#move onto the afterlife and now being stuck in the void

[korolation]

throws her at you

[whos-starr]

Risk (2/4)

Summary: She’s gone. Omega fell over the catwalk ramp, after shooting Hemlock herself. Hunter hardly knows what to do with himself. He failed her. Omega feels what death is like. Or…is it really even death?

Word count: 1003

Notes: part 2 of Risk! Go read pt 1 first to understand what’s going on (and if you want more sad). Also, if you would like to be on the tag list for pt3, reply or reblog letting me know!

Part 1

It was cold. Cold and painful. That was all Omega felt. Was this some sort of afterlife? Stuck in eternal suffering? She couldn’t see anything. Just an abyss of nothingness.

She felt something else now. Something through all the pain. It was faint, granted, but she felt it. The occasional drop of water on her face. Like rain. There was rain when she fell. How could she forget? Maybe that’s what death was like. A black void with nothing but small reminders of how it happened. Well, except for the pain. It was spiking throughout her entire body, lighting up every nerve. It hurt. It really did. It was strange, in all honesty. Omega had heard people say that death is when pain stops, that death is the escape. But here she was.

In pain.

Hunter walked through the thick jungle of Weyland, using his vibroknife to cut through any thick plants or vines. Previously, he had met up with Echo and Wrecker in the hangar of Mount Tantiss. After…what happened on the catwalk. Wrecker was badly hurt, so Echo took him and the rest of the clones they’d freed onto a shuttle. There hadn’t been many. Echo said there was a fight between them and the operatives. Not many made it out. Crosshair went with them as well. His hand, or where it used to be, needed treatment. And he couldn’t take much more. Between being back at Tantiss and…the catwalk, he needed rest. Hunter did, too. But he refused to take any. He needed to find her. He wouldn’t allow her body to rot away in the jungle of the place she hated most, especially with Hemlock. No, he needed to find her. And, even though he knew it was impossible, he had just a sliver of hope that she was alive. But hope was hope, and it was all he had.

He kept walking through the jungle, quietly as not to disturb any creatures that might be nearby. He remembered the giant creature that slashed at Wrecker, and how he hadn’t noticed it until it was too late. It was clear his senses were off. He needed to be on guard if he was going to make it through the jungle, or to find Omega, for that matter. He knew everyone was waiting on a shuttle to leave as soon as he got back. So he had to be careful, but quick. He didn’t want anyone staying here longer than they had to.

The pain hadn’t gone away. But Omega’s head had cleared up a little. It didn’t hurt as much now. She could feel something slipping away. But what exactly it was, she didn’t know. She was already dead. What did she have left to lose?

Death was uncomfortable. Omega wondered if she would have to be like this for the rest of eternity. In pain. In sorrow. Left alone with her thoughts.

She felt something new, now. Like movement. She felt what used to be her arm shift just a bit. Strange. It was the arm that was cuffed to Hemlock. She heard a noise. A groan of pain and discomfort. Something was wrong.

She wasn’t alone.

Hunter moved over a rock, careful not to slip. It was still raining, but not as hard as it had been. His movements were slow, his energy drained by all that had happened. He kept scanning the jungle for any sign of Omega. Anything. He needed to find her. He had been searching for hours now. Nothing. Hunter heard his comm device beep. He pressed a button on it to let the transmission through.

“Hunter, it’s Echo. The other clones here are getting restless. We have to leave.”

“I can’t. I haven’t found Omega.” Hunter heard Echo sigh through the device.

“Hunter. I…I’m sorry. I really am. But we both…we both know she’s gone.”

“Even so, she doesn’t deserve to rot away here.”

“Hunter, we have no other choice. We can’t stay here any longer. Besides, the Empire will be showing up soon to see what’s happened here.” Hunter stood in silence for a moment. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to leave Omega’s body somewhere in this jungle. But he knew what needed to be done.

“Alright. Heading back to the ship now.”

Omega felt the movement near her arm continue. It was strange. Could she feel such things in death? She heard another wince. And then something like…crying? It was a familiar voice. But not a good familiar. The crying stopped and Omega felt all movement stop. Whoever she was hearing had clearly noticed something. Now she felt like she was being dragged. Not a good thing, considering how much pain she was already in. She groaned and winced as she felt the pain get worse again. The movement stopped a second time.

“You’re alive.” She heard a voice say. Oh. That’s where she knew the voice. It was Hemlock’s voice. What was he saying? Was he talking about her? Was it really him? And how was she hearing any of this? She was supposed to be dead. So was he. Omega felt herself being moved again. The darkness around her began…fading away? She couldn’t properly see anything, but there was a ton of green and blue and white around her. She was turned by whoever was there, presumably the one with Hemlock’s voice, and saw a fuzzy silhouette in front of her. Her vision stabilized, and realized it was Hemlock. She gave a small gasp before coughing and feeling a sharp pain…everywhere. Everything hurt so bad. She blinked and looked around. She was in the jungle on Tantiss. Still cuffed to Hemlock. He looked at her with something like concern behind his eyes. He was clearly injured, burnt skin visible through his uniform on his shoulder. That must’ve been where Omega shot him. His arm looked broken. But, sadly, not the one attached to Omega. He was here. With her.

And both of them were alive.

Part 3 Part 4

[blakeripples]

Fuck it, random Iorerant facts.

Iorerant (pronounced Ee-YOR-err-ent) is meant to be a refugee world! Hesper created it in order to give others the shelter and peace that she felt when she fled her original universe with her father and uncle. (Fandom characters and OC's will be allowed in the server!)

As a rather newer deity (Iorerant has only been around for 15,000 years, after all! Most deities exist for millions of years- or even more!) Hesper is constantly figuring things out. She doesn't get that she's not just supposed to shape up everything to everyone's liking- well, with Iorerant, at least. She learned her lesson in other worlds she made, which I will talk about another time!

The Abyssal Void, which I mentioned once before, is Hesper's pocket dimension! She keeps tab of her worlds here and can summon any beings she wishes to come see her. There's species created by her that either are sent out to do Hesper's bidding or found a way to slip out through said sending out.

Iorerant is built up on a bit of a code, in a sense. This code is unstable due to the constant changes Hesper's gone through, and while some may think she's given up on it she's trying to fix it to no avail. New god problems, you know!

She appointed Hesper-knows-how-many beings as deities, most who either died due to lack of belief or the 5,000-Year War. There's only 16 now, counting the Divine Deity (the God/Goddess of Creation, which carries out Hesper's will). These gods take up domain in the Realm of Lustrous Constellations, and fallen gods are cursed to roam the Realm of the Onyx Moon for the rest of their days.

The border between the afterlives is not that simple. There's a winding staircase leading from the RoLC all the way down to the RotOM- you can go down, but you can't go up. Good luck getting back to the good afterlife! (For now, this is called The Mist until I get a better name. Suggestions are welcome!)

And here's some non-lore facts!

This world turns 9 in September!

Iorerant is meant to be a collaborative effort- to reflect Hesper's changes, people can come and go and add onto Iorerant's lore!

The biggest changes have been impacted by Warriors.

So far, there's still 5 founders that stuck around! Some of them aren't actively participating as much, but that's fine!

Werefauna, which were originally called shifters, existed all throughout this and used to have Pokemon moves. That was fixed with the introduction of elements and sub-elements.

[simpingwriter]

Cal Kestis x Kyra Yarmot

'Revenge and Redemption

In the Name of Love'

Pt.1

___________________

Ayo, we are BACK! Also...it was probably obvious by how I painted everything, but yeah...Kyra isn't dead. Yet. 👀

Thanks to everyone who voted for the second book in the last week, I will try my best to not disappoint.

But, to balance out my other hobbies and the few hours of freetime I have, I probably won't post new chapters as quick as for the first book, depending on how easy the chapters write themselves. After all there is a new Star Wars game to play- (and I finally need to finish Fallen Order...)

Enough talk, here is the as always boring introduction chapter featuring a new side character!

Enjoy! :)

Word Count: approx. 3.650 Words

(Also, in case you haven't read the first book yet, here you can read from the beginning of it.)

___________________

You still felt the cracking and twisting of your neck, your spine being bent in ways that shouldn't be possible, even for you…and you remember the last words you heard before…before…

You died.

Or…at least you were pretty sure you were dead, as you slowly felt some light fall into the void you had been stuck motionless in for almost an eternity now, only your vast amounts of past mistakes and the same memories as always left for you to ponder over and over again as you were sure this was the end. The light had to be the afterlife, right?

You didn't want to leave Cal and BD like this…no, not yet…

This is too early…

But the light grew stronger, despite your protests and groveling.

Ever stronger. 

And now you were able to blink- wait, pause. You weren't able to blink in the void before, neither had you been able to move-

"Kyra?! She...she moved her hands! Quick!"

That voice…that's…that's-

"C-cal…" you groan, the name rolling from your tongue instinctively, the bright lights continuing to blind you as you regain full control over your eyelids – feeling the sleep crust stuck at your eyelashes – trying to adjust to the light…of this room. This wasn't death.

This is an infirmary.

"I'm here, Kyra, i'm here... I won't leave your side, never again!" Cal sat at your bed side, visibly exhausted with dark, sunked rings under his eyes and his hair not having seen a comb or brush for a good while now, holding onto your free right hand as his golden eyes filled with more than just worry, relief and joy. You never expected to see such emotions in these types of eyes…

These weren't just anyone's eyes though, those are Cal's eyes, no matter if they were still green or now golden and the slightest bit of red, they had never lost the warmth familiar to them. Of anything, they looked more emotional than before. He no longer had to hide his feelings from himself...

And the connection you two had…had it been tethered the whole time, had he been able to see and hear what you did? If yes, why couldn't you see his thoughts while…in a coma, you guessed?

Cal had just opened his mouth to respond when a woman dressed like a doctor nearly ran into the room, partially sliding to an abrupt stop as she looked into your eyes. Dressed like a doctor, probably is a doctor. Instead of continuing his own explanation, he can't help but chuckle lightly at your unfiltered thoughts about the woman that just came in, shaking his head in disbelief, "You don't know how glad I am that the fall didn't change you…"

Change you? Because you struck your head? Well, it's probably a very viable risk you had, you had read about amnesia and whole personalities changing after heavy head trauma-

"I came as soon as I heard your shout from the hall down, Eleventh Brother!" The older, quite energetic doctor rambled, staring at you in awe and odd wonder. Like a child seeing a Wookie for the first time.

Never seen a drago-…no…no, probably not.

"You can't believe how long I have waited for such a moment, ever after I read the old research pa-" "Dr. Puloria…" Cal, unfamiliarly cold, snaps her back to reality as her eyes widen from…fear? Or just Respect?

And did she just call him Eleventh Brother?

So, it's official…he really became an Inquisitor. But you knew that for longer now, finding out about his new "nickname" clearly just caught you off guard. You came with him knowing what would happen…and after all these things you saw on the Mantis, some too gruesome that even BD begged you to not watch any further? 

You're ready to join his side, fully and determined.

"Right, right, I am so sorry. We can continue about this when you're well rested and on the next routine check-up …okay. How do you feel, darling?" The doctor calmed herself down significantly after Cal called out her behavior, evidently needing to take a deep breath twice before she could return to a normal tone with you. What made you that interesting to her? In the end, you're just another girl in this wide-spread Galaxy. She did almost mention research papers when Cal…the Eleventh Brother…stopped her from rambling on any further. To be honest, it grabbed your attention more than it probably should right after waking up from a coma of unknown lenght.

You next realized how dried out your throat was at that moment, watching 'Dr. Puloria' look for a folder on the messy desk at the wall. Well, as good as you could look in your apparent condition, every rash and quick movement with your neck stung like a thousand microscopic vibro-blades and soon you just gave up trying to force the pain away, sticking to turning your head as slow as possible, but even that ended up being too exhausting.

Slumping back against the pillow, you feel Cal caress your unusually pale hand gently, like he could accidentally hurt you even more with the wrong touch. "Your neck took quite a hit…the Doctor said you're lucky to be naturally armored at so many parts of your body, as it saved you from getting paralyzed neck down." He laments, bringing attention to the offending and immensely obstructing object around your neck. You remember one of your assigned Clones once had to wear one of these, it stabilizes the wearer's neck until it can carry its own weight again without causing more damage or pain and the injury has healed.

Accepting your current fate, for now, you ask Cal if he could please find a glass of water for you, that your throat felt like you had swallowed a bucket of burning, coarse sand. Something he didn't even have to answer with a nod or words as he jumped to his feet and began looking for a glass and leaving the room, returning in under a minute.

"Here. Drink as many as you think you'll need, the Doctor prepared me for the moment you would hopefully wake up, so I know by now where most necessities should be..." 

So caring…and loving. You missed your Cal, missed his kind and understanding nature. Your perfect mate.

You were so…afraid, of losing this light forever. Your light, that became everything you needed and wanted in such a short and unexpected time. All because you met in the right circumstances and you were both in desperate for affection, something nobody cared for in either of you for way too long at that point. And now, for you, it's eternal. You just hoped you would never end up boring him…because you aren't his mate. Humans don't have just one mate by nature, they didn't get bound to one another like you did...

"You're overthinking again…you would never bore me, dragonfly…" And you missed your nickname, only ever used by him, rolling off his tongue.

From the corner of your vision, you saw Dr. Puloria listening along very clearly, at some points even forgetting to look more for the folder instead, which in turn called her out to you. She really was interested in…you, or it seemed like that to you at least.

"Cal, can I get another one, pretty please?" You ask sweetly, holding out your glass, the puppy eyes very much unnecessary as he had already gone to fetch you a fresh glass of water. He would do anything just to know you're not in any more unneeded pain.

This was the fourth now. But you were sure that one would then be enough for now, feeling your throat being hydrated once more, not the grizzly dryness from before. Now you were just extremely thirsty.

Just as quickly as the other three times, the completely dressed in black – and some red accents – Boy returned, his eyes kept trained on you the whole time, afraid you could fall back out of consciousness if he didn't for some reason. But you wouldn't go anywhere, you're staying right here with him, at his side and his warmth.

"I was so scared…I never felt so out of control in the air..." you didn't even plan to say that, it just…slipped out, Cal grimacing at your wounded words, "Me too, I thought- I mean…there, there was so much blood, Trilla said that you were a lost cause, but I just couldn't leave you to die…all, all alone, nobody at your side…not after the things you told me, about the things you witnessed yourself."

The image he had to have seen flooded your thoughts, something you weren't sure if he even knew he let you see through your connection. He was right, there was a lot of blood. So much purple on the sharp rocks that stopped your fall…and…oh- oh no…

Your seemingly lifeless body was forgotten by you as you saw something else lie close to you, broken limps scattered and sparks coming from the ripped cables and broken optics, was BD. He…he didn't make the fall. And you began to remember that he slipped from your weakened grasp at that moment. 

He trusted you, to keep him safe. He jumped for you…

And you couldn't keep even BD safe…

"BD…" you mumble, a stray tear on your scales wiped away by Cal as he realized with panic what you saw, first apologizing for forgetting how open the thoughts of yours were to each other if you didn't restrict them or similar. "He…I took him with me. I couldn't leave him either way, he had been my companion for this whole journey, he risked his memories for my stupid waste of a journey …"

You know exactly how it feels, to lose even the smallest size of a friend…it hurts no less than the other full sized ones. Maybe even more since they clearly were depending on you keeping them safe. It was your own failure that took your own former companion from you…just like with BD.

But BD…you saw a sliver of hope for him. Unlike with the little green blob you were grateful to have called your friend once upon a time, BD is fixable. His bones aren't unfixable, there was no blood to lose and no skin to tear.

Would you ever be able to scrub that image from your mind, or at least...learn to deal with the fact that it happened?

Just as Cal is about to ask you about the friend you meant, he is once again interrupted by the Doctor, a bitter pout wandering onto his expression as he sighs. 

Later, Cal, later…

"So, well, first of all, I should inform you of your current whereabouts. You're on Nur, the Moon of Mustafar. I hope to the dear makers you're not claustrophobic, because we are 90% underwater in this base." Nur…you remember the name, you once passed through the Mustafar System with a different Jedi Master you found trying to "hide" out. Quite insulting to your actual attempt trying to hide from the Empire when he was just two planets off of Coruscant, trying to drink himself into his own Coma.

You knew that man well from your former time at the Temple, sometimes having been the substitute for when your actual Master was needed by the Council for a meeting. You also knew he once had a Padawan of his own, one you never had the pleasure to meet…but to hear the various stories and adventures of the two. The good and the bad, all while his said former Master got wasted beyond the stars...

Master Tegra never let you meet the other Padawan as he was afraid of you getting rejected once more, like usual. He never told you out right, but it was so obvious it sometimes hurt more than the possible rejections from your peers. He didn't want you to get rejected left and right because it would lead to frustration. And frustration was an entrance path to getting on the wrong side of the force.

Worked out very well for you, old man…

You were long gone…how long? Maybe already before Cal lost his way, maybe on that or that planet a few years ago…but you never fully realized when you began to lose the balance Master Tegra taught you feverishly. Your course changed so subtly, not even you noticed until it was too late to really ever return...

The doctor continued reading the folder for you, pointing out some of the minor injuries that healed while you had been bound to the bed…for how long were you even unconscious? Days? Weeks?...Months?

"Okay, that list being done, let's continue to the two that still have to take their time to heal, the ones you have to be careful with to not worsen them once I release you from the Infirmary tomorrow." You would be getting released already tomorrow? That sounds too good to be true, you absolutely hated Doctors. Well, not the people. But having to go to their office…back in the Temple you remember clinging to door frames with all your four claws, sometimes even utilizing your fangs, your Clones trying in groups of five to tear you off the said frames because you were up for the monthly blood tests.

You were nearly fearless, but needles…oh nononono. Not needles. You didn't even know why you had that particular fear in the first place, as the needles they used didn't even hurt on your skin. Some weren't even strong enough to penetrate deep enough at your normal skin, it also being tougher than your average human's skin.

"First off, your neck injury. It was heavy blunt trauma, it shook your spine up a bit, to say it in layman's terms. But nothing some position correction couldn't fix. You're getting the neck brace taken off in two days by the way, as you're healing very well. I account that to your heightened immune system of your species." Right, a neck brace, that's what they were called…you already felt bad for the Clone back then, but wearing one yourself felt like a tiny prison, even drinking your karking water just now had been a struggle. 

"And secondly, the only thing you will need to be careful of for a while…your wing. I bonded the torn membrane with advanced bacta patches, to draw them together and let them heal and scar naturally."

Right…

She cut your wing…she took what made you who you are. She is the reason you're here today, stuck in an infirmary bed.

The reason you woul-

"Relax, Kyra, you'll be having all the time in the Galaxy to think about your revenge…but you need to get better first." You hated it when Cal was your only voice of reason – now not even BD was here anymore to encourage your chaotic thoughts, just for fun and to see what would happen – of all possibilities, it had to be the boy that chose the Empire of all places as your safest choice. 

"I heard that." "Good." You already back in the next breath, giving him the first snarky smile since a while now again before your attention went to the odd feeling behind you, something you noticed just now only.

It's gauze wrapped around your entire wing…how did they manage that and just how much gauze did they waste on that?

Did they really think some weirdly advanced bacta patch of all things the medical field had to karking offer, could fix your wing? Such injuries have crippled your ancestors for life, why would you be any different! 

You…you would never fly again, you would never be able to feel the breeze on your face and scales once more…

No more were you a proud drago-

"The gauze I will take off tomorrow morning, don't worry about that restricting feeling as of now, it is only there in case you thrash in your sleep or subconsciously tried stretching your wing in your unconscious state." That- That wasn't the problem…the problem was that something so important couldn't be just fixed by slapping a karking bacta patch on it, hoping it would magically heal like they did with every other wound…

Never could you take Cal…or BD, for flights again, all your worth your body had, cut apart like cheap paper, by your own Lightsaber…insult to injury.

"We can do nothing else but try, Kyra. And I trust Dr. Puloria. She is maybe a bit too energetic and a bit hectic sometimes, but she does great work!" At the 'energetic and hectic' part, the white haired woman pulls her eyebrows up in question before chuckling, "Yeah, I might need to drink a bit less Caf before my shifts. But you need to understand, it's really hard to stay awake without it in a job like mine. Doctors and Nurses need to be up almost 24/7, especially when your understaffed." That had also been a common problem at the Temple, but they let their patients feel their exhaustion…they were rude and rough with you, hoping to be done with you as soon as possible. 

And then people really had the audacity to wonder why you tried avoiding their offices as much as possible. Not only to not be forced to get treated like that as well, but also with a small thought in the back of your head: If they had at least one less patient…would it lift some of their work off their shoulders?

Your stomach suddenly intervened your thoughts, gurgling loudly in protest. It had to have been empty all this time, the…ugh…needle in the back of your hand – however they managed to penetrate through the scales of all possible places – probably part of some bag with a mineral and vitamin liquid to keep you from becoming too malnourished while you couldn't eat. Cal reacted the quickest at the foreign, strange noise, his unoccupied hand going to look and search through the pockets at the back of his uniform's pants. It proudly returned with a bar somewhat the length of his palm, wrapped in matt black plastic, which he immediately went to unwrap for you.

'Energy Bar - Imperial Ration #28907ENB' it simply read…minimal design, you liked that. 

At the sight of the small Energy Bar, the Doctor sighs in some distinct type of disappointment, "Eleventh Brother, an Energy Bar like that, basically nothing but sugar for said Energy, is not going to make her any less hungry…this is for training, so keep it for that. Eat that yourself, I will get her something different, more nutritious in the meantime…"

Makers, you hated Doctors and their sense of needing to be correct all the time sometimes.

Pouting, both of you, you wait for her to leave the darkly colored yet incredibly bright room. Then, Cal went to break the bar in half anyways. "Here, at least take a bit of it while she's out…" For an Energy Bar made for and probably by the Empire, it did look karking delicious. But that could also be just your stomach thinking and making decisions for you.

"Then you'll also get a culinary taste of what awaits you, I guess?" What awaits you in the first place? You didn't care in the end, you would be ready for anything if it is at his side again…you would've even continued suffering on the Mantis, if he had decided to stay.

"You know I eat absolutely everything." You return with the same tired and a bit loopy smile as before. The needle was feeding you more than just vitamins and minerals, definitely.

"Which speaks even more against Greez's cooking, not even you brought every meal down…"

While Greez wasn't exactly bad at cooking…he was definitely a niche chef, as you would call it. He had certain ingredients he was able to cook well with and others, oh well, they were a lost cause in his four hands…

Fortunately you no longer had to witness that daily disaster. "You want to eat your half yourself or can I…" "Yes, you can…you forgot that I can hear your thoughts too?"

He looked just a bit stunned before he shook his head sheepishly, coming closer to your already slightly open mouth with the Energy Bar. "Please don't bite my finger, I know you're hungry- Ow." 

Now you just had to do it, for the simple fact that he really thought you would eat his hand. But you bit him only very gently, his 'ow.' ending up to be more playful than anything else as he pulls the baked and glazed bar away again, "What did I just say? You're a bad girl."

A- a w-what...

The second attempt, you kept your sharp fangs to yourself and finally also ended up getting the food he promised you, chewing satisfied on the still slightly crunchy cereals and fruits it contained. It really tasted as good as it looked, maybe favorite snack worthy…

No, that was Cal-

"I heard that one too." "Ah good, I was worried for a moment it didn't reach you-" another snarky moment of yours was cut short when you felt his soft and as always needy lips on yours, a low moan growing in his throat as you melted back together. As surprising as this came right now, you waited for him to finally claim you once more.

You remember the final, burning feelings of regret as you fell back down to the planet, how you regretted not kissing Cal when you had found him again in the mountains after all these months, that you wished you had just gone with your guts and kissed him then and there.

That you would've just believed him and Trilla instead of having to investigate yourself, but anyone would've done the same thing after having been fed these lies by the Republic all their life…

Just as he deepened the kiss, becoming rougher with his lips, feeling his tongue ask for entrance and his hands starting to carefully as possible cradle your injured head, you both heard someone clear their throat. Dr. Puloria…

"She is supposed to eat food, not your face, Eleventh Brother. Same accounts for you." 

He jumps off of you instantly, face burning as bright red as your fire as his hands had been quite obviously been caught in the cookie jar. Was…was it still forbidden for you two? Did you still have to hide your relationships and feelings for each other?

Cal heard your thoughts perfectly, you knew that and still he kept his mouth shut this time as the Doctor placed a tablet with two plates onto a bed-table for you. "Usually I would have a Droid helping me with these tablets, but that stupid thing broke down two days a-" she stops rambling to mostly herself at this point when she realizes that neither of you two had really listened to her, eyes going from you to him and back to you.

"Right…The Eleventh Brother has been "vaguely" hinting at you two being…more than friends. And apparently no one has bothered to tell him in his three, nearly four, months here that relationships aren't forbidden. But it is kind of awkward running into two people just kissing…"

That does explain her odd reaction...

That also means though you're wrong with your earlier fearful assumption, you no longer have to hide your relationship…you can finally live your life, even if it meant being on the apparently bad side of this intergalactic war…

This was the moment Cal always talked about, wasn't it? About having to be selfish at some point for one's own happiness instead of constantly watching out for others. A teaching only oneself can learn, as no Jedi was taught that piece of advice. If anything, showing selfishness was also forbidden, like many other freedoms that made up living life as a whole.

Did the Jedi ever truly live life to their fullest?

Surprisingly, it had been a dark question plaguing your mind even as a youngling and Padawan already – just that it was more innocent in nature back then – watching the idle lives of the other Jedi Knights, Master and fellow Padawans pass by without any memorable moments seemingly sticking to them. At least, they never openly showed them to their kin. Everyone would think they're getting attached…and then…well, you didn't know what they did to punish them. Even though your own Master was part of that same Council, he was very tight lipped about what happened beyond these ominous, big doors.

While they followed their boring daily routines, you had a huge amount of natural curiosity that often led to you ending up in trouble, usually saved by your Clone Troops. They had covered for you so many times…if you had been just a bit better behaved- No…it's in the past now, there…there was nothing that could bring Zeta and the rest back to you…nothing.

