#progressive blackened death

[womenovmetal]

Autumn Schibret

Izthmi

[thecreativemillennial]

[mindless-mars]

hello my boyfriend's band Typhonian just released a new album and I was involved in making this music video. we really worked our asses off (especially my bf!!) so please go watch it! we have never done anything like this before and my boy did almost everything himself, including building space sets. I am insanely proud of this and hope it gets the recognition it deserves!

you can find all of their stuff here also look at how cool this album cover is!!!! (try finding the dinosaurs hehe)

[toxicmetalzine]

Sacramentum

SACRAMENTUM – Announce special “The Coming Of Chaos” re-issue! Get all of the details right here: https://toxicmetalzine.com/post/sacrament

[doomedandstoned]

VIGIL Offer Roaring Catharsis on EP ‘...And The Void Stared Back’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

Nothing is worse than the emotional burden of hurt, loss, betrayal, and grief. It is often overwhelming, consuming thoughts and giving rise to depression and physical distress that can last for months, years, even a lifetime. Music comes as a welcome respite, as it not only identifies with our pain but offers an outlet for mourning, insight, perhaps even healing.

Thus, death-doom was born, a melding of death metal with doom metal that began with groundbreaking acts such as Paradise Lost, My Dying Bride, Katatonia, and Draconian in the 1990s and continues strong well into the second decade of the new century. A hallmark of this style is slowed down tempos, gruff vocals, double kick drumming, and plaintive guitars, with the genre expanding into melodic realms as well. To onlookers it may seem harsh, morose, even distasteful. However, to those in the throes of misery it can come as a welcome salve to the soul.

Today, we introduce you to the grim New Hampshire blackened death-doom crew VIGIL, which rose from the ashes of another Kingston area band: Onera.

Justin Christian (bass, guitar) and Craig Simas (guitar, synth) have aimed not only for a heavier direction than their previous project, but also something "beautiful and emotional." Dave Petillo (vox), Joe Davis (bass), and Brandon Phinney (drums) round out the formidable ensemble on the band's debut EP, '...And The Void Stared Back' (2024), which Doomed & Stoned is premiering.

"One of the original building blocks of Vigil was to be as heavy as we could," the band says, "This led to the decision to have two bass players. As the songs started to take shape and each member was putting their own touches to the arrangements, we realized quickly that we succeeded in our goal. Combining that with our love for post-rock, thrash, and progressive metal, Vigil is a showpiece for all our influences filtered through our ears, hands, and emotions. We take the listener down a dark road of sorrow and anger."

The four-track affair begins strong with one of my favorites of the record, "Descend To Extinction" -- a song that puts our mortality into perspective.

You must all face The truth of life We end in spite Of our strife All must pay A toll sometime Let our being Be a moment in time

A sanguine guitar lead greets, interlaced with dire growls personifying our great common enemy: Death. Juxtaposed to this is a melodic chorus with appealing vocal harmonies that address the cold, hard reality of human suffering. At 4:22 there is some arresting riffwork that harkens back to the metal glory days of the '80s. It feels as if the rushing winds of Fate are sweeping us away. The song closes with a return to the dissonant rhythms and the bittersweet riff of the start.

Next comes the "Words of a Dying Man". Rainy repeated chords set the stage and are soon contrasted with contemplative picking, spacey synthesizer, and dark octaves on the piano. This is accompanied by gnarling vocals and that both snarl and whisper. Emphatic bass and drums shake us awake from this dream state, and downtuned guitars embrace a return to reality.

After this, we're visited by "Erosion of the Soul". Gut-wrenching black metal vocals are reminscent of Enslaved and the tension increases with strumming chord progressions, tremeloes, and aggressive drumming. You can really feel the rumble of the dual basses here.

