#my power went out halfway through this and the file corrupted and i thought i lost it forever

[wanderingxmoth]

hello, I like women, that is all thank you

[brick-a-doodle-do]

Briiiiiiiiiick

I splurged bc I suddenly really desperately wanted to explain his scars and talk about my corrupt angel boyyyy

You have been warned

He got blood magic from his dad and healing magic from his mom, but his shadow magic is his own. As for family? No. His father is gone alongside his side of the family, while his mom's family is actually from a mountain village near the city. His mom, Maya (just to give you a special treat, I gave you her name), was disowned by her family for actually giving birth to a dragon's child. Her own mother and father, which would be Irza's grampa and grama, do really miss her, along with a sibling or two. The rest of her family really hates her…but would help her in a heartbeat if they knew she was in trouble. They had to get rid of her to protect themselves, not because they actually wanted to—a couple did but the majority didn't. Irzayn was actually once told by his mom to go to that mountain villain if anything ever happened to her! Did he do it? Nope. But he WILL later on…

Ok onto Irza's shadow. It's very much alive. When he's a child it simply moves around on its own, but it will always save him if he's about to die. If he dies, so does the shadow. It takes until Irza's in highschool for it to develop into having a personality…and can turn itself into the form of a child made of shadows. And guess what? The shadow child looks exactly like Irza. It acts like Irza if he'd never been traumatized too, which makes his shadow actually very kindhearted and loves Irzayn. It feels bad for its master having lived through so much too and is something really fun. Irza can control shadows all on his own. The shadow creature can too. Essentially, the shadow on his body and that he casts on the ground is actually a living creature…so they are separate and connected at the same time. The thing is, Irzayn can fuse with the shadow creature and gain FULL access to the shadows for…until he passes out from exhaustion, basically. It takes time for Irza to accept that help from his shadow though, having thought it would be a weakness to trust even his own shadow until it was absolutely needed.

His blood magic…it's vampire stuff. He can control blood and hypnotize people. The spoiler is that only high ranking vampires have BOTH those abilities with this element, so why did it pass down to him from his dad??

Vara time!! First with something that's both of them halfway through—the scars. He gets those scars from a very very specific event. It takes a lot, and I mean A LOT, to make Vara use his claws, which he purposely files to not hurt others, on someone. It was during the betrayal arc. Vara was cornered and Irzayn wasn't listening…the cat will say he did it in self defense, and he did, but he also did it because he was absolutely enraged that Irzayn didn't believe him. So all that training Irza had been teaching Vara to help him get stronger? He used it in full force against Irzayn. The scar on his face? It actually went from the top of his head to his chin, taking a chunk of Irza's eye out when it happened. He only fixed most of it because of his healing magic, but his healing magic is limited when used on himself and the deepest and most torn parts wouldn't heal…also because he'd focused the healing on his eye and scalp instead…you could see his skull under one part. It's an understatement to say Vara was angry with him. He also has the scars on his legs from the thrones vine grabbing him…he used that vine to yank Irza closer to claw his face.

Vara got his powers from being born. Almost all races get them from just being born, angels are one of the very few exceptions. Vara just happened to inherit sprite magic stronger than beastling, and yes, he only uses the physical enhancement for emergencies because it says too much out of him. He always loses against Irzayn and his only win was the betrayal fight, where he just let loose…he passed out when the fight was over but Irza doesn't know that. The other times he's won were just Irza letting him win to either end it or give his favorite hero credit for chasing off a dangerous villain….Irzayn will absolutely shred any other hero tho, physically, with his claws.

And back to Irzayn, him destroying a city. This happens only a day or so after the betrayal fight. He uses those loops on his outfit to hook himself to his own shadows to keep himself stable, then spreads his immense shadow throughout the entire city. It just creeps across the ground, daylight or no daylight, covering the entire ground surface of the city. Then the shadow seeps into the ground and latches on, tightening and tightening until the earth buckles under the pressure, toppling skyrisers and creating canyons if he does it right. He can quite literally split the earth…the range is determined by how much mana he has and let me tell you, after how much training he's had, just by helping his mom to keep her alive, his mana capacity is extremely huge. The shadows aren't that tiring for him to use unless there's a lot of light. The only thing that happens is he'll run out of mana, but the shadow creature never does. If Void is the one fighting, it can go on much longer than Irza can. And Voidshire was blamed for the city being crushed, 100% his fault. Totally and entirely.

By strength he always wanted, where he beats Ezephr…he actually didn't become a dragon. Even the angel knows to steer clear of a feral shadow dragon. Irzayn manages to gain a physical strength that can kick the shell a tank fires and the ammo will be damaged, not his body. He fights in defense of Vara that day, after the betrayal arc. Oh, and I'd like to add that there was no love between anyone until after the kidnapping event. Vara did fall for Irza before Irza fell for Quickvine tho. Quickvine tracked Voidshire because he was a villain and actual Irza only a handful of times out of worry.

Ezephr! We all love this murderous little prince!

You mentioned the stress of attention but he doesn't feel any of that. He craves attention and entertainment. If you aren't entertaining, he kills you. If you are…hope he leaves before you aren't anymore. And yes. He is an angel. His race is anyway, I would not use that to describe him lol. And…for the most part he does kill just because he wants to. For the most part (mwahahaha, brain torture)

His power…you want to team up on him? You think no-one else has tried? Nope, doesn't work. There's a layer of existence around his body that prevents any and all otherworldly things from passing through, sometimes even some healing magic. The next barrier is his physical strength. You want to have maybe half the power of a nuke in one punch if you want to hurt him. Over analyze him all you want! Definitely do it!

Also, super short answer to all those questions about if Irza can put people in and out of his shadows, what happens when there's light where he's teleporting, and if Vara uses light against him? All of the above, yes. It's hard to say what will happen when light suddenly pops up where he's teleporting but it never hurts him. The heroes do eventually learn to use UV light traps to catch Irza since that sort of light is more potent than others.

Any other questions? :P I'm loving this

And this time I was wise and did not say anything about length....

Every find my story on my blog? The post that has it hasn't been interacted with in any sort of way which is depressing...and there's technically g/t in the story if you count fairies, which are treated quite badly just like goblins and unicorns in their world

WOOO SPLURGE TIME!!! :D

starting off strong with some familial issues- pff could you imagine giving birth to a half-dragon and literally being completely dropped and having to take care of it on your own- when did irza's mom leave his life and was there any like challenges considering he was half dragon? oh oh also do irza's grandparents ever try and reach out to him, or anyone in the family really?

wait wait wait what mountain villain? 👀 IM SO SORRY MY MEMORY IS FADING AWAY SO QUICKLY ATM

did the shadow thing catch irza's mom off guard when it started fucking moving around on its own or was she expecting it? children are creepy enough we don't need a moving shadow added on :')

@smog-frog-0 THE WHOLE SHADOW PARAGRAPH REMINDS ME OF CAT AND LEO IF THEY BEFRIENDED EACH OTHER DSHFSD

that shadow this is cool asf tho- if i had that i'd get startled everytime it moved but STILL i mean it's a subtle hint of inhuman and i like it a lot :D does void ever turn on irza or are they usually just chill with each other?

"having full control of the shadows" — does that entail that theoretically, if he wanted to, he could go into vara's shadow? or say eze's? if so that'd be awesome :0

VAMPIRE PHYSIOLOGY! sooo like could he bite someone and transfer a bit of his abilities (i definitely think not but still that's quite a thought in my head JFDFSJ

ahh i didn't think about that,,,, assume you know the answer to that? alsoo are irza's powers any less powerful because only his dad had them and not his mom?

WOOO CAT BOY!! <3<3

when did irza start training vara? i imagine it'd be as civilians but i don't recall talking about that yet 👀👀

GAHHH A CHUNK OF HIS EYE? SNFJSJ JESUS- AND PART OF HIS SKULL DSXJX BGJDS GORY ASF 3D—

oh my god that is such a good trope i am such a freaking fangirl for vines or tentacles or tails or anything wrapping a person like it might be the g/t lover in me but STILLLLLL it gives me happy chemicals :D <3

was it easy for vara to develop/understand his powers or was it a rocky start?

aha i wonder how big vara's fangroup is cause...if he loses almost every single fight that'd be pretty boring for the news and honestly to see that a villain is repeatedly winning, a. it could lose the attraction of people living there/looking to live there, and b. the hero committee thingy could kick him off (is that a possibility?)

did irza let vara win bc he's fond of vara or bc he had things to attend to and didn't have time to fight-

AHH THE HOOKING HIS SHADOWS THING IS SO COOL I LOVE THAT

he can quite literally split the earth and eze is more powerful than him? that is just—asjdgjsdfkdjgds

DSNFSJD yeah that is definitely on him LMAO

ahhh jeez that is so cool- i love the non-existent limitations in fantasy :D

MM LOVE EZEPHR <333

🎶 i live for the applause, applause, applause 🎶/lyr

of course a guy like him craves the attention, that completely went over my head lmao

"if you're not entertained, he kills you" DSHFJDS THAT CAUGHT ME OFF GUARD,,,,,,

oh gosh i thought the power of friendship would definitely work against him LMAO

oh gosh the barrier thing- he is so overpowered istg i'm not surprised that the power's gotten to his head 😭

i'm calling tubbo and jack to destroy him with their nukes :D (real life example of how i can't go two minutes without referencing my block men </3)

i will someday come up with an analysis on eze that'll make you discover things you didn't even think of (/j, my brain doesn't work that well)

ahhh i see, so he'll just go out of the void state if there's light that pops up?

i covered all the questions SO FAR in this, but that's not to say i won't have more in some future splurges! :D loving this asw, it's awesome to learn about this world >:DD

i haven't found the story yet (i have but i haven't read it yet), but i did find your follow button and your other story so i'm on the right track! i've got like 3 other splurges so gimmie a moment to get to those :]

[littlefreya]

The Way to Hell - Part 6

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Summary: Post Mi6 - August manages to escape with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. With every agent in the world on the hunt for him, life became a living hell, but that’s okay because hell is where he reigns.

Too bad for the woman who’ll stand in his way.

Chapters: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10| Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 |

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) | August Walker x ofc Suzy

Word count: 5K

Warnings: Dark themes, rough oral sex, gagging, hinted anal, mentions of rough sex, and August twisted thoughts.  

A/N: The adventures of August and Ingvild continue 💖 thanks again for reading and giving me your feedback, it keeps me fueled so keep it up :D! Of course thanks @agniavateira​ for editing my work and being my muse.

Title: Stargazer

The love boat sets sail through the icy water of the North Sea. The apostle, Knight_of_Cockn3ss, or whatever that kid’s name is, wasn’t joking when he mentioned a romantic cruise.

The traitorous sun hangs mid-sky as August trails across the deck. A beige fedora covers his dark curls and a matching cream-coloured suit over his sturdy body. In his right hand rests his laptop, he is not daring to leave it out of sight even for a minute. His eyes observe the surroundings; he must be the only single person on this trip, surrounded by timid couples on the verge of divorce and sugar daddies with their sugar babies.

‘At least the young girls are pretty.’ August greets a tall blonde, holding one hand behind his back and giving her a small bow before continuing on his way.

He’ll have to endure this trip for a couple more days, which isn’t ideal by any means, but he can’t risk getting caught or killed. Airports all over the world are swarming with security guards, agents, and assassins on really fucking high alert by now, all of them waiting for him.

The irony of the situation is that a long time ago used to be one of them. A wanted target on a scale of world catastrophe would spin a web of agents worldwide and Agent Walker would always get there first. That’s why they called him “The Hammer” - he nailed each target on the head, among other things.

No one cared about torture and extreme violence. He once brought back a target in such a dire condition that Erica was forced to send him to psych evaluation. He bluntly told the psychiatrist he enjoys the violence for no particular reason why, and then fucked her over the desk.

He scoffs at the memory, breaking into a wolfish grin.

Standing on the rail, his gaze is glued to the blue horizon, following the trail of sea-foam left by the boat as it slices through the water, disturbing the peaceful life beneath the sea. Slowly, his chaotic mind begins to drift, reveries of the CIA reminding him of her.

Golden locks of hair glow like hot sand on a summer day. Sweetly, she jokes about buying a yacht, telling Erica to fuck off so they can leave everything behind, and sail into freedom.

Memories are perfidious. Why has she been on his mind so much as of late? She’s been dead for years, flesh eaten by worms and the insects.

She is no more but a sack of rotting bones.

To condemn her memory is more than she deserves.

August’s nostrils flare. For whatever reason, his mind wanders to the girl who lived. Gently snorting, he shakes his head, remembering the condition of how he left ‘poor little’ Ingvild; half-naked, wrists tied up to the bed, probably crying to whatever father figure she has.

After what he did to her, she’ll probably retire from Icarus.

“I’m coming after you,” he mimics her voice in his head, and laughs while making his way toward the stack of beach lounge chairs. The section is nearly empty as most of the lovebirds are dinning in the main hall and unlike the degenerated visitors of this cruise, he is here solely on business.

Much work is left to be done. “Knight” has promised to meet him in London’s sky tower, suggesting he may or may not have a source of plutonium. Whether he’s a broker, a source, or a possible troll matters very little to a man on the run. Desperate times are ahead; he may be sticking his neck out, might be stepping into an obvious trap, but choice is scarce at the moment.

‘This is not the type of anarchy I dreamed of.’

That little girl, Ingvild, was the first to come. There will be others, endless more until the world will fall apart.  

“I’ll keep coming after you.” Her voice hinges on his troubled mind.

He opens his laptop with a groan, trying to ignore the truth that lies on his mind like a pile of heavy brick.

‘You should have left her pretty face to die in the bottom of the lake.’

“Oh, but to miss out on all the fun that followed in that bedroom?” he speaks to himself quietly, unlocking his laptop with a retinal scan.

Luckily, his old drive is still accessible on the cloud he encrypted. Years of work and dirt collected on the CIA and the government nestles on a single server. The ugly truth, the lies, the corruptness. Thick and black like a pit filled of tar.

Erica Sloane has her own dedicated special folder. Personal vendetta was never on his agenda, it was never about revenge, it was about a cause but sweet Erica deserves whatever damnation he could think of. He hopes that when he detonates his nuclear bombs, that once this world falls apart, she’ll sit on a front-row seat to see her failures raining down like fire from the sky.

