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Genshin Impact | TartaLi/ZhongChi

Summary: “Home isn’t always a place,” he taps Zhongli’s chest, “home can mean a lot of things to different people. For me, my home is my family. Wherever they are is where my home is. And maybe that’s in Liyue, maybe it’s in Snezhnaya, or maybe it’s in Inazuma. Either way, wherever my mother is, wherever my siblings are, that’s what I call home.”

As Childe trails off, he’s suddenly aware of how he’s fidgeting with a button on Zhongli’s coat now. The tips of his ears turn red. He meets his gaze abashedly. “Does that answer your question?”

Zhongli smiles fondly at him. “I believe it does. Thank you for indulging me.”

Or; Zhongli struggles to define what exactly “home” means to him.

Find it on Ao3!

This part takes place between act V and Zhongli, Come Down. I know I posted this series totally out of order, please forgive me for my lack of organization :,D

A/N: First of all, I finally have a beta reader!! She’s helped me through the process of writing this and I’m incredibly thankful for her support. I accidentally made her cry with this fic though, even if it wasn’t necessarily sad?? Regardless I appreciate her feedback haha.

Oh my, I feel like I’ve been writing these two being really soft for too long. After this, I really need to face the music and write these two fighting. The time has come. They won’t be in the honeymoon phase forever!! I’m gonna vibe check all of you.

Also, do yourself a favor and listen to the songs Home by Michael Buble and Sparks by Coldplay after or during you read this. You’re welcome.

Lastly, you can find me on Twitter @/xiaoscribbles where I’m extremely active and talk too much about Genshin. I love making friends there!

Enjoy <3 -u.n.

Zhongli never had a place to call home.

Or rather, he never bothered to find one of his own and commit to it.

He was always too mobile, too nomadic. He had places to be, people and adepti to see, contracts to see through. Zhongli never found himself settling into one place for too long. Sure, when he was Rex Lapis, he had nested many times. He was a beast whose presence was too large to be confined into one space, so he would glide to the highest mountain in Liyue with ample space for a dragon like him, and settle. Zhongli remembered how he would make it as comfortable as possible for himself using all kinds of things he would pick up on his travels. A deep purr of satisfaction would rumble through him as his scaled belly would make contact with the coolness of the earth, and Rex Lapis would allow himself to relax against the stone, body sinking as if he were weightless. Although, no matter how he shifted, tossed and turned when he tried to rest, something was always missing.

Even the familiar feeling of the Liyuan ground was not enough to fill the void in his chest.

It was satisfying, sure, but never completing.

Hence, his lack of understanding of the human desire to settle down in one home for the rest of their short, yet meaningful lives.

Were they not itching to get up and go somewhere else? See the world? Appreciate the land beneath their feet in all its entirety? Zhongli failed to comprehend. Even an ancient being like him fell short in understanding the idea of a “home”.

Well, what consisted of a home, anyway? Four walls and a roof over their heads? A kitchen filled with food? A soft bed with layers and layers of sheets? What was the meaning of all that, when the true beauty of the world was beyond those four walls, high into the sky, and deep beneath the sea? What kind of pleasure could possibly come out of being domesticated?

Nevertheless, Zhongli did make an old promise to try to understand humans as they were. So sure, Zhongli supposed he could appreciate the art of architecture. He saw how hard people worked to build these beautiful houses with intricate designs to maximize safety for the residents excited to inhabit them. It was endearing, Zhongli thought, how enthusiastic humans got about a house. The idea of settling down with their loved ones would give them so much serotonin, so much drive. It was inspiring to him. Zhongli had always hoped that one day, he could feel the same way about someone.

So why couldn’t bring himself to understand the joy in this “home” everyone spoke of? What was he missing? Was he missing the duvet? The one thousand thread count sheets? Was he missing the fine China he saw peddlers selling on roads far from town? Because he had tried his best, living in his mortal form, to find the simple pleasure in decorating his home.

But no matter what he did, no matter how many throw pillows he placed on the couch, he simply could not deny the gaping hole in his chest when he went to bed at night. He had reached a point where even cooking for one every night upset him so, and he would go to bed disgruntled and hollow. The vast margins left on the king sized bed in the middle of the night kept Zhongli awake. Though he did not even need sleep, he had tried his best to form what the humans called a “proper sleeping schedule”. Apparently, according to Hu Tao, sleeping at four in the morning and waking at seven for work was “not suitable”.

But in truth, what was he supposed to do? Pray tell, what could he possibly do to absolve the issue of the chasm growing in his chest with each passing night?

“Xiansheng!” A jovial voice snaps him out of his reverie.

Zhongli looks up from his mundane paperwork to see a familiar head of red hair bounding toward him languidly. Oh, what a sight for sore eyes.

“Childe,” he greets, “did you pester Miss Hu Tao into letting you back here again?”

“Pester?” Childe brings a hand to his chest to mock his hurt, “I hardly have to bother her to come back here. A simple ‘you look fantastic today’ is always my ticket in.”

Zhongli scoffs fondly. “How can I help you, Childe?” He sets his pen down and leans back in his chair, amber eyes following the Harbinger curiously.

“Well your break is in ten minutes, so I figured I’d come grab you for lunch at Wanmin?” Childe plants two hands flat on the cherry red oak desk and leans forward into Zhongli’s space. There’s his signature teasing smile spreading slyly across his face, the one he knows Zhongli won’t be able to resist.

Zhongli hums in approval. “Sure, let me just wrap up this last form and I should be ready to go shortly.”

Childe drops down to his elbows in response and rests his face between his palms. “You sure? We could just go now, you know. I got Hu Tao consulting Ying’er about the new fragrance for the next hour or so.”

Zhongli leans forward and meets him in the middle. “I must be responsible, Childe. If my lunch break is at noon, then I will not leave my post until then.”

Childe pouts, jutting his bottom lip out cutely in an attempt to convince him otherwise. Zhongli, immovable as ever, simply leans forward and captures his lips between his own. The Harbinger makes a happy noise in the back of his throat and presses closer, positively humming when the ex-Archon reciprocates. But the older man is quick to get back to work, pulling away as quick as he came, but not before he nips at Childe’s bottom lip. The ginger whines petulantly at the loss of contact.

“Have a seat, Ajax.” Zhongli speaks, a hair’s width away from kissing him again. Childe grumbles, but agrees regardless. He seats himself in one of the plush armchairs located in the corner of the office and makes himself comfortable for the next ten minutes.

Zhongli readjusts himself in his seat and picks his pen back up, glancing back down at the form he had already completed. He blinked owlishly at it. He must have finished signing it while Childe was talking without realizing what he had done. Regardless, he moves onto the next document to peruse silently. Mid sentence, he scoffs playfully, shaking his head at the thought of the ginger distracting him so. Is he even surprised at this point? Not even a little bit. The ginger has an incomprehensible hold on his heart, one that he doesn’t really want to shake off.

“Something funny, Xiansheng?” Childe teases from his seat. He’s reclined in his chair, relaxed, head lolling against the cushioned headrest. His eyes are closed and his shoulders are drooping into the leather. He’s relaxed, for once, and the thought of Ajax allowing himself to let his guard down in his presence makes Zhongli’s heart thump happily in his chest.

“Not particularly,” Zhongli pushes himself up with a groan. Goodness, his joints are getting tired. He pads over to where Childe is seated and forcefully makes room for himself on a chair that is clearly made for one person. Childe lets out a surprised yelp at the sudden intrusion but scoots over to make room, anyway. Zhongli makes himself comfortable by angling his body to where it’s being cradled by the junction between the armrest and the back, and opens his arms as a silent invitation.

Childe takes it happily and launches forward to burrow into Zhongli’s chest. He rests a gloved hand over his heart and snuggles closer, inhaling the deep scent of silk flowers and leather. Zhongli’s arms come around to strap him against his chest, gloved hands petting his sides as he presses a kiss to red hair. The contact immediately vanquishes the discourse in his mind. He squeezes him tight for good measure, forcing a grunt out of his Tartaglia.

“Xiansheng,” he calls.

“Hm?”

“You’re working too hard again.”

“Am I?” He questions absentmindedly. “And here I thought I was pulling my weight just fine.”

Childe snorts. “Pulling your weight? You know I make enough for the both of us. You could retire and stay at home, relaxing and reading books, or whatever it is you do at home.”

Ah, there it is again.

Home.

For the second time that day, Zhongli is struck with confusion.

“What is home to you, Childe?” He asks, voice soft and far away. Childe frowns against his chest in confusion.

“Home?” He parrots.

“Yes, home. What is ‘home’ to you, Tartaglia?”

“Hmm,” the Harbinger hums, tapping a gloved finger against the ex-Archon’s chest idly as he speaks. “I suppose home is Snezhnaya. Home is what I grew up in. The unbearable cold and the old cottage house. Ice fishing with my siblings, massaging my mother’s back. Those things are all home to me.”

Zhongli ponders. Of course that is what home means. Familiarity, yes? So, technically, his home was Liyue. The hustle and bustle of trade by the harbor, the loud sizzling woks at the food stands, the loud marketers on the street that work hard day and night, the enthusiastic story tellers spewing exaggerated lies— that was all home to him.

So why, then, was Zhongli still dissatisfied with this conclusion? Home should obviously be Liyue. He created this land with his own two hands. Gave people the very drive that keeps them alive today; he gave the idea of mora and fair trade and economic prosperity. He’s watched countless faces pass him every day, every year, every century. He’s seen new faces, young faces, old faces, familiar faces, too, the ones he had seen on older souls. Reincarnated souls. Zhongli knew those souls. He’s had dinner with many of them on multiple occasions.

And it was no secret that Zhongli was well known in his hometown. Every business owner was familiar with his eloquent way of speaking and ambitious ways of buying. With the arrival of Childe, every business owner all but doubled their enthusiasm now that Mister Zhongli finally had a means to pay. People knew Zhongli, they adored him. They admired his amber eyes and long, beautiful hair, the ends of it looking like it had been dipped in melted mora. When he walked, people’s eyes followed. They would stare longingly at his beautifully crafted coat, his single earring, the fine leather gloves that cover his deft hands, and they would admire the way he walked with purpose, and with fire. A confidence so set in stone, it was almost difficult for one to even approach Mister Zhongli. For so long, he was considered Liyue’s most handsome bachelor, until of course Tartaglia came along and swept him off of his feet, capturing his attention in a way no one else could ever imagine imitating.

Yet, despite all the attention his people lavished upon him, there was always a nagging feeling of isolation nipping at him in the back of his mind. Despite creating the very ground beneath their feet, he simply felt like he did not fit in. Only when he was with Tartaglia did he truly feel like he belonged anywhere. It was rather inexplicable. There was something about the way Tartagali’s presence wrapped around him with a level of tenderness he had never experienced. It covered him like a gentle embrace, welcomed him without judgement, and loved him without expecting anything in return. The thought of Ajax himself made Zhongli’s heart swell

Speaking of which, the said man was now pressed tightly against his chest tracing lazy patterns into the fabric of his coat. Their long legs were tangled where they were dangling off the seat, with Tartaglia’s foot rubbing affectionately against the older man’s ankle.

Oh, how far they have come.

“But,” Tartaglia suddenly interjects, jolting Zhongli out of his thoughts. “If my family were to come here to Liyue to stay, then I suppose Liyue would be home, too.”

Zhongli hums. “Naturally. I’m sure they would find the variety of houses here in Liyue nice and peaceful, perfect for a new home.”

At that, Childe lets out a light laugh. “Honestly? They could live in a cardboard box in Inazuma, and I would still call that home.”

Zhongli frowns. Well now he’s even more confused than when he started. Since when was a cardboard box a suitable home for a human? It completely lacked all the appliances the houses here in Liyue had. Why would Childe settle for that? He of all people was aware of the love he holds for his family, there simply was no way he would call that a suitable home for his family.

“I don’t understand,” he says instead, “a cardboard box, Tartaglia? You do not strike me as the type to settle for such an...unbecoming home. Especially for your family.”

“No, no, Xiansheng,” the Harbinger chuckles, sitting up slightly so he can look Zhongli in the eye. “I was just exaggerating. And, home isn’t always supposed to be a house, you know. Those two things can be mutually exclusive. Maybe not all the time, but, definitely most of the time.”

Well this was certainly new. Now he truly did not understand what it meant to have a home.

“Apparently I do not know.”

Childe sits upright to look down at the ex-Archon.

“Home isn’t always a place,” he taps Zhongli’s chest, “home can mean a lot of things to different people. For me, my home is my family. Wherever they are is where my home is. And maybe that’s in Liyue, maybe it’s in Snezhnaya, or maybe it’s in Inazuma. Either way, wherever my mother is, wherever my siblings are, that’s what I call home.”

Childe is aware he’s rambling, but he can’t help it. Once he starts talking about his siblings, he simply cannot stop. “It wouldn’t matter where I was if I couldn’t hear my siblings from the other room. If I didn’t wake up to Tonia’s loud blow dryer every morning, or if I didn’t hear Anthon trying to talk to her over the blowing, then it isn’t home. If I can’t hear Teucer’s footsteps coming toward me asking about a new Mr. Cyclops toy, it isn’t home. Not to me. But like I said, it’s different for everyone.”

Zhongli smiles fondly at him. “I believe it does. Thank you for indulging me.”

Childe pushes himself up and off the chair, stretching and yawning obnoxiously. “Great,” he replies once his jaw finishes unhinging itself from that yawn, “let’s eat, I’m starving.”

—

To put it simply, Zhongli rethinks his definition of home all night. After he gets home from his dinner date (Tartaglia tugged on his sleeves until he agreed to leave his shift early in favor of a new restaurant that had popped up recently), he closes the door behind him to take in the composition of his home. Tartaglia had been the one to pick out most of the furniture, so although it lacked many of the traditional Liyuan decor Zhongli would have furnished the place with himself, it had a nice touch of Tartaglia everywhere he went.

His couch, for example, was a deep mahogany leather that stayed cool to the touch despite the hottest of summers. Zhongli’s dresser was nice and tall, a deep chestnut brown cut from the forests of Snezhnaya to match his bed frame. His bed was elevated by an incredibly grandiose four post frame that hung a beautiful golden translucent curtain all around the bed, draping the perimeter and creating an ethereal atmosphere for when he sleeps at night.

(“It’s kinda sexy, don’t you think?” Childe had asked one day, while he was pondering which bed frame to buy for his boyfriend. Not that he needed to, considering Zhongli finally has a stable salary, he just wanted to.

“Ajax,” Zhongli had said disapprovingly, “what about it is sexy to you?

“I don’t knowww,” the Harbinger hums, “maybe it looks like I would feel like I’m on cloud nine when we’re, you know…”

“You can say sex, Ajax, I believe in you.”

“Oh stop that!” Childe whacks him playfully with the catalogue, “I’m being a good boyfriend and getting you a beautiful bed frame cut from the finest oak tree and sheets woven with high quality silk! You could be nicer to me, you know.” He’s pouting, and he knows it. Zhongli’s eyes soften.

Zhongli shakes his head, laughing. “You know you don’t need to do that, you know.”

“I want to,” Ajax persists, “this is your first actual living space as a mortal! I want it to be perfect. I refuse to have my boyfriend, who is a literal god, sleeping on a bed with no bed frame. Unacceptable.”

Zhongli smiles and watches him as he continues to ramble about all the different bed frames he could buy. Oh, his love for this boy knows no end.)

The hints of Ajax everywhere he goes is how he keeps himself sane each night. His possessive urge to be around him every second of every day (courtesy of being a dragon deity his entire six thousand year life span) is soothed with the smell of him on his sheets and the extra toothbrush by the sink. One of Tartaglia’s scarves is folded neatly on the arm of his couch, and during those nights where he truly feels Ajax’s absence, he’ll hold the red fabric close and breathe the scent in deeply. The smell alone is enough to rock him to sleep on some nights, but on others, it simply is not enough. On those nights, he finds himself reading book after book about Snezhnaya culture until he passes out from exhaustion.

One would think that it would be better for them to just live together. Given that they spent every second outside of work with each other, even going so far as walking the long route home just to avoid saying goodbye, a person would look at the way they held each other close in public and think that they’ve been married for quite some time already.

But alas, they had agreed to take their relationship slow in the beginning. The both of them had much to adjust to, given that one of them was a notoriously fierce Harbinger, and the other was an ex-Archon adjusting to the world without his gnosis. They both had complex schedules that they were much too familiar and comfortable with to just up and leave for another person. There was a certain period of time that they had agreed to spend apart, well, as “apart” as they could be, before they decided to do anything drastic, like move in together.

There was too much to consider, anyway, Zhongli reflects as he gets ready for bed. Would their living habits even align? Would Tartaglia even be a good roommate? Would he take out the trash responsibly? As much as he loves the ginger with his entire heart, he doesn’t think he could do it for long if Tartaglia was the type to walk around with shoes on. Such an act should be considered illegal, anyway.

Waiting was the right thing to do.

Right?

The nights Tartaglia spent with him were the nights he could sleep a full, uninterrupted eight hours. They were the nights that Zhongli felt himself truly relax into the sheets and sink into a blissful sleep, knowing his beloved was being held impossibly close. And if nighttime was therapeutic for him, mornings felt ethereal. The mornings where he rose with the sun to be met with the sight of Tartaglia next to him were the mornings he felt like he could fly again, and soar through the open Liyue skies in his rawest form forever, so long as Tartaglia was with him.

In fact, more often than not, Zhongli thought about the way it would feel to have Childe by his side as he explored the skies again. He would think about the way he would have to strap him down, nice and close so he doesn’t fall off his back, and then take off high into the sky. Not too high, lest he accidentally give his boyfriend a heart attack, but high enough to hear those delightful shrieks Childe will let out when he’s excited. He thinks about the way Childe could grasp onto his mane for security, hands threading through golden locks, legs tightening around his torso to avoid falling. Oh, he thinks about this a lot.

But, waiting was the right thing to do. The last thing he wanted was for Childe to feel uncomfortable with the pace that their relationship was going and make him uneasy. Besides, just because he was a possessive dragon at heart, it didn’t mean Ajax was willing to cater to his needy tendencies. So, he promised himself that he would create a reasonable distance between them for the time being.

Why then, did he hate this distance with every fiber of his being?

Why is the distance so unbearable, especially at night?

Why is he so unsettled with the very few miles between them? It’s not like Zhongli is in Liyue and Childe is in Snezhnaya. Tartaglia is literally only at the inn.

Yet he craves nothing more but to be close to him at all times. Zhongli’s skin itches with the desperate desire to feel him by his side when he goes to bed, when he wakes up, and all the moments in between. Does that make him clingy? Maybe. But old habits die hard.

Zhongli huffs and looks down at his flattened pillow with disdain. No amount of fluffing will restore it to a state that is suitable for his likes. Even the elegantly woven silk night robe wrapped around his body offers little to no comfort.

He glances at the clock.

It’s only half past midnight. If all went well with Tartaglia’s shift, he should be home now, fresh out of the shower.

Without thinking twice, Zhongli throws together an overnight bag and rushes out the door.

—

“Coming, I’m coming,” Childe calls to the incessant knocks at his door. The knuckles continue to rap against the barrier, though, and Childe’s fingers itch to summon a water blade in the case that things go south. Considering that there is rarely anyone that would dare to disturb him at this time of night, Childe would say his precautionary measures are reasonable. He had summoned an angry water god, after all. It was only a matter of time before the angry mobs got to him.

The knocks sound again, and Childe angrily ruffles his hair against the towel. If they could just wait one second, he could answer the door with dry hair, but no. Peace was not an option, apparently, and neither was a perfectly fluffed head of hair.

He stomps toward the door and swings it open, ready to scold whoever had—

“Xiansheng!” He startles when he sees Zhongli standing in the doorway, donning a simple black t-shirt tucked into high waisted pants that were loose and slightly flared at the bottom, and his feet were covered by simple strappy sandals. Childe vaguely remembers purchasing those pants for him when he had mentioned wanting more loose and liberating clothes. The ex-Archon looks good like this. He looks… impossibly soft. Vulnerable, almost. There’s a distant look in his amber eyes that has Childe mildly concerned, though. Childe tries to ignore the sudden urge to protect him to his last dying breath.

