#rip Prices Slashed gone too soon

[warpweighted]

reading truckers by pterry and i think these nomes just fucking killed a guy???

[luveternals]

paring: TF141 x male reader. rating: mature, MDNI. cw: (heavy stuff guys, I think) violence, death, implied suicide, failed suicide attempt, implied temporary death, morally grey reader, insanity, immortality, not a poly (lol too possessive irl for it, sorry). this story is... mostly just angst and mainly not finished (meaning possible serie? Idk). a/n: took me an eternity bc I didn't know who to write for... nice. Anyway, status update for steven grant x reader is scheduled for next week(Nov 30th). y'all went mad for it while I said I wasn't sure about it! lmao (psst, I approve) ~ ~ ~

When all sensations and feelings get ripped away from you, you realize that the wait is worse than pain.

And it grows more and more unbearable the longer years go by.

Wander the city without destination. Expect that cursed urge that comes yanking at your insides and guiding your body like a puppet. Never be sure when it'll come, but know that it will. At the start, it was nothing but a growing emptiness carving itself deep inside you, but now it’s become an insatiable hunger that never seems to leave you alone.

And when that urge eventually comes, it's worse than the wait. 

The knowledge that you are finally about to fill the emptiness as you follow whatever it is that it’s tagging you along. The realization that you are nothing but a selfish bastard who is letting his greed guide his very being. 

All at the simple price of a stole life. 

You stand on the edge of the roof and peer into the streets below.

The longer you wait the more you feel like you’re fading away, and the deeper the hunger grows. And so here you are, jumping over the edge and glading down through the air like a leaf falling off a tree. Your feet brush against the pavement without a sound as you land at the mouth of the alley, the breeze blowing louder than your presence.

Deep into the alley, a man presses his back against the farthest wall, terror blurring his gaze as he grits his teeth. One of his arms hangs limply against his side while the other presses against his stomach over the nasty slash sipping blood into the fabric of his tunic. His eyes jump from the approaching thugs blocking every escape to the sword he’s lost somewhere near the entrance of the alley. It lays at your feet, useless. 

The stench of death grows stronger the larger the stain of dripping blood grows under him. You creep closer, waiting.

“Sorry, pal,” one of the attackers says, a nasty grin tagging at his lips, “it’s you or us, y’know. Gunna be luckier next time, ay?” he raises both his arms over his head and brings his sword down onto his victim wih a final ‘whoosh’.

Blood splatters into the wall and the thieves are onto the body before it can even fall onto the ground, ripping at its belongings like vultures. It takes them less than a minute and soon they dart out of the alley cackling and whooping.

You stand over the body, staring at the despair frozen into its expression for what seems an eternity. Then you crouch down and lower yourself over it. A shriek cuts through the air but you are too far gone to care for it. Your body feels heavier as your soul sinks lower, bones and flesh latch into your very being. You let yourself go, ignoring all sounds that break the still silence surrounding you and all voices that echoe inside your head.

What if this is another failure? What if this is actually not possible?

You try to open your —his— eyes, but the lids are heavy and when you finally do open them, your vision is blurred. There is someone staring down at you, their hand slapping at your face to keep you awake. “—hear me? Help is on the way, but you need to stay awake.” Their voice is muffled, as if trying to talk to you through water, but their concern is palpable even for your half-conscious brain. 

You grin at them.

You did it. 

You’re alive!

-

They've gotten good at it, you'll give them that. It hasn't been a month yet and they've already found you. 

Granted, it's gotten challenging to stay hidden for longer than a few weeks before your needs start to mess with your head. 

You're running, slipping through the crowd with delirious laughter. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, and you watch the helicopter follow your every move. 

You won't be able to hide. You're trapped, and they know. 

You shove a man out of your way, jump over the railing and land on the sidewalk below with a roll. 

They've blocked the traffic and redirected it to keep any car or vehicle from running your way. 

“They're learning,” you grin and glance over your shoulder, making sure they can see your expression. “Let's see how much, though.”

You push forward and rush your way to the other side of the road to the railing of the bridge. It's a fall of over fifty meters. This body will not survive the impact with the water below. 

You're at the railing when something stabs into your side and an electric current sends your senses to overdrive. 

-

You wake up hurting. And it's one of the most intense pain you've experienced so far. But before you can scream at it, numbness spreads through your body, and all your senses grow muddled. 

You can't move. You can't feel. Only see and hear, though even those are muffled. 

It reminds you how it is to not have a body and not be able to do anything about it. 

It's worse than the pain. 

-

The second time you wake, you're sitting in a chair, head hanging and limbs restrained with more chain than it's probably strictly necessary. 

The numbness is gone and you let yourself let out the softest sigh of relief. 

There's a camera blinking at you from a corner of the ceiling and you let a smirk cut through your expression. It's sharper, meaner than you usually would give your hunters. But the memory of numbness they put you through sends phantom tingles to the end of your fingertips, and you can't find it in yourself to be anything but nasty right now. 

There's an ugly, useless table made of metal before you, and you don't even stop yourself from rolling your eyes at it. 

Right. At least they're not some mad scientist cutting you open to study how you work. Not that they'd find anything useful really. 

The door past the table opens and your captures finally make their entrance. 

“Is this how you make friends?” you says, leaning back into a lazy slump, despite the restraints, to stare at them as they move deeper into the room. “You electrocute them and tie them up with a nice, little steel ribbon?”

They're all wearing full masks (skulls, how fitting) and gear, covering most of their features besides the more obvious. Their height and the like. 

It doesn't bother you. You're not here to familiarize with them, but it would have been nice to see the faces of those who've finally managed to catch you and lock you up. 

“Have you no shame?” one of them says, but his tone doesn't betray his true emotions. He sits on the chair opposite yours and folds his hands in front of him, resting his arms onto the table. 

There's four of them, the ramain three spread around the tiny room. Standing by the door or looming over your shoulder like a creep. 

“You steal the faces of others and make whatever you want of their lives.”

“So? They are dead. Like it or not, they won't miss their lives since they'd already found a new one on the other side.”

There's nothing to hide here. They're simply trying to guilt trip you. Everyone knows what you are, and the world has been alerted about your existance. It's just that they've never managed to catch you. 

What you do might be cruel to some. But to you, it's the only option you have to live. 

Your 'victims' — as everyone so loves to call them — are already dead by the time your soul replaces theirs. You have never killed anyone but yourself and consequentially their empty body. But you have never taken the live of another to make it yourself with your own hands.

All you are doing is trying to keep your head above a water that is a life with no ability to feel. Sensations and emotions both. All you are doing is keeping from losing yourself to madness. 

Is it too much to ask? 

“They might be dead. But you're hurting those you love and care for them.” the man says, “dying isn't the problem. You are not the one hurting. Those who you leave behind, they are the ones to really suffer.”

The words are like a sword through the heart, sharp and incessantly slow as it sinks in. You hang your head and grit your teeth. “Shut up.”

Laughter echoes into your ears. 

“Shut up!” the chains rattle and strain when you throw yourself forward. They leave angry bruises on your skin. 

“This is not the end,” he smiles and cups your face, his frail, trembling hands passing through your cheeks as he forgets himself. “this— you'll find a way when you're ready. And I'll see you on the other side.”

~ ~ ~ reblog, comment and/or follow if you like what I write. please and thank you. without feedback I don't have a reason for keeping this blog alive, since I created it so I can practice my writing.

[jimlingss]

gladiator jk?? 🤭🗡

I’ve written quite a few historicals, but never in the Rome era or quite as far back. So please excuse the historical inaccuracies and all that. I did my best to do a half hour crash course on it.

↳ Spare and Surrender

2.5k || 50% Fluff, 50% Angst || Jeon Jungkook || Gladiator!AU

Jungkook is a star.

He’s won eight games — five against wild beasts and three against other gladiators where he killed two and maimed the other. The entire Colosseum always cheers when he enters. He knows he’s become a favourite, that there are those who bet their life savings on him, and most importantly, he always wins.

The fact that he’s alive is enough proof.

But in spite of the horrors he’s had to face, of the lives he’s had to take, Jungkook still likes it. They give him a place to sleep, three delicious meals a day, and baths and massages whenever he wants. Jungkook is good at what he does too. He isn’t like those elite men from the senate who rigged the fights in their favour and perform simply for their own amusement. The scars on his body are the evidence of his strength and true victories. Jungkook is talented. He was one of the best during training, heard endless praise and even now the roars of the people make him feel alive. Even when asked if he wanted to be free, he refused. Jungkook bleeds competitiveness and the games have become his reason to live.

Today, the crowd is cheering again. But it’s not for him.

“Who’s up there?” he asks a fellow fighter, Darius.

“The new one. You haven’t heard of him?”

The two of them climb the steps, candle fire illuminating their figures and casting their shadows against the underground stone walls. 

“They call him the Mouse Dragon.”

Jungkook frowns. “Why?”

“Because he’s as tiny as a mouse, but as fierce and swift as a dragon.” The clamour of the crowds become louder the closer they get to the center. There’s light from the end of the tunnel closest to Jungkook and curiosity makes him go closer. “He’s already won five games, Jeon. He might take your place soon.”

Darius nudges him with a small grin. But Jungkook doesn’t take it lightly.

He follows the light and peeks out of the barred tunnel to see you. 

You’re in amber armour, silver dagger in hand as you encircle a wounded bear. It growls, leaps forward at the speed of light, but you don’t evade. You lurch forward and before the animal’s sharp teeth can rip into your skin, the dagger pierces into the side of its throat.

The bear roars in pain and you dig the blade into it before pulling out to pierce it again.

Finally, the large creature drops dead at your feet. The crowd bursts into wild howls and screams. It’s deafening. 

Jungkook slinks back into the shadows.

He doesn’t know how he remained so ignorant as to not know you, to not know a fellow gladiator who won so many games. Granted, your number of victories is far from his, but it’s still notable especially when most gladiators died in their first games and few made it past ten. Jungkook plans on making it there. But at this rate, you might as well. And there was no room for two stars. Not when fame was fickle and he planned to become the most famous.

He allowed his arrogance to blind him for long enough. It’s time to make himself known to you, to show you what a real gladiator is and let you know your place.

Jungkook returns underground, darting past the many fighters preparing for their own matches. He brushes past the guards and trainers, ignoring the cry of the animals kept in their cages. 

Down here, there was its own chaos. Chaos that is kept from the eyes of the public. 

But when he gets to the place where survivors usually recover and collect themselves, the hall is empty and much quieter. The noise of the Colosseum is merely muffled faintly above him.

Jungkook whips back the curtain of the first room, but it’s empty. He turns on his heel, calms down his temper and glances through the gaps of the curtains, searching for you. He sees no one in the second room and no one in the third.

He’s about to relent and look for you on the training grounds later on. But at the fourth room, Jungkook’s vision unintentionally trails through the small space between the curtain and the wall.

His eyes grow wide as it lands on you. Unraveling your chest bindings.

You look up on instinct. Your pupils connect with his doe, brown eyes. A gasp rips from your throat.

But by then, he’s gone. Like a ghost or the smoke of a flame.

Jungkook strides back from where he came from, feet moving quickly. He’s in disbelief, utter confusion—

And a hand wraps around his wrist. In an instant, Jungkook’s yanked into one of the rooms.

You’re panting, chest rising and falling as you hold your bindings to your breasts.

His eyes weren’t wrong. “You’re a woman.”

“And you’re Jungkook.”

He blinks. “You know me?”

“Who doesn’t?” You slip the worn tunic on, and Jungkook realizes how small you really are. Up close, your neck is slim and your wrists small. But unlike the others, he knows it’s not because you’re a tiny, frail man. You’re a woman. “I’ve watched your games before.”

“Why are you here?”

“Why are any of us here?” You face him, gaze intense and fierce without once wavering. He can’t be threatened. Not when he’s Jungkook, someone who’s quickly becoming one of the strongest gladiators of Rome. Yet for some reason, he’s held in his spot because of you. “I was a slave and was going to be sold as a prostitute.”

“So you pretended to be a man and train as a gladiator.”

“At least I can win enough prize earnings to pay for my freedom. Or I can die. Either way, it’s better than what was in store for me.”

Jungkook’s taken aback by the determination ablaze in your eyes, by the strength and conviction in your voice. “There are female gladiators, you don’t need to hide yourself.”

“If they knew I was a woman, they’d want me to expose my breasts and fight and no one would take me seriously.” You hiss at him like he knows nothing, “What kind of prize earnings would I get then if they’re pitting me against dwarves for their own amusement.”

Jungkook looks at you — he really looks at you. Beyond a fighter in the Colosseum, beyond a fellow competitor, beyond a heroic gladiator who garners cheers.

He feels foolish.

Small-minded. Short-sighted.

His intentions of intimidation and putting you in your place has long vanished. You and him are so different. He can’t compare to you.

You don’t fight for sport. You fight to escape.

“Don’t tell anyone.” You soften. “I hate owing others, but please. I beg of you. Let me be.”

“I was a slave too.” In the farthest confines of his mind, Jungkook still hears the screaming, the burning city, Romans taking him in the midst of their conquests. And the others. The difference between him and them was that he was stronger. He survived. But he almost let himself forget. “If you made it this far, it means you’re strong as well. I have no business in revealing your secret.”

Jungkook had almost forgotten what life outside the Colosseum meant. He almost forgot the thirst to survive. To live on without needing to fight another day.

But as he looks at you, the memories return. It makes him feel sickly. He pushes them away.

“But for a price.”

The relief on your expression washes away just as quickly as it came. “What price?”

“Tell me your name. Your real name.”

You hesitate before the secret tumbles from your lips. “It’s Y/N.”

...

Jungkook sees you again in the training barracks. Now that your face isn’t simply one amongst the crowd, blurring together with the men, now that he can pick you out by just the back of your head, he often joins you. Whether it be pity or curiosity, he isn’t quite sure yet. But he speaks to you when he has the chance, invites you to sit and eat at the table with him much to the confusion of fellow gladiators, and he trains with you during the day.

He can tell you’re not fond of his attention as it garners the attention of the other men. After all, Jungkook doesn’t often associate himself with fellow fighters and certainly not those that are supposedly lower than he is. But he can also tell that you like his training help. 

“Stab, don’t slash.”

“I know that.”

“But you’re still doing it.” 

“I survived this far without your help, Jungkook.”

“And you’re going to need my help if you want to keep surviving and earn your way to freedom.”

The corner of his mouth tugs when you’re rendered to silence. 

But you’re not the only one to gain from the relationship. Jungkook enjoys sparring with you. He likes it when your sword clashes against his, when your shields are struck. You’re a formidable competitor. While he is sturdy, swift and strong, you are agile and dexterous. He is especially impressed when you tumble away from him like your bones have turned to air.

Jungkook has always liked his women elegant with intelligent eyes, dressed in beautiful clothes that drift through the breeze. You, on the other hand, are rough when you wield weapons. Your words can be crude and he’s never once seen you in finery. Yet, he is absolutely stricken with you.

And maybe that’s why he feels a need to protect you through the fight—

“The Mouse Dragon! The Unstoppable Beast!”

The crowd goes wild as you both enter the Colosseum together. The nicknames given to the two of you are absurd, but Jungkook still feels pride that he’s famed enough to be named.

It was posted earlier today that you’d be fighting together against an exotic animal from the west. A creature with a large trunk, two tusks and whose height towers him twice over.

Perhaps the trainers saw how close he was becoming with you. Maybe the rumours began to take that he was your mentor and you were going to become the next bold gladiator. Either way, you were put together.

Jungkook looks to you and the both of you nod, preparing your stances as the animal is released from its confines. It cries out and decides to trample towards you.

The game lasts ten minutes. It always does and it’s the longest ten minutes he knows.

Jungkook is reckless this time. More than what he is used to.

“You don’t need to protect me—” you spit at him, standing shoulder to shoulder, catching your breaths.

He knows, but he can’t help it. “Who says I am?”

Jungkook strikes when he should be holding up his shield. He surges forward before you can. And he’s clearly more worn than you are. But it’s not for the cheers, not for the crowd to chant his name, and he isn’t trying to steal the spotlight from you.

You narrow your eyes in on him. “I can handle it on my own.” 

You do. 

The creature becomes wounded from your stabs and blood splatters across your face. But in the moment of the animal’s death, it wails out and leans on its hind legs with its last effort. From the force, you’re thrown to the ground. About to be trampled. About to be crushed.

Yet before it can come down, before you can brace yourself — Jungkook digs his entire sword through its side.

The animal falls over. The dust is awakened into a cloud.

The crowd screams all around you and your gaze meets Jungkook’s, knowing he saved your life.

The game is something to remember. So much so that a close trainer, Marcus Namjoon, whispers that the next time the two of you will have to fight a more ferocious beast. The lion.

“How will you manage?” he asks you that same night as you’re seated on the wooden steps.

“I’ll just have to or I’ll die.” The corner of your mouth curls as the light of the stars glow against your face and makes you look like a goddess. Jungkook is sure you must be the child of Ares and Aphrodite. “May the best warrior survive.”

His hand crumples into a fist. He tears his eyes away from your magnificence.

Sooner or later, you will win your freedom or sooner or later, you will die. Or worse. Jungkook knows how the games go. He’s been here for years and he knows why these matches exist. It’s all to distract the public of more important matters and if something happens, if a big enough distraction is needed, sooner or later, Jungkook will be pitted against you.

Then, he will have to kill you or at least maim you. Or he will have to be your sacrifice.

“Take this.”

He drops a leather pouch into your lap and looks away.

It’s heavy and you tug the strings. A gasp pulls on your lips. Gold and silver gleams back at you.

“Jungkook…”

“It’s all of my earnings I’ve saved so far. With what you have, together it should be enough to buy your freedom.” It becomes silent and he lets the peace of the night settle into him.

“Why?”

“Because you desire freedom more than I have ever desired anything.” That might be a lie. There is one thing Jungkook desires most that could possibly contend — and he’s looking at it. Looking at you. “If there’s anyone who deserves this, it’s you. I would not regret it if this is where my earnings went.”

“W-What about the fight?”

“I’ll have a better chance than you do.”

“Jungkook.”

You take his face within your hands to kiss him. He feels your soft lips and in spite of being a warrior, your body is even softer. You feel feminine under his touch and as he years for more, he grabs a hold of your waist and pulls you flush against him. Jungkook inhales your yelp, your tongues sloppy against one another.

A hunger from inside him awakens. Jungkook wants to have you right here, right now. But you part from him, catching your breath.

Under the stars, Jungkook has become entirely enraptured by you.

“I’ll work.” You make an oath to him. “I’ll save enough to free you.”

Jungkook’s never thought of leaving before. Even as a distinguished warrior, when he had been asked if he wanted to be granted freedom, he refused. He likes it here. There’s a roof over his head, he gets three meals and gains attention and fame that he could never get on his own.

Yet, you are a bigger reason than all other reasons.

He has never desired anything more than being with you.

A smile tugs on his lips. “It’s a promise I’ll hold you to then.”

[free-pancakes]

Dreams and Nightmares

Summary: Canon-Divergence fic

Hange barely survives the final fight against Eren, and is saved by inheriting the Beast Titan from Zeke Yeager in the end. However, the Scouts soon find that this would come with a heavy price--particularly at Levi's expense.

Chapter 1/?

crossposted to ao3 here: link

Notes: Based on this ask! Thanks, anon, I started writing my response and I guess it'll now be a multi-chaptered thing!

CHAPTER 1:

Hange felt nothing but pain, the sensation of her limbs... growing back into place? She saw steam all around her, unsure if it was a figment of her imagination due to the pain, or a titan was nearby. Confused, she tried to clear her mind and figure out what the hell was happening. She was lying on her side, for one. The wooden floorboards and movement made her think she was in some kind of wagon. And something was tying her to a… thunderspear? She heard a small shift to her left. Someone else was here too.

Hange turned to see Levi standing above her. She felt so relieved to see him, her lips curling into a warm smile without even realizing it.

“L-Levi?”

“Oi, why are you smiling? Stop talking you stupid beast.”Hange was confused—she’d never heard Levi speak to her in this tone before. It was so foreign to her, she couldn’t even get angry or yell in response.

“If you move your leg just a little bit, that thunderspear will set off, killing you.”

“Levi, wha—“

Levi bent down in Hange’s face, a blade held up to her face, feeling the sharp end on her cheek, pain searing at her skin as he slashed it, shocked as she thought Levi would never be one to hurt her. She looked into Levi’s eyes, sadness, anger, and rage swirling in them. Hange began to cry—tears welled up in her eyes. He was absolutely frightening, and it genuinely scared her. She’d never seen him so filled with hate, not like this, and especially not directed at her. It hurt more than the devastating wounds all over her body.

Suddenly she felt this sudden urge to kick her leg to trigger the thunderspear—like her body had a mind of it’s own. She panicked, knowing that if she moved her leg, the wagon would explode. She deduced at this point she was a titan shifter, so she had a chance at survival, but doing this would definitely kill Levi. Despite the strangeness of this situation and Levi clearly wanting her dead, she didn’t want to hurt him. She tried to yell at Levi, warning him to get off the wagon, but she felt suffocated, her mouth not feeling like her own.

She tried with all her strength to yell and to stop herself from moving, but she couldn’t overcome it. Her leg kicked forward on it’s own accord, and the last thing she saw before a flash of light was Levi, a fearful look in his eye as the explosion set off in front of him before he had the time to react.

—— Levi sat next to Hange’s bed in the infirmary, his hand in hers as he lay his head on the bed. She had almost died during the final fight against Eren, and long story short, she inherited the Beast Titan from Zeke.

“She still hasn’t woken up?” Jean asked as he and Armin walked into the room. Levi shook his head, and Jean placed his hand on his shoulder, giving it a hopeful squeeze. Hange hadn’t woken up since, slipping in and out of a fever for a week now.

“Her fever has gone down, though,” Levi whispered. Suddenly, Hange stirred.

Levi snapped up, and the three of them stared at her with wide eyes. Her brow furrowed, and tears spilled from her closed eyes—like she was having a horrible nightmare. Titan marks began to appear under her eyes, and they stared not knowing what to do.

Levi squeezed her hand, and placed his hand on her cheek.

“Wake up, Hange,” he murmured, as he gently shook her awake. His heart raced, hopes of her finally waking up growing excitedly in his chest.

