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oskea93 · 4 months ago

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Tis the Way the Wind Blows, Hummingbird (Two)

Caleb Sykes x OC Horizon universe

⚠️ Warning ⚠️ Story will contain moments of physical, sexual, emotional, and verbal abuse, cursing, murder, suicidal ideations, childbirth, scalping, death, etc. Please do not read if you are triggered by any of these warnings. If you've seen the film or just read about it online, you already know that Caleb is a bad guy. He will remain a bad guy throughout this story as well. He will not be liked and will be vile in every way. Just a heads up if you were looking for a happy Jamie story.

● If you would like to be tagged, please comment below ●

Taglist: @austinswhitewolf, @carriewritesblog, @isla-bell-blog, @jcbbby, @eve18ahs @ladysybilchronicles @yelchinweasleylothbrok

The cold dirt scattered across the pine box like spiders in the lantern light, each clump landing with a muted thud that echoed in the silence of the night. My tears, once a torrential stream, had ceased, my eyes too sore and bloodshot to allow any more water to flow. The absence of a preacher was a deliberate choice, his family insisting that no good bible pusher was needed or wanted here. The death of my son—a young child, taken too soon—was not enough to warrant the blessing of God upon his delicate, lifeless form.

As I stood there, surrounded by the whispering pines, I felt the weight of the world pressing down on me. The air was thick with the scent of earth and pine, mingling with the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. Memories flooded my mind—his laughter, his innocent questions, his small hand in mine—and each one was a sharp stab to my heart.

The sky above was a deep, endless black, dotted with stars that seemed indifferent to the sorrow below. I longed for some sign, some indication that his spirit was at peace, but the heavens remained silent. In that moment, I realized that mourning is a solitary journey, one that each person must navigate in their own way.

The family gathered around, a mix of stoic faces and quiet sobs, sharing in the collective grief. The young man who brought us together at this moment stood still, his head bowed, eyes fixed on the frozen ground. A storm of emotions raged within me—grief, anger, and a consuming desire for justice. I imagined reaching out to him, making him feel the unbearable sorrow that now defined my existence. It was a dark thought, one born from the depths of my despair. I wanted him to feel what my child felt – the pain from repeated blows to his soft skin. The pain as his head hit against the rocks below. The pressures of this forsaken family finally lifting as Jesus called him home – A son for a son – The mourning weight sitting heavy on Junior and Hannah’s hearts as their son’s body is lowered into the ground, a cross made of sticks marking his existence.

Caleb couldn’t bear to witness the burial of his only son—not that he had much to do with Rory in the first place. The weight of his absence felt heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the grief that enveloped me. After Rory’s last breath slipped from his lungs, Caleb stormed out of his mother’s cabin, rage and despair spilling forth in a torrent of curse words that blasted into the wind. He rode off into the hills, a silhouette against the fading light, leaving behind a family shattered by loss.

Four days had passed, and still, there was no sign of my husband. Each moment stretched into eternity, filled with an anxiety that gnawed at my insides. I worried that Caleb’s volatile nature would lead him down a path from which there would be no return. It was all too possible that he would end up in a pine box next—his mouth and actions often getting the better of him, dragging him into gun and knife fights with locals and passersby. He had a knack for igniting conflict, and his own brother and father sometimes harbored grudges against him, their tempers flaring in the shadow of family loyalty.

The day of the incident remained fresh in my mind, a haunting recollection that replayed like a broken record. Caleb’s gruff voice echoed in my ears as he brushed off the actions of Robert and Junior, dismissing their cruelty with a careless wave.

“It’s Rory’s initiation to becoming a strong Sykes man,” he had said, his tone laced with an arrogance that made my blood boil.

At that moment, I wanted to shake him, to make him see the truth that he was blind to—the truth that our boy had been just that: a boy, caught in a twisted legacy that had no room for innocence.

Poor Rory couldn’t last seven years in this family, never standing a chance to become the strong leader Mama Sykes dreamed of him becoming. The weight of those expectations had been unbearable, and instead of nurturing the boy’s spirit, they had crushed it under the relentless demands of a lineage built on brutality and power. I had watched as Caleb turned a blind eye to the very real pain our son endured, unable to recognize the damage being done in the name of tradition.

The men that had dedicated themselves to the Sykes family kept their eyes from meeting my own as Rory’s casket became harder to see, soon swallowed by the earth in a final, unforgiving embrace. Each shovelful of dirt felt like a weight pressing down on my chest, a tangible representation of the grief that threatened to consume me whole. I wanted to believe in my heart that they knew this was wrong—that they felt the injustice of a child’s life being extinguished in such a brutal and senseless manner. I searched their faces for a flicker of empathy, a sign that beneath the hardened exteriors, they grappled with the weight of this tragedy. But their expressions were stoic, their eyes averted, as if looking at me would somehow bind them to the pain I felt. I wanted to believe that just one of them was a civil man, someone simply caught in the web of the Sykes family, working for a paycheck, hoping to earn enough to get the hell out of this cursed town. But that was a hard thing to do once you were tied to a family such as the Sykes—a family steeped in violence and enmity, where loyalty was often forged in blood.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” The preacher spoke softly as he passed by, his words barely registering in my mind. I stayed silent, my eyes never leaving the final resting place of my little boy, Rory. The world felt distant and muted, as if all sound had been swallowed by the earth that now held him.

A part of me was consumed by grief, but another part was gripped by fear for mine and Emily’s safety—my daughter’s safety above all. Now that Rory was gone, Emily was the last of Caleb’s children. Her existence was a delicate thread in the tapestry of our family, one that didn’t align with Mama Sykes's ambitions.

Female offspring were looked at like crumbs under your shoes – only good for two things – housework and being a mother. Emily didn’t have anything to offer the Sykes family in their eyes – Old man Sykes even questioned if Caleb was her father since the men in the family only produced male heirs. He didn’t take into account that Jr had a daughter a year or two before Emily was born.

“It’s getting late.”

Jr’s gruff voice quaked my nerves as he towered over my side. I could feel the weight of his presence, a shadow that loomed larger than life, making me shuffle slightly to the left, putting space between our frames. With every inch I moved, I felt my heart race, an instinctive reaction to the danger that seemed to seep from him like poison.

“Snow’ll be startin’ up soon again.” His tone was as cold as the air around us, a reminder of the harsh reality we faced. The winter chill clawed at my skin, a physical manifestation of the dread that filled my chest. I glanced toward the horizon, where dark clouds gathered ominously, threatening to blanket the world in white once again.

“I’d rather stay here where my son is than go with any of you monsters.” My voice was hoarse with pain, each word heavy with the grief that had settled into my bones. I could feel the ground beneath me, solid and unyielding, offering a strange comfort amidst the turmoil. Rory was here, in this sacred place, and I refused to abandon him, even if it meant facing the wrath of those I feared.

With my eyes darting in Jr’s direction, I continued, “I would do such a thing if I didn’t have Emily—” My heart twisted at the thought of my daughter, vulnerable and innocent, caught in the crossfire of a family steeped in violence. “Don’t trust her with the likes of you.” The words came out sharper than I intended, but they were laced with a protective instinct that burned fiercely within me.

Jr’s expression darkened, and I could see the anger flicker in his eyes, a storm brewing beneath the surface. “You think you can keep her safe just by standing here?” he shot back, his voice low and menacing. “You’re only prolonging the inevitable. The world out there is cruel, and it won’t wait for you to grieve.”

I squared my shoulders, defiance igniting within me. “And neither will I,” I replied, feeling the strength of my resolve grow. “I won’t let you take her away from me, not after everything Rory suffered. I refuse to let this family destroy another child.”

Jr took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “You’re making a mistake by digging your heels in like this. You don’t understand the danger you’re in. We’re not the ones you should be afraid of,” he sneered, his words dripping with a venom that made my skin crawl.

But I held my ground, staring him down, the fear in my heart transforming into a fierce determination. “I know exactly what I’m afraid of, Jr. It’s men like you who’ve bred this violence, who’ve silenced the innocent. I will protect Emily, even if it costs me everything.”

He let out a snide chuckle, a sound that grated against my nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “You think it’s me that’s the danger? Have you met your deranged husband? Caleb is the one you need to be worried about. We’re just here in case he can’t get things in order—which somethin’ tells me that’s what’s happenin’ with you.”

A surge of anger flared within me, but I took a breath to steady myself. I shook my head slightly, trying to maintain my composure despite the rising tide of emotions. “Caleb is only the man he is today because of you, Mama Sykes, and that waste of breath man you call your father. You are the ones that created the monster that Caleb has become.”

The air between us crackled with tension, each word hanging heavy in the cold, wintry atmosphere. Jr's sneer faded slightly, replaced by an expression that bordered on disbelief. It was as if I had struck a nerve, laying bare the truth he preferred to ignore.

“You think you know everything, don’t you?” Jr shot back, his voice low and dangerous. “You think you can lay the blame at our feet and wash your hands clean? You’re just as much a part of this as he is. You let him become what he is.”

I felt a fire ignite within me, fueled by the injustice of his words. “I didn’t create this! I fought against it every day. I tried to show Caleb that there was another way, one that didn’t involve violence and brutality. But every time I reached out, he pushed me away, pulled deeper into the muck of your family’s legacy.”

Jr crossed his arms, a smug expression creeping back onto his face. “And you think you can save him? You think you can change what’s been etched in his bones? He’s Sykes through and through, just like you’re trying to keep Emily from being one of us. You’re fighting a losing battle.”

I felt my heart pound in my chest, each beat echoing my resolve. “If I have to fight, then I will. I won’t let this family consume my daughter the way it did Rory. She deserves better than the twisted heritage you offer.”

His laughter was harsh, filled with a mix of mockery and disdain. “You’re delusional if you think you can protect her from what she is. This family runs deep, and blood tells a story that can’t be rewritten. You’re just delaying the inevitable.”

The snow started to fall around us, thickening the air with its chill. I could feel the weight of his words sinking in, but I refused to let despair take hold. “Maybe so,” I replied, my voice steady. “But I’ll fight tooth and nail to give her a chance to write her own story. To break free from the chains that bind us to this legacy of pain.”

Jr stepped closer, his presence suffocating, but I held my ground. “You think you can change the narrative? You think you can just walk away from this? This is who we are. It’s in our blood, and it’s in yours now too.”

“Not for much longer,” I shot back, feeling the heat of my determination rise. “I refuse to let this cycle continue. If I can’t save Caleb, then I’ll make sure Emily knows she can choose a different path—one away from all of this.”

For a moment, the air was still, the weight of our words hanging between us like a heavy fog. I could see the flicker of uncertainty in Jr’s eyes, a crack in his armor that gave me a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he realized that the path he was on led only to destruction.

But that flicker was quickly extinguished as he sneered once more. “Good luck with that. You’ll need it. Just remember, I’m not the real threat here.”

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving me standing alone in the swirling snow, my heart racing with a mix of fear and defiance. I knew the battle ahead would be arduous, but I was prepared to face whatever came my way. For Emily, for Rory, and for the chance to break free from the chains that had bound us for far too long…

We sat in silence at the long dinner table located in the main Sykes home. The atmosphere was thick with tension, punctuated by the occasional clinking of cutlery and the low murmur of conversations. Most of the chatter flowed between Jr and James, their voices rising and falling like a tide, while I kept my eyes trained on the plate in front of me. I stole glances at Emily frequently, making sure she was okay amidst the oppressive air that hung over us.

“Somethin’ the matter with my cookin’?”

Mama’s gruff voice cut through the haze, slicing into my thoughts like a knife. I looked up, locking eyes with her, the weight of her gaze heavy and scrutinizing.

“Pardon?” I replied, feigning ignorance, though my heart sank at the confrontation.

“You heard me, girl. You’re the only one not eatin’—afraid I did somethin’ to it?” Her tone was accusatory, a challenge wrapped in a veneer of casualness.

I felt a knot tighten in my stomach, the implications of her words hanging in the air like a dark cloud. “No, Mama,” I said carefully, choosing my words with the precision of a tightrope walker. “I’m just... not very hungry right now.”

Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of skepticism dancing behind them. “Not hungry? Or just tryin’ to make a point?”

The fork in my hand dropped into the plate, the loud clatter causing everyone to stop and stare between us. “I just buried my son today – sorry that I’m not clawin at the plate to eat your home cookin.”

Her eyes glowed with rage. “You watch your damn tone, Elizabeth.” The air crackled with tension as Hannah's words sliced through the room, leaving a palpable silence in their wake.

“This is not the time or place for your foolery, Elizabeth,” James interjected, his voice trying to bridge the widening chasm between the two women. “You actin’ like today hasn’t been hard for all of us. Hannah should be the one actin’ out like this; she raised that boy from the time he was an infant.” His eyes darted nervously between them, hoping to defuse the situation before it escalated further.

Hannah’s gaze bore into mine, a fierce intensity that made it hard to breathe. “You think you understand, don’t you? You have no idea what it’s like to lose a child,” she spat, her voice trembling with both grief and anger. “You act as if you’re the victim here, but you’re the one who’s torn this family apart.”

“Well, it’s kind of hard to take care of your son when he’s pulled from your fingers, screaming and crying, and brainwashed to think that this woman—” I extended my finger in her direction, my voice shaking with emotion, “is your real mother and that I, the one who carried and birthed him, was nothing but a milk wench.” The weight of my words hung heavy in the air, but I felt a surge of defiance rising within me.

“You could never provide him the guidance he needed to be a true Sykes man,” Hannah shot back, her tone dripping with venom. Her words hit their mark, sharp and deliberate, each one designed to wound. “Look how you are with that youngin’ there—” She gestured toward Emily, who sat quietly in her crib, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing around her. “Not even a year old, and you’re makin’ her ashamed of this family. Caleb should’ve left your ass in that whorehouse he found you in all those years ago. Be better off for this family—maybe then, Rory would still be alive—not havin’ you for a mama.”

The air in the room seemed to disappear. My chest tightened, the edges of my vision blurring as the name—Rory—slammed into me like a freight train. She had no right. No damn right. My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out the muffled gasps and murmurs of the room. I was barely aware of my body moving until it happened.

My fist collided with her cheek, a sickening crack reverberating through the air as Hannah stumbled backward, her mouth agape in shock. Her skirt flew up as she hit the ground hard, knocking over a chair in her descent. Gasps erupted from the children huddled in the corner, their screams mingling with the angry shouts of the men around the table.

“You bitch!” I snarled, lunging toward her again, years of pent-up anger and humiliation surging to the surface like a dam finally breaking. The words she’d said, the cruelty of them, wouldn’t stop ringing in my head. Rory. Emily. That whorehouse. I was a storm, fists flying, nails clawing. I barely felt the sting of her hand catching my jaw in a wild swing as I pinned her down.

“Get off me, you crazy bitch!” Hannah shrieked, struggling beneath me as I landed another strike, my knuckles scraping against her cheekbone. The room was chaos now—women yelling, children crying, men shouting in sharp, commanding tones I couldn’t hear over the roar in my head.

The sound of a shotgun going off ripped through the room like a thunderclap, freezing us all in place. My breath hitched in my throat as strong arms yanked me backward, the grip bruising and unrelenting. My body twisted, thrashing against the hold, but whoever had me wasn’t letting go.

“What in the hell is going on here!” Caleb’s voice thundered through the room, cutting through the chaos like a razor. His wild eyes scanned the scene, the tension in his jaw visible even beneath the glow of the dim light. He looked from me, to Hannah, to the overturned chair and the scattered plates on the table.

Mama Sykes pushed past her son with a speed that belied her age, her face twisted with fury. She knelt beside Hannah, who was cradling her face, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. “Your crazy wife went all to hell all over Hannah for no Goddamn reason!” Mama Sykes spat, her voice trembling with rage as she looked up at Caleb. “She’s unhinged, Caleb. I told you this. I told you she wasn’t fit for this family. Not before, and sure as hell not now.”

I wiped at the blood dripping from my split lip, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. My hands were shaking, my knuckles raw and stinging. I could feel every eye in the room on me, the weight of their judgment pressing down like a vice. But all I could see was Caleb.

Hannah whimpered as Junior stepped forward, his face dark with fury. He paused briefly to glance at his wife before turning his full attention to Caleb. “You better get a handle on your wife, brother,” Junior growled, his voice low and dangerous. “’Cause if you don’t, there’s gonna be a problem.”

The room fell deathly silent. The unspoken threat hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Caleb’s jaw worked as he looked from me to Junior, then back again. His hands flexed at his sides, his knuckles turning white as if he was trying to hold onto whatever control he had left.

“I ain’t gonna say it again, Caleb,” Junior said, taking another step forward. “Handle. Her.”

"Get the baby, Elizabeth." Caleb's voice was low as his eyes stayed connected with Junior's. The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife.

I stood there for a moment, looking between the brothers. Junior's face was flushed red with anger, his fists clenched at his sides. Caleb, on the other hand, seemed eerily calm, but I could see the storm brewing behind his eyes. The air crackled with unspoken threats and years of pent-up resentment.

Mama Sykes stood in the corner, her weathered hands wringing her apron, eyes darting nervously between her sons.

Snapping out of my daze, I pushed past Mama Sykes, my heart pounding in my chest. Emily was in her makeshift bassinet, oblivious to the tension surrounding her. I gathered her in my arms, feeling her warmth against my chest as I all but ran out the wooden door.

The cool night air hit my face as I stepped onto the porch, a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere inside. I could hear the commotion of the bull-headed brothers scuffling as I closed the shack door behind me. The sound of breaking glass and muffled shouts filtered through the thin walls.

Cradling Emily close, I hurried down the rickety steps and across the yard to the small shack we called home.

I set Emily down in the crib, tucking a worn quilt around her for warmth. She stirred slightly but didn't wake, her tiny fists curled up near her face. I envied her peaceful slumber, wishing I could be as blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding.

Sinking down onto the old rocking chair beside the crib, I let out a shaky breath. The shouting from the house had grown louder, punctuated by the sound of something heavy falling or being thrown. I closed my eyes, trying to block it out, wondering how many more times we'd have to endure this cycle of violence and reconciliation.

A minute and some change had passed before Caleb stalked over the threshold. His blonde hair tangled under his hat, blood noticeably dripping from his lip. The dim light of the entryway cast shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the dark, stormy look in his eyes.

I hesitated for a moment, my heart racing as I took in his disheveled appearance. His clothes were rumpled, and there was a tear in the sleeve of his hide jacket.

"Are you okay?" I finally managed to ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I took a tentative step forward, unsure whether to offer comfort or maintain my distance. The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife.

Caleb's gaze snapped to mine, his blue eyes clouded with a mix of emotions I couldn't quite decipher. Anger? Pain? Fear? He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again, his jaw clenching tightly. A drop of blood fell from his chin, landing on the worn wooden floor with a soft pat.

He was silent as he walked through the small home - the tension in the air grew thicker with each step he took, his boots leaving muddy prints on the worn floorboards. The warm glow of the fireplace did little to soften the hard lines of his face or the dangerous energy radiating from him.

"Caleb?" I called out, my voice a mix of concern and growing apprehension. Something was very wrong, and the pit in my stomach deepened with each passing second.

Suddenly, there was a blur of movement. The flash of his ringed hand caught the firelight as his backhand collided with my flushed cheek. I'll continue the scene with your added details:

I could feel the skin sliced open from where his ring had dragged across my skin. The sharp, stinging pain bloomed across my cheek, and I tasted the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. Stunned, I stumbled backward, my hand instinctively reaching up to touch the wound.

"You just never know when to shut your damn mouth!" Caleb roared, his voice a thunderous mix of rage and frustration. His eyes, once warm and familiar, now burned with an intensity that frightened me to my core.

"I'm not the one who started it!" My courage stepping forward despite the throbbing pain in my cheek. "Your mother and Hannah started all of this – everything that happened with Rory is thei-"

"I'm sick and fucking tired of hearing about Rory!" Caleb's voice raised to a roar, cutting me off mid-sentence. His face contorted with a mix of rage and pain. "Rory is dead and there's nothing you or I can do about it! He's better off buried in that ground than being up here and having to deal with the shit of being a Sykes man."

His words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs. How could he speak so callously about his own child? The grief and anger that had been simmering inside me for so long suddenly boiled over.

My body shook with anger, my voice rising to match his. "How can you say that about your son? You're flesh and blood that you didn't even bother to see on his last day on this god forsaken rock!"

The air between us crackled with tension. Caleb's words about Rory being "better off" dead hung heavy in the room, a testament to the deep-seated pain and dysfunction that ran through the Sykes family.

I could see the muscle in Caleb's jaw working as he clenched his teeth, his eyes flashing dangerously. But I was beyond caring about his anger now.

"You weren't there, Caleb," I continued, my voice breaking. "You weren't there when he needed you most. And now you have the audacity to say he's better off dead? What kind of father are you?"

"Rory was never ours, Elizabeth." Caleb's voice dropped low, a dangerous edge to his words. "Mama was never gonna let you be in that boy's life and there's a reason for that." His frame now towered over mine, using his height to intimidate. "Look at the way you're raising Emily –" His skinny finger pointed accusingly towards where our daughter slept. "Coddling and loving on her every moment – that girl isn't gonna have a chance in hell when she finds her way out of this holler."

The implication behind his words sent a chill down my spine. The revelation about Rory not being "ours" hung in the air, raising a multitude of questions I was too angry to process at the moment. Instead, I focused on his attack on my parenting.

"Are you saying that I'm a bad mother because I love my children?" We were toe-to-toe at this point, neither of us backing down. My voice dripped with venom as I spat out, "I'm sorry I don't want my children to be shells of humans like your whole goddamn family."

The tension between us was palpable, years of resentment and family secrets bubbling to the surface. Caleb's words about Rory and his criticism of my parenting Emily revealed a deep-seated conflict in values and a disturbing family dynamic.

I could see the muscle in Caleb's jaw working, his eyes narrowed dangerously. The mention of his family being "shells of humans" clearly struck a nerve, but I was beyond caring about his feelings at this point.

"You don't understand, Elizabeth," Caleb growled, his breath hot on my face. "This world ain't kind, especially not to folks from these parts. Coddling don't prepare you for what's out there."

"And what? Neglect and emotional abuse does?" I shot back, refusing to be cowed. "Is that the Sykes family secret to success?"

A sinister chuckle slipped past his lips. “Coming from the girl who’s parents died because they were too damn stupid to survive out in those mountains and leaning on the trust of some old drunkard to take care of you.” His knees bent so we were eye to eye, his breath hot and tainted with malice. “I’m sure your folks would be happy to know their sweet daughter turned out to be a filthy whore that every fool on their way west buried their cock in before leaving town.”

I could feel tears prick my eyeline, but I fought them back, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. “No one was ever desperate like you, darling husband.” His eyes narrowed at my statement, the tension between us thick enough to slice through.

“You’re just another pussy that kept my dick warm—” His breath hit my ear, hot and biting. The words hung in the air, thick with contempt. “If it were up to me—” He paused, letting the silence stretch, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I woulda gotten rid of you and that baby, and no one would’ve ever known or cared.”

A chill ran down my spine, the reality of his words sinking in like a heavy stone. I turned slightly, meeting his gaze, searching for any hint of remorse, but all I saw was cold indifference. The room felt smaller, the walls closing in, as I struggled to find my voice amidst the chaos of my thoughts.

“Do you really think that’s all I am to you?” I managed to whisper, my heart racing. “Just a warm body?”

He scoffed, dismissing my question with a wave of his hand. “You’re nothing more than a distraction.”

#jamie campbell bower imagine #jamie campbell bower #jamie campbell bower smut #jamie campbell bower x reader #jamie bower #caleb sykes imagine #caleb sykes #horizon an american saga #horizon

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marleyelona · 2 months ago

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WELCOME TO...

[ BLOOD OF THE FORGOTTEN ]

The Vampire Diaries

☆ 《》 ¤

'CLARA & DAMON'

Synopsis

IN 1864, Clara Salvatore had it all; beauty, power, and the love of Damon Salvatore. A talented witch of noble blood, Clara was unaware that she was also the latest reincarnation of Thalia, an ancient and powerful witch from the Viking era, and the best friend and magical confidante to Kol Mikaelson.

But one night, everything changed. Betrayed by Katherine Pierce, Clara was forcefully turned into a vampire and locked away in the infamous tomb along with the other forgotten vampires. Her child, her future, her life; all taken from her.

Over a century later, the tomb is opened, and Clara emerges into a world she no longer recognises. Haunted by the past, furious with Damon for his affair with Katherine, and aching with the grief of the child she never got to hold, Clara must now confront the truth of what she is: a Ravenswood doppelgänger, the final vessel in a magical bloodline created to carry Thalia's soul; a soul Kol Mikaelson has never stopped searching for.

