#(( all the good parts are nearly dead and all that's left are thorns and scales and flames and a cold body barely breathing

[royalreef]

       Meanwhile, she is still waiting for some dashing knight to come by, her true love, to sweep her off her feet and take her away and save her!! To go someplace far, far away where she can live happily forevermore! Someone has to still be holding out for a hero, and Miranda is all too happy to fit that bill.

[diskwrite-ffxiv]

ffxivwrite 2021 - #17 Destruct

Continued from #15 Thunderous - ( first | second | third )

Gridania, 1565 6AE

The bell was nearly up by the time Shandrelle returned, and if it was possible she was only more cross. First the air had changed the moment she reached the creek. If had only been able to get down to her picnic spot on time she’d have been able to eat in peace in that perfect spot on a span of flat warm rock right beside the creek bed, where she would lay out her blanket and soak in the quiet solitude punctuated only by the garrulous contributions of birds and frogs as she gradually consumed the crisp sandwich Ezette had made for her that morning, alongside half a jar of spiced apples she’d purloined from the pantry and a mug of wine.

But no! Instead she had to hunch under the large oak tree that oversaw the outcrop, clasping her meal beneath her to guard it from the errant raindrops that rolled through the foliage, battering her nerves in solid wet plops, then a stream.

Then the rain stopped but moments after she left her shelter. As if the gods found all of this funny somehow. Well if they did, she wasn’t laughing! Instead she was stuck smearing water from her forehead and ringing out the edge of her robes, but there was nothing to be done for her underclothes which would assuredly slick to her skin as if she was a drenched rat until she managed to run home.

If she had been in any other mood she’d have abandoned her outdoor lunch and skittered back to somewhere drier the moment the weather turned, but this whole affair had already wasted at least a third of a bell, and she would be damned if she let Ojene ruin the rest of it!

And so, soaked to the bone and shivering in the breeze, clutching a water-slick basket over her arm, Shandrelle scowled at the empty space where she’d left Ojene to begin with.

“You’d better be hiding,” she called out. “Because if you’ve gone and vanished on me after all that, I am going to be very cross.”

“I’m here,” came a voice behind her.

With a yelp, Shandrelle spun round to see Ojene standing there - how was she dry? - as if she’d been there the whole time. “Good gods, don’t scare me like that! Matron, have your feet ever made a sound? Sit down.”

Ojene obliged, and silently, claiming her spot on the now-damp fallen tree. Frown deepening, Shandrelle flipped one side of the basket up and, claiming two of its contents, poured the rest of her wineskin out into her glazed pewter mug, then with an audible huff stuffed it into Ojene’s hands.

“Tell me everything,” Shandrelle proclaimed. “But maybe not everything because I don’t have a surfeit of time. The brief notes, for now, to give me the gist.”

Ojene blinked, staring down at the mug as befuddlement creased between her brows. “Wine?”

“Yes,” Shandrelle snapped, and she gestured sharply. “Drink!”

Grimacing, Ojene set it to the side, balanced in a splintered crook of the fallen tree where old lichens scaled the bark between intermittent shelves of fungi, and she folded her hands together at her knees, hunched forward. Despite the fact that she had escaped the rain, she somehow seemed bedraggled in a way Shandrelle hadn’t noticed before- the leather armor she wore was scuffed in places, caked here and there in dirt and filth, and there was a gauntness to her face that Shandrelle suspected wasn’t just the product of long years past.

“I went to Ala Mhigo,” Ojene said, “from the start. I expect you heard what happened?”

Shandrelle’s arms twitched in surprise. “Yes- of course! Who here hasn’t?”

“Well,” her eyes averted to the ground, “I was there for a good long time. Fighting the Garleans. Helping people. Doing everything I could, no matter what it cost…. Did you ever go there after I left?”

“No,” Shandrelle answered regretfully. “I didn’t. When the city fell at most I wound up in the east, healing those who were. Or the refugees.”

Ojene nodded. “The refugees,” she repeated softly. "That’s the main thing I did- helped them get far enough so you lot could take them to- wherever they needed to go. The Garleans- they are truly terrible, Shandrelle. I’ve never seen anything like it before or since.”

“Not even here?” Shandrelle asked before she could stop herself, and a bitter laugh burbled silently behind her teeth.

“Not even here.” Ojene’s eyes flicked up, meeting Shandrelle’s with a vivid intensity that- Shandrelle noticed in an instant- lacked the lethality it had before, for the dagger was safely sheathed at Ojene’s hip. “It all pales by comparison. And they’ve sought to bring the rest of Eorzea to heel, too.”

A prickling seared down Shandrelle’s spine. “I saw the wall,” she blurted. “The thing they’re building… it might even be done, now. Did you come here across it?”

Again, Ojene nodded. “Though not in the last few moons. Suppose it’s just as well, since my work was getting exponentially harder since they started ramping that damned thing up, but I’m entrenched on this side of it now, for better or for worse.”

“All right,” Shandrelle breathed, “well- what does this have to do with my family?”

“Your family,” Ojene uttered, and a muscle flickered in her jaw. Again, she glanced away, but if Shandrelle didn’t know better she’d have called their silhouette troubled somehow, though she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why she thought it. “It started a couple years ago,” Ojene said. “First it started with the Garleans. I’d been trying my best to be a thorn in their side, true, but it was odd that they sent people for me specifically. Trying to catch me out, or by surprise. There were better people for them to go after, I’d always thought. Or at least, other people. It made little sense that they were always out for me.”

“But then,” Ojene continued, and her eyes jerked back, regarding Shandrelle through their corners, “one time we brought a new crop of refugees past the Wall, and it wasn’t a Garlean who attacked me, but an Eorzean.”

“An Eorzean?” Shandrelle repeated, dumbfounded.

“Yes- a mercenary, and of the sort seeking their fortune around these parts. It’s not the first time the Garleans got Eorzeans to do their bidding of course, beyond the people they’d already enslaved, but something seemed odd about the whole thing. I tried to get that one to talk to no avail, but the second one told me the truth. That some Gridanian paid her to do it. And when I got to the bottom of it, there was only a single name behind it.”

Blithely, Ojene shrugged. “Roiveaux,” she said.

“Roiveaux,” Shandrelle repeated, and a shiver rippled through her shoulders. “You’re sure?”

“Positive. It’s all I was ever able to get, beyond a hunch now and again that the attackers I dealt with that day weren’t Garlean either, but now I’m on the other side of the Wall and I just- want it to stop.”

Biting her lip, Shandrelle skated one hand over her rain-slicked hair. “Damn,” she breathed. “I’m sorry, Ojene- I had no idea this was happening to you.”

“I’m a little relieved to hear it- to be honest.” Quickly, Ojene’s gaze fastened to her folded hands- only to flick back up at Shandrelle shortly after. “After dealing with them for so long- I had no idea what to expect. No notion of who to trust. It’s an agony of a sort.”

With a deep sigh, Shandrelle nodded, and despite herself some small layer of spiteful anger cracked, dissolving its contents into something gentler. “So that’s what that whole- incident was about. Well, I’ll forgive you, Ojene- though I don’t know if I really should- as long as you promise not to go shoving any more blades in my face.”

Ojene flinched, and yet as her fingertips curled into the beds between her opposite fingers, her face twisted in a quiet frown. “You have to understand my position here. Even now as I tell you all of this, I don’t know if you’re someone I can trust. If you’re a person who is willing to go against your own family. Or an empire. You might think you are-” she bullied on, cutting off Shandrelle as she opened her mouth, “but a person’s mettle never shows until it’s tested. You say you don’t want to harm me and- I could believe that. But what happens when you have to choose?”

“Between you- and my family you mean?”

Quietly, Ojene nodded. “It could happen. And if you chose to help me, it probably will. Are you sure you could handle that?”

“I mean…” Shandrelle tossed up her hands, though the weight of the basket swinging on one arm stayed it at her side. “I don’t know! When you put it that way, I couldn’t say. But I’d like to think I could. Unless it turns out you’ve lied to me or some shite and you’ve really become some sort of criminal they’re out to hang.”

Ojene smiled, and darkly, a bitterly humorless note that seized something in Shandrelle’s gut, like a rabbit frozen in the bush. “Not unless you have. Very well. A test, then. Do you come down this path often?”

“Er…” Shandrelle shifted on her heels. “Every day I get the chance, usually. Which isn’t always, but often enough.”

“Then, let’s give it a week. You’ll come back here and meet me at this same bell. You won’t confide in anyone what we spoke of, or even that you’ve seen me at all. And, if you’d be so obliged, you’ll take a peek in whatever ledgers you can to see if there’s mention of me. Wailer records would likely be the best start.”

“Wailers-” Shandrelle gasped. “That’s assuming I can even get to those!”

“Perhaps not. But if you’re to help me with this, it’s largely that sort of work I’ll need you to do. Not with Wailers specifically, but reconnaissance in general. Spying. You know, the lot.” Ojene’s eyes narrowed sharply. “If you can’t figure out how to do that- well. You were always smart. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Without preamble, Ojene climbed to her feet, and leaving the mug of wine untouched in its dead wood cradle, she turned into the thicket of foliage. “In a week!” she called over her shoulder, then with barely more than a rustle of leaves vanished from view.

Alone Shandrelle stood by the vetch, eyes rapidly fluttering as her mind struggled round the pieces.

“Ojene!” she yelled into nothing. “That’s not very nice of you, Ojene!”

Only silence responded.

[spaceskam]

no more fading, the night is waiting

Day 2 and 3 of @alexmanesappreciation weekend because loss and reunion❤️ warning: temporary character death, depression-adjacent

ao3

It was difficult to explain the loss of a soulmate when no one knew you had one in the first place.

"Alex, c'mon, I know it's hard, but it's been two weeks," Kyle said softly as he sat at the foot of the bed. Alex just laid there, staring blankly ahead.

Two weeks. Two weeks without Michael. Two weeks of that aching feeling in his chest. Two weeks of watching that pretty golden, leafy pattern fade from the skin covering his ribs. He hadn't looked at it in a week, too terrified to see if it was gone for good.

He remembered Isobel and Max stripping Michael to put him in the pod, sharing uneasy looks as they saw the soulmark they’d only seemed to notice then. He'd told Alex it was no one's business but his. His and Alex's. Sure, he knew other people had seen it, hook ups in particular, but most people knew not to touch spaces that weren't theirs to touch. 75% of the population had soulmarks, but only 10% had them as big as Alex and Michael's.

His body would be bare without it.

“You need to get out of bed,” Kyle urged. 

The request was an empty one and they both knew it. Alex had tried to get out of bed before. Everything hurt and, if it didn’t hurt, it felt hollow. What was he without that warmth in his chest, that constant reminder that he wasn’t alone?  

“I know you miss him, but...”

“How much do you know about soulmates?” Alex asked softly. It’d been on his mind recently and he’d been too scared to look it up. The mark was fading. What happened when it faded completely? And what, really, was the point of the mark at all? Was it just there to mock you?

Kyle was quiet for a moment and Alex could feel the way the air shifted as he realized why he was asking.

“Oh, Alex,” he breathed, sounding far too much like an empathetic mother. He came closer without any more elaboration and Alex could’ve cried as he laid behind him. His arms wrapped around him and he curled against him, holding him and trying his damnedest to be the best friend he could be. This wasn’t something they did, but, fuck, he needed it.

A hot tear slid from his eye onto the pillow beneath his cheek. The worst part about losing Michael was that he didn’t really have anything left of him. They’d been on shitty terms at the time, so nothing smelled like him. Michael only had a few possessions and those were either taken over by someone else or they’d been sworn off for when he came back. If he came back. How long until they knew if he would or not?

“I’m so sorry,” Kyle told him, “Is... I hate to even ask, but is the mark still there?”

“Fading,” Alex admitted, voice weak. It hurt to say it out loud.

Kyle laid there for a minute with him, just holding him and giving him comfort. But then he jumped up. Alex usually would’ve been startled, but he was too tired to even have a feasible reaction time.

“Let me see it,” he demanded. Alex blinked slowly.

“What?”

“Let me see it,” Kyle repeated, grabbing Alex’s arms and forcing him to sit up, “If it’s still there and obvious enough, we might be able to save him. Do you know how strong the bond was on the Scale?”

“No,” Alex said, shaking his head. He’d always been too scared to figure it out. 

