#ch: cloud retainer

[cujohcaps]

it takes every blade of grass and every flower to make a homeland. [x]

[thegnomelord]

CH:2 You Were Made For This At Least You're Good For Something

CW: NSFW, blood, gore, scars, cannon typical violence, dissociating, Mage reader, Monster cod AU, poly141, eventual poly141 X reader, reader isn't a good person, survivor's guilt, military inaccuracies. Heavy description of reader having scars, reader gets called 'sir' once but overall GN.

AO3: 13.7k words. Big thanks for @rodolfoparras and @princeguri66 for betaing for me, love you guys!

Magic is often described as a loaded gun, a double edged sword, a grenade with a missing pin, an unmarked minefield — and a thousand more little comparisons parents have come up with to frighten their children, to drill the dangers of magic into their heads. And, should their spawn unfortunately present with said aptitude, to teach them how to spend the rest of their lives vigilantly holding the leash on their emotions tight, lest the magic consume them the next time they throw a tantrum.

Your own parents spoke about magic like it was a beast sent by a vengeful God; a venomous insect hiding in your boots, a beautiful creature luring you to touch it's deadly skin, glowing eyes peering at you from the darkness, a handsome wolf stalking your red hood from the tree line. Something so desperate for a single chance to devour you. Famished. Ravenous.

What a load of shit.

—Ethereal mana rushes through your veins like water through a busted dam, your fingers forcing it to form into skin chafing ash. Large dark clouds swirl around you like a shield, stray cinders brush your feverish skin in a distorted attempt to mimic a lover's touch, smog curls around your head like blinders to focus your eyes forward so you don't need to notice if it's a combatant or a civilian your ash consumes—

If magic was half as unpredictable as people made it out to be, you would have never reached the heights you did.

—The thick disgusting scent of gas and burning human flesh tenderly presses down on your chest, sharp claws persuading you to breathe out by gently caressing the spaces between your ribs. Your breath fogs over the darkened lenses, steam rising from your chest as the generator inside churns out more mana—

What does that make you?

—Sparks nip at your heel when your body thinks of faltering, sharp needles pricking half dead nerves and commanding your limbs to move in order to evade obstacles and falling debris and whatever else is thrown at you, magic strengthening your muscles so you can rush through the streets like a forest fire—

A weapon? A fellow beast?

—Silent black flames devour the corpses your magic creates, leaving nothing behind. Stifling heat straddles your brainstem and burns away the weeds of empathy before they can spread the seeds of hesitation in your mind, isolating your heart so it remains too hot to harbor any mercy, regardless of how many lives you cut short—

Yeah, sounds about right.

—The roar of fire deafens the screams and sirens, the soft crackle of flames is indistinguishable to the crack! of breaking buildings and snapping bones. It makes it so easy to retain the single minded focus you were praised and cursed for. To remind yourself of what you are; a mage, a soldier, an Ifrit, a Red Right Hand—

What else are you good for?

You—

Breathe.

You need to breathe.

You need to think.

While you still can.

Your brain is a jumbled mess of puzzle pieces a frustrated child threw into the fireplace. Burnt edges and missing corners prevent your mind from its natural configuration and forces your thoughts into obtuse positions. It takes time and effort to open your eyes, needles of stagnated mana stabbing your irises and making what should be a pitch black room feel like you're staring into the sun. Your body feels light like you're falling, your vision swims with spots of blurriness and sharpness, the back of your throat tight in an attempt to get you to puke up your empty stomach. You only manage to cough, but the vestigial impulse gets some other thoughts to trickle from your mind.

You focus your eyes to one point and stare until the blurriness retreats to the edges of your vision and the tripling shapes solidify into one. It takes more time for your brain to understand what your eyes are seeing through the steam, but you manage to make out. . . your glowing hands. . . your knees. . . dark ash, muddied water, bathroom tiles.

Your vision improves the longer you keep your eyes open, the room steadily darkening and becoming more bearable as the stagnated mana is forced to recede.

You concentrate on what you feel; water pelts your naked body, only to sizzle and turn into steam after rolling an inch down your skin. Cool ceramic tiles brush against your spine every time you shift, rapidly warming up to your body temperature. A drizzle of discomfort nibbles on your nerves when the hot air you breathe out burns the corners of your dry lips. Your fingers feel like rusted pistons as you intertwine them and numbly watch your 'skin' bubble, and those bubbles 'pop', giving you a grim glimpse of your blackened muscle and sinew and bone before the surrounding lava covers them up.

You don't even notice the ringing in your ears until your slowly sharpening mind forces it to go away, replacing it with the sound of running water, of the ventilation fan uselessly trying to suck up the steam, of your own heart beating like a hummingbird against your ribs, woodpeckers drilling into your skull from all angles as the world becomes so fucking—

—Loud. The world is Loud. Nothing like the calm and quiet brought to you by the battlefield, nothing like the sense of safety that comes from familiarity. No. Now the world feels like a swarm of angry wasps are burrowing into your ears to build a nest in your skull, sharp pincers gnawing on your bones and flesh and nerves and—

No.

You got this far.

You're not allowed to fall back into panic.

You force your chest to expand and take in a deep, unfiltered, unrestricted, breath. Ash with the disgusting undertone of rotten eggs curls inside your nose and doesn't let anything else pass. But a small hint of you manages to register in your brain, light and calming; your body’s lackluster attempt at incense to cover up the stench of rot.

And you taste. . . a lot. Too much; morning breath, ash, smoke, blood, the peppery battery acid quality of your blood — all blended together into a disgusting cocktail tailor made for you by what's left of the butchered angel sitting on your shoulder.

You don't think when you reach out to grab the glass of whatever shit liquor past you had bought. 'Glass' is far too kind a word for the tin can you're using, but metal doesn't shatter in your burning hands like ceramic or glass.

Your head thunks against the wall as you throw it back to gulp down the alcohol before it can boil, swallowing in big gulps like it's water. Your stomach cramps, the devil's finest piss would taste better going down your throat than the booze, but it's as effective as it is disgusting and bleaches your mouth until it's the only thing you can taste — sweet relief wrapped in thorns.

You don't revel in it.

The tin can bends like playdoh as you squeeze your burning hand, quickly reddening metal molding to your palm before you crumple it into a small ball. You flick it into the corner where it becomes another piece of the small pile that's been steadily growing there over the months.

Breathing in deep makes your ribs creak and groan like rusted hinges, your lungs burn and complain as you keep the air trapped in them until they're forced to function properly and a shuddered breath escapes your parted lips. The water feels nice and a part of you wants to stay under the stream forever, a part of you would be content growing moss and listening to the soft apologies your mana murmurs as it nibbles on your blood vessels.

You would hit that part of yourself if you could.

The thinning steam urges you to move. Shifting to your knees is difficult with Atlas's burden weighing on your shoulders, forcing your fingers to find purchase in the scorched grooves previously melted in the wall. Pulling yourself to your feet causes them to grow a few inches deeper, your burning hands leaving singed handprints on the ceramic walls.

The weakness in your knees forces you to spend a few seconds just standing, watching your magic slowly start to slumber. The once runny lava consistency of your 'skin' shifts to that of cooling magma, the vast excess of loose mana still in your blood slowly coagulating atop your 'skin' in the form of large chunks of volcanic rock, little cracks remaining between them to simulate blood vessels.

Washing yourself isn't a relaxing affair in general, but it's made worse by the heavy duty soap and rough sponge you have to use in order to scrub away the grime and ash stubbornly clinging to your skin. You try not to look at your body more than you have to, your eyes transfixed on the way the dirty water carries the signs of your violence down the drain. You never get any blood on you, your fires burn too hot for that, and you don’t know if seeing the water turn red instead of black would make you feel better or worse.

The most painful place to wash is the sharp transition between mage marks and living tissue at your shoulders; magic cares little for appearances, volcanic rock abruptly transitioning to soft skin that boasts spiderweb cracks — a tell tale sign of your mana intending to spread further. The nerves there are partially eaten away too, turning your skin into a minefield of zero sensation and absolute hell when one of those nerves is prodded.

You get out when the water runs clear, the residual droplets turning to steam the second you turn off the shower. You stumble as take a few steps, bracing against the small sink next to the shower, staring at the tap to keep your gaze from doubling again.

Something gnaws on your heart as you recognize that you're standing naked in your small safehouse. You should have recovered by now, gotten your shit together and went off to carry out whatever other massacre your employer wanted to commit. Your mind, ever the problematic thing, chimes in: How improper.

Your eyes skirt to the dog tags sitting on the sink, those little plates of steel chastising you "Fuck's sake firebug, this isn't a nudist beach!" like their owners did before. . . before.

Just thinking about it gives you the phantom taste of blood and something acidic, makes you feel a ghostly ache in your bones as if your chest had been ripped open one rib at a time. Invisible glass digs into your throat as you swallow, fish hooks tug on your skin. The mirror hanging above the sink calls for you, mocks you, dares you, orders you to look at the horrid thing that replaced a sweet young child.

Burning flames greet your gaze, swallowing up every last bit of natural color in your eyes just as the hungering beast devours those stupid enough to enter its woods. And you were that fool. The raised bumps of veins and arteries snaking across your chest and throat like creeping ivy attest to that, each inch of your blood vessels meticulously, painfully, pulled from the safe depths of skin and bone to heal on the surface of your skin (or bleed and rot. You could never tell when torture turned into intended murder.)