The scars of that day at last began their healing when Cal abruptly fell into your life, something you still like to describe as a punch to the face from just how sudden it was, the frequent small little conversation you shared ever since the night on that Bardottan Market and at that small lake helping not just with your emotional healing.

"But that's part of a matter that isn't my expertise. I just make sure none of you bleeds out, dies of poisoning or gets an infection…well, and annual check ups."

Kark no, not check ups.

"Here, you should eat now. Afterwards, you should rest up – and no more funny business – you're supposed to speak to the Grand Inquisitor tomorrow noon after I officially released you and we just can't have you looking even more mentally out of it than you're already." She hands you a pair of metal cutlery before turning around to leave, "And Eleventh Brother, you should be rested for tomorrow's hearing as well. Do both of you a favor and sleep at your room tonight."

With that, she left the room once again, which – taken from her overall tone – probably the last time you saw her for today as Cal silently agreed with a nod. But you could hear the growing wish to protest against her, that he wanted to stay at your side even now that you're awake. Especially now…he had waited so long for you to wake up again.

Actually, thinking about that, you hadn't even had the thought to ask about how long you had been unconscious for-

"Four weeks…you were in a coma for four whole weeks, that's why most of your wounds have healed by now." 

Four weeks…of wasted time.

Time you could've used to plan your revenge.

Meaning you had to push even harder than probably expected of you, you needed to get back on your feet as soon as possible.

They would all regret treating you in such ways…they would get to see what happens if you keep pushing...and pushing a person, until they had to figuratively and literally jump over the edge...

Today, we write about the day the Galaxy gained another Sith...

___________________

[dianneowen]

Hotel California

I've always asked myself where am I going after I die. Heaven seemed like a boring place, with its protective angels and innocent souls. But at the same time, Hell sounded too harsh; it's not like I was planning on bombing someone in this lifetime.

Then, on an unexpected evening, I found out the answer to my question.

You see, whatever god is out there has decided to get rid of me at the age of twenty-seven; a bit too late if you ask me. I got dragged out of my body, forced to see my friends mourning their now-lost companion prior to being sucked into this void. For a minute, or maybe a century, I felt absolutely nothing. No peace, no sadness, no melancholy, no anger, nothing.

Then I woke up standing in front of a large river, where a man covered by a cloak and its hood was waiting for me, onto his boat. He demanded a form of paying, so I gave him my least expensive ring. We travelled down the river for a while, and I finally had the time to scan my surroundings.

On the right, an endless field was extending itself. Numerous eyeless souls were wandering or picking up the weeds as if searching for something. On the left, segregated people were wailing and screaming, beging to be set free.

'They have no form of payment with them. They left the Earth with no object to their name,' the man told me in a whispered tone.

I tried to feel at least a bit of empathy for them, but I quickly found out that emotions in this realm did not exist. That's why these people still felt anger, because they weren't completely dead.

Eventually, we arrived at this neon, thirteen-floor building, decorated like those expensive hotels, designed for well-payed figures. Once I left the boat, the man gave me one final look and left. When I entered the hotel, my eyes were blinded by the overly shining chandeliers and the white, reflecting walls. I walked to the receptionist, wanting to ask about my room.

'Hey. I believe I have a-'

'A new guest! Name, please!'

'Kindell Juntaro.'

'Hmm...Ah, yes. Your room is 2002, on the thirteenth floor!'

The only way to get there was by the elevator. I noticed that it had no button to press; the thing closed by itself, transporting me as fast as I could blink.

I found my room relatively easy despite the halls being tall and wide and very confusing. My room was the exact copy of the first apartment where my friends and I moved in, and also the one where that little whore decided to abandon me...

Due to my lack of sleep and interest, I decided to wander the halls of my floor, hoping to find something interesting to do. I saw many souls passing by me without any wish to strike a conversation, as if I was any better at doing it... Everyone looked dread and sucked dry of their energy. Was I looking the same?

I tried to find the elevator, wishing to explore the rest of the hotel, but my searching was unsuccessful. The only place I was able to find was the hall that took to my room. Looks like I'm stuck in here forever...

I, once considered the greatest drummer of my generation, one of the most beloved and talented musicians of the 21st century, quickly became a no one in the afterlife. No one recognised me, no one wanted me to perform, no one was interested by my previous life. Now, all that's left is the miserable remain of a man who once had the world in his hands...

Where are you now, my beloved friends? Where have the winds taken you to?

[jimlingss]

Moirai [1]

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

➜ Words: 5.8k

➜ Genres: 60% Fluff, 40% Angst, Isekai!AU

➜ Summary: Death is supposed to be the end. Or at least that's what you assumed when you're hit by a TRUCK. But the moment you open your eyes again, instead of being sent to the afterlife, you've become a baby. And not just any baby. You're the female villain of a video game.

➜ Notes: Isekai is a popular manga and light novel genre in which characters from Earth are transported into a new world.

This is the end.   “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”   The Prince stands tall, the very furrow of his brows jarring against the cold, cordial expression he maintains — the one she had always tried to shatter. All she desired was something other than courtesy. If not affection then frustration or misery. But she supposes that anger suffices.   Anger. The first time he’s ever looked at her with an ounce of any true feeling.   His shadow looms over her, his status powerful as the countless eyes are narrowed in around her — he is as powerful as the people who stand behind him. Every word he speaks booms through the ballroom, a grand timbre that has long replaced the mellifluous violins.    The Prince is as noble as he is righteous. He is the hero of this story.   “You choose to answer your crimes with silence?!”   The corner of her lips curl and cackles rasp from her throat. The noise is discordant and shrill, a mocking irony when it causes him to pull the woman in his arms closer. Even when she’s in this position, downcast head, knees burnt on the carpet, all she does is drive them closer together.   “The only sins I have ever committed was loving you until my last breath.”   “Guards!”   Murmurs spark across the room and the knights armour clank as they approach in heavy steps. She knows these are the last moments. “The only crime I have is looking out for the empire! But you chose her.” She looks upon the girl he holds, the one who has the same contempt on her visage. And as the knights rip her away from her place, she spits venom-laced words, “A lowly baron’s adopted daughter to make your wife. I am the duke’s daughter. I am educated. I am your fiancée—”   “No longer.” He condemns, “You have committed treason. Conspiracy against the crown. Attempted murder. Forgery. Harassment. Using your status to oppress the vulnerable—”   “Let go of me!” she shrieks as the guards drag her down the room. It’s undignified. Degrading.   “—Daring to entangle yourself with the dark arts. And you will answer to these crimes whether you choose to confess or not.”    “Let go of me!” she struggles, yet no one chooses to hear.    Their eyes have pierced into her, those who aren’t scandalized are snickering behind their feathered fans. But in the last seconds, status has no place. She looks to the person who matters most, the one she had spent her childhood idolizing. Her beliefs hold true. He will make a great ruler.   But she will never be the one to stand beside him. She knows now.   That position has long been stolen away from her.   “Everything I did,” she cries, “I did for yo—”   The grand doors slam shut with her pitched screams resounding.    Moments later, the lively music continues, violins and trumpets crescendoing to life once more. As if her life had just not been taken away from her. As if the denunciation was merely an intermission of tonight’s festivities.   Her heinous exterior is shattered by tears that no one would have sympathy for. She is limp when she is thrown into the stone jail cell within the depths of the castle. The knights twist on their heel and she is surrounded in pitch darkness with the sound of a scurrying rat echoing beside her.   The only time there is light is by the dim flame of the torch, a guard accompanying a frightened servant who carries a bowl of spoiled oats. It’s not enough to satisfy the grumble of her stomach, but enough to keep her alive for the execution day. Without a silver fork or spoon in hand, a handkerchief placed in her lap, seated by a candlelit table, she resorts to using her fingers to scoop the food into her mouth.   Sometimes, she thinks they forget about her.   Or perhaps time is simply drawn in darkness. A second made into a minute. A minute is an hour. She is merely left leaning against the molded stone, wasted away and drunk on memories of better places.   Punishment does not come in the form of her stripped title or even her head rolling away from her neck. Punishment arrives in the darkened loneliness. That loss of sanity that whisper she has failed to capture the attention of the only person she ever loved. That she failed to make him love her.   Everything she did, it drove him away.   Every act of love placed distance between them.   Everything.   Liberation comes back with the music of trumpets muffled by the stone walls. “What’s going on?” her voice is hoarse through her parched throat. The servant screams when her arm reaches past the bars to tug on the girl’s dress. Her eyes are bleary as she looks up at the girl. “Why is it so noisy?”   “T-The civil war’s over.” The girl backs away and the celebrations become more distinct with the realization. “The villain is dead.”   The girl withdraws into the cell and cackles rip through her lungs, resounding across the empty chambers. The servant scurries away as the knight huffs out through his nose and shakes his head. But it’s the best news she’s received since she’s been stowed away.    And a smile still graces her features when she is dragged out and jostled by the knights, taken up to where the sun blinds her vision.   “On the eve of the Solar Festival, we rid our empire of yet another villain and free it from treachery!”   There are cacophonous cheers in the crowd. Her eyes are hurt by the sunlight and she shuts them tight. Her legs are kicked and she’s knocked onto her knees, head being shoved against wood. She wishes she didn’t have to face the sun rays. There’s no decency to give her shade.   But the discomfort is over by the blade slicing through the air. She lives and both dies as the villainess — an inevitable legacy.            ❇ End of Royal Romances Chapter 7 -Prince Route- ❇

Headbeams.   Fuck.   You never thought it would be like all those cheesy movies — the third Batman film, Grey’s Anatomy, the Simpsons, hell even Attack on Titan. But nope. They’re right. Time really does slow and your life really does flash by your eyes when you’re in the moment of your death.    But instead of feeling grief for yourself, all you can think about is what an absolute idiot you are.   You really shouldn’t have jaywalked at night. That cheesecake in the fridge was supposed to be yours! And holy shit, your parents are going to be really fucking mad that you died at only twenty—   The truck slams into you before you can finish your thought.   …………... ……….. ……. ….. ... .. .   Strangely, it doesn’t hurt. Maybe because it happened so fast. Maybe the initial impact was already enough to end your life. But you’re left feeling an empty void inside of yourself. An overwhelming agony that this is the end. That you never got the chance to fulfill your dreams, enjoy the fruits of your labour, that you never got to reach the happiness you wanted.   You have regrets.   Not for the things that you did. But for the things that you didn’t do.   But well….you suppose there’s no use in lingering in it.   Death is the end.   This is the end.   ……. ….. ... .. .   “—ook...t ...er...!”   “..hush!”   What?   Why are you hearing noises? Why does your face feel warm?   Are you in...heaven? Some sort of afterlife?! Oh man, you knew you deserved this! Fuck yes! You might have kicked that kid’s shin in the fourth grade and totally lied to your manager that one time that you cleaned the ice-cream machine when you didn’t, but your wrongdoings aren���t that bad.   You open your eyes.   Unusually, your vision is blurred. All you can make out is a fuzzy figure looming over you.   Your mouth opens—   “Waah!”   What the fuck. You can’t speak. Each time your lips part, drool dripples onto your chin.   In a panic, you try to move your body, but quickly find yourself heavy and practically stuck. You cry out and swing your arm, and that’s when your hand flashes before your eyes.   Your pupils focus and you realize that your hand is tiny. That you can barely curl and uncurl your fingers together. Holy shit. Holy fuck—   You’re a baby.   Wailing sobs burst out of your tiny lungs.    You don’t know where you are or how this happened. Your last memory is being hit by a truck!   The figure looming above you comes closer. “What is wrong with her?!”   The woman sounds annoyed, but it’s not like it's your fault. This is just a lot to take in.   Your mouth is blocked by a pacifier being shoved in. Immediately, you spit it out and the woman sighs. “Why is she being so fussy?”   That’s not the issue, lady! Christ, you wish you could communicate with her.   You feel yourself being picked up and she angrily mutters, “If the Devereux household wasn’t paying me so much, I would’ve just thrown you out the window.”   Wait. Say what now? Devereux?    Why does that sound so familiar?   You hear another woman’s voice, one that’s higher pitched and softer. “What’s wrong with little Anastasia?”   “Have you finished hanging the laundry yet?”   “Yes, I have.” You’re being passed on and your sobs subside in favour of a frown. Anastasia?   Anastasia Devereux.   You remember cursing that name out loud before, but where was—   Oh my god. Oh my god! It’s impossible, but the truth is right in front of your eyes. You’re living through it right now. This isn’t a dream. No. It’s your game, Royal Romances.    You’ve been reincarnated into the fictional country of Ashea. And of all people, you’ve been reborn as the villainess, Anastasia Devereux.   You burst out crying again.   //   A man in a coat and frilly shirt enters the room. Your head adjusts to see through the wooden bars of your bassinet, vision becoming clearer by the day. You know who he is without an announcement.   Your father. At least he’s supposed to be.   “How is the child?” he asks the maid.   “She is healthy, your grace. She may be a bit fussy at times, but she sleeps and eats well.”   He hums and leaves shortly after, never once coming to personally see or even hug you.    What an asshole. This entire world is fucked. You’re fucked.   Royal Romances is a love story game between a heroine and several potential matches depending on the route you take. Yet in every route, the main protagonist's rival, the Marquess and the Crown Prince’s fiancée, ends up co-conspiring with the villain and dies because of his crimes. Or exiled. Two options.   And you’ve taken her place.   But now that you think about it, that’s so unfair! You didn’t care much about Anastasia while playing, other than wanting her to get the fuck out of the picture for your OTP ship to sail. But why should the villainess shoulder the villain’s crimes?! If anything, it was him who coerced her! All Anastasia wanted was to be with the Crown Prince! He was the only person who ever showed her an ounce of kindness!   Oh god.   All you know now is that you don’t want to die.   You died too early in your past life.   “Anastasia.” You’re shaken awake from your thick slumber by soft cooing. A quiet woman’s voice calls and when you open your eyes, you’re able to focus on a woman you’ve never seen before but is familiar at the same time. She smiles and picks you up. “Good afternoon.”    Instead of fussing around like you usually would, a triumphant smile spreads into your face.   Fucking finally. It’s the first time you’ve seen your ‘mother’. Maybe she’s just been recovering from the birth these past few months. After all, there’s no way the family would actually just abandon you to a bunch of maids—   “Oh my goodness, Elanor!” A shrill voice has your senses tingling. There’s another woman sitting at the rounded table fanning herself with an orange, feathered fan. “What a lovely daughter!”   “Yes, she really is. She hardly cries.”   Now that’s a big fat lie.   You’ve probably cried a thousand times since you got here. It’s not your fault the maids don’t know how to put you in anything other than scratchy dresses and forget to change your underwear after you’ve shit yourself.   Another stranger approaches you and practically digs their nose into your face. Her floral perfume almost has you retching and spewing out an entire bottle of milk in her face. “She is simply too delightful! She has Herrick’s eyes and your nose.”   “Really now? I think she’s growing up to look more and more like the Duke each day.”   “Oh she’ll grow up to be a beauty. You are truly blessed, Elenor.”   Cordial laughter fills the room.   Motherfucker. She’s just using you as a decor! You’re a prop for her to show off at her tea party! She doesn’t care about you whatsoever.    But fine. You can play along with her. It’s not like you have any choice.   You muster an enormous gooey smile, channeling all the cuteness you know you must have and instantly, several of the ladies swoon. It’s an overwhelming victory! But one that requires a lot of energy when you were just awakened from your nap — and squeezing your butt cheeks results in the grumble of your stomach.   Being a few months old, you have poor control of your digestive system. So it’s no surprise that smiling so hard makes you shit your pants.    Oops.   The lump falls into your cloth diaper and instantly, your mother’s brow twitches.   The stench reaches her nose and the nostrils of the lady intruding into your space who immediately draws back in disgust. But what the hell are they expecting?! You’re a baby! All you do is eat, sleep and shit!   “Edith!”    Your mother’s shrill cry has the maid coming into the room. “Yes, your grace?”   “Take Anastasia.”   She passes you off without even looking and you’re swiftly taken away from the room, hearing the laughter and conversations resume the moment the doors close. So cruel!    “Ugh. I’ve never seen a baby who cries so much,” Edith complains and plops you into the bassinet instead of comforting you. If you had limb strength and mobility, you’d slap her for being so rude.   The younger maid with the higher-pitched voice looms over you. “Maybe it’s because she knows the Duke and Duchess never come to visit. She’s missing the comfort of a mother and father.”   Thank god someone can sympathize with you! As incompetent as Joan is — to the point where she’s checking your pants for the tenth time when you’re really just crying because you’re starving — at least she’s not a Karen.   Clearly, the bar is quite low.   “Well, it’s expected.” Edith steps away to fold the basket of your dresses. “The Duke and Duchess tried having children for years and the only child they have is a daughter who can’t even carry the family name. If it was a son, it would be different.”   “I don’t understand.” Joan rushes to the head maid’s side. “Usually daughters are treasured in noble families.”   Edith looks around and lowers her volume. “Don’t you know?”   “Know what?”   “Keep your voice down! If you say this outside, even I won’t be able to help you.” There’s a pause. “The Duke and Duchess aren’t real nobles, they don’t have any noble blood. The Duke’s late father, Arnold, fought heroically in the war and that’s why the King granted his family the title.”   “Oh…but...what does that have to do with anything?”   “Noble society is different from how we know it, you naive girl. No matter what you do, hundreds of eyes are constantly on you. It’s full of scrutiny and someone in power today might be exiled tomorrow. Having a son would’ve made it easier for the Devereux household to maintain their title and prestige.”   Joan sighs, finally realizing why things are the way they are. She comes to you and leans over the bassinet. “Poor thing. It’s not even her fault.”   She gives you her finger and you happily wrap your entire hand around it. Hell yeah! Finally someone’s feeling bad for your shitty situation.   But the older woman with wrinkles around her eyes scoffs. “There’s no use worrying about her. You should be more worried about yourself. If the House of Devereux fails to keep their power and wealth, we’ll be out of a job.”   Joan hums and pries her finger away from your grasps.   You frown and the next time the head maid feeds you, you puke all over her.    But you know what she said is true. It’s the reason why the real Anastasia felt like she needed to become the crown princess, why she tried so hard to make everyone around her approve of her. Aside from loving the Prince, she was desperate for recognition, desperate to fulfill her family’s wishes, and to maintain her family’s lineage without slipping from the status quo.   But you’re different.   You don’t care about those things. You’ll prove yourself on your own and do whatever it takes to survive.   Quickly. Quickly! You want to grow up and walk on your own two feet so you can protect yourself.   After all, no one else in this house will.   You stretch your arm in the air, curling your fingers together, staring up at the starry mobile.    But it’s hard in the body of a mere infant and you fall asleep in the midst of your exercise session, succumbing to the temptation of slumber with heavy lids.

Four years later.   “Are you colouring, my lady?”   “Nooo.”   You’re writing. And it’s not just anything — it’s battle plans.    To anyone, it’s merely incoherent scribbles, a result of poor motor skills you have yet to refine. But it’s actually your life or death.   You don’t need status or power. Living in the countryside and living fruitfully is good enough. All you want is to live a long, peaceful life.   In the original story, after Anastasia’s eighteenth birthday, she was condemned for countless crimes, thrown in prison and then executed within the matter of weeks. All because of three people: the heroine, the Crown Prince, and the villain.   To avoid the effect, you should avoid the cause. Therefore, you need to do whatever you can to avoid these three!   It’s genius! Truly, if anyone knew how your four year old brain operated, you would be hailed as the next prophe—   “Get ready.” Edith interrupts your train of thought, coming into the room and swiftly shutting the door behind her.   “Why?”   “You’re having lunch with the Duke and Duchess.”   “But I don’t wanna,” you whine, especially when Joan starts collecting the crayons. You stand up before Edith can drag you and you stomp your feet. Why would you want to go have lunch with them when the amount of times you’ve seen them in four years can be counted on both hands.   “Don’t be spoiled. Come here.”   You stick out your tongue instead and the moment Edith’s fingers come to snag you, you swiftly dart and run as giggles squeak out of your body.   “My lady,” Joan sighs, at a loss as well.    The two of them try to corner you, but you dive to the left when there’s a chance.   The original villainess was always quite upright and strict, especially with herself. It’s reasonable considering the way she was raised and the massive burden placed upon her. But kids can get away with a lot more than adults and you’d prefer to take advantage of that while you still can.   “Stop playing around!” Edith finally snags the back of your nightgown and you laugh, still thrashing against her hold until she plops you down on the vanity chair. “You’re such an unruly troublemaker,” she mutters as she grabs the frilly dress you’re about to be changed into.   And just for that comment, you undo the pins she puts into your hair when she’s not looking.   It drives her crazy.   But your little antics are stopped the moment you’re sitting at the dinner table. The height of said table reaches your collarbone and the chair you’re sitting in overwhelms your form. The atmosphere is stiff and tense, your father sitting at the head of the table and slicing into his meat while your mom’s posture is upright and she chews gingerly.    Unlike the maids, you won’t test your luck with the Duke and Duchess. God knows they might send you to some kid ranch for the next ten years to reform yourself.    But you also know you can’t get any cuter than this.   You’ve seen yourself in the mirror — soft skin, big eyes, a button nose and chubby cheeks.   Who knows what puberty might do to you someday, but for now, you’re as cute as a four year old can get. And why not use that as a weapon in your arsenal?   “Momma.” You interrupt the silence and your mother across from you looks up. You give a full smile with teeth, quirking your head to your shoulder and open your arms as wide as they can go. “I like you this much!”   Oh. Hell. Yeah!   You can feel it. You’re totally gonna win them over—   Her head swivels over to the Duke. “Don’t you think it’s time to teach her manners?”   Wow. That’s cold.    Stone cold.   “Edith.” Your father glances over his shoulder and the head maid steps forward. “How’s Anastasia’s development?”   The older woman clears her throat. “She’s a bit wild, your grace.” You glare at her for exposing you like this. “However, she can write the alphabet and read through storybooks on her own. She seems to be a bright child.”   Damn straight. Of course, you’d be able to pick up the language of Ashea quickly. You still have the memories of your past life.   The Duke hums. “Then she can start training to be the crown princess.”   You nearly choke on your broccoli.    But you hastily compose yourself and look up at your father. “What’s that?”   “Don’t ask questions,” your mother quips and the room simmers down to the uncomfortable silence again.   It’s so ridiculous — the very definition of jumping the gun. You aren’t the Crown Prince’s fiancée, but they’re already considering you a candidate before you’ve even lost your baby teeth.   Not to mention, it’s all useless anyway. The original Anastasia never became the princess and you have no plans of even meeting the Prince.    “Do you know what happened in the year 921, my lady?” the tutor asks later on, pushing up his rounded spectacles up the slope of his nose.   You’re slumped over the table, one arm rested with your cheek squished in your hand, focused on twirling the quill with two fingers. God forbid Edith or your mother witnesses your awful posture, but no one’s ever interested enough to sit in on these dumb tutor sessions. They’d fall asleep instantly.   “The war of Winter,” you mumble and the tutor’s eyes light up and he enthusiastically nods.   “Yes! The most momentous moment in the history of Ashea. A great dragon rose from the mountains and in the war of Winter, great King Baek, the light priestess and fierce knights of the royal palace came down the lazy brook from Stoughsby Peaks next to the then Canary district which sold fabrics and spices up until the year 914 when the famine of 914 came—”   The tutor drones on and on.   But one thing grabs your attention. You forgot there was magic in this world.   “Ummm,” you interrupt him in the middle of his tangent. “Did King Baek kill the dragon by magic?”   “Great question. King Baek in the summer of 896, seven years after he was born, started to learn the art of swordsmanship through rigorous training with the fierce knights of the royal place who was then under the rule of King Ennik—”   You don’t know why you asked.   “How do you start doing magic?” you interject again.   “Well, magic is part of everyone and it’s everywhere. But some are more attuned to it than others. It requires vigorous training, the most talented magician was Ruffus Dolores who dedicated his life living in the Magician’s Tower and wrote most of the magical texts we have today.”   You look at him, curiosity finally alight in your eyes. “Can I do magic?”   There was never magic on Earth in the twenty-first century aside from Harry Potter or Twilight, if Edward’s sparkling constitutes as magic. But if it’s anything like those movies, then you’re psyched! You can wingardium leviosa yourself and yeet out of here.   Unfortunately, your excitement is short lived.   “The House of Devereux isn’t very magically inclined,” the tutor says and your eyes dim again. You’re not completely surprised considering Anastasia was never much of a fighter in the game. She just splashed water on the main character’s face a lot and made players like you curse her out. “However, while magic is an inborn talent and comes naturally, skills always have to be honed. There’s still a chance you may have magical abilities. We’ll just have to see as you get older.”   You hum to yourself.   //   Edith pulls the curtains together haphazardly, the moonlight crisp where the gap is and sheds a silver sliver onto the carpet. Joan takes the tray with your finished glass of milk, nearly toppling it over and shattering the glass, but finding balance in the nick of time.   “Goodnight, my lady.”   “Night night.” Your hand peeks out from the covers and you wave.   “Don’t get out of bed or else,” Edith warns in a low tone. “The Duke won’t be happy to hear if you’re found wandering in the halls or sneaking into the kitchen again.”   You giggle. “Bye bye.”   The door shuts, darkness engulfs your bedroom and you count to ten within your head. The moment the seconds are up, you throw the covers off of you and slide off the high mattress.   You come to your desk, grasp the heavy duty textbook off of it and lug it over to the windows.    The enormous book sits on your lap as you lean against your bedpost. The moonlight illuminates the cover and you flip to the magic section at the back, the noise of the pages soothing in the quiet space. Magic — not only is it interesting to you but it could be a great defense mechanism if worse comes to worse. Who knows. It might just add to your battle plans and help you survive.   Your pointer finger underlines the sentences and traces the words as you read the introduction slowly.   After reading, you learn that magic is more intuitive, rather than a particular procedure.    You push the textbook aside and hold your hands out. Shutting your eyes, you try your best to envision light. You try to imagine light engulfing your figure and form, causing your skin to glow.   Peeking with one eye open, there’s—   Absolutely nothing.   Well shit. Maybe the tutor was right. Maybe there is no real magical talent in your bloodline. But there’s no harm in trying to dabble in it a little more.   You conceptualize fire in your brain. And when you look in your hand, you’re ecstatic to see a tiny flame actually flickering in mid-air. Oh shit! It worked!   But it smothers out a blink later.   You try to visualize water next to see if your magical expertise lays within the element. When you open your eyes, your breath hitches at the water droplets floating in your palm. And for once, it doesn’t completely vanish within a second. A grin spreads into your face. But as if Lady Luck wants to slap you, the moment you get hyped, the water splashes into your lap.   It looks like you peed yourself.   “Really?!”   You sigh, ready to give up.   Maybe you don’t have a knack for magic after all.    You turn to grab the textbook, but the heftiness is awkward in your grasps and your thumb slips, accidentally flipping over the next page. The page’s heading makes you stop.    Oh yeah. Dark magic exists.   Might as well give it a shot while you’re at it.   Like all the times before, you shut your eyes and hold your hands upwards. You try to imagine darkness — the similar kind that’s already filled your bedroom, or like the empty void that you were plunged in after being hit by that truck. That abyss of nothing, of pitch black.   Suddenly, you feel a pressure on your shoulders. It’s heavy. Comforting. Eerie. All at the same time.   Your lashes flutter open and your breath is plugged in your nose. Darkness has overwhelmed the room. It bleeds out of you, consuming your form like smoke, the hue of ink spilt on oil. It covers the silver moonlight, erasing the sliver casted on your carpet and what was translucent through the curtains. Exactly like the empty void, the abyss of nothing.    It’s trying to consume you.   There’s a shriek from outside your room. “All the candles just blew out!”   Panic drains blood from your face and you drop your hands, flailing your arms as if you can dispel the black before it wraps its hands around your throat and submerges you completely.   It fades, the moonlight traveling back onto you again and you shove the book underneath your bed.   You’re still shaking as you climb back into bed.   God knows you’re never going to try that again.   //   So you might not have an aptitude for magic after all. But the grief is short-lived after the realization that it’s not a toy or something that comes out of a magical wand for you to fight Dementors with. But there’s still a lot of ways you can protect yourself. You just have to get creative.   “I wanna do that!”    Your nose, forehead and palms are pushed against the glass window as you peer outside.   Joan frowns and peeks out. “You want to go flower picking, my lady?”   “No!”   The useless maid finally looks to the two guards sparring with one another out by the field. “You want to sword fight?”   “Uh-huh.”   She bursts out laughing and you whirl around in irritation.    “I wanna! Pretty please?” How else are you going to protect yourself? If you can’t use magic, then you need to go the melee route and pick up a sword or at least a bow and arrow.   “You would have to ask permission from the Duke himself, my lady.” Joan turns away to make your bed, expecting you to give up. When it comes to asking your parents, it’s too much of a hassle to get involved with them. But this time, you don’t concede.   She’s surprised when you tug on her dress. “Okay.”   The Duke’s study doors are imposing on their own. Without needing to open them, the twisting ornate patterns on the wooden surface are enough to eerily remind you of exposed arteries. It feels like you’re approaching the principal’s office — a nervousness of the impending doom.   You’ve always been careful to steer clear any place your mother or father might be. The study on the third floor, the gardens, their bedroom. And any time you passed, your steps would quiet.   It’s not like you’re scared of them. Frankly, you’re just annoyed at how nit-picky they are.   But you remind yourself you’ve been through worse — you once spent an entire summer in customer service serving food in the twenty first century for god’s sakes!   With that in mind, you throw open the doors.   Joan, behind you, practically flinches.   Your father’s sitting behind his oak desk, quill and parchment in hand, and he looks above his rounded spectacles. You give your most charming smile. “Hi, papa!”   He looks to the older girl and deadpans, “What’s the matter.”   The maid clears her throat, clearly distressed that she’s been dragged into this. “Uh, well, your grace, my lady, uh, she…..well…”   “I wanna do sword!” You tottle towards him and round the desk to come eye to eye with his knees. C’mon, as uncaring as they are, they gotta at least care a little for their daughter, right? You’re too cute to ignore all the time. You flutter your lashes for good measure. “Pretty please?”   The Duke’s brow quirks. “You want to learn swordsmanship?”   You enthusiastically nod. “Uh-huh!”   He stares at you. You stare at him.   The older man sits back in his chair. “It wouldn’t hurt to learn an interesting skill or two. It might make you stand out.” Those two lifelessly said statements alone are enough to make you happy. Even when he resumes his paperwork. “I heard from your tutor that you’re a fast learner.”   You’re surprised the old fart said something good about you, but of course you are! You’re technically twenty four now. Mathematics is truly universal when you can recall the basics and the language is easy to pick up. You’re already dumbing down everything to not make it weird.   “Maybe you’re not so useless after all,” he mutters from the corner of his mouth, no longer sparing you a glance.    You hold back a scoff. Instead, you force a smile and a sweet giggle. “Thank you, papa! I like you too!”   You wonder if this is why Anastasia tried so hard. The only time she gains recognition in her family is when she’s focusing her time and energy into studying and proving her worth. If so, it’s depressing. You wish you had more sympathy for her when you were playing from the heroine’s perspective. But you’re beginning to understand her better and better.    Why she did what she did.   How she became the female villain.   “Fight me!” You point your wooden sword at the knight whose eyes are wide. You bet he didn’t expect to be sparing with a four year old when he was assigned to protect the Devereux house, but this is a matter of life and death for you. “Hurry!”   “Y-Yes, my lady.”   You smile, gripping the handle tighter. He comes up and weakly slashes you and you’re able to root your feet into the ground and keep yourself from stumbling back. He’s obviously not trying very hard, but it’s good enough for now. Slowly but surely, you’re finding a rhythm into things.    In your spare time, you learn the history of Ashea, read books and plan the next steps in your battle plan of avoiding all main characters of the game at all costs. You’ll protect yourself no matter what it takes.   And you’ll survive no matter what happens.

