#but a cool thing is that every shadow swords she holds will transform into a flaming rapier instead :] like the one i draw triumphant wal | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

notfeelingthyaster · 4 years

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Imagine (inspired by the incomplete fanfic Son of Underworld) (1/5) (Son of Hades!Percy AU)

Hey! Check the masterpost after reading this - there's a whole collection after :))

TW: Racism, anxiety, social isolation

Percy is a son of Hades

His mother was charmed by both Hades and Persephone, so he has the goddess' blessing.

Percy has deep black hair, and dark skin that's darker than the night. His eyes are like looking at the abysm - even so, a hint of green appears beyond his irises, the shade of Persephone showing itself slightly.

Every year, they don't go to Montauk: They go to a subterranean little house in the middle of the woods that Percy has no clue how his mother has money to afford renting.

His mother reads him the Hobbit - its a hole in the ground, with a little round door. He is sure he is a Hobbit.

Weird things happen to Percy. His eyes go all black one day and his mom freaks out. He explodes a bus. Once, he makes a mess of the Egyptian section of the museum he is in - he has no clue how.

People don't like touching Percy. Only his mom hugs him, and sometimes, Percy feels so alone he thinks he will someday merge with the shadows around him.

His ADHD gets worse every year, but misteriously, he can read anything if it's related to history. He is the best at history and geography and math.

He does math instinctively. He know earth, he feels the dirt in his fingertips and knows, he just knows.

He feels history being whispered in his ears by people that aren't there.

Percy goes to Yancy Academy. He is not a irredeemable case. No. He gets a scholarship on math. He never got a grade bigger than a E+ in English bc of his dyslexia, and he will never get more than a C- in Science, but he is good in math.

Pre-algebra is easy, and his teacher is kind. It's the first teacher that passes her hand in his head and say "Here, honey" when he misses home.

Professor Brunner is cool, but he feels uneasy at his presence. Like the man is just waiting for Percy to do something, and it doesn't help that, weirdly, Percy is not awful at Latin.

Nancy Bobofit picks on him once. She touches his skin, but it feels like touching something dead. She never looks at him again.

Grover is a good roommate. He is a good guy, a good friend, and they spend lots of time together. He doesn't creep Grover, no. They share a love for flowers.

He doesn't touch Grover. He is afraid that if he does, he won't have a friend anymore. Percy gets used to sweaters and gloves, all blue.

Because Percy may be a child of Hades. But he loves blue and soft tones of pink. He has soft sunset fluffy sweaters and loose washed-out jeans.

Percy is twelve when a guy in his class turns out to have only one eye and a javelin. His algebra teacher saves him with a black sword.

Mrs. Dodds, or Alecto, tells him everything. Or everything she can. She tells him he is in danger. She tells him there are powerful beings in the world. She tells him he is the son of one of them, but more than that and he would be at risk.

He sits through his finals earlier at her urging. Grover does too, and Grover sticks with him.

Grover is, perhaps, his only friend, and Percy is desolated to discover that Grover wasn't really his friend - he was just a guy, a satyr, tasked to protect him. Grover insists that they are truly friends, but his fatal flaw this time is holding grudges, and it takes a part of his heart.

He doesn't turn his back to Grover though. He is bitter, and he wants to punch him. But it still is everything he has.

Apart from his Mom. So they go talk to his Mom and get his things, and she cries at his shoulder and insists on going with them until the borders.

It goes badly. Sally "dies" in a flash that looks like thunder, by the hands of a Minotaur. Grover says Hades is sending his monsters after them - But Percy knows where thunder comes from.

Percy doesn't break one of the monster's horns - he breaks both, and carries Grover through the barrier, doing his best to not touch the satyr.

Nectar tastes like his mom's blue cookies. He cries after Grover leaves the room.

Mr. Brunner is Chiron. Alecto is a Fury. The greek gods are the powerful beings she was talking about.

Mr. D looks at him once, and for a second, pity flashes in his eyes. Most people forget that before he was Dionysus, he was Zagreus.

They play in silence. Percy doesn't make difficult questions. The blonde girl looks at him once, and she opens her mouth to say something, but she just closes it with a conflicted expression.

People look at him weirdly. Some regard the horns he stuck at his belt, some look at his skin with disgust (he heard it all before, the slurs). Some regard his soft appearance, and names are thrown, Demeter and Aphrodite and Persephone and Eros, and Percy want to scream and melt into the shadows.

He has a mother. No one knows his father.

He meets Luke. Luke is everything he aims to be - he shines with warmth, like a beacon. Percy doesn't touch him. He is afraid he'll drain him empty of light.

Annabeth and he are cold towards one another - the girl doesn't like his aura, he doesn't like her snobbish behavior.

He settles at Cabin 11. He doesn't mix up with the Ares children, he steers clear of Clarisse. He spends his time studying greek, listening to whispers in his ears, and trying new things.

Percy isn't very good with a sword - not one of them is well balanced to him. He is good with daggers - but horrible at close contact because he doesn't get very physical. He is okay with a bow, but it still isn't his thing.

He tries the spear - definitely no. The javelin? No. Mace? Too close combat, not enough balance.

Turns out his weapon of choice is a giant Warhammer, and sometimes a fierce-looking ax on the other hand, and everyone starts looking at him again, questioning and questioning.

Canoeing is not for Percy. Two minutes, and he got water sick. They are in a river for gods' sake!

Pegasi hate Percy. He doesn't try again.

He likes running with the dryads, and they like him. He likes the strawberry vines, he can make them look shinier, flowers bloom, even though he can't raise vines or produce anything.

He tries to deal with metal. He is good at it. The metal feels like water under his hands: he can do anything with it. Metal, stone, gems. He ignores the shadows curling at his feet, the flecks of green in the midst of the red fire.

Hephaestus, they say. He is not muscled like some of the other Cabin 9 children, but again, he is probably a legacy of Persephone or Demeter or some minor harvest god. He looks a little like Charles - it's not only the skin.

Everyone is willfully blind. Percy Jackson must be a child of Hephaestus. He deals with metal and fire, he put Clarisse on the floor with his Warhammer last week, and the girl was impressed instead of pissed. What if he likes the shadows a little?

Charles takes him under his wing, almost part of the cabin.

Percy uses a long-sleeved orange shirt under his camp shirt, being the sun, or rain.

He doesn't touch people, and everyone is used with each other's little quirks, so no one questions him.

Some Apollo and Demeter children steer clear of him like the plague, the ones who work in the infirmary, the ones that tend to the gardens and create life.

Some Apollo and Demeter children stick to him like glue, the ones that can sing someone to madness and induce sickness, the ones that destroy and kill.

Some children in his cabin still give him glances. Alabaster, Ethan, Clovis. They feel in him what's inside of them.

Luke is glued to his side. Luke basks on the power.

He burns food. To Hermes, for letting him sleep in the corner of the floor. To Dionysus, he is doing what he can, so far away from his dominion.

He doesn't burn food to his father. He burns it to Hephaestus.

He makes a silent prayer that he won't be an unclaimed child. He wants a family, he wants someone, anyone to come and be and love him because the only family he had is gone now.

In his dreams, he sees a somber man with a crown of bones, skin just like his. He sees a dryad so beautiful, she must be a goddess, with her pale green skin and hair like a thousand vines, flowers sprouting beneath her barefoot feet.

He confides in Luke about Alecto. The boy looks ready to explode of happiness, but Percy doesn't understand.

Percy stays unclaimed a month. Then Capture the Flag happens.

It's not a hellhound - this time? It's a sea serpent. A Cerastes.

They get the flag. Percy gets a helm of darkness over his head, a dark glow around it.

Luke thinks he is the only one who saw the sweet green glow behind it, the soft smell of pomegranates. He is wrong.

'Hades,' said Chiron. 'Earthopener, The Silent One, The Rich One, Lord of the Dead. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Underworld God'

Percy does not have a family. He does not have a cabin. Percy has nothing, and he is alone.

Not much changes. People steer clear of him. The only people he talks to are Annabeth, reluctantly on his part (even though she seems equal parts resignated and scared, like it somehow affects her), Luke, Charles, Alabaster and Ethan.

Some children of Apollo, Demeter and Hermes look at him curiously. Pollux and Castor spend more time in his vicinity.

A lot of gods are connected to the Underworld one way or another. Ares can call upon skeletons. Athena can drawn upon years of forgotten history. Aphrodite has a son in the second coming of Eros, so she knows - she knows - that before he was his son, he was a son of what is under even the Underworld.

Percy is afraid. He doesn't know his powers, what can he even do? Can he make the earth tremble, can he raise the dead, can he kill people with a touch? Or does his powers relies solely in metal?

He doesn't touch anyone. Not even through gloves - he has a jacket now.

Dionysus calls to him and offer to transform him in a pomegranate tree - but his mom is somewhere, and if he is capable of raising the dead, he wants her back.

The prophecy is the same, and their journey is not that different.

He doesn't think his father stole anything. But he might - who is Percy to know? The man has never once spoke with him. He doesn't know who his father is, and no one is giving him good impressions.

Their bus is exploded by hyperboreans, who, in the end, like all creatures who have ice in their hearts, answer to Poseidon.

They kill the Medusa. Percy sends the head to Olympus. They follow a poodle, but this time, the attack of the Echidna is not in an Arch. Is in the Chalk Pyramids in Kansas, and Percy falls off a cliff only for the earth to welcome him with open arms, as he raises an army of skeletons to do his bidding.

They still meet Ares. Percy swarms the aquatic park with skeletons - and it's the first time he tries shadow travelling. It works - but they end up, all three of them, in Wyoming.

At least now they can prove Wyoming is real.

He ignores the televisions. He ignores the stories. He ignores Gabe - because if there is someone he wouldn't mind strangling with his bare hands, it's Gabe.

Ares meet them there - their ride this time is an abusive circus caravan, and Percy sleeps the whole day of the travel, he doesn't even remember Ares or the suspicious backpacks. They free the animals and flee in Las Vegas.

The Lotus Hotel is much harder to resist this time around, seeing Percy sleeps what looks like two hours but feel like two days, but someone touches Percy, he freaks out and gets the three of them out of there (without shadowtravelling this time).

They pass Procrustes. They go to D.O.A. Percy insists - he has to do this alone. It's his father, his home turf.

Grover and Annabeth became loyal friends. They won't let him go alone.

They pass Charon easily. Percy keeps producing money everywhere - and Charon folds. Cerberus wants to play, and Percy plays with him. It's just a doggy. Percy vows to come back. Annabeth doesn't cry alone.

Luke's shoes betray him. He thinks that's the last betrayal of this mission, because it hurts somewhere deep in him.

The confrontation with his father is the worst. Hades has no regard for him. Calls him a liar, a cheater. Says he shouldn't ever have claimed him. That he stole Zeus' bolt for hubris, and his Helm for vengeance.

Alecto looks at him sadly. She knows he didn't do anything.

"You know nothing about me"

Percy shadow travels away with his friends. Its easier, in the underworld.

He fights Ares in the Mojave Desert instead of the beach. The god bleeds gold, and the helm is his.

"Tell my... my father, to expect my visit"

Alecto looks apologetic. He, although, is not.

He makes a sob story for the police. Is difficult, because people look at his skin and see a delinquent. They look at his skin and sneer, but Annabeth is just tanned, and Grover is a ginger.

Percy gives back the Master Bolt. Zeus looks like he would be better as a puddle on the floor - Percy disagrees.

Poseidon looks less - less angry, less probable of smothering him on the floor. He claps a hand on his shoulder, and it sounds like an apology (or the best he is going to get).

He feels tired. He goes back to camp for the last bonfire - but he isn't sure he is coming back next summer. Some people like him - but he hated being looked at and proded. He wants to see the Underworld. He wants to find his place.

He hates the Cabin 11. It's humiliating. It's degrading. Nemesis turns the tides of wars. Hecate controls the Mist. Morpheus can drive someone crazy - they aren't gods, they are feelings, things above nature, sons and daughters of Nyx.

He feels detached. Luke asks him to a walk.

Perseus hate some of the gods. Perseus hates Zeus, who took his mother. Perseus hates his father, who called him a liar and tried to deny Percy's place. Perseus hates that they don't have more cabins. Perseus hates that they have cabins for gods who don't have children.

But Perseus loves Annabeth, and Grover, and Charles. He has dreams - dreams of Persephone that mingle with his dreams about Kronos. He wants to meet her, even if she hates him.

He doesn't go with Luke, no. But he doesn't say no. He teethers the line this time - half his friends at one side and half at the other, and he wants to scream.

Alabaster and Ethan leave, and he doesn't blame them. Luke doesn't poison him, and doesn't blame him for staying. He probably thinks Percy is going to sway Annabeth, and he can't fault him.

He leaves a golden drachma in his hand - for him to call when he makes a decision.

And Percy truly doesn't know what it will be.

Zeus gives back his mother and Gabe is now a statue at Persephone's garden - but he holds a grudge.

Perseus is only twelve, when he discovers he is Percy only to his mother, Annie, Charles, Grover and Luke. To the world, he is Perseus, the one who destroys.

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pernatius · 3 years

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Lost in Space Part 11: Ch 2

Summary: Finally, on Commander Knox’s spaceship, the trio finds themselves running out of time before the commander becomes an all too powerful Watcher.

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Both grab the doorway. Like with Ashley, both Tauvoxes were fitted with gauntlets, but theirs are fingerless. Their sheer strength bends the walls and stretches them, breaking the glass part of it. We cover our eyes from the flying of sharp, translucent material.

Shiitake grabbed Saamuki and me and shoved us down as the two of them thrust their claws at us. They ripped through the circular wall behind us, shattering the already cracking glass and tearing through the metal, and graze against Shiitakee’s arm. The cuts are minor, but he still cringes at the pain. It will take him seconds to heal, but I still am stricken at seeing his blood.

Saamuki pushes the two minotaurs away from us with her powers. She lashes a blue ray of light at them. They skid across the floor, but not too far from us because both giants grab the floor before they can be forcibly thrown any further. It’s still enough distance to give us time to get out of that cramped, broken space.

The leftover glass behind us continues to crack until it eventually shatters. Just in time yet again and yet again, it’s Shiitakee that protects us when he catches Khavas’ fist. The long, thick, and stringy vegetable tissues that make up his arms and legs expand a moment after the impact, nearly tearing apart. They contract back after when he stops sliding backward, but his body proceeds to shake from having to stop a mass triple his mass.

Shiitakee is on one knee when he asks through his whimpering, “Any of you going to step in?”

Mikrovos comes up from behind the bigger Tauvox. His shadow engulfs the wilting mushroom. He’s about to turn Shiitakee into a pancake until Saamuki blasts him. She runs over to him with glowing blue fists when he falls with a hard thud. I get out my sword again and step over to help Shiitakee, but the Tauvox he’s engaging with points his free hand at me. The gauntlet stretches and clutches me, and when I’m lifted several feet in the air, he tightens his grip until I feel my ribs cracking. I scream, flail, and try to keep my sword from slipping out of my shaking hand.

Even with my limited mobility, I try jerking my sword at my suffocating seal. It merely clinks rather than cutting me free.

Saamuki punches Mikrovos across his face, but he follows it up with his own punch. She dodges that and even catches the next one, but she doesn’t get to counter his kick. The kick from the beefy alien flings the flail alien, causing her to come barreling back towards the elevator, but she readjusts herself so that her feet hit it instead of her back—the metal dents around her feet.

Just like with Khavas, Mikrovos extends one of his gauntlets towards her. She tries blasting at it, but she’s too slow. Saamuki is grabbed too, but he swung her over us, across the room, and then let go when she passed us.

Saamuki smashes through the roof, and I am sent falling back down. We crash into the floor. Someone screams as soon as we do.

My body tried to relent. It screamed at me, but I forced it to get back up. Breathing became difficult. It is as if a Tauvox is sitting on me, pressing their mass onto my chest. Considering my chest has collapsed in on itself as I can see through blurry eyes that some pieces of ribs have pierced through my skin, of course, with my squirting blood, the feeling makes sense. Standing back up is met with slipping and falling back down face first. I still have my sword in my hand through my struggles, which I transform into a shield and get my blaster out. I try aiming it at Khavas because he’s currently engaged in a brawl with Shiitake. This is probably the first time I’ve ever seen him truly mad. Annoyed he’s been, but nothing even remotely close to this. He swings left and right, giving no time for Khavas to do anything but be his punching bag. With every swing, his fists crack, but they quickly reknit. The same is said for Khavas, but his nanites can’t process fast enough because of the downright brutal jabs. His chest is covered in bruises, a sizable second-degree burn, and his face is covered in his blood. He can’t stand anymore, and I think I can see pieces of rib have torn through his flesh as well. The Tauvox goes unconscious, hitting the floor; the out of breath victor tries cooling his smoking hands by shaking them about. Although his victory doesn’t last long. Mikrovos brings himself back into our senses, Shiitakee’s mainly, when he grabs the worn mushroom’s face.

I crawl out of that crater and limp towards them. I shoot as well, but he blocks all but one. It digs into his flesh, dispersing a clump of fur on his cheek, and twists it until it comes out of him. Mikrovos huffs then while squeezing the now squirming Shiitakee. Something takes over me. Is this what Ojos was talking about? Heart racing, everything in the room blurs but him. I don’t feel the pain anymore. I didn’t even realize I dived away from his fist and smashed the shield into his stomach, cutting into it, but as soon as the collision occurs, Shiitakee’s head explodes in his grip.

He drops the headless Shiitakee. Around Shiitakee’s twitching body is his blood gushing out of his neck and pooling underneath him. I turn back to the beast above me and look into his lifeless eyes. I shove my shield upwards. It smashes his face. His head juts back, and when he returns it forward, I see that his nose is bleeding, but I shove the shield again into his face. He growls and reforms both of his hands into blades. They are rammed towards my neck, but I shoot into his mouth, missing his spinal cord. It’s now his attention is focused on himself. Mikrovos presses down on the wound, covering the spurting blood.

I’m crying, but I’m smiling. I’m too scared to mourn yet. “It’s because of you I’m standing before you. You’ve saved my life, my dear friend, too many times. Now I am going to save yours once and for all.” My shield’s fire soars onto me. It consumes me as I transform the broad piece of metal into a war hammer. The weapon, the biggest one I’ve ever had to create, has two faces on either side as big as the Tauvox’s face. Without this invigorating feeling, I wouldn’t be able to hold this monstrous weapon upright with just a single hand. I wouldn’t be able to hold it at all.

I ready myself, widening my stance and tightening my grip. The hole in Mikrovos’ neck must’ve been patched up because he returns his focus onto me and stretches both his gauntlets towards me. I outmaneuver some and strike the rest. Shoot, too, as I’m circling around and inching closer towards him. Mikrovos evades all of them. I knew he would, and I made such a seemingly pointless effort because it made it all that much easier to get onto one of his gauntlets and dash across the rippling armor. Upon noticing how close I am to him, he tries batting me off with his other hand. I slid under it and beat my hammer on his forehead.

Another Tauvox lay knocked out. Both will get up soon, but I still head to the comrade I have left and begin to carry her away from the brutality. Upon my touch, she begins to wake up, but she’s groggy.

“S-Shiitakee...Where is he?” Her eyes move around the room until she spots what’s left of the man in question. She tears up, but she can’t bring herself to cry. I place her head on my chest. We stand there in silence as my eyes linger on Shiitakee’s lifeless body. I still can’t bring myself to cry, but I can bring myself to bring our focus back to the bright room at the end of this hallway. Both of us drag our feet.

The crystal is colossal and purple. Besides the size and color difference compared to the Tauvoxes’ spaceship, this crystal is covered in beating veins. They cover the room as well. What was once an energy source now looks to have become a parasite. Stepping inside the room validates that assumption because the two of us become weak. She’s slipping in and out of consciousness, her eyes flick from blue to its regular color, as streams of blue light emanating from her float towards the sickly rock, and now I’m having trouble keeping us both upright. When I get on my knees, she moves a trembling glowing blue hand towards me. I, in turn, grab it with a fiery one.

Our unworldly powers blend into each other and surround us, creating a rainbow-colored bubble. Our energy comes back to us, but we find out we have our backs to Commander Knox as he slowly claps. I have my blaster ready to blow off his head, and she’s ready to blast him into deep space to choke on his failure, but he grabs the two of us before we can and throws us further into the room.

We go tumbling, and as I do, I see he rips into particles. He teleports on top of me and presses down on my neck with his foot. Saamuki comes right behind him and blasts a blinding ray of light. That would’ve easily killed Cala, but Knox reaches out towards it. The blast doesn’t even scratch the metal arm. He grabs her face and throws her across the room. She goes right through the wall across from us and several others beyond it.

Knox laughs at my pitiful attempts at trying to pry him off. I feel myself growing weaker again. “I didn’t get a good look at you the last time we saw each other, cousin. What an ugly sight you are.”

“Your people have gotten this far yet none have created a mirror.”

“A true shame, isn’t it? But I don’t need one when I know the beauty I carry, centuries worth of splicing and dicing our DNA with some of the most powerful civilizations.”

“Power, but the catch was your humanity.”

He grabs my collar and lifts me up. Then, slams me into the wall directly facing us. “Your people would do the same things I have done. In fact, they have done them—wars and slavery. Our histories have always been about atrocities. It should not be a surprise a semi-human would be at the forefront of the second intergalactic war, but we’ve always done it all for a reason.

“So, now I’m here asking why you are trying to stop me? Humans have made Earth a living hell, but they’ve also made it one of the best planets in the universe. I’ve caused destruction. Beyond these walls, thousands are dying as we speak, but sacrifices must be made to make the universe a better place.

“The Lords are merely puppets. They do not care for us, but I do. Do you really think it doesn’t hurt me knowing so many are dying out there?”

I don’t respond.

“This is the part where you explain yourself before I kill you.”

“How did you even know we would be here?”

“Instead, you bring out a question rather than an answer? Fine. Relieving you of your worries is the only mercy I can grant you.

“That idiot Syco, a child that kissed the ground I walked on, has been missing my calls, so of course I began to question. I wondered for some time if he finally moved on from his daddy issues. Thankfully my suspicions were proven to be right long before you entered my ship.” He snaps his fingers. S1Y jumps down from the roof with a familiar, limp shape over his shoulder. He throws Skeema’s pummeled body towards us.

Skeema’s eyes are swollen shut, his legs are bent the wrong way, and he is covered in dried blood. He’s breathing, but barely. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled out.

Another snap of his fingers and one of S1Y’s hands impales him.

“Skeema!”

Because of the state that Virmus is in, he doesn’t relent when S1Y yanks his still-beating heart out. The robot squeezes it until it explodes. I cry out.

“There are plenty of places to hide on this ship, but there’s only so much time before a rat becomes hungry. He survived far longer than I calculated. I’ll give him that.”

Once more my fire envelopes me. I punch the Virmus’ commander square in the face with such a force he lets go of me and crashes into his crystal. He lands back on the ground with a shaking body and looks up at me with the broadest, toothy grin I’ve ever seen from anyone.

S1Y is about to engage me, but with the third snap of Knox’s fingers, the robot returns to being an audience member. Knox dusts himself off.

“All of you messed up fucks only know how to care about yourselves! You make us pawns in your sick little game, but us pawns are people just like you. We have history. We have thoughts. We have feelings. All so meaningful, precious, but it takes you to be brought to your lowest for you to finally understand that, so that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to cut off that stupid smile off your horrid face.”

“The outdated fighting against its perfect form?”

“More like it’s broken form.” In an instant, I’m in front of him with my longsword about to slice off his head. He stops me from doing so with just a single finger pressing against the blade. Again, not even a cut. He smirks as my eyes widen.

“I am God and in these few minutes you have left I will make you understand that.”

#230 #lost in space #my writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr

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takerfoxx · 4 years

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She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, Season 5, Episode 4, “Stranded,” First Impressions!

So as has been the tradition with this season so far, there is one thing I really want to highlight, so I’ll go ahead and knock out everything else first.

Okay, so this is probably the first episode that I’ve completely enjoyed Swift Wind. Like I’ve said before, my issue with him is how often his ego and grandstanding causes problems for others and how little he ever notices. But him morosely keeping watch and trying to update Adora on what’s been happening despite knowing that it’s probably hopeless? I like that. Him and Scorpia confiding in one another? I really like that. And Swift Wind basically turning into Luis from Ant-Man as he tries to sum up everything? LOVE THAT! Give me more of that Swift Wind, please!

Also, bless Scorpia for confirming that Kyle really does have a crush on Rogelio. All of my YES!

Also bless the writers for just going all-in on the “Robots make Entrapta HORNY!” joke. We already had her thirst over Horde Prime’s robots, and now she is going to spend, ahem, quality time with Darla. Yes please.

And since Entrapta is roughly around my age, I can say this without seeming creepy: Entrapta is kind of hot when she does that face.

You know, the second that the Star Siblings introduced themselves, I knew that they were repurposed characters from the original She-Ra. For reference, this is what they used to look like.

Oh my. So very eighties. I also note that they switched Jewelstar from female to male. Whether it’s to balance things out or to hint that he’s actually trans could go either way. Still, it’s a cool update. I like them. Hope they stick around.

Also, Adora’s attempt to explain Catra was basically the perfect summary of their relationship.

"No, no Catra is not my friend... She used to be but that was a long time ago and she's tried to kill me a bunch of times since then. But she saved Glimmer and maybe that means there's still good in her and now... I don't know. It's complicated."

Yeah, that just about sums it up.

And we finally get our first She-Ra transformation without the sword! It’s happening!

So, anyway, let’s talk about Bow and Glimmer.

Oh my God, I love this.