Still, he slowly started to take his shirt off. Kyle helped him get it off all the way and instantly started looking at the mark. It took up over half his chest and back, golden vines with leaves and thorns spreading from a place on his side. It mirrored Michael’s perfectly and, when they touched them, they would glow. He remembered how giddy both of them had been when they discovered that at 17, giggling at the rush it gave them to have things fall into place. They were so young; they found each other so early. The memory brought a new wave of tears.

Alex inhaled sharply as Kyle pressed his fingers into the fading mark, not nearly the same shimmery gold it’d been before, but it still rejected someone else’s touch all the same. Kyle looked at him with excited eyes.

“It still affects you?” he clarified. Alex nodded. “We need to get to the pod now.”

“Why? I can’t do anything,” Alex said, shaking his head. The idea of just having to relive losing Michael again was not something he could take. It was hard enough. He refused to get his hopes up.

But Kyle looked so sure.

“If this doesn’t work, you can kill me,” Kyle said, grabbing his hands, “But let me try.”

Reluctantly, Alex agreed.

-

Alex was weak.

He hadn’t been eating right and hadn’t been getting around and it made it nearly impossible to walk. He leaned on Kyle more than he wanted to and still sat down the moment he got into the cave, feeling even more drained. Everyone else was already there. Kyle had called them.

The secret was out.

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” Max demanded. Alex could barely hear him, his eyes forward.

Michael was beautiful even in death. He was in the pod, floating and looking more peaceful that Alex had ever seen him awake. Part of Alex wanted to crawl inside with him, block out the entire world and just be nothing together. That would fill that hole, it had to.

“He’s not Alex right now, yelling at him won’t help,” Kyle said, grabbing Max’s arm and pulling him away. He’s not Alex right now. Was that it? He wasn’t himself? Had Michael stolen a piece of him that big? “It can take months after the mark fades for soulmates to adjust. His mark is still there.”

Alex became a little more aware when Kyle was in front of him, holding a needle in front of his eyes and explaining they needed a blood sample from beneath the mark and, because of the placement, it might hurt. 

“What exactly are we doing?” Alex asked, eyes reluctantly leaving Michael for a moment.

“There’s a theory that if someone dies of natural causes, blood from their soulmate’s mark, as long as their bond is a 5 or higher, mixed with a hydrogen solution followed by a shock from a defibrillator can revive them if it’s within 30 minutes of their death,” Kyle explained, giving him a hopeful glance, “And he’s frozen in time.”

Alex refused to get his hopes up. He refused. Besides, if it worked, Michael didn’t want him. What was the point of wishful thinking?

His eyes drifted to Isobel and Max and Liz and Maria, all of them staring at him like they expected him to do this. This was his job. To bring him back for them. Maria didn’t even seem angry or guilty that he was his soulmate. Did she know? Would it hurt him more if she did?

Yes.

“He didn’t die of natural causes,” Alex said. He knew he didn’t. He saw the poison fill his bloodstream and light his veins on fire from the inside out, killing his entire nervous system in a quick fifteen minutes. It was the most horrifying fifteen minutes of his life.

“That poison they filled him with, though?” Kyle said, “It was a natural occurring chemical in aliens, just a higher dosage. I’m hoping it’ll still work.”

“It won’t.”

“Alex,” Isobel said, “Please. Let’s just try.”

It was then that he realized it wasn’t about him. It never really was, was it? So he leaned back and let Kyle do his thing.

His heart clenched like it always did when someone else touched his mark, his body rejecting anything that wasn’t Michael. When it faded completely, would he still feel it? It didn’t matter. Kyle brought his blood sample over to Liz and they got to work.

“Are you okay?” Maria asked him, coming closer. When he looked up at her, he had to question if she was joking or not. Did he look okay? She knelt in front of him and started to put a band-aid over where the blood had been drawn. “You two were a 7 on the Scale, you know that?”

His entire body hurt at that simple little statement.

“He told you that?” Alex asked. Had Michael taken the test without him? Had he figured out something Alex hadn’t? Did he know that and still chose to not want him? 

“No,” Maria sighed, giving a sad little smile, “But I’ve studied the different levels a lot. Always been curious of what I can’t have since I’m apart of the 25%. You two are a classic case of 7′s.”

“There’s cases of the 25% growing soulmarks after forming a bond,” Alex said because apparently his job was the comfort her when he felt like he was dying from a missing organ.

“Yeah, I know,” she sighed, “Silly me thought that maybe, since he’s alien, he could grow another one.”

Alex involuntarily flinched under her touch, feeling burned by that statement. She pulled her hands away and looked up at him.

“I was being selfish, Alex, and I’m sorry. I’m backing off,” she said. He furrowed his eyebrows, tears pricking his eyes as he shook his head.

“He’s dead, Maria,” Alex said, baffled by her insistence that now that she literally could not have him and that no one else could, now she would let go, “There’s nothing to back off of.”

“The circumstances are good,” she responded, still somehow calm and collected, “It’s not over for you two.”

Maria stood up and walked back over to the other two aliens. Alex was cold and hurt and he wanted to leave, but he couldn’t seem to remove his eyes from the ridiculous necromancy his friends were trying to perform on his soulmate. 

Liz and Kyle pulled Michael out of the body, his body still slick and lifeless. They laid him out on a blanket and worked fast. Liz wiped down the spot over his mark and then quickly stabbed the syringe into it, filling him with Alex’s blood like this was normal. Alex, however, could feel it. He could feel the mark reacting and he could feel the way his blood mingled with Michael’s even though nothing was attached to him.

When Kyle grabbed the defibrillator and put it on his chest, shocking him to try and bring him back, Alex gasped. All eyes stayed on Michael, no one witnessing the way Alex began to burn from the inside out. His mark slowly but surely was strengthening, becoming more gold with each passing second and beginning to glow. It wasn’t a good feeling though. It hurt. It felt like this was the end.

Was this how Michael had felt in his last moments too?

It wasn’t until Alex had fallen forward onto his hands and knees, gasping for air, that anyone reacted. Isobel came to his side and tried to steady him, but it hurt all the same. This was a bad idea. Everything about this was bad. Bad, bad, bad, ba--

“Alex?”

Silence overcame the cave outside of Michael’s coughing. He would cough and then try to say Alex’s name and then cough again. Max brought him water and tried to help. Alex could barely even comprehend what was going on. He was still aching, but his eyes were on him. Because he was back.

“Alex?” he called again, “Are you okay?”

For the first time in weeks, Alex laughed. He laughed through the pain and laughed through the shock and laughed through everything.

“Am I okay?” he asked, still tired and weak and yet unable to take his eyes off his zombie soulmate. “You died.”

They stared at each other, unable to even factor in the fact that everyone else was still there. The whole cave was full of people and there was a large gap of space between them, but it was just them. Alex’s blood was still too hot beneath his skin, but his mark slowly began to relax once it knew he was okay. Once it knew they were bonded once more.

“Alex,” Michael said again.

“Michael,” Alex said right back. They both breathed and slowly sunk into the ground again. Reviving a whole man was exhausting.

But it didn’t matter. He was home.

[dainty-baneberry]

Prompt #24: Beam

He had been tailing her since the Nine Ives. The man who had paid him to kill her had warned him that she had an unusual ability to teleport long distances via Aetheryte. Something that would normally leave people weakened, and suffering from aether sickness if they attempted too long of a journey.

Torrister had had no choice, however, than to take the long teleport from Limsa Lominsa to the Gridanian Twelveswood. A graduate of the Rogues Guild Torrister made his living as an information gatherer. Cheating husbands were his usual specialty but for the right colour coin he'd tail anyone. And if the colour was a particularly deep shade of gold, he'd ensure his quarry didn't come home again. Torrister hadn't caught the name of man who had paid him to dispose of the woman he now trailled and he hadn't asked. The fat coin purse on his hip was more than incentive enough to not ask that kind of question. Nor did he asked why he was being paid to dispatch the Marauders Guild's star trainee. The equally fat purse he had been promised on his return guaranteed he asked no questions. She was moving North on foot. Skirting the edge of Josselin's Spire and continuing on towards the Bramble Patch. Torrister was glad she didn't turn East towards Little Solace. The Sylphs there always did give Torrister the creeps. It seemed his quarry was in the mood for a little sport. There was a profusion of diseased treants located within that grove, and wild boar besides. Treants were normally peaceful beings but these ones had been afflicted with aetherical root rot and would violently attack anyone who straight near their long, ungainly arms. Torrister watched from the cover of a fallen long, he was a thickly built Highlander Hyur but could move with a stealth that had surprised his masters. For several moments he waited as she engaged the beast. He was passingly familiar with the woman. Anyone who lived in Limsa Lominsa was. Her pale scales and strange, horn like cranial projections tended to draw the eye until one got used to seeing her about the place. He couldn't help but note her skill and efficiency in dispatching the diseased treant. Her axe fairly floated in her hands. It was a massive, crudely sized weapon that would have looked more at home in the hands of a grown Roegadyn than the small Au Ra woman who wielded it. It was a pity, Torrister thought, that he had to kill her. It was clear she could have become a truly great Marauder, possibly even exceeding her guild master in ability, had she enough time to do so. Still, a job was a job. Torrister had a thirst that no amount of tailing lecherous sailors could ever quench. Even as his quarry down the treant he was licking his lips, already able to taste the bottle of ale he would be able to purchase with the coin on his hip. Not just one but a great many more besides. It was going to be a good night, he just had to wait for the right moment to make his move. So far she had been fighting with her face towards him, and although Torrister did not fear her skill with an axe he didn't much fancy finding out if that was a mistake on his part. He needed her back, to slip in, do the dead and get out again before she was any the wiser that he was there. Everyone would assume she'd simply gotten too cocky in her choice of sport and the treant had made a mess of her. She was known to be arrogant. And she was on the move again. Torrister followed silently as the Au Ra woman left the Bramble Patch. She veered left suddenly, passing through a massive hollow fallen tree that was half sunk into the earth. The dank tunnel momentarily blinded Torrister as he entered it, his eyes still adjusted to the bright sunshine of the Bramble Patch. A small shiver went through Torrister as he realized where his quarry was heading. Larkscall. This was Sylphlands and it showed instantly as Torrister emerged from the narrow, thorn flanked passage way. Darkness clouded overhead, a thick miasma of gray that allowed only the faintest of sun beams to reach the forest floor. Enchanted lamps lit the grassy path. On each side the cliffs were curtained with thick moss and twisted roots. They rose sharply, making climbing them all but impossible. Torrister's dark eyes scanned back and forth, trying to pick up a hint of his prey's movement without exposing himself. Slowly, his footsteps carefully weighted to ensure they made no sound, Torrister crept forwards. Normal Sylphs were bad enough but Larkscall was home to the Sylvans. Sylphs whom had been tempered by the Primal Ramuh and were now his fanatically devoted subjects. He rounded a corner, and realized his mistake too late. Sylvans. A whole group of them were upon him in an instant. He could have held is own against one or two of them. He was very, very good with his blades but not the profusion that had suddenly appeared. He had no choice but to flee, turning tail and running for the hallow log. His quarry, his ale and the prize of a second fat coin purse gone from his mind in pure, unadulterated panic. He threw himself through the tunnel, mud and dirt caking his knees as he stumbled once and scrambled forwards on hands and knees until he could get his feet back beneath him. It was then that he heard it. A second set of footsteps, whisper light, just behind his. Cold and bitter the hard edge of her axe took his gut, slamming him violently into one of the thorn clad gnarled roots that lined the tunnel. Torrister gasped, and gurgled on his own blood. Turning just in time for his eyes to meet the magenta and orange limbal ringed eyes of his quarry. In the darkness the limbal rings half glowed. Her axe bit into him again but she herself was silent. In vain he struggled to escape her, or get half a grip on his knives to mount a defense. It was useless. His mind too panicked by the sight of the Sylphs and his body too constricted in the narrow passageway and already off his game from the long teleport. She was a tiny, slender thing but Torrister was a highlander hyur. He couldn't get away from her. She had baited him into a trap of her own making, taking advantage of their height difference, hiding in the darkness of the tunnel. He had completely missed her, deathly still and crouched against the tunnel walls when he went through in pursuit of her. He had been functionally night blind thanks to the bright sunshine of the Bramble Patch and not giving his eyes time to adjust to the dark. Torrister fell to his knees, blood staining the fabric of his clothes from several nasty slash wounds. The hand pressed at his gut oozed blood from between his gloved fingers. Her first blow had been very nearly a mortal one. “Please...” he croaked, teeth stained pink and the bitter metallic taste of blood in his mouth. “... please...” She could kill him. She knew she could. Not just because she had the skill, and had taken him wholly unawares but because it would not grieve her to do so. Whoever, or whatever she had been before the Calamity had destroyed her memory it had been someone who had killed before. Dainty holstered her axe. She walked past Torrister, pausing momentarily to relieve him of his coin purse before continuing on. Torrister hauled himself shakily to his feet, swayed and leaned heavily against the side of the tunnel for support. She was illuminated by a single sun beam. It dazzled the woman's pale scales as she stepped out into the Bramble Patch, not even bothering to glance back in condescendingly at the Rogue she had left wallowing in the mud and his own blood. Never again – Torrister vowed silently, his hands shaking and slimy as he made an attempt at the hi-potions he kept inside his jerkin for emergencies. No drink would ever be worth his life and that had very, very nearly cost him his life.