[d1nob0nes]

*cracks knuckles* ohoho i'm here again with another long ass post!!! let's talk about the Now Canon idea of different afterlifes/personal hells for each of the smp characters, specifically c!jack manifold's.

there are Three people who have been revived after losing all 3 lives. those people are tommy, wilbur, and jack manifold. tommy's personal hell was an empty white void (we don't know a lot bc he didn't want to talk about it), wilbur's was a train station with trains that brought/took visitors, and jack manifold's........... we don't know. so i've got a few ideas as to what it could be.

1. a recreation of the nether. i like this idea because i believe the lava death was the most Personal and Hurtful death jack experienced, and being back in the place where it happened would be hellish. he's stuck on this ledge above a lake of lava, he can't move too much or he dies, and one moment his foot shifts too much and he falls and then wakes up Alive again.

2. endless falling. this actually happened in canon/on stream, and i like to think of it as like. a spool of thread unravelling. jack falls through the ground and he's just tumbling endlessly, with nothing to grab onto, falling and falling until the spool runs out of thread and he slams to a stop before getting yanked upward. he can feel the thread unraveling in his gut, and he doesn't know what exactly he's feeling, but it's bad and he doesn't ever want to feel it again.

3. deep sea adventure idea from @the-king-of-lemons and based off some discussion in a twitter gc. this idea is tied into the "thread" that kept jack from falling, except the thread is a fishing line and he gets yoinked back up out of the ocean. but the ocean afterlife is just jack floating in the midst of the dark water, tangled in the sea grass, seeing creatures he thought were long-extinct swim past and watching the strange and colorful and wildly-shaped deep sea creatures interact. he comes back to the living and one day he's talking with tubbo and casually mentions that plesiosaurs still exist, that they live in the deep and sunless parts of the ocean and that they've become bioluminescent. tubbo is confused.

4. empty red void and endless pain. jack wakes up in an afterlife similar to tommy's, but it's lit with red lighting and he can feel each one of his deaths again, all at the same time. there's stab wounds in his chest, an axe-made hole in his gut, the feeling of molten rock boiling his skin. he's in agony, sobbing and crying for it to end, and then suddenly he's alive again with the feeling of pain still a ghost on his skin.

anyways those are my ideas lol it'd be cool to see jack develop an afterlife for himself in canon but until then......... i think Thoughts

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Radio Host & Radio Ghost - Nov 14

Alastor meets a ghost possessing a vintage radio.

He’s absolutely delighted.

Valera

Valera hums, rubbing their hands together. What a lovely day to bring demons into their home. Not a single consequence could possibly result from this! With Alastor's okay, they could finally get around to opening a portal for him, whatever water he'd decided was sufficient rippling and turning into an inky void before his eyes. On her side, Valera plops back on the couch and awaits his arrival.

Alastor

And Alastor’s more than ready to jump through the inky void he’s been promised is a portal!

He has not, however, been informed that the portal he just jumped DOWN into is VERTICAL on the other side.

He lands on his back with a blurt of confused mixed frequency crosstalk. What.

Valera

A laugh track plays from across the room, and Valera leans forward to get a good eyeful of the poor, confused fellow. "My dear, if I'd known you were falling all over yourself to get here, I'd have invited you much sooner! Come now, pick up those sorry spirits and have some spirits with me." Funny way to talk about spiked tea, but alright Val.

Alastor

Disoriented by the 90° shift in the angle of gravity, he blinks up at the ceiling for a moment. “What, was the repeated pleading to come see it not obvious enough?”

As his head sorts itself out he abruptly registers the laugh track—SOMEBODY ELSE’S laugh track—and he immediately sits up and looks toward the source of the sound. “Well!!” He’s on his feet in a flash and crossing the room, heading like an arrow toward the authentic, vintage, genuine, incomparable 1931 Philco 90 Baby Grand Cathedral Radio. “Oh my goodness, what a beauty! Look at this! Oh, this is the only cathedral I’ll ever worship at.” He kneels down to get a better look at the front of it. “The wood needs a little love and care—walnut, isn’t it? I don’t know wood but I know my radios, I could swear Philco used walnut—but it’s in fantastic condition!” He presses the side of his head to the front, eyes closed like he’s trying to listen to it. “All nine tubes sound beautiful, just beautiful!” Apparently that’s something you can hear, at least if you’re Alastor.

He sits back and turns to the man sitting next to the radio, beaming. “Listen to me, gushing away without even—Hello! May I compliment you on your lovely home, sir!”

Valera

Whatever Valera was planning to say is forgotten immediately, Alastor's enthusiastic response to her latest acquisition more than entertaining enough to distract her from her train of thought.

The radio flicks on and off like its fluttering its lashes, dial twirling playfully in a reflection of the Ghost Of The Hour's own beaming grin. A waggle of his fingers, and he speaks, voice emanating from the radio and rather garbled as the dial flicks back and forth.

"Compliment taken and appreciated, you beautiful stranger! Aren't *you* all the candy and then some? Lovely to meet a man who knows his stuff, you're right on all counts! Walnut, hand rubbed finish, this is a genuine type two article straight from the production line of late 1931! Updated with AVC and the beautiful addition of type 47 power pentode tubes for the finest and most reasonably priced audio on the market!" A pause to "breathe" as the radio's light flickers, and he shrugs, still beaming. "I'd offer to shake your hand, my good man, but I find I left my tangibility back home. Though I'm happy to try!"

Alastor

His invisible studio audience oohs and aahs appreciatively at each new technical detail. “Reasonably priced, oh, boy—I’d barely paid off a ‘32 when I died! Eighty bucks, if I remember right! Well with the price but good golly if I wouldn’t have loved to enjoy it a little longer.”

He gets to his feet, leaving one hand lingering on top of the radio affectionately. “Oh, I’d give it a shot! Typically, the dead can touch the dead.” He offers his hand. “The name’s Alastor! I’m a radio man myself—on air from ‘24 to ‘33, you might have heard me if you were in range of New Orleans! And what do I call you, my friend?”

Valera

"Oh! A fellow dearly departed? And so close to my own time, give or take a few years! I'd offer my condolences on your departure from the mortal realm, but it seems to me that you're doing rather well for yourself! PLEASURE to meet you, Alastor!" He takes the offered hand in his own, grinning even wider when he realizes he can actually touch the red newcomer. He's got a handshake like he's going to sell you something, firm and eager. "New Orleans, you say? KTRD? Well I never! I do believe I played your station in my old shop! Your broadcast helped me sell quite a few radios back in the day."

A delighted chuckle, and he gives Alastor's hand a last squeeze before dropping it to mess with his suit lapels. "My friends called me Al, but my name is Alexander! I had some other names too I'm sure, but they haven't found their way back yet."

Alastor

He shakes back just as eagerly and his grin stretches wider. “Yessiree, that was me! *Your Pal Al, first voice you hear in the morning and last voice you hear at night!* Why, if I’d known that I was doing free advertising for Philco, I would have written them a letter and asked them to give me a Baby Grand on the house. Still, probably the best eighty bucks I ever spent.”

He takes a step back, giving Alexander a bit of his own space. “I’d catch you up on what you missed, but I’d probably only be able to offer you a couple of years—were you ‘31, or did that just happen to be the model you had nearby when you shuffled off the mortal coil?—and I’ve spent my time since then down in Hell—hope that’s not too off-putting, you know how it is, make a few little mistakes and forget to say your Hail Marys before you kick the bucket and suddenly you find you’re serving an afterlife sentence without possibility of parole! I expect you’ve had a better chance to keep up with the news than I have!”

Valera

"I'd have sent you one myself if I hadn't bought the farm! But your business was appreciated, I'm sure. A radio broadcaster with your chops has quite the eye for quality if I do say so myself, your radio was in the best hands possible!"

"This beauty was a gift from my parents, got it new and died within the month, if memory serves! Damn shame, but it all worked out. I'm sure my mothers would be charmed that I was so attached!"

He waves off the news of Alastor's new home with a scoff. "Oh, pah to that! I was never much for religion before I bit the dust, God always struck me as a terrible sort of man. If you wound up in Hell, it's probably for the better! I'd hate being in close quarters with the kind of parent who thinks tossing his children into fire and brimstone was the best teaching method!"

Alastor

A studio audience laugh at “attached”; attached in more senses than one, apparently. “They must have been women with exquisite taste! Quite a pity about the timing, but at least you’ve had plenty of time to enjoy it! Amazing how well it’s held up, can’t tell you the last time I saw quality like this. Of course,” he arches his eyebrows, “that might just be a side-effect of the neighborhood I’ve been living in, eh? Lucky you latched onto this beauty—otherwise you probably would have ended up living there too, considering your personal leanings. Fair enough if you don’t want to move into that big gated community in the sky, but I wouldn’t recommend the alternative, either.”

He glances over at Valera—wow, look at that, he actually does remember that they’re in the same room. “Speaking of which...” He nods at the spot of the portal he so gracelessly stepped out of earlier. “You probably don’t want to take this with you the next time you spend the night at your fiancé’s. I’ve never heard of a ghost voluntarily walking into Hell so I’m not sure if they’d immediately notice, but I do know that imps conducting business topside are charged with keeping an eye out for rogue spirits that ought to be down below. You take him in, they might not let him back out.”

Valera

Alexander rolls back on his heels, happy to peek around Alastor and back at Valera. Ah, his unexpected rescuer who he's trying very hard not to be wildly rude to by screaming at over the existence of actual aliens! Thumbs up!

As for Valera, she looks at Alastor with raised eyebrows. "Good to know! I hadn't made any plans yet, but it would be a damn shame to get this fellow stuck in a new prison so soon after getting him out of the previous one." A sip at her cup, and she curls her tail politely around her legs. "Either way, I brought you here to help with repairs! Bring your friend over here and lets start getting the cobwebs out of his home, hm?"

Alastor

“Why, of course! Pardon me—“ And up it goes. As he carries the radio over to Valera he’s cradling it half like it’s a heavy sack of groceries and half like it’s a baby. “I didn’t have an opportunity to look around the back, what all needs doing?”

Valera

Valera opens her mouth, and is immediately cut off as Alexander practically flings himself forward to 'sit' on the floor next to the cleaning supplies. "There's almost no damage to the internals, lucky for us! My lovely little number's managed to hold up beautifully despite the.. Unideal conditions. This sweet faced dame here scraped off most of the wax from my previous landlord's attempt at what I assume was an exorcism, but a gentle wash wouldn't hurt! Aside from that, it's largely dusting and polishing! Mindless, really."

He chuckles, the dial on the radio tapping back and forth like a metronome. "Though the lady here took one look at the bottom of the chassis and said she'd rather call an expert, poor thing. From what I saw, it's just a bit of rust and dirty wires, nothing even a child couldn't handle! I'm sure a man like yourself wont even break a sweat!"

Alastor

“So I see.” He leans forward, arching an eyebrow as he inspects the remaining wax. “What kind of ‘unideal conditions’ are we talking about, here? And how *did* this end up here?” He directs that question to Valera. “Of all the places I’d expect to find a ‘31 Philco, you have to go pretty far down on the list before I start listing locations off of planet Earth. And even at that ‘the moon’ and ‘Mars’ would have been my next guesses.” SPEAKING OF WHICH, he leans toward Alexander and gives him an excited look. “Did you know we put ROBOTS on MARS?”

Okay, exciting news shared, back to business. He carefully inspects the bottom of the chassis himself—nothing too bad down there. “I’m as good an expert as you’ll need! I’ve lovingly cleaned off enough fine old radios in my time—although I’m hard-pressed to think of one as fine as THIS!” He looks over the selection of cleaning tools.

Valera

Valera's attempts to speak are once again completely drowned out by Alexander's crackly voice. "Oh she got me on Earth, rest assured! I was in one of my.. grand nephew's attics, I believe? And yes, I DID hear about the robots on Mars! I had nothing to do but listen to the radio while I was up there, and as much as they like to pretend they've murdered the art of broadcasting, there certainly are still plenty of stations out there sharing the news! Nothing compared to your own, of course, but still." A dip of his head towards Alastor, and he scoots closer to watch him work.

The standard tools are available. Wood cleaner, a few soft rags, a small steel wool brush, and rust removing solvents, along with a little pack of cloths for polishing brass. Val side eyes Alexander and deliberately doesn't speak as she picks up a rag to offer to Alastor.

Alastor

He's starting to detect a pattern here. "Say, my phantasmal friend!" He leans over and slings an arm around Alexander's shoulders. "I realize you haven't had much experience with conversation in a while—but let's let our friend Valera get a couple of words in edgewise from time to time, shall we?" He winks, then returns to studying the radio, this time inspecting the innards. He takes the rag and starts brushing out the worst of the dust, just a rough pass to get out the easy stuff. "Ah, of course you would have heard! Naturally. What kind of a state is radio broadcasting in these days, anyway? I've heard some dismal things."

Valera

There's a flash of confusion on Alexander's face as he looks between Alastor and Valera, but he nods without any protest, obligingly leaning in until Alastor releases him from the casual half embrace. "Of course! Terribly rude of me, I'll curb the enthusiasm. My manners could use as much dusting as my radio, it seems!" A light chuckle, and he props his chin on his hands, watching Alastor's movements intently.

"Miserable! It's atrocious the kind of programming they think passes standard these days. Once they broke the stations into specialties, the bar dropped straight past hell! Why, if you have a grave, Alastor, I'm sure you were rolling in it. Half the contents is advertisements, and the other half replays the same songs every few hours with no shame!" He heaves a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. Valera rolls her eyes.

Alastor

“Oh, Hell hasn’t fared much better, I’m afraid—although I’ve helped keep things interesting on the AM band, at least!” A weary sigh. “And to think in the twenties we were butting heads against the regulations that discouraged specialization. Who would have thought the alternative would make so many stations so bland?” His tone darkens. “Although I blame the networks more than anything else, truth be told.”

He’s got a bone to pick with networks.

Valera

Valera finally has a chance to speak? Good. "Well, I'm glad you two have so much to talk about! I'd say you should exchange numbers or find a way to talk in DMs, but I haven't had a chance to try and explain texting or tumblr blogs to Alexander yet." And she is NOT looking forward to it!

"Though, Alastor, if you'll indulge my hypotheticals while we tidy this fellow up. What do you think would be the best way to deal with his current state? I've thought about asking Pentious to make him some kind of automaton frame around his radio, or find a way to separate him from the radio entirely and... Force him to manifest some form of body."

Alexander shrugs, flipping a dismissive hand. "I've got no knowledge of the supernatural, and barely any on the normal natural either, so this is all Greek to me!"

Alastor

“I wonder if it would be possible to get a radio signal through to Hell! I’ve never picked up a radio broadcast from the living world before, but as far as I know none have been sent out by the dead. At any rate, if Internet can get between here and Hell, radio should be able to just as easily—it’s all the exact same stuff, just traveling through the air on different frequencies.”

Alastor considers the issue of Alexander’s body for a moment, glancing over at him. There’s a brief quiet humming noise like microphone feedback from the radio’s speakers as Alastor stretches out with his own energy field, prodding around Alexander’s, measuring it.

Then he snaps it back in and continues working. “Automatons are all well and good, but if you want to know how I’D do it—the easiest thing would be to get him trained up as a poltergeist! There’s three parts he’d have to learn: drawing more energy from his environment than he’s currently getting through passive processes; focusing it so he can telekinetically affect his environment; and finally, focusing it to visually and physically manifest a form for other people to see and touch. It’s essentially what I’m doing any time I step out of Hell, although I’m cheating: coming straight from Hell means I’m carrying enough Hellish energy with me that I don’t need to gather or focus any more, I’m fully solid from the outset. But it’s a skill that can be learned!”

He beams at Alexander. “You’re lucky you’ve got a focus for your energy, here! I’d hazard a guess that all this time you’ve been using what ambient energy you’ve picked up to help power it—but I bet it wouldn’t be too hard for you to use IT to help power YOU!”

This is all too exciting. The study of the interactions between spirits and electricity had only been going a few decades when Alastor died, and the topic is obviously irrelevant in Hell; what he’s proposing was supposedly possible even in his own time, but he can’t imagine what information might be available today.

Valera

Alexander twitches as Alastor's field brushes against his. It's an almost ticklish sensation, like almost but not quite touching something charged with static electricity. The moment passes, and he rubs at his arms. Could ghosts get goosebumps? It sure seemed so! Weird! Everyone he's met has been so strange and colorful, he'd hardly even thought about his own appearance. Immediately distracted, he starts looking for a mirror to check his hair in.

"Hm, I don't have any experience with poltergeists.." Valera's at a bit of a loss, narrowing her eyes as she squints at the two radios. Three radios? Does Alexander count as a separate entity from the radio? Gods, she should have taken the Mortals and Their Souls elective in school. She heaves a sigh. "Well! I hope you're willing to help teach him, Alastor, because otherwise I'm going to have to start doing _research_."

Alastor

“You and me both! Ha! Most of what I learned about poltergeists in life was how to get rid of them, imagine that. But! You know where ghosts end up once they’re got rid of! I’ll inquire around, see if there are any ex-poltergeists interested in sharing their tricks of the trade. If not, I’m sure the imps will know all about it.”

He beams at Alexander. “Oh, this is going to be fun. I haven’t had a reason to dip this deep into the occult since the sixties!”

Valera

"Oh that's marvelous. Thank the gods, the less I have to try and muddle through human focused occultism the better, it gets damnably frustrating trying to find books that aren't full of teenage angst and garbage." She sighs, taking her tea in hand and busying herself with draining the glass. That's ONE problem out of the way.

Alexander glances over, feeling eyes on him again, and offers Alastor his sunniest grin. He wasn't really following the conversation, but that doesn't matter when there's an obvious opening. "Don't leave us hanging, my good man! What happened in the sixties? Inquiring minds, and spirits, want to know!"

Alastor

“The first step is to get book recommendations from actual occultists.” Where is Valera picking up teenage angst?

Oh, Alastor is going to love this new guy, he follows up on the topics that Alastor leaves dangling. “A deep dive into angelology! Researching what sort of defenses Heaven has aside from being ridiculously high in the air—this was before rockets, you see, so we couldn’t just fly up and check—and trying to deduce any of the angels’ vulnerabilities.”

Valera

"Fair enough, I assume you knew a fair few back in your day?" Meet enough overly young heroes and some of them are going to write about their experiences while unfortunately being teens. Combination diary and field guides are the _worst._

Alexander BEAMS as Alastor speaks, the light on his radio dial glowing like a little beacon. "Fascinating stuff there, Alastor! I never even knew that was a field of research, shows what I know! Did you learn anything useful in your forays?" A pause. Wait. " You have rockets in Hell?"

Alastor

“A decent amount! I had a healthy circle of pen pals. None of them quite as successful as me, if I do say so myself—but that had less to do with their occult knowledge and more to do with their heads for business. All the symbols, herbs, and precious metals in the world won’t do you a lick of good if you don’t know how to make a deal with a demon.”

He’s gotten the inside about as clean as he feels safe to while the radio is still clearly *on*—there’s probably no way to fully turn it off as long as Alexander is connected to it, is there?—and starts on the outside. “In the living world, it probably isn’t one! Angelology in general, sure, but penetrating the gates of Heaven? Maybe in an ‘astral projection’ way, but certainly not a ‘breaking and entering’ way! I can’t say I picked up much of practical use, but...” He falters a moment before rallying. “The project I was researching it for fell through, so I abandoned it early with several research avenues unexplored.” Shrug.

For a moment he’s tempted to let Alexander think they DO have rockets. But then he bursts out laughing. “No, no, hah! I only meant that humanity in general has rockets, don’t we—and enough people with the know-how to make ‘em are in Hell by now. We *could* have rockets if we decided to. But we don’t have our act together enough for that—put together a list of everyone who could make it happen, and even the person at the very top of the list has priorities pointed very firmly elsewhere. Anyway, where would we go with them?”

Valera

"You can say that again. Though of course, my experience is decidedly _not_ from the mortal's side." A hum, and Valera leans in to take a peek at Alastor's work. "I knew you were the person for the job, that little darling is looking almost as good as new." A grin for his efforts, that's more than payment enough. That and getting to work on such a nice radio. Probably.