She opened her eyes, and he almost forgot how beautiful they were. Before Levi could lean in to hug her, her expression quickly changed to one of fear, and she winced, pulling her hand and her face away from Levi’s touch. The three of them stared at Hange dumbstruck. Levi reached out again, but Hange slapped his hand away, avoiding eye contact, tears spilling from her eyes. She shook with fear.

“Hange, what—what’s wrong?” Levi asked. She seemed afraid of him, and that hurt more than anything he had ever experienced. Hange flailed as he reached out again, and Jean and Armin looked at each other, nodding. They didn’t know what was going on, but it seemed best to separate Levi from Hange.

Jean put an arm around Hange, and she buried her face in his chest as she continued to cry and shake in fear.

Armin placed a hand on Levi’s shoulder, but Levi ripped himself away from Armin’s grasp.

“Captain, I think… I think we should leave.” Armin was afraid to say this, as it was quite clear that Levi would be best to look after Hange, as they all knew how much he cared for the Commander. But he knew something must have been wrong. Levi’s breath hitched, and he looked down, his hands balled into tight fists.

Levi looked longingly at Hange, absolutely perplexed as to why she was acting like this—it hurt him deeply to see her recoil from his touch, to see fear in her eyes when she looked at him.

“Levi…” Armin grabbed at his shoulder gently once again, and this time, Levi obliged.

They left the room, and Levi stood behind the closed the door, his forehead resting against it. Armin kept a hand on Levi’s back as he started to cry. Armin was a bit caught aback, never having seen Levi cry before, let alone show any kind of emotion, really. Levi shook slightly as his tears fell to the ground. His heart swelled with conflicting emotions--on one hand he was utterly relieved that Hange finally woke up, but on the other hand, he felt lightheaded as confusion, sadness, and anger swirled around in his mind. He stood there unmoving, and Armin knew that he probably wouldn’t leave from that spot for awhile. So, he left to grab a chair and some food for the Captain, and began trying to understand the events that just occurred.

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Pairings: Romantic Prinxiety (Virgil x Roman)

Word Count: 9841 Words

Summary: Roman goes into the Imagination after the events of POF but he runs too far. Can the others find him before it's too late?

Warnings: Eye Trauma, Injury,  Blood, Permanent Injury, let me know if I should tag anything else.

Notes: I might make a part 2 but I don’t know.

Shatter Me

Roman loved going into the Imagination and roaming around, the freedom to do whatever he wants and go wherever he wants. It also let him do things he couldn't do around the other sides like spar with his katana and visit Remus and Janus.

So he set out to his part of the Imagination first, cheering himself up with the beautiful meadows and he helped a small snake across the road and a short lecture to stay safe and not get hurt.

He then continued along his way through the Imagination with a small friend following him. Roman eventually stopped and picked up the small snakeling and it curled happily around his shoulders and he continued walking while talking to the small animal.

"So Virgil's been really nice lately. I think we're finally getting along and I really like him. I hope he likes me too." The snake flicked its tongue against his face like a cat grooming its owner. "I suppose you need a name? How about Romy?" The snake blepped at him and he smiled, pet over its side, feeling over the smooth, beautiful scales. "Romy it is."

They continued travelling, Roman telling Romy of his woes with the other sides right now until Roman stopped, noticing the sky had gone grey. Was it about to rain? Oh well, he wasn't going home just yet. He kept walking into the darkness until he found himself in the middle of a forest and realized what happened.

He had walked right into the dark side of the mind. He walked right into the dark side of the Imagination without so much as his sword for protection and he couldn't summon it here, inside of the Monster's Forest and he could hear the monsters that resides here, some howling, others growling, a few rattles and scrapes and screeches. And he was alone with Romy and no weapon.

He slowly, quietly, tried to find the path he'd come on but there was no indication of which way he'd come from or where he could escape. He stuck his head from the brush to look for a way out and got a slash across his eyes for his efforts. He stumbled back, hands over his eyes and holding them as he felt blood? tears? something warm and liquidy in his hands.

And he swore he was opening his eyes even though it hurt but nothing came through them. Romy hissed softly, cuddling to him, comforting him or at least trying to. Roman pet him, his only indication this was real right now and started crying. It would be too long before anyone found him, he'd die here.

"Wait, wait, wait. My baby brother is what?" Remus asked Janus again.

"I need to go into the Monster's Forest. I've been scouring the Imagination but there's only so many places he could be and the last place I need to search still is the Monster's Forest." Janus explained.

"I'm sure he's probably at his castle right now, moping because his ego was hurt." Remus told his boyfriend.

"Virgil checked there first, he's not there." Janus told him.

"Wha-"

"He has to be in the Forest, Remus, but I need your help to get him. It's been a month, Remus. I'm scared. What if something happened to him?" Remus' somber grimace greeted him when Janus finally managed to look up at him.

"Then we'll get him. Bring extra weapons, those things are vicious." Remus warned him.

Not a half hour later, they were at the entrance to the Monster's forest, Virgil, Logan, and Patton alongside so they had more people to search more area, weapons drawn and ready to fight whatever was in there.

"If we talk inside, it'll lead us to the center on the path where they can't hurt us. Don't step off the path, don't stop talking." Remus warned them.

They went about talking, Janus and Remus of their upcoming quest plans, Logan and Patton of their ideas to help Thomas focus, Virgil talking to himself quietly about his feelings about Roman. They eventually emerged into the circle of the forest, the dead center, which had a small grassy field surrounded by a tangled line of trees and foliage.

They didn't quite expect to see a bone-thin version of their friend mumbling to himself, or, rather, to the snake on his shoulders. Said snake slithered from his companion and to the closest side, Remus, to pull him closer, biting at the fabric of his pants and trying its hardest to drag him over.

"Romy?" Roman whispered. Romy let go to care for Roman, rubbing against him affectionately and seeming to tell him it was safe right now.

"Roman?" Remus asked, kneeling before him and ghosting his hands around his shoulders.

"Remus?" Roman asked back, reaching out for him, hands hitting Remus' chest and grasped on. "Remus, you came." Roman began sobbing.

"We all did, Roman." Remus alerted him.

"Everyone's here?" Roman asked.

"Yes, Ro, can't you see us?" Patton asked.

"I can't. One of the monsters. It...It scratched my eyes when I tried to leave." Remus hugged him close, protectively so, and Romy slithered onto Roman's shoulders, keeping him company again, protecting him.

"How did you survive here for a month?" Logan asked.

"You won't like it." Roman warned.

"Roman, are you okay?" Janus asked softly.

"I think so?" Roman answered unsurely.

"Remus, we need to leave, it's going to start getting dark soon." Virgil warned him, gently taking Roman, letting Romy crawl from Roman's shoulders to his own in the process of getting Roman settled in his arms. Virgil was concerned by how little his friend felt like he weighed.

"Okay. It's harder getting out so everyone tire this rope around you." Reus alerted everyone tying everyone to the rope. "We all guard Virgil no matter what. He can't fight. Virgil called bullshit. Virgil let his cloud-like aura manifest itself like a shield around him and Roman, impenetrable. "Nevermind, that works too. Again, keep talking, it should let us out if we all keep talking. Jan, talk to the new snake friend, keep him communicating." Remus reminded the snake-like side.

"Hey Ro, I'm really glad to have you back, everything's been so boding without you. I've missed you a lot." Virgil prompted Roman to talk.

"I thought I would die out here."

"I wouldn't let that happen. I made everyone search."

"But why do you care? I'm just a good-for-nothing price that can't even do his job."

"You're not. You're amazing and I'm sorry I've never said anything before but Roman, you matter and I'm sorry if I ever make you feel like you don't because you matter so much to me and I can't stand to see you hurt or unhappy."

"I matter to you?"

"Matter? Roman, I'm in love with you. Roman, I love you, of course you matter to me." Virgil sighed as they stepped from the forest and Remus counted all six of them and Romy, all seven, perfect.

"You love me?" Roman asked.

"So much." Virgil whispered, letting down his aura to calm himself and he had to hand Roman quickly off to Logan and took a few deep breaths to regain his strength and composure.

"Vee? Ae you okay?" Patton asked.

"I'm fine, I just... I had to protect Roman." Janus then noticed the blood spot forming on Virgil's right leg, his jeans ripped with three claw marks down the side from his hip to his knee all the way down his thigh.

"Virgil?" Roman asked as Virgil sat on the ground, breathing deeply.

"I'm okay. Nothing deadly. Just a little scratch." Patton would have scolded him if he wasn't downplaying it for Roman's sake.

"Remus, Roman, why don't you two go with Romy and clean up, I'm sure Roman needs a bath after a month in that dirty place." Patton told the twins.

"Sure, Pops." Remus began carrying Roman to the dark side house, Romy wrapped around Remus' neck now.

Virgil gritted his teeth as Janus had to bite anti-venom into him, nearly screamed actually, at the teeth impaled in his already venom-inflicted skin. But this was good, he could still feel it so no nerve damage had been done.

"I'm sorry." Janus told him, spitting out his blood onto the ground, nearly throwing up at the bitter, sour, burned sugar taste in his mouth of the venom that wouldn't affect him.

Actually, now that it was all he could focus on, he did throw up into the grass, Patton rubbing his back just as much as he was holding Vigil's had as Logan came running back with a first aid kit apologizing as he wriggled Virgil from his ripped jeans and began tending to the finally stemmed wounds.

Virgil would have been freaking out if he hadn't lost so much blood, but a few needles and some stitches meant basically nothing to him in his lightheaded, dizzy, dazing state of blood loss. So, even after nearly a hundred stitches, he was virtually unfazed.

Logan helped him into clean, not ripped jeans and helped him back to the dark side home as well where they found Roman and Remus in the living room with Romy, who was getting right along with Remus' pet possum, Pumpkin. Roman was telling Remus what he and Romy did to survive a month stranded in there with no way out.

"Romy brought me food. Well, his kind of food. But it was enough." Patton grimaced at the idea and Janus was already busy trying to quietly find something in the kitchen that would get rid of the taste still in his mouth from the venom.

"Do you want anything to eat?" Remus asked.

"If it's not any trouble." Roman whispered.

"Of cours, it isn't any trouble. I wanna feed my hungry baby brother! I won't even put anything weird in this time!" Remus told him.

"Thank you, Remus." Roman hugged him. Logan set Virgil next to Roman.

"Virge? Is that you?" Roman asked.

"It's me, my prince." Virgil told him, hugging to him.

"Are you sure that you're okay?" Roman asked.

"I'll be fine. Janus gave me some anti-venom and Logan stitched me up good so I'll be better in no time. It's you I'm worried about. You haven't even opened your eyes."

"It's ugly. They're scarred now. They shouldn't be open."

"I'm sure they're not ugly. They're a part of you. No part of you can be ugly, you're too gorgeous to be even remotely ugly." Virgil assured him. Slowly, Roman opened his clouded milky white eyes and Virgil held his face gently.

"Beautiful." Virgil alerted him

"They're ugly and they didn't heal right." Roman told him.

"Well, you won't see, I can't fix that. But I can make them look normal again if it bothers you so much." Logan told him.

"Please?" Roman requested. Logan put his hand over Roman's eyes and a healing blue light flashed before Roman's eyes were their old bright green, though with clouded milky pupils but they looked normal, no scar at all.

"Do I look okay?" Roman asked.

"As handsome as ever. Not that you weren't before." Virgil told him.

"I'm really tired." Roman alerted the other sides.

"Drink this and you can rest." Remus told him, handing him a warm bowl of soup, Virgil supporting his wrists and helping him hold the heavy bowl.

Once Roman drank the chicken based broth, he fell asleep against Virgil and Janus, who had settled next to him to check him over for any bites or scratches from the monsters.

Roman felt safe. He was home.

Taglist: @yeet-ceit​ @sneaky-slytherin​ @punk-academian-witch​

[hoaqins-funk-house]

Hoaqin/White

Yandere

Part 4; Finale

Standing next to Rak (you learned his actual name before arriving), you look over at Hoaqin. "He's gotten bigger." You absentmindedly mention, Hoaqin's eyes snapping over to you as you speak, the scowl on his face quickly replaced by a grin. 

Having focused on your face first, it took a couple seconds for him to notice the change in clothing. And with it, he saw the scars. 

While he did enjoy the view, your past injuries were far too numerous for him to ignore. 

"Wait, Y/N, how did your clothes get ripped like that?!" He asks. He could question you about the scars later. 

"Oh. Rak threw his spear at me because I wanted to test my defense. I forgot that my clothes aren't as protected as my body." You scratch your cheek, hearing his sigh. 

"Well, either way, come over here."

"Uh-" Your answer gets cut off as the announcer guy begins to speak, making Hoaqin huff.

"Let's begin the last round of the Dallar Show! The name of it is-" 

He gets cut off as a familiar girl floats next to him. "Wait, you forgot to mention something. The most important participant, me."

She says, you looking up at her. "Hey, it's her."

Looking down at you, she smiles, waving.

Hoaqin looks at you, confused. "You know her?"

"Not really, to be honest. She is your last sibling, though."

"That is correct." She confirms.

"No way! She looks nothing like any of my siblings! Y/N, are you sure about that?" He asks, looking to you as you shrug. 

"I mean, I figured it out because I sensed her power." 

"Hmm…" He looks back up at her, brows still furrowed. Seeing as he was actually trying, he could sense her power, but still, he didn't like how friendly she was acting with you. She might even try and take you for her own.

You could tell by the look on his face that he was misinterpreting something or other relating to you, that jealous spark in his eyes unmistakable.

She flickers over next to Viole, leaning over his shoulder. "You're facing him, huh? A Slayer Candidate…"

As Khun and Rak begin to shout at her, she flickers in front of you, Hoaqin's eyes narrowing into a glare.

"And you, the one he's interested in."

She glances back at him, his expression making her smile grow wider. She flickers back up to the announcer guy, lifting her finger to her lips. "I guess I'll watch the game and hop in to help whoever I like. That would be okay, right?"

Hoaqin scoffs indignantly. "You're my last clone, right?! Why wouldn't you help me?!"

"Shut up. That's minus five points for you."

"What?!" 

Your expression shows your small struggle to refrain from making any noises of amusement, managing to calm yourself down in time for the announcer guy to allow her intrusion.

"Now, let's begin the final game of the Dallar Show; Go to Hell!" He calls, a ringed circle much like the one you were standing on appearing on the screen behind him.

You stare up at the screen, entertained by the name.

As he begins to explain the rules, you do your normal thing and zone out, especially uninterested in a game you wouldn't even be participating in.

"As a final note- there will be two surprise hostages, one from each team! They will be introduced in the second round!" 

That was pretty much the only part you caught as you and the others in Viole's party moved up to the next layer. 

Yura was a small bit away from you, not looking at you and instead focusing on the ball Rachel was in, which Khun had entered as well. 

"Hey, Dragon." You start, him looking over at you. "Can you decompress, put your spear down, and hold your arms out like this?" You ask, holding your arms out like you were holding a large chest. 

Confused, he does so, you taking the chance to leap up into his arms. Promptly, you fall asleep. 

"Blank Turtle! Hey! You tricked me!" Rak huffs, looking back down at the match to see Hoaqin glaring at him. 

Rak pays no mind to the bloodlust that radiates off of Hoaqin, most of it gliding off of his tough skin and exceptionally smooth brain.

Prince gets dropped, falling lower and lower.

Hoaqin doesn't move as Viole waits for the right chance, soon launching off and into the center pipe. He paid out 30 Dallars as he did so, Hoaqin's unamused eyes following him down.

He calls out to Khun, the submarine door popping open and letting the purple-haired boy tumble out and into Viole's arms. 

"Saved! Viole's team successfully saved their hostage!"

Prince floats out of Viole's arms and onto the platform that you and the rest of Viole's group was as he returns to where he began, the announcer sending the next person down.

Hoaqin chuckles, a mean grin on his face. "You're the type to try and save everyone, huh? I can tell. You know, Viole…" 

Abruptly, he launches forward, bringing down his sword as Viole tries to block it, the sword slashing into his arm either way. "You're exactly the type of person I hate!"

Hoaqin blocks the main passage from Viole's view, his grin more of a snarl. "You always do everything for everyone! That stupid altruistic mentality of yours really gets on my nerves!"

He laughs as Viole attempts to round him on his blue platform, leaping up to send him back to the ground. "You should really try and be a little more selfish!" He laughs again, louder, as Viole picks himself up, glaring.

"Why would I want to be as heartless as you?" He asks, gritting his teeth as Buelsar continues falling, his path blocked by the prior Slayer. 

"It just makes life… so fun! At this point, there's only two things I truly care about." Hoaqin's expression grows sly as Viole continues to try and get past him, failing and getting more and more damaged with each slash.

“Ah...I have a story for you.” His grin continues to grow as he sends more slashes towards Viole, who grows more distraught as Buelsar falls further and further. “Before I got trapped here, I ruled over two lands, as their king.”

He continues to tell his story to the stricken boy, whose blood was beginning to pool around his feet. Buelsar continued to fall, and Viole continued trying his damnedest to get into the pipe, continually getting blocked by the white-clad man. “It truly is a shame about the one in the submarine, but if I am going to be the pinnacle, I needn’t worry myself with such disposable peons.”

“Disposable…?” Viole’s breaths pick up as he glares at Hoaqin, the Thorn flaring up. “He put his life on the line to fight for you, and you call him disposable?! You truly are worse than scum! I can’t imagine living a day in which I think of those around me as disposable!”

“Oh well. You just aren’t cut out for being a Slayer, then.” He sighs, his expression neutral.

Viole rushes forward, faster than before, but still not quite fast enough. Hoaqin sends him flying back with one strike. 

“I… don’t want to be a Slayer! I’ve already told you this! And if you truly see him as disposable, or a peon, why won’t you-”

“Let you save him? It’s simple.” 

Hoaqin’s face breaks into a wide smirk, his eyes glowing underneath the shadow of his bangs. “You and your team annoy me; I wanted to watch you squirm as you tried and tried to save someone, only to fail and fail, over and over, until they were gone from this world. And look! I succeeded in that, didn’t I?” He throws back his head, letting out a mad laugh as Viole stands, rushing past and leaping into the pipe. “Jump down there! I’ll let you. No matter what you try, you won’t make it in time.”

Peering into the deep passage, he watches with twisted amusement as Viole rushes down, faster and faster, before stepping back, already knowing of his hostage’s fate. Viole’s injuries slow him down, ribbons of blood flying through the air behind him as he hopelessly descends.

“Three, two, one…” He counts down on his fingers, ending with the announcer. “Zero.”

“H-Hoaqin’s team has failed to save their hostage.” The announcer shakily states. “Any spent Dallars will be lost.”

Viole floats up no less than a minute later, his face dark as he glares at Hoaqin, the Thorn blazing behind him.

“A-at the moment, Hoaqin has 24 Dallars remaining, and Jue Viole Grace has 67. The second round will begin now!”

Hoaqin looks up at him, his playful grin making the announcer sweat. “We will now be introducing the surprise hostage from Jue Viole Grace’s team!”

Hoaqin glances back at you as he hears you wheeze, having lost your breath when you hit the floor. “Damn, wasn’t expecting that.” You mumble, using the railing to pick yourself back up. You look around behind you, trying to find the reptilian. “Rak? Oh, was he the surprise…?” 

Sighing, you lean on the bar, eyes half-lidded as you watch the submarine plunge down. You close them, propping your head up on your hand. 

You didn’t want to watch. 

“Jue Viole Grace. You can go after him if you’d like, this time I won’t stop you.” Hoaqin smirks, stepping around to get on the opposite side of him. “As a matter of fact-” He rushes forward, Viole preparing for a slash. “I encourage it!” His eyes widen as the white-haired man reels the opposite arm to his sword arm back, bringing it into his crossed arms and sending him flying back, his heels digging into the floor as he tries to slow down. 

By the time he manages to, he stands less than a foot away from the edge, listening to the announcer before paying out and leaping down. Hoaqin laughs loudly, not seeing your grimace, as you had barely opened your eyes to see what was happening. 

You knew from the start that Hoaqin, that White, was a cruel person. That by standing by him, you were standing on the wrong side. 

He held you there. 

If you ran, he would follow right behind.

If you hid, he would find you.

You didn’t take him seriously enough in the beginning, and now you were paying the price; he never lied when he told you, “You’re mine.”

Opening your eyes to escape from your thoughts, you look over Viole’s group, noticing an extra person. A purple-haired kid, who was clearly trying to calm himself down. Your eyes move back to the arena, watching Hoaqin’s last clone as she stared down at her origin, disgust and anger coursing through her gaze. 

“Jue Viole Grace has successfully saved his hostage!”

Viole called out for Khun, and Rak was saved. He was returned to your side soon after, sweat nearly pouring off of him. You pat his head, him looking up at you briefly before his eyes go wide.

“Blank Turtle!” He shouts, whipping his head around. 

You had vanished.

-

You sigh, the restraints binding you to the submarine wall. “Of course it was me.”

-

Hoaqin glances over to where you should be, only seeing the crocodile as he looked for you. His eyes widen as he looks over at the submarine, soon glaring up at the announcer. “The surprise hostage from Hoaqin’s team has been selected!”

The second the round starts, Hoaqin pays out 10 Dallars, slashing at and subsequently knocking Viole down before jumping down, boosting his speed. He got to the correct height a few seconds later, Viole unable to stand up in time. He winces as his various cuts bleed, stinging against the air.

“Woman! Open the submarine!” Hoaqin shouts, Rachel doing so right after. The door shoots open, and you fall straight into his arms, slightly disoriented. 

“Ugh, that didn’t feel good.” You lightly complain, feeling Hoaqin’s grip on you tighten, ever so slightly. He looks down at you, the sharp panic that had risen in his throat giving way to a broiling anger as he glances at his last clone and Viole. His eyes blaze, only relenting as he gets an idea, letting out a scheming hum.

“Hoaqin has saved his hostage!”

You notice a blue light surrounding you as you reach the top platform, hearing Hoaqin’s chuckle. “I said I wouldn’t be dying, now it looks like you need to make the same promise.”

You yawn. “Yeah yeah, even if I hit the acid I’d at least survive for a couple minutes.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Oh, so now you’re-” You get cut off as you get transported back to the group, Hoaqin laughing.