“What are you doing here?” He sidesteps and reaches out to drag his boyfriend in. “I thought we had already discussed you sleeping so late! I know you’re an adeptus, you don’t require sleep, blah blah blah, but still, you—“

“I missed you,” Zhongli stated so matter of factly. “I wanted to see you. So I came here.”

Childe gawks at him and closes the door slowly. So he had just walked all the way here?! At this hour?! Goodness, the audacity—

“Xiansheng,” he whines instead, dragging the older man into an embrace. He wraps his arms around his neck and presses his cheek into his hair. “You can’t just say those things. It’s impossible for me to love you more.”

Zhongli holds him with desperation, welcoming the hug so enthusiastically that Childe knows there’s something to be said.

“Can I stay the night?” The adeptus asks once they pull apart.

Childe looks at him, dumbfounded. “You don’t even need to ask! Go, make yourself comfortable. Are you hungry? Have you had dinner?”

Zhongli drops his bag by his side of the bed and takes a seat, still watching Childe with careful eyes.

“I’ve eaten,” he answers carefully. “I just couldn’t seem to get comfortable at… home… so I came here.”

Childe frowns, and joins him on the bed. He flips the covers open and clambers in, resting back against the headboard. “Not comfortable? Is something wrong with your place?”

“Maybe,” Zhongli tries, “I really don’t know. Frankly I’ve been conflicted about… many things… recently, and I feel as if I have reached an impasse. I don’t know where to go from here.”

“Zhongli,” Tartaglia says, suddenly serious, “how come this is the first time I’m hearing of this?” His voice drops an octave, the worry seeping into his tone.

Zhongli reclines and rests against the headrest, too. “I did not know how to express my troubles to you, mainly because I’m having trouble defining it myself.”

Well, that’s fair enough. Tartaglia can’t find it in himself to be mad at that reasoning.

“Well,” Tartaglia begins, reaching for Zhongli’s hand and hugging his arm to his chest. He scoots closer and uses Zhongli’s shoulder as a pillow. “Why don’t you just start rambling and maybe it’ll come to you.”

“I think I have a vague idea, actually,” Zhongli adjusts himself to make himself more comfortable for Ajax. The both of them find themselves staring up at the ceiling as they converse. “Remember when I asked you what ‘home’ means to you?”

“Of course,” Tartaglia answers. Oh, he has an idea of where this is going.

“Well, I’m unsure of what it means to me.”

Bingo.

“What it means to you?” The Harbinger asks, craning his neck to look up at him. Zhongli hums, affirmative.

“Yes, I’ve been struggling to define the term for myself. I’ve been observing others much more closely and how they define their own home, but I’m afraid it has made me more confused.”

Tartaglia juts out his bottom lip in contemplation. “What do you mean?”

Zhongli takes a deep breath, a long explanation at the tip of his tongue. Tartaglia braces himself, as he usually does.

“Today you told me home was your family. Miss Xiangling told me home was her father, and the smell of their kitchen. Young Xingqiu told me his home was within whatever book he was reading, even describing it as his safe space. And Miss Ningguang, most peculiar of all, had told me home was when she was out at sea, but only when Captain Beidou was by her side. Mind you, I had fully expected it to be the Jade palace, considering the built it from the ground up.” Zhongli rambles, “and I just found it strange how so many humans find different definitions for the word home. Such a simple word, too, so imagine my surprise when I discover it’s true complexity.”

“I’ve encountered many things in my life, Ajax. I have met so many people in this lifetime and watched them grow, watched them die, and even watched some be reincarnated. But I think…” he trails off, and the warmth in his eyes glimmer as he reaches an epiphany. “I think I am struggling to define the term because I have never been presented with the idea of stability. Things are always changing. The world around me continues to warp and I have noticed, in my time so far, that humans find the need for stability and reassurance because of the nature of their short lives. That is where I am lacking.”

—

Try as he might, Tartaglia takes slight offense to his statement.

Lacking stability? The thought was bitter on his tongue.

Was… was Childe not enough?

No, no, he forcefully derailed that train of thought, he came here tonight because you’re the only thing he can rely on in his life right now. Show him that.

“Well,” Childe starts carefully, and thanks the stars that his voice is steady. “What about me?”

Zhongli makes a confused noise. “What about you?”

“Do you consider me as a stable thing in your life?” Childe prods, digging his cheek deeper into his shoulder.

“Oh, absolutely not,” Zhongli snorts.

Childe unironically feels an ache in his chest. He stills against Zhongli. Ouch.

Luckily, Zhongli is at least able to pick up on his sudden discomfort, and he’s quick to follow up his statement.

“You misunderstand, Ajax, you being wildly chaotic is a beautiful thing in and of itself.” Zhongli gently pries Childe off his arm to look at him directly. As expected, Childe is upset. He’s got the same glassy eyes he always dons when he’s upset, but doesn’t want to admit it, and his bottom lip is red and obviously bitten in an attempt to keep himself from feeling unreasonably angry.

“Oh,” Zhongli coos at the sight, “I’m sorry my love, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s fine,” Childe blinks hard, “I’m just being dumb.”

“You’re not being dumb,” Zhongli is quick to negate his self-deprecative tendencies, “I must have come off very harsh just now. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Childe thumps a fist against his chest, “it’s fine, really.”

“As I was saying,” the Archon continues, “nothing about my life so far has been stable, Ajax. Things are constantly changing. Time continuously flows, and it simply does not wait for any man. Unfortunately, I have seen many people come and go. And unfortunately, one day you will become one of them--”

“Zhongli stop,” Childe interrupts him. He’s angry, now. His brows are furrowed and there’s an evident frown on his face. There’s a slight scowl across his lips where there used to be a precious smile just moments ago. “What the hell?” He asks angrily.

“Ajax,” Zhongli scolds softly, “it would be in your best interests if you let me finish.”

“Well, not if you’re just gonna talk about death,” Childe retorts. He’s aware that he sounds childish, but such a topic is not to be taken to lightly. Especially when it revolves around him, and what he would be leaving behind. The thought makes him sick to his stomach.

“Whether or not you’re stable, whether or not you’ll be here forever, you are the most important thing to me, probably ever.” He speaks with a certainty that makes Childe shiver. “You are the first person in a very long time that has made me want to try to grasp at the fleeting seconds I have with you, Ajax. You drive me crazy. And I love you for it, because never in my six thousand years have I had as much fun as when I am with you.”

Dammit, Childe is crying now. Zhongli has such a way with words, how could he not? Dating him is just one, huge, glorified emotional rollercoaster. Zhongli brushes a stray, reluctant tear away with the pad of his ungloved hand.

“Frankly, stability is overrated,” the ex-Archon smiles at the soft giggle that escapes his beloved’s lips. “I have found, albeit slowly, that I would rather have someone loud and rambunctious than someone slow and settled. That is my role, if anything. There simply cannot be two of us, can there?”

A soft “no” is huffed as laughter from Childe. What a boring relationship that would be, truly.

“But if it is stability you seek, Ajax, let me be that for you. Let me be here, solid as stone and steadfast. Let me be the pillar of strength you need to turn to in times of trouble. Okay?” He brushes a knuckle gently across his skin.

Childe makes a sound that sounds a little broken and a little delirious. “When did this become about me, Xiansheng?”

“To me, it’s always been about you,” Zhongli smiles fondly. Childe feels as if he’s been shot in the heart.

Childe gives him a shaky smile and nods. He can’t seem to control his heart at the moment, so instead, he says, “You’re my home, Zhongli.”

The gears seemed to finally click somewhere in Zhongli’s chest. The hollow feeling inside suddenly swelled with a sense of nostalgia, bringing with it a feeling of peace and serenity. Zhongli’s eyes widen, and the ex-Archon looks down at Childe with a sudden air of solid certainty. Childe almost shrinks at the intensity of his gaze.

“Of course,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “Of course it’s you.”

“What?”

“How could I be so blind?” Zhongli cups his face with both hands, and Childe reciprocates by placing both palms on his wrists. Confused, but following along. Cor lapis eyes stare straight into his soul, unforgiving as it digs deeper and deeper into what makes him whole.

“Xiansheng?” Ajax asks, dazed by the intensity of Zhongli’s stare. God, his eyes are so golden.

“It’s you, Ajax,” for once, his voice cracks and he loses composure, “you… are home. You are home. To me, that is my definition of home. I only ever feel-- I only ever feel like I belong when I am with you. It was so obvious, and I--”

“Zhongli,” Ajax gently pries off the hands cupped around his face. His heart can’t handle this right now. It’s too much. He’s too in love, he needs to do something or he’ll explode. He stares directly into those beautiful, mesmerizing golden eyes. Ajax cradles Zhongli’s hands in his own, petting over his knuckles, when he asks, “Marry me?”

His eyes widen comically, as if they weren’t already the size of saucepans with his first epiphany.

“Oh.”

So that’s what he was missing.

“I know we said we would take it slow, and I know I’m young, or whatever” Childe begins to ramble, “but fuck going slow, Xiansheng, it’s been months and all I want to do is go to sleep with you next to me. I know what I want and it seems like you do, too, but if I misread that then--”

Zhongli hushes him with an incessant press of his lips against Childe’s. It is a loving kiss, yes, but it is filled with a desperation that only the both of them understand. It is a kiss that is so different from the others; one full of certainty and ambition, a kiss full of overwhelming commitment. The longing behind the contact is an answer in and of itself, but he pulls away to speak regardless.

“Yes,” he breathes, pressing his forehead against Childe’s, “yes.”

That night, Zhongli finally comes to the conclusion that home does not have to mean four walls and a roof. It doesn’t pertain to any kind of fancy kitchen appliances, or four post bed frames. Zhongli quickly learns that it doesn’t have to be about a place, and all the stories it tells. It’s not even Liyue, the very land he built himself. It has nothing to do with any of that. In fact, the sheer ridiculousness of Zhongli’s inner conflict has him rolling.

Instead, it has everything to do with the red head beneath him. It has to do with the way he calls his name in the middle of the night, claws his hands down his back and juts his hips forward, desperately seeking friction. Home has everything to do with swollen lips, red from being kissed, cheeks hot pink from the heat slowly filling the room, and strong thighs clenching and unclenching around his waist. Home has to do with his precious Snezhnayan soulmate.

Simply, home is Ajax.

#genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #tartali #zhongchi #chili #tartaglia x zhongli #childe x zhongli #character study #zhongli struggles a lot...#childe #tartaglia #zhongli #rex lapis #help i want what they have

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starlightnovas · 3 years

Text

Triumph

I received this prompt on @thewritersblockdiscord! Feel free to come and participate in some of the weekly prompts!

Context: Rex Everfrost, the Dragon King, is thrown around the multiverse and finds himself in a destroyed and ravaged world where he had become evil and killed everyone. In order to protect the few remaining survivors, he must battle his alternate self

I stared down at the dragon before me, Oblivion; this alternate version of me… It was like looking in a fun-house mirror; my doppelganger was nearly a perfect copy, with only a select few unique differences.

“It’s not too late to give up.” I said cautiously, “Look at me: I'm proof that you're more than just so the instrument of destruction. In so many other worlds we became heroes.”

He tore off his ripped mask, revealing a face identical to mine. His brown hair fell in curls over his forehead. The only difference I could spot was the slightly darker shade of red in his eyes. The red glow of my eyes carried a feeling of protective strength; he carried an overwhelming sense of dominating power.

He growled at me, baring pointed teeth, “The only reason I haven't struck you down yet is that you have my face. So I’ll ask only once, get out of my way.”

I glanced back at the old bunker entrance. Syla and the rest of the survivors were never going to be able to defend themselves down there, and Oblivion wasn't going to stop until they’re all dead.

I sighed and widened my stance; this was going to be one of the hardest battles I've ever fought.

“Try and move me.”

He grinned maniacally, “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Lightning surged from his fingertips. I slammed my foot on the ground and a pillar of earth rose to block it. I kicked the pillar and it slid over the ground like ice towards Oblivion. An inferno ignited around him and immediately turned the rock into lava. I raised my arms and a wave of lava sloshed towards him.

A burst of air sent him flying at me. I ducked and grabbed his arm, using his momentum to slam him into the ground.

He sunk into the cracked road as though it were water and completely vanished. My sixth sense barely had time to kick in before he appeared behind me and ran his fist into my spine.

The shock rippled through my entire body and threw me into the remains of a barely standing building. Oblivion followed close behind me, hovering in a small tornado.

I held up my hand and a large blade of light appeared in my hand. I swung at Oblivion, and he barely summoned his own blade in time to counter me.

He parried, his light blade slicing my side. I hissed from the pain and swung at him. He didn't expect the strength in my swing and staggered as the blades connected. I followed up with the other end of the light and sliced his leg. He cried out and shoved me hard, nearly knocking himself over and throwing me against a wall.

I held up my arms like I was holding a ball in between them, then shoved towards Oblivion. A gust of wind slammed him against the wall behind him with a loud crack. I made a pulling motion and the wall was brought down on top of him.

A stone pillar next to me was ripped out of it's place and thrown into me. I was crushed against the wall and I felt the air rush out of my lungs as my rib cage squeezed under the pressure.

The pillar was shoved aside by Oblivion and he clawed at me. I jerked away from him, but his claws caught my chest. I couldn't recover fast enough and he pinned me against the wall, his claws at my throat. I only barely managed to hold him back as he tried to sink his claws in.

I struggled to move his hand away from my throat, but my grip faltered and his claws sank right into my shoulder. I screamed and erected my own claws, stabbing them into his bicep.

He also screamed and pulled away. Arcs of blood flew from where we had stabbed each other. I raised my arm and an eruption of fire swirled to life around him in a blazing inferno.

I lifted myself into the air after him. My fist struck him and launched him through the ceiling. I dashed at him again and again, throwing him through floor after floor. Eventually, we broke through the roof and a lighting bolt quickly threw him down.

I dropped on top of him and pinned his arms with my legs, “We don't have to fight anymore!” I pleaded as I struggled to catch my breath, “Just listen to reason.”

He roared with rage as his eyes flared with light. Flaming beams of energy shot from his eyes. My hand slammed into his jaw and forced his head to the side. The beam sliced through a distant skyscraper.

I quickly let go of his jaw and slammed a punch into his face. The lasers didn't stop. I kept swinging at him, trying to get him to cut out the lasers. When he refused to stop, I held my hands over his eyes.

The energy flared up even more and he screamed as the scent of burning flesh filled the air.

The clouds swirled and a massive lightning bolt through me over the edge of the building. I balanced myself with a small tornado and gently set myself down on the street, immediately falling to my knees. I felt so exhausted… everything ached.

Oblivion slammed down in the street ahead of me. The skin around his eyes was burnt black and smoking. Blood drenched his entire face, making him nearly unrecognizable.

I sighed and shoved myself to my feet. We both took a moment to breathe before attacking.

I flicked my hand, launch a shard of ice at him. He waved his hand and it melted, the water curling into a whip. He cracked it at me. I held up a wall of fire above me, only for it to go low and wrap around my legs. He pulled and I fell to the ground.

I saw him run at me and try to get on top of me, but I pulled my arm to my chest. A large rock came flying from behind him and into the back of his head. He stumbled and I kicked, hitting his back.

I slid under him and kicked out his legs as I wrapped my arms around his neck. Lasers erupted from his eyes again. His physical strength failed him, as he was unable to break my grip or look at me. The lasers just shot into the sky, but slowly moved down to the ground, then over it.

I realized that Oblivion was slowly moving his sights over to the bunker.

“If I die…” He said before coughing blood, “They die with me.”

I tightened my chokehold, but his head was still slowly moving.

“It doesn't have to be like this. Don't force my hand.”

The lasers were getting dangerously close to the bunker… I had to act now.

“I'm sorry…”

I quickly jerked my arms. There was a loud snap as Oblivion’s laser swung into the sky before sputtering out and disappearing. I stepped back as his body fell lifelessly to the ground.

I stood there, staring at the dead body of myself from another world. I was covered in blood, mine and his, and claw marks all over my body were beginning to sting.

Even though we were the same, matched in physical strength and elemental power,

I stood triumphant.

#blood tw #injury tw #death tw #The Dragon King #Rex #Rex Everfrost #Writing #Writing prompt #The writers block discord

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occasionalstorytelling · 3 years

Link

Summary: While the Teen Titans (Cyborg, Starfire, Beast Boy, and Raven) are taking down some of Slade's robots, they bump into a robot that isn't a robot--in fact, it's a kid, about their age, with black spiky hair and a domino mask under the Slade black-and-orange faceplate. It's Slade's apprentice, Dick Grayson, rescued from the circus after his parents' death when Batman wasn't around for him. Dick (or his villain name, Apprentice) has never tangled with heroes before, but he's not going to let Slade down. If only someone had warned him that nobody can stand up to the Teen Titans.

Excerpt:

“Okay, Titans, just like we planned,” Cyborg raised his sonic cannon and pointed it at the door.

Whoever Slade was, he’d sent villain after villain to destroy the Titans, but now he’d changed tactics, and was trying to steal a series of computer chips from tech companies around the city. The Titans had staked out Wayne Tech, ready for Slade’s next robotic army assault. Cyborg and Beast Boy were down on the main storage room floor, ready to fight off the creepy robots with their identical forms and blank masked faces. Starfire and Raven were both in flight, covering all possible other entrances and exits to the room.

They could hear a loud, repeating banging sound as the robots beat on the door. Starfire powered up, eye glowing green. Beast Boy nodded at Cyborg and turned into a T-Rex, ready for whatever was coming through.

“Here it comes!” Cyborg said. “Raven, shield us!”

Raven’s magic washed over them, a black shield against which shrapnel from the door scattered harmlessly. The shield flashed away, revealing an army of Slade’s robots standing in the doorway.

“Titans, go!” Cyborg yelled.

Beast Boy roared and stomped into the fray, tearing robotic limbs to shreds with his T-Rex teeth. Cyborg stood behind him, firing blast after blast of his sonic cannon into the robots. One of the robots was different than the others, he noticed. It was smaller, more agile. Most of the robots were big, lumbering tanks that would keep charging forward until they met their goal or got destroyed. This robot was light, and Cyborg watched it cartwheel one-handed out of the way of one of Beast Boy’s swiping attacks. Cyborg pivoted to face it, but it was fast. It almost danced around him, the way it moved. It leapt into the air, making a grab for the chip, when Cyborg finally caught it in the leg with the sonic cannon. It wasn’t a good enough hit, though. The robot still had both legs, and it kept coming. It reached into a pocket and threw something at Cyborg. The something exploded on contact, clogging up Cyborg’s sensors with smoke and ash. It almost destroyed his power cell in one hit.

“Star!” Cyborg coughed.

“I see it,” Starfire said. She flew over Cyborg’s head and attacked the smaller robot. It turned and ran from her, towards one of the walls. She threw starbolt after starbolt at it as it ran, then it ran up the wall a few steps, did a backflip over her head, and threw another something at her. The explosive force slammed Starfire into the wall as the robot jumped away, heading for the chip again. Cyborg fired another few sonic cannon shots, but it rolled and ducked like none of the other robots could.

Raven swooped down, putting herself between it and the chip. The robot froze for a second, as if sizing her up. “Azarath metrion zinthos!” Raven said, and the floor panels under the robot’s feet began to rise, shoving it away as they formed a protective wall around the chip. The robot pulled out another device, one that looked like a gun. It shot at Raven, and she threw up a shield to protect herself, but the robot hadn’t been aiming for her. It was a grappling hook, and the robot used the line attached to her makeshift wall to swing under it and grab the chip out of the security force field.

“It’s got the chip!” Cyborg yelled. “We can’t let it take it!”

The robot launched itself back towards the crushed lab door and the safety of numbers, but Beast Boy had left the robot army not much more than a pile of parts. He was now an octopus. “Got you!” Beast Boy said, grabbing the little robot with a few of his arms. The robot pressed a button on its belt and Beast Boy yelped and twitched as electricity flooded through him. He dropped the robot and collapsed, shifting back to himself as he did. Raven used her power to raise the rubble into the air, blocking the robot’s escape. The robot turned to face the Titans, the only one of its peers left standing. It pocketed the chip and raised both fists, ready for a fight.