Alexander snickers, pressing a hand to his chest in mock dismay. "My goodness, you really had me going for a moment there, Alastor! I suppose there wouldn't really be anywhere to go, you're right! Though that does beg the question. How *does* Hell compare to all the biblical stories? I can't imagine it being all fire and brimstone if you're as well dressed and decidedly not prodded by pitchforks as you appear to be!"

Lowering her empty cup to the table, Valera flicks her eyes over to watch as Alexander quickly turns to try and pick up the teapot to offer a refill. Bless his dead little heart, he gave it a good shot even if all he managed was a slight rattling.

Alastor

Getting to work on such a nice radio is *absolutely* its own reward. “A professional could do something about the scuffs. And you definitely want somebody else to do something else about the last of the wax.” He rubs a thumb over the last little bumps stubbornly stuck on the wood. “I don’t think I can get the remains off without scuffing the wood.”

He tries to think back to what he was taught Hell was like before he saw the real thing. What had his first impressions been like? “Picture Dante’s Inferno. So you’ve got your rivers bile, your fields of icy mud, your endless hurricanes—but then dump a bunch of humans in it and assume they’re going to do what humans always do. We build cities and civilizations in scorching deserts, frozen tundras, and smothering jungles—and we do just the same in Hell. Sure enough, fire and brimstone is Hell’s natural, untrammeled state—but we’ve been trammeling all over the place for thousands of years by now! The native demons and fallen angels in charge are largely content to ease up on the pitchforks as long as our labors improve their standard of living, too.”

Alastor watches Alexander attempting to manipulate the teapot, then puts his hand on top of the radio and focuses on channeling as much of his own energy into the cathedral case as he can. “Try again now.”

Valera

"You can say that again. Though of course, my experience is decidedly _not_ from the mortal's side." A hum, and Valera leans in to take a peek at Alastor's work. "I knew you were the person for the job, that little darling is looking almost as good as new." A grin for his efforts, that's more than payment enough. That and getting to work on such a nice radio. Probably.

Alexander snickers, pressing a hand to his chest in mock dismay. "My goodness, you really had me going for a moment there, Alastor! I suppose there wouldn't really be anywhere to go, you're right! Though that does beg the question. How *does* Hell compare to all the biblical stories? I can't imagine it being all fire and brimstone if you're as well dressed and decidedly not prodded by pitchforks as you appear to be!"

Lowering her empty cup to the table, Valera flicks her eyes over to watch as Alexander quickly turns to try and pick up the teapot to offer a refill. Bless his dead little heart, he gave it a good shot even if all he managed was a slight rattling.

Alastor

Getting to work on such a nice radio is *absolutely* its own reward. “A professional could do something about the scuffs. And you definitely want somebody else to do something else about the last of the wax.” He rubs a thumb over the last little bumps stubbornly stuck on the wood. “I don’t think I can get the remains off without scuffing the wood.”

He tries to think back to what he was taught Hell was like before he saw the real thing. What had his first impressions been like? “Picture Dante’s Inferno. So you’ve got your rivers bile, your fields of icy mud, your endless hurricanes—but then dump a bunch of humans in it and assume they’re going to do what humans always do. We build cities and civilizations in scorching deserts, frozen tundras, and smothering jungles—and we do just the same in Hell. Sure enough, fire and brimstone is Hell’s natural, untrammeled state—but we’ve been trammeling all over the place for thousands of years by now! The native demons and fallen angels in charge are largely content to ease up on the pitchforks as long as our labors improve their standard of living, too.”

Alastor watches Alexander attempting to manipulate the teapot, then puts his hand on top of the radio and focuses on channeling as much of his own energy into the cathedral case as he can. “Try again now.”

Valera

"Fixing the wood? Not a problem. I just didn't trust anyone else with the internals!" She shrugs, seemingly content to lay back and idly listen as he explains the inevitable human nature of settling even the inhospitable lands of Hell. But the moment Alastor's powers are channeled, Valera stiffens, head swiveling to stare at where his hand at the radio meet as her fins flare out.

Alexander looks between Valera and Alastor, then down to his radio. You know what that reaction sounds like? None of his business! He nods, then carefully, carefully, picks up the teapot and pours a single cup of tea out with a look of utmost concentration. Once the teapot is safely back on the table and the cup is delivered into Valera's hands, and ONLY then, he shuffles back a few feet, looks around to make sure there's nothing breakable near him, and finally throws his arms in the air with a cheer. "Alastor! Whatever you did got me back on the trolley!"

Alastor

The motion catches Alastor's attention and he meets her gaze. Oh, hello? What's all *that* about?

But he doesn't get a chance to ask before Alexander is celebrating his triumph. Alastor switches his attention back to him, beaming. "Back on for the time being—although I'm afraid this trolley company makes you pay by the block and I essentially gave you one nickel. Still, it's proof of concept! You're powering your radio—and your radio can power you. This expands our options immensely!"

Valera

Scoffing while grinning ear to ear isn't something you see often, but Alexander is quick to wave off even minor pessimism with the cheeriest dismissal. "Bah, who cares about that! That's more interaction with my environment than I've managed since I died, I'll take this nickel as far as they'll let me." He pushes the teapot to the left, then the right, and then picks it up once more for good measure before moving to start carefully prodding at Valera, who tolerates it with the face of the family dog tolerating bratty kids yanking their fur.

Alastor

“I suppose five blocks is exciting if it’s the first time you’ve been allowed on the trolley,” he says dryly; then, while Alexander is distracted, he gives Valera an inquiring look. He’s not going to ask Valera about their reaction to his magic while Alexander is around, but he wants them to know he *noticed* and he’s *going* to as soon as he has a chance.

Valera

Valera looks at Alastor, giving him the most innocent stare they can manage with those big ole eyes... And then snorts, shakes their head, and gives a thumbs up. Yeah, yeah. Quiz them later, radio deerman.

Looking back to Alexander and his prodding hands, Valera finally hauls herself up to cheerfully clap her hands together. "Well! This has been lovely, but I think that's enough excitement for the day. We've both got new projects to get to, and the sooner we sort this fellow out the better!"

Alastor

“I think you’re right! Happy I could offer my assistance.” He offers a hand to Alexander. “And a pleasure to meet you, my good sir!”

Valera

Alexander pauses in his prodding to take Alastor's hand in both of his, giving it a firm shake. "I hope I'll see you again, Alastor! Even if we can't figure out how to help me, meeting a fellow radio enthusiast of your caliber is more than worth being stuck in an attic for so long!"

Alastor

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll find a way!” And a firm shake back. “And even if not, I’ll be visiting from time to time anyway, never you fear.”

Valera

Val would ask if that was a threat or a promise, but she isn't really sure she wants to know. A portal is prepared in short order, one wall of the sitting room turning a familiar inky black as she rises from the couch. She does, however, make a point to look Alastor dead in the eyes as she speaks her goodbye. "I'll see you in Hell, Alastor."

Alastor

It’s only a threat if Valera finds his presence threatening.

“Imminently, or eventually?” He *does* still want to find out what that Look was about.

Valera

She grins, ignoring Alexander as he quietly oohs and aahs over the portal. "Eventually! I'll be there tonight or tomorrow, depending on wherever Penny decides to sleep, but who knows when you'll actually _see_ me there."

Alastor

“Well, track me down to talk when you can.” An unnecessarily dramatic half-bow and he steps through the portal.

Carefully. He doesn’t know what angle he’s going to emerge at.

[kathyprior4200]

Entertainment in Inferno! (Alastor Enters Hell)

Part 1: “Alastor enters Hell” 1933

  Hell: 1933

 Black empty space.

Complete silence.

He felt like he was floating in some kind of void. Where he was, he didn’t know.

 He had no form, no physical sensations of any kind.

For a moment he just…was.

 A small white light emerged from the dark above, and steadily grew. Though it was blinding, the light didn’t bother him.

“Alastor…Alastor…”

A choir of vocals were speaking the repeated word in the distance. The voices grew louder as he felt himself rising upward. The word felt comforting to him, and sounded strangely familiar.

“Alastor…”

 He suddenly stopped and saw a golden gate up ahead within white clouds. A winged figure puffed up his white wings and stared at him.

“I am Puriel,” the angel said. He had a white face with red blotches on his cheeks, yellow eyes and short bronze gold hair. He was dressed in white dress pants, a white shirt, a golden bowtie, and matching shoes.

“I am an examiner of souls and one of many who determine where one goes in the afterlife.”

He spoke an incantation.

“Alastor Roscoe Duvalier,” Puriel stated. “Here is your previous form.”

Alastor gasped as he suddenly remembered his name. A flood of memories of his past life rushed back to him.

Alastor stared down at himself and saw his human reflection in front of him. A thin man with a pointed chin stared back at him with chocolate brown eyes and small round glasses. His skin was a very light brown, looking almost white. His hair color was in-between brown and red, short with a bit of a wave pointing to one side. The longest parts of his hair were slightly past his ears, reaching toward his chin.

A large black bowtie was positioned below his neck. His undershirt was white with buttons and crisscrossing lines forming a few diamonds. The design resembled the structure of a radio tower. Along with tan pants and brown boots, he wore a candy red pinstriped coat with dark red stripes going vertically down toward his waist.

What was disturbing about his reflection was a small red x on his forehead between his eyes that seemed to be glowing. His clothes were stained with blood as was the side of his face.

Alastor sprouted a large grin and instantly felt better. He said his name out loud, surprised to hear his voice.

 The angel in front of him continued. “Alastor Roscoe Duvalier, born in New Orleans to French American Joseph Duvalier and Creole American Loretta Duvalier. Entered Earth January 24th, 1896 at 3:00AM. Died in 1933 in the woods via a gunshot to the head and mauling by dogs.”

A brief flashback of him running from the police, trying to hide in the woods. Hearing the growling of canines and being surrounded by sharp teeth. A loud gunshot and an exploding pain through his head. Briefly seeing a buck in the distance before things went black.

Puriel looked through an endless holographic list of souls. He turned to Alastor with a glare.

“Due to the endless number of people you killed, you are not fit to enter Heaven. You are to either enter Hell, purgatory, Tartarus…” he listed off dark places from other cultures…

“…or go back to the endless void, as those who die a second death are fated to go.”

Alastor could feel a strange sensation, like someone, or something was tugging at his chest. It seemed to come from far below. He suddenly felt the need to follow it.

Having read his mind, Puriel nodded, a look of disgust on his face. “Your fate has been decided. Suffering and death will be there to meet you, unless you can somehow redeem yourself. Farewell.”

 The angel and the golden gate vanished, the darkness filling in again. Like the sudden drop of a roller coaster, Alastor felt himself plummeting rapidly down through the dark.

He literally screamed into the void.

“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

He thought he briefly saw a familiar blue and green planet out in space, but everything rushed by too quickly for him to comprehend.

Breaking through dark ground, falling further into hot magma, uncomfortable heat that was even hotter than the sun…

Falling ever so endlessly, until he rushed through an opening portal in a crimson sky, the rim surrounded by flames.

 Down below, a group of little red skinned imps were forcing enchanted voodoo dolls made of straw to dance on hot coals. Red glowing chains held the dolls in place around their necks, the magic coming from the lead imp’s claws. The lead imp cackled, wearing ringmaster’s clothing and a round hat while the other imps jeered. A few demons watched the show from a distance. Several circus tents were lined nearby. The lead imp looked up in horror as the yelling figure fell down…and crushed him, creating a giant crater in the ground. The chains disappeared and the dolls cheered. They jumped over the coals and chased away their tormentors with sizzling silver pins.

The imp and Alastor fell through another portal, this time into a dark void.  Alastor landed hard on his back despite no visible structure being there. He coughed and slowly stood up, brushing off dirt and ash from his hair and clothes. The imp rubbed his long horns in pain and stood up too. The imp glared at Alastor, baring his fangs, but was quickly held into place via black tentacles pinning down his arms and legs. The imp yelled before being consumed by rows of sharp white teeth that appeared in the dark.

Alastor remained perfectly still, not even daring to breathe. (Not that he really could, anymore.) The black space was nothing like the silent void of death. In fact, it was more like an ocean of dark matter, humid heat and…

…things that were alive.

 Shadow spirits ebbed and flowed through the endless space, some with glowing white eyes, others with horns, all of them blending in within the dark. Shrieks, moans, and the occasional cackle filled the air.

“Hello darkness, my old friend,” Alastor spoke to himself.

“Hello to you as well,” said a voice from behind him.

Alastor spun around and only saw darkness.

“Who’s there?”

“Over here,” said the voice, in a distorted eerie tone.

He looked to the side and nearly gasped. Surrounded by an aura of red was a shadow of what looked like a skeletal humanoid deer. The figure stood upright with large white holes for eyes and sharp teeth inside its mouth. A pair of large antlers sat around shadow deer ears and a mess of hair. A claw with four fingers gripped Alastor’s shoulders.

“Who are you?” Alastor asked.

The being morphed until it was a black copy of him.

“I am you,” the shadow replied. “You may call me… Rotsala. I was born from your deepest nightmares, nestled in your subconscious. All of your evil thoughts, your fear, your rage…and your desire for vengeance. Those thoughts nourished me. Every kill you made on Earth brought you one step closer to not only death, but also to the underground Loas, and myself. Once you died, I was born with this shadow vessel, and separated from your mind. I traveled down here, to my home, knowing you would come. Now we are reunited at last.”

“But you’re not a part of me anymore,” Alastor said.

“Yes and no,” the shadow said. “Though I have my own body, I am still a reflection of your true feelings, your true motivations. So, naturally, once we get to Hell I’ll be your…guide, as it were.”

“But we can’t go back to Hell. Aren’t we stuck down here?”

“Not for long,” said the shadow. He pointed down to Alastor’s arm. Alastor looked and saw three glowing red voodoo symbols etched onto it in blood.

Alastor could sense other ancient beings moving closer to him, speaking in ghostly whispers.

The shadow continued, “Your debt to the Loas and specifically to Lord Kalfu has been paid. A sacrifice of loved ones in addition to your own gruesome death…bestows upon you, neigh unlimited power.”

 It all happened before Alastor had the chance to blink. Shadow creatures rapidly circled around him and black tentacles enveloped his entire body like a macabre cocoon. Alastor yelled as his human skin cracked, and peeled off his body in fleshy chunks, which soon faded into dust. Muscle and bone also disintegrated rapidly. Surprisingly, it wasn’t agonizing. It was more like the natural process of a snake shedding its old skin to make way for something new.

He felt formless, naked and cold, but soon warmed up as new flesh formed where his old exterior shell once was.

 His new skin and face were grayish in color. Empty dark sockets took up much of his face, the home of his new demonic red eyes. Soon, other body features formed: thin gray arms, legs, four fingered hands and four-toed feet…an anatomy of a male human, though definitely not human at all.

Alastor opened his mouth and sharp yellow fangs slowly emerged from the top and bottom. They closed together to form a wide sinister smile.

Thick red hair grew on Alastor’s head, pointing out in a slight wave toward the right like his previous human form. Tuffs of hair ending slightly past his chin on either side completed the look, ending with black colored tips. Instead of round earlobes, thick fluffy deer-shaped ears grew from the sides of his head, ending in black furry tips. In addition, small black antlers stuck out in the middle of his head, along with a fluffy black and red deer tail that appeared near his tailbone.

Alastor waved his hand in front of his right eye, and an old fashioned monocle appeared under it, connected by a thin chain. A burgundy pinstriped dress coat and a red undershirt materialized and covered his body. The ends of the coat were filled with several holes, giving it a tattered feel. An upside down black cross lay under a large black bowtie in place under his chin and neck. He wore the same color pants, plus black shoes with red deer hoof prints on the soles. Black gloves with red tips covered his four-clawed hands.

With his new form complete, the tentacles released Alastor and parted away.

 Tingling hot red electricity spread into his head, then moved down his body, much of it resting in his hands and fingers. He snapped on instinct and a burst of red magic sparked to life like a firework.

Then knowledge of magic and voodoo spells entered into his brain. The new information faded into the back of his head, staying there like he had it within him all his life.

“HEHEHEHEHAHAHAHA!”

Alastor let out a maniacal laugh that rose higher into hysterical giggles. All this supernatural power was coursing through his veins, and he loved every second of it.

Finally the magic quietly faded with a humming sound.

Two shadow demon figures approached with silent steps, eyes glowing red. Alastor could barely make out their forms in the blackness.

“One more thing,” said the shadow. “Demons make deals down here in Hell, and they are not to be taken lightly. These two are friends of mine. They are a few of the representatives of this world below Hell.”

The shadow creatures morphed into two alternate versions of Alastor. The one to the left had a red deer head with large antlers, radio dials for eyes and a dark blue suit. The other one had an old fashioned radio for a head, and wore a red suit with a black tie with crisscross lines on it like those of a radio tower.

“These two have taken forms suitable to your liking. They were the main ones who helped transform you…you may call them by their pseudonyms Cerf and Muse.”

The two shadows turned men awkwardly waved, feeling out of place in their temporary demon costumes.

“Since they used all their effort to craft you a suitable body to enter Hell…it only seems fitting that you could help them out as well.”

Alastor narrowed his eyes. There was more to this. “A proposal?”

The shadow nodded. “Give some of your newfound power to them and a connection will be forged between you and my brethren. You will be able to summon imps, shadow spirits and even the darkest creatures of the underworld with just a snap of your fingers. Cerf and Muse can serve as your bodyguards.”

Cerf walked forward. “I will give you animal instincts like sharp hearing and fast reflexes.”

Muse elbowed Cerf’s side and pushed forward. “I can give you something even better…your own personal weapon!”

Alastor was intrigued. “What is it?”

Muse smirked and wagged his claw, “You’ll have to agree to the deal if you want to find out!”

Alastor kept his smile on his face, standing proud in the face of uncertainty and risk. “And what’s in it for you?”

Alastor’s shadow grinned. “Why, your power, of course! Your sins on Earth coupled with your granted powers have made you, perhaps the most powerful demon yet to be. It would be quite useful for us in the long run.”

“Yes, yes,” said Cerf, “You know, ‘cause we want to eventually be free to roam Hell…and feast on delicious souls…havoc on the house!”

Muse elbowed him hard and flashed a warning.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Idiot,” he muttered.

“Aw come on,” said Cerf. “We worked for that Dr. Facilier not too long ago, remember? His soul’s still in Hell and he still has his Eldritch powers. This guy can’t be that bad.”

Alastor grinned, getting an idea. “Hmm…how much power do you want from me?”

“50%,” said the shadow.

Alastor scoffed. “Ha! No. Way too much. After all that effort in giving it to me? No. I won’t relent that easily.”

“Well…if you don’t take the deal, we could always take some away…”

Alastor leaned in close and sneered, “Then I guess I’d be left with fighting myself for eternity then. I think we both know that it would get boring fast.”

The shadow nodded after a pause. “Touche. How about 30%?”

“Still too much. I could give you a wealthy 1%.”

“It’s gotta be above a single digit, or the exchange is off,” said the shadow. “25%.”

“Nonono. How about 10%. You tell me where I can find this Facilier guy…make him my slave…it’ll be all yours.”

Alastor’s shadow held out his hand, the other creatures looking on eagerly. “So, do we have a deal?”

Alastor grinned and put his hand into the shadowy digit. Green electricity sparked as they shook.

Cerf and Muse spiraled around him in circles. Cerf vanished into Alastor’s ears, awakening his senses. Muse turned into shadow once more…and began to change shape. The shadow transformed and Alastor felt something appear in his right hand.

 It was an old red vintage microphone staff. A glowing red eye appeared on the top, just below where the speaker was.

“About time you sealed that surreal deal,” came a voice from the device. It was a male voice with a radio filter over it. It sounded like an announcer on a broadcast.

“So this is my new weapon and accessory you were talking about.” Alastor said.

“Yes indeed,” the microphone replied. “Just turn me on and you can broadcast what’s going on around you, anytime, anywhere. I should say…your desire and love for telling dad jokes…I’ll help you go overboard with it.”

Alastor grinned again. He was already enjoying this opportunity.

“Enjoy yourself while you can, Radio Star,” said his shadow before disappearing behind him.

The microphone muttered something about already feeling trapped but Alastor didn’t listen.

He was already planning his next move.

“What am I waiting for?!” he asked out loud. He concentrated on the space in front of him and a portal opened back to Hell. He stepped through it and it closed behind him.

 This would be the beginning of Alastor’s many conquests of Hell…and his new title of The Radio Demon.

 The very first attack occurred in a dark forest in the moonlight (if there were even moons in Hell). Alastor discovered that when he concentrated and waved his hands over the ground, he could summon tentacles, shadow spirits and even voodoo imps from below.

If he was going to take over this peculiar place called Hell and be entertained, at least he would have help.

The demonic deer could hear the patter of footsteps and hid in the shadows, behind an old tree. Moving his head sideways, he peered to get a better look. Walking on the trail were two skeletal deer walking on two hooves. One of them was smoking a cigarette and the other was talking about “borrowing” coins from his ex-girlfriend. Behind them was a black minotaur in jeans and overalls. The first deer carelessly threw his used cigarette on the ground.

Alastor stared at it and the path ahead, getting an idea.

He picked up a rock and threw it in the distance. It crashed hard into the ground, causing the area to shake.

The two deer froze at the explosive noise and turned their heads around.

“What was that?” one asked.

“I didn’t hear nothin’,” said the second.

“You boneheads be hearin’ things,” growled the minotaur. He unzipped his backpack and took out an axe. He swiped several times in front of him, causing the deer to duck. “I pay you to protect me. Your job’s to cut down these trees for wood. Our saloon’s not gonna warm itself up in the winter ya, know.”

He kicked one of the deer with his hoof, sending the creature forward in a pile of bones. “Hurry up, now!”

The deer got up and continued forward. Alastor stretched out his hand and a black tendril snaked in front of the path. Invisible and silent, the deer didn’t notice it until they tripped over it.

“Aurgh!” they yelled, face planting in the dirt.

“You’re good for nothin’ but shit!” chided the angry minotaur. “Get your fat bony asses up before…”

FWOOOSH!

The lone cigarette erupted into flames from behind them.

“Before…that happens?” asked one of the deer, pointing behind the minotaur.

The flames moved rapidly through the dried wood. The deer rattled as they ran but were blocked as sparks ignited in front of them, with a snap of Alastor’s fingers. The barrier of fire blocked their path. Soon, the trio of sinners were surrounded by the flames.

“Now what?” asked one of the deer.

“Run through it, imbecile!” yelled the minotaur. “Or you’ll be even deader than you already are!”

Chuckling, Alastor turned on his microphone and strode forward, the flames having no effect on him. A spotlight shone from the eye that appeared in the center of the microphone.

“I believe I can help with that.”

“Who the fuck are you?!” spat the minotaur.

“The end of your pathetic existence,” Alastor said. “I’d say your attitude is sheer bullcrap, but who am I to know for sure.” He laughed at his pun as sounds of a laughing audience emitted from the staff.

The minotaur bellowed in rage and charged forward. A hard slap on the face from Alastor sent the bull man to the ground. Alastor stomped his foot and the bone deer were sent down into the depths in pieces.

“I’ve never hunted a bull before,” Alastor said, walking up to the minotaur on the ground. Four black spirits with big white eyes appeared to restrain him. A hunting knife appeared in his gloved hand. “…But I look forward to the new experience.”

He wedged the blade under the bull’s horns and began to saw through the material. The minotaur couldn’t fight off the spirits holding him down. Taking his sweet time, Alastor cut off the bull’s other horn.

“I must say, your horns are exquisite,” Alastor mentioned. He examined one in his hands like it was an artifact.

“Stealing my horns for the black market, are ya?” asked the minotaur.

“Nope!” he said. “I’m just curious to see how useful these things can be. We’re about to find out, ladies and gents…”

He rushed forward and stabbed the minotaur with his own horn. The bull roared loudly and briefly gurgled before falling backward with a limp. The horn was removed and coated with dark red blood.

Sticking out his long purple tongue, Alastor licked off some of the blood from the horn’s surface. He bent down and began to skin the dead minotaur before enjoying his midnight meal. “In case you were wondering, folks, bull meat can be hearty and tasty. Venison is my favorite, though.”

He stood up and wiped off his mouth. With a wave of his hands, the flames disappeared as did the spirits. Clearing his throat, he said in his announcer voice, “Welcome to the first ever radio broadcast, hosted by me, Alastor. 66.6 FM. It has to be deeply embarrassing to get stabbed to death by your own horn. But I don’t have any horns except the severed ones in my hand. Honestly, seeing the life leave that sinner’s eyes got me…should I say…horny. Ha ha ha! Stay tuned for more broadcasts in the future. Ta-la for now!”

He turned off his microphone with a tap and hummed a happy tune as he walked through the woods.

 The second massacre was much more exciting for Alastor. It took place at an annual fair, which was jam packed with demons. Alastor casually walked toward the line of demons waiting to get in. He whacked one demon in the back with his cane. The demon toppled forward, ramming into another demon, who tumbled into the next one. In a comedic domino effect, all the demons crashed to the ground in yelps and grunts.

“What’s the meaning of this?” asked a grumpy old demon with the face of a mosquito. The insect demon wore a white shirt with vertical black stripes.

“Why hello there, good sir!” said Alastor, walking up to the booth. “I felt that the line was going much too slow, so I decided to speed things up.”

“Get back in line, punk,” the mosquito spit. “Or I’ll suck up your blood and energy.”

“Oh no, how scary,” Alastor exclaimed in a mocking tone. Still, he kept a protective spirit in his pocket for powerful demons like the one in front of him.

“Just tell me how much it costs to get in,” said Alastor. “I have lots of dosh.”

“One thousand and ten souls,” the mosquito grunted.

“I believe the sign only says fifty souls,” Alastor mentioned.

“No, it says one thous…”

He glanced at the sign which read: “County Fair, best in Hell, fifty souls.”

“It said one thousand and ten a moment ago.”

“I don’t think so,” said Alastor, laughing inwardly.

“Enough of your games!” bellowed the mosquito. “Get back in line. You should have enough to pay for this.”

“I do have fifty souls,” Alastor replied.

“One hundred and ten, idiot,” said the mosquito.

“Fifty!” Alastor answered.

“Hundred ten!”

“Fifty!”

“Hundred ten!”

“Hundred ten!”