You huff, a small pout on your lips as Hoaqin grins, eyes on you. 

He looks back at Viole, expression growing vicious. “Even if you don’t want to become a Slayer, you’re in this battle with me. And I expect a fun fight! No more throwing yourself at my blade, make this entertaining!” 

Pointing his sword at the injured boy, Hoaqin stares down his arm as if measuring. He hums as Viole pants, still winded. His vision was fuzzy, and lightheadedness was beginning to strike him. His head pulsed with pain.

“You’ve barely used that Thorn of yours. Are you even trying?” He asks, tilting his head mockingly. “Well, I can find out your capabilities next round, I suppose.”

“Hoaqin has a total of 24 Dallars remaining, and Jue Viole Grace has 67! We will begin the next round! Viole’s hostage will be dropped now!”

Grinning, Hoaqin pays out 10 Dallars and follows Viole in jumping down, Viole turning in mid-air to face him, grimacing. 

“Now, let’s make this fun!” Hoaqin calls, lifting his sword above his head before swinging it down, his Arie heritage clearly showing as many slashes happen synchronously. Viole brings his arms up before Shinsu pours into the air, swirling into orbs before streaking around Hoaqin, leaving trails as they whirl around. Abruptly, they fly up, homing in on the prior Slayer and flying directly at him. 

He dispels them with a single swing, glaring down at Viole as he jets down. Hoaqin sneers, raising his sword above his head once more, gathering a massive amount of energy. Now, his plan would go into action.

He swings down, releasing the energy burst before following behind it, hiding himself among the light. 

Seeing the sword being thrown, he reveals himself for less than a second, knocking it out of the way. 

His last piece, having had their intervention denied, teleports down in order to block his attack from hitting Viole, who had a young girl in his arms. Holding out her arms, she begins to form a shield, only for a hand to burst forth, roughly grabbing her arm and pulling her into the attack. 

The energy dissipates as Hoaqin ignores its stability, grinning at his now hurt last piece. “You… you have so many souls within you. They all look… so tasty…” 

She was unable to teleport away as a bright light surrounded her and him.

Every spectator watched with some form of horror, you feeling the creeping dread climb your back as your future reality sets in.

“Ah, finally.” His voice appears before he does. “I'll be getting off this stuffy train in no time." 

Viole looks up, eyes wide as he stares at the Slayer. White’s gaze meets his, a grin forming on his lips. “Ah yes, you. I’ll savor your soul, so don’t worry about going to waste. Get back on the main platform. The next hostage is about to fall, after all.” 

Viole slowly ascends, Miseng disappearing from his arms as he lands himself. 

“Now…” Pointing his sword at Viole, he tilts his head. “I can’t have you winning this game, now can I? Spend all your Dallars on the next descent.”

The second Viole takes a step forward, White points his blade towards Viole’s group. A drop of sweat drips down his face, his body aching even with the adrenaline that coursed through him. 

“H-hoaqin’s hostage will be dropped now!” 

Grinning, White gestures towards the center pipe. 

Begrudgingly, Viole pays out 37 Dallars, leaping down after the submarine. 

“Pfft. Is he planning to save the hostage? He knows about the spell, does he not? It’s useless.”

He chuckles quietly.

“Hoaqin has s-saved his hostage! Jue Viole G-grace has no more Dallars to compete with, so he is... disqualified! Hoaqin wins!”

Humming, he waits for Viole to return to his level, holding Angel with shaking arms. He had lost so much blood, it was really a wonder how he hadn’t collapsed yet. “I’m impressed, Jue Viole Grace. I think I’ll eat you now, instead of waiting for the spell.”

Viole turns to him as Angel disappears, eyes dully glaring. He breaks into a sloppy run, jumping as he tries to land a punch, reinforced by Shinsu. 

White lifts his arm.

Viole stops, held in the air by a sword that crackled with energy. He chokes, coughing out large amounts of blood as he grabs the sword right where it entered his body. 

“Still struggling, hmm? It’s no use.” White levels the sword, staring at the Slayer Candidate.

Weakly, Viole shoves himself off the blade, falling to the ground. His chest heaves as he tries to stand, unable to put weight on legs without his knees going out. 

His quivering arms hold up his torso, more blood pooling in and dripping out of his mouth. 

“You’ve fought well, Jue Viole Grace.” White stands above him, sword hovering over the black-haired male’s spine. “But not well enough.”

He brings the sword down, Viole gasping out a last breath before all life drained from his eyes, face growing gaunt as his soul was consumed.

White’s eyes widen as his power surges, flaring up around him. Looking back down at Viole, his brows furrow. “An Irregular…” He kneels, picking up the compressed Thorn and pocketing it.

He sighs, stretching his limbs and dispelling his sword as Khun runs up to Viole, kneeling at his side and lifting his torso up, getting a better look at what had happened.

His body quakes, looking up at White with a snarl on his face. “You....” He growls.

White meets his gaze, amusement showing through his glowing eyes. He looks away, paying the Lightbearer no mind as he begins to walk forward, cloak fluttering behind him. 

Khun lays Viole down gently, standing up with rage seeping into his heavy breaths and clenching hands. He takes a few heavy steps, soon advancing to a full-on charge as he whips out his dagger, about to run the soon-to-be High Ranker through. White whips around, seizing his wrist with enough force to nearly snap it. “Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one? You should know it's less painful for you to simply die to the spell.”

“I don’t care about pain! If I’m about to die, I might as well go down fighting!”

Looking to the side, you watch as Rak reels his arm back, decompressing and throwing the spear before jumping down next to Khun. White easily blocks it, releasing Khun as the spear bounces off, letting Rak grab it once more.

It didn’t take long for the rest of Viole’s comrades to join him, Rachel and Yura standing somewhat off to the side.

You, however, stood still. Watching from above.

“Blue Turtle is right!” Rak shouts. “The best way to go out is with a struggle!”

Your brows furrow.

A chorus of agreement passes over the group as they ready their weapons and abilities.

You bite the inside of your lip.

“Hmph. I suppose I can reward you all for your courage with a quick death.” Lifting his arm, his lips twitch up as he notices your grip tighten on the rails. Shinsu emanates from his hand, extending in a beam as he forms the beginnings of a sword. He sees your expression grow more conflicted, the group in front of him approaching cautiously.

He laughs, letting go of his gathered Shinsu, seemingly vanishing from in front of them.

A chill travels up your spine as hands grab the railing beside your own, your back pressed into a chest and a head resting on your shoulder. “You were going to jump in.” He claims, a drop of sweat running down your cheek. “You know I won’t allow you to get hurt.”

One hand traces a scar on your stomach, making you shiver at his cold fingers and light touch. “Especially now that I know how hurt you used to get. You could probably survive a couple hits, but after that, it would be over.”

“Hey! Leave Blank Turtle alone!” Rak shouts, waving his spear at White. 

He looks down at the reptile and the rest of the group, the hand he had moved now stationed around your waist. Raising an eyebrow, the corner of his lips twitch up. “Hey, Y/N. Do I kill them now, or activate the spell?”

Your lips open shakily, closing without a word escaping your mouth.

White hums. “Alright then. I suppose I’ll choose for you.”

He grins, his other hand placing itself on top of your own before his fingers slip in between yours. “Killing them all would be a bit too tedious for my tastes. I’ll activate the spell.” He leans more into you, eyes closing.

“Even with your defense, you would die to this if I wasn’t here.” His face breaks into a satisfied smile. “I’d close your eyes. You still may be knocked out though; the attempt to rip out your soul will be rather taxing physically.”

“I... could guess.” Your drab voice makes White’s smile droop a bit.

He could see it in your eyes, that returning blankness. 

Was he not enough?

Or was it them, for even getting close enough to you for you to care if they died?

He quietly scoffs, feeling the collection wave begin from the caboose, quickly advancing along. “Well, the collection starts now.”

You hum, monotonous. 

“Blank Turtle!” Rak shouts, leaping up and reeling back his arm, spear in hand. He throws it, and everything seems to slow as it approaches.

Did you lower your defense? Let it strike you down?

Did you redirect it? Try to hit White?

Did you-

“It’s no use.”

Of course. It didn’t matter.

White holds his hand up, catching the spear by its head. He smirks, tossing it to the side.

Suddenly, the group leaps up, readying their attacks as Khun, at the front, uses his Lighthouses to form a path, running up to the next lexel. His dagger is in his hands, face serious as he leads the last ditch attack. Before he could come into contact with the amused White, he ducks to the side, slipping around White and passing something to you.

You felt the cold metal in your hands, knowing what you had to do.

White faces the group as they attack him, blocking Khun from getting any slashes in with his dagger and keeping the wide range of blasts from the group at bay. Rak, who had managed to grab his spear, jumps up, pointing the spear towards the Slayer as he descends, White looking up to block him.

You take your chance.

Whipping around, you drive the Heavenly Mirror into his chest.

A hand grips your own as you attempt to pierce his heart, silver eyes narrowed. A mean sneer takes its place on his lips. “Hmph. You almost got me. Still, that knife only stores someone if it pierces their heart, correct?”

He rips the knife out of your hands and his chest, throwing it without care at the group, whose attacks had ceased.

“How cruel.”

His eyes shift to the wall, feeling the wave as it gets closer and closer.

Rak swings his spear, White ducking and grabbing its length, snapping it in two. 

Khun again charges, White grabbing him by the neck.

“Don’t you ever give up? You’re annoying.” He throws the Lightbearer at the group as well, ignoring their startled reaction and Rak’s shout. 

“Ah, whatever. The wave is here.”

Everyone turns their attention to the wall as a bright light slips through the cracks, eventually overtaking the room. Clenching your eyes shut, you feel two arms encircle you, pulling you closer before your consciousness disappears.

-

When your eyes open, bleary and unfocused, you could tell that you were in a different room. 

Blinking, a quiet groan escapes your lips as you sit up, hand against your forehead as a dull pain pulses through it. The sheets that covered you fell, pooling around your waist and revealing the same tattered clothes. 

You sigh, looking around the room with a tired, unsure gaze. 

You tense as you feel arms snake around your waist, a head nestling in the crook of your neck. He practically deflates with a breath, leaning into you.

“How long I have waited for this…” He mumbles, his hold on you tightening as he lifts his head, placing a kiss on your neck, just below your jaw. “I’ve regained my status and power, and you are by my side.”

He smiles, pulling you into his lap. “As it should be; perfect.”

Everything worked out exactly as he wanted. 

He places another kiss on your neck, just below the previous. 

“Truly perfect.”

@astrxrism 

I am willing to tag if you ask :)

[inkjackets]

To Save a Loved One Ch7

Warnings: Major Character Death, Blood, Violence, and just a whole load of trauma tbh

AO3

Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 

Excruciating pain bled up Adrien’s broken arm, but it was nothing compared to the cold congealed in his stomach.

Dad? Adrien tried to say, not fully comprehending what his father’s words meant.

His father broke his gaze with the terror-stricken Marinette, and slowly turned his steel-grey eyes to him. A terrifying finality glinted deep within them. A dangerous determination was etched into the very fabric of his being.

The colour drained from Adrien’s face as realisation sank in. 

His lips parted with horror; denial turned his muscles weak; his legs gave way beneath him before he was caught by the Gorilla.

‘No,’ he whispered, the word barely able to make its way out. 

Gabriel looked away and turned back to his wife.

‘NO!’ Adrien screamed. He strained to break free, but fire seared down his arm and his cry cracked into pain and he bit down on his tongue. He tasted metal.

‘Take him away.’ Gabriel handed the Gorilla a remote. His voice softened as he gazed at his son. ‘Keep him safe.’

‘No!’ Adrien shook his head as the Gorilla forced him round. ‘No, NO!’ He kicked; he struggled; he strained against his captor, the shooting pains in his wrist only adding to his cries.

‘FATHER!’ The cry ripped itself from him. ‘FATHER!’ His lungs raw and burning. ‘NO!’

But the Gorilla pulled him away, down, down the walkway. Adrien’s cries and shrieks echoed uselessly around the chamber.

A terrified ‘ADRIEN!’ rang out from a Marinette who had somehow freed her mouth. 

‘MARINETTE!’ Adrien screamed back as the Gorilla pulled him through the archway.  ‘MARIN-’ The metal doorway slammed shut. Darkness fell upon them. ‘NO! NO!’ Desperation flooded Adrien and hysteria slammed into his gut as the Gorilla dragged him up the staircase. ‘NO, MARINETTE!’ Adrien pulled his arms free and clawed at the walls, wailing at the excruciating pain in his wrist. The stone soaked up his yells; his blood from ripped nails marked the brick; hot tears sank into the ground to be swallowed by the earth. And Adrien fought with all his might to save his Lady from death.

~~~

Adrien’s screams echoed in Marinette’s mind as she stared at the door waiting for him to burst through again. Because he had to. He had to. Her vision blurred from the intensity of her stare. She started slipping from her mind. Waves of disassociation washed over her.

Movement in her peripheral vision snapped her out of it.

She narrowed her eyes as Gabriel drew himself upright and stared at the jewels in his hands with a feverish shine in his eyes. The ring had turned into a simple silver band and the earrings into circular cufflinks to match.

‘PLEASE!’ Marinette begged as she strained against Mayura, her mind refusing to accept the implications of what Gabriel intended. ‘THINK ABOUT ADRIEN!’ 

Gabriel didn’t move. ‘You should really think about yourself, Miss Dupain-Cheng,’ he said and Marinette shivered. ‘But then, you are Ladybug.’ Marinette’s gut twisted and froze solid. 

‘Please.’ The strength fled her voice and came out as a hoarse whisper.

Gabriel turned his head towards her but instead looked at Mayura. 

‘I told you to keep her quiet.’

Mayura made no move to silence Marinette. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ she asked, her voice soft and careful and quiet with pleading.

Gabriel’s eyes flashed in anger. He slid the ring on in reply.

Marinette gasped when Plagg materialised. He hung heavy in the air, exhaustion wearing him down. His eyes, mere slits of electricity that cut through the darkness.

‘What are you doing?’ The kwami’s voice had lost all its usual humour and was dangerously quiet.

Gabriel ignored him and put the cufflinks on, his old ones fell to the floor with a soft thud to be lost amongst the greenery.

‘You can’t do this!’ Tikki yelled as soon as she appeared. But, like Plagg, her energy was depleted.

Gabriel ignored her outburst. He took his time straightening the cuffs of his sleeves before raising his eyes to finally acknowledge the two gods.

‘What are your names?’

The kwami stared back, defiant; their mouths firmly closed. But Marinette bit her lip with fear at the fatigue and panic in their eyes.

‘Your names,’ Gabriel repeated with an intensity that the kwami were bound to. Marinette watched them struggle against his demand, but ultimately, they bowed their heads and let their names slide off their tongues.

Gabriel smiled. ‘There, that wasn’t too hard, was it?’

‘M-Master, p-please—’ a small voice began.

‘Silence, Nooroo!’ Gabriel cut over him. ‘I won’t have you blubbering in my ear.’

A soft pat-pat disrupted the silence as Nooroo’s tears dripped onto the floor. Gabriel turned away from his kwami with disgusted annoyance and moved towards his wife.

‘Nothing comes without a price,’ Plagg said, his electric eyes deadly serious.

Gabriel paused in his movement. He held Plagg’s gaze. ‘I know the price,’ he said quietly.

Tension stretched between them.

‘Do you?’ Tikki asked, her soft voice piercing the silence.

The hair’s stood up on the back of Marinette’s neck as Gabriel’s soft voice rolled around the room. ‘She wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.’

Tikki shivered with fury. Plagg glared at him with such a vicious hatred Marinette could feel it emanating from him. 

‘You fucking bastard,’ he said, his quiet voice worse than any yell.

Gabriel smiled. 

Marinette choked; realisation finally broke through her denial. 

‘No,’ she begged, straining against Mayura, ‘No!’ she cried as desperation clawed through her.

Gabriel raised his hands, his eyes glittering. ‘Tikki, Plagg—’

‘ NO! ’

—‘Combine and transform me.’

Marinette screamed, the air tearing from her lungs as red and green magic swirled and merged around Gabriel, turning him into something horrific and powerful.  

She ripped herself from Mayura’s grasp and tried to dash forward, but Mayura pulled her back and threw her to the floor, slamming her heel into her chest and knocking the air from her lungs, pinning her down to the ground. 

‘Don’t!’ Mayura hissed. 

Despite gasping for breath and being crippled with pain, Marinette grit her teeth and clawed at Mayura’s leg, but cried out when Mayura pushed down harder and cracked something in her chest. 

‘I said don’t,’ Mayura whispered, her voice oddly desperate and pleading. Marinette sobbed, her eyes watered with fear and pain. But then a low laugh distracted them both. They looked at Gabriel. 

Except, with a new purple suit crackling with electricity and blinding white eyes giving off a terrifying energy, this man was no longer Gabriel. Nor Hawkmoth. 

He was much worse.

He flexed his hands and grinned at the strength flowing through his veins before stepping towards his wife. 

Marinette struggled. Mayura jerked her head back to her and gave a sharp shake of her head. Marinette stilled.

‘Please,’ Mayura whispered, so quiet Marinette could barely hear it, her voice filled with pleading and pain. ‘Don’t.’ And this time Marinette understood the depth to the word.

‘Creation and Destruction,’ the-man-who-was-no-longer-Gabriel began, his voice both god-like and demonic. ‘A life given, a life taken.’ Mayura lifted her foot from Marinette’s chest. Marinette stared at her wide-eyed with fear, her breaths shallow from pain and apprehension. ‘I wish to bring back that which should not have gone.’ 

Marinette forced herself upright as Mayura stepped towards the man. A desperate ‘No, don’t!’ near burst out from her, but her words never lived. Mayura looked back over her shoulder and killed the words on her lips with a small nod and a look that said, ‘I know what I’m doing.’ 

Mayura gave a sad smile. Tears streamed down her cheeks. 

And then, the world burst into light.

~~~ 

‘MARINETTE!’ Adrien raged on the other side of the portrait, slamming his shoulders into the picture blocking the doorway. Over and over. Again and again. 

‘MARINETTE!’ He picked up a shard of glass and slashed at the picture and tried to pry it open. The glass cut into his palm. Blood trickled down his wrist. 

‘MARINETTE!’ he screamed and slammed into it again. The Gorilla pulled him away. ‘NO, NO! LET GO OF ME!’ Adrien wrenched himself out of his grasp and fell onto all fours, hissing as pain shot up his arm, before running back to the portrait and tearing at it once more, filling with desperation and nauseating fear. But it wasn’t budging.

He rounded on the Gorilla. ‘OPEN THE DOOR!’ he screamed, voice cracking with emotion. ‘OPEN IT!’ But the large man made no move to help him.

Adrien looked around and spied the hole in the ground caused by their previous battle. He ran at it, but before he could jump through the Gorilla caught him and threw him back.

Adrien screamed with frustration and tried again. But this time the man held him tight.

‘Let me go!’ Adrien pummelled the chest of the man. ‘Let me go to her!’ His voice broke. ‘Please!’ It weakened. ‘I have to save her or m-my f-father will—!’ he slammed his hands to his mouth smearing blood on his cheeks. His breathing quickened. His chest closed up. ‘No, no, no,’ he muttered, grasping his hair and shaking his head. He wanted to throw up. ‘He can’t. He can’t!’

Adrien had known his father had sunk into grief, but never had he imagined he’d fall this far.

‘Please,’ Adrien begged, his voice dropping to a terrible whisper, ‘tell me he won’t do it.’

The giant man held him gently and remained silent.

Adrien burst into tears. He fell limp in the Gorilla’s arms and succumbed to his grief. And they stayed like that a moment as Adrien’s wails rang out, trembling in the Gorilla’s arms, overcome with panic. 

The man gingerly lifted him up and carried him from the room, carefully stepping around the debris, into the lobby, and out the front door. He placed Adrien in the backseat of the car and did up his seatbelt. Adrien was too distraught to question him or fight back. 

The Gorilla pulled the car out and drove through the streets of Paris. And ever so slowly, Adrien’s sobs slowed and apathy took over. 

Time lost all meaning as Adrien stared out the window, the world passing him by with unknowing indifference; the streetlights blurred in his vision; numbness pricked at his skin; his emotions faded to a dull pounding headache. 

They paused at a red light and Adrien watched three drunken tourists laugh and sing into the night. Their happiness felt alien and foreign, wrong and twisted. Like it had no right to exist.

They kept driving.

Eventually, Adrien wet his tongue and opened his mouth to speak.

‘Where…?’ he started, his hoarse voice scraping his throat.

The Gorilla looked at him through the rearview mirror and Adrien shivered at his dark piercing eyes; he realised where he was being taken. Adrien swallowed and clenched his fist, and he braced himself.

As soon as the Gorilla brought the car to a stop, Adrien got out with his heart in his mouth. He ran up the stairs and burst through the doors and strode over to the startled receptionist who barely had time to take in his haggard appearance before he slammed his left hand onto the counter right next to a pile of forms with the word POLICE emblazoned at the top.

‘I need to speak to Sergeant Raincomprix,’ he said, his voice unexpectedly steady. ‘Tell him it’s Adrien Agreste and—’ A lump in his throat made him falter. He clenched his jaw tight. He hardened his heart. He swallowed the lump down and thought only of Marinette.

