#Use them as a weapon against the growing void

[hypercubecats]

Page 5: The physics lesson continues…

Krita brush pack by @abluskittle

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[rwby-encrusted-blog]

(Based on an ask for @pilot-boi About a Wall-E Whiteknight Au, and given Wall-e was instrumental to my childhood, I cannot help but write something for it. Because it's an AU, and they're both Human and not Robots, I took a few Liberties with the scene in the movie.)

~~~~~

Weiss was beyond frustrated. Nothing, after nothing, after nothing - no signs of life aside from the most extremophile of bacteria, protozoans, insects, and the occasional mold on fecal matter to imply the continuation of species on this gods-forsaken ball of mud.

She slammed the door of the cargo ship she was investigating shut, the rust sticking to her now dirtied gloves. Ugh.

She drifted by the crane of it, not noticing the creaks as it followed her, eventually ripping her back onto the magnet that hadn't fallen in the centuries of just sitting there.

And so Weiss snapped.

She whipped Myrtenaster out, igniting the plasmic blade and slicing the disc that held her back to pieces, before using her energetic glyphs to shred the the hulking metal antique, making it into even more scrap than it already was.

It toppled into the next ship, and then the next one, like dominoes. Deep, resonate bellows of creaks from the sudden movement after centuries of dormant stillness shook Weiss to her core.

She watched them fall, and for the time since her landing, let her feet settle against the ground. It was hard, dry, and barren, like the rest of this abandoned home. Weiss sat against an anchor, the fire and sparks filling a growing void in her chest, not unlike the one meant for plant life in her pack.

She sat there in silence - something the Passengers spoke of when in the few times she was allowed to meet them crossed her mind - A campfire. Whatever that was, it was meant to be shared with Family, something she'd been missing for a long time, her siblings being designated to different vectors of maintenance and service.

"AHem?"

Weiss reeled, drawing her sword once more, and startling a nearby person - A Person?!?

"Wer bist du?" She asked on high alert - this planet was meant to be dead, she was meant to find life here - who or what was this ... Person?

The person didn't respond, shaking violently at the sight of her blade - they appeared masculine, broad shouldered with dirty-blonde hair, though it was difficult to tell if that was due to genetics or living situation.

"Quis es?"

No Response.

"你是谁?"

No Response, but they did seem slightly less frightened given the lack of aggression.

"Chi sei?"

Their shaking slowed as they looked more inquisitive and confused than scared now.

"Qui es-tu?"

"OH! Je- Je M'appelle 'Jaune.' Vous parlez Anglais?"

"Yes I speak English."

"Oh, good!"

'Jaune' continued glancing at the glowing rapier. They seemed frightened of it still. Until he drew his own Weapon.

It wasn't as elegant as Myrtenaster, clearly older and having been used more - an old working tool for scrapping large objects, the thin, yellow sheen of plasma raced across it's edges.

"This is my Cutting tool. Your's is cool to!"

Weiss, once again, was thrown for a loop. He had drawn a dangerous device and waved it like it was a piece of extra piping.

"Jaune? Do you have a title or last name?"

The (boy?) seemed to flush at her pronunciation at his name.

"Jaune, of the A.R.C. Ministry"

"Arc?"

"Allocators of Recycled Components."

"How are you alive? Are there others like you?"

"Oh yeah! A lot, like, two hundred, three hundred others in the Bunker? Primarily we survive on Spirulina Compound. It provide most of our Oxygen and Food stuffs."

Weiss stood for a moment, deactivating her sword and pondering this - They'd been living in space for centuries. Earth was dead, barren, she was only barely able to survive due to advanced CO2 recycling.

"Have .. have you been following me?"

"Yep! You just seemed so pret-"

He was cut off by an alarm in his overalls. He lowered the visor to the helmet he wore, staring past her Weiss's shoulder.

"We need to leave Now." Jaune said, grabbing Weiss' wrist with a surprising amount of force, which she took none too kindly.

She reactived her Blade as she tore her hand away from him. "WHAT make you think You can grab me-"

"SANSTORM!" Jaune shouted, pointing past her "WE NEED TO GO, FOLLOW-"

Before he could even move to grab Weiss again, he slammed a massive tower shield in to the ground, covering himself from the blast of sand that tore at her skin and suit -

Weiss was whipped away, barely able to keep upright against the torrential winds, her Glyphs her only saving grace.

She Called out for the boy, anyone, frightened and alone, her suit's helmet the only thing allowing her to keep her eyes open even as it because scratched and muddled.

A hand found it's way to her wrist again, a dim yellow glow standing out against the violent dust letting her know she'd been found by Jaune.

It gave her some small comfort to not be alone as he dragged her somewhere, hopefully safe.

~~~~~

I fucking LOVE Wall-e. I made my First OC for Wall-e (Not that I knew what that meant at the time.) I had the Three-Disc Special edition, the Movie and it's Featurette Presto, The Second Disc with a gallery of the Bots, the Lots of Bots read-along, Burn-E (Who I imagine to be Qrow with his luck) and all the other special features, and the Digital Copy Disc to download it onto a Laptop or P.C. back when owning a digital copy of a movie was something special, and that's not even halve of it!

[a-killer-obsession]

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

A search for a rumored Vegapunk weapon leads the Kid Pirates to an unexpected new crewmate, with a bloodlust that rivals their own and an incredible power.

CW: Please check AO3 for all current warnings, but general warning for smut, slow burn, serious gore, and really dark themes. AFAB reader, she/her pronouns.

Masterlist || AO3 || Chapter 1

Chapter 34 - Empty

Everything goes to shit again, who is surprised? Please heed the AO3 tags for this one, immensely dark chapter ahead.

Word Count: ~3.5k

Taglist: @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @iggy5055

You could barely make out the jagged rocks below you under the white seafoam that crashed against them, the half moon giving just enough light to make out your surroundings but not enough to pinpoint colours. You probably could have if you had your mask, but you’d left it back at the ship, along with any happy memories you previously had. The sound of the waves crashing echoed up the side of the cliffs, a howling wind at your back bidding you to step forward, encouraging you. Your hand rested on your abdomen, empty, void of anything under the bandage that covered it. Only one week ago you’d discovered you were having a boy, and now you were alone. Silent tears rolled down your cheeks from eyes that already stung from days worth of sobbing. There was no sound accompanying it, you didn’t have the energy left, and your throat was raw from screaming. It didn’t matter, you were exhausted, you were sore, your heart was torn to shreds, but the pain would end soon.

Cold grass coated with the early morning dew wet your bare feet, sore from running over gravel and dirt paths. The sun was doing its best to break past the horizon, but you would never see its efforts fulfilled. You had no plan on making it as far as dawn, this was as far as you go. A lifetime of fighting, and you were admitting defeat. You thought back on the last three days, all the things that brought you to this moment, the things that finally broke you after years of pain and suffering, the things that led you to the cliffside.

[Three days ago]

“Will you just fucking listen to me woman?” Killer shouted after you as you unsheathed your katana to check it over before replacing it and sliding it into your belt. “It’s not safe”

“What am I good for then, Kil?” you huffed, moving to attach your dagger to your thigh, “My role on this ship is as a weapon, I’m not just going to sit around like some broodmare. I feel fine, I’m only five months along for fucks sake”

“But what if they see your belly and target you?” he urged, following you around the room as you gathered your weapons.

“So what if they do?” you replied, “I’ll protect myself like I do from every other enemy. You know perfectly well I’m a competent fighter”

“I know you are, but you’ve been so tired lately, what if you’re not as focused and you make a mistake?” he pleaded, “I’m not asking you to entirely sit out, just go sit with Double like you did when you were hurt, you can still fight from up there, but it’ll be safer”

“Yeah, and no fun,” you complained, “I’m done with this conversation Kil, I’m fighting, you can’t stop me”

You stormed off before he could say anything else, huffing in annoyance. Ever since your belly had started to become noticeable, people had started treating you differently. You felt like nothing but an incubator, like all you were good for was growing babies. The coddling was getting suffocating, you fucking hated it. You were an army destroying weapon, not a fucking delicate little thing. And you enjoyed fighting, so you were just as excited as always when the lookout called out a marine ship had been spotted. Killer had been quick to find you and try to convince you to stay out of it, but you were going to go insane if he made you stay out of fights for the next four months. You’d promised not to use meteor wave, but that was the best you could do.

Kid scowled at you as you appeared out on deck with your weapons equipped and a frown on your face, Killer following out behind you, his shoulders tense. He decided not to get into it, clearly Killer had been unsuccessful at getting you to stay back, and like hell were you going to listen to Kid. Frankly, you were scary while pregnant, captain or not, he liked his balls where they currently were and would rather not have them ripped off today. Cannonfire drew his attention and he started using his devil fruit to send them right back to sender, explosions rocking the marine ship as it drew closer.

“At least stay on the Victoria,” Killer pleaded as he stood behind you, “please, for me”

“Fine,” you huffed, “but that’s as much as I’m willing to hold back”

“Thank you,” he sighed, stepping in front of you so he could bonk his mask against yours as you makeshift way of kissing, before turning back to the fight and jumping the short distance to the marine ship.

The battle erupted on both ships and you swung into action, running between marines and bursting their hearts inside them as you moved. You drew your blade as you approached the back of a marine who was fighting Pomp, taking off the man’s head and continuing without even waiting for the body to floor. You were just as swift as always, just not quite as agile since you couldn’t bend as low as usual. Your swollen breasts complained from the continuous jostling, you really needed to buy a sports bra, but you ignored them and continued fighting.

Mosh cried out from somewhere on your left and you turned to assist him. It was a split second of distraction, but it was enough for a marine to get the upper hand on you, kicking you right in the gut. A sharp pain rolled through you and made you gag, and you grabbed the marine by his neck and melted his spinal cord, letting him fall limp to the ground. You ignored the pain as best you could, continuing at a slower pace as you kept up the fight. Hip appeared next to you, covering your back as she saw your struggles.

Something started to trickle between your legs, and you groaned as the worst cramp you’d ever had ripped through your abdomen. You collapsed against the mast, Hip quick to protect you as you reached down and swiped a hand against the trickling liquid, pulling it back to inspect and finding your fingers red and dripping with fresh blood.

“No no no no no NO,” you cried out as another cramp made you cry out in pain. “Not now, please, please, it’s too soon, you’re not ready”

Try as you might, your body wouldn’t listen to you, leaning against the mast for support as you screamed. Hip took one moment to look down at you, seeing the blood between your legs and the anguish on your face as you looked back at her.

“What do you need?” Hip asked as she cut down another marine.