Your body tells a tale of your survival (for whatever that's good for), most of your scars old and healed, created at a time when you didn't know how to heal yourself. Dimly glowing lines of hardened mana occasionally stretch across your skin, spiderwebs of deep cyan peek beneath your hair on one side of your head and pulse across your throat, glittering amber swirls across your side — small and pretty testaments of wounds so horrendous only magic could keep you in one piece.

An eternal flame burns in your chest, its steady unfaltering glow outlining your sternum and each rib in such clarity it's like you're a cadaver in a morgue, a textbook example of a person slowly spiraling towards lichdom. The light emanating from within you makes the jagged dark ink curving along the space of your ribs stand out like a sore thumb, D.O.D. 2016.01.01. Your fingers ache to trace the little shaky messages of not Today, Guess again, yuo wish, NO, just one more day that circle it, but you can't bring yourself to do it.

You can't sully the last few things you have left of them, you can't, you can't you can't—

Crack!

You realize you've broken the mirror when you pull your hand back and see large shards stick out between your knuckles. Little reflections of yourself continue to mock you as you pull the pieces out. It doesn't hurt, it hasn't hurt since the mage marks first cracked the pads of your fingers, though you're still unsure if it's a gift or a curse —"leave it for the scholars to bicker about" as your Commander loved to say.

A shadow flickers in the corner of your eye, almost like a silhouette of someone you think you knew. Glowing lines of a magic circle burst into the air before you can physically react, mana simmering beneath your skin as magic comes to you easier than breathing.

The hallway lights up to reveal nothing. The thing you saw was just the shadow of a tree branch moving in the wind. You unsummon your magic before it can burn anything, the dwindling sparks nipping your fingers before they’re snuffed out as a way to show your mana is not pleased by the false alarm.

There is nothing there.

You are alone.

Again.

Your phone rings, the factory setting music grating on your ears. The phone is a piece of shit Nokia brick that belongs in a museum, but it works fine as far as burner phones go. Archaic technology like this plays better with magic than the flashy electronics people use nowadays, and the fact it doesn't connect to wifi helps make you harder to track.

You use the back of your knuckle to answer the phone, luckily not needing to pick it up as your mana enhanced hearing is a lot better than human. You manage to force a rough "Yes?" out of your throat.

"Nicely done my friend." Khaled sounds pleased with the death you brought, "You put on a very nice show." The eloquent Arabic he speaks makes the praise sound even nicer to your ears, like a balm of milk and honey to soothe your mind after what you went through. You can see how he's amassed as many men as he has, you could see yourself joining him full time if you were younger and dumber.

Your thoughts sit on your tongue like hot coals, but you swallow them down. "Thank you sir." You say instead, politely. Respect for your superiors was beaten into you years ago, yet exhaustion makes your words sound far rougher than his. Thankfully you're able to keep the accent of your mother tongue from deforming the fragile vowels.

"Ever the modest one." Khaled's chuckle is deep and just at the edge of mean, the subtle change in tone making the fine hairs at the back of your neck stand on end. "I need to pick up some more toys." And by 'I' he means you.

Toys — guns, bombs, other weapons intended for mass destruction; you're not surprised he's using slang instead of saying it outright. Your employer may be an overgrown murderous warlord, but he's not dumb, there's no doubt heavy surveillance has been put on both of you and Al-Qatala as a whole after your stunt.

It makes sense why he'd want to send you for the weapon's deal instead of going himself, there's no telling when some military group or pmc will try to bushwhack them in hopes of body bagging Khaled. Hell, you'd be disappointed if the CIA wasn't already in the final stages of planning a counter terrorism measure. Nosy fucks.

"Understood sir. Send me the shopping list." You feel your brow twitch with irritation when Khaled abruptly cuts the call. A sigh escapes you; your stomach feels like a witch is using it for a cauldron, all sorts of nastiness bubbling into a disgusting brew — your body's trying to warn you of something you can't see.

Not like you listen.

Dropping the last of the mirror shards into the sink you reach over to grab the dog tags and slip the cold chain around your neck. The metal warms up quickly, becoming indistinguishable from your skin. You rest your hand over them. If you try hard enough, you can just about sense the last remaining dregs of their magic— cool water, nibbling ice, soft soil — but the rest blend together into senseless mana, nothing but whispers of the past.

16 other tags rest against your skin, your own nestled somewhere between the dead.

You should have died instead.

You tear your hand away with a scoff, shaking those thoughts off and go get dressed. You slip on your helmet last, the tension in your shoulders evaporating when your face is hidden. Your lungs stutter for a second before adapting to breathe normally. You throw a glance at the shattered mirror and this time it's the helmet that greets you; just another soldier, just a mage.

Yeah. . . that's you alright.

Your phone vibrates, telling you you've received a message.

Right. You have a job to do. Here's to hoping this one isn't your last.

You're not holding your beath.

. . .

The briefing room is silent as Laswell goes over the census: 200 confirmed dead, hundreds in serious condition, thousands more who will be affected in the coming weeks and months when the seasonal storms wash the toxins into water sources and pollute the earth. And that's not talking about the long term effects, who knows how many will be lost in the coming years trying to neutralize the poisonous magic and rebuild.

Toxic gas itself is problematic when they don't know what specific kind it is, but when it binds with loose particle magic like ash or sand it can linger for decades, eroding concrete and skin alike. A whole generation will be born in hazmat suits.

Kate finishes speaking. A minute of silence follows.

Soap takes the time to try and visualize the dead as people rather than just a statistic, but his mind falls short. His tail twitches with irritation, fists clenching by his sides; he just can't understand how one person could do all of that without rockets or explosives.

His brain births a grim thought — fire hot enough to burn through concrete wouldn't leave behind any bodies, so he can tack on several more hundred deaths to the census, ones that have no way of being confirmed, leaving families without a body to grieve over.

"As far as we know." Kate begins again, her face grim, deep dark shadows stretching beneath her eyes. Only caffeine and determination have helped chase away her exhaustion. "This was a terrorist attack organized by Khaled Al-Asad," She pulls up two pictures on the interactive board, one of Khaled, the other — the same featureless helmet they'd seen on the news. "And carried out by a mage mercenary called Ifrit. True identity unknown."

Soap's ear twitches and he tilts his head at Ghost. "Bet yeh he's an ugly focker."

Ghost's dark eyes flicker to him. "Didn't think that 'bout me did you?" He mutters, eyes returning to the screen, staring at your picture as if it'll reveal some deeper meaning; an insight into a murderer's mind. Soap holds off on doing the same, he doesn't want any of the sludge on him.

“Could also be a ‘her’.”

Their gazes turn to the two women sitting at the front, the captain and lieutenant of another pmc the US has contracted to help them deal with this problem.

The one who spoke is a woman in her late 30's, brown hair pulled in a tight bun, green eyes occasionally flickering with whisps of unnatural blue; Captain Roberts – if Johnny remembered her name correctly from orientation – continues. “Women are better at using magic, and control it with the finesse required for more complex spells.” She explains with a dismissive look, absentmindedly waving her gloved hand like they’re just insects buzzing around her head.

Yeah, Johnny doesn't like her. And it's not because she smells like sweet lotus mixed with the stench of rancid fish rotting under the sun. It's because she's as hoity-toity as every other mage he's met (thankfully he's only met a few).

The shorter woman sitting next to Captain Roberts shrugs, black hair pulled into a similarly tight bun. "A little biased there captain." Lieutenant Martinez says, her black eyes flickering to look at the monsters. "Though, I can't say it's unwarranted." He hears her mutter.

Johnny notices striped patches velcroed to their arms, 2 icy blue ones on Martinez, 3 deep blue on Roberts. Distantly he remembers them to signal the power level of a mage on the international power scale, though he's blurry on the finer details.

Johnny’s ears twitch as he hears Ghost mutter a “Fuckin’ ‘ell.” under his breath before the wraith gruffly speaks up loud enough for all to hear. “Nail Ifrit and you’ll get the chance to check for bollocks.”

Roberts turns her head to look at Ghost. Her eyes look him over and the initial scowl (which Johnny's sure she was born with) turns into something that makes Johnny's fur stand on end and gums itch with the need to bare his teeth. She opens her mouth to speak—

A low rumble wafts through the air as Price blows out a puff of cigar smoke, the soft cloud escaping through the open window but the strong scent remains. "Hush." Price's pupils are thin like needles, shutting up Roberts with one look before he looks at Kate. "What do we know about 'em?"

Kate frowns, "Not enough." She pulls up a map of the world, a red dot placed somewhere in Libya. “Ifrit first appeared on our radars 2 years ago under the employment of a Libyan warlord called Ahmed Saleh.” Next she pulls up a video, playing it. The camera work is shaky, but Soap's able to make out said warlord speaking in a language he doesn't know, Ifrit standing by his side like some freaky statue. The camera shifts to focus on the row of men behind them, all bound on their knees with bags over their heads.

Johnny knows immediately what this is.

He still flinches when glowing circles spring beneath the mens knees, violent flames shooting high up into the sky as if Ifrit just used their personal key to open Satan's backyard. The camera flickers like an old TV, catching the last few seconds of glitched dying screams and magic burning away skin and muscle before the the video ends.

"Jesus." Kyle mutters next to Soap, his clawed fingers carding through the black feathers on his other forearm in a self soothing motion. "Just. . . Jesus."

"Ah dinnae think he’ll help." Soap mutters back, nose wrinkling as if he can already smell the burning bodies.

"A few weeks after this video was taken, Ifrit went into hiding before resurfacing again under a different employer." If Kate's bothered by the public execution, she doesn't show it. "Cross referencing the attack in Uzrikstan we’ve found over 50 arson attacks with the same M.O.” More red dots spread across the world map haphazardly, seemingly with no rhyme or reason. “As well as indication of Ifrit's involvement in numerous organized crime groups. Khaled is just their latest employer.”