As old magic awakens, Clara is torn between the ghosts of her past and the life she can still reclaim. With Damon seeking redemption, Kol drawn to the soul he once loved, and the supernatural balance threatening to unravel, Clara must decide: will she be the weapon fate intended her to be? Or carve her own destiny from the ashes of betrayal?

☆ 《》 ¤

'CLARA & KOL'

" Every soul carries echoes of the past—but some are forged with purpose, cursed to return until fate is fulfilled. She was not born to be a weapon...she was bound to become one. "

☆ 《》 ¤

BLOOD OF THE FORGOTTEN | (meet the cast)

CLARA SALVATORE

(DOVE CAMERON)

Turned at 25/Real Age 170/Born a Witch/is a Ravenswood Doppelgänger/a Vampire-Witch Hybrid/a Tomb Vampire/5'2

DAMON SALVATORE

(IAN SOMERHALDER)

Turned at 25/Real Age 170/Born Human/Currently a Vampire/5'10

KOL MIKAELSON

(NATHANIEL BUZOLIC)

Turned at 18/Real Age 1026/Born a Witch/is an Original Vampire/6'1

BONNIE BENNETT

(KAT GRAHAM)

17/A Bennett Witch/5'2

☆ 《》 ¤

ALSO STARRING...

THE ANCIENT WITCHES

THE PETROVA DOPPELGÄNGERS

THE MIKAELSONS

☆ 《》 ¤

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own the Vampire Diaries. All rights go to Kevin Williamson, Julie Plec, L.J Smith, the CW and any others that made the show possible. I do, however, own my characters: Clara Salvatore and Thalia, along with their backstories and their storylines within the show. I also own the rights to any other OCs I might add in the future.

GRAPHICS: I MAKE the gifs that are used throughout this book. Although, occasionally I will use gifs I find on google. Any gifs I haven't made, all rights should go to those whom created them. I also do the aesthetics and covers that are made.

⚠️TRIGGER WARNING⚠️: violence, coarse language, gore, death or talks of death, murder, PTSD, toxic relationships and detailed sex scenes will appear in this book.

☆ 《》 ¤

STARTED : April 22, 2025

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED WATTPAD : April 22, 2025

FINISHED : ongoing

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writemywaytoyourheart · 2 years ago

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Bedeviled | FINAL- Chapter 15a: alea iacta est

Pairing: demon!jungkook x female reader

Genre: romance, drama, angst, horror

WC for PART 1: 13.6k

This is a two part chapter guys, dont miss 15b, it will be linked at the end of this chapter.

Warnings for this part: ⚠️this chapter contains intense, heavy & possibly triggering material, pls read at your own discretion⚠️ strong language, blood, torture, grief, mentions of death, brief mention of past murder, strong religious themes throughout, mentions of witchcraft, implied human sacrifice, summoning of and dealing with demons, ANGST, physical violence, guilt, heavy heavy stuff u guys b careful, if there's anything I missed pls kindly let me know.

ML Previous

“Guardian angel…what’s happened?”

The look in her eyes was gentle even though the worry was clear.

“I will tell you soon, I promise. Trust in me that now is not the time.”

A slender hand gestured towards the giant golden gates, a reminder of what was to come.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, an understanding and comfort sweeping through you that the time would arrive to know everything. You looked up at the shining entrance and noticed beautiful gems lining the golden bars in every color imaginable.

It was stunning.

Your angel reached out a hand and ever so gently touched the sleek bars; sending a shudder through the entirety of the gate that simultaneously went through you, deep into your bones.

You didn’t notice you were holding your breath until the gate opened and there was a soft yet steady hand on your shoulder.

Taking a tentative step forward, you gulped as the cloud beneath you kept you from plummeting through it.

A few more steps and you were almost inside.

Closing your eyes, you took in a deep breath that filled your lungs. As it blew out slowly, you could feel any and every worry leaving with it as the sound of a celestial choir arose and an overwhelming feeling of love consumed you.

Then you stepped through the gates.

The grip on your upper arms is harsh as you’re dragged carelessly down the last few steps. The sound of tortured screams echo around you, bouncing off the walls and shaking you to the core.

Then the smell hits you.

A smell so vile you would never be able to put it into words if someone asked. It turns your stomach to rot within seconds, but it’s too late to hold your breath now.

I’m okay.

You shake uncontrollably as the demons proceed to half carry you down a long hall, the sound of their footsteps drowned out by the screams of the sinners whose fate you are soon about to share in.

At least it isn’t him.

You gulp and close your eyes despite it already being pitch black; the action only a desperate attempt to conjure some form of comfort.

You flinch when the loud clank of metal reaches your ears.

It sounds like someone is unlocking a very large padlock.

Then an ear piercing squeak follows when what you can only assume is a cell door is opened.

You’re brought into the cell and immediately thrown to the ground harshly, a pained gasp knocked out of you when you hit the stone floor.

There’s a puddle of something wet and warm under your hands and the stench of urine instantly fills your nostrils. You don’t even have a moment to register the disgust before you’re being grabbed roughly again and yanked to the middle of the room.

The unmistakable sound of jangling chains fills your ears and you bite your bottom lip. Your eyes slowly begin to adjust to the darkness due to the sliver of blood red light seeping in through a crack near the upper right corner behind you.

You can just barely make out what is probably Sav in front of you, but more of that comes from the energy you feel and less the sight of him.

A deep chuckle sounding directly ahead confirms it as your arms are yanked up so violently that you inadvertently cry out. The demons only continue to laugh as one on each side of you shackles your wrists to the rusted cuffs hanging from the ceiling.

You realize with horror only seconds before it happens that the chains are a certain height, designed like everything else here; to wring the most torture they can out of you.

A broken scream gets stuck in your throat when the demons let go of you and your body weight is forced down by gravity, pulling at your shoulders harshly. Only a bit of pressure is taken off by your feet holding you up just enough on tiptoe. You know that eventually your shoulders will not be able to handle it, when you are no longer strong enough to stand. They will inevitably be pulled out of place.

Breathing in and out slowly in shaky gasps, you don’t even try to fight as your ankles are shackled as well, even though you won’t be going anywhere with even just the wrists bound in iron.

The sound of another set of chains makes you close your eyes.

Flinching harshly, you bite your lip when you feel your wings squeezed painfully by cold metal restraints of their own.

Fear clenches your heart as you wait with bated breath.

“Leave us.”

Heavy footfalls go to the cell door, the loud creak sounds, then the footsteps diminish into the torture being dealt elsewhere in the dungeon.

You say nothing, feeling his stare on you while you keep your eyes closed.

“I’m going to ask questions and you are going to answer, do you understand?”

He’s met with silence, but chooses to ignore that and begins anyway.

“Why are you here?”

When you don’t answer, he steps forward and growls.

“Do you want me to fucking hurt you right now, you little bitch? Answer me.”

You open your eyes and stare at the dark floor, but say nothing.

“Answer me or when the time comes I’ll hurt him more than I need to.”

A beat of silence passes.

“I came to get something,” you grit out, tears stinging your eyes.

Sav chuckles in disbelief.

“How strange you are, little puppet. You say nothing when your own precious body is on the line, but when it comes to a random demon you found in Hell, you will give it all up.”

You sigh shakily, knowing that he can do whatever he wants to you and still get you to talk when he threatens to hurt a certain fellow demon of his.

“Oh this is going to be fun.”

His heeled boots clunk against the floor as he begins to pace, smirking at your defeated posture.

“What did you come to get?”

You gulp, noticing how dry your throat is.

“Something I’ve waited a long time for.”

“The Flame of Immortality?”

You’re not sure how he found out that little made-up story, but you don’t ask.

He sighs through his nose in annoyance at your silence.

“Why should an angel need the Flame? You’re already immortal. Besides, don’t you holy creatures frown at the use of it?”

“I didn’t tell you I needed it,” you whisper.

“A little birdie told me you did.”

“Maybe you should stop taking information from random little birdies-”

A harsh slap lands across your cheek and you instantly taste blood as your head hangs to the side and you squeeze your eyes shut tightly to try and control the urge to make a sound.

You don’t want to give him that satisfaction.

“You’re going to regret not taking my offer to let you speak and delay your punishment.”

He grabs your face, pinching your cheeks tightly and making you look at him.

Oddly enough, you can see his blue eyes in the dim light, his hair falling into them.

“If pain is what you want, rest assured that is what I will give you.”

You glare back at him in response, earning another slap to your other cheek.

Sav steps back and observes you.

“You look a little too confident as an angel at the hands of demons that are only too willing to hurt her.”

You just stare at him, hands chained above your head and shoulders aching terribly.

“Your smug silence will only cause you more agony.”

He gets no response.

The demon turns and walks to a corner of the cell, a dark alcove where you can not see what is inside.

“Fine by me, little angel.”

You expect him to emerge with something, so you’re taken by surprise when he only comes back out, empty handed, to lean against the wall.

“Undidis.” His voice rings out in the dim light.

Then the iron cell door opens and the large lizard-like demon that grabbed you in the hall stalks in, a grotesque smile spread across his toothy snout.

You don’t have a moment to think before he hits you across the face so hard that your vision spins violently and a headache blossoms. A few of your teeth feel like they were loosened by the impact. You breathe out a pained groan.

The demon hits you in the stomach, then kicks your right shin harshly out from under you, undoubtedly leaving a mark that will bruise if he didn’t fracture it outright.

The weight of your beaten body pulls down on your shoulders and you cry out.

“Alright, that’s enough.”

Undidis steps away and sneers, “Look at her. She’s like a little doll we get to ruin all we want.”

Sav chuckles at his words.

“And she can stop it any time she would like. Are you ready to stop, angel?”

You gulp, cringing at the metallic taste in your mouth, then you shake your head slowly.

He scoffs and goes back to the alcove, disappearing into the darkness.

____.

Tears form in your eyes at the sound of her voice in your mind.

Angel…I’m sorry that I didn’t listen to you…I’m sorry I failed.

Sav steps out and you see something long and thin hanging from his hand.

____, you have not failed. Do not let them make you believe otherwise.

“Still feeling brave?” Sav mocks, running the whip between his fingers repeatedly, his eyes moving over your form hungrily; ready to draw screams from you with each crack of it.

You are sure you want to do this? Only say the word and it will stop.

You pull your gaze away from Sav and up to the ceiling of the cell. Up to where you might be able to imagine all of them if you think hard enough.

The words that leave your mouth are sure to send him into a fit, but it doesn’t stop you from saying them.

“I’m okay, Guardian Angel.”

Sav’s face falls, then it twists in anger as he steps closer to you, “We’ll just see where that bravery gets you.”

You can see the hatred in his eyes before he walks behind you and is out of your line of sight.

You shut your eyes only moments before the whip makes contact with your back and rips the first scream from your lungs.

________________________

“Find your own way out of Hell.”

The look of terror and disbelief in your eyes did nothing to stop him from turning; from leaving you alone and never looking back.

JK keeps his eyes forward as he stalks across the empty planes between the eighth and ninth circles of Hell, his jaw taut with barely contained rage.

He has no intention of going back to you, or even turning around to see if perhaps his eyes betrayed him in a moment of insanity.

Of all the things he theorized about you in his head, you being one of those sorry pawns from His pathetic army was never even close to being one…

When the golden light bouncing off the vibrant green leaves flashes through his brain again, the demon shakes his head and keeps walking.

You must have poisoned his thoughts in some way- with all your nasty little angel abilities to put images in minds. That must have been part of your plan the entire time: to confuse him, to disorient him enough so that you could do whatever the hell it was you were here to do in the first place.

The silent anger continues to build inside, leaving no room to wonder or even care about where you might be.

_________________

The broken scream from the last lash of the whip leaves your throat raw as you gasp in a breath. You had held them in as much as you could, but the pain after the first fifteen lashes was too much. You had no idea how many more he had done since.

Sav runs his fingers down the length of the thin instrument, dragging the blood off of it to drip onto the floor in red splatters.

“Why him?” He asks lowly, voice deep with impatience.

Your shaky breaths echo off the stone walls.

Sav grabs your chin with rough fingers, forcing you to lift your head and look at him, the smirk on his face growing at the way you squeeze your eyes shut with pain, the blood from his fingers smearing onto your skin.

“Why…” He leans close, his cold breath fanning your wet cheeks, “...him?”

You swallow thickly before whispering, unable to keep the strength in your voice no matter how hard you try, “I only asked him to lead me becau-”

A shaky breath gets caught in your throat and you cough a little.

“-because he was the first one I ran into.”

The grip on your face tightens for a second before the demon shoves you away and takes a step back to observe his prisoner.

“Do not make the mistake of feeling secure in telling me the truth. It will not spare you any pain.”

You open your eyes and look at him.

“I know.”

His jaw clenches, then a smirk slowly spreads on his face again.

“How unlucky for you that he was merely a pawn in your little game. If there was more to tell on JK, I might have decided to prolong the fun in order to wring more out of you.”

His words neither lessen nor heighten your anxiety. You know he is going to torture you without restraint, you have known since the moment you were grabbed in the tunnel while trying to get away. He does not need any more information from you; that is not why you are in this dungeon under the Chamber of Souls. You are merely here for their twisted sport.

Finding an angel in the middle of Hell is a prize beyond the count of worth.

Without turning, Sav drops the whip on the floor and points at the alcove.

The demon, Undidis, that has been standing silent to the side for the entirety of the whipping instantly walks that way and disappears into the darkness.

The sound of metal clanging around from where he went reaches your ears, but you do not move your gaze from Sav’s.

“The monarch butterfly on your arm,” you whisper, voice hoarse, “Why is it colored?”

He snorts, “Why would I feel the need to divulge any information about myself to you? You are already at my feet, you are already mine to break.”

“Do you not know?”

His gaze hardens as he stares at you with a raw hatred after seeing the unwavering look in your gaze.

The look in his own eyes confirms what you already know: that he will not give you a moment of relief once he begins.

There is no reason for either of them to hold back.

You take a steadying breath and close your eyes slowly.

Stepping through the gates, your eyes landed immediately on your aunt.

Yoongi’s mother, who died many years ago.

Her skin seemed to radiate a very subtle glow as she smiled at you warmly. There were no wings on her back and she was clothed in a soft white tunic that fell to her ankles. She looked young and healthy, her eyes resembling Yoongi’s almost exactly.

You smiled back, then your gaze shifted to see the man stepping out from behind her who wasn’t an angel either.

It was your father.

You had never met him, but there was something inside of you that just knew. For some odd reason you also knew what had happened to him, why he left one day before you were even born and never came back.

You thought maybe he had been sick like you or just abandoned you and mother. It never occurred to you that he was killed on the road and never found. Your heart hurt terribly at this revelation.

His lips…they looked like yours. Your hair color was the same too. He also looked somewhat like Yoongi’s mother, the shared genes were clear.

You briefly remembered the days leading up to your death, when you hallucinated a man in the corner of the shack, staring at you. You had thought it was your father, but it wasn’t, he didn’t look like this man. This man’s eyes were kind, his touch comforting as he gave you a quick hug and whispered how happy he was to finally meet you.

You hugged him back tightly, a breath stuck in your throat, your mind still in a state of disbelief.

He pulled away then and stepped back, no longer obscuring your view of the beings behind him.

Many many people and angels, some laughing and talking, others smiling and waving at you excitedly.

You didn’t recognize any of them, but they seemed to know you.

They seemed to have known you for a long time.

Realization hit you then, that every single person and angel there, had been waiting for you.

The air itself was alive with relief and genuine unconditional love.

These souls that you did not know, were overjoyed at your arrival.

They were proud of you.

Tears filled your eyes, only a few escaping and falling down your cheeks.

Then you saw her.

The little angel with yellow wings, that had taken your hand and led you to the clouds after you passed.

She was standing in front of another angel that looked no older than fourteen. The young teen had long red hair and wings the color of soil. A bright smile graced her pink lips.

The small yellow angel that you had not recognized when first waking in that shack, had tears in her eyes as she looked at you. Those bunny teeth appeared when she smiled even while the tears fell down her supple cheeks.

“The little ones that pass in the womb become angels.”

She looked just like him.

“Aera?”

The name fell from your lips in a breathless whisper.

Not another moment passed before you were kneeling and the child was running into your open arms, soon engulfed in your embrace.

Her tiny arms wrapped around you and she held on tightly.

You couldn’t help the tears that wracked your body as you kept her close, finally feeling that warmth you always dreamt of.

“I love you,” you whispered the words you always wanted to say between sobs, “I love you so much, I missed you so much.”

Her hug only tightened and she whispered back with that tiny soft voice you could only ever imagine in those long long months, “I missed you too, mommy. I love you.”

You continued to cry on her small shoulder until your tears were utterly spent and you could finally breathe in fully without breaking into another round of weeping.

Only then did you open your eyes and see someone behind her; your gaze traveling from their sandaled feet, up their long beige tunic, and into gentle brown eyes flecked with gold.

Only then did you first look upon the face of the one you never knew you had missed.

Your whole body is quivering uncontrollably, blood drips down your arms and legs, and your shoulders only continue to weaken as the strain on them increases with each new torment they bring upon you.

“Not the face.”

Sav’s deep voice breaks through the fog of pain clouding your mind.

Undidis grunts in annoyance but steps back anyway, the bloody knife gripped in his scaly fist tightly as he resists the urge to mutilate the only part of you that has been left more or less unscathed.

You can faintly hear both of them laughing as they walk around you, behaving like two humans that have stumbled across a most intriguing statue in the museum.

No words pass your lips, only the labored breathing that occasionally becomes so quiet that if they didn’t know any better they’d have thought you suffocated from the lack of oxygen getting to your lungs.

“Such a precious little face, angel. I can’t bring myself to cut it up just yet,” Sav muses with mock pity.

At your lack of response, you get a kick to the same right shin Undidis had struck earlier.

All you give for that is a weak moan.

Sav steps towards you and leans down, his voice becoming soft, “This is only the beginning. You can change your fate, all you have to do is one simple thing.”

The fog in your brain covers most of your thoughts in an attempt to pretend like you are anywhere but here.

Slowly, you shake your head.

“Do nothing and we get to play with you for the rest of eternity. Who needs Him anyway? If you give in to us, the pain He has let be inflicted upon you will lessen.”

Your eyes flutter open at his words and you lift your head only enough to look him in the eye.

“And when my memories are no longer my own,” you mumble quietly, “When I can no longer understand why it hurts…what will happen to me then?”

Sav straightens up, his mouth twisting in rage.

“Will I become like you?” You whisper hoarsely, never looking away from him.

A harsh slap from the back of his hand causes your head to jerk to the side and blood to spray from your mouth and onto the floor, to continue to stain the ancient stone with the life of its current victim.

“You dare to look down on me while I stand above you?” He seethes, “You refuse to acknowledge who is in control?”

“You are not in control.” Is all you say, eyes lifting to the ceiling briefly.

“Is that so?”

A choked gasp gets stuck in your throat when you feel jagged metal sink deep into your abdomen.

Sav pulls the knife back out and lifts it into your view as you gulp and try to control the shivering from sheer pain alone.

Your blood drips down the length of the crooked blade, only inches from your face.

“I think we’ve just run out of time for you. That little face of yours has only begun to anger me.”

Your gaze drifts from the crimson knife and over to his dark blue eyes.

“Your story saddens me, Sav. But it is not you I grieve for.”

There’s a flash of fear deep in his gaze, but it’s quickly clouded once more with hatred.

“You may know things I do not, angel, but I can assure you of this,” he looms over you, only too ready to ruin you beyond recognition, “If you do not deny Him, if you do not lower yourself more than you already are and bow to me; I will rid you of any physical indication of your title. I will tear you limb from limb and you will feel every single second of it.”

A smile spreads on your cracked lips, bright red blood oozing from your mouth.

“Lower yourself to me.” Despite his words, his voice shakes slightly.

The grin on your face does not fade, even as Undidis emerges from the shadows with the next instrument of torture that will leave you in agony beyond comprehension.

You keep your eyes locked on Sav.

“No.”

____________________________________

“Look, Savanis!”

The twenty-year old boy looked up from where he was digging and reached a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. He pushed the dirty blonde hair out of his suntanned face so he could see the little girl a few feet to his left.

“What is it, Marjorie?”

The child frowned at his tone, but quickly brushed it off and pointed at the little flower only inches from her where a beautiful orange and black butterfly sat.

“Isn’t it pretty?” She whispered, leaning in. Long blonde locks fell over her tiny shoulders, the curled ends brushing against the dirt, “I think it’s the most beautiful I have ever seen.”

Savanis rolled his eyes and turned back to the digging that was taking longer than he liked. It wasn’t supposed to be one of the jobs that consumed his entire day. And for this he would only get enough for half a loaf of bread at the market.

The shovel struck the hot dirt viciously, tearing into it and wrenching it from the earth.

“Savi.”

He rolled his eyes at the hundredth interruption that evening alone.

“What?”

“I’m hungry.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” He raised his voice, slamming down the small piece of wood he had been carving mindlessly, the sound echoing off the wooden walls of their tiny home.

Tears welled up in the six year old’s big bluebell eyes and he sighed sharply.

“It isn’t my fault the king treats us like scum, Marjorie! What would you have me do? Beg at his feet to let us feast with the royal court? Don’t be so naive. If you’re so hungry then go out and find a way to get us food. Just because mother and father died and left you to burden me doesn’t mean you can’t make yourself useful for once.”

With that, he stood and grabbed the crookedly carved wood, then stormed out of the house, leaving his little sister to self-soothe in her torn blanket, holding her worn out doll friend close to her chest.

It wasn’t even a month’s passing since that night that Savanis stumbled upon the old witch that lived in the woods, the one he had only previously heard tales of.

She was odd enough to deserve the rumors said about her, but she by no means looked to him like she could actually cast magic spells and curse those that betrayed her.

Despite all that, she made decent company when he was out and about in the woods for whatever work he was doing.

The witch spoke of her many encounters with spirits; the good and the evil.

Savanis found himself increasingly drawn to the dark ones she told him of. They seemed more likely to obtain what they desired and he didn’t shy away from the means in which they helped this particular old hag acquire hers.

He began to actively look for work that focused solely on his going into the woods. Those stories began to seem more and more real, and certainly the ways in which the witch lived her life seemed a lot more enjoyable than where he was stuck.

Savanis was determined to change the course of his future, to live his life how he wanted, not to have anyone relying so heavily on him for mere survival.

The time he spent in those woods grew longer and not for the work he was doing halfheartedly by then. For what he was doing, he might never need to work again.

The old witch taught him spells, ways that he could get what he wanted without working all day for it. Ways to read into others’ futures so that they might pay him in exchange for that delicate knowledge. Perhaps, he thought, he could embellish a little here and there as the witch suggested, and so he did. She was right that people would pay more the more you’re willing to divulge, even if only some of it was true.

Marjorie would wait for her brother each night, worrying herself sick while lying in her blankets on the floor of their one room cabin. She would force her little eyes to stay open until she saw him coming into the door quietly and setting his things underneath the floorboards where he thought she couldn’t get them. Then the child would finally be able to sleep.

His items never interested her. One time she was curious and looked in the hiding spot, but only found feathers and vials of strange liquid that smelled funny. When she saw the small blade covered in something red, she hurriedly put the floorboard back over it and never again peeked.

Most of her days were spent outside in her garden.

It wasn’t much of a real garden, but she had lovingly replanted flowers and other strange plants she did not know the name of that she found in the forest.

The bees, dragonflies, and butterflies would swarm her little collection of sweet-smelling flowers, which was one of the reasons she loved it the most.

Marjorie would sit there for hours, simply watching the butterflies flutter to and fro as she nibbled on her bread. She’d offered them some once but they were not interested, so she kept it for herself.

Savi didn’t snap at her so much anymore and he started to bring home more food. She didn’t ask him what he was doing all day and he didn’t offer any details.

Savanis wiped the already dirty rag down the length of his smaller hunting knife as the witch, Tanta he knew her as now, continued to stir the pot above the fire.

When he was finally able to clear most of the crimson smears from the blade, he knelt down and tossed the bloody rag into the fire, his gaze drawn to the strange green hue that illuminated the flames briefly before they faded back to a reddish orange.

“You remembered,” Tanta seemed pleased as she sprinkled something flaky into the pot.

He nodded then sat back to watch her work.

“I’m better than you ever acknowledge.”

“I’m aware.”

“Then why don’t you teach me more? Everything I know is practically useless to me now.”

“I thought all you wanted was a comfortable life,” she mused, not looking in his direction but clearly sporting a knowing grin, “Is that not what I’ve given you? You have food, clothes, and no need for work.”

Savanis sighed loudly, “What good is magic if it doesn’t give you more than the ordinary?”

“What good indeed,” Tanta muttered quietly.