“Fifty!” yelled the mosquito.

“How about zero!”

“Zero?!” yelled the mosquito.

“Zero it is! Thank you, fine sir!” called Alastor, swatting the mosquito’s face with his staff. He vanished ahead into shadow, leaving the mosquito in disbelief.

 Alastor hummed happily as he walked among aisles of stands and booths. Children monsters threw bombs at a target, sending a sitting bat demon into a tub of acid below.

“Rotten candy!” called a pink dragon at a booth. “Freshly spun for everyone!” Blue and pink candy floss was being spun, and scooped up into a white cone. The dragon burped and the candy turned a sickly green.

A hydra at another stand was throwing darts at live suspended teddy bears covered with sores, some with eyes missing. Another demon with a TV for a head was riding a unicycle while twirling live wires in his hands.

Off in the distance, a family of brown Gollums were riding on a Ferris wheel. One of the parents got mad and threw a baby Gollum off into the air.

A roller coaster with zombies in the cars sent them upside down, then dropping them several feet to the ground on a mattress of metal spikes.

 Inside a red and black circus tent, a crowd of demons sat in the stands, watching some individuals perform tricks in the center. A sign nearby read: “The Amazing Imp Siblings! Blitzo, Tilla, and Barbie Wire!”

Another sign read “The Incredible Blitzo! Big top, tickets now! One night only!”

“Come one, come all!” came the announcer’s voice from a speaker. “Presenting your favorite trio of tricksters…”

Drums played rapidly in the background…

“The Imp Siblings!”

Blitzo and his sisters emerged from an opening in the wooden floor and posed on a podium. The crowd clapped.

“Hello, I’m Blitzo, the “o” is silent!” called the imp in the middle. He wore a navy blue sequined outfit with yellow eye decorations on the sleeves. His face was red and white and his horns long and curved.

“I’m Tilla,” said the older imp sister.

Tilla’s face was red and her hair was long and black. Her dress was pink with black dots along the front.

“And I’m Barbie Wire!” said the youngest sibling. Barbie Wire wore a black and white stripped dress, and her horns were curved in spirals around her head like a ram.

After a jingle about their new Immediate Murder Professional Company, Blitzo mentioned to his siblings, who both grinned. The imps took their places as their performance started. Circus music played nearby, one scrawny demon playing a rusted organ on wheels off to the side.

True to her name, Barbie Wire balanced on a tightrope made of razor thin wire. When flying bats surrounded her, she took out a spear and sliced them down when they flew close. She almost fell, but held out the spear in front of her, steading herself.

Tilla was busy doing flips as a giant manticore was released from a nearby cage. The beast had a lion’s head, black bat wings, and the tail of a scorpion. Tilla dodged the deadly tail and began to jump over it like she was doing jump-rope. With a mighty back-flip, she landed on the manticore’s back and rode the beast around the arena. The manticore roared and reared up, but Tilla brought the beast back down, taming it.

Meanwhile, Blitzo was singing a song about murder into a microphone while twirling a double-sided torch in his hand. The three siblings killed off more creatures before landing gracefully back in the center before taking a bow. The crowd stood up and applauded with hands, claws, fins, and other appendages.

  “Wow, what a performance!” exclaimed Alastor, his voice blending into the cheers. “Now this is what I call one hell of a show!”

 The Radio Demon filed out with the rest of the crowd. Feeling giddy, he played several of the games at the stands (and didn’t hesitate to cheat in order to win.) He ordered hot dogs (made from actual dog), blood punch, bird brains on a stick…and passed on the literal shit kababs.

A pleasant feeling of nostalgia came over him as he remembered the fun times going to the circus with his family as a kid. He loved playing the games and feeding the animals at the petting zoo. He was especially fascinated by the fortune tellers, who had used Tarot cards to predict people’s futures. The Fool card, representing curiosity and beginnings, was drawn as his card for his childhood. For his future teenager card, the Hermit was chosen, representing isolation. Justice was the chosen card for adulthood, adding to karma. Last of all, if he made it past 30, the Devil card was placed in front of him.

At the time, he didn’t know what they meant, but it was fascinating all the same.

Back in the present, a troll with three eyes was dragging a struggling buck toward a sitting group of spider demons waiting to ride it.

“Man, I’m still hungry,” he thought. “Haven’t had venison in forever.”

He summoned a rifle in his hands and proceeded to blast the deer’s head clean off.

“The fuck?!” bellowed the gray-skinned troll, stomping toward him. “That was my prized animal!”

“And that is my meal,” he replied.

The troll raised his fist and brought it down to where Alastor once stood. He materialized behind him.

“Stop trolling around and show me what you’ve got,” said Alastor.

The troll landed more punches, Alastor dodging every one.

“You’re no fun,” Alastor replied. He held out his hand and blasted a fireball straight into the troll’s face. The troll fell backwards to the ground, only a smoking hole of charred flesh where his face once was. Alastor picked up the deer head and smiled at the spider kids.

“You arachnids still want a ride?”

The spider kids scurried away, without saying a word.

 Later on, Alastor saw something that disturbed him inside for the first time. A group of four black reptile-like demons were huddled near a yellow and red striped circus tent. One held a whip in his hand and repeatedly slashed at a living voodoo horse made of straw. The creature was hauling a cart with a cage and was whining in pain.

“Get moving you bastard beast of burden!” sneered the snake demon.

The driver of the cart let out a hiss and a laugh. “Boy, we’re gonna be filthy rich by today’s end. Got lots of good victims to torture, it’ll make the boss happy.”

Alastor walked over toward the cage and saw several small voodoo dolls who were very much alive. A father and a mother doll were comforting little doll children who huddled into their cloth chests. The mother’s eyes were purple buttons and though her mouth was stitched shut, a voice still emerged.

“It’ll be okay, my son,” she said, soothingly.

“Mom, I don’t wanna go to the spectacle,” cried the kid.

The father doll sighed. “I can see why. My mother was used by a demon to harm his rival in the Second Circle of Hell. The pins and needles stuck into her every day, hurt her as much as that poor demon. But we’re stuck as slaves. We have no choice. To the demons and imps, we’re nothing but tools to be used.”

“That is very true,” thought Alastor. “But what if they could be used in a good way?”

The father looked at a grisly array of straw voodoo heads sticking from long spikes in the ground. The dead heads were trophies for the snake monsters. One wrinkled head with white curly hair remained motionless on a bloodstained spike.

“That’s your grandmother over there,” said the father. The boy doll turned away.

“The voodoo dolls who don’t serve their purpose right…” added the mother doll. She mentioned outside to more reptile demons eating living dolls, burning others, tearing other dolls to shreds and sewing them back together, only to repeat the process.

Alastor snapped his fingers and the cage door opened. The dolls stared confused but soon ran out when they saw the demon’s face.

“Hey, get back here!” called a bipedal snake as his captives fled on their short stubby legs.

Radio noises rushed from his staff as Alastor spoke a Creole spell.

Other voodoo imps and creatures slowly turned their heads to look toward him. Round faced dolls who were originally tied by chains broke free. Many gathered nearby knives, pitchforks, and even torches.

“You inssssulent strawberry clown!” hissed the boss snake, slithering over, wearing a business suit of black. “You think you can get away with ssssetting my prizes free like that. I’ll bite you and make you wish you never died!”

A tentacle rose from the ground and constricted the snake’s neck. His yellow eyes bulged and he gasped for air through his fanged mouth. He was then tossed aside into a pit of flames. A nearby doll rebel mob stabbed the snake with sharp pins.

Casting another spell, Alastor grew taller until he towered above the circus tent. His dress coat merged with the tent and flaps. Black spikes jutted from out of the tent and other tents nearby, some with voodoo heads on them.

Telepathically using pins to hold open the flaps, Alastor pulled the rest of the snake-men in with several tentacles. A roaring fire blazed to life right where the demons were standing. The reptiles roared in agony as the flames consumed their bodies. One snake opened his mouth, wide, reaching out from the tent, trying to escape. Voodoo imps off to the side, held their little weapons in the air, attacking any other demons who wondered by. The voodoo minions now had mouths of sharp teeth, with blood around their mouths, eyes white. Alastor, meanwhile was enjoying the carnage below, now in full demon form. His hands were spread out wide, his eyes red radio dials, and his antlers jutting out from his head. All the while, his victory was broadcast yet again over the radio.

“Goood afternoon, you filthy sinners! It’s your favorite radio demon, Alastor coming in live! I am here at the annual county fair. Just listen to that cheerful circus music, and the joyful sounds of sinners on their days off. And best of all, the screams of those unfortunate enough to be trapped in my inferno! Chaos is still running rampant here as voodoo dolls strike down their former masters with every kind of weapon imaginable. You know what they say: “be careful what you wish for…you may soon be on fire, for better or worse!” Tickets are still on sale for those who’d like to experience the show. Well that’s all for now, folks. Stay tuned for more, next time on 66.6 FM.”

 Now in Alastor’s control, the doll citizens caused havoc around hell in the name of their new lord of chaos. They had aided him in his many other conquests, doing his bidding like the shadow spirits.

 During one particular conquest, the voodoo imps stood in a line beside Alastor as they overlooked a city in one of the Nine Circles. The sky on that day was red and cloudless, the color of fresh blood.

The demons who lived there had supported Sir Pentious, the evil snake overlord from the 1800s. The boastful villain himself was there, controlling a hulking machine with metal arms and legs…and lots of blasters, from the inside. His egg minion army stood at the ready, some of them running around the inside, others watching their leader in awe.

“Oh I really wish I could be shot with one of those amazingly crafted blasters,” said egg #66.

“Shut up!” hissed the overlord, his one-eyed top hat on his head. “I need to focus here! There’s a rogue army of…toys straight ahead trying to take over this turf. But several perfect shots from my blasters will do the trick.”

The snake pulled several levers and the blasters fired torpedoes that exploded off in the distance. Alastor had formed a red energy shield which protected him and the dolls.

“Hey, red reindeer man!” Sir Pentious called through a loudspeaker. “What are you doing on my turf?”

Alastor turned on his microphone. His voice echoed through the air, accompanied by radio noises.

“It’s Alastor to you, old serpent. And I believe this territory now belongs to me.”

“Well my cult of demons would disagree with you,” Sir Pentious retorted. The demons stood holding spears and barring their teeth.

“You still have a chance to surrender and run,” said Alastor. “If I were you, I’d take it.”

“Fool!” Sir Pentious hissed. “You’re not getting in my way of my domination goal! Now, prepare to be blasted to bits! Hahahaha! Attack!”

More blasts shot from the robot’s arms. The demons yelled as the eggs charged forward, wearing pinstriped suits and black top hats. Alastor pointed his claws forward and the voodoo imps rushed in. One imp with horns, a black hat, and sharp teeth held a butcher knife. Another imp with horns bit into an egg minion with a large bite. The egg yelled and cracked open in a yok mess.

The eye on Alastor’s microphone created a spotlight that temporarily blinded the approaching demon soldiers. Happy, jazz music poured from the staff, a contrast to the grisly battle occurring.

A wealthy demon wearing a white shirt and rings on two of his three fingers, fled when flames sparked in front of him. Another demon wearing a blue general’s uniform had large black eyes and horns with black and pink stripes. He tried to fight off the imps, but the creatures held onto his legs with their fangs.

Black tentacles emerged from an opening portal, grabbing onto demons and tossing them inside like rag dolls. A final blast fired from Sir Pentious’ machine. “You’re done for!” the snake declared.

The torpedo froze in mid-air after Alastor held out his hand. The missile then flew backwards, right into the heart of the machine. The hunk of metal exploded and Sir Pentious fell out with a scream. He quickly fled while his remaining egg army followed after him. “I’ll have my revenge, Alastor! It’s far from over!”

“I’d say it’s closed curtains for your show,” the radio demon replied. He cut into his hand with a fingernail and droplets of red blood glowed.

The demon general stood up on shaky legs…then was instantly crushed by a large metal pillar. The pillar along with two others held up a tall radio tower that had materialized out of nowhere. A red light blinked ominously at the top, an Illuminati eye, watching everything.

“Now there’s some technology I can truly appreciate!” Alastor exclaimed with a clap of his hands.

Whenever Alastor paid a visit to a city or town, the people would run for cover, shouting, “It’s the Radio Demon! Run for your afterlives!”

Their screams and terrified faces filled Alastor with glee and a sense of dominance. He hovered in the air, his eyes demonic red, antlers long and extending from his head. He was a figure of chaos and power, under the glowing pink Pentagram in the indigo sky. Voodoo imps carried animal skulls on spikes as they roamed the streets. They left several spikes in the ground with severed demon heads attached (and sometimes voodoo doll heads.) The spikes would often stand near piles of dead demons. Some dolls broke into stores and smashed TV screens with their spears and weapons. “VOX EATS SOCKS!” was spray painted in red by two dolls on the glass window of the trashed TV store. After they left, a lone voodoo minion replaced the red “S” with a black “C” and cackled out loud. Alastor’s deer shadow hovered nearby in the air, with red eyes, large antlers and a grinning mouth.

Radios of all shapes and sizes were soon for sale in many stores in Hell. One of Alastor’s favorite ones was an old fashioned one with three panels at the top, a dial, and a row of grinning teeth that was part of the design on the front. A friendly reminder for listeners to keep on smiling.

The voodoo imps evolved further, some growing horns of purple and bright pink. Others rode in battle on skeletal deer with glowing red horns in place of antlers. Those more inclined to water hitched rides from moving skeletons of sharks and underwater monsters.

Even poor Husk, the alcohol drinking gambler cat demon, was dragged into Alastor’s schemes several times. At one point, he was forced to do a tap dance on stage to distract a crowd of demons while Alastor razed the nearby town. It was embarrassing for the winged cat demon, but Alastor obviously got a kick out of it. Reluctantly, Husk continued to serve Alastor in exchange for booze and cigarettes. Meanwhile, Niffty gladly helped out the Radio Demon by making him meals and helping to keep his interdimensional home tidy. She was just glad to be out of the flames and to keep busy. Both Niffty and Husk’s auras briefly glowed red like Alastor’s, indicating they were associates of his. However, they had free will of their own…when they were not summoned by him on occasion.

At one point, Alastor posed with the rest of the villain overlords: Vox the TV demon, Velvet, Valentino the porn studio owner, Rosie, a skeletal deer surrounded by a halo of blue fire, a two-headed bird in a tuxedo, a bird overlord with yellow shades, a black spider demon, a thick haired lady who looked like Helsa, and another woman who may have been Lilith. Husk and Niffty stood as shadow silhouettes. Thirteen individuals in all.

 By the time Alastor heard of the Hazbin Hotel, he had performed eleven successful massacres, all throughout the Nine Circles of Hell. There were even fliers taped around, showing Alastor at the circus with his victims burning underneath him. “THE RADIO DEMON! BEWARE HIM! DO NOT FUCK WITH HIM!” the fliers read.

Alastor hummed a jolly tune as he observed the fruitful results of his carnage. He was one step closer to dominating all of Hell.

 Part 2: “Exterminations”

During one random day, the clock tower ringed twelve ominous tones. Alastor was strutting down the street when he heard the noise. He glanced up at the tower where a counter read “number of days till next purge: 0.”

“Purge?” he thought. “Sounds intriguing. Some kind of killing contest between overlords?”

Alastor soon got his answer when the center of the overhead neon pentagram in the sky tore open. Through a dark hole, dark flying creatures swarmed out and headed off in different directions. There were at least twenty of them, perhaps more.

Upon closer inspection, they were dark angels with black feathery wings, curved horns and bird-like feet clad in dark armor. They wore LED masks complete with creepy glowing grins, large x’s over their right eyes and curved horns off to the back, reaching past behind their heads. Each one also carried a harpoon spear in their hands.

One angel threw a spear that struck a flying demon square in the eye. The demon fell to the ground, lifeless. Another harpoon struck an orange horned demon in the neck, resulting in a gory death. A lone spear flew and lodged itself in the wall right above Alastor’s head.

All around the city, demons were screaming and scurrying frantically for cover. Several Exterminators circled over the cowering citizens of Hell with mechanical laughs.

“Cleanse Hell of the sinner scum!” rang out on of the angel’s voices.

With a spin and swipe of a harpoon from another angel, other demons dropped dead like bowling pins.

One of the angels glanced over to Alastor. Two other angels glanced over too, all turning their heads, grins glowing.

Alastor hid his shock with a sinister smile of his own. The shock quickly morphed into a new excitement.

“Prepare to meet your second death,” said the angel in the middle.

“Am I supposed to be sacred of you crows?” he asked.

Alastor was surrounded by the three angels hovering above him, spears raised.

His eyes turned into red radio dials and his black antlers grew slightly longer from his head.

“This is going to be quite entertaining!”

The three spears were thrown forward and black tentacles reached and slapped the weapons away.

Just as the harpoons appeared back in the Exterminator’s hands, shadow spirits with red auras circles around the angels, screeching, clawing and attacking them. One angel flapped and flailed, shaking off several spirits by striking them with a swipe of his spear. A tentacle impaled the angel through his gut from behind them. The second angel got his wings torn off by two other black tentacles emerging from portals in midair. A shadow spirit grabbed the angel’s spear and sliced off its owner’s head, falling into one of the portals.

The third angel began to flee, but Alastor grabbed hold of one of the angel’s dark arms. The Exterminator elbowed Alastor and scratched his chest with long nails. Alastor glanced down at the tears and new flowing blood soaking into his red pinstriped dress coat.

He growled darkly in a demonic voice. “That was my favorite suit.”

The Radio Demon soon had the angel in a chokehold with one of his four-fingered gloved hands.

“L-let go, filth!” the angel sputtered with a gasp.

Using his strength, Alastor bashed the angel down hard against the pavement several times.  He soon heard a satisfying crack as his victim’s head split open and the dark horns fell off. He tossed the angel’s body aside for the nearby voodoo imps to consume.

 Tom Trench, a white-haired guy with a facemask and a business suit appeared on screen. 666 News logo appeared in neon behind him.

“Breaking news! Exterminators have invaded Hell once again, with an even greater number than last year. Pandemonium is in the air as Heaven’s army slaughters citizens right and left at random, to reduce the population, as is tradition. Please, for your own safety, stay indoors and on lockdown. If you’re looking to take over new territory, please refrain from doing so during the rampage. It’ll be up for grabs after the purge…if you’re still alive, of course.”

There was a sound of glass breaking from the news room as a spear flew over Tom Trenches head.

“That’s all for today! This is Tom Trench, 666 News at 5. Until next time, have a great evening.”

Tom Trench fled the scene as an LED wearing angel eclipsed the careen and smashed it, causing static.

Alastor stood still for a moment…

“Who ho ho! What a great picture show. Wasn’t expecting that nice surprise during this time. Perhaps I should broadcast my acts of destruction on those Exterminators…”

More spears flew in the air, crackling with electricity. Alastor saw more angels fly through the overhead hole. Alastor glanced at his stinging chest.

“One more act it is then.”

 His vintage microphone staff appeared in his right hand and lit up to life. The eye in the center of the microphone moved from side to side.

“You want to take things even further, do you not?” asked a radio voice from the microphone.

“You know me too well,” he replied. “But then again, you are a part of me, so of course you would.”

Alastor lifted himself into the air with a large tentacle, red voodoo symbols surrounding him. He tapped the staff and it blinked on.

 “Well good evening, little sinners! It’s your one any only host, Alastor, the Radio Demon. Right now, I’m in the midst of a bloody battle between you citizens and the infamous Exterminators. It looks like several denizens of Hell have already fallen prey to the invaders. One angel’s beating up an imp pretty bad over there. Another demon with a spear through her mouth by the store window, doesn’t look too good for her…”

Four angels flew headfirst toward Alastor, only to be knocked back by red energy flowing from Alastor’s body. One unlucky angel got set on fire with a simple snap of the demon’s fingers. The angel let out a rather unholy yell before disintegrating.

Alastor’s hands and microphone were splattered with fresh blood. He fooled with the angels for several more minutes and spoke into his microphone. “Time for some jokes, my friends. What do you call a rejected do-gooder from Heaven?”

Alastor punched a charging angel in the face, sending him flying.

“A fallen angel! Ahhahahaha.”

Several exterminators down below were disintegrating Alastor’s shadow spirits with beams of light from their hands. One angel shot beams of light at the Radio Demon, who dodged each one. Her hair was long and blonde in the back. The angel roared in anger and shot light spears in every direction. Tentacles around Alastor blocked her attacks.

“Wow, that angel over there looks pretty mad…”

She looped and spun herself rapidly toward him, her hand in a fist. Her fist stopped right in front of Alastor’s face. He grabbed hold of her chest tight with one hand and karate-chopped her head off with his other hand.

“…I guess you could say she lost her head! Hahahaha!”

He dropped her headless body and continued swatting angels away like flies.

 After a few more moments, Alastor was getting bored. It was time for the grand finale. He stood on a platform of surrounding tentacles.

He curled his right hand into a fist, sharp pointed nails digging into his now-glowing palm. Several large drops of red blood rained down from his hand, falling to the ground.

Several flaming holes appeared in the air around the flying exterminators. Tentacles wrapped around each of their waists, binding their hands and pulling back their wings. Their harpoons were tossed into the portals by separate tentacles. At least a dozen angels were brought close together, each of them bond by tentacles.

Voodoo symbols surrounded Alastor and his eyes briefly turned dark, displaying radio waves sizzling across them. His black antlers now extended far beyond his head.

Long thick shadows rose from the ground until forming into two swirling shadows on either side of the tied up angels. The shadows slowed, and solidified into two large gray four-clawed hands. The pointed fingernails were yellow, the same color as a spot down the middle of each finger.

Indeed, the large hands were uncovered copies of Alastor’s real hands.

The staff vanished. From a distance, Alastor lined up his own hands with the giant ones, which copied his hand movements.

 Then, inch by inch, the hands closed in.

 The angels stared in fear behind their gruesome masks, struggling to free themselves from their bonds. The remaining angels outside looked on in worry. A few bowed their heads and mouthed silent prayers.

The large curved fingers overlapped seconds after Alastor slowly interlocked his own. An invisible force tried to push the palms of his hands apart. But his hands closed in more, like he was molding invisible clay to his liking.

 “For my final act of tonight, you shall witness…”

The last of the angel’s heads and struggling forms disappeared behind gray fingers and flesh.

With an evil grin and a glow of his eyes, Alastor pushed his own hands together.

The large hands closed with a shuddering shake. Muffled crunching and squelching came from inside. Alastor opened up his hand and the giant ones followed. A shower of blood, bits of body parts, and black feathers rained down to the street.

He finished in a low demonic voice, “…the Exterminators’ crushing defeat.”

Applause erupted from his microphone as the large hands deformed and sent out shadowy creatures which vanished through the last several portals before they closed. The remaining angels shivered and fled through the black hole overhead. Alastor’s antlers receded back to normal size.

 “Well, folks, that’s all for tonight. I hope you enjoyed this remarkable demonstration of my amazing power. This is Alastor, 66.6 FM. Until next time, have a splendid evening…and as always, stay tuned!”

No one said a word as the Radio Demon lowered himself to the ground. The tentacles and portals vanished behind him. He stared at his bleeding hand and wrist. Lightheadedness overtook him. He waved his hand one more time and stepped down into a portal, which soon closed above him.

He breathed a sigh of relief. He was back in his lair, a bizarre home-like hideout floating in a void dimension just underneath Hell. It was a place where the Loa and dark spirits roamed.

Using so much power and blood magic had taken a bit of a stretch on his body. Gray circles were under his eyes, barely noticeable. With a yawn, he went into a bathroom to clean his wounds. The two handled faucets were made of gold and shaped like miniature deer heads. A black clawed bathtub decorated with large eyes stood in the center of the room.

After washing up and changing into a red velvet night gown, Alastor wandered past the living room, a room with a blood red rug, a couch, comfy leather chairs, and a fireplace of black flames. Above the mantle on the wall were stuffed deer heads mounted on display of various colors and states of decay. Rifles and several collected angel weapons were displayed in a darker corner of the room. Walking into the kitchen, Alastor pulled out vension deer meat from the icebox and heated it up on the stove. He hummed “You’re Never Fully Dressed” as he cooked.

After he ate his meal, he made his way into his room down the hall. Inside his room was a large bed with a leather comforter and satin red pillows. An old fashioned TV with two antennae sticking out stood nearby. Several different radios were lined up on a polished wooden dresser with a vanity mirror framed with round lights around it. Inside his closet were his suits neatly hung and shoes in a holder. Voodoo dolls resembling himself, Husk, Charlie, Angel and others were lined up in a black cabinet.

Alastor yawned again and climbed up into his bed. He soon had a small relaxed grin on his face. The lights went off after he waved his hand. His eyes dimmed and turned into small red radio dials. The droning sound of a radio powering off briefly filled the room as Alastor slept with his eyes wide open.

    Part 3: “Killing Spree for Three”

 Several years had passed since the Radio Demon had terrorized tons of provinces in Hell. It had started in 1933 shortly after his mortal death, when he fell down into Hell and was granted his powers by the Loas, Voodoo shadow spirits. Alastor, of course, had taken advantage of his new demonic deer-like form and Eldritch abilities, using his vintage microphone staff to broadcast his victories and carnage wherever he went. His sentient shadow had hovered by his side with an ever-present smile on his face like his counterpart.

During his time in Hell, Alastor had conjured looming metal radio towers and stations in the areas he had claimed. Despite being new to Hell in 1933, he quickly figured out the functions of Hell’s hierarchy.

Lucifer and Lilith were the powerful King and Queen, not to be tested with nor disobeyed. It was safe to assume that they knew everything that went on throughout the fiery realm. This was why Alastor never revealed his plans out loud…or if he did, he morphed the meaning into something more superficial.

Sinners, or those that had previously been human, were considered the lowest of the low in terms of class. They were the majority in Hell but also faced various forms of discrimination. Without his powers and charisma, Alastor would’ve fit the lowest sinner category.

Alastor was already familiar with being a societal outcast. Back in New Orleans as a human, he had been mocked and jeered at for being part white and part Creole. It was a time when racism ran rampant and white elites got to enjoy the most luxuries. If it weren’t for is mother and radio career, he would’ve rotted away in jail or in poverty.