Ghost lets out a low whistle. "Our arsonist's been busy."

"So what?" Soap's fur bristles even more, "The torcher just pop oot like a weed aw o'a sudden an' immediately jump intae terrorism?"

"Maybe?" Kyle scratches the back of his neck. "If they're a late bloomer and unbound then it makes sense why some crime rings would want them," He turns his head to look at Captain Roberts, "Right?"

She doesn't spare him a look, chewing on her words like Kyle had put something foul in her mouth. "I suppose developing strong magic after adolescence is possible." She begrudgingly says, "And unbound magic is stronger than bound, making Ifrit look like an appealing attack dog." She crosses her arms over her chest, stroking her chin in thought.

"But unbound magic also damages to the body." Lieutenant Martinez pipes up. "And that type of mage marks would take more than just 2 years to develop even if they used magic 24/7."

"You're correct." Captain Roberts finally glances at Kyle, giving him a look as if he had asked the difference between a pug and a werewolf. "It's more likely they had magic for a while. Not to mention received training for it."

Another low rumble escapes Price's chest, the sound reminiscent of construction machinery. "How come we didn't know about the firebug earlier?" His voice is calm, making the sharp edge underneath it cut deeper.

Kate sighs, "I hate to say it, but Ifrit is good." She says solemnly. "Their magic destroys electronics, they never show their face or leave witnesses, and they manage to cover their tracks up so well that we can't find even a partial mana-cule signature on the arson attacks, the most recent one included."

Her words make little sense to him, entering Johnny's ear and exiting through the other. He remembers taking a few classes on the types of magic that can mimic explosive materials when he was doing his demolition course, but all the jargons had made his head hurt and wasn't needed in the end. His tail tucks closer to his leg. "A what?"

Captain Roberts scoffs, but her Lieutenant speaks up. "A mana-cule detector picks up the way magic that's left in a victim's body refracts light. It's specific to every mage, so, like a magical fingerprint." She holds up her gloved hand to give visual to her comparison.

Soap feels Gaz's feathers brush against him as the man folds his wings closer to his body, resting his elbows on his knees as he looks at the screen. Kyle's eyes wander back to the starting image of the video where you're standing behind the warlord, mentally comparing it with the brief glimpse of you he got on the news. Something about you screams 'professional' to him, like you've done this so many times you got used to it the same way he got used to pulling the trigger of his gun.

"Ifrit doesn't look like some gang banger Khaled or some warlord picked off the street." Kyle finally says, and though he knows Laswell probably had the same thought, he still asks. "Could they be ex military or part of some pmc?"

"We're operating under this assumption, but we can't confirm anything." Kate frowns. "We're still trying to find any personal information about them."

"Getting to the important information." Captain Roberts says, giving them a pointed look. "What even is Ifrit’s level? With destruction like that I can’t imagine anything beneath L3. L4 if they’re 3 seconds away from becoming a lich or just high on Magnus dust."

"Fuck what dust?" Soap asks, but Captain Roberts just waves him off like his question is too stupid for her to answer.

"Magical crack." Ghost shrugs. "Makes the magic stronger, but also turns the mage into a firecracker."

Kate rubs her brows, a headache starting to pound behind her eyes. "By our calculations Ifrit falls into the L5 category." Her words make the rest of them go silent, but Soap just looks around confused.

"Preposterous." Captain Roberts huffs, "I can count on my fingers how many L5's there have been since Christ was born. Ifrit being one is just impossible." A deep scowl etches across her face. "At best, Ifrit is just an L3 high on Magnus dust with no regard for their body. They'll be a lich in a couple months."

"Regardless of what Ifrit is," Price speaks up, stubbing the cigar butt on the window sill and throwing it out the window. "What do we do about them?" A small bit of smoke escapes the corner of his lip, dragon fire burning hot in his chest in response to his well masked anger.

"An insider in Al-Qatala claims a weapon deal will be going down in a day." Kate swipes away the previous pictures, putting on a bird’s eye-view map of a shipping dock. 5 large warehouses circle an empty concrete space bordering the ocean, clearly long abandoned. "From what we know, Khaled has Ifrit secure most of his weapons because they’re careful. If a buyer’s even a minute late they call it all off."

"So punctual and paranoid?" Gaz sumarrises.

Ghost hums to himself. "Quite the work ethic." He side-eyes Johnny. "You could lean som'thin' from 'em."

Soap just huffs, his tail bumping against Ghost's leg in retaliation, his snagglefang showing as his lip quirks up into a small smirk when Ghost's dark eyes flicker to him.

"You’ll need to be tight, there's no telling when this opportunity will present itself again." Kate continues, ignoring them. "Team Alfa," A dot pops up on one side of the docks, Price's and Lieutenant Martinez's faces beneath it. "you'll be going in from the north. Bravo—" Another dot appears on the opposite side with Ghost's and Captain Robert's faces. "—the south."

The dots move to indicate how they're supposed to approach the position, ending up with them completely surrounding the docks. "We don't know Ifrit's full battle capabilities, so you'll need to be careful. Isolate and tire them out before attempting capture, but kill if you must." Laswell looks at them all. "We can only assume ifrit's magic is short ranged so under no circumstances do you get close to them, understood?"

"Crystal ma'am." Captain Roberts shrugs, throwing a look at the monsters at Taskforce 141. "Just let us take care of the mage and keep out of the way so you don't become collateral. I would hate to waste my time healing you." Her eyes linger on Ghost, bits of bright blue mana flickering in her eyes. "Well, most of you." Soap feels Ghost subtly stiffen next to him.

That woman's charming as a train wreck; Soap can feel himself prickle with irritation, more and more strands of fur rising to stand straight on his tail the longer he has to stay near Roberts.

Luckily they're let go early to go rest up and prepare while the two mages stay with Price and Kate to iron out the finer details of which mages which team is taking and what spells to use. Apparently everyone but Price and Kate are too stupid to understand the 'complexity' of their spells.

Soap would be insulted, but he takes the opportunity offered to him. He glues himself to Ghost's side as much as he can 'professionally', his tail curling around his leg as Johnny throws a smug look over his shoulder at Captain Roberts.

Johnny catches her looking back at him like he’s a flea ridden mutt and that just makes his tail wag. He forgets about her the moment the door of the briefing room closes, busying himself by subtly rubbing his arm against Ghost's, spreading a bit of his scent on the wraith's jacket. It's one of the few times he's glad wraith's don't have a scent — makes it easy to smell himself on Ghost.

"Someone's territorial." Gaz chirps as he joins them on Ghost's other side, feathers brushing against their backs to throw his own scent into the mix.

Ghost just looks at Soap bemused, his thick paw of a hand coming up to cradle the back of Johnny's head, gloved fingers gripping his skin like he's a puppy. "You bettah not piss on me."

Gaz breaks out into laughter and Johnny feels his cheeks grow warm. "Dirty bastard." He huffs, but stores the idea for later. "Are all mages like that?" He tilts his head back at the door.

"Uptight?" Gaz asks. "Snotty?"

"Wankers with their heads shoved up their arse?" Ghost helpfully adds.

"That's putting it brawly," Soap lets out a breath, amusement tugging at his lips as his tail wags.

"Yeah, I think it's like a requirement to be a military mage." Kyle chuckles, holding up his hand like he's judging someone's height. "You've got to be this much of a twat to join." He grins, passing them as he goes to get ready.

Soap wants to say more but Ghost's hand on his neck demands his attention, tilting his head up. His breath catches in his throat as Ghost bends down until their foreheads bonk together softly, the cool metal of the mask tickling Soap's skin. "Don't go doing anything dumb pup, olright?"

Dark eyes meet his own, a shiver runs down Soap's spine, his mouth dry as a desert when he tries to swallow the rock in his throat; Soap can't even begin to define the strange thing that was born between them on that one night in Las Almas, he can still remember the way Ghost's deep voice had kept him sane and his wolf's demands to blindly rush the enemy and get back to his pack quiet.

Johnny certainly can't define the late nights spent sharing that dog piss Simon likes drinking, nor the rough touches and hickeys they leave on the other, though they never have time to get further than that.

This feels nice too.

His hands sneak to Ghost's hips, thumbs hooking under his belt loops to pull their bodies closer, pressing his chest against Ghost's. "When have I ever done that?" He smirks, lips ghosting over Simon's masked ones.

He feels Ghost's chest rumble as the man chuckles, his other hand roughly gripping Johnny's arse. "You want a list?"

Johnny's tail wags more, "Well, I reckon I'd be up fer-"

"Oi, I’d hate to break the snogfest but we’ve got things to do!" Kyle’s chuckle breaks them up before they can do anything else. Soap turns to flip the bird to the bird, but Kyle's tail feathers have already disappeared into the changing room.

. . .

 The night is calm.

Mellow waves break against the well worn concrete walls of the docks, tree leaves softly flutter in the mild breeze, crickets and frogs sing their songs into the night air. The world itself doesn't care about you or the soldiers guarding the docks. Absentmindedly you track the movements of the men Khaled gave you, the barely noticeable crumbs of magic you stuck on them flickering at the back of your mind like dwindling coals.

All are accounted for. The night is calm. There is nothing out of the ordinary.

And yet your nerves are on a razor's edge. The relative silence scratches down your spine with long crooked claws, the calmness crackles beneath your skin like electricity. Your fingers itch with the need to tap them against your thigh, to do something; waiting has always been your least refined quality regardless of how often you needed to use it. Your body, your magic, Hell — the very essence of what you are — craves the heat of battle, the sweet lull of adrenaline's song to put your nerves at ease.

