#what's worse for a person who wants to die a weapon but is instead Death's favourite knife to wield?

[sunlitlemonade]

what's better than making a suicidal idiot immortal

[anim-ttrpgs]

I recently ran an oneshot for my friends in Eureka.

It was a lot of fun and went mostly smoothly! The charakter creation was very easy. It still took more time than I expected, but that was simply because the players needed it to decide on which traits etc. to pick.

The central resolution mechanic with 2d6 is of course tried and true (I assume. Never played one of the many other 2d6 games.) but especially the Eureka system felt really good.

I think I read in a recent post of your's, that you are overhauling the chapter on combat. That seems very important to me. Even though I read the whole book once before running the game, I had immense problems finding out how small details of the combat worked during play. The musings on game design (eg, "yes, the combat is deadly, thats on purpose heres why" and such) where really enlightening to read, but got in the way when searching for concrete stats.

I will run the same oneshot again for different friends. The game seems really promising to me.

My mystery took place on a single in game evening, and none of the players were monsters. Having therefore only scratched at the surface of Eureka, I am looking forward to running it more.

Woo! We LOVE hearing about this kinda stuff!

And yeah everything about how the combat-related rules are structured is getting overhauled. All of that was written like 2 years ago when I was a slightly worse game designer and MUCH worse at writing coherent paragraphs and hasn’t been touched since until now. Instead of being split across like four paragraphs (what was I thinking), there will be just two chapters on it: “Instruments of Violence”, which is mostly just a giant list of references for the stats and special rules of weapons and armor, and “Dangerous Situations”, which covers every rule related to how your investigators can get killed. Some of these clean-ups are already available in the latest patreon release, and the rest are coming soon to both patreon and the itchio beta.

Combat is a very rare thing in Eureka, but when it does come up, we want it to be tight and granular, but without wasting the players’ time, which I think we’ve done pretty well at.

Like the book says, combat is deadly and there’s a reason why: so it doesn’t waste the players’ time.

This is a twofold problem to solve. The first layer of it, we solved by making sure the numbers are low. Most weapons can take a character down in 2 to 3 hits, so a single instance of two guys smacking each other will never take too many rounds.

Secondly, well, combat is dangerous and deadly, and if the PCs approach it without a plan, they’re gonna die, or at least get their asses kicked fast. Otherwise, well, I consider that a waste of the players’ time. If it was predetermined that the PCs would win otherwise the story can’t continue, well, what did we roll all those die, look up all those stats, and track all that HP for? Why didn’t we just describe the PCs winning and move on? Combat matters because it can change the outcome of the adventure, and if it can’t change the outcome, why are you rolling dice? Of course with death being so possible, to keep it fun, we gotta include lots of “tools” like cover, positioning, different weapons, special melee attacks, etc. that the PCs can use cleverly to give themselves an edge, and *earn* their survival.

Oh and also yeah can’t wait to hear what you think about the monsters. Funny thing about that, everyone who has read the rulebook knows that monsters and other supernatural creatures are supposed to be really rare, like one supernatural person for every 3,000,000 normal people kinda rare, but, monsters are super cool and fun to play, and are one of the big draws of the system, so we were kinda worried that that rarity wouldn’t come through in play, everyone would just be monsters. We considered setting a limit on how many monsters can be in a party? But quickly decided against it, because then players would have to compete for the limited monster slots, and people might even feel like if they’re not filling in that slot every single adventure, they’re missing an opportunity, and so every party would max out their monster limit every time and there’d, again, be way too many monsters.

In practice, though, most parties in Eureka seem to be comprised of all normal people, or all normal people and 1 monster at most, even without the limit. And I suspect this is both because monsters are kinda difficult to play despite their immense power, and, just to brag, because we made the normal PCs fun has hell to play too. :)

[wuxiaphoenix]

Worldbuilding: Outliving Emperors

There’s a common tendency in a lot of fantastic fiction portraying long-lived races or individuals interacting with shorter-lived types. It often defaults to, “they have a mindset of slow and patient consideration in the face of Problems. After all, they have plenty of time.”

(Until, of course, they don’t, and the Evil Overlord obliterates lots or possibly all of them.)

It’s a valid way to portray a fantasy race, I guess. But I think it misses a critical consideration of sapient life. And that’s pattern recognition.

To boil it down - if you’ve lived a long time, and you pay attention to what’s going on around you, sooner or later you will recognize when things are about to go nastily sideways. The river-folk down there and the mountain-folk up there have had a new generation grow up without bloodshed; sooner or later some young buck out to make a name for himself is going to dig up the old feuds all over again. Or, we’ve had three years of bad harvests in a row, I bet the nomads think we’re weak now, let’s watch for raids. Or (and much worse), this guy is making speeches about a Glorious Past and Restoring the Nation to its Rightful Place in World Affairs... right, time to duck, world war incoming.

If you’ve had time, you’ve seen things happen. If you’ve had enough time, and survived it, and even a little breather afterward, you can sift back through the history leading up to When All The Maps Got Arrowy, and try to see what set the whole mess off. So if you see similar precursors go off again....

Slow and patient consideration might not actually be your preferred plan. Instead, you might opt for, find the bastards and shut them down, fast.

Someone slaps you? Walk out now, no matter what anyone else thinks. Squatters on your land? Find them and toss them out on their ears so hard they bounce. Sabers rattled your direction? Make it absolutely clear there will be heavy weapons firing back - as soon as fired on, not “two years later after we’ve deliberated it to death”.

Because if you’ve lived for a while, and you anticipate living a lot longer - think about it. “I’ll be a slave for a decade, then die,” is bad. “I’ll be a slave for a century, and that’s only if they let me die-”

Yeah. That’s worse.

With a long lifespan, the number of Bad Things that can happen to you automatically increases, just by virtue of your being alive to have them happen. Why would you want to give any avoidable Bad Thing a chance to happen?

 Wouldn’t it be possible that an elf, cultivator, dragon, or other creature who might live centuries, might actually be quicker to act than regular humans?

I have found this in one fantasy setting. In Lejentia, by Flying Buffalo Games, the Aelvan Nations finally beat down and imprisoned the Hyl Sudiar (Hellish Seducer) and the demon who possessed him, and breathed a sigh of relief. Some centuries later, said demon persuaded another person to become the next Hyl Sudiar... and the Aelvan Nations declared war immediately.

Human kingdoms: “Whyfor you do that?”

Human kingdoms a few centuries later, after despite all efforts the Hyl Sudiar’s armies have conquered half the world: “...Oh.”

I have to think about this, given I have a story that has at least one nearly three-hundred-years-old vampire, and a somewhat younger cultivator who has still outlived three emperors and is working on a fourth. (Zhengle, Jiajing, Longqing, and Wanli, if you’re interested.) They’ve seen threats to their people. They know, over and over again, what it is to lose people to the actions of evil men. What it is to live on, while those you love die, and it never stops hurting....

Long life might not mean slow and deliberate action. Just a thought.

[jadeazora]

My versions of Lysandre and Sycamore headcanon (with some Diantha and Malva too)

Lysandre

One of his biggest pet peeves is those who have a slobbish demeanor about them, he absolutely hates sloppiness

Is quite musically talented (violin and piano)

Classy drunk, keeps his shit together a lot better than Sycamore

Pan, appreciates the beauty of all sexes and genders, has had an on/off thing with Sycamore before and is currently dating Malva, biggest celebrity crush on Diantha tho (she turned him down)

Diantha knows he's trouble, all of the 🚩🚩🚩 vibes on-sight.

His whole relationship with Malva is her going "I can make him worse lol 😈" (this is a woman who, in Masters, stood by and smiled as he implicitly executed two Rocket grunts. There's something definitely wrong with her too.)

Roughly the alignment chart we're looking at:

All manner of misfortune (violence, murder, madness) runs in the family, originating around the time of AZ and the Ultimate Weapon, seen as something like a curse, particularly on the male side. As such, Lys is the last of AZ's descendants.

Dealt with those sorts of intrusive thoughts by becoming a philanthropist in an attempt to counteract them, but it ended up having the opposite effect, fueling them and making them worse instead. (He was always destined to fall.)

He had convinced himself of a feeling of disconnect with him using the Ultimate Weapon and those that would die, but he would end up becoming directly responsible for the death of the one who became the Lumiose Ghost Girl. It wasn't initially his intention to kill her, he wanted to try to convince her to not go public over the Holocaster's spyware/Flare's schemes, and wasn't able to, leaving him with little other choice than to silence her. (He's unaware of her haunting, or that she's looking for him.) Probably the closest he's been to realizing he needed to STOP, but Malva was the worst person he could have called to confess to.

Has committed orchestrated a few murders "disappearances" since tho (some himself, some by other members of his organization, they're functionally a secret police), there were some people becoming more aware of Flare's activities and presence. It's said to be unsafe going into certain areas of Lumiose City at night.

Despite things between them being strained, still would prefer trying to save Sycamore and the children as "chosen ones", by force if he has to. They have to come around eventually that things were better for the future this way, right?

Sycamore:

Is an absolute, clumsy menace on rollerskates. Has nearly cracked a rib more than once.

Lysandre gifted him those bright red-orange socks

Party drunk. More than once, Lys has had to half-drag, half-carry him to his Cafe before to get him something to help sober him up

Seriously, do not trust this man with any alcohol

Sina and Dexio have also had to deal with this (they do get "apology pay")

Disaster bi, disaster magnet (probably what attracted him to Lysandre in the first place)

Diantha had (quietly) warned him about Lysandre, while the man was in the room, while they were dating. Sycamore just mentally standing there dying from awkwardness.

Masks a more jaded streak from failing to dissuade Lysandre of his misanthropic views, and plays oblivious when they're around each other now. (He's also somewhat aware of Lysandre's end goal, tho not really of the "when" or the "how.")

He's not at the point where he wants his old friend dead despite his awareness of Lysandre's intentions, but there is the looming horrifying thought that it just might be in Kalos's best interest if he were. He hates it, especially that he's not strong enough a Trainer to stop Lysandre himself.

Not sure if learning of Lysandre/Flare "disappearing" a few people would be enough to push him over the edge fully on that tho. (He still harbors some feelings that he's been trying to shove down.)

It really bothers him having Calem and Serena basically fight his battle there, there's a good amount of self-loathing over his failure to talk some sense into his friend and that the kids are doing the adults' job.

[joys-of-everyday]

Parallel and non-parallels: the skewed lines of SJ and og!LBH

Hey, hey! Don’t we love comparing Shen Jiu (resident meow meow/bristling stray) to Bingge (poor wet dog who deserved better from life)? But for fun, I wanted to explore their differences. 

The free and the unfree

SJ was a slave. LBH was not.

Okay, shittiness of life is not strictly dependent on class (e.g. by Confucian values, farmers were meant to be more valuable members of society than merchants, but there were plenty of rich merchants and poor farmers) but the distinction here is important because it changes how society perceives them, and how they perceive themselves. LBH was poor, yes. His childhood was tragic, yes. But he was regarded as a person, whereas SJ was property.

So some thoughts on how this fine but important distinction goes on to drastically change their worldviews down the line.

Warning: #PsychoAnalysingFictionalCharactersWeBarelyKnowAnythingAbout

This post is heavily injected with my biases and headcanons. Feel free to complain.

Moments of unnecessary kindness vs moments of unnecessary cruelty

QJL – as a master to a slave – was under no societal obligation to give SJ anything. Remember what he says?

If it weren’t for our family, you’d still be on the streets even now, playing a beggar and swindling for a living. That you don’t lack for clothes, that you can even read and write when you’re only pretender trash – who gave all that to you?

This is the lie that QJL constructs: that SJ is worthless, that he has no right to complain about mistreatment, and that anything above a beating is a debt to be repaid. And in-world, there is some truth to this statement. He could easily have kept SJ around as a ball to kick around and a playmate for QHT with no consequence. But he didn’t. He elevated his status and gave him skills that would later become fundamental to his power and privilege, setting him on the path to the kind of decent life which would have been completely unavailable to him as a slave. There’s kindness here, but it’s false kindness – a tool QJL uses to justify his behaviour and put SJ down.

Meanwhile SJ – as a peak lord – has an obligation to teach his disciples. And LBH has always held some rights (if severely limited by the fact he was poor) – his tragic past is more likely to illicit sympathy rather than an arrest warrant (1).  YQY shows (small amounts of) discomfort at SJ’s mistreatment of disciples and asks him to be more lenient. By default, SJ is expected to give LBH an access to a better future. Instead, he actively tries to squash his potential and ruin his cultivation.

So to summarise, QJL’s treatment of SJ is characterised by unnecessary kindness within default cruelty, while SJ’s treatment of LBH is characterised by unnecessary cruelty within default kindness. This screws them both over, but in different ways.

The urge to reject, the urge to protect

SJ firmly rejects kindness. To him, kindness is nothing but a knife in a disguise, a weapon to humiliate and degrade him. Even to those he cares about, SJ refuses to demonstrate a single shred of good intention. I don’t give a damn about all that loyalty crap, he says to YQY, despite demonstrating over and over that he does in fact give a damn. He gives many damns indeed. He also refuses to reveal that he helped LQG, berating SQH for even trying. (2)

SJ is even worse at accepting help – it is shameful he thinks, to regard women as saviours (3). It is interesting that in SJ’s most vulnerable moment, the closest he ever comes to demonstrating his feelings for YQY, he says:

I have vicious inclinations, I’m filled with resentment. Now Luo Binghe wants me to die a painful death, and I have only myself to blame.

This doesn’t feel like an evil villain speech. This feels like someone desperately trying to push the other person away so that they wouldn’t be dragged down with them. In his moments of care, he is unkind. Because kindness, for SJ, is never care.

Meanwhile, LBH returns kindness with kindness, cruelty with cruelty. And of course, that makes sense, right? The kindness that LBH has received in his childhood, either from his adopted mother or NYY, is scant against the backdrop of cruelty but it is genuine (if not effective at alleviating his suffering). And while he has a bucket load of issues, he doesn’t have the unique SJ brand of hating those he loves, or rejecting offers of help (even if it is from people who are obviously manipulating him for merit – looking at you, QWY.)

But this is og!LBH’s downfall. All of his self-worth is built on collecting and dishing out kindness (=women in Bingge’s dictionary) like pokemons, leading to this rather pitiful worldview:

Bing-ge clicked his tongue, saying disdainfully: “Who let him be so useless, that he actually doesn’t have a single woman.”

He is unable to bond with people beyond something superficial, ending up with a bloated harem on which his places his worth but clearly doesn’t make him happy.

The rejection of self vs the rejection of fate

SJ is (as SQQ eloquently puts it) a poser. He is characterised by a rejection of his past and a rejection of his self.

This is in part a necessity – he is a criminal, from the lowest levels of society. But SJ goes beyond just hiding his past. He puts on airs of an aloof immortal, an act which SJ picked up in the Qiu manor, perhaps even instilled in him by QJL himself. And it’s not just mannerisms:

Shen Qingqiu finally understood how the original flavor’s personality, where he flattered you in the face then stabbed you in the back, had developed. Most probably he’d picked it up from Young Master Qiu through osmosis…

And why shouldn’t he copy Young Master Qiu? Three years of his life has taught him that nobody will treat a slave with decency, but they will a young master, no matter how unpalatable (4).