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” another groan was torn from your throat as wave after wave of pain drove through you, an incessant need to push taking over even though you knew it wasn’t right. You squeezed your thighs together, crying out in pain, the cramps getting worse as every muscle in your abdomen tried to push against you. There was nothing you could do, you couldn’t fight it, your body wouldn’t listen. “It’s coming, oh god”

“KILLER!” Hip called out, scanning the deck desperately for the stripped mask of the first mate. He was on the other ship, his mask turning in her direction as he heard his name called. The concern was clear on Hip’s face even from the other ship. He heard your screams now behind her and saw your kneeling figure, his eyes wide as fear overcame him and he ran towards you as fast as he could, cutting down whoever was in his path.

Between your legs something was tearing you open. It was all too fast, the baby was small but your body hadn’t had any time to prepare, you weren’t open enough, and you screamed as it forced its way out. You felt the small head in your hand, kneeling with your head against the mast, your face wet as you sobbed. As soon as the head had passed, the rest came quickly, sliding from your body with a wet squelch and a rush of fluid. You looked down at the lifeless body in your hands, no bigger than a sweet potato, nowhere near developed enough to take even a single breath. Ten minutes ago you'd felt them move inside you, and now they were dead in your palms, covered in amniotic fluid and blood. You quivered, your entire body shaking with a level of despair you never thought possible as you fought to not gag from the pain.

Crying wasn't enough, your rage and sorrow was too much. The air around you began to tingle with electricity, the electrons around the two ships beginning to move faster and faster. You threw back your head and screamed, and in a flash of blinding light, a thick blade of lightning summoned down from the cloudless sky and struck the mast of the marine ship. There was a deafening crack of thunder and wood and the mast split right down the middle, straight to the heart of the ship, where the boat tore open and the ocean began to flood through. Kid called a hasty retreat from the enemy ship as it began to sink, everyone more than confused at what had just happened. They didn't know the pain they would return to on the Victoria Punk, they had no way of guessing how truly wrong things had gone in only a few short minutes.

Killer finally reached Hip, who stepped aside to reveal your crumpled body, cradling something unseen protectively in your arms and sobbing, blood pooling underneath you. He stood over you and finally saw it, his son, his tiny baby, too small to exist, too still to be alive. He roared in pain and dropped to his knees, his tears seeping through the holes in his mask as he clawed at the wooden deck and sobbed. The baby was so small in your hands, he’d never seen something so small. The rest of the marines were quickly cut down, Kid using his fruit to crush the remainder of the ship, before coming to his best friend’s side. He saw the tiny baby, lifeless, covered in blood, growing colder every minute, and he did something he hadn’t done since Victoria had died. He fell to his knees and sobbed - loud, anguished cries that had the rest of the crew pausing and paying attention. One by one they fell to their knees too, the Kid Pirates kneeling in a semicircle that fanned out from you, the air thick with weeping and despair. Only one didn’t fall, as Mohawk made his way through the crowd. He too mourned, but that didn’t do anything to help what your body had been through. You were still alive, and you needed help, that was all that mattered right now. At five months gestation he had no hope of saving the baby, it was an impossible effort, he didn't need to see it to know it'd never taken a breath, it simply didn't have the ability to. You wavered slightly as he knelt beside you, clammy and pale, the pool of blood under you getting wider by the second.

“Yin, I know you’re sad, but we need to get you to the infirmary,” he said softly. “I’m not gonna take your baby, I promise, I just want to help you”

You knew Mohawk was right, you could feel your life slipping away from you as you bled out internally. Killer was lost to his emotions as you tried to stand, holding the small body for him to take. He held it gingerly as you wobbled on your feet, before collapsing entirely as the strain and blood loss finally became too much. Kid caught you easily, sweeping you into a bridal hold. The crowd cleared quickly for him, as he carried your limp body to the infirmary, Mohawk and Killer following close behind. Killer didn’t know what to do, staring down at the tiny thing he could have held with one hand, but cradled carefully in both arms. His son, lifeless, not fated for this cruel world. He was shaking, and Kid guided him to sit. Neither of them spoke a word as Mohawk cursed and worked on you. Bloodied rag after rag were dumped on the floor as he tried and failed to stop the bleeding.

You didn’t wake for another day, the all too familiar sight of an IV in your arm, connected to a depleted blood bag. Your abdomen ached and when you touched the sore area you could feel a bandage covering it. Kid was at your side, watching you carefully as you groaned and sat up. Behind him you could see the flowing blond mane of Killer’s hair, his back to you as he sat in front of the other cot in the infirmary. His mask was on, and he made no sign of moving at the sound of your waking groan, save for the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. You could have mistaken him for being asleep, if not for the fact he was sitting straight up.

Heat adjusted the pillows behind you to help you sit up, you hadn’t even noticed him quietly standing there. Kid squeezed the hand he’d been holding before standing and walking to Killer. He whispered something in Killer’s ear, but the blond still didn’t move. Sighing, he tried to take what was in front of him, but Killer grabbed his wrist and growled.

“She deserves to hold them,” Kid said softly, “Kil please, you have to let go. Sitting here staring ain’t gonna do shit, she needs you now. She's alive and she's awake and she needs you”

Killer stood and left the room, not even sparing a glance in your direction, the door swinging on its hinges behind him. Kid took what was on the cot and brought it over, carrying it like it was glass, gently placing it in your arms. Your baby was entirely wrapped up, and he moved the cloth covering its face for you. Tears rolled down your cheeks as Heat held you tight.

“I’m sorry Yin, there was nothing anyone could do,” Kid sighed. “Mohawk said he was too small, his lungs weren’t functioning yet. Even in a hospital they wouldn’t have been able to save him”

You stroked the baby’s cold face before covering them back up and holding them out for Kid to take. You couldn't bare to look at the tiny body any longer, it hurt too much. He took the baby and placed him back on the other cot, returning to your side. You felt empty, devoid of emotion, you didn’t know what to do or how to feel. All you could feel was heartache.

“He blames me, doesn’t he?” you whispered.

“I’m gonna go get the doc,” Kid sighed, avoiding your question. You let out a sob as he left, the avoidance was answer in itself.

“Shh, shh, I’m still here,” Heat cooed, climbing onto the bed and laying beside you. You buried your face in his chest.

“It’s my fault Heat,” you sobbed, “he told me not to fight and I didn’t listen, I did this, I killed our baby”

“You didn’t,” Heat assured, squeezing you as much as he could without hurting your injury, “A marine did this, not you. It just… wasn’t meant to be”

“I’ll give him another, I’ll do better next time,” you sobbed, “please tell him, please, I need him to forgive me”

“Yin, there won’t be a next time,” Heat sighed. You sat up and blinked at him, your hand going to your stomach.

“There was too much bleeding,” Mohawk explained as he entered, having heard the end of the conversation, “I couldn’t stop it. I had to… I had to remove the whole thing. I’m so sorry Yin”

“YOU SHOULD HAVE LET ME DIE!” You shouted, becoming light headed and swooning. Heat caught you and laid you back down flat.

“Don't overdo it, you lost a lot of blood,” Mohawk sighed, “what happened to your body was physically traumatic, it tore your insides. If I was a better doctor I might have been able to save it, but this far from land it was either remove your whole womb or let you die. Kid gave the order, none of us wanted you to die. I know you're hurting right now, but you have friends here, we're here for you”

He injected something into your IV and the dizziness faded a little, and you grappled at Heat's corset to try and sit back up. “Just stay down for now Yin,” he soothed, “I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere”

Two days later and the ship made landfall, and you were immediately carted off to the nearest hospital. The others planned to bury your baby, you didn't want to be there. They said they'd wait till you got out of the hospital, but you told them to go ahead without you. You couldn't bear the thought of watching the tiny person you'd been growing as they were lowered into the ground and covered with dirt, it felt suffocating to just think about. You'd been immediately taken in for surgery, the remainder of your reproductive system removed before necrosis could set in. By now your breasts were actively leaking milk, your body tricked into thinking that your baby had been born and needed nourishment. The nurses bound your chest and it ached as your breasts swelled with milk that only served to remind you of your failings. Every time a baby on the maternity floor cried, your breasts leaked and the nurses would have to change your wet bindings as you sobbed.

Heat was by your side as much as he could be, but since he wasn't family or the father of a currently alive baby, he wasn't allowed to stay overnight. Those extra cots and private rooms were reserved for new mothers with babies to care for, leaving you in a four person room with other emotionally devoid women who had lost their babies as well. Every little step you took hurt like you were being torn open again, but the nurses insisted you keep active.

On the third night after losing your baby, you were walking along the hall of the maternity floor, and a happy couple passed by you on their way from the labour and delivery ward, the woman holding a healthy full term baby in her arms as she was pushed along in her wheelchair by her doting partner. Every nurse and doctor they passed were congratulating them, and you couldn't do it anymore. You could be here, you couldn't keep feeling your breasts leak while the healthy babies of other mother's cried out, you couldn't take the barren emptiness in your stomach. You would have done anything to see Killer, you needed him so badly, but he hadn't even looked at you as Heat carried you from the ship. Did Heat even want you anymore? He was so enamoured with your rounded belly, did he want you if you couldn't give him a baby? It felt like that was all you were good for, but you'd failed even at that. Pathetic, useless Yin, thrown away yet again when you proved yourself to be worthless.

Before anyone could stop you, you started power walking, navigating the labyrinth of the hospital till you finally came to an exit. Wearing only the comfortable shirt Heat had brought for you to sleep in, you ran. You didn't know where you were going, only having seen one small part of the island as you were carried to the hospital, but you ran anyway, hoping something would guide you and you'd find what you needed, an answer for your anguish.

Over gravel roads, dirt trails through forests, thin mudbanked streams and dewy meadows, you ran till you couldn't anymore. There was nowhere left to run, the island coming to an abrupt end as the meadow gave way to a harsh drop. An answer to your prayer, to your pain. Relief from it all, relief from the unbearable sadness that racked through you and shook you with silent sobs. Just one step, that was all it would take.

And so, the sky turning to a pale green on the horizon and the fading stars twinkling above you, you stepped forward.

[NEXT CHAPTER]

[lilas]

Piera, voidsent avatar

—

Okuri Chochin Minion

A small lantern, possessed by a spirit that wished to physically travel alongside her companion.

The voidsent Piera is adept at possessing material objects.