You resist moving too much. Years of training make hiding the signs of unease and nervousness easy as breathing, your body so still you could be mistaken for a statue if your chest didn't steadily rise and fall.

Taim doesn't possess your abilities. You can feel his nervousness on your tongue, like licking an old battery. His hands shift to re-adjust the hold on his gun for the 6th time in the past 10 minutes. You doubt he knows you're watching him from the corner of your eye, so the tenseness of his shoulders must be from you just being near him.

It doesn't surprise you — many countries that have had Russian or Soviet influence consider mages more monstrous than actual monsters. Mages like you are perversions of God's template, thieves who possess power not intended for you. Urzikstan is no different.

You don't point out how Taim flinches when you raise your hand to look at the time, the watch face strapped to the inside of your wrist; some habits are hard to break.

The deal is supposed to happen at 3AM, and it's 02:57 already. "The seller's taking their sweet time." You say under your breath, lowering your hand. You have half the mind to call it off and tell Khaled to teach his suppliers punctuality. Hell, you've done it before when you had less surveillance on yourself and your employer. This just feels like tempting luck.

Taim looks at his own watch and glances your way. "I understand your frustration sir, but- but we just need to wait a bit more." He absentmindedly holds up three fingers to indicate the minutes left, starting the count from his thumb.

It wouldn't be so odd if middle eastern countries such as Urzikstan didn't start counting with the pinky finger. Americans count with the index. That just leaves the entirety of Europe. You hum a low sound at the back of your throat.

"They-" Taim quickly puts his hand down and grips his gun in both hands, apparently thinking you hadn't noticed his blunder. "They should be here any min- minuta." Another slipup; the hint of a different accent softens and shortens the last vowel of the Arabic word. It narrows down a couple countries, but nothing specific.

Taurus would have made you run around the base for days if you had ever made the same mistakes, provided you survived the consequences of getting caught.

What a fucking amateur.

But Khaled isn't paying you to get rid of vermin, so you let it slide. You catalogue this moment in case you'll need it later, concentrating on the present.

The radio inside your helmet sputters to life, a rough voice speaking quickly in Arabic. "Ship incoming."

Your gaze falls on the dark ocean, mana flowing to your eyes without even having to cast a spell. It's not the same as using a mana sensing spell, those leave your head feeling like you'd volunteered it to be used as a church bell in exchange for perfect clarity of the world around you. But your sight becomes significantly brighter and sharper, enough to see the ship sailing towards the docks. It's a medium sized fishing vessel, the lights inside turned off so as not to attract too much attention, but it meets the specifications Khaled had given you.

You reach up to activate the voice receiver of your radio, pressing the button hidden on the inside of your helmet just behind the gas mask portion. "Our seller's incoming. Get the truck, secure the perimeter and keep tight." You order into the radio, cutting it off again.

You motion for Taim to follow as you walk out from your cover. You had hidden yourselves between two warehouses, their roofs extending to the sides enough to hide you from the sight of drones.

You stop a few feet from the edge of the docks, listening to the truck back up behind you as the boat slowly sails up to the edge of the dock and drops it's anchor.

You don't recognize most of the men on the boat, except for one. "Ah, Ifrit, long time no see," Victor Zakhaev greets you in Russian as he steps off the boat first. You notice a new scar across his face, but otherwise he looks good considering last you've heard of him he'd gotten himself shot and left for dead by some monster taskforce. "I am not late, yes?" He asks in English, offering you his hand.

"Right on time." You say and take his hand in a firm handshake. You try to ignore the way the touch of another human, regardless of the fact you can't really feel his touch, makes your skin crawl.

"Good, good, from you, that is a compliment." He smirks and steps to your side, giving room for his men to unload the heavy weapon crates from the bowels of the ship onto the dock. "I assure you, you'll find the garden hoses and other peashooters are all accounted for." Zakhaev makes a motion with his hand, making his workers put a heavy box onto the ground beside you. "But I know you well, you want to check the goods, yes?"

Needles prick your skin and your mind kicks itself for becoming so predictable. But Zakhaev has known you since your stint with that warlord in Libya, it's only natural he would learn a few of your habits after so long. "You would be correct." You say, your voice betraying nothing.

Zakhaev just chuckles, his workers undoing the crate's top board with his company logo printed on top of it. Inside, nestled between a sea of white packing peanuts, lies one of many M134 miniguns Khaled has been keen on getting — people of your ilk call it the garden hose for the ridiculous amount of ammunition it can spit out in a minute.

Say what you want about the yankees, but their weapons are top notch. Having once been on the receiving end of that weapon, you know first had how useful it can be; both for tearing enemy combatants to shreds and for decimating their morale.

You look over the weapon, unable to find anything wrong with it. Zakhaev takes pride in the guns he sells, you've never had any problem with them. "Looks good." You nod your head at Khaled's men and stand up. "Load them up."

You reach into your pocket and pull out a flash drive. Khaled had paid half of the price up front, leaving you to deliver the second half. Inside the flash drive are wallets with thousands of dollars worth of crypto currency. This is a smart play on your employer's part; you don't need to lug around suspicious briefcases full of cash, and there's no wire transfer some nosy agent can trace back to Khaled.

"Rest of your payment." You say simply, handing the inconspicuous flash drive to Zakhaev.

"Thank you kindly." Zakhaev slips the drive into his pocket. You watch the men carry the heavy weapon crates and put them in the truck.

Zakhaev shuffles through his pockets and pulls out a packet of cigarettes, some Russian brand. He taps the bottom of the carton on the back of his hand, offering you the stick that partially sticks out of the box. "Care to join me?" He asks, taking it in stride when you don't react. With a shrug, he puts the cigarette between his teeth. "Help an old friend, yes?"

You don't particularly like being the personal lighter for anyone, but you acquiesce — powerful and resourceful men with fragile prides are better as friends than foes; The task is so simple you don't even need to form a magic circle, a single thought making the end of the cigarette smolder before vestigial flames spark up from nothing, catching on the tightly packed dried leaves and setting them alight.

"Impressive trick." Zakhaev compliments and breathes in the nicotine, unbothered when he receives your silence again. You expect the rest of the weapons exchange to pass quietly, you and him watching from the sidelines as the men load heavy crates into the back of a truck. Your presence here is only as a guard dog.

Zakhaev surprises you by speaking up again. "Ah, there was another thing I wanted to speak to you about."

Another crate is set by your feet. You tilt your head to look at Zakhaev before your gaze flickers to the worker who pries the top board open. Inside isn't a minigun or an automatic rifle Khaled had ordered, but a sniper rifle.

"What is this?" You ask, just about keeping yourself from tensing; This is unexpected, a surprise, and surprises can get you killed faster than playing patty cake with a landmine.

Zakhaev, as if sensing your unease, waves you off. "A gift, my friend." He says in Russian, the words easy to understand. "And a. . . taste, shall we say, of what I can offer you in the event you decide to seek other employment opportunities."

Ah. So that's what this is about — he's trying to bribe you.

Now that you think about it, it isn't too surprising. He knows what you're capable of, and mages of your abilities don't grow on trees. "Is that so?" You ask in Russian, playing along as you kneel down and pick up the gun.

Your fingers move with life of their own, gliding smoothly and confidently over the metal as if you'd been born with it. The barrel is straight as an arrow, the butt fits comfortably against your shoulder, the magazine locks into place with a soft 'click', the bolt moves back with buttery smoothness and gives you sight of the live round before it's loaded into place with a second satisfying sound. It tickles your brain, that violent thing in your chest stirs with interest.

"You like it, yes?" Zakhaev chuckles, the sharpness in his eyes momentarily lost as he observes you as one does a child opening gifts on Christmas morning. "It’s a .50BMG, semi-auto, 5 rounds every 1.6 seconds, 1,800mile range, 1,319 m/s velocity, and has a 5-round detachable box mag with a muzzle brake." He details, and you mentally whistle to yourself; guns like these cost a fortune. "It's a nice gun, no?"

It is a very nice gun.

Something at the back of your mind tingles; a smoldering coal is quenched, a string snaps and sends a single needle through your amygdala. Foreign mana, as subtle as a tank, traipses at the edge of your consciousness — a fly unknowingly vibrates the threads of a spider's nest.

It is a very nice gun.

And you just found a target to practice on.

. . .

"What is Zakhaev doing here? I thought we buried him in Verdansk?" Sergeant Garrick’s voice chatters quietly over the coms as Captain Roberts makes her way through the swamp, muddy water up to her knees and insects buzzing around her head. A few of her best mages trail behind her, the rest of her team mingled between the monsters on the other side of the docks.

"Turns out our matchstick's just a magnet for wankers." Sergeant MacTavish’s voice crackles. She doesn’t stop the scoff that comes to her lips. He just has a voice that’s easy to dislike, then again she never did like mutts.

"Our mission remains the same, get Zakhaev if you can but Ifrit’s a more dangerous target." Captain Roberts wants to argue with Price. Hell, she did for nearly an hour after the briefing was done just on the subject why everyone but him and the wraith had to wear gas masks. Captain Price is too paranoid in her opinion; after the terrorist attack there's no way their target's mana reserves aren't depleted to shit, Ifrit probably couldn't put up a fight tougher than wet tissue paper but nooo, Laswell just had to pick that lizard over her own kind.

"Took care of a straggler." The deep rumble of Lieutenant Ghost’s voice sends a nice shiver down her spine. He had broken off to go ahead, briefly giving her a nice look at his ass. At least there’s one sideshow in that freakshow of a taskforce that’s easy on the eyes. She bets he would look even better without that ugly mask, all those big muscles on display and quivering beneath her…

"Alfa team in position." Price speaks into the radio.