A vicious smirk paints his face as his fingertips slide onto the touchpad. August scans through his many folders, seeking a specific one regarding illegal weapon deals. It would be a lovely afternoon at the CIA had one of these recordings or documents would find their way to the public eye.

August slides the cursor around, entering one of the CIA’s subfolders when his smile fades away.

He thought he deleted her folder a long time ago, but it seems like mistakenly, he placed it in another section instead.

And now here it is. A name he thought he’d never see again: Lacey.

Strange, he hardly remembers what she looked like. How long has it been? Six? Seven years ago? In his dreams, she’s nothing but a rotting corpse, but the mind has a tendency to alter one’s memory, doesn’t it?

Was she even sweet at all?

‘Manipulation was her strongest trait anyway.’

Without mustering a mother breath, he deletes the folder, and proceeds to search for the files he means to leak. He muses if they caught up with the notion that it was him who poisoned the well this entire time. Years of stirring chaos while sitting with his laptop of his bed while Sloane and her high-ranking management freaked out and did all that’s in their power to cover shit up.

It was so hard to keep a poker face and pretend he is trying to help. One particular time, he got so ecstatic he had to go and jack off in the men’s room.  

‘That was a good one.’

Something abruptly disturbs his attention, making his heart nearly drop.

‘It can’t be, is that...?’

A petite brunette passes through the lounge, joyfully trodding along the deck. Her hair is tucked back into a ponytail. No, it can’t be her, not in the situation he left her at. By what sort of dark magic would she exactly appear here out of nowhere?

‘I wouldn’t be surprised if the little Valkyrie turns out to be some sort of a witch.’

The brunette feels his gaze upon her figure and turns. He is met with a brown, warm gaze, rather than the sharp icy lustre that is Ingvild’s trademark. Less pretty as well, but looks about the same age, perhaps a year or two younger.

Another sugar baby, weary and discontent.

August realises he must have been staring with a dumbfounded look as she decides to smile back and make her way to him.

“Good afternoon,” she greets in a Midwestern accent. August’s eyes focus on her painted lips and in his mind, he imagines wiping that cotton candy pink lipstick by his thumb.

“Afternoon,” he smiles kindly, tipping his fedora with a welcoming bow.

Always the gentleman.

The young woman moves to sit on the seat in front of him, crossing her legs together as she takes in his sight. She observes and assesses how old he is and how much money he must own.

Probably looking for a new target.

‘Not old enough to be your daddy, but you can still call me that if it floats your boat.’

“Are you a secret agent?” She jokes, peering at his laptop before he smooths his hand on the lid to shuts it. He pretends to be intrigued by her senseless, obvious seduction when his mind once again forced him to go back and compare her to living-dead girl.

It seems like he can’t get away from her. Perhaps her threats were a curse? Even halfway across the sea, this total stranger reignites his curiosity.

‘Does Ingvild has any values? Any empathy toward others?’

She did experience fear in those little moments when his knife penetrated her soft little gut - that look in her eyes; like a virgin, fucked extremely rough for the very first time.

Thinking of those big, terrified eyes light up a snarl on his bewhiskered lip.

There was an inch of vulnerability in that sweet farewell kiss, a sense lost look on her face as if she couldn’t fit that emotion into any drawer inside her brain. It made her look so much more beautiful.

He wonders what she would have looked like if he went ahead with his besser urges and fucked her.

‘Maybe she’d finally break into tears. Fuck, I’d love to see her cry.’

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” He interrupts the sassy brunette as she speaks of Lord-knows-what. It seems that she doesn’t even realise he wasn't listening to her for the last 5 minutes she been babbling . The girl smiles sweetly, tucking a brown lock of hair behind her ear. The diamond bracelet that decorated her wrist dangles as she does.

“Suzy.”

“Suzy,” August repeats and smiles charmingly before giving his lips a quick flick of a tongue. “Would you like to join me in my room?”

The brunette pretends to blush beneath the layers of foundation on her face and fakes an argument inside her mind as if she actually considers refusing his bold suggestion.

~*~

Back in his room, he pushes the petite brunette to her knees. He wipes away her makeup, smearing the pink paint with the crudeness of thumb. Suzy giggles, thinking she probably had men do worse than that by now.

‘Oh, darling, we haven’t even started yet.’

August’s large hand traces her rounded face, knuckles brushing against her cheek tenderly while running down to meet her lips again.

“Open up sweetheart,” he commands in a relaxed voice, his index finger demanding entrance to her velvety mouth. She spreads her lips open slowly, allowing him to slip in his long digit to explore the wet cavern while his thumb caresses her chin. Much to his delight, she sucks on his finger obediently, moaning as he slowly pumps in and out of her hot mouth.

“Good girl,” he praises, his free hand reaching to unbuckle his belt urgently and free his aching cock from his trousers. He tugs at himself for a second, staring how she suckles on his finger with fake devotion. She probably do want his cock, but it’s his money that she’d care for more later.

‘Oh, how disappointed you are going to be once I’m off this boat, baby.’

“How about I’ll fuck that pretty little throat, hmm?” August asks and without waiting for an answer, pulls his soaked finger away and clasps his hand around the hollows of her cheeks instead, forcing her to keep her mouth open.

She voices no protest, only her eyes staring at him wide and helpless. He pays no attention, preferring the sight of his cock sliding in between those puffy lips and pushing into the warm depths instead. A prolong groan slips out of his mouth, emphasising the relief of finally getting his dick wet.

Usually, he loves to watch, yet he lets his eyes roll back and shuts them tightly this time while she in the background. It only makes him fuck her throat more vigorously, his hands cradling and saddling her head, forcing her to meet the violent thrust of his hips.

“Don’t touch me,” he rasps breathlessly, as her her dirty paws snake for his waist. Terrified, she pulls away, intimidated by his voice. August’s eyes remain shut yet he can feel the wetness on her cheeks as his thumbs dig into them. Those tears are enough to send him over the edge, and he comes into her throat without any warning, grunting a couple of times and lingering inside her mouth to make sure she’ll swallow him clean.

‘That’s right little Valkyrie angel, you’ll take what I’ll give you.’

The mists of fantasy fade as August blinks his eyes open. Debunked by the plastic-type of woman. Slowly, he pulls his cock out, impressed by the mascara that’s smeared beneath Suzy’s now glassy red eyes. He wipes her lower lip clean and then gives her chin a gentle pinch with a soft grin.

Suzy gives out a weak smile in return, trying to look satisfied while remaining on her knees. He can tell that her little brain is pretty much half-through into realising she made a mistake by following the devil into his room.

Tall and menacing, he looks at her drenched by vile mischief. August moves to sit on the queen sized bed, petting the empty spot next to him. She follows, fighting her instinct to put a hand on his knee as she is used to, afraid that he will bark at her again.

“Tell me, Suzy,” he coaxes, reaching for the wallet in his pocket and drawing out a Trojan condom.

“Have you ever tried anal sex?”

****

“Ingvild,” the old man calls her name once he brings her to her new home. It’s a simple, minimalist apartment with naked walls and generic black IKEA furniture.

Silent, she peers at him, holding her small luggage between sinewy fingers. Everything that she possesses in the world is in that suitcase; a bunch of plaid skirts, white buttoned shirts, and a few books about fairies and monsters.

This man called Liam, is he to be her new father? He never even offered her a smile and hardly bothers looking into her eyes. Instead he grunts and sighs while making his way around the house and gesturing for her to follow.

At least he is kinder than Mother Superior. At least in here, no girl is going to pick any fights with her and get her into trouble.

“This is your room,” Liam gestures. The pubescent girl sneaks closer, peeking inside with curiosity. It’s not what someone would call a girl’s room by any means, very much like the rooms they had at the orphanage. It contains a single bed with a thin mattress and white metal bars and on the bed rest some casual clothes for her to wear.

At least she won’t have to wear skirts anymore.

As little Ingvild continues to scan the room, she picks on a small library housing some books and a learning desk with a computer. Probably for her to gain some knowledge of the world. She never had any of that at the orphanage, just the bible and the “forbidden” books of fairytales she stole from one of the nuns.

“Today you can rest,” Liam speaks, watching the little girl as she moves to place her luggage inside and sits on the bed.

“Tomorrow, you will start your first day of training.”

‘Training?’

Ingvild says nothing, only glares at him back quietly. It’s quite clear no woman is present in the house which makes her wonder; the orphanage doesn’t allow single parents to adopt, especially not men. Was Mother Superior this desperate to get rid of her that she decided to throw her at the first person who asked?

“Just so we’re clear, girl,” Liam grumbles, “I am not your father. You call me Liam and that’s that.”

She nods silently and watches him leave the room, shutting the door behind. Sighing, she falls back to the mattress, her silver eyes fixing at the ceiling in wonders of what sort of new life has she been sold ito.

“Ingvild...”

A low, velvety voice calls for her again, the mattress dipping, shifting with the weight of the one who joins her. As she turns her face aside, she is met with hungry eyes and a smile so cold it makes her heart shrivel.

August.

*~*

A loud thud wakes her with a sharp inhale. Though her face remain stoic, quickly readjusting to the sight of moving ground as the plane’s wheels make their landing. ‘Arrogant August Walker, invading my dreams’, she curses but pays no more thought to why he was there. Analysing dreams was never her thing. They were just memories of random things that happened to her in her childhood and August is no different as he had been on her mind for the last 72 hours.

He was a job.

One that she needed to get over with.

Liam was at her throat with this one specifically, nagging her like an old shrew. He wasn’t used for her taking her time with it, not his special girl.

Massaging her strained neck, she waits for the last person to leave the plane, observing the empty cabin and noticing how used it appears with all the crumpled, empty snack bags lying on the floor.

‘Ungrateful’, she thinks before exiting her seat and tip-toeing to get her luggage.

The arrivals terminal is infested with agents. Having been trained for years, she sees right through their casual attire, so fake they almost look like B-movie actors. It’s those badly selected outfits and their observant gazes - eyes obsessively fixed on every gate. Every airport in the world must be the same right now, desperate to catch this nightmare of a terrorist.

‘As if he would be stupid enough to travel by plane.’

With a high profile target like August on the loose, it almost feels like the world is on the brink of war.

‘Is that what he wants? To be an anarchistic god that plows chaos everywhere?’

Maybe that’s why he gave her back her life, to humiliate her, to show her how easily he can twist everyone’s life and disrupt the world people know.

‘Mephisto, Lucifer, Hades, Hel.’

“Remember that you’re only alive because I have allowed it.”

A sudden shard of pain sears through her torso, the wound reacting to the phantasm of his low timbre which plays in her mind. It makes her slow on her steps and chews on her inner cheek to suppress a moan that has been begging to escape her lips since yesterday afternoon.

“August Walker”, the name rolls on the tip of her tongue.

Her very first failure, the very first man who killed her.

It almost feels like a bond now, intimate and twisted. August went deeper than any other man ever did - he fucked her internal organs.

‘Is that is why you “performed” for him in the shower? Why you thought about him, slipping inside you with his cock rather than his knife?’

Ingvild huffs tenderly and passes in-between a couple reuniting with passion, her shoulder sharply bumping against the woman, who yells at her while she remains indifferent, never bothering to look back.

Putting on her shades, she continues to head for the exit. The wound in her gut throbs even further, all of a sudden and just when she is tempted to give into the pain and acknowledge it, the new mobile device in her jacket’s pocket begins to vibrate.

Liam, who else?

“Papa?” She answers, the big exit sign finally flickering in front of her eyes.

She can see Liam rolling his eyes without having to see his grumpy old face.

“What progress do you hope to make with this lead? Someone says they saw him in Singapore yesterday, you should be following these threads instead.”

Ingvild holds her breath, knowing very well the lead is false. August was with her a night ago, so close she tasted him, so near his fingers dug deep into her flesh, leaving an imprint on her bones and even though there is something quite demonic about him, she doubts he can be at two different places at once.

“I need access to his world, I need to pick up the clues,” she explains, yet the sad truth is that she has no idea what to look for. August is not a rookie idiot, he did a fine job leaving zero clues back at the bed&breakfast room they “shared”. Not even the receptionist who ogled her oddly when she left could tell her where he was heading.  

“Just get it done, Ingvild. You’re acting like a child, this isn’t like you,” Liam mutters before hanging up.

‘He is right, this isn’t like you.’

Ingvild feels hooks clutching her guts, not just the pain August inflicted upon her, but something deeper, something desperate, leaving a void in that same spot. The fact that he slipped between her fingers seems to torments, just as much as the fact that she lied to Liam for the first time. It makes her feel like a rebellious teenager. She never keeps secrets from him and there she is, lying through every word.

Absentmindedly, her fingers press against her lips as she exits the airport.

~*~

The address led her to a small suburban house in southern London. It’s the type of house that has large glass windows where anyone standing outside can ogle freely. Rich people houses, as she likes to call it. She had a few missions in the past with people living in homes like this one - always an easy kill.

A blond woman meanders about inside the house, wearing a grey silk nightgown, preparing for bedtime probably. According to Walker’s file, she’s the most recent ex - Sydney. They broke up a couple of months before he decided to go on what he thought would be his final mission, his deathstrike.

‘If only.’

Glancing from the gravel path that leads to large metal doors, she learns the woman’s delicate manoeuvres, her mind reciting every graceful gestures as she crouches down to place food for a large Maine coon cat.

‘Is that the type of woman he likes?’

August would strikes her as a man who would fuck anything with a heartbeat but he did have more than a few relationships. She can’t help but wonder if he has a type, noticing how Sydney is more of a woman than a girl; solid income, big name lawyer, a woman who can take care of herself, a woman to start a family with.

Not that she imagines Walker starting a family anytime soon.

She is pretty too, with her mid-length straight golden hair, bright eyes and a shapely body. Ingvild looks at her own outfit: jeans, sneakers and a black sleeved shirt, nowhere as classy as beautiful Sydney.

The hour is late, still she walks toward the door and rings the bell.

“Can I help you?”

Ingvild is greeted by green eyes and a subtle Welsh accent. She gives her one of her fake smiles, trying to look as charming and pleasant as a sweet doll.

“Sydney Bedford?” She asks, while briefly scanning her body. She tries to imagine what August liked about her the most; her figure? Her angelic face? Her emerald stare?

“I have some questions about August Walker, he used to…”

Sydney shakes her head vehemently, waving her hands in the air. Something in her eyes drastically changes the moment the name “August” slaps her across the face.

“Are you MI6!? Please, I don’t want to speak about that psychotic loser anymore.”