 But unlike his previous life, Alastor was much more prepared, and powerful. The Hellborns included imps, hellhounds and other creatures born in Hell, considered “superior” to sinners. However, even the Hellborn were nothing compared to the Overlords, powerful demon rulers with abilities beyond average. Alastor had become an overlord the moment he broadcast his first massacre in a dark gnarled wood.

 It was not uncommon for overlords to not get along and to fight over turf, slaves, drugs and other commodities. Vox, the TV demon, Valentino the Porn Studio owner, and Velvet the doll demon were sometimes called the Three V villains. Vox and Alastor did not get along, for Alastor despised post 30’s technology. Alastor had also defeated Sir Pentious, an inventor snake demon who was previously born during the Industrial Revolution. Though that was so long ago, that he had forgotten who he was fighting with.

 Currently, Alastor had control over a voodoo doll and imp army, could summon shadow spirits at will and create portals to the “other side.” He even created his own interdimensional lair underneath Hell.

 Alas, just those benefits weren’t good enough. Alastor was a man constantly on the lookout for other sources of influence and entertainment. Why would he settle for anything less in his second “life?” Being one of the most powerful demons in Hell was no small feat. He required other allies and servants… those who were citizens themselves. Humming happily with his usual smile on his face, Alastor made his way into the city.

 Under the red sky, monsters and demons of all shapes and sizes wondered the pot-hole covered streets of Pentagram City. A neon Pentagram hovered over in the sky, a symbolic reminder to those below where they were. However, the demons went about their ways like ordinary humans would on Earth. Teen Hellhound females smoked cigarettes while leaning against a wall. A black furry spider demon got into an argument with a zombie over a meth purchase. The zombie punched the spider in the gut and in turn, the spider knocked the zombie’s head clean off. The head yelled swear words as it plopped to the ground.

 From inside a strip club, Angel Dust, a white spider demon was spinning upside down on a pole onstage. He was dressed in nothing but red lacy underwear, his legs spread wide for the viewers to see. Techno music was muffled by the window. Two snakes chased each other loudly and bust into the club, briefly catching Alastor’s attention. One demon spotted the Radio Demon from outside and fainted from terror. Angel Dust puckered his mouth in a kiss and waved at Alastor. Alastor rolled his red eyes in disgust and walked on.

 A vertical neon sign on a street corner displayed a yellow saxophone with white musical notes coming out of it. The words along the side read “Mimzy’s Club and Bar.”

“Mimzy…” Alastor said out loud. “That name sounds very familiar.”

He went up to open the door and walked inside.

 He was greeted by the upbeat sounds of trumpets, drums, a saxophone and even a piano not too far away. Demons wearing cowboy hats and mustaches were playing pool far in the back. Against one wall was a pink neon sign which read “Drinking” over a display of bottles. A humanoid couple dressed in Day of the Dead outfits were smooching in a booth filled with cigarette smoke. A red horned ogre dressed in gray Viking armor was serving up mugs of beer and alcohol to customers sitting on stools at the tall obsidian counter.

 Just then, a short demon dressed like a jester with a stripped hat complete with bells stood up from his chair. He looked up and saw Alastor’s pale grayish face leering down at him. The jester gasped in fright and scurried backward. “It-it’s the Radio Demon!”

The music abruptly stopped and the chatter ceased. Everyone turned to stare at him, fear, anger, and for a few, excitement in their eyes. Alastor snapped his fingers and a spotlight appeared over him.

“Hello, there fellow sinners! How are you all doing this fine evening?”

Nobody said a word.

He chuckled and held out his hands. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to harm anyone. I’ve just come by to relax and have a drink. Nothing wrong with that, right?”

Several demons quickly shook their heads and muttered affirmations. Alastor glanced at the jazz band on stage and tilted his head. “Aren’t you going to play some tunes for us?”

The band members started their next song, making sure it was loud and catchy.

Several other demons moved out of the way to let him pass.

Alastor tilted his hand toward his chest. “Ah, such pleasant company here!”

The spotlight faded as Alastor took a seat at the bar.

The Viking ogre turned to look at him.

“Haven’t seen you here before.”

“Surely you know who I am?”

The ogre shook his head, unfazed. The others turned to the bartender, with concerned looks.

“Well,” said Alastor, “It’s nice to meet you, good chap.”

The ogre just grunted in response.

“I’ll have a small black coffee and a glass of Sazerac liquor, please.” Sazerac was one of the first cocktails in New Orleans.

The ogre nodded. “7 souls each.”

Alastor placed 13 dark coins with a small eye on each one on the counter. The ogre scooped them up in his meaty hand and turned to get the drinks ready.

“Heh, heh, he forgot to count them,” Alastor thought.

 His black coffee was soon brought out in a small white mug on a white plate. Carefully picking up the mug by the round handle with several claws, Alastor softly blew over the cup before taking a sip. A satisfying bitter heat filled his mouth. It filled his core with warmth and made him feel more alert, just like it did every morning during his past life. He took more sips and closed his eyes in content. For a millisecond, unnoticed by anyone, his face briefly morphed into his human one: light brown skin, thin pointed chin, brown eyes and short brown hair with a wave off to one side. Small round glasses were placed over his nose. Then, just as quickly, his face returned to his current one: grayish pale, yellow teeth, red eyes, red and black hair, monocle under his right eye.

 After several musical numbers had played, Alastor’s next drink had arrived. Alastor noticed something was not right.

“Uh excuse me?” he asked.

“What?” asked the ogre.

“I asked for a glass of Sazerac. Why did you get me noodle juice?”

He stared at the cup of brown tea on the counter in disgust.

The ogre shrugged. “We ran out of that kind of liquor. That fellow over there ordered the last one.”

He pointed to a shark demon finishing up the rest of his liquor bottle before smashing it on the floor and pushing open the doors.

“Heheheheh…excuse me for a second,” Alastor said.

He stood up and followed the bipedal shark outside. The visitors sitting in booths and chairs could hear muffled pounding, grunts, and stomps coming from outside. At one point, a dark tentacle appeared out of nowhere and then vanished. The gray shark’s head was slammed against the window, slowly sliding down covered in red blood. The demons shrugged, turned back around and continued chatting.

The Radio Demon stomped back into the room, smile on his face but anger in his eyes. The ogre seemed to be whispering something to someone hidden in the back. Alastor spoke to the bartender, composed, hiding his frustration. “I believe we were at the part where I asked you…why did you serve me noodle juice?”

“I already told you, we were out of liquor.”

“How does a bar run out of liquor so suddenly?”

“How should I know?”

“Do you have anything else?”

The ogre occupied himself with cleaning a mug.

“Besides noodle juice?”

A muffled giggle came from behind a set of curtains. He waved his hand and the curtains pulled back. A demon with black wings, horns, and a hat with a domino on it was laying on the floor with several empty bottles of Sazerac around him. He whispered to the ogre who turned around, “You lost the bet, you fucking lard. I told you he’d say “noodle juice” when you gave him tea.”

“I ain’t giving you any money,” the ogre whispered. “I’m the one who pranked the prankster.”

The horned demon stopped laughing and narrowed his eyes. “6.6 souls, hand them over.”

Radio static suddenly filled the air. “You think I’m a joke to you?”

The horned demon turned around and his eyes met Alastor’s before he was plunged down into a portal that appeared from underneath him. The black tentacle monster swallowed the prankster demon in one gulp. The portal closed and Alastor stared at the ogre. He sat down in his seat.

“Kindly fetch me a bottle of Sazerac before I hang you from the ceiling with your intestines.”

The ogre gulped and ran out of the room. He was stopped by a sharp tentacle slicing through his chest. His mutilated body crashed down a flight of stars in the back, starling a waitress who looked like an ostrich.

Alastor tossed the tea aside and summoned a bottle of Sazerac in front of them.

“Sometimes you gotta do things yourself,” he muttered before taking a big gulp from the bottle. Despite his powers, he enjoyed it when people did things for him, like bringing him drinks. The soul coins he had given to the ogre, flew back into his hand and vanished.

  From backstage, a woman was putting the finishing touches of makeup on her face while staring at herself in a large square mirror framed in round lights. She took a deep breath and stood up from her seat. The music stopped and shortly after, a green suit-wearing alien stepped up to the stage and announced, “Our next performer, the marvelous Mimzy!” A woman walked onto the stage. Alastor looked over and his red eyes widened. His smile grew an inch more. The woman was short and chubby, wearing a pink flapper dress and a headband with pink feathers on it. Her black heels tapped against the floor in a rhythmic pace. Her face was white and her large eyes were black with hot pink pupils. She strutted up to the microphone, proud and confident.

Mimzy fluffed her short blonde hair and waved at the audience. Then she sang a lovely catchy jazz song from the early 1900s. Then she finished off with “Down in New Orleans,” much to Alastor’s delight. What a lovely melodic voice she had!

 Alastor remembered Mimzy as a blonde-haired human, she had been a worker at a jazz club in New Orleans and she and Alastor had danced together on stage. He admired her then and still admired her now. They had shared a kiss as humans but Alastor thought of her as an affectionate friend.

That was all before he went insane and killed her in a frenzy.

Mimzy had been sent to Hell since she killed her husband in self-defense and was briefly a prostitute to make ends meet.

 After Mimzy sang and stepped off to the side, another demon came up to the stage. She was tall and slender with sharp teeth in a smile, black eyes, and a large round pink hat with skulls on it covering her head. Several other demons bowed as she walked up to the microphone. She took out her pink umbrella, spun it around in a twirl and did a song and dance number: “Practically Perfect in Every Way.”

 “By the time the fire has burned the restless souls down,

I’ll tell you, yes I can,

No matter the circumstance for one thing you shall know,

My character is spite, shine, spic and span,

I’m practically perfect in every way”

 “For demons say

Each sin and misdeed knows no bounds

To hate is great and patently sound

I’m practically perfect head to tail

If you found a fault, it would be to no avail

I’m so practically perfect in every way”

 “Both prim and proper, graceful and stern

So passive, at peace yet willing to TURN (briefly goes to demon form)

I’m clean and honest, my manner refined

And I wear hats of the sensible kind

I suffer no nonsense and whilst I remain

There’s nothing much else I need to explain”

 “I’m practically perfect in every way

Factually flawless, that’s my forte

Uncanny ladies are hard to find

Unique, not meek, great matters of mind

I’m practically perfect, and never soiled

Killing like a villain with victims freshly boiled

I’m so practically perfect in every way

Well those are my credentials

Perhaps you have a few questions?”

 “Yeah I have one!” called a boar demon. “Did you copy Mary Poppin’s song and just add your words to it?”

The crowd laughed and clapped.

Rosie took a bow. “Yes, so what if I did? I did it for my audience!”

 On Earth, Rosie had been the CEO of a clothing company. She had also danced and met with Alastor as a human. She went to Hell due to forcing her employees to work long hours with hardly any breaks. Stern, elegant and vain, she was a perfectionist and it showed at her job. She did well when it came to organization, dressing fancy…and killing those who stood in her way. In Hell, she was an overlord and owner of an emporium.

Like with Mimzy, she and Alastor enjoyed singing and dancing…and terrorizing others. However, they had only gotten a glimpse of each other during their individual conquests and work.  

But now was the chance for Alastor to warm up to his lovely lady friends.

 Rosie finished her song and took a bow. Alastor clapped enthusiastically. “Bravo, bravo, what an outstanding performance!”

Alastor waved at the two performers who briefly glanced at him.

“Who’s that?” Mimzy asked, curiously.

“One of my fellow overlords. Haven’t interacted with him, though,” Rosie replied.

Alastor morphed into shadow and teleported onto the stage between them.

Both women gasped as Alastor appeared with either hand on their shoulders.

“Why hello, lovely ladies! Care if I join you?” He kissed Rosie’s hand, then Mimzy’s.

Rosie raised her eyebrows. “Aren’t you that super-powered radio guy that terrorized half of Hell?”

“Yes indeedy. How do you do?”

“Be thankful that you’re a fellow overlord,” Rosie replied. She stared into his red eyes, “…and I’ll admit, devilishly charming. You name?”

“Alastor.”

“I’m Rosie.”

“Mimzy,” said the other lady, already blushing at the handsome stranger.

“Boo!” shouted a white demon shaped like a fox. “You’re interrupting the show!”

Alastor merely shrugged and laughed, the spotlight now on him. He conjured up his microphone staff in his right hand, which glowed red. “How about one joke before the next dance?”

“No dad jokes, get off the stage!” the fox yelled.

Alastor turned to the booing demon. “What time does my radio show start in Hell?”

“No one fucking cares!” the fox yelled.

“6:06…A-M. But thankfully, you won’t have to listen to it.”

He snapped his fingers and the fox demon exploded in a shower of guts and blood. The other demons stepped away from the mess.

Having the time of his afterlife, Alastor smiled even more and held Mimzy and Rosie’s hands. With a wave of his hand, his usual outfit turned into a red suit, and a white undershirt with a black bowtie. He now had black tap dancing shoes plus a top hat complete with stitches and two small pins sticking out.

“Embarrassing fact, I can’t tap dance,” Alastor said under his breath.

“I can teach you how,” Rosie said.

Alastor’s red eyes curved slightly into arches, his smile genuine. “I’d like that very much.”

The jazz band began to play a catchy tune. Alastor stood between the two women.

“I think you may have heard this song on the radio. Ready?”

Mimzy and Rosie nodded, already knowing the lyrics and familiar music.

 Together the trio danced and sang Alastor’s favorite song: “You’re Never Fully Dressed Without A Smile.”

 “Hey, hobo man, Hey Dapper Dan

You’ve both got your style

But Brother, you’ve never fully dressed without a smile!”

 “Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But Brother you’re never fully dressed without a smile!”

 “Who cares what they’re wearing

On Main Street or Saville Row

It’s what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe that matters”

 “So, Senator, So Janitor

So long for a while

Remember you’re never fully dressed without a smile!”

  After a standing ovation from the audience, Rosie, Mimzy and Alastor sat together in a both. The table in front of them had a white tablecloth over it, though it was smeared with bloodstains. A small vase of black roses was placed in the center of the table.

The brown-haired bipedal ostrich waitress came over and asked them what they’d like to order.

“Rare venison, a side of Jambalaya, and a glass of New Orleans whiskey, 1901,” said Alastor.

“Shrimp Creole with champagne,” Mimzy added.

“Bouillabaisse and a glass of red wine,” Rosie said.

 “Deer meat?” Mimzy asked curiously as the waitress walked away on her long yellow bird legs.  

“Yep. Still got the old hunter in me.”

Alastor mimicked gunshots with his hands and Mimzy giggled.

“I must say, you’re a really good singer, Alastor,” Rosie said, smiling.

“Why thank you kindly, dear.”

“Despite what many may say, even genocidal overlords need some time to unwind and relax.”

“I agree with you there. Say, how did you meet Miss. Mimzy?”

“Strangely enough, at Lilith’s Resist concert,” Mimzy replied. “Rosie wanted to sing a song for Lilith and needed a backup vocalist. Naturally enough, I volunteered.”

“Were you nervous?” Alastor asked.

“Nervous, terrified…and super excited! Me, singing with an overlord and beside the queen! It was too good of an opportunity to waste. Heh, I’m glad I did well on the stage, otherwise Rosie would’ve incinerated me on the spot. People soon heard about my performance and more sinners came over to my jazz club!”

“Oh how wonderful!” Rosie replied. She then sighed. “Nothing out of the ordinary; still beating up my workers with my cattails made from hardened cat tails. (They feel like barbed steel, despite the appearance.) They still moan and complain but it seems to work. Business is business you know. There are those boring overlord meetings, occasionally discussing politics with the Magnes, the whole 66 yards. I bet that someday, my associate Franklin’s gonna get murdered and I’ll be the head of my emporium.”

Alastor laughed. “Oh my, how intriguing. You plan to kill him?”

“No, I’ll let mother nature do the rest.”

“Don’t you mean…stepmother inferno?”

Rosie rolled her eyes. “Puns are not funny.”

“They’re punny to me,” Alastor added. “Such great classics.”

Rosie cleared her throat, “No dad jokes. Please.”

“Aw come on,” Alastor teased in a mocking tone, “I was about to do my “Radio not, here I come” knock knock joke.”

Mimzy crossed her arms. “Spoilers, much?”

 The trio’s dinners had arrived: a large rotten shrimp and clams for Rosie, Creole shrimp with demon bones for Mimzy and a fresh deer head over shrimp, rice, sausage and vegetables for Alastor.

“This is such a splendid meal,” Rosie said, satisfied.

Alastor whipped his face with his napkin. “I agree. Just as tasty as my human victims I ate on Earth. Though I will say, in regards to my…ignorant father, nothing beats the sweet taste of vengeance!”

Mimicking a choking sound, he leaned his entire head backwards with a loud crack and the others laughed.

He repositioned his head back to the front.

  Alastor raised his bottle of whisky as Mimzy and Rosie lifted their drinks.

“To eternal chaos and happiness for us,” said Alastor, “and eternal damnation to our enemies.”

“Here, here!” they all said as their glasses clinked.

 Soon, they had all finished their meals.

Mimzy then took a closer look at Alastor. “You…act familiar. It’s like I’ve known you before.”

Alastor tilted his head slightly. “You don’t say? Because I can say the same about you. I remember this beautiful singer I encountered at a bar in New Orleans. She was confident in her singing and loved doughnuts and desserts?”

“Yes…yes that was me!” she exclaimed. “Heh, being busy in Hell doesn’t give you much time to think about your past life.”

Then her eyes grew wide, suddenly fearful. “You…did you…”

“What?” Alastor asked.

“You were the one will killed me!”

Alastor’s eyes moved off to the side. “No, that was a different Alastor.”

“Phonus balonus!” Mimzy exclaimed in anger. “How many people in New Orleans have such a unique name?”

Alastor shrugged. “A lot, I imagine.”

Mimzy shoved Alastor off to the side and grabbed hold of his fancy red outfit. “Why? Why did you do it?”

“You know… I don’t like…to be touched,” Alastor seethed.

“Answer me!”

Alastor took a breath and removed her hands from his shirt. Memories came flashing back to him. “You were about to call the coppers on me. I knew I’d be caught and my life would be over. I wasn’t in my right state of mind and...”

Alastor stared down at his hands. He hadn’t felt this kind of regret and numbness since he watched his mother die and eat her remains. “Ending people’s lives…it was my only purpose…the one thing I could control besides broadcasting on the radio. I could lash out my frustrations and see results…I felt powerful when I did it, and I still do.”

He paused, unsure of what to say next. He held in his oncoming tears. “I…was holding your body, feeling regret at what I had done…”

Mimzy slowly backed away.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” His voice cracked slightly, despite his smile.

“You just ended my life because you could! I tried to stop you.”

“Sometimes, I wish you would have,” Alastor said softly. Then his regular voice came back, though it didn’t display the usual showiness in it.

“But look at you know. You have a new life here. It’s in Hell, but you’ve made the most of it. You’re a star and everyone knows it. Aren’t you happy with your life here?”

Mimzy shrugged. “It’s still better than death.”

“I didn’t really know if there was going to be an afterlife or not. I…I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, you weren’t.” Mimzy replied. “I lost the Alastor I knew, that day, and…and now he’s gone.”

Tears fell freely from her black eyes. Alastor wiped away her tears with his finger. “I might not be human anymore, but I’m still here. Deep down, I’m still the same entertainer, but more than that, your close friend. I swear by Lucifer that I’ll never harm you again.” He held her hands and she sniffed.

“A-apology accepted.”

Alastor lifted up the corners of her mouth. “Don’t forget to smile, my dear. You’re never dressed without one.”

Mimzy leaned her head into Alastor’s chest, then abruptly sat up, hands on her hips.

“But you owe me…big time. 666 souls, daily groin kicks, plus swimming in the lake of fire.”

Alastor grinned.

“…without extra powers.”

Alastor’s grin shortened.

“So… it’s a deal then?” Alastor asked with a smirk.

She slapped his hand away. “No deals, jackass!”

Rosie’s eyes darted between the two of them. “Okay, this is awkward. Should I leave you two alone?”

“No no no, sweetheart, it’s fine,” Alastor reassured her.

“Don’t forget the midnight overlord meeting tomorrow. Lord Lucifer’s orders,” Rosie mentioned.

“Ugh how boring,” Alastor scoffed. “One of the bad things about my status.”

Alastor and his lady friends talked and enjoyed themselves throughout the night. It was a “dinner date” but it was also a “hanging hang out.” Afterwards. Rosie came up with the name after dinner when the three of them hung other demons from trees.

Soon the three friends embraced (Alastor hugged them, then stood back) and they said their farewells. Although Alastor was tempted to turn them into his slaves, he decided against it. Using his powers on another overlord could prove tricky. And he already made a promise not to hurt Mimzy.

Alastor glanced over at a casino and noticed a black and white cat winning a gambling tournament for the third time in a row. The way the cat moved and gulped down bottle after bottle of booze seemed familiar. A cyclops demon was sitting within the flames of a fireplace inside the building, sewing a quilt.

“Hmm,” Alastor thought. “A Niffty darling…and a Husk of a gambling guy…this should be quite entertaining…”

He finished with a low laugh.

 Next time… “Shady Deals” 1973

 Next time... “Daddy Dearest”

[nexstage]

LIMBO SILVAM - PART 9 (3/3)

"It's better if you hold onto my back" Lapis suggested "I don't want you to have an accident because of another issue your body might have"

 "I'll be fine. My head doesn't hurt that much anymore. Just numb and empty. Maybe If we do this slowly, we can reach the peak without more difficulties to deal with"

 "Are you completely sure?" Lapis wasn't that convinced of letting Peridot continue after witnessing how fragile she was.

 "I'll climb first and you will follow me from behind. That way, if I collapse or something, you can catch me. I'll be careful and tell you if I'm too tired to keep going, ok?"

 "Again, are you truly sure?" Lapis wanted to trust Peridot's judgment but with everything they have endured, it was proving too hard for her to change her mind. "Yeah, Laz. I'll be fine. I will take all the precautions"

 "Alright then. Go first" The green gem walked a bit clumsily while her companion kept a worried eye on her. Resolutely, she started escalating without pushing herself at the limit. Soon, her efforts became a bit quicker and more encouraged which brought a smile to Lapis' face. Despite the turbulent journey, they were having, her lover hadn't lost that brave and hardworking spark of hers and she wanted it to be that way.

 Because that was one of the things she admired of Peridot most, that no matter what she was always ready to fight back and help. Whenever the little Crystal Gem had an idea to improve Little Homeworld or a plan to make an important mission successful, that spark was present in her eyes and never wavered. But with this kind of journey, Lapis noticed how burnt out it got.

 Their powers not working, the deteriorating symptoms, the dangers and especially the void where they were stuck for who knows how long had taken away so much energy from Peri that it was a miracle she was still trying to fight. Though, if she had been alone during the whole ordeal, things would have been worse and Lapis didn't want to imagine her companion giving up because of that.

 The good news now was that they're closer than ever to finish this. Once they reached the peak and got to the other side, who knew what other challenges they would face. All they've gone through may be worth it or not, the sole thought of having wasted so much time in a solution that never existed, except in their own heads, was too scary for Lapis to dwell on.

 'We need to keep climbing, keep walking. There is no time for doubts' She told herself mentally. One hand grabbed a sharp icicle while her eyes were focused on Peridot. For now, things seemed to be fine with the green gem; however, the blue one had this sensation of being torn apart. Many forces were pulling her limbs, her head, her mind, every corner of her being in all directions. Like two or more beasts were fighting for prey by ripping it to pieces with claws and fangs.

 'Not now. Oh stars, not now. Not when I have to be there for Peri' Her gemstone felt cold, but not the normal kind. It was foreign, ominous and macabre. Like Death's claws claiming for its next victim who didn't stop fighting against the spectrum. Her anxiety skyrocketed, Lapis trembled violently, struggling for keeping her balance and sanity.

 Then, terror, her gemstone emanated paralyzing waves that made her believe she was going to break apart. Is that how it felt being shattered or at the brink of destruction? She swallowed the pain, poofing her chest with fake pride imitating Peridot's ego-boosting gestures, but it only made it worse. What was this torture?

 All her worst feelings and fears scattered in her mind while her body stopped, kept climbing, stopped, glitched. 'My head... I think I'm going to--'

 "Lapis, take my hand! Take it quickly!" Peridot yelled. Her voice sounded distant as if she were thousands of meters away from the blue gem. Her eyes could barely distinguish colors and shapes, all looked like a scribbled picture. One of her hands, however, was raised unconsciously to where she thought Peridot was.

 Her companion took it immediately and pulled with all her strength until she got Lapis at her side. The other, though, didn't respond or react, utterly numb for the sinister wave of sensations produced by her gemstone.

 "Shit!" Peridot swore after checking Lapis' back. Instead of being gray like the rest of her body had turned, it was almost covered in thick dark veins that came from her gemstone making it look like it'd been painted with black. There was no doubt that whatever that was happening to them, especially to Lapis was a new kind of corruption that could shatter them if not treated.

 "P-Peri... Where are we?" Lazuli murmured, drunk by fatigue. Her lover placed her gently on the side of an old arch and waited for the svelte gem to regain consciousness. "Lapis, you need to wait for me to show you. You aren't in the conditions to see it yet"

 "See what?"

 "Just breathe and rest for a while. You almost fainted and fall, Lapis. You could've cracked your gem" Peridot, for some reason she didn't know, sounded between panicked and totally done. Almost like Lazuli's old self.

 The blue gem breathed one, two, three, so many times as possible. Minutes passed until coming to half an hour, Lapis' trance and numbness finally giving space to clarity. "Ugh" the blue Crystal Gem pinched the bridge of her nose to rid of the draining headache pulsating inside her skull "Ok... Ok... I...waited already... Where are we now?"

 "Look at your right"

 Lapis did and her gasping was signal enough for Peridot to know that she was as surprised as the green gem had been a bit before.

 In front of them was the breathtaking and majestic mountain in all its splendor. Above it, there was a beautiful blue sky and fluffy, white clouds. It really gave you some peace for the mind compared to the rest of the journey that was the total opposite.