[skvaderarts]

Soliloquy Prologue:

If you’d Like to you can read it on A03 Here, FF.N Here or Wattpad Here! Oh, and my Website Here! Almost forgot

Otherwise, you can read it below! Enjoy the Megafic! Info can be found here

Read Below:

"Love seeketh not itself to please, Nor for itself hath any care, But for another gives its ease, And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair." -William Blake

Prologue:

And as soon as the battle had started, it stopped. All the demons that had been foolish enough to think that they stood a chance against the sons of Sparda now laid dead at their feet. Well, for now, at least. The base of the Qliphoth seemed to be an epicenter for demon activity, and it was never very long before they decided to return in mass quantities. And as entertaining as defeating the first hundred or so waves of hell beasts had been, it was long past time to leave this place.

Dante pulled his blade out of what remained of a Chaos carcass and flicked it clean before returning it to its proper place on his back. The devil hunter did a full 360 turn, taking in the perimeter of destruction they had wrought. The average demon didn’t stand a chance against him, but both of them together? The word “futile” came to mind. Dante shook his head and scoffed to himself. “They just don’t stop, do they?”

Behind him, Vergil twirled Yamato and dragged it along its scabbard to remove the residual blood before returning it to its proper place. He then spared a glance over his shoulder at Dante. “What made you think that they would in the first place, brother? This is the underworld. They’re not going to let up anytime soon, I can assure you of that.”

Dante sighed tiredly. Yea, there was no way he could have guessed that one with his brother’s assistance. But regardless of how obvious the statement was, the point he made was still valid. During their extended stay down here, Dante hadn’t really taken the time to consider the situation in full until now. The fighting was never going to end, and they had no safe area to call home. And then there was the conversation that they both knew they needed to have, but neither of them seemed to want to initiate.

The matter of how long they were going to stay down here.

“So, Vergil, I’ve gotta ask,” Dante said as he walked towards his twin brother. Vergil was standing with his back to him, looking at something far off in the distance that his younger brother couldn’t quite pinpoint. He seemed lost in thought; focused. He tilted his head ever so slightly in Dante’s general direction but was still clearly more focused on his prior observations. “How the hell did you get out of this place without Yamato?”

Vergil looked almost amused by the question. Of all the things his younger twin brother could’ve asked, that was his question? It was almost ironic. “...That is…” Vergil paused for a moment as if searching for the correct word”... It’s convoluted, to say the least. I would demonstrate but…”. Vergil didn’t need to say that it was an awful idea. Dante had deduced that one for himself from his brother’s tone alone.

“Got it. Let’s just hope we don’t need to do it again.” Dante shrugged. He didn’t think Vergil was going to try to explain that one, and part of him honestly didn’t want to know. It was probably something awful, considering Vergil’s track record. Their father Sparda had made it nearly impossible for more powerful demons to leave the underworld. Too bad he hadn’t left an instruction manual to go with his magic wards. It could have solved more than a few problems…

Vergil stepped forward and used Yamato to gesture towards whatever he had been looking at in the distance before. “We may have more luck over there.”

Dante looked towards what his brother was indicating. If he strained his eyes, he could just make out something red and jagged in the distance. A row of red thorn-like structures extended out across the horizon in what looked like a wall of some sort. Or that was what he thought it was from where they currently were. If distance worked the same way in the Underworld that it did in the human world, that had to be a few miles away. But, it wasn't like they had anywhere better to go, and they couldn't be any more exposed to attack than they were now.

The younger Son of Sparda opted to accept the offer and waved Vergil on, indicating that he was willing to follow him. After all, Vergil had spent a long time down here. A very long time. If anyone knew their way around this place, then it was going to be him. Vergil started down the well-worn path that led away from what was left of the Qliphoth. It would be good to leave this place behind them. It might now lay dead at their feet, cut to the ground by their blades, but it still served as a powerful reminder of Vergil's destructive and frankly tragically misguided desire for power at all costs. There would be a time and a place for that conversation, but that time hadn't come yet and it wasn't something either of them relished. For now, they would go to whatever the mysterious structure was in the distance and regroup. Perhaps they could take a break and collect their thoughts for a moment when they arrived.

-~-

The first leg of their long walk was surprisingly uneventful. Only a small handful of lesser Empusa bothered to stand in their path, most likely displaced from their home and purpose after the destruction of the Qliphoth and the sealing of the Hellgate the monstrous houseplant had housed. It was official: Vergil was never, under any circumstances, allowed to garden again. Anyone who could conger up the demonic equivalent of the magic beanstalk from Jack and the Beanstalk couldn't be trusted with plants to any capacity. If only Vergil could find a hobby that didn't end in people dying...

As they had continued onward, however, things had become a bit more hazardous. And as they neared their destination, things took a radical turn towards danger. The first dozen or two Empusa Queens hadn't been too hard to deal with. They were nothing new. But then the Behemoths decided to team up with the Chaos and Riot demons, and the Lusachia started showing up in droves. It was all a bit much to deal with at once, but when the Pyrobats showed up, they decided that they were done casually dealing with this. Dante's twin pistols Ebony and Ivory made quick work of the flying menaces, while Vergil took out the Behemoth's with concerning speed and efficiency. As soon as the last Pyrobat had died, Dante turned his attention to the Chaos. It had seemingly been sizing him up from across the battleground for a while now, waiting for the perfect moment to attack.

Dante bent over and placed his hands on his knees, gesturing between himself and the demon playfully. "What's wrong little guy, all bark and no bite?"

The demon, seemingly understanding Dante's little jab at him, snarled in rage before coiling up into a tight blade-lined disk and rocketing towards him at blistering speed. Dante smirked to himself and drew Cavaliere, readying it for a charge attack. Just a the demon was about to collide with him, Dante effortlessly swung the hulking bike blade into the hapless creature, shattering its razor-sharp bladed scales in an explosion of fuel fueled flames and exploding sparks. With just one well-placed strike, he had immobilized and disoriented the creature, effectively killing it. With one last powerful over the shoulder downward strike, he finished off the creature. The confused beast cried out in a mixture of pain and shock before flopping down onto the ground and dying.

Dante put Cavaliere away and stood back up just in time to come face to face with a Riot. He leaped backward several feet the very instant that the creature's long needle-like claws would have connected with his throat, reaching back to retrieve his blade from its resting place on his back as he landed. Just as he stepped forward to imbed his blade into the screeching demon's brain, a blindingly fast downward strike from Yamato's blade took the creature by surprise in much the same way that it had attempted to do with Dante. The demon howled in pain one last time as Vergil slowly sheathed his blade with a ringing click that sent the creature careening to the floor in two halves. Yamato's blade had split it down the middle effortlessly.

The area was once again silent with only the ambient sounds of the underworld to provide any indications of life. The twins were left facing each other surrounded yet again by the corpses of their enemies. Dante shook his head and let out a sound somewhere between a snort and a loud exhale as Vergil looked down at the dead monstrosity at his feet. If the younger twin hadn't known his older brother better, he would have sworn that he had just come to his rescue. Not that he particularly needed it, but it did seem that way.

Vergil stepped over the fallen demon and walked past Dante, heading in the direction they had been going in before. It was much easier to discern now that they were so close. It was a wall of demonic thorn-covered trees with dead-looking semi translucent black leaves sparsely covering them. The ground looked much like a hardened pyroclastic flow, white glowing vines snaking across the ground as they pulsated with a faint luminescence. Through the treeline, what seemed to be a river snaked through the underbrush against the bottom of a cliff face before flowing over the edge of the plateau the surrounding area was perched on. The deep azure liquid had an almost silver sheen to it that meant that it was almost certainly not water but was mystifying nonetheless.

"I get the idea that you've killed a lot of those." Dante kidded as he caught up with him, noting the way that his brother had effortlessly finished off the Chaos.

Vergil glanced back at him as he approached, slowing slightly as if to allow his brother a chance to catch up. "I lost count or care long before today of how many of those useless pests I've exterminated. They are innumerable and seemingly unending." Vergil spoke in a way that indicated to Dante that he was more than over dealing with these creatures. It was almost funny how sick of them he seemed to be. But considering how long he'd spent dealing with them, it made sense.

After a few minutes of nearly silent walking, they reached the treeline. As Dante stepped forward, Vergil held out his arm, stopping just shy of touching his twin brother. Dante raised an eyebrow at him, but took the hint and halted his movement. Had Vergil changed his mind? Was this the wrong place? Did he hear something? "Change your mind, Vergil?" Dante inquired passively. Whatever the issue was, he hadn't clued into it.

Vergil lowered his arm and tilted his head in the direction of the treeline. They were standing close to one of the red and black thorn-covered trees. "... I'd advise against touching one of these barbed trees."

Dante looked back and forth between Vergil and the trees. Yes, they looked like oversized thorn bushes, but they weren't exactly walking through this place naked. Vergil closed his eyes and exhaled, clueing into his brother's lack of concern. "These are Daturademonica, a relative of the Qliphoth. Only instead of feeding on human blood, they have an unquenchable thirst for the souls of the living. And unlike the Qliphoth, they are sentient."

Sentient demon trees that sucked the souls out of their victims. Just what they needed. "So if these things suck your soul out if you touch them or whatever, what are we doing here?" Dante inquired, totally at a loss for what could possibly be worth going into this deathtrap over.

Vergil took a step towards said deathtrap, assessing the best place to enter. Most of the sharp branches pointed upward, but the trees were still covered in long needle-like thorns. "Because most beings, living or dead, are not unintelligent enough to set foot in this place. We will encounter no meaningful resistance here, aside from the trees themselves." Vergil stepped under a branch, standing slightly to the side to allow Dante to pass him. "Mind the gap," Vergil said almost sarcastically," I believe I've failed to mention that these thorns are razor-sharp and coated with a sedative."

Dante shook his head in amused disbelief and stepped under the branches, following Vergil into the forest of death. Vergil always did have an askew sense of humor. Well, they both did, but that was neither here nor there.

They navigated the underbrush and vines with care. The same vines that snaked across the ground also hung from the tree branches, bringing the deadly spiked appendages closer than comfortable to them in a few instances. Despite their careful navigation, Vergil seemed intent to pass through this area as quickly as possible. Dante ducked around another branch, doing an unintentional double-take when the branch moved back around and placed itself in his path again. That was odd, he hadn't moved that to start with...

"Is there a problem?" Vergil asked, stopping for a moment to turn and make sure that Dante was still following him as closely as he had been before. When he noticed the almost puzzled look on his brother's face, a note of -was that concern?- passed over his face. "Tell me you didn't touch it..." The words were spoken in an almost breathless whisper.

Dante didn't show it outwardly, but he was actually more surprised by Vergil's concern for him than he was thrown off by the tree's unexplained movement. "No, I didn't... do these damn trees move?" Dante looked back and forth between his brother and the tree as he closed the distance between them.

Vergil stealthily exhaled the breath he hadn't noticed that he was holding and waited for him. That could have ended decidedly worse. "Did I not say moments ago that they were sentient?"

Dante shrugged as they resumed walking. "I didn't think you meant that they could move Vergil! I thought they could tell we were here or something."

After a few hurried moments of walking, Vergil stopped and ducked under one of the branches. "This entire forest functions as a sort of venus flytrap. The Daturademonica can discern our location, based off of where we walk. If given an opportunity, they will attempt to strike. But no matter. We've reached the clearing."