—

an oc lore post for Avi’li Sostomi

Piera is a native of the 13th

When Avi’li was recruited by the Lemures, his morbid curiosity about the process of becoming a Reaper led him forging a pact with a being of the Void; the being he met was Piera

When they met she was weak and resentful, but accepted her lot as it was simply the way of the Void to find yourself in the service of another if you are too weak to stand on your own

However, Avi’li is kind and his aether sweet and dense; powerful

Genuine trust and friendship grew between them, and eventually Piera became strong enough to exert her will and possess physical objects such as a paper lantern to better spend time with Avi’li

Piera’s voidsent abilities are used to power both Avi’li’s RPR and DRK skills

After Avi’li’s ego death in Shadowbringers, Fray and Myste were reconciled and rejoined Avi’li’s psyche; though still capable of utilizing most of techniques taught by Sid, the dark root of a Dark Knight’s power was limited for Avi’li

Piera supplements Avi’li’s Dark Knight training with her own darkness tinged aether, as well as acting as his avatar companion when he wields a scythe

Piera is able to possess and manifest as physical objects, and she manifests as weapons to aid Avi’li in battle as a Dark Knight or Reaper

Meeting for the first time…

When Avi’li entered the voidgate, Piera accompanied him in her monstrous greatsword form

But when they stepped through the gate, she appeared different in the Void

Instead of the monstrous boney visage she was used to, she found herself in a body she had forgotten long ago; she looked like herself

Feeding on Avi’li’s aether had ebbed away the corrupting oppressive darkness

What is Piera like?

Centuries in the Void have jaded her to the workings of society; she believes that it’s dog eat dog and distrusts and belittles altruistic motivations

Against her better judgement she trusts Avi’li; it was hard won trust born from battle and travel

She is covetous and protective; she hates when Avi’li is physically in the Void, territorial of this wellspring of aether that helped her grow strong

As such, she regards voidsent that approach as competition and handles them with extreme prejudice; she did not like Zero at first, though she came around to a cool tolerance

Piera often follows Avi’li as a paper lantern

Have a full body pic of her because her outfit is cute:

[suspiciouslypinkrosegarden]

𓆝 𓆟 Armin Week 2024 𓆝 𓆟

Day 2: Prompt EMA

Armin, Mikasa and Eren can't sleep the night before the attack on Liberio. They stay awake thinking of each other.

Three soldiers, three excuses to not sleep. One drowning, one burning and the other suffocating. In just a few hours the scouts would find themselves leaving for Liberio, finally bringing Eren home to Paradis. 

Armin’s room was lit only by a singular candle at his wooden desk, shadows growing and shrinking upon the man’s sunken face as he shifted around the flame. The tips of his fingers familiarized themselves with the grainy surface of the parchment paper before him, tracing small patterns over a map of the harbor. Three children kept alive by the glimmer of hope the ocean brought, now reunited across it to bring forth destruction to a world they once yearned to be part of. His eyes danced from label to label, land mass to water in frantic repetition, searching for a sign of a flaw in their plan, in his plan. Torment wracked his tired body as he continued his almost mechanical repetition, drilling the targets into his mind in an effort to outrun the weight of the emotions he felt. Tomorrow he’d have to employ his titan as a weapon of mass destruction. Could he live with himself after the damage was done? He did his best to ignore his conch shell in his turmoil, sat beside the map and fully illuminated by the small bit of candlelight. 

As the night pressed forward the deeper he fell, cold as his back hit the water he once dreamed of. Alone at sea is where he found himself, abandoned by his parents and now temporarily his dearest friend for that outside world which hated them. As the tears began to trickle, he felt his lungs burn with the taste of salt that surrounded him, choking as it invaded his system. Opening his eyes he saw midnight blue, murky and void of the wonders he sought deep within. The more he sank, the less he felt he had the right to struggle to breathe. He could see it now, blond locks of hair growing longer as they swirled around him. As soon as he stopped fighting, he floated there for a while, a scared boy again. He’d drown in those battle plans until he were one with them, his sharp mind his only weapon and use. He thought of Eren and pushed forward without sleep. 

In a room not too far from Armin’s, Mikasa’s muscles were set alight as she forced her body to continue moving in preparation for tomorrow’s invasion. Instead of resting, she trained under the cover of darkness, pushing forward below a small gas lamp creating an amber spotlight on her moving form. She was sticky with sweat, uncaring as it ran down her forehead and along her exposed stomach. Tomorrow she’d do what she has always done for the sake of her loved ones, defend them without regret or fear. Her ebony eyes flicked to the small pile of red placed gently upon her bed. 

As she kept moving, pins and needles rippled along her skin, sharp and wicked in way. At first the flames which licked her were searing, but the longer she stood in the fire the colder she felt. Her flesh did not melt off its bone as it should have, forced to endure a pain she knew would not kill her. Engulfed by orange and red, her feet struggled to maintain solid ground against the withering wood of the pyre. As a log snapped, she fell on her hands, watching the long ends of her scarf level with her line of sight on the ground. And then, the gift started to burn. Her body ached as she pushed through another sit-up, knowing she herself was immune to the fire that devoured her loved ones. She was strong and able to protect, and that’s what she was good for. She thought of Eren and pushed forward without sleep. 

Across the sea, Eren stayed awake in the hospital he was undercover in. He sat upright, scanning the rows of beds as he pitied those asleep in them and what would become of them. Tomorrow they’d lose Sasha, without any chances for him to give goodbyes. Tomorrow would be the beginning of the end, reuniting with the people he cared for and remaining cold for their sakes. 

It was as if the air had suddenly left the room, a quick and sharp cutoff with nothing left to fill his lungs. Eren’s chest felt heavy as he strained harder than usual to inhale, his head dizzying by the second with nothing to give it life. He knew there were no hands belonging to another clasped over his mouth to pry off, choking as one would if in the vacuum of space without a helmet. Against his will, his green eyes watered, remembering his promise to himself that he’d never get to breathe. In the silence he wept knowing that riding the wind was not for him, opening his palms to release the two birds he held in them, that he held in his mind always. He deserved this feeling of sadness, he thought to himself, sacrificing so much in the name of the two other soldiers. Eren thought of Armin and Mikasa, pushing forward without sleep. 

[tgrailwar-zero]

Okay. Okay, okay,

This is fine. This is honest. This is good.

That's probably the only way we're going to work this out with any finality, and it is fair. We needed that reminder, and I'm glad you could work it out.

To answer your question, Beastmaster, we want to atone for our past actions. Lord Sigurd showed us a way we can help people. Even if there's a chance of failure, we want to protect and fight for the Solar Cell and humanity in any way we can. We will agree to any test, any fetter, and any pact as long as we can help people. Even if it means killing us if we return, no matter what we say or show.

You watched the beast stare down at you as you spoke. His hand didn't leave his spear, his expression as flat and expressionless as stone.

It was very familiar. A stirring tide of rage and pain. You didn't need to reach deep to feel it- like a duet, you felt it resonate with something deep within your own chest.

It was twisted, corroded. A free heart shackled. A wandering hound chained to an iron leash, disease-ridden and dying.

However, there was a tacit understanding as the beast stared down at you and you looked him in the eyes. There was no more 'Cu Chulainn'.

That shooting star had burned out along time ago, and had now crashed into the Earth and sat smoldering. A shooting star that had never once felt regret in his life, staring up at an empty sky. Red hot and immobile- rotting and eroding.

That was a good question. One without a clear answer.

A thousand things you could offer. A thousand things you could say. A weapon didn't have wants, a beast didn't have desires, so there was nothing that could be offered or traded in turn. No joy in death, no joy in life. A hollow vessel, unwishing and unwanting.

'BEATHACH': "…Useless."

You felt him muscle past you, leaving the chamber. His heavy footsteps growing more and more distant. The other Lair Servants sat in silence as he vanished away, before you saw the Keeper lean over, taking a weary breath before looking over at the Valkyrie.

KEEPER: "….Brynhildr, please."

BRYNHILDR: "He won't come back. You know that."

KEEPER: "Then at least keep an eye on him, he'll listen to you."

BRYNHILDR: "…Of course."

You watched as the Valkyrie landed on the ground, armored boots clanking against the ground as she disappeared after him. A heavy silence hung over the chamber for a moment, before PTOLEMAIOS cleared his throat. Though you could feel it, a fragile balance having been torn, old wounds beginning to slowly bleed again.

KEEPER: "…Yes. We have to stay on track. The trial--"

The Slayer cut in, her voice heavy and clear.

NIKITICH: "...There is no point in a trial. The Beastmaster is right. Beastmaster Tezcatlipoca is also right and said the same thing. We are useless, with no answers and no progress."

CLEOPATRA: "That's... not what he meant. I'm not sure what exactly, but he wasn't talking about us. Can't you stay focused? We're in the middle of something important, you can project and unload later."

NIKITICH: "Always 'later' with you people. We cannot fight the Void Cell, we stand vigil over a world we plan to abandon… It seems that Sigurd has a solution, that doesn't involve us wallowing in our cowardice. Fine. I will take something. You all do as you please, but I am returning to the Moon. At least there I can pretend I am a hero worthy of my name."

You watched as the Slayer similarly hopped down from her perch, walking past you. She stopped, her back to you as she raised a hand.

NIKITICH: "…I vote that they live. Give them a chance to tell their own story, since we have clearly outlived ours."

You watched as she left as well, her own footsteps growing more distant. CLEOPATRA sighed, one hand idly fidgeting with her hair.

CLEOPATRA: "…And this is why we never have these. Ugh, if Quetzalcoatl were here... Whatever. I'll vote. Staring down the Beastmaster was brave, and I think they raised some good points while doing it. So…"

She raised her own hand.

CLEOPATRA: "…I say they don't die, but I'm not sure about entrusting the future to them. You made a deal with Duryodhana, right? Come see me then, if you're successful. I'll consider giving up my Key then."

She dropped down from her loge, striding past you. You saw as she reached the door to the chamber, stopping briefly as she took a breath to collect herself, before straightening her posture and heading through. You saw the ADMINISTRATOR, strangely pensive.

ADMINISTRATOR: "…I'm abstaining. There's too much for me to consider. New data. I need to consult with the other Divided Spirits. However, if Freyr Sigurd requires valuable Solar Cell resources for his research, he'd need only put in a formal request."

SIGURD: "…Thank you, Madame Administrator."

Without further response, ADMINISTRATOR didn't head through the door, but vanished away in a blue, digitized light.

SIGURD: "Old friend, you understand my vote. Brynhildr is of the same mind, the defendant should not be killed."

PTOLEMAIOS: "…Then the votes against execution are in the majority in comparison to no negative votes, and several of the Council abstaining their votes…"

PTOLEMAIOS: "...Meaning that the case is closed. The defendant will not be killed, and will be able to resume their activities. The court is adjourned. To the defendant, thank you for your patience. For those of you that stayed, thank you for your service."

He looked over at the only other Lair Servant still in the room, SIGURD, who was sitting back in his seat with his eyes closed, deep in thought.

Normally you'd expect a bit more fanfare, outside of a rather empty and chilly chamber. It seemed like they all reached their own conclusions, and it reached a rather premature end.

You felt a firm hand on your shoulder, as MAX stepped up next to you with a gentle smile.

MAX: "...Congratulations. You survived the lion's den."

[brazenlystrong]

Cont. [x] // @getsusekaii

The Weight of Power.

Ever since the higher-ups decided to separate him from Suguru, Satoru has felt a growing emptiness, a void that missions and victories can’t fill. The two of them have always been a team—a force of nature that balances each other out. But now, it feels like everything is spiraling out of control.