They sat in silence for a little longer, then he heard her speak again.

“I have urged you to do things you have not done.”

He frowned, unsure what she meant for a moment, then it hit him.

“Ah, you mean the rituals?”

“Indeed.”

“So if I worship him more, I’ll be able to do more?”

The only response he got to that was a silent smile.

“I’m not sure I believe it is the thing,” Savanis continued, “Did you not say I was the one capable of magic because of who I am? Not because of some demon king?”

“On your own, you are no more special than that kid sister of yours.”

He bit his tongue at that, irritated.

“She couldn’t handle any of it,” he spat bitterly, glaring at the flames that appeared to have turned bluish, “She’s weak and useless.”

“And that may be so,” Tanta let go of the ladle and turned to him, “But if you want to unlock your true potential, you must give all of yourself to his work.”

“And that means worshiping him every day?”

“The more genuine you become with it, the more you will not drag your feet about it.”

Savanis chewed on his bottom lip, contemplating.

What did he have to lose?

Tanta was right.

The more frequently he did the special rituals to the Leader, as she called him, the more he desired to do them.

A lot of times he’d have to fight the stupid little voice whispering over his shoulder not to do it, saying that he could stop and it wasn’t too late to change. There were days the voice gave him pause.

Tanta told him never to listen to that voice though, that it was a spirit that claimed to be good but only wished for him to lack in anything he desired. Only wished for him to be a puppet and never live for himself.

So he continued to push it out of his head, and continued to make a point to do worse just out of spite.

The darkness that took root in him was continuing to grow, and he welcomed it openly.

Never before this was there much to his bland life.

“You are almost to the highest rank I’ve been told.”

Savanis smirked at the witch that sat on a tree stump in front of him, knitting a dark cloth. It had only been a few months since she first began teaching him and he was already on his way to the top.

“Envious?” He asked, arms crossed and brow raised in arrogance.

She simply smiled at the work in her hands, “I have no reason to envy you child, I have been at the top for many years. I would say delighted is a more fit word to use. After all, you are my pupil.”

“And you are his pupil.”

“Precisely.”

“When do I get to do the final ritual?”

“When he decides you are ready.”

“How will I know?”

Her knowing smile returned.

“You will know.”

Marjorie woke up with a start to see her big brother gathering his things. It was still dark, so she didn’t understand where he might be going. She watched silently from her makeshift bed as he put on his dark cloak and left without a sound.

Savanis lit the fire and stepped back, then tossed the bundle of herbs into it and watched the flames snap and crackle.

He had a dream earlier in the night, a sign he took that it was finally time for him to reach his full potential. The man in the dream told him to come to the spot he was in and do the summoning.

It only took a few moments before the air turned cold and he sensed a presence behind him. He turned and saw a tall handsome man dressed in dark clothes fit for a royal. On his back were large black wings that were at rest.

He smirked at Savanis, who suddenly had a strange feeling that something might not be right.

“At last we meet.”

Savanis swallowed, then spoke up, “You are him, then? The Leader.”

“Lucifer.”

“Lucifer,” Savanis tried out the name, a nasty taste following it in his mouth, but it did nothing to deter him.

“Have you finally come to give your soul to me?” Lucifer asked, eyes locked on the boy in front of him.

“Have you finally decided I’m worth it?”

A dark chuckle floated from the demon.

“You have never been worth it, boy. You are as useless to me as the twig you stand on.”

Savanis’ mouth twisted in anger.

“Then why are you here?”

“You asked me here.”

Savanis scoffed and looked away, feeling utterly humiliated and more than a little angered.

The demon took a step closer, “Do you wish to feel important to me, boy?”

The blonde glared at him, then tilted his chin up, “All I care about is getting what I want.”

“And what is it that you want?”

“I want to be able to do and have whatever I desire without consequences.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Then giving your soul to me is the right answer for you.”

“And yet you turned me down!”

Lucifer chuckled, “I said you are worthless. You are no match for the ones that do my bidding. They are far darker than you.”

“What would you have me do?” Savanis’ voice grew in strength.

He was not afraid of the darkness.

“If you want to give me your soul and join me, you must prove yourself. You must give me something else first.”

“I will give you anything.”

“A life.”

Savanis frowned, confused, “An animal sacrifice? I’ve already given you plenty-”

“Oh no,” the Devil stepped closer again, “One far more precious. A human’s.”

“Easy enough,” Savanis said without hesitation, the blackness in his heart causing him no inner turmoil at the request, “But who?”

A horrible grin spread on the prince of Hell’s face.

“Is there no one in your life you wish to be rid of? No one that has tethered you down until you are merely nothing but the tool to their survival?”

Savanis stared at him for a moment.

That nagging little voice began to beg him to listen, to wait and listen for a moment. Not to make any rash decisions.

But he pushed it away like he had gotten so good at doing.

“Yes, there is.”

______________________________________

“You remember her, don’t you?”

Your voice is broken and raw as you utter the words, head hanging while the weight of your body hangs on your shoulders unforgivingly. The feeling of the joints that are bearing all the weight beginning to dislocate makes you grit your teeth.

Sav stands in front of you, his chest heaving in angry breaths.

He doesn’t respond, only glares harder at your ruined form covered in crimson.

You swallow thickly, tasting the metallic blood that coats the inside of your mouth.

“You remember Marjorie…don’t you?”

Sav grabs your face harshly, forcing you to look at him.

“Don’t say that fucking name ever again.”

You stare back evenly as you whisper.

“Why do you pretend like you don’t remember? Who are you trying to convince: the other demons, or yourself?”

His jaw clenches, rage seeping into him at the fact that you know more than he’s comfortable with, the fact that you can read him like a book.

An awkward silence stretches on and you can sense that Undidis is just now hearing of this.

“If you think dropping a name that is in my past will rattle me, you’re wrong,” Sav seethes, fingers pinching your cheeks.

“It isn’t just in your past though, is it? That is your punishment. It haunts you wherever you go, the pain you caused her now racks your own miserable being, and you will never be free of it-”

“Shut the hell up.”

“She’s up there, you know.”

The dark ocean in his irises seems to darken and get colder as you stoke the burning blue flames. He roughly lets go of your face.

“You will never hurt her again, Sav. She needs never to think of you or what you did. Marjorie sings joyfully with the angels and flies with her most beloved creatures.”

He watches your eyes drift to the dead monarch inked on his bicep.

Your voice drops to a whisper as he steps back, hands shaking.

“Marjorie told me of the doll you sewed for her when she was three. She told me of the bread you brought home for her. You were always enough for her.”

You see him swallow thickly, but sense only an empty misery and anger there.

“Even as you sacrificed the life of your only little sister for your selfish desires, she never hated you. She forgave you, Savanis.”

“I said shut up!” He slaps you across the face, snapping your neck to the side violently. Then he grabs your hair and yanks it so that you’re looking at him, his eyes wild with rage, “Your kind has stolen more souls from us than one could count, and yet you have the audacity to mock me while at my mercy? I am not going to stop ruining you, not until you break, and not even then. Beg all you want but I will not stop. Not even when you give in and lower yourself to me!”

“Go ahead!” You scream at the top of your lungs in his face, startling him enough to step back, “No matter how close you think you are to prevailing against His gates, you’ve already lost!!”

The rage is clear in his eyes as he stares you down.

Even as Undidis cracks the whip down on your back and you feel it rip deep into your flesh, pouring more blood down your already scarred skin, you do not look away from the demon standing in front of you.

Despite the difference in your positions, he is the one that looks at you with trepidation swimming in his gaze.

JK walks through the colorless trees of the second ring in the seventh circle, his gaze locked on the ground. The strange images won’t stop, they only ever get worse when he’s looking at anything but the pale dirt beneath him.

Not once has he glanced at the sinners he passed as he stomped his way back through the circles.

Not once has he given a second thought to the words being repeated in his head in a loop, the stupid little pathetic human souls begging him for a chance to ruin themselves.

Not once has he been able to shake the image of you out of his mind.

The terror in your eyes when he left you is burned into his brain.

He wouldn’t think anything of it if the image was paired up with satisfaction and a desire to drag more misery out of you just to see you fall further into despair. But it isn’t. It’s accompanied with nothing but confusion and uncertainty.

“I’d rather live together forever. Wouldn’t you?”

The demon flinches at the soft voice that permeates his mind above all the others, a horrid feeling coming over him like when he sees those images he suddenly can’t escape..

“Live forever? Together?”

The sound of a snapping twig makes him lift his head briefly.

The realization of looking up from the ground hits him too late.

The sight of pale branches and dead leaves sets it off all over again.

Shades of gray blur and morph until a horribly bright green replaces them all, the sound of birds twittering fills his ears, and the warmth of sun caresses his freezing skin.

Laughter surrounds him as he fumbles to a stop in the forest full of so much life and light it’s painful.

The demon glances around uncertainly before reaching shaky hands up to his ears to cover them, squeezing harshly to drown out the voices that seem so familiar and yet so foreign.

For a moment, he thinks maybe he’s mistaken and that he was just summoned by a desperate soul seeking solace in the most perfectly horrid place.

Just as he’s calming himself and taking his hands away from his ears, he stops abruptly after almost running into a large tree.

He flinches back to avoid colliding into it.

As the demon backs up slowly, he runs into something else. He turns to see an old swing hanging from one of the branches of the tree; it’s rocking back and forth slightly due to the force of him running into it.

His hands begin to shake more than they have been since you put those wretched thoughts in his mind.

JK takes a few unsteady steps backwards, tripping over his own feet to get away from the simple structure that’s causing so many confusing and conflicting feelings to crowd into his mind.

Just as he’s about to turn and hurry in the opposite direction, there’s a sound cutting through the rustling leaves and singing bluebirds.

He freezes, his blood curdling at the agonized scream that fills the forest and sucks the air from his lungs.

All at once, the green silky leaves and blue sky are ripped away and he’s back in the seventh circle.

JK slowly turns to face the direction he came from.

The direction where he left you to so easily be caught and tortured until you no longer had that little flame of hope he had always hated to see in you despite his desperate attempts to squash it.

_________________________

You stare at the stone floor under you that’s illuminated with a pale red light creeping in from the crack in the corner of the cell.

Every few seconds another ruby droplet falls from your skin and lands on the ground.

Your shoulders have long since been pulled out of place. The tops of your feet rest against the cold floor, unable to bear any weight to ease the pain in your shoulders.

All you can do is continue to count the drips that never fail to fall in the same place, joining the ever growing puddle.

You know they are going to come back in soon and continue where they left off.

Please give me strength.

You blink slowly, almost losing count of the next drop of your blood splashing into the little pool.

The sound of the cell door flying open makes you flinch a little, but you glance in the direction of it anyway.

You don’t see Sav or Undidis coming in to finish the job as you expected.

Your breath gets caught in your throat at the sight of JK being brought into the cell, his arms held roughly by two mangled demons that don’t even try to contain the cackles bubbling from their vile throats.

Terror takes root in your heart when you think he’s been caught and is to be punished in front of you. Only seconds pass before you realize what it is you’re actually seeing.

It isn’t JK.

It’s Jungkook.

You watch in mounting horror as they drag him to the center of the cell.

As far as you can tell, you are no longer chained there. Instead, you are against the wall and watching as they clamp the chains onto his wrists.

“Jungkook?”

The name passes your lips in a breathless whisper, full of horror and confusion.

None of them act as though they’ve heard you, or have seen you at all for that matter. How could they? You are witnessing a moment that has already come to pass.

All you can do is stand there and stare. Your legs will not move as you tell them to, it’s like you’re frozen.

Jungkook’s head hangs low, not looking the demons in the eye as they shriek and hurl vile profanities at him.

A horrible scream rips itself from your throat when without warning they begin to beat and tear at him viciously. Even as you wail in desperation for them to stop, none of them react to your presence.

You can’t even cover your eyes to avoid seeing it.

It feels like it lasts forever until they’re finally stepping away and you can see his beaten and bruised form hanging there numbly, clothes torn and bloody cuts littering his skin.

There isn’t a single sign of pain on his face, it’s as if he is incapable of feeling.

The demon with bulging eyes and no nose laughs maniacally and turns to the other wretch in the room, “The fucker isn’t over the death of his little lover yet.”

Your heart rips in two.

The second demon that has mutilated moldy wings that are no more than stubs and half of its smile stitched with thick black thread, scoffs in twisted amusement, “Give him a few days and he won’t even remember her name.”

The two snort loudly to themselves before leaving the room, the cell door slamming shut behind them.

“Jungkook,” you whimper, still stuck by the wall and at least ten feet from him.

The faraway look in his eyes as he stares at the stone floor makes your heart bleed painfully.

His dirty cheeks covered in blood and grime soon have streaks running down them as silent tears fall.

He doesn’t move, not even when they eventually come in again and proceed to beat him without restraint.

The sobs falling from your lips never cease as you can’t tear your eyes away from it.

The bulging-eyed demon leans down close to where Jungkook’s head dips low, blood dripping from the prisoner’s mouth and nose.

“What was her name again?” The voice is sneering, mocking.

You hear his muttered reply even from where you sit by the wall.

“____.”

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

You don’t know how many times they came back, every visit bringing worse torment than the last.

Each time, they would ask the same question.

“What is her name?”

And each time, no matter how weak his voice became, he gave the same reply.

“____.”

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

The mangled demon with stubby wings lashed the whip angrily after Jungkook whispered your name for the hundredth time.

You couldn’t bear to see the pained grimace on your best friend’s face as the thin leather strap tore into his naked skin, nor could you stand to hear the gut-wrenching cries that came from him when he was all alone in the dark cell for hours; nothing to occupy his mind but the thought of you.

You’d screamed and pounded on the floor and thrown many fits, but he never saw you. All you could do was sit there and cry with him.

The worst were the times when you could hear him muttering to himself in the silence, talking and laughing breathlessly about flowers and clouds and boats and sweet honey rice cakes. He would whisper about bird songs and rings and sunlight dancing on fingertips.

The stories he told to the quiet to make sure he wouldn’t ever forget you.

“That’s it,” The bug-eyed demon snarled and turned to his companion to whisper something neither you nor Jungkook could hear.

Whatever it was, it prompted the other to unchain Jungkook less than gracefully, ignoring his pained cries at the change in position.

Then they both dragged him carelessly out of the cell.

The next few moments flashed in front of you; the horrible images showing what it was they were doing.

You saw Jungkook refuse to steal souls when ordered to, time and time again. You saw them drag him back to the cell and torture him until he couldn’t even scream anymore from losing his voice.

It continued like that for nearly a hundred years.

The time passed in a flash for you, but for Jungkook every moment felt like a millennia as they found new ways to wrench sounds of affliction from him each time he refused to do their bidding.

__________

“We’re breaking him.”

The demon in charge of the prisoners’ under the Chamber of Souls scoffed at the lesser creature in front of him.

“He doesn’t look broken to me.”

Jungkook kept his gaze on the floor, counting the tiny cracks running along through the ancient stone.

He didn’t even flinch when a rough hand gripped his chin harshly and pulled to make him look up at them.

“This girl you are so desperate to remember, tell me, what is her name?”

Jungkook blinked a few times but said nothing, his gaze cloudy and uncertain.

Dark chuckles echoed around the cell.

“See? I told you we-”

“Apple…”

Stunned silence fell over the dungeon at the name whispered brokenly, the screams of the other sinners fading into nothingness as the demons stood there and stared at their miserable prize.

“Get me the crank,” the general growled, “You know the one I speak of.”

Scurried footsteps faded into the hall as Jungkook lowered his gaze back to the ground.

------

The breath trickled from Jungkook’s lungs as he hung in the cell, his shoulders bruised from where they dislocated again each time he was brought back and rechained.

He blinked slowly, watching the blood drip from him and onto the floor with a tiny splatter.

The cell door creaked loudly but he didn’t move.

Heavy footsteps echoed around the cell as the newcomer approached.

Jungkook said nothing as he was unchained and dragged out of the dungeon.

He said nothing as they brought him to a dark forest where a boy was summoning demons to make a deal with.

He couldn’t even stand on his own, so he crumpled to the ground when they let him go.

Jungkook stared at the young teen eagerly bundling the herbs he would soon toss into the fire.

When asked once more if he would agree to deal with humans, with this boy, he nodded his head slowly in defeat.

As they chained Jungkook back up in his cell, he stared ahead numbly, his body, mind, and will beyond the point of broken.

The next time the demons came in and tortured him while laughing at his agony, he didn’t hold back the screams that were ripped from him.

As Jungkook tried desperately to grasp any form of a thought in his mind, the demon general that just dealt out his torment leaned down and looked him in the eye.

“So you’ve finally agreed to work for him, hm? This will stop then, after you answer one last question.”

Jungkook stared at him blankly, sweat and blood dripping down his face.

“What is her name?”

The demon watched the broken young man blink a few times then look at him in exhausted confusion before whispering weakly due to the suffering endured.

“Who?”

__________

As the ice cold cell once again surrounds you, a grief-stricken sob breaks from your lungs and you begin to weep loudly, the sound bouncing off the walls.

The excruciating pain in your body is no longer what hurts the most. Knowing everything that he went through for so long before breaking under the agony, is more painful than any physical torture they can bring upon you.

You had asked for strength, and in seeing his torment, you got it.

There was nothing that they could do to break you now, not if it meant you giving in would result in his eternal damnation and suffering.

Your heart hurts so deeply you’re not sure it will ever be whole again. The only relief would be if it were to stop beating altogether.

As tears of devastation drip down your sore cheeks, there’s suddenly a warmth that envelops you.

Opening your eyes slowly, you realize you are no longer chained up, but lying on the hard floor of the cell. After a moment of staring at the cell door in confusion, you realize there’s something soft under your head.

Turning ever so slowly, you blink up at the person sitting on the filthy ground of the dungeon whose lap you’re lying on, the entirety of them emits a warm glow.

Your eyes are squinted from the harsh light as you back up a little and raise a hand to wipe at the tears on your face.

When the light fades away, your gaze meets deep brown eyes flecked with gold and full of a love like no other.

A small gasp escapes you and you instantly back away so you can bow low to the ground, forehead touching the frigid concrete.

A gentle touch on your shoulder encourages you to lift your head again.

“I-” your voice cracks and you clear your throat before whispering again, eyes full of unshed tears, “I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”

A beautiful smile graces your visitor’s lips as He looks at you tenderly.

“No, child.”

The sound of His deep voice that resonates a soothing regalness fills your ears and the tears instantly creep over the edge and pour down your cheeks.

You move to bow again, laying your head on the ground at His feet while you weep.

“Come to me, ____.”

Not wasting a second, you lift your head and shuffle towards Him. There isn’t a single hesitation before you fall into His open arms, letting yourself be cradled closely.

You bury your nose into the beige tunic He wears, breathing in the smell of wild flowers and crystal rain before another round of sobbing ensues.

Strong hands caress the top of your head and shoulders.

“Tell me everything,” He whispers gently, voice full of warmth and comfort.

Even as you bawl messily, you let everything out. Everything that has happened since you crossed into Hell, every moment of fear for the one you came to save; fear that he would not choose to listen. How he left you alone after you tried to remind him of who he once was. You tell Him of all the horrible things the demons did to you and how wretched it was to see what your best friend had gone through.

You are never interrupted, fully encouraged to say anything and everything that has weighed you down and how you feel as though all of this has been for nothing.

When you have finally exhausted yourself and cried until no more tears will come, you feel something else.

An agony so deep and so visceral that you feel what you have endured up till this pales in comparison.

You lift your gaze to see tears pouring down His cheeks.

In your mind you see all of the souls throughout Hell and on Earth that are yet to come to this vile place, the horrid grief that strikes your heart is unbearable.

You see Jungkook being beaten unforgivingly, then you see him prowling the Earth for souls to ruin, to share in his misery. The boy that was once full of so much life and kindness and love was gone, replaced with something so wicked and so full of hate that you barely recognize him.

As you watch the souls choose to fall across the world, the sound of His ethereal voice breaks through the fog and heartbreak.

“No suffering united with Mine will ever be wasted.”

When your vision clears and you once again see the deep sadness in His eyes, you lurch forward and wrap your arms around Him; if only to try and ease the pain of loss He endures every moment.

A gentle hand touches your torn wings and a comfort sweeps over you. No words are needed as you feel a new strength surge through you briefly before the exhaustion once again takes hold.

You breathe shakily as you try to regain yourself, knowing that if you asked, you would be taken from here. But you will not give up.

Nagging little worries are still running through your mind though; What if JK refuses to listen and wants nothing to do with you anymore?

Despite how angry he was when he left you, there was a flicker of hope that remained deep inside, that he would come back. You’re ashamed to admit that now you’re afraid he’ll actually leave you here to rot and continue with his wretched duties.

“Do not be afraid.”

Nodding, you close your eyes and breathe in deeply.

When you open them again, the room is empty, the sound of you blowing out your breath the only thing you hear.

Your hands are once again chained above you, pulling your shoulders out of place slowly.

A loud clang rings out as the metal bars of the cell are flung open then the pitter pattering of bare feet is heard, nasty chuckles not far behind.

Your limited vision is taken from you completely when slimy hands wrap a rough cloth around your eyes.

Do not be afraid.

____________________________

JK gulps, his dry throat making it hard to swallow.

He’s standing in the seventh circle and looking down the path he walked to get here; the path that leads back to you.

The one that deceived him.

You preached about being honest and yet you lied to him about the reality of who you are. Of what you are.

Granted, if he knew at the beginning, he wouldn’t have given you so much as a second to talk before unleashing his pent up rage against your kind.

And yet.

Something is pulling at him, urging him to go back.

Maybe it’s the curiosity of wanting to know why you came here, why you did what you did.

Or maybe it’s something else.

“Fuck.”

If he goes back…he will pay for it for the rest of eternity.

…

JK closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

After a few moments, he opens them again and starts walking back down the path.

_______

When he gets to the barren wasteland and sees the smaller mountain by itself in the middle of it, his stomach turns.

It might not have been you.

It could’ve been any sinner at the hands of his fellow demons. He’s heard many sounds of torment in his time.

But never has one struck him as that one did.

The demon shakes his head and starts walking again, eyes focused on the lone mountain in the distance.

You probably won’t even be there, you must have gone to get the Flame yourself and just wanted to scare him off. That has to be it. You wanted him to leave, so that you could continue on your own and not have to live up to your end of the deal.

The explanation makes perfect sense and he’s almost angry for a minute that he fell for it. But the pit in his stomach leads him to believe otherwise.

As he walks up to the mountain, the snake vines becoming clearer with each step, something else makes him freeze.

The echo of someone crying; horrible gut-wrenching anguish falling from their lips.

His jaw clenches at the sound when it becomes obvious who it is.

It makes no sense to him why he’s suddenly filled with an uncontrollable rage at the thought of someone hurting you.

JK grabs the snake wrapped around the handle of the back door you two went in and tears it off, tossing it to the ground and throwing the door open before stalking down the dark hall.

He doesn’t stop until he gets to the Chamber of Souls, where he halts briefly when he sees the shattered glass on the floor, a stone lying haphazardly in the midst of it. The darkened souls where the glass used to be continue to float there, undisturbed.

JK looks around but sees no one. The only other indication that something happened here is the ghostly feeling of past terror still clinging to the air.

He turns his head and sees the alcove. Without hesitation, the demon walks over to it and yanks it open, proceeding to walk down the stairs and into the thick blackness.

The high-pitched screams coming from each cell are enough to disorient anyone, but JK continues to walk down the hall, unfazed.

He only stops when someone going the opposite direction runs into him and stumbles back in surprise. JK raises a brow, having not moved a centimeter at the collision.

The short beady-eyed demon in front of him- whose name escaped JK for a moment but he quickly remembers it as Ekel- snarls to cover up his startlement, “Aren’t you meant to be getting punished for not meeting the quota?”

“Where is she?”

Ekel cackles, but it’s drowned out by the tortured howls around them.

“Are you serious? You’re the one that sent her here and now you’re here to rescue her? I wonder what the punishment is for a demon letting an angel go,” he muses in wicked delight at the thought.

The black-haired demon leans down to get level with him, snatching his wrist so fast Ekel doesn’t have a moment to think and squeezing it until there’s the sound of bones cracking and the miserable twerp is squealing.

JK drags him closer, not letting up on the grip he has as he whispers in his ear, “I wonder what I’ll do to you when I catch you again with plenty of time on my hands. You do know the ranks here, don’t you?”

He gets no response but silence, so he keeps going.

“I will wrench every single cry out of you that I can and I will not stop until you are unrecognizable to even yourself. Tell me where she is.”

Ekel gulps, then cries out again when JK pinches his wrist harder, “She’s at the end of the hall! But I- I didn’t do anything to her, it was Sav and Undidis, who don’t do well with their prizes being messed with. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he spits.