Ingvild smiles calmly, a soft chuckle leaving her throat.

“Oh you see, he disappeared…”

“Good riddance!” Sydney replies, her eyes filling with anger, her face turning red within seconds. “Listen. I already told them everything I know.”

“Please,” Ingvild begs, batting her long lashes and tilting her head like a cute little kitten. “I’m new in this and my superior will be mad if I don’t at least speak to you. May I please come in? It’s important for my investigation.”

The same childlike charm that works on men might as well work on women, for different reasons in this occasion. Sydney is a single 36-38-year old woman who lives alone with her cat.

She must have wanted a family, perhaps with Walker, no wonder she’s furious.

Leaning against the door frame, Sydney scrutinises the young girl, believing she is younger than she really is with that pale smooth face and big innocent greyish eyes.  

“Come on in, dear.” She opens the door wide, letting Ingvild step inside before closing it behind her.

The main entrance leads into a large living room, furnished with a black leather sofas and a glass coffee table. She owns a TV that is larger than Ingvild's entire living room and the walls are moulded with grey bricks, shiny from some cut stone.

Ingvild imagines how lovely it would feel to crack the shimmering stone with August’s skull.

“Would you like some tea?” Sydney offers while heading toward her luxurious kitchen.

“Please,” Ingvild answers, walking around the house and examining every corner to learn of the woman who invited her in. She nearly stumbles as the large cat rubs against her foot. “Oh,” she exclaims, lowering herself to pick the chubby feline to her arms.

She never owned a pet. Liam said it’s unnecessary.

“So like I said,” Sydney calls from the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove. “I don’t know anything about August and where he is. All I can tell you is that he was weird.”

“Weird? How?” Ingvild asks, stroking the cat behind his ears and while it purr against her chest.

Sydney places two mugs on the black marble counter in the kitchen and opens a cabinet, looking for some tea bags. “He would disappear and then return after weeks, telling me not to ask any questions. Then, he would go away and come back in crazy hours. He was a gentleman of course but arrogant and demanding, never taking no for an answer.”

Ingvild turns to look at Sydney, arching her eyebrow as if she is surprised to learn this about the man who stabbed and drowned her in an icy lake. “Is that so?”

“Yes!” Sydney shouts back, her chest heaving as she throws the bags into the mugs and turns toward Ingvild.

“Everything had to go his way, and I won’t be surprised if he had a mistress or another family, or god! Maybe an illegal drug practice.”

The cat jumps down from Ingvild’s embrace, and she brushes the grey hairs off her black shirt. “What makes you think this way?”

“Like I said; disappearing in the middle of the night, coming back... I knew something was off so I went and... wait I… I shouldn’t tell you this, you’re an agent!” Sydney looks around her, as if she’s afraid someone might be listening to their conversation.

Ingvild takes a step forward into the kitchen, her grey eyes seeking Sydney’s, giving her a warm, kind smile. “You can tell me anything Sydney, you are not in danger, I promise. We just want to locate Walker, he hasn't reported to HQ in a while.”

Sydney observes her gaze, trying to determine her personality. She thinks the young woman seem gentle with those unique eyes and the hair that’s tucked back to a strict ponytail.

“I had him traced,” she whispers. “I know I wasn’t supposed to because he is CIA, and trust me I was scared but I had to know.”

“How did you do that?” Ingvild asks, tilting her head with curiosity and slight disbelief. It seems odd that a man like Walker was bugged by some dumb lawyer woman.

“I did his laundry, it wasn’t hard to hide something inside the pocket of his jacket. I mean, inside the fabric, where he can’t find it.”

Ingvild can’t help but let out a small snort, amused by the fact that the infamous CIA agent got made so easily. She covers her mouth with her fist, shyly smiling into it, but it’s noticed by Sydney who stands in front of her, staring oddly.

“Where would he go?”

“Some place in South Kensington, almost every day for the last month of our relationship. He would vanish there for hours and then come back. I have the address, hold on.” Sydney leaves the kitchen and walks through a long corridor.

Not bothering with politeness, Ingvild follows her, easy off her feet like the big grey cat, carefully exploring this new territory. She imagines the fights August would have with this woman and then the passionate sex afterwards while her hand runs against the texture of the garnet.

“Oh!” Sydney exclaims, confused to see Ingvild in the doorway of her bedroom. The young woman looks around curiously, trying to find any memorabilia from August; a photo, a clothing article, man cologne. It seems like he was never even been here, though there is a certain coldness in this room that feels strangely familiar.

‘No, not August, his touch is warm.’

“He did trading or something,” Sydney says as she hands her over a small yellow note that was hidden in her purse. It has the address to August’s “secret lover”.

Ingvild takes the notes, memorizing the address before placing it in her jeans pocket. “Trading? Can you elaborate?”

She shrugs. “He asked me to not disturb him while he was doing some dealing, I don’t know what it was… it looked fishy but it might just be CIA stuff.”

Ingvild nods silently, scanning the room again and again and eventually taking in the sight of the empty bed. Her mind fills in the gaps, painting an image of August fucking Sydney into oblivion, his muscular body ramming into hers, one leg held over his shoulder while the blond little bitch screams in ecstasy.

“How was he in bed? Would you say he performed well?” Ingvild asks, her eyes gesturing toward the mattress.

Sydney frowns, giving her a slight repulsed face as she finds her question remarkably rude.

“How is this relevant to the investigation?”

She means to berate her when she witnesses Ingvild’s kind smile growing remarkably cold.

The young woman remains silent, taking a step closer and making Sydney almost stumble back as sudden fear creeps in. Grey frigid eyes, like icy shards, her nostrils slightly flares as she catches up the scent of her expensive perfume.

“How is this relevant to the MI6?!” Sydney asks again, trying to dismiss the tension yet continues to draw distance from the young agent.

“I never said I am MI6.”

Sydney’s back hits the wall with a soft thud, she attempts to flee but Ingvild’s hands lock around her shoulders, forcing her against the wall with a thud. As small as this woman is, she is way stronger than she appears.

“How was he in bed?” she repeats, her voice becoming more demanding while her glare threatening to spear into Sydney’s skull. “Would you say he satisfies you?”

Puny gasps peal from Sydney’s mouth, her green eyes becoming moist with pure fear.

“Please, don’t... He was... Rough.”

“Bondage?”

“He... he..he choked me,” she answers in a trembling voice, her lower lip quivering, much to Ingvild’s delight.

“He was too rough, he was big and he didn’t care, it was as if he enjoyed my pain...”

Ingvild licks her bottom lip, imagining Sydney thrown on the bed with August treating her like a rag doll, wrecking her completely. Bruises left everywhere, tattoos on her skin for the world to see this fine artist’s work. A cold flame licks at her spine, crawling down to the small of her back.

She’s uncertain why.

“Would you say he loved you?”

Sydney’s peers at her quietly, thinking of her answer for a few seconds while Ingvild’s fingers bury into her collarbone, voicelessly demanding a response.

“August Walker is incapable of love. He is dead inside.”

________________________________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own August Walker or the Mission Impossible Frenchise

[littlecatlost1]

Inside (A Short Jacksepticeye Horror Fanfiction)

Inside (A Short Jacksepticeye Horror Fanfiction) @therealjacksepticeye

Summary: "Was the nightmare forgotten? Or are you too afraid to remember?"

Note: I had to do serious battle with my inner demons for about a year just to get this out. I still don’t think it’s very good, but hopefully someone will like it. Please be kind and do not steal this and post it as your own.

Warning: This story contains descriptions of violence and gore. So, read at your own discretion.

Links to other sites where you can read this story: FanFiction.net | Archive of Our Own | Wattpad | DeviantArt

"So familiar. I wonder. Will I find anything worthwhile inside? I want to know."

September, 2016

"...and I will see all you dudes IN THE NEXT VIDEO!!"

With one last set of high fives and a double fist pump, Sean completes another day of recording. He'd just spent the last few hours recording himself playing an incredibly immersive science fiction survival game set on a gorgeous, lush alien planet. Which was made all the better by the fact that it was in VR. He was still riding that gamer's high as he set aside his headset and controllers, then sat down in his chair to begin shutting down the various pieces of equipment. When out of the corner of his eye, he saw something that made his heart plummet down into his stomach. His facecam display was missing.

"Oh, no, no, no, no...!"

Sean reached for his camera. It was cold to the touch. He turned the camera around in his hands and, just as he'd suspected, the display screen was completely black. The battery must have died. But that wasn't possible. Sean distinctly remembered putting in a freshly charged battery before he started recording. He always did. It was a consistent step in his daily routine. Maybe the battery had gone faulty. But that didn't make much sense either since he'd used the same battery the day before and it worked perfectly with no issues.

"Damn it!"

Sean threw his head back and heaved out a loud sigh in frustration as he slumped back into his chair. That game was so much fun to record and one he'd been very excited to post on his channel. Awash with disappointment, Sean considered his options. He wondered how much footage had actually been lost. Judging by how cool it felt, the camera most likely had been without power for a decent amount of time. 'Fuck!' Sean always disliked the idea of having to re-record a video since the reactions wouldn't be as genuine as that first time experience.

Refusing to let this setback drag him down, Sean chose to take a more positive approach to the problem. Perhaps it wasn't as bad as it seemed. The only way to be sure was to get onto his computer and check the files. It was possible that there was enough footage he could salvage and still put together a decent video. He might have to edit in some sort of annotation explaining that his facecam had crapped out. He hoped that was the worst of it. Because the far less desirable option would be to abandon the video altogether.

As he pulled his chair closer to his desktop, he turned and cast a baleful gaze at the camera sitting silently in the corner. Traitor.

Just a few minutes into his work, Sean was distracted by the sound of scraping coming from his right. A small table stood beside his desk. On top of which sat his coffee mug, his phone, a notebook and a couple other random items. He leaned over in his chair to give everything a cursory inspection. But the only conclusion he came to was that he needed to refill his coffee. The sight of that slender, light brown ring slowly drying up at the bottom of the mug, it was nearly as tragic a sight as corrupted video data.

Sean made a mental note to brew up some more in a few minutes. He may just need some caffeinated assistance to deal with this mess.

However, no sooner had he laid his hand down on the mouse, he heard it again. That noise. The scraping. It certainly seemed like it was coming from right next to him. But he quickly dismissed it a moment later when he heard a couple of familiar voices coming from outside. It must have been the neighbors doing something close to his side of the house and his ears were simply playing tricks on him.

Sean had only turned halfway back around when he went completely stopped dead. The sound came again. The sound of ceramic sliding across a smooth surface. The mug. It moved. It barely slid a hair's length, but it definitely did move. Sean glanced down to make certain he hadn't accidentally nudged the table. His breath then caught sharply in his throat as the mug once more shifted every so slightly across the tabletop.

'What in the actual fuck?' Sean was beginning to feel genuinely unsettled. That is, until the rational side of his mind chimed in and told him that, at some point, he must have absentmindedly laid down his mug so that it was resting right up against his phone. Every time the phone vibrated, it created the illusion that the mug was moving on it's own. Of course, that was it. Thanks, brain. Sean breathed again, feeling just a little bit foolish.

Sean reached forward, intending to rectify this silly mishap. Just as his fingers were about to make contact, the mug suddenly shot across the table, like a bullet escaping the barrel of a gun, through the air, and then shattered to pieces against the far wall.

Sean jumped up so quickly his chair spun around on its swivel and slid across the floor. He pressed his back up against the wall, as if to try and push himself as far away as he could from the broken shards of ceramic that now lay silent and lifeless in the corner. Eyes wide and chest tight, his mind was a swirling whirlwind of thoughts and fear that he was earnestly trying to contain. He struggled to comprehend what he'd just witnessed. But Sean was finding it rather difficult to explain away the mystery of why his favorite mug decided to, of its own accord, fly across his room and commit kamikaze all over the wall.

Every nerve in his body was awake and screaming at him. The room didn't feel safe to him, and all Sean wanted to do right now was get the hell out. He took a step towards the door, but immediately stopped as a strange sensation enveloped his left forearm. It was a cold, tingling feeling that crept along from his elbow all the way down to the very tips of his fingers. It was a soft, gentle sort of tingling. As if he'd curiously dipped his arm deep into a spider's web. Sean lifted his arm, turned it around from one side to the other, and watched as the hairs on his arm each stood straight on end.

"Ah! Fuck!" Sean screamed. Feelings of unease gave way to absolute terror when the undeniable realization struck him, that he wasn't alone. Something had grabbed him. Something he couldn't see. He could actually feel five individual fingers wrapped tightly around his forearm, close to his wrist. Sean immediately attempted to pull away, but to his horror, he was met with resistance. Swallowing hard, he braced his feet against the floor and tugged again, harder this time. Nothing. Not even so much as an inch was gained. All he could do was stare at his arm that hung suspended in midair. He winced as each tug only seemed to entice his unseen assailant to form a death-like grip so tight he began to feel sharp sparks of pain shooting through his trapped limb.

Next, he was stumbling backward and crashing hard into the set of shelves where he kept his collection of memorabilia, several of which were sent clattering to the floor in the impact. Sean didn't waste a moment to wonder at how he'd inexplicably broken loose. He dashed to the door and grabbed the handle, only to be faced with a new problem. The handle was stuck, very tightly.

The air in the room was steadily becoming heavy and cloying. There was a tangible oppressiveness to it. Sean pushed down on the handle with all of his strength, but still it refused to give. Several more curse words streamed from his mouth as panic settled in and latched itself to his racing heart. Sean knew that whatever it was that had just attacked him was likely still in the room with him and he was now trapped in here with it. He felt a heat come up over his back and shoulders.

Sean put one foot up against the door frame, held onto the door handle with both hands and pulled hard while trying to turn it at the same time. The walls came alive all around him in an uproar of loud pounding. Sean threw his shoulder against the door. The windows shuddered and banged against their frames, adding to the cacophony. Sean kicked the door several times, knowing it was pointless, but at the same time vaguely hoping that he could break the latch open. The heat was getting worse. It felt like the entire room was on fire, though there were no flames. He couldn't even bear to try the handle again. It burned in his hands.

Sean fell against the door, rubbing his brow against the smooth wood. The room was so damned humid. His skin was itching in the heat. There was so much noise. His head was pounding. Why is it so hot? Can't get out. Everything is spinning. Can't breath. Everything is agony.