Roberts shakes her head, refocusing on the task as she kneels in the dark water. She's partially hidden behind a rotten tree stump, but the night is dark and there's enough critters and insects in the swamp to make sensing them with mana difficult. "Team Bravo in position." She says.

"Good, stand by, we only get one chance at this." That's probably the only thing she and Price agree on. Opportunities like this don't fall into their laps often, maybe she can even nab herself a promotion if she captures both Ifrit and Zakhaev.

Curiosity tugs on her mind as she watches the weapons deal go down. She doesn’t know what she expected but this isn’t it; The last time she had seen someone capable of similar destruction, it had been a teenager in the late stages of lichdom— mind eroded, body nothing but skin and bones, magic rotting the poor girl from the inside out until all that was left was an animal in human skin.

She expected something similar, maybe worse, not for Ifrit to look no different than every other criminal piece of shit she's seen.

Unable to hold back her curiosity she hunches her shoulders and takes off her gloves. Her mage marks are extensive and ugly; reach to the first knuckle of each finger, the dried coral like texture scratching her skin as she places one hand on her face to peer between her fingers, another resting over her chest.

Captain Roberts can at least feel proud for being so magically gifted she can shorten a 40 something word incantation to just 13 measly words: "Sister of steams, daughter of oceans, give me sight to see the hidden." She can feel her mana leisurely crawl through her veins as she murmurs the spell, like squeezing honey through a cheesecloth.

The world lights up in an array of colors like a broken kaleidoscope, shapes and outlines flickering in and out as the mana inside every living creature mixes and twirls with the dark backdrop of dead mana without rhyme or reason. The sight is something humans were never meant to see, and it stabs at her eyes for even daring to look, but she can stomach it long enough to catch sight of Ifrit's mana.

Captain Roberts is disappointed to see the mana surrounding you is nothing to write home about; orange mana cleanly outlines your entire frame, barely a couple of inches thick, not too bright and not even the barest flicker in the even surface to indicate mana suppression.

The disappointment morphs into relief as she deactivates her spell — at the very least she won't need to waste her time with this monster and terrorist nonsense longer than she has to. Shame, she had been looking for a challenge—

A violent shiver runs down her spine, her heart lurches and bashes against her ribs with the feral panic of a prey animal trying to escape, cold sweat breaks out across her skin and pain blooming in her arteries as mana rushes to her fingers—

A bullet strikes the rotten stump she's hiding behind.

Magic explodes on contact.

Violent flames race to devour those still living.

. . .

You count 5 seconds between the bullet hitting it's target, the magic you imbued it with exploding, and it all going to shit.

You throw a hand over Zakhaev's shoulder and force him to the ground as the first hail of bullets comes your way. You drop to your knee just in time to avoid receiving a lead injection, the concrete behind you exploding in small puffs of dust as the high caliber bullets hit the ground or bounce off Zakhaev's boat to tear through the meat shields that are Khaled's men. You try to take a few potshots, but your position is bad and you can't tell where the shots are coming from.

You catch large elongated sticks fall from the sky and clatter to the ground. You immediately screw your eyes shut, bending at the waist to put your face parallel with the ground and pressing your hands to your ears. You avoid the flash as the stun grenades go off, but the following bang! rattles inside your ears and makes you stumble as you straighten out.

But you know this is just a distraction: beneath the whizzing bullets and echoing shots you can feel the world groan, the air shivering with disgust as magic slowly gathers at the fingertips of enemy mages. They take every precious second given to them to build and strengthen their spells, the average cast time around a minute.

You need no such preparation.

The moment you feel their spells release, like a rubber band snapping against your skin, you summon your own magic. You have neither the time nor space to produce a proper counter spell when you haven't seen your enemies casting circles, so your offence becomes your best defense — glowing circles spark across the air to shoot out violent flames, burning heat and freezing cold colliding in the crisp night air. Your magic is far superior, turning the balls of ice and water into steam.

The boundless steam floods the area and rushes at you like a stampede of frantic beasts. You pull Zakhaev close to you, shielding his fragile body from the blistering mist as it washes over you, nothing but a mild inconvenience. Your stomach feels tight, as if mocking you for not listening to your body.

At least you can be certain this isn't just some group of Khaled's enemies or gangsters that stumbled on you. The fact they're using water and ice spells means this was preplanned, they have a specific target — you.

The thought makes something inside you stir. You feel your heart begin to beat a little faster, a little harder, a little louder, banging against your ribs in the slow start of a war march to rouse the slumbering beast in your veins. Enticing it with what it you craves.

You hear Zakhaev say something but his words fail to reach your ears, not that you'd be able to respond with how your tongue feels like it's made of lead. Your body always does this; jaw tensing to keep you quiet, muscles relaxing in preparation, the lingering vestiges of nervousness evaporating to clear your mind so you can focus. Something in that fucked up brain of yours makes you switch to the first language you ever learned — violence.

Your grip is ironclad as you throw Zakhaev over your shoulder like he's a sack of potatoes, summoning more spells for cover instead of listening to his cursing. Even more steam blankets the ground, joining alongside gunfire and magic to create a disorientating shroud you're very familiar with. You easily duck and weave through Khaled's men, catching glimpses of enemy bodies moving beyond the steam as you head to the truck, hoping to use it for momentary cover.

Throwing Zakhaev into the back of the truck with the weapon boxes you skirt to the front of the vehicle, the sharp bang! of your fist knocking against the metal door scaring the shit out of the driver. You meet the man's eyes through the darkened lenses of your helmet, giving a hand gesture for him to drive.

Hummingbirds peck at the back of your skull, giving you ample warning to jump out of the way even before a circle spreads beneath your feet. A shard of ice erupts from the ground where you'd just stood, thankfully avoiding the car and giving the driver further incentive to get the fuck out. Ants crawl down your spine in another warning, and you saw enough of the previous circle to disrupt the one that appears behind you, a few orange lines springing up in the neat blue circle to make it fizzle out and send the half built spell right back at the caster.

With the primary targets secured you can turn your full attention on the attackers, your gloves smoldering as hot mana rushes to your fingertips. You hear pebbles crunch under a boot while you summon your own magic circles, the return of that tight feeling in your stomach making you break concentration just enough to catch sight of one of Khaled's men in your periphery.

You notice the gun aimed at you a second too late.

Bang!

Pain flares through your shoulder, your body moving on its own as you throw yourself to the side to avoid another round. You don't need to think for your flames to burst beneath the feet of your attacker, using the distraction to retreat into the space between two warehouses, giving yourself better cover. Mana rushes to the hole in your shoulder, drops of molten metal leaking from your wound when you lean forward, your clothing greedily drinking up your mana saturated blood and sticking to your skin.

Your magic repairs your body as quickly as you're injured, pain rapidly fading away until only the dull sting of betrayal remains. Like a sacrificial lamb, it catches the deadly attention of the thing slumbering in your heart.

It wakes up angry and feral and oh so hungry.

Fangs of freezing heat tenderly grip your heart, ravenous nothingness once birthed by your desperation now begs and demands for your will to give it shape. How can you refuse?

Flames spark at your palms, burning away the thick material of your gloves to free your hands. A freezing chill gnaws on your burning fingers and harkens the arrival of something that slinks out of your heart like crude oil, bulging and molding itself to your veins as it crawls to your palms. Darkness consumes the orange glow of your magic, leaving behind little pitch black candlelight flames burning at your fingertips. 'Flames' is a bad word to describe them when they suck the light around them; it's like looking at black silhouettes in the approximation of fire, painted straight onto reality by a child's hand.

A magic circle spirals beneath you, glowing bright blue and stinking of enemy magic. You can just about hear the chanting of spells near you, more circles appearing on either side of you, trapping you.

"Beelzebub," You mutter under your breath, not out of need — you've long since mastered the art of wordless magic — but out of respect. "Devour."

2 measly words is all it takes for the black fires to shoot straight up like the fangs of a beast, leaping off your fingers in wide arcs and creating a quickly expanding perimeter around you, circling like sharks as they rush outwards. The meticulously crafted circles shatter like glass, hundreds of little shards of visible mana fluttering around you for a second before they're swallowed up by the black fires.

Beelzebub is a ravenous spell, lashing out at everything around you with the sole intent to consume, to devour every little bit of mana in an endlessly fruitless attempt to sate its hunger. Regardless, if said mana has already been made into a spell, of it's still inside a person.

You don't see it, but you know the exact moment Beelzebub finds the enemy mages, screams of horror and pain filling the air as black flames descend on them like bloodhounds. You can feel Beelzebub's freezing claws tear into them, leaving the flesh unharmed but tearing their mana out bit by bit, devouring it, syphoning the power back to you.

Once, long ago, the acrid rush of foreign mana through your system would have knocked you on your ass, now it just forces you to sway and lean against the warehouse wall. Long ago, the way stolen mana gnaws on your veins and claws at your chest for escape would have left you writhing on the floor, but now you can barely feel it. Your stomach cramps, the urge to vomit still as strong as it was back then, your senses registering all the rot; people don't think about how many forms rot can take — decaying kelp, festering flesh, acid rain, gangrene, moldy wall paper — hundreds of little deaths making up the very essence mages depend on.

Your body begs to use magic before you explode, muscles tensing, chest fluttering, ribs squeezing down on your lungs in an attempt to keep the stolen mana imprisoned. Sweet relief floods your mind as the searing heat of your own magic pushes the stolen mana through your veins, herding it into your palms where you can easily reshape it into something familiar to you: Ash.

