izzy?”

Izzy nodded.

“Alright. I’ll help you Izzy, I’ll do what I can,” Edward said. Izzy smiled. Edward carried Izzy below deck and set Izzy gently into his hammock. Luckily Edward slept nearby and he could keep an eye on Izzy. 

In the morning Hornigold came below deck and told everyone else to get out. Edward looked at Izzy and didn’t know if he could protect him or not. 

“You were told that Hands was going to die and to end it and you disobeyed orders,” Hornigold said. 

“Izzy’s still fighting, he’s doing much better,” Edward said. 

“You accept responsibility for him? You are going to take care of him?” Hornigold asked. 

“Yes Captain.” 

“If he dies, you’re getting five lashes for every day you waste, do you understand? That’s five from yesterday and five for today so far that’s ten lashes if he goes today. Five more for each day.” 

“I understand Captain.” 

Hornigold shook his head, “Very well Teach.” 

Edward looked at Izzy, still pale and still breathing noisily. He’d promised to take care of Izzy and he would. He had a feeling that Izzy was going to make it.

[therosefrontier]

No. 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.”

Overcrowded ER | Outnumbered | “It’s all for nothing.”

+++

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Characters: Bosacius, Boyang, plus mentioned Alatus (Xiao), Menogias, Indarius, Bonanus

Placement?: canon lore backstory, the Cataclysm

Word Count: 1538

+++

He did not remember much, but he knew enough to know that what he was doing was right.

He had been wandering the land without aim—he was not sure where he had been, only that he had no purpose for being there. He was drawn to this place by the sound and smell of battle. It pulled him, invigorated him. He saw a great Chasm in the earth, monsters spewing from it like a flood. An army stood before the gap and fought the monsters, held the line. He thought that he would join this army of humans, or perhaps, he thought nothing at all. He only did. He came down, and he fought. Fighting was right; fighting was what he was meant to do. With the battle, came bits of clarity. He had been a warrior, once. He was sure of this. He knew that it had been a long time ago, and that many years of Nothing lay in between, but he knew that these humans were his allies. It was right that he should fight with them.

He was a yaksha, and he had no name. He knew that he had one, once, but not anymore. No, no, that wasn’t right—he did not lose his name, he only forgot it. Those two things were not the same. He was a yaksha with a name, who was once called a name by others. No one could take his name from him. No one.

Many ages ago, a four-armed yaksha lay on a battlefield, covered in blood. He was a warrior, but he was not free. A god found him. Forced him to a purpose. Chains hung from every wrist. He was destined to be a sacrifice today, but he did not die. What should he do, since he did not die?

“Do you have a name?” a hooded figure, clad in Geo from neck to fingertips, reached out his hand.

To give a name was a dangerous thing. However, he did not have one. If he did, it was taken from him.

They called him “yaksha,” or the “four-armed yaksha,” or the “purple yaksha,” or the “nameless yaksha.” He was fine with this. He had no memories to share with them, only instinct. He would drive off these hoards, and he would protect this land.

Much of this army of humans would die, however. The hoards were unrelenting, just like the gods and their armies of many years before. He knew that he had fought gods before, although he didn’t remember when. He knew this must be a lot like those days, an army against an army, except that their enemies had no god to lead them, no direction, no purpose except to kill. That made them easier to kill, in turn. They were disorganized. However, they were also strong. Many humans were killed. The monsters outnumbered them, and with every human that died, they would outnumber them even more, screaming cries of bloodlust into the dark cavern and pushing relentlessly to the sky above. The monsters kept coming. So, he would stay. As long as this tired army was here, so would he. No, even if they weren’t here, he would be. This was what he should do.

“They keep coming…” a soldier spoke to his comrades, his eyes wide with horror even while they sat by the campfire in between waves, polearms close by their sides as they waited for the call that would tell them to get up and fight again, because the enemy was upon them. “What if we can’t make it? This could all be for nothing…they won’t stop until every one of us is dead…”

“What!? Don’t talk like that!” his comrade grew angry with him quickly.

“I don’t want that to happen! But we…we have to do something. Something different. If we just keep going like this…we won’t stop them. It’ll just be a waste.”

“We should follow orders,” another one said calmly. “Trust that they will know what to do.”