See, when Bow started acting unusually cold toward Glimmer, I was sort of confused, given how hard worried he had been about her and how hard he had worked to get her back. But when Adora pointed out that he hadn’t really had time to come to terms with how much Glimmer had screwed up, okay yeah, that makes sense.

But then I got worried that they would try to make Bow out to be the bad guy, that he would be portrayed as unreasonable for not immediately forgiving Glimmer and telling her that it was okay when it clearly wasn’t. I mean, look: I totally get why Glimmer acted the way she did last season. She was a teenager thrust into a stressful leadership position against an encroaching enemy while still trying to deal with her mother’s loss as DT worked to undermine her actions at every moment. So it made perfect sense that she would seek out Shadow Weaver’s help. It made perfect sense that she lashed out at Adora like she did. It makes perfect sense that she would activate the Heart of Etheria. But it doesn’t make it right. It doesn’t change the fact that she had nearly killed everyone.

So it really hits home when Bow, who is normally Mr. Optimistic Friendship and Teamwork, would be the one to be still mad at her, and I was worried that someone would yell at him for still holding a grudge or that his surliness would almost get everyone killed and he would go “My God, what have I done?!” like he has in the past.

But it didn’t. The show didn’t blame him at all. Hell, it validated his anger. They had Glimmer straight-up say, “Look, I know you’re mad at me, and you’re right to be mad at me, and you can be mad at me for as you want, and I understand if we don’t go back to being friends. But I’m going to still be here trying to do everything I can to make things right,” which finally got Bow to warm up to her.

And that’s exactly how it should have been handled! That’s exactly what she should have said, and I love that it went that way! Sometimes you are going to be mad at someone you care about. Sometimes “Sorry” isn’t going to be enough, and sometimes forgiveness has to be earned! And I love that they had this seemingly filler episode to explore that! That was wonderful!

Bless this show. Bless.

#she ra and the princesses of power #she ra #spop #swift wind #scorpia #kyle #rogelio #adora #bow #entrapta #glimmer #star siblings #jewelstar #tallstar #starla #catra #reaction #spoilers

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swanqueeneverafter · 4 years

Text

Sins of the Past Pt.13

Wonderland. Whispering Woods. (Ella and Will walk through the woods.) Ella: “What do you know about the Grendel?” Will: “Nothing pleasant. Only a few people have seen him and lived to tell about it, and what they tell is nasty.” Ella: “What would a creature like that want with the Forget-Me-Knot?” Will: “I suppose he wants it for the same reason the Caterpillar does, Ella. There's power in knowing things other people don't. Knowing their secrets, things they've tried to hide, mistakes they've made.” Ella: “So we're going to make the most cruel and powerful insect in Wonderland even more powerful and therefore even more cruel?” Will: “That looks to be the size of it.” Ella: “There must be a way to get what we want without just putting our troubles onto others.” Will: “Well, what if I was to tell you you could be with your mother and be happy forever, but somebody else had to suffer because of it? Would you do it?” Ella: (Hesitates:) “Well, that's not an option-” Will: “Maybe it's not an option today, but it could be tomorrow. How much is she worth to you, Ella? Don't forget what we're doing here. It's thieving.” Ella: “Yes, I'm getting that.” Will: “Yeah. You wanted a thief well, you got one.” (Through a break in the trees, they arrive at the Grendel’s house.) Ella: “Do you think the Grendel's in there?” Will: “Doesn't matter. We don't have a choice. We're going in there either way. (Ella draws her sword and walks towards the house:) You gonna challenge him to a duel?” Ella: (Stops, turns to him:) “I've fought monsters before. Have you?” Will: “I've stolen from them. And what my experience has taught me is, the only thing better than defeating a monster is never having to fight one in the first place.” Ella: “Well, how do you propose we get the knot from him then?” Will: “Simple. I'll create a diversion. Once I've drawn the Grendel out, you go inside, grab the knot, and run. If we lose each other, meet at Greener Pastures.” Ella: (Impressed:) “That plan is actually quite sound. You really are a thief.” Will: “Aye. Follow me. (They continue walking to the house:) The trick is poise. Keep your cool and always stay one step ahead of your mark.” (At that very moment, Will and Ella literally fall into a trap. Landing hard at the bottom of a pit, they are both knocked unconscious. Looking down on them from above, the Grendel surveys his captives.)

Outskirts of Valencia. (Having bumped into Richard and Roberta, Henry relays his plans of joining Ella's quest in Wonderland.) Richard: "Well, obviously I'm in!" Henry: "Really? That... that would be-" Richard: "Just like old times!" (Happily, Richard grabs Henry and pulls him in for a hug.) Roberta: "I'm sorry to break this up, but Richard, we already have a quest remember? We have to save our Kingdom from being stolen out from us by that odd Catrina woman." Richard: "Oh come now, surely we can do both! I mean how often does an opportunity like this come along?" Henry: "Actually... I wouldn't mind the company." Richard: "There now, you see? How could we leave Henry in his hour of need?" Roberta: "Oh I don’t know, Henry didn't seem to have a problem leaving Ella to get on with things. (Turns to Henry, with a false smile:) Did you, Henry?" Henry: "Er... Hey! There's Jasmine arriving on a flying carpet!" (Although normally this would be seen as a pretty feeble way of avoiding Roberta's question, Queen Jasmine does in fact arrive, floating down to them from atop her magic carpet.) Jasmine: "I got your message and came as soon as I could. (Senses the tension in the air:) What's going on?" Henry: (Innocently:) “Nothing.” Roberta: "Henry was just going to explain why he abandoned Ella and now wants us to help him find her again." Richard: "Well that's a bit harsh-" Roberta: "No, no. I think we'd all like to hear his explanation." Jasmine: (Her arms now folded:) "I'm quite curious, actually." Henry: (Sighs:) "Look I know I messed up and I'm trying to make things right. If you don't want to help me, I completely understand." (Richard pouts at Roberta, who finally relents.) Roberta: "All right, fine. You can go with Henry." Richard: "Excellent!" Roberta: "I'm flying to Agrabah with Jasmine to come up with a plan to save our Kingdom. When we've thought of one, I'll come and find you." Richard: (Kisses her:) "Thanks, baby, you're the best." Roberta: "Mm alright but remember that Catrina has sent men out looking for us. Promise me you'll stay out of trouble." Richard: "I promise. (Giving Henry one last dirty look, Roberta climbs aboard the magic carpet beside Jasmine and flies away:) This is going to be so much fun!" (Hoping that he doesn't regret his decision, Henry smiles and together they set off on their journey.)

Camelot. Council Chamber. Night. (Guinevere shakes her head while watching from the window as a vast army gathers outside the city walls.) Guinevere: (To Soldier:) “Those are Bayard’s colours, aren’t they?” Soldier: “Yes, Your Majesty. They intend to attack at first light.” (The soldier leaves as Morgana enters.) Morgana: “Guin?” Guinevere: “All is lost. We’ll be massacred, every last one of us.” Morgana: “No one has to die.” Guinevere: “What do you mean?” Morgana: “Those that defy them, those that choose to fight, they will surely die. But those who do not resist, those that choose to welcome change, they will have a future here. Everyone has a choice, Guin.” (Realising that she’s been duped, Guinevere bows her head for a moment then gives Morgana a forced smile.) Guinevere: “What choice would you have me make?” Morgana: “Boyard is sympathetic to our cause. He signed a treaty with Uther and would see his rightful heir on the throne. If you were to step aside, quietly, then there needn’t be any bloodshed.” Guinevere: (Hesitates, then smiles:) “You know I have always been loyal to you, Morgana. And I always will be.” Morgana: (Morgana smiles and takes her hands:) “Then have no fear. No harm will come to you, I promise you that.” (Guinevere smiles and nods. Morgana hugs her. Guinevere looks uneasy, Morgana smirks while looking out at the army.) Woods. Lady Helen’s Tent. (The singer for Elsa’s party, Lady Helen, camps in the woods.) Lady Helen: (Humming to herself, she hears a noise outside her tent:) “Hello? Gregory?” Gregory: (Poking his head inside the tent:) “Lady Helen.” Lady Helen: “Is all well?” Gregory: “Yes, ma’am. With luck, we should reach Arendelle late tomorrow.” Lady Helen: “That’s good.” Gregory: “I’ll be outside if you need me. (He leaves the tent. Also hearing a noise, Gregory draws his sword:) Who’s there? Who’s there?” Lady Helen’s Tent. (An unseen figure enters the tent, holding an effigy of Lady Helen.) Stranger: “Akwele seo magdp. Akwele seo magdp. Akwele seo magdp. (Standing, Lady Helen watches as the figure stabs the effigy several times, killing Lady Helen. Standing over the dead woman:) Ghefrolinz grimpoxin kouata.” (The stranger transforms into Lady Helen.)

Neverland. Night. (Regina and Emma sit by a warm campfire under a blanket of stars, waiting for them to fall.) Regina: "I believe I was promised falling stars, and yet just stars.” Emma: (Whispers:) “Be patient. It's almost time.” (As if on cue, the star-fall begins. The stars float down like snowflakes.) Regina: “That's incredible.” Emma: “You know, they say, one kiss under the falling stars, and it brings you good fortune.” Regina: “If you want to kiss me, you don't have to make up a story.” Emma: “It wasn't a story.” (Regina gives Emma a look as if to say ‘Really?’ To which Emma replies with a shrug and a look that says ‘Alright, but can you blame me?’ Laughing, Regina leans over and kisses Emma. A kiss that Emma receives and responds to most eagerly. Eventually, after momentarily quenching their thirst for each other, they settle back down and stare up at the sky.) Emma: “I’ve always loved the stars.” Regina: “Mm. Me too.” Emma: “Back when I was living on the streets, I met this kid who couldn’t have been more than a few years older than me. He taught me about the stars, the constellations, the planets. On the last night I saw him, he gave me an old compass. (Laughs:) It never really worked, you know? It would spin in all different directions, but I kept it with me for the longest time. (Regina watches Emma lovingly, utterly engrossed in her story:) I used to pretend that the compass had great magic and that every time I looked at it, it was pointing me towards home, back to my family. It was the only thing that kept me going for a long time. The promise of something better, just waiting for me to find it.” Regina: “What happened to it?” Emma: (Shrugs:) “I lost it. I must’ve dropped it somewhere along the way between foster families. It provided me a sense of comfort, believing my family was still out there.” Regina: “I’m sorry. (Leans up to kiss Emma’s cheek, then hears something. Whispers:) There’s someone in the bushes.” Emma: (Whisper:) “I know.” (In a flurry of movement, both women are on their feet, ready for action.) Regina: “Come out, come out wherever you are.” Emma: “Ooh nice! Creepy and intimidating, I like it.” Tiger Lily: (Still cloaked in darkness:) “Please, I mean you no harm.” Regina: “I’d have a better time believing you if you weren’t hiding in the shadows.” Emma: “Show yourself!” Tiger Lily: “I’m coming out.” (Slowly, the woman steps out of the darkness into the light. While Regina remains cautious, recognition dawns on Emma’s face.) Emma: “Tiger Lily?” Regina: “You know her?” Emma: “She’s a fairy. (Looks her up and down:) Or was.” Tiger Lily: “Please, you’re both in great danger. You must come with me.”

Wonderland. Grendel's House. (Waking up on the floor of the kitchen, Will looks beside him to see Ella still unconscious. Both are bound with rope at their hands and feet.) Will: "Ella. (Nudges her awake:) Ella." Ella: (Waking with a start:) "Will, are you all right?" Will: "I've been better. Where are we?" Ella: (Looking around:) "I think we're in his house." Will: "Actually, I think we're in his kitchen. (The Grendel enters, carrying firewood:) Excuse me, sir?" (The Grendel growls at them, picking up a large knife before walking over to the wheel to sharpen it.) Ella: "There has to be a way out of here." Will: (Staring at a pile of human bones in front of him:) "The only way out seems to be through his digestive tract." Ella: "You said you were such a great thief. Maybe it's time you show what you can do." Storybrooke. Bakery. (Hook and Rumplestiltskin enter while the woman behind the counter is putting on the finishing touches to a gingerbread house.) Hook: "'Scuse me, ma'am. Are you, uh, Hilda, the proprietor of this bakery?" Hilda: "Mm-hmm. This is delicate work. I will be right with you." Hook: "Actually, we're here to pick up a cake. For Queen Elsa's birthday?” Hilda: “Ah yes.” Hook: “My wife was supposed to be collecting it herself, I don't suppose you've seen her today?" Rumplestiltskin: "Tall woman, blonde. Likes to wear black and has breath like brimstone." Hook: "Oi." Hilda: (Chuckles:) "I remember. (Turns to face them:) But I didn't see her." Hook: (Realises she's blind:) "I... I apologize. I didn't-” Rumplestiltskin: “Bit off-season for gingerbread, isn't it?” Hilda: “Never. It's my number-one seller. As it was for my predecessor, before the unfortunate incident.” Rumplestiltskin: (Explains as Hook looks to him, confused:) “Somehow there was a mix-up and one day the baker, or Muffin Man, as he liked to be known, made a batch of gingerbread men who came to life. It was an unusual, albeit delicious couple of days spent tracking them all down.” Hilda: “That’s not the incident I was referring to.” Hook: “No?” Hilda: “No, I meant the reason the Muffin Man decided to sell up in the first place. Involving the Mayor and the Sheriff?” Rumplestiltskin: “Ah, yes. That incident.” Hilda: “The poor man never got over those imprints he saw in the flour.” Hook: (Clears his throat:) “That must’ve been quite the sight. Now, the cake?” Hilda: “Oh, yes. It’s back here, if one of you gentlemen would lend me a hand?” Hook: “Of course. (Hook walks around the counter, lifting the large box and walking carefully towards the door:) Thanks for your help.” Hilda: “Cookie for the road? They're fresh out of the oven.” Rumplestiltskin: “Oh, no, thank you. Though, they look delicious. Have a good day.” (Having retrieved the cake, Rumplestiltskin and Hook leave the bakery.)

Arendelle. (Elsa smiles as she watches Lily organise the servants.) Lily: (Running a hand through her hair:) "Everything that could go wrong is going wrong! The cake's not here, the singer hasn't arrived. The decorations aren't hanging right." Elsa: "Lily, Lily stop. Relax, everything is going to be fine. I love what you've done here. It's magical." Lily: "It's a mess." Elsa: "I love it. Come here. (Pulls the stressed out woman to her:) Nothing in this world matters to me more than being able to spend my birthday with the people I love." Lily: "Yeah, but-" Elsa: (Forcing a chocolate treat in Lily's mouth:) "I already have everything I could want for my birthday, right here. Okay? (Unable to form words due to the caramel filled candy in her mouth, Lily nods:) Good, now that's settled I think it's time we get ourselves ready. The guests will be arriving soon along with the cake and the singer and everything will be just perfect." (Playfully patting Lily on the butt, Elsa leads them out of the room, grabbing a chocolate treat for herself on the way.) Storybrooke. Past. (During the honeymoon stage of their marriage, Regina and Emma walk lazily down the street together. With Henry off finding his own adventures, the pair have been getting to know each other better. Sharing hopes, fears, dreams and of course, sexual proclivities. Lately their mutual yearning for each other has resulted in some close calls in some very unusual places. After almost getting caught in the Charming's hayloft, they've agreed to play things a little safer, for the time being. Arriving outside the bakery, Regina reads the sign in the window.) Regina: "Typical. I haven't been able to come here since the Muffin Man took over and now he's out to lunch." Emma: "They say his stuff is pretty great. I'm glad someone finally bought the place. Just seeing Ingrid's shop all boarded up made me a little sad." Regina: "Mm. Well as Mayor, it's my civic duty to make sure his goods are up to standard." Emma: "Still keeping your hands in everything after all this time?" Regina: "But of course. (Regina uses her magic to unlock the door:) Shall we?" Emma: "You know that's breaking and entering. You could get charged for that." Regina: "There was no breaking. Just entering." (Regina enters the shop and Emma follows.) Emma: "Very clever, but you could still get caught." Regina: "Oh it's fine. I'm friendly with the Sheriff." Emma: (Already checking out the sticky buns behind the counter:) "Uh huh. So, see anything you like? (Turns to see Regina has vanished:) Regina?" Regina: (Calling from the back room:) "I'm in here." (Following the sound of her wife's voice, Emma gasps at the sight that greets her. Clad in only her underwear, Regina stands behind the large table, kneading dough in her hands.) Emma: "What are you doing?" Regina: "There's nothing quite like a fresh loaf of bread and, seeing as no one's here to make one for me, I thought I'd do it myself." Emma: "Okay, but why are you in your underwear?" Regina: (Calmly:) "Two reasons. One, I obviously don't want go get my clothes covered in flour. And two, (She pauses her kneading of the dough and leans over the table:) I thought you'd appreciate the view." Emma: (Sparing a backwards glance to the shop:) "We don't even know how long he's gonna be gone for." Regina: "Well then I guess, (Regina smooths her hands over her chest, leaving traces of flour over herself:) we'd better not waste any time."

(Regina picks up a dishcloth from the bench and twirls it, pulling at the ends sharply for effect.) Emma: (Her eyes widening as Regina approaches:) "What are you going to do with that?" Regina: "We're going to have some fun." (Regina raises the makeshift blindfold towards Emma who protests.) Emma: "What, I don't get to see anything?" Regina: (Pursing her lips:) "Fine. (Putting down the dishcloth, Regina reaches behind her back and unclasps her bra. Her red lace panties are removed next. Standing with her hand on her hip:) Better?" Emma: (Smiles:) "Much." (Picking the dishcloth back up, Regina proceeds to place it over Emma's eyes, fastening it around her head. Leaning in, Regina tastes Emma's lips, pulling back slowly to pepper kisses along the blonde's jawline.) Regina: (Whispering in Emma's ear:) "No peeking." (Regina begins by removing Emma's jacket. Then, running her hands up underneath the hem of her shirt, rolls the offending garment up Emma's body. With Emma's helpful raise of her arms, the shirt joins the other items of clothing currently strewn across the bakery floor. Casually pushing the straps of Emma's bra down her muscled arms, Emma trembles at the touch of Regina's practiced hands.) Emma: (Sensing Regina step backwards:) "What do you have in mind? (Without replying, Regina reaches into the barrel of flour, grabbing two handfuls and tossing them on top of the wooden bench behind Emma. Feeling Regina's silky, flour-covered hands run up her bare back to unclasp her bra, Emma moans at the soft caress, nuzzling her lips against her wife's neck. Emma cries out at the sensation of Regina's thumbs lightly brushing her nipples:) A-again." Regina: (Chuckles:) "Soon." (Regina's hands slide to Emma's waist and unfastens her jeans. Tugging them down over her hips along with Emma's underwear, Regina kneels before her nearly naked wife. Running her fingers up Emma's legs and over the contours of her waist, Regina squeezes the right cheek of Emma's ass, leaving a floury hand print on her perfect behind. Lifting her gently onto the flour covered table, Regina kneels once more to remove Emma's boots. As Regina begins a tender massage of her feet, Emma sighs contentedly, laying back on the table. Stepping back, Regina allows Emma to take in her surroundings as she gathers a few items from around the kitchen. Curiously relaxed, given the circumstances, Emma allows her mind to wander.) Emma: "I wonder what would happen if someone were to walk in right now?" (Emma's mind immediately refocuses on the here and now at the touch of soft bristles making contact with her left nipple. Enjoying Emma’s gasp of delight, Regina returns the pastry brush into the bowl of melted butter and applies another liberal coating to Emma's other nipple.) Regina: (Leaning over her:) "I guess they will see their beautiful Sheriff, being ravished by one very attentive Madam Mayor." (And with that, Regina descends upon Emma, determined to devour every inch of her.) Wonderland. Present. Grendel's House. (Will attempts to free Ella and himself from their bondage using one of the skeleton's fingers.) Grendel: (From the other room:) "Fire's ready." Ella: "Will, did you hear that? I think he's talking to someone." Will: "Brilliant! Because one bloody monster isn't enough.” Grendel: “What's for dinner?” (Will leans over to get a look at who the Grendel is talking to but sees the man sitting alone at the table.) Will: “He's alone. The crazy bloke's talking to himself.” Ella: “Will, come on. He might see you.” Will: “Well, hello.” Ella: “What is it?” Will: “The knot. It's right there. (Ella inches forward to see for herself when a young woman appears inside the knot:) Bloody hell.” Grendel: “Mmm. You smell lovely.” Ella: “Will, we've got to get out.” Young Man: (Appearing inside the knot beside the woman:) “Fresh meat, my dearest.” (They kiss.) Young Woman: “Mmm. Thank you.” Young Man: (Holding her in his arms:) “Did you have a good day?” Young Woman: “I did.” Young Man: “Did you go for a walk?” Ella: “Those two must have been the last ones in the room. What did he do to those poor people?” Will: “I don't think he did anything to them.” Ella: “What?” Will: “Ella, I think there may be a way for us to get everything we want today.”

Neverland. Cave. (Checking that Maria is settled and happy, Emma turns to face Tiger Lily.) Emma: "All right, enough with the secrecy. Tell us what's going on." Tiger Lily: "Camelot has fallen and I fear its new Queen brings great darkness on the horizon." Regina: "What about Guinevere. Does she still live?" Tiger Lily: (Nods:) "Guinevere stepped aside so that Morgana could rule." Emma: "Listen, we're on vacation. We'll congratulate the new queen when we get back." Tiger Lily: "You don't understand, Morgana is guided by her sister Morgause. It is their belief that unless their brother is avenged, Morgana cannot truly take the throne." Emma: "Their brother? You mean Arthur?" Tiger Lily: "Yes. Within an hour of taking power, Morgana and Morgause issued a reward for your capture. The word has spread quickly throughout all the lands, including Neverland. You are not safe here." Regina: "The hideout. We could-" Emma: "No, I'm not hiding in some glorified tent the rest of my life. If they have a problem with me, I'm not that hard to find." Regina: (Rolls her eyes:) "Why is it every damn time we get involved with Camelot, you end up being persecuted?" Arendelle. The Palace. Banquet Hall. (Celebratory horns signal Queen Elsa’s entrance and everyone finds their place at the tables.) Anna: “We have enjoyed many years of peace and prosperity thanks to the leadership of my sister. Tonight, we honour her on her birthday. To Queen Elsa! (She raises her glass and toasts her sister, the members of the court follow suit:) Now, for tonight’s entertainment, it gives me great pleasure to introduce the renowned singer, Lady Helen of Mora.” (Applause. The music begins and Anna takes her seat beside Elsa on the dais. Sitting on Elsa’s other side, Lily raises Elsa’s hand to her lips and kisses it. Lady Helen sings. While she continues her melodic tune, the court members begin nodding off to sleep. Cobwebs begin forming over the enchanted sleepers. Lady Helen is staring at Lily as she walks forward, pulling a dagger from her sleeve.)

#sq #swanqueen #swan queen

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twilighteve-writes · 4 years

Text

Feather One Divided -- Chapter 11: The Pull

Feather one divided, fate’s ties frayed,

Fractured and wedged, scattered and gone.

After sharing an unsettling dream of Felldrake, the Three Caballeros decided to join back together with Xandra to form a stronghold in case the sorcerer returned. But Felldrake’s plans proved to be bigger than they expected, and when he struck so close to home, it was all Donald could do to keep his family – and himself – together.

(Also available in AO3)

(Chapter 1)

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A cutlass, a broadsword, and a spear united.

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“Home.”

Della tilted her head at Donald’s answer, but it was Uncle Scrooge who voiced their thoughts. “What do you mean, home?”

Donald turned to them, eerily slow. For some reason, Panchito and José both mirrored the motion in the exact same time, exact same speed, exact same direction, and Della was suddenly regretful of the times she and Donald decided to pull the creepy twins prank on anyone they deemed funny enough to pull that one on. It was fun when she was doing it; it really wasn’t fun to see it happen before her eyes. The golden glow really didn’t help matters, either.

“It’s home,” Donald said, voice almost toneless. It was still eerily clear instead of the scratchy voice he normally spoke in. “It’s in Duckburg.”

Uncle Scrooge rolled his eyes. “Of course it is,” he grumbled. “We’re getting back, then.”

“Where exactly is the Well, though?” Della asked. “Do you have a more specific location?”

Donald’s eyelids fluttered. “The sea,” he said after a beat. “By the Money Bin.”

“Okay, great, thanks, can you drop the seeds and drop the whole gold glitter thing now?” Della asked again.

Donald tilted his head the other way; José and Panchito both mirrored the motion. They had to be doing that on purpose.

Xandra was the one who answered. “I don’t think he can drop it.”

Della blinked at her. “Wait, what? Why? He just needs to drop the seeds.”

“It’s not that simple,” Xandra said. “If he drops it, the connection breaks. And we don’t know if the Well is the type of location that changes every time it wants to move or not.”

Magica hummed with interest. “Is that not the sort of magic that is less draining if you just leave them be? Leaving him be for now might be better for him in the long run than cutting it off prematurely.”

“Yeah,” Xandra confirmed reluctantly. “I don’t like it either, but… I guess if we can let them rest while Donald is still doing this and maybe have them use the Orb of Remedies at the same time, it will lessen the load.”

“Is there really nothing else we can do?” Della asked just as Uncle Scrooge began rummaging for the orb.

“Not really, no,” Xandra said, shaking her head. “You can probably connect to his magic to help feed the need for the connection to keep going, but it’ll drain you and you need to pilot the plane. Also it’s really draining, I don’t recommend it for you.” She glanced at the three Caballeros. “I guess… I can supply them with my magic, too, but I don’t think mortals can survive a deity’s pure magic.”