The pain you gave me rots inside I cannot tell you I can't believe The hatred still living blind I can't let it breed inside Spirits live fighting Right inside my head

"Convulse Ways From A World Beyond" finishes us off with a wild hailstorm of drumming, chugging groove rhythms, and flashes of dissonance, interrupted by some doomy moments on guitar that are genuinely moving. Twin guitars offer sorrowful strains that intersect and contrast. Solitary bass lines usher us to the EP's closing moments.

Vigil's ...And The Void Stared Back is available on compact disc, with singles available for download (get 'em here). Stick it on a playlist with Serpentine Path, Heavy Death, and Hooded Menace, and Marche Funèbre.

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[thetoxicvault]

Graveworm

Collateral Defect (2007)

Massacre Records

Italy 🇮🇹

Eric Treffel (guitars), Harry Klenk (bass), Martin Innerbichler (drums), Orgler Thomas (guitars), Sabine Mair (keyboard) and Stefan Fiori (vocals) make up the original Italian act known as Graveworm (originally formed in 1992). Graveworm's sound is a mixture of many: influenced by Power Metal, Prog-Rock, Death Metal and Traditional Heavy (Iron Maiden, Black Sabbath). The band mixes epic elements (ala Stormlord) with the traditional Symphonic Black Metal template (shrieked vocals and powerblast drumming ala Dimmu Borgir).

[onlyhurtforaminute]

DAWN OF OUROBOROS-LUNAR CATHEXIS

[abysspersonified]

𝔄𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔓𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔏𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔇𝔲𝔪𝔭! (𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔨𝔰!)

𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔦𝔣 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣 𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔫𝔢𝔴 𝔱𝔬 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔰𝔢 𝔭𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔰 𝔠𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔢𝔶𝔢, 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔞𝔩𝔴𝔞𝔶𝔰 𝔤𝔬 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔶 𝔰𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔞 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 ℑ'𝔳𝔢 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔪𝔞𝔡𝔢 𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔷𝔢𝔡 𝔟𝔶 𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢! 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔯𝔢𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔰 𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡!

[columnistfromtheabyss]

-

Noble & Notable: VERBERIS - The Apophatic Wilderness

In the clash of the existential particles of DEATHSPELL OMEGA and ULCERATE, Verberis have arisen in an environment that confronts human existence and emptiness within the labyrinth of madness, consciousness, and divinity.

[thecreativemillennial]

[21-slabage]

Haven’t posted a selfie in a while.

Also, check out my band. 🤘🏽

[toxicmetalzine]

Ixion

IXION - Atmospheric Doom-Metal Collective IXION Unveils Final Chapter "Regeneration" Ahead of Album Release! Get all the details now @ https://toxicmetalzine.com/post/ixion-atm

[cianeto666]

I never finish my Top Whatever (10, 20, 30…) of the Albums of the Year before the end of February, March even. And that's because of random albums that are send to me in the end of the year, or even the next. A marvelous example is this Belarusian (relocated to Germany) wonder of a band - Massen. Gentle Brutality is a wonderful album - mixing blackened death metal with prog tendencies and local folk. Add to that, a powerful growler and an amazing female singer, plus violin and ambient electronics. Just amazing.

[stellarnightstalk]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐕𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐀 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞!

There was a deafening silence around the room, the type of silence where you could even hear a pin drop. The only sound you would hear was the occasional impatient tapping of your foot as you waited with an awkward smile around your face.

The man in front of you held some papers in his hands, more precisely, divorce papers. He was reading them thoroughly and slower than he should be. Your eye twitched in annoyance, you had planned what to do, what to say, and did a whole dramatic entrance just for him to be staring at those damn papers for almost 30 minutes.

You looked at the man who sat in silence before you, Cedric Ironheart, the male lead of the romance fantasy novel you were in. The truth of the matter is that what happened to you wasn't something you could speak about very lightly. Sometimes you couldn't even believe it yourself, it’s not common for you to reincarnate to a dark romance novel, at least that’s what you think.

Luckily you were spared the memories of your death in the real world, you admit that they were a bit blurry, but it kept you going.

You remember walking along the dark streets outside your apartment after quitting the job you were clearly being underpaid for. You spent the night drinking your stress away for 2 days straight, obvious dark circles started showing under your eyes. A half-emptied bottle in your left hand.