Gojo has noticed it—the way Suguru’s shoulders carry an invisible weight, the way his eyes have lost their usual spark. He’s thinner, quieter, a shadow of the person he once was. Gojo knows something is wrong but the constant stream of solo missions has kept him from finding out.

When he told him that they have to get used to it, that their skills in battle are different now, that they won’t be at each other’s side as they used to— Satoru is having none of it.

--

“ It’s not my decision, ” said Yaga. “ The higher-ups think you’re more efficient this way. ”

“ Efficient?? This isn’t about efficiency. It’s about control. ”  Bet they’re afraid of what they can do together. There’s no other explanation.

I don’t care about their orders. I’m done playing by their rules.

They have been treating him like a tool—a weapon they can wield as they please. Gojo is no fool, he’s always known he’s different, born with power that others could only dream of.

And then one day, the chains of expectation and tradition shatter around him, leaving him truly unbound for the first time. A sense of freedom he hasn’t felt in a long time.

--

Today he managed to finish his mission earlier. The new burst of motivation has him completing tasks like a machine. That’s what they want, right? Well, unfortunately for them, this machine has free will.

He doesn’t return to the school immediately. They don’t tell him where Suguru’s missions are but that’s not an issue. He can locate him anywhere and everywhere if he wants.

He stares at the dissipating curse, his expression blank. They’re nothing, he thinks, weak, disgusting. A mere nuisance that barely registers against his overwhelming power. He didn’t always think like this, there was a time when he saw curses as a challenge, when every exorcism felt like a test of his skills. It’s all changed now.

“ Yo, Suguru. ” Satoru casually greets, his hands motioning into his jacket’s pockets.

“ I finished my mission. I've come to pick you up. You done? ” He doesn’t elaborate why. Make it seem like he was dispatched to do so as he mentioned.

[dragonologist-writings]

Title: Burn It Down Fandom: Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous Rating: G Status: One-Shot Main Characters: Knight-Commander Lilith Additional Notes: Character Study, Aeon to Devil Mythic Path Word Count: 1.2k Summary: Hell hath no fury quite like Knight-Commander Lilith.

read below or here on ao3

The natural order of the world has been corrupted. Someone must put it right.

When Lilith first grasps the spirit of the Aeon, the power flows through her with ease and strength. With a glance, she can read a person’s soul. With a word, she can decide their fate. It is a natural extension of her role as an inquisitor, and she readily accepts both the honor and the burden.

Liar. Thief. Killer. Traitor. Criminal.

The accusations come to her easily, the bright indications of wrongdoing dancing behind her eyelids whenever she comes near a soul who has sinned against the balance of the universe. The ability to peer into a person in such a way is intoxicating, and it is as if Lilith has finally discovered her true purpose. Her destiny.

After all her years of training and lessons and sharpening herself into a weapon of Asmodeus…surely, such power was always meant to be placed in her hands.

And yet, with each decision Lilith makes, the shards of the Aeon’s judgement only dig deeper into her mind, carving into every evidence of imperfection. She stands by the sentences she hands out; for what is the use of justice, if not to serve for the betterment of their cause? Banishments and executions are rough, brutal solutions; suitable in some instances, certainly, but for most cases, true justice requires a bit more…finesse. It requires cunning.

But the Aeon do not see the flaws in their unmovable ways.

Rage. Pride. Arrogance. Greed.

Lilith grits her teeth through the rebukes from the Aeon in her mind, but she returns faithfully to the meditation at her mirror every day. This is her power; she will learn to wield and to control it. If she must curb her emotions and her desires even further, then so be it.

But she has never been able to curb her ambition; not for the sake of her mentors and masters, and not for the sake of the Aeon. Not even as the judgements of her very soul are burnt into her thoughts.

YouAreNotAnAeonYouAreASlaveToYourImpulsesYouMustBeColderYouMustBeStrongerYouMustBeBetterYouMustBeMoreYouMustBeLess.

The Abyss is even worse. Lilith’s power has been growing, yes, but the utter chaos of the plane is like a constant smother to her senses. She has never felt further from Asmodeus, has never felt her connection to his gifts weakened in such a way.

Once, she might have been intrigued by such a prospect, but the struggle to sort through her changing visions and the need to bring order to the chaos around her leaves her with little time to consider such things. Still, she somehow claws her way through the city of demons and emerges stronger than ever, even as her own mind screams at her that she is doing this wrong.

youshouldhavehelpedhimyoushouldhavekilledhimyoushouldhavebanishedthemalltheyrewrongyourewrongyoumustbefixedwoulditbebetterifyouneverexisted?

And yet, through all of this, Lilith emerges victorious. She returns to Drezen, burning triumphantly as she leads the charge to drive the demons from her city. She knows she is doing what is right; this is her Crusade, these are her people, and the demons who have invaded their lands do not belong here.

Once, that would have been enough. But now, when she reaches for the power of the Aeon inside of her, she is left only with an empty, helpless void and a condemnation.

You Are No True Aeon.

Lilith barely listens to Nocticula and Iomadae argue. For all their disagreements and bluster, there are hardly any differences between them; just two powerful people looking to make Lilith a pawn in their games. It is nothing Lilith has not encountered before.

What is new, however, is the doubt. What use is this power to her, if she has lost all ability to wield it? If the power threatens to overwhelm her rather than serve her purpose?

But when the time comes, and Iomadae descends in all her self-righteousness to demand she relinquish her abilities, Lilith can only grip them tighter than ever.

Let the gods judge her. Let the Aeon continue to whisper treachery into her mind. Lilith does not surrender so easily.

Days later, Lilith’s fingernails grind against the stone railing of her balcony, her knuckles bone-white as she examines her city. Even from up here, she can feel the wrongdoings of her citizens, trickling through the streets like poison. These days, constellations and arrows burn constantly at the edge of her vision, drawing her gaze to all the many, many things that must be fixed.

She will wrestle back her control of this power. She must. Whatever it takes.

Correct the distortions. Everything has been, and everything will be. But a true Aeon is forever.

Whatever it takes. Lilith’s insides twist at the memory of the words whispered into her mind. She doesn’t know what it means, and she hates that the mystery of it frightens her. Still, she will not let these beings scare her away from the powers that are rightfully hers.

Lilith knows she must do something, and soon; she just does not know what.

Not until Melies walks into the citadel with a smirk and a contract.

And Lilith almost laughs, because suddenly she is seventeen again, and the promise of power is at her fingertips, and all that is required in exchange is a promise of herself. It is both her own choice to make and no choice at all, just as it was then; this is how deals with the devil work.

Lilith is smarter now than she was at seventeen. She knows Melies would not make this offer without his own ulterior motives. And she is fine with that, because she knows how to play his games, and she would rather let her soul blaze in the fires of Hell than be ground away into nothing under the cold, hard stare of the Aeon.

Order must be restored.

Hang the Aeon’s order. Lilith has her own.

Better the devil you know, and all that.

We are Hell!

Lilith stands before the people of Drezen once more, now with clear eyes and a voice that is only her own.

They fear her now, with her dark curved horns and deep red skin, evidence of the deal she has made. This is perfectly acceptable. They feared her before, too, with her cold Aeon gaze that could pinpoint their every sin. But now, without the iron fetters on her mind, Lilith can sharpen that fear into a weapon to make the Abyss tremble before them.

We are Hell!

She speaks to her people about righteousness, about vengeance, about fury. These things are hers now, and with their power she will destroy every enemy that stands in her way.

We are Hell!

Her people cheer for her, and for themselves, and for the wrath they will unleash upon the Worldwound and all who would see it remain.

The Aeon claimed the sword of her mind was dull. But Lilith is no sword, certainly not one for the Aeon to yield.

Lilith is a storm. She is the fire and fury of Hell.

And the world will remember her name.

[dailycharacteroption]

Magical Assassin Operative (Operative Alternate Class Feature)

(art by Raszul on DeviantArt)

Operatives prove that the right strike in the right place can change the flow of battle, but there are those that prefer something a bit different than the fickle nature of blows to vulnerable places, some of which we’ve covered here before, but today we’re looking at an operative that adds a little magic to their offensive mix.

Now, magic is nothing new to the operative class. After all, you’re encouraged to interpret the more marvelous abilities they can learn as technology, magic, or hybrid tech at your discretion. And on that note, certain exploits and specializations are expressly magical.

However, our subject today is one that uses magic to influence the amount of damage they do, having learned just enough magic to imbue their operative weapons with destructive energies and other magical effects, almost like how the arcane assailant soldier does as a natural evolution of the magus class of distant yesteryear.

I can imagine these operatives might range from failed magic students that discovered a knack for killing or espionage, to magical assassins that specialize in dangerous targets that are resistant to conventional damage for whatever reason. These are devil-slayers, construct-breakers, and wizard-humblers all in one.

Instead of using their skills to create openings, these magical assassins quickly assess their magical knowledge to channel raw elemental power into their weapon of choice, making it more damaging as a result in the same fluid motion as they attack. What sets this apart from a trick attack aside from the elemental damage is that the weapon retains the charge for about a minute, allowing them to unleash subsequent attacks with the charged weapon with no additional skill checks needed.

Later on, they also imbue their weapons with the magic of various basic weapon seals, including those of moral alignments, projectile guidance, durability, defiance, and so on. As they improve, this list grows to include those that trade out the base damage of the weapon for various elements instead, or those that strike true against incorporeal foes or deal especially grievous wounds, even imbuing multiple at once.

The big advantage of this alternate class feature is that you only have to succeed a roll once for extra damage, at the cost of less damage on average and it’s potentially resistible elemental nature. However, also being able to later add various temporary fusion seals mean they can also tailor their weapon to pierce the defenses of their foe further. As such, I’d recommend putting plenty of skill ranks into various skills that can be used to identify creatures, not just mysticism, so that you can tailor your magic to the best of your ability. Also, consider how to combine this magical theming with your specialization and exploits as well.

It's interesting to think of the reasons that operative pragmaticism blends with the power offered by magic. Some may be thieves or agents specializing in magical problems without the trapping of true mages, or they might be fiend or other outsider hunters that know they could not take such beings in a direct fight and so learn to strike from the shadows. Additionally, the fact that they activate this form of attack as part of an attack gives of the vibe of the innocuous assassin suddenly revealing themselves to be an actual threat to their prey the moment it becomes too late, which is a nice visual.

Dull gray and serious, Valgan Sparkwire lost his vibrancy when he flunked out of magic school, but while a dour attitude grips his heart, he still makes use of what he learned as a hired knife in the undercity. The gnome would never admit it, but a part of him still yearns for magical discovery, though.