“This one is…smaller than the others?” Starfire frowned.

“That doesn’t mean it’s any less of a threat,” Cyborg scowled. He fired another sonic cannon blast, but the robot had already moved. It had used the grappling hook to connect to a vent close to the ceiling, and was making a run for it. Before any of the Titans could stop it, it was inside the vent and on the move.

“Throw me!” Beast Boy said. Cyborg picked him up and launched him. Beast Boy turned into a mouse mid-flight, and landed inside the vent. “It’s heading for the roof!” Beast Boy yelled back, already on the move following the robot.

“Then let’s go get it,” Raven said. She raised her teleportation raven to encircle the three of them.

“Wait,” Cyborg frowned. “Did any of us get hit?”

“I for one was hit most strongly, but I am fine,” Starfire said.

“Beast Boy’s blood is green, Star’s is orange, Raven’s is black, mine is blue,” Cyborg said, tracing one finger through the sticky red pool on the chip platform. “So whose is this?”

“The robot… It’s not a robot,” Raven said.

“Do you think it is Slade himself?” Starfire asked.

“Cyborg to Beast Boy, it’s not a robot,” Cyborg spoke into the communicator. “We’ve got to try and take him alive. We’ll meet you at the roof.” He nodded at Raven, who cloaked them. They reappeared on the roof. It was night, and the huge WAYNE TECH sign glowed white in the darkness. The vent clattered open as Beast Boy emerged as a badger holding onto one of the not-robot’s legs with his teeth. The not-robot landed a solid kick to Beast Boy’s face and tried to escape, but it was surrounded by the Titans, with weapons hot. The not-robot raised a weird-looking gun of some sort, attached to his wrist, but Starfire swooped down and crunched it into useless dust with one hand. “I believe we have caught you,” she said, keeping her grip on his wrist. The not-robot suddenly tensed and threw her over his shoulder, slamming her head-first into the ground and leaving a crack in the rooftop cement. He ran at Cyborg, fists raised.

“Dude, you do not want to fight me!” Cyborg said. “We know you’re hurt, and your fists won’t—hey!” After a few futile punches from the not-robot, he’d given up and tried his electrical attack on Cyborg, who just barely managed to dodge it. The not-robot didn’t even pause, he just ran for the edge of the roof and threw himself off of it.

“Raven!” Cyborg yelled.

“Got him,” Raven said. Her eyes glowed white as she held up a sphere of energy, trapping the not-robot inside of it. He struggled against it for a few moments, tried out a few gadgets on it, before seeming to give up. He slumped on the floor of the sphere.

“So…what do we do now?” Beast Boy sat up, rubbing a bump on his head.

They took the not-robot back to the Tower, careful not to let him out of the sphere until they were ready. They dumped him in a secure room, but nobody wanted to be in the same place as him. He was tough, and probably strong enough to take any of them down in a one-on-one fight. The not-robot sat in the secure little cell, and the Titans watched him from a connected window.

“Should we…turn him over to the police?” Beast Boy asked.

“I’m not sure,” Cyborg frowned. “We’ve been fighting Slade for so long, I don’t think we can afford to miss out on whatever we can learn from this guy.”

“Who is he?” Starfire asked.

“He’s not Slade, that’s for sure,” Raven grumbled. “Maybe Slade finally decided to find some new friends.”

“He looks like a robot,” Beast Boy shrugged. “With the faceplate and all…are we sure this isn’t just one of Slade’s fancy new toys?”

They looked down into the room, where the not-robot was ripping his shirt sleeve into pieces and tying them around his leg. There was a little red stain on the floor below him.

“Huh,” Beast Boy said. “Well…okay.”

“He is injured. Should we not help him?” Starfire asked.

“We can give it a try,” Cyborg shrugged.

“Not it!” Beast Boy tapped his nose. “I do not need to be alone with that guy. My head’s gonna hurt for a week.” He rubbed the bump where the not-robot had kicked him.

“Starfire, you think you can handle him?” Raven asked.

“Surely,” Starfire said. “Though I may require additional instruction in your Earth medicine.”

Loaded up with a box or two of medical supplies, Starfire opened the door to the room. Without even taking a moment to hesitate, the not-robot stood and leapt at the door, but Starfire held him back with a starbolt. The not-robot faltered, and took an awkward step back onto his hurt leg. The security door closed, the the not-robot slumped sadly.

“For your leg,” Starfire said, as brightly as she could. She held up the boxes of supplies. The not-robot didn’t move, he just seemed to stare at her from behind the faceless mask.

“You are hurt,” Starfire said, pointing at his leg. When he’d tried to escape, he’d ruined his own makeshift bandages. He took a hasty, nervous step away from her, holding up his fists.

“No, I am not here to fight you,” Starfire shook her head. “I am here to help. I will not hurt you.”

The not-robot froze for a long, horrible moment, considering her. Then he sat against the wall and tucked his hands behind his back, as if promising he wouldn’t hurt her, either. Starfire came closer and examined the injury.

“I will have to remove some of this material,” Starfire said. The pant leg was torn and bloody, and the armor was preventing her from seeing much more. The not-robot didn’t comment one way or another, so she removed the metal plate armor and used a thin beam of energy to slice away the torn fabric. The not-robot stayed very still as she did so, clearly not entirely convinced she wasn’t going to hurt him.

There was a long, angry slice of red where Cyborg’s sonic cannon had grazed him. “You are lucky,” Starfire smiled. “If you were less agile, you would be missing the whole leg.”

The not-robot continued his silence as she gently wiped the wound with a damp cloth and bandaged him. “There you go!” Starfire said. “Does that feel better?”

The not-robot nodded carefully. “…Thank you,” he said, after a long hesitation. His voice was muffled behind the mask.

“Oh! You can talk?” Starfire tried not to sound as surprised as she was.

The not-robot nodded slowly.

“Um…” Starfire looked up at the window for help. Cyborg just shrugged. “Um, my name is Starfire! It is nice to meet you,” she said.

“I’m Apprentice,” the not-robot said. He took off the faceplate mask, revealing a secondary domino mask beneath it. He looked about 15 years old. His hair was black and spiky, but a little misshapen after being under the helmet for so long.

“It is…nice to meet you,” Starfire said again, awkwardly. She looked back up at the window, where the other Titans were kind of flailing around unhelpfully.

“Aren’t you going to kill me?” Apprentice asked dryly.

“What? Of course not,” Starfire said, confused. “We—”

“Don’t talk to me,” Apprentice said. He pulled his legs up and hugged them to his chest, with only a slight wince of pain as he did so.

“We can help you,” Starfire said. “Are you inured anywhere else?”

“You don’t care. It doesn’t matter,” Apprentice said, glaring at her from behind his knees.

“Perhaps I could—” she reached towards him and he visibly flinched away from her. She looked back up at the window once more. The Titans had disappeared. She squinted, trying to confirm this, when the door opened again and Cyborg came into the room, leaving Beast Boy and Raven outside. The Apprentice turned back into a ball of rage and energy until the door sealed shut, trapping him once more.

“My dude, we caught you, fair and square,” Cybrog crossed his arms. “You’re not getting out of here.”

“So I’m supposed to stop trying to escape?” Apprentice spat angrily.

“I’m Cyborg,” Cyborg said.

“I know who you are,” Apprentice glared. “I know who all of you are. The Teen Titans…” he scoffed and shook his head. “You’ll never stop Slade. No one can.”

“So are you a showoff, or do you have a broken arm?” Cyborg said.

“What?” Apprentice went white.

“You do all your fancy cartwheels, but you haven’t been putting weight on your right arm,” Cyborg said. “You keep it held close to your chest as much as you can. You’re doing it right now.”

Apprentice hastily dropped his arm and held it behind his back.

“Did we do that?” Cyborg said, a little softer. “I’m sorry. I thought you were a robot, and, you know…”

“Robots don’t stop until you break them,” Apprentice sighed. “Yeah…I know. But it’s fine, and anyway, you didn’t do it.”

“Wait, you came to the secure weapons facility with a broken arm? Why?!?!” Cyborg gestured angrily.

Apprentice just glared back at him in silence.

“We can hook you up with a cast,” Cyborg offered.

“I can’t fight in a cast,” Apprentice said.

“You can’t fight like this, either!” Cyborg gestured again. “What is your problem?!?”

“Cyborg,” Starfire said, putting a hand on his shoulder, “perhaps we should try a different approach.”

“I won’t talk,” Apprentice interrupted quickly. “I may not be a robot, but I won’t—I mean, I…I won’t…you can’t—”

“Woah, woah, slow down. We’re just trying to help you,” Cyborg said.

“No, you’re trying to soften me up so I give away Slade’s secrets,” Apprentice said. “I won’t do it. So you might as well kill me now, because I won’t talk, no matter what you do to me.”

“No one’s going to kill anyone,” Cyborg started to say, but the door opened again as Raven and Beast Boy entered with the x-ray machine, and Apprentice launched himself at the Titans with complete disregard for life and limb.

“Titans, careful!” Cyborg said. “Beast Boy, don’t—”

“I can take care of myself,” Apprentice wrenched his broken arm away from Beast Boy and ran for the door, which Raven sealed with her magic just before he got there. Apprentice beat his fist on the door, just once, and leaned against it heavily.

They were finally about to coax the dejected Apprentice into the x-ray machine. “Dude, you’re covered in broken bone scars,” Cyborg frowned as he looked at the readings. “Half your ribcage is messed up.”

Apprentice just grit his teeth in response, staring pointedly up at the ceiling.

“Slade sure sends you on a lot of missions, doesn’t he?” Beast Boy shrugged.

Apprentice refused to answer, he just kept glaring at the ceiling like it was personally responsible for his failures.

“I’m not sensing any kind of mind control,” Raven said, touching her temple as she felt around with her magic.

Apprentice snorted at that, laughing a very teenager-y laugh. The hollow sound echoed in the secure room. It made the Titans shiver. Apprentice wasn’t some evil adult villain, he was the same age as them. He might as well have been laughing at one of Beast Boy’s jokes, he sounded so normal.

“And I’m not detecting any kind of mechanical control, either,” Cyborg continued.

“Maybe I just work for Slade, okay?” Apprentice sighed. “Maybe, just like you all chose to be ‘heroes,’ I chose to work for Slade.”

“How did that happen?” Beast Boy scoffed.

Apprentice clammed up again.

“Wait, I’m picking up something,” Cyborg frowned. “A signal of some kind, originating outside the Tower. We—”

Apprentice rolled out of the examination bed, took a small device from his ear, and smashed it onto the ground with one heavily armored boot. He didn’t stop until the device was completely destroyed.

“—and, the signal’s gone,” Cyborg sighed, snapping the plate on his arm closed again. “Let me guess, that was so Slade could communicate with you?”

“I don’t have to talk to you,” Apprentice raised his fists.

“Let’s end this,” Raven frowned. She drew herself up to full height and stood in front of Apprentice, who glared up at her as he held onto his fighting stance. “Apprentice, was it?” Raven raised an eyebrow.

Apprentice just glared up at her and clenched his fists a little more tightly.

“Raven, you do not have to do this,” Starfire said quietly.

“If anyone has a better plan for figuring out what Slade wants before he blows up the whole city, I’m listening,” Raven said.

“Do it,” Cyborg nodded.

“Whatever it is, I won’t let you,” Apprentice said desperately, backing up against the wall. “I won’t talk. It won’t work. Don’t—what are you doing?”

“Best Boy, can you hold him?” Raven asked.

Beast Boy turned into a gorilla and grabbed Apprentice in a hug, holding him still.

“Don’t! Stop! Let me go!” Apprentice struggled in the tight grip.

“Ow! He bit me,” Beast Boy grumbled.

“Azarath metrion zinthos,” Raven breathed, and she closed her eyes as she drifted into Apprentice’s mind.

She opened her eyes and found herself standing in a circus tent. Everything was tinged brownish-grey, more with Apprentice’s emotion than with age. Raven looked around. It was a strange, creepy place. There was a tightrope, but the netting below it had been replaced with a pile of crushing gears. There were gears everywhere, Raven realized—they lined the floors of the animal cages, they made up platforms and audience seating…

It was deathly quiet, except for a repeated shing…thunk sound. “Hello?” Raven called. “Apprentice? Anyone there?”

The shing…thunk sound stopped for a moment, then it picked back up again. Raven followed it around a corner, to where a boy in a blue uniform sat on one of the giant gears. He had spiky black hair. Raven watched him draw a small, thin knife from one of his pockets—shing—and throw it across the room, where it landed in a wooden target with deadly accuracy—thunk.

“Apprentice?” Raven asked.

“Huh?” the boy looked up at her and smiled. “Are you looking for someone?”

“Are you Apprentice?” Raven asked.

“My name’s Dick,” the boy shook his head. He jumped down from the gear and did a lazy backflip towards her. “Who’re you?”

“I’m Raven,” Raven said. “What is this place?”

“You don’t know?” Dick’s smile dropped. He gave her a sad look. “You should probably go, then. You don’t belong here.”

“I can’t go until I find Apprentice,” Raven said. “I need to talk to him.”

“I can show you around, I guess,” Dick shrugged. He led her through the circus, pointing out the attractions as they went. If he noticed the creepy stillness, the emptiness of the circus, the dark energy flowing around them, he didn’t say anything, and it didn’t seem to dampen his smile.

“This is where I grew up,” Dick was saying. “I used to do an act with my parents, before.”

“Before what?” Raven asked.

“Just before,” Dick said, smile never dropping. Now it looked more like a facade, though. Like an act. Like he was performing for her benefit. “Anyway, after it, Master found me. He’s been training me. That’s what I was doing when you found me.”

“Training?” Raven asked.

“Yeah,” Dick said, and he moved quickly then, the way Apprentice had. Knives appeared in his hands like magic, and he threw them at her. She raised both arms to shield herself, but they whizzed harmlessly past her. She turned, and saw Dick had made a perfect outline of her in knives behind her on a wall.

“Can we have some applause for the audience volunteer?” Dick beamed and raised his hands wide, turning to face an invisible audience like he’d performed an excellent trick. Then a shadow slammed into him from the side, hitting him in the chest and knocking him to the floor. “Ouch,” Dick winced from where he’d landed in a pile of rubble.

“You know the rules,” Apprentice growled.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Dick hung his head.

“Get up,” Apprentice held out his hand and helped Dick to his feet. “Sorry doesn’t matter.”

“I know,” Dick said, accepting the help and standing up.

“Apprentice,” Raven said. “Why are you working for Slade?”

“I already said, I don’t have to talk to you,” Apprentice growled. “What makes you think I’d be more willing in here?”

“Tell me what he’s planning, and I’ll get out,” Raven said.

Apprentice crossed his arms. “It’s my mind. You’ll get out anyway.”

Dick pulled a short stick from a pocket, which extended into a long bow staff. “Sorry,” Dick smiled apologetically at Raven. Then he leapt at her with the staff.

Dick stabbed and jabbed at her again and again. It took all of her concentration to fend off his attacks, even though as far as she could tell, he didn’t even have powers. Dick somersaulted away from her and grabbed a chair and a whip. “The lions have nothing on you,” Dick grinned. Raven flew up into the air, out of his range.

“Now that’s what I call high-flying!” Dick said. He dropped the props and clambered up one of the tightrope poles like a monkey. “But can you do this?” He swung down at her, and kicked one of his shoes to reveal a knife coming out of one of the toes. Raven dodged it and used her magic to detach the ropes holding up the bar. Dick fell, and Apprentice leapt into the air to catch him before he hit the gears below.

“Look, I don’t know what Slade’s planning. He doesn’t tell me that stuff. Will you just get out of here?” Apprentice set Dick down and glared up at Raven.

“No. Why are you working for him?” Raven asked.

“There was nobody else after,” Dick said.

“Shut up,” Apprentice said.

“Slade said he could be like a father to me,” Dick said.

“I said shut up,” Apprentice growled at him.

“He protected me,” Dick said, looking up at Raven.

“He’s going to hurt a lot of people,” Raven said. “That’s why my friends and I need to stop him.”

“This is why we’re not talking to you!” Apprentice said. “You’re just going to stop me too, like you stopped all those robots.”

“No…the Titans don’t kill people,” Raven said.

“Oh, sure you don’t, you just invade minds and try to poison me against Slade,” Apprentice rolled his eyes. “Much nicer.”

“Master could hurt a lot of people, though,” Dick said quietly. “He cares about you, and he still hurts you. Imagine what he could do to people he didn’t care about.”

“You know that was for training!” Apprentice rounded on Dick angrily. “Once I’m good enough at fighting, he won’t be able to hurt me anymore. That’s the whole point.”

“Slade can’t hurt you while you’re with the Titans,” Raven said.

“Wanna bet?” Apprentice scowled.

“If that’s why you’re working for him, because you’re scared of him—”

“I’m not scared,” Dick said, at the same time Apprentice said “Of course I’m scared.” They looked at each other, then both looked up at Raven.

“Keep talking,” Dick said.

“Shut up,” Apprentice said.

Raven made a solid attempt. “You don’t have to do what Slade says anymore. You’re safe from him here, we can—”

“We’re not listening!” Apprentice roared. He grabbed Dick by the shoulders and threw him into the gears, then leapt down after him. “This is what happens to us because of you! You make us weak!” Apprentice pummeled Dick with punch after punch, not giving him time to get up.

“Stop it!” Raven swooped down and tried to pull them apart.

“You’re the one who’s weak!” Dick got a grip on Apprentice and pushed him into the pile of gears. As they fought, they began sinking into it, like quicksand.

“I’m not the one who says ‘thank you’ to my captors,” Apprentice pulled Dick’s hair.

“I hate you!” Dick jabbed an elbow into Apprentice’s side.

“I hate you!” Apprentice got the upper hand and put it around Dick’s throat, squeezing, seeming not even to notice as they sunk deeper between the gears.

“Let him go!” Raven yelled, trying to get a grip on them with her magic, but they slid out of her grasp. She tried to grab Apprentice’s shoulders, but his head turned around backwards and he grabbed her with both hands, pulling her down into the gears. She struggled to pull away, but more hands appeared, grabbing her, pulling her down into the darkness and the crushing weight—

“Get out!” Apprentice yelled, and Raven opened her eyes. She was back in the secure room with the Titans and Apprentice, still being restrained by Beast Boy.

“Slade can’t hurt you in here,” Raven said. “He can’t even hear you.” She gestured at the broken communications device where Apprentice had crushed it on the floor. “Why are you so desperate to get back to him?”

“He’s all I have,” Apprentice said, giving her a pleading look behind the domino mask. “Why won’t you let me go?”

“He’s not training you for anything, he’s just using you as a punching bag,” Raven said. “At best, you’re a human shield.”

“I’m not listening to you!” Apprentice screamed and slammed his head backwards into Beast Boy’s forehead.

“Ow!” Beast Boy couldn’t keep hold of him, and Apprentice dropped to the floor. He lunged at the door, trying to figure out how to open it.

“You’ll never get out,” Cyborg said. “That door is reinforced with the best security I know how to make. You’d have to be some kind of genius to hack out of—”

The door opened and Apprentice bolted down the hall like a scared rabbit.

“Get him!” Cyborg said.

“What happened to ‘he’ll never get out?” Raven raised an eyebrow.

“We can update the security after we catch him!” Cyborg groaned.

Apprentice was learning his way around their powers. He dodged starbolts, anticipated Beast Boy’s animal changes, and sealed himself in their living room, jamming the door mechanism to buy himself some time.

He had to shield his eyes against how bright it was. The room was basically all windows. He went to their massive communications screen and controls, trying to open a line to Slade.

“Slade, it’s me,” Apprentice said. “I need help. The Titans got me, but I can escape, I know it. I need—”

“Whatever you need, you must hope the Titans will provide it,” Slade’s face appeared on the screen, larger than life and imposing as hell. “You are no longer welcome, my old apprentice.”