It was 2 AM, and you continued going along the side of the road, you were sick of the life you were living. You were sleep-deprived, wobbling around the streets as if you were on some sort of drug. Before you acknowledged it, you stood atop a bridge, looking down at the passing cars below you. You remember thinking to yourself, ‘Is this truly what it would come to? Plunging yourself off a bridge because you felt as if you had no purpose to live?’

You received a sudden notification on your phone. Upon checking, you saw an email about the release of a new version of a novel that you had read a year ago. You were puzzled because you hadn't remembered signing up to receive notifications about novel releases. Shortly after, you began to feel tired and weak, so you closed your eyes.

The last sensation you experienced was the embrace of the wind, and you found yourself yearning for something more, that if you had another chance to live, to live it to the best of your ability, with no regrets. For freedom.

The next you were here, in someone else's body entirely. And not just anyone's body, but the body of the main villainess from your favorite novel, “A Forbidden Love.” A slow-burn story about a blooming romance between a cold Duke and a “peasant” girl but of course, it wasn’t any normal story. The peasant was revealed to be a secret daughter that the king had, and the Duke was ordered to take custody of the girl and teach her the ways of etiquette and high society in the meantime, and so on. The same story you had gotten a notification from.

From what you remember, the male lead was Cedric, the Duke, and he was forced into an arranged marriage by his father, which was the main conflict of the story. And the person that he was married to was you, well not you but the villainess, (Y/N) Bullard. Or, (Y/N) Ironheart, the stuck-up, childish, and wicked woman who was obsessed with the duke, whose only good aspect was her alluring beauty but was overshadowed by her blackened heart. You were meant to create problems in the story to make the romance progress between the main lovers, like spilling wine onto the protagonist's dress and spreading awful rumors to destroy the protagonist's reputation. Even as far as sending a voodoo doll of the princess, as a way to curse her life.

You knew how the story ended for the villainess, all her plans ended up backfiring which made the couple grow closer. Cedric eventually divorced the villainess due to her spoiled nature, which of course made her angry. Blinded by rage, she attempted to assassinate the princess, but was quickly discovered by the male lead, which led to her demise. She was sentenced to death, being publicly executed by the man she loved the most.

After that, the novel was discontinued due to the author saying that she was unhappy with how she wrote the novel, and she felt no happiness continuing with something she did not feel proud of. There was a rumor that the author was planning to rewrite the novel and make it more “appealing” but the novel had gotten backlash due to the book being rated R. There was a lot of torture, murder, and explicit scenes, more on the villainess’s side since she was practically a psychopath.

You never liked the villainess from the start, you find yourself pitying her in some way, but her character was created for a sole purpose, for the plot, but this situation is different. You are quite literally HER, and the preferred ending is not dying, it's all very simple. You don't want to die, so you decide to cut off what is supposed to be the cause of your death. The Duke of the North, your husband. Then maybe go to the countryside, get a job that’ll keep you stable, you've been thinking about getting a cute little cottage.

That WAS originally the plan, but you’ve been stuck here for God knows how long. Does he not know how to read? You’ve taken notice that some groups in medieval times didn’t know how to. You cleared your throat, making his attention go from the papers towards you. You find yourself admiring his looks, no wonder he's a male lead, he's a handsome fella you'll give him that.

“Look, I know you want this and I want it too so let's not dilly-dally, right? All you need to do is sign right here.” You leaned forward, pointing at the empty line on the bottom right of the paper that's supposed to be filled by his signature, “And I'll be gone faster than you could say—”

“No.”

You chuckled, “I was going to say faster than you could say—” Your eyes widened. “Wait what? What do you mean no?!” You stood up from your seat, slamming your hands on the table in front of you in utter shock.

“My decision is final, your proposal of divorce has been denied. Do you need anything else?” He smoothly said, returning the divorce papers to you, crossing his legs.