A piece of shit can’t be polished, QJL tells him, and while SJ rejects this narrative (I’m human, he says) he always come back to it. YQY is a dragon leaping into the sky; SJ is a failure unable to attain his potential. YQY is a righteous sect leader; he is an evil piece of scum. He believes himself broken and worthless. He rejects what he believes is his ‘true self’ and covers it over with a mask… but he is always plagued by his past. He tries to cover up – to play the respected scholar, the aloof immortal – inevitably falls short, becomes bitter and jealous, hates himself for his ‘naturally evil tendencies’, tries to cover up… and so continues to trod along this downwards spiral to a bitter and bloody end.

Meanwhile, LBH rejects fate. Very dramatically in fact:

None of that is important. It’s enough to just do what I want. Fate either never existed at all – or it’s something I should trample beneath my feet.

(This is bingmei, not bingge, but it’s not hard to imagine bingge has a similar outlook on life.)

More concretely, LBH rejects being under other people’s influence. His entire life is a sandwich of great fortune and great misfortune, and importantly his misfortune comes from others oppressing him, his fortune comes from his inherent abilities and talents. Despite all his setbacks, he finds himself powerful and capable, with people (women) literally throwing themselves at him.

SJ never really tried to change LBH in the way QJL changed SJ. Instead he tried to destroy him (within the bounds of his role as peak lord). SJ found power in part by accepting what QJL had taught him. LBH found it by turning his back on SJ, firstly by learning demonic cultivation behind his back, then leaving him altogether (not by his choice, but still).

Whereas SJ desperately sought to maintain an air of civility (ironically upholding the systems he suffered under), the height of LBH’s blackening is a rejection of pretences… and thus a rejection of boundaries. (He literally brings down the system.) In an embodiment of this (interestingly at a point where his behaviour is arguably as close to Bingge as it gets), Bingemei says:

If Shizun sees me as no better than a beast either way, I might as well live up to expectations.

His misbelief is that obtaining power and crushing obstacles will make him happy, because relying on his own capabilities made him less miserable in the past. Of course that misbelief ultimately causes him to be extremely miserable.

The longing for connection

Both stories are a tragedy, but they are different tragedies intricately tied to their origins. SJ is the slave who stabbed his master in the stomach. LBH is the disciple whose master pushed him down a cliff.

But coming back full circle, SJ and og!LBH are united by a lack of substantial human connection. SJ because he rejects himself and thus pushes everyone else away. LBH because he rejects others and thus never opens himself up to anyone, despite there being ample people willing to do an awful amount for him (#UnderappreciatedOfficeLadySHL).

And on the theme of parallels, Bingmei is a Bingge who was able to believe that someone chose him, from the bottom of his heart. Meanwhile, a major part of SY’s arc was breaking free of roles such as ‘villain’ and 'protagonist'. When we accept others and accept ourselves, when we build healthy relationships with the people around us, life can be better.  

Extra

Yah know, I agree that any kind of SJ redemption (and I root for a SJ redemption) must have SJ learning to love himself (there’s plenty of wonderful fics in this vein)... but I also feel like a big part of his redemption has to be first understanding and then truly rejecting the narratives drilled into him by QJL/WYZ. I dunno, I think people should critique QJL more.

Footnotes

Okay, LBH past does resolve a lot around how he is bullied unfairly, by people more privileged than him, similarly to SJ. I will admit the parallels are probably bigger than the differences here, including their interactions with QHT/NYY.

Caveat, he also does this before his experiences at the Qiu manor, so if QJL did play a part in this, it was to exacerbate an existing personality trait.

Although this overlaps with his toxic ideas of masculinity as well. I will make a post of this… soon.

Rather tragically, this is misbelief. In SVSSS, QHT announces to the world that SQQ is (maybe) a freed slave and everyone conveniently forgets about it the next day. Even LPM doesn’t use that against him.

[skayafair]

The thing about Hilbert that doesn't let me move on from this character is The Uselessness/Pointlessness and everything it brings into the picture. Because it was his end, but it also became the center idea of his character somehow? It ties everything into a whole and it's devastating.

Because he made his research or, rather, his aim to create The Cure (pure hubris if you ask me, how bad should one have it to actually believe... goodness gracious) the only thing that mattered. Hilbert discarded everything - his name, his life, his own affections (because as I've noticed on the relisten, to my surprise, he stated that he was actually very fond of the 1st Hephaestus crew more than once, and he obviously respects Eiffel at the very least), his morals (which he still very much has but deems irrelevant unless there's actually room for moral principles to be applied without becoming an obstacle to the research, like belatedly getting Eiffel's consent for the tests), - all in the name of success and saving humanity.

And yet, all of this was for nothing. His virus didn't work despite all the deaths he wanted to justify by succeeding. Instead of creating an ultimate cure he created an ultimate weapon potent enough to threaten an alien civilization on an entirely different level, able to wipe out all the humanity in record time. This is the opposite of what he was pursuing, the opposite of his whole life and its meaning. Like... it's hard to imagine a failure worse than that.

This alone would have probably be enough to keep me stuck for weeks - I mean, what a cruel irony, right?

But what has me hooked even more is the fact that even with all this in mind, I can't say his life or Hilbert himself are pointless or useless. Because even despite his failure at what he deemed to be the only important thing, he still made an impact. People who were supposed to hate him for all he's done were mourning losing him - not too deeply, or it wasn't shown, - and yet Lovelace came to respect him, in a way, and care a bit before his death, and it was him who Minkowski had an imaginary conversation with when having a hard time. Eiffel insisted on having a proper funeral for everyone lost even when Hera was opposed to including Hilbert in it.

It's another layer of irony that the actual impact, his actual legacy he's remembered by turned out to be what he didn't pay much mind to - just... his day to day life and personality.

I know a lot of people are afraid to disappear without a trace, without leaving some noticeable impact on this world. I don't understand this fear on a personal level (please, we'll all be forgotten sooner or later, like millions before us, and the humanity in whole doesn't matter on a cosmic scale), but this is another reason why Hilbert stands out to me. He failed spectacularly in his sole aim he sacrificed everything to, made a lot of people suffer and die, and yet there was a trace left, one he didn't even think and probably didn't know about. You just never know. It's just... no matter how worthless one may feel, they may still be remembered by something good, completely unaware of this. Isn't it reassuring?

[unoriginal-and-dumb]

Df ghuffehugefghugfueyguyefgyyfrgygryf?

Do you like dead space? The dead space franchise?? Do you want to hear about dead space?

Last year they released a remake for the first game! Anyway my favorite game from the series would have to be dead space 2, I love the new necromorphs and the added lore to unitology and the whole thing with convergence actually being a thing. In the first game released 2008 convergence actually wasn’t a thing yet. All we knew was the marker, the necromorphs, and unitology. Which is honestly why I like dead space 2 so much. I mean also the advanced suit which is literally the coolest fucking suit EVER. Anyway, did you know that the original dead space game was actually gonna be way different? As it is now it’s a survival sci-fi horror where you play as Isaac Clarke, an engineer who is trying to make sure the entire ship (USG Ishimura) doesn’t go under since everyone is either dead or now a necromorph. More importantly he is actually looking for his girlfriend who was a nurse on the ship. How the game was originally going to be was actually how Callisto protocol is. In other words, it was going to be that you were a prisoner, but some sort of infection is going around and turning people into horrible monsters that go and kill everyone else. I’m really glad they decided to not go with that idea, because the whole thing with unitology and convergence with the added PAIN of Nicole (Isaac’s girlfriend) really makes for a great game. Callisto protocol kinda fell flat for me, the weapons were kinda lame and the fighting was a bit jank but the designs were pretty cool. Nothing will ever beat necromorphs though. My favorite of the single body necromorphs would probably be the unitologist slasher, the puker, or the stalker. The unitologist slasher in specific areas doing the unitology hand symbol thing and the fact that their faces are completely obliterated is kind of poetic given what unitology is (it’s the belief that death, conversion to necromorphs, and convergence into a sentient meat planet essentially is the final steps of evolution for humanity when in all reality it is just the brethren moons way of reproducing). I like pukers because of how severely messed up they are, their faces are hollow and their flesh is melted due to the acid they hold their lungs. It’s twisted and malformed and the designs for the legs are absolutely so cool. Stalkers im biased for because I loved dinosaurs, I loved xenomorphs, I mean it’s a human contorted into basically a raptor and it screams at you and looks awesome ITS COOL! But god Isaac Clarke is such a great character. Like I said he’s just an engineer who in the end of it all wants to find and save his girlfriend because he was the one who encouraged her to take the job on the ishimura. Spoiler warning in case anyone was actually reading this and wanting to play the games. Anyway Nicole is dead, even before you start playing she was already dead and Isaac knew that. He received her last transmission, all she could really say is everything was falling apart and how scared she was, but she ultimately decided it was better if she did it herself instead of being turned into a necromorph. Isaac watched Nicole die, the one person in his life that was there for him, that tried to help him, that stayed with him and he loved her soooooooo much, so seeing that transmission kind of just broke him. He pushed it out of his head and refused to believe it. And it just gets so much worse because the marker, the thing that created necromorphs, is capable of creating hallucinations and delusions for people making them more susceptible to being killed, killing, or helping the marker reach the convergence event in order to create a brethren moon. Throughout the game Isaac experiences hallucinations, they get worse and worse until he finally finds what he thinks is Nicole and because he jsut wants her alive and well he chooses to believe it, in the end healing the marker get exactly what it wanted.

Convergence events are triggered by the markers when there is enough biomass. So these brethren moons, are moon sized living beings. They literally farm species. I’m dead space lore, the asteroid that hit the earth and killed the dinosaurs was the red marker. It was designed to take out the dinosaurs as the brethren moons know what they need in a species in order to reproduce a new moon. The marker sends out signals to the species, encouraging growth in intellect, and also creating the internal greed leading to over using the environment and being forced to find new ways to get materials such as going to the stars. This influence is key not only to create an intelligent species but for small cues in their genes to be easily triggered when they have reached their peak. This is when a necromorph outbreak will begin to occur. First, people have to be near the marker. It produces energy signals that are highly desired as it looks to be free energy, so obviously this draws attention and leads to people studying the marker extensively. Then it starts to hit those genetic cues. It depends on the person, but most will exhibit signs of heightened stress and anxiety, hallucinations as well. People who are unable to hold the knowledge of how to create more markers are driven insane, often times becoming extremely hostile as they hallucinate others to be monsters or believe that others are trying to harm them in some other way. It begins with a body, the marker also has something similar to a viral bacteria that it used to create the first few necromorphs. Once there is a dead body in proximity, it takes a bit of time but eventually it can “reanimate” it (necromorphs are NOT alive, they are simple a collection of muscles being moved around, they can’t be killed but dismemberment can stop them) the first few necromorphs are always slashers. They have large blades and strong legs, they can quickly crawl through vents and are quick and good at killing. Once there’s enough slashers around to protect the marker it moves on to creating infectors, those are severely mutilated human corpses, but their main purpose is to speed up the infection. They have a long proboscis that is designed to stab through human skulls and inject the bacteria. With infectors, the switch from human to necromorph only takes seconds. This allows for other forms of necromorphs to be created. It depends on a number of things for what determines what type of necromorph will come from a human, but the marker uses the materials to the best of its abilities. People with somethingike acid reflux may be more prone to becoming a puker, people who have been cut in half or just have a much stronger upper body may become a leaper (leg less torsos that can crawl and jump extreme distances) if the infection is along far enough the marker may begin to attack in other ways, such as creating wheezers (oo wee ooo) that cough up poisonous gasses to kill off any remain in survivors passively. Sometimes a corpse just becomes part of the corruption, which is often seen as meaty growth along the walls and floor of any areas. In the ishimura it blocks door ways, slows people down, grows tentacle like things that can grab and drag people down. It can also work a bit like the wheezers by relaeasing the poisonous gasses but it works much slower than the wheezers do, much more passive stuff. The most dangerous thing the corruption can do is create wall guardians. Humans can be absorbed into the corruption and have a stationary necromorph that can prevent survivors from traversing as easily. They are extremely dangerous and hard to kill without proper weapons. As mentioned necromorphs are dead, all you can do is dismember them to make it so they are unable to attack you so it’s not just an easy one and done shot.

Brethren moons are so super cool. They are the signs of previously powerful species, they are the reason we are alone. They harvest and kill in order to create life for themselves. A brethren moon requires an intelligent species in order to become what it is. They are hyper intelligent hive minds that are all connected. They share the same abilities of the markers but scaled to like times 100. In dead space, there is a level of intelligence that shows itself as the ability to read others minds, or if cultivated act as a hive mind. Every human has the ability to be born with it but it is rare and again one human could have that ability but it is such a low level it will likely never be noticed unless convergence occurs. Isaac Clarke does not have this ability, but he does have the other form of intelligence that makes him much more dangerous and thus more desired by the brethren moons. He is able to withstand the marker signal better than others (that doesn’t mean he can fully withstand it but yknow) which means he is able to have the instructions for HWO to create more markers implanted in his head. But that also means he can defeat the markers plans (if we are going by dead space 3 non dlc ending that means he can also defeat brethren moons but I don’t like dead space 3 very much so im not counting it) the entire idea is built around levels of intelligence, and there’s so many different levels of it. Humans as a whole are smart, but everyone has different intelligences in different areas and I’ve always been really interested in stuff like that

Anyway im gonna go now I have about 385828578385739 more words to say but I need to do other things

[thevikingwoman]

I had thoughts and needed them out. After witnessing the details of G'raha's plan, Meryta feels upset and unsettled and needs some time to think.

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV | Words: 736 | Read on Ao3

Meryta Khatin | Shadowbringers: The Unbroken Thread | angst Rating: Teen. Anger, reflection, MSQ coda, mention of death and dying. Four Lords spoilers too

Choices

Meryta doesn’t go to the Amaro Launch, even though that’s what she tells Lyna when she hands her back the key to the Umbilicus. Instead, she grabs her pickaxe, and sets out for Lakeland. The Facet can always use more ore, and right now the work of it somehow seems appealing.

She does not mine.

Instead, she ends up lying in the flowers, gazing up at the unbearably bright sky. The light cracks inside her head. Endless. Noisy.

Her fault.

No. That’s not true. The Exarch – G’raha Tia, had a plan, with Urianger an accomplice. And it failed. Her part in it was not up to her, and not discussed. If she’d known, perhaps she could have…

She closes her eyes against the burning light. It doesn’t stop. She wonders if the light leaks out of them, like it leaked into her limbal rings after they killed the Lightwarden in Amh Araeng. If anyone would notice it, in the brightness all around.

She is tired and motionless and has given up on the pretense of mining. She thought moving her body would feel good and she briefly considered pulling a mark from the board – but it would be worse, if she got killed by some powerful beast, which could absorb her aether and become a most terrifying Lightwarden. Ravaging through the land, set upon the Crystarium.

So, instead she grabbed her pick and now she lies here.

She should be dead.

No.

G’raha should be dead, had planned to die, so she could live.

The light is so very loud inside her skull and she wants to scream, her hands fists at her side, tears running down her face.

They made the choice for her, as if she’s some kind of child.

The stillness sweeps over her, she can’t even hold her own anger, the suffusing light too oppressive, too heavy. She thinks of Tenzen, who gave his life to save the world – his world; her world. Binding Koryu at the cost of his life, making that choice because he had to. Because he wanted to. The memory of him living on through stories, and through his beloved auspices. The auspices who loved him, loved him enough to trust him to make that choice for himself.

Is she not loved enough to do so?