‘And tell him, my father is Hawkmoth.’

~~~

Gabriel fell to his knees, retching and coughing, sucking in air which ripped through his lungs and tore at his throat; magic pouring from his body as his transformation dropped. Limbs shaking, muscles straining, he gave one more deep-chested hack before digging his fingers into the dirt and scrambling over to Emilie, murmuring her name over and over as he fumbled at the buttons of her case until the glass slid open and he hauled himself up. ‘Emilie,’ he breathed. He pulled at her shoulders but she was limp in his arms. ‘Emilie, Emilie!’ He forced her upright again, distress building within him. 

She slid through his fingers and fell back with a sickening thump. 

Gabriel flushed cold with horror. His mind in denial. 

‘Emilie,’ he whispered once more, his hand shaking as he brushed her unmoving cheek with his fingertips. His vision blurred; chest tightened; heart clenched painfully tight. Something had gone wrong. The wish hadn’t worked.

‘Gabriel?’ a voice called from behind him, but he ignored it. It wasn’t the voice he longed to hear. 

A flash of blue. A gasping of air. A staggering of footsteps that shattered the still air.

‘Gabriel!’ The voice called again, desperate and broken. And something in the tone made him turn around.

Nathalie. Their gazes locked. She stood de-transformed and pale with a look in her eyes that made his insides turn cold. 

Then movement behind her caught his eye. The girl. Ladybug. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She had a hand clutched to her chest and was staring distraught at Nathalie. Gabriel narrowed his eyes. She was very much alive. 

‘Gabriel,’ Nathalie called again, and Gabriel turned his gaze back to her before leaping up to catch her, falling painfully to his knees as she collapsed in his arms.

She clung tight and stared up at him, her chest spasming, breaths shallow, with eyes filled with fear. 

Gabriel slowly raised his eyes to meet Marinette’s.

‘What did you do?’ he asked, his voice cold and sharp as ice.

Fresh terror filled the girl’s eyes as he started to rise. But a grip on Gabriel’s hand pulled him back down. He looked at Nathalie, and horror mounted within him as she slowly shook her head, realisation washing over him like he’d been tied to a stone and thrown into deep water, drowning him in deep murky darkness.

‘No, no, no,’ he breathed, denial stabbing him in the chest, ‘it wasn’t supposed to be you.’

A tear ran down the side of Nathalie’s cheek. She took his hand in hers and he gripped her back tight. 

‘Take care of Adrien,’ she said, her voice terrifyingly weak, ‘he deserves to be happy.’ Gabriel nodded, unwanted tears building within him. ‘I hope…’ She smiled sadly, her breathing quickened. ‘I hope I made you happy.’

Gabriel gritted his teeth as emotion slammed into him. Nathalie shook and sobbed in his arms, and he pressed his forehead to hers, holding her close and breathing her in.

‘Don’t forget me,’ she cried softly, her voice barely above a whisper. 

A sob escaped Gabriel. ‘Never,’ he said just as quietly, his voice cracking ever so slightly. 

He pulled back and wiped her tears with his thumb, gazing into those clear blue eyes shining with terror, before leaning back down and planting a soft kiss on her forehead. 

And pain shot through his heart and ripped open his chest as her hand went limp and the life fled from her body. 

She was gone. 

This woman who’d served him, who’d loved him, who’d been his ally all these years. Who’d made the ultimate sacrifice just for him, of all people. 

‘Why?’ The question fell from his lips before he could stop it as pain twisted itself through his heart and stomach.

‘WHY?’ Gabriel roared and slammed his fist into the ground. But Nathalie remained lifeless and gave him no answer.

He stared at her, limp and warm in his lap, and shock worked its way through every nerve and fibre in his body.

The world froze in time and the air grew bitingly cold and a hollow emptiness started spreading from his heart through his veins.

He lay Nathalie on the ground, nestled amongst the greenery, before gently brushing the hair from her face and staring, vision blurring, at her still and lifeless body.

Her still and lifeless body.

Her lifeless body. 

Gabriel sat up. 

A life given. A life taken. Surely that meant—

Gabriel spun around and then choked on the sudden rush of hope. Disbelief flushed the despair from his mind and light burst through his veins and threatened to rip them wide. And love slammed into him so hard that tears rose in his eyes. 

Because there she was.

Golden and glowing; standing next to the case, fingers brushing the flowers and eyes glistening with life.

‘Emilie,’ he whispered. He scrambled to his feet and rushed towards her, wanting desperately to sweep her up and hold her tight and never let her go. 

But she stopped him with a single hand to his chest.  

Gabriel’s breath caught in his throat. He could feel her soft touch through the fabric of his shirt and the gentle pressure of each finger sent sparks of life shooting through him. And he gazed into her eyes, having for so long missed that deep green ringed with gold.

But then the look she was giving him pierced his euphoria. Her lips were parted with slight hesitation and her eyes were narrowed with just a hint of wariness.

Emilie turned her eyes from him, and he followed her gaze to Nathalie.

‘What did you do?’ Emilie then asked him quietly.  

Gabriel’s smile faltered. He pulled himself upright. Regret threatened to overwhelm him, but he shoved it deep down as Emilie met his gaze once more and he looked deep into the eyes of the women he loved.

‘What I had to,’ he replied, his voice quiet with emotion.

Emilie didn’t move. Her eyes flicked between his. Then slowly she leant in and kissed him full on the lips. 

Gabriel melted into her embrace. Her scent of sunshine and life penetrated his senses. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. Never to let go. Tighter. Tighter. And even tighter still. 

Then he lifted and spun her around. Her laughter echoed off the cavern walls and glistened in the dark air, and it was the most beautiful sound in the world.

He lowered her back to her feet, still entwined in her arms, head nestled in her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her life and wonder. He ran his fingers through her hair, and when she raised her head, he traced her face, still not believing she was here with her beautiful eyes smiling up at him. Her smile widened. His heart pounded. The moment hung between them. Then she kissed him again. A kiss filled with desperation and disbelief, and a love made whole again. 

And Gabriel knew, had their roles been reversed, she’d have done the same for him.

He didn’t even realise he was crying until she placed a hand on his cheek and wiped away his tears. ‘Shhh,’ she murmured, her voice so soft and soothing. ‘I’m here now.’ Gabriel laughed with happiness. This was his reward. Everything he’d done, the time he’d spent fighting, it had finally paid off. She was here with him once more. Everything was right in the world. 

Eventually, Emilie pulled back slightly and glanced around the room. ‘Where’s Adrien?’ she asked. Panic then flashed behind her eyes but she instantly smothered it. ‘How much time has passed?’

‘He’s somewhere safe,’ Gabriel said, rubbing her hand reassuringly, ‘and it’s been just over a year.’

Tears welled in her eyes. ‘He’s now fifteen?’ she whispered. ‘Oh, my darling boy, I—’

A scuff from behind made her break off.

They both turned to see Marinette, who was kneeling suspiciously close to Nathalie. She looked up. Squeaked. And scrabbled back until she hit the railing.

‘Who is this?’ Emilie asked, her voice taking on a dangerous tone. 

‘Ladybug,’ Gabriel replied. ‘The wielder of the Ladybug miraculous.’

‘Ah.’ Emilie’s features softened. ‘She’s so young.’

Ladybug glared at the pair of them. ‘My name,’ she hissed, pulling herself to her feet, ‘is Marinette Dupain-Cheng!’

Gabriel and Emilie both stared back, unmoving. 

‘We’ll have to do something about her,’ Emilie said, turning away from the girl and ignoring her completely. ‘Where’s the wielder of the Black Cat?’

Gabriel grimaced. ‘Somewhere safe.’

Emilie’s eyebrows drew together with confusion, then realisation dawned on her face. She raised her shaking hands to her mouth. ‘No, you can’t mean…’

Gabriel reluctantly nodded.

‘My poor boy!’ she cried. ‘How? Who in their right mind would give a miraculous to a child?’

‘Adrien’s more worthy of a miraculous than either of you!’

Gabriel and his wife both looked at Marinette. She glared at them with loathing, determination clearly simmering within her. Gabriel had to give the girl that, she was a tenacious one.

Emilie’s smile slipped. Her gaze turned to daggers.

But Marinette refused to back down. Instead she held her hand out. 

‘Give me back my miraculous,’ she said, her voice low and demanding. ‘Adrien’s too.’ Her boldness contrasted the glistening tears on her cheeks.

Emilie caught Gabriel’s eye. There was a fire within that deep forest green, but he found himself turning and looking at Nathalie. 

‘Give them back!’ Marinette cried, a sob catching her last word.

But Gabriel just stared at Nathalie turning cold on the ground as Marinette’s hitched breathing grated on his mind. And then exhaustion slammed into him so hard that it near swept his legs from beneath him. Relief and grief caused him to stumble and tremble – relief from his achieved goal, and grief from what it had cost him – pain and guilt ate up his will, twisting inside him. And that was on top of the energy the miraculous had drained from him.

With shaking fingers, Gabriel removed the cufflinks from his sleeves and held them up in the palm of his hand. They transformed back into spotted earrings.

Then, before Emilie could stop him, he threw them at Marinette’s feet.

Emilie grabbed his wrist. ‘What are you doing, Gabriel?’ she asked softly; dangerously.

In his peripheral vision he saw Marinette scrabble for the miraculous, but Gabriel had only eyes for his wife’s piercing gaze. He still couldn’t believe how green her eyes were.  

Emilie tightened her grip until her nails dug into his skin. But he was stronger than her and it wasn’t hard, despite her grip, to slide the ring off his finger.

‘Letting her go,’ he finally said, and tossed the ring at the girl. 

Marinette dove for the miraculous. Betrayal flashed in his wife’s eyes, but in true Agreste fashion, she smothered it.

‘Why?’

Fatigue pressed its heavy weight on Gabriel. He stared down at Nathalie – looking so peaceful she could be sleeping – and all he felt was emptiness. He didn’t reply.

Emilie swallowed. ‘If you let her go, you’ll—’

‘I know,’ he said quietly. 

A range of emotions flared in Emilie’s eyes, but she didn’t have time to respond before Marinette cut in.

‘Give me Nooroo too,’ she said, her voice quiet yet filled with undeniable grit.

Gabriel raised his gaze to meet hers. ‘The moth miraculous is mine,’ he said, his tone weary but careful.

‘You lost any right you had over that miraculous when you forced him to do evil!’

Gabriel scowled, but before he could reply, footsteps thundered overhead making them all jump. Bright beams from flashlights entered from the hole far above and commands and yells drifted through. 

Gabriel paled. He thought he’d have more time.

He’d thoroughly underestimated Adrien. 

‘DOWN HERE!’ Marinette screamed, ‘WE’RE DOWN HE—’ 

In a flash, Emilie grabbed Marinette to quell her cries, but in an unnerving display of skill and speed, Marinette wrenched Emilie around, locked her arm behind her back, and shoved her to the ground. 

Gabriel made to rush forward.

‘Don’t!’ Marinette yelled and twisted Emilie’s arm tighter making her grimace with pain. ‘Don’t come any closer!’

‘Don’t hurt her!’

‘THEN GIVE NOOROO TO ME!’ Marinette screamed, tears pouring down her cheeks. ‘YOU HAVE NO USE FOR HIM ANYMORE!’ Marinette gritted her teeth and twisted Emilie’s arm tighter. ‘PLEASE!’ And Gabriel relaxed. He knew her threat was empty. She was weak. She was a hero. She was a child who was too good for this. 

And yet…

Gabriel took a shaky breath and pulled the brooch from his shirt and held it in the palm of his hand.

‘Gabriel, don’t!’ Emilie said before hissing with pain as Marinette pushed her down harder.

Nooroo quivered over Gabriel’s shoulder, his silent tears dripped onto the floor beneath him.

The door at the other end of the walkway slammed open.

Gabriel threw the brooch into the grass and Marinette hesitated a split before pushing Emilie forward and falling to the floor to grab the miraculous.

Gabriel caught his wife and they held each other tight as Marinette ran back to her railing and footsteps thundered down the walkway. 

Emilie looked up at Gabriel with her stunning green eyes.

‘Why?’ she whispered as the officers strode ever closer.

He held her face in his hands and gave her a deep lasting kiss. 

‘I’ve accepted it,’ he said softly as he pulled back. He’d always known, deep down, that there’d be consequences for his actions.

‘Accepted what?’ she asked. But he didn’t reply. He simply gazed into his wife’s eyes, memorising their colour, as the stream of officers surrounded them. 

‘Put your hands where we can see them!’ One of them cried. 

The colour drained from Emilie’s face. ‘No, no, no,’ she said quickly, eyes widening with panic and realisation. She clasped him tight. ‘No, I won’t allow it! We’re supposed to be a family! That’s the whole point!’ she cried, verging on hysterical. ‘We’re supposed to be together again!’

‘I love you,’ Gabriel said softly. He kissed her on her forehead. ‘And I’ve accepted it.’ He stepped back and raised his hands in surrender. 

‘But I haven’t!’ Emilie cried. ‘What about me?’ She threw off the policeman who tried to grab her. ‘Gabriel!’ she screamed, her cry desperate and piercing. ‘GABRIEL! WHAT ABOUT ME? GABRIEL!’

With her cries ringing out and tears spilling down her cheeks, it hurt Gabriel to watch as his wife was taken away. Yet he couldn’t help but smile as cold metal was clasped around his wrists. For it meant he had succeeded. Emilie was alive. Her light was back in the world.

And the world was better off because of it.

Next Chapter 

[sweetwritertanya]

Still In The Attic (Original)

Summary: You move with your boyfriend to the same house that you both managed to buy for an affordable price. But the very first day tells you exactly why it was sold so cheap.

Warnings: HORROR! Kind of, nothing too scary. There will be mentions of blood and injuries, so take that into consideration.

Word Count: 1863

The last boxes, as unbelievable as that sounded to you, surrounded by a dangerous sea of brown boxes all day in front of you, were finally out of the truck. The moving men were finishing the paperwork and about to head out, leaving you and your partner alone at last, in the new house you had just bought.

You still couldn’t quite believe it. Even after going to the bank and all that bothersome process, after signing the papers for the property, after the renovation that had to be done and packaging all of your stuff from your old apartment and moving it to the truck, it was only now starting to sink in that this was going to be your home now. This house belonged to you and your boyfriend now. All of your stuff was now here.

“It’s crazy, isn’t it?” you boyfriend says in the silent living room, filled with boxes that didn’t belong, knowing by the look of your face you were starting to become overwhelmed.

“Beyond crazy. Did we really just do all of this?” you whisper in a startling voice, looking around.

“Hey, we can do this. We wanted this, remember? A space just for us? Our own little nest to come home to?” he reminds you as his strong arms come around your plush waist and he pulls you for a comforting back hug.

“Yeah… You’re right, I’m just feeling weird right now” you confess, leaning in to him and sighing with eyes closed as you tried to focus on his warmth and familiar scent, rather than the smell of freshly painted walls and dust.

He kisses your temple and soon you are encouraged to start working on rearranging things. Mostly, you wanted to finish the day with at least every box in its proper room, where it belonged.

The house in itself wasn’t too big. It was just you and your boyfriend for now, so the two-bedroom detached house was more than enough. It had a massive backyard and a cemented driveway out-front, separated from any neighboring houses by at least two hundred feet. Even with it being a long drive to the nearest town, the low price was more than appealing and you managed to buy it and have it properly renovated within the small budget provided.

As you busied yourself upstairs while your boyfriend moved the boxes and later started organizing the ground floor, your eyes caught the hanging string at the middle of the hallway, just high enough for you to reach it in your tiptoes, attached to a panel in the roof. You had almost forgotten that the house had an attic.

Keeping that in mind, you started on your bedroom and put aside the few boxes you brought with keep-sakes that you didn’t really had a place for. You decided the attic would be a perfect place for it. Three medium boxes were now on the hallway bellow the attic to be put away.

“Hey, babe, is it okay for me to check out the attic?” you yell down the stairs, too lazy to go down them.

You are met with silent and frown. You call him by his name louder, hoping he would ear you now. But nothing. You walk down the first step and startle when a loud sound from outside catches you by surprise. It’s a muffled bang and then a scrapping dragging of metal on the cold floor. Walking to the nearest window facing the driveway, you sigh in relief when you see your boyfriend outside, cleaning the snow from the floor so he can put his car in the garage.

Focusing back on what you were doing, you decide to not bother him and just go up yourself. Pulling the string down, a set of wooden stars come down to the hallway’s floor. A shilling shudder runs down your back as the cold air hits you, smelling of dust and mold. You wonder how long has it been since people have gone up there.

“I guess the inspection man must have gone up” you murmur to yourself, answering your own thoughts out loud as you start climbing up, no box in your hands just yet as you wanted to observe the space you had to work with. “Right?”

It was bigger than you thought, the ceiling falling to the sides in a triangular shape, but the center being high enough for you to actually stand straight. There was the smallest of windows bringing in enough light for you to see it all. No sign of any kind of animal creeping, no visible leaks or holes in the ceiling. You go in, careful to walk in the middle where the roof was high enough and watching your step.

There were still one or two boxes from previous tenants laying around, next to the window, one with a bunch of what seemed like photo-albums and the other with miscellaneous stuff, including a big night-stand lamp standing up right with webs all over. Your eyes are drowned to the albums and you take one out and start flipping through it.

It was all normal family pictures at first, a mother and father with three little children and a dog living in that house, the lay-out so much different than it was back then. They were all photos in black and white and you couldn’t quite figure out when they must have been taken, you just knew they were old. But then it gets weird.

Instead of photos, the last few albums had newspaper articles. Just a few headlines from the local newspaper, most of them covering a story about people disappearing and bodies found in the woods. It makes your stomach turn and a weird feeling closes up your throat as you feel nauseous.

You slam the album shut and throw it back to the box, getting up and starting to clean your clothes as if you felt dirty from touching them. As you do so, your eyes wonder to the window and you notice something. The glass had condensation all over, even though you felt very cold. A droplet of water falls from the inside side of the glass down to the windowsill as if calling your attention to something.

Right on the lower right corner of the window, invisible to the naked eye but enhanced by the condensation, was the mark of a handprint. Four fingers and half of the hands palm. On a window of the attic of your house.

Chills make your skin crawl but this time it has nothing to do with the temperature. You swallow and slowly take a step back, both trying to rationalize it – maybe it was the inspector, maybe the window was changed recently even though it looks old – and get away from it as quick as possible, never taking your eyes off the foggy window.

Downstairs, you heart your boyfriend’s voice and it sounds like he is calling for you. You want to call for him, your mouth even opens to do so but just as sound was about to come out, a breeze crosses your neck like a whisper and it steals any words from you.

You try not to panic, you truly do, but then your partner calls for you again, closer this time, and all he gets in return is the loud sound of a door slamming. And you can hear him struggling with the door to get it open.

Body trembling, you try to walk back again and you look at the ground only for a split of a second, to try and find the stairs down. All of you freezes, your muscles, your breath, your heart, even your mind, when you realize there were no stairs. At all. It was just the attic floor all over.

“N-n-no… N-no! No! Where are the stairs? Where are the stairs!?” Any intent of staying calm vanishes at the impossible events, you falling to your knees and banging on the floor where the stairs should have been. “Help! HELP! SOMEONE!”

You couldn’t even hear your boyfriend any longer and you couldn’t be sure if it was because he stopped banging on the door or because your own battering was so loud. Your hands were hurting from how strongly you were using them to hit the unbreakable floor, eyes swollen up with sudden dreadful tears.

The wind outside starts picking up. You look towards the window and squeal in terror as the glass was not covered with handprints, small and large hands pressed against the clear crystal. This large, overpowering and intimidating feeling has you twitching on the ground, every inch of your body screaming at you to leave, to run.

“I have to get out of here. I have to get out!” you whimper between sobs, using the back of your hand to clean your tear-stained face.

But there was only one way out.

Slowly, you raise yourself up and crawl to the frightful window, your only opening to the world outside. As you grow near, the wind starts sounding less like wind and more like screams, warnings, voices from the past.

Suddenly, a flicker of light glows up the corner of the room and you look with terror at the lamp. It turned on and was glowing a sickly yellowish light. The lamp that has been up there for decades, stuck on a box. Without being plugged in.

Frantic, you reach the window and bang on it with your bare hands. It didn’t open, it was a closed dormer window with no latch.

The most terrifying sound suddenly comes from the farthest wall at the back. A dark, hostile deep laugh that slashes to your bones and rips your voice from your blaring throat. And the impossible light from the unplugged lamp goes out with a broken glass sound.

The last thing you remember is forcing your body to move, fighting the invisible force that tried to keep you still and slamming your body against the window.

After that, only darkness filled with strange unrecallable nightmares, before waking up at the hospital with your body all bandaged up, multiples cuts across your skin painfully keeping you from moving.

Of course, no one believed your story. Even as you told it in a panic to the doctors, you yourself could hear how crazy it sounded. Your boyfriend could only verify that he, indeed, got stuck in the bathroom when the wind closed the door on him and it wouldn’t budge for a while after. When he was finally out, searching for you, he found you outside in the snow, surrounded by the broken glass from the attic’s window, staining the white with your dark red blood.

The doctors concluded that you had some sort of episode, a mental breakdown due to the stress of moving, making you see and feel things that weren’t there. You were subjected to several tests during your stay in the hospital, trying to diagnose you with the correct mental illness.

But you knew. You knew it wasn’t just in your mind. It was in the attic. It was still in the attic.

[im-gay-and-mentally-unstable]

~Vampire! Nicphie Au~

Sophie was bored. Not in the way she felt most of the time, the curse of being centuries old, she was horrendously, unexplainably, unorthodoxly bored. She wanted to scream, to destroy, to set fire to her mansion and never look back, to do something that wasn't so plain and mundane. Instead, she sat next to the window in her bedroom, nails tapping on the surface. As she watched the pouring rain, quickly turning into a storm, she wished for a miracle.

Where were the good old days? She yearned for them. The rush, the pretence, the intrigue, the bloodshed. Life now was, to the liking of the ordinary folk, more peaceful. And she detested it. Blood and death had their magnetism. She didn't expect their simple little brains to comprehend it, of course.

But there were days where she was worshipped as a goddess. People brought her their treasures just for the price of a small smile, she seduced monarchs, then drained them of blood and left with their finest jewellery. And now she was forgotten, a mere monster in the face of mortals.

It was just her and the stupid, dilapidating mansion she spent all her time stuck in. She had to lower herself to drinking the utterly disgusting animal blood, since the hunt for prey became too dangerous. To her misfortune, people didn't just come to her gates and wait to get slaughtered.

Well, they usually didn't. But now, the universe has listened to her pleas and sent her a fun thing to play with. Before her door stood a woman, tall and muscular, curiously inspecting the Victorian architecture of the house.

Sophie's expression brightened, she was delighted by the turn of events. She almost jumped to her feet in anticipation of a feast, but then stopped herself and regained her dignity and composure. “Just nice and easy darling, you can't scare her away,” she told herself as she reapplied her lipstick and fixed her hair and graciously came down the stairs. She was sure she was a sight to behold, even though she's never seen herself in mirrors.

As she opened the front door, the woman didn't seem to be bothered even a slightest bit.

“Well hello darling, may I ask what are you doing here?” asked Sophie, trying to make her voice as pleasant as possible.

“Trying not to get hit by a lightening,” said the woman sarcastically.

“A truly spectacular idea. I was thinking about why are you on my porch though.”

“Oh. Of course. I can leave if you want me to, I just assumed this house was abandoned. I wanted to hide from the storm.”

“Why don't you come inside? It's too cold for you here.”

She hesitated, but then gratefully accepted the invite, she was already soaking and shivering.

“Don't worry, darling, I don't bite,” said Sophie, smirking at her own joke.

Sophie finally managed to get a good look on her as she took off her coat and hat. She forgot just how mesmerizing humans were. How soft her skin looked to touch, how lively and gleaming her eyes were, how she smelled like black coffee and old books...

No. Not all humans were quite as charming, that was for sure. She hoped her blood would taste at least half as good as she smelled like.

She wanted to try already, but she contained herself. All the good things need time, right?

“So, what's your name, darling?”

“Nicola.”

“Pleasure to meet you. I'm Sophie. Would you like some tea?”

“Isn't it too late for tea?”

“That's where you are mistaken, it's never too late for tea.”