Your gaze lingered on the blank papers in your hands, mouth agape. You sat down, taking a deep breath to regain your composure. Shaking your head you changed your gaze from the papers to Cedric, “Your grace, I trust that you will reconsider! I am not fit to be a Duchess, you must know where I'm coming from.” You were getting desperate, you weren't about to die here because this asshole decided not to divorce you, he hates the villainess! He doesn't want the marriage, so why is he being so stubborn?

“No, I don’t. I believe you make a great duchess.” He grabbed a cup of tea that was on his left, sipping from it calmly. “Are you perhaps feeling jealous because the king’s daughter is going to be under my watch? I guarantee that you have nothing to worry about.” He placed the finished tea cup on the saucer that was on the table. “I’ll be sure to give you as much attention as you desire.”

You noticed your eye twitching, questioning whether he was bluffing or if he was actually this egotistical. You forced a smile and explained, "I assure you that the king's daughter has no involvement in this matter. It's a decision I've been thinking for some time now and I believe it would be a positive change." That was a lie. Of course, you wanted to leave because of the king’s daughter, your life depended on it. A little alteration to the truth won’t do any harm.

You noted how he examined you with a raised eyebrow, but you held your head high.

Cedric let out a sigh. "You may have a point, but it's not up to you to make this decision." He uncrossed his legs and got up from his seat, heading in your direction. He stopped right in front of you.

He leaned down and placed his hand on your chin, making you look up. “Are you perhaps drunk again? I told your personal butler not to bring you as much whiskey anymore. I had to hide a lot of bottles.” Your eyes widened as you felt his hands on your chin, he had rough hands, but a somewhat warm gentle touch to it. Something about it felt possessive, you were confused. You don't remember something like this occurring in the novel.

You stared at him. “I assure you that I'm completely sober. I haven't even seen a bottle of whiskey, let alone drank one. Trust me, you would know,” you answered sarcastically. Cedric let out a rare chuckle at your humorous response and let go of your chin. Your fingers brushed against each other for a moment.

“I suppose you're right. You wouldn't skip an opportunity to drink your heart out, would you?" He crossed his arms and focused his attention on you. "Either way, my answer remains the same. I feel the need to inform you that the king’s daughter will be arriving in a week.”

As he walks away from you, he heads towards the door and pushes it open. However, instead of leaving, he stands there for a minute, looking back at you. You look back at him, noticing his gaze. Smiling, you fold the divorce papers into a smaller square and wave it around.

“My offer still stands, contact me if you ever want a divorce.” You declared with a forceful smile on your lips as you tucked the paper into the cleavage of your dress.

He looked down at the paper.

“I won't.” He replied, slamming the door behind him, leaving an echoing sound around the room. You were left with your thoughts, and the smile on your face turned into a scowl. A week? That seemed too far away. You needed to leave this place, fast.

Grasping the nearest pillow, you press it against your face as you scream into it, muffling your curses as you try to calm down. What did he even mean by "He won't"? That asshole!

He’s so full of himself! To think that he was your favorite character from the story. If you had the chance you’d leave a 1-star review on that godforsaken novel.

Taking a deep breath, you removed the pillow from your face and placed it next to you neatly as if nothing ever happened. Recollecting your thoughts, you tried to rationalize.

But, there is no way to get this done differently, the king's orders are absolute. So, you're kind of out of options here. You close your eyes and groan, rubbing your temple, this is a massive headache to deal with.

You can't afford to die, not when you've obviously gotten a second chance at living. This time you will live without regrets, live happily. You need to live.

It is best to avoid interfering with the two lovers and let them be. If you don't cause any problems and allow them to fall in love, he'll divorce you to be with the princess. You won't be harmed, and everyone will be able to live happily ever after. You'll live a carefree and lavish life, and you won't let anyone take it away from you. Especially not a useless marriage.

Perhaps you can find an attractive man in the countryside, he may not be as handsome as Cedric, but he will do.

