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novaursa · 2 months

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Part 14

- Note: This is the last chapter for today. I hope you enjoy all of them and they keep you busy until I post the rest of them.

- Title: zōbrie ānogar

- Rating: Explicit (18+)

- Romance: (Aegon II/OFC)

- Warning: All flags are up for this work. Aegon is also a warning on his own.

- Summary: It was written by Archmaester Gyldayn that on the day Princess Vaella Targaryen was born she was supposed to die. Until she fed upon her twin, Baelon. And when she turned one and five, she sought her end in the lair of Cannibal, in Dragonmont. But instead of feasting upon her, the dragon wept with her. And Archmaester had written a lengthy thesis on how wild dragon recognized a kindred soul in the Princess, as they both dined on their kin.

- Word count: 9 000+

- Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 15, 16, Final

The grand chambers of the Red Keep were filled with the scent of burning incense, an effort by the maesters to mask the ever-present scent of healing herbs and salves. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting a warm glow over the intricate tapestries and the ornate bed where King Aegon II Targaryen lay, his body still scarred from the grievous wounds he had sustained at the Battle of Rook’s Rest. Months had passed, but the memory of the battle was etched deeply into the hearts and minds of those who loved him, none more so than his queen, Vaella Targaryen.

Vaella entered the room, her presence a beacon of hope and determination. Her long, pale blond hair was arranged in elaborate braids like always, a testament to her beauty and the care she took despite the heavy burdens she carried. Her eyes, filled with a mix of resolve and tenderness, met Aegon’s as she approached. Her hand rested protectively on her visibly pregnant belly, a silent promise of the future they fought so hard to protect.

“Aegon, love,” she whispered, her voice a soothing balm to his weary soul. “It is time.”

Aegon’s eyes flickered open, pain and fatigue evident in their depths. He had always been strong, but the months of recovery had taken their toll. Half of his body bore the scars of his bravery, the burns and broken bones a constant reminder of the price of power. Yet, despite his suffering, his gaze softened as it met Vaella’s. He reached out a hand, and she took it, her touch gentle yet firm.

Grand Maester Orwyle, standing nearby with a look of cautious optimism, stepped forward. “Your Grace, today we shall attempt to help you stand. It will be difficult, but I believe with the Queen’s assistance, you can succeed.”

Aegon nodded, the corners of his lips twitching into a semblance of a smile. “If my queen believes I can, then I shall try.”

Vaella’s heart swelled with pride and love. “We shall do this together, as we have always done.” She glanced at Orwyle, who moved to support Aegon’s other side. “On the count of three.”

“One… two… three.”

With a monumental effort, Aegon pushed himself upward, leaning heavily on Vaella and Orwyle. His breath came in ragged gasps, sweat beading on his forehead. Every movement was agony, but the sight of Vaella’s determined face gave him strength. Slowly, painfully, he rose to his feet, his legs trembling under his weight.

“You’re doing it, Aegon,” Vaella encouraged, her voice steady. “You’re standing.”

Aegon let out a shuddering breath, his grip on Vaella tightening. “Only because of you, my love. Only because of you.”

For a moment, they stood together, the queen and her king, a united front against the trials that sought to break them. Vaella’s heart ached at the sight of Aegon’s pain, but she also felt an overwhelming surge of hope. He was standing. They were standing. Together.

Orwyle watched them with a mixture of awe and professional concern. “Your Grace, this is a significant step. We must proceed slowly to ensure your recovery continues.”

Aegon nodded, his strength waning but his spirit unbroken. “Thank you, Orwyle. And thank you, Vaella. I… I could not do this without you.”

Vaella smiled, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “And you shall never have to, my king. We are one, now and always.”

With painstaking care, they helped Aegon back into the bed, ensuring his comfort. Vaella kissed his forehead, her fingers brushing gently over his bandaged wounds. “Rest now, my love. You have done more than enough for today.”

Aegon closed his eyes, exhaustion overtaking him, but there was a peace in his expression that had not been there for months. Vaella stayed by his side, her hand never leaving his, a silent guardian of his dreams and their shared future.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the room into a gentle twilight, Vaella whispered a vow that only the walls of their chamber would hear. “We will rise from the ashes, my love. Together, we shall rise.”

…

In the dimly lit study of the Hand of the King, the tension was palpable. Otto Hightower, his face etched with the lines of worry and frustration, paced back and forth. Queen Alicent sat nearby, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her expression a mixture of concern and defiance.

“They’ve been at Harrenhal far too long,” Otto began, his voice barely masking his irritation. “Aemond and Cole are needed here. The longer they remain there, the more vulnerable we become.”

Alicent sighed, her fingers tightening around each other. “I’ve sent word after word, but Aemond refuses to heed my calls. He is obstinate, convinced of his own path.”

Otto stopped pacing and turned to face her, his gaze piercing. “You must convince Vaella to ride on dragonback and bring them both back. They will listen to her.”

Alicent shook her head, a flicker of anger in her eyes. “Vaella is heavy with child now. To send her on such a perilous journey would be madness. I will not be responsible for putting her and the child at risk.”

Otto’s expression hardened. “We will all be at risk if Aemond and Cole do not return and resume their duties. Harrenhal is irrelevant now. Its strategic value is minimal compared to the threat we face without our strongest warriors at the capital.”

Alicent rose from her seat, her voice rising. “And what if something happens to Vaella? What if she loses the child, or worse, what if she does not return? Have you considered that?”

Otto’s gaze softened, but only slightly. “I have, but we are in a war, Alicent. Hard choices must be made. If Aemond continues to defy us, the stability of the realm is at stake. Vaella is our best chance to bring him back.”

Alicent looked away, her mind racing. She knew her father was right, but the thought of sending Vaella into danger was unbearable. She had come to care for the woman that was both her daughter-in-law deeply and step-daughter, and the risk seemed too great.

“Vaella is not just a pawn to be moved at will,” Alicent said, her voice trembling. “She is the queen, she is family. We cannot simply order her to risk everything.”

Otto stepped closer, his tone softer but no less insistent. “I know, Alicent. But sometimes, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Aemond must return, and Vaella may be the only one who can make that happen.”

Alicent closed her eyes, fighting back tears. She knew what she had to do, but it did not make it any easier. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation ahead.

“I will speak to her,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I make no promises. She may refuse, and I will not force her.”

Otto nodded, a look of relief and gratitude crossing his features. “That is all I ask. Thank you, Alicent.”

As the evening shadows lengthened, Alicent made her way to Vaella and Aegon’s shared quarters, her heart heavy with the weight of her task. She paused outside the door, gathering her thoughts and her courage. The corridor was silent, the air thick with the unspoken tension of the castle.

With a final, deep breath, she knocked softly on the door, bracing herself for the difficult conversation that lay ahead. The future of the realm depended on the choices made in the coming moments, and the burden of those choices rested heavily on her shoulders.

…

Alicent Hightower stood outside the door to Aegon and Vaella’s chambers, her heart heavy with the burden of the task ahead. She could hear the murmur of voices within, the soft tones of Vaella and the occasional groan of pain from Aegon. She knew that disturbing Aegon could complicate matters, and she needed to speak to Vaella privately.

After a moment’s hesitation, she knocked softly. The door was opened by a servant who bowed low and stepped aside to let her in. Vaella looked up from her place beside Aegon’s bed, her face lighting up with a smile that quickly faded when she saw the seriousness in Alicent’s eyes.

“Alicent,” Vaella greeted, rising slowly and gracefully, her hand resting protectively on her swollen belly. “What brings you here at this hour?”

Alicent glanced at Aegon, whose eyes were closed in a restless slumber, then back at Vaella. “May I speak with you privately, Vaella? It is a matter of some urgency.”

Vaella’s expression grew concerned, but she nodded. She leaned down and whispered something to Aegon, who murmured in response but did not wake. She then led Alicent to a small antechamber adjoining their bedroom, where they could talk without fear of disturbing the king.

Once the door was closed behind them, Vaella turned to Alicent, her indigo eyes searching her mother-in-law’s face. “What is it, Alicent? What troubles you so?”

Alicent took a deep breath, her hands wringing together. “Vaella, I have come to ask something of you, something I do not ask lightly. It concerns Aemond and Ser Criston Cole. They have remained at Harrenhal far too long, and their absence puts us all at risk. We need them back in the capital.”

Vaella frowned, a worried crease forming between her brows. “I have heard nothing from Aemond in weeks. What has happened?”

“He is being stubborn,” Alicent said, her frustration evident. “He refuses to heed our calls to return, convinced he is needed more at Harrenhal. But we need him here. The realm needs him here.”

Vaella’s eyes widened as she began to understand where this was leading. “And you wish me to…?”

“I need you to ride to Harrenhal and bring them back,” Alicent said, her voice trembling. “Aemond will listen to you, Vaella. He respects you, perhaps more than anyone else. You can convince him to return.”

Vaella took a step back, her hand instinctively covering her belly. “But I am with child, Alicent. The journey is long and dangerous. What if something were to happen?”

Alicent reached out, taking Vaella’s hands in hers. “I know, Vaella. Believe me, I would not ask this of you if there were any other way. But the longer Aemond and Ser Criston remain at Harrenhal, the more vulnerable we become. The stability of the realm is at stake.”

Vaella looked away, her mind racing. She knew the risks, both to herself and her unborn child. But she also understood the gravity of the situation. The realm was teetering on the brink of chaos, and every decision they made could tip the balance.

“Aegon will never allow it,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “He would forbid it outright.”

Alicent nodded, her grip on Vaella’s hands tightening. “That is why I came to you privately. We must act quickly, before Aegon can intervene. He will understand, in time. But for now, we must think of the greater good.”

Vaella closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. The weight of responsibility pressed down on her, but she knew what she had to do. “Very well, Alicent. I will go. For the sake of the realm, and for our family.”

Alicent let out a sigh of relief, tears welling in her eyes. “Thank you, Vaella. You are braver than any of us. I will ensure everything is prepared for your journey.”