“Put that as a last resort, then,” Uncle Scrooge said, placing the orb in Donald’s hand. His fingers curled around the orb, but it was almost an instinctive reaction. He didn’t seem all that present, still. Uncle Scrooge sighed and fixed Donald’s hat and turned to Della. “Let’s go back to Duckburg, then. Land by the Money Bin. We’ll set up camp there unless the location changes.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “But we’ll rest here for now if you’re not up to it, lass.”

“No, I’m fine,” Della said. She wasn’t at her best, but she could still fly back home okay. “I’ll rest more once we’re landed.”

Uncle Scrooge hummed, but kept his eyes on her. She ignored the doubtful stare, plopping down on the pilot’s seat and glancing at how Goldie helped Xandra coax Donald to sit down and wear his seatbelt correctly. Once she made sure everyone was safely strapped in (and double and triple checked, just to be sure), she had the plane soaring in no time and made a beeline to the Money Bin.

Once she landed, he helped Uncle Scrooge wrangle Donald out of the plane while Xandra herded Panchito and José to follow. Their connection with Donald had started to tire them out, with their magic being siphoned away. A part of Della was jealous of them, missing the way Donald’s ocean wrapped around her when they let their magic connect and communicate with each other. As she let Donald plop down on a chair, she let her magic snake in and wrap around Donald’s, feeling the transformed magic that no longer felt like the sea sluggishly flow beneath her sky.

And then the current snapped hungrily and latched onto Della’s magic, leeching off of her and drinking greedily, like a man trapped in the desert desperately clawing for water. Della let out a muffled gasp of surprise, and Donald’s head snapped up, a sudden, sharp awareness in his eyes. He pushed Della away and barricaded his magic, cutting off the connection between them. Della swayed back, blinking away the dark dots in her eyes.

“Don’t,” Donald snarled, voice scratchy. The gold glitters seemed to dissipate for a split second before they were back, and Donald closed his eyes and breathed, slumping into his seat.

A pair of strong hands caught and steadied her. She looked up to meet Xandra’s eyes.

“I told you it’ll drain you,” Xandra said, frowning in displeasure.

“You didn’t say how much,” Della rasped.

“I also said I don’t recommend it for you,” Xandra pointed out. “Donald, Panchito, and José would be fine; the amulet boost their magic like crazy. You don’t have that boost.”

“Will she be okay?” Uncle Scrooge asked. His voice sounded far and muffled. Oh boy, was this magic exhaustion? Was that a thing?

“Probably, if she rests,” Xandra answered, and oh, her voice sounded even more muffled.

“I’m good, I’m good, I’m gonna rest, it’s okay,” Della half-mumbled, half-slurred as she pulled herself free from Xandra’s hold. She slumped into a seat a few chairs away from Donald’s, feeling creeped out by the way the wild magic still felt like it was hammering away at the dam Donald built to reach hers. She scrunched her eyes shut and sighed, internally cursing the building pain in her head. Magic migraine. Fun.

She closed her eyes, determined to ride away the pain until she felt okay, and when she opened her eyes again she realized she had fallen asleep at some point, and she had felt loads better. She kneaded at the crick in her neck as she looked around, finding Uncle Scrooge arguing with Magica, voice low, with Goldie looking away with an unreadable expression in her eyes. Something about wishes. Xandra stood over José, Panchito, and Donald, who gathered together at one corner, all three still glowing softly gold.

Della blinked when she realized that the three had donned armors; a gold-and-blue one for Donald, a broze-and-red one for Panchito, and silver-and-green for José, though the colors were slightly covered by the glittery gold they still held. It had dimmed somewhat, but it was still shining brightly, covering Donald, José, and Panchito in identical aquamarine-and-gold that reflected off every surface.

José seemed to realize she was staring, and he offered a small smile. “Final battle, my friend,” he said. “Time to get serious.”

“Your get serious is to get sets of armor?” Della blurted.

“And weapons,” Panchito confirmed. His voice was much more subdued than usual, but he still held up his spear in gusto. José held out his own weapon, a one sided sword with a slight curve that Della had no idea what the name was, and behind them, Donald caught her gaze and showed her his own straight sword.

“Sweet, do I get any?” Della asked again.

“Sorry, buddy, but those are Caballero exclusives,” Xandra said with a grimace.

Della blew a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Well that’s disappointing.”

“You can fly, you’ll be fine,” Panchito said.

“Ehhh, it’s still not as cool as toting about weapons in shining armors like you guys.”

The gold that glittered about Donald’s person pulsed. He turned to the sea, staring into the depths. “The Well’s calling,” he murmured.

“It’s starting to appear, then,” Xandra concluded. She glanced to the clear sky, looking at the hanging full moon and the brightly shining Venus.

“Well, then,” Godie said, drawing attention to her, “I guess it’s time for me to go.”

“You’re not joining us?” Della asked.

“Oh, I know when to pick my battles,” Goldie said with a shrug. “I can’t fight with magic. Getting my wish is tempting, sure, but I think Scroogie here would rather wish for his family’s safety. Can’t really argue with that, with how much trouble you get into.” She looked away and added under her breath, “And getting skewered with magic isn’t my favorite pastime.”

“You’re not just saying you’re backing off because you want to raid my bin, are you?” Uncle Scrooge asked with narrowed eyes.

“For once, no! I’m as surprised as you are!”

Donald ignored the banter and walked closer to the water. Della followed his gaze and saw the beginnings of a whirlpool materializing in the water, and it slowly grew bigger.

Donald’s golden shine grew stronger, as did the gold that enveloped both José and Panchito. The other two Caballero joined Donald by his sides, bluish gold pulsing. With each pulse, the glow grew stronger until the three were a beacon in the night, nearly overtaking the generous light of the moon. Their magic soared and screamed in scattered, staccato flares, Donald’s coursing water swooshing underneath and José’s sunset and cocktails warming Della’s throat and Panchito’s rowdy music tapping against any available surface. Their magic ran amok and hooked themselves to any other magic nearby, not greedily sucking like Donald’s was earlier but simply trying to rouse them up. Soon, Della could feel elongating shadows and creeping dusk that was Magica began flicking about, her natural magic peeking through even without the amulet to channel or direct it. Goldie’s followed, curtains and masks and warm smiles with a thousand meanings peeking through fabric. To Della’s surprise, something flicked and flared in Uncle Scrooge, and the ring of gold coins hitting one another jingled in her ears. Soon, Xandra, too, shone gold, and the feeling of whizzing arrows wrapped around Della’s torso and triggered her own magic.

White plumes bloomed around her as wind picked up, blowing her hair up and lifting her feet off the ground. She breathed as the sunny summer sun seemed to warm her face.

Distracted by the rising of their magic, they didn’t pay attention to the whirlpool.

The next thing Della was aware of was the sensation of being slapped in the face with pure darkness that rolled her over like the ocean waves, and Della gasped, trying to pull air into her lungs and found herself unable to. Panic hit her full force.

She screamed.

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In the end, they didn’t really need to tail anyone, not really.

When Drake got the plane to park by Launchpad’s garage, it was clear that it wouldn’t fit all of them. Somehow, he managed to calm the ensuing protests with a simple, “Look, I know, but this is what we have and planes don’t grow on trees.”

Dewey wanted so very badly to point out that the plane he brought looked suspiciously familiar to the one used by the other vigilante running about Duckburg, Darkwing Duck, but he, Huey, and the girls agreed not to say anything for now. There would be time to interrogate him later.

Well, Dewey knew. But it wasn’t like it was his secret to tell, and he knew when to shut up when he really had to, so.

Fenton took his sweet time equipping the plane with stronger radar capable of withstanding and detecting magic. Dewey suspected he was stalling to keep them in the manor for as long as possible, but Fenton assured them he was working as fast as he could. Dewey doubted Fenton could lie, so he decided to trust him. Apparently, upgrading the radar took Fenton almost a day on its own due to the complexity of how magic was scienced enough to be measured and detected.

It was the next day, the day before what Dewey had come to dub as the moon and star day, when Fenton finally sprung out of the plane, exhausted and sweaty and greasy, with a chipper but tired “Done!”

“You could’ve been faster if you let me help,” Drake said, half grumbling.

“Nope! I told you already, magic radar and GPS is tricky. It’s prone to exploding in your face, and the only reason this one didn’t is because I’ve exploded enough to know how to avoid that.” Fenton jumped out of the plane and grabbed a bottle of energy drink and downed it in one go, ignoring the judging look Webby and Violet shot him. He put the bottle down and clapped. “Now then! Let’s see if this works.”

“Uh-uh, no, no, no. Back off, I’m operating the plane,” Drake said sternly. “You’ve messed around with my plane enough.” Behind him, Huey added another note to his evidence that Drake Mallard is Darkwing Duck list, which had been growing steadily longer the more time they spent with Drake.

“Um, I’m the pilot here,” Launchpad said.

“It’s still my plane,” Drake grumbled. Huey underlined the note he just scribbled three times.

Drake started the plane with an ease of having done it many, many times, and activated the radar. It beeped loudly, and Dewey scrambled up to see the map. “So? Does it work?” he demanded.

“Seems so,” Drake said.

“I also upgraded it a bit, so it should be able to reach more distance now,” Fenton chirped. “It should be able to detect active magic. I don’t know how to track dormant magic yet.”

“Cool, now let’s – “ Drake paused. “That’s weird. There’s a close one there. I think that’s… Scrooge McDuck’s Money Bin?”

“Then that must be Uncle Scrooge and the others,” Huey concluded. “No one else in town has magic other than us.”

Dewey turned slowly to Fenton. “Heyyy, Fenton… you’re good with tech, right?”

“Um.” Fenton shifted to create a distance to Dewey. “Why do you ask?”

“I was wondering if you can hack into the security cameras so we can see what’s happening inside.”

Fenton’s mouth dropped open and he worked his jaw silently for a moment. “No,” he said at last. “I’m – no. Not doing that.”

“But that always happens in the movies!”

“Dewey, I get what you mean and I understand why you’re asking me,” Fenton began, “but I will be breaking so many laws if I do that and I will lose my job and I will end up in jail, and that will break my M’ma’s heart, and I will not break M’ma’s heart because I will not survive that.”

“Aw,” Dewey pouted, but he decided to back down. It wasn’t like he could do it himself.

“Isn’t it weird, though, that they’re back in town?” Webby pointed out. “I thought they were going to go around looking for the Well.”

“Maybe the Well is there,” Violet said.

Lena stared at her. “Maybe the Well is there,” she echoed. “Do we – how do we make sure of this? Can we just go there?”

“I don’t see why not,” Webby said with a shrug. “I mean, I’ll want to stop by my room first so I can grab some stuff. We’ll probably need a first aid kit, for starters. Do you think my grappling hook will help? Should I just go for my crossbow?”

Drake tugged at Launchpad. “Did she just say crossbow?” he hissed into Launchpad’s ear, though still loud enough for Dewey to hear.

“Yeah? She has regular bow and arrows too,” Launchpad said, and Drake looked like he was about to faint just from that.

Huey, though, glanced at the clock and shook his head. “No. Not now, anyway.”

Dewey turned to him in betrayal. “Why not?”

“I checked the astronomical calendar, Venus is going to appear at around 3.30 in the morning,” Huey said. “It’s almost sundown. I think we should just take a nap for a while and go to the bridge to the bin at, I don’t know. Two?”

“Oh,” Dewey said, blinking. “That makes a lot more sense than just barging in now, I guess.”

Huey huffed. “Of course it does. There’s a reason why I make plans.”

Webby turned and purposefully stared at Launchpad. “So, can you take us there later, Launchpad? Please?”

“Uhh, I guess if that’s the only way I can keep my word to Mr. McD about keeping you safe,” Launchpad muttered.

“You shouldn’t use the plane, though,” Drake said. “It’ll be so obvious. They’ll know you guys are there before you even land.”

“Wait, have I been upgrading your plane for nothing?!” Fenton blurted, and Drake laughed. Launchpad sighed while the two men bickered and ushered Dewey, Huey, Webby, Lena, and Violet back to the manor. Dewey complied, mostly because he’d given Launchpad enough stress lines in one day and was about to give him more later on.

They camped out in the boys’ room, with Huey and Violet both setting up way more alarm clocks than strictly necessary, but when Dewey complained about it Huey just gave him a flat, unimpressed look that he had seemed to perfect in over the years he was brothers with both Dewey and Louie. “We all know you sleep through your alarms a lot, Dewey, I’m not taking chances,” he’d said, and Huey had to be grateful Dewey loved him because how dare he.

It took a while to fall asleep, with them being as wired as they were, but Dewey was stubborn and he would take a nap and fall asleep out of sheer fricking will if he had to, and eventually sleep claimed him at last. He felt ridiculously offended when the alarm clocks brought him back to the waking world, but he pushed it aside in favor of hounding Launchpad to get them closer to the bin.

Just before they left the room, Huey paused and rummaged through Louie’s stuff.

“Hue?” Dewey called.

“Just a sec – there we go,” Huey breathed, pulling out Louie’s golden khopesh. He strapped it to his back and looked at Dewey solemnly. “Just in case.”

Dewey exhaled. “Yeah, okay.”

They made their way to Launchpad’s garage and found him asleep, with Drake atop of him and Fenton nodding off while slumping against the two’s sides. Violet approached them and shook them awake.

“It’s time,” she said, cool and matter-of-fact like usual.

Launchpad groaned and turned over. “Five more minutes, Mom,” he slurred, unaware that him turning over had Drake falling off and waking grumpily while Fenton blinked blearily at them both.

Violet, for her part, was staring at the three in incredulous surprise. She turned to Webby. “Do… do I sound like a mother?” she asked.

“No,” Webby said, at the same time as Lena chiming a “Yes”. They looked at each other and shrugged, opting instead to pull the three adults up.

“Okay, okay, I’m up,” Drake grumbled, rubbing his eyes. Launchpad finally rose from his slumber at his side, while Fenton was already reaching for more energy drink.

Despite the rough awakening, the drive to the bridge was surprisingly smooth. To Dewey’s absolute bewilderment, Launchpad was a much better driver when sleepy.

“Wait, wait, stop, stop, stop,” Huey urged suddenly as they neared the bridge. “If we get closer they might realize we’re here. We need to keep our distance.”

Lena stared at the stretch of ocean between them and the bin. “We’re still miles away from them.”

“That’s the idea,” Huey said. He took out a pair of binoculars and tossed Dewey another pair. “Come on, let’s check this out.” He ran to the edge of the road, practically leaning to the rusty railing. Drake, who followed him out, pulled him back.

He frowned when Huey shot him a glare. “What? I’m not risking you falling off,” he said.

Dewey ignored them, choosing to use the binoculars to survey the Money Bin. There would be time to tease Huey about Dewey being the reckless brother later.

The sea was calm, though for some reason Dewey felt like there was a note of agitation in it. Having lived by the sea practically his whole life, he’d learned to read the ocean until he could recite every wave and every current like the back of his hand. Huey and Louie both could do the same, though they were nowhere near Uncle Donald’s level, who always seemed to be able to tell the ocean’s mood with just a glance. Now that he knew it was partly because of his magic, Dewey kind of wanted to tell Uncle Donald that he had been cheating the whole time.

A spark of something gold caught his eyes, and he zeroed in on it. “Hey, what’s that?” he exclaimed, mostly to draw the others’ attention.

Huey scanned with the binoculars again. “It looks like some… sparkles? Gold?”

“Is it Louie?” Webby asked.

“No, I don’t think that’s Louie,” Huey said with a frown, still looking. His magic buzzed for a moment, straining. “Doesn’t feel like Louie. And the color is wrong.”

Dewey checked again. “Yeah… it’s different. Louie’s is kinda green. Like that gemstone. This one is more… blue?”

Huey turned to look at him. “Do you think that’s Uncle Donald?”

“Does it feel like him?” Dewey shot back.

Huey frowned. “No, but I don’t know. Sometimes magical artefacts make your magic feel different, right?”

Dewey muttered a soft yeah and turned back to look at the glittering dot of gold in the distance. It pulsed.

Huey lowered his binoculars. “Something’s wrong.”

Dewey felt it just after Huey closed his beak. It rippled through the water as the gold pulsed again. Almost without meaning to, Dewey took a step back.

Something flew overhead, wingbeats loud in the silence of the night as the sea itself seemed to still. Webby broke the silence with a gasp and a whisper. “Felldrake,” she said.

Dewey looked up and for the first time since his connection with Louie was gone he could feel his magic sparking unbidden. Leopold was flying too fast for him to follow, but he could see Felldrake’s form on his back, holding a smaller figure who gleamed gold-and-emerald in his hands. Louie pointed at somewhere at the sea, near the Money Bin, and Felldrake directed Leopold to it.

He kept his eyes on the flying figures and ran to the bridge. He couldn’t even make three steps before Huey grabbed him by his wrist, yanking back.

“Let’s go!” Dewey urged.

“You said we wouldn’t engage!” Huey hissed. “We’re not getting close.”

“Why would we even bother coming here then?!”

“To observe! To make sure things are okay!” Huey snapped. “To step in, later, if we have to! I’m not going to let us just run ahead and get in the thick of things and then get Mom and Uncle Donald hurt because they got surprised we just popped up!”

“But that’s – “ Dewey bit his tongue and looked away. He did promise Huey to stay back. “Okay, but give me a leeway. If there’s a chance to grab Louie when Mom and Uncle Donald and Uncle Scrooge are busy, we’re doing it.”

“Only if we’re sure no one’s getting hurt,” Huey relented after a moment. Dewey could take that.

“Guys,” Lena interrupted, voice faint. “Guys, look.”

Turning to the direction Lena pointed, Dewey couldn’t help the sharp gasp he took. The sea had formed a whirlpool, from which a deep darkness swelled into a bubble, a tiny dot of light inside it. The gold that was Louie pulsed along with the dot, as did the bluish-gold in the Bin.

“Is that… the well?” Webby asked, squinting at the whirlpool.

“That can’t be, that looks nothing like a well,” Huey protested.

“Oh, I don’t know, Huey,” Launchpad said nervously. “Looks can be deceiving.”

“What’s it doing?” Fenton asked softly, but the disturbed tone caught their attention. They stared at the bubble of darkness, and Dewey felt leaden trepidation weighing down his chest when the bubble seemed to breathe and grow bigger with each passing second.

Lena held her hand out. Her amulet glowed softly. She frowned, likely trying to sense what was happening, then her eyes grew wide as she scrambled to retreat. “Get back!” she yelled. “The whirlpool’s – !”

The warning came too late – or maybe it didn’t matter at all. The darkness swelled and exploded out, crashing and sweeping them into a wave. Dewey closed his eyes and tried to grip the railing, but the darkness swallowed him whole and he was left with a sensation of drowning in open air.

The rush dissipated. Dewey opened his eyes to survey his surroundings.

He was no longer in Duckburg.

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The ground was hard and rough. Stones, instead of earth.

That was the first thing Donald realized when he came to. Rough cobblestones against his cheek, grating his beak, gravity pressing him down against the stones and making him sore.

The next thing he realized was that he was no longer glowing with glitter-gold that overtook his person, and that his head feel clear again. Mixing his magic with the seed’s had made him feel like he was wading through mud, like his thoughts were slowed while all his attention was taken by the Well’s call and nothing else could stick.

Oh, shoot, where were the seeds? They weren’t in his hand anymore.

He groaned and pushed himself up, and there were a dissonant chorus of groans all around him. Looking around, he realized that José and Panchito were with him, decked in armor and holding their weapons, and he belatedly realized he wore his own armor and held his sword in his hand. With them, Xandra sat up with a grunt, shaking her long hair and fluffing it up as a result. There were more groaning, and Donald realized Della, Uncle Scrooge, Goldie, and Magica all woke by him.

So the whole gang was here.

Della rubbed her neck and looked around, locked gazes with him, and perked up. “Don! You’re not glowing anymore!”

Donald blinked. “Um, yeah?”

“Do you feel okay?”

He blinked again and stared at his hands. “I surprisingly do? This is weird. I thought I was going to pass out or something.”

“Normally you would. You probably don’t feel that way because we’re not in Duckburg anymore,” Xandra piped up. She pursed her lips. “It’s probably going to be hell once you got back, though.”

“Eh, I’ll deal with it then,” Donald replied flippantly. “Does anyone know where the seeds are? I don’t have it anymore.”

Uncle Scrooge looked around and plucked something from the ground. “I got them. They fell here.”

Donald nodded and heaved a sigh of relief. He really didn’t want to lose the seeds. He stood and felt his grip on the sword, correcting it when he realized he was holding it wrong. It had been a while and he never really had any formal training on how to use the sword (barring the little time he spent at King Arthur’s kingdom, but he wasn’t sure that really counted), but it was always instinctual, how he knew he had things right or wrong the moment his hands closed on the sword and his body was covered in the Caballero armor. He wondered how much of it was him and how much was magic.

There was a scuffling sound, and Donald turned to check. To his surprise, he saw Huey, Dewey, and Lena, staring at them like deer in headlights.

“Okay, why are you kids here?” Della asked, sighing.

“Um,” Huey said.

“It was Dewey’s idea!” Lena blurted.

“Hey! Huey agreed! You all agreed!”

Donald pressed a palm to his forehead and tried to muffle a groan, feeling the start of a migraine building in. Thankfully, Della could handle the kids, and she had started to calm them down and managed to coax them to tell why they were there at all. Then came tumbles of words over why they were there, and Donald clenched his fists.

“But why are they here but not the rest?” Uncle Scrooge wondered. “It doesn’t make sense – oh. It’s magic, isn’t it.”

Xandra hummed in agreement. “Seems like that. Proximity is a factor too, I think, but everyone here has at least a little bit of magic.”

“Okay, but where is here exactly?” Goldie cut in. “Is this some sort of a separate dimension?”

“Sort of, yeah,” Xandra said. “I guess the Well of Wishes is the type of place that likes to hide in a pocket dimension.”

“So how do we get out?” Della asked.

Magica scoffed. “The only way you get out of any labyrinth. You look for the exit. I’ll bet my amulet you have to get to the physical well to get to the exit.”

Donald glanced at José and Panchito. They both shrugged, and José exclaimed, “I suppose that’s as good a plan as any. There’s only one road and I’m not fond of traveling that way.” He gestured to behind Donald, and Donald turned to check, and he had to agree with José.

They were standing in the middle of a cobblestone road, and the corner from which the kids appeared had somehow disappeared. Around them was a great expanse of grey-white fog, and the road behind them was completely obscured from view, and so dark it was almost black. In contrast, the road ahead of them was brighter, with the fog seemingly less thick. Donald wasn’t keen on exploring the dark road, either.

“Only one way to go, then?” Goldie asked with a bitter smile.

Donald stared at the brighter road and let out a breath. “Only one way to go,” he agreed.

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When Webby blinked the darkness out of her eyes, things were silent.

When she looked around, she realized Huey, Dewey, and Lena were gone.

Her breath hitched in her throat. “Huey? Dewey! Lena!” she called, to no avail. They were nowhere she could see, and her voice could only carry so far.

“Webby,” Violet called, and Webby whispped her head to her so fast a sharp pain stabbed her in the neck. She hissed in pain but otherwise ignored it, rushing to Violet’s side. She was standing by the railing, staring at the sea. Webby followed her gaze and let out a gasp.

The whirlpool had disappeared, but the bubble of darkness was still there. Except it wasn’t a bubble of darkness with a tiny speck of light inside anymore; it was a big bubble with things in it, like a giant snow globe. The colors looked muted and greyish, but Webby could see things moving in it. She grabbed a binocular that either Huey or Dewey had dropped and used it to survey the bubble and bit back another gasp when she realized her friends were there along with the adults.

Louie, Felldrake, and Leopold were nowhere to be seen, inside or out of the bubble.

“They’re – they’re inside,” Webby stammered. “Why are they inside? Are they trapped?”

“Oh no! We have to bring them back!” Launchpad yelled, already climbing over the railing.

Drake pulled him back. “Okay, no, stop. I know we say let’s get dangerous all the time but I don’t think I can pull you out if you drown because you’re big, and that snow globe thing is far from the shore.”

“And I don’t think we can do anything about it, anyway,” Fenton added, using the remaining binocular to look into the bubble. “We don’t have magic. If my experiments trying to measure magic with Huey, Dewey, and Louie were anything to go by, we won’t be able to pop that bubble with any nonmagic means.”

“Then… we’re just stuck here, doing nothing,” Violet concluded. Her brows creased unhappily.

“The least we can do is monitor it,” Fenton said. His tone mirrored Violet’s frustrated one.

“What if we get closer?” Launchpad piped up. “We can at least see if they’re okay inside!”

“I told you already that I can’t bring you up if you drown, LP,” Drake said dryly.

“No, with a boat!” Launchpad said. “We can go to the harbor and borrow a boat!”

“Doesn’t Uncle Scrooge have a trawler?” Webby asked, remembering the trawler they had used when they retrieved the Three Feathers Pin in Lady Gullianne. “If we can get to Uncle Scrooge’s garage and get it out to the sea soon – “

“Is it the same as Donald’s boat? Because that one looks like it’s seen better days,” Fenton said doubtfully.

“No, it’s a different boat,” Webby assured. “Uncle Donald’s boat is fine, it’s seaworthy, but it’s not as fast as the trawler.”

Launchpad’s gaze hardened. “Okay, I’m getting the trawler!” he said. “Webby, Violet, you two stay here and see if anything happens, okay? Fenton, look after them.” He turned to Drake. “Come on, DW, help me get the trawler out. We’re getting dangerous.”