Pushing off the wall you rush into the open, using Beelzebub's flames to burn the lines of the attack circle into the ground. The thinning steam lets you catch sight of enemies rounding the warehouses in front of you, likely human or monster since Beelzebub would have taken mages closest to you out of commission. You don't ponder this further, the second the final line is drawn you use Beelzebub as a transition point and push all the stolen mana out.

The docks erupt in a puff of disorientating ash. You don't waste time waiting for someone to fire the shot needed to ignite your magic, falling to your knee as you punch the ground. All it takes is for the chips of volcanic rock along your knuckles to scrape against the concrete for a spark to form.

The resulting explosion is never pleasant.

The sudden surge of light and the loud bang! leaves you disorientated for a few seconds, your skin dry yet clammy as if you has just got sprayed by a flash flood of boiling water. Tiny chisels pick at your bones as you stumble to your feet, trying to sculpt you into something holier than what you are.

But you can't complain when the same explosion tears through soldiers like they're paper, not even leaving behind blood to stain you when the harsh heat cremates the bodies closest to you. Your lungs struggle to get in a good breath, the stench of smog and burning meat passing through the filter and clinging to your tongue. You can hear your enemies coughing, you can feel them moving through the smog in search for you, but your ash is so thick it completely hides you, giving you a few seconds to think.

Thousands of thoughts roll around your skull, but one stands out — Khaled finally betrayed you.

Fire shoots out from beyond the ash at you. Your body moves instinctively as you throw your hand up to guard your head and turn away. The hot flames lick harmlessly over your skin, too similar to the heat inside you to harm you, so all it can do is burn your outer clothes until your shirt and bulletproof vest peek out beneath the large smoldering holes.

You get a second to catch sight of sharp curving horns and predatory blue eyes staring at you from the ash, the smog shifting around a rapidly approaching figure. Next thing you know something hard hits you right in the stomach, fast and unyielding like a truck.

Your skin and muscles ripple under the fist, you feel and hear your ribs crack! under the immense strength right before the punch flings you back like a ragdoll.

You crash into a warehouse wall, the metal denting in the shape of your back as more bones crack. Pain flares through your body, your tongue, caught between your teeth, bleeds peppery acrid blood into your mouth. You gasp for breath as much as you're able to, chest weakly fluttering like a butterfly's wing as you find yourself unable to take in a deep breath.

Then a sickening crack! rings right behind your eardrums as your magic pulls out the rib piercing your lung, pushing on it until it fully expands and you can breathe again. Heat slithers through your body to glue together broken bones and torn muscles, repairing you as if nothing ever happened. You're on your feet in seconds, the ripple in the ash giving you enough warning to lunge out of the way before another stream of flames can wash over you. You send your own in return, a magic circle forming in front of you before spewing out a beam of concentrated flame. The force behind it causes the lingering ash to disperse, giving you better sight of your opponent—

Dragon.

Of course your luck has to be so dogshit you'd get a fucking dragon sicked on you. What's next, a damn stone-skinned goliath? Maybe a leviathan to really fuck you over?

You bend your knees as you summon a magic circle beneath your feet. The ash erupts with such force it sends you careening through the air, launching you into the ash free air above you. You're close enough to a warehouse to grasp the jutting out metal sheet of the steel roof, your muscles tensing as you haul yourself up.

Quickly wiping away the ash stuck to your helmet lenses your eyes instinctively look up to search the sky, the bright spotlights of the docks making the night so much darker. If a dragon's after you then there's a high likelihood there are more monsters, and those rarely come without at least one flyer in their team.

The subtle, unnatural, flutter of distant stars across the dark sky gives you enough incentive to throw up a fiery shield, retreating further back onto the roof. Feathers sharp as knives burn to cinders in your flames, some stragglers imbedding themselves near your feet, easily slicing through the steel roof; Harpy.

You can't tell what kind it is, probably a common variety, but it doesn't really matter so long as you can clip the bird's wings.

Mana floods into your eyes as you use a mana sensing spell. The sky lights up like an aurora borealis, the ground below explodes in all sorts of nauseating colors that makes a headache pound against your skull. But it's worth it when the body of the harpy lights up like a lightbulb, contrasting sharply against the sky, it's wings making for the perfect target.

You know harpies are fast fliers. It forces you to give up some firepower in exchange for a homing ability. Changing a spell is an easy thing to do, mentally erasing and adding a couple of lines in your circle before you summon it. You disable your mana sight so you don't blind yourself and let your magic loose, firing off 4 tightly packed balls of fire in rapid order.

You don't stick around to see it try to dodge your magic, turning to your heel to race across the roof after you flood the earth bellow with even more ash. You need to escape; you could try to kill the monsters, you doubt they have anything worse than that dragon, but you have bigger problems — you can't let an enemy like Khaled live.

Something catches your leg like you're a rabbit in a snare, an unforgettable cold creeping up your skin to gnaw on your brain. Ethereal shadows curl like ropes around your ankle and pull you down before you can burn them away. You tumble to the steel roof and blindly summon flames around you, rolling to your side the moment you get yourself free and just barely managing to avoid your own shadow trying to skewer you.

You burn away the shadowy spikes sticking out from the ground, flames flaring up around you to momentarily distract your opponent as you get to your feet. Your eyes settle on the one that tripped you; big fucker, tall and wide, half wreathed in shadows, a skull mask peering at your from the darkness. Your spine feels like it wants to crawl out of your back, the silence of the grave ringing in your ears when you go to sense his magic and pick up nothing.

The same nothing that makes up Beelzebub. Furious. Hungry. Dead.

Wraith. You are facing a Wraith.

Not a goliath, not a leviathan. Worse. Much, much worse.

You have no shot at outrunning that thing when your own shadow can betray you, not to mention the wraith's range is far larger than yours in the dead of night. You have no choice but to charge at him, a circle forming beneath your heel and ash bursting out to launch you forward, your magic burning hot and bright to produce as much light as you can in an attempt to limit the shadows he can use.

Flames wreathe your fist as you throw a punch to his side, your sudden advance taking him off guard just enough for you to hit him, fire eating away at tactical gear to gnaw on the dead flesh. It forces a grunt out of him before shadows spew out from where you hit him to engulf your arm, leaving you open for a sharp knee to the gut. Your hands flare up, volcanic stone melting into active lava to burn away the shadows holding you. A pillar of flame erupts between you two to force him back, but whips of shadow shoot through the fire in quick retaliation. You duck and roll, adrenaline rushing through your veins like a feral hound as you charge at him again.

Shadows and flames are both volatile and taxing, making you two employ similar tactics: rush and overwhelm your opponent. You have to admit, the wraith is fucking good; he's not an oaf despite his size, using it to his advantage and giving you no reprieve from the constant jabs, trying to bully you into a position where you'd be open for his shadows to pierce your flesh.

But you're faster, ducking and weaving between his blows, mana pulsing through your blood and strengthening your muscles when they think of failing you down. You can almost hear Jackal shouting at you for being too slow.

Your flames are an extension of you, you trust them to clash with his shadows so you can focus purely on the Wraith. You can tell he's getting annoyed when you duck under another swing and jab your elbow into his ribs, the un-melted rocks covering your joint much more painful than actual bone. And that's before magic shoots out from your elbow, flames burning away both of your clothes and creating a sizable blistering wound on his side.

"Fucker," His shadows flare out to put out your flames, "Stay still." You catch a hind of a British accent in his rough voice, unable to get any more as liquid shadows roll of his shoulders and shoot out at you. You're forced to stumble back in an attempt to avoid the shadows trying to claw your face off, your heel ending right on the edge of the roof.

There's a small space between the edge you're standing on and the start of the roof of the warehouse adjacent to this one, the space big enough for you to fall through if you're not careful. The fall itself wouldn't be pleasant either. Your jaw clenches harder and you swing your arm down in an arch, summoning dozens of palm sized circles and shooting out bolts of concentrated flame through the shroud of darkness. Some of them hit him and force black smoke to fizzle out from the wounds you inflict on him, his shadows repairing the walking corpse the same way your magic does to you.

That's not good. While you could go hours, you'll run out of the mana you'll need to take out Khaled if you continue this attempt to put the wraith down. Beelzebub's cold flame simmers in your heart, begging to be set free. You'd rather not use it again when the closest mana source is a wraith — a dead thing full of unfiltered rot — god forbid it triggers the only spell you've sworn not to use, but you don't think you have many other options.

Just as Beelzebub readies to crawl from your heart something else grabs your foot, sharp claws digging into your skin and jerking you down. You buck forward and nearly fall face first, throwing your head to look at the thing that's caught you. A man has half hoisted himself up on the roof, clothes torn and barely hanging on to his frame, a gas mask obscuring his face, one clawed hand gripping the steel to keep himself up as the other has your leg in an iron grip that leaves your bones groaning.

You notice the man's elongated ears and gleaming blue eyes as those of a werewolf. Those blue eyes widen to the size of dinner plates when you summon a magic circle point black with his head, the reflective orange glow of your magic swallowing up all the color his eyes.

Shadows shoot out into the space between his head and your circle, devouring the ball of flames you shoot out so the worst the wolf gets is a face full of smoke and singed hair. You turn your body back to face the wrath, throwing up both hands to summon different circles to take both out, but you're too slow. Whips of shadow shoot out and hit you dead center in the chest. The force sends you crashing back, the dumb wolf holding onto your leg pulled down with you.