Vaella nodded, her resolve hardening. She knew the risks, but she also knew that sometimes, the greatest sacrifices were required for the greatest causes. She would go to Harrenhal and bring Aemond and Ser Criston back, no matter the cost.

As they stepped back into the main chamber, Vaella cast one last look at Aegon, who still slept fitfully. She leaned down and kissed his forehead, whispering a silent promise. “For you, my love. For us all.”

With that, she turned to Alicent, her eyes filled with determination. “Let us prepare. Time is of the essence.”

…

Vaella stood on the Dragonpit’s highest ledge, the wind tugging at her elaborate braids and the hem of her gown. She placed a hand on her swollen belly, whispering a silent prayer for the safety of the child she carried. Below her, the great black dragon Cannibal awaited, his eyes gleaming with a wild intelligence that had always made him a creature to be feared and respected.

Taking a deep breath, Vaella descended the steps to where Cannibal rested. The dragon snorted, sending a plume of smoke into the air as he sensed her approach. She reached out and placed a hand on his rough, warm scales, feeling the immense power that lay coiled beneath.

“Be gentle with me today, my friend,” she murmured. “We have an important task ahead.”

With a final glance back at the Red Keep, she climbed onto Cannibal’s back, settling herself as comfortably as she could. The dragon’s muscles bunched beneath her, and with a mighty leap, they were airborne, soaring high above King’s Landing.

The flight was arduous, the strain of her pregnancy making it difficult to maintain her balance and grip. Each beat of Cannibal’s wings sent a jolt through her body, and she clutched the reins tightly, her knuckles white. The wind whipped her hair around her face, and she had to blink rapidly to keep her vision clear.

As they flew over the countryside, the landscape below blurred into a patchwork of fields and forests. Vaella could feel the baby moving within her, a reminder of the precious life she carried and the risks she was taking. She leaned forward, pressing herself closer to Cannibal’s neck, trying to shield herself from the biting wind.

Hours passed, the sun dipping lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the land. As they neared Harrenhal, Vaella could see the great fortress rising up from the mist, a dark silhouette against the setting sun. She guided Cannibal lower, but the dragon growled in protest, his wings beating more erratically.

“Please, Cannibal,” she pleaded, her voice strained. “We must land. We have come so far.”

Cannibal roared, his voice echoing off the walls of Harrenhal, but he began to descend reluctantly. The ground rushed up to meet them, and just as Vaella thought they would land, Cannibal pulled up sharply, circling the fortress once more. Frustration and exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her, but she tightened her grip, determined to succeed.

After several tense minutes, Cannibal finally relented, landing with a heavy thud in the courtyard of Harrenhal. Vaella slid from his back, her legs trembling as she touched solid ground. She leaned against the dragon for support, taking deep, steadying breaths.

A figure approached her, armor clinking softly in the growing dusk. Ser Criston Cole, his face etched with surprise, bowed deeply. “Your Grace,” he said, his voice tinged with awe. “We did not expect you.”

Vaella straightened, summoning all the regal bearing she could muster. “Ser Criston, I have come to bring Aemond and you back to the capital. Your presence is needed there.”

Criston’s eyes widened in surprise. “But, Your Grace, your condition—”

“I am aware of my condition, Ser Criston,” Vaella interrupted, her tone firm. “But the realm cannot wait. We must return immediately.”

Criston hesitated, glancing back towards the keep. “Aemond has been…difficult. He believes his place is here.”

Vaella nodded, her resolve hardening. “I will speak with him. But first, I need to rest.” She swayed slightly, and Criston stepped forward to support her.

“Of course, Your Grace. This way.”

He led her into the fortress, Cannibal’s watchful eyes following their every move. Inside, the halls of Harrenhal were cold and foreboding, but Vaella walked with her head held high, determined to fulfill her mission. They entered a chamber where a fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the stone walls.

“Please, rest here,” Criston said, helping her to a chair. “I will fetch Aemond.”

Vaella nodded gratefully, sinking into the chair with a sigh of relief. She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her strength. She knew the hardest part was yet to come, but she was ready. For her family, for the realm, she would do whatever was necessary.

As she waited, the fire’s warmth seeping into her tired bones, she whispered another silent prayer, hoping that the gods would grant her the strength she needed to bring her family back together and ensure the safety of their kingdom.

…

The flickering light from the hearth cast dancing shadows on the walls of the chamber, creating an eerie, restless atmosphere. Vaella sat by the fire, trying to ignore the growing ache in her body and the weight of her weariness. As she waited for Aemond, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow move, but when she turned to look, there was nothing there. She sighed, chalking it up to exhaustion and the strangeness of the ancient fortress.

Moments stretched into minutes, and just as her patience was beginning to fray, she heard footsteps echoing in the hall outside. The door creaked open, and Aemond Targaryen entered, his tall figure framed by the dim light from the corridor. His expression was one of surprise, almost shock, as he saw Vaella sitting by the fire.

“Vaella?” Aemond’s voice was tinged with incredulity. “What are you doing here?”

Vaella struggled to her feet, her hands instinctively moving to her belly. “Aemond, we need you and Ser Criston back at the capital. You have been stalling here at Harrenhal for too long, and there is no reason to remain.”

Aemond’s one good eye narrowed, his expression hardening. “I am where I need to be, Vaella. Harrenhal is crucial to our strategy.”

Vaella shook her head, frustration and determination mingling in her gaze. “No, Aemond. Harrenhal is no longer of strategic importance. The realm is in danger, and your presence is required in King’s Landing. Your wife, Helaena, and your twins are securing the Vale for us. They need you, Aemond. We all need you.”

For a moment, Aemond’s resolve wavered, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. “Helaena and the children…”

“Yes,” Vaella pressed, sensing a crack in his armor. “Your family needs you. The realm needs you. The longer you stay here, the more vulnerable we become. We cannot afford to be divided at a time like this.”

Aemond looked away, his jaw clenched. “I understand your concerns, Vaella, but I have responsibilities here. I cannot simply abandon my post.”

Vaella took a step closer, her voice softening. “Aemond, this is not abandoning your post. This is fulfilling your duty to the realm and to your family. The capital needs you. Aegon needs you. We are stronger together.”

Aemond’s expression shifted, a mixture of frustration and conflict. “And what of you, Vaella? You should not be traveling in your condition. What if something were to happen?”

Vaella smiled faintly, her hand resting on her belly. “I came because I believe in our cause. I believe in you. But I need you to believe in us, in our family, and in our future. Please, Aemond, come back with me.”

Aemond’s gaze softened for a moment, the stern lines of his face relaxing. But then his resolve returned, and he shook his head. “I am staying, Vaella. I cannot leave now.”

Vaella felt a pang of disappointment but refused to give up. “Very well, Aemond. If you will not come for me, come for Helaena. Come for your children. They need their father to protect the realm.”

Aemond’s face darkened with internal struggle, but he remained silent, his jaw set in determination. Vaella sighed, knowing she had done all she could. “Think about what I’ve said, Aemond. Please. For all our sakes.”

Vaella remained standing, her gaze steady on Aemond. “I will stay here for a few days, Aemond, to recuperate before the flight back. This journey has taken its toll on me.”

Aemond’s eyes widened slightly, then he nodded, his features settling into a mask of resignation. “Very well, Vaella. Rest and regain your strength.” He turned on his heel and left the room, the echo of his footsteps fading into the stone corridors.

Vaella sank back into the chair by the fire, exhaustion washing over her. She closed her eyes, letting the warmth seep into her bones, grateful for the brief respite. The shadows outside seemed to deepen as evening settled over Harrenhal, a sense of unease creeping into the ancient walls.

Later that day, after a restless nap and a modest meal, Vaella decided to explore the fortress a bit. She needed to stretch her legs and clear her mind. As she wandered through the labyrinthine corridors, she felt a presence behind her. Turning, she found herself face-to-face with a striking woman, her dark eyes piercing and enigmatic.

“Alys Rivers,” the woman introduced herself, her voice a soft, unsettling whisper. “You should not have come here, Your Grace.”

Vaella straightened, sensing the tension in Alys’s posture. “I am here for Aemond. The realm needs him back in King’s Landing.”

Alys took a step closer, then hesitated, her eyes narrowing. “You were not meant to come here,” she repeated, almost as if speaking to herself. “This place… it is not safe for you.”

A distant roar echoed through the halls, unmistakably Cannibal’s, and Vaella felt a chill run down her spine. “What do you mean, Alys?”

The woman’s eyes flicked toward the sound, then back to Vaella. “Your dragon is restless. He senses what you cannot.”

Vaella’s unease deepened, but she kept her voice steady. “I will be leaving soon, but I need to ensure Aemond’s return first.”

Alys’s expression darkened, a mix of fear and defiance in her eyes. “He will never leave this place, Your Grace. Harrenhal has claimed him.”

Vaella stepped forward, her eyes meeting Alys’s unflinchingly. “I will not leave without him, Alys. Whatever hold this place has on him, it must be broken.”

Alys took a quick step back, almost as if Vaella’s presence burned her. “You do not understand the forces at play here. Harrenhal is… it has its own will. And Aemond has embraced it.”

Vaella’s mind raced, trying to piece together the cryptic warnings. “What do you mean, Alys? What has Aemond embraced?”

Alys shook her head, a sad smile playing on her lips. “You will see soon enough. But heed my warning: leave while you still can. This place is not kind to those who do not belong.”

Vaella squared her shoulders, a fierce determination burning in her indigo eyes. “I belong wherever my family needs me. And right now, they need Aemond back in King’s Landing.”

Alys’s gaze softened slightly, a hint of admiration in her eyes. “Your resolve is commendable, Your Grace. But be careful. Harrenhal does not give up its hold easily.”

With that, Alys turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Vaella standing alone in the dim corridor. The air seemed to grow colder, the walls closing in around her. She could still hear Cannibal’s distant roars, a reminder of the dangers that lurked within this ancient fortress.