"WHY IS IT SO FUCKING HOT IN HERE!?" Sean let out a sudden and explosive scream. Lungs heaving, he spun around and grabbed onto his chair by the armrests and lifted it up over his shoulder. He stared at that damned fucking door, the edges of his vision turning red, at the barrier to his freedom. He had to- wanted to destroy it. He wanted nothing more than to throw the chair into the door until nothing was left of it but a pile of splinters.

From the door arose a series of clicking sounds, then the latch popped and the door opened a small gap. Feeling equally bewildered as he was relieved, Sean swung open the door and charged out of the room. He didn't stop until he reached the opposite end of the hallway. He lurched forward and had to place his hands on his knees to stop himself from falling over. It took a moment for Sean to realize that he was hyperventilating. Now free, he took a moment to take a few deep breaths and try to calm his frayed and abused nerves.

So many questions were buzzing like insects in his head. What had happened just now? Objects thrown by invisible forces, doors closing and locking themselves, unexplained noises? It all sounded like superstitious nonsense. Like one of the stories you hear on those paranormal reality shows that try so hard to make you think it really happened, but seems too much like something out of Hollywood to actually be taken seriously.

But this was real. Wasn't it? Sean shook his head and ran a hand through his green hair, still struggling to digest it all. He'd felt a hand close itself around his arm, this he couldn't deny. Something strong had caught him and refused to let him go. And then in the ensuing chaos that erupted when he tried to leave, what may have scared him the most, was himself. There was a moment, just for a split second, where he didn't recognize himself. Sean shuddered. That rage, it didn't belong to him. He knew fear had the power to turn even the most rational person into a madman. But still...

Sean slowly turned around and stared down the long hallway and into the gaping maw that led into his recording room. His muscles twitched. He half-expected to see a dark figure appear in the doorway and come for him. But the only thing staring back at him was his computer monitor idly looping a screensaver.

Everything was quiet now. Maybe...

A violent force suddenly struck Sean in the side and threw him sideways. His head slammed into the wall with a sickening crack. The shock rippled through to the back of his skull and back again, causing his senses to briefly careen severely out of focus. Everything around him became a mass of vague shapes and blotches of color. A shrill ringing pierced through his ears.

Sean let out a weak moan. His whole body ached horribly. The one side of his head was throbbing and his cheek felt damp and sticky. The blur of shapes were tilted on their sides and he knew he was on the floor. He tried to turn his head slightly and heard a soft crunch. In his immediate vision, a dozen dazzling lights danced like glittering diamonds. His head swam turbulently and he had to shut his eyes to stop from being sick.

'I need help. I have to get up.'

Sean felt an overwhelming need to sleep. He tried to fight it, tried to force himself up. He knew the danger of falling asleep with a severe head injury. But it was no use. His body would no longer obey him. The world was fading. He was sinking down into a deep, dark murk. His eyelids flickered once and then shut.

Sean drifted away into unconsciousness, not sure if he would ever wake again.

"Some of the worst monsters imaginable were born of the cruelty of men. It plucks. It rips. It tears. Until little more than a shattered husk remains, quivering and howling in a dark corner."

It was cold.

That was the first thing Sean noticed, the cold breeze that sent shivers through his entire body. Then came the scent of damp soil and grass. He heard the ebb and flow of water gently caressing the shore. Somewhere nearby, a songbird was chirping cheerfully in the trees. Sean slowly opened his eyes. Everything was blurry at first, but it quickly became clear that he wasn't at home anymore.

Before him, he beheld a quiet lake surrounded by a dense forest thick with trees and vegetation. A heavy fog hung over the lake like a blanket. Overhead, the sun was trying to peek through an overcast sky, bathing the area in a soft and silvery light. It was so serene and lovely, a beautiful little hideaway. It was the kind of place he would gladly visit again and again.

If only he knew how he'd gotten here when only a few seconds ago, he was passing out on his floor with a gushing wound on his temple. Sean carefully tested his limbs. His muscles didn't give much of a response and felt mildly tight and sore. He turned his head a bit and saw that his body was locked up in the fetal position, with his legs pulled up against his chest and his arms wrapped around his knees in a tight bear hug.

Sean slowly stretched himself out and pushed himself up to his feet. He felt a bit dizzy, so he braced an arm against a nearby tree. With his free hand he gingerly pressed his fingers against the side of his face. He sucked in a sharp breath of air through his teeth in trepidation of what he would find. A bloody gash, perhaps even a loose shard of skull. But to his surprise, the wound was gone. That's not possible. His head had impacted with the wall with such tremendous force, it was a miracle he was even standing right now.

'I should be dead.'

With that chilling thought, Sean slowly stepped up to the lake's shore and surveyed his surroundings. Maybe he was dead. He wasn't sure how else to explain how he suddenly found himself in this strange, albeit picturesque, place. The steady beat in his chest, however, argued otherwise. Maybe he was in a coma. He could be laying in a hospital bed right now, head wrapped in bandages and hooked up to a dozen machines. He'd heard stories of people having some rather fantastical dreams while in comas.

Then again, there was also the possibility that no one had found him yet. He could still be sprawled out on the floor in his home, unconscious and bleeding out. His life slowly passing away as each precious second ticked by. Perhaps this place was some sort of purgatory. A pocket between existential planes where he would have to wait until, well... whatever comes next.

Sean shuddered. He really hoped it wasn't the latter.

Sean wrapped his arms around himself for warmth against the cool air, then turned and began to walk along the shore. He wasn't sure what else to do at the moment. He simply felt compelled to keep moving forward. The fog that rolled in from the lake had somehow grown exponentially in the short time since he woke up here. Sean stopped and turned around in place. He was surrounded on all sides by a wall of thick white mist. He could barely see more than a few yards ahead of him in any direction.

He briefly considered calling out for help, but quickly thought better of it. Somewhere deep down he knew that drawing attention to himself may not be the wisest of choices.

Sean continued to slowly and carefully follow the lake's shoreline. It was the only real landmark he had. Beyond that was the forest. Venturing into that sea of trees would be a foolish endeavor, for he was sure to become lost. But Sean's fear was growing with each step that he took. He kept hoping he would find some sign of other people. A boat, a campsite, a trail leading out to a road. Something. Something that would tell him that he wasn't alone. Something that would tell him that he was still here.

Ahead of him, a soft buzzing could be heard from inside the mist. In the trees he heard several birds fluttering and flying from one branch to another. Several nagging thoughts began to itch at the back of his mind. They urged him to turn back. But Sean pressed onward. His legs were moving on auto-pilot now. He had to keep going. He needed to see what what was waiting for him just beyond that white curtain.

Eventually the mist receded just barely enough to reveal a small clearing nestled between the lake and the rest of the forest.

That's where he found the body.

It was a grotesque sight that made his insides squirm and twist into knots. There on the far edge of the clearing the body of what appeared to be a man hung from a tree, its wrists tied to two different branches. What's more, the head was missing. And on its chest was an angry red wound. All black around the edges and darkened and exposed muscle in the middle. It looked like a burn. This burn ran from the center of its chest, all the way up to the edge of what remained of its neck.

A crow stood perched on the shoulder, clacking its beak as it snatched up a few flies darting back and forth from the corpse. The black bird regarded Sean with a sideways glance before dipping its beak into the open neck for a small morsel of rotting flesh. Sean gagged. A putrid and pungent stench drifted outward, carried by a breeze, and hit him suddenly like a heavy wave. His stomach churned, his eyes watered, and everything started to spin. The world tipped vertically. There he saw what he couldn't believe he'd missed before.

The severed head of this mutilated man rested on a stump close to the feet. Its mouth agape in a perpetual scream. The crows appear to have already made quick work of this appetizer. The face was no longer recognizable. The skin and muscle have been stripped away, leaving mostly bone and a few scraps of hair. And the teeth were a bit strange. Most of them were quite ordinary, except for the four canine teeth. They were slightly elongated and sharp. Like fangs.

Sean stood there mesmerized, unable to look away from the horror. Even though he knew he should run. He wanted to run. But he couldn't. Sean could feel something building inside him. Something strange and terrible. There was a dull heat in his center which was rapidly spreading through his entire body like liquid fire. His heart beat faster and faster. It hurt to breath. He wanted to scream, but could only gasp and choke. The fire. The sheer terror. It was coming. Death. Death was coming and he was helpless to deny it.

"No. NO! Leave me alone!" Out of nowhere, Sean was assaulted by a loud bellowing voice. It bounded about like a thrumming echo, as if coming from every direction and right in his ears, all at the same time. "Somebody help me!" Sean winced and clapped his hands over his ears. "I never harmed anyone! Why!?" But the voice persisted. It was scratching at the inside of his skull. Begging and pleading for mercy. "This isn't fair!!"

There was a brief moment of silence. Then an utterly visceral, tortured wailing echoed between his ears. The scream came again, and again and again. Over and over. Each scream was punctuated by a guttural moan. As if this person were being struck repeatedly. There was so much pain. Sean couldn't bear it. It just went on and on. Even worse still, a second scream rose up to join the first, mingling together with the other in a harrowing chorus.

This went on for what felt like an eternity until Sean finally discovered that the second voice was actually his own. As soon as he did, everything went silent. Sean slowly opened his eyes... 'When did I close them?' ...and desperately tried to gather himself together. He'd somehow ended up on the ground, his chest heaving and his body rocked by fearsome tremors. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten there.

Sean stared into that moldering face. The eye sockets nothing but two pools of writhing, milky white maggots. Sean swooned again. He felt the bile rapidly rushing up in his throat and he reflexly brought his hand up to cover his mouth.

His hand hit his mouth with a wet slap. A strong metallic smell filled his nose. Sean slowly lowered his hand and immediately screamed. Both of his hands were completely drenched in blood. Viscous and speckled with dark clots, the blood spread from the tips of his fingernails all the way down to his elbows and slowly dripped down to the ground.

"Fucking Jesus!"

Sean turned around and dashed toward the lake. He threw his arms into the water and frantically wiped away all of the blood. The water turned bright red all around him. He slumped forward and rested on his knees, keeping his arms submerged. He took in a few slow, deep breaths. Thankfully, his vision stopped swaying so precariously, but he couldn't stop shaking. He was scared. For a moment, Sean wondered if this was Hell. In that moment, he felt like he was being punished. Punished for something he didn't do. This was so fucking insane. It couldn't be real. He just wanted to go home.

"What in the hell is happening to me?", Sean muttered to himself morosely.

Sean pulled his arms out of the tinted water and held them up in front of his eyes. He gave them both a thorough inspection, but couldn't find a single cut or scratch anywhere. But then, where had all that blood come from? Sean didn't know. All he cared about right now was getting as far away from here as possible. He cupped some clean water in his hands and splashed it in his face. His stomach gave a mild complaint as he began to straighten up, but he ignored it. He just had to find a way out.

Sean paused when he noticed something catch a brief flicker of light in the dirt just to his right. Curiously, he stooped down to pick it up. In his hand he held a perfectly round, flat piece of glass with a large crack going through it. It looked like a lens.

From behind, a hoarse exhale broke the relative silence. Sean spun around so quickly he fell down on his backside. A figure had appeared in the clearing mere feet from where he now sat. How did it get so close without him noticing? It was sitting on a large stone, leaning forward with its arms resting on its knees. While this figure had all the hallmark features of a man, Sean was hesitant to call it as such. All of the skin on its throat, trailing up into its lower jaw and halfway down its chest, was just gone. Leaving only naked muscle and sinew, bleeding and glistening in the pale light. It did wear clothes, dirty and tattered though they were. And it stared at Sean through two glassy black marbles from underneath a curtain of stringy copper-colored hair.

It was watching him... Those two cold, obsidian orbs bore straight into his own wide blue eyes. The only sound to be heard was the sound of its labored, raspy breathing. Sean could actually see the muscles in its neck contracting and relaxing with each breath, and his fingers twitched anxiously. The crows have gone quiet. And there were more of them now. Countless numbers of large, back birds gathered in the trees surrounding the small clearing. They seemed eager, as if they were waiting to see what would happen next.

The ghoulish man rose up to its feet. Sean crawled backward several feet in panic. There was a sense of predatory malice in its dark gaze now. And it was at this point when Sean realized what it must have been like for a mouse to lock eyes with a cat. Caught in the shadow of this harbinger of death, Sean felt very small indeed.

"Oh, god." Sean gasped softly, his mouth gone dry. It began to step towards him now. Sean didn't think twice. He leapt up and ran as fast as he could away from it, straight into the woods.

Sean could barely see where he was going. The thick mist was as oppressive as ever. Trees bloomed into view as he ran and he had to keep his hands raised to stop himself from crashing into them more than once. The terrain was just as treacherous. Several times he would slip on loose rocks or stumble when a root caught his foot. He kept going, kept running. He didn't dare slow down. That thing was surely right behind him.

Sean knew he couldn't keep this pace up for too long. But what options did he have? Turning and fighting was suicide for sure. He whipped his head around in all directions. Perhaps he could find something that he could hide behind and pray that it lost track of him. It was definitely a bit of a crap shoot. He had no way of knowing how good its senses were. He couldn't hear it anymore. The forest was quiet aside from the sound of his own feet pounding against the ground. If he found something quickly enough, he might have a chance.

There! Ahead and to the right of his path, there was a large rotted-out log surrounded by dense underbrush and laying next to a large tree. This might work. There was a space under the log just big enough for him to crawl into and enough cover to hide him from sight.

Sean turned and began to head toward the log, when something suddenly caught him in the back. It felt like being hit with a massive sledgehammer. The force of it sent him flying and he skidded several feet across the ground. He spat out a mouthful of dirt and started to push himself back up. Then Sean screamed louder than he had ever screamed in his life. What must have been ten knives had stabbed him, digging deeply into the back of his shoulder blades. The pain was indescribable. All he could do was gasp and cry out as he felt the flesh being tugged upward, and watch as the ground pulled away from him and then rush sideways in a blur.

Sean tumbled onto the ground like a rag doll with a hard thud. All of the air was knocked out of him and he rolled onto his side in a fit of violent coughing. He felt dizzy. So dizzy, he barely noticed the hands grasping at him, pushing him down onto his back. A heavy weight settled on top of him. One hand came up and grabbed him round the face from under his jaw. He could feel its elongated, pointed nails poking his cheeks. It forcibly turned his head to the left, then to the right.