Drake nodded readily and followed Launchpad to the car. It soon zipped out through the Duckburg streets like lightning, and Webby prayed that they would get to the manor and get back to them safely.

She turned back to the bubble and took a deep breath. Surely they would be okay. Her family was ridiculously smart and capable and strong. Surely that was enough to keep them safe.

The bubble didn’t offer reassurance. Webby’s fingers ghosted over her bracelet and she stared silently at the bubble, watching the shine of the full moon wash over it, and wished with everything she had that everyone would come back safe and sound.

#feather one divided #dt17 magic au #dt17 #donald duck #della duck #panchito pistoles #josé carioca #xandra #scrooge mcduck #goldie o'gilt #magica de spell #Huey Duck #Dewey Duck #Webby Vanderquack #lena de spell #violet sabrewing #launchpad mcquack #Drake Mallard #Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera

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wardencommanderrodimiss · 4 years

Text

heart of a falling star

Self-indulgent Byleth fic because I maintain that all of Byleth’s shit could make for a really interesting character if they weren’t a near-silent avatar character, so I’m taking it upon myself to explore the possibilities.

Featuring B from my Verdant Wind run, and Claude, and her response to Rhea’s revelations at the start of Ch 22.

(I know some of the questions raised here are answered in Silver Snow, but I hadn’t played that when I wrote this fic. And besides, while I know it now, this is still only what Byleth gets in this route. And all that Byleth gets to know in Verdant Wind is....just enough for it to be super fucked up when you step back and ponder it.)

----

“There you are.”

Shadow swallows the monastery cemetery. Beneath her hands, the grass and stone are cool, and high above her head, the sun is nowhere in sight, hidden behind the high towers and walls. B looks up from where she sits sprawled on the ground next to her parents’ grave; Claude stands over her, his eyes moving from her to the freshly-plucked blossoms, pulled right out of the greenhouse, laid on the stone, to the Sword of the Creator resting in the grass. The cemetery is empty but for them, the rest of the monastery engaged in frantic scrambling over the new army on the horizon. And B should be, most of anyone, but she needed a moment to process the fantastical tale that Rhea wove. Her head as it is now, she would be of no use in a strategy meeting or a war council.

“Went looking in the captain’s old office first,” Claude adds lightly.

She’s not surprised that’s where he went - that he knows that habit of hers. Certainly it could be Alois or Leonie haunting the captain’s old office with a candle lit late at night the way they both carry torches for a man B isn’t sure any of them really truly knew - it was her, not either of them, who barricaded herself in that office for a week after Jeralt’s murder, food left at the door by worried colleagues and students. It is still her who goes back there some nights when she can’t sleep with the burdens of war. So either Claude on some late-night wanderings of his own has swung by her room to see if she’s there before concluding that it’s her in Jeralt’s office, or he’s just made a guess that happens to be correct. And just taking guesses isn’t quite his style.

“I didn’t know you came out here.”

“Once or twice,” she replies. After the battle in the Sealed Forest, she leaned up against the headstone, pulling strands of her new bright hair out in front of her eyes as she told her father’s grave what had happened and wondered if he would still recognize her, his own strange child, after this transformation. And then again after the Flame Emperor unmasked herself, another development that she thought for sure Jeralt would want to know, she sat down and told him about the chasm that opened between her feet in the Holy Tomb and how she still hadn’t found her footing again. Then, and then, and now this.

Claude shifts his weight, seeming to be deciding what he wants to ask. To indulge his curiosity about the past, or to remain mired in all their present difficulties. “How are you feeling?” he asks. “Now that we finally have answers, and they’re all that. I mean, my head is spinning, and I can’t imagine that you…”

There’s so much to think about in what Claude has just said that B does not know where to begin. We. We finally have answers. It wasn’t always we - at what point did it become we? True, they both always wanted to unravel the secrets of the Church, Rhea, and Byleth herself. And true, when Claude had asked to read Jeralt’s diary, B had determined that, just as fighting an enemy is easier with an ally at one’s side, two heads are also better than one for unearthing truths buried deep.

But she had also handed him Jeralt’s diary knowing as she did that she was opening up her dead, unnatural heart to someone who was not seeking answers for her sake. Even as a student Claude wanted as much information as he could gather about anything, to have it and use for his own benefit. Gathering cards to hide up his sleeve, but those she knew he had in hand he always kept close to his chest, and he’d made it clear in conversation, at the Goddess Tower, in the library, on missions, that he wanted her on his side in pursuit of his ambitions. As long as there was nothing to gain from revealing what he read in Jeralt’s diary, and her allegiance to lose, it would remain a secret between them.

So now: we. He isn’t wrong to say that, though she can’t pinpoint just one moment when it shifted. A series of moments. When Edelgard unmasked herself and the whole world was upended and the enemy gave them a face, but such a familiar one, to unite against. When the Imperial army was closing in on the monastery and he told her that this couldn’t be it for them, not with his ambitions still unfulfilled and her secrets still buried, and he wasn’t going to say goodbye to her, his friend, not yet. When she, still soaked through to her skin by the river, reentered the monastery and found him waiting for her as though she hadn’t spent five years vanished from the earth. Moment by moment.

Now that we have answers, and they’re all that. That; ghastly secrets Rhea kept for a millennium. A bloody burdensome truth that B has heard twice now, first when Rhea told them on the terrace, and then from B’s own lips as she repeated the whole story to her father’s grave. Before his death, Jeralt had begun to wonder if he made a mistake by leaving the monastery. She wonders now, if he were possessed of the full story, would he take back those words? If he knew, she wonders, would he have tried to run from Alois even in Remire Village, try to flee the Knights of Seiros because to go with them was the more unthinkable alternative? Would he never have brought Byleth along for a job in a town so close to Garreg Mach, never risk coming close enough that she could fall back into Rhea’s hands?

How are you feeling? The one question Claude actually asked, the response he is waiting on. He watches her with his head slightly tilted, concentrating, studying her, while her thoughts run circles through her skull like rats scuttling across a day-old battlefield. How does she feel? She knows an answer, the only feeling she can manage to grab hold of and focus on: “Somewhat relieved.”

He could assume that meant that she is relieved to have any answer at all. Someone else would, but Claude won’t. He assesses her with his bright eyes, knowing there is more of a mystery here to be teased out of her in some way or another. And she just wants to tell him, to spit out this thing that has been eating her for months on end, and she doesn’t know if she even can get it into her mouth after the way it has so deeply twisted itself around her insides.

But if she can’t tell Claude then there is no one left living in the world that she can tell. Never anyone but Claude, who stood in the cathedral with her and told her he couldn’t believe in a goddess whose divine protection stopped at Fodlan’s borders. Claude, who told her that he hoped Rhea was alive so they could get answers (these answers) from her, but otherwise he was curious to see what a Church without her could look like. How it could change. How they could change it, together, without Rhea. (Again: we.)

“I’m relieved,” B repeats, “to know why she was so interested in me. That it was because…”

The words writhe around upon her tongue, worms in a bucket of bait, vultures and crows wheeling about in the sky. Already the words aren’t right, aren’t what she knows. No, it wasn’t just that Rhea was interested in her; interested is the wrong word. She could have lived with Rhea being interested in her, but interested implies too much emotional detachment. Hanneman was interested in B’s Crest of Flames. Rhea, however, was not interested in B. Rhea was invested in her. Rhea loved—

“You saw how happy she was to see me in Enbarr,” B says, knowing that she is flailing wildly from one thought to the next, and that Claude will just have to trust her that she’ll double back and map for him the connecting path between. “Not just happy to be rescued. Happy to see me.” Another pivot, and another wild swing in a new direction. “I never loved her the way that people like Cyril or Catherine love her.” Claude snorts, no doubt thinking that very few people do. “Or the way a lot of members of the Church do. But I also didn’t love her the way she loved me. I felt guilty for that. That Rhea loved me so very much more than I ever loved her.”

It sounds, as the words leave her tongue and finally fall into the open air, so petty. So inconsequential. They have fought battles that shape the future of Fodlan and another looms on the horizon eclipsing the faint hope of dawn’s light, and she is concerned with - this. Guilt. Silly, childish guilt.

“That sounds like it shouldn’t ever have been your burden,” Claude says, leaning against the wall that surrounds the cemetery, his eyes scanning the horizon and the sheer cliffs that drop down into mountain mist. “That sounds like that was Rhea’s problem.”

“If only Rhea’s problems remained simply her problems,” B says. Claude inhales sharply, the preface to a laugh that never comes, and his eyes are solemn and serious when he looks back at her. “But I’m relieved to know now that it wasn’t ever about me.”

She might as well finish this confession; it is already halfway out of her mouth and she cannot swallow it again the way she has held it down for the better part of a year. Held it deep haunting her since she came back to life and learned that Rhea still hadn’t been found, spoke with Seteth and Catherine and Cyril who were so desperate to find her, desperate for B’s help in the search when B would rather offer her sword to the war.

(If their aims conflicted, if their paths diverged, B would choose Claude over Rhea every time. She has. She trusted Claude with her secrets when he asked for them because they could use those to get to Rhea’s secrets. She placed her heart in his hands years ago and left him to it. She never could have trusted Rhea with the same, even when Claude’s intentions seemed murky then too. Knowing nothing, B threw her lot in with him. Knowing everything, she is glad she did.)

It is better to rid herself of it, spit out this feeling that haunts her, let it leave behind merely the faint lingering trace of bile in her mouth. “She didn’t love me for me. She loved me because she hoped I would become something else. If she succeeded I - I never would have existed.” Everything she is, and Rhea would have unmade her. “If she didn’t know I was that child as soon as Jeralt and I returned to the monastery” - could she have sensed Sothis’ heart, or just guessed? Did B look enough like her mother that Rhea would know? Who was B’s mother, she still doesn’t know - “she knew when I picked up the Sword of the Creator.”

She closes her eyes and continues. There’s more; there’s more as she cuts deeper into the tangled mire of her own head. “When she gave it to me to wield as I might, she - she hoped that since I was the vessel for her heart, and the sword was her bones, that would I just - not gain the powers of the progenitor god, but become her. Get swallowed up by - overtaken? Like—” She yanks at her hair like she wants to tear it out. Several times she has barely stopped herself from doing so. “That’s what she wanted, that was her endgame, erase me and give my body to Sothis and all I am would be gone.”

Sothis merged with Byleth. Sothis gave her powers over to her, became part of her soul, changing her irrevocably, because Sothis had the power but the body was Byleth’s, and Sothis could not use it as she was. It was the very opposite of Rhea’s intent: the child should have given rise to the progenitor goddess, but instead, Sothis became Byleth. When B sat upon the throne in the Holy Tomb, she was met with silence.

The goddess is gone. Rhea tried to resurrect her and instead set them all down the path of losing her forever.

Claude shakes his head, though she is sure that the gesture doesn’t mean a denial of her summation. “And you have to wonder what would’ve happened if your father hadn’t faked your death and fled,” he adds.

That strange life she led, that baffling way Jeralt chose to raise her - her birth year unknown and the day to celebrate it simply plucked off a calendar at her choosing, a blade in her hand as soon as she could properly hold one - was to keep her safe, out of Rhea’s grasp. She could not accidentally tell someone when and where she was born if she herself did not know. She could not say with confidence she was Jeralt’s child if he did not even plainly tell her such and merely let her assume their familial relationship. If Rhea was to learn that this was the child who disappeared in that monastery fire, it would have to be from someone else, because Byleth Eisner could not tell her.

(But it was still B who told her, wasn’t it; by picking up the Sword of the Creator, she told her.)

“The amount of power she has,” Claude continues, “I mean, how did she even - do that in the first place? Who knows what she could have done next, when we barely know how she did - everything she did.” He shakes his head, throwing his hands wide in helpless surrender. “I keep coming up with new questions I want to ask her. None of them really urgent to understand Nemesis’ threat, or for the fact that she had to drag herself up from her deathbed to tell us even this much, but still. Why you? Was it because of your father? Had she tried before you, or were you really the only newborn she could get her hands on in a thousand years?”

A thousand years. The next time someone speaks of Saint Seiros, B might start retching. Or laugh. Or, most likely, stand there blankly and say nothing while she wonders what the repercussions would be if she announced Rhea’s secrets to the world once hers and Nemesis’ corpses have cooled. If anyone would even believe her. Rhea isn’t even dead yet. B does and doesn’t want her to die. She does not know how she could grapple with either.

“Perhaps it was my father,” B says. She doesn’t want to consider the possibility that Rhea tried before; what would have become of those children? Could they have gone on to be normal, Sothis’ heart failing to implant, or would the failure of the ritual - would that irrevocably change them? Kill them? “He - Rhea knew him for a very long time.” They met when he was young. That statement hadn’t meant anything to B until recently, when Alois told her how old Jeralt really was. More than a hundred, and that just a fraction of Rhea’s long life. “Maybe she thought a child of his blood would…”

His blood. His blood. He had been given someone else’s Crest-bearing blood. If Rhea knew him when he was young then she would have seen when his aging so drastically slowed. She must have known that he was something more than a normal human. Did she think that could make a difference in her ritual? The risk of alienating an ally she had for a hundred years, compared to the chance that his child could finally be the one that could give rise to Sothis - clearly, Byleth knows what Rhea chose. Rhea chose her mother over Jeralt. Her mother over a newborn child. Her mother over everything.

Claude is staring down at her with raised eyebrows. “Huh?” B asks. He might have said something.

“Thought not,” he says, with just a touch of the smug triumph he always holds when he’s got a plan that he’s not quite ready to unveil, but he knows it’s going to knock the ground out from under their feet when he does. “I asked if your head was still here with me.”

“Oh,” B says. And then the obvious, stupid answer that he already knows: “No. It’s not.”

“Yeah,” Claude says. “As I said, I thought not. But,” he adds eagerly, leaning forward, a sharp gleam in his eyes, “you do look like you’ve just realized something.”

“No,” she says, and then she second-guesses that, and says, “Maybe. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. None of this matters.”

He leans back against the cemetery wall, clear disbelief written on his face. She wouldn’t have brought this conversation to this point if it didn’t matter, except she did. “Defeating Nemesis is the only thing that matters,” she says, “and we know all we need to. We know that the Sword of the Creator, that it, and I, are the only things that will - that can—”

The Sword of the Creator. Sothis. B chokes on her own heart high in her throat. “I’m the only one that can equal Nemesis, Rhea said. The goddess is dead but I’m not. I have her powers - the sword - her - her bones!”

Her bones. The goddess is dead and desecrated and B has the remains lying in the grass at her feet because she couldn’t stand to hold them in her hands.

After what happened to Miklan she was terrified to use the Sword of the Creator, compatible Crest or not, because she couldn’t trust why Rhea gave the sword to her, couldn’t be sure that Rhea wasn’t waiting for something to happen. But Claude in the course of his research found the images of a dragon with a Crest stone in its head (the Immaculate One, Rhea), and when he reported his findings to her she became assured that she would be safe. After all, the Sword of the Creator had no Crest stone. And it seemed to be the Crest stone that caused the transformation into a beast, the Crest stone that held the power. Her Crest was compatible with the sword, and it had no stone. Surely she would be safe.

(She should have wondered how the sword had any power without a Crest stone. She never understood enough to wonder.)

But Rhea did want something to happen. Rhea was waiting for some kind of transformation because of the Crest stone. Not the same transformation into a demonic beast, and not into the Immaculate One, but a transformation all the same. Rhea set her on the throne hoping to wipe away all that she was and for that small price, B’s life, return Sothis to the world.

“The Heros’ Relics are all made out of bones,” B says. Claude - Sylvain - Hilda - and all the others. All of them are carrying corpses, but there is one key difference between the rest of them and B. “I knew her. Sothis, I knew - I told you that she - she was a presence in my mind. She spoke to me, advised me, teased me, lectured me - comforted me, gave up herself to save me! So that I had the power to return to you!”

She finds herself on her feet before she knows it, stepping over the sword and spinning about helplessly in front of her father’s grave. “And then she was gone and I mourned her, I mourned her when there was only silence left in my skull! She was my friend! And I have to - I have to wield her bones into battle because if I do not then all of Fodlan falls.” Everyone she loves will die, just as in her every nightmare, all the times that never came to pass because she bears the powers of the progenitor goddess to turn time back. This must be another time that does not come to pass. “It doesn’t matter what we know - all that matters is that I can stop Nemesis. The goddess is dead but I’m not, so I can’t - care - I can’t - think about the rest that Rhea told us. The truth - her bones.”

Her words don’t make sense. She wants to look at Claude, to see if he understands, really understands what she means, that Sothis was someone to her, a precious friend and ally for the time that B had her voice and not just her powers - and she doesn’t want to look at Claude at all. She doesn’t want to see Claude looking back at a stranger. She remembers him dumbstruck when Rhea told them about the Crest stone, Sothis’ heart; she remembers how long it took for his wide eyes to turn to her. She remembers that he looked like he was looking at something else, something unfamiliar. She doesn’t know if she can look herself in the eye in a mirror ever again, and she doesn’t know how Claude could look at her the same way ever again.

“She was my friend,” B repeats, choosing not to meet Claude’s eyes, to look anywhere but at him, and she looks at her hands tugging her hair past her shoulders. She has never become used to this green that marks her and haunts her and yet is still not even quite the same green as Sothis’ hair. She does not look like Sothis. She looks like Rhea. All she is, is what Rhea made her. Does she hate Rhea for that? She doesn’t know. “Sothis was a goddess but - she was my friend, and I can’t bury her remains. I can’t put her back in the tomb. We have no other option than for me to keep bloodying her bones the way Nemesis did. I can’t let her rest.”

Seiros’ tomb was empty because Seiros yet lives, if perhaps only for a little longer. But the sword was in the tomb because the sword was still someone’s remains. Not Seiros but her mother, the goddess. Sothis.

“No,” Claude agrees quietly. “We really don’t have any other choice.”

“It’s the only way to end this,” B says. “As long as we can win, it doesn’t matter why - why me, why Rhea made me the - it doesn’t matter. I told you it doesn’t matter that - why I—”

A weight presses on her chest, like the weight of magic wielded against her, trying to pull her life from her or drown her in the dark, a growing pressure that she can’t breathe around. Half of her lungs cut off from her throat, every breath a shallow panting one like she’s wounded, and she can’t fathom why. It feels like she remembers crying felt, the only time she ever did. She can’t breathe and she can’t speak and she needs to keep speaking. “Why she made me. What she made me. It doesn’t matter. It only matters what I am now.”

Blood of the goddess, equal to the Fell King Nemesis. Bearer of the Crest of Flames. Wielder of the Sword of the Creator. Ashen Demon. A child that never cried. A heart that never beat.

She lays a hand on her chest. There should be something there. There’s nothing there but heaviness that doesn’t let her breathe deeply enough to stop gasping sharply; she chokes on too much air that she never actually swallows. All of Rhea’s confession finally bears down on her too quickly, too heavily, too late. She wants to scream it at Rhea but Rhea is dying and Rhea isn’t here and B has a thousand more questions for Rhea and B also never wants to speak to Rhea again. “My heart, she - she took my heart. She put a stone in its place, she - she gave me a stone for a heart!”

Until she braces against something solid she has no idea she is trembling; Claude closes his hands around her upper arms, trying to steady her, but her every gasp and cough sends another shudder through her. “Hey,” he says softly. “B - B. C’mon, breathe.”

She can’t - she can’t - why can’t she breathe. She presses the heels of her hands into her chest, like the pressure will finally make something in there start moving, start beating, finally this late in her life work like it should, but all it does is hurt. It hurts, it all hurts, the quick breaths struggling to sink into her lungs and the weight inside of her ribs and up to her throat where it’s tight on the inside, too tight. Everything is wrong. She tips forward until her head finds something solid to lean against, Claude’s chest, and in there he has a heart that beats. His heart, that once he knew about hers, once he knew what an aberrant freak she is, still consoled her by reminding her that the diary made clear that Jeralt loved her, how obvious it was it every word he wrote that he loved his dead-eyed heartless child. His heart, that he hid long after she handed him hers, that he finally offered to her in return, telling her about his goals, his ambitions, his dreams, trusting her to understand.

His beating heart, and hers—

“My heart - she put a stone in for my h-heart—”

“Easy there.” Claude moves his hands from her arms to hold her closer, her hands pressed against her chest that houses a stone now wedged between them, against his chest, and his hands rubbing a small circle on her back. “Give yourself a moment, all right? And don’t tell me again it doesn’t matter - clearly it does.”

Her eyes feel like they are burning, like smoke has found its way into them and they hurt like everything else hurts. “Why did she do this to me?”

They both know why. He doesn’t remind her. “Shh. Just try and breathe.”

If she doesn’t speak, she can simply focus on breathing, finding a steady rhythm to match the rise and fall she feels with her forehead resting on Claude’s chest. She doesn’t have a beating heart, but she breathes, and she has blood pounding through her veins. She’s no ghost, and she’s more than bones. She’s more than a vessel for these broken pieces of Sothis.

She opens her mouth, words at the ready, and instead just inhales another longer, slower breath. One more stolen moment of silence and calm before she has to raise her head and face the world again. Before they have to hold council for strategy in this next battle in a war that won’t end. “I’m sorry,” she finally says, and the words don’t choke her.

“Hey, don’t mention it,” Claude says. “I asked. I was worried about you. Everything Rhea said, and you just - didn’t react at all.”

He had been the one to ask the questions, to make sure they understood each new piece of Rhea’s assertions, repeating her unbelievable tale back to her. And B had listened, silently, with a vacant hollow space growing in her chest, swallowing up all of the emotions she had come to learn since Sothis awoke. Even as Claude had asked, “But the Sword of the Creator doesn’t have a Crest stone. How’s B able to wield its full power like that?”, there was some part of her that knew, had already heard just enough to know, and when Rhea said it Claude went silent, and B was not even numb with it. Numb implies that there is something beneath the numbness that is being suppressed, that will return with warmth. There was nothing in her then, nothing to warm up from the cold, nothing but that emptiness within her ribs stretching wider.

“You put her heart inside me?” she asked Rhea, just to be sure, even though she was sure, sure the way her father in his diary had been sure that something happened that was Rhea’s fault that left his child without a heartbeat. It was a stone, not a heart. She asked Rhea, just to be sure, and her voice didn’t sound like her own; she sounded just as empty of anything as her chest was. Rhea put a dead god’s heart in her, and B felt nothing at all. She looked at Claude, saw the horror drawn across his face, and thought she should share in that, shouldn’t she?

And after too long of a delay, the first feeling that welled up in the hollow in her chest had been that relief, and she hadn’t realized there was that dull horror drowned beneath it, waiting for the relief to subside to surge forward. This haunting revelation - the bones of someone she knew - that led her here.

But just as she knew Sothis - she knew her. She knows what Sothis said as they drifted in the darkness of some other world. The only way for them to return would be for Sothis to give up herself, all that she was as an individual consciousness, and she did. She refused for them to die there, even if it meant for her some other kind of death. B knew Sothis, knows what she did then, and knows if they could speak now that Sothis would scold her as she often did, demand that B pick up her damn bones and bring them to battle because they have no other choice. Are you going to die, instead? Sothis would ask. Are you going to let your friends die? Are you going to sacrifice the world because you’re too much of a fool to pick up that sword? Burying my bones again won’t change what happened in the Red Canyon! It will only mean that Nemesis slaughters everyone you love, too!

B cannot be happy about it, but she will do it. She would never have done anything else. Sothis was her friend, but Sothis is gone. Claude is still here. Claude and all of B’s other friends are still here. And she will protect them, with Sothis’ help, like she always has. With Sothis’ powers and Sothis’ blood and bones.

“I’m okay,” B says. It’s probably mostly true. “I’m—”

She tries to draw back, but Claude doesn’t yet let her go. His hands move to her shoulders, holding her at arms’ length, keeping her closer than she would have stayed. Meeting his eyes, she finds a concerned gaze. Not horror at something right in front of him become so unfamiliar. Just concern, for a friend.

The hollow empty space in her chest fills up a little further with warmth, and she amends her statement. “I’ll be okay,” she says. “And I’m with you. I’m ready to fight as soon as we do. You don’t have to worry.”

“I wasn’t worried about that,” Claude says. “I knew you would be. You’ve never let me down.”

Her throat grows tight again. “What’s our next move?” she asks him. She has no doubt that he already has one; together, they brought together an army, and he maneuvers it to the battlefields it needs to reach, and she leads the charge once they’re there. (And the admiration goes to her, Rhea’s favorite with the Crest of Flames and the Sword of the Creator, though she would be lost without Claude; it isn’t fair, but Claude doesn't care about fair. He cares about winning, and together, they do.)

“Hilda’s fielding any new messengers that might arrive,” Claude says, “and making up a map of Nemesis’ army’s movements. I told her as soon as I get back to her, I expect her to help us start rounding up our war council for a strategy meeting, as quick as possible, so we’ve got to go find her now. I wasn’t starting anything until I had you with me.”

And she had run, instead - her whole life, trained to charge into the fight, and now at this most dire moment, she turns and runs. “I’m sorry,” she says, again.

“Hey, I also needed a moment to process it all,” Claude says. “I mean - Saint Seiros, I just—” He shakes his head, finally releasing B’s arms and stepping back. “We’ll have plenty more time to discuss this when this is over. As long as you’re good right now, I am too.”

Right now. She can do right now, set aside these feelings for right now since she has given voice to them, freed herself of their weight. The Sword of the Creator still lays in the grass by the gravesite, Sothis’ body next to the place that B’s parents are buried. She picks it up, running her fingers along the uneven edge, segmented like a spine, its color almost that of weathered bone. She wants to apologize to it, but Sothis would laugh at her if she did. Don’t apologize. Just go kill Nemesis! Save Fodlan and your friends who are still living! I’m not the one to worry about!