“What? But Slade, I did everything just as you said. I didn’t tell them anything. I’ve even still got the chip!” Apprentice took it out of his pocket and held it up.

“You’ve been with the Titans for multiple hours now. That is more than enough time for you to have been compromised,” Slade said. “We had a good run, but I’m afraid I can no longer trust you.”

“Master, you can trust me,” Apprentice said, almost in tears. “Please, I—”

“If I see you again, I will kill you, Dick,” Slade said. “Goodbye.”

“No,” Apprentice fell to his knees as the computer screen turned off. “Wait, don’t…” But it was too late. Slade was gone, and he didn’t want Apprentice back, even if he could finish escaping from the Tower. Which didn’t seem likely, as the Titans were already busting down the door to the living room.

Apprentice stared down at the chip. If he’d just refused the mission to go after it, the pain from Slade’s punishment would already have gone away by now. He clutched it close to his chest. Surely, he could still deliver it. Even if Slade didn’t want him, he’d want the chip, right?

“Drop it,” Cyborg said, pointing the sonic cannon at him. It wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order. There would be no more orders from Slade anymore. Apprentice dropped the chip and stared down at it. In a matter of hours, Apprentice had become less valuable to Slade than this piece of computer technology. Apprentice was envious. He wanted to smash it into a million pieces.

“Hands in the air,” Cyborg said.

Apprentice obeyed. “This is your fault,” he said quietly, staring at Raven. “If you hadn’t captured me—”

“Then Slade would be one step closer to taking over the city,” Raven said.

“Guys, I think we really took out Slade’s second in command!” Beast Boy beamed. “Titans rule!”

“So,” Apprentice sighed heavily, hands still raised. “What are you going to do with me now?” Unfortunately, it was seeming increasingly unlikely that they were going to kill him.

“Um…” Beast Boy looked at Cyborg.

“That’s…a good question,” Cyborg said.

Apprentice just sat there, motionless, keeping his hands raised, staring down at the chip. Apparently, he had all the time in the world to wait for their answer. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go.

I hope you enjoyed! This was just chapter 1. You can read the rest on my AO3, @OccassionalStorytelling. Link above!

#robin #Teen Titans #teen titans slade #dick grayson #The Apprentice #cyborg #raven #beast boy #starfire #apprentice robin #fanfiction #AO3 fanfic

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toku-explained · 3 years

Text

The Master Swordsman's End

SSSS.Dynazenon: Gagula continues to rampage while Kaiser GridKnight lies defeated. 2nd has no more Fixer Beams, but tries to ease Gauma's pain. As Kaiser GridKnight struggles to stand and fight, Koyomi is running. Juuga, Mujina and Onija are surprised there's another kaiju, and try to use Instance Domination only to realise it's Sizumu, and they call out, wanting to fight more, and Gagula consumes them, evolving. Gauma opens his eyes, but can tell he hasn't got long, he apologises to Yomogi and Yume for getting them involved in his Battle, Yomogi says it's only because of him they've made bonds, he thanks them and asks that they thank Koyomi too. Gagula breaks Kaiser GridKnight into constituent parts, Yomogi and Yume rush for DynaWing and DynaSoldier, Chise leaps off her train, DynaStriker lands in front of Koyomi. Gauma starts pulling himself up, intending to help finish Gagula to give his friends a future, and we see like Koyomi, Yomogi now has a scar similar to Gauma's. He thinks he's missed his chance with Yume, and leaps into DynaSoldier. As GridKnight struggles, DynaStriker rolls in, Mujina from inside angrily yells at Koyomi for touching her again. Yume falls, also getting a scar, and tells Kano she'll make it, DynaSoldier appearing to get her there. Chise sees Goldburn and calls out, he wakes up, and flies into shield mode to protect GridKnight, then DynaSoldier Wing Combine leaps in, and DynaDiver joins the fight Gauma piloting with help from 2nd. He apologises to the confused Koyomi, and tells Knight he'll help if he likes it or not. They form Kaiser GridKnight and fight. Onija declares his goal to destroy humanity, Yomogi rejects that, Juuga talks up how important Gauma is, which Gauma dismisses, Mujina claims Koyomi caused her to realise Kaiju was all she had, he can only apologise. Yomogi and Yune call out to Suzumu, but he refuses to respond. As Gagula overpowers them with a blast, Yomogi detaches Dynamic Cannon to try Instance Domination again as he flies DynaSoldier at Gagula. He gets a definite reaction, causing Gagula to point it Blast away from Kaiser GridKnight. They split, Dynazenon launching all it has at Gagula, followed by Goldburn attaching as wings to GridKnight, flying past Gaguka and wrecking the back, before riding DynaRex. Sizumu stays silent as Onija, Juuga and Mujina declares their hatred of the "false kaiju", attacking and met by the Grid Rex Roar, Gagula loses the clas and the heroes fly in to finish things. The Eugenecists die, Onija seemingly glad to die again, Mujina wondering if it's for the best, Juuga sure kaiju will have their day, Sizumu still silent. Gauma collapses, dying as he is sad he never met her, but glad he met his friends, understanding why he was entrusted Dynazenon. Chise watches everyone descend fro the remains of DynaRex, except Gauma.

3 months later, Yomogi and Yume walk together, meeting under the bridge Gauma lived with everyone, Koyomi has changed his look and is working, a healed Goldburn is waiting. Yomogi and Yume remember Gauma always said 3 things must be kept, Love and Promises, but don't know the third. Knight and 2nd prepare warp out of this world, taking Goldburn and the inert form of DynaRex with them, as the gang wave, Chise calls after the best friend she ever had, and the group vanish into Hyper World. Yomogi and Yume head to some planned meeting. Chise and Koyomi stand outside Chise's school, under repair, and it turns out Inamoto-san's husband got Koyomi his job, he insists she's not an ex but a friend, Chise now has her dragon tattoo uncovered. At the school festival Mei's photos include ones of Yume, who needs to do something. Yomogi tells his mother and Kamijo where to go, when his mother asks about Gauma he opts to explain he's banned from school grounds, before being dragged over to the waiting Awaki, Nazumi, Ranka and Kaneishi, telling him to find Yume while Mei just appears there. She's sat in a corner of the roof when he finds her, they're meant to be running the café now. Yume offers her hand and tells him to take her, and he hears Sizumu's voice from a Computer World environment, questioning why he "wasted" his potential to be a Kaiju User, arguing if he'd embraced kaiju and destruction he'd have experienced true freedom, questioning if he'll regret it. Yomogi isn't sure, but intends to live, and rejects Sizumu's philosophy that bonds are shackles, Sizumu doesn't get it. Yomigi comes back and helps Yume up, calling her by her first name for the first time at her prompting. They get to work at the café, hoping their scars stay with them. In Computer World, Knight looks at the seal from the statue, and DynaRex stands once more. Scarred Souls Shine like Stars.

Heroes' Odyssey: Zero looks at Belial's battle with the Ultras of the Land of Light, theft of the Plasma Spark, Zero training with Leo, Rei and the Ultras battle with Belial's army, and Zero's joining the battle to defeat him. He uses this to highlight another Ultra who struggled with his own darkness, showing the revival of Hudra, Darramb and Camaerra, and how Tiga Dark appeared to face the threat they unleashed.

Saber: Luna is lost, and Izaak is going full god complex, talking down at Storious, intending to eliminate the Swordsmen, he ambushes the Shindais and turns Durandal into a puppet, forcing him to attack Reika. Yuri hears from Tassel that Luna has appeared. Kento lends him Kurayami. Solomon uses his power to reach into Wonder World to seek Luna and attack Tassel, Sophia can sense his use of the Tome's power, as Sabela contacts Northern Base for help. Slash and Buster join Sabela as Durandal begs them to kill him. Touma, Mei, Rintaro and Kento reach Solomon. Saikou, in Wonder World, blocks the attempt to reach Luna and joins them, Solomon does something that causes him to vanish, and claims Kurayami and Saikou. Xross Saver Brave Dragon, Blades Tategami Hyoujuu Senki and Espada Golden Alangina face him. Tassel reaches Luna, introducing himself and promising to take her to Touna after she understands what she is. A Triple Rider Kick defeats Solomon, who attempts to use his spell to control Touma unsuccessfully, but uses it properly on Blades and Espada. Tassel explains to Luna that she is the embodiment of Wonder World, and her chosen one, Touma, will receive Wonder World's power and live their with her forever, she doesn't want to separate him from his friends though. Kento mocks Izaak for just manipulating people, and Runtaro notes his ambitions have caused him to lose all respect anyone ever held for him. He tries to drag them into darkness, but Yuri reawaken and brakes the attack and the spell, right before Durandal is made to kill Reika. Saber uses Lion Senki and Lamp do Alangina to form Special Edition. Combining their powers, they defeat Solomon, destroying Omni Force. At Southern Base, Ryoga collapses, to both siblings intense relief. Storious laughs. The injured Izaak crawls to a tunnel, where Omni Force reforms, but as he claims eternity, Storious appears, informing him his story is at an end, he reduces him to dust and claims Omni Force for himself, debuting a new outfit.

Zenkaiger: Boccowaus praises Gege, Barashitara grousing that he's treated better despite failing as well, Stacey is distracted by Yatsude reminding him of his mother, Boccowaus has Ijirude lend Gege another gear. Items are magnetised to everyone, thanks to Jishaku World, who disrupts the change by magnetising the Geartlingers, they do separate on changing, but attach to other things, and Jishaku World leaves them trapped until Zox arrives late. They get back to Colourful, there Stacey is having a snack, he gets them to pretend he's an acquaintance, Satoshi, not their enemy, but tension flares as soon as she leaves the room, but nothing happens before they realise the magnetic fields on the Kikainoids are getting stronger and making them flee the shop, Zox is waiting outside, as Magine is trapped Kaito and Secchan realises they need to stop Jishaku World fast. "Satoshi" helps Yatsude tidy up stuff that started moving, leaving but planning to come back, he runs into Kaito trying to get his help. Vroon is caught, and Gaon and Zyuran start pulling CrocoDaiOh, which only avoids crashing thanks to reverse thrusters. Zox argues to Stacey he should help Kaito since he's Yatsude's grandson. After Jishaku World reports to Gege, Stacey tells him the Zenkaigers might have found a way around his powers luring him to where Kaito and Zox are, they start fighting him as Flint keeps fighting to stop CrocoDaiOh hitting Zyuran and Gaon, who arrives at the battle running straight for Jishaku World, forcing him to reduce magnetism in the area so CrocoDaiOh doesn't hit him, and allowing everyone to move better. Zenkaiser uses Fiveman to access FiveRed's physics knowledge that lets him know heat will weaken Jishaku World. Shinken Form uses his fire abilities as Zyuran and Gaon join the fight, ZenkaiZyuran accessing his own fire and lending it to ZenkaiGaon, the 3 weakening him for Zenkaiser. Stacey leaves since he did as asked, Dai Jishaku World takes the field, separating Twokai-Oh, both ZenkaiOhs attempt to form, but are made the same poles. They use this to force Zyuran at Dai Jishaku World, so he pulls them in, only for them all to get stuck to him, but together they attack. Ijirude and Barashitara tell Gege he's not better than them, but he notes his involvement put Boccowaus in a better mood, so they'll now have more chances to try, and tells Stacey he knows what he did, but won't say for now. Yatsude asks Kaito about Satoshi, she could tell something was up when they met, Kaito admits they've fought, but makes clear he wants to be friends.

Dogengers Nice Buddy: Everyone returns to where they were before the distortion, the Dogengers are all asleep. Great Z uses an Affect System drones to warp them and Maid Shitsuji away. Tanaka wakes at home, Maid Shitsuji tells him he was dreaming. Yabai Kamen approaches Great Z, who acknowledges he hasn't been acting out of justice. Yabai Kamen goes to attack him, when Riku arrives in the stage suit to try and stop him, but it's clear Yabai Kamen has the advantagem winning as Riku yells his love for heroes and his father. Yabai Kamen steals one of the 2 remaining drones, and uses it to warp away. Riku and his father reconcile, Riku explaining he truly seeks to be a hero, after a talk, Riku puts his helmet on and Great Z transfers the suit to him, President Hanagata sees his son off. At breakfast, Yabai Kamen reveals he has the Affect System drones and declares they're enemies again and warps away, the rest of Aku no Himitsu Kessya say their goodbyes, thanking for the hospitality, and leave. At Fukuoka Dome Yabai Kamen is surrounded by the Dogengers immediately, and runs with 2 Karami, when the Dogenfers eventually corner him, Kitaqman Metal is thrown at the defeated pile he's making by the rest of Aku no Himitsu Kessya. A voice announces, as Yabai Kamen seems to have expected, the arrival of Great Z. Yabai Kanen crushes the drone using it to upgrade, in turn Gulf, Gallia, Uzagi and Nectaris unveil their own upgrades. Yabai Kamen mourns the loss of Shuraomaru, only for him to appear and unveil his new form.

#toku explained #kamen rider saber #kikai sentai zenkaiger #dogengers #ssss.dynazenon

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croose · 4 years

Text

Power Down part 2: Power Up

Request/Summary: Upon waking up after your most recent mission, you're immediately thrown back into the fray of things, not entirely sure what you're up against. And Rex doesn't seem entirely ready to watch you risk your life yet again.

Pairings: Captain Rex x Reader

Warnings: None

Author's Note: Protective Rex. Babey. Also, this is part two, but part one is pretty much the only other recent post on my account, so it shouldn't be hard to find. If my Tumblr gets more crowded I'll make a Master list and link previous parts in the author's note. Til then.

When you woke up, you were very careful not to reveal you were awake. It was a habbit you had long since gotten into.

Worst case scenario, you now had an advantage that your kidnappers didn't know you had which you could use to get out of this jail. Best case scenario, you were in your bed being woken up by your protcol droid who was reminding you that you had a council meeting in about an hour.

This day was something in between.

The first thing you noticed was the noise. It wasn't particularly loud, but it was busy.

The next thing you noticed was the scratchy blanket and the beeping of machinery keeping people alive. You were in a medbay.

Now you slowly opened your eyes, noting the clones and jedi in other beds, along with medical droids moving about to care for the patients.

You lightly closed your eyes and immediately saw, once again, the flash of the hallway roof collapsing in on you while Rex was forced to do nothing but stare.

Remembering the mission, you suddenly had no interest in remaining in the medical bay. You had needles shoved into your arm, but you wasted no time in pulling them out and clambering from your bed.

No one tried to stop you as you grabbed your jedi robes from the bedside table and left the medbay, heading towards the councilroom.

You only stopped once, in a refresher, to change, and so you made good time to the council room.

You weren't entirely sure what you expected to see, sitting on the benches outside, but it wasn't General Skywalker, Commander Tano and Captain Rex.

At your approach, the three of them (All battered and bruised, sitting on a bench with their heads hung in shame) looked up, thoroughly shocked.

"General?" Anakin asked, trying to process the fact that you were up and moving about.

"General." You responded, nodding politely.

"How are you?" Rex asked, his voice so quiet you thought he spoke with the intent of not being heard.

"Fine, thank you, Captain. However, I don't remember what happened."

The three seemed to deflate a bit at this. It was Anakin who told the story. He started with the events leading up, including the collapsing roof. Then he got to what you truly didn't know.

Dooku, of course, had escaped. But not before he managed to plug into a central computer and download all available information about Kamino, which struck you as odd.

Anakin speculated that he had let himself get caught, that he had a plan revolving around the planet. Then for the past three rotations (During which, you had been unconscious in the medbay) the three of them had been petitioning for extra security on the planet, but the Council seemed to think this was unnecessary.

"Even if it was," Mace Windu had apparently said, "We simply do not have the resources."

Anyways, the three of them were here to plea one last time to the council, hoping they would see reason before it was too late.

"You should come too, (Y/n)!" Ahsoka said, clearly testing out your name, seeing what you would allow her to have. "You know Dooku better than anyone! You've studied his moves, his attacks, you managed to track him down from across the Galaxy!"

You elected to ignore that it now seemed as though Dooku had wanted you to track him. Instead you paused to think, tapping your fingers to the side of your leg as you often did while thinking.

"Well, I wouldn't be opposed, Young Tano." You, similar to her, were testing out a nickname, exploring what she would let you get away with.

"Then it's settled!" Ahsoka said.

You laughed a bit but said nothing before the doors opened and a master and her Padawan walked out, nodding at your group as you passed, your group walking in, hers walking away.

Upon seeing you, Obi-wan Kenobi said, "Ahh, Master (Y/l/n), welcome back."

"Master Kenobi." You nodded, politely at him.

Anakin then launched into his plea for increased security around Kamino, which caused some groans and eyerolls.

"I thought we talked about this, General Skywalker." Said Plo Koon (Or, the hologram of him, as he was out on a mission.)

"Yes, okay, we did talk about it!" Anakin said. "But you all seem to think this isn't as important as it is!"

"Kamino is both safe and well-guarded, General." Shaak Ti said. "We have the protection we need. Dooku would never attempt an attack."

Anakin opened his mouth to protest, but this Master Windu cut through with, "Is there anything else any of you need?"

"Yes, actually." You said, brining the room's attention to yourself. "Where's The 307th?"

"They are with me." Plo Koon said. "You were out for three rotations and I needed a large attack force for my current mission, so it seemed only natural."

"Recovery time, you need anyways, hm?" Said Master Yoda. "On another mission, we will not be sending you until better you are." Master Yoda said this while pointing his cane at you.

You were pretty sure you saw Windu roll his eyes, but you couldn't be entirely certain, so you dropped it. Instead, you nodded, respectfully. "Yes, Masters."

"If that is all, then you're dismissed." Windu said, dismissively.

Anakin grumbled to himself and Ahsoka made a face as the group turned to leave. Rex, though, on the outside seemed perfectly fine. But you reached out into the force and, easier than you could with anyone else, you felt his emotions.

Again, you weren't entirely sure what it was, but it felt sort of like defeat. And while you were reaching into the Force you saw something else. A room on a Kamino lab... Or how to get there.

"The Council's probably right." Anakin grumbled. "It's not like we even know what he wanted from Kamino, or which cloning lab - if any - he was going to attack."

Ahsoka said nothing, but her face said it all. And Rex also tried not to show his emotions but he failed when he kicked a lose piece of trash across the floor.

"Awe, cheer up, Guys. It's not like the Resident Dooku Expert is dead!" You gestured to yourself, merrily, pretending to be unbothered by the choices of the Council.

"What, you?" Anakin asked.

"Yep! And as the Resident Dooku Expert - My official, legal title, by the way - I can safely say that Dooku is going to attack Kamino. And he is going to attack a cloning facility. And I know which one!"

The group stared at you.

"How?" Anakin said.

You shrugged a bit. "Lucky guess?"

"We don't really know if it's lucky, though. You could be completely wrong." Ahsoka muttered.

"Awe, psh! Go round up any clones willing to disobey the Council's orders - Though if it's to protect Kamino, I assume there will be a few - And meet me on your Republic Attack Cruiser as soon as possible." You were already disappearing down the hall as you spoke, leaving the group little choice other than follow your orders, or don't.

You didn't wait to find out, but you knew Anakin and Ahsoka well. They would listen. You, however, went to your dormitory and began packing basic provisions. You were just about to head out when your door buzzed, signaling a guest.

You checked the screen to see who it was and startled to see Rex standing on the other side. But for the first time since you'd met him, his helmet was off. Though his face technically looked the same as the other clones, something about him was just so much... More.

You opened the door and stepped back to allow the Captain to enter.

"General." He nodded at you.

"Captain." You responded kindly as the door shut. "What can I do for you?"

Rex took a deep breath and set his helmet down on your table. When he finally spoke, his voice was a bit shaky and he refused to turn and face you. "I don't think you should come." He whispered.

"Captain?"

He slowly turned from the table revealing a pleading expression on his face. "Don't come. Please don't come."

You spent a moment deliberating your words, but when you spoke, it was careful, precise. Your tone firm. "That's not a very fair thing to ask of me, Captain."

Much to your shock, Rex reacted with anger. His fist slammed down on your table, causing you to jump and his voice raised dangerously loud. "I don't care!" He bellowed. "Don't come!"