…

Vaella woke with a start, her heart pounding in her chest. The room was bathed in a cold, unnatural light, and strange, whispering sounds filled the air. She sat up, her eyes scanning the chamber for the source of the disturbance. Shadows flickered across the walls, twisting and writhing as if alive.

Her breath caught in her throat when she saw a figure standing at the foot of her bed. It was a young man, tall and pale, with long blond hair and indigo eyes that mirrored her own. He was dressed in Targaryen finery, the rich fabrics and intricate embroidery unmistakable. Vaella's heart skipped a beat, and she clutched the blankets tightly, struggling to make sense of what she was seeing.

"Baelon?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Is it really you?"

The figure stepped closer, and Vaella could see him more clearly. His features were hauntingly familiar, the same strong jaw and high cheekbones she saw in her own reflection. But there was something off about him, a coldness in his eyes that sent a shiver down her spine.

"Yes, Vaella," he said, his voice echoing strangely in the room. "It is I, your twin. The brother you never knew."

Vaella shook her head, her mind reeling. "But how? You died at birth. This can't be real."

Baelon's eyes darkened, and he took another step closer. "Oh, it's real enough. You took my soul, sister. You stole my life to ensure your own survival."

Vaella recoiled, tears springing to her eyes. "No, that's not true. I would never—"

"Wouldn't you?" Baelon interrupted, his voice growing harsher. "You lived while I perished. You drew breath while I was left to rot. Do you know what it's like, Vaella? To be condemned to darkness while you thrive?"

Vaella's heart ached with guilt and confusion. She had always mourned the loss of her twin, feeling a deep connection to the brother she never knew. But to be accused of stealing his soul, of taking his life—it was too much to bear.

"I didn't choose this, Baelon," she pleaded. "I didn't want you to die. I've always felt your absence, always wished you were here."

Baelon's expression softened slightly, but the bitterness remained in his eyes. "You may not have chosen it, but you benefited from it. You have everything, Vaella. Power, family, love. And what do I have? Nothing but a cold grave."

Vaella's tears flowed freely now, her heart breaking for the brother she never had the chance to know. "I'm so sorry, Baelon. If I could change it, I would. I would give anything to have you here with me."

Baelon moved closer, the scent of him—familiar and haunting—filling her senses. "You say that, but would you truly give up your life for mine? Would you trade places with me?"

Vaella's breath hitched, and she stared at him, torn between her love for her brother and her instinct to survive. "I... I don't know. I've never had to make that choice."

Baelon's gaze bore into hers, filled with a mix of longing and anger. "You have to understand, Vaella. My soul is bound to you. I cannot find peace while you live."

Vaella reached out, her hand trembling, but Baelon stepped back, his form wavering like mist. "Please, Baelon. There must be another way. Tell me how I can help you find peace."

Baelon shook his head, a sad smile on his lips. "There is no peace for me, sister. Not while the bond between us remains. You must live with the knowledge that your life came at the cost of mine."

Vaella's heart ached with the weight of his words. "I will find a way, Baelon. I promise. I will find a way to free you."

Baelon looked at her one last time, his expression a mixture of sorrow and resignation. "I hope you do, Vaella. For both our sakes."

With that, he faded into the shadows, the room returning to its previous stillness. Vaella sat there, shaken and exhausted, the echoes of her brother's accusations ringing in her ears. She knew she had to find a way to free him, to break the bond that held his soul captive.

As the first light of dawn crept through the window, Vaella made a silent vow to her brother. She would find a way to bring him peace, no matter the cost. She owed him that much, and more.

…

The Red Keep buzzed with the usual daily activity, but within the private chambers of King Aegon II Targaryen, a storm was brewing. Aegon, still recovering from his grievous injuries, was determined to stand and walk on his own, a feat he had not yet managed without assistance. The Grand Maester stood nearby, offering support and guidance as Aegon gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead.

As Aegon struggled to take another step, the door to the chamber opened, and Dowager Queen Alicent entered. She paused, her eyes widening in surprise and concern as she saw her son’s efforts.

“Aegon,” she said softly, moving towards him. “You should be resting.”

Aegon’s eyes flashed with anger, and he straightened, pushing the Grand Maester’s hand away. “Resting? While my wife is risking her life because of you?”

Alicent froze, her face paling. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Aegon growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You convinced Vaella to go to Harrenhal to bring Aemond back. How could you?”

The Grand Maester stepped back, sensing the rising tension in the room. Alicent took a deep breath, trying to maintain her composure. “Aegon, please, calm down. I did what needed to be done. Aemond’s presence here is crucial, and Vaella was the only one who could reach him.”

“She’s heavy with child!” Aegon shouted, taking an unsteady step towards her. “You put her and our unborn child in danger! For what? Aemond’s stubbornness?”

Alicent’s eyes filled with tears, but she held her ground. “I know it was a risk, but Vaella understood the importance. She agreed to go because she loves this family and this realm.”

Aegon’s anger flared even brighter, and he took another step, his legs trembling but his resolve firm. “You had no right to make that decision for her. For us. If anything happens to her or our child, I will never forgive you.”

Alicent’s face crumpled, but she reached out, her hand trembling. “Aegon, please. I only did what I thought was best for all of us. I didn’t want to put Vaella in danger, but Aemond—”

“Aemond can rot in Harrenhal for all I care!” Aegon snapped, his voice breaking. “Vaella is my wife, the mother of my children. You had no right to send her away.”

The Grand Maester intervened gently, stepping between them. “Your Graces, please. This is not helping anyone. We must focus on ensuring the safety of the queen and the realm.”

Aegon’s chest heaved with exertion and fury, but he nodded, reluctantly stepping back and allowing the Grand Maester to steady him. “You’re right, Grand Maester. But my mother needs to understand that her actions have consequences.”

Alicent wiped her tears away, her voice shaking. “I do understand, Aegon. I’m sorry. I truly am. But we must all do what we can to protect the realm.”

Aegon looked away, his jaw clenched. “I just want my wife and child safe. If anything happens to them…”

Alicent moved closer, placing a tentative hand on his arm. “We will pray for their safe return, Aegon. And we will make sure this never happens again.”

Aegon didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on the horizon through the window. The Grand Maester guided him back to his chair, and Aegon sank into it, exhaustion and worry etched into his features.

“Vaella is strong,” the Grand Maester said softly. “She will return to you, Your Grace. We must have faith.”

Aegon nodded slowly, his anger simmering but his resolve unbroken. “She will. She has to.”

…

Vaella awoke in the morning with a renewed sense of purpose. She had spent a couple more restless nights haunted by the specter of her twin brother here, but now she knew she had to leave Harrenhal and return to King’s Landing. The realm needed her, and she could not linger any longer in this dark and foreboding place.

As she prepared to depart, Ser Criston Cole arrived to escort her to her dragon. He bowed respectfully, his eyes filled with concern. “Your Grace, I will see you safely to Cannibal.”

“Thank you, Ser Criston,” Vaella replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. “Let us be on our way.”

They walked through the winding corridors of Harrenhal, the ancient stone walls seeming to close in around them. Vaella could feel the oppressive weight of the castle, its dark history seeping into her bones. As they neared the courtyard, they encountered Aemond. He stood there, his posture tense, his expression conflicted.

“Vaella,” Aemond said, his voice a mixture of anger and sorrow. “You are leaving?”

“Yes, Aemond,” Vaella replied, her tone firm. “I must return to King’s Landing. The realm needs you there as well.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, it looked as if he might argue. But then his shoulders slumped, and he simply nodded. “Safe travels, sister. May the gods watch over you.”

Vaella placed a hand on his arm, a gesture of both affection and resolve. “Please, Aemond. Consider what I’ve said. We need you.”

Aemond looked away, unable to meet her gaze. “I will think on it.”

As Vaella continued her journey through the fortress, she suddenly froze, her heart lurching painfully in her chest. There, standing in a shadowy alcove, was the tiny figure of her infant son, Aeron. He looked just as he had the last time she had held him, his cherubic face pale and still, his eyes closed forever.

“Aeron,” she whispered, her voice breaking. She reached out a trembling hand, but the vision wavered and disappeared, leaving her standing alone in the cold corridor. She closed her eyes, pushing back tears. “It’s just the shadows of this place,” she told herself. “Nothing more.”

Ser Criston watched her with a mixture of pity and respect. “Your Grace, are you well?”

Vaella took a deep breath, forcing herself to move forward. “Yes, Ser Criston. Let us continue.”

When they reached the courtyard, they found Cannibal in a state of agitation, his massive form pacing restlessly. The dragon’s eyes gleamed with a wild, fierce intelligence, and he roared as he saw Vaella approach.

“Easy, Cannibal,” Vaella soothed, her voice calm and reassuring. “We will be leaving soon.”

Cannibal snorted, a plume of smoke billowing from his nostrils. Vaella placed a hand on his rough scales, feeling the heat and power beneath. She climbed onto his back, settling herself as comfortably as she could. Before they took off, she glanced back at Harrenhal one last time.

There, standing in the shadow of a crumbling tower, was Alys Rivers. The woman’s dark eyes were fixed on Vaella, her expression inscrutable. Alys raised a hand in a gesture that could have been a wave or a warning, and Vaella felt a chill run down her spine.

“Ser Criston,” she called down, her voice carrying an edge of urgency. “Look after Aemond. Make sure he returns to King’s Landing.”

Criston bowed deeply. “I will do my best, Your Grace.”

With a final nod, Vaella urged Cannibal into the sky. The dragon’s powerful wings beat the air, lifting them high above Harrenhal. As they soared higher, Vaella felt a sense of release, as if a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders. The wind whipped through her hair, and she closed her eyes, savoring the freedom of flight.

But the memories of Harrenhal lingered, haunting her thoughts. The specter of her brother, the vision of her dead son, the enigmatic presence of Alys—all of it swirled in her mind like a dark cloud. She knew she could not simply forget these experiences. They were a part of her now, a part of the realm’s tangled history.

The Red Keep awaited her return, and with it, the challenges of a kingdom on the brink. But Vaella was ready. She had faced the darkness of Harrenhal and emerged stronger. Whatever came next, she would meet it head-on, with fire and blood.