 "I can't believe it... Peri, we arrived!"

 "Well, not exactly but yeah, we just need to cross the huge and deadly cliff that is in our way and we'll finally have reached the peak. The only problem, though, it's...that there is no bridge"

 Oh...

 OH...

 "Fuck" Lapis swore and leaned her back on the right side of the arch. "Now what?"

 "Beats me. How do you feel though? You really gave a big scare back then. Your symptoms are getting to a point of being incurable. I-I don't want to imagine what will happen if we don't find Steven in time to treat you"

 "I say the same for you, Peri. I thought you were going to glitch and disappear. Heck, the only thing we need right now is a miracle to cross this cliff without getting ourselves shattered"

 Something crossed Peridot's mind. A miracle? Could that happen again? But what if not? What if that time was just luck? But still, they had endured terrible things, survived multiple attacks from monsters, being powerless and terribly sick, you can name them all. Maybe this cliff was the last test of their mental strength and unity.

 "Laz, let's do it" Peridot's determined expression was met by Lapis' confused eyes. "What do you mean?"

 "You said a miracle was the only thing that could help us now, and when we thought we were stuck in that void, something between us happened that got us out of there! What if we create another miracle to reach the peak?"

 "But how? I mean, wasn't it lucky?"

 "We had luck many times even when we faced together threats no one could stand. The Diamonds, Jasper, those monsters. However, there was something that gave us a real chance and that was being there for each other till the end. No hesitation, no fear, just focusing on what we wanted to do, what we wanted to accomplish. We can do it again"

 "If by that you're implying that we can fly by jumping such a huge cliff, then forget it. It's suicide"

 "We have seen things that shouldn't be normal on Earth after learning how things work on it. Please, Lapis, don't take this as if I'm desperate. This is our last leap of faith. Remember that episode from Camp Pining Hearts when Pierre and Percy made that jump together from one side of the end of the cave to the other side where the others were, even when the move was risky and with a high probability of failure and death and still they did it and survived?"

 "This is completely different from Camp Pining Hearts, Peridot"

 "What if it isn't? What if it's our chance to do the same and end this ordeal once and for all? I mean, there are no materials to build a bridge or another path to reach the peak. This is the solution. Faith in ourselves and each other, and then jump"

 "But if we die?" Peridot opened her mouth, then closed it due to the lack of good answers. If they die... If they did, then there would be nothing but the Afterlife, whatever it looked. Both gems had come so far, giving up wasn't an option. This was worth a shot. "If that happens, we'll at least have each other. Like in that void. Besides, if the Diamonds couldn't stop us, this stupid cliff can't either"

 Lapis wasn't that sure about it. During the whole journey they had been so close to death; however, at seeing Peri's unwavering decision some of the strength that was vanishing from her returned making her smile filled with resolution "Let's defeat that cliff then"

 The green gem took her hand, both Crystal Gems held tightly to their partner ready to run and do the leap of faith, but before that Lapis kissed her lover deeply much to Peridot's surprise "Just an extra power boost" the former technician blushed profusely and faked a cough much to Lazuli's happiness.

 "Ready, Lapis?"

 "Ready" said the blue gem and the two started running even with the numbing pain and back-breaking exhaustion. Everything went in slow camera when they made the jump, their hands locked with the other's, then they descended until... Clack!! Their feet collided with something hard that wasn’t there. Both looked at each other, shocked to the core; however, they didn't have time to ponder what had happened because the invisible bridge began to break apart.

 Lapis got up immediately and pulled Peridot so they could run more easily. Every step felt like a stab in some part of her body, of her gemstone. Peri, on the other hand, was having some difficulties in catching up with her companion but the fear of death gave her the impulse necessary to accelerate. The peak was getting closer, the bridge was trembling with their movements, their sight was being consumed by darkness, but the loving longing of home pulled them more and more to their goal.

 "Just a bit more, Dot!" Lapis shaking legs were at the brink of tripping "Just a bit--" then her feet felt no more ground. The bridge broke in pieces beneath her and Peri.

 'Oh no! Not now! Screw it!' Lazuli's last bit of energy was spent in a life-saving move by jumping to grab the edge of the peak, Peridot's hand still held by hers. Her arm felt like it was being torn mercilessly, the extra effort sending flames to the tired muscles, so agonizing. "Peridot, I'm gonna throw you to the peak! You help me from there!"

 "Roger!" The mechanic then was tossed and put to safety when she made it to the crevice of the mountain. Without losing time, she grabbed Lapis' right hand and pulled until the blue gem was on her knees on the snow-covered ground. Both fell to their backs, one at the other's side and in seconds snorts and cackles erupted from them until forming into massive laughter.

 Pain, numbness, danger, and terror became in overflowing joy and relief. They made it. They finally, truly made it!

 "WE MADE IT!!!!!!!!" Peridot yelled, raising her hands to the air like rubbing her victory to the skies' face.

 Lapis, meanwhile, cleaned her teary eyes, smile as big as the mountain "Yeah, Peri, we did it. You were right"

 "And now... Home. The other side where our friends and family are" The engineer helped the ex terraformer to get on her feet and both looked the beautiful light in front of them. The crevice in the peak of the mountain was narrow but inviting, like a tranquil path to a peaceful and calm place to rest and forget all the turmoils suffered at the beginning of their journey.

 "Let's go, Dot. This time it will be...easy peasy... Just walking..." Lapis was at the brink of fainting though her wishes of being in Little Homeworld again lifted her strengths even if by bits. "Yeah, come on" Peridot took her hand again and both walked, clumsily and drunk by fatigue.

 The former technician could picture already what she would do once they were home. Oh, all the stories she'd tell the Crystal Gems and Steven, they would be ecstatic to hear them and happy to have her back. Peridot would return as a hero again and even announce that she and Lapis were deeply in loved and had confessed to each other. There would be a great celebration and much more. The future was bright and there was nothing that may take it away from her.

 Lapis hummed a song, her mind conjuring lots of scenarios where the blue gem and her lover lived happily ever after, had fun and laughed like there was no tomorrow. To think that one day someone like her who had been trapped in a mirror for so long and made so many mistakes might imagine a life filled with hope and love. It was so daring but joyful in the end, something that very soon she was going to have again. Peridot and she would visit Pumpkin's tomb, watch Camp Pining Hearts, remember the good times, hang out with Bismuth, Steven, and most importantly, being together like they had never done before.

 And all of that was going to become a reality once they saw what was beyond the light.

 "It all...became...so lovely..." her eyes felt heavier with every step "Those bluest... skies...above me..." the end of the crevice was so close "Those...funny feelings... I...had never...felt before...I...met you... I finally...find myself...sitting on...that distant...shore" Peridot's hand slipped from hers, the green gem entering to the light-filled terrain beyond the crevice. However, something prevented Lapis from following the little gem. Her knees colliding with the ground, but still smiling, still feeling Peri's hand locked with her own while watching her away.

 "With you...I'm not...alone..." The svelte gem fell face down with a joyful expression in her face. 'We're finally going home' she thought, shedding a little tear of happiness.

 "I can see it, Laz. I can see our home" Peridot kept walking, ignorant that Lapis couldn't follow her despite having the sensation of the blue gem's hand on hers tightly. The former technician got farther and farther away until the light completely consumed her.

[requiem-wra]

Conscience

One of the dawn’s newest recruits tries to put his head straight and winds up talking to the past. 

CW: Hallucinations or ghosts, vague references to self-destructive tendencies, antagonistic friendship

Whatever D’lta’s projections, when it came down to it, he shook the eyes of his watchers easily. The surviving Pandaren villagers do their unwitting part to distract the Dawn, and he steps into the shadows and up. Not that his companions in arms seemed too interested in keeping track. He doesn’t think Basteala and Barnabas have let the majority of them in on his dirty laundry yet, though he still hasn’t determined why. Are they trying to limit the possibility Stormwind might find out they’re harboring a deserter, or do they mean to give him a fair chance? Jury’s still out on that one. He doesn’t know them well enough yet to be able to tell.

He lets his knees bend, bare wrists resting against them as he perches on the temple eaves. His gaze catches on the way skin seared by void magic shines dully in the moonlight. Looks a lot better than it felt when the rays of darkness plowed right through him. He thinks maybe he’s got the tall Draenei to thank for that, but the remainder still stings. A pile of bandages sits pooled over his lap, waiting for him to get his shit together and finish wrapping the minor wounds. He’ll get to it eventually. Just needs his head to stop racing first.  

“Th’ fuck am I doing here?” He mumbles to himself, words jumbled in an exhale. Sure, they’ve got blackmail on him. Sure, they’ll alert Rena to his position if they make a fuss about his whereabouts, and yeah things would get a whole lot easier if he could get one of his names cleared, but…

But they’re a goddamn mess. Commanders running suicide marches as atonement, almost no tactics to speak of, low battlefield cohesion and a whole lot of people who fancy themselves heroes running at wild odds head first with their eyes to the ground—they’re a disaster zone waiting to happen and suddenly he understands how Raelenin fits right in. He doesn’t know why he stuck around after he left the damn boat. He should have turned right around the minute someone mentioned void tears in the Jade Forest and the whole thing be damned, but...

“You going back to your marsh, golden boy?” He hears that long-gone voice tease, and doesn’t turn to look. Bad enough to hallucinate his voice without the image to back it up—too many memories and his head already hurts enough.

“Nah,” he grouches back, “I’ve got too much to do.”

“Hmm…. and you’re still sticking around this place?” The hallucination settles in his awareness, kneeling on the eaves to rest at his side. “I’d have thought you’d leave before next sunrise. There’s nothing they can really offer you, is there?”

“Yeah, well…” He waives a hand through the air. His voice rings out to no one, and he knows it. He rants to a ghost only he can hear, but there’s no one else up here to see him now. He might as well. “Maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s not just about me.” However scrambled the Dawn might have shown itself, the Pandaren civilians don’t deserve to face the void alone. Maybe he just doesn’t want to be complicit in leaving them to a terrible fate.

His apparition fakes a gasp. He feels the memory of those hands pushing playfully against his shoulder.

“Aurelian Mistfury recognizes there’s something bigger than himself!? Truly we have reached the end of days.”

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, asshole. My conscience might be more recent than yours, but it’s been stringing me along since you died. Not my fault you’ve missed out on all that.”

A beat of blessed silence follows. He tears his gaze away from damaged skin and presses his fingers to his eyes instead. The exhaustion must finally have caught up with him, to ring that damn voice so clearly through his head. “Not my fault either.” The illusion adds, quiet beneath the rushing in his ears.

He starts to wonder then… whether that voice only exists in his head, or whether Elune’s light has drawn something real of his squadmate from the afterlife to speak. He’s hallucinated before, but those phantoms never sound so—

His hands don’t shake as he lets them fall back down to his knees. He’s worked too hard to control himself for that, but Elune above do they want to. His head turns slowly, eyes widening as his gaze catches the hazy form of a shadow on the roof beside him.

“Quinn, if that’s really you and not just—” “Come on, dumbass. You know that’s not how this works.” He doesn’t know—never managed to figure out—how a man can sound so derisive and so damn fond at the same time. He doesn’t think his daydreams ever captured the effect so well… He has to swallow before he can speak again. His throat fights the motion, dry as the desert.

“I don’t know that, actually. Are there rules to being a ghost and or figment of my imagination?” The formless shadow of what might be a remnant of his friend, might not, just laughs. As he watches, shadowy substance fades and re-solidifies like a heartbeat. Golden eyes flick back to his knees. If this is a daydream, it’s a fucked up one, and if not—

Well. maybe he doesn’t want to see Quinn go.

“More rules than you’d ever follow.” He doesn’t actually feel the gentle smack on the back of his head, but he knows where it would have happened—a ghost of sensation that has his heart racing and his hair standing on end.

If this is real, and not some trick of the void and moonlight…

“There were a lot of things I never got to say to you.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to tell me later, golden boy. Not much left now though. Don’t get distracted.”

“Right, sorry.” His voice doesn’t waver, but something sharp scrapes up against his ribs when he exhales, buried feelings jagged enough to slice him up inside. “Please continue with your much more urgent message.”

“Did you already forget why you came up here? Didn’t realize your hard head was empty too.” He hates the nostalgia that threatens to choke him as much as he can’t stop the smile that forces its way onto his face.

“Asshole. Alright. Fine. Great and wise imaginary friend, what do you think? Would you split and leave these sanctimonius do-gooders to themselves as I plot ecoterrorism against the forces of the void?” He expects Quinn to say something about obligation or duty, or the need to protect those people in the Dawn who just want to do good in the world. He doesn’t expect—

“Take them up on their offer. Take them seriously, and get your stupid name cleared. You can do what you want after that.”

He blinks. He can’t help looking Quinn’s way, hair swinging in its braid with the speed at which he turns.

“The hell…? Not gonna lecture me about being in it for others?” Somehow, he gets the impression of familiar concern from that formless face.

“’Lian, you keep trying to do things the way I would want. You ever think maybe what I want is for you to do something that makes you happy?” Shadow pulses, fades pulses…. And blinks out. The sharp-edged knot in his chest digs deeper. He releases a wet exhale to the night sky, fingers clenching around the twisted mess of bandages in his lap.

Fucking hallucinations.

He should tear off this roof and run. He should leave this offer in the dust. He should—he should—

He should sit here and wrap his damn arm, and he should wait for the self-sacrificial commander to march back through the gate. And if the commander comes back mind-controlled he should get help. And when his self-imposed shift ends, he’ll haul off and find a hole to collapse into and sleep before he asks the boss lady for more orders.

He never had been good at denying Quinn anything.

“I’m doin’ it, but it’s not gonna make me happy, asshole!” He shouts to the moon, because Elune’s the best proxy he can think of to reach his dumbass squadmate. He feels the weight of someone’s gaze and looks down to find a temple initiate staring up. “Ah, sorry—" He calls down, waving with a grin until the confused initiate moves along.

Great. Now the Dawnsmen will think he’s mad AND a vicious murdering thief.

He smooths the bandages over his lap, finds an edge to start wrapping with and wonders whether the assumption doesn’t fit.

[kaibagirl007]

Come Undone 6/6

( the final part of a mini side-fic series to accompany my RP with @dragontamer05 )

“Time travel… save Kisara… prevent this bullshit… ” Kaiba mumbled repeatedly as he made his way down from his bedroom and to the basement laboratory. The sudden epiphany had struck him at the most inconvenient of times, but once his mind had focused on the idea, it was all he could think about. “Time travel… save Kisara… prevent this bullshit…”

Once in the laboratory, he headed straight towards the computer with its multiple monitor screens and readied the graphics tablet. First, he had to design the time machine. Should he opt for a stationary pod or some kind of vehicle? The latter would be more practical in helping to generate the energy and velocity needed to break through the space-time continuum, but would he be able to construct a runway big enough to achieve that? It was quite possible he might need a whole continent worth of unobstructed straight open-space to gather such quantity required, so what about travelling vertically instead?  No, he’d then have gravity to contend with. Unless he could somehow utilise the natural force to his advantage…

The pen suddenly sped across the tablet as Kaiba sketched his idea for a towering elevator shaft all the way into space. He then began to mumble incoherently whilst jotting down an array of formulas alongside it. “Trajectory… maximise momentum… pierce spacetime… dilation… goal.” A manic grin formed on his face as he began working on more detailed calculations that would enable him to put his theory into practice.

’Not what I would have advised…’ Seto commented as he stood with folded arms whilst watching his descendant work. ‘…but at least he is taking this seriously now.’

‘Seriously?’ Atem scoffed and eyed his cousin sceptically as he stood beside him. ‘He’s high, wearing nothing more than a shirt and underpants, and devising a plan that will most likely end in disaster for himself and/or others if it is ever implemented!’

’So you do not think he will succeed?’

’That’s not what I said.’  A frustrated glare was given before elaboration was made. ’If Kaiba were to dedicate all his time to this and doesn’t inadvertently kill himself in the process, there’s every chance he WILL succeed with such a ludicrous idea. My concern is, just WHEN does he plan to save Kisara? If he intends to prevent her kidnapping, then all is well; the fractures won’t form in their relationship and they’d remain together. But, if on the other hand he still feels himself unworthy of her, then he could quite possibly take things to the extreme and prevent her untimely death back in our time.’

‘And that would be disastrous, because…?’

‘Because history from then on would change! Don’t you see, Seto? If Kisara never sacrificed herself, you would go on to wed her instead of your actual wife. Therefore your children would not be born, and their children, and so forth. Your reign as pharaoh would also differ; that is if you even rule at all since there’s also the possibility you might have died without Kisara’s intervention.‘

‘Yet the world would know no different,’ A tired drawl interjected. ’If my death occurred back then, at least Kisara’s soul would remain free… Alterations are not always a bad thing.’

‘You’re prepared to erase the last 3000 years, just like that, and justify it in the name of love?!’

‘Yes.’

 ‘Humph!’ 

‘Do not scorn me for something you have NOT experienced!’ Seto snapped at the judgmental gaze that remained unfazed by his outburst. ‘I am perfectly aware that my decision is selfish. But if it were you in my shoes to make the choice between reliving a mortal life or stuck in eternal solitude, I dare say you too would make the same decision.’

Eternal solitude. Those two words said it all and caused Atem to take a moment to see things from the other’s perspective. Both of them had spent 3000 years, their souls trapped, isolated, and barred from the afterlife. Whilst his own denial was now over, his cousins were still ongoing. Not only that but whereas he was peacefully oblivious to the passing of time with no memories to recall, Seto had retained all of his. As if residing in limbo wasn’t bad enough, what torture must it have been to spend such a long period of time alone and haunted by the past with no end in sight? No wonder he’s so reluctant to return to such a place of despair. 

‘I understand you’ve lost faith in the gods, feel as though they have forsaken you, and are desperately clinging to any scrap of hope you can find to ensure the prophecy is fulfilled and therefore able to move on to the afterlife,’ Atem spoke calmly to the man by his side. ‘But you are only torturing yourself more by watching Kaiba’s every move.’

‘I would rather be here by his side than all by myself with my thoughts.’ Seto replied whilst watching his descendant fill the computer screen with more equations and diagrams. 

‘You won’t be all by yourself. The gods gave me free rein between worlds. I’ll stay with you until this whole thing finally resolves, no matter how long it may take.’

Curiously tilting his head to the side as he turned to face the other, Seto asked, ’Despite your own imprisonment inside the puzzle, you would choose to give up your freedom and instead reside in a barren void just to keep me company?’

‘Of course,’ Atem smiled up at the perplexed gaze. ‘It’s the least I could do as my show of thanks for the things you did to ensure I too could proceed to the afterlife.’

‘And yet you waste that very opportunity.’ A sigh was given and eyes diverted back to his descendant now calculating centrifugal forces. ‘I appreciate what you are trying to do, Atem, but if he does not fulfil the prophecy, you could end up trapped with me for the rest of eternity.’

’That’s a risk I’m willing to take.’

The two pharaohs looked at each other and Seto simpered a little. ‘I have a feeling that you will not take no for an answer; you are just as stubborn as him.’

‘Oh please, NOBODY is as stubborn as Kaiba…’ Atem smirked before extending his hand for the other to take. ‘… except maybe you.’

Ignoring the jest, Seto asked, ’You would really trust our fate in his hands?’

’Not would... I do.’

Seto may have lost his faith in the gods, but his faith in Atem remained firm. If the other believed so strongly in his descendant then he would too. Another simper as the offered hand was taken ahold of and together the two of them slowly de-materialised out of the underground laboratory.

— 

Mokuba sat in the back of the surveillance van that was parked just beyond the boundaries of the Kaiba mansion. Pegasus sat to his left whilst Yugi sat to his right, all three faces illuminated by the huge monitor screen before of them as it broadcast live footage from the body-mounted cameras Roland and his teams were wearing.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Yugi asked the younger male. He knew that what had been decided must have been an extremely difficult decision to make and was there to provide support for his friend during the raid.

With a heavy heart and a close-to-vacant expression, Mokuba gave a slow nod. His brother had had plenty of opportunities to deal with everything that had kicked off more than eight months ago now, yet had only continued to get worse. “I never wanted for it to come to this, and wish there was some other way, but there isn’t…”

Seeing the boy in such a solemn state, Pegasus came to his aid with an explanation for Yugi’s benefit. “Kaiba-boy’s refusal to seek help for himself means that it’s now up to us to make sure he gets it.” 

“Does it have to be right here, right now, like this?-”

“Yes!” Mokuba cut across his friend’s words. He didn’t want this to be harder than it was going to be. “My brother needs help. I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

“Of course,” Yugi calmly responded to the extremely curt interjection, “What I mean is, he’s not going to take being institutionalised lightly. Maybe a quieter occasion would be less stressful for everyone involved?”

“Ideally yes, but Kaiba-boy’s behaviour has become so reckless as of late, that to wait any longer could be fatal…”

Mokuba momentarily zoned out from the debate going on either side of him. His brother’s death from self-destruction was not something he was just going to sit by and let happen. They’d been through so much with his brother having made many difficult choices for them since they’d been orphaned. It was time to repay the favour.

“… If Kaiba grows to hate him because of this, I will not forgive you Pegasus!” 

“STOP, JUST STOP!” the teen roared in frustration and soon found himself under the gaze of three shocked and startled eyes. “Yugi, I understand your concern as my friend, but I made this choice, no-one has coerced me into it. And Pegasus, do not speak for me on my behalf, I have my own voice, and will divulge what and when I feel is appropriate. I’m not a little kid anymore! Will you both stop treating me like one!”

Silence filled the surveillance van and was only broken by a crackling sound as Roland’s microphone was switched on. “All the teams are in place and ready to proceed on your order.”

“Thank you, Roland.” Mokuba’s heart was now thumping the most forcefully he had ever felt. This is it. I’m doing this for your own good, Seto. Eyes clamped onto the camera feed belonging to his head honcho and he gave the command. “Move out.”

The six teams,- each consisting of three trained security personnel,- began to storm their way into the Kaiba mansion. Earlier drone surveillance had made them aware of a rather sizeable function currently underway, so whilst the two lead teams’ aim was locating the ex-CEO, the rest would secure the premises and deal with the guests.

“Look at the state of the place,” Pegasus commented as the body-cams streamed footage of trashed halls and rooms within the mansion. What had once been proud and immaculate living spaces were now almost unrecognisable with broken and strewn furnishings as far as the eye could see. “Someone call Marie Kondo, quick!”

“She’s an organiser, not a house cleaner.” Yugi pointed out the flaw in the other’s joke.

Speaking of a house cleaner, I wonder what happened to Jun? Mokuba wondered. Had his brother fired their maid or had she quit on her own accord? He knew there was no way she would have allowed such a state of disrepair if she had still been around.

As the teams ventured further into the mansion, they began to encounter intoxicated guests wandering around or passed out in the halls. A couple was even so heavily engrossed with making out that they failed to notice the raid happening at all.

“Fuguta, have your team check the office,” Roland instructed before taking his own team towards the hall where the bedrooms were located. “Notify me at once if you find Mr Kaiba.”

“Will do.”

The two lead teams headed towards their destinations with weapons drawn in case of any hostility they may be faced with once there.

“They’ve got guns?!” Yugi was horrified at having caught a glimpse of the firearms in the streamed footage. 

“Those are tasers,” Mokuba assured. “Like you said earlier, Seto isn’t going to take lightly to being institutionalised. It’s only fair they’re able to defend themselves from whatever assault he might throw their way.”

Roland’s team soon reached the closed door of the bedroom belonging to their ex-boss. Taking the lead, Roland singled for his two teammates to remain quiet whilst they listened for any signs of someone within the room. Confirmation came in the form of multiple voices moaning and groaning.

After the count of three, the door was opened and all three tasers held at arm's length pointing directly towards the mass of naked bodies interlocked in a heap on the caesar-sized four-poster bed.

“Oh my!” Pegasus was quick to lean to his left and place a hand over Mokuba’s eyes.

The teen let out an exasperated sigh. “I hang around with Joey, so it’s not like I haven’t seen stuff like this before.”

A lone and furious brown eye swiftly found a new target. “You and your friends allow him to watch porn?!”

“What? NO! Of course, we don’t! Well, that is to say, I don’t ‘allow’ Mokuba to ‘do’ anything,-“ Yugi could feel the perspiration forming on his brow as he talked. “- he’s his own person. If he chooses to view such material,-”

“He’s fifteen!”

“Fourteen.” Mokuba corrected as he casually pulled Pegasus’ hand from his face and returned to his observation of the raids.

“Many boys his age are curious about sex; there’s no shame in that.” Yugi stood his ground. Is this what it felt like to be an elder sibling and criticised for every choice made regarding the younger sibling? Suddenly he didn’t envy Kaiba and Joey quite so much. 

“Joey should not be showing him such inappropriate material!“

“What Mokuba has seen is tame compared to what’s out there!” Yugi refused to be intimidated by the suggestion that he’d somehow failed the younger male; his peer; his friend. His tone became confrontational and snide as he continued, “Unless you’d rather I ‘allow him’ to discover the extreme stuff on his own? Quit being such a prude,-”

“Shh, quiet down you two! I can’t hear what’s being said on the stream.”

Pegasus relented upon seeing the protectiveness he had stirred. “Touché, Yugi-boy,” he sighed. “Times have changed, and the internet advanced so rapidly since I was his age… He’s lucky to have someone like you watching over him in place of his brother.” 

Mokuba turned up the volume so could hear more clearly what was going on inside the mansion. 

“Mr Kaiba’s not in there,” one of Roland’s teammates declared as he emerged from the bedroom’s en-suite bathroom.

Roland lowered his taser, turned to pick up the luxurious blue robe from a nearby chair and tossed it towards a woman whose effort to hide her nudity with tiny hands made him pity her. His view fixed onto the group of five,- four women and a man,- on the bed. “I’ll ask you all one more time, WHERE is Seto Kaiba?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” the man scoffed as he continued to grope at the woman he’d been penetrating just moments before. She moaned loudly from his touch before seeking out his lips with hers.

“He was here…” one of the other women answered. She leant back on her elbows and parted her legs wide. “…but as you can see, he came and went.”