"Enough!" You snapped, your tone equally loud, though your body much more still than his. "First of all, you do not order me around! Second of all, you need to control your emotions!"

You weren't sure if it was because he was so used to only battling enemies and you weren't sure why you allowed it, but in a split moment, Rex had backed you into a corner and was now standing firmly in front of you, plasticore chest piece seemingly on display.

"I'm not like you!" Rex shouted. "I can't always control my emotions, but I don't always need to!"

This, you felt, had some underlying tones of something you didn't understand. That for some reason, the fact that there were no rules against him experiencing emotions was something upsetting him. But you didn't have time to unpack it, because you were also growing in your emotions.

Instead, you yelled, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't come!"

Rex slammed his hands into the wall, effectively blocking you in and yelled, "BECAUSE I COULDN'T PROTECT YOU!"

Now you faltered.

You had thought it had been about you, but... It was about him?

As you stared at him, his eyes reddened and he furiously blinked back tears.

"You were right there... Beside me. You saved my life." His voice cracked with emotions. "And I - I couldn't return the favour... You were lying there, trapped under the ceiling and... Everything I did just made the situation worse... And Dooku was killing my brothers. So I had to do the worst thing imaginable. I had to leave you.

"You only got out alive because Commander Tano..." Rex looked away and now tears did fall down his face. "I failed you, General. And I can't do that again."

You gently raised your hand to cup his face and scoop the tears from his cheek. "You didn't fail me, Rex. I made my choice knowing the consequences it would have, but I... I couldn't deal with losing you. That doesn't mean you failed me."

Rex sighed and lowered his head, similar to how he had on the ship, his upper forehead resting against your lower.

You moved your other hand to cup the other side of his face in order to pull Rex's head back just enough for you to place a gentle kiss to it.

"Please don't come." He whispered.

"Rex... I'm going to come. But I'm going to be fine."

"Promise me, General." It was technically an order, but he said it more like a request than anything.

"I promise, Captain."

You didn't know then the horrible truth that try as you might, that promise would be broken.

#star wars x y/n #star wars clone wars #star wars #the clone wars #the clones #clone wars x reader #the clone wars x reader #star wars x oc #star wars x reader #star wars x you #clone wars x you #captain rex x you #captain rex x oc #captain rex x reader #captain rex

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legobiwan · 6 years

Note

same anon as 'inspired by Thor ragnarok' flying light saber of doom- ur totally right that its anakin doing it. I had another terrible thought- u know how in the space godzilla episode of tcw, anakin rides r2d2? Did they... practice that? maybe he was messing around w r2d2s rockets or whatever, and hes like, 'u know what buddy? I have an idea'! Except he made r2d2s rockets way too strong, so he ends up getting fuckin Launched. The clones are trying so hard not to laugh, but ahsokas just DYING

Oh god they *TOTALLY* practiced that. Like all the time.

And each time Anakin gets higher and higher, and Ahsoka is just like, “Master, are you sure about this?” even as she’s chuckling and Anakin just grins and says, “Of course, Padawan.” And then he waits a beat, his expression thoughtful. “Just…just don’t tell Obi-wan - uh, or anyone else - okay?”

Ahsoka coughs to cover her laugh, instead nodding like the dutiful student she is.

Supposedly.

—

But there’s one night about a month later when Anakin is tinkering with R2′s rocket launchers AGAIN in an open-aired hanger. (And why not? It’s a nice night, and the clones had requested the roof be opened while they took inventory.) Anakin climbs on top of Artoo, and they take off, much to the amazement of the small group of clones present, who have not yet witnessed this particular spectacle of the General’s.

Ahsoka and Rex only hear the commotion on the other side of the room, but they exchange a look.

“Um, more modifications, Commander Tano?” Rex has already been told about Skyguy’s latest project, although he truly wishes he hadn’t been.

Ahsoka looks down at the exposed wiring they had been working on only a moment ago, torn between annoyance and amusement. She bites her lip, hoping to not betray either emotion.

But Rex sits back on his heels, muttering a few filthy curses in Mando’a under his breath before muttering, “Oh boy.”

Together, they lift their eyes to the skies as Anakin rises further and further, past where the roof of the hanger closed, past the base of the Jedi Temple. Soon he’s only a speck in the night sky, and Ahsoka groans, knowing somehow that Anakin’s ascent will continue, that the Force works in mysterious ways, and it was inevitable that he would end up there and Ahsoka can’t look anymore, shaking her head while casting her gaze downwards.

“What is it, Commander?” Rex asks, with no little degree of trepidation.

Ahsoka sighs. “Oh, we’ll find out soon, Rex.”

—–

Obi-wan Kenobi considered himself to be a being in control of his emotions.

War, death, destruction - he had seen the worst of the universe, the worst of himself, and yet, he carried it with a refined stoicism that had earned him the unflattering moniker of “the perfect Jedi.”

The Jedi Council, which Obi-wan sat on as a member, was fully aware of this. In fact, it was one of the reasons that Kenobi had been appointed to the position at such a young age. Control of his emotions, dedication to duty, unparalleled skill as a negotiator.

Obi-wan knew all of this, the knowledge a block of bronzium on his chest, somehow manifesting every time he entered the Jedi Council chambers.

But on this particular night, he was not inclined to be a dutiful member of the high Council. No, Obi-wan ignored all talk of trade negotiations, stareing past the bald head of Mace Windu, past the transparisteel windows of the chamber, which had been thrown open in a rare show of exposure -

Some basic instinct had tickled the base of Obi-wan’s brain. He didn’t know how or why, or even what - but in that moment, he unexplainably knew who as he gazed out into the Coruscanti night.

“Master Kenobi, are you - “

Mace’s words stopped short at Obi-wan’s expression, his mouth forming a perfect ‘oh’, his eyebrows practically launching into the atmosphere.

Almost as one, the entire Council turned their heads in the same direction.

Outside the large window, Anakin Skywalker was straddled atop his astromech droid, whose rocket launchers seemed to sputter with the collective stare of the full Jedi Council.

Anakin and R2 hovered in the air for a moment, long enough for the Jedi to grin, give a small wave, and mouth, “Hi Master,” at Obi-wan before gravity came to collect its debts, and the duo went tumbling downwards with an undignified scream.

Never before had Obi-wan seen the entire Council, Master Yoda included, slack-jawed in unison. Collectively, they brought their full attention back to the auburn-haired Jedi.

Obi-wan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hand running through his hair. He shook his head back and forth, not even bothering to contain the pained groan that erupted from his chest.

“Anakin.”

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avengers-nextgen · 6 years

Text

The Rise Of The Lost VIII

(Warning; this chapter contains some sensitive content. I have made a warning before the sensitive content starts and when it ends. Read at your own discretion.)

— — —

The building was as she remembered it. In ruins of decay and remnants of an old life never lived. Portions of the home still stood as centinals over the wreckage of the rest, like a corner of the wall that was stained with soot, a shuddering doorway, and impressively a portion of the dining table.

A hollow breeze blew across the corpse of a home. It hadn’t been disturbed since the incident occurred, other than the collection of her mother’s remains, and the neighbors had long since left in fright or died in the accident too.

She had discarded her old and tattered green clothes for something more practical: a simple, black cotton shirt with her usual dark trousers. The breeze licked at the nape of her neck drawing a chill to pass down her spine.

With a hesitant stride she passed beneath the shuddering doorway with a limping and wounded heart. Memories of how the home should have looked danced in her head, but the debris crunching beneath the soles of her shoes made it just that-a memory.

With great effort the young girl treaded across the landscape to pause at the fallen table. It lay crippled and tortured with burns across the laminated wood surface. Pale slender fingers hooked along its edge to bring the object to its full height. It would not stand on its own.

Eyes scoured the debris until they located the remnants of an old shelf. Leaving the fallen ally for only a moment the girl returned to prop the table upright with a sturdy piece of salvaged wood.

Gradually it began to take shape. A table now rested in the center of the floor, the discarded and damaged husk of a microwave acted as a seat, a charred candlestick lilted at a slant upon the wooden table top, and two broken spheres of glass sat at each end.

Weeds pushed up from between the debris and cinders searching hungrily for light. Dandelions bloomed in the crevices of the homely skeleton, offering a thin glimpse of prosperous light.

Boots greeting the threshhold’s surface alerted the absorbed child. With an anxious leap she turned to find a dark suited man standing calmly beneath the precarious doorway. “I did not expect to find you here.”

The girl’s eyes scanned for another face, searched the shadows as if it were lurking in them, as if those two odd colored eyes would be mocking her. With a bowed head she sat down once more and turned away from the man.

“Please, don’t be like this.” He pleaded. One foot after another came the hesitant approach of her father. He expected a response but none was given. “I know-Sage, look at me will you?”

There was no inclination that Sage had even heard her father. He sighed longingly before waving his hand so that a new chair was built from the ever present debris. Two strides later and he was perched across from her in a seat of his own- taking solace in completing an examination of the make shift dining room. “Let me explain.”

Loki frowned when she did not move except to rest a pale hand upon the table in a tight knuckled fist. His eyes widened as the crippled home began to glow and take shape into something else.

The walls slowly repaired themselves in a golden light. The table was shining and new, the doorway was sturdy, the seats were real-even a light hung overhead- and the candlestick sat straight on the table. A warm sound similar to that of bells ringing cheerily in the sky filled the empty space.

Loki knew that laugh better than anyone, he had been lucky enough to hear it once upon a time. The god’s throat grew right with emotion as he watched a very young and small image of Sage scamper into the room.

Her tiny frame was adorned in pajamas and dinosaur slippers were nestled snuggly on her feet. Fabric mouths arched up over her ankles making it seem like the T-Rex’s were munching happily on her toes.

“Daddy! Boo!” Her eyes lit up with an intense light. Loki followed the gaze of his young daughter to find himself sitting on the floor with a mask on his face. It resembled a wolf in nature and he gave a deep growl that sent Sage running off again.

“If you scare her and she ends up in my bed I will hunt you down and make you sleep on the hard tile floor of this kitchen.” Loki’s head snapped up eagerly in search of the voices owner. When he did not find her, Sage’s mother, his heart sank in grief.

“Why must you torture me like this?!” Loki demanded with a rising anger in his voice. He no longer looked at the illusion in effect, but at his real daughter who sat only a few feet away. “Show her to me.”

The beautiful illusion crumbled like broken glass until the once beautiful house was again the depressing waste land they both sat in. “Talk to me! Say something damn it.”

For the first time since he arrived Loki saw his daughter’s face. It was gaunt and pale, the skin was stretched too tight over her cheeks, her lips were cracked and dry, her hair was far too long and not at all neat, her collar bones protruded too prominently, and her eyes were full of emotion.

“What did they do to you?” Loki was unable to keep the mounting grief from his voice. His daughter had once been beautiful, but this was not the same girl. “Tell me.”

“You’re no different than they are, Loki.” Her voice hoarse from lack of use and Loki cringed at the sound of his name on her lips. She never called him that.

“How can you say that?”

Suddenly a new illusion took shape beside the god in the form of a thirteen year old boy. “He’s precious isn’t he? Charming? Powerful, young, bright, happy, and he’s yours.”

Loki could not escape the accusation in his daughter’s voice. “You did not let me explain.”

“What is there to explain?” Sage shook her head. “That you’re a liar?”

“I have never lied to you-“

“You said I was the only one!” Loki blinked as his daughter’s calm dementor vanished and was replaced with a brooding rage. “You said mother was the only one for you but-she’d not even died when you were with someone else!”

“That’s not true!” Loki stammered.

“When is his birthday?” Sage spat. She watched her father squirm uncomfortably. The answer was mumbled but it was all she needed to know. “Liar!”

“I’m sorry.” Loki wailed.

“I was right. You bastard.” Sage looked away to conceal the tears brewing in her eyes. “You were supposed to love my mother, to care about us, and all that time you were away it was with some other woman wasn’t it?”

“Sage, I didn’t want you to know. I was worried you would hate me-hate him.” Loki swallowed hard.

“Well I do. Congratulations.”

A long pause passed between them and it wasn’t until Sage spoke again that the silence was broken. “Why?”

“Sage-“

“Weren’t we enough for you?” She demanded and turned her full glare upon him once more.

“You were, I made a mistake.” Loki admitted. His heart hammered in his chest far too quickly for his own liking,

“You know...mother said you weren’t like everyone else said you were.” Sage stood from her makeshift seat to glare at the man across from her. “But she was wrong. You are exactly like everyone says you are! I wish Thor would have killed you instead, maybe I’d still be here, and with someone who actually gives a damn!”

“You don’t mean that.” The god’s voice was empty.

The sounding approach of another caught both of their attention.

“Father, you said you were going out for-“ The boy paused immediately upon passing through the door.

Loki’s eyes widened with horror. “Enzo I told you to stay put!”

The god turned towards Sage expecting to see hate. Instead, she stood there with a defeated gaze fixated upon Enzo, her hands shook from adrenaline, and she turned her back to the duo. “Leave.”

“Sage...” Loki started. “Please, I’m your father I want to fix this.”

“You’re no father of mine.” Loki’s gaze fell upon the broken ceramic pieces st her feet. He recognized them with a grieved pain in his chest. It had been a gift from Sage for father’s day. It was a mug now shattered beside her shoe. “I wish I’d died that day. This life you’ve given me isn’t worth living.”

— — —

“Orion, land here.” James spoke through the headset allowing him to communicate with Orion who sat in the pilot’s seat.

The jet’s engine hummed low and deep as the air craft made a slow decent towards the abandoned street. Scout’s expression turned to one of urgency and sadness. “We need to hurry.”

The ramp extended too slowly for Scout and Alex’s liking. Both of them launched out into the open and tucked into a roll before springing to their feet.

“This whole block is ruined.” James observed with awe.

“Well, that’s what happens when a thunder god can’t control his anger, let alone a little kid with magic whose nearly died.” Orion noted. He tucked his helmet beneath one arm and tromped carefully down the ramp.

“Split up.” Scout ordered.

“Can’t you pin point her location?” James frowned.

“There’s too much energy here. It’s all jumbled together and I can’t make sense of it. We need to cover territory fast.” Scout’s voice wavered with urgency.

“You act like it’s a matter of life or death.” Orion frowned.

Scout’s expression darkened. “It is.”

The four heroes dispersed across the charred terrain at an eager pace. James scampered over a collapsed roof that had pooled into a pile of rubble. Scout arched in the air towards the far end of the street. Orion and Alex pursued on foot down the road. Orion halted at one point to investigate the healthiest looking house while Alex continued on. Her eyes flicked from side to side in an attempt to analyze the situation quickly but carefully.

A flash of light caught her peripheral. “James!”

James heard his sister’s call and motioned for the others to head her way. Alex rounded the first corner just in time to see someone disappear from sight. At first she worried that Sage had gotten away again but as she turned sharply around the second corner she spotted the girl.

Scout landed roughly next to James and held a hand to his head. “Ugh.”

“What is it?” James frowned.

“I have to stop looking for the aura. Every time I get close it hurts.” Scout winced. “I don’t feel good.”

“Stay here.” James instructed.

“Yeah, no one need to pass out.” Orion nodded trying to be helpful but failing to do so. Scout gave him a glare of annoyance and James mirrored it.

“Just stay here with him. We can’t be too far away from the jet anyways.” James turned on his heel once more and ran off at a quick clip.

(Sensitive content ahead.)

Alex approached Sage with care but realized very quickly that care wasn’t needed. There was a lot of blood, more than Alex originally perceived. Two pale and skinny arms rested almost lifelessly upon the table top with numerous cuts across the flesh.

The girl’s whole body shook with sobs and all that was repeated was the phrase, “I hate him.”

Alex swallowed tightly and rushed to collect the silver blade that rested on the ground beside the broken pieces of a ceramic mug. She tucked it into her belt with care before giving her attention once more to the crumbling individual seated at the broken table.

“Sage, what did you do?” The words were quiet but exasperated and without asking for permission Alex tugged her away from her seat. The girl put up no resistance for once which only worsened Alex’s anxiety.

“My God.” James froze in place watching with wide eyes.

“Get a first aide kit. Hurry.” Alex motioned for her brother and once he snapped from his daze he ran faster than he ever had before.

“Don’t take me back.” Alex barely heard what Sage said as her voice was strained and quiet. “Please.”

“You need help.” Alex insisted with a firm voice as she awkwardly sat down in the cinders and kept a hold of Sage.

“I don’t care anymore!” Came the protest. “I just want to be left alone.”

“That’s not what you need right now.” Alex looked anxiously at the crumbling doorway wanting her brother to magically appear.

“I have nothing to go back to.”

“Find something.” Alex chewed nervously on her lip. “Find anything even if it seems stupid. Make it seem worth while.”

“Still so optimistic.” There was the slightest hint of amusment to Sage’s voice. “It won’t always last.”

Finally, James came tearing into the room and dropped to his knees. His hands fiddled with bandages but they shook so bad he nearly dropped them more than once.

The two siblings worked with an intense urgency until both arms were covered in a layer of gauze and bandages.

(End)

“Have Orion bring the jet closer.” Alex breathed. James swallowed his fatigue and set off once more. Alex turned to close the first aide kit and collect the discarded bandage rolls. When she turned around once more the landscape was empty.

Sage was no where to be seen.

James arrived moments later and glanced about in disbelief. “Where is she?”

“She disappeared.” Alex frowned. She punched angrily at the ground and let out a yell of frustration. “She can’t be out and about alone!”

“We’ll do our best. Scout can track her.” James promised. “Same with Thalia, she’ll know where her cousin is.”

Alex turned to look at the scenery. She finally processed the extent of damage done to the house, how violent it all must have been, and how terrifying it must have felt. Her gaze settled on the blood upon the table top and the trail of it across the floor. At last she glanced down to see the red upon her hands and pants and shirt. “All of this is slowly killing her. Soon, there won’t be anything left.”

“It isn’t our fault.” James noted.

“But it is. It’s everyone’s fault James. It’s Thor’s, it’s Loki’s, it’s yours, it’s mine.” Alex shook her head and made her way to her brothers side. “We’re killing our own kind.”

“Alex...”

“Just because we don’t understand them.” James watched his sister shake her head and march off towards the hovering jet. James closed his eyes only to recall Fox’s words.

“It’s the Rise of the Lost.”

To him he did not think this was much of a rise. No, it looked very much like a long and tragic fall.

(As always, thoughts, opinions, ideas, and reactions are always welcome)

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drfate · 4 years

Text

Dr Fate: In the Dungeon of the Damned

An old school Dr Fate novel by Rex F Dorgan

Chapter 4 – The Dungeon of the Damned

Doctor Fate steeled himself for Nergal’s imminent attack.

Nergal had dispatched his statue-minions in what Fate assumed was a puppet-pageant staged by the death god for his own amusement, or at most an exercise to get the measure of his opponent, and Fate had disposed of these pawns as the game demanded.

And now, the scrimmage played out, the prologue completed, the opening feints dodged and countered, Fate had no doubt that Nergal would at any moment come bursting through a door, or ceiling, or dimensional portal, and then the real contest would begin, and Earth’s greatest sorcerer would be in for the fight of his life.

But the seconds ticked by into minutes, and the minutes had become almost an hour before Fate had to admit to himself that he was going to have to be the one seek out Nergal. He found this a bit perplexing; Nergal had already gone to the effort of seeking him out, had launched the first attack, and had then laid an elaborate trap to further toy with him. It seemed the next step; outright, full-force attack was a foregone conclusion.

But what if, thought Fate, reassessing the situation, the trap was not for spectacle or reconnaissance after all, but had been a serious effort on Nergal’s part to destroy him? What if Nergal was lying low now because the magic required to raise powerful gods from the dead in the form of their animated stone idols, complete with all their own life-force and eldritch power, while still maintaining complete control of them, had exhausted his powers? This thought had actually not occurred to Fate because his battle with the Annunaki idols had not taxed his own power that greatly, his battle with Enlil and his tapping into the amulet to dispose of Zuen notwithstanding. So many combatants in such a confined space had actually made it easy for Fate to use them against one another, and to use their own powers against themselves. Nergal had had to expend enormous amounts of mystic energy to pull off his trap, whereas Fate had simply to, more than anything, use his wits to triumph. The thought that Nergal was depleted whereas he himself was not gave Fate hope: there might be limits to Nergal’s dark magic after all, and those limits might be within the outer bounds of Fate’s own power.