Akatas and veshreds are not the only dangers clinging to asteroids in the void. Sometimes truly monstrous threats lurk, sealed away by ancient guardians or simply there by fluke of chance. With such exotic threats out there, it pays to magically-skilled scouts on prospecting missions in the belts, ready to put an energy-charged bullet in whatever is stalking your miners.

A murder investigation centers around a frostbitten decapitated corpse. The lead investigator seems to think it was the work of a gelugon’s blade, but one forensic scientist thinks it must be the work of a strangely superchilled vibrogarotte, which narrows the list of suspects down in a very different way.

[sodiumpentothol]

Some really bad ideas for a shitpost Hollow Knight x Resident Evil AU I randomly conjured

Here's the very poorly written outline I have for this thing:

Precursor to downfall of hallownest, umbrella (needs a different name) formed by soul master after pale king yeets the infection at them and goes "find cure." This is before the infection gets all wacky silly and publicly known, so soul master and the soul twisters sorta poke around with the infection and go "huh y'know this would make for a great weapon against the deepnest beasts" so they begin fucking around with that. Chris and Leon are both city guards that are vibing around when a sector of the City of Tears is overrun by the T-virus after an outbreak, they both end up having to stop it and both manage to resist the infection which piques the Pale King's interest. Jill and Carlos also make it out alive. Sherry and Claire are there too I guess. Pale King goes "yo dudes you survived the infection I think ima assign you guys to deal with this infection bullshittery" so they're all forced to do infection bullshittery stuff as it gets worse. RE4 is just a corpse creeper outbreak in fungal wastes or something, hornet is kidnapped and PK goes "holy shit if we don't get this child back then i'm gonna be in deep(nest) shit" so they all go and grab hornet. RE5 I don't even know, that was a fever dream and same goes for RE6. Ethan supposedly lost Mia in the initial infection outbreak all those years ago, but in reality Mia managed to escape with a void construct created by a rival gang of angry deepnest weavers. Void construct of course is Eveline and Mia and Eveline manage to flee to deepnest where they meet a nice little family of survivors. Eveline does her bullshittery and takes over everyone, weaver gang breaks lucas out and makes him their spy.

Meanwhile Eveline makes Mia send Ethan a letter to come and find her, thus starting RE7. Ethan goes to deepnest and gets his shit fucked up big time, immediately dying and being resurrected by the void. Blah blah blah, kill baker family, blah blah, get mia back, blah blah blah blah blah kill eveline, something something oh hey PK's Infection Cleanup Crew (TM) is now on the scene and here to deal with the outbreak. Ethan and Mia are pulled out and placed into witness protection in the Ancient Basin by the White Palace. RE8 happens when Mirander comes along and steals Rose. Mirander's still trying to revive her kid, but she's also the leader of the angry weaver gang and she has plans to kill PK. She's been gathering forces n shit for the revolt, also they're all infected with void and have wacky void powers too. Mirander steals Rose a little more blatantly, pretty much just breaking into the winters' house, fucking shit up, stealing the baby, and leaving. Ethan is reasonably pissed and goes all Seek And Destroy on Mirander, killing literally everything in his way. First he rampages through deepnest, killing four of her infected subordinates one by one before he makes it to the Abyss. At this point in the timeline PK has been dabbling a little in void bullshit so there's definitely evidence of him being around here, maybe a couple thousand dead children or something. Mirander is hiding out in the abyss, blah blah blah she and Ethan duke it out blah blah they both fucking die blah blah blah rose grows up to be very OP, PK briefly considered using herasa backup HK but Rose has a mind to think, a will to break, and a voice to cry suffering so she's automatically pitched from the plan and ends up being trained to like kill the fucking radiance or something, maybe she gets put into stasis or whatever because she was too powerful and PK felt threatened by her.

Something something hallownest falls something something main HK game takes place and the knight is now in the picture. Leon, Chris, Jill, and Carlos have taken it upon themselves to keep everybody in Dirtmouth safe and regularly dive into Hallownest to look for survivors. They meet Hornet sometimes but she's too badass to vibe with them and she fights them. They all survive of course and they learn to respect each other but Hornet never really joins them. She's like Ada that way. Anyway the knight comes along, yadda yadda yadda HK game happens

[cru5h-cascades]

Some more info about Malic's universe's bishops (and Nardiner... I guess?).

General info about these bishops before I go in depth about each individual bishop:

Bishops Maple, Bes, Tako, and Tox are siblings that rule over their respective domains in the Land of New Hope (Malic's version of the Land of the Old Faith). Originally, there was five of them, but their middle sister, Sera, the goddess of life, ended up doing something that sealed her and everyone in her land into a strange realm that corrupts her and everyone inside of it. No mortals, not even the other bishops, can enter, except for animals part of the family Bovidae (specifically only sheep and goats because of how valuable they are in sacrifices). In their despiration, the bishops created a new law: all goats and sheep must go through each of the bishops' land and prove that they are strong enough to enter Sera's prison (whoever got through all the bishops' lands first would be deemed the strongest). But eventually, all the goats and sheep fell. All except for one: Malic, who found Sera's (corrupted) crown and decided to make the bishops pay for making his kind go through their trials.

Maple

Species: Rosy Maple Moth

Domain: Cherry Meadows

she/her

goddess of order

youngest bishop

her duties involve limiting wrongdoings committed in the Land of New Hope, making sure each of the bishops' followers have the resources they need to survive, and ensuring there isn't too much of one thing if it isn't nessisary. she also disiplines those who go against her and her siblings' rule.

tests those who fight her on their hand-to-hand combat skills

uptight, doesn't really want to use the full extent of her power in fear of it causing unwanted chaos, and a bit of a perfectionist

Bes

Species: Lavender Axolotl

Domain: Eukaryota

he/him

god of the harvest

second youngest bishop

his duties include creating, growing, and tending to crops & delivering them to his siblings' land if they need food

tests those who fight him on their melee weapon combat skills

big guy with a big heart, very welcoming towards new followers, acts like a father figure to his followers, doesn't quite like fighting but he will if he must and he won't hold back

Tako

Species: Giant Pacific Octopus

Domain: High Dive

she/they

goddess of health

second oldest bishop

their duties include finding cures to illnesses so her siblings can heal their followers without her help, using their ablities to heal her own followers, and insuring that people across the Land of New Hope have easy access to health care

tests those who fight them with their long distance fighting skills (basically they use a lot of long range weaponry to attack their opponents and those who fight her have to use their resources to try to take her down)

a skilled fighter who isn't afraid to get their tentacles dirty. although her duties involve keeping her followers healthy, they do test their cures on followers & sometimes end up causing them to feel worse than they originally did.

Tox

Species: Emperor Scorpion

Domain: Starkiss Sands

they/them

god of peace

oldest bishop

their duties involve resolving conflicts in the Land of New Hope and overall just keeping people happy

tests those who fight them on how they'd deal with magic attacks & sees how skilled followers are at using said attacks

not the sharpest tool in the shed but they do know how to entertain ther followers and knows a decent amount of things regarding law & how to resolve conflict (at least enough to deem themselves worthy of being a bishop). they can get carried away with their magic attacks because of the rush they give them

Sera

Species: Golden Retriever

Domain: Skyfall (formerly), Voided Hollows (a corrupted version of Skyfall)

she/her

goddess of life

her duties included determining when one's life started & ended and observing the lives of followers (if things got out of whack in someone's life she'd step in to get them back on track)

has become a shell of her former self in Voided Hollows, becoming cruel and ending the lives of those who were in Voided Hollows with her whenever they didn't please her

since her release from Voided Hollows, Sera no longer has a domain of her own, but happily helped Malic manage his village of loyal followers for him while he was on crusades before he was transported to Darcy's universe

[thieves-oasis]

@tes-summer-fest 2024 - DAY ONE: Breath or Forbidden

‘One foot in the grave’

-Neiana Death-Rattle

(TW: death, gore)

[The sequence of events that led to Neiana’s fate.]

Word count: 1,371

I have not known them for long. These people that I travel with are new to me - they sought me out for information regarding the whereabouts of my criminal sister, and I agreed to assist them in finding her without even learning their names. A part of me hoped that in joining their search, I could convince her to come back home, to drop all of this power-hungry nonsense and go back to making burnt ardknots in the kitchen together while our adoptive parents were out dealing with some sort of political issue that had nothing to do with us. I had held onto that hope even when the mercenaries came to me telling tales of death and destruction caused by my dear sister’s hand. I held onto that hope as we entered the village that reeked of death and decay. I even held onto that hope as we walked through the bloodied streets, as I stepped over the corpses of the villagers I once knew by name, as I watched one of the mercenaries slip in a pile of guts and bile only to keep themselves afoot by placing a hand on the hanging cadaver of a young man. Even through all of the carnage, I held onto hope that somewhere within the monster that committed these awful acts sat my dear Dahlia. But now, here I lay in a pool of my own blood, my sister’s blade embedded within my chest as I stare into her once kind, moss green eyes. Those eyes that once gave me comfort when I slipped on the stones in Hroldan and scraped my knee, the eyes that proudly watched as I placed offerings upon the Hunt-Father’s altar on his summoning day for the first time, those eyes that now hold nothing but hatred for me, who has become nothing but a stepping stone on the path to power. A simple obstacle.

The first moments of pain were excruciating. Dahlia had coated her blade in some sort of vile poison that I could feel spreading throughout my entire body. It was a pain unlike any I had experienced before, searing yet dull - as if I had just pulled my hand out of boiling water, but not quite. This pain lasted longer. I felt it spread as my sister removed the weapon from my chest, as I watched her disappear into a foul smoke, taking all sound with her. The voices of the mercenaries slowly faded into nothingness, replaced only by the pounding of my heart that bounced through my skull, solid silence interrupted by the banging of a drum that played simultaneously with every shallowing breath I took. Eventually, everything stopped. I could see a fading battle in the distance as one of the mercenaries looked down at me with sorrow in their eyes, a strange sight coming from those I had just recently met, but a welcome one as now I knew that I had made an impact on the people who would see me enter the next door of existence.

I came from a clan that found meaning after death - necromancers who saw death as not an end, but as a new chapter that led to the Spirit Queen’s embrace. Death needs to happen. It is the only pilgrimage that we of the Death-Rattle have. Even though my clan is now a thing of the past, I still held on to the beliefs that I was raised with, even as my father told me to abandon who I was and accept whatever life came to me, even as I watched tears form in his eyes as he handed my sister and I off to the orphanage hoping that we would be spared from the war that raged on within the Reach, I still told myself that this life was temporary. That each step I took on Nirn would help me grow into a perfect soul to feed the Void.

But even with those thoughts that once comforted me, I am scared.

It is easy to say one does not fear death whilst they live and breathe. I had thought I would be calm in this final moment, but as my final breath crawled from my lips, the once sunken fear began to bubble up to the surface of my mind, creating waves that lashed against the shores of calm, violently tearing down the walls of belief that I had built until there was nothing but a violent flood that wiped out my last structure of consciousness.