You crash through the window of the other warehouse and straight down to the ground. The fall forces a loud wheeze from your lungs as large glass shards embed themselves into your back and shoulders where the bulletproof vest doesn't reach. Your ribs crackle like popcorn as magic heals them, but the pain from constantly getting them broken and repaired is starting to linger.

Dark brown fur flickers in the periphery of your vision, the sensation of a heavy body bearing down on your own snapping you back to action. You throw your arm up, the sharp fangs meant for your throat biting down on your forearm. You don't feel pain there, but a sick sense of satisfaction bubbles in your stomach as you get the first row view of your assailant registering the blistering head of your mage marks against the tender flesh of his mouth.

He yelps like a kicked dog as he releases your forearm. With a grunt you grip his shoulders, the patches of fur there smoldering the few brief seconds it takes you to gather enough strength to throw the heavy mutt off you. You stumble to your knees quickly, forced to dampen your healing abilities. The glass shards dig deeper into your muscles as you move, but the threat of them exploding from the heat of your magic prevents you from doing healing your wounds; the best you can do is dull the pain.

The warehouse is dark, but the mana in your eyes gives you a rudimentary night vision, letting you see the werewolf scramble to his own feet, spitting saliva and curses at you, "Aw ye fockin' bawbag! I-"

The rest of his words fail to reach your brain as you register the ignited remains of your ash blanketing the ground, making it impossible to see your feet bellow your knees. The scent of melting steel and smoke invades your nose, your mind taking this as the most opportune time to replace the metal ceiling high above you with hundreds of feet of rubble. Your chest tightens, the wide walls of the warehouse closing in until you feel like there's no space to move.

You're trapped. Again.

Your eyes flicker around in search for an escape, flames sparking from your fingers to burn all the way up to your shoulders, your mage marks burning hot and bright in the darkness. There! — at the very back of the warehouse you spy a motorcycle, your way out. Only a werewolf stands between it and you. It's true what Taurus used to tell you: freedom is a rope and God wants you to hang from it.

Steeling yourself, your hands reach out to grasp the knives you keep strapped to your shins, a subtle shift of the handles in your palms letting your magic flow freely into the steel.

Let him try to stop you.

. . .

Soap 's hackles raise, his fur feeling like it wants to leap off his tail. Such a deep and strong stench of rot permeates his senses his mind thinks he's the one decaying for a second. His eyes focuse on you as flames coat the knives in your hands and artificially extend the blades to give you better reach. Laswell's voice replays in his mind, telling him not to get close. Hell, he swears he can he can hear his ma's voice call him a bloody idjit for thinking of rushing at the fucking demon.

But his body still shifts further, bones snapping and reforming, muscles growing and the tattered remains of his shirt snapping off his torso as his body doubles in size. He can see his glowing eyes reflect in the tinted lenses of your mask before he rushes at you, body low to the ground before he leaps, claws bared.

You sidestep at the last second and raise your arm, the artificial blade of flames licking a blistering cut across his side. Pain shoots up his spine, his blood literally boiling as the fire both cuts him and cautarizes the wound.

"Focker-" He yelps and drops to all fours to dodge a second slash, leaping up and swinging his arm in an uppercut. His claws cut into the Kevlar as they scrape against the bulletproof vest instead of your skin, snagging on something around your neck and pulling it with him as you lean down and duck back to create distance.

Johnny doesn't get to check what it is when you immediately retaliate by throwing your knife at him. He quickly pockets what he got off you and tries to avoid the weapon but it still hits him in the shoulder, hot flames burning at his skin to let the metal slide in deeper. "Bastard-" He snarls but before he can do anything you're next to him, ripping the knife from his shoulder as you duck past him to slash at the back of his knee.

Soap yelps from the pain as he tumbles forward, turning his body as he falls to roughly swipe at you with his superior reach. The force behind his swing makes you stumble, giving his body the few seconds it needs to regenerate. He rolls to all fours, muscles tensing to lunge again— a sense of wrongness shoots down his spine, forcing him to pause.

A pillar of flames erupts from the ground where he would have been had he lunged at you, the bright light blinding him. When he can see again, he catches your form on top of one of the shipping containers, magical circles appearing as you run across the container to pelt him with balls of concentrated ash. The balls explode in large puffballs of ash as they hit the ground, his mind urging him to move to avoid getting a face full of ash. "Aw no yer fockin' not." He mutters under his breath, taking a few quick and wide steps before he leaps onto the shipping container to escape the suffocating smog, racing after you on all fours.

This proves to be a mistake as you suddenly turn around, thrusting your hand out to cast a giant circle right in front of his eyes. Claws digging into the metal Soap throws himself to his side just as a beam of flames shoots out, singeing his furry tail and forcing a strangled gasp out of his lips as a bit of his thigh gets caught in the blast of fire.

He crashes to the concrete ground, the scent rot curling in his nose as the ash swirls over him, but can't reach his lungs thanks to the gas mask. Johnny's leg muscles twitch, his though skin blistered and red like a tomato, the tattered remains of his pants partially burned into his skin. He struggles to get to his knees, pain stabbing his skin as his body tries to heal, watching through blurry eyes as you reach your target — the motorcycle.

The engine revs to life and you get on it without wasting a second. A violent sensation rushes down his spine as you summon another circle, this one so big it stretches across the entire back wall of the warehouse. In a second the metal heats up to the point it's glowing, solid steel turning into molten slag and dropping to the ground like melting snow. Soap's mind stutters when you flip him off before racing away, shouting and gunfire audible but quickly growing quiet as you get away.

Fucking Bastard.

"So- Soap! H-ghr!- ow co-kghr-ppy?" Price's voice crackles through the radio, barely understandable thanks to how much magic is floating around him.

He groans, sucking in a sharp breath. "Still alive." He grinds out. Rapidly approaching footsteps make him stumble to stand, a threatening growl erupting from his throat.

"Just me." Ghost's voice makes him instantly calm down. His body presses against Johnny's and Soap lets himself put his weight on Ghost. "You broken?" Ghost asks, slipping Johnny's arm over his shoulder and gripping his waist, easily holding him up despite Johnny being nearly twice his size currently.

Johnny tries to breathe in deep with the gas mask restricting his lungs, "Just me pride." He glances down to his leg, the wound glistening with clear fluid and still blistered, his healing factor not even making a dent in it. "Fucker got me good." His ears twitch,

"We'll track 'em down." Ghost grunts as he helps Soap limp out of the ash filled warehouse, safe from the magic as he doesn't need to breathe. "I stuck a tracker, they're not getting far."

"Fockin' hope so, ah got a score to settle an' the bawbag flipped me off for fuck—" A thought comes to him. The tattered remains of his pants have pockets high up so he doesn't tear them when he transforms. He reaches into the pocket and pulls the thing he'd accidentally nicked off you. Johnny lifts it up so both of them can see the chain hanging off his fingers, a little more than a dozen dog tags dangling from it.

Even with the gas mask obscuring part of his face, Ghost knows Johnny's smirking. "Bet you Laswell will love this."

Tag list: @resident-cryptid @diejager @lovingtyrantkitten @lieutnt @lilpothoscuttings @krystiannng @crankyweasel @ashy-kit @fyolaizs @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @aldis-nuts @whoislucas @birdiiiiiiiiiii

Masterlist; Chapter 1 <- Chapter 2(you are here) -> Chapter 3

[madarasgirl]

A Night for Hunting Ch. 14 -Interlude II

T/W: 18+, NSFW, Alucard (Ultimate) x F!Reader, explicit sexual content, masturbation, size kink, corruption kink, mild blood drinking, throat/thigh fuck, dastardly vampire bullying his Reader in a good way, angst. Hi the ovaries woke up for this Ch. On AO3 Words: 4480

Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays to those who celebrate something else! I hope this December finds everyone in the company of those you love most. Another year is just around the corner!

Wow! 500 kudos and many, many notes for this fic. Thank you to all my readers for your ongoing support! And if vampire smut isn't for you, I hope you will enjoy the next chapter in the New Year!

The lights were dim in your bedroom, the quiet hum of the furnace coming on and your muted, laboured breaths the only sounds breaking the tranquility. It felt like you were on fire. The skin on your back was slick with sweat as you held your breath in concentration.

Pleasure shot up your spine. You sighed blissfully, sinking further into the bountiful pillows by the headboard so the fluffy surface eased some of the muscle ache from your neck as you plunged a small toy into your core repeatedly. In and out at a snail’s pace, to savour the sensation of the rounded ridges catching on your gummy walls.

A droplet of sweat beaded at your temple. Your clit tingled from your treatment as you pushed in the smooth dildo again slowly, relishing in the mild stretch from the thickest segment as it passed through your entrance. It was all you could handle.

So stiff! This felt too good. After being with Alucard's mouth a handful of times, occasionally the need gripped you. Damn that vampire for introducing you to his decadence. You bucked your hips up to meet the imitation shaft, lost in the fullness of your self-gratification.

You rotated the silicone clockwise, squirming from the newfound friction the motion introduced as you juiced around it. Your new toy was quite simple by modern standards, but it was wonderful. The pink device was silky smooth and retained your body heat, not unlike when you were with Alucard, whose frigid body warmed the longer he was within you. 

Your eyes opened to slits, fixating blindly on the ceiling as your thoughts wandered back to what you knew of a man’s touch. His fingers tracing meaningless patterns on your skin until you went mindless as the girth of his talented tongue entered– 

Oh, ALUCARD'S TONGUE. You picked up the thrusting and writhed as you sank your toy deep with a silent moan and turned on the vibrating feature, mind clouded with desire for your absent lover. It had been over a month. Where was he? Gasping, you clumsily flipped onto all fours as you continued to fuck yourself silly on plastic.