Mayhap that isn’t fair. Mayhap it would have worked, had it not been for Emet-Selch’s interference. Bastard acian. Perhaps there would have been no other options, their plan the best course of action. Except – why does she get to live? The fervent description of her legacy, the way G’raha spoke of the hope she will bring. Would have brought to a broken world. A legacy that may not come to pass. All of their plotting to make sure she survived, as is she is somehow more important than anyone, because of what he’d learned of her in the future they worked so hard to not come to pass. She’s not that person. She didn’t choose to be that person, not yet. Did Tenzen choose his legacy or did it choose him? At least no one made the choice for him while he was still living.

Perhaps she should thank Emet-Selch, and this only fuels her anger. All for naught, and she’s halfway glad of it. The plan so intricate, and yet so very simple. Take the light. Go off and die. All these scholars and she just has her weapons and her fight - and yet they choose for her to live instead of them finding a solution, consulting Y’shtola, Alphinaud, anyone. Instead of asking her.  

She fists her hand in the blanket of flowers beneath her, tears them out in clumps. Grass, flowers, trees above.

Blinding light inside out.

Anger burning in her chest, drowned by the light.

An acian with a gun.

She knows what she must do.

She will go and find G’raha, as she promised Lyna. She will kill Emet-Selch if she has to. And she’ll save G’raha, and she will take the light wherever he intended to, into a rift, and save this world too. They will have to let her, have to help her do this. She will make that choice.  Not G’raha, not Urianger, nor any other friend who’d try to stop her.

She will hold on to the light, keeping it locked inside her a little longer.

Long enough for her to make her choice.

[ofdragonsdeep]

20: Duel

A conflict between antagonistic persons, ideas, or forces.

On the rooftop of the royal palace of Ala Mhigo, Zenos sought to fight a beast.

Scales and claws will answer.

If there was one truth about Ar'telan that stood out above all others, it was that he did not like fighting.

It was the threat inherent in it. The constant knowledge that if he did not win, others would die, or suffer worse. Knowing that so much rested on his shoulders, and he could not afford to slip up. They did not have another Warrior of Light. They barely had anyone else with the Blessing. He could not fail.

Ala Mhigo had brought it into stark and barren light.

The fight had never been his, but he had never been one to abandon his friends when they needed him. He knew that so, so many would die if the Resistance could not turn the tide - and he had been tasked with finding Shinryu, the creature that had started all of this to begin with. A cause so desperate people were willing to die to see it succeed.

Ar'telan did not like killing people. He was capable of it, more than capable. He had done it countless times before, in that life-or-death situation where if he did not, it would be his life that were forfeit instead. Faced down those who wanted to be there, and those who did not. Feared the day he did not remember ever single life, because they had been lost in an ocean of desperation.

And then there was Zenos.

Zenos had seen in him the same thing that everyone else had - the stubborn weapon who refused to die. The creature who would fight to the last if it had to. And just like everyone else, he had sought to use it.

Ar'telan pitied him, the way he would pity a rabid dog who had to be put down. He resented that removing the threat would give Zenos exactly what he wanted.

For all his time as an adventurer, as Warrior of Light, as someone who had to fight to move forward, Ar'telan had resisted being put in a place where his only option was to kill. He had learned the scholar's arts, and conjury, and enough of the arcanist's toolkit that he could protect with it and little else. He had learned the art of a gladiator, of a knight, of a paladin, to be the bulwark between his friends and the oncoming tide. Always protector, always defender, never aggressive.

But the defender had been useless against Zenos.

He could hold his own, but he couldn't stop Zenos from turning on a whim and hurting his friends. He could salvage a poorly thought out plan, but he could not turn it around into a win. He had led the charge through the royal palace with his sword and shield in hand, protecting those who stood at his back to retake their home or drive out the aggressor, until they had reached Zenos.

Zenos did not care about the Imperial Province of Ala Mhigo. Zenos did not care about the lives of those beneath him, nor the lives of the rebellion. Zenos did not care about his role as commander, as prince of Garlemald, as a man who walked the world.

Zenos only cared about him.

During the attack on Rhalgr's Reach, Ar'telan had watched his impassive face turn up in the slightest smile. Heard the dull voice, replete with boredom, move just a little in pitch. When they had fought in Yanxia, Ar'telan had watched him feel something, for one small, fleeting moment.

And now the fire had caught.

Ar'telan had chased him to the roof of the palace, where in the age of Ala Mhigo's kings the royal menagerie had stood. He had listened to Zenos's impassioned speech, where he tried to claim friendship with the man he likened to a beast that wished to rip out his throat. He had listened to barely any of it, because the backdrop made his blood run cold.

Shinryu.

The primal sat in a net forged, Ar'telan hoped, by Omega. The Garleans had found it, they had brought it to their prince, and he had saved it for his last and grandest gesture of friendship. Ar'telan could feel the malice radiating from the creature even at a distance, its enforced quiescence doing little to calm the anger that fuelled it. A hundred hundred prayers of the dead had fuelled it, calling out to the Destroyer, a horrible amalgam of desperation and hope and curses. One last desecration of Nidhogg's aether, one final horror visited upon dragonkind.

A weapon. A potent force. A way to force the hand of those with power.

Another dragon-made-primal, enslaved to another warmongering empire, fashioned delicate puppet strings to hammer the final nail into the coffin of the sanctity of life.

He sheathed his sword, put up his shield, and from a bag at his hip, drew his grimoire.

---

Ar'telan disliked showy fights the most of all.

The sheer size of Shinryu meant their clash could never go unnoticed, but a showdown on a rooftop felt like spectacle for the sake of it. Ar'telan hoped that none of his allies would try to come to his aid. Zenos would not take kindly to it, and Ar'telan knew he would have no time to spare on protection.

He weaved an aetheric shield around himself as the dragon readied to attack. For his sins, Ar'telan had faced many dragons in battle now, and there would only be so much that Zenos could change. He would need time to grow used to the new form - to how the aether moved across his body, to the wings at his back, to the strength of his snapping jaws. Ar'telan would need the time.

The dragon roared, and Ar'telan paid no heed to the words that formed in his head at the sound of it.

The dance was the same. Lily grabbed hold of his shoulder, her healing staving off the damage from the constant barrage of aether that simply being close to Shinryu caused, and left Ar'telan free to concentrate. It was an unexpected boon that he knew how to read the tells of a dragon far better than he could ever have read Zenos.

Ice at his back. Sidestep, never taking his eyes from the foe.

Water to the side. Channel the aether, plant his feet at exactly the right time.

Wind gathering on the rooftop. Fight the gale, and never stray to close to the edge.

And as he did so, he weaved the aether at his fingertips into biting magic. Miasma in the dragon's lungs, poison in its blood, an aetheric assault of his own catching and redirecting the overwhelming presence back at the dragon itself. All of these were things that a scholar of Nym could have done, and none of them had availed him any against Zenos in the past. But they would chip away at his reserves, and that was all Ar'telan needed.

Time.

He could feel the threads in the aether, pulling taut around the nexus of draconic energy that Shinryu represented. As he moved - a fist from above, dodge to the left. A hail of ice, weather the storm. Levinbolts from the aether, weave a quick curative magic on the stiffness that built in his muscles - he teased them out.

One. Shinryu's eyes shone like bright, sharp points.

The tail slammed down where he had been just moments before, and only a sharp application of magic made it retreat, the dragon - Zenos - rumbling in pain as it did.

Two. The primal's aether outlined itself, around that nest of pulsing purple that was Nidhogg's last remaining essence, the lives of all of those who had died on Baelsar's wall surrounding it.

Energy crackled around the dragon's maw, and Ar'telan poured what little power he had left into a protective shield. The column of fire struck like a lance, only its afterimages avoidable, each pulse a stab of white-hot pain across his flesh.

Three. At the edges of his perception, there was that same distorted song he had heard at the heart of the Ragnarok. An elegy of agony, cried out over millenia, so many frozen voices forced to answer.

He held them, those invisble threads, trembling in the air, and waited.

His opportunity came when Zenos took to the air, wheeling around to strafe across the arena. There was a corner of the rooftop, perilously small, that the Echo drew him towards like a moth to fire. He threw himself to safety, precious seconds gained in Zenos needing to re-orient, and closed his eyes.

When the records of Allag's summoners had shown that they could channel the essence of eikons, Ar'telan had engaged in it only to satisfy Y'mhitra's scientific curiosity. When the theory had been extended to any Eikon that he had faced in battle, he had baulked at the final hurdle and refused her. When the animated tome they had dug out of the dig site had spoken of demi-primals, Y'mhitra had needed to petition him multiple times before he would even humour the idea, much less the execution.

Allag desecrated everything it touched.

But Nidhogg, whose only crime had been witnessing his sister's death for centuries, whose madness had been mutlipled tenfold by the actions of those long-dead Ishgardians, whose death had been both mercy and murder, deserved to rest.

When he opened his eyes, the rooftop sang.

Every battered flower, every cracked rock, every flex of Shinryu's fingers, every flap of his wings. Their fight blurred together like a single breath, move-duck-dodge-weather-watch. Every motion an afterimage that never left his eyes.

It burned, bright and blue, that horrible off-key eulogy to the living dead.

He spread his wings and leapt from the rooftop. Energy and aether beckoned at his fingertips, the price frivolous in the moment. It crackled at his claws, all but crying out for release.

Maintaining the trance for too long taxes the aether.

He unleashed it. A column of bright blue fire slammed down on Shinryu, and its afterimages sang in fire. The dragon roared at the agony of it, and Ar'telan could feel the smile from the man within it.

A trance too deep risks altering the corporeal aether permanently.

He wheeled away as Shinryu lashed out with his tail, and spat aether in reply. Again the afterburn echoed, like the Dawn Wyrm himself was sat at his back, writhing in the agony of his twisted rebirth.

Blue where there should have been gold.

Unleashing a demi-primal requires natural protections against Tempering to work at all.

The song ached for an end to it. That small spark of Bahamut touching what yet remained of Nidhogg in the echo, screaming at the wrongness. He could hear it, words in his head in a speech so aether-deep he knew the meaning even if he did not know the words.

Destruction. Despair. Death.

A century of white-hot pain, Ratatoskr's dying scream etched into his soul like a carving in stone.

"So few people have witnessed Bahamut and remained intact, we have no data…"

"Even being close to it risks being Tempered…"

Go to the heart of the wyrm and set him free.

Shinryu lept for him like a cat at prey, but even with Bahamut's aether coccooned around his body he was still far smaller than the primal, and it was easy to dart backwards, away from catching claws and snapping jaws. This time his response was far more than simple aetheric poisons, a ricochet of energy so intense the air crackled as it hit.

If you linger too long, you might not come back.

All they had to do was evict the interloper. All they had to do was dissipate the shell the primal had woven around Nidhogg's soul. Break it, and they broke Zenos. Without his draconic skin, he would fall to them. It was inevitable.

The now hurt to perceive.

Make sure you come back.

They pulled in their wings and dove downwards. Every weak point was outlined in bright fire across the dragon's back, and they dug in their claws. Shinryu's aether assaulted them with every movement, and the memory of every impact lingered like a bleeding wound on their soul.

Break it.

Shinryu shook back and forth, wings beating in renewed attempts to dislodge the interloper. They sunk their teeth into the skin, magic gathered about them to make the venom more potent than any spell a feeble book could conjure. Their song echoed against his, and they felt his pain, white-hot lances through the blood.

Break it.

Their wings heaved. Shinryu swung his tail around to catch them, like swatting a fly, and they rolled away.

Break it.

They tore a scale free from the flesh, the wound raw and bleeding green. The weakness pulsed with light.

Break it.

They summoned every iota of energy in their form, knotting those delicate threads of aether, and made them snap.

The rush of aetheric energy coalesced like a lance, sharp-tipped and serrated. It slammed into Shinryu's flesh, no longer protected in that one tiny space, and arced through him.

The song screamed, a dragoon's lance through the soul, eyes wrested from body. A borrowed boon ripped free, to leave the flesh to rot.

Break it.

Shinryu hit the floor, crushing what remained of the flowers in the garden. Green blood pooled in the holes in his flesh, hissing where it came into contact with the stone, and the primal dissipated.

In its place, Zenos.

They landed, talons scraping on the rock.

You are more than this.

They had moments left yet. Zenos was a formidable foe to a mortal, but to a dragon, he would snap like a twig.

Keep hold of yourself.

It would have been so easy.

Come back.

They raised their claws. Light crackled about them like a knife. The chorus sang in mournful elegy.

Every moment in an instant.

Rhalgr's Reach. The smell of smoke and blood. Corpses littered on the floor like leaves.

Yanxia, the grin on Zenos's face as he baited the beast. The desperate struggle to keep everyone alive. Knowing the plan would fail. Supporting it in case it did not.

The royal palace. Cutting through the Garleans like they were nothing. The throne room. The desire in Zenos's eyes - the emotion in his voice, the craving.

Shinryu, again and again and again. The assault unceasing, the pain untreated, the only victory in not being the first to fall under the battery.

"There… lies… the beast," Zenos said, every word dredged from the pit of his battered body.

Come back.

This is not what Bahamut would want.

They closed their eyes.

It felt like ripping the skin from his body, the aether dissipating with a violent crack of energy. He gasped aloud at the pain of it, staggering backwards away from Zenos and falling to his knees.

It still echoed in his head. Over and over and over. The song. The chorus. He still felt it like the memory was his own. Ratatoskr. Allag. Meracydia. Falling under an onslaught of voidsent claws and crying out with one final breath for Tiamat.

Dying. Bahamut dying. Ratatoskr dying. Nidhogg dying.

Come back.

He forced his eyes open. In front of him, his hands were his own, though battered and bloody from the fight. The skin still stung from Shinryu's acidic blood, but it was his skin.

He heard the oncoming storm of feet as he collapsed onto his side. Zenos - even if he was not dying, he was in no state to fight. The others would deal with him. Ar'telan's part in it was done.

Their weapon, faithful and true, had done his duty.

Come back.

[traveller-of-the-knight]

Blind Reflections Chapter 1 "Willing to die"

So this is basically a Moon Knight x Daredevil fanfic that is also a Moon Knight x Jessica Jones fanfic. You don't need to know shit about Daredevil or Jessica Jones, just know that this fic is very Jake Lockley centered and I will do a deep dive into his character and his past.

(Punisher, Spiderman, Layla along with Marc and Steven will be on the next chapters)

Words: 8.5K

Warnings: Canon typical violence, yeap I don't speak Spanish please correct me, very very temporary character death.

You can find it on AO3 here

ENJOY!

Matt Murdoc was… Confused to say the least, weirded out you may say. He’s been in many fights before: gangs, crime lords, ancient ninjas, blood thirsty vigilantes, dead girlfriends, you name it! But this… This was something the wasn’t prepared for. The strangest encounter he had yet to face. And that was only the first step into the maze that is Moon Knight’s reality.

The night started as normal as it could get for someone like him. A few punches here there, a couple of knife cuts and some missed gunshots -you know, the uzhe. Which lead him stalking a complex of ship containers next to the Hadson River, waiting to ambush an arms trade from Egypt. If what “punched-out-criminal-number-four” told him is true, these weapons can’t fall into the wrong hands.

So, he waited for what seemed like hours on a building not too far away from the target. He didn’t need to be that close anyway. Besides he got a clearer image of his surroundings that way, without having to deal too much with the unpleasant odors of the river.