(She thinks she has Sothis’ indignant cadence down, still, but her voice is fading into dim memory. Voices are hard to keep - even Jeralt’s, she has begun to lose.)

Claude, standing in front of her, on the other side of the sword, is watching her carefully when she raises her head. His eyes drift down to the same place hers lingered, there in the hilt the hole where her heart goes. Sothis and Byleth’s shared heart of stone that carries the flames in their blood. B carries Sothis’ Crest in her veins and her heart in her chest and her bones in her hands.

“I wonder who Failnaught used to be,” she says, and Claude looks away.

“Someone,” he says finally, “who I hope would be happy to help us kill Nemesis.”

B knew Sothis, but the rest are empty echoes through the ages. Nameless multitudes, like all of the bones that mingle in massive, unmarked graves on all the battlefields they have left behind during this war. All the slaughtered villages Nemesis leaves in his wake like he did a thousand years ago, devastated, burnt to ash.

“Claude,” she says sharply, and his head snaps back around to face her. He might expect something else about Failnaught, but nothing in her head can move so linearly, not right now, not the way the world swirls around them. “Nemesis marches under the Crest of Flames. He’s slaughtering civilians under that banner. But our army - we also - can we even still—”

Claude shakes his head. “We’ve come this far under that banner. I don’t really feel like surrendering it to a madman now, do you?” He pauses a moment for her to consider that, but he doesn’t wait for her to respond before he continues, “The Crest of Flames is ours. We’re not going to let him take it from us. And we’re not going to let him take Fodlan from us, either. If we lose, here, now, it’s all for nothing, and we’ll never see the sun rise on Fodlan’s new dawn.”

“That’s not going to happen.” B weighs the familiar sword in her hands. It is time to lay this all to rest - no more Red Canyons and Remire Villages. Whatever it takes, her Crest and blood and Sothis’ bones - if it takes her heart, she will give it gladly. If she must lay down her life, then she will. For everyone she loves, and for the rest of Fodlan with them. “We’ll see your dream through to the end.”

Claude grins at her; even with the darkness bearing down on them from the horizon, his eyes are bright. Back before B knew how to smile, she could still recognize that Claude’s smiles were another mask he wore; she could still notice that his smiles didn’t reach his eyes in situations far less dire than this one. His eyes of stone, and her heart. In the time it has taken her to learn how to have emotions, he learned to be honest with his.

“And there’s no one I’d rather have with me,” he says. “Shall we go plan our next move?” He offers her his arm, like in Deirdru entering the chamber that hosted the Alliance Roundtable, displaying to the lords the strength of their united front, Duke Reigan and the archbishop’s titleless mercenary successor. But there’s no one else around, no opposition in front of them to stand strong against - nothing but the doubts in B’s own head, the ones she hasn’t said because she can’t let herself give voice to the possibility that they lose. Her fears, and perhaps Claude’s own as well.

She loops her arm through his and together they leave the graveyard.

#i am allowing each of my byleths one additional breakdown per route and this is B's #no title for this bc that is beyond me and i've been poking at this since i finished verdant wind #which was like two months ago #roddy fanfics: fe3h #edit: updated my note now that i know all The Lore and also added a title finally

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maelemonium · 4 years

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Rodimus had always thought that being admired 24/7 would do wonders for his ego and self esteem. He was right.

He knew he probably wasn’t the first choice for babysitting, but after Drift had failed to keep Megatron’s rowdy twins from tearing up his shared hab with Ratchet, Drift had commed his best friend to help keep the sparklings under control.

Rodimus wasn’t sure what he was expecting to find when he walked in. Maybe they were trying to overthrow Drifts authority and already establishing their own totalitarian government. Although he didn’t walk into a revolution, the chaos before him wasn’t too surprising.

Drift was in the middle of the mess of things all over the floor, one of which was one of his swords that must have fallen off its hangers on the wall. The lighter sparkling, Rodimus remembers as SunChaser, was crying and pulling away from Drift’s hold on his arm trying to reach the sword. Oh no, not good.

Roddy swooped in and grabbed the sword. Without looking at him Drift dropped SunChaser’s arm and rushed to the other side of the room. Oh yeah there’s more than one. Rodimus watched as Drift pulled the other sparkling, MoonDust, off the shelf of books that she was climbing like a ladder and pushed it back against the wall before it continued to fall to the floor.

Crisis averted, Drift finally looked at Rodimus and let out a vent he was holding in. Despite MoonDust starting to cry in Drift’s arms, SunChaser had managed to fall quiet.

“Thanks,” Drift breathed, and gently put the whining bitlet in his arms to his feet. “I don’t know what I would have done without another set of hands.”

Rodimus smiled and gave him a thumbs up. “No problem! Gave me an excuse to avoid another lecture from Mag-”. He stopped as he felt something bop his ped.

He looked down and saw bright blue and violet optics stare up at him as a tiny hand continued its noisy tapping. SunChaser started cooing at the attention he was getting and reached up with grabby hands.

“Pick him up! If you don’t he might start crying again.” Drift urged before turning around to find MoonDust sitting with an upside down data pad on her lap.

Rodimus continued to stare down at the tiny beeping sparkling before slowly reaching down and scooped him up under his arms. Now with closer reach SunChaser reached forward and patted Rodimus’ face and continued cooing.

“How sweet, he likes you.” Drift said getting down and turning the data pad in MoonDust’s hands the correct way. “He bit me as soon as he saw me.”

“Really?” Rodimus chuckled, tucking SunChaser under his arm and walking over. “and when did the sword fall down?”

“SunChaser rolled into a ball and started bouncing from all to wall and mangaged to knock it down.” Drift sighed and watched as MoonDust moved one of her tiny fingers along the pages as if the words meant anything to her.

“They roll into balls?” Rodimus exclaimed shocked, as if he understood and wanted to answer, SunChaser beeped as he wiggled out of his arms.

Excited beeping rung through the room and Rodimus watched as small whirrs and clicks came of the small white sparkling as he curled into a ball. With the final click of everything into place SunChaser immediately started rolling around with no direction or pattern.

“Do you think he’d like being thrown around?” Rodimus reached forward to grab the sentient sphere.

“Roddy! You can’t throw a sparkling!” Drift gasped.

“I‘ll be careful just slightly toss him and catch him.” Rodimus looked back at the bundle in his hands and started bouncing him up and down.

With Nothing but happy beeps and chirps coming from SunChaser, Rodimus started to toss him into the air a little bit and catch him. “It will be fine, see! He’s happy!”

Rodimus almost dropped SunChaser when MoonDust made a sudden loud beep and rushed past the two baby sitters. Followed right after there was a knock on the door. Rodimus fumbled with the round sparkling but managed to catch him before he transformed and wiggled out of his arms to follow his sister.

“It’s open!” Drift said standing up and moving to the door that now had two jumping sparklings at it.

Rodimus followed, standing in a significantly less graceful manner as the door slid open to Megatron. As soon as their only barrier was gone the twins started climbing up his legs.

“Rodimus, I see you came to help. I hope they weren’t too much trouble.” Megatron rumbled over the beeping bitlets he scooped into his arms.

Rodimus let out a small laugh as he and Drift glanced at each other.

Looking past the two and into the room around them, Megatron took in the damage. “I see…”

Since then Rodimus had been the go to baby sitter for SunChaser, while Drift watched MoonDust. It was decided that the twins were too much to handle for one mech if they were together. The sparklings them selves didn’t seem to mind, especially not with how much SunChaser was laughing while he was being tossed, (not thrown), into the air.

With how much the little thing loved being in the air, Rodimus figured he’d probably end up flying. Of course when Megatron found out what he was up to, Rodimus’ discovery was not enough to calm the rage storm of an angry creator.

Despite everything as SunChaser grew up, crew members started calling him “Rodimus Jr.” Or “mini Roddy” as Rodimus was rarely seen without his energetic shadow.

Rodimus sat in the captain's chair with SunChaser sitting in a “second captains chair” made specially for him with very important buttons being pushed every five seconds.

“Beep! Beeeep! Boop!” Sounds coming from the mini captain cut through Rodimus’s reading, but he didn’t have to spark to stop Chaser from pretending he was leading the ship.

“Roddy?”

Snapped out of his thoughts Rodimus looked down to see the little sparkling staring up at him. “What’s up little dude?”

“I wanna be like you!” SunChaser beamed up at him. “A really cool hero like you!”

Rodimus nearly cried.

Trying to write some story for some of my characters interacting with actual characters, i am far from confident with my writing skill go easy on me.

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lloronista · 5 years

Text

chrysanthemum in the mirror, moon on the water

(鏡菊水月)

Shisui/Itachi | Samurai AU Rated M (violence & eventual smut) | 1690 words Chapter 1/13 --- Prologue ---

鏡花水月 (Kyōka Suigetsu) - ‘mirror flower, moon water,’ meaning something that can be seen but not touched, like an illusion, a mirage.

The whole world was dyed red.

Red sky stained by a red sunset, the sun itself bleeding out into darkened clouds in the west as it sank into the earth, into its mirror image in the puddles left in the rainstorm’s wake. Puddles long as small lakes and shimmering red, the way only water takes in light when it hemorrhages so deep a shade as this and magnifies it. Makes the world liquid as an open artery.

At four years old, Itachi had watched a man die in such a way.

He’d watched as the boy carrying him on his back took up a sword and slashed a grown man’s throat. What frightened Itachi wasn’t the act of killing itself, nor the sudden hollowness in the man’s stare as his hands flew up uselessly to press at the wound. Eyes like a ghost’s, as if he could already see a landscape beyond this one. He’d hardly registered that a second later such a fate could have been his own; samurai children are not afraid of dying.

Water sloshed around the older boy’s calves as he trudged through one of these deeper puddles, slowly so as not to stumble over any limbs. Off in the trees farther away, cicadas droned on.

Death surrounded them on all sides, as inescapable as air. Mere hours ago, in the onslaught of battle and storm, the marshy field had been transformed to resemble a gash in the earth. He’d wanted to see it, not even knowing what it was. Wandering the wooded and rice-paddied area past his home’s borders was not unusual for Itachi; curiosity had guided him further that day. It was as if every living creature, the crows in the trees and insects in the grass, could sense something about to erupt. The impending storm, the pounding of hooves into confrontation. Itachi had underestimated the scope of the plain and ventured too close, ensnared once the clans’ skirmish blew into a full battle. Thunder roaring in the skies, from the feet of hundreds, inside of his chest.

None were as deafening as the silence that followed.

Itachi had never heard such a silence, like the air was paralyzed. All around them, the dead piling up, their faces rendered unrecognizable yet united in the same expression of lifelessness at the end.

Bodies are such fragile things.

The slosh of water crowded Itachi’s ears, growing more unbearable by the minute. Yet his voice would not materialize and beg the sound to ease. He could only continue to stare transfixed at the crimson sky’s reflection in the water, rippling with every step. Imagining that even the heavens were trembling.

I am in shock, Itachi thought, testing the word out, like a foreign material between his fingertips. Like the farmer last week in the village, who’d only been able to sit paralyzed after cutting off his thumb and losing so much blood without dying. His father had relayed the story to him. How the man hadn’t been able to speak when someone finally stumbled upon him in the field, though his eyes had stayed open the whole time. Still witnessing everything around him. This is what it feels like.

Palm-sweat dampening the cotton under his hands where he clung to bony shoulders. Stiff and quiet as he held on. Just gazing out at the macabre scenery colored by a dying sun.

Itachi hated this color. This intense, unforgiving shade of red.

He hated this helpless feeling, the stench of corpses festering in the stagnant puddles and humidity. He couldn’t even feel grateful to this boy who’d shown up and saved his life, annoyed at how his messy hair kept tickling his nose.

“Hey.” The owner of the messy hair turned to peer over his shoulder—there that nest of curls went again, brushing Itachi’s cheek this time—his human voice dragging Itachi out of the depths of his thoughts. “You falling asleep back there? You’ve been awfully quiet this whole time.”

Asleep?

As if this place wasn’t a nightmare anyone would hope to wake from, reality waiting somewhere else?

Could he crane his neck more, the boy would’ve met quite a pointed stare from Itachi, brows knit in an unfittingly adult way for such young, round features. The muteness plaguing him finally cracked.

“Why would I be asleep?” he demanded, instantly regretting how sullen it came out.

The boy let out a mirthful huff. “Just wondering. You can go ahead, you know, if you want to.”

“No thank you,” Itachi mumbled. “Anyways, you should be quiet, too. Someone will find us.”

“There’s no one but us here. Us and the crows.”

The remaining warriors had retreated, groups from the winning side of the bloodbath chasing after them. Surely they’d return soon, to retrieve the fallen—those who were important, at least. Itachi watched the last of the sun’s ember glow cooling down, the color no longer so severe once it congealed. Shadows draped over the hills would soon expand fully into night. In the dark, figures moving among the battlefield had such a way of racing through the imagination.

“If they see us, they’ll think we’re looting.”

“We better reach the woods soon, then. It’ll be easier to hide there.”

Itachi nodded, conscious the older boy wouldn’t see.

“I’ll be able to find my way alone from there.”

“And risk having the Uchiha heir’s blood on my hands, if something happens afterwards?” The older boy chortled. “I don’t think so. Maybe next time don’t run away from home and find yourself in such a messy situation, huh?”

Itachi’s eyes flashed at that, unable to pinpoint if what dug under his skin more was the idea that he was pampered back at home, or if it was this boy’s know-it-all attitude when he was hardly more than a child himself. “What about you, you followed me here, didn’t you?”

His shoulders shook under Itachi’s hands as he let out a small laugh—the first pleasant sound to fall on Itachi’s ears that day. “What can I say, I couldn’t help but notice you.” He craned his head again, this time catching Itachi with the full weight of his glance. “You’re glad, though, right?”

Embarrassment flooded him. Dazed still, hollowed out by every awful thing he’d taken in that day, Itachi’s exhaustion was no match for the mortifying ordeal of being tended to by another radiating through him. The hands hooked under his knees had splotches of dried blood crusted on them; had held a sword when Itachi couldn’t.

Maybe that’s what it was that had frozen Itachi in that moment of fate—that he could not even fight for himself.

Hands too small to grip a sword-hilt, little limbs too weak.

“I can walk now.”

The boy made no move to let him down, soldiering on with careful steps up the slippery incline they’d reached. But his tone was gentle as he told him, “It’s alright. We still have a ways to go once we get to the forest. I won’t get tired.”

Voices called for the lanterns to be lit as soon as sentries picked out two small figures approaching the gate. All at once, the Uchiha compound stirred from its uneasy slumber with lights flickering to life throughout homes and at every guard post. In a matter of moments people were emerging from their houses, tired faces illuminated by candles and oil lamps, their lights together speckling the darkness in a way Itachi couldn’t help but find reminiscent of a festival scene, only the whimsy had been overtaken by a somber and frantic tone. A commotion bloomed in the courtyard as his brethren rushed to surround them, ushering the two boys past the gates and into their swarm of questions and care.

“Lord Fugaku’s son is alive, go and tell him at once!”

“Thank the goddess Kannon he’s safe!”

“Look, they have blood on their kimono!” one woman cried upon seeing the dark stains on the fronts of both boys’ clothing. “Where are you injured, child?”

Throughout the fuss, Itachi stood numbly with his hand in the other boy’s, shaking his head, ‘no, I’m not hurt,’ or nodding ‘yes, I’m okay.’ Beside him, the other boy seemed overwhelmed, unused to the amount of attention. A muscle in his finger twitched, tightening its hold on Itachi’s.

Just then a rough voice, though no louder than those around it, boomed above the din. “Where have you been, Itachi?”

The worried aunts and other elders parted to let Fugaku through, their clan leader’s face a mask of fury. All eyes fell on them as parent and child reunited.

Itachi looked up into his father’s eyes, limned red and shining with relief despite the harshness in his stare. Recognized the fear and concern behind his anger, and felt ashamed. His own gaze dropped to the ground. “Forgive me.”

The tension seemed to thaw then.

“Come.” His father placed a hand at his back and urged him toward their house. “You owe your mother an explanation. Get inside.”

Before Itachi could open his mouth to speak, he felt himself pushed along, wrenched so swiftly apart from the other boy.

“Thank you, everyone, for helping to find my son,” his father addressed their kin, bowing his head forward. “On his behalf, I ask your forgiveness in causing such trouble.”

As they started toward the steps on the verandah, Itachi turned back toward the boy he’d spent the entire day close by, and their gazes caught one last time. What kind of look was that on his face, he wondered, that expression neither fully relieved nor sad? He thought about it while his mother helped him out of his dirty clothes and inspected him for cuts and bruises, the bathwater beside them pleasantly steaming. She didn’t cry when she laid eyes on him, but took his small body into her arms and just held him there, suffusing him with warmth more wholly than the hot water ever could. Yet still, Itachi couldn’t help but feel the ghost of heat in his palm from where that strange boy had been holding his hand.

#mywriting #posting just the prologue for now since i'm still getting kinks worked out in the overall outline #(also maybe gauging interest for this au 👀)#also not putting this in any characters/ship tags yet xD #but i'm really excited about this project so i want to get it started ;v;

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clumsybookworm18 · 5 years

Note

I really like your blog and I was wondering what your favourite books are or if you had any book recommendations? ♥️

Awww you’re too nice! Thank you ☺️💕

You made my night! Asking for book recs while letting me gush over my favorite books at the same time? Hell yes!!!

Ok ok so my absolute favorites are:

A Court of Thrones and Roses by Sarah J Mass

When nineteen-year-old huntress Feyre kills a wolf in the woods, a beast-like creature arrives to demand retribution for it. Dragged to a treacherous magical land she only knows about from legends, Feyre discovers that her captor is not an animal, but Tamlin--one of the lethal, immortal faeries who once ruled their world.

As she dwells on his estate, her feelings for Tamlin transform from icy hostility into a fiery passion that burns through every lie and warning she's been told about the beautiful, dangerous world of the Fae. But an ancient, wicked shadow over the faerie lands is growing, and Feyre must find a way to stop it . . . or doom Tamlin--and his world--forever.

Anyone who’s been following me for a while knows how much I love this series, especially the second book, A Court of Mist and Fury. The first book is a retelling of Beauty and the Beast (one of my favorite tropes) and surprisingly I found it so boring that I almost didn’t finish it BUT after getting to the second half I was completely hooked. Getting through ACOTAR was so worth it because I got to read ACOMAF, which had more of a Hades and Persephone vibe (++A). ACOMAF is my ultimate comfort book, I love it so much that I own it physically, on my kindle and on audiobook. It may be cliche and the writing can be ridiculously funny sometimes but I still love it!

The Winner’s Trilogy by Marie Rutkoski

They were never meant to be together. As a general's daughter, seventeen-year-old Kestrel enjoys an extravagant and privileged life. Arin has nothing but the clothes on his back. Then Kestrel makes an impulsive decision that binds Arin to her. Though they try to fight it, they can't help but fall in love. In order to be together, they must betray their people . . . but to be loyal to their country, they must betray each other. Set in a new world, The Winner's Curse is a story of rebellion, duels, ballroom dances, wicked rumors, dirty secrets, and games where everything is at stake, and the gamble is whether you will keep your head or lose your heart.

These books hold a special place in my heart. They got me out of a HUGE reading slump and reminded me why I fell in love with books in the first place! This trilogy has everything- beautiful writing, fantastic world building, clever plot twists, forbidden romance, and most importantly, ANGST. The main female character, Kestrel, is one of my favorite heroines ever; she is a badass and doesn’t need a sword or fists to fight given that her greatest weapon is her mind (unlike most YA heroines nowadays).

Hope and Red (Empire of Storms series) by Jon Skovron

Hope's old life ended the night her entire village was massacred by the emperor's forces. Now, trained in secret by a master warrior, her new life is centered on only one goal: vengeance.

Red lives by the skin of his teeth and sharpness of his wit. An expert thief and a brilliant con artist, he cares for only one thing: a good time. But when the empire's soldiers start to encroach on his territory, taking down his friends with it, he may have to re-prioritize.

Together, they will take down an empire.

A fantasy trilogy that is so UNDERRATED. It’s has amazing characters, diversity, action, wit, PIRATES! It has a unique storyline, the characters and dialogue are so funny, and the female characters are amazingly badass. I stumbled upon this book so randomly while I was at Cotsco and it looked interesting so I bought it (mostly because I thought the cover was cool 😂) but never gave it much thought. One day boredom got the best of me so I started reading it. Next thing I knew it was 3am and I was freaking the fuck out cause I had read this amazing book in one sitting that ended with a cliffhanger and I needed more pronto! Much to my delight, I discovered there were 2 more books and ordered them immediately.

Six of Crows duology by Leigh Bardugo

Ketterdam: a bustling hub of international trade where anything can be had for the right price—and no one knows that better than criminal prodigy Kaz Brekker. Kaz is offered a chance at a deadly heist that could make him rich beyond his wildest dreams. But he can’t pull it off alone. . . .

A convict with a thirst for revenge. A sharpshooter who can’t walk away from a wager. A runaway with a privileged past. A spy known as the Wraith.A Heartrender using her magic to survive the slums. A thief with a gift for unlikely escapes.

Kaz’s crew is the only thing that might stand between the world and destruction—if they don’t kill each other first.

A team formed of 6 very different but compelling characters that go on a heist. *chef’s kiss* Also Squad Goals. Needless to say I REALLY enjoyed these books.

Best Kind of Broken by Chelsea Fine

Pixie and Levi haven't spoken in nearly a year when they find themselves working―and living―at the same inn in the middle of nowhere. Once upon a time, they were childhood friends. But that was before everything went to hell. And now things are... awkward. All they want to do is avoid each other, and their past, for as long as possible. But now that they're forced to share a bathroom, and therefore a shower, keeping their distance from one another becomes less difficult than keeping their hands off each other. Welcome to the hallway of awkward tension and sexual frustration, folks. Get comfy. It’s going to be a long summer.

I don’t like NA a lot so I went into this thinking it was gonna be another NA cliché read so believe me when I say I didn’t expect to love it as much as I did. I fell in love with Pixie and Levi’s relationship. I loved their banter, their complicated history, the angst, the love-hate and UST. The author’s writing style is so good and quirky, and the inner monologues are hilarious. She does a great job managing humor and drama! The side characters are great too. She wrote 2 more books with some of the side characters (which sadly I haven’t got the chance to read yet) but this could also be read as a stand-alone. I listened to the whole audiobook on YouTube (100% recommend!).

Honorary Mentions:

The Hating Game by Sally Thorne

99 Percent Mine by Sally Thorne

Warm Bodies by Isaac Marion

Skyward by Brandon Sanderson

Falling Kingdoms by Morgan Rhodes

The Witchlands Series by Susan Dennard

To Kill a Kingdom by Alexandra Christo

Bring Me Their Hearts by Sara Wolf

The Gilded Wolves by Roshani Chokshi

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cookiecutterwrites · 5 years

Text

Live Action

In this tribute to artists, dreamers and anime, an autistic daydreamer and a disillusioned baker have a falling out once it’s revealed that the latter has been stealing the former’s art.

Word count: ~3000 (15 screenplay pages)

AN: Happy Autism Acceptance Month, everyone!! Nat is a Japanese-American middle-grader who’s special interest is character art. I’m still learning so please don’t hesitate to let me know if I got anything wrong!

FADE IN:

EXT. REVERIE

Grainy paper and granite-dust fingerprints. A line darts across the frame -- a horizon.

Bits of debris and rubble materialize, populating the landscape. They're partially formed and crude, as if scrawled with an impatient hand.

AURORA, 14, reluctant yet stalwart, stands with her eyes glued to the top of an off-kilter skyscraper. She casts off a tattered seafoam fur-lined coat, raises her hands, conjures ethereal snowflakes between her palms -

She's HIT in the shoulder! She gasps, her ice magic dissipates. She jumps back -- a burnt yellow, amorphous projectile plunges itself into her winter boot, CEMENTING HER TO THE SIDEWALK. It's superheated, she's burned. She screams. Aurora looks back up at the tower, all dismay and pleading eyes now.

AURORA Vanilla, please! -

Atop the slanted skyscraper, VANILLA, 13, stands proud, her face hidden in shadow. Her magical girl outfit is decked out with yellow ribbons. She's pulling amber hot sugar with her bare hands, stretching and twisting the strands into a thin baton, which she holds out to cool in the falling snow.

AURORA You don't have to -

Vanilla snaps the candy cane over her knee, producing two spear-tipped halves. She levitates the shards to either side of her, takes aim...

Vanilla turns and walks away, leaving the broken shards to JAVELIN toward a defenseless, wide-eyed Aurora -

AURORA VANI -

SMASH CUT TO:

INT. NAT'S BEDROOM - MORNING

NAT's eyes snap open. Soft mint bed sheets rustle in the morning light.

AMANDA, 40, Nat's mother, hollers from beyond the door.

AMANDA (O.S.) Nat! Get up already, you're gonna be late again!

Nat just whines in response.

MONTAGE:

- She shoves a sketchbook in her backpack.

- Zips her bag up.

- She pulls on a pastel turquoise sweater.

- She kicks unfinished sketches under her bed, where they join a slew of coloring pencils, markers, gel pens, and old sketchbooks brimming with stick people.

NAT (V.O.) My name is Nat Okura. I'm 14 years old. I'm in the 8th grade. And there's something about me that no one -- and I mean, no one -- can know about.

- She stands in her doorway adjusting the straps of her backpack. Her room is plastered wall-to-wall in drawings of cartoons, lined and colored, crude yet dynamic, the very style that came alive in her Reverie. She shuts the door.