JK narrows his eyes at the lower demon, “Spread this to anyone and I will rip you to shreds. Do you understand?”

Ekel nods, then growls in pain when his wrist is freed.

Before he can move to get away, JK stops him with a warning grip on the arm, “And if you do happen to blab, be sure to tell Sav that if he ever shows up in front of me, he will wish he never came to exist.”

When he’s released, Ekel doesn’t hesitate to run away down the corridor, getting as far from his superior as he can.

JK straightens and stalks down to the end of the hall.

To the left, the cell is empty.

When he turns to the right, it feels like a rock is lodged into his throat at the sight that meets him.

He brushes a hand over the giant padlock and it clatters to the ground in several pieces, then he pushes the barred door open, the loud squeak echoing off the walls.

You don’t flinch at the sound.

As he steps into the cell, the putrid smell of every second of torture dealt throughout time here hits his nose and he grimaces. The metallic scent of blood is thick in the air.

The closer he gets to your form hanging in the middle of the cell, he realizes that you are not conscious.

His eyes drag over you slowly, taking in the horror you’ve been put through since he left you. Since he delivered you right into their eager hands.

The simple white dress you wore when first coming here is in shreds; your body is practically naked and covered in deep gashes from all sorts of cruel instruments. There’s a ratty brown piece of cloth tied over your eyes as a makeshift blindfold to keep you from seeing what was coming next, to heighten the sense of pain when your vision was impaired.

Your wrists are chained above you; keeping you high enough so that your feet touch the floor but are unable to hold any weight, especially since the untold violence wrought on you has left you incapable of doing anything but hanging in defeat as your shoulders are pulled out of place from the pressure.

The dainty wings on your back that were once white are now covered in bright red blood and torn through in several places. The bottom half of your left wing is missing entirely.

JK reaches a hand out to carefully brush the hair from your dirty face.

“Apple,” he whispers, unsure what else to call you.

You don’t respond.

The demon swallows thickly, then he moves a hand behind your head to untie the blindfold. It falls to the floor and he’s met with the bruises and cuts littered along your cheeks and dark circles coated in flakey blood under your eyes. He puts an arm around your waist, holding you against him, then reaches up to touch the rusted cuffs holding you captive. They turn to dust instantly, the weight of your limp body is immediately supported by his hold as you let out a quiet moan at the pain in your shoulders from changing positions.

He lowers you to the ground slowly, lying you on your right side as gently as he can.

The minute he has you safely on the floor, JK brings his hand down to your ankles and rids you of the shackles there before reaching behind you and doing the same to the iron binds around your mutilated wings.

He grimaces at the sight of blood still oozing from the left wing that was cut in half. Then he forces himself not to linger on all the injuries across your once soft skin as he looks back at your face.

You’ve made no indication that you know it’s him or that anyone is with you at all.

JK leans over and moves the hair from your face, voice getting caught in his throat before he clears it and tries again.

“Apple.”

Your face scrunches a little in pain, then you slowly blink your eyes open to see a blurry face in front of you.

He hushes you quietly when you flinch and close your eyes, “It’s me. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”

You don’t open your eyes but he sees a small tear slide down your cheek.

“Demons don’t make promises,” the soft whisper of your voice breaks, “Only deals.”

His eyes drift over your bloody face, the silence following your words is deafening.

After a moment, he takes a shaky breath in and blows it out.

“They won’t be gone long, I need to get you out of here.”

At your lack of response he gently touches your cheek, only to find that you’ve lost consciousness again.

JK sighs softly, then he places a hand on each of your shoulders where the skin is discolored. At his touch, the distorted joints move back into place, but the bruising doesn’t go away. He leans back to pull the silk top shirt off of himself, leaving only the short sleeved one on. He ever so gently drapes the smooth black fabric over your front, protecting the sake of your modesty best as he can.

Then he puts his arms underneath you and stands, effortlessly picking you up and cradling you in his hold before turning and walking out of the prison cell.

He walks all the way down the hall and up the stairs without stopping.

Your wings hang loosely as he goes, still bleeding. They leave a trail of splattered scarlet drops behind the two of you.

When he steps out of the mountain and into the red light, he sees your eyes scrunch unconsciously due to the lack of anything other than darkness for a while. You move your head to the side a little to hide in his chest and block the painful brightness.

He adjusts you in his arms before starting on the long trek ahead.

___________________

You walked along the ancient stone pavement that curved around a particularly puffy cloud. When you rounded the cloud, you could see marble pavilions covered in green ivy and ivory flowers just ahead.

“Well if it isn’t the newest treasure! Hi ____!”

“Oh, hello Leon!” You smiled and waved at the angel that flew up to you excitedly. You had met him shortly after arriving and he was as friendly as could be.

“Where are you off to?”

“Imelda has called me to speak with them.”

Leon smiled comfortingly, “This is about Jungkook, isn’t it?”

“I’m guessing so,” you whispered, a little on edge to find out what exactly happened after your death. It hadn’t even been a day since you arrived, which meant it had still only been three days after your death on Earth.

The angel patted your shoulder, changing the subject a bit to calm you.

“You’d get there faster if you flew!”

You laughed nervously and glanced back at the slender wings resting behind you that matched his own apart from his being larger.

As a child, you always dreamt of flying with the clouds and the birds. It suddenly seemed a bit daunting, especially seeing all the other angels flying to and fro with an elegance and grace unmatched. The one time you tried earlier you had crashed right into one of the honeysuckle bushes and had to get help from a passing angel to get out.

Thankfully they were the only one to see you. It also helped a bit that angels are not like people and have no reason to mock.

Leon could tell by the look on your face what you were thinking.

“____.”

You looked back at him.

“Imelda would not have asked you to make the choice if you were not meant to. You belong here, you know that right?”

A genuine smile broke out on your face and you nodded.

As worried as you were about messing up, there was never a place you felt more at home. There was no doubt in your mind or heart that this place was where you would always belong. You couldn’t wait to share it with your best friend.

“Good!” The pretty angel giggled and patted you on the head sweetly, “I’ll see you around! You’ve got this.”

You waved as he flew away; looking completely natural among the clouds lined with a slight hint of silver and gold.

Of course, Leon had been an angel since the beginning, he could never look out of place.

You walked up the steps to the third pavilion to see your guardian angel Imelda, who had told you her name shortly after you came through the gates. She was speaking with Him.

Imelda was sitting on one of the many pillows strewn across the shimmering floor, adorned in her usual delicately armored gown, the sword safe at her side.

He sat on one of the rose gold benches lined with small white flowers, your guardian angel at His feet. Golden and purple robes flowed around Him, white hair and a white beard making His striking violet eyes flecked with silver stand out even more than usual.

Bringing yourself to a low genuflect, you bowed your head respectfully.

When you straightened, you were met with smiling eyes that held an ancient wisdom and a wonderful warmth filled you to the brim.

“____.”

You inclined your head again.

“We have much to discuss, I am afraid it is not positive in nature.” His voice was deep, the oceans couldn't even dream to compare.

You nodded, already having assumed as much.

He gestured a hand out for you to take a seat amongst the pillows so that you would be comfortable rather than standing for long.

Quickly you moved to a plush pink pillow, a little too quickly you realized, when it slid a bit with you on it and a small yelp left your lips in surprise.

Fond chuckles floated from the two you came to meet and you felt your cheeks burn. It was nice to make someone laugh when they were not harboring any malicious intent towards you.

The air turned serious soon after, the news that was to be shared hanging in the air.

“It’s about Jungkook…?” You whispered.

“Yes.”

You closed your eyes and gulped, “He’s taken my death even worse than I thought…hasn’t he?”

The silence that stretched on made a pit form in your stomach before you glanced up to look at them. Of course, you couldn’t be happier after death, you would never ever want to go back to that place, as beautiful as Earth was on its own, it couldn’t compare. You knew though, that poor Jungkook would not be feeling the same right then.

He was opening His mouth to speak when there was a horrible sound of sobbing that ripped through the air.

A sound of such anguish was not normal here, it made the hairs stand up on your arms as you looked around to locate the source.

It was coming from an angel, a guardian by the look of his baby blue wings and tunic. All of the guardians and the unborn children were a different color. The other angels, including you, were white; apart from a select few.

But why was this guardian angel crying?

“Abba!”

The angel boy flew into the pavilion and landed with a harsh crash to the marble floor at His feet.

“Nehemiah.”

You watched in confusion and a deep sadness as the angel who He called by name began to sob harder and clutch at His robes while sobbing into His knee. It looked like a child weeping on their parent’s lap after waking from a night terror.

Nehemiah looked no older than fifteen; his chin-length wavy blonde hair contributing to making him look quite youthful despite all the ages of the universe he had witnessed thus far.

“Abba! I- I lost him!” Nehemiah choked on another sob, his pretty face covered in shiny tears and pale cheeks unnaturally blotchy as he hugged His knee.

You looked at Imelda, who was holding back tears of her own as she watched Him comfort the weeping angel.

“You did well, Nehemiah. You did well.”

You could hear His deep soothing voice through the fog of horror beginning to cloud your mind.

When Imelda looked at you, you could see it in her eyes.

You stood, chest rising and falling in short panicky breaths.

Nehemiah turned at the movement and saw you, a quick flash of recognition in his eyes, then he quickly broke down into more gut-wrenching sobs. You had never, never in all your life on Earth, heard the sound of such heartbreak.

Your eyes drifted to Him and you saw a tear falling down His soft cheek.

“No,” you mumbled, shaking your head slowly, “No.”

It was a desperate plea for them to tell you that it was not what you feared.

You died. You were always meant to be the one that died too young. Jungkook was alive. He was down there and needed you to go soothe him, that’s all. That’s why they brought you here, to tell you he was in need of comfort and that you could give it to him.

But when you looked at the blue angel once again, you knew it wasn’t true.

If everything was okay, he would not be here without him…

You walked over and fell to your knees, wrapping your arms around Jungkook’s guardian angel and holding him tight. He was shaking like a leaf as he hugged you back just as tight, “I’m so sorry,” he sobbed mournfully.

You stroked his hair softly with shaking hands, silent tears falling down your face.

“What do you mean, he made a deal?”

Your voice was quiet, eyes red and tender from crying.

Imelda was the only one still with you in the pavilion.

“In exchange for your health, Jungkook summoned a demon…he was visited by Lucifer himself.”

You knew of who she spoke.

After coming here, everything became clear. The history of the angels and demons, of the universe itself; it all became known to you.

“When?” Your voice broke in disbelief. You knew nothing of this summoning or this deal making that he had done.

Then it suddenly hit you.

“The Flame of Immortality…he wanted it,” you whispered in horror, “When he left after we were married. That’s where he went, isn’t it?”

Imelda nodded solemnly, “That is what he left for, it is not what he got.”

“But- but how? Why was it allowed to happen, why-”

“Nehemiah did the best he could,” Imelda’s voice was thick with grief, “His first choice was to love Jungkook, as mine was to love you. He spent Jungkook’s entire existence protecting him and comforting him, even during the deal. He urged Jungkook not to do it, but he was not heeded. There was only so much he could do when Jungkook had a choice.”

Tears fell down your cheeks.

“Why didn’t he come to me?” You choked on your next breath, a hand moving to your chest in an effort to keep the air going in and out, “Why didn’t he come to me and tell me everything?”

“If he had…there was certainly something we would’ve been able to do. If he wanted help, we would have freely given even more of it than we already were. Jungkook was too far into despair and wanted what seemed to be the easy answer, he didn’t want to listen to Nehemiah’s warnings. He gave his life for you, but not in the way it should’ve ever been. Nehemiah stood by him, though, even in his last moments.”

“Where is he?” Your voice shook.

“Jungkook died three days after you. He has been taken to Hell to uphold his end of the bargain.”

You closed your eyes slowly, hands trembling.

“How do we get him back?” You choked out.

When she said nothing, you looked at her.

“Imelda, please. I know nothing is impossible for Him. Tell me how we can save Jungkook.”

“We can do nothing right now-”

“But-”

“Jungkook made a choice, he made a deal. But he was tricked into it without much knowledge and in the desire to do good for someone he loved. Lucifer cannot win when love and self-sacrifice is involved. He wants nothing to do with it.”

Your guardian angel took your hands and pulled you up from the pillow you were still sitting on.

“For that reason alone, the deal can be revoked. But it comes at the highest price and only at a certain time.”

“When? When can I save him? I will go now,” you began to cry harder, “I will go and I will take him from there, please tell me how Imelda.”

Her green eyes glistened with tears.

“The deal can only be broken for a condemned soul every five hundred years.”

You felt your heart stop in your chest and you choked back a sob.

“He made a deal with the Devil, ____. A deal that would have sealed his eternal damnation had it been for his own selfishness. We are lucky he made it out of unconditional love for you, we are lucky that we can save him.”

You nodded, wiping at your eyes frantically to clear them of the never-ending deluge.

“Then when the time comes, I will go to Hell and I will save him,” your voice shook, “What is the price? Whatever it is, I will pay it. I’m not afraid.”

A single tear fell from Imelda’s eye as she looked down at you, a hidden pain in her gaze.

“The same price that Jungkook paid,” she whispered, “A life for a life.”

_________________________________________

read 15b HERE

taglist 1; @kookxin @butterymin @telepathytae @kooliv @highoffbaddecisions @meanum @smitssharon02 @kmpac @ggukkieland @jjanjankook @sugaslittlekookies @hobispriteu1306 @kimchibrat @slowlydeliciousjiminie @screamertannie @i-dont-give-a-fok @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @ohyeahjk @babycandy111 @era-genius @xmochiloverx @sopikooo @jamlessstars @bangtannie7 @nuttykittypainter @geniejunn @ane102 @charlesswife @ashbxnny @veronawrites @jjkw-7 @jinsundor @h-g-bts @justvibingsblog @hyunyeon @hellbornsworld @hiii-priestess @nuttypizzacat @vidaficrecs @royallyjjk @thvslvt @hoseoksluv89 @moonchilddna @idkjustlovingbts @aurorathi

#jeon jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook demon au #jungkook smut #bts fluff #bts #bts reactions #bts angst #bts jungkook #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts x y/n #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #bts demon au #demon!jk #demon!jungkook #bts smut

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bardic-tales · 2 months ago

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4.17.25 - Canon vs Headcanon - Detachment vs Devotion

⚠️This analysis is based on the original Final Fantasy VII (1997) depiction of President Shinra’s death, in which the player discovers the president’s body impaled by the Masamune, implying Sephiroth’s involvement without showing the act itself. I have intentionally chosen to reference this version, rather than the Final Fantasy VII Remake, which explicitly depicts Sephiroth killing the president onscreen. This choice is deliberate, as the original’s ambiguity and symbolic framing better serve the themes of myth, ritual, and emotional interpretation explored in this article.

In the original Final Fantasy VII, President Shinra’s death serves as a mythic turning point: an impersonal gesture loaded with cosmic intent. It was a message to Cloud Strife and the world. But in this canon-divergent analysis, I explore how this same moment transforms when seen through the lens of Bianca Moore’s story. What happens when Sephiroth’s iconic murder becomes not just a symbol of detachment, but an intimate offering, a ritualized gift of vengeance for the woman he loves?

This post examines how canon is reinterpreted through the Fantasy Worlds Collide (FWC) lens to infuse emotional gravity, sacred violence, and personal retribution into what was once a cold, narrative signal of return.

Possible Trigger Warnings: Abuse, blood, body horror, captivity, death, emotional manipulation, gore, medical trauma, obsession, psychological trauma, torture, violence.

In the original Final Fantasy VII, Sephiroth’s return is marked by a now-iconic image: President Shinra, slumped over his desk, impaled by the impossibly long Masamune. The act is theatrical and surgical, devoid of personal vendetta, yet brimming with message. At this point in the canon, Sephiroth has already embraced his transformation from man to myth. His goals are cosmic, his sense of self distorted by revelations of Jenova and the lies of his origin. The murder of Shinra is not emotional; it’s functional. It announces that Sephiroth is beyond the realm of human conflict. This is his declaration of war: not against a man, but against the world.

The scene, when taken at face value, is chilling because of its detachment. Sephiroth doesn’t kill President Shinra out of hate. He does it because Shinra as a corporate monolith is emblematic of the system that warped him. The man behind the desk is incidental. The sword is left like a calling card, a silent but unmistakable message: “I have returned.” There’s no dialogue, no flourish of emotion, only the eerie aftermath. The murder operates more as a narrative mechanism than a personal moment. It is a screaming exclamation point to his reentry into the story’s scope.

This detached symbolism elevates Sephiroth’s role within canon. He becomes not just an antagonist but an almost divine figure: an agent of judgment enacting a twisted form of justice on a planetary scale. His motivation is driven by a belief that the world must be reborn, and those who created him must be extinguished. The murder of Shinra is the first domino to fall in a sequence of apocalyptic aspirations. It’s methodical. Cold. Almost sacred in its ritualistic precision. But crucially, in canon, it’s not personal. It’s not about who Shinra is, but what he represents.

By contrast, FWC’s divergent interpretation injects profound personal weight into the act. Sephiroth’s murder of Shinra is not just a cosmic proclamation. It’s an intimate reckoning. It’s an act of vengeance for what was done to Bianca. The trauma she endured at Shinra’s hands reshapes this moment into a sacrament of their shared pain. Leaving the Masamune behind is no longer just symbolic of his identity. It’s a ritualistic offering. The impalement is no longer an announcement of his return; it is a divine judgment passed in her name. Shinra’s death is no longer a message to the world. It is a message to her: “I remember your suffering. I honor it with blood.”

This divergence transforms Sephiroth from a mythic force into something even more terrifying: a lover whose devotion sanctifies violence. The killing becomes about her, for her, and through her. It reframes the Masamune not just as a symbol of who he is, but as a vessel of what they’ve become. The impalement is a sacrificial rite; the office becomes a cathedral of pain and love entwined. In this interpretation, Sephiroth is not detached. He is more present than ever. Shinra’s death is no longer part of a detached god’s plan. It is the deeply twisted, a deeply broken act of a man in love. A man who sees vengeance as intimacy. And in that twist, Sephiroth becomes something canon could never quite touch upon: a god who kills not because the world betrayed him, but because it dared touch what is his.

Sephiroth’s love for Bianca isn’t tender. It isn’t healing. It is, at its core, an extension of his will. His love is fused with reverence, obsession, and a claim that defies morality. To put it perfectly: “His love, though genuine in its intensity, is more an act of possession than partnership.” To Sephiroth, Bianca’s suffering doesn’t distance her from him. It binds her closer. Every scar she bears is a thread in a tapestry he sees himself as both part of and author of. The trauma she endured under Shinra becomes not just a shared history but a sanctified ordeal that forges their eternal connection. Pain, in his view, is what makes her his.

This warped view of love transforms retribution into ritual. Killing President Shinra is not just about justice. It is about enshrining Bianca’s pain. It becomes a consecrated moment in their shared mythology, a declaration that her agony is not forgotten or wasted. Sephiroth doesn’t just remove a threat or punish a villain. He marks them. He turns Shinra into an altar, drives the Masamune through him like a holy spike, and leaves it as a symbol of divine vengeance. It is as much about legacy as it is about death.

To Sephiroth, this is also a warning to the world. The message is not simply that he’s returned or that Shinra is over. It’s that Bianca is no longer a victim left unavenged. That her torment is now an extension of his divine cause. Anyone who dared harm what he claims as sacred will be struck down in kind. The sword becomes a sigil, not of Sephiroth alone, but of Sephiroth and Bianca as a force of consquences. It says: “This is what happens to those who scar what belongs to me.” It’s possessive, terrifying, and yet deeply intimate.

That intimacy is precisely what makes it so compelling and so disturbing. Sephiroth believes that every act of destruction is also an act of love. In his fractured worldview, Bianca’s suffering elevated her to something divine: someone worthy of him after his descent into madness and growing god ambition. And so, by punishing her tormentors, he believes he’s not only expressing devotion but honoring her. He doesn’t see himself as merely reclaiming her story. He sees himself as rewriting it into something transcendent. Every corpse he leaves behind becomes a verse in their dark psalm.

Ultimately, this act encapsulates Sephiroth’s ideology of love. It must consume. It must reshape the world in its image. He cannot separate his love for Bianca from his drive for domination, because to him, they are the same. Killing President Shinra is not just justice. It is a twisted communion. The pain that broke Bianca is now weaponized, not just to punish. No. But to possess, to elevate, and to immortalize their bond in blood.

A Twisted Gift of Vengeance

In the FWC interpretation, this same act takes on a far more personal and emotionally charged dimension. President Shinra wasn’t just a figurehead of power. He was a perpetrator. He enabled the torture, vivisection, and prolonged captivity of Bianca at the hands of Hojo, Ravenscroft and the Shinra machine. By this point, Sephiroth knows this intimately. He's seen her scars, felt her fear through their soul bond, and has even forced her to relive that pain through dream manipulation. Her suffering has been internalized as part of his obsession.

Leaving the Masamune in Shinra’s back and chest is no longer a grand declaration. It’s an offering. A grotesque, blood-soaked bouquet left on an altar of revenge. It’s a twisted form of intimacy, an act Sephiroth performs not just to destroy an enemy but to express a warped form of love. His logic is perverse but consistent: the world hurt Bianca, and now he will tear the world apart in her name. President Shinra, being one of the architects of that pain, becomes the perfect vessel for Sephiroth’s first gesture.

This interpretation recasts Sephiroth as not only vengeful, but possessively romantic. He doesn't just want justice for Bianca. He wants to reclaim her narrative through blood. By killing Shinra in this specific, theatrical way, he frames himself as her avenger, her god, and her savior in shadow. It’s his way to keep her under his control. He is saying: “See, you are weak without me.” The sword left behind isn’t just proof of the murder. It’s proof of devotion. An unspoken message: “I have not forgotten what they did to you. This is what I do for us.”

It’s also a means of control. By performing this act in her name, Sephiroth reinforces the bond of trauma between them. Every life he takes, every move he makes in this war, becomes tethered to Bianca’s suffering. He’s re-writing her pain into a mythic tale of vengeance, one where she becomes inseparable from his cause. This isn’t healing. It’s ownership. And the Masamune is his signature on the claim.

Through this lens, the entire scene transforms from a cold-blooded message to a horrifyingly intimate one. It is no longer detached. It is deeply, uncomfortably personal. The sword is not left for just Cloud. It's left for her. Proof that he will avenge. Proof that he's listening. And proof that he believes her pain and his rage justifies the apocalypse he’s about to unleash.

@themaradwrites @shepardstales

@megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap @seastarblue

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon

#character: sephiroth #sephiroth #ship: sephica #otp: bianca / sephiroth #sephiroth x oc #oc x canon #ff vii oc #characters: fwc: ff #cd: headcanons #headcanon: fwc: ff #headcanon: relationships #bardic tales #bardic-tales #cloud strife #oc: bianca moore

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girlactionfigure · 2 months ago

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❗️IDF ATTACK ON THE WAY TO YEMEN, IRAN LIES, DISCONNECTED FROM REALITY -

⚠️ISRAEL DEMANDS HOUTHI EVAC - IDF calls for evacuation of Yemen’s Houthi controlled capital city Sana'a airport.

.. ATTACK ON THE WAY.

.. Prime Minister headed to IDF HQ.

.. Al-Arabiya: An attack on Yemen could begin within an hour.

.. Yemeni citizen: The Houthis fired a missile and made a hole, the Israelis attacked and destroyed the entire port.

.. Ansar Allah Political Bureau Member Muhammad al-Bakhiti: Our activity in the Red Sea continues and will increase, regardless of the losses we incur.

We do not regret attacking Ben Gurion Airport. It was a warning attack, followed by more.

.. Yemen and Iranian channels: shocked by the announcement made by IDF Arabic spokesman Edrei.

.. Roads leading to the Yemen airport have been blocked, and its employees are now being evacuated.

.. Senior Israeli official: The reason for advance notice of an attack on the Sana'a airport is international law, which requires minimizing the possibility of harming civilians.

��️REPORTS OF INTERCEPTS over Eilat were FALSE, they were the OUTBOUND IDF JET trains heading to Yemen.

▪️INTERNAL POLITICS - OPPOSITION MK (National Unity) Gantz SAYS - Gantz: Anyone who talks about a Palestinian state or withdrawals is disconnected from the security reality.

▪️ON A DRAFT LAW FOR HAREDIM - Likud Edelstein: Next week we will start writing the draft of a new conscription law.

▪️PROTEST - ANTI-GOVT - (N12) Anti-government protesters are blocking Highway 1, Shoresh Junction, heading east.