“Really, I don't want to cause you any trouble.”

“Oh no, don't worry, it's a pleasure to have a visitor. I'm quite lonely here.”

Nicola already wasn't paying attention to her, she was curiously inspecting Sopie's long time collection of books and paintings, most of them centuries old. She definitely was going to stay for a while.

Sophie guided her to the dining hall, also used as a ballroom before, in its long-gone glorious times, and let her seat herself as she walked into the kitchen. The shrivelled, old silhouette of her servant stood there, his face blank and eyes empty. He was the only one now, before, she had plenty of them, ready to make her tiniest frivolous wishes come true, but they were gone now, died of having too much of their blood removed or old age.

“Make us some tea, will you?”

The man nodded.

“Good.” Sophie already begun walking away. Just looking at him disgusted her, she despised old people, she always did, maybe because she was eternally young and beautiful and was scared of being like them one day. But there was no way she would and it kept her satisfied.

When she came back, Nicola was inspecting the gramophone Sophie kept at one of her shelves.

“It's a bit dusty but it still should work,” she nonchalantly commented. The other woman turned, surprised by the lack of noise Sophie made.

“I would be surprised. It would need some serious fixing, it was maintained terribly and it shows.”

“Nonsense, it works just fine,” said Sophie and tried to turn it on, but then failed.

“See?”

And then Sophie slapped it and surprisingly, it started playing. Nicola almost choked at the sight. “You're not supposed to do that.”

“But it worked, so I see no problem.”

“You could have damaged it beyond repair, do you have any idea how much this stuff costs-”

Sophie chuckled. “I bought it. “

“Well, but you still shouldn't be so careless, it's a true rarity-”

“It sure is,” interrupted Sophie, not seeing anything important about it. But then she had an idea. She smiled and asked: “Would you spare me a dance?”

“I don't dance.”

“Truly a pity. Come on, just one quick round,” Sophie gave her the most charming and adorable smile she could manage. And Nicola reluctantly agreed.

Dancing was the room's purpose. It was made for this, even after years of waiting to fulfil its cause. The notes filled the perfectly acoustical room. The pure sound was only interrupted by their footsteps and quit banter.

Sophie couldn't wait for the next part of the evening, her personal favourite. The hunt. All of her body was aching to finally enjoy some tasty food, but she stayed patient. Her visitor was quite a pleasant company and she hasn't danced in years and she preferred giving her victims false sense of safety.

As the song was getting to its climax, they were getting nearer each other, their bodies intertwined. Sophie could feel her heath, the warmth and the softness of her skin, her strong, gentle arms around her waist, her breath so close to her face.

And Sophie realised how striking she was. What a waste is it going to be when she is going to be drained to a bloodless shell, left to die, long before fulfilling all her dreams and goals. Maybe if she lived longer, she could have been captured into a painting or a sculpture, just like the ones that Sophie loved so much to collect. Maybe she would make a good servant... Sophie quickly dismissed the thought.

She enjoyed her being so close and Nicola seemed to feel the same way. Suddenly, she was painfully aware of every place their bodies touched. What was the last time she felt like this? Was it even this century?

As the last notes were played, their lips collided, both leaning in at the same time with the same intention. As their lips touched, Nicola just closed her eyes and enjoyed the moment for a while. And everything seemed fine for a while, just like things were meant to be this way.

But then she remembered the odd, otherworldly cold and the sharpness of her teeth and against her brain's wishes, she pulled away.

“You're a vampire,” she remarked.

“Of course I am, darling. You aren't surprised? That's unfortunate, I didn't want to spoil the fun so soon. So, I suppose you aren't in for another dance? Ah, a shame, really. Now, would you mind if we skipped the formalities and went straight to the part where I make you my dinner? No? Ah, you don't want to die, do you?” Sophie scoffed. “Well, of course, you can try to run away. I'll give you a headstart, how kind of me, don't you think? Go on darling, I don't have all day. One...”

She let go of her and Nicola trailed off, disappearing behind the numerous corridors. Sophie counted to ten loudly, enjoy the way each word rolled from her tongue. She wasn't in a hurry. If she ran after her, it would be no fun, no mortal could ever equal to a vampire. And of course, running in high heels would be too bothersome.

So instead, she strolled slowly, enjoying her inevitable victory. Oh, how she missed this. The joy running through her veins, keeping her wide awake...

She walked behind the first corridor, not expecting Nicola to be there. The thrown knife caught her by surprise. It missed only by millimetres. Nicola lurked in the shadows, waiting for her. Her eyes lacked any trace of warmth or mercy.

“What? You thought I would go down without a fight?”

Another knife flew at Sophie. The shot was deadly and precise. She certainly knew what she was doing.

“You're going to have to try little harder than that.”

Another knife Sophie barely had time to dodge. Her irritation grew with every second. She didn't play games she wasn't sure she could win. And this was one of them.

“I've come prepared for you. I mean, I came here specifically for you. Do you honestly think I just came to your door by chance? I don't want to spoil the surprise for you, but people actually notice if you don't wear anything other than Victorian gowns and avoid going outside at day.”

A vampire hunter then. Words can't describe the way Sophie despised their kind.

“What? You are not so brave now the tables have turned? Or are you just not used to people at your level?”

Sophie scoffed and recomposed herself after barely dodging another knife, puzzled by where did she hide them all. “The fact that you consider yourself my equal amuses me. Well, about the time I actually put in a bit of effort, don't you think?”

She ran at Nicola. With one slash, she was going to rip her throat. It would have worked on almost everyone. But Nicola dodged and caught her hand and spined. Sophie unwillingly ended up pushed against the wall. Instantly, her arm shot up to Nicola's neck. The only thing stopping her from ending it was another knife, pushed against her chest, one stab away from her heart.

“This is quite unfortunate. What now? Do we kill each other?” stated Sophie calmly, fully aware of the checkmate situation they were in.

“That's pretty pointless, don't you think?”

“I'm not too keen on dying either.”

“Great, so let me go,” said Nicola.

“And what will stop you from killing me?”

“And if I wanted to, I'd have a full right to do so. You've murdered innocent people.”

“And what makes you think the vampires you've murdered weren't innocent?”

“You drink people's blood.”

“You eat animals. There's no difference.”

“I'm vegetarian.”

“That's your personal choice. I can't survive without blood.”

“Can't you survive on animal blood?”

“Listen, this is quite a tough moral debate to have and I'd rather not have it while being pressed to a wall with a knife this close.”

“I can't let you go.”

“Oh, am I that irresistible?”

“That's not what I m-”

Sophie leaned in closer, her lips almost touching Nicola's ear. “Really?”

“Yes. I don't want you shredding me to pieces the second you let go of me.”

“You don't trust me? You're very right not to do so, but my feelings are still hurt.”

Nicola sighed. “So, are we going to stay like this forever?”

“Just until you give up.”

“Just say forever then.”

“Why don't we spice things up a little then?”

“What-” The rest of the sentence was cut off after Sophie kissed her.

After a long time of trying to figure out who takes the lead, they had to breathe, well, Nicola had to breathe. “Maybe I'm staying for a cup of tea. Or two,” whispered Nicola between gasps for breath.

Sophie smirked and nodded, pulling her closer yet again. She was going to keep this one for a while.

[amarabliss]

Oaths and Hearts - 6 (Ignis Scientia/reader)

So this is a crossover between FFXV and Dragon Age Inquisition.

You fell through a rift into the fade fighting the demons you swore to protect your world from. When you popped out you were no longer in the lands of Ferelden instead trapped in Insomnia. The gracious king allowed you to say recognizing power when he saw it. One thing led to another and now you were part of the procession of the prince to his wedding years later. Before the final battle, after years of fighting, losses, and love…your friend…your king…Noctis has asked you to change it all…

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

“It’s not that simple. It doesn’t work like that!”

“It is that simple, you just go up!” You looked at Nyx again before looking back at a glaive training, “You just will the magic up.”

“My magic does not do that.” You told him rolling your eyes, “I go anywhere on the field I need to…”

“Except for up, which can be pivotal in a strategic sense.” Nyx stood up holding his hand down to you.

“I have never had a problem before.” You took his hand as he hoisted you up, “I think you just like to show off.”

“Says the chick who supposedly took down a dragon?” He smirked as he pulled out his dagger from his back belt.

“Three dragons.” You held up your fingers before crossing your arms, “Not at the same time…but still three dragons.”

“Oh! Excuse me, I’ll remember for sure next time.” Nyx raised his hands up faking everything before he took a strong stance, “Now it’s really easy…”

“It’s not going to work.” You stood next to him, “I don’t warp…I-I…phase…”

“Well phase up!” He threw his dagger and landed on the upper floor of the training room before warping back down in front of you.

“You’re an idiot.” You smiled up at him.

“Yeah I know…” He moved behind you smirking, “Used to think that was part of my name, but then I figured out that ‘Nyx you idiot’… was not full my name.”

You laughed as he started pointing out targets in the distance.

“That was a good day.” You looked toward the voice as you stood in a void. Nyx was standing there, arms crossed in his glaive uniform smirking.

“Nyx…” He looked at you and you instantly teared up, “What is this place?”

“Neat isn’t it? Little bland for my taste, but certainly more spacious then my dirty old apartment, right?” He looked around a bit, “I’m not a king…so I can’t hang out with the rest of the crew, but I still get a little piece of the good Luci Ring space. I think King Regis might have a hand in that but…I don’t know how all this shit works…”

“Nyx…” You reached out slowly up to his face.

“I’m about as real as you’re going to get, your Ladyship.” He leaned into your touch smiling at you as tears fell down your cheeks, “Hey…hey don’t cry. No tears. Not for me.”

“You’re such an idiot…” You spoke through clenched teeth as he pulled you close rubbing your back, “What were you thinking… putting the ring on…”

“Ha, you are one to talk. You are millimeters from doing the same thing.” He chuckled pulling away to look at your face. His smile was sad, “God…I’m sorry the only way we get to say goodbye is like this, but…at least I can help you one last time.”

“I don’t understand…” You shook your head as his hands landed on his shoulders.

“What are you doing here?” Nyx stared into your eyes.

“Wh…I want to help Noctis.” You shook your head, “I need the power of the Kings…”

“Really? You need the power of the Kings to help a King?” Nyx smirked at you, “You wanna try that again?”

“Nyx, I don’t have time for this.” You glared at him, “I have people…”

“Make time.” His face became serious, “Seriously, Y/N, I need to hear your answer because once you step out of my corner of the ring, I can’t help you anymore.”

You stared at him as he let you go continuing, “Now, I have no doubt that if you stepped over into the realm of the Kings that they would grant you that power. You are far worthy then me and they gavee the power. Then you would succeed at a cost…a cost I don’t think you realize you would making.”

“I will do what I have to.” You took a step away.

“To do what? To protect Noctis?” He pointed away from himself raising his voice, “He doesn’t need you! Even King Regis himself knew that Noctis could take care of himself and sent him away from the city.”

“Don’t…” You looked away from him feeling tension rising inside of you.

“Nobody needs you to make this sacrifice!” Nyx shouted, “Especially not that smug faced retainer…”

“Don’t!” Your eyes snapped back to him, “Don’t do that…you know how much he respected you before you left on that mission…”

“Yeah I do…” He sighed slumping his shoulders, “But he doesn’t need you either…not the way you think…”

“I am doing this for him.” You stepped toward him feeling anger rise up inside you, “You don’t know what price he paid before. I will not let him suffer again…I am…I am doing this f-for him.”

“No you’re not.” Nyx shook his head he stepped forward, “And I think you know that…it’s never been about saving Ignis or Noct…”

You stared up into his eyes as he stepped close enough to rest his forehead against yours. You whimpered when his hand pressed against your stomach, “…Nyx…”

He stared into your eyes as his filled with pain, “You never told him…you bore that pain for years by yourself. He was blind…literally he couldn’t see the glow you have now, fade away from one day to the next. You just said you missed the sun…it made you sad, but what you meant was you missed your son…the life that you carry right now.”

“You can’t know that…you can’t…It’s too soon.” Tears blurred your vision.

“Funny thing about time here…it kinda happens all at once…” He smirked a little bit, “I flattered that you considered my name…didn’t think you’d want an idiot in the family.”

You let out a choked laugh as his hands came up brushing your tears away. “There has to be at least one in each family…”

“So, tell me…do you really need a King’s power?” Nyx brushed hair from your face, “Or can the love of a mother…like all mothers…scare away the monster?”

“…how…” You shut your eyes feeling so tired suddenly.

“What did Ignis tell Ellie?” He smiled as you opened your eyes again.

“But I’m afraid…” Ellie looked at you from her bed.

“Afraid? What do you have to be afraid of?” Ignis stepped into the room tilting his head a little.

“I don’t want to be alone at night…it’s too dark…” Ellie looked over at him as he approached, “the deamons…”

“The deamons will never be able to touch you.” Ignis knelt down smiling at her, “Do you know why?”

“No…” She shook her head staring at him.

“Because my darling, you are made of starlight.” Ignis beamed at her, “And nothing can smother starlight, even in death they become brighter until they burst forth spreading more light until it recollects again into another star. You will forever shine.”

“Really?” You felt the corners of your mouth curl up as you saw relief spread throughout your daughter’s face.

“Would I ever lie to you, my love?” Ignis stood up capturing her face with kisses getting her to giggle chasing any  leftover fears away. He tucked her in tightly before exited after you.

“Starlight…that’s a new one.” You whispered to him as you walked down the hall.

“It’s the only way to describe what I see…” You stopped in front of him as he adjusted the tinted glasses on his face, “Which is a light around her…not just her, you too. I always have. It’s similar to starlight, bright and pure.”

“You never said before…” You stepped up to him nudging his nose with yours, “Why do you think that is?”

“I have speculated…” He whispered against your lips, “It has something to do with your origin. You’re not from here…you’re a stronger force then the darkness that resides here…”

You laughed against his lips before he kissed you.

“Starlight…” You stared at him taking in a deep breath, “But...”

“You’re almost there…I can see you working the problem…” Nyx told  you quickly before looking behind you as bright light shined onto his face, “But you gotta make a choice…here and now…are you crossing the line or being the big bad Inquisitor I know you are?”

The moment was over. Nyx was gone, the ring a breath away from contact with your finger. You could feel the world around moving so slowly as you stared at it. Then everything went backwards, then forward again. You looked at Ardyn, smug grin plastered on his face. He wanted you to put it on.

You watched his face as you pulled the ring back away from your finger. Shock to anger. “Thanks Nyx…”

“Change of heart?” He glared at you coming to rest on some debris a short distance away from the broken bridge you stood on.

“Just needed a gentle reminder of why I’m here.” You took the ring securing it in your pocket. You pulled the hilt of the Enchater’s Blade to your side.

“So many questions…how will that broken trinket help you?” Ardyn smirked looking at you as you stood unmoving, “I was surprised when you came in slapping the dagger away from my hand saving the Oracle, even more surprised a small woman like you had the ability to block an attack of mine. You have so much tenacity in your eyes, it’s rather beautiful…it’s a shame I’ll have to take the light from them.”

You kept quiet as he jettisoned across the water over to you clamping a hand on your throat. You clenched your hand around the hilt pushing it against his side. His hold on your neck caused you to both to stumble backward as you summoned the blade.

His grip loosened enough to for you to speak when the blade pierced through him, “You keep asking the wrong questions…”

You ripped the blade from him spinning, quickly slashing again across his chest. He fell to his knees as you spoke, “You keep asking who I am? What I am doing? You never once asked what I am?”

“A witch…” He spat at you, black ooze dripping down his face, “it is the only reasonable explanation. One of the Oracles spirits…”

“If only…” You whispered kneeling down next to him, “no…I’m a mother and I will not let you destroy this world…their world.”

You raised your hand up into the air summoning a force you had not used in such a long time. Pain seared up your arm as the familiar green hue filled the sky. You watched as he looked up with fear at the swirling vortex that had joined the Hyperion’s storm, “What are you doing?”

“Whatever it takes…” You felt a tear roll down your cheek as he pushed you away grunting to his feet. You latched on to his coat as he warped away you in tow with him. You could practically hear Nyx calling you a cheater.

Ardyn looked back at you as you both slammed on a roof, “Damn you!”

“I will not let you stay here.” You stood summoning the Enchanter’s Blade again, “I gave my word…”

“To who? That pathetic excuse of a prince?” He pointed looking over at Noctis still twiddling away at the flying beast who claimed to be a god before he launched a flurry of attacks at you, “He cares not for you!”

“Maybe he doesn’t!” You shouted back eyes burning as you fell down to a knees blocking the attack as best you could, “But it changes nothing.”

“Stop this foolishness…What mother would leave her children to fight a losing fight!?” Ardyn scowled at you his true nature beginning to show through. As hard as he tried to push it away the darkness inside of him surfaced, “Leave this ridiculousness and go back to your family.”

“Then let us be done with this!” You phased toward him pushing your marked hand against his face.

He let out a roar as you summoned forth the rift magic in your hand. Out of the corner of your eye you saw his blade hand rise and there was nothing you could do as he drove it through your leg. You let out a loud cry.

“You can’t kill me.” He growled as bits of him began to peel away drifting upward toward the rift.

“No…but I can put you so far into the fade where the deepest nightmares will even frighten you.” You spit back.

“Noct!” Gladio ran forward with Prompto on his heels. They ran over to their friend who had landed exhausted next to Luna, “Are you okay?”

“As good…as…” Noct spoke through large breaths.

“Be still Noctis.” Luna told him rubbing his shoulders, “You did what you must…but it took a great deal of energy.”

“Something he’s not used of having.” Prompto poked fun at him.

“Shut up…” Noct looked up at the sky, the wind had died down but the sky still swirled a bright green vortex, “Where’s Ignis?”

“Luna!” All them looked over seeing Ravus running forward. Luna stood up as he ran to her embracing her tightly, “Thank the Six…oh…you live…”

Following behind him was a disheveled Ignis. His face was toward the sky eyes wide with fear. Gladio stepped over to him quickly, “Iggy…what’s wrong?”

“Where is she?” He whispered quickly.

“What?” Gladio followed his gaze, “I’m not getting it, you gotta give me more.”

“Y/N…where is she?” Ignis met his friends gaze, “Sh-she wasn’t answering the radio…she…and then…I saw this…”

It was beginning to connect now, “Ignis we don’t know…”

“This is her…she…gods…” He looked panicked and it was freaking his friend out.

“Ignis, stop…stop!” Gladio grabbed onto his arms.

“She went after Ardyn.” Everyone’s eyes shifted to Luna as she stepped away from her brother, “She came here and…she saved my life, so I could protect Noctis. She’s still fighting him…she took the ring…

“We have to do something…” Ignis stepped forward again, “Ardyn…whatever he is…”

“I see her.” Prompto’s voice rippled to his ears. The blonde was looking through his camera, “Oh my god…what is she doing to him?”

“What…what do you see?” Ignis pleaded with him.

“I don’t…I don’t know. It’s like…she’s…dissolving him. They’re right at the center of that thing…” He moved the camera away still staring up.

They all watched holding their breath as a burst of light filled the sky. A large gust blew down on them sending debris their way. Gladio moved in front of Noctis summoning his shield just in time.

Ignis shielded his head bracing himself. When it died down, he looked up seeing the sky clear free of the rift. His eyes moved around frantically trying to find you.

“There!” Prompto’s sharp eyes found you and he pointed, “She’s falling!”

“Y/N!” Ignis ran to the edge of the alter eyes landing on your limp body falling through the air.

[malevolent-spirit]

ok this has been in my drafts for well over a year and im sick of seeing it so im just gonna post it. first lore post yeehaw

Deep in the Viridian Labyrinth, a clan tells its hatchlings stories of old gods, older than the first dragons. Direct descendants of The Eleven, with powers unparalleled by modern dragonkind.

This story is about a young god of wealth, known for his charm. With his quick wit and charismatic personality, he talked his way into getting what he wanted as often as he did to get out of trouble. He would woo god and goddess alike, having many lovers at any given moment. Not a single one truly captured his heart, though, and he was left with an emptiness that he couldn't fill. He thought that perhaps what he sought was a companion with whom he could share everything with. Yet, despite his best efforts, he never met anyone who rose to his standards. He decided to visit an old witch to ask for help. He tried to coax a solution to his loneliness out of her for free, giving many compliments and promises he didn't intend to keep. She, like so many others, fell to his charms and agreed, but warned that the price was great. The god waved her warning off, and she began her work on the spell needed. The witch needed rare ingredients, sending him off to find them all while she made the necessary preparations. After many long moons of hunting the items down, he returned, eager to find purpose in his life. The witch took the ingredients from the god and dropped them in a cauldron, murmuring ancient words from a worn tome. The room darkened, the air grew stagnant and thick. Shadows danced in the edges of his vision. The space in the cottage warped as colors not seen on that plane in a millennia glittered in and out of existence. Once she finished her chant, she paused to stir the pot. She dipped a claw in the brew, then traced symbols on his face, arms, and wings. The witch’s irises darkened as she said the final word, activating the spell. The runes glowed white, burning into his skin. He screamed in agony, clawing frantically at the runes, trying to stop the pain. He tore long slashes along his face in his desperation. The spell began its work. His skull was the first thing that changed. It hardened into wood, saving only his eyes from the grotesque transformation. Two thorn-covered horns sprouted from his scalp, reaching all the way down to his tail. His screams turned to harsh coughing as smoke pooled in his lungs. Unable to breathe, he writhed on the ground, clawing at the air. The witch peered down at him. In a gravelly voice, she spoke over him, "I warned you the cost was great. What this spell revealed to me was that your heart is incapable of loving another. My magic has given you what you deserve; any love or passion you once were able to feel is now gone. You will be a specter, wandering aimlessly and lost in the pain your greed caused. "But, I made a deal with you, and I will keep it. You will meet your perfect companion,“ She hissed, “but in your current state, they won’t adore you. At the sight of your monstrous form, they will run in fear. Your only chance to heal your heart will be ruined. This is your curse, your fate." Blood trickled into his eyes, blinding him, but not before he saw her blow thick smoke around him. He felt the ground beneath his claws shift as his vision failed. He fell for what felt like an hour, consumed by searing pain and fear, before crashing into water. Intense pain overwhelmed his senses. He thrashed uselessly as he tried in vain to swim towards the surface. He opened his eyes to better see which direction was up, but found that he couldn't see. He sank, his lungs burning, with no way of knowing how to get out. He couldn't breathe. Couldn’t think. He made one more kick before succumbing to darkness. When the god next awoke, he was still underwater, his lungs still burning, his scales still bleeding where it hadn't transformed into wood. He tried to scream, to cry, to swim. His nerves begin to numb after what felt like an eternity, his grip on reality slowly fading. Despite his lack of oxygen, the spell wouldn't let him die. Each time he passed out, he would wake once more in greater pain. Many moons passed, and the magic slowly started to change his body. He grew gills and small fins, and his eyes became adjusted to the darkness of the water. The slashes had turned into scars. His burns were soothed by the cold water, the runes solidifying into what appeared to be gold that melded with his scales. He adjusted, accepting his state. He floated for what seemed like an eternity, pondering his future and his curse, while becoming numb to the pain. One day, he was pulled out of his state by a feeling, a need. With his new mutations, he swam in the direction of the distant surface. He broke out of the water, coughing and spluttering at the sudden change to air. The sun blinded him, making him squint blearily around for any sign of land. He spotted a jungle in the distance, and, ducking his head underwater, swam quickly towards it. By the time he reached the shore, the sun had reached a little past midday, now bearing down harshly. The god stumbled to the edge of the jungle, seeking relief from the light. He laid down beneath a large tree, exhausted and struggling to breathe. The lack of air his gills were receiving finally caused darkness to crawl at the edge of his vision. Several days passed before he woke under the full moon. The curse had made his fins and gills vanish while he was unconscious. There was a pleasant coolness in the air, now rid of the glare of the sun.