But that hope was tempered by the most obvious implication of his enemy’s failure to appear: Fate would have to seek Nergal out – and to do so he would have to confront him in the death-god’s own realm, where Nergal controlled the battlefield. For Fate knew exactly how to find him, how to enter the death-god’s dark realm – and what it would cost him to do so. Nevertheless, if, as he suspected, the battle in the Temple of the Annunaki had wearied Nergal more than it had Fate, then there was no time to waste in confronting the god of death while he was at less than full strength.

Fate dropped to his knees in contemplation and prayer. He called out to Anu to steel him for what lay ahead and, as if in response, his mind was filled with the image of his beloved Inza, the mere thought of whom had always given him all the strength he needed. He rose, and prepared to exit, when he turned instead and went over to the remains of Ishtar’s statue. There in the heap of rubble on the ground, lay her meh, the adornments, her weapons – the means by which she directed her power and the source of much of it. Fate picked the lapis necklace out of the rubble and undid the clasp holding the slender gold chain – as slight as spider silk – together to form the necklace’s three loops. He pulled off seven beads, and, with a pinpoint beam of golden light from his finger, etched a pictograph on each one, and dropped these beads into a pouch in his belt. Then, without further delay, he bounded up into the air, passing like a ghost through the temple roof, flying north and east with the speed of a fighter jet.

Nergal would be in his palace in the underworld dimension of Kur, a realm for lost souls established by none other than Nabu as one of his first tasks on Earth. Humankind had in those early days of civilization learned the ways of necromancy long before it was ready to deal with the consequences of what it unleashed, and thus early civilization was haunted by lost souls inappropriately summoned from the the Pit or even the Blessed Realm back to Earth, with no way back to where they belonged. Ghosts were a huge problem, and Nabu needed to give humans back control of their world from the spirits that were threatening to overrun it.

To solve this problem, Nabu established what was, in essence, a home for wayward spirits. He found a monstrously large cavern underground in the mountainous region of what was now north-eastern Iraq, on the border with Iran and Turkey. He then located the cavern’s exact analogue on an Earth in another dimension that in its Cambrian era had seen all life on it, intelligent and otherwise, destroyed in a disastrous cosmic accident – and which was now on its surface a barren hellscape with a poisonous atmosphere. Nabu magically linked the two caverns together, creating a dimensional portal between the two, and established seven magical gates to separate them. He rescued a fallen spirit, Neti, and granted him freedom from the Pit in exchange for Neti’s eternal commitment to guard these gates.

Nabu then christened this new realm by combining the Sumerian words for Earth, Ground, and Darkness to create the name Kurnugû, meaning “Earth of No Return.” This was later shortened to simply “Kur.” To manage this land of the lost, he recruited Ishtar’s sister Ereshkigal, a sorceress with an unusual talent for necromancy and an equally unusual empathy for the abandoned souls of the dead. Ereshkigal took these lost souls under her wing; deep underground – in this cavern linked in Earth’s dead twin world – she gave them a home. She built a palace for them and attempted to restore some of the comforts of home, even magically displaying on the cavern ceiling a daytime scene and the night sky, alternating the scenes to match the sky of the outside world.

Then Nergal came, killed her husband Gugulana, and usurped her kingdom. Here, away from the prying eyes of his sorcerer peers – where none, not even “gods” could come and go – he was free to continue his efforts to make himself the greatest power in the world by any means necessary. Ereshkigal was consigned to the role of consort, his “wife,” but more truly his slave.

And then Ishtar – called Innana by the Sumerians at the time – learned of her sister’s plight and hatched a scheme to attempt to save her. Her misadventure was recounted in The Descent of Inanna, one of the oldest recorded myths in history, which describes how Inanna made her way past the seven gates but was then taken captive, only freed by the intervention of the mighty Enki.

But many of the particulars of Ishtar’s Descent were recorded incorrectly in later versions of this story – the ones which survive to the present day, whose authors were manipulated by none other than Nergal himself. In these stories, Ishtar, not satisfied with being queen of Heaven and Earth, desires to claim dominion over the Underworld as well. These versions have her being captured and killed by Ereshkigal, only to be restored to life by the intervention of Enki and the (unwilling) sacrifice of her husband Dumuzid, who takes her place. In these versions, Ishtar is deemed guilty of – and judged and convicted and sentenced to die for – the crime of hubris.

But in fact, Ishtar travelled to Kur to rescue her sister from the virtual slavery to which Nergal subjected her and the other denizens of the underworld. And Ishtar was not killed, although Nergal came close to having this done, but was rescued by Enki before she could be executed. And while Dumuzid did in fact travel to the underworld after Ishtar had been released, it was not to take her place but to avenge his wife’s honour by thrashing Nergal in battle. Dumuzid was never seen again. Nergal denied all wrongdoing, claiming that Dumuzid never made it to the underworld and had perhaps simply abandoned Ishtar, but many, including Nabu, suspected the worst.

So it was that with this story of Ishtar’s journey to the underworld in mind that Fate swiftly travelled now to the secret gateway to Kur, hidden inside a cave in the Zagros Mountains, where Ishtar had made her descent.

He flew stealthily, invisibly, undetectable on all but the seventh plane, and in less than an hour, Fate’s destination was in view – Shanidar Cave in the Bradost Range of the Zagros. Shanidar was famous for the Neanderthal skeletons discovered by archaeologists there, but for Fate it was better known as the entrance to the underworld. For a seemingly innocuous stone slab on the floor in the northwest corner of the cave was in fact a hatch concealing a stone staircase that led 999 steps down to the first of the Seven Gates of Kur.

Fate landed on the side of the mountain from which the cave’s mouth beckoned. There was no one present, but he nevertheless stepped behind a small group of boulders, where he spread out the lapis beads he had taken from Ishtar’s necklace on the flat top of a massive, chest-high rock in the centre of the group of boulders. He removed his helmet, his cloak, his amulet, and other possessions and laid them out on the rock as well. One by one he tapped the golden inscription on each bead and a flash of light lit the enclosure, the bead glowed as if lit from within, and then the glow died down. When he finished, he scooped the beads up in his right hand and breathed in deeply, covering his mouth with his hand as he did so. His lungs were his weakness, and as he took a long inhalation, he blessed the air to protect them for his journey into the poisonous realm beneath. Then he walked slowly into the cave, found the stone hatch, with a gesture moved it to one side, and descended the dark staircase. He commanded the hatch back into place behind him.

Entering the belly of the beast, Fate was now determined to pick up the pace, so as to give his enemy as little time as possible to prepare for him. He trotted down the 999 stairs instead of flying; he didn’t want to use any magic that might alert Nergal to his presence. Soon he was facing the First Gate, and Neti came out to greet him, carrying a carved stick with a skull for a handle, its slender end tipped with a silver point. He was smirking. “The living are not allowed past these gates,” the demon said.

Fate said nothing but proceeded up to the gate, examining it. Its power was obvious, even on the third plane. Nabu, as usual, had outdone himself. These gates could not be stormed.

Fate gestured to Neti that he wished to proceed.

The demon laughed. “The last living being to pass these gates was a goddess,” he sneered. “And do you know what became of her?”

Fate nodded.

“Then you know I’ll need one of your possessions – or should I say, one of your defences? – before you can pass.”

Fate nodded again.

“A mute, eh?” the demon snickered. “Someone cut out your tongue? Enki sent a band of eunuchs with their tongues cut out to rescue Ishtar that time, you know. The God of the Cosmic Ocean was that afraid that Lord Nergal might torture some forbidden magic knowledge from his emissaries that he had that done. They were all so frightened of Lord Nergal, those mighty Annunaki, like little rabbits. All of ’em but Nabu, and look what happened to him. Heh heh heh.”

“So,” the demon continued when he had stopped chuckling to himself. “Queen Ishtar started with the crown, so I suppose we’ll take that fancy battle helmet first.”

Fate removed his helmet and handed it to Neti. The demon looked inside and was delighted to see the carvings therein. “Speak of that devil Nabu!” he exclaimed. “This is his handiwork. See?” Neti pointed to the archway above the gate. It was inscribed with Cilian writing, as was the inside of Fate’s helmet. “No one knows what any of that means. The cagey old man got it from somewhere very old, though, I reckon – it’s powerful, powerful magic runes whatever else it is.”

The demon was fascinated by the helmet, and studied its interior for a long time. Finally, he looked up and realized he had not studied its owner’s features, which were themselves fascinating. “What kind of creature are you with gold hair and sapphire eyes? Never seen a man like you, nor spirit neither. Did Nabu make you? Or call you from some other realm? Has Nabu returned, like Nergal? That would be a great battle, now – but Nergal is more powerful than ever, much more powerful. Nabu had better watch out. You his messenger?”

Fate did not answer. Interestingly, Neti had come from a time so ancient that the humans he terrorized, probably Ubaidians or early Sumerians, were not yet even aware of northern Europeans.

“You are a mute, then,” Neti said. “If you’re from Nabu, tell him it’s pathetic to see him sinking to Enki’s level, sending me proxies with their tongues cut out.” He drew forward a silver cage on wheels, opened it, dropped the helmet inside, and bolted it shut. Then he approached the gate and put his hand on the lock; the gate swung open.

“Legend has it I have the keys to the Seven Gates,” the demon snorted. “Wrong! I AM the key. Only my touch can open these gates, and it can’t be forced, and it can’t be done without the travellers leaving behind a gift of personal power.”

Fate stepped forward to pass through the gate, and Neti followed behind him, dragging the silver cage-carriage. In another 999 paces, they came to the Second Gate. Fate turned to face Neti. “Here, Ishtar relinquished the beaded necklace she draped over her breasts. I reckon that cloak will do for you.” Fate removed his cloak and handed it to the demon, who looked it over approvingly. “Melammu,” he said. “It even affects us spirits, you know. Even in Faerie, it will command respect. Doesn’t thrill us like it does the man-monkeys who worship it, but they’re easily amazed, amused, and abused, aren’t they?”

Fate didn’t respond. Neti spit and approached the gate. “This stinks of Nabu. Just like him to send a mute, knowing I’ve been down here for millennia with no one to talk to and no news of the upperworld!” he said with disgust. They once again passed through the gate, but this time Neti led, in more of a hurry now that he’d determined he would not be entertained by this particular visitor. At least not until Nergal got his hands on him.

At the Third Gate, Neti said, “Here Queen Ishtar had to relinquish her most powerful weapon – her lapis sceptre. That was quite a beauty. Powerful, too. Nergal was even a little afraid of it. ‘Make sure you take away her sceptre,’ he said. ‘Do it early. Don’t give her the chance to sneak that thing in here.’ For someone who rules by fear, he can be kind of a coward at times.” Nergal snickered. “I shouldn’t be saying that, but you can’t talk and even Nergal can’t see or hear in here. Well, he used to be a bit of a coward. Not so much for a while now. But like I said, he’s way more powerful now than he ever was. That kind of makes a man, or a god, less fearful.”

Neti looked at Fate but couldn’t read his expression, which seemed impassive, stony and stoic. “Now, where was I?” he asked no one in particular. “Oh yes, most powerful talisman. Ishtar. Sceptre. So for you that would be that amulet around your neck.”

Fate touched it and raised his eyebrows as if to ask, “This? This amulet?”

“Yeah, that, you stupid mute!” said Neti. “You think you’re fooling anyone? Like Nabu did? I know what that thing is. I can’t even see its power on the seventh plane, and I’ve been looking since I first laid eyes on you, but I’ve seen it in action. Nabu built these gates with it, and he was near dead himself when he was done using it. That thing has cosmic level power. So… hand it over.”

Fate pulled the amulet over his head and handed it to Neti, who place it in the cage. ”Nergal is going to be very happy about this,” he said, smiling widely. The demon then walked up to the gate and, placing his hand on it, swung it open wide. Fate and Neti passed through, side by side.

When they came to the Fourth gate, Neti said, “Here Ishtar surrendered her breastplate. What an odd piece of work that was – a singing breastplate! I’ve heard of the famous talking mace, but I suppose that could be useful in battle – especially if you’re Ningirsu and probably dumber than the average mace. But a breastplate? ‘Come hither, young man,’” Neti said I a mocking voice. “Men fall for tricks like that. Stupid monkeys.”

Fate again remained quiet, looking forward impassively, although he turned slightly red, which Neti didn’t notice. His run-in with Ishtar was too recent, and too embarrassing.

“So you don’t have a breastplate, Mute, being a man and all, but you do have a belt. I’ll take that, if you please.”

Fate removed the Belt of Gilgamesh and handed it to the demon, who admired it before placing it in the cage.

“I’m starting to think Nabu didn’t outfit you after all,” Neti said. “That helmet, that cloak, that amulet! This belt. These are some powerful toys. Far too powerful to be dressing up a messenger in. Did you steal these off ol’ Nabu? Did you beat him in battle? Nergal did, but even so Nabu still got the better of him. You’re making me curious, Mute. Did you kill him? Or just find his dead body and steal these goodies off him?” The demon was smiling wickedly. “It would serve the old bastard right, for giving me this job. ‘Saving me from Hell,’ he said. “By making me gatekeeper to a different Hell? Bastard, serves him right if you took him out.” Neti twisted his head back and forth, studying Fate’s features, looking for a sign that he had guessed right about Nabu’s fate. But Fate remained stone-faced. Neti sighed in disgust, grabbed his cage-cart, and dragged it through the gate, with Fate following.

Another 999 steps, another gate.

“The Fifth Gate,” Neti announced. “Here Ishtar had to give up her gold ring. She could cast illusions with it, very convincing. Even fooled some of her fellow ‘gods.’ Couldn’t fool me, or any spirit, however. We don’t look on the first plane too much – things are much more interesting on the higher planes. So, I suppose this is where you part with those things on your hands – those gloves.”

Fate removed the golden gauntlets from his hands and gave them to Neti. The demon tossed them in his cage. “Melmamu. That seems to be all these things have going for them. Well, I suppose that’s better than a ring that was only good for fooling men.” Neti bolted the cage shut again, opened the gate, and the pair walked on to the Sixth Gate.

“Here Ishtar gave me her gold bracelets. Made from the shackles that once bound the mighty demon Lamashtu. They were designed to make those that wear them compliant slaves; they even worked to some degree on Lamashtu, and that was one powerful bitch of a demon. But Ishtar reversed their magic and turned it outward – she could make any man into her slave by flashing them in front of him. Men!” the demon scoffed. “Has there ever been anything weaker-willed?”

Fate almost smiled at this and again blushed a little. This time Neti noticed. “You know what I mean. You are one of those monkeys, I think, despite your strange hair and those weird eyes. Weak creatures, the lot of you. Except Nergal. But I reckon he stopped being a man a long time ago. Okay, so what do you have left?” Neti asked. “I suppose it’s time I took those boots.” Fate complied and handed over his melammu boots. Neti tossed them into the cage, locked it, opened the Sixth Gate, and the two walked on, Fate walking the next 999 steps barefoot.

They came at last to the Seventh Gate. It was larger than the rest, and more ornate; it also appeared to be made of some substance altogether different from the other gates, which had all been constructed of some silvery metal. The Seventh Gate was pitch-black, a black as dark as anything he had ever seen, and yet it glowed with a strange, fierce radiation.

“That gate is made of pure negative energy, contained in its own little gate-shaped universe. Nabu really outdid himself with this one. Even if you could get through the other gates – and I’m not saying you, or anyone, except Nergal, could – this gate would stop you. Nothing can touch that gate and live. It sucks you into its universe where you are instantly annihilated.”

Neti turned to him and flashed a hideous, leering smile. “This is where Ishtar had nothing left to give but her robe. It was a powerful artifact, make no mistake. It allowed her to walk on air, walk through walls, through worlds even – it was a sheer as a silk veil, and it turned reality itself into a veil that she could pass through like it was smoke. Here, I made her give it up. She refused. I wouldn’t let her pass. Eventually, she gave in. She stripped – not seductively at all, not that that would affect me or anything, but you’d have thought she would have tried. Seduction was her great power, right? No, she was very reluctant, and I guess feeling too powerless and humiliated to try. I reckon most of her power was contained in her meh; stripped naked she was almost powerless, and certainly helpless before the power of Nergal!”

Neti continued to leer wickedly at Fate, looking for his reaction. As before, Fate said nothing. He just faced Neti with the same cold stony stare as before.

The frustrated demon sighed and said, with a little disgust, “I was trying to be subtle. I can see that won’t work with a stupid mute like you. You have nothing left but that suit now. Never seen anything like it, in any of the worlds. Looks damned uncomfortable. Like armour made from the pelt of some weird hairless blue monster. It also looks magical. Anyway, it’s all you have left. You’ll have to hand it over if you want to pass the final gate.”

Fate had been expecting this from the minute he knew he would have to enter the underworld to save Inza. He knew he would have to enter Kur naked and defenceless, with no weapons, seemingly helpless. But he would not be helpless: his helmet and amulet and cloak enhanced his power, but were by no means the source of it, or even the greatest part of it. He peeled off the celestial body suit given him by Nabu from the neck down, sliding first one arm out the neck hole and then the next, pulling the elastic material down over his chest and stomach, and then he lifted one leg at a time out of it. He handed it to Neti. The demon was appraising him and laughing. “Well, Mute,” he said, “at least now we know you’re not a eunuch as well.” Fate would have liked to have laughed at this, but the situation was too demeaning. Whatever the origin of this ritual, with Neti as his proxy, Nergal seemed to use it to not only disarm but also degrade his opponents.

Neti put the suit in the wheeled cage and then rummaged through the cage contents as if looking for something. Fate stood facing the gate expectantly, but Neti made no move to open it yet. Instead he pulled something from the cage. It was a set of manacles linked in a loop of chains; Fate saw that they were intended to lock a captive’s wrists at the waist, with one chain in front and the other in back, like a belt.

“Nergal insists,” Neti said, smirking even as Fate looked alarmed. The demon grabbed Fate by the left wrist, but the super-sorcerer twisted his wrist upward and then smacked the demon with a backhand across his face. Neti went skidding across the gravel path on his bottom. He jumped to his feet, shouting angrily.

“And that’s why Nergal insists on you upstarts wearing these! I will not be endangered doing the job Nabu gave to me and me alone. You will not pass the Seventh Gate until you put these on!” Fate wanted to remind Neti that he had been complaining bitterly about his job assignment just an hour ago, but he said nothing, and instead offered his left wrist to Neti to be manacled. The demon slapped the cuff on Fate’s left wrist and bolted it shut as tightly as he could, but the metal felt soft, strangely pliable, like rubber. The demon then ran one of the chains behind Fate’s back and then cuffed his right wrist. This cuff too felt soft and malleable, and the chains drooped as if they were half-melted. Neti ran the other chain in front of Fate’s waist and fastened it into the left cuff. “There,” he said. “I believe that will hold you.” Fate felt an immediate pulse of energy rip through his body and the manacles tightened and hardened, and the chains shrank until they were taut around his abdomen and lower back.

Fate tested the chains. They held firm. He pulled harder, straining, but he couldn’t break or even twist the metal.

Neti laughed. “Those manacles ‘read’ your body to learn how strong you are. Then they adjust their level of strength to be strong enough that you can’t break them. Then they harden like cooling iron. They learned how strong you were the minute they read you and made themselves just a little too tough for you to break. Have fun trying, however.”

No matter, thought Fate, my true power is in my magic, so he attempted a spell to release the manacles, but to his dismay nothing happened.

Neti had watched Fate’s fruitless attempts to escape by means of magic. “Oh did I not mention that these manacles can adjust to match your strength because they’re made of nth metal? And what’s the most important thing to know about nth metal?”

Neti seemed to be expecting an answer, but Fate remained silent, although inside he was alarmed at this development.