Dante followed his brother under the branch and into the clearing, making sure to stand clear of the trees. Keeping his soul inside of his body wasn't exactly low on his list of priorities. He looked out across the clearing and took in their surroundings. The once distant cliff was now only a few yards away, a small indent in it forming an enclosure just shy of a cave. There was a substance covering the ground that was reminiscent of grass, except it was grey and possessed a texture somewhat similar to moss. The water seemed to have an audible hum to it now that they were close enough to hear it, which was more than a little strange considering that it was a liquid, but it still maintained the same intense shine that it had when Dante had seen it from the entrance before.

It was all very beautiful in a haunting sort of way.

While the youngest Son of Sparda had been taking in his surroundings, the eldest of the two had repositioned himself at the edge of the river with his back to his twin. After an uncomfortably long moment of intense silence, things were starting to become uncomfortable. Vergil was staring quietly at the "water", seemingly lost in thought and it was clear that he had something to say that he wasn't saying. Dante sighed and approached him. What was the worst thing that could happen?

Well... best not find out the answer to that one...

"Should I even ask if this water is drinkable," Dante inquired as he kneeled over his twin. Vergil's eyes glanced up briefly to acknowledge his presence, but he didn't budge from his position.

"... I don't want you to be trapped down here with me."

Dante scoffed at the suddenness of his brother's statement. It was inevitable that they would have this "conversation" at some point, but right now? "You probably don't, but you need me to be." Dante knew that his statement was painfully true. There's was a complicated relationship indeed, and neither of them really comprehended the unending toxic nature of it. And at this point, they had stopped trying to. They were about ready to just accept it as a fact.

Vergil sighed in what seemed to be mild annoyance. "You have other more important things that should be occupying your time. I can find my way around down here just fine."

Dante almost laughed at the statement. Oh, really? "That doesn't change the fact that the last time I left you down here you ended up a slave to your mortal enemy and then I had to kill you," Dante felt a wave of revulsion wash over him at the very thought," Oh, and you took up the most deadly gardening hobby I've ever seen! How could I forget?"

Vergil let out a low growl of annoyance at the statement and stood up to face his younger twin, his rapid response giving off a level of hostility that he didn't intend. "You don't need to remind me, Dante. I haven't forgotten."

Dante held up his hands as if to stop his brother. "I know that. But I'm not going anywhere your not going, Vergil. I've done that for decades and it's a worse hell than this cursed forest we're standing in!"

Vergil shifted in discomfort and let a long bothered sigh. "I don't belong in the human world, and you know it. Let's not lie."

Dante fanned his arms at his sides, flexing in irritation. "You don't belong down here, either. Nothing good has happened to you since you fell down here when we were kids. And besides, you have plenty waiting for you up there, too." Dante gestured up towards the sky for emphasis. On that note, was the underworld even technically below the human world if they were in two different planes of existence? Nevermind, that was beside the point.

"I'd ask you to give me one good reason I should return to the human realm, Dante, but I don't think you have one" Vergil was clearly incensed by. It was a rare moment of pure emotion, though Dante could tell it was borne of something other than just anger. To say that Vergil was emotionally complicated was an understatement, but Dante wasn't going to just drop this and leave him down here alone again. It would be the ruin of them both.

"Give you a reason," Dante grumbled through almost clenched teeth," I could give you two reasons, Vergil, but I don't know if it would do any good."

Vergil stared at him in silence for a long moment before looking away. His posture slowly migrated into an almost defeated slump before he spoke again. "What then, brother? What then?" There was no anger in the words as he spoke them under his breath. Vergil would never admit it, but he was tired. He had been fighting everything and anything nearly his entire life. But as of late, he was losing the tolerance to argue with his brother. In their time apart, Dante had grown and become difficult to argue down; more sure in his resolve than he had seemingly once been. It was impressive but troublesome how difficult it now was to push his once eager to fight twin past the breaking point.

Dante exhaled slowly and, in an action that took Vergil slightly off guard, he extended his arm and placed his hand on his older twin's shoulder, shaking him gently. Vergil looked up at him and they locked gazes. After a moment of shared silence, Dante's unspoken point seemed to sink in. There were no words adequate to express what the youngest of Sparda's sons wanted to convey. "... Look, Vergil... If you won't do it for me or yourself, I get that." Dante sighed almost dejectedly," But if you won't do it for our sake... then do it for Nero's. He doesn't know you can do better, and he's not going to if you stay down here and run from your mistakes for the rest of your life."

Vergil stared at his brother blandly and visibly swallowed, chewing on the inside of his jaw as he closed his eyes and pulling away from him. He stood with his back to his brother in silence with his arms folded, looking out across the haunting expanses of the underworld. For the first time in a long time, Vergil was visibly shaken and upset. Dante had managed to strike a never he didn't even realize he possessed until now. Dante stared at his back, waiting for him to respond. He had to eventually.

A minute passed like this. The two. Then three. The discomfort only grew more volatile the longer the silence lingered. Finally, after what had to be a solid ten minutes, Vergil unfolded his arms and lowered them to his sides. He gripped Yamato's scabbard tightly in his hand but didn't move to draw it. This wasn't something he could fight with a blade, and that was perhaps the thing that unnerved him the most. The eldest Son of Sparda inhaled and then, after a long moment, exhaled in one long slow breath.

"... Do you think Nero would even talk to me? After everything I've done?"

Dante could practically feel the pain and despair in his twin brother's question. In a rare moment of vulnerability, Vergil had let his carefully cultivated shell crack, and the repressed feelings that he had been holding onto for so long were starting to slip through. Dante was taken aback, but he stepped forward and placed his hand on his brother's shoulder again. "You have to ask him that. I've got some things to answer for as far as he's concerned, too."

Vergil waited a moment before he spoke." He has no idea of the depths of my depravity, does he, Dante?"

Dante shook his head. "I conveniently left that part out when I told him about you being his old man after what happened with V." Dante paused when Vergil visually recoiled at the mention of that name. That entire situation was a bit unclear to him, but it seemed to deeply upset his twin. "Speaking of that, should I even ask who V really is and what the hell really happened to him. I mean, he was literally falling apart. Did you have something to do with that?"

Vergil looked like he wanted to avoid this topic even more than he wanted to face Nero again. "... Everything unfortunate that has ever happened to that child is probably my fault," Vergil snickered morbidly. "It is unfortunate that we ever crossed paths. Much like Nero, he was better off without me involved in his life..."

Dante shook his head. "You've got some prior with him, hu? How'd that happen?"

Vergil stared at him with a facial expression somewhere between discomfort and trepidation. Dante stared at him in confusion before transitioning to shocked disbelief. "...Vergil... you didn't... is he..."

Vergil stepped back and turned away from him, shifting Yamato into his dominant hand. His lack of an answer said everything it needed to. Dante sighed in disbelief. His brother wasn't normally so reckless. Or so he thought. Vergil unsheathed the demonic katana and cut a cross in the air in front of him, sheathing the blade as a portal opened before them. "... That is... a matter for another time. For now, we should leave before I change my mind."

Dante shook out of his disbelief and allowed elation to overwhelm him. Did he just hear his brother wrong, or was he insinuating that he was willing to return? "You're coming back with me after all then?

Vergil nodded once. "Hurry up before I come to my senses."

Dante wasted no time. His questions could wait until they were home and then he could get the answers to his pressing questions. He crossed the distance between them in an instance, waiting for Vergil to step through the portal before him. The Youngest Son of Sparda was many things, but he wasn't stupid enough to let Vergil come through the portal last. After all, the last time he went through a portal, Vergil had chosen to stay behind. But this time would be different. After all, there wasn't too much room to go lower from here, was there?

Vergil took a tentative breath, before stepping towards the portal. But before he could have second thoughts, the wind was promptly knocked out of him as he was firmly kicked in the back through the portal. He flew through the portal to whatever place was on the other side, disappearing behind the reflective black surface of the mirror-like portal.

"That's for breaking my damn sword, Vergil," Dante said with a slight laugh. And with that, he walked through the portal and into the unknown to join his brother. For the first time in a long time, they were in this together.

-~-

Thanks for reading the Prologue! The next chapter will be available very soon, and you can read it here and in the links in my bio. Have a wonderful day and stay safe! Also, thanks to this angel for helping me figure out why this post was coming out as one giant paragraph!

[emordnilap-fr]

A God Called to Battle

lore pinglist: @divine-vixen​ @voltaic-ambassador​ (ask if you’d like to be pinged for future lore posts! <3)

Part 1: An Act of Revenge

An Emperor emerges in the clan for the third time. This time, they’re fighting back.

cw: blood/death

Riptide pulled Kiev’s head higher. “You killed imps?! You really are sick, you know that?”

Kiev just laughed at her. “Oh that’s rich, coming from the clan who welcomed the Shade!” He laughed harder, lips curling in twisted delight as more of the emperor’s howls reached the den. “See I don’t care if I die! As long as you all get ripped ap-”

He was cut off when Riptide rammed his head onto the floor, knocking him out cold. Her face was contorted with disgust. “That’s enough of him, he’s not going anywhere.” She moved from her position on top of him, gesturing for Kryvo to do the same, and lay her hand on his back. Stone began to creep from her hand and up from the floor, encasing Kiev’s torso and limbs in a thick layer of rock. Only his head was left semi-free, with a makeshift muzzle holding his mouth closed.

Kryvo looked to the door. “Y’think anyone’s gonna fight that thing?”

Brayth nodded. “Oh yeah, of course. You’ve fought off an emperor before, haven’t you?”

Sunset, Riptide, and Kryvo looked at each other uneasily. Sunset spoke up, saying what was on their minds. “Well... we didn’t exactly win. Why do you think we’re even here in the first place?”

Brayth stared at them, speechless, before cracking his neck and lifting his musket. “Well, I s’pose we’re gonna have to change that this time, eh?”

Eiszapfen stared at the abomination in front of him, unseen. Behind it, Peridot and Moonstone lay dead, their bodies half-rotted from the breath of Sandstorm’s head. In adjacent halls, also hidden from the emperor’s view, were Cumulus in one hall, and Rastus and Soleil in another. They gestured to each other, trying not to make noise. Eis gestured, Attack?

Cumulus shook her head. No, dangerous. 

Soleil spread a wing in the direction behind the emperor. There’s other dragons! They need help. 

Rastus nodded in agreement, to which Cumulus shook her head, then looked and pointed at Eiszapfen. Dangerous for us, too. Or... Eis. We distract, then escape?

Eiszapfen thought, then nodded. I think it would work.

He opened his wings, the others following suit. They flew into the tunnel, attracting the attention of all three of the emperor’s heads. The heads roared, somehow seeming indignant rather than angry or hateful. Despite this, their throats hissed as the released their respective attacks on the smaller dragons.

Rastus ducked out of the fight, attracting Konigtum’s head. The other two were still occupied with their other targets, and as Rastus rounded a corner to head further into the dens, Konigtum’s head joined them in their original attack.

Oceana ran down the hall towards the sounds of fighting, the emperor’s roars growing louder by the heartbeat. As she passed another hallway, she was joined by Ember, who was followed by Atava, Liebe, Akakia, and Umbra. The two imperials ran side by side, leading the others through the halls. Oceana side-eyed Ember, causing the other imperial to glance back.

“Look, Oceana. I know you don’t like me, and I don’t like you much either. But getting everyone out of here and killing that thing is more important than that. I need you to help me fight it. You can at least do that, right?”

Oceana hesitated, remembering what she’d learned during the Purge. “You used to be one, it’s no wonder you’ve felt the way you have...” 

She shook her head, ridding herself of her thoughts. “I can. What’s your plan?”

“Well,” Ember began, staring ahead, “I’ll need your ice. Freeze its legs, while I burn its body and heads. From their... voices, it sounds like Feuerstern, Sandstorm, and Konigtum, we’ll have to be especially careful of Konigtum’s attacks weakening our own, and of Sandstorm’s hitting us.”

“You’re really trying to be careful, aren’t you? Aren’t you a god?”

“I’m a demi-god. I’m immortal, but I can still die. I’m being careful because I don’t want to lose another home to one of these monsters.”

Oceana said nothing, watching Ember in silence for a few moments as they ran ahead. 

Blood dripped into Eiszapfen’s eye from the injury above it. A gash ran across the top of his head, tearing into his right frill. The others fighting with him fared no better; they retreated into another hall to catch their breath, narrowly avoiding a spray of infested mucus.

“Do you think Rastus has gotten anyone out yet?” Cumulus stared in the direction he’d gone. “It’s been a while since he left...”