…

As Vaella and Cannibal flew high above the landscape, the comfort of flight that usually calmed her now felt treacherous. Cannibal’s agitation had grown more pronounced, his movements less smooth and more erratic. Vaella clutched the reins tightly, her body tense with the effort of maintaining her balance.

“Easy, Cannibal,” she murmured, though her words did little to soothe the great beast beneath her. The dragon’s eyes darted around, his powerful muscles tensing with every wingbeat. Vaella’s unease deepened, her pregnancy making her acutely aware of every jolt and shift.

Then, in the distance, she saw it—a dark shape against the sky, moving fast. Her heart sank as the figure drew nearer, revealing the unmistakable form of a dragon. And not just any dragon. Vaella’s blood ran cold as she recognized the massive, bronze-scaled Vermithor, the Bronze Fury.

“That’s Vermithor,” she whispered, dread settling in her stomach. “Which means Rhaenyra has found a rider for him.”

Cannibal roared, his body vibrating with fury as he sensed the approaching threat. Vaella’s mind raced. Whoever rode Vermithor was not coming with peaceful intentions. She remembered the tales of Vermithor’s wrath, of the power and destruction he could unleash. And if Rhaenyra had sent him, it was with a purpose full of malice.

The rider on Vermithor came into view, and Vaella recognized him as Hugh Hammer. His posture was aggressive, his intent clear as he guided Vermithor directly towards her. The realization struck Vaella with the force of a blow: Rhaenyra was determined to eliminate any threats, and that now included her.

Cannibal roared again, louder this time, and Vaella felt the dragon’s muscles bunch beneath her. “We need to get out of here, Cannibal,” she urged, trying to keep her voice steady. “We can’t fight them head-on.”

But Vermithor was closing the distance rapidly, his massive wings slicing through the air with frightening speed. Vaella felt Cannibal’s fury and fear, her own anxiety amplifying the dragon’s agitation. She knew they were in a precarious situation, one that could end disastrously if they didn’t act quickly.

Hugh Hammer’s voice carried across the sky, filled with menace. “Vaella Targaryen! You cannot escape the Bronze Fury. Surrender now, and perhaps we’ll show you mercy.”

Vaella’s grip tightened on the reins, her mind racing. Surrender was not an option. Not with her unborn child at risk, and certainly not to Hugh Hammer and the forces behind him. She leaned forward, pressing herself close to Cannibal’s neck. “We need to fly, Cannibal. Faster than we ever have.”

Cannibal roared in response, his wings beating furiously as he surged forward. Vaella could feel the strain in his muscles, the raw power as he pushed himself to the limit. Vermithor and Hugh Hammer followed, their pursuit relentless.

The landscape below blurred as they sped across the sky, the wind tearing at Vaella’s hair and clothes. Cannibal’s roars echoed around them, a challenge and a warning. But Vermithor was not deterred, his own roars answering with equal ferocity.

Vaella risked a glance back, her heart pounding as she saw how close Vermithor had come. The massive dragon’s bronze scales glinted in the sunlight, his eyes locked on his prey. Hugh Hammer’s expression was one of grim determination, his hand raised as if preparing to strike.

“We can’t let them catch us, Cannibal,” Vaella urged, her voice barely audible above the wind and the dragon’s roars. “We have to stay ahead.”

Cannibal responded with a burst of speed, his wings straining against the air. But Vaella could feel the toll it was taking on him, the effort of carrying her and her unborn child while evading one of the most powerful dragons in existence.

Vermithor was gaining, the gap between them closing with alarming speed. Vaella’s mind raced, searching for any advantage, any way to escape. She knew they couldn’t keep this pace forever, and if Vermithor caught them...

“Vaella Targaryen!” Hugh Hammer’s voice rang out again, closer this time. “You cannot outrun us! Face your fate with dignity.”

Vaella’s heart ached with fear and defiance. She would not give up, not while there was still a chance to survive. “Hold on, Cannibal,” she whispered. “We’re almost there. Just a little further.”

But the relentless pursuit continued, Vermithor’s roars growing louder, more menacing. The skies were filled with the sound of their desperate flight, a battle of speed and endurance that tested the limits of both dragons and rider.

The sky was a blur of frenzied motion as Cannibal and Vermithor hurtled towards each other. Vaella clung to Cannibal’s ssddle, her heart pounding in sync with the dragon’s powerful wingbeats. The air crackled with tension as the two massive beasts closed the distance, their roars reverberating through the heavens.

With a deafening crash, Cannibal and Vermithor collided. The force of the impact sent shockwaves through the sky, and Vaella nearly lost her grip, her fingers tightening desperately on the reins. Cannibal's claws raked across Vermithor’s bronze scales, sparks flying as they clashed.

Vermithor retaliated with a savage bite, his jaws closing around Cannibal’s shoulder. The black dragon roared in pain, twisting and thrashing in an attempt to free himself. Vaella’s vision blurred with tears as she felt Cannibal’s agony through their bond.

Hugh Hammer shouted commands, urging Vermithor to press the attack. “Finish them, Vermithor! Crush them!”

But Cannibal was not so easily defeated. With a ferocious roar, he wrenched himself free, blood streaming from the wounds on his shoulder. He lunged at Vermithor, his jaws closing around the bronze dragon’s neck. The two dragons grappled in mid-air, a deadly dance of fire and fury.

Vaella’s world narrowed to the chaotic battle around her. She could feel every jolt, every blow, as if the dragons’ pain was her own. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her strength waning with each passing moment. But she held on, refusing to give up.

Cannibal managed to gain the upper hand, his jaws clamping down harder on Vermithor’s neck. Vermithor roared in pain, his wings beating furiously as he tried to shake off his attacker. But Cannibal’s grip was relentless, his teeth sinking deeper into the bronze scales.

Hugh Hammer’s eyes widened in fear as he realized the tide was turning. “Vermithor, no!”

With a final, desperate surge of strength, Cannibal tore into Vermithor’s throat. The bronze dragon let out a guttural roar, his body convulsing as blood sprayed into the air. Cannibal’s claws raked across Vermithor’s wings, shredding the membranes and sending them both spiraling towards the ground.

Vaella screamed as the world tilted, her vision blurring with the speed of their descent. The ground rushed up to meet them, and she clung to Cannibal with all her remaining strength. The impact was bone-jarring, the force of it sending shockwaves through her body.

As the dust settled, Vaella struggled to regain her bearings. She could feel the searing pain of her own injuries, the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her. But she forced herself to focus, her eyes searching the battlefield.

Vermithor lay on the ground, his massive form still and lifeless. Hugh Hammer was nowhere to be seen, crushed beneath the weight of the Bronze Fury. Cannibal, though badly injured, stood over the fallen dragon, his sides heaving with each labored breath.

Vaella slid from Cannibal’s back, her legs nearly giving out beneath her. She stumbled towards Vermithor, her heart aching with a mixture of triumph and sorrow. The bronze dragon’s eyes were still open, his life fading as he lay there, a testament to the brutal battle they had fought.

Cannibal limped towards her, his body covered in blood and wounds. Vaella reached out a trembling hand, her fingers brushing against his scales. “You did it, Cannibal,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You saved us.”

Cannibal nuzzled her hand, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and pride. Vaella sank to her knees beside Vermithor, her body trembling with exhaustion. She closed her eyes, taking a moment to breathe, to process the chaos and the cost of their victory.

As she knelt there, the wind whispered through the trees, carrying the echoes of the battle away. Her breath came in shallow gasps as the exhaustion and pain seeped into her bones. She glanced at Cannibal, who limped toward the fallen bronze dragon, his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger.

With a savage roar, Cannibal began tearing into Vermithor’s flesh. His jaws clamped down on the still-breathing dragon, ripping through scales and muscle with brutal efficiency. Blood sprayed in all directions, and Vaella could feel the heat of it on her skin. She watched in a daze as Cannibal bit into Vermithor's side, scorching the flesh with his fiery breath to cook it well.

As the scent of burning flesh filled the air, Vaella felt an unsettling compulsion rise within her. Her mouth watered, her stomach twisted with an unfamiliar hunger. It was as if the very essence of the dragon's power called to her, urging her to partake in the primal feast. She tried to resist, shaking her head to clear the fog of confusion and desire.

Cannibal's eyes met hers, and she felt an overwhelming wave of encouragement and command through their bond. Without fully understanding why, Vaella crawled closer to the fallen dragon. She reached out, her fingers sinking into the still-warm, half-raw flesh of Vermithor. The heat radiated through her hand, and the scent of blood and charred meat overwhelmed her senses.

She tore a piece of the meat free, her mind a whirl of instinct and compulsion. The blood was still warm, the flesh tender and almost pulsating with the last remnants of Vermithor’s life. Vaella brought it to her lips, hesitating for only a moment before biting down. The taste was rich and metallic, unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was both repulsive and intoxicating.

She tore into the flesh with a ravenous hunger, her body trembling with each bite. The compulsion was overpowering, a primal need that drove her to consume more. She felt a surge of strength and energy with every mouthful, as if she were absorbing the very essence of the mighty dragon - straight into her unborn child that went silent for a moment from the impact of the fall.

Cannibal continued his own feast, gnawing and burning Vermithor’s guts to ensure the meat was cooked. The sound of tearing flesh and cracking bones filled the air, a gruesome symphony of survival and dominance. Vaella lost herself in the act, her mind a blur of instinct and hunger.

Minutes passed, though they felt like hours. When Vaella finally stopped, her hands and face were smeared with blood, her body trembling from the exertion and the strange, empowering sensation coursing through her. She stood unsteadily, her eyes meeting Cannibal’s once more. The dragon's gaze was approving, almost proud.

With a final glance at the now lifeless carcass of Vermithor, Vaella climbed back onto Cannibal’s back. The dragon’s muscles bunched beneath her, and she could feel the newborn energy in his movements. He roared once more, a victorious, defiant sound that echoed across the battlefield.