- TOAST! She tries to pluck it fresh from the toaster, drops it, hisses with pain.

- Spreads jam on toast.

- Jams toast in her mouth.

MONTAGE END.

INT. FRONT DOOR - MORNING

Nat slips into her shoes at the front door, toast between her teeth.

Amanda descends upon the scene. She's firm but well-meaning. She plucks the bread from Nat's mouth.

AMANDA Don't do things in parts or people will get confused. You have to commit.

She pulls Nat in for a hug. Nat stiffens at the sudden contact, she waits out the hug rather than reciprocating.

AMANDA Have fun, darling.

EXT. CITY STREET - DAY

Nat speedwalks down the street, making anxious faces and whispering to herself under her breath.

NAT "I just wanted to be... somebody..." "I know you did, but one of these days, you're gonna have to learn to be happy with the hand you're dealt..." "One of these..." "One of these days -

An L train RUSHES by, rumbling noisily.

A sound effect bubble RIPS across her path in tandem with the speeding train, 'TAK-TAK-TAK-TAK-TAK' etc.

Nat shutters to a stop, takes a step back, narrowly dodging the bubble. It vanishes once the train's passed.

She's tapped on the shoulder. It's MELODY, 13, playing the tap-the-opposite-shoulder prank. Nat falls for it. Melody beams.

MELODY See you in class, Aoi-chan!

She zips away, light on her feet, small yet assured in her oversized yellow hoodie. She threads under the L tracks.

FLASHBACK:

INT. L STATION - NIGHT

Amanda pulls a YOUNG NAT, 8, along. College students chatter, music blares from an unseen source, trains pull up and jet off. Text bubbles pops up with each cacophonous addition. They crowd out the already-stifling space. No one else senses them.

Nat wrenches her hands from her mother's and covers her ears, screws her eyes shut. Amanda urges her on, it doesn't work. Amanda grows frustrated, people are starting to look.

Suddenly, Nat is GRABBED from behind and pulled into a hug. She SHRIEKS. It's just a YOUNG MELODY, who lets go immediately.

YOUNG MELODY I'm sorry! I'm sorry!

PREEYA, Melody's mom, pulls her away.

PREEYA Apologies, she has so much energy...

Nat peers at Melody.

FLASHBACK END.

NAT "Tch. You're gonna be late."

Nat forges on toward school. The real world and her Reverie mesh together. Melody, receding into the distance, resembles Vanilla without any of the magical girl embellishments.

A colossal Beast with an untamed mane hidden in shadow rises above the school.

Nat -- Aoi -- transforms into Aurora with a wave of her hand and a burst of light. She parkours effortlessly up to the L, sticking a three-point landing on top of the moving train.

New tracks materialize, redirecting Aurora toward the school, straight toward the monster.

She brandishes a blade, seemingly out of thin air. She leaps off the train, rising impossibly high, swings her sword with a flurry of conjured snowflakes -

INT. CLASSROOM - DAY

Nat blinks. She's back at her desk and she doesn't like it one bit. Her knee bounces restlessly.

Down one side of her lined notebook, there's some 8th grade biology nonsense about the freezing point of water. On the opposite page, she's doodled a katana and written under it, 'SLICICLE?!' and, 'SNOWDROP' and finally, 'SILVER STORM', which is underlined and circled several times.

She sighs, ignoring the lecture, slides her notebook aside, revealing her sketchbook underneath. She starts sketching Aurora posing with her blade.

INT. SCHOOL HALLWAY - DAY

Nat sits on the ground, leaning against her locker, sketchbook propped upright against her knees so as to hide the contents from milling extras. She sketches frantically, head bowed, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.

Wispy shadows lash out at her from under the lockers. She glares at them and they scatter.

Melody approaches from the other end of the hall. She chats up other students as she passes, tackle-hugs a few, shares a secret fistbump with one, plays tap-the-opposite-shoulder with free abandon. She pulls to a stop before Nat.

MELODY 'Sup.

Nat shuts her sketchbook sharply, looks up briefly, then breaks eye contact like it burned.

FLASHBACK:

INT. FRONT DOOR - NIGHT

Amanda answers the front door. Young Melody shoves a tray of brownies in her face. Preeya is there too.

INT. NAT'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Young Nat sits on the floor of her room fidgeting and doodling stick people. Melody creeps over, fully intent on watching. The door's been left open, and Preeya and Amanda are sat in the living room beyond.

PREEYA She made those herself, you know? It was all her idea.

AMANDA Such a sweet girl.

Melody offers Nat a brownie.

YOUNG MELODY Sorry for trying to hug you. I should've asked first.

Nat merely slides her sketchbook back and away.

Melody blinks, bemused, stuffs the brownie in her own mouth.

AMANDA (sighing) Sometimes she doesn't understand what peoples' words mean. Takes things literally. She can be so cold sometimes.

Nat looks up slightly at this, registering it, goes back to drawing. Melody scoots right up to Nat, points at a teal-haired pencil-sketched girl.

YOUNG MELODY Is that you?

Nat tries to withdraw but Melody holds the sketchbook fast. Nat squirms as she answers.

YOUNG NAT It's Aoi.

YOUNG MELODY Aoi?

Nat writes it out in English then in hiragana. Melody watches raptly. And then:

YOUNG MELODY Can you draw me?

FLASHBACK END.

Back to the school hallway.

NAT Hey.

MELODY You good? Wanna head to class?

Nat stands, her open backpack tips upside down, spilling colorful stationary and loose papers EVERYWHERE.

Melody calmly helps pick stuff up but Nat scrambles to shove everything back in her bag, hating every passing second. Text bubbles pop up to accompany her halfhearted mutterings: 'PEOPLE ARE WATCHING...', 'EVERYONE'S STARING AT ME', etc.

She shoulders her bag and speedwalks away.

In her haste, she'd forgotten her sketchbook, which Melody holds up.

MELODY Hey Natty -

But it's too late. She's vanished.

Melody's puzzled expression morphs to one of determination. She alone understands the power of the artifact in her hand.

INT. MELODY'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

She rushes over to her desk, switches on the desk lamp, flips open the sketchbook, whips out her phone, snaps off a few photos.

INT. SCHOOL HALLWAY - DAY

Melody mills about a water fountain with JUNE and ANNA, two other students. They're flipping through Nat's sketchbook.

ANNA Mel, you drew all of these?

MELODY Um. Yup.

JUNE What? I had no idea you were a drawer!

Nat marches up to greet Melody, small and skittish. She takes one look at the sketchbook in Melody's hands, stops dead in her tracks. Her mouth falls open. She turns tail and storms back the way she came.

Melody traces Nat's wake as if shocked out of a trance.

EXT. CITY STREET - DAY

Nat marches home, under the L and back.

NAT "How could you betray me like that?! I trusted you!"... "I trusted you..."

Behind her, a shadow grows. She glances back. The beast engulfing the school SPROUTS ABOUT A MILLION EYES. They blink in unsettling syncrony. They turn on Nat.

With an assured flick of her wrist, she disappears in a flash of light and reemerges as Aurora, bringing her Reverie to the waking world.

The Beast advances, sluggish yet chilling. Aurora ICE-BLASTS IT IN THE FACE, but to no avail. The amorphous shadows SWAMP HER, blotting out the screen.

Aurora BURSTS from the darkness, gasping for air! She hacks uselessly with Silver Storm before being pulled under again.

INT. MELODY'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

It's dark. Melody flips through the sketchbook. Nat's drawn Aurora and Vanilla in the same poses and situations over and over again. She frowns.

Light washes in from the living room through the open door. Suddenly, a silhouette. Hand-drawn and grainy. Yellow ribbons.

VANILLA What were you thinking? You know she doesn't like it when people look at her art before it's done.

Melody looks up briefly, then back to the sketches

VANILLA What're you gonna say to her? How are you gonna look her in eye and say, what? That you're sorry?

MELODY You -- they're my characters too.

CUT TO:

OVER BLACK;

The satisfying rustle of pages flipping in rapid succession.

YOUNG MELODY (V.O) What happens after they beat the Beast?

YOUNG NAT (V.O.) They go back and they do it again the next day.

SMASH CUT IN:

INT. MELODY'S BEDROOM - MORNING

Yellow morning light floods Melody's bedroom. Her eyes snap open.

MELODY (V.O.) Let's take it from the top. My name is Melody Kumar and I'm 13 years old.

INT. LIVING ROOM - MORNING

Melody yawns, stepping into the living room, pulling on her yellow hoodie. She sneaks by her brother, SHIVAM, 17, who's passed out on the couch, game controller in hand. She sidles up to the front door, dejected.

MONTAGE:

- Preeya clicks her tongue.

PREEYA My sweet little girl, why can’t you be more like your brother?

- Melody glowers at her homework. Behind her, Shivam plays a game, headphones on, shouting occasionally.

MELODY (V.O.) What’s so great about him?

- She glances up from a tin of cupcakes to catch her brother and mother hugging. She pays them no mind, goes back to piping frosting.

MELODY (V.O.) I was never gonna be the favorite child. So whatever, I found people who would like me the way I am.

- Young Melody hands out homemade cookies at school.

- Snap to earlier in the week: Melody chatting up multiple cliques, stopping before Nat.

MELODY (V.O.) But they don't give medals for being nice.

MONTAGE END.

Standing framed by the front door, she stuffs Nat's sketchbook in her bag.

MELODY (V.O.) I needed a real talent. I know I can be more than -

Voices echo in her head:

AMANDA (V.O.) ... Such a sweet girl.

PREEYA (V.O.) My sweet little girl...

Her face falls just as she’s pulling back the door.

MELODY (V.O.) And yet...

FLASHBACK:

INT. NAT'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Young Nat lies on the floor penciling in eyes, hair, a skirt. Young Melody inches closer to look. Nat pulls the notebook away. Moments later, she lays the book flat, revealing a candy-themed magical girl in a yellow costume. She points.

YOUNG NAT It’s you.

YOUNG MELODY Oh, I don’t know if I’m cut out to be a magical girl.

YOUNG NAT Are you kidding me? You’re the nicest person I know. Everyone wants to be friends with you and you put others before yourself. You’re the perfect magical girl.

YOUNG MELODY I guess. If you say so.

Nat spins the book back around, chews on the end of her pencil.

YOUNG NAT ... "Vanilla."

FLASHBACK END.

INT. NAT'S BEDROOM - DAY

Nat's scrunched up in a corner of her room, hugging a plush polar bear to her chest. She nudges a half-finished drawing of Vanilla, back turned and lording atop a spire, away with her foot.

She's been drawing lots. Her room is covered classic crumpled paper balls and doodles spanning at least three different kinds of paper, some half-colored, half-inked, half-baked.

NAT (V.O.) "Don't do things in parts or people will get confused. You have to commit." I don't think this is what she meant, but what do I know? Sometimes I don't understand what peoples’ words mean.

Knock-knock. She pushes the bubbles away. Knock-knock. There it is again. Bubbles fill the room. Nat shrinks in on herself until the congestion becomes unbearable. She stands.

INT. OKURAS' APARTMENT - DAY

NAOKI, Nat's father, 45, stands before Nat's bedroom door with Melody by his side. He's a fidgety sort of fellow, bursting with nervous energy. He speaks as if picking each word with great deliberation.

NAOKI She’s been like this for 3 days. She won't talk to us.

Melody raps on the door. Nothing.

MELODY Can I try talk to her alone?

Naoki leaves.

MELODY Thank you, Mr. Okura! (leaning toward door) Nat, are you there? Nat, I'm sorry -

INTERCUT WITH:

INT. NAT'S BEDROOM - CONTINUOUS

Nat, inches from the door, starts to back down.

MELODY (O.S.) ... Aoi-chan?

Nat stops, inhales sharply -

INTERCUT WITH:

EXT. REVERIE

Close on Aurora's face. She's silhouetted, shrouded in darkness.

AURORA I fight every day to live in this world that's not meant for me. And still, you feel the need to make it harder for me.

MELODY It's not like that! I-I wasn't thinking straight. I deleted everything, set the record straight -- I told everyone who really drew the art! Look, I brought your book! It'll never happen again -- Nat, are you still there? Nat?!

She puts a hand to Nat's door, rests her head against the wood. She sighs.

MELODY (V.O.) Vanilla turns back. She can't believe her eyes, can't believe she ever did that.

Vanilla does just that. She descends the tilted skyscraper bit by bit.

VANILLA I'm ...sorry? I can't say I know how you feel, but... I know why you fight the Beast.

Nat's eyes snap open at this. She's leaning against her side of the door, exhausted.

MELODY (O.S.) The Beast isn't there to remind you there's bad in the world. You already know that

It's revealed that Vanilla's sugar spears missed Aurora by mere inches. Aurora is unharmed but infuriated nonetheless.

Vanilla vanishes the pulled sugar with a wave of her hand. Aurora stumbles, her foot having suddenly been freed. Vanilla catches her.

VANILLA You fight the beast so that you know that you can. Over and over again. Every day. And I don't wanna watch you fight alone anymore. Melody leans against her side of the door.

AURORA (too quiet for Vanilla to hear) So it turns out we both have a little sugar and ice in us.

MELODY What was that? Na -- Aoi-chan, are you still with me?

Nat silently nods.

Melody takes a deep breath. The Reverie overtakes them both. Vanilla and Aurora stand back-to-back, as if preparing for battle. They're done this a thousand times before but this time, it's devoid of the fanfare. They're both tired.

VANILLA You let me into your world.

The Reverie recedes.

MATCH CUT TO:

Melody and Nat standing back to back with the bedroom door separating them.

MELODY Won't you let me stay? Even if we both know the live action will never be as good?

Nat cracks her door open.

END INTERCUT.

Melody holds her arms open wide.

MELODY Permission?

Nat nods and Melody goes in for the hug. This time, Nat reciprocates.

MELODY Nakama?

NAT ... Nakama.

They breathe again.

SMASH CUT TO:

INT. NAT'S BEDROOM - MORNING

Nat's eyes snap open.

MONTAGE:

- Nat kicks unfinished art under her bed where it joins a mass of other unpolished pieces, including but not limited to comic pages of Vanilla turning against Aurora.

- Melody puts yellow ribbons in her hair

- Nat pulls on her signature green sweatshirt.

- Melody snaps pictures of her homemade breakfast scones.

- Nat slips into her shoes. Amanda comes up from behind and shoves her sketchbook in her backpack. She asks Nat if she's okay with a hug today and Nat nods. They embrace.

MONTAGE END.

EXT. CITY STREET - DAY

Melody darts to catch up with Nat on the way to school. She's got a jam-slathered slice of scone sticking out of her mouth, which Nat appraises, then -

NAT You're kidding me, right?

Melody shrugs, takes a bite, holds the scone in her hand.

MELODY Are we gonna do this or what?

A monstrous shadow creeps toward them.

Nat nods. She flicks her wrist, she and Melody vanish in a burst of light -

Grainy paper scenery. Aurora and Vanilla pose back-to-back, smirking. Vanilla pulls molten sugar into a whip and Aurora swings Silver Storm at the screen -

CUT TO BLACK.

#screenwriting #fiction #writing #anime #writers on tumblr #creative writing #autistic characters #script #screenplay #autism acceptance #magical girl #aspiring writer #deconstruction #writeblr #cookie's writing #cookie's stuff

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magic-and-moonlit-wings · 5 years

Note

Hi, how did you feel about Draal's arm being destroyed? Are there any movies you like, in spite of negative reviews? (For me, it's Legends Of Oz: Dorothy's Return.) Were there any moments in Trollhunters you hated?

In Seasons One and Two, I thought Draal losing his arm was, overall, a good narrative choice to create a sense of sacrifice and loss in the main cast without actually having to kill off a major character.

That scene where Jim falls to his knees in front of Draal’s unconscious body and reaches hesitantly towards his face and the stone arm crumbles next to him and Jim picks up the Amulet from the rubble and curls in on himself … that was powerful, and well-executed in the callback a couple of episodes later when Kanjigar was yelling at Jim for letting Draal get hurt (even if I do disagree with Kanjigar’s choice to cut his son out of his life ‘for his own safety’ because that particular trope is awful.)

I didn’t care for the ableist comments that various antagonists made about it, but ‘antagonists being mean to protagonists’ and ‘villains doing problematic things’ are not deal breakers for me in enjoying a story or a character.

Then Season Three happened and Draal died.

Literally every visibly disabled character in the series except for Dictatious died. (Unless Morgana’s just stuck in the Shadow Realm.)

That was not a cool decision on the part of the writers or directors.

Other than Strange Magic, I am not really aware of what reviews various movies I enjoy have been given? Like, I don’t go out of my way to read movie reviews. So I don’t have enough data to answer that question.

I do enjoy musicals, which commonly get reviewed by people who complain that there’s singing in them, and I enjoy animated movies, which sometimes get complained about for being animated.

The most accurate answer I can give is that I like a number of movies for which movie critics are not the target audience.

There were a number of moments in Trollhunters that I did not like:

Strickler approaching Barbara near the start of Season Three and not opening with “I’m sorry”; as a person literally trained to manipulate others into trusting and liking him, and as someone who regrets his past actions, those should have been the first words out of his mouth.

Draal’s death.

Angor Rot’s second death.

Claire accusing Jim of breaking his promise to rescue Enrique when he hadn’t completed said rescue mission within a month of her finding out about it.

Barbara getting mad at Jim, while he was in the hospital with mysterious injuries, for not telling her what really happened within like five seconds of her saying she knows he’s lying and demanding the truth, and her walking away from him as he pleadingly apologizes.

Barbara being upset with Jim at the end of the dinner episode. I neither have nor want kids, but if someone I was responsible for described a person I had left them alone with as ‘two-faced’ (read: acts differently when I’m not in the room) and asked me not to see them again, I would be worried and suspicious.

Jim punching Strickler for asking for a breath mint, because it was really not clear that this was supposed to be imaginary. The aftermath, where it cuts to ‘Strickler is back on his feet and no one is reacting to Jim punching the principal in the face’, was really jarring. I didn’t figure out it was supposed to be imaginary until I saw it described as the ‘Daydream Surprise’ trope (audience finds out character was imagining the previous scene) on TV Tropes.

The start of the Season Two finale, because the previous episode ended with Jim facing whatever was in the Deep and the finale opened with that confrontation already over and Jim escaping. (Unless the theory is true that it wasn’t really Jim that escaped …)

All the Changelings in the Janus Order getting killed, because we don’t have an in-story reason why, just audience speculation, and the meta reason that the writers didn’t want to deal with them anymore and might’ve wanted them out of the way so the rescue of the Familiars next season wouldn’t raise questions of “so what happened to the Changelings?” (Which people did ask anyway.)

Jim saying he missed rehearsal “yesterday” when he sees Claire at school in the episode after his fight with Draal, when it’s clearly been at least two days, because the previous episode ended after dark and this episode began just before sunset.

Jim suddenly knowing Angor Rot’s backstory when we never saw Jim learn it, because learning Angor’s backstory would have been a Big Deal that prompted Emotional Reactions and Serious Questions and therefore we should have seen the Trollhunter team finding it out.

Claire forgetting she has a teleporting staff when Jim locks the team on the other side of a door while doing something reckless. (Killahead and the bathroom scene.)

Toby not using his Warhammer to break down the bathroom door.

Strickler not transforming and using troll strength to break down the bathroom door.

Strickler making no attempt to steal the Staff of Avalon when he and Barbara were escaping Trollmarket even though he was literally holding it before they started running.

Claire telling Jim “they freed Morgana!” while trying to talk him out of using the potion, because Jim looks like he’s hesitating just then and when he hears that he gets more resolved, like this confirmed in his mind the odds are too much against him as a human and he does need to turn into a troll.

Basically everything with Merlin in that episode.

Jim kneeling before Merlin’s spirit in Unbecoming.

Nobody bringing up to the Tribunal that the rescue of Jim from the Darklands would never have happened if not for Usurna having the bridge destroyed when she did, and so if Gunmar is free, it’s her fault.

Nobody bringing up to the Tribunal that if Gunmar is free, it’s in their best interest to have the Eclipse Sword and the Trollhunter who can unlock it free and handy. Admittedly that was indirectly addressed when it was revealed Usurna is a traitor and that was why she wanted the Amulet destroyed - but the good guys should still have made the argument.

Nobody bringing up to the Tribunal that troll secrecy is potentially compromised by Jim being imprisoned in Trollmarket and possibly executed, because humans notice and investigate when children disappear.

For that matter, Jim never arguing against being the Trollhunter on the grounds that, if he dies fighting some monster, that could expose trolls to humans, which the trolls don’t want.

Everybody focusing on Jim leaving the team behind when he went into the Darklands alone and not addressing “how were you expecting us to cover for your disappearance?” and “what would’ve happened if Not Enrique was in public when you brought Enrique back and Not Enrique forcibly shifted into troll form?”

Jim not telling Barbara the truth at the end of Season One, when withholding information from her played a large part in her getting injured in the first place.

Toby and Claire not telling Barbara the truth between Seasons One and Two so she would know what happened to Jim if he didn’t come back and could help cover for his absence while they planned the rescue.

Claire never expressing guilt over pressuring Jim to go after Enrique, either while Jim was missing or in the aftermath of the rescue.

The companion novels as a whole (not the original novel, which inspired the show; I mean the series published in connection with the show), because they keep having “did the author even watch the show?” moments.

#ask me anything #Trollhunters #Draal #tw: loss of limb #meta #commentary #Disability Representation #ableism #death and grief #movies #Strange Magic #a musical without songs is like a spy movie without espionage #Tales of Arcadia #TOA novels and comics #that moment when #frustrating

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valasania-the-pale · 5 years

Text

The Last Rose - Chapter Two

Thank you to all of you who read the last chapter! Please enjoy chapter two :)

Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY, I’m just playing in the sandbox.

X_0_X

“You want to know what I’m afraid of, kiddo?” Her uncle softly blew out his flaming marshmallow before he answered her. Ruby wondered why his breath didn’t catch fire like before. “I’ll tell you what it is: it’s the same thing that every real huntsman or huntress will tell you they fear…”

She waited a few seconds; they were an eternity to her young mind.

“…Well?! Don’t be mean, Uncle Qrow! What is it?”

He barked a laugh. “It’s… That moment. The one where you realize that your luck has turned on you. The moment when things have gone to shit, the tide has turned, and the hunter has become the prey. It can happen on any mission, at any time, against any kind of enemy, and all huntsmen are guaranteed to have it happen at least once in their lives.”

Ruby nearly dropped her s’more, she was so bewildered. “Whaaa - But you’re all hoowah! and witchaa! and super cool with Harbinger and all! What could ever beat you?”

“Heh.” Qrow let his eyes close and a shadow passed over his face. Ruby frowned. “You’d be surprised. Even badasses like me get tired and distracted, even though we try not to make a habit out of it.”

Ruby tilted her head to the side. “Hmm. I think you’re just making excuses for getting old!”

“Hey!”

…

Of course, I later learned that in this, as with a lot of things, Uncle Qrow was telling the truth. I’m afraid of a lot of things, and I think he was too. But every huntsman will experience this fear at some point in their careers.

Suffice to say, I survived. Not everyone does.

Obviously.

X_0_X

A gentle rain pattered on the hull of the bullhead. It was a soothing counterpoint to the constant hum of the engines and pulsing sonar.

‘…known to encircle their prey before closing in with their pincers to crush armor and/or tear flesh. Collective intelligence estimated to be mid-to-low; they are known to leave carcasses desecrated in easily spotted locations, but only display rudimentary tactical abilities. Likely gained experience attacking smaller villages (See page 6 for details), but have yet to move beyond their preferred methods of psychological warfare…’

Ruby perused the detailed reports on her target, provided by various village scouts from southern Anima.

It was impressively comprehensive. While huntsmen were relied upon for most of the actual killing, many villages fielded small fighting forces that specialized in reconnaissance and ambush tactics in addition to their defensive garrisons. They would either provide huntsmen with the best information possible for their assignments, or they would take care of what they could through subterfuge and surprise.

It made jobs like this much simpler to prepare for. Instead of spending a week in the field simply tracking her target and getting a feel for their abilities, she started with relatively-fresh information on their location, preferred haunts, and the threat they posed.

Assuming the Grimm didn’t play up their habits for an advantage. Or change tactics abruptly when faced with a greater threat. Some of the craftier few had been known to take advantage of their species’ reputation for predictability.

‘…greatest threat is posed to Horikiri. Our village is well defended by the sheer cliffs on our eastern and western flanks, but cannot stand against a concentrated force for long, and we have few options for our outlying farms…’

The village was desperate, having already lost a family of five on the outskirts and two guards sent to repel another attack closer to the wall fencing them in. Ruby scowled, sorely regretting the delay in information. How many more had died since the report was sent?

‘…They are emboldened by their numbers. We have repelled their probes for several weeks, but the situation has quickly grown from routine to untenable…’

Ruby read through the last few pages, flicking back to review a few entries before she closed the report, tucking her scroll away in one of the many pouches on the belt of her huntress’ garb.

Defined by dark reds and blacks, her preferred style had changed little from her days at Beacon and the years following its fall. It would have been an insult to Crescent Rose if she shifted her look toward something that didn’t complement its menacing visage.

Her red cloak, worn, tattered, and given to her so long ago, rested comfortably across her shoulders, hood down to reveal the long braid she’d cultivated. Streaked red, her obsidian locks had been twisted into an efficient braid, pulled over her shoulder to rest on her chest.