Soleil nodded. “He must’ve, there’s gotta be lots of dragons awake now and he knows his way around. There’s plenty of ways out that avoid these halls.”

“Not that many,” Eiszapfen added, clearly worried. “We added a few other halls for ease of use, not for escape, and there’s only one cliffside to enter and leave from. Even the old lair had several staircases to the surface.” He shook his head. “We didn’t think we’d be attacked here, much less have another emperor...”

Cumulus saw the old guilt on Eiszapfen’s face, and touched a paw to his shoulder. “You did what you thought was right back then. This isn’t your fault.” She flinched as a shadow-bolt flew past the hall entrance. “It’s too late to worry over how we built this place, we’ve just gotta defend it now. Soleil, you’re right, he’s probably taking them out the upper hall as we speak. Let’s go, for the clan!” The trio nodded to each other, before leaping back into the fray.

Hardly minute of battling had passed, and the dragons were already out of breath from the onslaught of attacks. Only Soleil had no elemental weakness to any of the heads, but her lack of experience overshadowed this advantage. She’d just landed when a thicket of thorned vines came hurtling at her. She moved to defend as best she could when a bolt of ice froze the greenery, propelling it towards the wall. Looking up, she expected to see Cumulus at her defense, but was surprised to see Oceana’s head turning the corner at the end of the hall.

“We’ve got it from here, go!”

Soleil and the others watched Oceana and Ember fully entered the hall, alone. 

The emperor noticed the new imperials as well, turning with an almost surprised look on at least one of its faces. The surprise turned to anger when Sandstorm’s head was hit with a blast of flame from Ember. 

“Come on, go! We saw Rastus and sent others with him, follow them!”

The trio of dragons paused, then took off down the hall the imperials had come from. Now, it was just Oceana and Ember against the emperor of their friends. They snarled in defiance, and enacted their plan. Oceana froze the emperor’s legs and muzzled their heads while Ember burned at their scales, which kept seeming to shift and crack and regrow.

“Your fire’s not doing anything, we can’t keep this up!”

Ember growled at Oceana in response, only sending more flames at Feuerstern’s head. 

“I want this dead as much as you, moreso even, but it just keeps re-”

Oceana’s words rose to a shriek as waves of shadowy tendrils flared across the side of her face. Her scales darkened to a near-black purple, and her left eye grew muddied and blind. Flames seared Konigtum’s head, forcing it back, and Ember moved to stand before Oceana, facing the emperor. “Don’t you dare add to this monster.” She glanced down at Oceana. “Go. You’re in no shape to fight, you’ll get in my way.”

“I-”

“I don’t hate you, and I don’t want you dead. Get out.”

Oceana opened her mouth to argue, to say she was going to help kill this thing she used to be, what had taken her sons, but stayed quiet when she saw the look on Ember’s face. The demi-god was scared. Not only for herself, but for Oceana, and she still faced the emperor.

“Thank you.”

She backed away from Ember, but didn’t retreat entirely, rather taking shelter in an adjacent hall. Ember made no move nor said anything to make her leave entirely, and she was glad for that; she wasn’t going to let anyone, even a god, fight entirely alone.

With Oceana somewhat gone, Ember spread her fire-tipped wings and roared a challenge at the emperor, who glared down at her and returned the challenge.

Unrestrained with no ally who could be killed by her attacks, she spat now-blue flames at the emperor, the hall heating to a near oven-like temperature. The face of Feuerstern was closest and took the full force of her attack, the scales and flesh melting together and eye burning shut. It gave a strangled cry as it burned up beyond what the emperor could do to heal it in time, and now the head and its neck hung limply from the emperor’s body.

The emperor retaliated, Sandstorm spitting infectious slime. Ember only just managed to avoid the attack, turning to blow fire again that seared holes in all three of the emperor’s right wings. Sandstorm again spat infection at Ember, and this time, she didn’t miss.

Ember hissed as the near-acid ooze burned into her skin, and an immediate weakness took hold. She could keep fighting, but she knew she couldn’t keep this up much longer. 

Rearing up, Ember rammed her body against the emperor and bit down onto Sandstorm’s neck, letting molten liquid and fire burn into it. The result was nearly instant, as the neck burned away and the head dropped to the ground.

Konigtum’s head ripped into Ember’s shoulder, crunching into the bone. She roared in pain and repeated the attack she’d done to Sandstorm, letting the lava-like liquid sear off the remaining head.

As the dead emperor fell to the ground, flames eating up its body, Ember stood triumphantly over it and gave one last roar of victory. She felt her body weakening, not noticing Oceana coming up behind her as she slowly slipped to the floor. 

To her, her injuries didn’t matter; she’d won. The clan would be safe, and her job was done. The emperor was dead for good. 

[ernmark]

Human Arum AU

I have been wrestling with this chapter for weeks, but I’ve finally got it down.

If I write anything more in this AU, it’ll either be reactions to things or little asides, but the story itself is done.

Holy crap, that wound up being long.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

Quite a few monsters must have noted their passage on the way to the sorcerer. On the return journey, Damien catches sight of a few watching them through the foliage. He suspects that there are others he doesn’t perceive, judging by the way Lord Arum’s claws tighten around his shoulder at odd intervals.

The constant contact isn’t a sign of anxiety, or even an attempt to reassure Damien. It’s a signal to the other monsters in the forest, so clear and deliberate that it might as well be in writing: Damien is his. He’s already killed one monster to defend that claim, and he’s ready to do it again. Damien suspects he won’t need help, but he made sure to retrieve his bow and keep it strung, just in case.

But the journey is a long one, and it isn’t all tension. Not of the hostile variety, at any rate.

Lord Arum’s nose brushes his ear, close enough to make him shiver. “Give me a poem, honeysuckle. Let me hear your voice again.”

Damien flushes. A poem. Yes. Of course.

He settles on an old ballad from the First Citadel, about lovers separated when one is called to war. He’s recited it a hundred times at least-- usually during monsoon season, when storms keep the world locked inside and the rain drums a beat against the rooftops.

He tells himself that Lord Arum’s request is another show of power, that only someone truly confident in their right to be here would so brazenly draw attention to themselves in a jungle full of monsters. He has to make himself believe that-- the alternative would leave him too flustered to articulate the ballad properly, and that would only embarrass them both.

When they return to the swamp, Rilla is there waiting for them, a relieved smile on her face and a basket of herbs on her hip. She always throws herself into her work when she‘s worried.

It’s mostly to assuage her fears that he lets her check him over. The sorcerer’s vines left heavy bruises on his neck and hands -- nothing ghastly, but it’s visible enough to cause concern. Besides, Rilla always seems to feel better after she’s had the chance to gauge the extent of his injuries for herself, and Damien won’t deny that he appreciates the contact.

He shuts his eyes and lets his attention narrow to the sensation of her hands on him, the familiar smell as she blends honey and garlic into a thick paste, the stickiness as it’s spread over his cuts and scrapes and carefully wrapped to stave off infection. Her care is as ritualized as his prayers, and just as soothing to a troubled mind. He’s nearly sorry when she pulls away.

“It looks like you’ve got a cracked rib,” she says. “I can give you something to help with the pain, but it should heal on its own in a few weeks.” Her smile could warm a winter night. “Do you think you can hold off on the adventuring for a little while?”

“I...” He doesn’t know how to answer that honestly. “I’ll try to restrain myself.”

She kisses his forehead. “That’s all I ask.” And then she turns on Lord Arum. “As for you, Lord Lizard.”

Lord Arum’s frill flattens against his neck. “There isn’t anything wrong with me.”

“And I’ll believe that when I see it,” she says, grinning. “All brave heroes have to get examined after battle. It’s a rule.”

“But I’m not hurt.”

“That’s what you said about that thorn you stepped on yesterday, too, but I bet it felt better to get it out.”  Her expression softens. “For my own peace of mind, at least. You both went into that fight. I want to make sure you both made it out in one piece.”

Lord Arum gives a dramatic sigh. “Alright. If it’s all that important to you.” He makes a show of acting put out, but he can’t quite hide the half-lidded look of contentment as Rilla looks him over for cuts and bruises.

“You’re very good at this,” he muses while she cleans up a cut on his leg.

“Well, I am an herbalist. It’s my job to be good at it.” There’s a moment’s hesitation befor eshe shrugs. “It was, anyway. If I’m down to two patients, I’d better take good care of you.”

“Rilla...” The pit in Damien’s stomach is all too familiar. “I’m... sure it won’t be a problem now that the Queen is restored.” It sounds believable enough, doesn’t it? After all, it’s not entirely a lie, is it?

“I’m not so sure about that,” she says. “I caught one of her spies here last night.”

Damien’s throat goes dry. “Did you?”

She nods, smearing more of the honey paste onto a bandage. “He didn’t get far. I found him in the thistle trap close to the road. I drugged him and put him back on the road, but he sounded like he wasn’t going to be the last one.”

“Well, yes,” Damien says, trying to act out confidence he doesn’t feel. “But that was last night. Likely the Queen was still transfigured when he set out.”

“If you say so,” she says. “But I feel a lot better with all those traps around.”

“They didn’t give you trouble, then?” Lord Arum asks.

“I did set off the shriekweed at one point, but I eventually figured out how to make it stop. Where did you even find that? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Are you familiar with parrot plants?” he asks.

“Well, yeah, but its auditory properties are in its roots,” she says, and the two of them are caught up in a long, complex debate that mostly escapes him. Damien suspects the two of them might have a hundred conversations just like this. A thousand, perhaps.

Perhaps Rilla could be quite happy here.

He holds onto that thought.

When Damien wakes, it’s underneath a pile limbs. Rilla tucked against his side, her head on his shoulder, one leg folded over his thigh, her arm arranged in an odd configuration with Lord Arum’s over his chest. Lord Arum is curled around his other side, one leg twined with Damien’s.

They have him so thoroughly ensnared that he can’t help wonder if it’s by design.

The bed is warm, the bodies soft and comfortable against his. All he has to do is shut his eyes and fall back asleep.

Last night they spoke of contingencies and plans for the future. Lord Arum said he and Rilla were welcome to stay here as long as they wanted. Forever, if they feel so inclined. He said they would be safe here.

And perhaps they would-- safe from a single knight, or two, or five. But there’s no telling how far the Queen will go to see the Citadel secure.

Damien won’t let it get that far.

And so he untangles himself from Rilla and Lord Arum's embrace. It takes longer than he would prefer, but he can’t afford to wake them. If he has to look them in the eyes, then he might never leave.

He should write a note-- or something better than a note, something worthier-- but there is no poem that could contain the way he feels, no ballad that could describe it. If he tried for a hundred years, he might manage to arrange the words in the right order, but he doesn’t have that time. All he has is this precious handful of moments. All he can do is hope that they’ll understand. 

He allows himself one last indulgence: a kiss on Rilla’s forehead, another on Lord Arum’s cheek.

And then he leaves.

He walks along the woven walkways in the canopy, but not for long. There’s a man on the forest floor below. One of the Queen’s spies, no doubt: he seems perfectly capable, but he looks more suited to a court than to the jungle. His eyes are too wide, and glancing over his shoulder at every sound, but he never thinks to look up.

Well. There’s no use prolonging his discomfort. 

Damien takes care to keep out of sight as he makes his descent, then steps into the open right behind the spy. “I hope you aren’t looking for me,” he says cheerfully, and the spy jolts. “If you are, you’re going the wrong way.”

The spy whirls to face him, a knife already in his hand. “In the name of the Queen,” he hisses. “You’re--”

“There’s no need for that.” Damien raises his empty hands. He left the bow against the mantel in Lord Arum’s home, set just below those beautiful knives. “I surrender. I’ve come to turn myself in.”

It’s with some relief that Damien is taken back to the keep. For the last two days, he’s been plagued by the worry that the Queen’s condition and Lord Arum’s weren’t connected after all, and that they had ruined their one chance by killing the sorcerer.

But when he’s led into the throne room by two armed guards, he lays eyes on the queen in her natural form, with two arms and skin in place of scales and presumably hair hidden underneath one of her many priceless headscarves. It seems he was brought in while court was in session; she’s surrounded by half a dozen royal administrators and their attendants.

It’s an audience that he would rather not have, but he will face it all the same.

He brings his hand to his shoulder in salute and respectfully lowers his eyes.

“Sir Damien,” she says coolly. “I see you were successful.”