As they took to the sky, the wind whipped through Vaella’s hair, carrying away the scent of blood and fire. She clung to Cannibal, her mind still reeling from the events of the past hours. The primal compulsion had faded, replaced by a steely resolve and a newfound sense of power.

They flew steadily towards King’s Landing, the setting sun casting a golden glow over the horizon.

…

The sky was a vast expanse of twilight hues as Vaella and Cannibal flew steadily towards King’s Landing. The cool air whipped past her, carrying away the lingering scents of blood and charred flesh. Vaella’s thoughts were a maelstrom of confusion and introspection, the events of the battle replaying over and over in her mind.

As they soared through the heavens, the rhythmic beating of Cannibal’s wings provided a steady, almost hypnotic backdrop to her contemplations. She replayed the moment she had felt compelled to join Cannibal in feasting on Vermithor’s flesh. The memory was vivid—the warmth of the blood, the metallic taste, the primal hunger that had consumed her.

Why had she done it? What force had driven her to partake in such a gruesome act? She had always known that the bond between a dragon and its rider was deep and powerful, but this was something entirely different. It was as if she had tapped into a well of ancient, untamed energy, something that transcended the bond of rider and dragon.

“Cannibal,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the wind. “What happened to us back there?”

The dragon did not respond in words, but she felt a ripple of acknowledgment through their bond. It was as if Cannibal understood her confusion, even if he could not explain it. The bond they shared had always been intense, but this experience had pushed it into uncharted territory.

Vaella sighed, her thoughts drifting to her family. What would Aegon say when she told him about what had happened? How would he react to the knowledge that she had been driven by a primal force to consume the flesh of a fallen dragon? She feared his reaction but knew she could not keep this from him. He deserved to know the truth, no matter how disturbing.

As they flew over the countryside, the familiar sight of King’s Landing came into view on the horizon. The sprawling city, with its towering walls and bustling streets, was a welcome sight. The Red Keep loomed in the distance, a symbol of power and stability. Vaella’s heart ached with the longing to be home, to be safe.

As they drew nearer, the city’s details became clearer. She could see the bustling activity below, the tiny figures of people going about their daily lives, unaware of the turmoil that had transpired. The sight brought a sense of normalcy, a reminder of the life she was fighting to protect.

The wind shifted, carrying the sound of a distant horn. It was the signal for the return of a dragon, a sound that sent ripples of anticipation through the city. Vaella felt a surge of relief, knowing that soon she would be reunited with her loved ones. But as they approached the city, she felt Cannibal’s strength waning. The dragon’s injuries were taking their toll, and his flight became more erratic.

“Hold on, Cannibal,” she urged, her voice filled with concern. “We’re almost there.”

Cannibal roared in response, a sound that echoed through the sky. But his wings faltered, and he began to lose altitude. Vaella’s heart raced as she felt the dragon struggle beneath her. The ground rushed up to meet them, and she could see the towers of the city growing larger.

“Steady, Cannibal,” she whispered, trying to soothe him. But it was no use. The dragon’s strength was failing, and they were descending too quickly.

With a mighty effort, Cannibal flapped his wings, but the motion was uneven and strained. They clipped the top of a tower, sending chunks of stone tumbling to the ground below. Vaella clung to the reins, her heart in her throat, as they careened through the air.

The city below erupted in shouts and gasps as people watched the dragon’s unsteady flight. Cannibal roared again, his voice filled with pain and determination. Vaella’s eyes darted around, searching for a safe place to land. The Dragonpit loomed ahead, a sanctuary for the injured beast.

With one final, desperate surge of strength, Cannibal angled towards the Dragonpit. They descended rapidly, the ground coming up to meet them with alarming speed. Vaella braced herself, praying for a safe landing.

The impact was jarring, but Cannibal managed to land in front of the confines of the Dragonpit. His legs buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, his sides heaving with exhaustion. Vaella slid from his back, her own body trembling with fatigue and relief.

“Cannibal, you did it,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She knelt beside the dragon, her hand resting on his scaled hide. “You brought us home.”

Cannibal let out a low, rumbling growl, a sound of acknowledgment and pain. Vaella looked around, seeing the familiar faces of the dragonkeepers rushing to their aid. The city had witnessed their harrowing return, and now they were safe.

As the dragonkeepers tended to Cannibal’s injuries, Vaella allowed herself to be led away, her body aching with the strain of the journey. Her thoughts were still a whirlwind of confusion and revelation, but she knew one thing for certain: she had to understand what had driven her to that primal act, and she had to share it with her family.

As she was guided towards the Red Keep, the city’s lights beginning to twinkle in the encroaching dusk, Vaella cast one last glance at Cannibal. The dragon’s eyes met hers, and in that moment, she felt a bond stronger than ever before—a bond forged in fire, blood, and the primal essence of their shared power.

…

The cool evening air filled the chambers of King Aegon II Targaryen as he rested, his body still recovering from the grievous injuries sustained at the Battle of Rook’s Rest. A few bandages still were on his most gruesome burns and the constant ache in his healed hip and ribs were reminders of the war that raged around them. He had just managed to drift into a fitful sleep when the sound of a horn shattered the quiet.

Aegon’s eyes snapped open, his heart racing. He knew that horn—it signaled the return of a dragon. Hope surged within him as he thought of Vaella. Could it be? Summoning all his strength, Aegon pushed himself up from the bed, his movements slow and painful. The Grand Maester Orwyle, who had been attending to him, rushed to his side.

“Your Grace, you mustn’t strain yourself,” the maester urged.

Aegon waved him off, determination etched into his features. “I need to see. Help me to the balcony.”

With great effort, and leaning heavily on the Grand Maester, Aegon made his way to the balcony that overlooked King’s Landing. The evening sky was painted with hues of purple and gold as the sun set, casting long shadows over the city. Aegon’s eyes scanned the horizon, searching desperately for any sign of his wife.

Then he saw it—a dark shape against the sky, growing larger as it approached. Cannibal. Relief washed over him, and a smile spread across his face. Vaella was coming home.

But as the dragon drew nearer, Aegon’s smile faltered. Cannibal’s flight was erratic, his movements labored and unsteady. Aegon’s heart sank as he realized something was terribly wrong. Cannibal was injured, his powerful wings beating unevenly, struggling to keep him aloft.

“No,” Aegon whispered, his voice filled with dread. “Vaella…”

He turned to the Grand Maester, panic in his eyes. “Summon the Kingsguard! Have them intercept the Queen as soon as she lands. Hurry!”

The Grand Maester nodded, quickly sending a servant to relay the king’s orders. Aegon’s gaze returned to the sky, watching with growing anxiety as Cannibal and Vaella approached the Dragonpit. Every uneven flap of Cannibal’s wings sent a jolt of fear through him. He could see the dragon’s injuries now, the torn membranes and blood-streaked scales.

“Come on, Cannibal,” Aegon muttered under his breath, gripping the balcony railing so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Just a little further.”

The Kingsguard, alerted by the Grand Maester’s message, rushed out of the Red Keep and towards the Dragonpit. Aegon could see them moving through the streets below, their armor glinting in the fading light. His anxiety spiked as he saw Cannibal’s descent grow more desperate.

“Hold on, Vaella,” Aegon whispered, his eyes never leaving the sky. “Please, hold on.”

As Cannibal neared the Dragonpit, his flight became more erratic. The dragon clipped a tower, sending debris tumbling to the ground. Aegon’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. He could see Vaella on Cannibal’s back, clinging desperately to the reins.

“They’re almost there,” the Grand Maester said, trying to offer some reassurance. But Aegon could only focus on the perilous flight of his wife and dragon.

With one final, mighty effort, Cannibal landed heavily outside of the Dragonpit, his legs buckling under the impact. The dragon collapsed, sides heaving with exhaustion. Vaella slid from his back, stumbling as she hit the ground. The Kingsguard rushed to her side, supporting her as she tried to stand.

Aegon let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through him as he saw Vaella alive, albeit battered and exhausted. He turned to the Grand Maester. “I need to be there. Help me down.”

“Your Grace, you’re not strong enough,” the Grand Maester protested. “You’ll do more harm to yourself.”

“I don’t care,” Aegon snapped, his eyes blazing with determination. “I need to see her. Now help me.”

Reluctantly, the Grand Maester supported Aegon as he made his way slowly and painfully down from the balcony, through the corridors of the Red Keep, and out into the courtyard. Every step was agony, but Aegon’s focus never wavered. He had to reach Vaella.

With great care, Orwyle assisted Aegon, supporting him as they made their way to the awaiting carriage. Every step was a reminder of his physical limitations, but Aegon’s determination overshadowed the pain. He had to reach Vaella, to ensure she was safe.

#game of thrones #romance #dragons #house of the dragon #viserys targaryen #daemon targaryen #alicent hightower #otto hightower #aemond targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #aegon x oc #aegon ii targaryen

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niuniente · 1 year

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I’m at the final boss in Blasphemous but first, I will collect all items and check all hidden things >:3c

I’ve read people saying that a) Blasphemous is hard b) there’s too much running back and worth.

I have a tip how to make the game easier (you will still die at times, it’s OK) and how to avoid running so that even a casual gamer like me, who DOES NOT enjoy of hard games and will ditch a game immediately if it’s too hard, has enjoyed Blasphemous so much.

As soon as you beat Ten Piedad, Albero’s church will open. Collect yourself 30 000 Tears of Atonement (or 50 000, if you want to save the trouble of collecting first 30 000 and then 50 000). Takes some time but it’s worth the trouble.

Donate 30 000 (or 50 000) to the church. It will grand you immediately the price of the said donation but also all the previous donation gifts - this means that you don’t have to donate first 2000, then 5000, then 10 000 but you can donate 30 000 and get also the prices of 2000, 5000 and 10 000 tears. Super neat!

With 30 000 tears you will - Be able to remove your guilt for free in the Albero church - Have your energy and fevor bars filled full in each saving point - Teleport from a saving point to another without limitations If you donate 50 000, you will get a bead which will give The Penitent One a short moment of super strikes hitting targets, which causes lots of damage also to the bosses.