The god felt it again, that need, and was drawn further into the forest. He came to a small pond, the surface smooth as glass. He was about to drink from it when he noticed his disfigured reflection. He drew back in horror, claws touching his mask-like face and tracing the gold. He wept, overcome with the loss of his beautiful body, now gazing at his scales, his elongated claws, his maw in disgust. Too soon, he acknowledged his monstrous visage and his fate: someone cursed with the torture of loneliness with no respite. Something in him snapped. His horror dulled to apathy, his fear turned to glee at his immortality. He wanted to test his power out. A rustle behind him made him whip his head around. There was a pack of white wolves, drawn by his scent of salt and old blood. He grinned viciously. He leaped at the nearest one, ripping his teeth into its neck. The rest sprinted away from the god, surprised and terrified at the sudden show of violence. He dropped the wolf from his jaws, looking down in satisfaction. He watched as dark blood dripped from his mouth and claws before returning to the pond to wash it off. Looking at his reflection once more, he noted instead how his old clothes had become torn and ragged, the color washed out. With a sneer, he knew that he was now every bit a monster that the witch had intended him to be- and he loved it. His old love for life and abundance withered, replaced with a desire to kill. His steps were lighter, quieter, making hunting easy. It wasn't long until he discovered clans of longneck and centaurs. Stories were told of a monster in the woods, stalking individuals through many nights before eventually striking. They spoke of the torture the misty specter put its victims through, of its laugh and how it echoed and enveloped anyone who heard it. Nights of the new moon were in particular dangerous, the lack of natural light made for perfect hunting conditions. The tales eventually reached nearby dragon clans, and after some went missing without a trace in the forests, they turned to horror stories told to hatchlings. The god became a legend, a feeling of unease on dark nights. Centuries later, he came across a mysterious dragon, alone in the woods. Curiously, she wasn't weary or anxious as all others were; she appeared to be at peace. She was sitting underneath an old willow tree, her head tilted up to the moon. She had white cloths wrapped around her, a pair of old root-like horns with birds resting on them, and ornate jewelry decorating her body. He knew immediately that this was the companion he was fated to meet, and to inevitably scare away. He no longer felt sadness or loss, however, and treated her as any other creature to cross his path. The mist around him swirled, thickening with malicious delight, crawling towards the hooded dragon. She turned to look at him as he laughed darkly. She didn't cower or scream at the spirit in front of her. In fact, the only sign that she was staring at him was a prickling sensation on the back of his neck that one gets when being watched. He sneered as he realized she was not afraid of him. Well, not yet. Grinning at the thought of her fear, he became determined to draw out her terror and get a reaction before killing her. He didn't expect her to speak. "Why is such a sad creature like you wandering the woods so late at night?" She whispered in a voice young and unimaginably old at the same time, and tilted her head. He was taken aback at the pity, but didn't show it. Instead, his grin widened to reveal sharp, bloody teeth, and replied, "I am afraid I don't see how I am the sad one, when I am not the one trying to talk to the monster in front of me as if it would spare me." He tapped his claw on his chin in mock thoughtfulness before rasping out, "Unless you don't see me as a threat? Oh, that would be very naive of you, my dear. Do you know how many beings have crossed my path, only for them to die in horrific, delightful agony?" He chuckled before answering, not waiting for an answer, "All of them. So, tell me, why are you so calm?" He had come close enough to make out the faint lines of her face, noting her neutral expression with distaste. She was silent, considering the specter in front of her. She was old enough to be able to read the gold runes from under his rags and fur, and knew that he was cursed long ago. She could guess at his torment, at his loneliness and his current mental state. The goddess came to a decision and, before he could act, tackled him to the ground. Thick roots shot out of the earth and tied him down. He snarled, struggling under the grip of the cloaked dragon. "I do not think you know who I am, lost one. Have you heard of Spring? Summer? Of the goddesses of life?" The roots tightened. "Do you have any idea who you were planning on trying to torture for your amusement?" Her voice changed from a whisper to deep and powerful, the trees shaking with her words. He drew back from her piercing gaze, and grew fearful of the goddess in front of him. He was angry at his fear, at his weakness, and scowled, but grew still. She recognized his submission, releasing him. The roots retreated, freeing his body. He drew up cautiously, bowing his head slightly in defeat. "Why not try to kill me if you know what I am? I'm sure you've heard the stories of what I've done, who I am." He growled. She tilted her head again, "I know of your curse." He peered at her before she continued. "I can read the runes on your skin. They tell me of your selfishness, and what it cost you. I assume you were drawn to me tonight because I am the companion in the spell, yes?" She studied his expression, and seeing his eyebrows knit together she continued, "You are fated to yearn for my companionship, but while you assume I will run from you, I will merely distance myself. You will follow me wherever I go, but never have the fulfillment that a close bond would give. Thus, you will continue to be alone in your heart, no matter how hard you try or what you do. The curse will be followed in this way. However, because you won't be able to will yourself away from my side, you will never be left to your own devices. I will watch you and make sure you don't harm anyone else." He knew as she said these words that she was right. He would never be able to leave her side. In that moment, he turned bitterly cold. The ground at his feet grew cold as ice, frost spreading out around his claws. Antheia noticed, and was amused that there was now a new god of winter, but even more so at the fact that he was chained to her, a goddess of spring and summer.

[leal-5]

Tomb of Time Destiny Chapter 19

Erza POV

It seem to happen in slow motion. One minute we were winning, and then suddenly Mard Geer appeared from the shadows, his face grinning darkly as he whispered in my ear. ‘You knew what the cost of betrayal would be, Erza Scarlet.’ I immediately looked up to Lucy and Levy, but they were still safely taking out phantom soldiers. I whirled back around to face him, but he was gone. It wasn’t until then that I saw it.

“Look out!” I screamed just a second too late.

My heart stops as I watch Juvia spin around just as an enormous thorned vine came at her. I helplessly watch her jump away, but not fast enough. Something hot sparked in me I witness a thorn slice her from her hipbone to her stomach. Juvia gasped and leaned forward a bit, as if more surprised than in pain. Levy screamed and dashed down stairs as fast as she could, sprinting over to Juvia just as pressed a hand to her side slightly perplexed at the blood that was oozing from her hand. Dazed, Juvia looked up and met my eyes just as her knees began to wobble. Levy made it just in time to catch Juvia, gently easing her down as a pool of blood began to form around her.  

All noise seemed to be muffled as I turned around just as multiple vines of thorns shot out from all directions, surrounding the entirety of the Phantom Lord castle, grabbing both our allies and our enemies, wrapping them in a tight grip. Natsu, Gray, Gajeel, and Jellal tried to fend off the thorns with magic, but it was coming too fast. They soon found themselves wrapped in it too.

‘You were warned the price of betrayal, Erza Scarlet.’

I looked back to Juvia again, Levy was sobbing while desperately applying pressure to Juvia’s wound and I watch as Juvia’s breathing became more and more labored. Gajeel and Gray cried out Juvia's name in alarm, but all I could really focus on was the enormous pile of blood that was pooling around Juvia. So much blood…

"AHAHAHAHAHA!!! "

All my senses rushed back to me when heard Mard Geer laughing maniacally while staring right at me, relishing in my torment.

I finally snapped.

“I’VE….. HAD…. ENOUGH!” I yelled to the sky as the hot feeling in me exploded into a red magic circle, my hair flying about my face wildly from the force of it. “REQUIP: HEAVEN WHEELS ARMOR!”

A bright light surrounds me as my current armor changes into a much longer skirt that was covered in feather-like silver plating and a revealing breast plate. A tiara and two large wings appear on my back. Lastly, two magic swords appear in my hands and over a dozen swords spin in a circle behind me.

Wasting no time I immediately jump up and furiously shout “DANCE, MY BLADES!” and with a wave of my hand the amount of swords behind me double and triple as they spin even faster before shooting out in all directions, effectively slicing the vines and beginning the process of setting everyone free.

Mard Geers laughter stopped as he stared at me in shock. “You’re a witch!”

“TRINITY SWORD!” I yelled as I jumped at him, slashing my swords at him in a delta formation. He immediately called up a thick wall of vines to protect himself. The crash was loud and made the wall break. Mard Geer slid back from the impact of the collision, raising an arm to protect his face from they flying debris. Once it all settled he lowered his arm and squinted through the dust and debris. A flash of red was his only warning before my fist connected solidly with his face, knocking him back several feet into a wall, cracking and denting it horribly. He hacked and coughed, raising his hand to grab onto a vine to lift him out of the way seconds before the sword I threw could pin him there through his stomach.

Gritting my teeth, I run full speed at the wall before jumping and sprinting horizontally up the wall, wrenching my sword out of the wall in the process. I then push off the wall and rush forward, attacking Mard Geer relentlessly from all directions. At first he clumsily brought vines up to stop my attacks while stumbling back, but then he suddenly smirked and two vines burst from the ground in front of him coming straight at me.

“Tss… You’re no stronger than any of the other witches I’ve taken out!” He yelled while attacking me from all sides with his vines.

I jump and flip out of the way, skidding to a halt to catch my breath. “REQUIP: CELESTIAL ARMOR!!”

A white light surrounds me again as I switch armors while continuing to dodge his vines. Soon there were so many all I could see were his vines and all I could do was dodge the thorns.

“Hahahaha! Look at you! I have you jumping all over the place like a puppet!” Mard Geer laughed.

From the corner of my eye I saw Jellal and his brothers, still struggling out of the vines since I unequipped my swords could completely finish cutting them out, except, Jellal wasn’t trying to get out. He was too busy staring at me with open disbelief and….awe. His eyes shifted from mine, to my armor, then back at me before they lost focus for a second and widened. “ERZA LOOK OU-”

My distraction was all Mard Geer needed. He appeared suddenly, running up one of the vines and catching me completely off guard. His kick to my stomach sent me flying upwards and he used a vine to catch me in mid air, squeezing the air out of my lungs and slowly trying to kill me. I heard Jellal yell my name but I squeeze my eyes shut as the thorny vines tighten more and more on me.

Mard Geer rose calmly on a vine as more and more vines appeared. Lucy and Levy  screamed and cried as they were dragged away Juvia’s lifeless body, blood still oozing from her wound. They tried to lung back towards her but the vines merely tightened their grip. He leaned closely to me, putting a hand under my chin and forcefully turning my head so I would meet his eye. “Such a shame I have to kill such a beautiful creature.” He said with a wicked smile. I glared at him. “You won’t get away with this!” I screamed at him while struggling against my restraints.

He laughed at my retort. “Oh, but you see Erza, that's where this becomes interesting! I am actually a hero! Would you like to know why?” I glare at him. “No? well I’ll tell you anyway. You see, I saved the day by killing a crazed witch that used the siege on Fairy Tail as an opportunity to massacre countless Phantom Lord soldiers.” My bangs overshadowed my eyes as he reached up a hand to cradle my cheek.

“Don’t touch her!!” Jellal yelled angrily, struggling to get out of the vines but Mard Geer ignored him, focusing only on me.  “So really, I have you to thank Erza. Thanks to you, my council judgement won’t be as harsh. AhahAHAHAHA-”

A bright red glow from the ground caught his attention even through all his writhing vines. “What the-”

Before he can comprehend what is happening I slice through his vines with the dagger I used against the giant knight earlier and grab Mard Geer, pinning his arms to his sides with my legs as he stared up at me in horror.

“THEN I’LL MAKE SURE THE SEVEN STARS JUDGE YOU MORE HARSHLY!!!” The red light becomes brighter and all seven seals I had scattered around while I was dodging Mard Geers vines earlier revealed themselves. Jellal’s eyes widen in alarm when he recognized the pattern of the seals. “ERZA! STOP! YOU’LL KILL US ALL!!”

“GRAND CHARIOT!!!” I yell loudly as my body is engulfed in a white light. Red beams shoot up to the sky from each seal, becoming larger and brighter the closer as we near the ground. The floor cracks and breaks from the immensity of it all and large boulders from the torn ground go flying and everything is engulfed in a bright blinding light that can been seen for miles.

When it’s all over, I’m standing beside a large crater, breathing heavily in my Adamantine armor.  The barrier I encased around Levy, Juvia, Lucy, Gray, Natsu, and Jellal in order to protect them from the spell flickers a bit before dissolving entirely along with my armor. They emerged unscathed. There is nothing left except for a few dead vines and a large crater in the middle of what used to be the Phantom Lord courtyard. The last thing I remember was Jellal calling out my name as I wobbled a bit before I falling to my knees and face planting in the dirt.

###################

I watch excitedly as I wait for my turn to open my birthday present. We had flour and icing all over ourselves since our guardian insisted we bake the cake together. “Alright, calm down everyone it’s present time!” Our guardian said while smiling at me brightly while stepping away from a large box that she really wasn’t doing a good job at hiding. We all gasp and I jump up and down excitedly.

“Is it from that far away place you always go to?” Levy asks with sparkling eyes. Our guardians smiles down at her and nods. “This one especially took me a long time to find. Over three months!”

Lucy giggled. “But you’ve never left us alone more than a few hours!”

She laughs. “Indeed, I haven’t.”

“Juvia is dying of curiosity! Open it Erza-chan!”

With a nod from our guardian I dash forward and rip the wrapping from the box. “ARMOR?!” I squeal excitedly as Levy, Juvia, and Lucy huddle around me and awe at the large armor.

“It’s not just any armor Erza. It’s a special defense armor. Best one I could find.” Our guardian said, clearly pleased with herself. “It's called Adamantine armor.”

Unable to contain my excitement I yell  “Requip: Adamantine Armor!” A red magic circle forms at my feet but nothing happens. I frown and try again. Same result.

“Maybe it’s broken?” Juvia suggested after my third try. I shook my head. “It’s new! It can’t be broken already.”

“This armor will take time for you to master, Erza. You’re only six years old. Remember how long it took you to even summon your Heaven Wheels armor?” Our guardian asked me with a gentle smile.

“A year…” I mumbled dejectedly.

“Exactly! Tomorrow we can begin training for your new armor, for now, let's finish this delicious strawberry cake we made!”

My eyes light up at the mention of strawberry cake and we all run back to the kitchen table.

#############

I slowly try to blink away my fuzzy vision and gather myself. But bit by bit, from the outside in, each inch of what I could see was clarified and I internally panicked for a moment, unsure of where I was. I blinked once more before I recognized that I was in a room, not in a dungeon. My head whips in the direction of the door when I hear someone opening it.

“Erza!” Is all I hear before Lucy throws herself at me and crushes me in a tight hug. She has quite a grip. “Thank heavens you’re awake!”

“Ju-Juvia” I croaked, my throat a bit dry.

“She’s fine. Levy sewed her up.”

My jaw hit the floor as I stared at her incredulously. “Levy? Our Levy McGarden sewed Juvia's open wound up?!” I all but shrieked as Lucy handed me a cup of water.

Lucy grinned a bit as she nodded and handed me a cup of water. She watched me drink for a moment before biting her lip nervously. “You were asleep for three days Erza.”

Damn.

“...Well it has been a long time since…”

Lucy nodded when I let my sentence hang. “Juvia woke up yesterday. She’s been wanting to see you for a while.”

I throw my legs over the side of the bed and test how steady I was. I wobbled a bit but I refused any help from Lucy.

Juvia POV

It was Levy who had sewn me up. That was enough of a shock that I almost melted back into a week of unconsciousness. Our tiny, Weak-kneed, slightly green at the sight of manure or moldy cheese in the fridge Levy, had found it in herself to disinfect my wound with alcohol- thank heavens I had been unconscious- thread a needle with sinew, and sew up my side like I was an elementary school project.

Imagine my shock when I woke up and was told that Gray himself raced me back to Fairy Tail, screaming at everyone to find a medic. The nearest one ways days away so Levy stepped in. She saved my life. Unfortunately,not that I'm alive she wont stop teasing me about jow Gray would come every day to check on me. If I didn’t know any better I’d say he was worried for me! I was more worried for Erza though. It had been over ten years since she used her magic, and of course, she over exerted herself in doing that Grand Chariot spell.

I lifted my shirt and stared at my six-inch wound again, gaping at the perfect, even curves of each stitch.

I looked up just as I heard Erza’s voice say “My gosh, Levy actually did it.”

“Erza!” I cried happily, wincing in pain when I move my still tender wound a little too much. Erza immediately rushes to my side and pushes me back down onto the mattress and examines my wound up close. “They’ll have to come out” she whispered quietly while throwing me an apologetic glance.

I closed my eyes and winced, thinking of the pain to come. But not yet. Levy explained to me that we had to let the flesh weave itself together again without letting the sinew become embedded within it.

I could feel the whisper of air as Lucy fell to her knees beside me. “What are we going to do? They’re calling us ….princess warriors. Literally. They think we’re All That and more. And that Tall dark guy and Natsu are following Levy and I around everywhere we go.” She rolled her eyes.

‘That’s super cute.’ I almost squealed. Even Erza was smirking.

“Well, you and Levy saved all our lives with your arrows,” I said. “I’d bet you money they’ve never seen a woman do that before.”

She shook her head. “How are we going to get out of this? Erza already revealed that she’s, what these people call, a witch and I pretty sure they’re suspecting us too.”

I closed my eyes, heaved a sigh, and then peeked at her. “I have no idea.… How is Simon??”

“Oh, amazing,” Levy said. “Apparently, that’s just another reason to throw us a big party. They’re all excited because he’s back from the dead or something.”

Erza and I looked at each other and smiled. I for one, was afraid that I’d wake up to find Simon gone, even buried.

Levy rose and gestured in the direction of the courtyard. “You guys, everyone’s been going crazy out there every since they found out Juvia woke up, and now that you’re both back from the brink, there’s no way they’re going to be able to hold it off any longer.”

Erza’s smile faded. “What do you mean?”

“It sounds like the entire town is coming in for the celebration.” I said. “Something about a three-day feast to celebrate our victory. And we’re the guests of honor.”

Victory. Phantom Lord defeated. For Fairy Tail, it would be huge.

“I don’t get it.” Erza said quietly. “Jellal and the others saw first hand that I wield magic. I heard firsthand from Mira that witches are to be executed on sight. Why did they bring me back?”

Lucy said the only thing that came to mind. “The he must really like you.”

Erza shook her head and began pacing. “This goes beyond that, Lucy. His own mother was killed by a witch! There’s no way he can just find out I’m one of them and just be okay with it. Most likely, the only reason he hasn’t told everyone in Fairy Tail that I’m a witch is cause he feels indebted to us for saving his life, his brothers’ lives, and his cousins life.”

She had us there.

“We have to get back to the tomb.” Lucy said quietly. “Try it together. I mean, to make the jump back.”

“Maybe we can get you to the tomb on my own somehow,” Levy said, looking at my side again. “It’d be better if we could get you home and to the doctor.”

“And how do we explain that?” Erza asked, pointing to my side.

“That’ll be tricky,” she said, pursing her lips. “I still can’t believe I did that, sewed you up. Ha! And Minerva teased me for reading DIY sewing books! Who’s laughing now, Minerva!?” Levy laughed while shaking a tiny fist in the air.

A knock sounded at the door, startling us all, and a moment later, Mira peeked in. She looked at me with her kind eyes. “I thought you’d enjoy a bath.”

Her eyes widened and she squealed uncharacteristically when she saw Erza sitting beside me like nothing happened. “You’re awake!! Oh my gosh you’re finally awake!!” She shot across the room and hugged Erza tightly.

“Of course. Juvia gets wounded in battle and Erza gets all the credit.” I joked in english with a giggle. Lucy and Levy laugh as Erza just awkwardly pats Mira on the back but almost as immediately as she had grabbed her, Mira pushes her away in shock. “Oh my gosh you're awake! You're awake! I have to- I have to-”

“Don’t hurt yourself, Mira.” Erza sweatdropped.

“I have to tell Simon and the others” She said while bolting to the door, her voice carrying down the hall.

“I need to tell them right away!”

We stared at each other questioningly, wondering what exactly just happened, when a large yell of joy came from the courtyard.

“Well, sounds like everyone knows your both awake now…” Lucy said with an awkward chuckle.

[flyhigh--wildcrow]

exploring an origin for a d&d character of mine, a half elf warlock with titania as a patron! she doesn’t have a name yet bc i can’t decide on anything lol

Everything felt so heavy. Each time she tried to gasp for breath, pain rippled through her, burning across her entire body. She was dying. She wasn't stupid. There was no way the bleeding would stop in time. The slash across her chest had cut deep, and she lay there, slowly losing her senses one by one. She wished her sense of touch would fail already, so she'd be numb to the pain.

It was supposed to be a happy day, a joyous occasion. Just over a month ago, the man she thought she loved had proposed to her. He'd talked of promises for their life together, what things would be like in the future. She had been so happy, and when the day had finally come, she couldn't help but be overwhelmed. But just like that, her happy ending had been ripped away by the very man who had offered it to her. It had happened in a flash. All of a sudden, her best friend suddenly tore into the crowd of villagers, her knives easily cutting through flesh. And then her love before her drew his sword and struck her across the chest.

“No hard feelings,” he smiled coldly, “it's just a job.”

A tear escaped her eye, rolling down her bloodied cheek. Her village was either dead or dying, and from the heavy smell of smoke in the air, was likely burning to the ground. Her mind was plagued with the thought of how foolish she'd been. But she had never suspected a thing. She had known both of them for so long. They had all been friends long before he had proposed...and yet, had it all been a lie? Had he ever loved her? Was she the only one who felt such a bond between the three of them?

She shut her eyes, another raspy breath leaving her. It felt cold now, starting in her fingertips and toes, slowly traveling up her limbs. She wanted to cry, but she lacked the strength, the energy it took. Her life would be snuffed out, an insignificant candle tossed aside. For what reason had they even done this? A job? But who would do such a thing? And why take so long to carry it out? Perhaps that was what frustrated her the most, aside from the sting of betrayal that squeezed at her heart.

Her vision began to fade, the soft blend of sunset colors washing over the sky. At the very least, she supposed the last thing she would see was something beautiful, not the sneering face of a man she thought she knew.

“Oh, sweet child,” a soft, motherly voice rang out, neither here nor there all at once, “you've been through quite an ordeal, haven't you?”

She tried to speak, to question who the voice was, but no sound emerged. She lacked the strength to even open her eyes to see this mysterious figure. But then again, perhaps this was simply a figment of a dying mind. An angel sent to collect her soul and bring her to the astral planes.

“I'm flattered, dear child, but I am no such thing. I am Titania, the Queen of the Fair Folk that walk the deep woods,” the voice continued, and she could almost feel a warm hand against her cheek, but she knew that was impossible. “Your soul did call out to me, however. Your anguish, your fear...You do not wish to die like this, do you, child of Man and Elf?”

She was right. She didn't want to die like this. She wanted answers. She wanted to know why it had to be her, why they had befriended her and gained her trust. For what reason had they betrayed her like this?

“I thought as much,” Titania continued, her voice soothing. “I can offer you a chance to seek your revenge, but you must do something for me in return. I can bring you back from the brink of death for that purpose, and when it is complete, you may live out your life as you choose. Will you accept this bargain?”

Did she want revenge? She wasn't sure if she'd go that far. Though she supposed depending on their reasoning, she might seek revenge. But could she really have a second chance? She had no idea what she could possibly offer the mighty Titania, but it seemed like such a small price to pay. Though she had always been told to be wary of making such deals. But if it meant she would get the answers she needed...

“Then we have a deal, my child,” Titania said, and though she couldn't see it, there was a faint sense that the woman was smiling. “I will call on you when the time is right. Until then...”

All at once, all of her senses rushed back to her as her eyes snapped open, pain shooting through her body as a scream tore itself from her throat.

“Over here! There's another survivor over here!” someone shouted, followed by running footsteps. “By the gods, it's a miracle you survived such a wound..”

Two healers approached, immediately beginning their spell to mend the wound back together, as though it had never happened. It seemed to take quite a bit of effort, and as soon as the burning pain was gone, the half-elf allowed herself to slip into unconsciousness, exhausted.