“Yes, my Queen. The sorcerer is dead. I apologize, but your Majesty’s headscarf was destroyed in the encounter. I had intended to return it to you. But it won’t be used against you again.”

There’s a slight murmur among the attendants. When Damien dares a glance at her face, the Queen has gone utterly still, her face expressionless. It seems the Queen’s transformation is intended to remain a secret.

“Very well,” she says, and her voice betrays nothing. “Though I am surprised that you came back at all.”

He lowers his eyes again. “I trust in your Majesty’s wisdom. I know you will do what is necessary for the safety of the Citadel.”

Rather than respond, she addresses her administrators. “This matter requires my immediate attention,” she says by way of a dismissal. “Guards, I want you stationed outside the door. I’ll call if I need you.”

Damien is about to ask if that’s wise-- he thinks her a traitor against the Citadel, after all-- but he bites his lip and says nothing. What’s unwise is questioning the Queen’s judgement in front of her courtiers.

He keeps his mouth shut and his eyes down as the attendants file out of the room and shut the doors behind them, leaving him alone with the Queen.

“Your Majesty?”

Her expression is as unyielding as a mountain. “I want to know why you really came back.”

“You gave the order, my Queen,” he says carefully.

“And you decide to start obeying me now?”

Damien tries not to cringe. “My disobedience was my crime alone, and the retribution should be my own to bear. I see no reason to bring Rilla and Lord Arum into it.”  He straightens his spine. “I regret the danger I have brought to you and to the Citadel, but I don’t regret sparing his life. I’m prepared to accept the consequences of my actions.”

“You understand that you may hang for this.”

“Is that your Majesty’s judgement?”

“I’ll make my judgement when I’ve heard the whole story.” She leans forward in her throne. “I want to know why you did it.”

“My Queen?”

“A lizard broke into my bedchamber, and you not only allowed it to leave alive, but you bandaged its wounds with a priceless royal heirloom. Why?”

His face heats. “I cannot rationalize my actions. I know my crime.”

“That’s not what I asked,” she says, undeniable force in her voice. “Explain yourself.”

Are you sure you’d rather not just get on with the hanging?

“I did it because...” He swallows. Saint Damien, give me strength. “Because I could not bear to do otherwise.”

He can’t bear to look at her face, but a slight motion of her hand indicates he should continue.

“I did intend to kill him, Your Majesty. But it was obvious when he spoke to me that he is neither a mindless beast nor a soldier, but-- but an architect. An intellectual.”

“He broke into my chambers,” she reminds him.

"And for such an offense, I could have seen him arrested and imprisoned-- but not killed. Not for climbing a wall and smashing a vase."

"That wasn't your decision to make.”

"I know, your Majesty. But I stand by it. Even before he was transfigured, there was something human in his eyes.”

“I see.” She sits back, steepling her fingers. “This Lord Arum seems very attached to you.”

That’s certainly one word for it. “Yes, your Majesty.”

“I suppose he’ll cause more trouble if something were to happen to you.”

Damien swallows. He had considered that. “It is a possibility, yes.”

“Then it seems he’ll have incentive not to put you in any more precarious positions.”

Damien blinks up at her. “I-- I’m not sure I follow.”

“You call him a lord and an architect, and when he was here, he spoke of being paid to steal my belongings. A week ago, we had no idea that monsters had such things available to them-- which would suggest that the Citadel’s policies toward monsters have been misinformed for decades. Perhaps centuries. If we are to move forward, it must be with a stronger understanding of who and what we are dealing with. And it seems that you’ve found yourself in a position to do just that, Sir Damien.”

Something bubbles up through the oozing dread in Damien’s chest.

“Don’t misunderstand, you stole my headscarf, allowed an intruder to escape, and lied about your contact with him after the fact. For that, you will be suspended from your duties. I will need to consult with my advisors about what to do with you when you return.”

“I--” Damien doesn’t even know how to put it into words. “Thank you, your Majesty.”

“I doubt your tie with Sir Angelo will survive my judgement.”

He has to try not to laugh aloud. “It is a price I am willing to pay.” But he collects himself. “And-- and Rilla? Will she be permitted to return to her patients?”

“I suspect she will whether I allow it or not,” the Queen says wearily. “I suggest you collect your things and go before your fiance and your lizard friend come looking for you.”

[fr-blackiebelle]

The Sunrot Resurrections: Part II - Bones Burned Black

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@incalyscent, @tangelojack, @yuushanoah, @serthis-archivist, @pinkangel725

It took them the rest of the night and day to help Toril don her armor.

Most of the sacks were indeed filled with golden armor, of fine craftsmanship and heavily enchanted quality. It burned Juarve’s fingers to touch them, and a thin yellow wisp rose from her fingertips for days afterwards. She noticed that Mars was being burned too, but not quite as badly. He scarcely seemed to notice for how jubilant he was.

There was something off about the Guardian, which was almost expected. Her gold and red eyes kept careful watch on the horizon, and she scarcely looked at them while they fastened and buckled her armor, like she was waiting for something.

It bothered Juarve just how white her scales were, as white of the fabled creatures of the Icefield. It was a pure color, though was current illuminated green with the glow from the Wyrmwound besides them. It had no blue undertone, like Cosette, nor was it slashed with grey such as the hide of Valjean. A white like that was too clean for the Waste. It was the color of bones left under the sun.

She also seemed sluggish. Toril only answered when spoken to, and even then her words were short and her voice was gravelly. They fed her salted ham out of the rations (she understood why they had brought some along to begin with) and let her drink her fill of water. For having just been resurrected, this was as good as she was going to get. She was ready to be moved.

The night after her resurrection, it was time to move on. This time they were going east.

They were on the northside of the Boneyard, and the moon was still bright. Toril walked behind the cart, and Juarve rode in the back for the time being, as her body still didn’t feel right. Both her arms tingled up to the shoulder, and the black of her fingertips followed it. Her blue-grey fur was coming out in handfuls, and the flesh was scorched beneath. Droplets of the Wyrmwound had eaten through her layers of clothes, though she was too scared to check on the damage underneath.

After awhile, it was apparent that they were bound for the Woods. Dead pine trees dotted the Contagion, thick red tendrils burrowed into their roots and under their bark. Some were rotted but still standing, while others looked like they had died within the year. There was a vast distance between the first tree and the second, but that closed to only yards within trees soon enough. Then they reached the edge, where the Contagion and the Grove met.

These were the freshest trees, sap bleeding black under the moon. The blue mushrooms that clung to their discolored bark still threw a dull glow. A heavy layer of yellow needles mixed with the thin tendrils underfoot. Onwards, the dark mass of trees that truly belonged to the Woods.

Mars brought their progress to a halt. She and Toril looked at him for direction. Eyes in the dark shone like tiny moons, waiting to see what he would do.

The fae produced a pouch from inside his sleeve, and held up something small.

It was a maple leaf.

Mars held up the leaf in his scorched, cracked hands. Gold began to run down his arm, dripping from his elbow. The leaf was smoking gold at its tips.

“Undel.”

The words were poison in his mouth.

“I carry the will and power of Rhiow and Jhortanas with me, you will not misguide us. You will let me and my companions travel unmolested to our destination, and you will not let us wander a false path. We shall take what we desire, and not touch your sacred Forum, but if attacked we will destroy all who stand our path. Let us take what we need, and let us leave the Woods within a day of our entry. Heed my words, Undel, or you will be the first to taste the claws of the Sunrot Alliance.”

Mars let the leaf go, and it was carried by the wind, shimmering with light, into the woods.

A unholy uproar echoed from the pines, hissing and snapping and growling from the army of the shadows. Hundreds of eyes stabbed out from the dark. Juarve pressed her scorched hands to her ears, and screwed her eyes shut. The hellish chorus could be heard from the top of the Pillar and the depths of all Eleven Hells.

Just when she thought it couldn’t go on any longer, it stopped.

She opened her eyes to see that the shadowy army’s eyes were blinking out like firelights. Soon there were only the steady light from the stars and mushrooms to guide their way. She climbed from the cart on shaky legs.

“Take a rope and lash the skull to your back. It won’t be here when we return if we leave it,” Mars said, in a soft voice, painting protective wards onto his elk’s brow. “We’ll have to leave the cart and elk, however. It’ll be too difficult to maneuver them through the brambles.”

She did as he said, making a crude harness and threading the rope through the blackened skull’s eyes. When Mars deemed it satisfactory, he climbed into her antlers and Toril led the way into the Woods.

Immediately, something was wrong.

Just as Juarve’s flesh had smoked and blackened upon touching the golden armor, so did the forest.

Pine needles yellowed and fell, mushrooms withered away, unseen beings in the branches leapt away. When Toril brushed past a tree, the wood itself would splinter and break in its eagerness to get away from her. So many trees were afflicted that Juarve could see the stars above.

Thick grey brambles soon appeared between the trees, growing thicker and thicker the more distance they covered. The thorny branches shied and shrank away from Toril’s touch, though they still bloodied her flanks. The gouges shed black blood in the dim light.

Mars called softly for the guardian to stop when they came across a thick mass of brambles, twisted around something like they were trying to hide it. There was a trail blazed through the Woods behind them, where Toril’s magic made it shy away, but some of the trees that weren’t touched were blackened aswell, like they had been burnt by fire.

“You’ll have to touch the thorns,” Mars said in that same soft voice. “That is the only way.”

And so, without hesitation, Toril reached forth and grabbed the thicket in both hands.

Like some great beast, the brambles recoiled. Golden smoke went up at the ends of the branches she grabbed, and moved its way up the length. It was light magic, Juarve realized, light magic burning away the shadows. She had not been reborn from plague alone, she and her gilded armor were formed by light.

Then, when all the shadows had been burned away, by the light of the stars above she should see bones.

Bones, blackened and charred, with melted armor fusing them into unidentifiable shapes. She could not tell what breeds they had once been, or even if they were once dragons. They did not whisper.

There were small piles curled in on themselves, and long mounds that seemed as large as mountains. She examined one of the larger shapes, and found that its bronze armor had sealed it to the forest floor. Its neck was stretched out long, and there was something stuck through it, like a spear. It made Juarve sick to look upon it, so she turned her head.

“All these bodies are arranged around this one, I think,” Mars fluttered down from his perch in her antlers, and landed besides a medium-sized pile, a little bit larger than her.

It died on its side, a great of lump of twisted metal and bone. Mars laid his hand on it like it was a holy thing, something worthy of reverence. It seemed bizarre to her, as oddly enough, there seemed to be two tails on either end of its body. Then she realized, in a jolt, that it was missing its head.

She felt the weight of the skull on her back, and bile rose in her throat.

Who was this dragon, if the Shadowbinder would shrouded it in a tomb of briars as if she had never wanted it to be found?

Toril carried the melted bones out of the Woods, the brambles closing behind them.

Together, they carried the silent, black bones through the Waste. Back to the Wyrmwound.

Gold runes appeared on the scorched skin of her arms. A thin, delicate scripture, as the black scabs peeled off to reveal pink and raw flesh underneath. She asked Mars what they meant, but he grimaced and refused to translate.

And finally, finally they got to their destination. Among the red tendrils and green glow of the Wyrmwound. There was not another dragon in sight. Juarve was light-headed from the lengthy journey, the fumes of the magic, and the damage to her body. She sat besides the cart, too exhausted to stand. There were no bones to throw into the pit, piece by piece. The body could be rolled in all at once. They didn’t need her help, and didn’t ask for it.

Something warm ran down her nose. The wards that Mars had painted on her forehead, nearly a fortnight ago, had begun to bleed again. She raised a hand to touch it, but found that her strength had abandoned her. Mars noticed and came over.

He untied the rope binding the skull to her back, then, once more, the fae dipped his fingers in her blood, and begun to paint runes around the burned dragon’s eyes. The blood ran black, then gold, and Juarve lost consciousness.

She woke minutes later, shaky as a newborn animal. The pale guardian stood at the edge of the Wyrmwound, the burned bones heavy in her arms. The runes on the tundra’s arms were the same on the bones and her armor.

Toril dropped the bones. Droplets of magic struck her white skin, and did not burn. Juarve’s did.

Holes burned into her like embers dropped on a rug, first charring black then peeling to reveal the surface beneath. The pink of her skin was blistering red and raw.

The skull. The infernal skull. The burned skull with its grand black antlers, eyes as dark as Shade. It laid beside her, runes painted gold. And suddenly, suddenly, Juarve could read the ancient script.