“Oh yes, Mute. You have no tongue. Well the most important thing to know about nth metal, if you’re a sorcerer at least, is that it resists and repels magic. How do you think we rendered Ishtar totally powerless, so that she was no threat to Nergal? Those same bracelets. Whatever else you might have been before, you’re just a man, now. And you have to face the most powerful being in the world. Heh heh heh. I don’t know what you came here for, but you’re not going to get it. You came to the land of the dead, and dead you will be very soon, Mute!”

This was a development Fate had not prepared for. Stripped of his strength and magic, he had yet another trick up his sleeve, so attempted to use his ability to manipulate matter at the atomic level – but the nth metal was impervious to this Cilian technology, as well, and the manacles had been magically contrived to prevent him using it on his own molecular structure. It appeared that he was, in a way he had not been for almost a century, as helpless as a normal man could be.

Neti bolted his wheeled cage shut, then walked up to the enormous Seventh Gate and put his hand on the keyhole. The gates swung open. Neti poked Fate in the back with his stick and said, “March on, Mute. Nergal is going to love this!”

They entered the enormous cavern that was the land of Kur. Its dome was a kilometre in height, and its expanse was so wide across that the naked eye – the only kind Fate had left to him now – could not see its far walls. It was packed with gloomy-faced spirits in various forms of dress or undress; it was easy to distinguish between those that had been well-off in life and those that had lived lives of difficulty and poverty, and between those that sucked up to Nergal in this life and those that did not. What a horrible place, thought Fate, that with everything else they had to bear in this dismal realm these poor souls couldn’t even escape the social inequities of Earth, or slavish obeisance to tyrants.

He also noticed that there were countless deformities among these souls. Their bodies were ectoplasmic, and reflected their personal essence, but this was not the Pit; these souls were for the most part simply lost, misplaced by the stupid misuse of necromancy by amateurs in the early days of wizardry on Earth. Deformities and hideousness, though common in the Pit, should not be the norm here. And yet, they seemed to be.

On the other hand, there were many exquisitely beautiful creatures, women and men alike, among the ranks of these lost. Too many. Such beauty should have been even more rare here, as it was far more difficult to recall a being from the Blessed Realm than the Pit. Fate had assumed all the Annunaki had been recalled from the Blessed Realm and marvelled again at the power Nergal would have had to exercise to pull their souls from that formidable fortress. He wondered how many other noble souls he had stolen and enslaved here.

In the distance now Fate could see a mesa rising from the floor of the cavern; it appeared to be two hundred metres in diameter, if not more. Spreading across its peak was an enormous palace, which was an odd mix of Babylonian and Early Greek architectural styles. It was meant to resemble one of the great ziggurats of Babylon or Borsippa, but it was not tiered in the same manner, and more than anything resembled an overwrought ant hill.

“There, Mute,” said Neti, “is Ganzir, the Palace of Nergal. I wager you’ve never seen anything like it in your life.”

That is true…, thought Fate, but not in the way you mean. He had to remind himself that Neti had been down here a long time, and had never even seen the epic structures of Mesopotamia, let alone present-day Dubai, Shanghai, or even grand old New York. But Neti’s point was well-taken, if not taken as intended: this palace was like nothing he had ever seen before. Its ugliness was monumental, as was the ambition that had raised it.

They came to a staircase carved into the side of the mesa. Let me guess, thought Fate, 999…

“999 steps up, Mute,” said Neti, grinning his hideous grin at Fate and pointing up the staircase. “Although I suppose you have already guessed as much.” The pair ascended the stairs. Without his super-strength or magic, Fate found the ascent taxing. He might have the body of a 35-year old man, but when they had finally reached the summit, he felt every one of his 112 years. He was winded and sweating profusely. And, as befit a helllscape, Kur had the heat and humidity of the American Gulf Coast in August. It even stank like a refinery.

He bent over to catch his breath, but Neti poked him with his pointed staff until he started moving again. The chains didn’t help his progress. Nth metal is usually almost weightless, as his helmet and amulet showed – its most typical use, Neti’s belief aside, was to defy gravity, not magic. And yet these manacles seemed calibrated to manipulate gravity to increase their weight, adjusted again to the strength of the captive they bound, so as to discourage any attempts at flight. Fate supposed that their weight would also increase with any increase in the speed of his movements, as well. Nergal would have wanted to maximize their petty brutality in any way he could.

As they approached the palace entrance, the spirits around him and Neti grew into a particularly ghoulish crowd; these spirits seemed as deformed and depraved as any he’d seen in his epic journey to the Pit decades ago. They reached out for him and some even managed to reach him, clawing at his arms or pulling at his hair. Neti swatted them away with his stick, and if they persisted, he poked them with it; the silvery tip caused them to howl as if stuck with a cattle prod. Metals are particularly vexing to spirits, Fate knew; he supposed he should keep this knowledge top of mind for the remainder of his stay here, a stay which, unfortunately at the present moment looked like it might be very brief. Then the image of Inza flashed into his mind’s eye and he felt a surge of good old-fashioned human adrenaline coursing through his veins to give him courage and strength and make him alert.

They came to the threshold of the palace entrance, which was at least thirty metres wide and twenty metres tall. “In you go, Mute,” Neti said, prodding him forward with his staff. Fate entered the hall, which was enormous. The ceiling was as high as the ziggurat itself; it was not a residence but a show of power, after all. In the middle of the floor of this enormous space was a dais ten metres high and perhaps thirty metres in diameter, and upon this dais sat an enormous throne. There were no drapes the colour of a late Rothko or chandeliers made of human skeletons in this palace, as Hollywood might have imagined a Palace of the Damned, but instead a great deal of gold (or brass) scrollwork and crystal and purple velvet and even what appeared to be chrome; the aesthetic was not Schoolgirl Goth but Mobster Arriviste.

The massive figure on the throne stood up and, spotting his new guest, laughed a booming and yet somehow still shrill laugh at the plight of the captive Fate. The assembled throngs – servants, sycophants, and social climbers alike – all started laughing as well; tittering at first, becoming more full-throated and fake-jovial as they became assured by Nergal’s smile that this was the proper response.

“Bring him here!” boomed the voice, and in response two winged creatures snatched Fate and Neti from the floor and dragged them through the air, setting them down on the dais facing the throne.

Nergal’s aspect was even more terrifying in person, and without his powers it was all Fate could do to keep fear in check; puluhtu oozed from Nergal like rot. Although he was sitting, Fate guessed Nergal stood three metres tall, and his massive shoulders were probably half that wide. His skin was bluish grey and his face more hideous than what he had seen in Merlin’s scrying glass. His hands were not human but resembled long-nailed claws, and while there was a discernible thumb on both paws, there were only four fingers in total on each. Even Nergal’s unbelievable power could not undo what his essence revealed to the world at large. Fate wondered who had bestowed this curse on him; he suspected Ishtar, early in her dealings with him, before his power would have been strong enough to repel it, so that it grew with him and became a part of him.

“You are not what I expected, at all. You are a man, not a demon from another world, as we all know now that Nabu was.” Nergal said, stroking his scraggly beard and eyeing him.

“He is like no man I have ever seen,” said Neti.

“He is coloured like a barbarian from the northern wastes,” said one spirit in a haughty tone, apparently more recently arrived to this place than Neti, but still a few millennia behind on her current events.

“Silence!” Nergal roared. From the dais to the main floor, the room was immediately hushed.

“Those barbarians have been ascendant for several hundred years now in the world of men,” Nergal said. “At first I was disgusted to see this; it was unnatural and repulsive. But I quickly warmed to these men. They are as bloodthirsty as any of their kind are, but they seek ever more efficient ways to kill. I realized in a very short time that I owed my very renewed existence to these barbarians.”

Nergal continued. Fate tried not to make a move, not even blink, for everything he learned now might be of use when the inevitable battle commenced.

“Nabu the Treacherous, Nabu the Demon, tricked me. Somehow, I still know not how, he destroyed me even after I had triumphed and turned him into a living statue. But he only destroyed my body; he left my soul to fate. And fate dictated that I should wander the ruins of Babylon forever, as punishment for my hand in its destruction. So for ages my wasted, almost mindless soul drifted over this land, a revenant with no purpose, not even to terrify. Stupid and insubstantial as a shadow. Djinn mocked me, for they could see me; men could sense me and were repulsed. And then, thirty years ago exactly, that changed. A major war started here, greater than any that had happened since the invasion of the Persians, but it was far, far greater in its scope than even Xerxes’ destruction of Babylon. On one side of this war there were over 300,000 men! But on the other side, the side of the barbarian invaders, there were 700,000! A million men in all! 50,000 soldiers died, almost none of them barbarians, and another 100,000 of the local people died.”

“It was a bloodbath, and I was there to bathe in it! First, the events slowly permeated the thick fog of my revenant consciousness; my purpose, my reason for existence, was flowing like a river around me – Chaos! Misery! War! DEATH!”

“My intelligence grew as the conflict raged, until my essence once more had a mind worthy of the term. And then… it was feeding time! Bodies dying everywhere, and there I was, ready to lap up all the life-force of the expiring humans around me! It was a feast that was of short duration but enormous in the quantity and variety of victuals!”

“From the desert dust I reconstituted my body and infused it with my soul. I found a home in a ruined compound that had belonged to one side or other in that war, and bided my time. The sanctions put in place by the victors against the local population led to another million deaths, and for an entire decade I feasted, and plotted more war and destruction. I would love to say that it was my magical machinations that led to the second, even greater war, the one still ongoing in some measure, but the invaders didn’t need my meddling to plot their return.”

“But… when they did, the death and destruction and terror was on a scale even I could not believe. It took every ounce of my power just to feed, there were so many opportunities to suck away the life-force of the dying! My power grew, and grew, and finally these barbarians had given to me that thing I had worked all my life for – the thing I literally died for – enough power to make me the ruler of this world. And now, it is finally time to assert myself, and so I struck out at the one being who might have a prayer of stopping me – Nabu’s apprentice, and the current unworthy owner of the Amulet of Anutu. Which is now mine,” and here he gestured to the golden cage.

“And look at him now!” Nergal scoffed, gesturing at the naked, helpless Fate. Some of those in attendance laughed; others just bowed their heads in pity, or in despair. Fate noticed that those avoiding his gaze were the crippled and misshapen. In particular, his attention was fixated on an old woman who somehow seemed very familiar.

Nergal noticed Fate staring at the old woman and said, “Oh, I forgot my manners. Manners are very important to the invading barbarians, you know! I’ve socialized with many of them. I take a different form to do so, of course. I can change my appearance in defiance of fate – sometimes for hours at a time!” Nergal made it sound like a boast, but it was a profound admission of perhaps his one weakness.

“May I introduce to you, ‘Doctor’ Fate, the famous Ishtar, goddess of beauty and love!”

Fate couldn’t help himself. He knew his jaw had dropped open and his face had become a mask of disgust and quickly returned his feature to their stoic stoniness, but the damage was done. The old woman was rightly described as a hag; her face was a mess of wrinkles and moles, some of them sprouting unsightly black hairs. She was short and hunchbacked, and her fingers were twisted and gnarled and there was no doubt that she was afflicted by an ectoplasmic form of arthritis.

But worse, as if to highlight her grotesquery, she was dressed in a sheer gown, so that her shrivelled, drooping breasts, her wrinkled potbelly, and her withered legs were all visible. The debased goddess averted his gaze, her face downcast in shame.

Fate told himself he should not be shocked at the extent of Nergal’s cruelty, but he was. For as long as he had lived and with all that he had seen, unnecessary, seemingly mindless cruelty still always surprised and outraged him.

“Oh, and while I am making introductions, or perhaps I should say re-acquainting you, let me re-introduce you to rest of the ‘mighty’ Annunaki,” Nergal said with a delighted sneer. He pointed to a young man, a boy really, skinny as a concentration camp survivor, who dragged his broken lower half behind him as if it were the tail of a snake. The look on his face was one that signalled he had moved on from abject humiliation to complete despair.

“This fine specimen of manhood is none other than Ningirsu, the mighty, once the strongest man, or ‘god’ alive. Apparently, he hasn’t been eating his Wheaties, has he, barbarian?”

Fate stared on in silent disgust as Nergal moved on to the next object of his mockery. He pointed to a blind old man, who stumbled and tripped when Nergal called him forward. The sycophants laughed as if they had never seen anything so amusing.

“Meet Utu. Well, you’ve already met, before, but this is the real Utu – the god of the sun, blinded by his own arrogance. Once he thought he was the light of the world. And now he lives in complete darkness. Ha ha ha ha ha.”

Nergal turned to Fate and, flashing a wicked grin, said, “I just love ectoplasmic bodies – so malleable. As malleable as the minds of barbarian warlords.”

The death-god then commanded a man-sized drooling baby, complete with diaper and rattle, forward. From the symbols on the rattle Fate knew this to be –

“Zuen. Now a lunatic. Fitting for the moon god, no? Drools incessantly. Can’t form a coherent thought. Shakes a mean rattle though – and those temper tantrums! Trapped somewhere in that big idiot body is a functioning soul with a functioning mind, but who knows where? Even I don’t.”

Despite Nergal’s baiting, Fate held his pity, and his anger, in check.

“Oh, now this is a splendid former ‘god’ – Enki!” said Nergal as a gaggle of his fawning acolytes led around a man clad only in a loin cloth and sandals with a bald head and no features – no eyes, ears, nose, mouth. His face was as smooth and empty as the Phantom Stranger’s.

“Enki humiliated me in front of this very court once, by ‘rescuing’” – here Nergal made air quotes, something he did a lot, actually, an annoying habit he might have picked up from a NATO general, or a defence contractor, or from watching too much American TV – “that proud slut Ishtar from the punishment phase of her trial. Now I’m not sure what there is to him – I suppose he can still feel – I reserve the right for all my slaves to know when I’m beating them – but what’s a man, or even a ‘god’” – air quotes again – “without some kind of tether to the world? Other than the lash, I mean.”

Fate continued to wear a mask of outward equanimity while inside he was seething with rage. He started to wonder if his triumph over the Annunaki had been so relatively easy because most of them were disoriented by the fact of having a somewhat functional body, even if it was made of limestone.

“And I’ve saved the best for last,” Nergal continued, repaying Fate’s nonchalance with a flippant air of his own. “Enlil. King of the ‘gods.’ Well, king of this band of grotesque freaks, certainly.”

Trotted out in front of Nergal – literally trotted out, as he was prodded from behind by Neti and his metal-tipped staff – was a hideous dwarf. His head was so large and his neck so slender, he could barely keep it raised as he was made to romp around in front of Fate like a demented child. Like Enki, he was wearing only a loincloth, and his body was covered by patches of animal fur and bald spots, as if he had mange. His forehead protruded like a thick shelf from his skull, and it was covered by a single bushy brow. His eyes were tiny, as were his ears; his nose was wide and long. He could barely keep his tongue in his mouth as he had no lips and only a few teeth, and his tongue was very long. He was the most hideous humanoid Fate had ever seen. He felt a hot wave of simultaneous revulsion, pity, and anger wash over him like a hot wave. And yet still he remained calm, still, and impassive in the face of the death-god.

Fate thought before now that he had taken Nergal’s measure. He thought the war-god/death-god was thoroughly corrupted by his lust for power, and perhaps some desire for revenge on those who had snubbed him. But Fate saw now that others had not avoided him all his life not out of snobbery or pettiness, but because Nergal was sociopathic, psychopathic, his ambition driven by his cruelty and not vice versa. Nabu had clearly seen this; why had Fate only just now come to this realization? It didn’t matter. This knowledge would make his task easier, if he could somehow figure out how to complete it.

Nergal shooed the Annunaki away, and then said, “Oh, and let me introduce you to my wife.” He didn’t use air quotes when he spoke the word ‘wife,’ but he said it so contemptuously that he didn’t need to. If not for the stage-like setting of the dais, Fate would have missed her. Because the figure brought before him was the height of a Barbie doll. Like many of the other souls rendered grotesque by Nergal, she bowed her head, refusing to look at anyone. The mob jeered and laughed.

“May I present to you Ereshkigal,” he said. “The Queen of Kur. Kur - a delightful domain wherein dwell the happy souls of the ‘gods’ of Sumer, Assyria, Akkad, Babylon. Hundreds of gods, with thousands of names back on Earth. Many – oh, all right, most – of whom I liberated from Earth so that they could live as gods should live, in their own realm, like the gods of Olympus and Asgard. And sadly, many of them were forced to live here in a kind of limbo, while I, their king, was away on business for a few millennia. But I have returned to my rightful place and my subjects are once again living in the happiness I designed for them. Aren’t you happy, gods of Kur?”

A small group of those assembled were fanatically loud in their affirmative reply Nergal’s question, but it wasn’t enough to make up for the generally low energy, low volume response.

Nergal paid no mind. He would punish those who were insufficiently enthusiastic later.

“Well, then, Fate, that’s it for introductions now. I wanted you to see how well your mentor’s friends are doing in my kingdom. I’d introduce you to the truly important denizens of Kur, but we have the slight matter of your execution to attend to. Oh, that reminds me! I have a special guest here to witness the painful death I have planned for you.”

Without looking, Nergal raised his right hand and beckoned with his finger. The crowd around the throne parted and an enormous crystal lozenge, like a giant baguette-cut diamond, drifted through the air and stopped a dozen feet from where Fate stood. Inside this crystalline case was none other than his own beloved Inza. She was still clothed in the sheer black sacrificial gown that she had been wearing when last he saw her, so her death, should he not prevail, was assured. Or worse, she would live on to be abused and tormented by Nergal.

On seeing Fate, she started pounding the walls of her crystal cage, but while he could see her screaming “Kent! Kent!” with tears streaming down her face, her cries were soundless, muted by her prison.

“A nice little prison for such a feisty little bitch, no?” smirked Nergal. “She is in need of a good deal more discipline than you have been giving her, Kent. Oh yes, I know all about you, Kent Nelson. I may have missed the opportunity to influence the invaders’ leadership ranks in order to start that second, glorious war you barbarians brought us, but I have since become very friendly with them. We’ve prolonged the war indefinitely and spread it to half a dozen new countries since! I’m happy to say that I’ve had a hand in that! We’re working on a way to have a war the size of those two you had back in the twentieth century, but we’re afraid we’d just kill everyone at once and too quickly for me to do a proper harvest of their vital energies. It’s a problem, but we’re hard at work on solving it!”

“So yes, I have learned everything the barbarian spy agencies know about you, Doctor Fate/Kent Nelson. Even so, I had to torture a few sorcerers to find out about your tower, hiding in plain sight in the middle of a city as it was. Constantine? Zatanna? Etrigan? Names ring a bell? They didn’t give you up. But I still have them locked away for safekeeping. I plan to ‘eat’ them after I’m done with you. Seems no one misses them much. No, some fellow named Wotan was only too happy to betray you. Not much of a friend, was he? I killed him, so you can thank me for that. He seemed a little too ambitious for me to let live. His life-force was very potent, and tasty. And he had quite a collection of artifacts and books. All of which I now possess.”

Fate tried to remain still and silent, but Nergal was chipping away at his resolve with every word out of his mouth.

“Now, where was I? Oh yes, Inza, the lovely Inza. So beautiful I can’t just stick her in cell, or even a cage. I wanted the whole world to marvel at her lusciousness.” Nergal slurred the last word; it snaked around in his mouth like lubricious ooze. “So, I created this wonderful container for her. My minions called it the Crystal Crypt, but that’s not exactly right. I prefer Chrystalis, because she will be transformed more than killed. Through the kind of discipline that you have not seen fit to exercise, despite it being your marital duty. Yes: it’s time I took a second wife, because mine is no longer up to the task, and, well, you won’t be needing yours, since you will be DEAD and all.”

Still Fate remained silent. His mouth was the same flatline it had been throughout. But he could feel his face burning with anger, and his eyes flashing hatred.

Nergal laughed. He had finally gotten a rise out of the helpless sorcerer’s apprentice.

“So, I’ve talked and talked, and you haven’t gotten a word in edgewise. What say you to all of my marvellous works and pomps? What say you to all my marvellous plans?”