You open your eyes tiredly, and out of the corner of your eye, you see a fancy-looking bottle, which you presume to be the whiskey they've been hiding from the villainess. You stood up from the chair, walked towards the bottle, leaned down, and grabbed it. You examined the bottle, it read “Johnnie Walker, 1820, Old Scotch Whisky.”

You hummed, you'll save that for later, you placed it under your tighter-than-normal corset. It took you a while but it went in, hopefully, nobody will notice.

——➻

Cedric was sitting on the corner of his bed, he was lost in thought, normally he would think about his duties, the king, or anything else. But tonight he was thinking about you, you were acting different, but not in a bad way. For once, he might even say he felt attracted to you today, which is something he wouldn't be caught alive saying.

The way you spoke, felt somewhat mature. Something he had never experienced you doing before, you had always been childish, and spoiled, always finding new ways to get under his skin.

The moment he laid his eyes on you, he knew you were beautiful. There was no doubt about that, but it wasn't until now that he truly saw it. His heart raced with excitement as he realized the depth of your beauty.

The way you looked up at him as he grabbed your chin, how soft you felt. He loved how you reacted, which caused him to do the things that he did. He had never touched you before, but now, he might be a bit addicted to your touch.

He doesn’t want you to divorce him, not after today. He doesn’t get it either, but he needs you, badly.

When he grabbed your chin, you didn't pull away. Instead, you stayed there, with him. Did you feel it too? You must have.

If you hadn't, you would have pushed him away. At least that's what he thinks. No, that's what he knows.

You have him wrapped around your finger, without any explanation.

He looked at his hand, the warmth of when your fingers brushed against each other lingered. He let out a shaky breath and placed his fingers on his lips, fantasizing about how soft your hands would be in contact with his.

He clenched his fist.

“What kind of spell have you placed on me this time, my dear wife?”

from, your admirer.

credits:

neutral heart + star divider made by @cafekitsune

[tragedy-of-commons]

lay your life down and pretty

various hsr x gn!reader | wc: ~2k

In which you die (or they've already lost you).

tags/warnings: character death (reader), it's implied in dh's part but explicit and semi-graphic in hanya's, descriptions of mara and the insanity that comes with it, hardcore angst, hurt no comfort, there may be Lore Inaccuracies

notes: this was originally supposed to be four parts. i'm sorry it's only two but it's just been uhhh... hope you enjoy & thanks for the incredible support lately <3

Dan Heng makes the best pancakes.

You’ve expressed this undeniable fact to his face multiple times, louder in their progression just to see the tips of his ears burn that endearing red. These declarations are reserved for breakfast. At this time you also chide him for trying to weasel his way out of eating the most important meal of the day!

And he’d sigh, letting you hound him about food options until he’d crack under the weight of your grin and end up mixing batter at 7:30 in the morning.

(“I tried flipping them in the air once and the pancake slapped me in the face,” you’d regaled, head resting idly on your fist.

Dan Heng stared into the black of the skillet. “...Somehow, I don’t doubt it.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” you huffed.

He almost let not-quite laugh slip then, but because of his stuck-uppery, he just managed to look peeved. “I would appreciate it if you passed me the butter.”)

Instead it is around 9:00 in the morning, and Dan Heng is alone. 

He’d stayed up late the night before doing some reading, causing him to oversleep and rush the process today. He’s almost burned his hand on the stove eye twice, nearly dropped an egg on the floor, and has just narrowly avoided burning the batch. Dan Heng is not clumsy (not like you were), and he is painfully aware that he is late.

After he plates the food, the oven clock reads 9:19. He gathers everything, including two sets of utensils and one awkward wad of napkins - before setting the table by heart. Your plate goes in front of the chair closest to the window, and his goes in front of the one adjacent to yours. 

The rhythm of distributing each item eventually leaves him with empty hands. Everything is ready, but there is still something colossal missing from the scene.

Dan Heng stares hard at your empty seat before taking his own. 