Also, keep your sword updated always to its max level. That’s easy as it requires just Tears of Atonement.

I beat all the boss fights after Our Lady of the Charred Visage with these things with a first try, except for the fire dude in the dungeons (took me a while to learn his moving pattern). And I am NOT a good gamer.

#niu plays blasphemous #blasphemous #I will probably die X times to the main boss...#but it's OK

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cophene · 4 months

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016 | milagro man's bills.

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pairing : jojolion x gn reader summary : the heir to an limitless fortune goes on a vacation to morioh to find their true love. seems easy enough; only, if that they're unable to find their love, they'll lose not just their fortune, but their life. notes : multi-chapter fic, sfw, doesn’t follow canon plot word count : 3.9k+

★ . . . THE TRIO OF MEN CARRYING Joshu didn’t even notice you following behind them. The music and din of the nightclub receded into a low thrum as the men hauled Joshu out into the foyer. Once there, they dropped him unceremoniously on the ground and Joshu groaned loudly. Two of the goons stepped back, folding their arms in front of them. The third man, who you realized belatedly was the nightclub’s owner, looked down in distaste at Joshu.

“I’m sorry, but what’s going on?” you said.

The owner glanced at you, his jaw tightening.

“Nothing!” Joshu shouted, scrambling to his feet. “Unless playing around with girls is a crime.”

One of the guys thrust a piece of paper into Joshu’s face. He took it with a scowl, scanning it quickly. His eyes widened and you grabbed it from him. The numbers made your stomach drop.

450 000 yen.

“There was real gold in that champagne?” Joshu exclaimed. “You didn’t tell me that!”

“You would’ve heard if you hadn’t been throwing peanuts down someone’s cleavage,” you sniped. You read over the rest of the bill—peanuts, mineral water, service, not one bottle of champagne but ten. Anyone would have staggered at the amount, but the owner shouldn’t have had anything to complain about. It said Joshu had already paid the amount in full.

“Where did you get this money, sir?” the owner asked tightly. He extended a small tray, where all of Joshu’s banknotes were neatly piled.

Sweat beaded on Joshu’s face. “You should have stopped me before I bought fucking ten bottles of that champagne” Joshu muttered to you. To the owner, he said, “I should have paid you enough. I’m pretty sure I did.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” the owner said, the tray of money still extended. “What I’m asking is where you got this money from.”

Joshu’s tone turned prickly. “Where? Why do I gotta answer that? Money is money. Just tell me how much I’m short by and I’ll pay.”

“Do you think I’m just going to take this money from you like it’s no problem?” the owner yelled. “I’ve known about the Milagro Man for a long time, you piece of shit!”

Joshu frowned. “Who the hell is that?”

“What I want to know is did you meet the Milagro Man or not? Did you get this money through him?”

“Sir, we don’t know who that is,” you cut in. “We didn’t get that money from anyone.” Not that you could recall, anyway.

“You must really think I’m stupid or something,” the owner said. He raised his hand, and you tensed, expecting him to strike Joshu. Instead, he jammed the stack of banknotes into Joshu’s pocket. “I’m giving this damn money back! With interest!”

“If he didn’t pay enough, I’ll cover,” you said, stepping between the two of them. “We’re not trying to make trouble. I have the money. You don’t need to—”

The owner didn’t let you finish. “Slam him in the elevator,” he said to the two goons. “Make sure he knows what happens the next time he brings his ass to my club!”

The two goons jostled you aside as they rushed for Joshu. One of them hooked his arms around his neck, dragging him backwards into the elevator. The owner and the other goon looked ready to throw themselves on top of him, but then two bolts appeared on the wrist of the goon restraining Joshu.

It’s Joshu’s Stand.

The goon’s hand detached itself and found the button panel of the elevator, pressing the button for the doors to close. The guy restraining Joshu startled, allowing Joshu to slide to the floor. Wasting no time, Joshu swung up his arm, catching the jaw of the owner and shoving him into the second goon. Bolts appeared on either of the faces and they shrieked as their heads were attached together.

“Get in!” Joshu shouted at you.

You hesitated for a split second before jumping over the men on the floor and into the elevator just as the doors closed. You tried not to look at the detached hand still hanging on the button panel as the elevator took you to the ground floor. Joshu sprinted outside the moment the doors opened, not stopping until you got to an alleyway you could duck into.

The two of you stared at each other, breathing heavily. You risked a glance around the corner, and when the trio of goons didn’t miraculously materialize, you grabbed a fistful of Joshu’s shirt and shoved him against the wall.

“What the hell is going on?” you demanded. “You and I both know you don’t have 450 000 yen. Where did that money come from? Who’s the Milagro Man? Are you caught up in a gang or some shit?”

“Oi, relax! The hell are you grabbing me for? I just told you that I don’t know who the fuck that is!”

You let go of Joshu only to wrench his shoulder bag from him. You ripped the zipper open and fat stacks of yen spilled onto the ground. Your eyes widened. Joshu’s entire bag was filled, no, overflowing with money.

“Joshu, did you steal this?” you choked out. No wonder the club owner had been on Joshu’s ass. No one would be stupid enough to take stolen banknotes. Or had all of this been laundered somehow? Immediately, thoughts of black market rooms and explicit underground rings flashed in your head.

“Are you stupid? No!” Joshu yanked the bag back from you. He stared at the banknotes. “I don’t know how this got in here. Those guys must have stuffed it in my bag without me noticing.”

Even as he said it, the words rang hollow. The goons back at the nightclub hadn’t been anywhere near Joshu’s bag all night. And if it hadn't been them, who would just stuff over 500 000 yen into someone’s bag?

You took out one of the stacks of money and flipped through it. It felt like real money, and tentatively sniffing it revealed it smelled like real money too. There was nothing you could see that indicated they were fake except—

“All of the serial numbers end in 13R,” you said, noticing suddenly.

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Joshu snatched back the stack.

“You need to turn in this money to the police. It’s not safe to walk around with this much.”

“I can’t,” Joshu said. He turned away from you, fiddling the vending machine nearby to keep from looking at you.

“What do you mean? You know you can’t keep this.”

“Why not? Is it so bad that I just happen to be lucky? Now I won’t have to worry about your fortune because I have my own.” Joshu’s tone was distant, obviously hiding something.

“Where did you get this money from?” you snapped. “This is way more than what the nightclub owner gave back. Tell me. Or I’ll bring you in to the police myself. This is probably the shittiest ‘date’ I’ve been on. The least you can do is explain what the hell is going on.”

Joshu stopped to pick up the can the vending machine dropped. He cracked open the can and didn’t talk until he’d taken a long drink.

“I was at this venue when some dumbass just left his wallet behind at the counter. Of course I had to take it. I found his credit card, managed to guess his pin number, and withdrew all of the money he had in his account.”

You gaped at Joshu. This was low, even for him. “And you’re not going to give it back?”

“Hell no. If someone’s stupid enough to leave their wallet behind, they deserve to get stolen from. I already threw away the wallet, anyway.”

You struggled to maintain your composure. How was it that you’d thought for even a second that Joshu might be redeemable? He was as scummy and underhanded as you’d thought and the realization made you sad more than anything.

“I’m going home,” you said. Joshu caught your wrist as you turned away. “What? Why? Don’t you see all this cash? You’re not gonna blow it all with me?”

“I don’t need money,” you said, snatching your arm back. “If you want to use some poor guy’s life savings, leave me out of it. You’re a shit person and iit's going to come back to bite you in the ass.”

Joshu looked briefly hurt. He quickly covered it up. “Fine then. It’s not like you were titillating company anyway.”

You left him in the alleyway. As you passed a trash can, you took the bucket hat from your head and tossed it inside.

You had reached for your phone unthinkingly the next morning, wanting to see what stupid message Joshu had left before it all came back to you. A rise of anger and embarrassment went through you and you threw your pillow over your face, wishing you hadn’t woken up.

Karera came into your room not long after, and no amount of her goading could convince you to get up. You relayed Joshu’s disastrous date to her from under your pillow and despite how ready she was to pull up to the Higashikata mansion and kick Joshu’s ass, you didn’t have an ounce of energy for it. You told her to just leave it alone, that you had learned your lesson and didn’t want to think about it anymore. Karera seemed to realize how disheartened you were, because she asked to borrow your card for groceries before closing your bedroom door behind her.

You felt like a sad, pathetic loser. You had actually started to like Joshu a little bit yesterday. If it weren’t for the money debacle, the two of you might have gone somewhere. For the umpteenth time, you stared at the brand on the back of your hand. How were you supposed to start a relationship if you were such a bad judge of character? You couldn’t tell who did and didn’t like you, and you couldn’t tell if people were genuinely bad or just misunderstood. It was becoming obvious that if true love punched you in the face, you would be none the wiser. You didn’t know who you could fall in love with, let alone how you were supposed to nurture it.

I wish I didn’t have to do this, you thought, turning over on your side. I wish someone else could fall in love for me.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. You flipped it over, glancing at the caller ID before pushing it away, frustrated. Joshu called again when you didn’t pick up, and then twice more after that.

A part of you was surprised Joshu had even bothered. The other part of you was pissed. Joshu should know that he was the last person you wanted to hear from right now.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. “What?” you snapped into the phone.

“I need your help,” Joshu said.

“And why would I help you? You couldn’t give less of a shit about me last night.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry about that. You just need to help me right now.”

Joshu really had no shame. “Call someone else,” you said. “I’m not up for your bullshit today.”

“Wait. Just hear me out.” There was a ragged edge to Joshu’s voice that gave you pause. “You were right about the money yesterday. Something’s wrong with it.”

“Besides the fact that it was stolen?”

“I can’t get rid of it,” Joshu said. “No matter what I spend it on, the money ends up coming back to me and I end up with more than I spent.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” you asked flatly.