Still, he found himself wondering around with all for his senses. The warm wind made the otherwise cold and humid night more tolerable. He could feel it breaking through his shirt, making him shiver in the sudden change of temperature as the soft fabric hugged his skin.

He took his blindfold off, to let his face breath in the New York night. As he did, the smells he wanted to avoid hit him all too fast. Rotten fish, garbage leaking out into the muddy waters and the industrial revolution making itself present, even to this day. But it wasn’t all that bad after all. He isolated the traces of the afternoon’s rain on the soil mixed with churchy leaves, as they were stepped on by a young couple.

He heard them laughing and do happy little dances around each other. It is beautiful, having someone like that in your life. Someone who stays longer than a month, someone who understands what you must do and won’t try to keep you away from it, or even worse, judge you and leave due to that.

A new presence pulled him out of his thoughts. Someone was running from building-to-building heading towards the river. This can’t be good. He put the blindfold back on and focused on the potential threat.

It was only a man, out of breath, trying to keep up a conversation regardless the circumstances. Matt couldn’t hear the other side of it, or even feel the other person, but it was probably just an earpiece…

Well… he was very wrong. On his defense who could have guested what was actually happening!

Instead of another man he was accompanied by the wind. It was growing stronger and more violent around him, when it reached Matt the comfort of his warm clothes was utterly gone and he could only feel an unearthly chill, making him freeze to the bone.

Suddenly the wind became aggressive, lifting all the trash left on the poor rooftops and dropping them into the ground with force, like a child throwing a tantrum.

“We are not too late!”, said the man. He had an accent that Matt couldn’t really place, he sounded like he lived in New York for a while but there was also something… South American he quested in his pronunciation but also soft and rhythmic like Italian. Besides that, his tone wasn’t soft, he sounded exhausted and slightly pissed but he did his best to refrain himself.

“We don’t know that my son. They have tricked us before.”, answered the wind. But its words were undetectable, even for Matt’s delicate ears.

Fortunately, the only man capable of hearing them, is always surrounded by that wind, to hear all of its demands and pain. That man of course, was no other than Jake Lockley.

Jake Lockley is a strange man. He likes to drink his coffee black, but occasionally he’ll order “a gingerbread-almond-milk-late, with some caramel syrup and whipped cream on top of it” just because “it reminds me of an old friend”, even though he doesn’t seem like the kind of  man who’d let himself get that sentimental. He also always likes to wear his hat. And I mean always. He’ll take of his jacket, if he ever comes to your place, heck, he’ll even take his shoes off, if you want him to. But no, never his hat.

People who know him have their theories. Some say that he’s probably bolding at a young age, emphasizing the later, because even though he looked young, his demeanors made him look at least a decade older. Others say that his grandfather, moments before he died, gifted him the hat, which belonged in the family for many generations, and made him promise to never take it off. That theory sounds dumb, but you can never be too sure about anything when it comes to him. He’s a man surrounded by an aura of mystery and the skill to trick others into thinking that he’s an open book. That’s how dangerous he is.

Only one man is capable of breaking through his many layers of armor. Well… Not actually a “man”, but a bird. A six-thousand-year-old bird, or maybe just what remained of him in his flowing-head skeleton or whatever the fuck is that. But he sounds like a man, or just a stupid pigeon -your choice, his avatars will probably agree with you regardless. He on the other hand… He’ll prefer the name Khonshu. Khonshu, the protector of all who travel by night. Khonshu, the God of the stary sky. Khonshu, the one who seeks vengeance on anyone hurting the travelers under his domain. Khonshu, the owner of the voice that made the air run cold with fear. Khonshu who spoke to his priest in with caution.

“There is another traveler.”

Jake stopped his marathon to spot him.

“¿Cómo?”, he looked around, “¿Dónde mierda está?! Oh…” (What now? Where the fuck is he?) Jake noticed a man dressed head to toe in black, he looked dumb. Dumb, and intimidating -just like him.

“Fucking. Great.” he exhaled with frustration, “…El Diablo.” He lifted his hands in the air and yes, he tended to do that a lot when he spoke “Of course! Hell’s Kitchen!” he rested his palm on his forehead, “why am I even surprised…” he waved his arms again “Ah, I should have seen this coming from miles away!”, he whispered the last part to himself, so the God wouldn’t join in the mockery.

“I think he can hear you…”

He whistled to get his attention, in response Matt flinched, covering his ears.

“Hey Diablo”, Jake greeted without bothering to raise his voice, despite the distance, calm and charming as always. “Would you mind leaving this one on me?” he continued but his calmness carefully unveiled a threat as he spoke more seriously, lowering his eyebrows.

No response.

Maybe some response but he couldn’t hear it, obviously.

“Can you hear me?”

Matt stood up.

“Great, I-”

And then jumped right into action.

“Ah... Shit.”

“This is going to be a pain in the ass” said Khonshu as Jake ran to catch up.

It took a moment to approach the containers, but when he did, he saw about ten men, all armed. Most of whom were looking alarmed, aiming their guns at random spots in the sky with the sliest of sounds, looking around like idiots. Four more were already knocked out by a threat they didn’t see coming.

“There!” One of them yelled, pointing on top of a cargo at pour Jake, who hadn’t even touch them (yet).

“Joder.” (fuck)

The men started to empty their guns at him. He quickly leaned back to escape their range. He wasn’t fast enough though his tie revealed, as it billowed in front of his face framing the enemy around a hole that wasn’t there before.

One bullet too close to him. Then another one as he ducked scratched the flesh underneath his ear. At that moment Marc or Steven would have summoned the suit. Jake on the other hand, wasn’t a big fan of it.

He sticked on summoning it just enough to cover his wound, leaving the bandages loose to fly around in the air as the rest of him remained in his usual clothing.

Khonshu looked down at his avatar “You’re pathetic Lockley.”

“El Diablo… The Devil… ¿Dónde está?” (where is he) Jake asked, taking deep and controlled breaths to cancel out the pain and ignore the insult.

“Taking care of another business. Don’t tell me you thought it would be only them.”

“How- how many more?”

“Can’t tell.”

One of the men sneaked in from a different angle to shout at him as he was distracted. This one managed to hit his shoulder. He did his best not to scream as he was pushed back by the force of the bullet and gritted his teeth making a hissing sound as he crawled back, away from their range, pulling his gun out.

“Don’t waste all your strength at them. Finish them quickly and move on.”

“They are not who we are looking for, solo están- (they are just)”

“Don’t you trust me? …Jake mijo (my son)… Look at you! You’re already holding a gun.”

Jake looked at his ghoulish skeleton. He was right. Turns out he knew him all too well.

“Stand up. Raise and fight them, just how I taught you.”

And just like that Khonshu summoned the suit. White bandages were crafted out of the wind’s swirls, embroider themselves deep around Jake’s wound. And from there, just if they had dived inside his veins, they started to shallow his body, tightly holding him together as they settled in their proper positions. If you were to pay closer attention, you’d see that for a moment those bandages resembled puppet strings, illumined by the moon light, being handled by the sky lifting his body up without his will. It looked painful, but then again, all healing is painful in its own way.

The suit was different than Marc and Steven’s. It wasn’t all that put together, bandages were dirty and loose, like they were flying in the wind but still bright like the moon. The shapes they made weren’t all that unique, if he was a mummy, archeologists would say that it belonged to a worker, or even a slave. His cape also matched the rest of his outfit, looking as old as Khonshu, torn apart like the faith on a forgotten god, trying to fight his way through the human mind. He was an old script, a papyrus of dusty prayers and a place of worship and sacrifice for just before  war. So holly his skin burned, a saint who owned his place though sin.

It took him a moment to get used to the cold grip of the armor on his burning body. It felt exactly how it looked like. A prison, a cell big enough as his body, with only a small window around his eyes, connecting him to the world, bringing the New York breeze on the bridge of his nose.

Gunshots brought him back to reality. He sighed and turned around, so his cape was facing the shooters -it was either that or approaching them like Dracula. He- He wouldn’t do that.  He wasn’t sure if any of this round’s bullets had reached him, if they did, they must have healed faster than adrenaline runs out. Those who definitely didn’t reach him, ricocheted from his cape. From the sound of it, one of the enemies was down. From the following sound, one dropped his gun and run away. And from the next, another one followed him.

Jake carefully turned to face them. One man on the ground and the two deserters making their escape as the other’s brain stopped working trying to figure out how to kill a bulletproof man.

“What are you waiting for?”, said the god, “You don’t have all night.”

But Jake did nothing, he just stood there locking eyes with a shouter who had lowered his gun. He was speechless, probably no one had warned him that he would go up against a superhuman. Was their boss really that ignorant?

“Lockley.” The unearthly voice spoke again, angrier this time. He had barely managed to focus on it when another bullet hit him, right under his stomach. That wasn’t right, he wouldn’t be able to feel it for more than a second, he should have healed, he should have-

A scream escaped his lungs he couldn’t stop it as he kneeled on the ground his left hand trying to keep as much blood inside as possible.

“When will you learn.”

“He can be shot! Avoid the cape!” his shouter yelled.

Even through his gloves and bandages he was too familiar with the weight on his palm, to recognize it immediately: his pistol, still in his hand, ready to be used any second now.

I have to, don’t I?

And there, as he laid one with the cold surface of the cargo trying to keep himself from making another sound, he stretched his right arm towards the men trying to get away, he pulled the trigger and watched in horror as a bullet came out of his gun, hitting the closest one in the head and yet another one piercing through the other’s back.

The god took a long and arrogant breath and Jake felt a shiver running through his body. Not sure whether that was a good sign or not, but soon enough, he began to heal.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“No, padre.” (No, father) he promised, his name poison on his tongue, or maybe just an icky medicine that children hate, even if it’s for their own good.

He jumped from the container, the wound being still fresh, tearing him with every move as he landed on one of the men, kicking him to the ground. He tried to get up, but Jake’s fists got to him first, he then took his gun, disarmed it, and hit him in the face with it.

The other’s circled him, still insisting to use guns. “Ah, not this again”, Jake thought as bullets started flow. One of them was shot by his own fire… Again. “What are they stupid?!”, he continued his inner monologue as he turned around, flipping his cape so hard, that he managed to drop everybody’s guns, hitting their hands in the prosses.

Two people rushed to grab his arms and pushed him backwards. Jake tried to flex his legs and run vertically on the container to escape them, but his attempt was cut short. A fisher’s rope was forced on his neck pulling him even harder as he choked. He could feel his sight getting darker as he gasped for air. He balanced his feet and despite all of his instincts pushed forward just enough to grab a dart from his chest and desperately stab the man behind him. He wasn’t even sure if any of his hits were delivered or even where, he just held on to the dart tightly, moving his arm repeatedly as fast as he could, like a fish in the shore flipping its tail for a change to come back into the waters.

The man let go of his arm, but he wasn’t the one holding the rope. With one move he put all of his weight on his right side and turned slightly to see the man holding his left arm. He threw the dart at him, forcing him to let go.

His arms were free, and he wasted no time. He found the hands holding the rope, grabbed them and flipped the man over his head. He fell with a loud noise on a container. He was the last one.

Jake walked slowly towards him taking deep breaths and kicked him like a rug when he tried to get up.

“Stay down puta!” He yelled, voice rusty and painful from the choking.

He didn’t listen.

“I said: Stay. Down.”

He put his boot on his head and shoved it on the ground, twisting his foot like stepping on a cigarette bud.

“There… there…”

And kneeled over him.

“So… Now is the time where you tell me who your boss is.”

The man didn’t answer so Jake decided to offer him a deal.

“I was in a good mood today, you know that? Real good mood until one of you fuckers ruined my night. But I guess it can still be saved for both of us, no need for any more violence just a simple conversation -you know.”

The man stared at his eyes and asked.

“Who do you work for?”

“I serve no man.”

“Mogart? Hydra? I know a mercenary when I see one.”

He took a deep annoyed breath “The only think there is to know about me, is that I’m holding the gun.”

“He has no name. The man you’re looking for, has no name!”

“That was helpful”, he said ironically stepping harder on his head.

And just as he did that a flying stick hit him on the neck.

“Don’t touch him.” a new voice said.

S-steven? Jake asked himself.

No!

Steven no, listen-

I- I’m-

I’m sorry, I had no choice, trust me that’s not who I am!

that’s not who any of us is, especially you!           

Don’t you ever forget that, not like Marc did

No.

Not like Marc

Not this time

.

You didn’t need to see this- I won’t hurt him I’m bluffing.

Just bluffing I swear!

This is all just an act

an act

.

An act,

.

.

.

Just an act…

…

Steven?

No

No, that-

No, that’s not possible-

“WHO?!” Jake asked out loud.

He didn’t realize but the guy under his shoe had escaped. Was he knocked out or just dissociating? He couldn’t tell but he was present now, conscious, mostly. He turned around and saw a man with a black cloth covering his eyes.

“…Diablo …What did I tell you?” he threatened as he slowly stood up.

“You killed those men. Why?”

“Why don’t you tell me? You got to them first.”

“I didn’t kill them.”

“But I did, what’s the point?”

“You can’t make decisions like that! You’re not-”

Jake laughed and answered after a moment like it was a hilarious fact that felt more personal to him.

“Only “God” can make these decisions, am I right?” His voice cracked at the end just for a moment, a moment that made Matt feel like the man in front of him could break down saying these words, or maybe he has already. But that was just Matt’s senses, no one other than him could see Jake’s true emotions, himself included.

“Don’t tell me you see yourself as a god.” Were the only words that could escape Matt’s mouth that wouldn’t change the subject.

Jake laughed again, softer this time. “God of getting myself in annoying situations...”

“Is that what death is to you? An annoyance?” He continued, trying to read him even though he already understood that all of his questions were heading in the wrong direction.

Jake tried to think fast and his experience of dying made up his answer quickly “Well it is annoying if you think about it enough.”

Matt got confused by his words, he wasn’t talking about killing. No, he knew what dying feels like- but how? He took a step forward, stepping under the moon light to ask Jake the first right question. “Who are you?”

A blue light. It’s illuminating on gold feathers.

So bright that it almost blinded Jake.

A hand toughed his chest like it was gabbing itself from his heartbeat.

Voices.

But- we have each other, right?

I’ll always be here for you.

Don’t leave me!

I won’t leave you!

You lied.

You lied.

You lied.

You can never be whole.

You’re too broken Spector.

But- we are a team ain’t we? We are one!

…Don’t make me laugh!

.

.

.

You lied Lockley…

To all of them you lied…

To yourself you lied…

You are the weak link…

And you were supposed to bring them together,

Instead you teared them apart,

Just because you were afraid.

.

.

.

The hand let go of Jake and in the faded lights he saw three silhouettes. They were young boys, but they suddenly grew older and more violent, running towards Jake. He covered  the eyes of two little boys standing next to him. He didn’t realize when they appeared. Maybe they were there all along. Together.

Together Jake,

.

together.

.

.

.

Together

.

.

“What were you doing with Fisk’s men?”

The light was gone, so were the voices. Now Jake was standing again alone in front of Matt, probably looking like an idiot, trying to figure out… Everything. This had never happened before. No this-

“Why did you do that?”

“I- I didn’t… My boss…” Jake answered trying hard to put together a sentence as his mind drifted away.

Fisk.

“Fisk!” He said, finally holding on one thought, “Is he the no-name guy?”

Matt answered something but Khonshu’s voice covered it.

“Did you sense it?”

“What?” Jake asked hopping that either of them would elaborate further.

“I said you must be new in Manhattan.” Diablo answered.