As the inebriated group burst into cackles of laughter, an infuriated Roland instructed his team; “Have them all dress and take them down to the duel hall!” 

“Yes, sir.”

Leaving the room at a fast pace, Roland activated his com-link to Fuguta. “Any sign of Mr Kaiba?”

“None.”

“Did you check the panic room?”

“Empty.”

“Dammit!” Roland growled through clenched teeth as he continued down the hall. He’d been so sure they’d find their target in one of the two most obvious rooms he could be in. “Okay, well, just sweep the mansion until we find him. He’s here someplace.”

“Roger.” 

The com-link closed and Roland held his taser ready once more as he was about to open another door. To his surprise, it was locked. He re-activated the com-link, this time to his boss. “Mokuba, your bedroom door appears to be locked. I have a feeling your brother may be in there. Permission to break the door down?”

“Permission granted.” Mokuba cooly responded despite being slightly confused. His bedroom had no lock, so why wasn’t the door opening? Has Seto barricaded himself in there?

Taking a step back, Roland raised his foot and gave several forceful kicks to the locked door before it crashed open. He proceeded inside.

“Roland stop!” Mokuba instructed at what he saw from the man’s body-cam upon entering.

Roland complied without question.

“Do a 360, turn around, let me see the whole room.”

Again he complied. “Is there a reason why you have me spinning like a top?”

“Seto’s not there.” Mokuba verbalised his thoughts. His eyes were wide with awe at seeing his room untouched since the day he’d moved out. “He put a lock on the door to keep people out and stop them from trashing it like the rest of the mansion. He’s preserving my room; my space; my memory,-“

“That’s all very well, but it doesn’t help with the situation of where he is now.” Roland huffed. 

Pegasus sensed the other’s growing irritation and took it upon himself to press for clues that might help. “You know your brother best, Moku-boy. Do you have any ideas where he might be found?”

“Well, if Seto is hiding then he would have used the panic room,” Mokuba stated. “But since we already know it’s empty, he could be just about anywhere. I know that’s not what you wanted to hear.“

“Does he have a favourite room, one where he might go to relax?” 

“If Seto knew how to relax, he wouldn’t be in this mess.” Mokuba shot back at Pegasus before taking a moment to ponder over what had been asked. “Maybe the garden, in the observatory?…Nah… Perhaps the games room, or music room, or,- Wait, I DO know! The basement! Either in his lab or the garage.”

“You have an underground garage?” Yugi asked in a slightly awestruck manner.

“Uhh, yeah. Where else is Seto supposed to keep his car collection?”

“I’m heading down to the basement right now.” Roland declared after having heard everything via his com-link. He was already speedily leaving his teenage boss’ bedroom and made a beeline for the elevator at the end of the hall.

“Oh, Roland, just a word of warning; if you’re going down there, we may lose contact.” Mokuba was quick to inform. “There’s been instances in the past when I haven’t been able to get through to Seto’s phone when he’s down there.”

“It’ll be a minor inconvenience if it the communications do drop out, but the camera will keep recording so you’ll be able to witness everything that takes place,” Roland assured as he entered the elevator and it began to make its descent. “This will be over soon, Mokuba. I’m sorry it’s taking so long...”

“Don’t apologise. I’m the one who kept dragging my heels in this, remember?” Mokuba laughed weakly.

During the last eight months, both Roland and Pegasus had been advising him through each choice he had made that had eventually led them to today. At times he’d been doubtful,- sometimes reluctant,- to do as advised, but they never went against the decisions he made and were transparent with him at all times. 

“I think we’ve lost contact with him,” Pegasus stated when no reply came from Roland whose body cam now showed he was exiting the elevator at basement level. 

They all watched as Roland made his way past the laundry room and was soon looking through the glass wall where the fleet of a dozen luxury cars were displayed. Most were various shades of blue/grey/silver/white, with only a yellow Lamborghini and a red Ferrari standing out amongst them. 

“Nice cars,” Yugi commented. “No sign of your brother though.”

“Then he must be in the lab… Or maybe I was wrong and he’s still up in the mansion..?”

“I guess we’re about to find out,” Pegasus announced as Roland keyed in a passcode,- 23995346,- on the laboratory door’s security panel and was granted entry. 

Practically sitting on the edge of his seat, Mokuba watched as Roland slowly inched further into the room. The gun-like taser was drawn so close to the man’s body that its tip blocked part of the camera’s visual field each time he moved. 

“There he is!” Mokuba gasped as the back of his brother’s head and chair came into view. “I wonder what he’s working on?”

Pegasus squinted as he tried to make out the messy diagram and scribbles displayed on the monitors. “I could be wrong, but I ‘think’ that says ’Space Elevator’..? What could possibly be going through his mind to come up with something like that?”

“He wanted to be an astronaut when he younger, so maybe he’s planing on,-…” Mokuba’s voice caught in his throat as his brother suddenly stood and turned to face Roland. He could feel his heart ache from seeing the sorry-looking sight that his eyes viewed; his brother wearing nothing more than a pair of underpants and an open shirt that exposed a heavily scarred and under-nourished torso, along with a face so gaunt that it almost looked lifeless. What happened to you, Seto? Why did you do this to yourself?

As the taser was pointed his way, the tablet pen in Kaiba’s hand was angrily thrown to a side and his face contorted in rage as he shouted at the intruder…

“Why can’t I hear what’s being said?” Mokuba asked as he frantically pushed at the controls to increase the volume to the maximum level.

“I would guess it has something to do with Isono’s microphone being connected to his communications link,” Pegasus suggested. “This must have been what was meant when last he spoke; we’d lose audio, but at still have visuals.”

“Kaiba looks furious,” Yugi noted out loud. “Do you think he’s been told what’s planned for him?”

“Quite possibly,” Pegasus admitted. “Though I presumed the subject would have been raised a little bit more subtly than being announced outright,-“

“HOLY SHIT!” Mokuba exclaimed at seeing the taser fired. 

The barbs had shot out of the barrel at high speed, missed his brother by mere millimetres as he twisted to the side, and pierced one of the monitor screens instead. Concern was felt for both Roland and his brother as electric sparks to fly in all directions, but that same concern soon became conflicted as the two men engaged in hand-to-hand combat. 

“I CAN’T watch this!” the teen cried and scrambled over Yugi so he could exit the surveillance van.

Once outside in the open air, Mokuba tried to catch his breath. He felt shaken from what he had seen; two people he held dear,- who held each other dear,- fighting like enemies, partially because of decisions he had made. This shouldn’t be happening. I shouldn’t have allowed for things to get so bad! Why did I even think it would be a good idea to fight fire with fire in the first place?

His thoughts turned back to when he’d first chosen to make a stand against his brother. It had been in the direct aftermath of the break-up with Kisara, were each word to leave the other’s mouth was nothing more than an angry repellent to keep others away. He’d held strong at first but, crumbled when the words turned purposely cruel and offensive,- as opposed to the defensive nature which they had started,- and in turn, delivered back his own cutting words. 

At the time it had felt like the only way to get through to his brother, though now he realised it had had little effect at all. Neither had taking control of Kaiba Corp to allow his brother the time and freedom to work things out on his own. In fact that had only made matters so much worse. I made a mess of everything… But I’m GOING to put this right! First, I need to stop all this.

His eyes narrowed on the mansion beyond the gated boundary wall. Aware that he wouldn’t be able to use the com-link to contact Roland whilst still down in the basement, Mokuba knew his only other option was to inform him directly. He passed through the large iron gates and began to sprint up the long driveway, unaware of Yugi stepping out of the surveillance van now behind him.

“Mokuba, wait!”

Feet repeatedly pounded the ground as the determined teen raced towards the mansion. His brother wasn’t entirely lost. He could still reason with, and save him, without the need for institutionalising. He’d developed a thicker skin to cruel remarks since then last time they’d spoken and would not give up so easily again. His brother’s words had just been that; words. He wasn’t hated like he’d feared. The fact his bedroom remained protected and in pristine condition, instead of having been reclaimed or trashed, was proof enough. Seto would have wasted no time in destroying any trace of me ever being there if he truly didn’t want to reconnect. 

Almost there, Mokuba’s pace slowed and he came to a stop where the driveway spread out across the entire length of the mansion’s front. Parked before him were several cars in which Roland and his team had arrived, a riot van to hold any of his brother’s ‘guests’ if they got out of hand, and an unmarked psychiatric ambulance waiting to take his brother away. He felt a sense of dread beginning to form in the pit of his stomach. What if I’m too late to fix this? Seto will disown me for real this time when he finds out what was planned! Will he ever forgive me? I wouldn’t if I was him…

“Mokuba!”

He turned at hearing his name called and saw Yugi running towards him. This was just what he needed; a friend to help lift the confusion and provide solace. “I CAN’T do it! I can’t do this to him! He’s my brother, I can’t b-betray him like this. I don’t w-want him to h-hate me.” 

“It’s not betrayal,” Yugi panted as he came to a stop beside his friend failing to hold back tears. “Your brother needs help, much more than you or I,- or Pegasus or Roland,- could ever give him…”

What?! Mokuba was now even more confused as he struggled to make sense of his friend’s altered stance on the matter. He questioned my initial decision earlier, so why isn’t he giving support or approval for my change of plan? 

“… I understand it’s hard to carry through with such a difficult and heart-wrenching decision, but I believe you made the right choice by ensuring he is given all the professional help that he needs. Your brother will get through this,-“

“Y-y-you don’t know that. Y-you can’t promise that!” Mokuba stammered as he shook his head and sent tears flying in all directions. Why wasn’t his friend standing by him? Inside he felt a storm of emotions raging like a cyclone and let it free without warning, “WHO are YOU to tell ME what to do?!!”

Yugi had already steeled himself for such a reaction,- his young friend was still a Kaiba after all,- and remained calm as the troubled teen leered down at him. “I feel your frustration, Mokuba. I really do,-”

“HOW could you?!”

Again he remained calm under the scrutiny of those narrowed grey eyes. “Much like the ceremonial duel I had with Atem, you have to do what is best for your brother, no matter how arduous on your conscience it may feel. Believe in yourself, in your judgement, and help him proceed back into the light where he rightfully belongs.”

He’s been stood by me the whole time! The comparison hit home with Mokuba and he felt the storm inside him subside. He hadn’t thought of the situation quite like that. and now had a better understanding of his friend’s outlook on it all. “Yugi, I… I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Fear and anger are strong emotions,” Yugi simpered with compassion and gave what he felt was a much-needed hug. “You’re not alone Mokuba. And neither is your brother. When he realises that, I’m certain he’ll make a full recovery.”

“You really think so?” Mokuba asked as he leant down a little further into the hug.

“I do. It’ll take time though, it’s not going to happen overnight.”

“But you’ll be there for me, if… I mean, ‘when’ I need you?”

“Always.”

Slowly, the surveillance van entered through the gates, drove along the driveway and stopped right beside the two friends breaking apart from their embrace. The side door slid open and Pegasus stepped out. “Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I just… lost my nerve for a moment,” Mokuba kept his explanation brief. “I’m fine now though.”

Judging from the response he was given, Pegasus knew Yugi had done a good job of consoling the teen. “You’ll be glad to know that it’s almost over. Isono succeeded with his task of apprehending your brother, and is escorting him up from the laboratory as we speak.”

Mokuba simply nodded to confirm that he’d heard what had been said.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Pegasus asked, the silence now making him somewhat slightly unconvinced of what he’d been told just a moment ago. “It’s not too late to halt things if that’s what you truly want.”

“It’s not about what I want, it’s about what Seto needs,” Mokuba stated flatly. His eyes glazed as he watched the crew of the psychiatric ambulance prepare for their patient. Whilst the nurse measured sedatives in a syringe, the assistant readied the restraints of the trolley bed.

Yugi turned to Pegasus, “How long will Kaiba be institutionalised for?” he quietly inquired.

“I don’t know,” Pegasus admitted honestly. “It would all depend upon a string of assessments to determine his mental state, and what type of/how much care is required. Then there’s the factor of whether or not he’ll co-operate throughout the whole thing. I imagine it would be at least several months before his release is even considered.”

“And what about his absence during that time?” Yugi continued. “People are going to start speculating when he hasn’t been seen for a while.”

“Don’t fret, Yugi-boy. A cover story will-“ 

“LET GO OF ME, YOU PERFIDIOUS BASTARD!!” The sound of the outraged scream was heard well and clear before the mansion’s front door had even been opened. It drew the trio’s attention and they watched Kaiba literally being dragged kicking and screaming from inside his own home.

“Seto.” Mokuba whimpered as his brother struggled in a rear arm lock hold.

“KUSO YARO!!” Kaiba tried to throw his captor over himself as he slammed backwards into him, but just couldn’t build up enough leverage needed to succeed. “Grrr, I make you pay for this, Isono!” 

Roland knew better than to retaliate in response to the other’s angry words and simply continued to haul him towards the unmarked ambulance. Despite his captive’s weaker visual appearance, there was still plenty of physical strength making it a strenuous task to overpower him. With any luck, the other would wear himself out soon with all the resistance going on.

“I WILL NOT be placed in some mental asylum!” Kaiba made another forceful attempt to break free from his hold which resulted in him almost dislocating his shoulder in the process. It was no good though, Roland’s incarcerating clasp was just too strong.

“You won’t be confined to an asylum, you’ll be staying with me, on my island,” Pegasus informed as if it would somehow make the situation better.

Kaiba looked in the direction of where the familiar voice had come from and sneered, “Heh, I knew the CUCKOO and the YANK would be behind all of this!” his voice was coarse from screaming but wasn’t any less malicious as he glared at the trio of traitors staring back at him. “I expected better from you though, Muto. Then again, you had no qualms sending OUR friend to his demise. FUCK YOU and your FAKE friendship!-”

“Hurry up and sedate him already!” Roland yelled at the nurse as he struggled to keep ahold of the infuriated man trying to break free and start a fight.

“Hold him still.” The nurse instructed as he tried to get close enough to carry out the task.

More struggling occurred as Kaiba spotted the syringe in the other’s hand. His eyes narrowed and he bared his teeth, “You’re NOT jabbing that in me!”

“Actually, ‘yes’ he is!” Roland let a frustrated retort slip. He was exhausted and not sure of just how much longer he could keep ahold. “I’m sorry, Seto,” he apologised earnestly before summoning what strength he had left and forced his friend face-first against the side of the ambulance.

“FUCKING CUNT!” Kaiba roared angrily with a freshly split lip. Roland’s bodyweight held him in place whilst the nurse sank the needle into his arm. “I’ll kill you! I’LL KILL EVERY LAST FUCKING ONE OF YOU!!!“

Mokuba fidgeted uncomfortably where he stood, shifting from one foot to the other. The whole thing was extremely distressing and he wanted it to stop, Now. No, I gotta stay strong. This is the endgame, it’ll be over with soon enough.

With the sedatives now administered, the nurse was quick to draw back from his patient. “They should start to take effect in a few seconds.”

“Good,” Roland panted and let go of the arms that were already bruising from the firm hold he’d had on them. He backed away to allow the other plenty of room to thrash and flail. 

Instead, Kaiba staggered a few steps from the high-sided vehicle, sank down to his knees on the gravel and dirt, and eventually ended up on all fours. He stared at the ground, eyes wide, face dripping with sweat whilst breathing heavily as he watched a tiny puddle of blood form on the driveway. WHY did this happen? WHY didn’t they just stay away? WHY did they feel the need to form a pack and hunt me down like this? Why?…

‘Hey, there mister…’

Kaiba slowly raised his head to see an apparition of his younger self crouching down in front of him. The small boy studied him curiously as he leant on the soccer ball clutched close in his lap.

‘Are you okay?’

“No… I’m not okay,” he answered weakly, aware that he could no longer keep on lying to himself. How had it come to this? Why had he let things get so out of hand and been so reluctant to fix them? He was ashamed of himself and all he had become. “Get out of here, Go!”

Obediently following the instruction, his younger self stood up straight, failing to keep ahold of the ball and it slipped free from his hands. It was now that Kaiba could see it wasn’t a soccer ball at all, but the spherical puzzle of his heart. How he knew that it was his heart, he had no idea. Perhaps because many of the pieces were dented, cracked and chipped, just like him?

As though watching in slow-motion,- and helpless to intervene,- the puzzle shattered as it hit the driveway. “Nooooooo!” Kaiba scrambled to collect as many pieces as possible before they sank beneath the ground.

“What’s going on?” Yugi asked Pegasus nervously as they saw Kaiba talking to thin air before desperately clawing at the dirt with his hands.

“He seems to be hallucinating. Most likely a side effect of the sedatives mixing with whatever substances already in his system.”

Mokuba couldn’t bear to see his brother in such a state any longer, “Seto!” he cried as he stepped closer, and froze as the other’s wide-eyed gaze turned to fix upon him. 

“Stay back.” Roland placed an outstretched arm in his young boss’ path for precautionary measures. If required, he wouldn’t hesitate to fully place himself between them. He needn’t have worried though as Kaiba remained where he knelt instead of carrying out the threat from just a few moments ago.

“M-m-my heart… it’s… b-b-b-b-bro-k-k-ken…!”

“We know, Seto.” Mokuba’s frown quivered as he fought back the urge to cry at seeing his brother dissolve into tears before him. “We’ve been trying to help you this whole time, but you wouldn’t let us-”

“I’ve GOT to fix it!” The scratching at the driveway became more frenzied though no progress was made with shifting the dirt.

“You won’t find anything down there, Mr Kaiba.” the nurse assured as he and his assistant each lifted their patient by placing their arms under his. “Come with us, we’ll help you to get well again.”

“No! No, no, no!” The objection was made with arms flailing wildly, but Kaiba’s strength was now not that much stronger than that of a newborn baby. “I need all the pieces!… Let go of me! LET GO OF ME!!”

All four onlookers found it excruciatingly uncomfortable to watch as Kaiba was hauled into the psychiatric ambulance against his will. Tears, distraught screams and feeble attempts of physical protest continued but failed to stop him from being placed on the trolley were he was then securely restrained to prevent him from thrashing around and causing any further injury. 

“RELEASE ME THIS INSTANT!!” 

Ignoring their patient’s demand, the nurse and his assistant exited the back of the vehicle and closed the doors.

“RELEASE ME!! RELEASE ME! Release me!... Release… me…” Kaiba’s screams eventually became nothing more than a weak mumble as the sedatives took a great effect of subduing him. He lay there. alone and paralysed with nothing more than the faint sound of Gozaburo’s laughter inside his semi-conscious head. 

A driving motion was felt as the ambulance left his home. In all honesty, he would have preferred death over being institutionalised. He felt he could not atone for the things he’d said and done, and therefore had nothing left to live for anyway. At least in death, he would finally be at peace, free from inner torment and suffering.

The chortling grew louder.

‘You made your bed, now rot in it.’

[fadefromthelight]

No. 19 - Mourning Loved One

Summary:  Lucien stands before Alden’s grave. He might’ve been the one to kill him, but he still misses him.

Read on: Ao3

The air is crisp and clear, the chill settling deep in Lucien’s lungs. They still ache, holding tight onto the remnants of the magic decay. It’s almost been twenty years and that research still follows him. Its influence is something he can’t shake, a ghost of a reminder brushing against his bones.

Seeing Cassidy and Alden only served to bring everything back to the forefront of his mind.

It still lives within him, dulled and worn with age. His magic slowly absorbs it but nowhere near quick enough for him to see it gone. He can barely sense it now, his magic changing it as much as it changed his magic.

The distinct feeling of wrongness no longer digs into him. His magic doesn’t feel like a fractured imitation of what it should be. These broken remains are all he knows. It’s been too long since he’s thought his magic wasn’t his own.

Sometimes, long into the darkness of the night and everything stills around him, where the fluctuation of his magic is a drop in the black glass of a still lake, he longs for the magic he no longer remembers. It’s an aching wound that’s festering with emotions he can’t decipher. They’re messy and often spill out of him in an array of confused and muddled colors.

A ravenous void rests inside of him. It tears him apart, screaming for something he can’t offer. It leaves him empty and even more exhausted, a weariness that cannot be fixed by any means accessible to him settles deep under his skin. His magic curls around it, burning too hot to touch while so cold that it numbs him.

He finds himself longing for a life that he never lived, a past that wouldn’t ever belong to him. A time where he loves the right people and can have a child that knows him for he truly is. But all he has is a mess of memories corrupted by petty things like nostalgia and regret. His own curiosity consumed him and he doesn’t know when it’ll spit him back out.

He doesn’t think it ever will.

He can’t help but wonder what exactly was the tipping point, when he crossed the line that he couldn’t come back from. The bitter, vicious part of him whispers that the darkness has always been inside of him, quiet and patiently waiting for the moment he slips.

He can’t find the words to argue.

But there was one moment that he can divide his life with, even more than his decision to clone wings or his discovery of what magic decay truly does to a person. It seems inconsequential now, after all things considered, but to him over thirty years ago, it was his defining moment. He Challenged Morgan to a race for his freedom.

Lucien knew from the moment that he learned exactly what his family name meant, he couldn’t take up the line. There was this insatiable curiosity gnawing inside of him and it wouldn’t be satisfied with sitting in a chair on the Thervin.

But Morgan didn’t understand. He couldn’t, not with the way that he was raised. So Lucien challenged him to a Race. If Lucien won, he was able to leave, and if Morgan won, Lucien would join the Thervin.

Sometimes Lucien wonders what would’ve happened if Morgan had won. So much wouldn’t have happened, the cloning, the messed up thing that was his relationship with Alden. But there was so much that should happen that he doesn’t know if he could give up. There was the chance that Julian would never be born and Lucien couldn’t risk that.

Julian’s the one thing he’s gotten right in his godforsaken life.

He couldn’t risk being shipped off with some woman he didn’t love just like Morgan and have children that he could only love painfully.

(That isn’t what he’s doing with Julian. It can’t be. It doesn't matter that Julian doesn’t even know that he’s his—)

None of this matters. Lucien can’t turn back time. He’s stuck here with the consequences of his mistakes finally catching up to him. He’s lost the only people that he could’ve loved and still chases after someone he missed having by only a few years.

Lucien forces himself to take the last steps forward. Alden’s grave sits before him, the pale grey a small mark against the sea of green grass around them. Part of him knows that Alden deserves to be buried like this, as far from the sky as possible.

But the desperate and still sickeningly in love part of him wishes that there were ashes for him to scatter over the sea.

He doesn’t know what he believes about what comes after death and that only those spread in the sky will meet each other again in another life; it’s illogical to believe that the way one was buried affected where you would go in the afterlife. But he can’t stop the bone-deep fear that latches onto him. He wants to see Alden again.

Which is ironic since he’s the one that put him here in the first place.

It was Lucien that tucked the needle beneath his skin, injecting him with the highly volatile and experimental drug he was working on. It was Lucien that watched as Alden withered with uncontrollable magic and the manic bubbles of laughter. It was Lucien that narrowed his eyes and grinned as Alden finally stilled.

Lucien told him that he hated him but they both know it was far from the truth. Lucien wouldn’t have killed Alden in that way if he did.

Lucien loved Alden at one point and he can’t say that he no longer does.

It was a deep-set ache in his chest, this feeling. It’s a strange mix between desperate craving and jagged disgust. He hated how much he needed him.

Lucien can still feel the chilled touch of Alden’s hand against his shoulder, his fingers moving until they find the curvature of his spine. His skin burns and he can’t rid his mind of the sickening feeling. It filled him with bitter desire and burning disdain.

He doesn’t know if he should call this love, but it was certainly something more than the fractured feelings he’s had for anyone else.

(Except for—)

Lucien runs a hand on the edge of the grave, the stone grainy and rough beneath his touch. He swallows, drawing in a breath. “Alden.” The name drops from his lips with the same familiar curve of longing. It echoes in the silence, dancing through the air.

Waves crash faintly against the cliff below and Lucien realizes how cruel it was to bury Alden here. He’s so close to the sky, forever trapped to see it but never reach it.

That’s if he’s even here at all.

“Alden.” Lucien tries again, his voice flatter and steadier. He hates it. “I doubt you wanted to see me but I have something I need to tell you.” He draws in a breath, the words he needs to say thick and coagulated in his throat. It feels wrong to say the words, even alone. “I’ve figured out how to clone wings.”

The silence is overbearing. It sits layered thick over him and he almost imagines what Alden would say to him. It would be something scalding but Lucien could pick out the fondness from the words.

“You probably already knew that.” Lucien finds himself continuing, unable to stop the words spilling out of him. They’re ugly and he can barely look at them. “It’s the only reason I can think of that would explain why you took Raymond and Julian. Unless—”

The words choke him and he finds himself sputtering. Alden couldn’t have done it just to see Lucien again. There were easier ways to contact him, there was a phone number that Lucien couldn’t forget shared between them.

But Alden never could understand the simplicity of talking. He didn’t trust anyone unless he believed that he manipulated into complying. His trust was something so difficult to receive, Lucien isn’t even sure that he’s received it.

(The moment that Lucien walked into Alden’s cell, relief flickered on his face. Until his gaze landed on the needle in Lucien’s hand.)

None of this matters anymore. Alden’s dead. There’s no way for Lucien to know. No matter how much he wants to.

Lucien steps back from the grave, his hand feeling empty removed from the stone. He turns towards the sea, a faint salty spray of water splattering against his face. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a feather.

It’s coated in a pale grey magic, just a few shades lighter than the feather itself. Alden’s magic pulses from within, dulled with age and so different from the twisted form that he had when he died.

Lucien holds it over the sea, his hand trembling. He desperately wants to keep this with him, holding it close and guarding it. But this is from a time he no longer remembers, when they were young and believed that they were immortal.

It was from a promise that has been long since lost to wind.

Lucien draws his magic to his palm, the strength of it fracturing the fragile sheathe of magic over the feather. He releases it and the feather shatters in his grasp. He drops the shards. They float down to the sea, glimmering with the light from the sun and dancing in the slow breeze.

Lucien’s voice can barely be heard over the pounding of the sea against the cliffside. “Dutel lyres phesyrus inerves lon batenes weneth athe.”

May we fly together in our next life.