Aramis.

The Chieftain. The Chieftain who’s name was taboo. She shook with the realization. It was said that the eldest dragons in the clan could not look her father in the eye for how much he looked like the Chieftain. He had done unspeakable horror to them all. He was a monster in a dragon’s skin, and here were his bones before her.

Juarve grabbed the skull, wrapping her ruined hands around the base of both antlers. She thought to smash it, and struggled to rise. Black and gold and red flowed freely, dripping from her nose and chin and elbows. Destroy it and be done with this.

Too late, Mars had seen her.

“Oh, child, what are you doing? Come here, there’s no use anymore. Things far beyond both our control have already been set in motion.”

Still holding the skull, she stumbled towards him. She fell, and caught herself with one hand. Her other was still clutching the Chieftain’s skull. The rocks stung her knees and palm. Mars looked down at her, though she could not see his eyes.

Pale hands took her underneath the armpits.

Pale hands raised her into the air.

Pale hands threw her, wordlessly, into the Wyrmwound.

She struck the surface, and let go of the skull.

It burned. It burned. The acid was in her eyes, in her ears, blinding her. When she tried to scream, it came pouring down her throat. She could not reach the surface. She was dying.

In a maddened moment, she lashed out. Her arm struck something, and it latched onto her. Something else, something massive, brushed against her legs. She kicked out against it, clawing her way for the surface.

The hand that latched onto her let go, and instead came down on the scruff of her neck, and she felt herself be lifted from that burning magic. Only one eye could see, and even then it dimmed each time she blinked. And what she saw before her, dripping with magic red and gold and green, made her heart stop.

Black hands had latched onto her in the magic as she burned.

Black hands had pulled her from the Wyrmwound.

Black hands had carried her to shore.

And those, black, black hands belonged to her father.

Her father, tall and with one eye red, the other gold.

Her father with heavy ebony antlers.

Her father, his hide as dark as his sins.

Not her father.

The Chieftain.

And Juarve saw no more.

[preciousmetals0]

The Chinese Time Bomb; Tesla Tendies Time

The Chinese Time Bomb; Tesla Tendies Time:

The Ticking Chinese Time Bomb

Sorry to ruin your bull market party, but there’s an issue we need to discuss … like, right now.

I’m talking about the Wuhan coronavirus and the U.S.-China “phase 1” trade deal.

Here’s the thing: More than 20,000 Chinese are infected with the Wuhan virus, with some 427 dead. Tens of millions are quarantined in the country. Productivity is grinding to a snail’s pace.

The situation has grown so dire that 24 Chinese municipalities and regions have told businesses to halt all operations until February 10. Maybe they hope the worst will pass by then? Seems like a crapshoot to me.

Anyway, those 24 regions accounted for 80% of China’s gross domestic product (GDP) and 90% of all exports last year. That’s huge, and it’s sure to impact China’s economic growth in the first quarter.

But by how much?

“We are thinking in the region of 3.8% year-over-year, and again plugging in those numbers, we’re looking at year-over-year growth of probably less than 2%,” says Pantheon Macroeconomics Chief Asia Economist Freya Beamish.

First, that’s quite a title there, Freya. I mean, wow…

Second, remember when everyone was biting their nails over last year’s slowing growth? China reported 6.1% GDP growth in 2019, and the markets dipped. Chinese GDP growth of less than 2% would be a serious stunner for the global economy.

And we haven’t even addressed the U.S.-China trade deal. Speaking of which, how will China make good on its promise to buy an extra $200 billion worth of U.S. goods in the next two years amid the Wuhan virus epidemic?

It won’t. China will have to invoke a clause in the trade agreement that allows for leniency in the event of a natural disaster. That clause involves a face-to-face meeting between the two countries, and nobody knows how President Trump will respond to such a request.

The Takeaway: 

If you don’t think this virus outbreak will impact the U.S. economy, I’ve got some bad news for you.

Even if the worst of the Wuhan virus remains contained within China, that’s the second-largest economy on the planet we’re talking about! Nearly every major U.S. manufacturer, chipmaker and goods supplier has a supply or manufacturing chain that involves China at some point.

Furthermore, if China moves ahead with asking for leniency in the phase 1 trade deal, that’s $200 billion in purchases that will be delayed for U.S. companies.

As much as we hate to admit it, the U.S. economy is closely tied to Chinese growth. Sure, we’re trying to move away from that … but you just can’t switch some supply lines in such a short time frame. This situation will have an impact on U.S. growth. Just how much remains to be seen.

Right now, you should keep a close eye on the Wall Street Goliaths with close Chinese ties — big names like Apple Inc. (Nasdaq: AAPL), Cisco Systems Inc. (Nasdaq: CSCO) and Broadcom Inc. (Nasdaq: AVGO).

While the China situation won’t sink these companies, it could slow growth, which is bad news for any investor.

Remember what I told you after Facebook Inc.’s (Nasdaq: FB) ho-hum earnings? The glory days are gone for the market’s slowing Goliaths … and it’s game on for the high-growth “Davids” sweeping in. (See what I did there?)

No one can spot these high-growth Davids with the guts to take on Wall Street’s mighty giants like Charles Mizrahi. In fact, Charles’ knack for finding underdog stocks has helped him find 48 winning stocks in a row.

48? In a row?!

Yes, dear readers … in a row. And it’s all thanks to one investment secret that Charles is finally ready to unveil.

Click here to see how Charles’ best-kept investment secret can help turn your financial goals and dreams into reality.

The Good: FN Great Results

While everyone else focused on the 5G “Spectrum” wars, Fabrinet (NYSE: FN) quietly helped build out the back-end network. What? You didn’t think that the existing hard lines would support this jump to 5G speed, did you? You need fiber in those back-end channels, boy! Copper won’t cut it anymore.

This morning, fiber-optic specialist Fabrinet posted impressive second-quarter results. You might even say they were fabrilous! (Or you might not … whatever.)

For the fourth consecutive quarter, Fabrinet trounced Wall Street’s expectations. Earnings topped the consensus target by $0.07 per share, with revenue beating by more than 3% at $426.2 million.

What’s more, Fabrinet projected third-quarter revenue to land between $410 million and $418 million. The company said it was being cautious due to the Wuhan virus outbreak, but it still surrounded the consensus target for $415 million in revenue.

The bottom line: If you’re looking for 5G investments, Fabrinet should be on your short list — if it’s not already in your portfolio.

The Bad: A, B, See Ya Later, Google!

Even a lower tax bill couldn’t save Alphabet Inc. (Nasdaq: GOOG) this quarter.

The Google parent topped earnings estimates (thanks to said tax breaks) but missed revenue expectations due to poor hardware sales and lower ad revenue.

Google Properties (which includes Gmail, Google Play and YouTube) saw revenue rise 18.5% to $31.9 billion — some $100 million short of expectations. Furthermore, traffic-acquisition costs rose a greater-than-expected 14% during the quarter. Rising traffic costs — i.e., the cost Google pays to partner websites — have been a thorn in Google’s side for some time now.

On the positive side, cloud computing revenue surged 53%, and YouTube revenue jumped 31%.

Still, the report left Alphabet investors searching for more. What they found, however, was a formal European investigation into how Google handles location data. We can add that to the growing pile of investigations and inquiries. That’s got to make investors feel all warm and fuzzy.

The Ugly: Tesla Tendies

What in the wild, wild world of electric vehicles is a-goin’ on here?

As you all well know, I’m a Tesla Inc. (Nasdaq: TSLA) bull … but come on!

TSLA shares are up more than 100% since the beginning of the year. Today, the stock breached $900. Short sellers lost more than $2.5 billion on Monday alone. This is insanity.

I get that there’s been a lot of really good news on Tesla lately. From better-than-expected earnings to Panasonic earnings (it’s all about batteries) to a $7,000 price target … Tesla has had a serious influx of bullish sentiment.

But the company’s $163.3 billion market cap puts it just behind Toyota Motor Corp. (NYSE: TM), making it the second most valuable car company on the planet.

Tesla’s fundamentals just don’t support these levels — there, I said it. What we’re seeing is a good old-fashioned short squeeze. Despite the recent run-up, more than 18% of Tesla’s outstanding shares remain sold short. These are some real troopers here. But how much more pain can they withstand?

After all, it’s not a question of if Tesla will correct at this point … it’s a matter of when. The problem is that TSLA could top $1,000 before all is said and done. If that happens, the shares will likely hit $1,500 before all of the remaining short sellers are crushed to a pulp.

I can’t tell you what to do if you hold TSLA shares. But I will remind you that the market can remain irrational longer than you can remain solvent.

I will say that it feels like we’re nearing a top for Tesla. I hope you have collision insurance for when things eventually go pear-shaped.

Last week, Great Stuff had its first-ever reader poll!

We asked: On a scale of 1 to 5, how much does social responsibility (aka “green investing”) play a part in your portfolio?

Given how much reader feedback I get on so-called green companies, I expected … well, I didn’t expect this:

60% of you don’t factor in social responsibility at all in your investing.

I have to say, I’m a bit flabbergasted. (I really like that word. Thank you for giving me a chance to use it!)

That said, I’m really looking forward to the results from this week’s poll. It’ll be in your inbox tomorrow!

Great Stuff: Not at All?

It’s that time again!

That’s right, it’s time to feed the Great Stuff beast!

We’ve got some hot topics to discuss this week, so be sure to write in to GreatStuffToday@banyanhill.com and let us know your thoughts!

Here are some of this week’s topics:

“Not at all?” Really? Green investing is one of the hottest topics on Wall Street, but are Great Stuff readers truly not interested? (We’re really interested in this topic … do tell!)

How high do you think Tesla will rally before it crashes?

How are you preparing for the fallout from the Wuhan virus? (Or are you preparing at all?)

Now, you know the drill. You have about two days to drop me a line at GreatStuffToday@banyanhill.com to make this week’s edition of Reader Feedback.

In the meantime, don’t forget to check out Great Stuff on social media. If you can’t get enough meme-y trade war goodness, follow Great Stuff on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

Until next time, good trading!

Regards,

Joseph Hargett

Great Stuff Managing Editor, Banyan Hill Publishing

[goldira01]

The Ticking Chinese Time Bomb

Sorry to ruin your bull market party, but there’s an issue we need to discuss … like, right now.

I’m talking about the Wuhan coronavirus and the U.S.-China “phase 1” trade deal.

Here’s the thing: More than 20,000 Chinese are infected with the Wuhan virus, with some 427 dead. Tens of millions are quarantined in the country. Productivity is grinding to a snail’s pace.

The situation has grown so dire that 24 Chinese municipalities and regions have told businesses to halt all operations until February 10. Maybe they hope the worst will pass by then? Seems like a crapshoot to me.

Anyway, those 24 regions accounted for 80% of China’s gross domestic product (GDP) and 90% of all exports last year. That’s huge, and it’s sure to impact China’s economic growth in the first quarter.

But by how much?

“We are thinking in the region of 3.8% year-over-year, and again plugging in those numbers, we’re looking at year-over-year growth of probably less than 2%,” says Pantheon Macroeconomics Chief Asia Economist Freya Beamish.

First, that’s quite a title there, Freya. I mean, wow…

Second, remember when everyone was biting their nails over last year’s slowing growth? China reported 6.1% GDP growth in 2019, and the markets dipped. Chinese GDP growth of less than 2% would be a serious stunner for the global economy.

And we haven’t even addressed the U.S.-China trade deal. Speaking of which, how will China make good on its promise to buy an extra $200 billion worth of U.S. goods in the next two years amid the Wuhan virus epidemic?

It won’t. China will have to invoke a clause in the trade agreement that allows for leniency in the event of a natural disaster. That clause involves a face-to-face meeting between the two countries, and nobody knows how President Trump will respond to such a request.

The Takeaway: 

If you don’t think this virus outbreak will impact the U.S. economy, I’ve got some bad news for you.

Even if the worst of the Wuhan virus remains contained within China, that’s the second-largest economy on the planet we’re talking about! Nearly every major U.S. manufacturer, chipmaker and goods supplier has a supply or manufacturing chain that involves China at some point.

Furthermore, if China moves ahead with asking for leniency in the phase 1 trade deal, that’s $200 billion in purchases that will be delayed for U.S. companies.

As much as we hate to admit it, the U.S. economy is closely tied to Chinese growth. Sure, we’re trying to move away from that … but you just can’t switch some supply lines in such a short time frame. This situation will have an impact on U.S. growth. Just how much remains to be seen.