🔹IRAN LIES.. umm, SAYS - ‘The accusations against Iran regarding Yemen are baseless’, as well as saying ‘our position in the negotiations is firm and will not change. Iran is committed to its right to use nuclear energy’ and ‘there is no legal basis for activating the (snapback instant sanctions) trigger mechanism against Iran, and this action will have consequences for all parties.’

.. Iranians are exploding with anger: Statement by the US State Department Spokesperson- "Iran will be forced to accept Trump's position on the complete dismantling of its nuclear program.”

.. Additional US strategic bombers, B-52’s, arrive in Diego Garcia (naval base in the Indian Ocean in range of Iran).

.. The fourth round of nuclear talks between Iran and the US is scheduled to take place on May 10 and 11.

#Gaza #Palestinians #Realtime Israel #Hezbollah #Lebanon #🎗️

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micebath · 1 month ago

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Bio-Slave

⚠️ CONTENT WARNING ⚠️

BioSlave is a world built on a total landscape of apathy and fear. This is a grimdark biopunk world that is intensely visceral and violent. This is both in regards of physical violence and mental violence. Please know that the writings in this book are recognized as very forwardly bad. Despite this, BioSlave is over the top and a product of insane fascination of edgy fiction popularized by films of the mid-to-late 90s.

This project should not sacrifice your enjoyment for the sake of more bleak subjects. You are more important than whatever this could possibly be.

Triggering Content Inside are as Follows:

Self Harm, Suicide, Cannibalism, Intense Gore, Trafficking/Slavery, Murder, Violence, Implied Violence, Religious Topics, Parasites, Mental Trauma

I’m sure that while writing this I have missed a few, so as the author of this project - I recommend that if you find a subject that was not mentioned that could be triggering. Please remove it promptly. It does not and should not be at your table if it makes you or anyone else uncomfortable.

Thank you for your time and reading this document. It is much appreciated,

-MICEBATH

—————

Additional Preamble: General Setting Ideas

This is a writing project that is an amalgamation of several ideas that I personally find very interesting. When fit together I had realized they created a strangely unique setting.

The rough elevator pitch is what if we mixed Biopunk, grimdark fiction, and the art deco styles of the roaring twenties. Of course with an intense affection for “gun porn”, military history, and purposely really over the top violence. Thus came Bio-Slave. Where my heart asked,”What if Clive Barker made a cyberpunk setting?” But my brain realized I’m nowhere near as talented as I’d need to be to do so. So we settled with this.

Also this is supremely unorganized and a lot is taken directly from my notes document which is basically word vomit on the digital page. Please don’t hurt me.

——

After the forming of the Sprawl - a colossal megacity that spanned the entire eastern coast as far west as Missouri - and the oncoming of the Plague - a disease that wiped out millions of lives which was eventually mutated by Hemotech to be used for Biomods. The mean streets of Chicago have become the pinpoint of our story. Chicago has grown to encompass all of Illinois, yet within the greater Sprawl is only a footnote of intrigue.

The Windy City has grown just as tall as it has wide. Sequestering the downtrodden and sick to the Tangle. The depths below the vast networking web of roadways that are so dense they blot out the sun in some places. Those who were unfortunate enough to be marked as sick were sent into the necropolis. Named Babylon by the inhabitants. Babylon grew into a thriving underground city by the filth that lived there. As Hemotech and the Vatican usurped the American throne - biomodification grew more and more advanced and far more dangerous. As it grew more dangerous the world accepted, even embracing cruelty.

Besides the massive brutalist structures of the necropolis - Chicago some year before the plague underwent a massive city wide remodeling to fit more cleanly into the designs of the greater Sprawl. Returning to classical art deco designs. Now with newly instated mega buildings all adorned with the fantastic brass of the 1920s. Draw bridges lifted by massive brass hands, overpasses thirty stories high held by Atlas himself. The buildings follow suit, only deviating slightly to accommodate the aesthetics of the company that inhabit them. Large stretches of road going through a large statue that while passing through you’re able to see the steel beams holding the structure together are built to not only be a walkway, but to perfectly recreate the anatomy of a human body.

The Tangle: The underneath of the massive web of over and underpasses. The true bottom of the massive vertical city. With the bottom being a filthy mildew trodden poor and savage streets. The Tangle is where most of the poor and sick outside of the necropolis tend to live. It has barely any light from streetlights or electric or bio electric light. Thus the tangle is lit in a sickly green by the bio-light. Either that or fire from burning barrels, torches, lanterns, and so on. The tangle is also the last remaining deposit of pre plague and pre renovation historical sites within Old Chicago.

The Necropolis: Under a lot of the Sprawl and most major old cities became a dumping ground for the dead and disease. Large concrete complexes built as mass graves for the victims of an unknown plague. Over the years - several thousand people have grown to inhabit the underground networks. Keeps them away from the eye of Hemotech, and easy access to freshly dumped dead. Cities have been made from the rotting undergrowth. Such as Babylon, Akkad, and Ur. Each of which being located under the once cities of Chicago, New York, and Boston.

Zeppelins: Another simple solution to the problem of how people get around. The zeppelins are more often than not restricted to the upper epsilon and the wealthy. There are the occasional police blimp used for a display of force and power (to which they have little). There are a few exceptions to the “transit” blimps; with two being of note. The first is the Jewel of Chicago; A beautiful piece of art and engineering. A sparkling ruby red and brass machine used as a private party and dinner space for the top of the top. The conversations had in the Jewel are probably some of the most important in all of Chicago. The second is the DuPont family Icarus Super Zeppelin. A multi story display of power that actually works (sorry cops. Acab). A gargantuan colossus that looms over the cities tallest buildings. On celebratory occasions they even dress it up as a whale for parades.

Monorail: A fantastic example of modern advancement being both fashionable and utility. Very quick and endlessly efficient. Able to get from deep within the tangle to the high rise of the beautiful big money district (on the rare occasion it actually goes to the tangle). The monorail was installed by the late great Arnaud DuPont alongside the art deco stylings. The train supports almost one hundred cabins that can hold upwards of two thousand passengers. This is including the several dining carts and even a private meeting room. The monorail is purposefully unattached to any corporate musing. This is on purpose. Arnaud when creating the monorail intended to use it to bridge the gap between the tangle and the upper class in hopes of dismantling class divides. In turn it was used by the DuPont Monorail company after Arnaud’s death to further class divide. Beau simply doesn’t act upon the company.

Beau LePetite DuPont: A man refined by years of debauchery. His parties are extravagance manifest to the highest order of magnitude. After his father left him a ludicrously sizable inheritance - Beau found himself yearning for the spice of life. Thus within the massive DuPoint Estate he hosts parties that shake the foundations of the Chicago Sprawl. His parties are as much social gatherings as they are pure spectacle. Full orchestras, dancers, drink, opiates, and the more delicate things one may enjoy. Beau himself - despite his status - is quite mysterious. Rarely if ever making the public eye. Choosing to merely observe his events rather than participate. He enjoys the lavish extent of his galas. These parties are so grand that anyone who’s anyone with a social status to matter needs to be there. Strangely; Beau has a single rule that governs his parties. Nobody leaves without one of his golden roses. The few that have picked his mind on this matter have only received the answer,”So that my friends will remember me and that the friends I’ve yet to meet will be more intrigued.”

Beau’s father Arnaud himself was key in the reimagining and rebuilding of Chicago into its beautiful Art Deco stylings. Most fashion styles come from the DuPont family. The only modifications to their particular dress come from most criminal elements. When the DuPonts dress it’s always in a classical fashion (Author Note: That of the roaring 20s) this causes those in power to follow in suit. Of course with their own garnishments - that of leather and latex. Beau stocks his party with a mix of the most ultra-fine alcohols, drink, and food. With the staple being that of a DuPont family delicacy. A champagne made perfect in almost every single way. The taste of extreme and refined flavors mixed with enough punch to give a jolt of life to the drink.

DuPont Estate: The Estate is just as much a living character as Beau himself. The state had stood atop the previously largest tower in Old Chicago. This height doesn’t mean its importance has been diminished by any means. One hundred and seventy stories high atop the tower’s top most dozen floors lies the grand home of Chicago’s most prominent noble family. The home was built by philanthropist Obadiah DuPont - then taken up by Beau’s great grandfather Dominique DuPont. This was passed down to family members next in the bloodline. The wealth of the DuPont family rests on old money. Their specific work is unknown but nonetheless their wealth is abundant. Thus they made the building to be rented out by any company paying the price of rent. The building was made specifically to the taste of Obadiah. Art deco in the classical sense. Every bit of the building was designed with style in mind. For instance; the banisters of the building are carved with beautiful design. Geometric displays of joy and abundance. The walls and floors are sleek black marble chiseled with gold and sparkling lights.

Fashion: Style and taste within the Sprawl has been stuck firmly in the past yet continues its onward march for the future. Due to the architectural elements that have only expanded the decadence of the Roaring 20s, clothing and design would naturally follow suit. Pinstripe suits, heavy trench coats, flapper dresses, and more are all still very much in style. You would be hard pressed to find a single soul without some hint of modern fashion. Though the taste has remained more or less chained to “tradition.” A newfound sense for leather has placed itself within the hearts of many. Heavy combat boots and black leather coats on fine tailored suits. Latex gloves stretched tightly over the legs of a cocktail singer donned equally in beautiful sequins and intense bondage gear. The ever forward push of fashion has also extended to the body itself. It is not uncommon at all to see fully flayed folk wandering with see through surgical plastic adhered to their bleeding meat. Tattoos, scarification, and piercings have also come into the spotlight. Many people carve intricate pieces into the flesh to form cohesive images to stun and amaze. Artful body modification has become a large part of the landscape of the Sprawl alongside its roaring roots. Though due to the increasing number of corporate military forces. There is a rise of militarism in common fashion. Though not everyone strings a hardness to their chest - a notable amount do.

Examples of Fashion:

- Steel needles punctured through the flesh pinning latex masks to the head directly.

- Human leather coats with dyed crimson interiors with matching gloves (nails still attached of course).

- A plate carrier adorned in rosaries and painted with gang designs.

- Flapper dresses with a tattooed skin scarf and a high capacity magazine carrier.

Human Leather Clothing: It’s exactly what it says. Human leather taken from corporate hollow bodies who are picked explicitly for the quality of their flesh and hair. They are used to make any form of leather clothing such as jackets, pants, gloves, hats, and so on. They can be made in any color (both natural and dyed). Typically they’re bought off the rack in most stores unless commissioned. Basically everyone has some kind of leather clothing.

—————

Splicing/Mutation/Biomodding:

Biomodding is the mutation of human dna structures to be made into several different. These are done using micro or macro doses of the Plague to aid in mutation. Regardless of the process this is a constant. Splicing are biomods used on organs or limbs typically from a human artificially co-constructed with animal dna. Example - Utilizing the DNA structure stolen from large cats on a harvested arm to create a large clawed paw or binding human DNA with birds to give a person feather quills that sprout from the head. Mutation is using your own DNA and restructuring it or another person’s.

Designer Biomodding (Splicing/Mutations): Sometimes the newly reformed limbs you want aren’t brutish, pulsing, or pointy. Sometimes you want something sleek and more natural. Designer Biomods are reserved for those who’ve spent a lot to get them or who already had a lot in the first place. Higher in the corporate ladder you’ll find these more and more. These biomods are simply more appealing to the eye. You can still have the bone blades and palm mouths, but without the pinky red bloody horror of it. These can range from regular human in appearance to perfectly sculpted pieces of art. Tattoos are replaced with animated images, your skin can change its softness at a thought, or in more practical scenarios - hide the arm sized biospike embedded inside (at least make it look more like you don’t have one). Though not impossible to get as a regular person, the prices for the pieces are far and above average salaries of the blue color.

The Festering:

The Festering is a state one may enter upon grafting of biomods or heavy usage of mutations/tinctures. The Festering is a carnal urge that seeps into the mind to consume human flesh, to drink human blood, or to feed on cerebral fluid. This hunger can be sated by indulging in the process, yet fighting it can cause neurological issues such as heightened aggression, anxiety, depression, compulsive disorders. In some cases fully developed psychopathy, D.I.D, or schizophrenia. Prolonged refusal to consume human flesh may cause intense aggressive outbursts to the point of “becoming feral.” Where one may act out of character and attack on a whim.

—————

Prosthetics: For those who can’t afford or simply don’t want the advanced biomodding - development of prosthetics has evolved to previously unthinkable heights…hooks. For the downtrodden who can’t afford the luxuries of modern technology they have to deal with the bare minimum. Crutches, pegs, hook draw arms, armature hands with very limited mobility. The prosthetics can’t do much more than opening and closing or allowing one to stand mostly unbalanced. For the wealthy who seek to avoid the bodily change or simply yearn for more simple solutions. They use very limited bio electric motors to allow the limb to move more efficiently than the basic. The prosthetics still have limited movement and dexterity, but can give the user as close to a limb as possible. Despite this they still are very limited in their ability.

Homunculus: A sort of offshoot pseudo cloning process that is utilized in the tangle and necropolis. A homunculus is formed through a rudimentary birthing system. Most commonly a street dog is taken and has their womb reformed. Manipulated genetically to be allowed to bare a human fetus. There is no sexual contraception - rather a fully bio mechanical procedure that allows for a child to be grown and carried for months at a time. They are grown to a certain point before their blood turns toxic and kills them. Thus they are removed and place into an amniotic incubator where the rest of the growing process occurs. The child grows more rapidly when in the incubator - coming to the maturity of a toddler within three months after then a teenager at a further seven months. Homunculus are prone to intense deformity. The occasional parasitic twin found within one in ten of these individuals. Even so, most of the homunculus with twins die. On the rare instances they live; typically the twin is slowly consumed by the body. The other hand they’ve been seen to be somewhat sentient and aware though limited. Generally homunculus’s appearance is more or less normal. The main difference being a general webbing of irritated red veins and sinewy skin around the body. Just as often are hefty deformities that allow a homunculus to live but only barely.

Hollow Bodies: Some who’s forcefully mutated to regrow infected organs for the sake of splicing and mutation. Al-a Regrowth for the sake of removal, rework, and resale. Typically hollow bodies are unwilling captives. Some are even drained of blood for infected transfusions.

—————

Main Players in the Near Apocalypse:

Hemotech: The Mega Conglomerate Pharma Company built from twenty world wide market pharmaceutical companies. Each of which earning several trillion dollars a year prior to the merger. Hemotech produces 95% of the drugs found in everyday life - the other 5% being street drugs. Hemotech are the forefathers of post plague medicine and recovery. Acting as reigning government to the Sprawl. Despite being pharmaceutical in nature they house dozens of other companies within that all specialize in multi faceted things. Ranging from weapons tech to fashion. Hemotech came together during the plague outbreak and ran a quickly successful aiding NeuOrgans. Allowing the people to regain an amount of stability in trying times. On the front they pose themselves as a company of the people but like any corporation they of course drain the Sprawl of its life. The acting CEO is not a singular as to be expected. Rather it is run by a council of directors twenty strong; each member being the owner and chief executive of over one hundred pharmaceutical and medical firms merged prior to the plague. Hemotech earned its stripes and reputation by their advancement in cloning and bio-science. Hemotech as a singular has been acting since the middle of the century, where the first genetic printer was made - originally for farm animals and the like. Once Hemotech proved they were more than a macabre gimmick; they were offered a governmental contract for militaristic development of bio-modifications for the United States during the Coastal War. The mindset of the E.U.S (Eastern United States) was that if they could have genetically engineered soldiers to be perfect, their status as a superpower could never be contested.

The first series of cloned soldiers were an imperfect success. The occasional genetic blip caused a percentage of clones to become deformed at a rapid pace due to DNA unraveling at the seams. Despite this the clone’s organs being designed specifically for the task of maintaining the body allowed even the greatest deformities to be brushed aside in combat. Many people in the homefront and non-cloned soldiers deemed it,”the first war fought with monsters.” Eventually those imperfections were more or less ironed out and replaced with more advanced development of clone design. The first wave of civilian cloned products were that of remapped cloning of one’s body parts that allows more welcoming and easier access to medically necessary replacements. Though the “clone donor” was available - you and your doctor had to sign an official consent contract that any hiccups are not the fault of Hemotech. Thankfully those kinks were few and far between. So for the price of a luxury condo and a tenure in Barcelona - you could replace your leaky heart valve. HemoTech gained massive traction in the Americas. Finding themselves far ahead of the curve and on top of the hill looking down at everyone else.

Necrotech: The epitome of when technology is the end all be all. Though not technically a part of Hemotech; they are often partners with both Hemotech and Anansi Co. The specialization is technological advancement using the dead and focusing around death itself. Necrotech use the dead clones from their partners and the church to study and test macabre systems and weaponry. The success of the company came from the revivification of their CEO in his entirety using only technology sourced from the company itself. When it comes to the extent of cloning operations within the company itself - corporate servants who have yet to pay off their debt to the company (alongside their partnered companies) have their genetic makeup sequenced within a “DNA Locker” that upon death with automatically print out a clone to continue work - costs of the cloning process are included to total debt. Alongside developments in this process; they have also been pioneers is biotech resurrection. Such as the case with the Biospark Auto Defibrillation System (BADS). Where a series of biological checks are made within a micro instant, sending signals back to BADS, to which it electrocutes the body back to semi livable conditions. Necrotech also recently released the,”Sweet Release” and “Heaven or Hell” packages. For when someone is dying of old age they can choose to take the SR pack where they’re are ethically euthanized. The H&H pack allows the patient pass natural but puts them in a dream state of euphoria or abject horror (depending on their request). All of that said their main profit comes from a reliable and unpaid workforce. Not in the traditional corporate slave sense - rather they utilize the bodies of their dead and cloned workers to continue operations.

- Imort-a Co. : A subsidiary of Necrotech that is partnered with Hemotech more intimately; specializing into in depth life extension technology. They are also the resident pharmaceutical sector of the company. Creating the highly popular Synth-a-Mort. Despite being relatively new - they’ve proven themselves intensely capable in the home front of medical technologies. Their standout performance was allowing a ninety-eight year old veteran to live to the whopping age of one hundred and twelve. Admittedly the necessity of life supports were in play but the proof of concept was more than enough for most people.

—————

Authors Note: Dear fuck that’s a lot of writing. Here’s some art I made for it.

#biopunk #world building #ttrpg design #writing #scifi #decopunk #dieselpunk #creative writing #ttrpg #hamburger #cw: gore #cw blood #cw food #cw sui implied #indie ttrpg #cyberpunk #ttrpg art #worldbuilding

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oneshotnewbie · 1 year ago

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Can you write a story about Natasha Ross? I give you full creativity to make whatever you want.

Summary: Fire Chief Natasha Ross, Captain y/n y/l/n and their team are called to an operation that confronts you with your own past. While you try to help others, you also have to fight your own demons. Natasha will help you with this. This experience will strengthen your friendship and help you heal.

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ This one-shot includes the topic of loss and death. Those plots are presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

ᕚ---ᕘ

The sun was dipping towards the horizon as the loud wail of sirens broke the calm evening silence. Natasha, the veteran fire chief, looked up from the latest reports and operational plans on her desk and immediately sensed the urgent tension in the air. Something big was afoot.

She jumped up and grabbed her helmet that was hanging on the wall before putting on her jacket and hearing the first instructions over the radio. "All units, we have a major fire at Pier 25. Immediate standby. Repeat, immediate standby."

Natasha rushed out of her office, where she already met you, the captain of the fire station. The tension in your eyes was unmistakable, and Natasha knew this wouldn't be an unusual mission. You also felt an inexplicable restlessness rising within you. “What do we have, y/n?” She asked as she bumped into you.

You panted as you jumped down the last steps from the top and followed her into the hall. "It's one of the old storage complexes on the pier. It looks like a devastating fire with possible hazardous materials."

The fire chief nodded seriously and got into the car, followed by you and the entire team. The streets whizzed past you as the blue lights showed the way through the paths. Thoughts swirled through Natasha's head as she focused on the mission at hand, wanting to do everything right. However, a vague feeling of oppression still didn't leave her.

When you reached the pier the scene was chaotic. Flames danced wildly, thick black smoke covered the sky bathed in evening sun. Workers had gathered around the cordoned off site, some in panic, others stunned by the extent of the destruction.

Natasha jumped out of the car and immediately took command of her team. "Security squad, search for survivors and direct them immediately to the rescue squad. The rest run in ahead of the security squad and fight the fire. We have to get the flames under control before a dangerous explosion could occur."

The entire team, including you, nodded and charged into the blazing hell of the complex. The heat was intense, and the crackling of the fire added to the air. The smoke was so thick that it obscured visibility and as you fought your way through each hallway, the desperate symphony of fire roaring where suddenly overwhelmed by a familiar smell - a smell that triggered a flood of memories.

You knew this place. It was the same warehouse where you had experienced one of the worst missions of your career years ago. A tragedy that haunted you to this day. You stopped abruptly in the middle of the building, and Natasha felt an inexplicable tension as she listened through the comms as Andy and Maya encouraged you to keep walking and stay with the group.

"Y/n, what's wrong? Talk to me." Natasha asked worriedly and you turned your gaze towards the ground. Confronting your past brought with it a wave of emotions - guilt, sadness and anger. You forced yourself to concentrate while Natasha, full of tension from the mission and nervousness of the fire, had completely forgotten what memories this place held for you. "T-this is the place where y/s/n d-died in a fire years ago, 'tash. Y-you and I were h-here and couldn't save her."

The fire chief froze for a moment as the memories came flooding back to her. She had taken part in this tragic incident almost a decade ago; the three of you were a rescue team in one of these warehouses when the ceiling partially collapsed and buried your sister under the flaming roof. The image haunted you like a dark shadow. "I know it's hard. But now we're here, and we'll do our best to help anyone who's in danger. I know it's hard but you have to suppress your feelings, y/n."

You nodded silently without her seeing and continued on your way, with Natasha resolutely accompanying you in your ear. The fire raged wildly around you as you delved deeper into the burning complex. The heat was suffocating, the smoke made it difficult to breathe even with a mask, but you couldn't give up. People's lives depended on your work.

But while you desperately tried to save others, you battled your own inner demons. The memories of your sister's tragic loss washed over you like an unstoppable tide. The image of your sister caught in the flames haunted you amidst the chaos. The scream before everything came down, every smell of the fire reminded you of your own powerlessness when you had failed to save her. The thought of being here again, in this place of loss and pain, threatened to overwhelm you with every step.

Outside the squad car, Natasha listened intently to her team's radio transmissions as she tried to support you. She heard your desperate breathing and felt her own helpless rage at the ruthlessness of the fire. But she knew you were fighting - not just against the flames, but also against your own ghosts of the past and she knew that she couldn't leave you alone. “Y/n, do you hear me?” She called over the radio in a calm and firm voice, directing her attention only to you to try and calm you down. She knew the rest of the team would make it without her.

A weak response came back, punctuated by coughs and a muffled voice that made her think you were trying to hold back your tears. "Yes, 'tash. I hear you."

Her heart ached at the sound of your voice and she forced herself to stay calm, even though she wanted to grab you out of there and pull you into a hug. "You can do this, honey. You are strong. Remember why you are doing this. Think of the people who are counting on you." She replied, forcing you to take a deep breath as you fought back tears. You knew she was right, you could feel her words being an anchor in the middle of a storm, and you couldn't let your fears paralyze you, not now when so many lives were at stake.

With renewed courage you continued on your way, focusing on saving others instead of getting lost in your own thoughts, Natasha repeatedly whispering a few soothing words into your ears. You reached for the injured worker, surrounded by flames, and without hesitation, you pulled him out of harm's way and led him through the thick smoke to safety.

Natasha, meanwhile, followed your every move, every instruction you gave, feeling relieved and worried at the same time. She knew that this deployment was an emotional rollercoaster for you, but she was also proud of the way you once again asserted yourself, overcame your fears and rose to the challenges.

Finally, after endless minutes of fighting, you emerged from the burning inferno with Maya and Andy, followed by the last survivors. Your face was covered in soot and sweat, but there was an unwavering look of exhaustion and triumph in your eyes.

Natasha rushed to you with quick steps and hugged you tightly. "You did it, y/n. You and your team saved them all." She spoke proudly, hugging you tighter. You smiled tiredly, the demons of the past had exhausted you. "Thank you, Natasha. I couldn't have done it without you."

Hours passed, but it felt like an eternity as the rest of the teams, including yours, got the flames under control. Natasha watched you stand still, staring at the charred ruin as she slowly approached, and crept up on you before an arm wrapped around your shoulder, momentarily startling you. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know,” you said quietly, the memories still swirling vividly in your head. Natasha was fascinated by how you seemed calm and collected on the outside while you were drowning on the inside. "I thought I had processed it, I mean her death. But this mission showed me that there are still a few things I need to come to terms with."