The pancakes are blackened around the edges, but it’s nothing a good heaping portion of syrup can’t fix, and the smell that wafts upward is sweet and inviting. The sun’s rays shining in from the outside world paint the kitchen in flecks of light that occasionally catch on his arm when he brings his fork to his mouth.

Resigned, his silverware clatters noisily to the table.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, “I’m sorry that I was late.”

Predictably, there’s no response. Dan Heng’s throat feels like it’s closing up on him, and the syrup definitely isn’t helping. He dabs his mouth with his napkin for a good long while.

He is sorry. It wasn’t enough that he’d stayed up late the night before, but that he deliberately kept glancing at the clock and counting the hours until daylight arrived - reminding himself that if he drifted off, the next day would come much sooner.

He isn’t the type to procrastinate either. Even when you’re not here anymore, you seem to have a profound effect on his character. Dan Heng pinches the bridge of his nose. The sound of his voice echoing off the walls of the lonely kitchen is unwelcome. “Happy birthday.”

It’s strained, imperfect, and painful; which only serves to remind him of your insistence on celebrating his birthday as well. You had practically prostrated yourself at his feet, begging him to let you fuss over him - even if it made his vision hazy and palms sweaty. He needs to return the favor, even if the mere idea of another important date passing him up without you makes him want to hide.

So here he is. 

Here he is, floundering terribly, missing you terribly, loving you terribly. Dan Heng wrenches his hand from its secure position in his lap to drum on the table.

“I got you something,” he says. “I… I didn’t know which color you’d prefer more, so…”

You’d tease him into an early grave if you were able to see the knitted oven mitt he’d picked out over two months ago. It’s an almost hideous shade of teal that he’s sure you’d love, especially since you forced him to bake with you regularly.

(He was shopping with March 7th when he’d seen it and then reflexively dumped it into his basket. His companion only asked him if he was planning on using it as kindling for the fireplace.)

Dan Heng closes his eyes and slides it over to your placement. For a second, he almost fools himself into thinking you might magically appear to brush fingers when you accept the gift with a bright smile. He has no such luck.

Your breakfast is getting colder, and there’s nothing to be done today; his friends, as much as he can say he appreciates them - also meddle quite a bit. His schedule was mysteriously cleared up and he was gently encouraged to go home and take the day off. The feeling of three pairs of eyes drilling holes into his back as he complied was a bit too potent to be coincidental.

So he sits there and pretends he’s eating with you for as long as he can. The stutters in the familiar rhythm that comes with today are things he can smooth out over time, even if it feels like a betrayal to you. You would never see it like that, which is why he can even live in a home without you in it at all.

(The oven mitt rests beside your full plate until the afternoon, because he cannot bring himself to clean up just yet. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready to.)

Dan Heng is not a man who can afford to hope, but he’s already been in debt since the moment of his birth. If just one of his prayers is granted, he hopes it’s the one he runs through his mind every night:

In the next life, please let us cross paths again. And if there’s room for it, please let me love you for as long as I can.

He’s never been one for optimism, but it’s all he looks forward to.

Hanya’s hands cradle the expanse of your face.

Her fingers ghost over any healthy glow remaining in your cheeks. You’re slipping, rightfully so, but does it make her a monster if she wants to claw and rifle through the sands of time to search for any universe where you were spared from this cruel fate?

(She thinks it does.)

You can’t get the words out, but there’s a resigned film that glazes over your eyes - one that tells her that she needn’t lie about where you’ll be going. Your mouth forms silent syllables punctuated by wheezes that will surely send her careening under the depths of the unconscious at record speed.

“Han.. ya,” you croak, “Stay.”

“I will,” she promises, because she needs to - over and over, until you remember it always, even when you’re gone. Even when you’re suffering through the last moments of your fledgling life. “I will remain here.”

Her duty as a Judge of the Ten-Lords Commission is to oversee life and death on the Xianzhou. When Hanya drifts aimlessly like a spectre between inky darkness and blinding daylight, it has occasionally struck her that one day she might have to oversee yours.