“Hardly”

“He has it.” Khonshu declared, covering Matt’s voice for once more.

“Has what?”

“What?”

“THE AMULET YOU FOOL!”

For the first time Jake took closer attention to Matt. His clothes were dirty, and his fists covered in blood, a feeling way to familiar for him. Seeing him like this… he wanted to tell him that he knew how hard it was, bringing justice, vengeance while being only a human. To tell him that it’s ok to lose some battles, to take a break, to forgive himself for all the lives he couldn’t save. He wanted to-

He's carrying a bag. Did he had it before? Is the amulet-

“Yes, it’s in the bag! Get it!” Khonshu ordered.

“You have something that doesn’t belong to you…”, Jake threatened, “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, kiddo… You better return it so I can give it to its rightful owner.”

“Kiddo? How old do you think I am?”

“Well, you’re still playing ninjas in your pajamas...” Jake lifted his eyebrow underneath the mask.

“Lockley, what are you doing?! Get it now!” Khonshu interrupted again with his annoying voice.

“Ugh, look I don’t wanna fight, if you could just hand it over to me, it will all be over.”

Matt stepped back to protect his bag from Jake.

“What is it?”

“Nothing you should be worried about.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“You should. You don’t want the danger associated with it.”

“They said there would be weapons.”

“You think you want the danger, don’t you?”

“Is this a key?”

“Dios mío, es estúpido!” (My God he’s stupid) He said frustrated, looking at the sky.

“No soy tan estúpido como para dártelo” (Not stupid enough to hand it to you)

Jake was surprised with the white boy’s accent but felt mostly irritated, he wanted the privacy of expressing himself in a language only he could understand, and his Yiddish wasn’t that good.

“Wow… hablas español… estoy tan impresionado…” (Wow… You speak Spanish… I’m very impressed) Jake pointed out unimpressed.

“Nop, creo que eres.” (Nah, I think you are)

“…Sabelotodo.” (Smartass)

“Stay down!” Sabelotodo yelled at Jake as he ducked a bullet coming from across the river.

“How the fuck did you do that?!”

“I’ll tell you another time.” He answered as he started to run away from the containers.

“Espera!” (Wait!) Jake called as he tried to catch up, but Matt just ignored him, heading for the nearby buildings.

“Diablo!” he yelled again when he saw a van with broken windows following him. It was speeding up, ready to hit him when he jumped and started climbing up a building. Two men fired at him from the windows, but he always knew where the bullets were aimed at and avoided them with ease.

Jake jumped from a container to the top of the van, startling the men. A voice inside of him pleaded to kill them, an easy kill it wouldn’t take more than-

But Jake didn’t listen, he didn’t like that voice. He didn’t know to who it belonged to, it was all too blended, without any sign of getting clearer. Who knew, maybe it was only him showing his true nature …Nah… That’s more of a “Marc guilt trip situation”, he knows better than that.

The men kept trying to shoot Matt and he did well by himself, but for how long? He couldn’t be trusted to get out of this alone! He‘d never heard about the infamous Daredevil being bulletproof or having any powers of that sort. He had to save him.

So he broke the windshield with his elbow and got into the van. He fought for the control of the wheel and after a series of slaps and punches he managed to take hold of it and veered it all the way to the left. Like a train going of the tracks, the vehicle crashed into a dumpster as he made an exit, jumping out of the window and roll all the way on a wall across the street.

“That was… Wow…” Matt thought as he heard the wheels squeaking and two crashes one after another. He stopped for a moment and focused on the man at the bottom of the building. He did all that to save him… Why?

But he couldn’t stay longer, more men were following them, some up ahead, he needed to escape. As soon as he heard the man breathing.

.

.

.

He’s breathing.

.

Ok, time to go.

“Diablo!” Jake groaned again. Matt wanted to stop, he wanted to return the favor even if the man was dangerous to him. But he had to leave him on his own. “He’ll make it... I think”.

Jake stood up, with the power of the suit and begun to climb the fire escape, but Matt had already reached the top. There he sensed more men, running on the roofs of the nearby buildings. He took a moment to stabilize his breathing and slow his heartbeat; there was more to this fight.

“Stop running away!” Jake yelled at him from two floors below.

“Shhh! I We’re surrounded.” Matt whispered.

“What?!” Jake yelled from a floor below and in response Matt shushed him, louder this time.

“Ok, ok, calms!” he finally whispered as he reached Matt.

“They’re after us. Three of them almost here.” Matt informed him in the same volume.

“You know you don’t have to do this.”

“Protect my city?”

“Getting involved in my business.”

“Who even are you? I’ve never seen you before.”

“You don’t need to run away from these men, they’re after the artifact not you. If you just-” Jake suggested as he slowly moved his arm near the bag. But Matt had enough of it

He yelled “No!” despite insisting on whispering and twisted Jake’s arm. But Jake didn’t act hurt, instead he scolded him with a shush. “We don’t have time for that, lets run away from here with the amulet! Together, ok? Whatever! Just- we need to leave now!” but Matt had already made his mind.

“Get away from here!” he ordered him, and then pushed him down the stairs to get the lead.

He then ran to the rooftop and realized that the men had really circled him from the surrounding buildings. He chose to head away from the river parkouring his way out towards one of them. The man was getting closer to him, and he started to fire, but he avoided the bullets, hiding behind metal doors and walls and just dogging them as well as he could.

It didn’t last long though. He was too focused on the man ahead and got distracted by the rest of them, two rooftops to the left yelling.

“Kill the Devil and don’t let Moon Knight get the thing!”

The other man shot right next to Matt’s ear making all of his senses blank for a moment leading him to fall to the roof below him, damaging his leg in the process.

“I GOT HIM!”

“Run, get the stuff!”

He took a moment to breathe, from what he could tell, his leg wasn’t fractured but it still hurt like hell. Thankfully, he was used to fighting with even more painful injuries, but this time he couldn’t get up fast enough. The men were approaching, and he was still trying to balance himself. They would take the key (or whatever that thing his carrying is)!

When he had first touched it, it echoed a metallic melody, but it didn’t feel cold like most metals do. As soon as he took it in his hands, it adapted to the warmth of his gloves, almost as if it was alive. Still it felt light, like a feather but as soon as he put it in his bag it sunk heavily at the bottom.

For a moment the melody grew stronger, Matt was barely up, and a men were about to jump on the roof from above, throwing him down again. With a loud sound, synced with the artifact’s they instead hit the concrete floor. It took a moment for Matt to comprehend what had just happened as he let himself continue the effort of getting up.

“Diablo.” …Of course it was him. He said unmasking his face.

The men tried to fight back but Jake jumped to the roof, putting them down again and continued; “You’re stepping into my battlefield, playing hide and seek with my enemies, taking my loops and you expect me to treat you nicely?” He threatened, out of character because yes, for the most part he was treating him kinda nice.

“That’s it my son…” Khonshu encouraged him as he slowly walked towards Matt, “Do my will.” And in response Jake strengthened his glare.

“Stop following me!” Matt yelled, unaware of the conversation.

“Can’t do.” He said being only a few feet away from him.

Jake just looked at him softly for a moment, a stare full of regret and pain that unbeknownst to him, wasn’t delivered. The thought that even the sliest of efforts to communicate his true will, didn’t reach anyone would make him more than afraid, it would make him gone, his essence, his true self, all he believes he can hold on to.

Where does Jake Lockley end and Khonshu begin if only one’s thoughts are being acted upon? His brain forever changed by unknown, ancient forces, being turned into a literal fucking-freaking bird house demanding to be feed fucking over and over again with freaking blood!

Where is Jake Lockley? Does he even exist if mindlessly he follows orders to survive?

Not again, not like when he-

Does he even have anything of his own? Something that is just truly his, not Steven’s or Marc’s or even Khonshu’s but something only for him, a love, a passion, anything that’s pure Lockley and nobody else can alter.

A stare, a stare to say, “It’s me, I am me, I… I don’t want to do this”, being forever lost as Jake took a long breath and punched Matt on the ribs. He was surprised, for a moment he though that his new acutance wouldn’t actually get that far. He knew he was way out of character even if he couldn’t see him, even if he just met him.

Jake continued, he was now running like a machine, he put all of his thoughts away and focused on Khonshu’s fight. He tried to punch Diablo on the head, but he deflected it, he wouldn’t be allowed to give up so soon, so he tried again. This time not only Matt deflected it but as he ducked, he punched his kidney, the only part of the body that wasn’t hurting until now… Great.

In response Jake slapped his arm away and then his face. It wasn’t that good of a hit as a punch would have been, but this wasn’t his goal, was it? He then grabbed him by the head to keep him still as he kicked him right under his lungs with his knee until he collapsed again. Now it was his time to take the bag but Matt, managed to kick him of his feet and rushed to get on top of him, punching him in the face with an anxious rhythm.

“You won’t let him get away.” Khonshu ordered. He was standing on the roof above, but his voice still felt like a whisper, boring his ears. At times like this his words gave Jake a headache, like drilling into his skull and pushing his thoughts in him with all of his power. Jake groaned but the deeper the drill went the more it started to sound like a scream. A scream that gave him the strength to punch Diablo on the throat and throw him of him.

…For a moment that was. Until he saw a gun. During their fight one of Fisk’s men sneaked into the roof and was now aiming at Matt. Jake rushed to tackle him to the side, getting him out of his aim ending up on top of him. The bullet landed right next to Matt’s ear and scared them leading Jake to roll them away from the spot, hiding them behind a wall.

He stood up and offered his hand at Matt, who without a second thought took it. If he did have a second thought that would be “What are you doing Mathew, get away from him!”. And he would be correct because as soon as Jake helped him stand up the punched him in the face, throwing him on the wall. This led them to a boxing match that was only interrupted by Jake pulling Matt closer to him when he got near the man’s aim.

Jake turned his back at the shooter, hiding Diablo from his view and pushing him away with his punches as well as he could. He managed to throw him face down on the ground, still hiding both of them behind the cape that kept the bullets from piercing through their skin.

He had to deal with the man, but not before he would get his hands on the amulet. He unzipped the bag, Matt resisted, he kicked him, but he only managed to get him hurt, not stop him. He finally turned around and with both of his feet kicked him in the face, dropping him down and offering a clear shot for the man aiming. Matt could worry about that, but a rolling metallic sound got his full attention.

“No!” he yelled, as the melody of the artifact became more distant.

“Lockley, now!” Khonshu ordered.

It was his chance; run and catch the amulet while Matt was down, leaving him to the mercy of Fisk’s man. Khonshu wanted him dead anyways, at least in that way he wouldn’t have to carry the guilt, right? No. He couldn’t let a good man die, even if it was inevitable, he had done that many, many times in the past he couldn’t bare it anymore …That’s what he says to himself every time. “This time will be deferent.”, “I’ll convince him!”, “I’ll find a way, for once I’ll do what I want.” But he never reaches his goal. Having his own will is well… pointless.

He knew, as always that no matter what he wanted, he was Khonshu’s tool, the will was his, so is the guilt, if he can even have that emotion. The death that he had brought in his name had never made Jake happy, he tried to create lies to tell himself, to reason his actions and for a time he believed them. That time is over. Killing a man who’s saving Manhattan over and over again, whose goal is actually the same as Khonshu’s, this is madness. The madness of a god who’d gone greedy.

“Lockley!”

He made his choice, without even realizing it at first, he stood up, faster than Diablo and kicked him again on the ground.

He left him to catch the artifact, so did the man. It was a rase, he was getting closer but then without even realizing it, Matt grabbed him and pushed him backwards, leaving Fisk’s man to get it.

“What are you doing?!” Jake yelled at Matt but before he could answer the man started shooting again.

“Lockley!” Khonshu yelled again.

And again.

And again.

In his brain everything happened so slowly but at the same time his body moved so much faster than he could control. The man hid the artifact in his pocket, as his other hand holding the gun moved higher. Jake pulled his gun out once again, failing to keep it out of the fight aimed and hit the man on the head.

“We’re on the same team!” he yelled at Matt.

Matt sensing the lack of a heartbeat didn’t hold back to answer.

“I’m nothing like you!” and rushed to get to the corpse but Jake stood in his way to stop him.

“Doesn’t matter! Bad guys have lost, the amulet is safe!”

“You’re mad!” He said trying to get away, but this time Jake was using way more force than before, unusual of a normal human. He took a deep breath and carefully said to Matt,

“Listen close -I know you can. Help me give my boss what he wants.”

Then suddenly he added something more in the sentence with a whisper as silent as a breath.

“To your right!” and punched him on the right side of the head, looking a bit disappointed and surprised like he was expecting something of Matt.

Why would he announce his moves before acting on them, did he learn to be a superhuman from a children’s show?

“Kick!”

“What are you- Ouch!” he was kicked and lost his balance.

“Ssssssh! Silence sinner! You endangered the travelers of the night, for that you should pay!”

Yes, definitely a children’s show.

“Listen. To. Me.” He almost spelled him out before whispering again “Down!”

Matt obeyed this time, with a small delay and almost ducked his punch. That put a smile on Jake’s face.

For the next couple of minutes they danced together to the choreography of Jake’s whispers, putting on a pleasing show for Khonshu.

“Right leg! throat!”

“Stomach!”

“Down! … Down! … Down!”

Of course he didn’t always tell him where he was going to hit. What?! He needed to show Khonshu that he actually did mean to hurt Diablo. He on the other hand would try to complain, not getting whether or not the man in front of him wanted his wellbeing.

He then spoke in his normal voice “Stop just avoiding punches and fight like a man!”

At that point Matt realized that he had stopped trying to hurt the fucked-up-confusing-murderer-vigilante guy who won’t give him a break.

“Fine!” Jake continued “I guess the amulet is mine now!”

And just as he said that Matt fought back throwing him to the ground near the amulet. You could say he was doing the bare minimum of fighting off Matt, he took most of the punches acting out the pain more that feeling it and only defended himself when he was getting closer to the artifact, until he zoned out looking at the sky.

“My Avatar… Is that really what you want? Humiliating yourself, not using my gifts to your advantage? Are you really that ungrateful to me, after everything I’ve done for you?”

“I-” Jake tried to defend himself but failed as Murdock kept punching him.

“Could you give me a break!” he finally yelled at Matt who was unsure if he should stop or not, but at least he slowed down.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Khonshu continued “Playing war with third class vagilities?” He posed and slowly walked towards him, examining the situation. “You are my son, I know you’re having fun”, he leaned down and looked at him in the eyes, covering the sky with the arch that was his body, only letting the moonlight to flow around him, “I know you enjoy your play but at some point, you have to finish it. It has to end Jake Lockley.”

Jake immediately gathered his strength and pushed Matt off him.

“This ends now.” He declared with the calmness of a wild dog wearing a muzzle as he caught Matt’s hand midair and used it to throw him down, without any warning this time, leaving him helpless in his mercy.

Matt’s world spined around, he remembered the sensation of rolling down a hill as a child, his vision turning everything into a blurry circle, only now everything felt like rolling. “What are you-” he almost asked but he was met by a hit in the guts, enhanced by the power of the suit.

“Finaly.” Khonshu encouraged Jake as he straightened his spine with a rocky sound.

His son wanted nothing but to please him, that’s what he counted on; on his devotion. Marc was easy to control, he didn’t care about himself, nor Khonshu, he mostly acted like a blank vessel, it was easier for him. Besides, it’s harder to make a man who believes in himself to turn to God, than a man who doesn’t see his own value. Because deep inside Marc needed guidance, needed something, someone from above to turn his pain holy, only in that he failed, he failed to who he offered his suffering.