“But we need so much more… where’s Rex Lapis? He called us here, but shouldn’t he be here? He always fought by the Milleleth’s side in the past, hasn’t he? I wonder why he isn’t here now. Surely, this disaster is just as great as the Archon War…”

“We should trust Rex Lapis. I am sure that, wherever he is, he is fighting too. We’ve seen no enemy gods commanding this hoard, haven’t we? Perhaps, there is a reason for that. We should trust.”

The yaksha stood behind the group, and he listened. Rex Lapis…he knew this name. Yes, he knew it very well, he thinks. Rex Lapis was…someone very good. Yes, someone very good indeed.

The horn was sounded when the next wave came. The men put down their food and extinguished their fires, and they took to arms. The three men who he watched discuss their fears all similarly ran into the fray without restraint. Every one of them died, that day. It was a terrible battle. But, the line still stood.

“Bosacius! Ah, there you are!” Indarias ran up to him, a smile on her face in spite of her chiding words. “Menogias was looking for you. Also, why are you still walking around with open wounds like that? Tsk, tsk, tsk. I can hear Guizhong now. She’ll shove more of her healing herbs at you.”

“Oh, yes, I am fine. I was patrolling…”

“Nope! You’re taking a break!” She grabbed one of his hands, the bandages wrapped around her arm flexing as she did so. “Come on!”

As his wounds grew deeper, and as blood and miasma clouded his gaze, he heard laughter.

Bright words, full of vigor, would be heard from his friends. That’s right—he had friends once. Indarias, Menogias, Bonanus, Alatus… what were their names again? He was certain he could see them here. He would call out for them, because obviously, if he was fighting, then they would be fighting too. They were always together. But then, he would forget. He would forget who he was calling for. He would forget their names. He forgot his name, too.

He heard screams, and his heart would be saddened to hear the screams of his friends, too. They fought a long, bitter battle. It tore them little by little, killing them more and more every time, until it was the end. Yes, all things must end. Even them. The darkness was a great, swallowing thing, just like the Chasm.

He left someone behind. Soon, he became sure of it. But who?

They made a decision. The battle must be won, and to win, they must use the compass, and seal this place for good. Some would have to be trapped down there. It needed the power of a yaksha and a human, a thaumaturge…so of course, he would not hesitate to offer. They must win. They must make sure that the sacrifices were not all for nothing. They must fight, so their homeland may live.

(Or perhaps, he knew it was the end, anyways. He knew nothing but battle. Especially now, when he knew so little at all. He knew only blood, so how could he leave it?)

He remembered now. There was someone he left behind. Alatus. He was the youngest among them, the last to take Rex Lapis’s hand. He had suffered very much…but he remembered his laughter, too. His smile. It did not come often, but it was never unnoticed. Not to him. He was sorry to leave Alatus behind. But he had faith in him. He was still alive—he knew it. He would live. He would see Liyue when it was whole, and happy. This would not all be for nothing.

“Brother! Brother, please…don’t die before me.”

Boyang had family. The yaksha asked him about them. He missed them, and the yaksha understood. He had forgotten about Alatus and about the ones who died for a very, very long time, but it was clearer now, and he knew that he missed them.

His body was giving out. The pain hardly registered, simply because he was very used to this, or perhaps because his mind was too far gone to pay such a thing any mind. But right then, before the end…he remembered again.

Alatus, Indarias, Bonanus, Menogias. His friends…no, his family. He saw their shadows waiting for him, just on the other side. He remembered a million memories all at once, remembered that he was happiest with them by his side. Painful flashes struck his soul, making him think of their suffering and death, but mostly, he remembered how they lived. Talking and laughing by the fire, food cooked in the wilderness, seeing the mountains like he had never seen them before, lighthearted antics when the days were bright. He also remembered long days of recovery after a difficult fight, dark nights of mourning a comrade’s loss, difficult discussions when they or their nation had to deal with some trial ahead…but in that, too, they lived. Because they were together.

There was always going to be a tomorrow. And tomorrow was worth fighting for.

It would not all be for nothing.

“I am Bosacius!” he said out loud, vigor filling his lungs even as his form became weak. He could see them. Menogias, Indarias, Bonanus. They were waiting for him. “And my duty…is to make the ultimate sacrifice!”