“The money is a Stand,” Joshu said intensely. “I tried putting it in this guy’s pocket and his lighter caught the bills on fire. They didn’t burn. They just started multiplying like they were alive or some shit. I can’t even find a place to physically put the money anymore. The bills just keep multiplying. It’s like they don’t want to be destroyed or something.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with me.” The distress in Joshu’s voice was undeniable, but you would be lying if you said a part of you wasn’t grimly satisfied by this turn of events. This was what Joshu got for stealing a man’s whole bank account. And honestly, you couldn’t see why Joshu was so upset if he had self-multiplying money.

“I managed to figure out who the guy I stole the card from is. I have his name and his address. I need you to come with me so I can give him back these goddamn bills.”

“It sounds like you’re perfectly capable of going to this guy by yourself.”

“He left behind his card on purpose. He wanted me to get these bills. The bills must have screwed with him just like they did me. He’s not going to take the bills back willingly. If things go bad, you have to use Dancing's Done to force him to take the bills.”

“You’re acting like I’m obligated to help you with this,” you gritted out. “This only happened because you stole that man’s card and you tried to destroy those bills. This is your problem. I don’t have anything to do with it.”

“You were there with me yesterday! Are you really going to be the shitty person that doesn’t help their friends?”

You barked a laugh. “We are not friends. You wanted to impress me on a date. You didn’t. I have a curse hanging over my head. I don’t have time to help you with your bullshit.”

You almost hung up just then, but you wanted to hear what Joshu could possibly say to defend himself. His next words were so quiet you almost didn’t hear them.

“I got carried away last night. I thought that if I acted like I didn’t give a shit, I wouldn’t seem so pathetic. You have a limitless fortune. I don’t have shit. I let the money get to my head. I thought you would be used to stuff like that but—god, I don’t know. I was just being an asshole and I’m sorry. I always fuck this stuff up.”

If it was an apology, it wasn’t a very good one. And if it was an explanation, it didn’t make any sense. But Joshu had said it and, for once, he hadn’t sounded insufferably arrogant. He just sounded sad. And confused.

You took a deep breath, praying half-heartedly to the mountain gods to give you strength.

“What’s that guy’s address?”

You and Joshu waited around a corner for Nigatake to arrive at his apartment. The two of you had shown up without a word to each other, and it seemed like you were both just going to pretend the phone call hadn’t happened. You clenched your bone dice in your hand as you spotted a man making his way up the stairs, two large bags of groceries in his hands. You waited for Joshu to go first before following behind him.

“Oi, you’re Nigatake Zaihei, right?”

The man looked up, barely able to react before Joshu slammed his hand against the man’s throat, pinning him against the door.

“You’re the one who started this, aren’t you? You’re a fucking dead man!”

“Joshu,” you said sharply. Joshu loosened his grip but didn’t let go of Nigatake.

“Oh, you must be—I knew you’d come,” Nigatake rasped. “You must have destroyed the Milagro Man’s money. What did you do, burn it?”

“The hell are you talking about?” Joshu demanded.

“It’s not my doing. This whole thing … it’s a curse. When someone destroys the money, it’s passed on to someone else.”

Your blood chilled. Joshu shoved Nigatake down on the ground. “You fucking jackass!”

“Just let him talk,” you said faintly, although a part of you wasn’t sure you wanted to hear.

You heard the story in a daze. Nigatake had gone to Germany for a concert and stolen money from a homeless man when he didn’t have any for a cab. That euro bill’s serial number had ended in 13. The true curse of the Milagro’s Man’s bills was that it was impossible to use them. Money would continue to accumulate while you were unable to buy food or clothing or pay bills. Eventually, back in Morioh, everyone became privy to the nature of the Milagro Man’s money, refusing to have anything to do with Nigatake. He had been waiting for two years for someone like Joshu to steal his card. The only way he could be free was by passing on the money to someone else.

“That’s your only choice,” Nigatake said. “To pass on the bills to someone and hope they try to destroy them. Your mind starts to break down faster than you’d expect. You absolutely cannot make the Milagro’s Man’s curse disappear.”

Your heart picked up at the words. You would know better than anyone that the only way to overcome a curse was to break it or pass it on to someone else.

“That’s all I can say to help you,” Nigatake said. His entire frame seemed to sag with pity as he looked at Joshu. He bowed. “I wanted to thank you, though. For taking the curse from me. I haven’t been able to live for the past two years, but you’ve saved me. Thank you.”

Joshu’s eyes narrowed. As Nigatake’s head remained lowered, he pointed a finger at the man, Nut King Call appearing over his shoulder.

“Don’t,” you said, grabbing his hand. Nigatake looked up, confused. You glared at Joshu but he wouldn’t back down. Wisely, Nigatake said nothing more, quickly unlocking his apartment and shuffled inside.

“What the fuck?! What do you expect me to do?” Joshu wrenched away from you. “You heard that asshole! He set me up! He just made sure that I’ll never use money again!”

“He was just trying to protect himself,” you said tightly.

“And he can do that by springing his curse on someone else? How is that fair?”

“You brought this on yourself. Even if it hadn’t been the Milagro Man’s bills, what kind of person steals someone else’s card?”

“What kind of person puts a curse on someone?”

Joshu started for Nigatake’s door. It took everything in you not to punch him for being pigheaded.

“Would you stop? You’re not going to give those bills back. He passed it on to you. Now you have to follow through with the curse.”

“Do you want me to be cursed or something? Just let me deal with this!” Joshu cried.

The brand on your hand almost seemed to burn. You opened your mouth but didn’t know how to explain how you felt towards the Milagro Man’s curse. Understanding, maybe? Curses came about when you wanted people to learn a lesson. This curse was about greed. Something told you the Milagro Man’s curse was not meant to be broken, because greed perpetually festered, and there was no shortage of people who deserved to be humbled. Even if you couldn’t see it, some part of Joshu must have been affected for him to be so frantic.

“This curse is a lesson,” you said. “Nagitake learned it. You learned it. Now it’s your responsibility to teach someone else.”

“My responsibility?”

“Where are the bills right now?”

“In a coin locker. If they still fit in there, that is.”

You looked at Joshu pointedly. He glowered at you, then at Nigatake’s door. He heaved a sigh.

“Righteous bullshit.”

Karera wasn’t at the villa when you got home that night. You tried not to feel disappointed. She was always out at some place or other, but she was the one person you could vent to and not feel like you were being judged.

Tomorrow, you would be halfway through your second week in Morioh. You still had time, but it didn’t feel like enough. The brand on your hand had been gradually darkening and now you could make out that it was some kind of character, in a language forgotten to time. It might be written down somewhere what the character meant. Stupidity, maybe.

For some reason when your phone went off with a text from Joshu, you responded. Because you were curious, you told yourself.

JOSHU: yo

Y/N: you’re still alive

JOSHU: no thanks to you. left the locker key on a park bench. there’s a tag on it with the address and everything. pretty sure someone picked it up by now but i won't check until tomorrow just to make sure

Y/N: do you feel a little bad for whoever will pick it up?

JOSHU. no. maybe a little. i don’t know. this curse shit sucks i don’t know how you’re dealing with it

Y/N: i don’t know if am, to be honest. but my family is depending on me so i don’t have a choice

JOSHU: that shouldn’t be your responsibility

Y/N: it’s just the way things happened

Even though you knew it wouldn’t work, you couldn’t resist typing out, if i don’t find my true love, i’ll die. The curse had been put on your family decades ago. Was there some way the mountain gods would prevent a text from going through?

Y/N: [ Message failed to send. ][ Message failed to send. ]

Well. That wasn’t so surprising.

JOSHU: i was thinking. you know how you said curses are a lesson? what lesson is your curse supposed to be then?

Y/N: i don’t know. arrogance? Self-centeredness?. Not being stupid?

JOSHU: All those lesson suck ass and they don’t really seem fair either. Like i get greed but everyone is selfish and stupid and whatever. you shouldn’t be cursed for that

Y/N: well my family did

JOSHU: that’s stupid. Your grandpa was poor so he gets cursed. Like damn

As you tried to type out that that wasn’t really the point at all, Joshu sent another message.

JOSHU: why don’t you just fall in love with me so this stupid shit goes away

Y/N: that’s a joke right?

JOSHU: yes dumbass. i really am sorry about today though. And yesterday. I wasn’t trying to make your day shitty. i’m just bad at interacting with people.

i try to seem cool but i just come off as an asshole. i should’ve been thinking about you more i guess. Instead of going off on my own. I don’t know if that makes sense i get it if you block me i’m kinda surprised you haven’t

You were surprised too, to be honest. You didn’t know what made you keep reading Joshu’s messages.

Maybe you were looking too much into it, but you felt like you had gotten a glimpse of what Joshu was like under all of the prickle and swagger. You felt like that was the guy you were starting to like—the one who was tentative and a little dorky and who accidentally said things he meant.

Why couldn't he just say things like that all the time? If he did, there was the possibility that—

That the like might become something else?

Do you think you could fall in love with me?

Y/N: you remember the question you asked me?

JOSHU: no. what question

Y/N: nevermind im going to sleep see you later

JOSHU: ?? see you later i guess.

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strictlybm-pasopaguluva · 5 months

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waterbeads1993 · 10 months

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find-the-devil · 1 year

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V. Wave

All of the ocean’s terror comes from the unknown. The yawn beneath the blue that you can only see with eyes open beneath the surface. Born from the 320 000 or so worldwide drownings each year. It’s that unseen, unheard hand that pulls you by the ankle, the little currents that crawl on sand, sweeps up shell fragments, and small rocks and swells and grows and blooms to steal you away. Those that either keep you among the depths, use your rot to feed or let you float to the topmost waves to be found bloated and sunburned and mutilated. Missing eyes, teeth, skin, hair, fingertips and nails, with innards hanging from a jagged, devoured hole in your abdomen. Whatever seagoer spots you won’t be sure if you’re an errant log in the distance or something once human. He will keep his engine on and leave that mystery with the tides.

What you are now will be at the mercy of the unrelenting strength that ebbs and flows with rhythm and calm.