Later, when she awoke in another village, she found that the healers hadn't been able to completely get rid of the wound, as it now left a long scar from her right shoulder to her left hip. A reminder of that betrayal. It was still a bit tender to the touch, but it was bearable. Her body also felt different. Lighter. She'd been abysmal with magic before, but now... Magic seemed to hum in her veins. Titania's words echoed back in her mind, and she recalled how there were some out there who received power from a benefactor who did not walk their plane of existence. It seemed that she had formed one of those pacts now, though she was unsure what exactly Titania wanted in return from her.

She had said she would call upon her when the time was right, so she supposed she would find out eventually. Until then, she would need to familiarize herself with her new power, and then she would begin her search. Perhaps, this was what she had wanted all along. A reason to leave her village behind, to adventure like so many others before her. Yet, it had a bittersweet taste to it.

She dressed herself in a simple tunic and breeches for the time being, until she could acquire proper adventuring gear, which likely meant she would be doing odd jobs around the village until she could save up enough coin. But she paused when she passed her reflection in the mirror near the room's entryway. Her hair was white as starlight now, her eyes an unusual crimson red. She blinked, finding herself unrecognizable now, and slowly touched her fingertips to the mirror's surface, as if to confirm her eyes weren't playing tricks on her.

Perhaps that too was a price to pay for Titania restoring her life. She supposed it also gave her an advantage. Perhaps then, a new identity was necessary. A brand new beginning...that didn't sound too bad at all. She allowed herself the faintest of smiles. Yes, things would be different this time.

[free-pancakes]

Dreams and Nightmares

Summary: LeviHan Canon-Divergence fic

Hange barely survives the final fight against Eren, and is saved by inheriting the Beast Titan from Zeke Yeager in the end. However, the Scouts soon find that this would come with a heavy price--particularly at Levi's expense.

Chapter 5/? Chapter 4 Chapter 3 Chapter 2 Chapter 1

crossposted to ao3 here: link

Notes: ahhh sorry for the wait! hope you like the new chapter!

CHAPTER 5

“Hange-san, are you ready?” Armin yelled.

Hange stared at the small blade in her right hand, then gazed over to her left palm. She looked back at Armin and Mikasa, standing off at a safe distance. Hange and Armin sat all night trying to think of any way she could enter paths, and figured a good way to start would be to try shifting into titan form. They’d take this one step at a time, and hopefully they’d have some better idea of what to do next. Hange was a little worried about going through the transformation for the first time, but she called Mikasa there just in case she didn’t have a good handle over her titan.

But overall, she was excited. She could become a titan!

She wondered all night what form she’d take as a beast titan—she wondered especially if it would be the animal Levi had always likened her to.

She smiled in excitement, and held her breath as she cut into her hand—yellow light flashed and smoke appeared around her.

Armin and Mikasa braced themselves as Hange shifted, they fell backwards as the ground shook beneath them, and their jaws dropped.

“Never thought a titan could be so... beautiful,” Mikasa breathed out. She was a large dog—a wolf, really—standing on all fours, with messy brown hair, the ends giving off a golden sheen in the early morning sun. It gave a huge shake, shaking off all the branches and leaves from the trees that broke around her as the titan expanded. Armin called out to Hange, but she did not emerge. Mikasa stood in front of Armin with her blade drawn in case the titan decided to attack—since Hange didn’t come out, it was safe to assume she didn’t have any control over her titan form. The wolf titan lowered its head, its teeth bared as it faced the two.

Suddenly, the titan happily stuck its tongue out, licking the two, leaving Mikasa and Armin in a mess of slobber.

“What in the world—“ Armin said out loud. He was quite surprised at the result, that Hange’s titan on her first shift could be so... docile. And it seemed to recognize him and Mikasa.

Mikasa used her ODM gear to launch herself right upon the titan’s nape, calling out to Hange, but again, there was no answer. She cut into the nape to find Hange, asleep inside. She pulled, ripping her out from the titan’s flesh and jumped back down to Armin, steam building as the large wolf titan body slowly began to disappear.

“Hange-san?”

Mikasa and Armin held on to Hange, gently shaking her to make sure she was okay. Hange slowly blinked her eyes open, and when she came to, her eyes lit up.

“That’s what I looked like?!”

Hange jumped with joy running over to her titan form, running her hands over its fur and teeth as it gradually dissipated from beneath her fingers.

“Wow... AMAZING!” she squealed with delight. Mikasa smiled, happy to see Hange back to her happy, curious self, even if it was just for a short moment.

Armin sat and stared at Hange in awe as she gushed to Mikasa, asking her for every detail about her titan form. Armin thought it to be quite fascinating, Hange’s titan able to recognize her loved ones even while she was unconscious. And on the first try.

He thought it was pretty special. Maybe there was hope that Hange could enter paths. He began to think over it all, debating all the ways they might be able to get her there.

————————————

Two weeks in, Levi began to get restless. Jean had been taking good care of him, keeping him busy as he accompanied meetings, doing what they could to help out Historia. But Levi was antsy—he was worried about Hange, about all of it.

Jean kept a close eye on Levi, and noticed. He sighed, having to use Hange’s plan this early on their trip. Before they left, Hange had given him a list of errands to finish for her to keep him busy, and Jean figured it was time to task him with that now. After sending Levi off, Jean headed towards another meeting, though his mind was somewhere else.

Last night, Levi was oddly talkative, and they chatted about a multitude of random things. Or well, Jean was mostly just listening to Levi talk his head off. Maybe it was because Hange was absent—he must have been used to someone filling the silence and just… took it upon himself. All he could think of was how Armina and MIkasa wouldn’t believe it if he told them. But at some point, Jean had mentioned that Armin would try having Hange shift into a titan while they were gone. So Jean began to think out loud about what animal her beast titan form would take on, but Levi had cut him off, adamantly sure that Hange would become some sort of dog, or related creature. Jean wondered if Levi was right, and was itching to return and find out.

————————————

Levi walked into town, his third stop being a tiny sweets shop Hange had loved. He didn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but he did like the little fruit tarts Hange would bring back for him if she had some meeting in Sina. Of course Hange would put some fun little task like this on a checklist to get him to let loose a little. . He grabbed a few things for Jean and headed towards his last destination: Hange’s old lab.

Levi kicked through the door of the old Scout barracks, a thin layer of dust billowing as it came down. After patting himself down to clean himself off, he walked down the old corridors. They brought back many memories, and Levi just tried focusing on the good ones. It was almost as though he heard Oluo and Petra arguing around the corner with Eld and Gunther trying to calm them down, Hange talking Erwin’s head off in his office, Mike and Nanaba coming up behind him to tease him about something stupid. He made the familiar turn towards her lab, and opened the door, the hinges creaking loudly. A box, Hange had written, to grab from her top drawer. He walked in, touching her old microscope, running his hand over the desk he had always sat on to interrupt her from her work, nagging her to go to sleep already.

He almost smiled seeing a pile of small journals she had piled haphazardly on her desk, and grabbed them all to put in his satchel—she’d probably jump with joy seeing them again. He proceeded towards the first drawer, wondering what could be in the box. But he didn’t want to invade her privacy, so he didn’t plan on opening it.

He grabbed the handle of the drawer, pulling to no avail. It was jammed shut. Levi yanked at it a few more times, laying a foot on the lower drawer for support, until it launched out in his grip, the box inside hitting the floor, contents spilling everywhere.

Levi sighed and stopped to wipe the sweat off his brow, and reached to grab the objects off the floor, but he paused—his hands shaking as he looked at everything that fallen out. An empty box of tea, a small yellow hair clip, a seashell, a small used tube of wound ointment, a framed photograph, and a baseball. Levi’s eyes began to water as he ran his fingers over the objects, his mind racing with beloved memories of Hange.

A knock on the door interrupted the moment, startling Levi. He quickly put everything back in the box, securing it.

“Come in.”

“Captain?” Jean asked. “Did you find everything you needed?”

Levi bit his lip, holding back the tears before facing Jean. He nodded, and the two left to return to their quarters for the evening.

—————————

After the month finally passed, Levi and Jean returned back to Marley. Levi made every effort to suppress his excitement, but Jean having to speed up his horse to keep with how fast he was going.

Levi wondered whether it would be a good idea to see her right away, but he couldn’t help it. He and Jean asked Onyakopon where Hange and Armin were, and he pointed them towards where they needed to go. Levi nearly ran, Jean once again sighing trying to keep up with him. They made their way out into an open field, and Levi laid his eyes on Hange.

His heart leapt with joy, simply to see her again, but his smile quickly faded away as he looked closer. Hange stood, her skin filled with bruises, scrapes, scars all over. She looked completely exhausted, heaving as residual bouts of titan steam swirled around her. She was sustaining injuries faster than she could even heal them.

“Hange-san, please, I think you should stop! You’ve overdone it again!” Mikasa yelled out.

Hange continued to heave, but her eyes only lit with determination. She was so close, she could feel it—she would reach paths. She just knew she would, a month of all their training and ideas bounced back and forth between her and Armin. There was just some key missing, and they hadn’t figured it out yet.

“Oi, you should listen to them.”

Armin, Mikasa, and Hange turned to see Levi and Jean standing off into the distance. Hange looked at Levi, locking eye contact for the first time in God knows how long. Too long. Levi stared back at Hange, and there was no flinching, no fear, no nothing—just his Hange, her eyes kind and bright, pools of honey in the afternoon sun meeting his gaze. He wanted nothing but to run out towards her, but he restrained himself to a smile, waiting to see what she wanted.

“Awwwww Mikasa, Armin! One more time, please?? So Levi and Jean can see my titan form!”

Armin worriedly looked towards her, but gave in. What was one more try? He’d make her rest for awhile after anyway, at least a few days.

After nodding his approval, Hange looked back towards Levi again with a smile that made his knees weak. “Levi! You wouldn’t believe what my titan form looks like!” She exclaimed. He folded his arms and nodded, waiting. She gave him a thumbs up, smiling and staring at Levi happy as ever to see him again, and slashed a blade at her hand. Yellow light flashed, almost electrifying. Steam puffed out from where she stood, but there wasn’t a titan—there wasn’t a large figure looming in the smoke as usual.

Something was wrong. Jean and Levi looked at each and rushed in, finding Armin and Mikasa already at Hange’s side. She was on the ground, unconscious. Levi sprinted towards her, gathering her up in his arms.

“What happened??” He yelled angrily at Armin—he knew it wasn’t Armin’s fault but he didn’t know how else to direct his anger. They had just been reunited again, and somehow she was lying limp in his hands.

Levi shook, unashamed this time, tears streaming down his face as he repeated Hange’s name over and over again like a mantra. Armin held his fingers over Hange’s wrist feeling for a pulse—thankfully it was there, and they all felt a wave of relief. But Armin noticed something else.

“Her pulse… it’s not like she’s fainted or something. Her pulse was racing, as though she was awake.”

Armin paused.

Mikasa stared wide-eyed at Armin and back at Hange. “Do you think she…?”

Levi knelt in the grass and cradled her body close to his, rubbing his thumbs gently over the titan marks on her face, his hands shaking uncontrollably in worry.

Armin stared in shock—“I think she made it into paths.”

Levi ran his fingers through her hair, and pulled her chin over his shoulder, holding her head close next to his. His tears spilled over her face, running down her skin as he tried wiping it away with his sleeve.

“Hange, I’m right here,” Levi whispered into her ear. Jean, Mikasa, and Armin stood behind Levi, staring dumbstruck as he held Hange in his arms.

——————

Hange woke up, as though she was rising from a deep sleep.

How long have I been out?

She blinked her eyes open, staring at the starry sky above her.

“Levi, did you see?” She whispered, excited to hear what he thought of her titan.

But, she turned, to find no one next to her.

Sand?

She raised her hand, grains of sand falling gently from her palm.

She sat up to find herself…

“I’m in, paths?” She thought out loud.

“Yes.”

Hange whipped her head around at the familiar voice.

A man stood behind her, his glasses glinting in the starlight and green glow of the paths realm, blowing smoke as he pulled his cigarette away from his lips.

“ZEKE!” Hange yelled in a rage. She jumped up to tackle him to the ground, quickly threw her fist towards his face, intending to make him pay for all the pain he caused her, and especially Levi.

Zeke caught her fist in his hand, shaking as he tried to hold off her strength.

He gritted his teeth as he faced her, anger etched in every inch of her face.

He said in a strained voice as he fought off her strength—

“Hange Zoe.”

[wykart]

A Great Age, Ending

Dishonored post DOTO fic that fleshes out some of the lore (which is obviously speculation on my part) surrounding the Outsider's fall from grace (his transformation in Dh2) and the fate of Billie Lurk with all that 'eye of the dead god' business.

Canon: This assumes sort of 'medium' chaos for both Corvo in Dh1 and Emily in Dh2, both have killed but they're not psychopaths that like putting springrazors on severed heads and throwing them into a crowd of civilians (because who would DO such a thing??)

Summary: Billie Lurk set out to kill the Outsider, but instead gave him something else; life. However, she left something else behind in the eye of the dead god, something which it had been promised ever since the Outsider marked her, not as his follower, but as his successor. As the young man struggles to adjust to his newly mortal existence, Billie feels a pull towards the darkness, back into the void, and Emily Kaldwin struggles with the loss of the power that accompanied her across the isles and through her idle days in court.

Read here on ao3 

or read chapter one under the cut 

I heard a whisper in my ear, a word that felt impossibly ancient and foreign, yet flooded my mind with grim familiarity and a stinging pain in my neck where a slash had once turned to stone. My name.

When she ripped me from that hollow place, I felt my conscious plucked from the expanse, and stuffed violently back into a cruel shell, cut away from everything I had been in a heartbeat. A heartbeat; something I hadn't experienced in eons, life where I had expected, perhaps even wanted, death. The thick blackness parted before my eyes like clouds, as light touched my eyes for the first time in millennia. I saw her face, sharp and dark and scared; and collapsed into her strong arms feeling weight and touch and pain. Why hadn't she killed me? She held the twin blade, intertwined with the dark stone and black magic that had crafted her arm. Why had she not thrust it through my halted heart? I knew that had been her intention, and the intention of her mentor, whom she loved like a father. Billie lurk was not merciful, in fact I knew her to delight in the fading of light from the eyes, the falling blood from the blade. And I was her sworn target, the most deserving of death. So why did I live?

…

She awoke to a dull throbbing pain on the back of her hand. It wasn’t the same as any pain she’d felt there before, not the tickling burn that set her nerves alight when the mark had been given to her. Not the dark, elating rush of power through her veins like flowing water as she leapt between rooftops on a coil of shadow, and not the nauseating pull from deep within her, like air being yanked from her lungs as she entered the blackness of the void. No, something had happened, something was wrong. The pain grew, cold and sharp, like a knife cutting into numb frozen skin, gouging not just the mark from her hand, but the power, and the connections tethering her to the world beyond. She sat up, groggy and sluggish, wincing at the strange sensation. She had little time for contemplation at the meaning of all this, because at that moment her pain crescendoed into excruciation, and she let out a piercing scream.

The sound had escaped her before she could stop it, and she wondered if this was some terrible price she must pay for the powers bestowed upon her. She knew that such a price was coming by the way her father regarded his own mark with apprehension and a certain grateful disgust. Every tendon in her body was clenched and shaking against the pain, eyes so tightly closed that the shadows of lights behind her eyes spun and danced. But then, as soon as it had come, the feeling was gone – leaving only raw, throbbing flesh in its place. Something was different, and when she reached out to the void, she found nothing but herself, echoing back. She felt... incomplete somehow, yet there was an old familiarity to it, and loneliness. Emily Kaldwin knew then that the mark of the Outsider was gone. The door burst open and the heavy footed boots of the imperial guard thundered in, uniforms of red and navy, tassled and prim.

“Your majesty!” One of them cried, breathlessly, “What is it? What’s wrong?” The urgency in their tones, their adrenaline, it made the empress feel ashamed.

She plastered on a smile “It was nothing, kind sirs, a nightmare is all.” She tried to appear unshaken. “I apologise for rousing you here for no reason other than my own imagination.” She scoffed a little, and smiled weakly at the outlines of their shocked faces.

“No problem your highness, think nothing of it. We are, after all, here to serve-“

“No need sir,” she knew their words by heart, and thought she might soon collapse from the suffocating aura the mark had left behind. “simply leave me to my rest and feel free to get some of your own.” The guards were unnecessary, but her father insisted.

“Of course ‘majesty, begging your pardon.” The guards walked out, looking a little disappointed that there was no threat to valiantly dispel, no brave and daring rescue to brighten their boring nights as standing sentinels, no tall tales to tell by the firelight to their comrades while they drunk the envy and admiration from their eyes. Just as the guards left, another set of footsteps slunk in, softer and well disguised, so quiet, in fact, that no other ears would have noticed. Corvo Attano stood at the door, his face shrewd with concern. His left fist was clenched, popping veins, red raw skin, and a white swirling scar. He must have felt it too. Even though his own mark had been removed by Delilah months earlier, his connection to the void and the Outsider would never fade… until now.

“Emily,” he spoke, a soft and caring voice, worn at the edges. “Are you alright?” A lantern swung in his hand, illuminating the dark chambers in tall, dramatic shadow.

“I think so. It’s the mark, it’s gone.” It was only then that she realised just how saddened she was by this, after the pain and shock had almost faded away.

“Yes…” He trailed off a little, placing the lantern down on a nearby set of drawers, “yes I thought as much,” he walked further into the room and sat on the edge of her bed.

“But it feels like more than that,” she started, reaching into her memories of the past few moments to recall what had come over her.

“I don’t think it was simply a gift revoked. It was torn, cut away, it doesn’t feel like anything I’ve experienced before, certainly not like what Delilah did to me.”

“So you felt it too, even though your mark was gone?”

“I did, though I expect it was a mere echo of what you felt, my connection to the void has been fading these past months.” He held Emily’s hand in his, gently brushing the mutilated flesh with his thumb. She looked into his eyes imploringly, asking for more. “When Delilah took my mark, all she stole was my power, things that I could control and manifest physically. This time, everything holding me to the void has been severed, I can’t feel anything anymore, nothing beyond my own head. It’s strange… but welcome too, like I’ve awoken from a dream… but what about you, does it hurt? Can you still feel something?”

“Nothing... Nothing at all” She sounded miserable. She was miserable. “Do you know what it means?” She could see it in his eyes, that look of patronising understanding, there was sympathy and severity there.

“Emily, I know how you must feel. The power was – as much as I hate to say it – a part of you. But you need to understand that this is for the best. The path of The Outsider – my path – leads only to blood and regret.” It was the tone he took when he, albeit rarely, gave these fatherly insights of wisdom.

“Sounds like you should go join The Abbey, Overseer Attano.” She forced a chuckle, and looked at him with indifference. She faltered, her father was serious. She recalled a night, as still, black, and uncaring as this one, though it had been sharper, richer, it had tasted of blood and ash, of rot and twisting roots, of revenge. She had brushed her hand across cold, jagged stone, and it had melted away into the flesh of her father. His eyes were wild as the life returned to them, his arm still outstretched to where Delilah’s throat had been (to her – months prior, to him – less than a moment ago). He stumbled, synapses receiving senses new and frightening, too much crammed into too little time. Only then had Emily let out a deep sign, gravelled and weighted with the pain of those past months. She had collapsed into her father’s arms, and he into hers, and they enveloped each other as they cowered in the defiled palace. They had been, if only for a moment, at peace. Until Corvo spied the mark etched into his daughter’s skin. He had grabbed her hand, so hard, so fast that it shocked Emily, that it almost hurt. He had cried, really cried, sobbing, wrapping her lithe hands among his, large and strong. It scared her. He had apologised, for what she didn’t know, he had looked into her eyes, searching her. He asked “How many,” she looked confused, and he implored her “How many dead?” She had looked away, strange that she felt guilt and shame toward a man who taught her how to swing a blade, who had carried her over piles of corpses to her throne when she was a child. She knew how it saddened him to see her cover her mark with gloves in court each day, lest her be marked as a heretic. He hated to see her live in fear of discovery, suppressing her emotions so as not to release them in a flurry of magic and blood. She knew he must be beyond relief at prospect of that burden being lifted, from both of them, giving them both a chance to move on from the time when those powerful gifts were the scales balancing life and death.

“I’m sorry father,” she whispered, earnestly – and she was.

“The mark, it’s power…” he was struggling to find the right words, as he so often did. But silence was not an option, not now, not with Emily. “It was a tool, nothing more. Something like that, you can’t let it become a part of you, have power over you. It served it’s purpose, you’re back on the throne and our enemies are dealt with.” He sighed, once again turning his attention to the red welts and heat radiating from where the Outsider’s mark had been on her hand. She tried not to wince as he examined it. “We have no need of power like that any more.” He closed his palm around the scar and looked up into her eyes.

But I do, she wanted to say, because she lived and breathed that darkness. She wove her way through the fabric of reality, the spaces between worlds, dancing from rooftop to rooftop and watching the city sleep. She lurked in the deepest of back-alleys scouring old shrines for enchanted ink and scraps of whalebone, for purple fabrics and sharpened stakes erected to the worship of the void – anything for the rush moving just that little bit fasted, to feel the sting of a blade or pound of the earth without damage, to peel away the veil of the world just that little bit farther… She knew it was dangerous, that she might lose herself to a life like that. In the moment, she didn’t care, it was the only thing that could relieve her from the day to day mundanities of cordial diplomacy and carrying an empire by her image alone. She did need it, that power, and she didn’t know what she would do without the music of the void to fill the spaces between her thoughts as she lived. She supposed she would have to find out.

...

When sleep found her again – her father still sitting there beside her, stroking her hand – she found herself in the void. It was different than she’d ever seen it. Different to the black hollow place that the Outsider called from, and different again to the sharper, golden spaces where Delilah stalked her dreams. This was another power entirely, calling out to her. The same black stone stretched out in slabs and jagged platforms in a swirling crimson sky. It was deep and bright, rich and fiery. A shrouded figure was standing on the landing below. She reached out through the mark that had once adorned her skin, trying to grab hold of those buried instincts and swing herself over the gap on a tendril of dark smoke. Nothing. She looked down at the back of her hand. Blank, even in the void. Instead, she clambered down over the edge, bracing her knees for a shock of impact as she landed behind the stranger. They wore a sharp crimson coat, a shock of black her twisting in the windless air. They turned. Meagan Foster – or rather, Billie Lurk – stared back. Her eyes were black and bottomless like those of the Outsider himself, and they swirled with the same red firelight that danced across these unfamiliar skies. She opened her mouth to speak, and Emily saw her lips form around her name before she woke up, cold and sweating in her palace bed.

[ageeksnerdyworld]

Know My Weakness

Characters: Khalid Asfour and Kairo Asfour 

Word Count: 3, 805

Trigger Warning: Death Mention, Violence

Notes: Another backstory. I’ve finally realized that writing things phonetically makes things better because the text alignment of Tumblr posts totally flips Arabic so it turns into nonsense. And as always The Cyber World and the viruses therein belong to @voiceoflarka

Summary: Kairo Asfour is determined to put his past behind him. To prove that he's better than who he used to be. And that all begins with saving his son. Click that read more if you’d like.