Jake on the other hand always believed in themselves, he was the one who had to, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have faith in something beyond him. That was probably the only thing he ever had in common with the body’s father. All these times he quietly sat in his desk listening to his stories about God, love, and suffering pretending to be his son, they paid off. A one-sided relationship, Jake hidden behind Marc’s mask and a man he had to call father.

He knew what he had to do to survive, he cared about himself, so much so he took the pain from the other’s hands so the system could function as normal as they could. Jake needed a father who could save them, Jake needed someone who saw him, heard him, protected him, someone to held on to. So he behaved in Khonshu’s words, did everything he had to do to be safe, but in reality, he is held tight in the hands of a vulture, nails piercing through his skin, imprisoning him, not knowing if he will be brought to the nest safely, or be dropped as one final sacrifice.

“You make me sick!” he finally yelled, kicking Diablo’s kidney rhythmically. “Why. Won’t. You. Listen. To. Me. Once!” he continued not sure to whom he was referring and stopped. He grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, then dragged him near the edge of the roof. He pulled him up and made him sit up straight, like hanging a punching bag “Stay. Up! Por el amor de Dios, stay up…” he added as he tried to catch his breath.

“You…” Matt tried to interrupt him, but he was cut short by almost blacking out. Jake sensed that and gently pulled him up again, giving him a slap to wake him up then grabbed his chicks and yelled his face “Is this what you wanted?!” he let go of him and he caught himself just a second before falling face first on the floor “Me beating the shit out of you until you drop unconscious?”. He still hesitated to say the word dead, that was his plan, that was their plan, isn’t it? But he still wouldn’t say it, wouldn’t let himself believe that he is a murderer, not like Marc thinks.

“Stop it! I know what I am doing!” he answered to Khonshu who didn’t even speak yet, but he knew what he was thinking, he wanted death, just as every other night. And death is what he always delivers.

He locked eyes with Matt’s mask and sighed “I can’t keep doing this…”

“Don’t give up Lockley…” Khonshu was by his side.

“I know what I have to do.” He said as he slowly let his eyelids close, like his was about to pray “…No sé si tengo fuerzas para hacerlo (I don’t know if I have the strength to do it)…” he added under his breath.

That caught Matt’s attention, it was like the signals he was sending him, he held into that, into the whispers and waited for more instructions.

“Hazme un favor… por favor, déjame- Ugh (Do me a favor… Please let me- ugh)” he went to say something more but he stumbled into his own words and then exhaled from his nose, like a wild animal, sick of a fight. He picked him up again, bringing him a bit closer to the center.

“Fight me.”

Matt could barely stand up, but he still made his palms into fists and gathered himself. Jake didn’t hold up, he punched him over and over again, just enough so he wouldn’t get down yet.

This wasn’t the rage of a mad man, or the savage brutality deep buried in the human emotion. No- this was still an act, at least part of it was. Matt didn’t always know how he knew, but he knew, he had a sense of seeing someone’s true nature, seeing what’s real and what not and this- this was a play, a play for someone Matt couldn’t really place.

“I think that is enough Lockley.”

Jake didn’t stop.

“Lockley.”

Nothing

“Jake!”

He looked frustrated Matt thought it was him, making him actually mad this time.

“You need to obey me!”

And just as he said these words Jake’s suit disappeared and the wind blew his jacket to the side, making his cold gun visible as he took it and aimed at Matt.

“That’s enough Lockley. Time to put an end to this.”

“Time to put an end to this.” Jake repeated but then added, under his breath “Drop me off!” he then threw the gun and lashed out to Matt.

Matt wasn’t sure if he had heard him right, even though he never heard anyone wrong. His reflexes though stopped Jake from throwing him on the floor long enough from him to ask, whispering “What do you mean?”.

“Let me go, throw me off!” he let himself being pushed.

“What?” Matt answered his voice dizzy

“Off the roof” he pushed him back.

“No, you-” he stopped him

“I have a plan.”

“I won’t- won’t kill you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Wh-”

“I have a plan do you trust me?” he begun to push him again

Matt zooned out of the conversation and ignored Jake, focusing more on the fight but he wouldn’t let him go that easy

“Do you trust me?!”

Matt didn’t answer but he didn’t turn him down either, he gave him a stare that was enough for Jake.

They had reached the finale of the show. Jake had pushed them near the edge again, his strength was starting to run out and Matt had found the power to fight again.

“Lockley, you are making me bord.” The bird complained, staring the fight from above, in his bigger form.

“It won’t last long.”

“I better hope it does not.”

“Who are you talking to?” Matt finally asked but Jake didn’t bother to answer, why did it matter?

Lockley had brought them to the perfect spot. “Now!”

But to his surprise Matt was still unsure. He pushed him a bit and punched him but not enough to be thrown off. Shit, if he doesn’t play his part perfectly Khonshu will realize it is all fake! He must obey, why doesn’t he, it’s just one favor, just one favor.

“Diablo now!” he slapped him.

In response Matt leaned on him pushing him towards the edge.

“I… I can’t.”

“I trust you.”

Matt continued pushing, that was it, just one more- he stopped

“What are you doing!” Jake yelled “You’ll kill us all!” he whispered.

“I can’t do it I’m-”

Jake had have enough of it he pulled Matt from the collar of his shirt and punched him in the face “Do it!”.

“No!”

Then he punched his jaw “Do it!”

“No!” he punched back.

“Now” Jake helped Matt’s hand to punch him harder.

“Now” he repeated being punched in the throat.

“No!” Matt yelled with a punch and again and again and again as his strength worn out.

Jake grabbed the last punch and kicked Matt behind his knee, making him kneel in an uncomfortable way, his spine leaning backwards, feeling the breeze of the edge.

“Is either you, or me.” Jake finally explained.

Matt had figured it out from the beginning, but he didn’t want to believe it, no. In every single one of his fights he always finds a way to keep everyone alive, it never has to end that way and he knows, he knows that if it ever comes to it, he will be the one sacrificed, no matter how awful of a human being is the opponent.

“End it then.” Matt begged.

Jake’s expression softened. He gave him the green light, he chose it, not him, with just one move, a simple one that is, he can go on with his life, the burden of Diablo’s life is not in his hands anymore he could finally breath in and relax the night will be over with just one kill.

“Ok.” Where the only words escaping his mouth. He took a breath and looked away getting ready for one final kick.

As he was looking away a twitching light caught his eye. It was the moon reflecting on Khonshu’s skull, nodding, agreeing with his choice, still guiding him.

Who is Jake Lockley?

Who is Jake Lockley if only Khonshu’s will is being acted upon?

Does he even exist?

Is he his own person?

He missed his kick.

He looked down at Diablo who was holding his breath.

“This is not how it ends.” He said and took a step closer to the edge.

Jake’s heartbeat was steady, he was telling the truth Matt realized, his on the other hand was beating like crazy desperately trying to catch his breath.

“Keep it safe.” Jake balanced at the edge.

“What are you doing?” Jake turned his back outwards.

“Goodbye. For now, Diablo” he took a deep breath lifted his hands wide in the air and fell backwards.

“Wait!” were the only words that could escape Matt’s lungs only to be interrupted by a loud crash and car sirens echoing from the alleyway bellow.

That night Matt Murdock let a man die.

Nights like this have been rare for a while, dealing with such a lost is always hard, especially now that he had pushed in the back of his head all the memories of the pain it costed.

It wasn’t time to morn, the enemy heard the fall, they were coming to get him. He took the artifact and put it back in his bag and run away as fast as his injured self could. As he was getting to safety two men stood in the now empty alley that Jake had fallen, next to a crashed car.

“Tell Bushman he escaped.”

Tags: @moonymelly @nicobico23 @rattymess @pikapuff-316

Comment if you want to be tagged on the next chapters

[deludedfantasy]

Trimax Vol 10 Ch 5-8

All I can say is that it's somehow worse the second time around and I have lots of feelings about it.

Ch 5

It’s a final battle in more ways than one, if you think about it. Which I’m trying not to, but failing very hard at. 

Something about Wolfwood using the Punisher as a shield just gets me. Using a weapon meant to harm and kill to protect instead. It’s a metaphor for who he is. 

Whoa! Wolfwood’s trick with the magazine is just so clever and out there. He’s such a smart and calculated fighter when he has a goal and isn’t just mindlessly fulfilling his mission. 

As we watch Wolfwood fight Razlo, we get a glimpse of Vash watching. We’re reminded that he’s been told to stand back and let Wolfwood handle this alone. And we also see how he’s raging at it. 

It honestly reminds me of how much earlier Zazie called Vash a bystander to humanity’s destruction. And here he is, doing that again, on a much more personal level. But it’s not because he refuses to interfere. It’s because he’s respecting his friend’s choice to do something important alone, and he’s raging at it. Vash doesn’t actually like being the bystander, being on the outside, he wants to be part of it and he wants to help. 

Wolfwood is pulling out all the stops for this fight. He’s sword fighting with the Punisher, using his ammo as a weapon, and apparently getting faster and faster. He’s decided he’s going to die, but if he is, he’s gonna do it in a blaze of glory. 

There is definitely some symbolism in Razlo’s mask being blown off. There’s no more hiding between one personality or another, because they’re the same.

Oh wow, that’s really gory. I’m actually wondering if that thing I saw go flying earlier wasn’t a mask but literally part of his face.

Ch 6

It’s telling that in the end, Wolfwood throws aside the Punisher. He finishes off Razlo with his own fists rather than with a weapon of punishment. Because he might be hurting him, but he’s not trying to destroy him. He’s trying to save his brother and he’ll do that with his own hands.

In between, we get these glimpses again of Vash watching and at first, he’s blank-faced, we can’t read his expression. 

But then we see him scream, tears running down his face. He’s suffering, watching Wolfwood do this alone and knowing he’s dying all the while. And there’s nothing he can do to stop it. He wants to save his friend, but he can’t, and it breaks something in him. It’s heart-wrenching.

Oh…right after Vash cries out Wolfwood starts coughing up a fountain of blood. Someone mentioned that with Vash’s superhuman abilities he could probably feel and hear as Wolfwood’s body shut down. He’s screaming because he can literally feel Wolfwood getting closer and closer to death.

The only time Vash interferes is to stop Razlo’s goons from attacking Wolfwood. That’s all he can do. Allow Wolfwood to save his brother himself and let nothing stop him from doing that. He takes to that mission whole-heartedly. And oh, is he angry while he does it. I can hear the gravel in his voice when he says, “Don’t interfere.” He’s got his guns pressed to their throats. Would he fire if they moved? We don’t know, but with the rage in his eyes, I say maybe. Vash has finally found what he’s willing to kill for. 

Livio comes back for a moment! He stops Razlo from killing Wolfwood because he still cares about his brother. This isn’t someone Razlo has to protect him from and he’s finally fighting back.

HOW. HOW IS CHAPEL NOT DEAD? 

Razlo finally sees Chapel for what he is. Not the caring mentor, but the obsessive, conniving old man he is. He would shoot one of his own disciples if they were getting the way of what he wanted. Poor Razlo, alone for so long and having given all of his twisted love and devotion to his man, suddenly realizes Chapel didn’t care about him as anything other than a tool and extension of himself. And as always, Razlo’s volatility and impulsivity come into play. That is finally what gets Chapel permanently killed. I think there’s something poetic about that. 

Livio is giving me a lot of feelings I can barely articulate right now. But I’m going to try anyway. 

He’s been trapped inside Razlo for this whole fight, watching him destroy his brother, the one person who had ever cared about him and showed him kindness. Livio watches how Wolfwood fights back against Chapel and everything he’s been taught to be a better man, a protector, the person he’s always wanted to be. We know Livio has been lost for a long time, and that once he wanted to be a protector, because he thought it was the only way he could be loved. Watching Wolfwood fight for him again reminds him of that, and when he sees that now he might kill that man, he finds the strength to stop Razlo. 

Not only that, he apologizes to Razlo! Livio used him to escape his abuse and put Razlo through living hell, to the point that he didn’t know anything else. He’s acknowledging that neither of them deserved that. But still, it’s time for Livio to take responsibility for his actions and find a new path forward. He wants to be like Wolfwood. He wants to try, he wants to change. 

How would it make Vash feel knowing that Wolfwood caused that kind of massive shift in someone else? I think, once he gets past the anger of what Livio did to Wolfwood, he’d be really proud of him. 

Wolfwood will take any opportunity to smoke, huh? He’s nearly dead, but he’s celebrating his success.

Ch 7

Oh my god, not little Wolfwood again. And on the day he leaves the orphanage. My heart can’t take this.

The orphanage was his home, the only place he ever knew happiness, and for all the years that Wolfwood was in the Eye, he kept it in his heart as the place where he was loved. They never managed to rip that away from him, even if he believed they’d destroyed his humanity. He was once part of something beautiful, and he would protect it with everything he had, even if he was no good anymore. Because he still wanted to be welcomed home.

Listen, Nightow, your timelines are so wonky because if it’d only been six years, Wolfwood is max nineteen. I get his body has been aged past his years but in no way is that man a teenager. In my head, I’m just pretending that says, “Its been many years since then.” 

Oh no, not the kids screaming when they see him. It just reaffirms his beliefs about himself, that all he is is a monster. And Vash tries to explain things, but Wolfwood won’t let him! 

He hates himself so much, but God, his face here. Many others have pointed it out but when Wolfwood tells Vash to leave it, he looks so soft, young, and vulnerable. For the first time since we’ve met him. He doesn’t want to be a monster, he just wants to be loved and recognized by his old family, but he hates himself too much to even take the risk of letting them know him as both Nico and the man he is now. 

Wolfwood has already made his decision. Vash might’ve once said that Wolfwood isn’t lost, but he’s decided that it’s going to end here. He tells Melanie to not tell the kids the truth about him and he tells Vash that he’s not getting on the shuttle. But worst of all, he pulls out those coins and tells him that’s who he really is. He’s Vash’s friend, he’s a killer, one of the Gung Ho Guns. He doesn’t deserve to go back to his family. He doesn’t deserve the chance, the hope, of living. 

Vash even says to him, “You’re running out of time.” He means it in more ways than one. The shuttle is leaving soon, but also, Wolfwood’s life is running out. Does Vash hope that if Wolfwood gets on the shuttle, they’ll be able to save him? There’s no way to know that, but there’s hope, and Vash has always had hope. 

And then they bicker like everything’s fine and it’s just like old times. Because what else can you do in the worst of times but fall back on what’s comfortable and familiar? 

There’s that drink Wolfwood promised him for surviving the fight…

Even in his last moments, Wolfwood is trying to soften the blow of his own death. Telling Vash to smile, that he looks good when he does, that he was wrong to ever tell him that he looks sad when he does it. He just wants to see his friend smile and know he’ll be okay.

Despite all the things Vash would do for him, this one thing he can’t. Because then that smile would be fake and he can’t do that to either of them. 

And Vash, who has never relied on anyone but himself, to whom a higher power is likely a bit of a joke because for so long, he was the highest power—he begs God to let his friend live. 

The grief here is so palpable, I’m crying as I write this. 

The confetti…they all still love him, even as he is. They are welcoming him home in his last moments. 

This page brings me to tears. We’ve never, not once, seen Wolfwood cry, not now, not until he’s dying. Is this scream a final defiant cry against the universe? Is it him realizing he doesn’t want to die because he’s finally realized that he’s loved, that he was always loved? I don’t know. We’ll never know. That’s why it hits so hard.