Through bleary eyes, Sean saw the scorched horror looming over him. It was even worse now that it was so close. It stared down at him intensely with those black eyes, it's breath rattling harshly through mangled windpipes. It turned his head sideways again, curiously tilting its own head in rhythm as it did. He got the feeling that he was being deeply inspected. Sean was petrified. It was going to kill him. He was positive of this. He didn't want to die.

His sense of self-preservation awoke and somehow, he managed to scrounge up enough courage to tighten up his fists and started swinging at the stranger as hard as he possibly could.

It snatched his right fist mid-swing, faster than he could follow. His left connected with its chin. The stranger's head jerked to the side from the blow, but it was otherwise unfazed. It didn't even flinch. Then with frightening speed, it backhanded him hard across his face. Everything went fuzzy again and his ears rang shrilly.

Somewhere in his haze, Sean felt a rough palm come to rest against the side of his face. Followed by a sharp pain when one its nails sliced him in the forehead. Sean was instantly focused again. He looked up and watched while the stranger lazily, almost absent-mindedly, traced random patterns across his forehead with its forefinger. His blood was the ink, as evident by the ease at which the tip of the nail glided across the skin.

"Who-" Sean swallowed hard, "who are you? What do you want?"

Sean didn't know what possessed him to do it. This stranger looked very much like a human man, underneath all the open wounds, yet somehow Sean never even considered trying to actually talk to it until just now. Judging by the way it narrowed its black eyes and cocked its head to the side slightly, the stranger hadn't expected it either. His heart was pounding, full with dread. He was sure he'd just made a very costly mistake.

Above him, the stranger began to gnash its sharp teeth together. It was making such horrible sounds. A chilling mixture of choking and wheezing that was making his stomach turn a bit queasy again. Sean's eyes widened when he realized, it was trying to speak. It was trying to speak to him, but it couldn't. It was clearly struggling in vain to get words out from a ruined voice box.

Sean took a deep breath and prepared himself.

"W-what are you trying to s-say? I don't underst- Ah!" Before Sean could finish, the stranger took a fistful of green hair and smacked the back of his head against the ground. The frustration behind this reaction was tangible.

"Why are you doing this to me!?"

Sean didn't even think. In that brief instant, he forgot the dire situation he was in and the words simply came tumbling out of his mouth without restraint. He clenched his eyes shut and braced himself for another reprisal, or possibly worse. But after a few tense seconds, Sean noticed that nothing was happening. He opened his eyes again to see that his tormentor has gone completely stock still.

The stranger was locked in the thousand-yard stare.

Its head twitched strangely from side to side, while also letting out a low and strained moan. It seemed lost. Lost in a dark miasma that was his alone. It slowly brought its hands up and firmly grasped both sides of its head. It flinched at something that wasn't there. As if to try and protect itself from some vile, treacherous brute only it could see. It continued to moan and shudder. It was scared. Scared and trapped in some far away hellscape it couldn't seem to escape.

Sean could see that its mind had gone away. Staring blankly into the forest, and swaying back and forth. More importantly, it wasn't paying attention to him anymore. His hands trembled as he very carefully felt around the ground nearby. His eyes darted between his surroundings and the glassy-eyed stranger above him. There had to be something here. Something that he could use to get away. Sean already knew how strong it was. But it was also straining to breath properly. Maybe if he found something heavy enough, he could hit it hard enough to at least stun it.

His fingers brushed up against an object with a rough surface. Sean turned his head and spotted a broken piece of a fallen tree branch laying beside him. It wasn't good enough to do any real damage, but if he drove the thick end of it into the stranger's eye, the resulting pain and confusion might give him just enough time to slip away.

There was a flash of movement. Then shock. Sean's eyes bulged out from their sockets. His mouth filled with the strong, metallic taste of his own blood. He spluttered and gurgled. He couldn't get any air in. Above him, he saw those dagger-like nails dripping with crimson. He could feel the chill night air biting into his exposed throat, juxtaposed with the warmth of his life spilling out from ripped veins.

With those blank, inhuman eyes and a lower jaw that was nearly completely eroded, it was difficult to discern what the stranger's motivations were or what violent turn snapped in that tangled labyrinthine mind. The tightened muscles in its face and the knotted brow, however, gave the impression of unquestionable fury.

Sean cascaded into a state of unbridled terror. His mind retreated into that special place where his thoughts began to backpedal into denial.

'This isn't happening! This isn't real!'

Sean repeated it over and over like a mantra. This place. What was this place? Sean still didn't understand where he was or how he'd gotten here. It couldn't be real. It just couldn't. Yet here he was. Trapped in here with a living nightmare, flat on the ground and utterly helpless.

His trachea had been split open. He could feel the blood emptying into his windpipe, and spilling out of the corners of his mouth each time he choked. Breathing was impossible. His chest burned and flared with agony as each futile attempt to suck in a breath of air caused his lungs to seize up on themselves. Then something cold began to grow deep in the center of himself, and it was spreading out to each of his limbs. Trying to consume him.

Sean could hear his own heartbeat in his head. It sounded distant, and it was getting slower.

'So, is this it? Is this me, dying?'

Grey walls appeared at the edges of his vision. He tried to lift up his hands, but he could barely feel them anymore. He barely felt it when the stranger took hold of both his wrists and pushed them back onto the ground again. It frightened him how easily he was able to do it. He felt so numb. So tired. He needed to sleep. The walls were closing in. Somewhere in the grey gloom, he could still hear the stranger's rasping, only it seemed so far away now. It was watching him drown in his own blood.

The last thing Sean saw were two fingers hovering closely above his eyes. One on the left, the other on the right.

And then...

All was darkness.

He was floating.

Surrounded on all sides by a deep, oily black void.

It was endless. At least, he assumed it was endless.

He couldn't see anymore.

His eyes were gone.

He couldn't feel his body anymore.

Couldn't hear, smell or taste.

He simply existed here in this space.

Alone.

Alone in oblivion.

"Listen to me..."

Something warm entered his space.

"Nightmares don't last forever. No matter how upsetting it may be, or how helpless you may feel, it will all fade away soon enough. When you wake up, everything will be as it should be. I promise."

Sean burst up to the surface of consciousness with the force of a thunderbolt. He swallowed huge gulps of air into his starving lungs, coughing just a little bit. The feeling of relief was both glorious and overwhelming at the same time. He stared straight up, blinking through bleary vision at the clean white surface of the ceiling. 'What?' Sean was so startled all of a sudden, he had to grip the armrests to keep himself from falling out of his chair.

Sean slowly lowered his head and took in the familiar sight of his recording room.

He was home.

The room was utterly still, save for his still racing heart beating against his ribs like a crazed beast trying to escape from its too small cage. It was dark now. The only light came from the soft glow of the digital clock, which currently read 3:00 AM. But that would mean that he'd been out for hours. That's not possible. He couldn't even remember ever falling asleep. In fact, he's never just conked out in the middle of his work before. The last thing he remembered...

Instantly, his hands flew up to his throat. He gasped and coughed, his body briefly reliving those last few moments. However, his probing fingers found no sign of injury. He was whole again.

With renewed anxiety, Sean panned his sight back and forth to each corner of the room. He wasn't sure what he expected to see. He vaguely remembered falling against his shelf. But when he looked over, he saw that everything was still in its place and completely undisturbed. He then turned to his computer and brought it back from standby mode. There on the screen was the video footage he'd been reviewing, paused right where he'd left it.

Sean looked around at the quiet room again. Everything was fine. Everything was perfectly normal.

No! This is wrong! This didn't make any sense.

Sean jumped out of his chair, swung open the door and walked out into the hallway. He just had to make sure. He stared down the expanse of the hallway, all the way to the end. There was nothing there. Just the walls, and a few framed posters hanging on them. His memory at this moment was very hazy. This is where something had come up from behind and flung him with enough force to split his skull open. It was all a terrible blur after that. The next thing he knew, he was in a nightmare.

He entered the bathroom and stepped up to the mirror, placing both hands on the edge of the sink. Sean tilted his chin up and took a good look at himself. There wasn't a single mark on him. Not even the slightest cut or bruise. He leaned forward and stared straight into his own eyes. Straight at himself. His face was an ashen white. His pupils just two tiny specks. He looked sick. And he couldn't stop trembling.

Slowly, he backed up against the wall and slid down to the floor. The weight of all the terrors he'd faced now bearing down heavily on him. Had all of it really just been a dream? He's never had a dream that was so lucid before. So real. He could still feel those dark eyes on him as he slipped down into some strange and unknown void. Sean wondered if that was really what it felt like to die. Or if it was just his imagination. Something his mind supplied to him based on what seemed to be happening to him in that moment.

Surely, that must be the answer. He was alive, which was the only thing that seemed clear to him right now. The proof was right there in front of him. In the comforting sight of his cabinet doors, in the lines of grout in between the tiles, and the feeling of the cold floor underneath him. He was here. He was home.

That place. That forest haunted by the specter of the man with the burnt neck. Where agony and blood permeated every rock and tree and even the air. A twisted fantasy. This was reality. Where nothing was broken and the most frightening thing he had to face in his day to day routine was the possibility of finding a little yellow icon next to one of his videos. Sean took a series of slow, deep breaths as he determinedly put the former out of his mind. Eventually his heart rate slowed down to some semblance of normality.

It was just a dream.

Sean began to find peace in this acceptance. The memories of that nightmare faded little by little with each exhale. As all dreams inevitably do, good or bad. People forget, for the most part. And life moves on.

It was just a very bad dream.

[shinobi98]

I'vee written this from episode 29 through 32-ish and I want to dump a quick review of what I think of the characters at this point. Just for the lols for when I finish the show and I find I was completely wrong on most of them! Im using a compiled list on Google drive for the characters, so following that order they are split into clans.

Here we go.

Wei Wuxian. I really liked him at the beginning (what a funny cinnamon roll) but ever since he went missing into Burial Grounds I'm not sure...I see his points -especially when he criticised the Jins and stood up for the Wens- , but I can't believe he doesn't see he's being corrupted. Like come on. Just let the others help you for once, this is just looking for troubles. On thin ice. Used to be 9/10

Lan Zhan. Didn't like him much - or at all - when he was introduced in Clouds Recessess. I thought he was a stick in the mud and I wasn't too fond of him. He's missing for good chunks of the story. As my opinion of WWX deteriorated, I like him more or more because he's the one making sense out of the two, this gets him a passing score, even if barely. 6/10

Jian Cheng. He was my sweet sweet baby. Unparalleled sibling energy with WWX, cute angsty ship with Wen Qing, likable personality, the drama with the core. He had it all. But at some point...I don't know man. I just don't agree with anything he says anymore, and he's just becoming more and more sulky about his inferiority complex as a Clan Leader. I feel that, not counting the 16 years later part I didn't watch yet, he should get the title of co-protagonist rather than Wangji, since he's much more involved in the plot. Used to be a 8/10, still pending.

Jian Yanli. I like her. I feel like a dumb ass for getting attached and only remembering halfway through the flashback part that she's going to die, as per the first few episodes. I'm hating every second of it, like why killing her when the show is full of unpleasant people? Poor Li. Also the ship is a big plus. This kind of drama is just *chef kiss*- (and edit: after I watched the last episode of the night and she died...it's fine I'm not crying.) 8/10

Jian Fengmian. I don't really care much about him one way or the other. A little whipped by his wife - not that it is bad per se, but she really is bad so - , didn't particularly like that he favored WWX over JC. I think he could have been better, but he was pretty decent. 7/10

Madame Yu. No. 1/10

Lan Zichen. Possibly the last dude I 100% trust in this show not to let me down - as long as he isn't influenced too much by Mang Yao. I like him in a sort of uninvolved way. Don't look forward to see him on screen, don't wonder where he is or what he is doing, pleased when he shows up and does his sensible thing and then disappears again. Kept me on my toes after he escaped from Could Recesses though, but really took him so long to come back I almost forgot I was worrying about him. Way to go Zichen. 7/10

Lan Qiren. He's alright? I don't care much. Pretty dope when he took a stand against the Wans when they attacked, but I find him to be a little too much sometimes. 6/10

The files lists some juniors I haven't seen yet. They seem baby? Cute. I assume they are going to be so-and-so 's children, like in a Boruto way. Looking forward to see all the characters paired up.

Jin Guangshan. I thought he was annoying because he had a bunch of illegitimate children that I lost track of but then he became even more annoying with his very transparent power grab -and the fact that no one seems concerned is baffling to me. Overall I think I would have pretty much liked it more if the son Zixuan was clan leader and we didn't have to deal with this piece of work. 2/10

Jin Zixuan. As I was writing this post this man went through all sort of things. From proposing to having a child to being murdered. Honestly, we didn't start off the right foot when he booked the inn where WWX & co wanted to stay. I kept wishing he would kick the bucket because I hated how he treated Yanli, and I thought he would wind up to be a minor villain...while it seems he was the only normal member of his family. I feel bad for hating him so much. 8/10.

Jin Ling. Biggest reason why I thought his dad would be a bad guy. For the first part, I thought the Jins would be the villains because of him, and not the Wens, though in the end I wasn't that off the mark in a sense. He was just a cartoonish villain. I have yet to see him again after the flashback part, but his first introduction was awful. 3/10

Meng Yao. So the thing is, I was really partial towards him at the beginning. The bit at Cloud Recesses? The part with the Nie family? Perfect. Felt so bad for how everyone treated him. I started to excuse what he was doing like "it's ok, the head of guards is a dick to him" "it's okay he was double crossing the bad guys eheh" "it's ok he is...murdering civilians?" But seriously he let me down so hard. Also his face looks so different I didn't recognise him at first. At the beginning I thought I could maybe have a cute ship with Zichen but to tell the truth I don't want Meng Yao anywhere near him now. I seriously thought he wanted to murder infant Jin Ling at some point there to climb the ladder and become Clan Leader. I'm sure he set WWX up and schemed to murder the last dregs of the Wens and Zixuan. 1/10

Jin Zixun. Pretty inconsequential. Could have done with him imo. I'm only including him because I love when WWX goes "I don't even know who you are" like three times and that's a mood because where the heck did he come from.