Presently, your mind is being swallowed by the maw of mara, a madness that she’s all too familiar with; faced with her dull countenance, she must have witnessed thousands succumb to the fate of infernal life. 

“D-Don’t cry,” you beseech. There isn’t much time until you’re no longer Hanya’s secret reprieve, but instead a writhing abomination - and she only has herself to blame. Had she not embraced you so tightly, would you be free of this curse? Would you still be smiling and dragging her by the hand through Exalting Sanctum?

“I will not send you there,” she breathes, “You are not deserving of—”

The agonizing cry you let out next is still beautiful. Even now you can mitigate the emptiness that’s dug its claws in her heart so deep that it’s become symbiotic with the organ. However, instead of the empty, Hanya feels its distant relative: the pins and needles. The hollow white noise crackles until she’s pierced with an arsenal of skeletal knives.

She could take it, and she would take it, if it meant that you weren’t about to die and then awaken again as a monster that desecrates the very concept of you.

She releases your now matching tear-stricken cheeks before seizing both of your arms. The thrashing has crept in, meaning that there isn’t much time before you start sprouting leaves and weeds like a statue abandoned by its devotees. 

A sharp inhale through clenched teeth. “You have… to. M’gonna hurt—” you convulse in her grasp, “—somebody...”

Of course you’re worrying about others right now. Kindness is a relic of the past that you’ve somehow managed to exhume, restore to its full glory, and gift to Hanya like she deserves to touch others’ lives in the same way you have. 

Every shopkeep knows your name, face, voice, and smile. Your warmth is infectious - even before she knew you in person, she knew of you by word of mouth. Xueyi had told her that the reason Huohuo was so resolute in her duties lately was because of “the person who defeated a bunch of reprobate hooligan bullies tormenting her”. 

If her big sister held you in high regard, she figured you were one she wouldn’t mind exchanging greetings with if you ever crossed paths. However, the thing about you is that you always give more than you take; you too eventually gave her your smile over tea, your opinion on her writing, and a perspective from the light she usually only smothers upon first contact. 

It seems that it was just a matter of time before Hanya extinguished you.

“You are not ready,” she begs pitifully, “You are not!”

She knows it’s never about being ready. Bad things always happen to good people - to sons, daughters, friends, big sisters, and lovers.

Lovers. 

The word is foreign on the tip of her tongue. It’s strange to be actualized and even stranger to ascribe that label to your relationship, but Hanya doesn’t know what else to think when the knives stab her over and over to the elegy of I love you, I love you, I love you.

The trek from Fyxestroll Garden to the Alchemy Commission is sizable. The Dragon Lady could see you and do her best, but she’s seen where that’s led; best efforts gone to waste, inconsolable loved ones given false hope because they were too stubborn to let go.

Is that what she is? Too stubborn to let you go, even when she’s brought this karma upon you?

(Yes, something ugly whispers, this is your penance. Now it’s theirs too.)

“I...” you let out a strangled groan, and when your chest jerks upwards, it barely registers that you brush your lips against hers. There’s tears and snot everywhere, and you’re getting stronger - too strong for her to hold. Hanya’s forearms ache with the strain as gingko leaves begin to ravage your humanity and rip you apart.

The transformation process is cruel, but she promised to remain by your side. Twigs protrude from your neck, nestled between thorny brambles that poke and prod. You are not a Cloud Knight, so your screams aren’t muffled by armor - or muted by the numbness she feels when dealing with other cases. 

It’s too real, it’s too much, and it’s not enough.

Drowned out by the previous mantra of I love you, the background vocals of I’m so sorry peter off into whispers that are soon lost among the sickening squelch of Xueyi’s blade cutting through you in one clean motion. The tip of the sword rests over Hanya’s heart, stained with your blood.

“...That’s not them anymore,” her sister says. It’s off-kilter, the way her brow is furrowed in a silent apology.

One can only hope.

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