~~~

Kairo Asfour woke up before the sun rose. He didn't even think twice about it as it was an old habit he’d kept for longer than not. He sits up on the thin mattress and laces his fingers in one another. Cracking his knuckles he stretches his arms behind his back. With a light yawn he rubs his chin. The scratching sound tells him that his beard that has gotten fuller than he realized. Rubbing a hand over his face he fully shakes off the last throngs of sleep from his body. He pulls the thin blanket off and steps onto the cool, sandy, ground.

He crosses the short distance to the small wooden table that sits on the right side of the tent's interior.

He kneels on the ground and pulls a dust colored canvas bag out from under the table. Untying the brown leather cord that seals the bag he shoves a hand inside. Blindly searching in the dark of early morning he removes a couple articles of clothing from inside. He quickly changes into a pair of thin, cream colored, pants; deep pockets on either side. Tossing the dirty pair into a nearby wicker basket, which is fuller than he realized, he makes a mental note to do the washing soon. Hooking his fingers under the cloth he starts to peel the olive green shirt off his chest.

The shirt is halfway off when his long, tan, fingers graze a scar.

He freezes for just a second.

Kairo ultimately pulls the shirt off and looks down at his abdomen. Honey colored veins map the surface of his skin; lining his muscles and accentuating their definition. But the deeply indented scar breaks his carefully toned form. It remains as a constant reminder of his past.

Of his foolish mistakes.

The scar itself runs along his right side; curling around his back. It stops just above his right hip. Running his fingers along he winces at the memory of the pain he felt when the wound was inflicted.

He remembers the man’s sharp, angry, yellow eyes shining in the dark of night. The way the tiger virus gritted his teeth as he dragged the blade through Kairo's skin. The deep honey color of his own soul residue as it poured from the gash in his flesh. He also remembers the man’s soul residue as it leaked from the fatal wound; coloring his outfit a dark green. He remembers the light, and life, draining from the attacker's eyes.

Years, maybe even decades, have passed between then and now. Despite that the scar glows brighter than the rest of his veins.

Once his mind is back in the present Kairo shakes his head and blinks. He quickly puts on a deep navy short-sleeved t-shirt. Letting out a light sigh he pushes the small bag back under the table. Rising to his feet he turns back to where his minimal bed lay.

His dark brown, almost black, eyes pass over his mattress and look to the one that lies next to it.

A small, tan skinned, boy lays curled up under a blanket. His tiny fingers poke out of the dark cloth. His hair is a mess; sticking out at the oddest angles. The boy’s face was peaceful and innocent. His chest slowly raises and falls with deep slumber.

Kairo almost doesn't want to wake his son.

Did you really think you could leave your true self behind? Move on and do something good with whatever time you have left? You're a fool, Hisada. You'll never really change and he will pay the price.

The voice of his conscious mocks him. And in the deepest caverns of his heart Kairo agrees.

Tiptoeing to the side of his son's bed he crouches next to him. A smile forms as he watches his son sleep. Reaching out he brings a hand to the boy's head. Softly stroking the boy's dark hair he whispers quietly.

"Come on, meherya. You cannot sleep the day away."

"La baba," the boy says with a tired groan. He turns away from his father's touch.

Kairo pulls the blanket off the boy and grabs his shoulder. He gently lifts his son into a sitting position. The boy's eyes blink slowly. His mouth opens wide as he lets out a long yawn. Kairo leaves the boy's side to fetch him a change of clothes.

"I'm tired baba," he says.

Kairo nods; "I know, Khalid, I know. But there is work to do."

He passes the clothes to the boy and tells him to get dressed. The child nods and Kairo slips on a pair of sandals. He reminds Khalid that he will be just outside. As he leaves a ray of early morning sunlight glinting of a metal surface catches his eye. But Kairo ignores it and steps out into the early day.

The air is crisp and cold.

He looks out into the desert; watching the sun slowly rise over the sand. Coloring the dark sky in oranges, purples, and pinks the sight is breathtaking. He shifts his gaze to the right but remains still. Then he turns his eyes to the left. No one can be seen for miles in either direction.

Even though he knew they were completely alone he remains vigilant.

"Pretty," a small voice calls from behind him.

Kairo turns around to see his son staring wide eyed at the sky. The sunlight shines off the boy's face; lightening his tan skin. His mouth is open in a wide toothy grin of childlike wonder.

Kairo reminds himself that this, his son's innocence, is why he has to do what he has planned.

But, he says to himself, it can wait.

He takes his son by the hand and leads the boy to a large boulder that shields their tent from the harsh desert winds. He lifts the boy on the top of the boulder. Patting his son's hand he ensures that Khalid is steady before climbing up himself. Once they're sitting side by side Khalid curls up to his father. Kairo puts an arm around his son and pulls him close.

Together they watch the sun rise.

After they head back into the tent. Kairo gathers a few things. Khalid helps by carrying two plates as carefully as he can. Father and son make a small fire together a few yards away from their tent. When the fire is going Kairo carefully sets a rack over the flame and puts a pan on the rack. He makes sure his son is far enough to not get burnt accidentally but close enough for him to keep an eye. Kairo makes eggs with feta cheese.

He calls Khalid over as he plates the eggs.

Reminding the boy to be careful, because the eggs are very hot, he takes out a thick pita out of a bag by his feet. Ripping it in half he then rips one half into halves again. Handing the young sprite a fourth of the pita he takes a fourth for himself. Returning the uneaten pita to the bag he ties it closed before he begins eating.

His conscious whispers sinisterly; Time is not on our side. Don't you dare pretend that it's alright.

That was the last thing she ever said to him. And in the end she was right. The words bring on a wave of memories he can't stop. He stares off, chewing mindlessly, past his son and into the empty desert.

The vision, the memory, of his wife blossoms in his mind's eye. Meherya Nucati was still as beautiful as the day they met. Her smile is even brighter, and more soothing, in his memory. She was the light of his life in those days. A pleasant presence that cut through the dark and harsh reality he lived in. It was impossible to hide the truth of his work from her. She was far too smart to actually believe his lies. And then there was the reason they had met in the first place.

Her mother hired Kairo to kill her.

And Meherya paid the ultimate price in the end. She knew that trying to hide out was pointless. The organization that was after Kairo would find him eventually and they wouldn't stop until they did. They would send droves assassins just like him if they had to. But he was too stubborn, too confident in his own abilities, to take her fears into consideration.

She was murdered right next to him and he couldn't stop it.

It had been three years since then but the memory was as clear as the sunrise.

That day she wasn't feeling well so she stayed home from work. Even with her nose red, skin pale, and hair messy Meherya was still the most beautiful person he ever met. He insisted that she stay in bed. He could handle taking care of her and Khalid until she was better. It was going to be fine.

They barely made it through the morning when it happened. Kairo was in the kitchen, with the baby on his hip, making breakfast. He softly sang one of Meherya's favorite songs to the boy. When breakfast was ready he carefully carried a plate to their bedroom. He pushed the door open with his hip. Stepping into the room what he saw made him drop the plate of food in shock.

Meherya lay on the floor slumped against the left side of the bed.

Her hair was matted against the right side of her head; stuck there with soul residue. The clothes she wore were now stained a light mint green from the slash across her throat. That mint green color was entirely gone from her veins which were now dark black. Her eyes and mouth were still open so it seemed she had some final thoughts for her killer. Kairo now realized that she wasn't sick. She had been poisoned.

Only the poison didn't take the way it should have, it seemed. That’s why his wife was brutally slain in their marital bed. Kario knew that the fact of killing her where they lived, ate and slept together, was a message. A message that was clearer than it ever would have been. As he turned Khalid away, and knelt down to close Meherya’s eyes, that message rang through his mind. It played like a broken record; repeating over and over.

You failed. You tried to protect them and you failed. You’re not safe here.

Their son was barely even two.

Kairo owed it to his wife, and her memory, to save his son from his past.

He thought about all of this as they cleaned up. Taking the dishes and the laundry to the nearest water source Kairo remained silent. He could feel his young son's curious eye on him as they walked. His mind was still on the daunting task at hand. He didn't save Meherya and he needed to change that.

He would start today.

No more holding back.

Kairo didn't say anything until they were back at the tent. Together father and son began to hang the laundry on a thin wire that ran from the tent to a pole a few feet away. The wind was calm for the moment so they didn't have to struggle against it. While his son was attaching clothespins to a sheet Kairo ducked inside the tent. When he returned he had two wooden scimitars in his hands. He set them down quickly and rushed to help finish hanging the laundry.

When that was done Kairo knelt down so that he was eye level with Khalid.

He firmly placed his hands on the boy's shoulders. But when he started to speak he found that his voice faltered. Khalid asked him if he was okay and Kairo smiled; squeezing his shoulder just a bit harder than before.

"I'm going to teach you how to protect yourself," he said when his voice came back to him.

The young boy's eyes went wide with excitement. A beaming smile painted his face.

"You think I'm ready?"

Kairo shrugged as he picked up the scimitars. He told his son that there was no time like the present. It was better for him to learn now rather than wish he had.

Without warning he swung one of the wooden swords at his son. Khalid quickly ducked out of the way; truly afraid. Kairo praised him and then attacked again. But this time he swung with both scimitars. He raised one high in the air while swinging the other low. Khalid moved out of the way of the overhand attack but wasn't prepared for the other. He fell on his back as his legs were swept out from under him.

Kairo helped his son to his feet and fixed the boy's stance before going back into the impromptu training session. The fourth time the boy fell Kairo harshly shouted at him to take this seriously. His survival would depend on this.

"People do not like what they do not understand. And most of those people try to destroy what they don't understand."

"What do you mean, baba?"

"They don't understand that people can change. There are many things I have done in the past that others do not forgive. If they need to they will hunt you to get to me."

Kairo Asfour closes his eyes and hangs his head in shame. The wooden scimitars go lack at his sides. His stance relaxes; fully losing the defense. Khalid senses that his father has darker secrets than what he already knows. Darkness that has shaped him into the man he is today.

That forced him into a life of hiding.

"You're not like that anymore," Khalid says with tears in his eyes.

"They do not see it that way, habibi," his father says; regret ringing through his voice.

"Now, get up," he commands the harsh cruelty returning to his voice.

The young boy doesn't hesitate. He quickly scrambles to his feet and readying himself. Holding both hands, tightly clenches into fists, in front of his chest he was prepared for the next attack. His eyes narrow and he clenches his jaw.

~~~

Khalid wakes up the next morning being harshly poked in the shoulder. The object feels round and hard and cold against his skin. It jolts him awake and he opens his eyes to the deep darkness of early morning. Or maybe it was the middle of the night? He couldn't know for sure it was too dark. So dark that he could barely make out the silhouette of someone standing next to him.

All he can really see is the faint glow of the virus's latte brown veins.

A muffled voice harshly says; "Move it, kid."

Afraid and confused the boy scrambles to his feet. The muffled voice orders him to move again. He hesitates and is once again pushed by the strange cold object as its shoved into his back. Khalid exits the tent with the stranger behind.

Stepping out into the dark desert his eyes are now adjusting to the night.

He sees five more viruses; all with faces covered by balaclavas and masks. One is standing alone as if waiting for something. The other four are surrounding his father. Two are holding his arms back while another seemingly ties him up. One of which has a knife to his throat. The blade surprisingly shines, from the glow of the viruses' veins, in the dark. Before he can cry out Khalid is harshly shoved to the ground in front of the lone masked figure.

His hand hits a sharp rock and a cut forms on his palm.

A bit of his salmon colored soul, bright in the stark black of night, starts to come to the surface.

"Found this one asleep in the tent," the voice behind Khalid says.

"Interesting," the figure replies.

The man kneels down and harshly grabs the boy's chin. Digging his fingers into Khalid's skin he narrows his eyes; glaring. He shoves the young sprite's face to the side and surveys the boy's expression. Khalid quietly winces in pain; trying not to show it. The man’s mouth curls in disgust and looks up at Kairo. Their eyes lock and his expression shifts into a devilish grin.

"I had no idea you were a family man, Hisada. That seems highly contradictory to your line of work."

With that he forcibly shoves Khalid's face to the ground and crosses to the others.

"Look, whoever you are, your fight is with me. Not him. Leave the boy."

“Oh, believe me, you deserve way worse. But, this is the only way to really hurt you,” the man says as he pulls his balaclava off his face.

His hair is cut short, eyes are dark, and his face is clean shaven. Everything about his physical appearance is virtually perfect. He looks young, serious, and very proud of himself. A dark smile forms on his lips as his hand reaches up once again. His fingers run through something invisible and the edge of his jaw glimmers and shines.

The man’s fingertips cut through the image as he reaches for his ear. The gloved fingers curl around the back of his ear and pull away with a small device. It’s gray in color and shaped like a hearing aid but much more flat. A small circular light shines on the tip of the device; flashing red.

Kairo nods, slightly impressed, knowing exactly what the device is.

The man’s real skin is a bright white. Mauve colored veins crawl all over his neck. A few veins poke out from under the black finger-less gloves. Short cropped, army-style, silver hair blends into his skin at the base of his skull. Dark, brooding anger, clouds his moss green eyes. But that proud smile still curls the edges of his mouth.

“Paul? Paul Saakar?”

“Long time no see,” he says.

“Leave my son alone,” Kairo replies threateningly.

Saakar ignores him; “You thought you were finished with us when you killed my father, but, that was just the beginning. I took up my father’s position.”

He rolls up the sleeve of his left arm; revealing the underside of his forearm. A silver inked tattoo colors his white skin. In Kairo’s memory there was just a viper curled around a skull. But now a crown hovers above the head of the snake; the mark of the guild’s leader.

“I lead the Vicious Vipers and you know what exactly happens to anyone who crosses me. Did you really think I’d let that go? I’ve spent the last two years following your trail and I do have to say you are a hard man to find, Hisada.”

Kairo sighs and hangs his head.

“You found me,” he says. “Do what you want but, please, leave him be.”

“The Vicious Vipers will never be defeated. Cut off one head.”

“Isn’t that hydra?”

Paul Sakkar ignores Kairo’s comment once again; “You took the most important person in the world from me. It’s about time I return the favor. You’ve killed your last victim, Hisada.”

He turns his head to the man who stands over Khalid. The man holds the boy down; a knee shoved into the kid’s back. The muzzle of his pistol is up against his leg.

The leader of the assassins gives the man a slight nod. 

The man shoots the boy in the leg. The bullet enters through the front, creating a hole on impact, and exits through the back. Small, fracture like, cracks explode at all angles from both wounds. Soul residue begins to slowly seep from the wound. Khalid screams as the bullet enters and then again seconds later when it exits.

He grits his teeth against the pain.

Without hesitating Kairo frees himself from the grip of the two men. Slamming their heads together he knocks them out. Twisting the other man’s wrist he forces the knife out of his hand. Brandishing the knife Kairo rushes Saakar. In response to his struggle four more shots are fired at his son.

“You’re going to regret that,” he whispers to Saakar.

Kairo pushes the blade into the man’s neck and slices his throat.

Within a few minutes all of the men Saakar brought with him are dead. Kairo doesn't even take a second to survey the violence at his front door. Instead he rushes over to his son. A small puff of sand shoots up as he kneels by Khalid. Taking his son's small hand in his own he squeezes it. Giving Khalid's hand a kiss tears stream down his face. He apologizes over and over again. This was the exact thing he wanted to prevent.

That's when he sees the damage.

Khalid's leg has been destroyed from the knee down.

Pieces of his leg, small shards really, cover the sand. So much of the boy's soul has been oozing from the wound that his veins have dimmed. The color glows fainter by the second. The sand underneath is deeply soaked with Khalid's soul. His eyes are shut and his mouth hangs open slightly. Kairo is completely stunned and horrified that anyone could do that to a child. But the shock last only for a split second as he gathers his thoughts and rushes inside the tent.

Kairo comes back mere minutes later with a long piece of cloth and a wet rag. He uses the rag, as quickly and carefully as he can, to clean the area around the wound. Then he unfurls the cloth and starts to wrap the wound. When he's satisfied with the tourniquet he places a hand on the boy's cheek.

Rushing back inside he throws a few necessities into a canvas bag and throws it over his shoulder. Then he grabs a long scarf and wraps it around his face. Pulling it over the bridge of his nose he goes back outside. He covers Khalid’s face with a cloth as well. As the winds pick up around them sand whips against Kairo’s covered face. He hopes the wind doesn’t pick up into a storm.

Kneeling down he gingerly slides his hands under his son's back, being mindful of the injury, and picks him up.

"Rest my boy. Rest, it's going to be alright."

As he trudges through the sand Kairo softly whispers a message, a prayer, to his wife. He doesn’t know if she’s listening. He doesn’t know if she can help. If he was honest with himself he’d admit that she was right. That he should’ve listened to her. Maybe then things would be different. He knows there’s nothing to be done about it now. So he does all that he can.

He braces himself against the harsh wind and pushes on.