Mo Xuanyu. I don't get why he looks like WWX. I sort understand why they used the same actor but story-wise I don't understand. How can random people look at him and recognise WWX? Also, he is kinda stupid for giving up his life to be possessed by a bad guy to get revenge but whatever floats your boat I guess. 4/10

Nie Mingjue. I don't care much for him. He bullies his brother too much and his short temper is annoying even though often justified. I thought I could kinda always rely on him to be the voice of reason despite not liking his character but then he said the stupidest thing in the show "I'm not sitting on that chair" and left it to the Jin Sect Leader...look how that worked out. Love how he basically disappeared after that, I think because he knew he screwed up big time (jk). 6/10

Nie Huaisang. Funny. Definetly underused. I hoped he would be part of the main gang. When he stopped showing up, the show took a terrible turn in its atmosphere. Please come back as sect leader in the 16 years later part (I mean, who else is there? I hope he didn't die in the meantime because he isn't showing up in this final battle). I wish I saw him swing a sword at the least once but alas. 7/10.

Wen Ruohan. I mean. What can you expect. Typical bad guy sitting on top of a lava pond that controls zombies. Wasn't expecting much development from his character and he surely didn't deliver. A good 2-dimensional bad guy to kill without thinking too hard about anything I guess. Awful person tho. 4/10

Wen Xu. I didn't even realize there were two young Wens. I thought he was his brother at first, but without the spice. Literally why was he there. 4/10

Wen Chao. He sucks, don't get me wrong. But watching him coming up with all sorts of awful things is very entertaining. 2/10 as a person, 9/10 as a villain. Cheered when he died.

Wen Lingjiao. Same as her lover, but more annoying because she got on my nerves sometimes. I was so glad when she got it. The (1) good thing coming out of WWX's corruption. 2/10

Wen Zhuliu. I really want to know what drove him to serve Chao with such devotion. His technique was kinda cool. I think he would have been an okay guy but sadly he associated with Chao. 4/10

Wen Ning. I thought "No, poor Ning is dead" ten times already and still counting. Please WWX just let him die. He is/was just a sweetheart and I loved him with all my heart. His death and everything that came after it filled me with rage, when i thought he died I was brokenhearted, and the fact that he gets blamed for killing people when it's arguably WWX's fault is so unfair. We didn't deserve Wen Ning. I don't really like that he became the Ghost General tho. 10/10

Wen Qing. I liked her. Same as her brother, how their story ended up upset me. I hoped they would get to live peacefully in their commune in the woods. That part of the story was *chef kiss*. The romance with JC lacked closure imo but I understand that they both had things going on and they would need to stretch the story too much to get the together or at the least talk about their feelings. I hoped till the end she wouldn't be killed because I knew Ning came bad 16 years later, so they must have avoided being executed, but more realistically I guess he's just a zombie and she's just dead. I lowkey shipped her with WWX though I feel this would be an unpopular opinion in the fandom -when I learned WWX has a different endgame ship I was kinda bummed sorry. I thought we would get a sort of love triangles with JC, I can't say I'm disappointed because it would have been a terrible plot. They really have a good platonic relationship, I loved to see them build that village. 8/10

Song Lan/ Xiao Xingchen / Xue Yang. What's the deal with them? They seemed to be set up to come back but only Song Lan does a passing appearance. Are they coming back? What was their significance? So weird because the untamed usually doesn't introduce characters to just drop them when the episode's over.

[ohgoddard]

Fist of Fire : Omega. 1.5.

How could he do it? I’m not talking about the mental capacity needed to kill, that can be gained by any person. I don’t care for his reason, his motivations. Omegaman has faced more than his fair share of villains that were more powerful than Whirlwind. He stared down the likes of N’Said, The Rebel, and Apocolyptia. His adversaries were near gods. So, how on earth did someone like Whirlwind even manage to scar him? Whirlwind is renowned for his speed, yes, but his attack power is negligible unless he was given enough windup. And in that instance, I saw no windup. Neither did my dad. In his hands, he simply pointed and fired a gun. So how did he do it?

How did Whirlwind kill my father?

Hundreds dead by Omegaman’s hand. Strange black woman at large for the same crime. And if that wasn’t enough, then the sight of the blood-covered and deranged Omegaman himself walking the steps of city hall that same morning only to return covered in more blood minutes later made it so much better. I dropped off every file in the agency at the Chicago Tribune, copies of it at NBC center not too far. You would remember it as a very eventful new month. Every day another dead hero was revealed to be a criminal. Another assassinated politician was shown to be taking back-end deals or was part of a sex ring. I was called the only real hero. I was called a vigilante, taking the law into my own hands. I was called slurs. I was called a villain. I was called an enemy of the state, especially after I killed those eight senators and forty-three house reps. They said I was the savior of the nation. They said I was going to be its downfall.

Of course, I don’t tell the doctor any of this. No, these thoughts are mine and mine alone. Let them think I am pacified, under control. And when Whirlwind comes near, I will strike. Until then, I will let them poke and prod into my psyche all they want. I mean that in the literal sense too. Multiple times they have had mind-readers and psychics come in to scan my brain for what they’re looking for. They’re trying to find out how I killed and beat all those “heroes”. The entire Chicago branch of the association, gone in a day to my rage. They claim they’re just trying to help, but they think I can’t hear them through the walls. They want a conviction.

Well, good luck finding a cell.

Today, as usual, I am wheeled out of my cell and into the psychiatric conversation room. I’ve been thinking about what “nothing story” to tell the lovely doctor today, what true-but-useless narrative I can spin. Maybe I’ll tell her about the time I found Detroit hero Magnum Hands extorting the local grocery stores for ‘insurance”? Or how about when I discovered that Atlanta area heroes Sunspot and Derby were having an affair with each other, despite the agency’s rules against relationships? So many things.

So many things left my mind when I was rolled into the room, and my lovely doctor was nowhere to be seen. In her palace sat a very boring-looking man, in a boring suit, wearing a boring tie. However, he radiated something vile and crooked, and I felt as if he was looking through me and in me. His face betrayed no expression, but I could see a bent smile behind his neutral facade. His eyes though covered by his smoky glasses, I could tell had too much life behind them. The orderly who rolled me in, not as perceptive as I, could still feel the power that this one man gave off and had an uneasy sweat,

“Uhhh, where’s Dr.Feltmen today? I wasn’t told of a switch-up?” he said in a gruff voice, though he had to swallow a few times during it. The boring yet scary man did not even turn to respond to the orderly, his balding head being the only part of the face he saw. “I was called in last minute. Miss Kiara here was causing Dr.Feltmen to have problems of her own and she requested a leave of absence for a while. I will be taking over.” His voice sounded like the color beige if you can begin to imagine it. Utterly forgettable, boring. I knew it was a facade, but I could not figure out why?

The orderly, either deciding this was an acceptable enough answer or just wanting to leave the room, nodded and closed the door. There I was then, alone with my new… "doctor".

“You have been a tough patient, I'm told, Miss Kiara. Dr.Feltmen tells of your unwillingness to talk about what we really want to know.” His small little hands began to write on a pad of paper as he spoke. “And,” he continued, “while you admitted to a few crimes already that we did not know was you, you have yet to tell us about the one we know you did.” He was straight to the point, no beating around the bush at all. I was taken aback by this, being so used to the passive nature of Dr.Feltmen.

“Well,” I began, “perhaps I’d feel more comfortable sharing my deepest crimes of hatred if I knew the name of my shrink today?” I needed to regain control of the conversation and quickly.

“Unlikely, Miss Kiara. I listened to the tapes Dr.Feltmen had recorded during your visits. You use familiarity to get under people’s skin. You sensed that Dr.Feltmen was partially homosexual and used that to your advantage, distracting her. You also preyed upon her non-confrontational nature to avoid getting to the issue at hand. You will find I have none of these issues. You will find out very little about me. But I will know all about you.” He spoke with such casual confidence it slapped me in the face. My observational powers were useless on this nothing of a man, but he read me like the opened dictionary in a library.

“Now, if you do not mind Miss Kiara, let us begin today’s session. Why did you kill the Chicago branch of heroes?”

And for some reason, I do not know why, I could not stop myself from telling him.

I was forced to.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After I discovered what Fantasma was doing, I got curious. Very curious. He did what he did for a very long time, there was no way the agency didn’t know. How many times had the voices in my head cried out because of him? How many of them scream because of another so-called ‘hero’? Intrusive thoughts into an already exasperated insomnia problem kept me up in my attempts at sleep. In the few hours where my body simply gave out from the stress and fatigue, my dreams were filled with the files upon files that Fantasma kept on his victims. How he prayed upon the women with only his disgusting lust driving him forward. I dreamt of being buried under file after file that I read in his house. Each full of photos, names, addresses, tapes, CDs, manifests. How many were like him? How many had joined the agency just so they could freely commit atrocities with no one to stop them? Who could ever hope to truly stop them anyway? They had powers, they had lawyers, they had public support. It was your word against theirs.

And no one cares about your word.

I took exactly one week of this before I snapped. And no, I don’t mean “snapped” in a mental sense. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to know who else there was. Who else I needed to have disappeared into the night, who else to have their spines broken in, who else I needed to face real justice. I didn't even wait for daybreak. The night it happened, I awoke in a cold sweat, breathing too hard. The cacophony of screaming, questions, cries for help filled my head. My own among them. I didn’t even grab the padding, the black shirt, the helmet. I just flew. The cold air of Chicago, usually a calming sedative for me in my moments of stress and hypersensitivity, did nothing that night as my rage consumed me. I had to know if there were more. If others committed vile acts under the authority of protectors. I had to know if there were people who knew and did nothing.

Within a minute I went from the east side of the city to the west, smashing into the doors of the office. The alarms started to ring out instantly, but I didn’t care. No one could have stopped me at that moment. Nor in any other moment I guess. I knew where the files were, and I walked right to them. I could hear boots on the concrete outside already, fabric fluttering in the wind as ‘heroes’ touched down. I was already halfway through the incident reports by then. And when they entered the room where I was, I was done.

So many corrupt heroes. Too many. All of them. Corrupt. Bribes, complacency, outright homicides, rape, assault, extortion, abduction. Each file I read and memorized my hands only shook more with rage. Sharktooth ran drugs for the mafia and was on their payroll. Rook knew about this and took hush-money. Capitol killed four families because of his undiagnosed extreme bipolar disorder, crushing them within their apartment building and covering it up. Hera ran a human trafficking ring, paid off certain senators in congress to vote on certain bills in exchange for keeping their secrets. And on. And on. And on. And on. Everyone was soiled. Not one person was clean. People knew and did not act.

Even my father knew. He had to know. In all his hearing and length in the field, he had to have known his co-workers dealt in less than savory courses of work.

I would not be my father. I don’t know his reasoning why, and even if that reasoning was the most sound thing on earth, I doubt I would have listened. I was blinded by the searing rage of what I had read. Scum, all of them.

So when Bard walked in, it was no wonder what happened to him. Bard, real name Richard French. White male in his forties. Power to turn music into tangible objects. He once drowned a child in the river to the sound of “Sweet Caroline” then covered it up.

It took two seconds for me to cover the ground between me and him. Another second to punch through his sternum. After that, it turns into a blur. A montage of fighting, tearing people literally apart, slamming them into the floor. More coming in, more dying. At some point in the night, I got away to don my Omegaman costume, only to return and rip and tear again. After they stopped coming, I came after them. People trying to run away, fly away, swim. It doesn’t matter. I hunted them down and killed them. Not one was clean. Not one would get away. The news was alight the next morning.

Hundreds dead by Omegaman’s hand. Strange black woman at large for the same crime. And if that wasn’t enough, then the sight of the blood-covered and deranged Omegaman himself walking the steps of city hall that same morning only to return covered in more blood minutes later made it so much better. I dropped off every file in the agency at the Chicago Tribune, copies of it at NBC center not too far. You would remember it as a very eventful new month. Every day another dead hero was revealed to be a criminal. Another assassinated politician was shown to be taking backend deals or was part of a sex ring. I was called the only real hero. I was called a vigilante, taking the law into my own hands. I was called slurs. I was called a villain. I was called an enemy of the state, especially after I killed those eight senators and forty-three house reps. They said I was the savior of the nation. They said I was going to be its downfall.

It didn’t matter. I could never catch the one guy who I wanted to crush with my bare fucking hands. I tried. He was just too quick.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“And who is this person? The one you want dead?”

It hurt to withhold information from him. It's like he was using pliers to slowly extract each one of my teeth, smiling the entire time. My body was strained, I was sweating. I couldn’t take this. But I couldn’t tell him about Whirlwind. He was mine to take and no one else.

“Come on now, Miss Kiara. Tell me. Who are they?” I broke the restraints on the gurney, resisting the best I could. My blood stung me, my veins bulged. I would not tell. I screamed, breaking the glass on the door and his glasses. I would not tell. I contracted in on myself, yelling the entire time.

“Tell me, Miss Kiara. Who. Are. They?” His voice was burning my ears, scratching my back, crushing my head.

“I WON��T TELL YOU!”

I punched him.

Right in his face, I punched him. I put all my strength into it. I did not pull back any amount. I let it all loose. The gust of wind from it blew out the roof and the wall behind him. The grass, dirt, trees that were planted in its wake were gone as well, creating this mile-long ditch in its wake. Dust and debris flew at Mach speeds towards his fat, chubby, balding face. I stood there, exhausted, huffing, gasping for breath. I would need to change my plan, I need to get out of here, maybe if -

“Most interesting.”

A sharp cold permeated my body in shock. The dust clearing from the attack revealed… him. Still sitting in his dumb little chair. Still writing in his dumb little notebook. Looking none the more bruised and beaten, save for his broken glasses. Behind them were two grey eyes that studied me.

“Most interesting indeed. I think today’s session was most beneficial. I think a few more like these and you’ll be sound enough to stand trial in no time. Now wouldn’t that be nice?”

His smug look as he stood up from the chair was the last thing I saw before I fell to my knees and the world swirled around me. All I could muster was one word.

“How?”

[renaroo]

Twisted Legacy (20/25)

Disclaimer: Transformers and related properties belong to Hasbro Warnings: Canon-typical language and violence, Psychological torture and horror, Post-war politics, Canon divergence/Loose canon, Hospitalization and illness, Cultist indoctrination Rating: T Synopsis: [Canon Divergence from MTMTE and exRID #54] The legacy of the Primes has had a tainted past, one that weighs heavily on Optimus, his supporters, and those who seek the legacy for the future. But as they look forward for themselves and for Cybertron, a darkness looms that threatens to further corrupt the unsteady peace of their planet with its curious claim to be the Hand of Primus himself.