Robin never feared the ocean. He’d been one or two times in his late thirties, corralled by the call of bigger things, taller buildings, longer roads, different people, something new. He never learned how to swim. His childhood was spent by the lakeshore. Fishing, canoeing and the like were taught and learned with an intrusive amount of supervision. His grandfather had drowned a week before his birth.

He dipped his feet in the cold water, let the silty sand weave in and out, between his toes, felt the hot sun beat down on his back, accompanied by the pleasant burn that warmed his skin, one that subverted every precaution he took, marked his body with an all encompassing red mark that stung to touch. He’d liked the ocean, for what it’s worth, and the city, with all its vitality and jubilance, but found himself reeled back into the treeline after a few years.

He hadn’t thought about the beach since he’d left it.

Rob saw waves now in the swaying pines, he watched the rhythm of the breeze on tall-standing leaves and grasses. Bend forward, stand up straight, lean down, snap back up into place, repeat until the wind ceases. There was a movement in the motionless forest and field below, curling eddies of air that flowed through the stalks. Whirlpools disturbed the blades and weeds. That silencing sound, like being told to keep quiet, soothed from afar, without a hand on your shoulder to steady you as you wept.

He felt water trickling by his feet, soles bare in the soft, damp grass as he stared up into the abyssal sky. He hadn’t wet himself, he’d checked. The water around his ankles was cool, stung his skin as it rose to mid-shin, then fell away, waning into a dark he couldn’t see. The soil on which he stood was not mud, but closer to gritty sand, and the grass seemed to shrink back into the earth from which it grew, shimmying back into whatever seed it had come from.

He wondered absently for the garden and the house behind him, but watched as the waves lapped at his feet, shimmering like a watery ink under white light. This beacon shone not only in the skies, but smaller, the size of his fist, from a small fishing ship that floated in the ebbing tides on the furthermost edge of the cornfield, just past the forest line, green blades shivering against the metal hull. Its name was written, but unreadable from a distance, faded red paint chipped and illegible. The sound of waves hitting the small boat filled the night, the wind nearly stopped entirely but still a faint, oceanic breeze could be felt against his dewy skin, beads of sweat lining his brow. The corn changed, evolved in front of his wide opened eyes, into some marshland weed growing from the mucky pond floor, water trickling forth from the wall of liquid that seemed to stand of its own volition.

The tinny boat was unmanned, it creaked and groaned as the tide jostled it, rocking it every which way the waves went, with the gentleness of a cradle rocked by a summer’s warm breeze. It inched closer with the pond’s movements, away from the trees, white light guiding its journey. Rob questioned : what would happen when it reached the edge? Would it fall into the shallow water pooling at his feet, or would it turn back, bouncing off of whatever invisible forcefield kept the pond together?

He felt something move just on top of his feet, a catfish, like those he’d caught as a young boy, perhaps a stray clump of algae. Frigid and slimy, it sent a shiver up his leg that coursed along the length of his spine before fizzling out at the base of his neck and disappearing into his shoulders. An urge flashed through him; swim through the pond weeds, climb inside the boat. The white light in the distance rocked with the wind and waves, hull moaning with the rhythm like that of wheezing breaths. The floating water’s surface wavered with a breeze, as a quiet hum trembled through the earth, like someone holding a note for as long as their lungs allowed them. It was an all-encompassing song.

Distantly, a tremendous sound, like an arena shouting and yelling, chanting and urging on their strongest fighter, rang out in the night, from deep within the pines. A noise, like bones breaking and cracking accompanied it, like a fast rattling sound, as if a windchime made of brittle, hollow sticks was shaken by a violent gust of wind.

The earth trembled and water rippled around his ankles. Vibrations, like that of a struggling diaphragm reverberated through the air as a booming, thunderous noise drew closer with haste and dreadful intent.

Soon, the moon was obstructed, no longer shining dimly from behind the wispy clouds. Now all he saw came from a small white light that drew nearer. A mountain had erected itself among the trees and it moved like satin in the wind, undulating as one body, encompassing the world, pillaging the woodland in its wake.

The wave, like a crashing avalanche of liquid rocks and stones, littered with tree columns and carcasses and soil, fell forward as if tripping over itself, with all its might and force, as if lost to its own whim, as powerless to keep itself from hurtling forth as Robin would be to stop it.

He watched it’s approach with more curiosity than fear, held tightly by something he could not feel but that restricted his every motion, save for breathing and a slight hand tremble as the boat in the distance began to arch with the water, light slowly rising overhead like the mounting sun.

The wind screamed, a chest-tearing cry, bloody from the vigor of it. The sound reverberated against the titan that swelled and grew and bloomed above. The howl could not cease, it pained Rob’s ears, made them bleed, trickle down his neck into the water rushing at his feet. He fell to his knees, dropping into the knife-like rapids, each successive stream of water cutting coldly at his legs, like blades of ice.

The wind only carried the sound, it did not make it. The wail erupted from Robin’s throat. His lungs hiccuped in a desperate attempt to stop the carnage wrought upon them by the scream, but he only grew louder, drowning out the wave’s cataclysmic, quaking voice.

On impact, the cold front split his skin into icy lesions, as every bone in his body fractured, as if shredded by the might of the behemoth that fell upon him. Lungs burst, pierced by his shin gone astray, he cried still, numbed by the chill and inhaling water only to force it out by the insurmountable will of whatever was dying in his chest, his heart perhaps, or his soul that drowned with him, unable to escape the weight of the ocean that had found itself above him. He lied, beaten, crushed and overpowered among the ruined grasses in the inky depths of the sea, with only a white light, the size of his fist, as his bearing.

“That must’ve been something.” spoke Ennis, as Rob awoke without notice, sitting up in the grass, clawing at firm ground as he panted. Seeing the man’s face, he continued “I reckon a bad dream, you were squirming and humming or something, twitching your hand.”

“Wh-huh?” he replied, barely enough usable breath in his lungs to get the sound out.

“I don’t know, but hey, you’re good now.” he was kneeling in the grass, tending to the coyote pelt. “After you showered you came out here, you fell asleep about 10 minutes ago, I’m not sure how much you remember, but you look pretty spooked so I thought I’d remind you. Y’know, bearings and all that.”

“Memory’s fine.” he said somewhat weakly, as if winded. “What time is it?�� he finally met the man’s eyes, although he remained otherwise disoriented

“Half past 1:00. Are you sleepin’ alright, on the whole? Don’t want you passing out, fainting from fatigue or any of that.” he asked, with a slight worry to his tone, brow furrowed. He set his blade down into the grass, loosening his grasp on the hide.

Robin had been sleeping better than he should have. He knew that. Every night he lay one room over from a man who’d killed off a hefty chunk of the town’s limited population. But his rest had been as good as it was at home. He wanted to feel bad, icky, disturbed by the fact that he was doing well, but couldn’t, rather he felt something adjacent : this should bother me a Hell of a lot more than it is.

Robin knew his skin was thicker, more of a crust than a layer. A certain apathy, not learned, not taught, not even enforced, had grafted itself to him sometime in the womb. He’d always been less reactive, less shocked, less outraged in the face of tragedy and horror than those around him. Everyone likened it to a maturity his other actions never manifested. He remained childish into his twenties, and boyish into his forties. Only now, in his fifties, had he finally hit adulthood, in the emotional sense. And yet still he was unoffended by all that is vile. This absence of disdain is what led him to detective work, he found himself engrossed and beguiled by every blood trail.

He heard crows call in the distance, hidden from view within the pines.

“I’m sleeping fine.” he replied at last, with a small shrug as he untensed his shoulders, looking over the bone-dry field, feeling the dewy grass on his sock-clad feet. “I guess the food might’ve knocked me out.”

“Good to know. Old man needs a rest after his meal.” Ennis teased, a hint of a smile in his dark eyes as he continued working the coyote’s fur.

“Shut up. 10 years and you won’t laugh in the face of a good nap. Oh, and word to the wise : have an alarm. You’re gonna wake up next Tuesday with your head on the wrong way otherwise. ” he answered with no real offence to his teacher-like tone.

The other man huffed again, muffled slightly from behind the mask that covered his mouth and nose. Pollen drifted in the cloudless sky, bright under the shining sun and lazy, moving in the slow air eddies. The deciduous trees, aspens of some kind, shook and shivered overhead, leaves rustling, sending a pleasant hissing sound into the atmosphere. The breeze blew balmy, hot, like a gust of pure heat. Ennis’ wavy hair clung to the beads of sweat on his forehead as he worked, and Rob felt a wet trail down his spine, seeping into his shirt. He watched the warmth rise.

“You got anything for lunch?” Robin spoke, rising to his feet with a quiet grunt, brushing off blades of grass from the back of his jeans, smoothing his grey hair with one hand.

“Whatever you find in the kitchen. The way I see it, my house is your house for as long as you’re here.” Ennis replied, “There’s enough coyote to last for weeks, but there should be some bread, butter, jam, stuff like that.” he wiped the sweat from his head with his forearm.

“And I’m not gonna find a human head in there?”

“I don't eat people just like I don’t eat fertilizer.” Ennis replied plainly, with a small shrug.

Rob nodded, tilting his head as he considered his point.

“D’you want anything?”

“I’m in a bit of a hairy situation.” he answered, lifting his arms, displaying his open palms, covered in coyote fur.

The position, his knees on the grass, hands open, facing the sky, sun gleaming on his golden hair, a slight haze in the air, the skin of a slain beast across his legs, gave the moment a religious quality, as if the man in his ivory mask had his palms upturned in reverence or prayer. The lonely sound of wind, a deep whistle in the pines gave Rob a sense of solitude in the presence of the other, calming, like the feeling of a moment alone after a tenuous time with unsavory company.

He caught a glimpse of the new garden, it’s hand riddled with small rodential teeth marks and lesions as he began to bloat. He turned on his heels and headed inside, shutting the door with a small click lest the house’s cool be invaded by the outside’s sweltering heat.

#we learn more about rob here #find the devil #creative writing #my writing #remember to reblog if you like it <3 #writblr #writeblr #writing

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