As the darkness ate me whole, the fear drifted away.

In between life and death, there is a split path. One path leads to a new life separate from this one, and the other leads to the end. I have been here before and chosen the path of life many times. But my favor with Hircine has grown thin, and I do not wish to live a life where the line risks snapping. And so, I look to the path of death and take a step forward. The Black Fly embraces me and my skin begins to slough off into piles of memories that hold no meaning, my bones turn to ash and I am complete. All pain ceases to be as the weight of flesh is lifted and she unhinges her jaw. I am content with my consumption. The void awaits me and I will float among her until the heart begins beating once more, until he who hunts fights alongside my people and my delicious soul provides sustenance for The End. I look into her maw, accepting the nothing that is to come.

But it never does.

Something pulls my bones back together. My flesh begins to pile back upon me, weighing me down as I begin sinking into the dirt, I try to meet the eyes of the Spirit Queen but she refuses to look down. Refuses to see me. I melt into the ground, reaching out, trying to call to her for help but she does not respond. My memories return and I remember who I was, I remember the fear and the hurt and the sorrow until there is nothing left to reach for and I am buried… alive.

And suddenly, there is pain again.

Not as excruciating as the pain that led me to this state, but it was pain. Warm, vibrant… and very much alive. It started in my neck. Then slowly dripped down through my chest, itching to escape through my wound but failing as if it had been sealed shut. It flowed down my torso, into my arms, through my fingertips, an external energy that climbed through my bones like magic jolting through the hands of a mage. It was… ecstasy. Sound returned at once, an overwhelming echo of every footstep within the castle I would have called my tomb. Hearts beating, shaking breaths released then gathered again, creaking floorboards that hadn’t been there before, even the slightest raindrop outside pierced my ear drums like a symphony that shook my very being… Until a voice speaks to me and I open my eyes.

“Neiana. Look at me.”

It’s bright. The chandelier is on the floor and the stench of blood is strong even though none is visible. Once my eyes adjust, I see the mercenaries surrounding me. A whispering voice forces me to face forward, directly into the eyes of my savior.

Augustine.

He was different from the others. Augustine wasn’t a mere mercenary. He was a noble. He had joined the mercenaries on their hunt for Dahlia after she attacked his Fiancee. I did not believe him at first. I didn’t believe anything that any of them said about my sister. But now, I sit here, upright and alive. I want to scream, ask how I am here, how the infinite darkness somehow became finite. I tried to question my state of existence as words contrasting my thoughts escaped through chapped lips;

“Dahlia is dead, isn’t she?”

A nod of confirmation.

Words spoken that I cannot comprehend.

Was he always this pale?

The world fades out as my focus moves from his red eyes to his lips.

They are bloody.

And his teeth are sharp.

[guppybubbles]

Maybe I'm the Monster.

Set after the court trial for Juana Flippa's life. Juana Flippa is brought back to life, but Charlie is still paranoid. In an attempt to make sure he can protect her, he calls an old friend.

CONTENT WARNING: Rituals, Dealing with the Devil

WORD COUNT: 2,251 words

“The monster's gone, he's on the run and your daddy's here. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful girl.”

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

This wasn’t paranoia. It was far from it.

If anything, this was just a parent making sure mistakes— misclicks— don’t happen again, Slime justified. This was right.

On the large branch growing out from his balcony, an ashy finger traced the bark and formed a circle. Slime drew a symbol in the middle of the circle, holding a candle in his other hand to even make out whatever he was smearing on the wood. It was the dead of night, everyone on the island has gone to bed after doing another day of completing tasks for the eggs.

JuanaFlippa wasn’t home. After that entire court fiasco, Mariana at least had the effort to be there for his daughter more frequently than before- even if all it took was a case of murder. Mariana took Flippa back to his own home, and Charlie went back to Sacapuntas. He’d been invited to join them in telling Juana a bedtime story and a lullaby, even being offered to sleep right next to Mariana but he declined.

Flippa’s death terrified him to his core. The moment his anger subsided after watching her death unfold in a recording, it was quiet. So horribly quiet. He kept checking the list of tasks they had to accomplish and sat quietly in her room, waiting for her to pop out somewhere like it was a horribly late April Fools’ Prank, but she never came and the tasks were left unchecked for days.

But thanks to that court case he bargained for, she has her life back, and Charlie will make sure this would never happen again.

Slime carefully lit candles and gently placed them down on the border of the circle. This could’ve been a fire hazard, putting down candles right on top of a flammable structure, but most of his home was still blown up anyway so more damage wasn’t that big of a problem. “You better show up.” He stepped away from the circle and stretched an arm, holding his hand right above the center. A sharp knife slid across his palm in a swift motion, and slowly blood dripped down.

The thick liquid seeped into the ash and the poorly drawn summoning circle started shifting to a dark red hue, faintly glowing. The candles’ flames waved wildly in different directions, not following the gentle breeze of the night. Then, all together the candles were hushed and the faint glow slowly died.

Slime frowned. It didn’t work. He did everything right and it didn’t work.

Like an explosion, the flames erupted once more. Aggressive, unnatural, and way bigger than the standard flare. The red glow turned brighter until it all calmed down. Standing in the middle of the circle stood an imposing figure.

“Hello, my friend!” Pitch-black eyes shined with glee. A tall bear demon with red fur finally showed himself after a dramatic entrance. “So good to see you, how have you been?”

“Flippa almost died.” Charlie went straight to the point, staring directly into those void eyes. Afraid that if he blinked, he’d lose dominance over the ruler of Hell. “I need- She needs something more to protect her.”

“More? But doesn’t she have a gun?”

“Does she- Do you see the monsters out there?! They weirdly have stronger armor than most of us on the island do. I need something… something more!”

“More?” The demon asked.

“More. Something bigger, something stronger. Please, I’ll do anything.” Slime begged.

Rubius rubbed his hand against his chin in deep thought. Charlie kept his hands clasped together. He knows he's asking for too much, first, it was a weapon for his daughter, then a court case to bring her back to life, now, he's asking for something more.

Could you blame him? Flippa is the first ever egg to perish, it instilled fear in every parent that their children were very much capable of dying. Even worse, she dies at the hands of his partner. It didn't even matter that the dragon might come back and reign hell on him and Mariana, what mattered was his baby was gone.

A single mistake and his beautiful daughter died in her sleep.

Slime won't let that happen again, ever.

“Okay, I think I know something that can help you—”

“Yes- yes! Anything, man. I'll take anything and everything you can give.”

There was a look of annoyance in Rubius' eyes, and Charlie should've known to apologize for cutting him off.

The demon held his hand out, and Charlie gladly took it.

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

It was the next morning. JuanaFlippa munched on the sandwich that Papa Mariana packed for her.

Papa guided her back home to La Ciudad del Sacapuntas but stopped a decent distance away from Papa Charlie’s blown-up house. It seemed despite beginning to get along after the trial for her life, there was still a long road ahead of them before they return to that stage of disgusting romance where they brag about every romantic thing they do to each other to everyone (and she means everything).

Papa kissed her forehead goodbye and she excitedly ran to the broken part of the wall. Flippa wasn’t sure if Papa Charlie continued to sleep in his place when it was still a very long time until it could be fully restored to its normal condition, she hoped he was sleeping somewhere safe and warm. Perhaps she could ask Leo if her dad could rebuild the house. Then again, Uncle Foolish tends to charge quite a lot, and she’s heard building makes him a bit crazy…

Both of her papas agreed that Flippa cannot stay in her room for a while until everything is fixed. The ashes and fumes she might inhale are highly dangerous, she may have been brought back to life, but her life was still as fragile as it was before.

Flippa waited patiently, staring up at her papa’s elevated home and expecting him to greet her with a loud smile and a healthy lunch pack in his hand. She knew out of the two of them, papa Mariana was the better cook, but Papa Charlie genuinely does try his best to make stuff she likes. He makes a lot of avocado toast, which is what he is mostly capable of cooking, but she doesn’t mind, it’s her favourite after all.

She coughed slightly, her hand beginning to cover her nose and her mouth to shield it from the floating dust. This is bad… Papa always warned her to wear a face mask whenever she was going to enter and leave Sacapuntas. There were times when she didn't listen to his lectures and felt fine, yet it was beginning to be a bit more dusty than usual.

Was this normal?

Flippa stumbled backward as she tried to evade the forming clouds. She almost tripped but still attempted to hold herself upright.

That's when she felt it.

Steady, rhythmic rumbles of the ground. Shaky hands pulled out a gun with a red bow tied on top, matching with her best friend who had a smaller green ribbon used to tie her braids on their gun as well. She remained the brave, little girl her fathers raised her to be. She'd just have to wait until Papa Charlie comes down to protect her (though she remembers times when she had to help him instead, shooting down monsters and helping him up when he's fallen).

A giant hand gripped the side of the wall, and another slammed to the ground. She almost screamed in terror, if not for the fact that air caught in her throat and she began coughing once more. Flippa closed her eyes in fear of the big monster in front of her, wrapping her arms around herself to calm her fearful quivers.

“Oh- Flippa! Are you okay?”

It’s her papa. He’s here to stop the scary sounds, the scary rumbles, the scary giant. Flippa shakingly reached for him, who sounded so close yet so far. “Are you hurt? Sorry, papa went through some… changes.”

She realized the rumbling she had sensed earlier had stopped, and the giant’s presence still loomed, but how? Papa got rid of the monster, it sounded like he was right above her! Flippa opened her eyes, breath quickening as she immediately noticed the large hand still on the ground. She looked up and met eyes with her papa Charlie.

Papa smiled, that same smile he reserved specifically for her, the smile that soothed her troubles and made her feel safe from any scary monsters under her bed… but it was wrong. “Good morning, Flippa.”

While she knew her papa wasn’t completely human, he wasn’t… part giant or monster at all. No, it was wrong. She knew her papa. She knew he didn’t have black, protruding horns, ones that resembled the demon that she met during the afterlife. He didn’t have sharp teeth either, his teeth were strong enough to rip into a zombie’s flesh but it didn’t look like a large knife that could easily chew and gobble her up. He just.. looked wrong. The giant may share the same face, the same voice, the same smile as her papa, but he’s not her papa. No. Not her papa.

“Papa…” Flippa quietly called out for her papa, her real one.

The monster’s pointy ears twitched, another trait she knows he doesn’t have, and he replied like how her papa would. Same tone and all. She wouldn’t be fooled, she knew it was a trick. “Yeah? What do you need, Flippa?”

“Papa…” She whined, calling out again. She could feel her fear reach her eyes, and tears began to well up. Her voice was breaking as she backed away. “Papa..”