Long hair had never been her ‘thing,’ but after so long living with it she’d come to appreciate it. The braid was a concession to how much it got in the way left loose; she’d never understood how her sis-

Locks shining gold like the sun flared behind a sun-streaked face, eyes burning RED in fury, sparking flames dancing amidst the curls, hands clenched in fists rose in readiness for combat, craving fire, blood, and PAIN.

Thump.

Ruby shied away from the line of thought furiously. She liked her hair the way it was. That was it. There was nothing else. She had an assignment to complete.

Suddenly craving comfort, Ruby pulled Crescent Rose closer to her, letting the familiar sound of sliding metal fill her ears as her baby unfolded itself into its fearsome scythe form.

Her fingers stroked across the cool metal, tracing all of the nicks and scars that covered her pride and joy; that made the work of art what it was. She could never bring herself to paint over the imperfections streaking it. It would be a lie, covering up the suffering it had gone through over all the years she and it had danced together. Her only concession had been to mend the gouges and dents that threatened to restrict the scythe’s transformation sequence if left alone.

Ruby ran her eyes along Crescent Rose’s length, seeking any of those flaws, fingers no longer affectionate but instead moving over the scythe’s length in search of the imperfections that would put them both in danger.

There were none, of course. Crescent Rose was maintained by her careful hands, after all. Not a day went by that she didn’t go over it, taking it slowly apart to make sure the insides were all in order, and sharpening the blade with her trusty whetstone…

She tapped the transformation switch, satisfied by the examination, and set Crescent Rose to the side.

Her hand dropped to her waist, resting on the soft hilt of her other weapon.

Heron, she’d taken to calling it in absence of any knowledge of what its previous owner had named it. If she had named it at all.

Ruby unsheathed it with a flourish, spinning it in her hand and refamiliarizing herself with its heft and balance. Lacking a pommel, it was unlike Harbinger, Crocea Mors, or any other sword she’d known; instead its grip simply extended to the end of the sword, capped off by a simple metal piece that Ruby had had to add herself.

Beyond that had once extended a long, prehensile wire to control and manipulate the blade, relieving her of the need to hold it personally in the first place.

The blade was irregular, a ramrod straight spine edged in three places, forming two distinctly triangular shapes to deliver death and pain to its victims. The hilt, circular and irregular like everything that was associated with the sword, proudly displayed the Atlesian ‘standby’ symbol, standard for all of their products…

It once glowed a vivid electric green, pulsing in time with its owner’s aura. Now it was a subdued velvety red, dark and broody against the black plate.

Ruby ran her finger along the blade, mindful of the razor-sharp edge the metal never seemed to lose. In all the years she’d carried it, it had never required sharpening, being smelted from some rare Atlesian alloy too expensive for even most huntsmen to incorporate into their own weapons.

‘Heron’ was – historically – the name of an eccentric hermit and ancient genius, known to experiment with all sorts of things, including the first conceptual automata… It had seemed fitting.

There were no imperfections on the blade. No scars, no nicks, no dents. It was perfect, like it always was, untouchable. In that way, it too was irregular. Just like its owner.

She flicked the activation switch she’d had to add to its design, swapping it into its pistol form and back again, and sheathed it. Ruby then tucked her hands under her arms, keenly feeling their chill all of a sudden…

…

Breathe.

…

Slowly, her fists loosened, and the tension drained from her shoulders. Her spine lost the steel that kept it stiff, and her jaw unclenched.

Breathe.

The moment past, and lacking anything else to do, Ruby leaned back in her seat with a sigh and began to mentally review the many potential scenarios she might encounter on the assignment, as well as tactics she could use to counter them.

It was an effective distraction.

X_0_X

Ruby landed on her feet, knees bending to distribute the force of the drop, hours later.

Above her head, the airship had already begun to pull away from the forest canopy, the pilots wary for any signs of approaching Grimm – especially Nevermore. It wasn’t unknown for the most daring individuals to attack lonely transport flights when they thought they could get away with it.

Thankfully, there wasn’t any snow for her to sink into for her to worry about this far south. Grateful for the higher temperature, Ruby dropped her hands to her waist, running her fingers along her supplies and mentally checking off everything.

Map. Pouches. Scroll. Crescent Rose. Heron. Pocket-knife. Canteen. All check.

Shifting the weight of her pack of supplies and equipment on her shoulders, and tightening the strap across her waist, Ruby nodded to herself. Everything was in order.

Her eyes darted across the area, noting the faint traces of Grimm still left over from the scouts’ original report a month prior. Bark scraped away from several large, passing bodies. Broken undergrowth growing back, a sign of nature reclaiming what had been stamped into the mud. But no footprints.

Recalling the weather reports from over the last few weeks, Ruby shook her head. Those would have washed away with the rains. The front that she’d moved through on the journey would have been here mere days, if not hours before.

There was something else of note, however. The slightest prickle of sensation, playing at her instincts and just barely tangible. Her eyes darted around the clearing, noting the absence of animal life, taking in the silence.

She was being watched.

It was far too quiet, the expected sounds of life amidst so much wilderness were muted and far away. Possibly because of the bullhead?

Ruby frowned, considering what he could do with the observation… before she compartmentalized the feeling. As a huntress she had learned to trust her instincts, but she had also learned not to stress too much in similar situations. Whatever was watching her was, at least for the moment, not a threat, and her assignment could be time sensitive.

Shooting the clearing a last, wary look, she began following the Deathstalkers’ trail, setting a familiar brisk pace she knew she could maintain all day with only minimal rest.

Behind her, a long, dark shape withdrew into its hollow beneath the dense undergrowth.

X_0_X

Sun was a fucking hypocrite, and he knew it.

Around him he could hear the sounds of his teammates as they puttered around their small home in the residential district of Mistral. The scrape of Sage’s chair against the floor as he made to bring the dishes from his morning meal to the sink. The fond bickering he and Scarlet partook in as they pushed and competed for space at the sink.

Distractions. There were too many. Always were.

…Don’t lie.

Externally he could make all the excuses he wanted, but he knew it wasn’t the noise that kept him awake right then, when he’d promised Ruby he’d be catching up on lost sleep. No.

Worry gnawed him. It wrestled away any semblance of control he had over his rest and held it above his head like a schoolyard bully.

When he’d shambled across the threshold, that morning, still shivering from the cold morning air, Scarlet’d taken one look at him and demanded he go straight to bed. No ifs, no buts, just firm command in his eyes.

Masculine pride demanded that Sun protest. He should have mocked his teammate for acting like a mother hen and plopped down on the couch for some good ol’ television. He should have ignored the disapproving glare and proved the defiance in his soul.

Instead, Sun had numbly accepted his teammate’s demand, kicked off his damp boots, and collapsed onto his soft mattress, lights flicking off behind him as Scarlet shut the door with a lingering look.

He was bone-tired. Insomnia was a bitch.

It had been a fairly good week, too. He’d snatched a few hours of rest each and every night and made his way through the day with relative ease. It was downright pleasant being able to interact with his team like a normal person. The mood around the house had lifted so much it was almost a tangible brightness in the air.

Then he’d gone to sleep and dreamt of Neptune, blue hair, style, cool-dude embodied. His brother in arms. His partner.

Gone.

Waking up with a panic attack was nothing new to him; it happened with depressing regularity, the short pulse-pounding episodes sending him to his feet to pace and massage his chest, desperately going through the motions of the breathing techniques that Ruby had coached him through dozens of times before, as he had with her.

She wasn’t there, this last time, either to get him through it or bring him down afterwards. It’d been Scarlet to find him on the couch in the morning, staring at the ceiling with bloodshot eyes and a deep frown on his face.

His expression? Empathetic. It always was. And he’d done everything he could to make Sun comfortable, which Sun appreciated. But it always lacked that final step of understanding he could find with Ruby...

Scarlet tried. Sage too. But they didn’t have the same problems with moving on that Sun and Ruby and gods-know-how-many-others dealt with. They were lucky like that. They knew what it was like, but they didn’t understand.

Sun shifted under his sheets, trying to find a new spot of coolness against his skin, to press the soles of his feet against. He was warm again – too warm. Outside, someone dropped a utensil. It clattered loudly, metallic against the granite countertop.

Ruby understood. Too well. Sun wished she didn’t.

Ruby was pure. She was good and kind and brave. And as her friend, Sun knew she also suffered far more than he did without her team beside her to support her through her mourning. They added to it instead.

He didn’t envy her. At his worst, he could barely stand the thought of his partner, but he knew that even at her best Ruby avoided those memories.

Just like Scarlet and Sage, he didn’t understand. He knew enough, just like she knew enough about his struggle, but it was never enough. He wasn’t the one she needed.

The only three with any hope of filling that role were lost to some Atlesian battlefield; the Valean memorial honoring every huntsman and fallen civilian from the conflict immortalizing their memory for everyone except the one who needed it the most.

He lifted his hands to rub at his eyes. They were so dry it felt like he was in Vacuo again, wiping away grit and dust and craving clean water. But just for his eyes. Every other part of him was either too hot or too cold. Never comfortable.

The bed creaked below him as he rolled over, jostling for some comfort.

He was a hypocrite. A fucking hypocrite, at that. He knew that he had drawn a promise from Ruby to get some sleep, to be safe, to come back home in one piece please, and he couldn’t do this one thing right when she asked him.

Useless.

Sun growled, frustrated, and rolled over again. Scarlet and Sage chatted outside – preparing to go out shopping for their assignment tomorrow.

He needed to fucking sleep, Dust damn it!

He was worried about Ruby. He knew he’d worked himself up to it last night, while Ruby had forced herself to get the sleep she needed for the day. In lieu of any real ability to rest himself, he’d tormented himself with the image of his friend alone in the forest, surrounded by Grimm. She was so strong, so talented, but there would always be a mistake. A misplaced foot, or perhaps the Grimm would have some crafty trick to pull, always something that would take her by surprise.

Red – not like roses, but scarlet like blood and all-too-prominent in those ghastly visions – and Sun would soon be on his feet, pacing away his anxiety. He’d work himself down, pull the sheets back over him and tuck his head between his pillows hoping that the wind would die down and give him some peace, but when that would fail he’d be at it again and the cycle would repeat itself, eating him alive.

If this had been years ago, before the Fall and the events that followed that would rip everything away from him (not Scarlet, not Sage, not Ruby, he reminded himself), Sun knew that Neptune would have been there to help him through the nights.

His partner would be there for him like he would be there for his partner. They were the best of friends, the closest of duos, complementing each other’s style and personality. The dream team could never die, nor succumb to weakness like this.

Except it had.

One half died, the other succumbed.

Weak.

‘Stop it man,’ Sun scolded himself suddenly, furious that he’d let his thoughts start down that road. ‘You’re better than this.’

The door outside opened and closed. Sun could hear his teammates’ conversation fade away beyond even his faunus-enhanced hearing, leaving him with the creak of the walls and the wind whirling by outside.

Sun squeezed his eyes shut. He was so tired…

Ruby…

‘You guys are all keeping an eye on her, right?’ he thought suddenly, willing his thoughts to reach the three people he knew were most likely to hear them. ‘Keep her safe, will you? So I don’t need to worry so much.’

Eyes opening to slits for a moment, he waited for an answer.

Nothing.

Of course, Sun sighed. Rolling again, he tried to make himself comfortable, hoping that his prayer would be heard.

X_0_X

The smoke led her here.

It could be smelled for miles, its presence sending spikes of worry up Ruby’s spine as she peered through Crescent Rose’s scope at the pack of Deathstalkers below. Their condition was hardly comforting.

Broken armor, shattered bones, reduced to six instead of the thirteen she’d been aware of, and nursing open wounds that bled the scarlet tar that passed for blood in Grimm. The pack was in shambles, and to someone of her experience it was obvious what had brought them so low. No huntsman could recreate the unrestricted savagery of some of the injuries she saw.

Her job had become much more complex, as it always did when Grimm got territorial with each other.

Such things were rare, since Grimm were usually more than happy to give each other the space they needed to survive. When it came to humans, however, they became unpredictable and deadly.

When they detected vulnerability, they might be found working together to overcome whatever defenses they encountered – prioritizing their lust for human suffering over whatever animal rivalries they held. But old, powerful Grimm were greedy. When they knew they could take a settlement alone, they would be vicious in their reprisal against interlopers, each violently protective of their kills.

Whatever ancient horror lashed out at this pack was powerful, and that boded very poorly for Horikiri and its people.

Which meant she had to be quick.

Crack!

Crescent Rose barked. The leader of the pack dropped to the ground instantly, skull beneath the bony shell of its head turning to a fine red paste as the dust round met its mark.

Utter silence fell for a split second as the remaining Grimm turned as one to look at their leader as it began to dissolve into black mist.

Crack!

Behind the jaw, in the chink where it its head flowed into the torso. The second Grimm sank to the ground and the remaining four spun to face Ruby in her perch, malevolent crimson eyes locking onto her with disturbing intensity.

Crack! Crack!

The third skidded on the ground as the two rounds pierced the two largest eyes, bypassing the plate guarding the rest of its head entirely. The surviving Deathstalkers were nearly on her position by then, however, so Ruby lowered Crescent Rose and tensed her legs for impact.

Crash-Snap!

The tree buckled beneath her. Ruby leapt, the world around her tinging scarlet as she blurred forward with her semblance. Everything slowed as she brought Crescent Rose around, twisting her body to take aim.

Crack!

Not a killing blow. The shot crippled the laggard of the group, thick blood erupting from the hole she’d punched into root of the only leg it wasn’t treating gingerly on its left side. The massive beast staggered, its weight suddenly too much to hold with the crippled limbs.

Crack!

Ruby landed in a deep crouch, knees bending to distribute the force of her fall, hastened by her shot’s recoil. Effortlessly, her finger tapped the transformation switch as she blurred forward, Crescent Rose unfolding into its full glory just as she came out of her semblance in a magnificent slide underneath its carapace. She drove the point of the blade into the Deathstalker’s softer underbelly, relishing in the agonized shriek she drew before it suddenly died, dissolving above her.

Slide right.

Crack!

Her feet skidded as another Grimm charged her former position, far too slow.

Forward!

The world blurred. She let her weight drop, the hardened, sun-dried earth of the clearing the perfect surface for her to repeat the tactic, sliding underneath and ripping open flesh with her baby.

The fifth Grimm died with a pathetic gurgle.

She pushed off with a hand on the ground, throwing her weight forward and distributing the momentum into a somersault. Ruby grinned viciously, blood pumping and adrenaline spiking high and natural for once as she finished on her feet, Crescent Rose glinting dangerously in the light behind her.

She felt alive, confident, deadly. Just like she was meant to be.

The single remaining Deathstalker held its distance warily, spitting at her in high-pitched whines and shrieks. This one obviously wasn’t stupid; it knew her now, having watched her pick apart its entire pack in mere seconds.

Her grin widened, all teeth. That just made it more fun.

Seconds passed, tense, all sound absent from their surroundings save for those made by the two combatants.

By some unspoken signal, the Deathstalker reared back and charged, deceptively quick on its short legs with its incredible bulk. Ruby’s grip tightened on Crescent Rose as she prepared to throw herself underneath it once more.

She moved.

Something grabbed her legs and she stumbled.

Her eyes widened in bewilderment as her center of balance disappeared, sending her crashing to the ground.

Thump.

Time slowed, and her eyes darted to her feet, breath hitching.

‘The hell?’

Two dark and resinous vines anchored her in place. They were absolutely covered in pulsing, sickly black veins, utterly anathema to the otherwise plantlike appearance.

Thump.

Time slowed, her perceptions shrinking until the space between heartbeats passed like minutes. The Deathstalker was far too close, seconds from being on her. Ruby twisted, painfully slow, impossibly fast, bringing Crescent Rose down on the tendrils, freeing one leg.

Thump.

The vines flailed wildly, withdrawing into the ground with unnatural haste. She pulled Crescent Rose up for the others. Too late.

Thump.

Her breath left her as the Deathstalker’s vice-like claws closed around her chest, her scarlet aura flaring into visibility as it strained to protect her from being vivisected. It lifted her into the air, for a brief moment nearly ripping her leg out by the root as the tendrils held firm.

Then they loosened, purpose apparently accomplished. Ruby didn’t have time to dwell on it.

Thump.

She dropped Crescent Rose, her weapon useless to her in such confined quarters. Ruby could feel her heart pumping wildly in her chest, every single nerve in her body alive with sensation – Pain!

Thump.

She wrapped her fingers around Heron, gripping the hilt like a lifeline.

Thump.

Her aura strained. She felt the fatigue setting in as it sapped the strength from her limbs to sustain itself. She drew her sword with all the haste she could muster.

Thump.

Twisting the blade around, Ruby maneuvered it to face the vulnerable chink in the Deathstalker’s armored pincer: the intersection of the two claws where the tendons that strained so hard to kill her were located, just as she’d been told in Grimm Studies.

The monster shrieked.

Thu-ump.

Ruby dropped to the ground, sucking in a deep breath as the Deathstalker reared back in agony, her former prison hanging uselessly open. The slit tendons smoked and bled, oily scarlet mixing with acrid black dust.

‘Thank you, Professor Port,’ she briefly thought, quickly running through her options.

She didn’t have the time to reclaim Crescent Rose. It was too close to the Deathstalker. No matter. Heron was more than enough. It would be wary, what would…? Yes. That would work.

Readjusting her grip on Heron, Ruby tensed her legs, eyes darting between her feet and the Grimm. She wouldn’t fall to the same deception twice.

She charged.

The Grimm’s other claw thrust at her. She dove, somersaulting below the massive appendage, coming up between it and the monster’s face. Ruby thrust Heron into a crimson eye, heedless of the champing mandibles below her elbow. Her teeth ground together as metal scraped rudely against bone.

The Deathstalker screamed.

She twisted Heron, feeling bone crack and the sickening sound of tearing meat.

The Grimm reared up on its back legs. Ruby yanked Heron back before it could be ripped away from her as her foe swung its head back and forth, spitting as agony overwhelmed its every sense. Its massive body twitched at random intervals, claws pounding at the air as though it were boxing an unseen enemy.

For a few seconds, she watched the Grimm, breathing tight and controlled, and viewed the damage she’d caused. The rush of the fight still drummed through her veins.

Ruby clamped down on it, breathing deeply through her nose to soften her pulse. Her eyes fluttered shut, relishing the moment of triumph.

Then they snapped open, silver pools examining the thrashing beast critically, evaluating.

She had a job to finish. The smell of smoke was thicker in the air already. Now that she wasn’t focused on surviving to the next second it was impossible to ignore. Wood and oil, with a hint of Dust’s telltale acridity mixed in.

Ruby crossed the short distance to Crescent Rose, keeping a careful eye on the Deathstalker in case it made any unexpected moves.

It didn’t. She’d probably hit something important.

Heron went back into its sheath, her fingers lingering on the hilt a moment in thanks for her life. Crescent Rose clicked back into sniper form, rising to press into her shoulder. She leaned into the stock, cheek warm against the metal where they kissed.

Crack!

Ruby turned away from the disintegrating corpse, nose twitching in displeasure as the temporary but foul scent of decaying Grimm filled the clearing. She was more concerned about the smoke. It was growing thicker by the minute.

She felt dread growing within her, settling in her gut like a heavy stone.

Pausing only to check over her supplies, Ruby jogged over to where she’d left her bag. Map, bag, Scroll, weapons, canteen, pack. Everything was in order.

She tilted her head tilted back to look above the canopy. Blue skies as far as the eye could see, littered with fluffy white clouds. The retreating grey line in the distance was a mere memory of the bad weather that had run through here not so long ago.

The simple beauty was marred by the rising column of darkness to the south. Ruby sighed, eyes squeezing shut for a moment, the stone growing heavier. Though it was only midmorning, the village was hours away by foot, as far south as one could go without crossing the mountains. She didn’t relish the idea of confronting the Grimm she’d find there in the dark, nor whatever sights would be there to greet her.

Nevertheless, Ruby shouldered her pack, tightening it against her body and ignoring the slight aches that came from her aura drawing on her body’s vitality. It would be a long, exhausting march.

And she knew what she would find at the end.

X_0_X

Twilight cloaked the land, but night had already fallen on Horikiri.

Ruby coughed harshly into her fist, arm raised against the plume of oily smoke blown into her face by the wind. The stuff was an omnipresent shadow, veiling everything in dust and darkness. She’d already passed several of the outlying farms mentioned in the reports, each a ruin of what they had once been.

The culprit was hardly subtle, not even bothering to mask its presence. Its massive footprints were impossible to miss – each a pit Ruby could have fit herself into, sunken deep into the soft loam of the fields.

Distantly, a part of her was grateful for the rains that had passed through the area. The moisture in the air as well as what had seeped into the ground and vegetation would go a long way to prevent the fires from spreading. Embers floated through the air, only to fizzle out and die as they drifted down to earth. They were fireflies, spots of beauty flitting through the ashes choking the village.

A simple beauty ignored.

Ruby felt empty. Hollow, like the burnt-out husks she’d passed that had once been homes.

Horikiri burned.

Though weaker than the conflagration that certainly consumed it hours before, the sheer cliffs of the ravine the village rested in at the head of the valley still danced with shadows, flickering orange, black, and red. Above the cackling flames she could hear something massive picking through the ruins, shifting rubble and splintered wood.

Corpses lined the path to the wall, black and desiccated. Ruby had no idea what possible reason the Grimm could have for defiling them so save for intimidation and the satisfaction of making every last moment as excruciating as possible.

If that was its goal, it was successful. Their shriveled visages, twisted in their final expressions of fear, terror, and despair were soul-crushing.

Crescent Rose was a quiet counterpoint to the sounds tormenting her ears, the familiar sliding metal and clicks comforting as she absently shifted it back and forth through its weapon modes.

Her hands clenched the snath tightly, her knuckles white and shaking. The dry air gently caressed her cheeks, but she could feel the wetness gather there in shining streams, silver pools locked on the blackened faces. Was this all that these people felt, before the end?

She felt sick, but it was growing fainter, her emotions draining away more with each and every corpse she passed after leaving the tree line on the village outskirts. Here, looking upon the broken ruins, there was no anger, no fury, no sorrow or chilled horror. Not anymore. Just the remains welding together into fierce resolve.

She was too late.

Again.

But she would avenge these people on their murderer.

Ruby moved with haste, leaving her bag where she would be able to easily retrieve it on her return. Her steps crunched on the gravel, soft ashes not yet thick enough to obscure the sound. She struggled to avoid inhaling a lungful of ash and smoke as they thickened around their source.

She stopped a few feet beyond the wall, staring through the gaping hole that had been ripped in it, wide enough that ten of her could walk through shoulder-to-shoulder. The crushed remnants of the structure were strewn about like toy blocks.

Somewhere within, a house collapsed, sending soot and embers flying.

Ruby shielded her mouth with her shirt and sucked in a deep breath of air as her lungs began to burn. It wasn’t enough, and she hunched over to hack and cough violently. The smoke was too thick to breathe, much less fight in…

Wincing, her mind turned over possibilities, discarding most of them. She didn’t have the material to craft anything on the fly, and there was no guarantee the monster inside the walls would stay in one place if it sensed her.

A solution popped into her brain suddenly, though she winced at the implications for her should the fight go poorly…

Fuck it. She needed to hurry.

Ruby closed her eyes, concentrated her aura upwards, toward her face. Years of training allowed her to mold her soul’s essence into tangible form, creating a barrier, different from those she’d used most often to protect herself.

Those shields were meant to protect her body; keep it safe when other weapons or trauma would otherwise incapacitate her. She didn’t want that – instead she molded it into a filter, permitting clean air through while blocking out the smoke and other debris.

Red light glinted in her lower peripheral vision. Her aura resembled the gauzy, scarlet veils of those Vacuoan dancers Sun had once shown her pictures of, fabric fluttering silently on a nonexistent breeze.

She smiled weakly at the thought.

At least she could breathe now. It was a start.

A scream pierced the air, high and hoarse and terrified. Ruby tensed, one leg already lifting up to carry her over the wall’s fractured foundation, but the sound died as suddenly as it started, accompanied by a violent crash. A low growl of satisfaction took its place, so heavy in the air Ruby could feel the immense size of the creature that created it.

She cursed bitterly and vaulted over the remains of the wall, marching into the ruins.

The village hadn’t been very large, probably only housing a population of a few hundred. Most of the buildings were single-story, made from wood cut from the nearby forest and designed after the dominant Mistrallan style like most buildings in Anima.

Most of them were now in flames, crumbling into themselves or already pulverized by an incredible force. It was a harrowing backdrop, but it had nothing on the dark shape picking through the ruins of the village’s inn. As she stepped into the large courtyard making up the center of the settlement, Ruby faced the shadow.

It was colossal, bulkier than any Nevermore or Goliath she’d ever encountered. It lumbered on four legs like a Berengal but towered over the buildings around it.

Its legs were built like tree-trunks; thick, rounded, and crushingly powerful. Protrusions at the ends only emphasized the comparison, looking like stubby, gnarled roots.

Its body was a mass of muscle and dense, bone-white plate armor, protecting the major areas of its body. Ruby’s stomach sank at the sight – the only Grimm with armor so thick and well-developed were Ancients, those few individuals given centuries to grow and fortify their patience with experience and ever-increasing intelligence.

It had little armor on its back. Instead, huge gnarled growths added an additional meter of height, dragging with them lichens and moss that pulsed black with Grimm corruption. More of the same dangled below the plate covering its face, like a thick and unkempt beard.

It was a Marsh Colossus.

Best known to spawn in northwestern Anima, they seldom grew to this size. They lived stationary lives in swamps, bogs, and marshes, drawing nutrients and strength from their environment and only attacking when humans chose to settle near their territory. Their sedentary nature made them easy targets for huntsmen; every few years there would be a flurry of culling assignments tasking them to fill quotas of Marsh Colossi before any could develop to such immense proportions.