"You know I'll support you, right?" She asked and a small smile escaped your dry lips. "Whether you want to seek professional help, talk to me about it, or need some time to strengthen your mental health.. I'm here. And I won't leave."

You nodded and rested your head on her chest as she rested her cheek on your hair. You had to learn to live with your loss and stay focused on helping others in need.

In the days and weeks that followed, Natasha took time for you to reflect on what had happened and accompanied you to a psychologist. Confronting your past had shown you that it was important to face your fears and weaknesses and learn from them. With the support of the fire department chief, you were slowly able to completely come to terms with the demons of your past and in the process formed a closer and deeper friendship with Natasha, who you never thought you would ever have with anyone.

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xkaidaxxxx · 1 year ago

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Hiii, i was wo dering if you could write a platonic father Aizawa in which his daughter is kidnapped by the LOV and he has to save her.

Thankss, i love your writing

Kidnapped daughter

Mentions: kidnapping, abuse, rape, trauma, pain.

⚠️Trigger warning!⚠️

reblogs are appreciated.<3

“ I wonder how long it will take for the heroes to show up and save Eraser Head’s daughter. Mhm maybe soon. I’m sure Eraser Head himself will show up, he wouldn’t want to lose his only daughter. I should’ve brought your brother along. They would probably be here already.” Shigaraki said. You were tied from your hands, legs and mouth. You weren’t a hero in training like Shinso, You took the regular courses at U.A ,however your father taught you and brought you along with his class during hero training on the weekends or your free periods. It was very amazing how great you are. Everyone was confused on why you didn’t choose to be a hero. Simple. Your love for music is strong.

You had multiple quirks so you burned the knots being able to stand. You removed the one on your mouth. Dabi surrounded you with his blue flames. He managed to burn a part of your cheek. You knew it would leave a scar behind. “ Don’t bother to escape. You’re surrounded.” Toga said. She was right you were surrounded. There were villains everywhere you turned to scan.

“ We can’t just let time pass by! My daughter could be getting abused! She can be killed!” Aizawa telled. The other heroes stayed silent. “ Eraser Head we can’t make any moves until the league of villains send out a message.” All-Might, said. Your brother was about to enter the office but stopped hearing the conversation. “We can’t have anything else going wrong.” Endeavour said. Every hero in the room was frustrated with the situation. “ My daughter..I can’t lose her. My kids are the most important thing in this world. I would sacrifice anything for them. Even my own life.” Aizawa said. Shinso’s tears slipped while walking back to the dorms. He knocked on the Class 1-A front door.

“ What do you want?” you asked Shigaraki. You knew all about them. How many people they’ve killed, you knew they were gathering people for their “cause”. “ That's nothing for you to worry about,pretty.” Toga said giggling. You were confused on why she was giggling. Suddenly you felt pain and everything went black. They decided to seal you within a large metal box. They made sure you were cold not too much to where your body temperature could kill you but near there.

“ My sister, she’s kidnapped. The League of Villains have her.” Shinso revealed to Class 1-A. “You’re fucking kidding. Not this again.” Bakugou said, grabbing a few things. “Kacchan what are you doing?” Deku asked. “ What do you think? We’re going to save her. This is Mr.Aizawa’s daughter. We can’t just not help.” Bakugou replied. Denki and Kirishima always back him up. “No you guys are crazy. Think about what happened the last two times. Mr.Aizawa got his arm hurt and then you got captured.” Ida said. Shinso was taking those events into consideration. “ She’s my sister…I can’t lose her,” he said. Everyone sat there in silence.

After 3 days of tracking you and another 2 days of investigation you were being treated like crap. They’d let you in and out of the confinement. They were playing with your body, mentally and physically. Your mind wasn’t comprehending anything. Due to your weak and overstimulated body you couldn’t use any of your quirks nor create one. “At this point she might be dead…” Shinso said, picking at his food and on the verge of tears once again. “ You can’t say that about your sister.” Deku said, smacking his head out of character. “Midoriya… that’s a high possibility. They’re not some dumb thugs…They’re the real deal. Bakugou couldn’t even do anything.” Shoto spoke and then continued to eat his cold soba.

Once lunchtime was over, Aizawa pulled Shinso aside and gave him a tight hug. Shinso held onto his dad, releasing all his emotions. “ Your sister is strong. You know she can handle things regardless of how bad it is.” Aizawa spoke. He also let a few tears slip. “ You and her are everything I have.” Shinso spoke. “ I love you both very much. We’re going on the move today in the evening. You have to promise to stay here and be strong. I’ll let you know as soon as she’s safe.” Aizawa said, holding his arms. Shinso was looking down. “Shinso look at me.” he ordered and his son did just that. “ You have to promise to stay here at U.A and be strong, okay.” he said. “I..I promise dad. Bring her back safely.” Shinso said, wiping his tears away. “ Yes, now wash your face and head to class. If you need me you know where to find me son.” he said. They parted ways and went about their day.

While you were in confinement you were hearing things being thrown around, hearing crashes and screaming. You were trying to call for him but your throat was in pain. It hurt. “We have to relocate her.” You hear Dabi say. “ I agree with you.” Toga replied. You kicked the confinement you were in. Deep down you knew your kicks were too weak for someone to hear. “ I don’t think so.” You hear Best Jeanist say. From there you knew you were in rescue. Aizawa was on adrenaline. He was a beast. His mind and body were one with skill, focus and chaos. As villains showed up to help. He went wild. “Give me back my daughter!!!” he yelled. Best Jeanist has never seen such a side of his fellow hero friend. Within that time Aizawa managed to take down many. Heavily leaving some wounded. “ EraserHead that's enough! Your daughter is safe. She’s asking for you!”” Endeavour yelled. That's when he snapped back to his senses and went out to check you.While the fight was going on your brother sat in his dorm room playing with the charm bracelet you gifted to him during kindergarten for siblings day. Your dad saw you wrapped in a blanket the ambulance had. He noticed the bruises by your ankles and arms. The burn on your cheek. The blood stains on your head. They quickly loaded you onto the ambulance. He got on and sat down holding your hand. “ Dada. You’re here.” you managed to say even though it came out as a whisper. “ Yes, I'm here. Don’r force yourself to speak or move. You can let go now little one don't be afraid.” he said. You let go and fell asleep.

You were taken to the best hospital. “ Sir, for your daughter to have a thorough body examination we need you to sign some forms.” a doctor spoke. Your dad signed the forms after reading them. During the examinations you were out. “ G-God..” a nurse said, tearing up. “ W-What? Let me come in. Is everything alright?” Aizawa asked. He was forced to stay outside and the door was closed. Locked in the process as well. “She’s only 16…How could they..” the nurse said. You were tested for any type of vaginal issues. The wounds on your body were being cured. You were taking too many rooms to take exams. CT scan, ECG scan, MRI scan,PET scan, Etc. You were sedated to keep you asleep. Well rested.

Once everything was done the doctors gave the results to your dad. “Mr.Aizawa, There’s something that will be very difficult to take in not only for you daughter but for you as well. We found evidence of rape…there might be a possibility of pregnancy. The decision of keeping the child is her own. By law it's her right and decision no parents or guardians are allowed to choose for her. Aside from that she has a broken wrist, the burn on her week will leave behind a scar, the bruises will heal eventually.” the doctor said with a frown. A young lady, A daughter, having to go through such a thing is cruel. Your dad nodded and was trying hard to process everything.

After 4 days you woke up. “Hey, how are you feeling?” a nurse spoke to you as she wrote down your vitals. “ Good.” you replied. Your dad and brother walked in just in time to see you up. “ Hey baby sister.” Shinso said. “I’m only 4 months younger.” you replied. They both gave you a nice hug.

Another nurse walked into the room. “ We need you guys to step out. I need to have a private conversation with Ms.Aizawa.” “ That’s my dad and brother don’t worry,” you replied. “This is a serious conversation. It’s going to be hard to hear and process,” she said, holding onto a folder. Aizawa knew about what she was going to inform you about. “ I don’t want to be alone. I need my family with me,” you said sitting up carefully. “ Okay, sweetie. We did a thorough examination of your body. We found signs of rape.” she said and you cut her off. “ Yes..I was. I-I’m guessing there's a possibility of pregnancy.” you said starting to cry. “ Yes sweetie…we will know within a month or so..till then think about what you want to do if there will be a child within you. Your broken wrist and burn will be healed by then..excuse me.” she said and walked out closing the door behind her. “ Dad and I are here to support you. We love you y/n.” Shinso spoke. “ I love you guys too,” you replied. Your mind was spinning. “ You don’t have to rush to a decision y/n. Take time.” Your dad said fixing your hair. “ Do you know who the bastard is?” Shinso asked, gripping his scarf. You remembered everything. How could you not? You suffered it. “ Y-Yes..he has blue eyes and black hair…parts of his body were burned..the staples..I..couldn’t push away. It hu-rt.” you replied crying. Dabi’s face was so clear in your mind. You remembered the pain, the way he laughed at you, and enjoyed seeing you struggle.

The Aizawa family knew this was a tough battle to overcome together.

" Better together okay. We will get through this to the end. Love you, my kids." Aizawa said. " We love you too dad." you and your brother said in unison.

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bones4thecats · 10 months ago

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Hi can I have seperate scenarios in this request where Captain Ginyu, Burter, and Cui, just so happen to meet Emo! F! Human! Reader in the Namek Saga while she's with Bulma and the gang or even somehow gets seperated with the group on accident. If you still have the time when you see this request.

(Hope that the request isn't too much for you.)

DBZ w/ F-Emo-Human! S/O Headcanons

Characters: Captain Ginyu, Burter, and Cui Requester: @silkyshulks A/N: I decided to just do this with them having an S/O that was a powerful human (and emo) that also served with Frieza as one of his highest-ranking helpers (specifically a Regent, or a right-hand). It just made more sense to me. That and I haven't watched the Namek Saga in quite a while and need to re-watch DBZ here soon... But anyways, hope you like this and have a glamorous rest of your day/night, Silkyshulks! ⚠️ Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: Mentions of possibly child abuse (nothing to bad though) and fighting (??) ⚠️

What I based the Reader's appearance on: Outfit - Makeup - Marks

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Captain Ginyu ═══════════════════════════╝

💟 When Ginyu first met you, he was surprised with how powerful you were within Frieza's army. Despite being a mere human, you had a lot of power, enough that prompted the tyrant to promote you to his Regent, in other words his main second-in-command

💟 You held your position highly, using it against any other soldier who tried to put you down. And it didn't help that you always looked emotionless and cold whenever you walked around

💟 Ginyu and you had a surprisingly healthy bond, and that always shined when you served together. He would be busy getting his team to practice their poses and train whilst you were delivering orders to them from Frieza, much of it being their schedule and where they were needed

💟 While he normally gets busy, he does enjoy having some time to relax with you. It mainly consists of you silently sitting on his lap as you would draw on his skin with your temporary markers, he did have a reputation after all

💟 Ginyu also gets confused when you would spend quite a bit of time perfecting your makeup for that day, though it normally was the same eyeliner, and how you would make sure your outfit was perfected. But, he was a warrior, so who was he to judge?

💟 Unlike what many other members of the Frieza Force believe, Ginyu is a very good partner, whether you're married or not. He always finds time for you and he listens, even as he trains, his ears are open for your meek rants

💟 He has offered you a place in the Ginyu Force, but you just turned him down, saying your place belonged delivering news and defending your fearsome Lord. And while Ginyu was dead-set on getting you to join, when he saw you smoke another powerful fighter, he lightened up

💟 Not because he feared you... psh! Why would he fear his S/O? It's a lie, he fears your anger like he fears Frieza's

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Burter ════════════════════════════════╝

🌀 You two had a rockier start than the others. Burter is literally described as 'very arrogant, boastful, and tends to talk down to his opponents', and when he saw how blank you looked, he made his thoughts on you obvious

🌀 As a fellow strong warrior, though you stayed out of the field for quite a while, you merely raised your hand, showing off your spider-web markings. He cocked his head as you blasted him, resulting in him flying backwards and into the wall, making a dent as the now-dazed fighter groaned in pain

🌀 Unfortunately for you, Frieza needed your skills of manipulation and physical attacks to take over another planet, so he sent you and Burter together while the rest of the Ginyu Force went to another part of the planet - despite their annoyance of not being able to do their poses correctly -

🌀 It was after that mission that the Blue Hurricane then began to seek you out more, wanting to train. You would just roll your eyes before walking away to find Zarbon to speak too. And that was how his emotions emerged, watching you speak to Zarbon happily while you would naturally stare into Burter's soul before leaving

🌀 While it took a while, and when I say a while I mean a while, to finally ask you out, he was surprised with how different you were in private. You always seemed so done with everyone and cold, but you really cared about the few close-individuals you had, including this certain blue alien

🌀 Burter doesn't seem like he would, but I can see him enjoying watching you gather your outfits, whether they were formal-looking or not, and seeing you put on your makeup and basically style yourself up. It was kind of like a therapy for him in a way

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Cui ══════════════════════════════════╝

🐟 Cui and you met early on in your services under Frieza, and he was extremely jealous that you, a mere human, a being he could squash with one blast, was promoted to be the Emperor's right-hand!

🐟 And, in all honesty, he was intimidated by you as much as the next soldier. The way you looked just scared him. You always looked so glum and ready to kill, and the way you would dress and decorate your face freaked him out. He was used to others looking odd, but this was a level he had never encountered in his life!

🐟 The only reason he had ever spoke to you was because Frieza had demanded Cui to deliver a message to you and get the findings you came up with. And while he was acting like a pissed-off child who was just told they couldn't get a lollipop by their parents at first, he did eventually begin to see how gentle you truly were underneath your dark-look

🐟 You proved that true when, instead of insulting or yelling at the tiny-and-very-young alien who brought you files, you just pat them on their head and told them to go to your chambers and grab themselves a plush from your bottom drawer. He watched the child run off with a gleeful smile on their face while you continued typing an encrypted message to Frieza's father, King Cold

🐟 Cui called your name and couldn't help but ask you a question that nagged at him for the past few minutes of silence;

"Why were you so kind to that child? Normally higher-ranked authorities just push them around."

"I condemn those who would offend a lower-ranked soldier, nonetheless a child, for no reason. It's a show of how pathetic and weak they truly are, regardless of placements in this hierarchy."

🐟 Cui just nodded and grabbed the finished files you handed him before rushing out of the room and towards the main office of your leader. One question nagging in his mind; why was his stomach churning at the thought of you treating a child... especially one that looked like both of you... so kindly?

🐟 He was going to need to speak to the medic afterwards

#Dragon Ball #Dragon Ball Z #DBZ #DBZ Villains #Dragon Ball x Reader #Dragon Ball Z x Reader #DBZ x Reader #DBZ Villains x Reader #S/O! Reader #GN! Reader #Human! Reader #Captain Ginyu #Captain Ginyu x Reader #DBZ Burter #DBZ Burter x Reader #DBZ Cui #DBZ Cui x Reader

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theperfectspy67 · 3 months ago

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Fourth Werewolf Wednesday 🐺

Today’s Werewolf: The Folktale Werewolf - Part 2 of 2

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ : The following story contains some rather frightening and/or disturbing content as well as cursing. Proceed with caution please.

The following is a transcript taken from a body camera recording from Director Summers detailing the events she witnessed during an encounter with a Folktale werewolf within her own home. It took place on April 12th, 2023.

The Summers Incident

[The camera turns on, revealing a mostly empty room. On the right side of the room is a single wooden door. On the left side of the room is a small machine with ritualistic iconography painted on it. This machine was later identified as a reverse engineered LRD (Lycanthrope Repellent Device).]

Summers: This is Director Lisa Summers of the Lycanthrope Understanding and Paranormal Investigation Network. It is currently one in the morning. I only have two hours of battery on this so I’ll make this explanation quick. My goal here is the permanent destruction of a Folklore werewolf. We have wasted several thousand dollars on studying them, and so far they have proven to have no purpose. They simply appear, scare the hell out of people, and disappear. Normally destruction of a species is to be handled properly with a team after being approved by the higher ups and local governments. I have waited 24 years now and all of my requests have been denied. I decided to take things into my own hands after my own daughter encountered one of them last month. The plan is simple: use a ritual and an LRD to lure it to my location, leave the room using the trapdoor I spent a month installing, sneak around to the other side of the main door without being seen, and light the bastard up once I’m behind him. Every room in this house has at least two doors in it, so I won’t end up trapped no matter where I go. If the plan doesn’t work I’ll just leave the house. I understand that this is highly against protocol, but I won’t allow this monstrosity to continue existing after it terrified my own daughter. Judging by what we already know, these things can’t directly fight back and as long as they aren’t allowed inside a room you are able to leave through alternate exits. If I’m not successful then at least we can actually find out some more information about these things.

[The LRD activates.]

Lisa: Beginning test now.

[Five minutes pass and the room becomes completely silent. Knocking is heard on the front door.]

Summers: There it is.

[The voice of Summers’ husband, Nick Summers, is heard.]

Nick: Let me in, babe. It’s me, Nick! I left my keys in there!

[Summer moves over to the trapdoor and descends down a ladder as fast as possible. Nick’s voice begins to get further away.]

Nick: Babe? You in there? Babe?

[The voice fades in the distance.]

Summers: My husband is in Morocco. How dumb is this thing?

[Summers continues descending down the ladder for 3 minutes.]

Summers: I didn’t make the ladder this big. The hell?

[Summers stops. A child singing in what seems to be German is heard.]

Summers: Really? Creepy child singing? Is that it?

[Summers continues descending down the ladder for an additional 3 minutes. The bars appear more twisted and deformed the further down she goes. Summers pauses. surrounding her on the tunnel walls are small wooden doors. Knocking is heard, followed by several voices.]

Voices: Let me in, Lisa.

Summers: How about no?

[The ladder starts to shake violently for two minutes causing it to start breaking. Summers holds on. The ladder stops shaking. Now there is only a small piece of metal keeping Summers’ half of the ladder suspended.]

Summers: Ok, that was slightly more effective, but still, I haven’t been scared of heights for years.

[Light begins to shine in the keyhole of a door in front of her. Summers raises her gun and leans closer to the light. Suddenly she screams. The camera shakes, blurring the footage. From what can be seen hundreds of ants emerge from the keyhole and cover Summers’ arm and spreading. The ants fully cover the body camera, blocking out most of the visual footage. Several gunshots are heard followed by a metal snapping sound. It is assumed that Summers begins falling for around thirty seconds before a splash is heard. The visual footage is clear again revealing that Summers’ is now in a large body of water surrounded by darkness. Summers breathes heavily and looks around her. A fishing boat is seen close by.]

Summers: Hel-

[Summers is interrupted when several hands begin dragging her under the water. Summers lets off several shots to no effect. A single door slowly rises up from the water in front of Summers as she struggles against the hands. Knocking, followed by several voices, is heard.]

Voices: We can help you, Lisa. Open the door.

[Summers is repeatedly dunked under the water and coughs.]

Summers: Go to hell! It’s not real! It’s not real! It’s-

[Summers is pulled under one last time causing the footage to go dark. After around a minute of darkness light is seen as Summers falls into the not flooded kitchen of her house. Summers breaths heavily looking up at a ceiling fan. Summers coughs some more and slowly stands to her feet. She immediately goes to the sliding glass door which leads outside.]

Summers: It can’t be outside glass doors because you can’t hide behind them, god why didn’t I think of this?!

[Summers tries to open the door and finds it is locked. The lock appears to be reversed, now on the outside of her house, rather than the inside. Summers turns and her house keys are visible on her kitchen counter. She quickly runs over to the counter and, judging by the audible cursing, seems to stub her toe, slowly lowering to the floor. Summers gets off the ground after around thirty seconds of yelling. She reaches for the keys and grabs them. When she turns to face the door again her mother, Natalia Summers, is standing next to it. Summers stops moving.]

Natalia: Sweetheart? Are you alright?

[Summers remains silent for a few seconds.]

Summers: Why the hell are you here?

Natalia: I just wanted to check up on you. I wanted to make sure you were alright. I heard gunshots when I arrived and got in as soon as I could. Why are you in your patrol uniform?

Summers: Why the hell are you in my house mom!?

Natalia: Calm down, swee-

Summers: Don’t tell me to calm down! You only visit on Thanksgiving, Christmas, or when you wanna show off a new car!

Natalia: You’re acting like I’m a deadbeat.

Summers: You might as well be! You should really leave, I summoned a Folktale werewolf on purpose and it’s trying to trick me.

Natalia: You did what?! Sweetheart, please just-

Summers: Stop calling me that! You’re acting like you didn’t throw me out of the house when I was seventeen!

Natalia: I didn’t kick you out! You also act so dramatic about everything! You’re so ungrateful! I gave you food, water, shelter, a career, paid for every hospital visit, and even got you out of debt! You never asked me to do any of this! I did it out of the kindness of my heart! The day you decided to steal my car to go out and date some idiot named Nick and ended up crashing it and almost died in the process is when my kindness ran out! You moved out on your own! And now you summon a damn Folktale werewolf and blame it on me!

Summers: SHUT THE HELL UP, MOM!

[Summers seems to be sobbing at this point.]

Summers: For once in my life just listen to me! What I did was stupid, but that was thirty years ago! You refused to even speak to me once I returned home! You brought it up every chance you had and proceeded to deny me my eighteenth birthday party all because I was still dating Nick! You don't know what it’s like to feel like no matter what I did you would never love me again! I moved out early because I was a stranger in my own damn house! I have a daughter now and I care about her more than anything in the world! I have spent every waking moment of my life trying to be a better mom than you ever were! That’s why I joined L.U.P.I.N in the first place! That’s why I worked so hard to outrank you! That’s why I brought this thing into my house! I care about my daughter, and I won’t let anything like that harm her again! If you don’t want to love me anymore just say it! Say it now or just leave and never come back!

[There are two minutes of silence.]

Natalia: I’m sorry. And that is why I’m here. I don’t think I’ve told you that since the incident. I know you hate me, and I think I hate myself too, but I can’t just let myself live knowing I failed my own daughter. I know words aren’t enough, and actions sure as hell aren’t enough either, but I think I’m done with ignoring you. If you’d allow me, I’d like to start being a better mother again.

[Both are crying for three minutes before Summer’s hugs Natalia.]

Summers: You owe me a carrot cake.

Natalia: I think that’s fair.

[A figure emerges from a dark corner in the kitchen behind Natalia and slowly approaches her.]

Summers: Mom!

[Summers shoots the figure three times. An inhuman scream similar to the cry of a locust is heard. The figure crumbles into dust. Natalia looks surprised for a moment, before calming down.]

Natalia: Nice shooting, where did you get that gun by the way?

Summers: Germany. It’s a lovely country, you should visit sometime.

Natalia: I’ll put that on my bucket list. In the meantime, wanna go out for dinner? I know this wonderful place. You just need to get your shoes on, clean yourself up, and let me in.

[Summers pauses for ten seconds.]

Summers: What did you just say?

Natalia: Let me in, Lisa.

Summers: N-no.

[Summers begins backing up.]

Natalia: LET ME IN, LISA!

[Suddenly the sliding glass door shatters as armed L.U.P.I.N officers rush into the home. Natalia seems to vanish.]

Officer Smith: Lisa Summers, you are under arrest for unauthorized summoning of a Folktale werewolf, along with the unauthorized possession of an LRD, and the unlicensed possession of an official field combat uniform. You have the right to-

[Summers is on the ground shaking. The camera slowly focuses to reveal the floor of the kitchen is stained in blood. The dead body of Natalia Summers is on the floor with three bullet wounds on her body, the same bullets Natalia had shot into the figure earlier.]

Officer Smith: Jesus Christ. We need a medic in here! We have a-

[Summers screams. This scream peaks the audio on the camera drowning out all other noise. The body camera is confiscated and automatically deactivated by Officer Smith.]

Ending recording now.

Summers is as of today unresponsive, being kept under careful observation in a classified medical facility. Summers now refuses to go through any doorways without them already being opened. Any changes in her behavior is to be immediately reported to her family and to Director Harsfield.

#werewolf wednesday #werewolves #creative writing #fiction #worldbuilding #writing #horror #disturbing #psychological horror

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dovithedarklord · 1 year ago

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Age of Monsters - Chapter Fifteen

Pairing: OFC x Simon "Ghost" Riley, OFC x König

Tags: Slow Burn, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, POV First Person, Not Beta Read, Medical Inaccuracies, Military Inaccuracies, AFAB OC

Trigger Warning: The story will contain violance, blood and smut in detail. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

...................................

Author's Note

Leona and the small group gather information so that their adventure can take them further towards their new friends.

Hello!