Right now, you should keep a close eye on the Wall Street Goliaths with close Chinese ties — big names like Apple Inc. (Nasdaq: AAPL), Cisco Systems Inc. (Nasdaq: CSCO) and Broadcom Inc. (Nasdaq: AVGO).

While the China situation won’t sink these companies, it could slow growth, which is bad news for any investor.

Remember what I told you after Facebook Inc.’s (Nasdaq: FB) ho-hum earnings? The glory days are gone for the market’s slowing Goliaths … and it’s game on for the high-growth “Davids” sweeping in. (See what I did there?)

No one can spot these high-growth Davids with the guts to take on Wall Street’s mighty giants like Charles Mizrahi. In fact, Charles’ knack for finding underdog stocks has helped him find 48 winning stocks in a row.

48? In a row?!

Yes, dear readers … in a row. And it’s all thanks to one investment secret that Charles is finally ready to unveil.

Click here to see how Charles’ best-kept investment secret can help turn your financial goals and dreams into reality.

The Good: FN Great Results

While everyone else focused on the 5G “Spectrum” wars, Fabrinet (NYSE: FN) quietly helped build out the back-end network. What? You didn’t think that the existing hard lines would support this jump to 5G speed, did you? You need fiber in those back-end channels, boy! Copper won’t cut it anymore.

This morning, fiber-optic specialist Fabrinet posted impressive second-quarter results. You might even say they were fabrilous! (Or you might not … whatever.)

For the fourth consecutive quarter, Fabrinet trounced Wall Street’s expectations. Earnings topped the consensus target by $0.07 per share, with revenue beating by more than 3% at $426.2 million.

What’s more, Fabrinet projected third-quarter revenue to land between $410 million and $418 million. The company said it was being cautious due to the Wuhan virus outbreak, but it still surrounded the consensus target for $415 million in revenue.

The bottom line: If you’re looking for 5G investments, Fabrinet should be on your short list — if it’s not already in your portfolio.

The Bad: A, B, See Ya Later, Google!

Even a lower tax bill couldn’t save Alphabet Inc. (Nasdaq: GOOG) this quarter.

The Google parent topped earnings estimates (thanks to said tax breaks) but missed revenue expectations due to poor hardware sales and lower ad revenue.

Google Properties (which includes Gmail, Google Play and YouTube) saw revenue rise 18.5% to $31.9 billion — some $100 million short of expectations. Furthermore, traffic-acquisition costs rose a greater-than-expected 14% during the quarter. Rising traffic costs — i.e., the cost Google pays to partner websites — have been a thorn in Google’s side for some time now.

On the positive side, cloud computing revenue surged 53%, and YouTube revenue jumped 31%.

Still, the report left Alphabet investors searching for more. What they found, however, was a formal European investigation into how Google handles location data. We can add that to the growing pile of investigations and inquiries. That’s got to make investors feel all warm and fuzzy.

The Ugly: Tesla Tendies

What in the wild, wild world of electric vehicles is a-goin’ on here?

As you all well know, I’m a Tesla Inc. (Nasdaq: TSLA) bull … but come on!

TSLA shares are up more than 100% since the beginning of the year. Today, the stock breached $900. Short sellers lost more than $2.5 billion on Monday alone. This is insanity.

I get that there’s been a lot of really good news on Tesla lately. From better-than-expected earnings to Panasonic earnings (it’s all about batteries) to a $7,000 price target … Tesla has had a serious influx of bullish sentiment.

But the company’s $163.3 billion market cap puts it just behind Toyota Motor Corp. (NYSE: TM), making it the second most valuable car company on the planet.

Tesla’s fundamentals just don’t support these levels — there, I said it. What we’re seeing is a good old-fashioned short squeeze. Despite the recent run-up, more than 18% of Tesla’s outstanding shares remain sold short. These are some real troopers here. But how much more pain can they withstand?

After all, it’s not a question of if Tesla will correct at this point … it’s a matter of when. The problem is that TSLA could top $1,000 before all is said and done. If that happens, the shares will likely hit $1,500 before all of the remaining short sellers are crushed to a pulp.

I can’t tell you what to do if you hold TSLA shares. But I will remind you that the market can remain irrational longer than you can remain solvent.

I will say that it feels like we’re nearing a top for Tesla. I hope you have collision insurance for when things eventually go pear-shaped.

Last week, Great Stuff had its first-ever reader poll!

We asked: On a scale of 1 to 5, how much does social responsibility (aka “green investing”) play a part in your portfolio?

Given how much reader feedback I get on so-called green companies, I expected … well, I didn’t expect this:

60% of you don’t factor in social responsibility at all in your investing.

I have to say, I’m a bit flabbergasted. (I really like that word. Thank you for giving me a chance to use it!)

That said, I’m really looking forward to the results from this week’s poll. It’ll be in your inbox tomorrow!

Great Stuff: Not at All?

It’s that time again!

That’s right, it’s time to feed the Great Stuff beast!

We’ve got some hot topics to discuss this week, so be sure to write in to GreatStuffToday@banyanhill.com and let us know your thoughts!

Here are some of this week’s topics:

“Not at all?” Really? Green investing is one of the hottest topics on Wall Street, but are Great Stuff readers truly not interested? (We’re really interested in this topic … do tell!)

How high do you think Tesla will rally before it crashes?

How are you preparing for the fallout from the Wuhan virus? (Or are you preparing at all?)

Now, you know the drill. You have about two days to drop me a line at GreatStuffToday@banyanhill.com to make this week’s edition of Reader Feedback.

In the meantime, don’t forget to check out Great Stuff on social media. If you can’t get enough meme-y trade war goodness, follow Great Stuff on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

Until next time, good trading!

Regards,

Joseph Hargett

Great Stuff Managing Editor, Banyan Hill Publishing

[creatureofgraphite]

A Constant Cycle Of Roses And Thorns (Part 6) A Wings of Fire Fanfic

((Disclaimer:  The Wings of Fire series was written by Tui T Sutherland.  Please check out her books if you have not done so already! ))

After the first exhausting day of panicked travel, Revere's energy was too frayed to do much at night but find a place to hide and sleep.  In the days that followed, she got lost a couple times.  Another time, she nearly died when a stray Skywing attacked her.  

When she neared the island, the dull ache of fear and sadness within her flared into dread.  Her limbs felt numb and weak, trembling.  She didn't do anything to help Mire, even though that was her job.  She would be in trouble, wouldn't she? Would she be allowed to go on missions anymore?  Would she be banished for not being brave enough to dig Mire out of the cave and fight off his attackers?

And worst of all, she was freaked out, not...crying and all that stuff dragons were supposed to do on reflex whenever a friend died.  This whole thing was terrifying, but why were fear and weariness looming in her head so far above her grief for Mire?

'If everyone knew what I was thinking, not only would they see me as a coward, but they would also think I was selfish and evil...'  That was how dragons responded to those that did not mourn for the dead, right?

A cool ocean breeze drifted over her scales.  The sun glared into her eyes, and they drooped in response. She began to fold her wings in so she could dive toward the shore and crash to the soft sand and surrender to the forgetfulness of sleep.

No, no, that was bad, wasn't it? Didn't Mire say they had to fly in a certain pattern around the island before they landed?  Revere stopped, flapping her wings steadily.  Flight pattern, flight pattern...what did Mire say the flight pattern was?  

Would she have to stay hovering here forever until she remembered?  Maybe she should just turn back, then she wouldn't have to deal with all the complicated things that would happen if she landed and faced everyone...

“Revere!”  A voice whispered frantically.  

Revere glanced up, eyes widening as she realized Nimbus was hovering in front of her.  

“What's going on?”  he asked, quietly yet urgently.

Why couldn't he hover a little more to the left, so she could maintain eye contact with him without having the sun in her eyes?  She squinted at him.  “I...I forgot the flight pattern thing, so I didn't know what to do.”

Nimbus's brows furrowed, and he lowered his head to look at her.  But explaining further was too tiring. She'd flown all day non stop, without anything to eat or drink.  Her eyes started to drift shut again.  But the moment she landed she would probably have to deal with everyone else and all their questions about how useless she had been out there in the desert...

Finally, Nimbus sighed.  “Come on, Thorneater wants to see you.”

…...

Revere practically tumbled to a stop on the sands before him.  She landed in a colorful heap, panting and limp.

Deathbringer's eyes widened marginally as his daughter drew her wings closer to her sides.  She seemed ready to fall asleep at any moment, but he couldn't allow her to rest until he had some idea of what was going on.

Especially since she arrived here without Mire.

Death lowered his muzzle and nudged Revere gently.  “Revere...I know you're tired, but where is Mire?”

The child shuddered.  “I...”  her words trailed off in an indecipherable murmur.

“Revere?”  Death prodded her gently.

Revere shifted, lifting her head slightly, but didn't look his way.  “He's in the desert, dead. Wind was acting all upset like he didn't even want us there.  Wind told us to wait in the cave while he caught prey for us.  Mire said everything would be ok, but when I went exploring Wind was talking to some other dragon.  I went to warn Mire but the cave collapsed into a storm of rock and sand and buried him and I couldn't stop it I'm so sorry!”

Death blinked, not expecting a tirade from such a tired dragon.  Revere's words ended in a ragged sob, and there she lay, trembling, her talons digging into the sand.  So Mire was...gone?  Death's ears folded back, heart pounding.  Why did something like this have to happen when Revere was so young, and when he couldn't offer her the comfort a father would normally give?  He had to hide the fact that she was his child, after all.  And maintain his ability to react calmly in the face of these tragedies.

But in spite of Revere's current state...she made the journey back here alone, instead of getting killed by an enemy or lost in the vast lands of Pyrhhia.  She brought back vital news of Mire's death.  She tried to warn Mire...  She had nothing to be sorry for, yet she was piling guilt on herself.  

“Nimbus, take her back to her den and let her rest.  I'll speak with her again this evening.”

…...

Soft breezes brushed through the palm fronds.  Revere's eyes drifted open, seeing a faint orange light reflecting off the small tidepool outside the den.

Oh.  It was sunset.  And everything felt off.  It was far too quiet, and all her energy and joy were gone...

Wait.  She was home.  But Mire wasn't, because he...

Revere sat up, and a twinge of soreness shot through her wings and shoulders.  She sat stiffly for a moment. The soft, familiar sand felt good between her toes...but it was the same as the desert's, wasn't it?  The only thing nice about this sand was that the wind didn't blast the island's sand in her face.  

Wind.  Wind.  Wind.  That dragon helped cause all these weird emotions inside her.  If it wasn't for him, then she wouldn't have been in a situation where her incompetence could harm Mire.  Why didn't she just...

“Revere?”  Thorneater's voice whispered softly.

Revere looked up and saw the black dragon leaning his head down in front of the den entrance.  “Yeah?” she replied.

Thorn sighed and lay down outside the den, perhaps so he could maintain eye contact without having to bend his head so low to peer into the den.  “Revere, can you tell me what happened, in greater detail?”

Revere lowered her gaze to rest on the stone wall beside her.  “I guess.”  Then she told him everything. Every shameful detail of it...except for some of her feelings. Thorneater didn't need to know that she felt more afraid than sad right now.

Thorn was silent for a moment, then sighed.  “Revere, you did well on that mission.”  He took a deep breath.  “Far better than most would at your age.  I see that I didn't move you high enough in rank.  Tomorrow, you will start training with Nimbus.”

Revere blinked and stared at the ground.  “What are you talking about?”

“You suspected Wind right away.  The moment you saw proof of his treachery, you sought to warn Mire.  When the cave collapsed, you fought to save him, though you didn't know what to do.  On top of all that, you survived the trip home by yourself.  You deserve all the training Nimbus can give you.”

Revere didn't stop staring at the ground.  “Oh...are you sure he'll have time?”

“He'll make the time.”  Thorn replied.  

Revere hazarded a glance in the older dragon's direction.  He was watching her carefully.  But he looked sad too.  Was this conversation just a nice way for him to say she needed to train with a better mentor so she could get rid of her incompetence?  Maybe.  How could anyone say she did well when she felt like a mess the moment the cave collapsed and swallowed her mentor?  How could anyone say she deserved good things when she careened away from the whole thing like a startled bird?

But Thorneater seemed insistent, and whatever decision Thorn made in response to her failure, she would accept.