Flippa could see the monster twist his face in concern, piecing together something in his head. Whatever he was piecing together, she doesn’t know. “Oh, Flippa..” The monster moved, and she almost screamed again, yet she couldn’t find it in her to do so. He lowered himself even more despite kneeling already, trying to be at eye level with her. It doesn’t work, he’s still so big. “I- I know Papa looks different, but it’s okay! It’s still me, see? I’m not gonna hurt you.” His hand was slow, maybe he did it on purpose to not scare her, but as it approached her and took more of her vision, it only raised her heartbeat even more.

“NO! Go-... GO AWAY!” She found her voice, and she yelled. The monster looked hurt, maybe it would be the same face Papa would make, she wouldn’t know, she’s never yelled at her papa before. She never will. Yelling at the monster seemed to work though, because he stopped his attempt at grabbing her.

“Flippa, don’t cry… It’s me, Charlie, your papa?-”

“NO! YOU’RE NOT MY PAPA!” Flippa cried out, clenching her fists and stomping stubbornly on the floor. “I want… I WANT MY PAPA!”

“Slime..?” Papa Mariana’s voice was quiet, so quiet. Yet they both heard it. Flippa immediately ran to his side, hugging his legs and sobbing quietly. Her tears stained his yellow pants, she felt her papa’s hand gently hold the top of her head.

“Slime, it’s- what happened to you, man?” Flippa tugged her papa’s shirt gently. No, that’s not Papa Charlie. Don’t speak to him, let’s go to my real papa. She wanted to speak, to warn him, but sobs and whining only came out of her throat. Mariana didn’t take it as a warning, wrapping an arm around Juana’s legs and lifting her up, she began to hide at the crook of his neck, arms wrapping over his shoulders.

“Mariana…” The monster whispered, sounding like he was pleading, trying to be sympathetic. Juana whined again, moving impatiently on her papa’s arm so he could pay attention to her. Quietly, she mumbled. “I want to go home…”

Mariana adjusted her position so she’d have less of a chance of falling as she moves around in his arms, he looked at her in the eyes. His face softened up, gently kissing her forehead. “Bien, te llevaré a casa ahora mismo.” He softly spoke, wiping away the stains of tears on her face.

Somehow, the monster heard them. “You- are you taking her home? Let me come along. With you, please.” He begged. There was a look of uncertainty in Mariana’s eyes, he looked at Juana again. She shook her head a little, gripping tightly on her papa’s shirt. At the corner of her eye, she could see a slight twist of expression. He probably saw her shake her head.

“Sorry, Slime. Let me take Juana home, okay? Let’s… Let’s talk about this later.”

Without another word, Mariana turned away and Juana rested her head on her papa’s shoulder. She was facing the giant again and she almost regretted saying no. The monster was looking at Mariana with a dejected expression, maybe even apologetic. She turned away, hiding beneath the crook of her papa’s neck again and pretending to fall asleep.

Charlie wanted to plead with Mariana, even plead for Flippa to just stay a bit longer, but he saw their fear. Flippa had never yelled at him before, always so soft-spoken and sweet, his daughter. Yet, she’s the one who turned and ran away in fright. He would never hurt her, or Mariana. They had to understand that, but he couldn’t force them here and make them listen to him, so he stayed where he was.

And just like that, Charlie was left alone.

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

“Bien, te llevaré a casa ahora mismo.” ;; “Okay, I’ll take you home right now.” (Sorry if it's a mistranslation, I used Google translation. Please tell me if it's wrong so I can fix it!)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wrote this a really long time ago, literally like, right after Juana Flippa was revived, I immediately pulled out my laptop and began writing 💀 I finished it during my hiatus, but I never found the courage to post it. To celebrate (not) Flippa's return, I decided to post this!! I hope you enjoyed reading it :) *disappears back into the shadowss*

[koffeebean]

finally finished house of leaves. here is a long post with all of my thoughts regarding it.

— *⠀⠀uh. house of leaves spoilers below??

i think that house of leaves is possibly one of the best horror books that i will ever come across. because unlike other horror novels, house of leaves does not necessarily need a set monster or phenomenon meant to give you the creeps.

no, instead it uses our weapons against us: our minds. it isn't meant to make that much sense, with footnotes that take over entire pages, almost empty pages, crossed-out words and all that just happens within the book.

house of leaves manages to perfectly use suspense by making us create our own monster and have paranoia from it. it makes us scared of what we don't understand and don't know, using the quality that all humans have to create the perfect setting further.

we (humans) tend to try to find a reason to everything, because if it is not logical then it's no good for us. we fear the unknown. and everything about house of leaves is unknown- there is not a simple answer, hell, there is no answer at all, and it makes us stay at the edge of our seats waiting for something logical to explain all that we have read.

but there's no solution. that alone is the scariest part of them all. finishing the book left me with an inner void, one i doubt i can fill. it makes me want to read it again and again to try to find something that might give a meaning to it all, but i know i will not find anything.

similar to the house in the navidson's record, our mind is ever changing. a growing labyrinth that we cannot escape from so easily. our greatest enemy is our greatest ally. we are our own monsters, our own fears.

just how cool is that?

anyways. a 100/10 for sure. i will most likely come back to re-read the book in the future. not yet, i want to let all that i have read sit in my mind before i try to take on this beast of a book again.

but definitely a recommended read. perhaps not if you have bad paranoia.

ftaires! we have found ftaires!

[adureus]

⠀⠀⠀𝐀𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 : 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐀.

➤ Lithification / The Crystal’s Curse

Leechdoms against Aetherborne Lithasis, the disease of stone engendered upon a man's flesh or hight commonly the Crystal's Curse. Concretion comes oftenest of corrupt humors after exposure to surfeits of Aether, at which time the flesh whilom grows swarthy. To asses severity and progress of the disease, with frequent scarifying, whilom with mickle, whilom with slight, wean and draw calculus from the affected place. Should the excrescence be purulent the patient is not to be let blood on a vein, but rather be tended with potions of a perfluent and calming nature applied inwardly, with which the senses might be deadened. Let the sufferer drink this for sixteen mornings, more if there be need of it, and let him partake in neither milk of the Stolas, nor the flesh of Bo, be it wild or domesticke, nor flesh Wyrm, nor fresh Aldgoat, nor aught of that with armor of chitin or shells, as the Adamantoise, and by no means let them draw of the foul smoke of tabac. Should the excrescence be stony, the flesh is to be fomented and warmed and to be tended with warm appliances. You shall first warm the cold with triturated sulfur mingled with flecks of aurum weighed against one gil. Take then a kettle and put of the sulfur and aurum two parts to one of wine and mingle with bomb ash and Chocobo sharn and a wort hight Morganbeard of which the netherward part is grated and sifted through a sieve. Boil till that it be as thick as a tear of honey and smear wound therewith and overlay the wound with linen and woll of a ewe sodden in sharp vinegar.

⸻ The Art of FINAL FANTASY XVI

Aether in XVI borrows some similarities and properties from other Final Fantasy games ( considered the life force of the star and all living beings ). It's something to be respected and left undisturbed, and the consequences of its abuse range from mild to dire. ( eg. why the land reacts so violently to the Mothercrystals. One’s Aether is could arguably be attached to one's psyche as well. Hence why the Akashic are void of their wills. At the end of the day, everything returns to the star and its rudimental form ). Those who wield swords typically direct magic to their non-dominant hand as the curse will manifest there first, so they can preserve some dexterity should it render them immobile in the future. Both hands are used when more Aether is needed to channel magicks. 

Like mentioned earlier, Aether probably isn't intended to be weaponized, and it’s why Bearers / Dominants who concentrate and utilize it beyond its purpose are afflicted by petrification and neuropathic damage. It’s also why Crystal fetters cause pain and exhaust those enchained when removed. It gradually kills ( and possibly explains why Clive experiences so much pain when he absorbs the power of other Eikons. But, I'm curious as to why he feels no discomfort in Cid or Jill’s case, when Ramuh and Shiva are absorbed, respectively ). Disrespect nature and it'll disrespect you.

The nerves of the body could play a significant role in the channelling of Aether. Dominants prime and a loose outline of the nerves of the face light up while suffused with Aether, but in the process, it damages internals to the point of coughing blood if the Dominant is too liberal in its use. It's debatable if a Bearer is able to concentrate nearly as much as a Dominant could ( I don't remember any comparable examples ), so their symptoms aren't quite as violent. In the case of the Phoenix and Bearers who are capable of healing, they likely reverse injuries by tampering with their patients’ flow of Aether, repairing the flesh at the cost of their own. 

Just as an aside, Heartstone ( embedded in Clive and Joshua's vambraces aka The Founders’ Grasp(s), and found in the belly of elder Griffins ) is a byproduct of an excess of Aether. Contrary to what Harpocrates said, and maybe this is my deviation from canon, but I don’t think beasts are exempt from the negative affects of channelling Aether. The process is likely just slower for them compared to humans. I don’t doubt there are some that have considerably high tolerances to it by not weaponizing their Aether ( eg. Chocobos ). Torgal's a special case, and doesn’t call upon his own Eikon nor Aether, but rather the ambient Aether collected from his companions. His armour could act as insulation to protect him from the effects, like a Crystal shard. In Griffins, it’s limited to a sac around their hearts rather than the entirety of their bodies. Their anatomy probably evolved in such a way that Aether is condensed in such a way rather than suffused throughout like humans.

Also Jill's skin isn't pristine and free of scarring either, which is another deviation from canon, and I want to draw a visual of that later!!

[speaker-of-the-void-cats]

Ruinous Effigy

"That's not right." Banshee-44 taps a spectral analyzer against the Effigy's frame. Commander Zavala turns, closes the lid on a small golden weapon case, and walks to Banshee's side. "What have you found?" "Well, it's not petrified wood, but it is organic." "That's troubling," Zavala says and moves to run his fingers over the weapon's frame. "I wouldn't." A shallow cold saps the heat from Zavala's fingertips; he pulls back. "This wasn't in Eris's report." His voice is thin and stark with disappointment, as if spoken through dead winter air. "Guardian doesn't seem to notice either." Banshee clinks the analyzer into a tool tray. "Leeches a bit, kicks out Void. Sig's hazy, though. Wild."