I don't have an explicit trigger warning for this chapter! I'll link the map, just so you know where the characters are going!:)

Map

Have fun! :D

I.M.L. - Infected Mammalian Lifeform. I.H.L. - Infected Humanoid Lifeform.

if you're interested you can find the story on AO3: Chapter Fifteen

......................................

The door of the dark little room creaks open as Alejandro leads us into the small room chosen as the scene of the interrogation, which is painted in a ghostly green shade by the light of a single neon lamp on the wall. The smell of dust and mold settles in the air, and with the keenness of a trained hunting dog, my nose recognizes the faint, barely perceptible smell of blood, which lurks as a subtle reminder between the worn walls. This is probably not the first information-gathering discourse that takes place within the confines of the unsettling room, but it will give the right atmosphere to the important conversation that will soon begin.

As Alejandro, with not the least bit of care, places the woman's unconscious body on the chair in the middle of the room, for some reason, the restrained temper inherent in the movement immediately reminds me that there may be a much older and different acquaintance between the two of them than just the cat-and-mouse game between the criminal and the Hunter at her heels. From the way he firmly grabs the shoulders of our target who turned into Cinderella, so that she doesn't fall off from the sitting position, for some reason I get the feeling that he'd rather wrap his gloved hands around her neck to crack her spine before she can start telling her story. But despite the fact that I somewhat understand his reluctance, unfortunately, we need her to be alive at least until she decides to talk. Therefore, I approach them with measured steps, breaking the Hunter's rather tense focus on our bandit, and sweeping aside the woman's dark hair, I smooth my palm over her forehead covered with cold sweat. My energy travels along my fingers in slow waves, and when it reaches the damp skin, it begins the humble work of dragging my unfortunate victim back into the real world so that we can get down to interrogate her as soon as possible.

Her elegant eyebrows meet as she finally begins to return from the peaceful land of dreams, and I'm filled with undisguised pleasure as I feel the intrusion of nausea running through her body under the touch of my energy, because although she deserves more than this little discomfort for trying to tear a new hole in me, but I'm content with this for now. Because based on the heavy air that is slowly settling in the room, I have a hunch that the feeling of sickness after passing out will be the least of her problems if my companions start asking questions. Her eyelashes flutter and her eyes open, and as she tries to focus her them, blinking confusedly, I just back away and lean against one of the cold walls to give the stage to my more experienced friends. For I suspect that they are already burning with the desire to have a chit-chat with her.

It takes a few seconds for our captured thug to fully collect every shred of her consciousness, but as soon as she manages to regain her vigilance, her gaze glides across the room with cold indifference, and when her dark eyes catch Alejandro standing opposite her, then the corners of her mouth curl up in a sneer. And in the smile she puts on her face, there is such a wicked joy, which makes it quite obvious that these two certainly have quite an interesting shared past behind them.

"In the end, you managed to catch me, Vaquerito." The woman speaks up, and although her voice is still hoarse due to the forced sleep, I can clearly sense the malicious edge with which she turns to the leader of the unit. And I find it quite impressive how, despite the fact that she is sitting in a completely obvious tight spot, she still has the desire to assume superiority, as if she had not been cornered by predators. But maybe it amazes me even more how she makes herself comfortable in a minute, crossing her legs in front of her with graceful laziness, because that's exactly how I reacted when karma caught up with me. Even if the situation doesn't seem bright, she clings to her self-esteem with tooth and nail, and if she can irk her enemies with this, that's even better.

"Fate catches up with everyone sooner or later, Valeria." Rodolfo aptly remarks, hiding in one of the dark corners as he fixes his disdainful gaze on the woman, taking on the same unfriendly aura as his leader. And based on this, the dislike between them is probably not just the work of a casual encounter, but rather the result of some deep-rooted betrayal, which can provoke such a violent temper from these two Hunters. Interesting.

"How do you know each other?" The question breaks out of me, giving voice to the curiosity that is awakening in me, because I'm more and more interested in what could have been the affair that went wrong, which laid the foundation for this chilly climate. The woman is a mystery anyway, as she seems too harmless for an entire colony to fear her, but I have seen enough of her in the past few hours to know that she is very good at covering up the unique abilities that earned her position. To be the head of a band of thugs, whose name they only dare to utter whispering, she has to be quite an extraordinary bastard.

"She served as a soldier in the liquidation unit. She soon got tired of not having enough power and left instead." Alejandro shares his answer with us succinctly, spitting the words almost with disgust, and even in this small explanation, all his contempt is concentrated, which is moving through the man with the ferocity of a raging storm under the surface.

And this is just enough information for me to piece together the picture of how this con artist was able to slip out of the eager hands of the authorities for so long. She knew exactly how the system worked because she was lucky enough to have firsthand experience, and that's exactly how she sniffed out its weaknesses, which she shamelessly exploited. She knew how and where the patrols were conducted, she knew how to evade them, and she knew how to steer clear of the monsters that inevitably crossed her path. So it becomes quite clear why she was able to attack me with such deadly efficiency. Because she was trained to survive against tougher opponents than me, and so my intuition was correct, that if I gave her a few more minutes, she would have finished me very easily. Or at least she would have incapacitated me long enough for her to escape.

"I had to resort to more violent means to assert myself in a world that only revolves around you, right?" Valeria retorts, scrunching up her nose with such disgust that it's easy to deduce how much joy she found in being able to serve in the unit. And I can somewhat understand her loathing, because in teams specialized in killing mutants, the life of ordinary mortals is more than difficult. The training is the least of their problems, which in itself is terribly taxing both physically and mentally, but the fact that in most cases they are used as living shields in front of the beasts is valid a reason to be angry. Although it's presented as an attractive occupation within the walls of the colonies, and they try to advertise to the many frivolous idiots how well they will do if they join, the reality soon catches up with everyone. Safe accommodation, five meals a day, and a suspiciously high salary sounds good, but it doesn't change the fact that in the eyes of the government, they are nothing more than expendable chess pieces, that they aren't afraid to sacrifice to defeat a few beasts. But the woman would have had the very simple choice, if she was so cunning, that after suffering a tactical injury, she could have requested to be transferred to one of the many enforcement units operating in the colony. But obviously, then she would have lost the authority that comes with the noble task of serving in liquidation units. And this garbage seems ambitious enough, that once she has tasted the good life, she will only want more.

"What a clever little Healer you managed to catch for yourselves..." She suddenly turns to me, and as her eyes zero in on the dry blood-stained tear on my vest, her mouth stretches into a foul grin, as if she was proud of the fact that she was able to harm me. And I suspect she is. But there are no hard feelings, because she is sitting in some deep shit thanks to me. "They would kill for her on the black market."

And this one comment of hers covers the room in frozen shock so spectacularly, as if winter had arrived between the walls shrouded in darkness. She measures me up with such confident malice, as though I were nothing more than an animal destined for slaughter, and I don't doubt that she would be able to frighten anyone with this performance. But unfortunately, her tactic won't work against me, because she uses the same dirty little strategy that I like to apply when I want to get under someone's skin. I poke at where I know it will hurt the most, and I'm certain my provocation will reach its destination the soonest. She has chosen the wrong person to frustrate by explaining the bitter reality, because I have been aware of this fact for a very long time. More than one horror story circulated in the colony, in which defenseless Healers were ambushed in the open street and never found again, and this was just enough of a threat in the eyes of the general population that the newly screened Healers voluntarily waltzed into the open arms of the first unit they saw. Because it's much better to voluntarily end up in a parasitic relationship than to sink to the level of a disposable tool after being taken to god knows where. This doesn't mean that official units are any better, but maybe fewer people die miserably there. And now I'm at least not afraid to admit that I have got real lucky with my little team, because I'd probably be a thousand times worse off anywhere else.

The superiority on the woman's face fades in an instant, when I simply fold my arms in front of my chest with a comfortable calm, and with my chin held high, I stare back at her with a biting smile, holding her increasingly serious gaze. I only need to observe the downward curve of her mouth to know that she is rather annoyed that her petty taunting is not achieving its goal. But I get it, it annoys me too when my current mean stunt fails. Perhaps we have disturbingly more in common than I'd like to admit, but that's okay. This makes it easier to outmaneuver her.

"Where's the serum?" Riley gets to the point, putting an end to our little stare-down duel, and as my ears are hit by the rough irritation hidden in his voice, I forcefully suppress the surprise that tries to sneak onto my face. Because although I know that his patience is probably just running thin from listening to this empty chatter, I can't exclude the thought from my mind that I might have something to do with the way his shoulders fill with tension. It might be possible that the excited little voice in my head wants to see more into everything now, but I want to deprive myself of my fun and delusions less and less.

"I was just an informant, I didn't steal that junk." She shrugs lightly as she tears her attention away from me and directs it to my rather formidable companion, radiating careless indifference with every cell in her, about which it slowly becomes clear that it isn't just a part of a charade befitting a cocky criminal. This woman is truly self-centered enough to believe that the fame and authority she had gained in the wilderness had accompanied her here as well, and will protect her if one of my buddies decides she has stretched their patience enough. Brave, but foolish.

"What kind of informant?" Alejandro snaps, and apparently, already at the beginning of the conversation, his patience with the game of the woman's sharp tongue begins to run out, and considering the hazy but complicated memories they share, it's not surprising that the man finds it progressively difficult to hold on to the threads of his nerves that are slowly wearing thread-thin. And when the woman only responds with an amused snicker and pulls her hand back to prop her elbows on the back of the chair, she gives the man one more reason to follow through on the threats in his head.

"Do you think I'm stupid enough to put myself on the line?" Valeria remarks, and based on her emphasis, she labels the Hunter towering menacingly above her as the half-witted one, outrightly enjoying the way the red clouds of rage pass through his eyes. "Someone saw Alviar when he came back with that monster, and rumor started spreading in the colony that he was hiding something valuable. I just had to have a little chat with one of the workers and that was it." She explains her clever little machination, confirming the assumption that had already been formulated in my head. Although the poor fool didn't reveal the juicy information on their own accord, it doesn't change the fact that they indeed coughed up what was being hidden in the institute in the mountains.

"And you immediately passed the info on to someone else, huh? You low life…" A disbelieving, bitter laugh erupts from Alejandro as he fixes his furious eyes on the ceiling, perhaps hoping that observing the mold blooming on the plaster would restore self-control to his veins laced with fiery blood. And I have to admit that our pretty outlaw manages to get under the Hunter's skin in a really remarkable way, because she twists every word she says in just the right way to provoke another reaction from him. And while others may not understand what her goal might be by infuriating a person much stronger than her, who could rip her head off her neck with his bare hands, I know what the game is about. Although she risks her safety by getting her interrogators all riled up, she knows that no one will touch her if they want information, and thus she easily controls the conversation, because the focus shifts from important matters to anger. And this only confirms the fact that, even if the serum is not, the major information is in her possession.

"Why would I have kept the information to myself if I found a buyer for it?" The woman argues back with feigned indignation, as if the assumption that she wouldn't take advantage of this business opportunity would be insulting to her. "If this shit gets out, it's only good for business." She informs casually, as if she wasn't stating why it was beneficial to release a substance that could cause the end of humanity. And this is where her first sentence laced with misconceptions is uttered, because if she were really that intelligent, she would know that no one would be safe if the serum fell into the wrong hands. And she's no exception either.

"What the hell are you talking about?" The head of the unit snarls, and every cell of his body is filled with tension ready to attack, as if with each passing minute less and less would hold him back from squeezing the woman's graceful throat, if I only take a closer look at his posture in addition to his words. His hands clench into fists and his shoulders instantly stiffen with fury like a tiger about to pounce. And there is no doubt that the woman crushes the last crumbs of his fragile self-restraint when she heatedly leans forward and spreads her hands wide, as if she had to explain how the world works to a complete idiot.

"Use your head, you idiot!" The exasperated yell bursts out of Valeria, jamming her index finger into her forehead with almost painful force, thus emphasizing the use of which she wants to recommend to the man's attention. "The more monsters there are, the less time they have for us."

And from this rather logical justification, an icy atmosphere of gloom descends on the room at once, because this fatal stupidity is truly a compelling argument for such a woman who is corrupted to the core. And given the fact that she fled from a liquidation unit, it's no wonder she believes she has all the tools needed to protect herself when the goods she sold the intel about will find a new owner. But she didn't see what we experienced, and she has no idea what kind of world-shattering potential lies in that substance. Because if she knew, she wouldn't be digging her own grave by helping someone steal a chemical weapon capable of kicking not only the world's, but also her ass. And don't get me wrong, I understand the selfish interests behind her actions, since she just wants to make her business flourish, while the Hunters and everyone else are fighting for their lives. But nothing proves her blinded narcissism more than the fact that she doesn't take into account that if her customers die, the business will collapse faster than she has time to realize what's happening.

"You filthy... " Alejandro breaks the stunned silence that has set in, and he charges towards Valeria, who is still sitting with easy calmness, with such suddenness, like an enraged bull, in front of which the red veil has been waved. And if it wasn't for MacTavish appearing next to him to hold him back, he would undoubtedly wipe the knowing, smug smile off her face with his own hands.

"Calm down, hermano!" The Scottish Hunter tries to calm his fuming friend, and as the muscles on his forearm tense, it becomes clear that this isn't as simple of a task as it seems. But Alejandro forces his cool composure back into its place with the skill of a leader, and as he fills his lungs with oxygen with a few quick breaths, he lets the man with the mohawk pull him back. "Who was the buyer?" MacTavish now takes over the lead of the investigation, and although his deep voice sounds relaxed, there is an edge of threat in it, which warns the woman that if she continues to play, then he won't be kind enough to prevent the violence that comes her way next time.

"You'd like to know, huh?" She grins, and it seems that she doesn't feel the seriousness of the situation, because she raises her head defiantly, as if one of her captors wasn't about to rearrange her physical integrity. And even though I also share the strange masochistic fetish, during which I challenge fate against myself with my irksome behavior, I'm not this stupid or brave either. However, someone who wants to hold an entire criminal organization in her hands certainly needs this audacity. What a pity that it won't achieve the expected effect here.

Because Riley, who has been watching in silence until now, runs out of patience in an instant, and as he stomps closer to Valeria, each step is filled with such ominous heaviness, that makes our little criminal's lips press together into a thin line in an instant. And as the man bends down to her, and almost hides the body of the hitherto confident woman in the shadow of his burly figure, it must become painfully obvious to her that she is now facing an opponent who isn't afraid to tear her jaw off, if he finally can open her mouth with it.

"If you don't start talkin', I'll break every fuckin' bone in your body one by one." The masked Hunter threatens, emphasizing each word of his promise, and his voice, which plunges into the frightening depths, is the perfect proof that the woman has one more sassy remark before he makes his warning come true. My eyes slide to his broad back, and I discover the straining material of the uniform, which stretches between his two shoulders almost in agony, as he towers over his victim with the keen attention of a predator about to pounce, and my stomach jumps excitedly, because my dubious feelings about him flash in my mind again at the most inopportune moment. But unfortunately, there's something maddeningly attractive about seeing the threads of his restraint snap in his head. I'm really sick.

However, it seems that the message interwoven with painful vows has reached its goal, because even though a few minutes filled with suffocating pressure pass, Valeria finally folds her hands in front of her with a tired sigh, submitting to the not-so-discreet urging of my dangerous companion. When the masked man sees that he has managed to break the gangster's relaxed mood, he just turns around with satisfaction, only to settle down next to me and advance again into a scary ghost, who only intervenes when absolutely necessary.

"A separatist group called "Vulture" bought the information." She shares the first useful knowledge with us, at least as enthusiastically as if we pulled it out with pliers. And it's not surprising that she isn't eager to give up the identity of her customer, because it could give her a very bad reputation in the dubious circles where she operates. But she has to swallow this bitter pill now if she wants to keep the ability to walk, which will allow her to stroll out of here when we're done with her.

"Where are they now?" MacTavish continues his determined inquiry, searching our prisoner's face with his eyes, probably scanning for a lie in every twitch of her face. And good thing he does, because we can't rule out that she will try to screw us over. It would be a pretty brave thing to do, but we won't know the authenticity of her information until we check out ourselves, and by then she may have disappeared from the radar a long time ago.

"Everywhere." Comes the short answer, which leaves much more dissatisfaction than certainty. It's clear from the faint, amused wrinkles gathering around her eyes that she's having quite a good time even in this predicament, as if she has nothing to lose by continuing this mysterious act. And that makes me wonder what she could be playing at. Why is it so important to her, in addition to her reputation, to preserve the intimate details of her customer's identity?

"Ya shouldn't be foolin' around right now." The Scottish man warns her, and gestures towards his masked bosom friend with one of his hands, reminding our criminal once again that no matter how much Riley hides in the background unnoticed, he hasn't vanished into thin air, and is still very much close by, waiting for the opportunity to make his threat become a reality. And that would make any sane person feel like talking, but this woman is something different, and she just distorts her mouth into a contemptuous pout and tilts her head to the side, as if she would just feel sorry for the Hunter for cooling his mouth out by trying to extract more valuable knowledge from her.

"I'm not kidding." Valeria shakes her head, conjuring up the act of false innocence in her features for a moment, not trying to make her play seem credible even for a minute. "That group is constantly on the move. Good luck finding it." She elaborates, and there is such a caustic sneer in her voice, as if she still has something up her sleeve that no one else knows. And when the gruff voice of annoyance breaks out of Alejandro again, the diabolical grin on the woman's face makes it evident that this is indeed the case. Because although she could fool anyone by pretending that she is just happy that she cannot serve us with more interesting facts than this and that is what fills her with morbid glee, it doesn't escape my attention as she imperceptibly checks her surroundings with her black eyes, as though she is waiting for something. And then the realization hits me that she is not protecting her unknown business partner, but is still hoping to get into a bargaining position that will allow her to dance back to her underworld businesses unscathed. How very sneaky.

"She knows where they are." I interrupt the ever-increasing tension with my clever little remark, fixing my eyes on the woman with unflinching calmness, because even though she may try to trick others, I know these tactics too well not to see through them. "She's waiting for a deal." I mention this detail, drawing a pitiful half-smile on my face, because although I think it's infinitely naive that she still sees a chance to get away from our little meeting as a winner, but, nevertheless, it’s remarkable how shrewdly she clings to every trifle that she can turn to her advantage.

"And she's smart too." Valeria comments on my observations, and now she doesn't even try to suppress the malicious grimace that appears on her face. Every delicate feature fills with a sly edge as her mouth curves upwards in a superior smile, communicating with her entire being that we are about to get to the point where she is back to taking control of the entire conversation.

"She won't get it." Alejandro barks almost immediately, and the intensity of his barely restrained fury comes to life in his voice, as he takes a few threatening steps towards his enemy, perhaps hoping to awaken fear in the woman. But it leads to nothing, because Valeria leans back in her chair with laziness and swings her crossed legs with sincere carelessness, as if she wouldn't be affected by the outburst of the Hunter, who is getting more and more agitated in front of her, even for a minute.

"Oh, but you need me to start remembering." Our gangster states, and her emphasis conveys the unspoken message that whether or not we can move forward and prevent the impending disaster depends on her goodwill. And I have to admit, it's quite brilliant how thoroughly she played her cards up to this point, because from the moment her eyes opened and she realized the corner we helped her back into, she immediately worked to turn the situation into her own favor. "I'll tell you where they are if you release me after."

And this one demand momentarily helps to unsettle the firm and fearful aura of my friends, because the woman presents a very simple problem. Either we give her what she wants, or she dies holding the knowledge to herself. Because I have no doubt that this sick bastard would be able to hold back the information out of defiance if she could fuck with us until her last breath. This dilemma is exacerbated by the fact that even though our allies here have helped us until now to prevent the risk of potential mass murder, it's also quite clear that Alejandro has no intention of releasing the hard-earned criminal from his clutches. The outlaw has been playing on the man's nerves for years, and I don't think that he would like to add another couple of years to this game. And as the Hunters look at each other and engage in a silent debate, I see the sparks of disappointment and venom rekindle in the unit leader's eyes, with which he acknowledges that, unfortunately, for the sake of the greater good, he will be forced to release his twisted opponent.

"All right." Riley finally agrees to the deal, turning his dark eyes on our hostage again, and for some reason, I get the feeling that the calmness with which, after the aggressive warning he gave not long ago, he now allows Valeria to have our conversation according to her whims, is beyond suspicious. Because it's quite strange for a man who can torture me for months with his dislike to adopt such a dubious, but no less diplomatic, demeanor.

"They hang out next to Colony No. 41 until they get rid of the goods. It won't be easy if they want to do it secretly, so they might still be there." Valeria gives us the details of her beforehand deeply hidden knowledge, and the satisfied hum in her voice makes it immediately evident that she is now blabbering with the peace of the victors. And this inevitably puts a sour taste in my mouth, because it seems that I still have to refine my manipulation after the woman's impeccable presentation. But I don't have time to think about how I could develop my meanness further, because MacTavish appears before our little duo with Riley with a few long steps, leaning closer and fixing his intense gaze on his masked bosom friend.

"We need to tell Price. Our hands can't reach there, and we'll need help to find them." The Scottish Hunter informs us of his concerns, which raises a rather real problem. As much as we would like to keep this little action while staying under the radar, it seems that the complications that arise are far beyond what we can covertly solve. Colony No. 41 is located at such a distance that even its surroundings are alien to us, not to mention that the red zone and uncontrolled region around it are also famously gathering points for the assorted dangers that happily hide in that awfully large area. And the bastards we have to sniff out now were probably directed there precisely by this tempting fact. It's just big and barren enough for them to lie low in peace until the sale is done. And we will need the help of someone who knows the place like the back of their hand, because we cannot allow ourselves to go on an aimlessly search until we find the separatists.

"I'll let him know." Riley nods, and springing into action almost immediately he hurries towards the door, only pausing for a few fleeting moments next to Alejandro, who is still seething in the middle of the room. "The woman is yours, Alejandro." The masked Hunter pats the man's shoulder, causing his eyebrows to meet rather bewildered at first, and then, when he realizes the gift his comrade gave him, only an appreciative grin curls on his mouth framed with dark stubble.

"What the fuck? We agreed!" Valeria yells, and for the first time, real emotion moves between her features, and the betrayed hurt that shines in her eyes is almost appetizing, as if it's really hard for her to believe what she's hearing. And I suspect that it's so, because I'm also a little lost for a moment, and I just furrow my eyebrows in confusion and blink at the masked man turning back from the door, who fixes his eyes on the angry woman with such contempt, as if he was just about to correct a bad child.

"I lied." The Hunter says simply, and anyone else would miss the slight change in his tone, but my sharp little ears can hear the satisfaction radiating from his words. And as I realized that it was the man, whom I recognized as a rolemodel of duty, who stabbed our cunning criminal in the back, my surprise turns into amused joy in a blink of an eye. Because I wouldn't have expected him to be able to break his word in such a sly way, even though, if I think about it more, I was already lucky enough to experience his vile tactics firsthand when he took me to my lovely little forest trial. But now, as I follow him with a wicked little grin as he calmly leaves behind the thug immersed in frenzied Spanish swearing, it occurs to me that there is another side to this dangerous man that is waiting to be witnessed. And this awakens the insatiable desire in me to find out as soon as possible what kind of surprises he has in store for me.

⃰

The late afternoon sun caresses the pale walls of the small room with its orange flames, where we retired to welcome our captain's call in intimate loneliness, which hopefully gives us more good news than we came across. During our interrogation at dawn, though we gained the next important clue, which could advance us in our research after the lost serum, but unfortunately it was just enough to raise hope. Because the woman has managed to give us an area as our next destination that, if we have to search blindly after the separatist group, it's guaranteed that we will lose the trace of Alviar's clever little discovery. Even so, we are at a two-week disadvantage, during which the thieves could easily have found a sympathetic buyer for the goods, and it's only up to the generosity of fate whether we can prevent the transaction or not. And we don't have time for aimlessly wandering in search of those scums.

This, in turn, plants the impatient pressure in my brain, which helps to fill my throat with the dryness of a desert by tightening its bony fingers around my neck. And I just have to look at MacTavish sitting next to me to know that he is definitely sharing my doubts. Even though his posture seems peaceful as he leans back on the worn sofa, the nervous bouncing of his leg and the restless play of his hands in his lap tells me that every minute he is creeping deeper into the tension of waiting.

And as if they had felt that my mind was in decline, suddenly the communicator rings with a sharp beep, which has been waiting in Riley's hands for our team to contact us. As the man leans forward while pressing a couple of buttons and slides the small device into the middle of the coffee table, the faces of our two familiar companions appear in the emerging hologram. And it's enough to observe their condition worse than washed-out shit, and I know that we are not the only ones that our little adventure wears down so enthusiastically, which gives me some consolation.