The past few pages have been so atmospheric that I can hear all of it in my head. The bell finally tolls, the one Wolfwood has been ignoring this whole time. The sound the bottle makes as it falls from his fingers. Each one distinct in the silence surrounding his death. 

Vash is left alone. The man he realized he wanted to live for is gone. We can’t see his eyes, just the reflection of his glasses and he’s clutching at the sleeve of his jacket.

Ch 8

These panels did something to me the first time I read them. Vash’s words have been echoing in my head for months. They’re so blunt. “He’s dead. I buried him.” Have we ever known him to be so harsh and direct? Is he angry at Livio for indirectly causing Wolfwood’s death? Because Wolfwood died saving him when he could have killed him? But he’s also deathly calm. His eyes are blank. He’s locked everything down rather than feel it. 

You know what else haunts me? We never see Vash bury him. Their final moments together. How he dug the hole, how he picked up Wolfwood and placed him in his grave, arranged his body, and filled it back in, dragging the tombstone over the top. Was he this calm when he did that? Was he raging? Was he screaming and crying? We don’t know and I don’t think Vash is ever going to tell. It’s possible he’s blocked it out entirely because it’s too much to handle. 

I personally think all of his feelings came out while he was burying him. Now, he’s pushed them away in favor of the mission he has to accomplish. Because he can’t let Wolfwood’s sacrifice go to waste. 

When Vash answers Livio’s question, he’s pretty harsh too. “You of all people should know why.” He’s definitely angry and as much as he has the rest of his feelings tightly under control, that isn’t. On some level, he does blame Livio and he can’t hold himself back from letting it be known. 

The moment when Vash uses his powers is so interesting. So far, we’ve seen him use the Angel Arm to protect himself and Wolfwood. But in this instance, we can argue that he used it to attack. Sure, Knives was going to destroy the orphanage while Vash and Livio were still in there and Vash protected against it. He did more than that though. He attacked. The way I read this is he blasted that power back with his own attached to it, and he cuts Knives. This is the first time we’ve seen him actually hurt him, despite how often Vash claims he’s out to kill him. This was a deliberate use of his power to hurt and destroy, and it’s the first time we see his philosophy shift, just a little. 

Now though, he’s eating his feelings. Which is interesting, because the last time Vash experienced a traumatic monumental event like this, he couldn’t eat. But as we see, both Livio’s and Vash’s best memories of Wolfwood are tied up with food. They’re eating to get their strength back, but also to honor his memory. He was always trying to take care of them and now they’re taking care of themselves. 

It sucks that the only things they have left of Wolfwood are his weapons. He was a protector, but what he has left behind are implements of death and destruction. Especially the Punisher. The only thing Vash has left of his friend is his burden. It’s bittersweet that he uses it as his gravemarker, specifically as a cross rather than a weapon. Wolfwood may have been made into a weapon, but he’ll be remembered for his mercy.

Also, I'm taking recommendations for fix-it fics where Wolfwood lives, is resurrected, reincarnated, etc. My heart could use some healing, pls and thank you.

[sunnydayroleplay]

How does jack react if his sunshine got murdered by an unknown killer?

Oh yes, angst hour. My favorite time of day where I have all the power in the world to end this story. And to make it worse, it's gonna be your birthday. I don't care if it is or not, it is now. You've picked the wrong headcannon. Suffer the consequences.

This fic includes: Murder, Weapons such as: Guns, Mentions of being tortured, Blood/Gore but it's not heavily described. Viewer/Reader: Desecration is advised, if you do not feel comfortable with any of these topics or as you read, please do not feel compelled to finish, and just click on another post :)

It was all over the news. Specifically in your area. Not that you would know, but what are you gonna do? You've been murdered. You went to work like any other day, Jack didn't go surprisingly but you thought he had something planned so you didn't argue against it. The sky was just brightly blue, the sun slowly crept to flaunt it's rays, the birds sang their song while you were in the one and the only Popov's Big Top Yogurtopiaaa! It was not as fun as you were paid to make it be. You sat around, just waiting for the time to go a little bit faster so you could clock out and head out. But, instead of walking to your car and happily reclining in the drivers seat, your mouth was covered, and you tried everything you could but you didn't make it. The details aren't exactly sunshine's and rainbows. To spare the gruesome aspect of it all, you were taken into a random strangers home, where you were beaten, tortured, grabbed on, cut, and your death sure as hell wasn't swift. You remember your final moments living, as the unknown person pulled your swinging head by your hair, With such precision, the unknown monster grabbed a revolver from their holster, and aimed it in between your seeping eyes. Despite all your screams and begs of mercy, the being cocked the gun, and shot you cold. Your blood and brain matter splattered all over the floor like a Picasso painting. Except there was no signature, and this wasn't a one of the kind artwork. Your lifeless body was dragged out of the chair it sat in, and shoved into a series of bags, soon into the back of a gray car. Your body rolled back and forth in the trunk through every stop, speed-bump until your own designated drop off was made. It wasn't long until your slowly decomposing body was found at the side of a high-way. Police cars swarmed your body, the lights flashing from miles away. A bag being brought out to put you in for further examination. All your family and loved ones were notified, and soon was Jack. Jack found out by turning the TV on accident while vacuuming the living room. He picked up the remote only to drop it again. The words coming out of it making him quake. "There has been a body spotted by a couple near South 123, the body is yet to be confirmed, but Police believe it's the body of [Age] year old [Gender}, [Your name]. More details are yet to be published."

"N-No...s-sunshine..This can't be real, it can't. NO! I WON'T BELIEVE IT!"

Jack was stunned. From what he planned, you were going to come home safely, with a nice birthday cake made just by him and a gift. Instead, your gift was your own demise. He was pissed. Angry. Who took his sunshine's light, and where were they now? Sure, you could just report him to the police, have him arrested, right? Hah! No. Jack wanted revenge. He needed it. The...monster that did this must go. They got to die. They have to suffer just like how they made you. There's no if's, and's about it. He won't rest until they were found. "You..I'm gonna get you..!! You're going to get it! I-I'l find you! You'll pay for what you've done!" At least you got what you wanted. For time to pass by faster. It's been years since your death. Your ghost hasn't yet developed enough to say hello to your beautiful love, Jack. But enough with that. Your beautiful love still didn't stop for nothing. The cunt who took your life was still there living theirs. And after all those years, he finally figured out who. He figured out who took the life of his darling, and he was more ecstatic than he was with you. Smiling innocently, he took a knife he kept with him ever since your death arose on the news. He kept an array of items from you or of yours ever since your death to have something to keep him going. The knife he bit it horizontally within his teeth, he went over to the nearest T.V, crawling from the outside and into it, walking around a mass explosion of darkness and entrances. Walking around the darkness he spotted your killer. His laugh was frivolous when he saw him. Without hesitation he made his way into his entrance and slowly but surely made his way out of the killers screen. The person backed away in a hurry, yet that's the only thing going to be hurried in this case. "So, we finally meet. Such a shame it'll be only time we will." "P-Please! I'm sorry, I-I didn't mea-" "You didn't mean too?! Hah! You're a funny guy, you didn't mean to brutally torture them, you didn't mean to shoot them, you didn't mean to dump their body! It was all an accident I'm sure!" "I..Wh-Wait! We can talk about this, ahah...!" "You've had enough time to talk." Jack had enough time waiting, he wanted to finish what he came for and that was it. No time for small talk that was going to be pointless in the end. He pulled them so close that he could just hear the blood pumping inside their body. As the blood gushed out the moment he jammed the knife into their body, he repeatedly stabbed them, he gouged their eyes out, he cut down their limbs one by one in front of a mirror so that that could see the body horror that was happening to them. And the best part? "Man found dead in his home. His own insides found hanging from wall to wall. Police have no leads."

[liquidstar]

your ocs

BUT

in Re:Zero

how would they end up causing Subaru's deaths?

Omg that's such a fun question 😭😭😭 poor Subaru I'm about to kill him with ocs sorry

But here's what I think would happen:

In the case of Polaris I can see it being a fight caused by somekinda misunderstanding on her end and also on Subaru for being terrible at explaining shit. I don’t think she’d kill him on purpose through this but she does NAUGHT have good control over her powers so he might get an icicle through the heart or something. Typical day in the life and death of Natsuki Subaru though, who has been frozen like? 3 times? At least?

Saiph also can’t control his powers well once his sword is unsheathed- but it’s less so a case of physical control like with Polaris, and more so the kinda thing where the power overwhelms him and the more flames there are the less he realizes what he’s doing. So I’m picturing a scenario in which his sword is unsheathed for too long and Subaru is just caught up in either the fire or the sword. Preferably the latter, to be honest. 

Bella has a very strict NO KILLING rule so in her case I think it would have to be a pure accident. Not like the other two did it fully intentionally either but I was still thinking of fights against each other. Idk exactly what it could be in this case, maybe something like Bella swinging her weapon at a monster but it ends up dodging, and Subaru somehow ends up in the way before she can redirect the swing. In this case for Maximal Drama it would totally have to be the case that she managed to redirect it just enough to make it a much slower death than it would’ve been if she had done nothing. This is important bc it would fuck her up more to kill than him to die, at this point, and hes gotta see that. For the drama.

Al is probably the most prone to not listening to Bella’s orders, is the thing. Meaning that even if she has a “no killing” rule as the leader, he’d break it if he felt he had to. Subaru can come across suspicious at times, due to a variety of factors, and if Al believed him to be somekinda genuine threat and saw no other alternative. I mean he’s probably the only one who’d actually be willing to kill a guy on purpose really. He’s always been just a little bit unwell and whenever he decides to enter his shounen rival “villain” era maybe he’ll kill him again who knows. I will say though for the record that either way it wouldn’t be something he’d find any sort of joy or pride in at all, and ideally he’d prefer to avoid bloodshed at all costs. But, you know, he wants to protect people At All Costs too. And when weighing the lives of your friends vs some random sketchy dude… Sorry dude.

Also like the thing about Subaru is that he really wants to help people and sort of play therapist even when he’s clearly encroaching on sensitive territory. Mira is repressing quite a lot- If not outright deluding herself in a few ways. I think that if Subaru tried to scratch the surface of this mind palace of hers, she probably wouldn’t react well. If she has a mental breakdown it could fuck with the wind real bad, and would probably get worse if he continues to try to talk to her. Basically imagine something like the “choose me” scene (iconic) but wind instead of fire. And this time the person he’s talking to is not listening at all but closing herself off further, air ball style. So there’s not really any escaping the winds, he’d either get swept away by them or hit by something and that’d be that. If you wanna get a bit darker with it she could end up using all the air present to create her “bubble” and there’d be no oxygen around so he’d just suffocate.

Felis kills him for knowing someone with the same name as her. She has to be special. The end. (Joke answer. They'd actually probably love each other lol)

[mythundermeme]

Arcane starters

note: feel free to tweak details to fit the muses. do not add to this list. other meme blogs, please don’t reblog.

content/trigger warning: death, violence, swearing, vomiting

ACT 3

episode 07

"I knew it was a mistake trusting you."

"You've been a real picnic yourself."

"Hey, stop! Get your hands off of me."

"You shy? Or just ugly?"

"You look good for a dead girl."

"That was a long time ago. People change."

"You were following us? Why didn't you say something?"

"You still punch like a little boy."

"I remember when you wouldn't stand up to me."

"Perhaps the error resides not with your calculations, but with your subjects."

"Nature has made us intolerant to change. But fortunately, we have the capacity to change our nature."

"I know the look of a doomed man."

"If you take this path, they will despise you."

"Love and legacy are the sacrifices we make for progress."

"I tried taking it apart and it nearly killed me."

"Everything you said about him was true."

"My family cast me out and yet, part of me still loves them."

"He disappeared. He does that sometimes."

"It didn't sound like a request."

"Let's just say I didn't always see eye-to-eye with my old man."

"I didn't lose her. They took her!"

"Why would I remember her name?"

"They needed somewhere safe to start again."

"She's still in there. I can reach her."

"I order a blockade and my own partner violates it?"

"Have you forgotten where we came from?"

"Listen, let her go."

"I brought her here."

"It's me you want."

"I thought they were hurting you!"

"Don't move, silly. I might hurt you."

"Have you forgotten how she left you?"

"I am your family. Everyone else betrays us."

"Your people hunt us like animals."

"Your people aren't dying all around you."

"The peace is already broken."

"Shut up. It's just a goodbye hug."

"Oh, look who it is. The boy savior."

episode 08

"He wanted me to know death."

"Your brother thinks he can talk his way out of anything."

"I will give you the world, child, if you prove you can take it."

"Kill her now, and only one must die."

"You understand you've broken several laws?"

"Sometimes death is a mercy."

"You're a scary lady."

"War isn't our first and every recourse."

"Weapons can't be unmade, and they are always used."

"What happened to her, it's not your fault."

"I understand this must be painful. I'm afraif it will only get worse."

"I have to get home. It isn't safe for me here."

"We're no strangers to failure."

"They're still cleaning the blood off the bridge."

"I remember where your fancy damn door is."

"Go back to that big, shiny house of yours and just… forget me, okay?"

"Everything you do inspires me."

"You said you were tired of doing nothing."

"That's the only sensible thing that came out of anyone's mouth tonight."

"Of everyone up here, you're the one she trusted to do something."

"We got a deal, pretty boy?"

episode 09

"He knew what he was signing up for."

"Do you not understand? I am part of this now."

"You won't make it alone."

"You gonna do anything about that piece of shit who murdered my boy?"

"At least we have the solace of knowing he died fighting for our cause, instead of some petty personal dispute, as so often occurs here."

"You're one to talk about sacrificing for the cause."

"March back to your ship and get the hell out of my city."

"Get a hold of yourself. I taught you better."

"I wanted to protect the city from people like you."

"I would set the world ablaze to protect our family."

"At least you didn't throw up."

"Everything made sense then."

"What about your disease?"

"We lost ourselves. Lost our dream."

"In the pursuit of great, we failed to do good."

"You know what bore us through those times? Loyalty."

"Now I'm forced to share the air with parasites like you who leech off their legacies."

"I still believe in loyalty."

"Perfect place for an ambush."

"I was reminded recently of what brought us together in the first place."

"I give you credit for your stunt."

"They weren't her crimes, she was working for me."

"We both have our shitty parts to play."

"You'd be surprised what you can pull off when your life depends on it."

"It's not enough to give people what they need to survive, you have to give them what they need to live."

"And what do I lose but problems?"

"Is there anything so undoing as a daughter?"

"She still needs you. They all do."

"They're right not to trust us."

"With respect, I don't give a shit what any of you think of me anymore."

"Nothing ever stays dead."

"I always heard you. Shadows in the streets, prickles on the back of my neck."

"The only thing that kept me going was the thought of getting back to you."

"I paid your girlfriend a visit this morning."

"Make her go away, please."

"You wouldn't lie to me. Not again."

"You're my daughter. I'll never forsake you."

"I never would have given you to them. Not for anything."

"I thought maybe you could love me like you used to."

[the-carlos-cow-eyes]

Sacrifice ~ Chucky AU

Tags: @losersclubisms

Plot: Lydia gets stabbed Instead of Junior

Warnings: Blood, Gore, Pain, Injuries, Hospital Mentions, Death Mentions

Jake felt guilty. Lydia was In the hospital and he felt guilty. Guilty that he didn't stop any of the Chucky's fast enough. If he had, then his twin sister wouldn't be laying In a hospital bed with a tube down her throat to help her breathe and she wouldn't have a scar on her chest as another constant reminder of her trauma.