It’s up to Optimus, Windblade, Rodimus, and their teams to try and save all Cybertronians from this mysterious threat and, perhaps, change the future for the better if they can.

A/N: I know there’s been a super long wait and I apologize for that, but in my defense, this ended up being quite a long chapter compared to the others and it’s also the last chapter of Part IV, so hopefully getting some long awaited answers to questions will have been worth the wait. Thank you so much for your patience and your support, guys, it means a lot. We’re only five chapters from the end! It’s so hard to believe!

Special thanks to AntaresofJuly, Isame, squireofgeekdom, Fanatic97, and Catgox for the feedback! 

Part IV: The Right to Lead Chapter 4.4: Primal Power

Brainstorm carefully balanced the wrench on the ends of his digits and waited for it to tilt in either direction. He, of course, knew it wouldn’t as he had created it and therefore it was obviously perfectly balanced, but it went a long way to proving his point to a fellow scientifically minded crewmate.

“There is nothing wrong with the wrench on any comparative, physically acknowledgeable scale,” he concluded as he looked back to Nautica only to have the wrench rudely snatched away from him.

“I told you that before you ran diagnostics on it by hand,” Nautica retorted, shaking the wrench at him in warning. “What I need from you right now is to stop bothering my things during the hours you’re not allowed in the laboratory. It’s not funny anymore, Brainstorm. Actually, it never was, but the patience required to humor you costs too much now.”

“You wound me to the spark,” Brainstorm claimed, hand on his chest. “And besides, with Chromedome more occupied with Rewind than usual and Nightbeat constantly researching something he won’t tell us about and Perceptor taking on more official duties with the Lost Light all in alarm, I literally have nothing to do with all the time I’m not allowed to be in the laboratory!”

Nautica looked highly unimpressed as she crossed her arms and stared at Brainstorm. “That doesn’t make me more sympathetic to you annoying me, Brainstorm. Why don’t you hang upside down until you can think of something better to do.”

Narrowing his optics, Brainstorm crossed his arms and stared back evenly at the Camien. “I’ll have you know I was upside down for at least nine hours earlier and the new perspective I gained was that I needed more time in the lab to do something with all the ideas trying to burst out of my brain processor. Time I have even less of now because of Perceptor’s new duties. Which means my processor is filling even more and even faster without giving me time to do anything with it. Soon I’ll have to delete files so I don’t lose any of my glorious ideas to the clutter!”

“How about you delete some of your centuries dedicated to the timecase to make room for a subroutine that gives you manners?” Nautica asked dryly.

“I was thinking of deleting the files that reminded me why we’re friends to begin with,” Brainstorm snapped back sarcastically.

While Nautica was halfway through a roll of her optics, they were nearly knocked out of the way by Velocity, who was truly allowing her speedster tendencies to show through as she was racing down the hall.

Thinking fast (as always), Brainstorm grabbed Nautica and kept her from being knocked over by her old sorority sister. “Whoa, what’s the lit ignition coil?” Brainstorm called out after the doctor.

More concerned, Nautica pushed off from Brainstorm and began giving chase to the green Camien. “Velocity? What’s the matter?”

“Yeesh,” Brainstorm muttered, dusting himself off after nearly being knocked over from the push. “And she thinks I need an update on my manners? What a joke.” He then looked to see that both the other bots were getting far ahead of him. He wasted no time in giving chase. “Hey, wait! I’m bored, and you’re obviously moving toward something more interesting than my perfectly crafted tools!”

Velocity, who was so frazzled Brainstorm was surprised steam was not being let off by her, looked widely toward Nautica for some kind of explanation for Brainstorm’s interruption. Fortunately the other Camien just shook her head.

“It’s, quite literally, a Brainstorm thing,” Nautica assured her. “Ignore him. What’s the emergency? Is everything okay? Is it the captain?”

Brainstorm felt less emboldened by the last question, though he wasn’t sure anymore if it was because of his concern for the truly bizarre and unnerving behavior Rodimus had put on display for the last few weeks or if it was because all of it still stemmed from the mystery that was Brainstorm’s same spell of forgetfulness and narrowly escaped death.

“Yes? No? Which one?” Velocity answered back in rapid succession.

“Um,” Nautica hesitated, obviously not expecting a full response for each of them.

Fortunately, she still had Brainstorm on her side for the time being. “Is it an emergency worth sounding the ship’s alarm? On a scale of one to ten how not okay are things? And typically we still think of Rodimus as captain, though that’s us Lost Light shenanigans veterans perspective, and I can’t speak for who you guys refer to as captain willy nilly.”

“Rodimus,” Nautica clarified, giving Brainstorm a look for overstepping to which he shrugged.

“I’d rather not alarm the ship, since I’ve been running to get away from the utter nonsense that was the doctoral team we have right now all arguing and angry and accomplishing nothing,” Velocity responded in a huff.

“Well, that is a sign that Ratchet’s back. Though I’m used to him running a tighter hospital bay,” Brainstorm said, holding his chin in thought.  

Velocity sent a look Brainstorm’s way that could freeze anyone’s joints in place before glaring forward again. “Well, personally, I’m not  used to constantly being undermined by colleagues seemingly no matter how much I prove myself and my skills on this ship,” she announced haughtily.

“That’s unfortunate, since that’s pretty much just how the Lost Light functions,” Brainstorm argued. “You wouldn’t believe how many times my genius has been brought into question by things like realistic expectations and ethical standards. Real nonsense.”

“Velocity, I understand you’re upset, and I’ll be happy to use my wrench to knock some sense into anyone who questions you as a doctor,” Nautica assured her friend while keeping pace. “But you’re not heading in the direction of the medbay or Swerve’s, which I’d think were the best options under the circumstances.”

“You’re right, I’m not heading to either,” Velocity answered, looking seriously toward the two of them. “I’m apparently heading to the shipping dock.”

“You’re leaving?” Nautica gasped.

“Well this seemingly got extreme fairly fast,” Brainstorm noted.

“Only if I can’t convince my patient not to,” Velocity answered. Once she saw the perplexed looks on the other two’s faces she nervously scratched at her cheek. “You see, while the other doctors were measuring neural nets for some reason beyond me, I knew that no matter what changes he’s undergoing, Rodimus is still Rodimus and I fully anticipate him doing something unwarranted and dangerous to all the hard work we’ve put into repairs.”

“Is it really necessary to have a medical license for that assessment? If so, I should be a surgeon general at this moment,” Brainstorm joked.

“How do you know for sure he’s going to the docks, though?” Nautica asked curiously. “That still seems like a leap of logic.”

“Oh, I put a tracker on him during his last checkup,” Velocity answered nonchalantly. “Turns out my assessment was right but I underestimated Rodimus’ patience before going utterly reckless.”

“In your defense, no one would have believed he was capable of patience or a lack of recklessness,” Brainstorm continued to rib before Nautica threw an elbow back toward his chest to get him to stop.

“Is that ethical, Velocity?” Nautica asked worriedly.

“By medical standards or by Lost Light standards?” Velocity asked just as they turned the corner and were met by Nightbeat.

“Ah, good, you’re already on your way,” the detective said before turning quickly on his heels and leading the charge toward the docks.

“Wait, how are you already in on this?” Brainstorm demanded.

“Deductive reasoning,” Nightbeat answered without even looking bak toward them. Which neither of the Camiens took offense to but Brainstorm sure did.

“As a scientist, I have to say, I don’t think that that term means what you think it means,” Brainstorm announced just before they pushed through the dock doors and were met by the very surprised looks of Drift and Rodimus who were by a very much not the Rodpod ship. Much to the shock of anyone who remotely knew Rodimus.

“What the hell,” Rodimus stated flatly more than asked.

Drift had a much harsher glare and his hands resting on the hilts of his swords. “If this is an attempt to stop us from going to Cybertron, I’m afraid you’ll need to fail your mission.”

“Huh, Cybertron. I would have originally guessed it was Eukaris you were going to investigate, but leaping straight to the source of the greater picture is a much more thought out idea,” Nightbeat said resoundly.

“You’re not going anywhere without medical support,” Velocity said, waggling a finger at a perplexed looking Rodimus. “I have put far too much work into your recovery for you to halfway through it decide to throw yourself in danger without backup.”

Still looking very confused, Rodimus glanced toward Drift who seemed to only share his confusion with a shrug.

“And I’m part of the Rod Squad, so consider me offended that I wasn’t asked to come along to begin with,” Nautica announced, walking toward the ship.

Night beat and Velocity were not far behind, though Nautica did stop long enough to look back at Brainstorm curiously. “Are you coming, too?”

“Absolutely,” Brainstorm said, coming forward. “You know how bored I have been here. And let’s be honest, if I’m left without you three to annoy consistently, I’ll just be looking for answers to these questions myself.”

“What about you getting arrested,” Rodimus asked Brainstorm critically. “You’re supposed to not set pede on Cybertron aren’t you?”

“I don’t think any of us are,” Drift reminded Rodimus.

“Looks like we’re all lawbreakers together,” Brainstorm concluded. “What else is new?”

Rattrap could all but feel the scorn being sent his way as he ventured through the capital’s halls.

It went without saying that he had never really been popular, being the voice of Starscream, Supreme Ruler or not, did little to help anybot’s image of course. But there was a uniquely traitorous ring to the murmurs that surrounded a former Autobot who sided with the most hated of former Decepticons.

Being an essential source of information was the only power that Rattrap could use to keep himself alive in the current environment on Cybertron. And yet he was proving time and again to be woefully inaccurate.

The entire Council of Worlds doubting and eventually verbally siding against his testimony despite him being among their ranks most certainly didn’t help matters there. 

As such, even Rattrap’s usefulness to Starscream himself was being brought into question. And if he wasn’t useful to Starscream then, well, it was questionable how much use someone who knew too many secrets for his own good could be at all.

Being summoned to the laboratories just beneath the capital building by Starscream out of the blue, after a much noted distancing between them, seemed ominous. And it would have been an excellent time to let some friends know where he was going and who for, if Rattrap had had any friends. But alone and with only his caution to look after him, Rattrap scurried to his summoning.

A task which led to one of the biggest processor halts in his long lifetime.

“You, uh… called for me, Supreme Ruler…?” Rattrap asked with uncharacteristic timidness, leaning through partially opened doors and seeing the familiar frame of Starscream himself. A sight that did not take his attention for long as Starscream was — much to the rat’s relief — far from being alone.

The Prime was there, intimidating and large as ever, and beside him was Delegate Windblade which seemed like an obvious companion though somehow it still managed to take the beastformer by surprise considering all the wild news going around.

Not too far from them were the ever busied scientists of Wheeljack and Jetfire, scanning somebots in a transmatter scanner which obscured Rattrap’s view of them. Not that he needed to know exactly who the other bots were to know that he was completely surrounded by witnesses so the likelihood of getting the brunt end of Starscream’s anger at the moment seemed highly unlikely. So… probably not indefinite prison sentencing?

“Rattrap,” Starscream called, only tilting his head back slightly to acknowledge his right hand bot’s entrance. “You have been in some hot oil for the last few days in thanks to incorrectly identifying your attackers as some fellow Cybertronians, correct?”

“Well, I never called them attackers per se, just said they were painted in a whole hubabaloo like part of those crazy cultists and seemed to be working on this Error-screw-loose’s side ’til the very last minute when they pulled my aft out of the proverbial energy fire.” He hesitated, remembering that the conclusiveness of the description had been his exact undoing before the Council. “Eh… allegedly.”

Starscream didn’t seem moved nor did he seem altogether that curious about Rattrap’s questionable story. His full attention seemed to be on the scanners.

“If you saw these bots again, could you identify them?” Starscream asked sharply.

Still not catching on, Rattrap shrugged. “Why sure. But last time I did, everybody got their circuits in a twist ‘cuz they didn’t like what I had to say,” he reminded them all. When he noticed Optimus and Windblade’s glares, he flinched back slightly. “Eh, no offense or nothing to present company, of course.”

“Scan’s are complete,” Jetfire announced, sounding baffled. “And if I didn’t see the results myself… Well…”

“I know, I wouldn’t believe it either,” Wheeljack agreed, turning the transmatter off and allowing it to open with a hiss. “Starscream, they’re telling the complete truth, just like Windblade was. Spark signatures, energon grades — the whole kit and kibble’s exactly what they say. They’re who they say they are.”

“Who says? What’s going on?” Rattrap asked before stepping all the way through the door.

When the doors opened and the two bots stepped out from the scanners, Rattrap’s jaw nearly unhinged itself to drop far enough to express his disbelief.

Standing before them was none other than Windblade and Rodimus — the exact same black and red paint jobs that Rattrap had seen on them in the sewers before they pulled their puff-of-smoke disappearing act — the same wear and tear on their large frames. The same everything from what Rattrap had seen before.

Just to make sure he could believe his own optics, Rattrap glanced back to the part of the room where Windblade stood with the Prime, then he looked to where she stood with Rodimus. There were differences, but they were both obviously the same Camien and they were both obviously existing in the same room at the same time.

“Holy Pit,” Rattrap gasped, grabbing the edges of his head. “What is going on?”

“Supposedly time travel,” Starscream answered sourly, crossing his arms. “I despise the concept.”

“Yeah, well, I despise the practice of it,” Rodimus spat back at him before looking back to the scientists. “Since you’re done proving who we are I’d appreciate having it back now, thank you.”

“Right,” Wheeljack answered, going to the side and returning with, to Rattrap’s complete shock, looked like a completed Matrix, and then timidly handed it to Rodimus.

The supposed time traveler then opened his chest — a far broader space than the Rodimus who had been with them in the medical wing just a short time ago — and placed the holy relic in place like it had always belonged there. And once it was locked, he closed his chest as if the maneuver had been nothing, letting out a quick vent of relief once it was done.

“You still have not disclosed how the Matrix is brought back to its whole,” Optimus Prime then said lowly. “Considering that currently mine still remains in parts after… Rodimus told me he used up the half which I had given him.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Rodimus-apparent promised. When he received looks of disbelief he held up his hands. “Optimus is the one who told — er, tells — me the story someday so… I have confidence in you, Big Bot.”

The red-and-black Windblade then placed a hand on the chest of Rodimus to stop him and looked to the rest of the room intently. “I know there are probably many questions which you all have for us, but we both have to be fairly cautious in what we’re ready to tell you of your futures or not. Even what we’re doing right now is of great risk and only because we are filling in the roles as I remember them being three million years ago.” She then shared a long glance with her past self, which was just about enough to make Rattrap’s optics spin out of socket.