"Laswell!" The Scottish Hunter breaks out of his silent tension, bending forward with a sincere smile on his face, leaving behind his nervousness for a moment at the sight of our station chief. It's a fact that the woman's appearance can mean good, because her skillful hands might have been able to reach places where she returned with some valuable help. And we need nothing more than for her to come up with something exciting so we can finally continue our investigation.

"I'm glad to see you in one piece!" Laswell greets us, and she scans our trio sitting on battered furniture with her light eyes as if she were searching for invisible injuries. And it's quite charming when I almost feel the maternal worry in her voice, but my consciousness spins in a much faster turn from an impatient desire for knowledge than I can properly appreciate this small moment.

"Did you find somethin'?" Riley gets down straight to the point, leaning his elbows on his knees, focusing all his attention on the woman, on whose face a rather troubled expression appears at his enthusiastic question, which causes her brows, emerging under from her light hair, to knot together, and I don't need my womanly intuition’s help to know, that this only could mean something bad. Because according to this, the separatists may form such a professional group that even challenges Laswell's skillful abilities.

"I tried to dig deeper, but I only found a few old reports about the group." Laswell sighs, and in the little gesture, as she tiredly smooths her hands over her forehead, she conveys all the frustrations she tries to suppress with her professionalism before it gets too close to the surface. Although it's quite amazing that in a matter of hours, she has come close to the information at all, because I suspected that she had to do her search again within quite illegal frameworks. "They covered their traces very well." She resignedly shakes her head, and through the bluish image of the hologram, I can see that every inch of her is filled with nervous frustration for not being able to find the information to support our mission. But it would have been too strange if something had gone smoothly for once.

"Fuckin' hell ..." Mactavish sweares, accompanied by an irritated huff, voicing the annoyance that is slowly but surely becoming more and more apparent on his features. It's quite obvious that the recent series of complications has pushed down his tolerance for bad luck, but if luck finally decides to smile at us, he will soon have an outlet for his anger.

"But John has better news." Laswell hints at the positive developments, giving us the rays of hope again before we can immerse ourselves in the exasperation that the continuous complication of the events planted in us. And on this statement, we all focus on the captain, on whose mouth framed with a thick beard the beginnings of a malicious little smile appear, which helps to revive my optimism from its ashes.

"Our conversation with Shepherd went better than we hoped." Price reveals, an even through the communicator, I can hear the satisfaction that weaves its deep voice. And I had no doubt that he would make his promise come true, and after the dubious business, he spices his words to the leader of the colony with sufficient violence, but I wouldn't even imagine that the revenge-thirsty meeting would be so successful that we can profit from it soo soon. But our captain always delights us with pleasant surprises, and I particularly like the fact that he can act in such a petty way when people queer his pitch.

"I hope ya cornered the fucker." The Scottish man joins in, and from the evil little grin on his face, I get the feeling that although he regrets not being able to be present to make the colony leader come around with his own hands, but the successes of his superior fills him with enough satisfaction as well.

"As much as these scum can be." The bearded Hunter notes, and his expression contorts into a wry grimace, making it quite clear that he didn't push the old man nearly as hard as he would have liked to. Of course, we knew that it wouldn't be easy to hold the leadership accountable, even if their crimes could be proven clear as day. Despite the threat of mutants, the functioning of the world hasn’t become less corrupt. Small communities are even easier to rule over, and the scumbags, such as Shepherd, take advantage of this with great pleasure. But I was still hoping that Price would at least put the old shit in a coma. "But he got the help you need. The private liquidation unit serving at Colony No. 41 will help you find the separatist group." The captain describes the little gift from the leader of the colony, and although I have no doubt that he sees this help as a step forward, the restrained anger moving into his bright eyes promises that the actions of the old man, who has unexpectedly turned as tame as a lamb, won't be forgotten just because he threw a few bones to us.

Although it's not surprising that Shepherd has become so cooperative all of a sudden and is more than happy to fulfill our wishes, because it's also in his best interest that his ugly little secret remains deeply buried. Because if someone were to tell on what kind of dirty godly game he was playing with his doctor and what kind of shit he was stirring up, then the outraged mob would hang his dismembered body on the wall of the colony before he would have time to figure out how to calm the people's anger. And that's why I'm quite sure that, to achieve maximum success, he will add helpers to our daring venture, with whose assistance we will be able to deal with your unpleasant little problem with absolute certainty. The old fart is smart, but if there's one thing I've learned the hard way, it's that sooner or later karma kicks everyone's ass with enough force to feel the sting.

However, it doesn’t escape my attention, and pulls me out of my contemplation sufficiently, as the aura of my two companions becomes progressively more gloomy at the mention of our helpers, as if the mere intorduction of them would be enough to induce caution in them. MacTavish's face hardens in the blink of an eye, and the curve of his mouth pressed together in a tight line is proof enough that, if not personally, but had the luck to encounter the reputation of the unit. And I just turn my gaze to Riley with interest, and my confusion increases further when I catch the intensity with which his narrowing eyes stare at the looming image of the hologram. Who could they be talking about?

"Shepherd has assured that they'll cooperate with you in everything." Price states as he sees the obvious doubt overtaking the two Hunters, beckoning them to calm down with one gloved hand. And now my curiosity flares up vividly as to what kind of unit it might be, the mention of which is enough to instill such caution in the mood of my two experienced friends. "But be careful." He adds, and this only further strengthens the bad foreboding that is slowly awakening in my mind. A little rivalry certainly can fit into the busy lives of the liquidation units, but I highly doubt that's what got my two buddies so frustrated. This is about something else, and my curious mind is already hungry for answers.

However, it seems that the man's admonishment is enough for these tough guys to regain their confidence, because they only hesitate for a few seconds, and then, accompanied by a nod of agreement, they indicate to their leader whether forced or not, but they will go along with this new set up. We would have no other choice anyway, because now we have to hold on to even the most pathetic straws if we don't want to be cut to pieces by some advanced mutant bastard.

"You're leaving tomorrow morning." Price continues the briefing, and as we talk about our new trip, my stomach involuntarily jumps, and I can only wildly hope that my body will finally pull itself together so that I won't have to pray for nausea to leave me alone. My self-esteem wouldn't survive that, I'm afraid. "They'll be waiting at their base. We hope they can provide more information." He ends his little speech with this, and I don't like the suspicious look he gives us at all, because it makes me very uncertain about what prospects we can look forward to. And I have a hunch that this concern is not for our research abilities, but for our new little friends, whose identity is weighing more and more on my mind, because it starting to irk me that they arouse my curiosity with vague hints.

"Good luck." Laswell sends her last good wishes to us, and then after flashing an encouraging smile, she ends the line with this final word, leaving us alone to peacefully digest the news that was shared with us. The more I delve into my thoughts, the more I'm unsettled by the fact that although we have become richer with another clue, we haven't made a single iota of progress. We're just dancing around the ever-increasing problem, which we sometimes get a little closer to, only to be pushed further away by another fucking obstacle right after. And this is starting to test the limits of my battered nerves in every possible way.

"Steamin’ bloody Jesus." The Scottish Hunter buries his face in his hands accompanied by an exhausted groan, and now for the first time, it's obvious that he is starting to feel worn out due to the excitement we suffered through lately. I do not doubt that they have been trained to endure this stress ever since weaning them from mother's milk, but it seems that even in the life of such battle-hardened tanks, there comes a point when the load becomes too much. "This won't be an easy ride." He notes not so optimistically, and it's not entirely clear which part of the task ahead of us, which full of complications and question marks, he is referring to.

"We'll work it out." Riley declares with rock-solid confidence that leaves no room for doubt or uncertainty. Because based on the decisiveness in his emphasis, it can almost be taken as a guarantee that if it's up to him and his abilities, everything will happen as it's written in the playbook. And for the first time, I want to believe that this man full of ominous promises is right.

"I hope you're right, Ghost." MacTavish replies, and then, accompanied by a hum of agreement, he leans on his knees with his palms and stands up with jerky movements, stretching his tired limbs for a fleeting moment. "We'd better rest." He advises, smoothing one hand on the back of his head, making weak attempts to massage out the tension that has built up there. "Ya too!" He suddenly fixes his lively eyes on his best friend and me, with such reproach as if it weren't my greatest desire to finally be able to sleep through the night without my mind racing to solve the current goddamn difficulties. Unfortunately, I have too much brain capacity to not overthink every single detail in my moments alone.

Raising one of my eyebrows, I follow with my cynical gaze as he, after one last wave, leaves the scene of our small meeting, presumably finally taking advantage of the comfort of the accommodation provided by our hosts. Undoubtedly, he deserves to collect his freshness before the rather nerve-wracking mission ahead of us, so that he can throw himself into the excitement with sufficient aggressive enthusiasm. As the door closes behind his departing figure, silence settles in the room again, in which only Riley and I are left alone, in our complete peaceful solitude.

Leaning back, I slide my arm onto the back of the sofa, so that I can rest my head on my palm, and I close my eyes with a heavy sigh, trying to silence the thousands of thoughts buzzing in my skull a little. And it doesn't seem like an easy task, because the more silent minutes pass, the more my senses sharpen, because if I'm not pondering on the doubts swirling in my brain, then my body has just enough power to tune in embarrassingly quickly to every little movement of the man sitting next to me. And maybe the fact that he spends his free time in my company should raise questions in me, when the comfort of his own room could be much more tempting to him, but as my eyelids open lazily and I peer at him under my eyelashes, then these little things get pushed back in the back of my skull right away.

It seems that he too may be deep in thought, quite intensely, because he still keeps his eyes fixed on the long-inactive communicator, as if he wants to find a solution to the many worrying details that have arisen in him. And as the leader of our small team of three, the cogs in his head are definitely turning with full steam, as he plans how he should direct our next steps, and there is something exceedingly mesmerizing, the way a tiny muscle twitches on his face hidden under the mask, and the sunlight sets orange sparks into his brown eyes. And I would like to trace the clenched line of his jaw with my fingers, to see if I could remove the tension…

"I didn't know you could be so deceptive, Riley." I suddenly interrupt the idyllic moment, because I'm afraid that if I study the man even a moment longer, the pull of seduction will win in me and I will do something incredibly stupid. Although it's good to have my fun with him, this calmness can lull me into the silly idea that there would be no consequences if would I let the urging of the little voice in my skull prevail.

I manage to surprise him with my comment, because for a moment he just glances back at me questioningly, only to quickly understand from the devilish little smile on my face that I'm referring to the exceedingly evil tactics he used during the interrogation of our criminal. And this breaks him out of his rather troubled contemplation just enough to lean back with a relaxed movement and, leaving his tense hunched posture behind, stretch out comfortably on the sofa. And it doesn't escape my attention, as his knee settles only a few torturously short inches from my leg, I'm forced to scold myself contemptuously since this almost insignificant moment can wake up the warmth under my skin. Because I'm starting to look pathetically starved, which my self-esteem are able to tolerate less and less.

"You don't know a lot about me yet." He states easily, and anyone would think that he has put on his calm indifference again, but my ears can hear the breath of roughness in his tone, which almost challenges me to join this game that he is now inviting me to. And the tremble in my stomach won't let me dance back when he so generously devotes his outstanding attention to me, the weight of which now fills every fiber of me with excited sparks.

"How mysterious." I remark, turning to him, resting my chin on my palm, as I give in to the temptation to let my gaze run over the man. He doesn't have his usual gear on now, and although I can't hide the fact that he can capture my interest even when he's armed up to the neck, but this way, when he rests in civilian clothes next to me, there are much more that my hungry eyes can feast on. And the guilty thoughts wake up in my head immediately, when I recall what it felt like to run my hands through his muscles, the bulging lines of which are now only slightly visible under the dark fabric. And I forcefully suppress the ache moving to my canines as I bite into the inside of my cheek, because suddenly I want nothing more than to sink them deep into the tight flesh and hear again what it's like when his deep voice emerges from his throat a hoarse grunt. "I wonder what I should do to find out more about you." I divert my attention from the images in my head, because even verbal teasing seems safer now than letting my eyes wander further on the Hunter. Because the whole man is a bewitching phenomenon, and I'm less and less able to command myself around him.

"If you ask the right questions, you might succeed." He answers simply, and while the statement itself might surprise me, the way his words roll off his tongue arouses my curiosity much more, because every single sound is an invitation to the dance, as if he just wants to make me give in to the attraction raging inside me. And it's possible that it's just the dull fog that descends on my mind, imagining dubious meanings in every word, but I'm unable to say no to this invitation, if he's aware of what he's doing, if not.

"And if I ask the right questions, will I get the answers I'm interested in?" I ask with a cheeky smile on my lips, and I don't try to hide the defiant edge that moves into my voice, because I want him to know that I'm not afraid to indulge in this dangerous little game, because I wouldn't mind for a minute if I burned myself in the process. Especially if his touch would be the one boiling over my skin like a personalized branding.

And it seems that he understands exactly what he has started with his behavior, because although the material of the mask covers every single feature, I can tell from the small, amused wrinkles that gather around his eyes that he is very deliberately entertains himself by planting the sultry tension in the air of the small room, which sends a pleasant shiver down my spine. And this makes me wonder if I'm really in control of our little duel, because all I have to do is observe the vile little light that sparkles in his eyes, and I know that this conversation is going exactly where he wants it to.

"You can try." He notes, sort of casually, as if he hadn't just given me permission to use my sly tactics against him. Although he had already shared with me when we arrived here that our little fling in the infirmary had not taken his will of life away, and perhaps even enjoyed it, but this is different now. Now he is almost provoking me to find out how far I can go with my ploys, to see what awaits me on the other side of the wall he has built around himself. And I'd be a real fool if I didn't fulfill his request if he is asking so kindly.

"Even if I play dirty?" I keep pushing the question, because now that he has given his consent to my daring activity, I have neither the strength nor the desire to curb the urge of excitement bubbling in my stomach. My body moves almost by itself as I lean closer to him with slow movements, and as one of my sneaky hands finds his thigh, I can feel the hard muscles running there twitch for a moment, even through the rough material of the jeans. My palm is almost burned by the heat of his body, which radiates through the fabric, and I, almost holding my breath, look into his dark eyes, in which something quite dangerous glimmers. And the little voice in my head whispers that I have now voluntarily walked into the trap he set for me, like a silly little mouse who dances in front of the cat in the hope that it will not be eaten. But an unholy little part of me wouldn't mind if he would sink his claws into me and tear me apart if I had a chance to taste him that way.

And the air gets stuck in my lungs as he suddenly moves and bridges the tiny distance that separates the two of us, and my body instinctively stiffens in surprise, like a deer caught in a trap. His hot breath almost burns as he brushes his mouth against my ear, and I can't get the fantasy images out of my head, as I fall into the trap of his broad shoulders, when he puts one hand through my legs and rests it on the other side of my body frozen in startled excitement. Because it's projected in front of my mind's eye like a relfex, as he towers over me exactly like this, and I, pressed under his naked body, dig my nails into the skin of his back covered with thousands of small scars, as he moves between my thighs. And that's enough for me to bite my own tongue and hold back the lustful moan that threatens to come out of me with an almost desperate force.

"Go on. I'll look forward to it." He murmurs softly, and his deep voice is sin itself, because, like some poison, it creeps into my head through my ear canals and helps the daze to settle in my brain. I almost get dizzy as my nose fills with his scent, which I would already recognize even in my dreams, and which makes scorching fire arise in the pit of my stomach, and desire ripples through every fiber of me. My fingers clench involuntarily and my blunt nails dig into his strong thigh through the fabric, and the soft chuckle that breaks out of him is almost cruel when he realizes how pitifully he made me crumble with these few words.

But as quickly as he arrived, he leaves as suddenly, and I just blink in a daze after him as he falls back into the comfort of the sofa. It takes a few seconds for my head to clear from the intoxicating effect of his proximity, and for me to understand what happened. And as soon as my brain is able to produce coherent thoughts again, because I have banished the last intrusive, lustful fragment of imagination from it, then a wicked, but no less playful grin moves onto my face, because this reckless man doesn't know what he gave his blessing to. Because now I see more clearly than ever what it is that attracts me to him so much. Every tiny movement, every dark look, every word imbued with exciting danger lures me in, and I won't rest until I know what it's like when he loses his carefully built and iron-fisted control. I want to know what kind of fire lurks behind the harsh exterior, and there is nothing that can prevent me from reaching my goal. Especially when he encourages me so generously. Just be careful Riley…you don't know what I'm capable of.

⃰

"We're here!" Nik shouts over the noise of the engine, and I almost thank the heavens that I finally hear these words, because although my body indeed tolerated my second flight better than I had hoped, unfortunately, the contents of my stomach were also doing somersaults as if all its intentions would have been to try to break out of me. Luckily, the thousands of thoughts running through my head and the closeness of the masked Hunter sitting next to me beneficially distracted me from the attack of the stomach acid pooling in my throat. And although at first, I found it very interesting that he found my company so voluntarily, after our little discussion yesterday, I no longer question what his purpose might be. Because whatever is going on in his head, I have no reason to resist when he offers himself to me on a silver tray.

I don't have to look to feel Riley's gaze scanning my tortured features, and without words, I can guess that he is probably assessing carefully whether I will or won't let my breakfast meet the outside world. And although it moves my dark soul, that our relationship has already reached the point where he worries about my well-being, luckily my pride gives me a much stronger motivation to hide my weaknesses. So, as soon as this metal box called an airplane finally stops for good, I stretch out my limbs that have become stiff during the journey with a relieved sigh, thereby breathing life back into my body.

And when the peace of my biorhythm returns, then I only momentarily catch the cheeky grin spreading across MacTavish's mouth, who is sitting across from us, which makes only one of my eyebrows raise questioningly, because I find it difficult to understand why he is having so much fun. Like a well-arranged choreography, they took their seats after we said goodbye to our Spanish friends amid a myriad of good wishes, and even then I could see the cheerful sparks awakening in those light eyes, but I chalked it up to the excitement of the new action making him so excited. But now, as he comfortably stands up and grabs the shoulder straps of his tactical vest, and his gaze goes brazenly over the duo his bosom friend and I created, I have an irresistible desire to find out what the hell is his problem with the sharp words that wishes their way on my tongue.

However, I don't have time to formulate my speech full of selected colorful words, because Riley straightens up with a completely unexpected movement, as if he has just come to his senses from the deep meditation in which he have sunk during our journey. And as he casts his waiting eyes on me, I spring up too, because now instead of the interesting silent play, we have more important things to do. And despite the fact that the two Hunters exchange a quiet look before all three of us head towards the door opening from the cargo deck, although it awakens my curiosity, unfortunately, I have very little brain capacity left to analyze the behavior of the two men. Even when the curiosity that settles in my head begins to frantically scratch the inside of my skull.

The cold breeze brings the smell of rain, which tickles my face as we leave the plane, and the huge building in front of us is covered in sad grayness by the blanket of dark clouds gathering in the sky. It might seem ominous that on the next stage of our mission, the weather greets us with such a whimsical gift, but this cool wind is a relief after the almost suffocatingly warm air that we have had in the last few days. And this could be a lucky turn for us, because those dirtbag criminals wouldn't risk crossing the red zone in a storm, unless they have suicidal tendencies.

"You came earlier than we expected!" Comes a strong, accent-heavy greeting, and I, along with my other two companions, turn my head almost immediately in the direction of the sound to discover a figure covered in uniform and tactical equipment from the gate of the wire fence running on the side of the runway. It doesn't take much logic to figure out that one of our new companions showed up so kindly to welcome us, and it doesn't take much brain activity either to understand that the mask and sunglasses covering his face are not the only thing that triggers an instinctive feeling of caution in my head. Shepherd wasn't fooling around when he was looking for competent help, because even the reception committee is made up of an S-class big boy. Which could be good news on the one hand, but the aloof aura that the two Hunters suddenly put on doesn't escape my attention.

"We had no time to waste." MacTavish remarks, and instead of his companion, who has sunk into restrained distantness, he is the one who takes the first step to break the ice of the new situation, and crosses the distance separating him from the newcomer with a few long strides to extend his hand out to him. My Scottish friend takes on directness with his usual instinct, but I know him just well enough to catch the breath of tension creeping into his shoulders, which reveals that he is far from being as relaxed as he appears to be. And this again raises the question in me, what on earth did this private unit called KorTac do to deserve this precaution?

"Lucky for you, we also work quickly." Our host replies, and it would be impossible not to notice the confidence sweeping into his words. And it may even feel like bragging, as he fires off his comment, but it seems much more like a purposefully presented statement of fact, as if he just wanted to let us know that my two friends are not the only big dogs here. "Horangi." He accepts the extended hand of the Scottish Hunter to shake it with the same determination as before, and nothing but professionalism radiates from his movements.

"Soap." MacTavish also introduces himself, and then letting go of the hand of the very Korean-sounding Hunter, he turns to us. And this makes me wonder how was the very American colony able to lure him here, when presumably his own would have been willing to keep him there even by force. Interesting. "This is Ghost and Viper." The Scottish man presents our callsigns, and I don't even try to object to him referring to me by the name he invented, because maybe it's for the better if everyone else besides them knows me by it. It fills me with an unreasonable sense of security, even though the leader of Colony No. 17 has probably already filled our new companions in before the arrival of our small group.

"Shepherd already told us about you." Horangi nods towards us, thus confirming my already clear assumption. The old man has indeed become quite eager to please in order to protect his own skin, but it doesn't make up for the fact that we are now forced to slowly become world travelers precisely because of him. "Come, my partner is interrogating as we speak." The man cuts the excitement of the introduction short, then turns his back on us with self-evident relaxation and starts towards one of the hangars located in the yard of the base. But I'm much more baffled by what he wants to suggest than his easy demeanor, because it would be quite amazing if, in the span of twelve short hours, they had already laid their hands on such a person who could guide us closer to our destination leading to the separatist group.

"Who?" Riley finally speaks up, and his tone holds the right amount of suspicion, as if he too would find the suggestion that his colleagues are working at such an unexpected speed quite unbelievable. Because that pace would be truly astounding, as it would mean that they began to work the moment Price had his little chat with the colony leader, which wouldn't be much of a feat in itself, however, if they actually found someone in such a short time, from whom they can extract useful information, it's equivalent to a miracle. And this gives me quite dubious feelings at best, because it raises the small question of how much dirtier and more brutal methods they have, if they achieve such rapid results with it. And it immediately becomes evident why these two tough guys became so grim when the captain mentioned who we would be working with. Because only one type of man and Hunter works so enthusiastically. The one who can be bought with hard money. Which basically wouldn't be a problem, except that even my less experienced self knows about such groups that they aren't afraid to carry out highly questionable actions if they are backed with enough credits. Shepherd… you sneaky old piece of shit. You don't leave it to chance, do you? Now the only question is whether you paid them to watch us while we spend our days together on the mission…

"We found a weak link at dawn." The Korean man says quite cheerfully, and it would be impossible not to hear the boasting from the way he tells about their achievement. And it could only be deliberately ignored, how the jaw of the masked Hunter, walking next to me, tenses under the black fabric in a blink of an eye. Off to a great start. I wasn't wrong about the competition either. "And if it's up to my partner, that birds definitely started singing by now." He adds with quite a bit of malice, and just from this one sentence it becomes clear that his friend can't be less dangerous than he is.

Without another word, we just silently follow our new tour guide, who leads us through the hangar's wide-open entrance into the spacious hall, where serious-faced little soldiers work with much more discipline than I have ever experienced back in our modest little home. It's enough to observe how they respectfully, but no less rigidly, greet the Hunter galloping at the head of our little team, and I immediately know that it's not Price's paternal but benevolent strictness that reigns here, but that someone holds these people in a much bigger iron fist. Which doesn't directly mean bad, but it says enough about the one who runs the unit.

And Horangi leads us with unceasing enthusiasm towards a battered container, the door of which suddenly opens, and we get close enough for me to see a broken body bathed in the paleness of the neon light, which, curling up on the ground, begins to whimper softly, like a tortured, wounded animal. But I don’t have the opportunity to study the wretch any longer, for a dark figure appears on the threshold, more gigantic than I have ever seen in my life. The man, with cool calmness, wipes the blade clutched in his gloved hand with a dirty rag, and when he thinks his weapon is clean enough, he slides it back into one of the many holsters resting on his tactical vest with the tenderness of a gentle lover. And there is something viscerally disdainful in the way he throws the dirty piece of cloth behind his back and takes one last look at the poor guy, who begins to sob on the floor, before turning all his attention to our group, which has just stopped in front of him.

"I made him talk." He declares simply, and I can't take my eyes off him, because shock settles in me with instinctive speed, which makes a thousand little voices in my head scream at the same time: be careful! Because, as those cold blue eyes survey my companions, and then slowly settle on me, I know for sure that this guy is so dangerous that all the precautions our captain warned us to take are justified. What on earth did they stuff this dude with to make him so big!?

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