CONTACT

[Report by VanNet encrypted router.] At last, another substantive message. The enemy's influence in our system may be more extensive than we realize. You must look for signs of its effect. Errors or crashes in Vex constructs. Eruptions of empowered or self-destructive Hive sorcery. Newly created Scorn. Revels and expeditions by the worshippers of the narcissist emperor. [Personal notes, shaved into quartz with a surgical stylus.] Our enemies are turning to the Darkness. The Red Legion is broken; the Almighty destroyed. The remaining Cabal will either join Calus's death cult or seek his daughter, Caiatl. And the Fallen—we have driven them to the edge of survival. Turned them against each other. How many will look to the Whirlwind for an advantage over their rivals? By pushing them from the Light, we have groomed more supplicants for the Darkness. We are in an arms race. If we do not learn to use our greater enemy's power, our lesser enemies surely will. I confronted Enina about the strange Ghost. It was not hers, she protested. I asked her why she had been so generous to me, so eager to please. She confessed that she had come on behalf of her fireteam: Guardians who are champions in the Drifter's strange games. They wish to learn the ways of the Darkness itself. To descend into the underworld, like ancient Inanna, and return. They want what I have learned here. How easily they might be corrupted. And yet it thrills me to know that I would not be alone in my work… I sent her away. I fear the Witch Queen's spies. The pine-apple blossoms are still growing. But now I stare at the purple flowers in the black soil and I wonder about poison. I am no longer hungry.

O: Hmph. Debating the reasons does not interest me. The data does. We have thought Neptune to be a dead end. A hope that was never realized. But she knew something about it, or perhaps something on it, which brought her power. Some deception or hidden truth; some bluff that she had held uncalled against the Witness and its Disciples.

O: [sips tea] Though my senses were darkened, that much was clear through the murk of her throne world. There was a secret she kept veiled, even to the last.

O: [sighs] I do not fully understand what I saw, and for a Human to understand a Hive mind... How many legends of katabasis do we have, Ikora?

I: We currently have dozens of stories about descending to the realms of the dead, though research has indicated many more must have existed, lost in the layers of Human history we will never lay eyes on. Mathematically, there were likely hundreds.

I: [pauses] Inanna and Dumuzid and Geshtinanna, Orpheus and Eurydice, Izanagi and Izanami, to name a few. Gods and goddesses, mortal and immortal lovers, always seeking to descend and return with the lost.

O: And neither the lost nor those who searched for them were ever returned the same.

I:...Is that how you think of yourself?

O: [scoffs] Do I sound that dire? All Guardians, all Lightbearers have done as much. But others, well... I wonder, do our former enemies have similar stories...

I: What exactly are you getting at?

O: Frequently, the underworld—or those realms beyond mortal existence—possess wisdom the living do not. What then, is knowledge from a dead Hive god vested in deception.... [long pause]

I: So. Neptune, and secrets.

O:...Inanna...

I: What is it?

O:...A thought. An echo of one. The return from the underworld, and Inanna cast off her veil... It makes sense. I did not understand, when I first felt clutching whispers. Carrying wisdom away from Kur when she strode into the sunlight again.

Osiris sits in the small stone garden beneath the Traveler; his attempts at communion unsuccessful. He had seen the Speaker stand here for hours. Ikora had begrudgingly agreed to appear in his place at the Remembrance. Her words were stern, but deep down, she knows victories have lulled in complacency. There is an imminent, daunting pressure. A noose awaiting a misstep. A delicate game. Braziers cast shadows; distracting shades flickering across his eyes, breaking his concentration. Osiris breathes. The stone gardens are endless space. The skyline is razed horizon. Breathe. He is alone in the void. Intrusions no more. There is a point in the depth. It cannot be directly viewed. Delve. Dive. Deeper. Still, only a point in the aphotic depth. The nothing. Expansive. Osiris sinks to gain new perspective. The point remains. It is so faint. Distant. Though he knows he can see the Light. His reach stretched thin. Clarity, in the space between his hand and the point. The osseous-white point. Dim now. The omnipresence was. Hungry acknowledgement. Vast. Himself against the enormity; an endless unfurling midnight. And a lone point.

ACCESS: RESTRICTED

DECRYPTION KEY: 73XK5V2PG1$AUN-326

REP #: 053-VIP-1315

AGENT(S): AUN-326

SUBJ: Psych eval

1. THIS DATA OBTAINED FROM SURVEILLANCE DEVICES AT 1315-HOME2.

2. In previous reports, I stated that it was my belief that #1315 had invoked some kind of paracausal event enabling the resurrection and return of enemy VIP #2015. This belief was predicated upon reports of creatures resembling the infamous "Echoes of Oryx" that Guardian forces engaged and destroyed en masse during the Taken War (cf. Ghost-stream footage here: CATHEDRAL.OF.DUSK.DREADNAUGHT).

This has proven false. Spectral analysis from multiple Ghosts participating undercover in Prime and Reckoning confirms that the impossible world at the heart of "the haul" is located in unknown space. (Cf. REP #001-012-PARAC-NINE.) Further, these Primevals differ in their literal elemental composition: low SNC, high ambient ΛCDM. #1315 has harnessed his "banks" to what appears to be an engine of pure potential. He no longer needs to pilfer the Ascendant Plane of Primevals, the oldest Taken in residence. He can create Primeval-likes from the energy of "the haul" and sheer force of will. As to the apparent presence of #2015, it is a falsehood. My handlers in the Praxic Order surmise simply: the shape of Oryx was the scariest Hive he could think of. He's tenacious, but he has a small mind.

3. Highly recommend we assess #1315 for the influence of paracausal forces or entities. Since the conclusion of the joint Vanguard/Praxic investigation into his operations, the subject has become increasingly erratic. Beyond running his Gambit and Reckoning drills with the Guardian population, he has done nothing but hole up in the Annex. He has always exhibited the signs of stress related to prolonged solitude that are typical of all surviving Risen; this manifests in the subject in prolonged and rambling conversations with either himself or his as-yet-unseen Ghost. However, his musings have become less and less coherent over time. Late into the night, away from the Guardian cohorts, he yells at voices that our surveillance equipment has never picked up. He has spoken to himself about trips across vast, interstellar distances to realms no Guardian has ever described.

Again, he has not left the Annex in ages. One might say that I am overstepping even Praxic boundaries here, but I would say to them: the subject is free to leave any time.

4. Following the results of my investigation, the subject has ceased regular reports to Lord Shaxx. I'm sure both prefer it that way. #1315 has broken none of the Vanguard's decrees in that time, nor have any further Guardians perished on his watch in Gambit or Reckoning. He is still a facilitator to murder and a thief, but he has done nothing to warrant eviction, as I had hoped. The Vanguard obviously still needs him.

5. The following is a transcript of one of his late-night rambling sessions logged for evidence:

TYPE: PRAXIC SURVEILLANCE REPORT

PARTIES: One [1]. One[1] Guardian-type, Class N/A [u.1]

ASSOCIATIONS: Gambit, Drifter, Annex

[u.1:01] What now? What the hell is it you're trying to tell me?

[the hum of a generator]

[u.1:02] You showed me a universe with no Light. Dominated by the Dark. What are you arguing? Steadfastness in the Traveler's dogma? Ha ha. That's not obtuse enough for y'all.

[u.1:03] No, no. I don't think so. Because then you showed me a reality without shadows, of pure Light from every angle. Nowhere to hide. Everyone begging to die, like we did in the Dark Age. Light's no gift, but I already knew that. What else you got?

[a metallic clink echoes]

[u.1:04] Yeah. I know the coin doesn't lie. It's the only thing in this world I trust for real. But you know what? I control the coin. And I make my own fate. No one writes on this but me, you got that? You pencil-necked, phantom-assed geeks. Have some respect for people's stuff.

[a second metallic clink]

[u.1:05] I've refused the Traveler's dogma for generations. And I'll reject yours.

[a rush of static as the feed distorts from Light-based radiation]

[u.1:06] You can't boil my brain, brothers and sisters–I see you tryin'. But I'm already there.

[a fizzling crackle as the feed distorts from Light-based radiation]

[u.1:07] And if you think you have a handle on Orin? Well, you didn't know her like I did. You slip up just once? That girl will eat you alive. Nine steak sounds mighty tasty if you can find it, scrape it all together. Get a fire goin' that'll cook it. What a fire that would be. You wanted to see what made us tick? Maybe Drifter wants to see what makes you stop.

[a dull roar as the feed distorts from Light-based radiation]

[u.1:08] Yeah, boy. That's a threat.

[u.1:09] Hello?

[u.1:10] No, not you. I still need you. This week. Get back to work.

[u.1:11] What? Nothing...

[u.1:12] Still hungry...

MESSAGE ENDS

Equinox.

The new Lighthouse obscured the silhouette of the sun. It cast a long shadow that wormed across Mercury's uneven terrain in orbital-locked perpetuity. Ships descended, some flawless, others to maintain what fragile holds the Vanguard claimed. Rust and sand baked, and distant space was alight with half-earned talk of posterity. No Cabal blemish remained in orbit. No shattered lines rewrote the landscape. There was only frenetic stillness. A discomforting itch unresolved. A knowing inclination that ignorance could not quash: unity is fragile. Vance stood in the old Lighthouse, frantically assembling the Infinite Simulacrum: a machine formed from bits of simulation seeds and connective Vex architecture to mimic a pocket forest. Textured notes and schematics derived from Osirian lore guided his hand. He heard stories from passing Guardians of increasingly frequent coronal mass ejections. Vast bursts of charged particles whipped into space and furled around a gravitational monster buried from sight and sense in the roar of the star-wind. Passage to Mercury had become more dangerous for the uninitiated. These unnatural motions were heralds of speculation, and he had read the signs. He knew the prophecies by heart and mind and intention. Ruin. Something new |and so very old| emerged, brother to a shriveling star: An angular |hungering patient yawning deep| shadow reached across Mercury. Uncounted |known| spires fell under its grasp |with uniform relief|. Dulcet tones brought low under lightless breadth and the weight of dark |salvation| hummed beneath the shadow. Their echoes spilled out |awakened| and flowed over crumbling spires |in conversation|. One singular spec of illumination blinked into being, |an end| seen by none, and then |many| spread as the shadow did. The old Lighthouse |spire's collective| beamed |rose| and flared as shadow overtook it |to meet the underbelly|. Vance |the implement| could hear |their inspired voices| weeping, not with tears, but in the |voracious| low |ceremonial| hum he had come to associate with death. He closed his eyes |and saw what was to come|. This day had many names. None would suffice.

Eclipse.

Long quiet overtakes the workshop, imposed by shuttered windows and empty streets below. They stand over the weapon. Banshee stares down and nods along to the ambient static. "What were you saying?" The weapon master's voice is framed in apology. Zavala puts a hand on Banshee's shoulder, smiles, and gestures to the weapon. "Equipment that uses the wielder's Light is not unprecedented." "It doesn't use it; it eats it. Thing's got an appetite. Works almost like, uh… a converter." "Is it dangerous?" "Nah. Guardian doesn't even seem to notice. I'll get you a write-up."

Lightfall.

The Gardener is hard to bother; she is constantly amidst her weeds, kneeling in the tangent dust, gloves covered in a mix of distant soils and metallic saps. She is listening to the music of the insects amidst the flowers, the unguent as it begins to drip from the ferns, the slight scratch of the Worm beneath, and not to you, and certainly not to your cries for help.

From the many wings of ruin blows a wind that will reshape this dead world.