That one was here, hundreds of miles from its preferred habitat, and in such a developed state... It must have been either lucky or clever enough to avoid the extermination teams throughout the centuries. Or never had to worry in the first place – there was a fair chance it might be older than the kingdom itself.

Regardless, it was a foe to be feared.

As if sensing her trepidation, the Colossus lifted its immense head to look at her. The growths framing the bony slab of armor protecting its face looked like an eerie mix of antlers and tree branches. Its crimson eyes bored into her, mixed curiosity and cold hatred, but it made no sound.

Marsh Colossi were notoriously silent, only breaking it when they inevitably moved, or when they wished to announce themselves. Absent-minded passerby could easily find their messy demise by walking past a colossus without realizing it, mistaking them for the dark trees around them.

Behind her, a roof caved in with a loud crash, the fires too much for it.

Her mind evaluated her chances furiously.

There was nothing she could do to kill this Grimm in one blow. Crescent Rose was made for smaller Grimm; for reaping the lives of the fodder that thrived upon Remnant. She had options to inflict terrible harm upon anything, of course, but on her own they were limited. And that was no guarantee that it would kill something this big.

The beast began moving out of the ruins of the inn, absently brushing by the bar and smashing it into splinters. Her eyes darted around the square.

Corpses littered the ground, blackened after being consumed by the Colossus. They were known to draw nutrients from their victims just like they did with their environment. She’d never seen pictures of such a thing in school – she wasn’t sure whether to be thankful or not – and hadn’t recognized it for what it was.

Now she knew.

Driven through the cobblestones that formed the streets were dark, organic growths like those she’d seen earlier. They moved seemingly without direction, lacking a physical connection to the Grimm. Colossi were known to draw strength from the ground, similar to trees and fungi with their extensive root systems, but she had never read up on how, nor the extent of those abilities. She would have to be wary; if it had time to prepare the battlefield then nowhere would be safe for her.

How far did this thing’s reach spread anyways?

Ruby lowered Crescent Rose, holding it perpendicular to her body as the Colossus stepped into the square, going eerily still. Its eyes moved ceaselessly, examining her, calculating, intelligent. Silver eyes returned the look with equal intensity, measuring her opponent.

She couldn’t fell it with a single blow, but there were ways around that. She’d bled opponents before. Her reserves were low, but she was confident in her abilities to outmaneuver the hulking beast.

She made the first move. The world blurred around her, tinting scarlet as she swung Crescent Rose at the thick forelegs of the Grimm - Right, Left - scoring two deep wounds as she came out of her semblance on its side.

Slash up!

The Colossus rumbled, like an aging tree amidst a windstorm, and swatted at her with alarming speed. Ruby ducked the blow, sweeping Crescent Rose above her and drawing blood once more. The rumble grew, more like an avalanche in its intensity now. She was forced far away as it slammed its forelegs into the ground, creating a shockwave.

The force of the blow shook the earth beneath her, two new craters forming where it stove through the cobblestone.

Ruby eyed her work and blanched.

Save for three miniscule scars to mark their locations, the wounds had already healed over. It had only been seconds! No Grimm she had ever seen or heard of had regenerative capabilities of that level.

Back!

Ruby leapt away from the next strike and tapped into her speed, the world blurring around her as she ducked and wove around each and every attack the Colossus made. Crescent Rose sang its mournful dirge as it bit into limbs and cut between chinks and cracks in the otherwise impenetrable armor.

It became a dance. The beast would attack, she would counter or leap out of the way and score yet another superficial wound. It would heal, and they would repeat the process. All the while, crimson eyes bore into her with contempt and fury.

Roll! Slash up! Right! Jab! Right! Slash across the body!

Her instincts guided her body while her mind worked; she needed a better plan if she would win… Ruby could feel her aura slowly draining away as she channeled it into her veil, her body, and her semblance. Eventually she would make a mistake and start taking damage and her reserves would truly start to evaporate. The Colossus, on the other hand, barely seemed winded.

Ruby rolled between its stomach, working the bolt on Crescent Rose as the blade came up against its leg.

Crack!

Her weapon bit deep into flesh, making the monster growl furiously, but then it stuck.

‘Shit!’

She flared her aura, using the burst of strength to rip Crescent out of the bone in a spray of thick, scarlet blood and flying Grimmflesh. Regaining her balance, she immediately sprinted away before it could take advantage of her proximity (she didn’t want to get stomped on!), but the lost time was more than enough for the beast to twist itself around to face her.

The beast rumbled and, abandoning its stationary tactics, charged, utterly unaffected by the small hurts she’d inflicted with her pitiful assault. Ruby made to duck to the side of the beast before it trampled her but was halted by a familiar presence suddenly snared legs, growing tighter by the second. Her eyes widened in fear.

‘Doubt-shit!’ Crescent Rose dipped down to her ankles, slashing through the tendrils.

The earth around her erupted in a sea of flying stone and vegetation as even more of the growths punched their way through the streets. Another slash and her other leg was freed, and she danced between the writhing tendrils as they reached for her limbs with poisonous intent.

The ground shook violently beneath her, the Colossus an unstoppable force glaring hate through its furious crimson eyes.

Don’t just stand there! Get away! UP!

Desperate, Ruby drove Crescent Rose’s barrel into the ground and pulled the trigger, pouring her aura into her body.

Crack!

The recoil, combined with her semblance, launched her away in a cloud of rose petals, high into the air.

It wasn’t enough.

A huge foreleg, black as a nightmare and plated with armor denser than stone reached up and swatted her out of the sky, sending her tumbling off to the side as the behemoth trampled over her previous position. Ruby’s entire world tilted for a moment, her aura flaring into visibility around her as she crashed through a wall.

She cried out on impact, pain quick to follow her landing. Her back slammed into something hard – several other heavy weights toppling onto her immediately after. The scarlet barrier she relied upon for survival flickered violently around her, her reserves of aura depleting itself to repair her damaged flesh and bones.

The house she’d landed in shook as the Colossus slammed into the ravine wall with a jaw-rattling boom. Several crashes followed; the building she’d stood in front of crumbling around the beast.

For a breathless moment, Ruby lay there, bones aching, and realized something chilling.

She had to get away.

As far away as possible.

It was a painful epiphany, but nonetheless true. Her soul was even now sapping the vitality from her body in a desperate effort to replace the losses from a single blow. In just a few minutes she’d be even more fatigued - and lacking her single greatest defense entirely should she take another hit.

If it didn’t simply kill her outright.

She had to get away and warn the rest of Mistral; put together a hunting party to track the Ancient down and kill it before it could move on and inflict itself on another helpless settlement.

Ruby doubted she could hurt it in her current state, even if she tried again and again. With more of its cards shown, it had too much control over the battlefield and it was too canny to fall for the same tricks more than once. It had nearly killed her already, to say nothing about whatever other abilities it likely had sequestered away.

Get up.

Rolling over, Ruby drove her fist into the floorboards, snarling as her knuckles bruised. Every ounce of her frustration went into the punch, the pain her penance for having to abandon her mission and the vengeance Horikiri deserved.

For now.

She would return.

Resolved, Ruby pushed herself to her feet, leaning heavily on Crescent Rose. Dozens of heavy ceramic tiles tumbled off of her, the remains of the roof caved in above her. She winced as even more pain made itself known. Her legs hurt like they’d been flayed…

Wait. Her face paled and she knelt down to examine the places where she’d been held down by the vines. Her dark stockings were sticky with the resinous substance she’d seen coating the vines. She roughly tore away the material and cringed at the sight of her ankles. Where the substance had seeped through the thin material, the skin was red and inflamed, in some places blackened and dead.

She hadn’t even noticed it from earlier – too consumed by her mission to separate the pain from the expected fatigue and strain of hiking for so long.

Careful to avoid touching any more of the stuff, Ruby pressed her fingers against her leg and found that the skin surrounding the substance was numb. It was only the worst affected areas where the pain was beginning to bloom.

That settled it. She needed to get away. It was already enough without adding poison on top of it all.

Chirp!

What? Ruby perked up.

Chirp!

She knew that sound.

Chirp!

The building on the other side of the courtyard, where the Colossus had ended its bull-rush toward her, disappeared in a flurry of smoke and embers as the creature swiped away what little remained. Its massive head tilted upwards to regard the airship that now filled the air with its call with hateful, wary eyes.

Ruby felt her heart lift on seeing the Bullhead. She could escape!

Then three shapes dropped from the craft, and that feeling vanished, replaced by bewilderment and dread. What were they doing? They didn’t seriously think they could fight it, did they?

Glass and splintered wood were shifted aside as the Colossus stepped back into the courtyard. It stilled then, statuesque and unnatural as darkness wisped off of its body.

Cringing as the action pulled at her inflamed skin, Ruby jogged toward the newcomers, taking in their appearance.

One, smaller than the rest and armed with a short sword and pistol, was obviously a Mistrallan pilot. She’d become well-acquainted with the distinct cut of their uniforms over the years she’d lived there. His aviator’s cap obscured his features from her, but she noted that he had a particularly sharp chin and his lips were pulled into a nervous frown.

His companions were huntsmen. One medium-height and stocky, the other built like a warrior of old, tall and broad-shouldered, with shining plate armor layered all over his upper body to complete the image.

She jogged over and Stocky offered his hand to her in greeting, eyes never leaving the Colossus. “Bai Long.”

Still bewildered, Ruby took the offered hand anyways, giving it a firm shake. His companion gave her a little wave. “Reed Bryce, we’re here from one of the villages up north. Saw the smoke after finishing up our mission and thought we should check it out.”

“Ruby Rose,” she answered tersely, nodding to the pilot. The man kept his silence. He was pale, like he might be sick at any moment. Who invited him?

“What’s the scoop on the Grimm?” Reed asked, smile undeterred by the menacing gaze aimed at them.

The Colossus was content to wait for them, apparently. Something in its bearing radiated smug contempt. Almost laziness, if one ignored the burning hate in its eyes. Complete certainty that it could – and would – kill them all in time, certainly. Ruby suspected that if they attempted to flee, they would be stopped anyways. Her allies would, at least.

Fine.

If these huntsmen wanted to put up a fight, then she would help them. If the Colossus wasn’t going to stop them from putting together a battle plan, all the better for their chances.

Just fine.

She took a breath, centering herself.

“It’s a Marsh Colossus. Ancient. It’s got a network of vines underground that it can use to grab you,” Ruby listed quickly, anything she could think of. “It’s big and dangerous, and it regenerates faster than I can hurt it. I was thinking about running before you showed up.”

Intending to run, but they didn’t need to know that.

Bai nodded. “We saw as much,” he said. He indicated a tiny metal contraption resting on Reed’s shoulder. A video probe. Many huntsmen used them to document their assignments. She hadn’t found a need to bring hers along this time – a mistake in hindsight. “You are okay after that hit?”

“Not really, but I can fight.”

“Excellent.” Bai drew a pair of long, curved daggers from his belt, pressing the hilts together to form a single continuous piece. With a series of metallic clicks, the piece became a bow, which he efficiently began to string. “I am a bowman, obviously. My semblance allows me to control air currents to enhance my shots, among other things.”

“I can charge up my strength if I get some time to concentrate,” Reed added, a heavy spear now held comfortably in his massive hands.

Ruby nodded, eyes flicking to the pilot briefly and receiving a hasty shake of the head in reply. He would have an aura, but no semblance, as was common with most pilots. Aura was too useful to go without unlocking when it could save a life in a crash, but semblances were rare to develop for anyone save huntsmen.

Apparently, their pilot ally wasn’t one of those precious few. Shame.

Ruby eyed Reed’s spear, mentally sifting through what strategies they could use. “How strong is your weapon, Reed?”

“Strong enough.”

“Strong enough to pierce an Ancient’s armor?”

The huge man’s grin was as wide as it was vicious. “I am confident in Clarent’s abilities.”

At literally any other time Ruby would have been interested in knowing more about the duo’s weapons, but not now. “Good. My semblance is speed. You charge yourself up as much as you can while we draw its attention. Pilot - keep those vines from touching Reed. Your sword should cut through them pretty easily if you use your aura,” she explained, all business. “Bai, you and I are going to distract it. When Reed’s ready I’ll launch him at the Colossus. If you can give us a boost with your semblance, do it. With any luck it’ll die in one blow. Any questions?”

Bai shook his head in the negative, while Reed just gave her a thumbs up, sinking to a knee and closing his eyes in intense concentration. His drone lifted itself away from his shoulder, autonomous and ready to record the fight. The pilot shuddered but nodded to her, drawing his sword.

Crescent Rose shifted into rifle mode with a flick of her finger. She’d need all the speed and maneuverability she could get this fight. “Let’s move, huntsmen!”

Ruby felt a warm flare of aura behind her as Reed began charging his semblance. The Ancient seemed to sense their intention, as below them the ground erupted with dozens of thrashing vines, each seeking to incapacitate or cripple.

Praying for the pilot to pull his own weight and keep the spearman safe, she fixed her attention on the Grimm. Crescent Rose dipped forward, barrel pointed at the ground in front of her.

Crack!

She launched into the air, taking potshots at the Colossus as she began to circle around the edges of the courtyard. Every time she lost momentum she’d land on some crumbling piece of architecture, careful to pick spaces that would hold her weight and to never stand still long enough for the Grimm to catch her out.

Opposite her, Bai peppered the beast with shining arrows. Forgoing a quiver, the bowman pulled each arrow from the air itself. Each shot flew with an eerie shriek unlike anything Ruby had heard before; a mix of wind in the mountains on a freezing winter’s day and nails on a chalkboard.

While he didn’t have the same luxury of speed or recoil to boost his leaping that Ruby did, Bai made up for it by creating translucent platforms of solid air, gracefully leaping from one to the next when he couldn’t find a safe foothold to land on.

Together they harried the Colossus, each shot blowing holes in its hide or chipping away at its formidable armor as it swatted at them like tiny flies. Houses were reduced to flinders, smoke and embers amidst the action as the Grimm rampaged through the village, organized streets of cobblestone quickly turning into a churned-up mess as the beast’s heavy footfalls tore them apart.

For all their efforts, they failed to inflict any real damage on the Colossus – it regenerated too quickly for that - but they were persistent enough to keep it distracted and agitated. Like any Ancient it was intelligent, far superior to its mindless lesser brethren, but it was still limited. Consumed by the chase, it was seemingly content to leave Reed relatively unmolested while it pursued the more interesting prey.

Not to say it didn’t try to eliminate the prone huntsman. Vines constantly erupted from the ground to interrupt Reed’s concentration. The pilot was quick to dispatch them though, his aura-empowered strength more than enough to cut through the tough fibers.

It wasn’t all smooth sailing, however.

They had to buy as much time as possible, but it was obvious that they were running out. With the destruction of so many buildings, Ruby and Bai were left with fewer and fewer places to land safely.

She worked furiously at the bolt of Crescent Rose to keep herself airborne, but with every second Ruby knew she would soon have to touch the ground and risk even more of those tendrils leaping out to restrain her.

Without warning, her luck ran out and a piece of masonry collapsed beneath her.

‘Shit!’

Heart leaping in her throat, she prepared to hit the ground running when she was saved. A transparent platform appeared beneath her suddenly, glowing with the telltale sky-blue of Bai’s aura.

Ruby aimed a mental ‘thank you’ at the huntsman, staggering a little at the unexpected landing but quickly finding her balance. She leapt away before she was crushed beneath another swing of the beast’s colossal arms.

Still more seconds passed; they were falling behind.

Blows edged ever closer as their reflexes grew less sharp and fatigue conspired to make their movements more and more sluggish. The underground tendrils became more of a serious threat as safe landing spots grew scarce. Too much more of this and Ruby knew she’d have to dip back into her aura reserves…

Ruby could see Bai tiring as well. He used his semblance ever more sparingly, stretching his aura to last as long as possible. Neither of them were built or trained for long sprints like this.

They just needed a little more time…

The bowman was the first to make a crucial mistake, reacting just a second too slow to leap over a sweeping forelimb. His arms flew up in front of his face, forming a misty barrier between the behemoth and himself. While it did absorb most of the momentum, the blow still sent Bai reeling.

Ruby cursed internally, Crescent Rose’s bark accompanying her leap toward the huntsman. She hit the transformation switch, swapping out for its scythe form and swinging downwards.

The Colossus reeled back in pain as a massive gash appeared along the length of its foreleg. She somersaulted on landing, twisting her body to come up sweeping her scythe in a low arc, parallel to the ground. The tendrils that had instantly risen to encircle her limbs fell away, thrashing on the ground.

She ran over and cut Bai free of the bonds that had already pulled and anchored him to the ground. Her worried eyes lingered on the resin covering his arms and legs as she pulled the bowman to his feet, before she grabbed him around the waist and blurred them away with her semblance a split second before they were crushed by the Colossus.

She stopped at a relatively safe spot on the other side of the courtyard, several houses down from their allies on top of a relatively-intact roof. Her legs ached horribly, taxed by the sprint and her passenger.

The Colossus slowly began to turn itself back around. Throughout the battle it had proven to be deceptively fast, but it took its time when repositioning itself.

“Rose! Bai! I am ready!”

The two huntsmen looked at Reed, whose aura was flaring brightly. It was gold, a little more on the tinny side than yellow, but bright and shining amidst the gloom and haze.

So similar to –

Not fucking now.

Ruby turned to Bai. “Get it to face us. This is either going to work, or it isn’t.”

He nodded, grasping her wrist before she leapt down. He had very subdued blue eyes, Ruby noted. “Thank you for my life.”

Her lips quirked upwards wearily, feeling the bite the rescue had taken out of her aura reserves. “Anytime.”

Reed had levelled Clarent at the Colossus by the time Ruby joined him, the spear surrounded by the same nimbus of light as its wielder. On the other side of the courtyard, Bai was already shooting away at the Colossus, keeping its attention fixated on himself while the two prepared to execute their gambit.

The pilot was still busy hacking away at the vines. He was doing a pretty good job. The ground was littered with dead vegetation. Ruby levelled a serious look at the spear-wielder. “You’re ready for this?”

He shot her a wide, almost-manic grin. “I was born ready, Rose!”

“Let’s do it then,” Ruby said, giving a tiny smile of her own. Her blood, already pumping from exertion and excess adrenaline, seemed to burn hotter near so much concentrated energy. Aura practically bled off the man. She took a step back, setting her feet and pooling her own aura into her body, readying it for the burst of speed.

Then she moved. The world blurred around her as she wrapped her arms around the huntsman and drew him into her bubble of pure velocity. Ruby’s aura briefly strained after the hit from earlier, her legs trying to heal, the day’s exertion and now carrying this huge man, but it was a short journey.

The scarlet tint around her eyesight, touched blue by Bai’s semblance aiding her, vanished and she let go of her passenger, landing laterally on the Ancient’s shoulder and flipping away before the true attack could land.

She landed in a crouch as Reed connected with a roar and a sickening crack, rose petals sweeping past her. The Colossus’ impenetrable armor splintered around Clarent, the spearhead driving deep into its chest, seeking vital organs. Skidding backwards from the force, the Grimm carved a new divot in the cobblestone, only slowing to a halt against the remains of a decorative fountain.

The monster shrieked.

Powerfully, loudly. Excruciatingly for her poor eardrums, which threatened to burst despite her aura’s best efforts.

It was a sound unlike any she’d ever experienced, and one soon joined by the comparably faint sound of crunching bone and metal. Ruby dropped to her knees, clutching her ears as they cried out in protest of the needles driving deep within. One second. Two.

The roar intensified, pressing against her skin as a tangible presence. Ruby grit her teeth, enduring the onslaught just like the others.

Five. Six. Seven…

Just. Stop. Screaming…

Ten.

Eleven…

…

Eventually, it did, to her sweet relief.

Letting her hands fall from her ears (and ignoring the slow trickle of blood and tingle of her aura as it went to work repairing her eardrums), Ruby looked up to see the result of their strategy.

Her heart dropped.

Reed was dead, his skin already blackening in the Colossus’ fist. His armor had crumpled like tin foil in the beast’s horrifically strong grip. Bone protruded from his ruined flesh in several places - where they hadn’t been pulped together already.

Clarent remained deep inside the Grimm’s body, the spear protruding from its chest amidst a gruesome morass of shattered armor and charred Grimmflesh. The wound bled a steady stream of scarlet tar, the Colossus twitching and shuddering randomly, obviously enduring incredible pain.

From a great distance, Ruby heard Bai scream in horror and grief, and belatedly realized that her gambit had failed.

They’d broken the Ancient’s primary defense – that wouldn’t be restored fully for centuries to come. But its flesh was already sealing closed around Clarent, leaving the weapon permanently impaled inside.

It was vulnerable now, and more hurt than it had probably ever been in its life, but it still wasn’t enough.

The Colossus flung the desiccated corpse in its grip to the ground, turning to face the rest of them. Its eyes burned like hellfire, promising slow death for they who dared to truly wound it.

The earth shook with the force of its furious, cold snarl.

Ruby began to slowly back away, her heartrate beginning to hasten once more into panic mode. They were out of options now. The Ancient was done toying with its prey. They needed to run.

“Bai!” she shouted over her shoulder, voice rising with her emotions, “Pilot! We need to run, now!”

The Colossus thundered, truly enraged now, and moved, building the momentum to trample her once again. Ruby twisted and ran, chilled by the realization that she had very little aura left to fuel her semblance.

The earth trembled behind her.

The world started to bleed scarlet and she jumped forward just a few feet, but then the world shook around her, and she staggered out of her semblance prematurely.

Ruby turned to see Bai, aura flaring white-blue, stop the Ancient in its tracks and hold it behind a massive, concentrated barrier. Not even seconds after its creation, jagged fractures had begun webbing across the polished face, the huntsman straining to his limit against the rampaging beast.

“Go!”

Thu-ump.

Ruby blanched. “What? No! I am not leaving you!”

“I will not leave my brother behind!” Bai snarled, a vein throbbing in his temple. “The drone! Take it, the pilot, and get as far away from here as possible! Our ship will reach the city before you. Find it when it returns and get back to Mistral…! Tell them what has happened, form a team… Rgh…! Come back to kill this abomination!”

Her mouth worked soundlessly around a denial, but Bai was set. “We have lost! Make sure our sacrifice is not in vain, Ruby Rose!”

Something within her quailed, but after a moment’s indecision she accepted the huntsman’s choice. It was the same conclusion she’d come to earlier, just more painful and accompanied by even more death.

They had lost.

She could still make it worth something, though.

She would.

Ruby blurred forward, thankful for the lack of vines to trip her up. Sidestepping the Ancient, she cringed as the barrier shattered with a sound like breaking pottery. The beast snarled, its forelegs crashed into the ground, rattling the village, and Bai was forced to roll away to avoid being splattered beneath the rampaging Grimm.

The huntsman brought his bow back up instantly and began shooting away at the vulnerable flesh they’d exposed. It was soft and weak after so much time spent covered by the impenetrable armor, but the wounds still closed faster than Bai could reopen them.

They were painful, vicious thorns to the Colossus though, and kept its bloody gaze fixated on the bowman.

She slid a halt next to Reed, gagging on the foul odor rising from his body when it reached past her veil. The drone had returned itself to where she’d seen it earlier, attached to his shoulder pad and only slightly worse for wear amidst the chaos. Ruby pocketed it, hoping that the information it had recorded would be enough to give the next party a chance.

Touching his forehead briefly in the most rudimentary blessing she knew of, Ruby stood and blurred toward the pilot. He’d drawn his pistol and was shooting at the Ancient while it was preoccupied chasing down Bai.

He lowered the weapon as she stopped near him. “We are to go?” the man asked shakily.

Ruby nodded, steeling herself for her next action.

The pilot looked back at Bai. “I do not like abandoning him; he would not have done the same to me,” he admitted.

“I don’t either,” Ruby agreed curtly. She wrapped an arm around the man’s waist. “But we need to get away – as far as possible – and get word out to Mistral. I’ll use my semblance for as long as I can, but after that we’re running.”

He nodded weakly, and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, giving her a better hold to work with.

He was lightweight compared to Reed. It was a small blessing. Ruby projected a heartfelt mental apology to the two huntsmen before pouring what little aura she had remaining into her semblance.

One foot in front of the other. Faster. The world took on a scarlet tinge, blurring for more than one reason as moisture spilled down her cheeks.

They accelerated. Past the ruined buildings, through the gaping hole in the village’s wall, across the ruined fields and out into the forest.

‘I’m so sorry…’

As far away as she could take them.

Keep moving.

Her body protested, but she would have none of it while they were so close.

Keep. Moving. Forward.

They rested a minute when Ruby’s aura finally sputtered out, several miles away from Horikiri. Her chest heaved, unable to draw enough breath. Her face glistened with sweat in the last light of the day, streaked with grime and tears and filth. She couldn’t feel her legs, save for the faintest of twinges where she knew the poison was working its way into her flesh.

Despite the reprieve, all she could taste was ash.

They started moving again when they heard the crash, faint and muted by distance.

It was succeeded by a piercing cry of victory. She forced herself to ignore the painful ache in her chest as she ordered the pilot to his feet, swiping at her eyes. Ruby’s legs burned as she set a punishing pace for them both, but it was nothing to what she felt whenever she pictured the death she’d borne witness to that day.

They pressed onwards, no matter the pain. They had a job to complete.

Just keep moving forward.

#RWBY #That Last Rose #The Last Rose Chapter Two #Valasania the Pale #My stories #Ruby Rose

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