Rattrap shook his head. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, let’s take it back a step or two here, folks,” he called out, stepping forward. “You’re wanting to tell us that you’re time travelers from three million years in the future? Here to… what? Fulfill a literal self-fulfilling prophecy? Excuse me for having a bit of a difficult time swallowing this.”

Rodimus-apparent crossed his arms and looked annoyed at Rattrap. “This is why I didn’t want to save him, Windblade.”

“But you already did save him, Prime,” she reminded him.

At that the Rodimus-apparent groaned and rolled back his head, giving Rattrap a good look at the deep, dark scarring on the right side of his faceplate — matching up almost exactly with what injuries the Rodimus on trial had shown.

“See, this is exactly what I meant about hating time traveling,” he professed.

“What the Pit,” Rattrap continued in sheer amazement.

“Enough of all this,” Starscream said sourly, pointing toward the time displaced mechs. “Rattrap, do these bots seem like a closer match to the ones you saw within Error’s cult down in the sewers?”

Full alert, Rattrap looked wide eyed from the two mystery mechs then to Starscream before nodding rapidly. “Yeah, yeah, yeah! I’d bet my spark on it, Lord Starscream. This is them! No doubt!”

“That’s what I needed to hear,” Starscream said loftily. “Windblade — our Windblade — you’re off the hook officially. I want these two arrested, unless you have an objection to that, Prime.”

“I do,” both Optimus and the red-and-black Rodimus said at the same time.

The two then looked awkwardly at each other as if they were utterly startled by the other answering.

“You can’t do that,” the time displaced Windblade announced, walking toward Starscream. “The fewer bots who know about the distortion of time, the better. You must understand, us being in this time is a great risk to all of Cybertron and the Council of Worlds’ futures. It is not a decision we made lightly or,” her eyes glanced back to her younger self, “without some precedent, as you can imagine.”

“If it’s so dangerous to interrupt time as we know it, then why do it at all?” Jetfire asked.

“Oh, just felt the need to make a few failed experimental offshoot universes in my Primacy. I missed doing it on the Lost Light so much,” Rodimus answered in full sarcasm.

“Because your current problems are not entirely of your own time,” Windblade answered more accurately. “They’re of ours… We are not the only one who have interfered with your time by going back ourselves. The one you all know as Error is using the technology we have to try and enforce his views of religious Primal Purity on the past and prevent the Peaceful Reconciliation of our time. To prevent the Exchange and thus prevent the diversification of the Cybertronian races again.”

The current Windblade put a hand to her spark chamber. “All of those things… they sound wonderful… Why would anyone not want them?”

“Well, world peace comes at too high of a price when you’re a bigot,” Rodimus declared flatly.

“I have yet to hear a single reason I should not go through with arresting the both of you for endangering all of space-time and apparently providing technology to a terrorist organization,” Starscream said haughtily. “In other words, what are you proposing to do for me and my Cybertron.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be obvious to you all now,” the older Windblade sighed, putting a thoughtful hand to her chin. “But it’s very much within your interests that we stay here, Lord Starscream.”

Current Windblade physically recoiled. “Did I just willingly call him Lord Starscream?” she asked rhetorically.

“One of Error’s main objectives beyond just destroying the line of succession of the Primacy is to destroy the leader responsible for the new Golden Age of Cybertron,” Rodimus continued, though the look on his face made it seem as though every word was painful. “That means… well, it means killing you, Starscream. Assassinating you will prevent you from accidentally falling into world peace.”

Rattrap joined the entire room at looking at Starscream in utter shock, though no face was more stunned than Starscream’s own.

“Me?” he got out before a sly smile came to his lips. “Do tell.”

Drift stayed in the back of the ship, allowing the others to handle navigating them to Cybertron and past any of security measures or blockades that Starscream and his Council of Worlds might have had prepared for them. By staying in the back, he stayed closer to Rodimus and was able to keep an eye on his closest friend and see the lackluster glow of his optics as Rodimus scratched at the temporary paint on his bare replacement shell.

He was still himself, down to his spark. Drift could feel Rodimus’ field no matter how much he tried to assert that he was Hot Rod again.

What others often forgot about them was that Drift had been there with the Wreckers when they had Hot Rod among their ranks, and he had been there after the Primacy itself was saved by Rodimus’ selfless actions and Optimus renamed him from that day forward.

In those moments, so much unlike any time before or since, Drift had felt a complete change in Rodimus’ spark signature and onew that the feeling he had spent so much of his life looking for was there. That the Prime he knew would lead them into their Golden Age, that caused the same vibrations of his spark as the great swords of the Circle of Light managed, was in the tiny speedster from Nyon. Even if no one else in the cosmos could see it yet.

Which made it just that much more painful to see his friend in the confused, angry, and hurt state that he was in.

Looking around to make sure that the others were a good enough distance away to not overhear, Drift glanced back to Rodimus more seriously and interrupted their silence. “Why Nyon?” he asked lowly.

“It’s on my mind,” Rodimus replied shortly.

“That could be Shadowplay,” Drift warned cautiously. “It could be a trap. It could be anything.”

“If it is, then that’s just more of a reason for us to have to go,” Rodimus answered. “Because it’s on my mind. Because it still makes me feel sick, like energy went bad in my fuel tank or my coolant ran dry. Because I feel sick about it, but I don’t feel that way toward any other bad things I’ve done.” His optics focused on Drift’s face. There was something haunting about how one eye remained untouched while the other was wide and circular without form thanks to the damage inflicted on Rodimus’ faceplate. “And I think I’ve done a lot of things to feel guilty about but don’t. Haven’t I?”

That was, without a doubt, a loaded question, but Drift was not one to let himself go untested.

“There is not a single mech among all of us who couldn’t say the same, Rodim… Hot Rod,” Drift replied gently. “Autobot, Decepticon — By Primus, it seems the more I learn of our colonies and their worlds the more damaged and unclean their own hands seem to be in matters, too. We wear the scars of a race bent on war and disarray. It is unthinkable that any of us could know peace. Let alone within ourselves.”

Rodimus looked off again, scratching at his chipped paint. “Why have you stayed friends with me?” he asked coldly. “Why would anyone still follow me? You all tell me that my processor’s got its wires all crossed and wrong now, but whenever I say that I’ve caused death and destruction, no one can argue with me. At that point, he even cares about the specifics of exactly what I am or am not guilty of. And why would someone I’ve been so terrible to feel they can still be my friend and expect anything different whatsoever?”

A little surprised, Drift tilted his helm. “You mean you… feel guilty about me?” he asked.

“About as much as Nyon,” he confessed, squeezing his good hand tightly into a fist. “Though… it doesn’t feel as new or fresh as the sickness with Nyon.”

Drift shifted, never losing sight of Rodimus as he reached out and placed a firm hand on Rodimus’ good shoulder. “What you’re feeling? The way it makes you sick when you know something’s wrong? That’s the reason that even though you make mistakes, even though sometimes it hurts, we believe in you. We believe in you because those mistakes give you a chance to learn and to understand all of us and our mistakes better than any leader Cybertron’s had before.”

Rodimus finally looked back at Drift. “Before… before all of this? Did… Did I at least apologize—“

They both lurched forward as the ship began to break through the atmosphere of Cybertron. The conversation had to wait.

“We’re coming in on Nyon, Rod—Hot— Sir!” Nautica announced from the front of the ship.

“Using my shortcut!” Brainstorm asserted.

After a moment, Drift vented sharply and squeezed Rodimus’ shoulder again before getting up. “Do you have any specific idea what we’re looking for at Nyon?” he asked his leader.

“That sort of preplanning isn’t usually how I do things,” Rodimus answered, accepting Drift’s hand to help him get on his feet.

“For future reference,” Drift chuckled, “the honesty is a good change. You should keep it up.”

“Wow,” Velocity muttered, opening the hatch and looking out into the rusted, old ruins of the once prosperous city. “It’s… completely gutted.”

“I never saw it before the War, it was always like this to me,” Brainstorm replied, following the Camiens off the ship.

“I visited it once,” Nightbeat told them, scratching at his cheek. “It honestly wasn’t much back then either. But it was filled to the optics in peddlers and shock jocks.”

Years since his last charge and Drift still couldn’t help but flinch at the slang.

“They were all still Cybertronians,” Rodimus declared lowly as he followed the crew off the ship. “They were lives. And they deserved better than—“

Drift was following Rodimus off the ship closely, protectively even, which made his view of the event all the more stunning and unbelievable.

The moment Rodimus’ pede hit the grounds of Nyon, there was a shift in the energy around the whole abandoned city. There was an enormous surge — like the plates themselves were opening up to the damaged mech. it was a distantly familiar sensation to what Drift had witnessed before, though it had been ages ago, at the very earliest stages of the Decepticon rebellion.

Then the ground opened up to a slow, but growing burn of energy and light, miles wide, unbelievable and real. Something that hadn’t been seen in ages.

“It’s…” Velocity gasped.

“A Hot Spot,” Drift completed. He looked at Rodimus in wonder. “You… you were sensing a Hot Spot. Somehow you knew—“

“No, I didn’t,” Rodimus tried to defend, though Drift could not imagine why he would be reluctant to accept the praise.

When Rodimus turned around, he was surrounded by concerned looks from everyone who had traveled with them from the Lost Light, and it was the sort of thing that he obviously was not interested in. His face turned into a snarl and he vicious waved everyone off.

“It’s not the reason we’re here!” he growled out.

Drift looked on in amazement. “Rodimus—“

“It’s Hot Rod!” Rodimus spat.

“Sir,” Velocity interjected. “You just used your right arm again! You were able to move it, the neural net hasn’t been damaged after all! Look! It must have been psychosomatic!”

“Psycho-what? What are you talking about?” Rodimus demanded before glancing down to the once more loosely hanging arm at his side. Rather than disappointment or outrage however, a look of complete terror came across his face as he saw that from the palm up, his arm was producing a red hot flame. Instinctively, he tried to back away from his own appendage with a yell of shock and disgust, but rather than get him anywhere, he merely smacked into Drift’s side.

Without a second’s thought, Drift caught onto Rodimus’ shoulders and held him up. “It’s fine, just concentrate. Think of turning it off.”

“I-I can’t,” Rodimus stammered.

“That’s okay, you usually burn through your fuel fairly fast when you use your outlier ability,” Drift reminded him calmly. “We’ll just use some of our reserve energon once it’s out.” Drift then looked intently toward Velocity. “We do have supplies of additional energon, don’t we?”

“What kind of doctor do you think I am? Of course we do,” Velocity said with a long suffering sigh of annoyance. “Even when Ratchet and First Aid aren’t around, I swear.”

Brainstorm held a hand to his chin. “That’s fascinating, I never knew that about Rodimus’ outlier ability. I bet you if I could run a few tests on him using it I could fix up whatever it is that’s causing the overabundance of fuel loss.”

“But why is he suddenly scared of fire?” Nightbeat asked. “Is it something to do with Nyon—“

“What about this Hot Spot? What are we supposed to do with all these sparks? They need formation, we need to call someone — this is a new generation of our species!” Nautica tried to remind them all.

All at once Rodimus pushed off from Drift and slung his arm again, finally causing the flames to go out. “Everyone shut up I’m right here! And it’s not me causing this Hot Spot, I didn’t come here because I sensed it, we’re here because… I remember it — this is where I fragged it. I sent everything to straight to the Pits!”

Drift felt his spark clench. “Rodimus, don’t say that. I wasn’t there at Nyon — none of us were, and none of us can pretend to know what it must have been like for you. But you can’t be guilty about a decision you had no choice in. Believe me, I know about rightful guilt. The choices I’ve made… what I live to redeem are beyond anything you’ve done—“

“Drift, shut up!” Rodimus snapped angrily, looking at him wildly. “I’m not talking… I am talking about what I did to Nyon, but I’m also remembering… I remember what I did that caused the war, that broke everything.”

Everyone grew silent in their shared confusion, a few glances wavering between each other. And Drift was no exception. He looked at his friend with complete and utter befuddlement.

“Rodimus, there was already a war before Nyon. You were one of the Freedom Fighters, you should know—“ Nightbeat began.

“No, I started the War,” Rodimus continued, looking at everyone with an expression of shock of his own. “I led him… I showed him where and… It was me. I should’ve guard it, it wasn’t ready to be found by anyone. It shouldn’t have been used the way it was… and I…” He vented loudly and let his shoulders slump, almost in resignation. “I… I led Orion Pax to the Matrix of Leadership. I restarted the true Primal Line again. It wasn’t time. It wasn’t what Primus wanted.”

The babbling was all but incoherent to Drift and from the looks the others were giving, it was likewise incoherent to them, but a distant, loud clap seemed to disagree.

They all turned, Drift with his swords at the draw. And to Drift’s dismay they were met by the large, looming image of the terrorist who had been on all the screens of Cybertron during the attacks, the mech responsible for attacking their captain and crew.

The large mech Error was clapping, his red eyes boring down on Rodimus in particular.

“At last, my message is interpreted,” Error announced lowly as his cultish members began revealing themselves from hiding as well.

“How did they hide their EMF fields and spark signatures from us?” Drift growled out.

“I don’t know. I’ve been working on some kind of dampener that would help cloaking more but I’ve barely been able to tinker with it thanks to my lack of lab access!” Brainstorm announced.

“You,” Rodimus snarled savagely. “I remember you.”

“You should be starting to remember a lot, my Prime,” Error said with a strangely soft tone, almost as if some remote fondness existed between them.

“Your… Prime?” Nautica asked in confusion.

“Rodimus Prime was my Prime, before I saw Primus’ guidance for myself,” Error announced turning his hands over so the palms faced upward, measured flames burned out from them. “Now I shall make sure you will be my Prime no more.”

“What the hell is going on?” Brainstorm squawked.

“Someone teach this guy how to keep his tenses straight,” Nautica attempted to say in light humor.

“No, don’t you get it?” Nightbeat asked, as if that meant anything to the rest of them. “The tense confusion, the technology beyond even our own, the way he and his cult members seem to disappear and reappear at random?”

“Spell it out, Nightbeat!” Drift ordered, gripping his swords harder as he tried to estimate their odds.

“These guys are from the future. Or a future where Rodimus is a Prime!” Nightbeat exclaimed.

“A future that shall never be again!” Error roared before charging for them.