Neti stepped forward and addressed Nergal solicitously, “Master, if I may. The poor fool is a mute. I think perhaps Nabu had his tongue…”

“Shut up, you fool!” sneered Nergal. “Of course he’s not a mute. He whimpers like you’d expect from a servant of Nabu. ‘What have you done with Inza? Inzaaaaa!,’” Nergal did a whiny but otherwise perfect rendition of Fate’s own deep, stentorian voice, then turned back to address Fate. “I asked, slave of Nabu, what do you think of my plans? Speak, damn you!” he boomed.

Fate opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead he exhaled deeply, as you would when you have been holding your breath a long time, and instead of words seven lapis beads etched with gold buzzed like fireflies from his mouth and swirled quickly above his head, like a halo.

“What is this?” demanded Nergal, his voice thundering through the cavern. He stood and started to raise his hand, intending to strike Fate down with one magic blast.

But it was too late. One by one, but so quickly as to be almost instantaneous, the magic beads burst in a flash of golden light and noise, like firecrackers, and helmet, amulet, cloak, and clothing fell from the air above him onto Fate, where they seemed to dissolve on, and then conform to the shape of, his body. Instantly donning his uniform in this fashion – with the exception of the lapis beads, of course – had been a ritual Fate had performed almost daily since Nabu had first given these magical garments to him as a young man. The entire process was done in the blink of an eye – which was all the time needed for Fate to twist his torso just enough to allow his bound right hand to touch the buckle of the Belt of Gilgamesh, doubling his body’s super-strength. He ripped free of the shackles that prevented him from using his powers as if they were made of sun-rotted plastic instead of a superhard magic-dampening metal. The manacles flew apart into shrapnel, the nth metal ripping through the ectoplasmic bodies of some of Nergal’s attendants who had stood as close as they could to Fate, so as to be seen by their leader as they mocked and tormented the captive sorcerer.

Fate shot skyward like a rocket and vanished, only to reappear face to face in front of Nergal, where he shot a bolt of eldritch energy directly at the death-god at point-blank range. Nergal staggered but then quickly responded with a blast of his own that Fate dodged, but which shattered several columns down on the floor below, causing a portion of the ceiling to cave in.

Fate’s first thought was to secure Inza, but when he looked for the crystal case in which she had been trapped, it was nowhere to be found. He flew through the crowd, scattering the souls he knew to be aligned with Nergal (the pretty fawning ones) and protecting with force shields those who were obviously oppressed, the enslaved and the humiliated.

But having regained his composure from Fate’s surprise escape, Nergal materialized in front of the flying hero and swatted him off the dais and onto the palace floor. At the last minute, a stunned Fate recovered enough to dematerialize down into the floor even as Nergal leapt from the dais to come crashing down on top of the spot where he had been, determined to grind him into the dirt.

Fate flew back up, shooting up through the marble floor no more than five metres from Nergal. There was still no sign of Inza, but also no sign that Nergal was involved in her disappearance, or that he had even noticed she was missing. Best keep him on the defensive, keep him preoccupied, whether he knows where she is or not, Fate reasoned; if I can.

“Grab him!” Nergal shrieked to his ghost-minions, and fear of the death-god overcame fear of the intruder and the slave souls rushed Fate, tearing at him as if their fingers were talons. Fate shot upward and closed his cloak around him and remained still. An oddly beautiful but fearsome light radiated from him and the baffled souls fled from him in a kind of awestruck bafflement – not terror, exactly, but retreat in the face of too much glory. Even Nergal’s threats couldn’t pierce the herd from rushing away mindlessly. Fate’s melammu garb was too fearsome, even for the ghosts of gods.

“Grrrr, worthless spooks” Nergal growled and grumbled in disgust as he tore a pillar loose, charged it with mystic energy and swung it like a bat at Fate, who dematerialized his body into energy, letting it pass through him.

“Impossible!” said Nergal, baffled. “That stone should have smashed you – it was cursed with a spell to prevent dematerializing.”

Fate said nothing. His knowledge of Cilian molecular manipulation, combined with his telekinesis, were among his few advantages against Nergal, and he didn’t intend for the death-god to start to understand his secrets.

“No matter. You are far outclassed here, Nabu-slave,” Nergal scoffed, one eyebrow arched to match the upturned lips of a sneering half smile. “You know this. Look around you – I command an army of the ghosts of gods, and you are simply a flesh and bone magician, albeit a clever one. I am the king of a pantheon, and you are the medicine man of a tribe of primates!”

“You’re delusional, Nergal,” Fate said contemptuously. ““This is not a demesne of demigods but a dungeon of the damned! These souls will turn on you the second they have an opportunity.”

“It is you who are the delusional one, calling yourself ‘Fate.’ I held the Tablet of Fate, the real Fate, in my hands once, and I will do so again. The entire cosmos will be filled with those who worship me. As for these ghosts, I will give them new bodies, grander bodies than the flesh cages they once wore, or the stone idols some of them wax nostalgic for.”

Nergal raised a fist and images of robotic soldiers and armed drones appeared. “You barbarians are even now making these bodies for me by the thousands. Imagine them all controlled by the ghosts of gods. Magic and the death-science you barbarians have perfected – a marriage made in… Kur.”

“Made in Hell, you mean,” said Fate contemptuously, but Nergal’s plans had left him even more shaken than he had been. Without him, Earth stood no chance against Nergal. And he himself stood very little chance either.

But what chance he had, Fate was determined to take. While Nergal was boasting, he shot out a giant hand of mystic energy, tore the pillar from the ghoul-god’s grasp, and shot it toward him like a missile. Nergal just laughed, expecting the marble column to crumble into gravel when it hit his body.

But instead it passed right through Nergal, and stopped abruptly. Fate had dematerialized it. But then, with a quick mental command, the column solidified. Nergal howled. The pillar was being crumbled into gravel all right – but inside the death-god’s internal organs. Even soft rock, even against an almost invulnerable god, could cause significant pain as it displaced his internal organs, however slightly.

“That’s impossible!” Nergal raged. “I am protected against dematerialization spells. No one can break my protection spells. You are pulling some trick, but no matter – your tricks will cease when you do, very soon.”

Fate had taken advantage of Nergal’s intestinal distress to open, on either side of the death-god, twin wormholes that led to cosmic regions dominated by massive black holes. Nearby objects flew into the twin vortices, but their focus was Nergal himself, whose form was being shredded like confetti and sucked into these cosmic sinkholes as if by a massive vacuum cleaner. As Nergal strained against their tidal force, Fate blasted him with eldritch bolts that shook his massive frame.

But then slowly – but inexorably – Nergal’s form reconstituted itself, bits of him flew backward from the vortices as his body reassembled, and the wormholes grew smaller and smaller until they vanished entirely.

Fate was stunned. He knew he couldn’t match Nergal with force, so he hoped to leverage the greatest forces in nature to aid him. But Nergal could overcome nature itself.

Nergal grinned as the realization of the death-god’s true power was finally dawning on the all-too-human sorcerer. “My turn,” was all he said.

And luckily for Fate he said it because the split-second it had taken for him to do so was just enough time for Fate to put up the strongest shields he could muster. And then Nergal let loose with a blast of energy so powerful that those shields began to dissolve almost instantly.

“Hell-fire??!!” Fate boomed, a question that resolved into an exclamation that resolved into an expletive.

“Drawn straight from the Pit itself,” Nergal said with a smirk.

“Impossible!” Fate shouted over the din of distorted noise, the noise of a million souls in torment, the sound of nature itself being tortured by the infernal energy as it ripped through the air, and through the fabric of reality itself.

“We keep saying that about things the other does, today,” Nergal said, almost casually. “I’m feeling edified. How about you? Ha ha ha.” And the death-god resumed his focus and redoubled his attack.

Fate had tried to do otherwise, but the anticosmic energy had almost entirely depleted his shields, and only his cloak was saving him from incineration. He had to use the Amulet of Anutu. Its creation-force was the only thing strong enough to repulse hell-fire. He prayed to Anu Ormahzd that he was likewise strong enough to use it.

Pressing his right hand hard against the amulet, Fate focused all his will on reinforcing his shield. He was vaguely aware of souls around him being singed out of existence, of the palace collapsing behind them, of the roof of the cavern itself shaking as if to follow suit. But he ignored all that and focused on the shield in front of him, pushing back against the diabolical energy levelled at him, and for a second the blast was pushed back, just a bit. But then Nergal dug in and the hell-fire advanced on him again. Fate countered with more energy from the amulet and his shield bulged anew; Nergal chanted the hateful language of the chthonic elders, and the hell-fire likewise surged. The energies were locked in a cosmic struggle, divine light versus infernal fire, positive versus negative life energy, good versus evil, that took on a life of its own, and then exploded.

Nergal staggered backward, momentarily dazed, but Fate was blasted off the hilltop to the far cavern wall. He felt himself slipping in and out of consciousness when a force like a giant invisible hand snatched him up from the cavern floor and whisked him back to the mesa containing the remains of the palace, and a towering, triumphant Nergal. Before he lost consciousness entirely, he performed one last spell, one last Hail Mary pass, and prayed that it would be enough.

When he finally came to, Fate found himself rendered completely immobile. His arms were stuck at his sides as if glued there; his legs were likewise “stuck together,” and he couldn’t move his head, his mouth, even his eyes. He could only stare ahead at Nergal and the cavern ceiling, which was still glowing.

His body floated at a 45-degree angle about a foot from the ground, not two metres from Nergal. The death-god had removed Fate’s helmet and was examining it.

“Hmmhh,” Nergal snorted. “This is Nabu’s work. But he wrote it in what he called the First Tongue – he never shared it with the rest of us, not even the Annunaki. No telling what it does, but seems not to have been much, or not enough, at least. Because here you are, without it, and without hope, either.” Nergal tossed the helmet behind him, where it clattered and skid across the palace floor. “I’d crush it like a pomegranate, but it’s nth metal, and it’s Nabu’s handiwork, and so it would just fight me and it’s not worth the trouble. Might as well punch a ghost.”

“But you,” Nergal continued, as he walked over to where Fate floated in the air, arms frozen at his side, his body stiff as a board. “You I can crush like a pomegranate, and there’s not any hope for you that you’d spring back into shape if I did.”

Fate summoned every bit of willpower left to him and struggled to move his arms, his hands, just one finger, but it was no use. He was completely paralyzed. He couldn’t move a muscle, but he could feel; Nergal apparently had plans for him that would, he was certain, involve substantial amounts of pain. He could think, but he couldn’t work magic, nor could he use his powers of molecular manipulation; the processes of will that made his powers work were as paralyzed as his body.

Nergal bent over Fate’s floating body, sneering viciously, no longer toying with him but moving in for the kill.

“Fool – you should have let me blast you to oblivion. Instead you have shattered my palace and destroyed, or caused me to destroy, half the souls in my kingdom. For that I intend to make you suffer.”

Nergal passed his hand over Fate’s lips; he felt control of his neck and facial muscles returning. Apparently, the ghoul wanted to hear his screams and see the agony on his face.

“Now you know what humans feel like when your wars ravage their cities,” Fate replied.

“No, not really. I think they actually care about their families, their ‘loved ones.’ I only care that you have decimated my army and smashed up my beautiful palace,” Nergal replied with disgust. “And you will pay dearly for what you have cost me. I don’t know where or how you have hidden your concubine, but when I rip her out of whatever hole you have put her in, I’ll be sure she sees your mangled corpse. I’ll be sure she watches as my crows eat what flesh I don’t flay from your bones.”

“Inza is in a place where you will never find her,” Fate growled.

“Oh, I will tear that information from what’s left of your mind, and then the things I will do to her... But we’ve wasted enough time. You made the mistake of showing me the full power of one of your little toys, and I will have it now. I’m speaking of that amulet.”

“What’s stopping you?” asked Fate.

“What indeed!” said Nergal as he closed in on Fate and hovered, almost drooling, over the Amulet of Anutu. “Certainly not you. You’ve established that you are not worthy of it, and it’s time you relinquished it to your master.” Nergal’s paw moved in to seize the amulet.

“You’re not my master,” Fate said in a deep voice, without a tinge of the fear Nergal was expecting.

“Then who is? Nabu? Ha!” the death-god sneered as he grabbed the amulet.

“No,” Fate replied. “Anu. He from whom all light and all life and all power flows.”

Nergal snorted contemptuously and then tried to tear the amulet from Fate’s chest, but, unexpectedly, Fate’s body was wrenched forward with it. Fate howled with pain, but the amulet surged with light.

“What have you done??!” Nergal demanded, sounding almost hurt, as if Fate had betrayed him.

“The amulet is welded to my heart by rite of a soul-graft. You will have to kill me to take it, but the amulet will prevent you, by keeping my heart alive and filling me with any power needed to resist our parting. If you continue to try to tear it from me, I will just grow stronger, until I can break your spell, and with the power I’ll have then, I’ll break you!”

“Your body couldn’t withstand the power you would need that thing to feed you in order to break me!” Nergal snapped haughtily, and confidently.

“That may be true,” Fate said. “Let’s find out.”

Nergal again tried to tear the amulet from Fate’s chest, managing to shred the gold band that held it around Fate’s neck, but this time the amulet rebuffed the death-god with a blast of energy that blasted him backward and nearly caused Fate to pass out again from the pain.

Nergal drew back, scowling, appraising the situation, and then suddenly a smile crossed his face, and he stood up and approached Fate again, laughing.

“You fool! You forget who I am! I don’t have to tear apart your body to kill you. I know the secret to stealing the life-force from any living being. I’ll draw your bāštu out of you like a vampire sucking your blood! I certainly planned to eat your life-force anyway. You’re no match for me, but you do have considerable power that when added to my own will make me nearly unstoppable. And with that amulet, I will be unstoppable. No force in the cosmos will stand against me, a being who can call forth both hell-fire and raw anutu from the well of creation itself!”

Fate looked alarmed, as if he had not considered this. At every turn, Nergal was able to match Fate move for move. And now it appeared to be checkmate.

The ghoul-god raised his arms above his head and chanted. Fate knew Nergal didn’t need to bother with such an elaborate ritual when casually feasting on humans; but with Fate, he was apparently pulling out all the stops, ensuring he would imbibe the super-sorcerer’s full vital-force quickly and completely.

Voices joined to Nergal’s, quiet at first, then growing. Whether these voices came from Nergal’s chanting slaves or from demons he had summoned to aid him, Fate couldn’t tell; but they grew louder until it sounded like the buzzing of giant half-human flies.

And then Nergal completed the formal ritual, shaking and shouting the words, “Shiimti! Ati Me Peta Babka!”

Fate’s life-force, his bāštu, was torn from him in a way that the death-god could not tear away the amulet, flying in a ghostly silver-white cloud into the lips and nostrils of Nergal, who sucked it in greedily. The amulet fell from Fate’s chest and clattered on the ground. Fate’s body slumped as it slid into death, his mouth opened wide and the light in his eyes departing as he stared into oblivion.

Nergal smiled with pleasure. Fate’s bāštu was potent indeed! Much more powerful than he had thought. He raised his arms in triumph. This world was now his. All worlds were now his!

And then, he burped. And belched. And coughed and retched as the white cloud expelled itself from the death-god’s lungs, and his hulking form bent over in spasms of intense pain such as he had not felt since he had ceased being merely human.

The cloud rushed as if sucked by a magic vacuum cleaner into Fate’s open mouth and nostrils. The super-sorcerer’s lungs pumped up and down, in and out, three times and then, Nergal’s binding spell broken as the death-god’s attention was refocused on his own debilitating pain, Fate summoned the Amulet of Anutu back onto his neck, the Helmet of Thoth back onto his head. He flew up, hovering in front of the doubled-over Nergal, and called forth from his personal dimension Sharur the mace of Ningirsu and Zag the shield of Zuen, and flying at Nergal, smashed the side of his hideous face with the mace.

“Attack! Attack! Attack!” Sharur sang, and when Nergal responded with a blast of dark energy, Zag repelled it back at the death-god.

“How? What did you do? I’ve never…” Nergal stopped in mid-thought, even as Fate continued his attack.

“Yes, you have. When you tried to steal Nabu’s life-force.” Fate replied.

“He was too great for me to consume at that time. No one is too great for me now, and certainly not you! You are no Nabu!”

“I was his apprentice,” that is true, Fate said. “But I was also his son. Think about that for what little time you have left to think about anything, cruel one!” Fate accelerated his efforts, pummelling Nergal and repelling his attacks until the death-god was reeling.

Then Fate suddenly dropped the mace and mirror-shield and, pressing hard against his amulet, both said a prayer of supplication to Anu and deployed the secret knowledge that Nergal could not counter, because it was not magic but advanced Cilian technology channelled through telekinesis that he now deployed against the staggering god of death. Fate willed Nergal’s molecular structure to fly apart and used the resulting energy to set up a repulsion field that would prevent them from ever reassembling, capped by a spell of rebuke. At the same time, with his prayer to Anu, he focused the amulet’s magic on forcing Nergal’s soul to judgment.

But Nergal was not so easily overcome. He resisted with all his cosmic might, and his form shook with the effort. His huge smile spread across his face as he felt himself once again overcoming Fate’s willpower. But Fate touched his belt and redoubled his strength, and with a huge boom and a massive flash of light Nergal’s form was blown apart like a supernova. His soul lingered, fighting, but it dissipated like mist in the light of Anu until the last iota of the death-god’s darkness was forever drowned out.

When Fate once again came to his senses, the light from Anu’s amulet was still just dying down. He looked up and assumed he was dreaming, or dead. Staring at him, calling him by his human name, was none other than Inza. And the pain and horror of being Nergal’s hostage was nowhere to be seen on her face. There was no room for it beside all the love and courage and hope streaming from her.

Surrounding her, at once a mob and a nimbus, were the souls of the Annunaki. But not as Nergal had rendered them, hideous and piteous, but as they had revealed themselves in battle with him: tall, strong, beautiful, godly.

Ishtar stepped forward. “When you engaged Nergal in battle, we knew it would be lost if your beloved was not secured; Nergal destroys us by destroying what we love. We had little power here, but what we did have we joined together, and we employed magic Nergal had never bothered to learn. For you rightly pointed out to him that in terms of sheer power, sheer physical strength, and strength of will, he was unbeatable; but he grew lazy and never had much imagination to begin with, so he could, in the end be outfoxed where he could not be outfought. We used Nergal’s own crystal cage to hide your beloved, by instantly growing the crystal into a fractal so complex it grew as translucent as air, and the refracted image of Inza with it. And we did this on all seven planes, each of us dealing with a separate plane for the first six, and all of us working our magic together on the seventh. Without worry about Inza to distract you, you were far stronger, and without Inza’s safety to use as a weapon against you, Nergal was much weaker.”

Enlil stepped forward to her side. “But that was the last of our power, even as it was the best use we ever made of it. We have none left to keep us here, and I feel – I fear – we are being called back.”

“Go then back to the Blessed Realm,” Fate said. “I don’t know how Nergal could have pulled you from there in the first place, but return to its peace with my profound gratitude and the gratitude of all who live.”

“You misunderstand, Kent Nelson,” Ishtar said. “We were not in that place. We were great during our lives, but most often we were not good. Marduk was good. Nabu still is good, I suppose, wherever he is. But we were vain, we were pompous, we lorded it over the people as gods. We were, as Nergal rightly decreed of me, guilty of hubris. We have been in the Place of Atonement for all these many years since our deaths.”

“Then I was wrong about where you had been,” Fate said gently. “But I’m not wrong about where you are going. Look!”

Their forms were growing thinner, but they were also growing larger, becoming more beautiful, and becoming suffused with melammu. The seven-pronged star that was the symbol of Anu whirled like a wheel among them, each spoke reaching out and touching them one by one. And at the topmost, triangular-headed spoke loomed the figure of Nabu. “It’s time to come home,” Nabu said, and the wheel grew and the Annunaki grew with it, and both faded as they grew larger and dimmer until only a faint image lingered in the air, and then it was gone.

Inza ran to Kent and hugged him tightly, and soon she was sobbing uncontrollably. He held her in his arms, breathing her in, feeling her warmth, her humanity, the love radiating from her like a magical aura. This, he thought, this is my Blessed Realm.

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