But If there was one person that felt just as guilty as he did, If not more so, then It was Junior. After all, he did help Chucky lure Lydia Into meeting up with him at the theater, right? That's what was going through his head anyway. It had all happened so fast. First Lydia was trying to talk Junior down and tell him that It didn't matter what Chucky said, that he was a good person, that she loved him, that she was sorry If she wasn't paying much attention to how he was feeling after his Mom was killed. That last part had been confusing Junior because she was the only person who stuck by him even when he tried to push her away.

Then Chucky started Interfering and he lunged at Lydia. Junior got In the way and the two scuffled for a few seconds until Chucky somehow got the upper hand. After seeing this, Lydia managed to grab a nearby Item to use as a weapon and swing at him to hit him away from her cousin, only to get lunged at again mere moments later. It only took about five seconds for Chucky to be on top of her and twenty seconds of struggling for there to be a knife In her chest with a cry of pain escaping her lips. Junior had witnessed all of this and was frozen In place, but once he heard his cousin's cry of pain, he snapped out of It and kicked Chucky away, knocking him down. That was when he stomped his head In again and again and again. All until his head was nothing but a pile of red mush.

The anger that had been rising In his system Immediately turned Into fear and worry once he heard his cousin weakly utter his name. He quickly turned and knelt down beside her, his hands shaking as he didn't know what to do. Did he pull the knife out? No. Her pain would only be made worse and she would bleed out. Did he just sit there and comfort her In her potential last moments? No. He couldn't let her die. Did he run? No. He couldn't just leave her. So, without any other options, he pulled her Into his arms and cried out for help In case anyone else was still alive In the building.

Luckily, Jake and Devon had heard Junior's cries from the main screening room. Lexy and Coraline heard them as well and since Devon could tell that Lexy wanted to find Junior, he volunteered to stay with Caroline, causing the remaining three to run off and follow where the shouts for help were coming from. It didn't take them long to reach him and the sight before them was horrifying to see. Lydia was barely clinging to life and there was blood everywhere, both coming from the dead Chucky doll In the corner and from Lydia's knife wound. Jake quickly rushed to their side, not needing to ask what happened since the sight of the room alone could answer his question and he quickly shouted at either Lexy or Coraline to call 911, to which Lexy quickly complied.

Both cousins were struggling to keep Lydia calm and awake until the ambulance arrived since the young girl was slowly losing conciousness. Her vision was blurring, so all she could see were the silhouettes of her only remaining family members. She tried to talk to them through her pain and her tears, but It was no use, darkness slowly overcame her and her eyes slowly fell closed. This alarmed the boys, but after seeing that she was still breathing, they knew all they could do anymore was try to keep her alive while they waited.

Now, It had been a couple of months since that Incident and Lydia was stuck In a foster home she didn't like without either Jake or Junior at her side and with constant panic attacks and flashbacks to the Incident haunting her every day. She hoped she'd get to see the boys soon. Same goes for Devon and Coraline. But that was all she could do at the moment. All she could do was hope and wait.

[nostalgiachan]

Once more, it is time for 100 OCs! As always, new images up top, earliest images down below, and detailed info below the cut.

#41: Belphegor, Lord of Sloth Idea: Queen of Sleepy Bitch Disease Story: Death Guard

Since I did actually make basic designs for the Deadly Sins (for a polymer chess set I was trying to make as a college portfolio project), I could draw each and every one of them. But honestly, I don't really want to waste the character slots on them, especially when I don't really have an earliest image for most of them.

But then there's Belphegor, who I actually caught the design bug for back in 2008.

Belphegor, Lord of Sloth, member of the Church of the Seven, as it was called. She offered to open a door to the world of your dreams, and all for the price of the life of a child - for who was more full of dreams and imagination than a child? Of course, as with all of the blessings bestowed by the Church, there was a hidden cost: while your mind was off in dreamland, your body would fall comatose and die a day later, after which your soul would belong to Belphegor and you would be tormented by your greatest fears for all eternity.

As one can imagine, being the Lord of Sloth, Belphegor spent much of her time asleep, usually only rousing when summoned; in her dream world, she's much more lively and active, almost childlike and playful. When called to fight, her personal armor, like Belial's leather-and-lace getup, resembled medical apparatus intended to keep the body forcibly upright and functional - in the modern day of our heroes, this means an oxygen mask, various full-body braces, and steroids to combat muscle atrophy. She also fought with a pillowcase full of bricks (because I thought it'd be funny...and also because I couldn't think of a more fitting weapon).

Of course, even though her braces don't quite hinder movement like proper ones would, she's still not a very good physical fighter. Instead, she prefers to attack enemies - when else - in their dreams. While she can't directly kill someone like she could if they'd summoned her, she can still visit terrible nightmares upon them, breaking their morale and causing them to lose sleep. And if your opponent's too tired to think and function, they're too tired to avoid a pillowcase of bricks to the head.

#42: Sydan III/ Sydan Silkka Synkka (the "Canon" holder of the name) Idea: Bookish, quiet mage with darkness powers Story: Dragon Tavern (browser game turned personal story)

This entry hit the post character limit on its own, lmao, so here's images of the preamble to the Dragon Tavern characters from the OG Discord posts:

Our first team is the Champions of the Deadlands (new name TBD), led by one Sydan Silkka Synkka, a Black Seer from the Sepsus Order of the Eclipse (new name TBD). Black Seers are practitioners of what's essentially shadow magic powered by souls , and they may or may not have an ultimate goal of blotting out the sun. But don't you worry, Sydan's just about the nicest spooky-magic user around. She lived with her parents and younger brother, Selien Ommel Rumilus Synkka (one of their parents liked unwieldy names, apparently), until she was scouted by the Sepsus Order at age 13, at which point she left home and moved to what I've determined is essentially Death Magic Hogwarts - though she wasn't happy when she learned that she wouldn't be seeing her family again. The majority of her next decade was spent studying the dark arts - which had a side effect of bleaching her black hair white and giving her eyes a sensitivity to sunlight that would only prove to get worse the more magic she used. In addition to learning the arts, she was taught public speaking and civics, as Black Seers frequently became people of some influence in Deadlands society and it wouldn't do for them to be uneducated in how the world works.

Sydan was 23 when she was called upon by the Gate Council to lead a three-person team on a secret mission. Her partners would be Pierrot Douleur, a half-elf Dread Minstrel (whom she was almost immediately smitten with, though her self esteem wouldn't allow her to say as much), and what at first glance appeared to be a gangly, almost rabid Moon Elf man with one arm that was longer than the other - but turned out to be her very-much-human younger brother, Selien, who in the decade that she'd been away had become an Animator like their father.

His drastic appearance was just the first sign that some serious shit had gone down in the Synkka household while she'd been gone. The second was when Selien attempted to murder her on their first night of camping. Sydan was not nearly as squishy of a mage as Selien expected, however, and Sydan fought him to a complete standstill to show him who's boss. It wouldn't be until some time later in their journey that Selien would properly open up and tell her what happened: that their father had murdered their mother, crafted her into a flesh beast, and attempted to do the same to Selien before he managed to fight back and kill their father. It would be even longer before he'd reveal that the beast he kept with him was, in fact, their mother. Some part of Selien blamed Sydan for all of this happening, that if she hadn't left, their mom would still be whole and he'd still be sane, and he'd had a pretty bad break upon seeing her again.

And then, all the unwritten plot happens. They cross paths with the other two teams of Champions, find the remains of subtowers, and eventually all three groups converge on the tower, where one person goes through with activating the portal and unleashing T'akar Dum - and he styles hard on all nine characters. They barely manage to fight T'akar back into the portal and shut it off, and knowing that the world was not ready to try to fight this thing, eight of them stay around the tower in an attempt to hide it from the world. They each set to work studying it, dismantling it, and doing whatever they can to gather power in order to properly fight it.

For Sydan, this means getting even deeper into her studies; by this point, it's grown physically painful for her to look at much more light than a few candles can produce, but she can see almost perfectly in the dark.

Five years pass, and she ends up sequestering herself deep within a cave, the only place dark enough for her to study in peace. She also ends up isolating herself from both Selien, who's slowly recovering his mental health, and Pierrot, whom she may or may not have confessed her feelings for at that point, though both absolutely love one another. When the Seekers, the nine successor characters, finally come sniffing around their makeshift village, she's grown powerful enough to singlehandedly fight most of them without leaving her cave.

Also it turned out Dragon Tavern being dead was only temporary, they renewed the domain.

#43: Pierrot Douleur Idea: The Bard, but with less womanizing and more romance Story: Dragon Tavern

Out of the three Champions of the Deadlands, Pierrot has the least developed background, as while Sydan and Selien eventually developed the plot of their family issues, Pierrot was stuck at "the pretty boy and Sydan's love interest" for quite some time. But at least I can fluff things up a bit.

Dread Minstrels, the only actual bard class in the game, are musicians who are able to summon horrible noises through their instruments to strike madness and fear into the hearts and minds of enemies, and can pacify outbreaks of the uncontrolled undead. They also serve as the more standard kind of minstrel, and while in the game, their music serves to pacify the occasional outbreak of undead hordes, in the reworking, I decided that as the Deadlands' societal culture is uniquely centered on death, they just became popular performers in their own right without the secondary pacification effect.

Pierrot is an up-and-coming multi-instrumentalist, specializing in bowed string instruments, from the Bonekeep Gloombringers tradition. Some time before they officially met at the forming of the Champions, Sydan happened to see one of his troupe's performances in one of her rare outings. He was chosen by the Gate Council to join their group specifically to reduce how suspicious they may appear; just having a Black Seer and an Animator travelling together might look suspect enough outside of the Deadlands, and having someone like a Death Knight or Bone Lord along would make them stand out even more. Dread Minstrels, on the other hand, were a bit more known for venturing outside of their swamps to spread their particular brand of entertainment with the world, so at first shake their party would come off more like a performance troupe than a band on a mission.

Pierrot was more than talented enough to be an asset to the team, but he wasn't popular enough that very many Deadlands expats would recognize him - a fact which Pierrot dearly hoped would change by the end of their mission. He isn't a glory hog, but like most artists, he desires validation for his work, and it was his hope that once he was the hero of their nation, more people would want to come see him perform.

Well, by the end of the first arc of the story, he gets his wish...sort of. After the encounter with T'akar Dum, people do want to see him, but only so they can drag him and his party back to the Deadlands to answer to the Gate Council - in particular, a young Dark Puppeteer named Faid who happens to be a fan of his and may or may not be attempting to craft a corpse puppet in his likeness. For a time, while he mourns the seeming loss of his relationship with Sydan when she sequesters herself in her cave, he leaves the Champions' outpost to draw attention away from that area, secretly making an appearance at a party being held for Seekers, those looking for the AWOL Champions, and seeding rumors that they'd appeared somewhere far afield. I'll hammer out more of his personal details in time, promise.

#44: Selien Ommel Rumilus Synkka Idea: A flesh crafter what flesh crafts himself as much as his flesh beast Story: Dragon Tavern

Ah, Selien, easily my most developed of all the Dragon Tavern characters. In-game, he's an Animator, a class that basically makes undead monstrosities out of various corpse parts. But I thought it would be fun if Selien did as much part stitching to himself as he did to his creations; thus, he had elf ears, shark teeth, a two-fingered left arm made with various bits of dragon flesh, muscle, and bone, and God knows what sort of leg modifications to make himself taller, along with patches of various skin grafts to replace any lost in battle. He was creepy, kooky, mysterious, spooky, and altogether ooky.

And then I made him Tragic™️.

At some unknown point in the early 10s, when I first got to rethinking the character stories, I began to expand on the family history of Sydan and Selien. As stated in Sydan's wall-o-text, she was recruited into the Black Seers at age thirteen, leaving her younger brother at home with their parents. Their mother, while I never determined what she did for a living, if anything, was a kind, loving woman whom both Sydan and Selien loved dearly. Meanwhile, their father was an aloof and mysterious man who spent most of his time in the family's laboratory studying the art of Animation. When Sydan and Selien were young children, their father, while not the warmest man in the world, was still present and attentive to his children, but over time, he began to withdraw from the family. By the time Sydan left, he was only appearing at meal times, and eventually even that stopped.

One day, a few years later, their mother finally decided that something had to give, and she went to confront him in his lab. And she didn't return for a day.

When Selien realized Mrs. Synkka hadn't come back, he went looking for her. And unfortunately, he found something truly awful there: within a day, Mr. Synkka had surgically transformed Mrs. Synkka into near-mindless flesh beast. See, in my reworking, while flesh beasts are able to function at the command of an Animator, they don't have proper autonomy or an actual soul. Mr. Synkka had been spending the past few years attempting to create a flesh beast with an actual soul and sapience, but nothing was working and it was slowly driving him mad. Now, how turning his wife into a meaty monstrosity was supposed to create a sapient being, or if it would even count for what he was trying to do considering at best he'd just be transfixing a pre-existing soul into a different body, is anyone's guess. But either way, he didn't get what he wanted; if anything remained of Mrs. Synkka's mind and soul in that creature, it had gone dormant. But the point is, Mr. Synkka had lost his mind in his pursuit of necromantic science, and now he had turned his gaze to his then twelve-year-old son.

Mr. Synkka had gotten as far as knocking the boy out, jamming a cleaver into his mouth, and replacing all of his teeth with dragon fangs before suddenly, the creature that was once Mrs. Synkka, in a stunning display of seeming autonomy, attacked Mr. Synkka. The two battled for long enough for Selien to awaken, scream in agony at the sight of his mangled face, and in a haze of drugged stupor and blinding pain, he grabbed one of his father's scalpels, jumped the man, and went right for the carotid. He didn't stop stabbing his father in the throat until the man had completely stopped moving.

Over the years, Selien had done quite a bit of reading of his father's medical books, and had entertained notions of being an Animator like him. He couldn't have predicted that his first surgery would be to fix his own carved-open mouth.

Once he'd stitched his face back together, he had to figure out what to do with what remained of his mother. He knew he should probably mercy kill her, but he couldn't bring himself to do it; it may have been a terrible abomination, but it was still his mother, and it didn't seem to be in any pain. So, Selien's life goal was set before him: to become an Animator skilled enough to return his mother to her original state. But he kept his work on flesh creatures to an absolute minimum; instead, he preferred to perform surgeries on himself - his trauma-riddled logic being that if he can transform his own body completely with other parts but still keep his mind and soul intact, he should be able to do it for his mother, like a fucked up Ship of Theseus. Subconsciously, he also felt that if he could change all of his parts, he'd no longer be the same little boy who'd failed to protect his mother.

So, he spent the next eight years studying Animation like his father, eventually being accepted into the Sepsus Butchers Order. Shortly thereafter, he would be given the assignment of joining the Champions of the Deadlands, and be reunited with his sister; which, as I said before, went extremely poorly initially. The lingering trauma combined with the years of intensive study made Selien into a deeply cynical, bitter individual, and it takes the entire trip for him to begin to heal.

After the battle with T'akar Dum, Selien takes up the position of outpost physician, partnering with the Moon Elf Alriem to make medicines and generally care for the others now working to safeguard the tower. He once again begins to have conflicting feelings over what he should do about his mother, as he knows some part of her yet remains inside the creature, yet he's come no closer to figuring out how to restore her.