Close. The climax you seeked was right there. You pushed the buzzing dildo back in place with shaky fingertips and smushed your clit desperately with the other hand, your face buried in the pillows with your ass in the air like a common whore for your unbidden fantasies.

Something was amiss. Your own efforts could only be described as bland. Maybe what your worked up bundle required for release was a more delicate touch. Your hips swayed when you brushed your pearl again with a frustrated whine. 

“It appears I was dearly missed.”

“AHHH!” You screamed with the horror of a teenager caught masturbating by your mother as you crashed sideways into the mattress, fumbling over your loose limbs to dive into the sheets and hide yourself. 

The smuggest vampire stood by the window.

“Wha- what are you doing here?” You stared bug-eyed at him as you clutched the blanket, thoroughly conscious about your nakedness when you were not in absolute darkness. Not that the lack of light influenced a vampire’s vision. And not like he had never seen you bare.

“Oh? Clearly I came to visit my human. Don’t let me interrupt your activities, Sweet ♪,” he tilted his chin up and cackled. The beast stalked closer, an amorous gleam to his gaze as twin fangs flashed with amusement.

“Y-you should at least knock! I was busy!” You hollered. Still he approached and you scrambled back incrementally until your back hit the board. 

“You were occupied, yes, but you could be heard and scented from outside. Should I deprive myself of the show?” He lowered himself onto the end of the bed. “It was rather ravishing.”

“Cretin! Idiot!” Heat lanced through your body from embarrassment as you hurled insults. Freaking vampiric super senses!

The shit-eating grin stretched wider as crimson glittered with mischief. The hat disappeared, followed by the jacket. He stood and the cravat melted away in an instant. At full height, he towered over your bed, his overbearing presence swamping the modest room. It was impossible to look away. In this lean and handsome form, Alucard was still a giant. Another layer –the suit vest– vanished from broad shoulders as the said vampire dismissed it. 

“Stop stripping!” You squeaked.

Gah! A lithe porcelain torso with enticing rippling muscles appeared on display for your visual pleasure. The exhibitionist would coerce you into looking at him while he did unspeakable things to you. You flung the dildo at his face.

It landed in the centre of his palm with a wet slap. “A gift for me? Very well, I accept.” He dangled the fake dick from two fingers. It was tiny in comparison to the proportions of Alucard’s hand. You gulped as your gaze went to his mouth.

Time froze. His tongue rolled out from between glistening teeth, as long and flexible as you dreamed. You held your breath and watched in a trance as Alucard lapped at the pink rubber with languid swipes, curling his muscle around its circumference to collect your creamy nectar coating. His eyes never left yours.

He purred.

“You remain as delicious as ever.”

You ignored him. Your dilated pupils tracked your cream at the tip of his tongue as it retracted back into his mouth before it flicked around in a semi-circle to wet his lips. His tongue was thicker than your toy. Your pussy tingled –it appears she missed him. You cursed your traitorous body.

The toy dropped beside you with a plunk.

"What is it you desire from me?” You could hear the smile behind the words. It was an apt reminder that he was an evil entity. You didn’t care what the history books said about him being Christian, he must have worshipped Satan.

Alucard chuckled. You stiffened when even that sound shot to your loins. Did he know what his voice did to you? That sonorous baritone woke something primal. It was too unfair. Everything about your unholy lover turned you into a harlot. Was it really so long since you last coupled with him?

You’d rather have been caught by your mom. Nothing could compare to the level of mortification elicited by being discovered by Alucard. You fidgeted and looked at your feet bundled within the sheets.

You recalled his lips on yours, claiming you as his. His fingers were inside you… scissoring… Pressing your legs together, your lips quivered knowing your mind projected your longings. Your starving cunt dribbled with lust.

“Use your words, Sweet. There is no use for pride when it comes to our indulgent hedonism.” 

Your head snapped up, face scrunched with the need to protest his accusation.

“Neither is there shame in pleasure.”

You recoiled.

Descend with me.

The mocking was absent when you examined your vampire while taking shallow breaths. Why were you so hesitant? What were you holding back for? You’ve experienced the pleasures of the flesh together numerous times. Why did you keep resisting him for anything other than misplaced pride or the engrained idea that the carnal is shameful?

He was right. 

The mental blocks yielded, moved by his gentle lulling. The feeling of emptiness grew too great. With a quiet mewl, you grasped your forgotten toy and returned it to your hungry hole, again plundering yourself before your lover’s eyes. Alucard sighed with contentment at the sight. He was, as always, ever the attentive audience as he studiously observed your performance.

!!! Right there. Leaning back and propping yourself up on an elbow, you adjusted your angle to strike that sweet spot with each impalement. You wondered if he heard the slimy slurps of your greedy cunt. Probably. It was a sloppy mess down there.

“There is a rage swelling between my legs,” your undead lover murmured.

Faster. You raced to the finish line with haste. Quicker and quicker you charged ahead, your thighs tense and hands a blur of movement as your pleasure peaked. In the distance, you heard a faint, rumbling growl whilst consumed by your bodily appetites. It shook your core and you tumbled over the summit with stuttering hips and the sharp cry of orgasm.

Alucard was on top of you. His lips were on yours, his enormous hands covering every inch of you, the cooling touch providing some welcome relief from the heat of passion. Your skin remained inflamed with arousal, each caress sent sparks flying through your nerves. The body now only moved by instinct through the fog. You returned his kisses with equal fervour and grabbed him by his hips and across his back, desperately clutching your anchor to reality wherever you could find purchase.

He drew soft gasps from your lips as he nibbled your shoulder playfully and you flexed around the toy, groaning at the presence of the solid invader holding your pliant walls apart. Tentatively, you leaned in and kissed down his jaw, stopping at his throat. You peppered him with pecks and nuzzled the alabaster column before swiping up his throat. Sheltered under his larger body, you were lost to the throes of orgasm, his skin and scent now so familiar that your heart hurt. You forgot yourself. With no warning, you nipped him.

The undulating shadow limbs paused, the darkness they casted a monstrosity upon your bedroom walls. Finally, your vampire hissed dangerously and you briefly wondered if you offended him. Fortunately, your worries were short-lived.

The last of his clothing disintegrated and his cock sprang forth to catch your full attention. You stopped to inspect him, every inch of his ivory glory. With lidded eyes and gently rocking hips, you crawled up to that proud shaft and palmed it, rolling its heft between your hands and sniffing him.

He was an aphrodisiac. You moaned with want and peered up at him with your lips parted. The vampire’s midnight locks came alive midair, hellfire blazing as he watched you carefully. That gaze stirred at your softest, most repressed emotions regarding this breathtaking fiend and you keened with the desire to please him. You flicked your tongue across his glans and then took him in to nurse, just the tip.

He was salty. You weren’t sure what you expected a vampire’s penis to taste like, but Alucard was decidedly pleasing. Licking at his opening again for another sample, you realized you were in trouble –he might be addictive. You whimpered and tried to sink deeper into the fair shaft until he touched the back, the forced gargle barely clearing your mental haze as you drowned in the musk of male arousal.

You went down once more and gagged. You pulled back and tried again, spit filling your mouth and overflowing as tears came to your eyes after only a mere inch of progress was made. Again, but you were unable to stop the reflexive need to wretch despite how much you wanted to do this for Alucard.

Wrapping your lips around his side, you suckled downwards and gave him lollipop licks, alternating the force of suction as you went before periodically heading back to the top to take his head. You thought back to what Alucard did for you whenever he drank your pussy chalice and mimicked massaging the vampire’s thighs as you enthusiastically performed clumsy fellatio, but remained unable to swallow him whole.

His member was both too thick and too long, making you whine with dejection. How you wanted to return the favour so badly, to do something right and give him release. An ancient vampire who lived for centuries must have had amazing lovers in the past. Your chest clenched. The feeling of inadequacy permeated your thoughts and you were ashamed of your inexperience. Hanging your head, you stared at his crotch and pondered what to do next through pursed lips.

"Darling, there is ample time for you to learn."

Alucard was often an insistent lover who demanded his chamber partners to reveal all: every insecurity and imperfection. He wanted them to give him everything. Everything that was you also belonged to him, including your insecurities regarding your appearance and lack of experience. You were flawless. And he was looking forward to showing you this.

Bare hands wrapped your fingers around his shaft, placing your thumb to his frenulum and guiding you to stroke. Your hand was so tiny in his. The No-Life King groaned at the size difference. Yes, he will teach you the ways to satisfy these rapacious hungers. 

Like this.

That silken flesh glided beneath your fingertips, revealing the shiny head with each pass. The pressure increased fractionally around your hand, an unspoken instruction to squeeze harder at the base. The purring gave you encouragement and his actions touched you. Even now, Alucard took your comfort into consideration. How many others could say the same?

You caught his lips and plunged hard into his maw, pushing his tongue aside with your own and wrestling with it. Unwarranted courage made you dumb and you thrilled from the excitement of dominating the kiss. Tugging his cock with amateur zeal, you continued to swirl and shove at that delightful oral muscle before brushing boldly around pointed canines. 

Alucard ripped himself away, his mouth lined with rows of razor sharp dentition, eyes burning with untold rapture as you separated. Your female perfume saturated his sinuses. The loss of your sensibilities fed his need to corrupt you with his depravity. His gums ached with the need to drink, unknowingly biting himself while he witnessed you fall apart. He was leaking like a schoolboy, his balls tight with the urge to unload.

You succumbed to the devil's seduction. You were his, even if it took you until now to admit it. And he wanted you. Your legs trembled at the first revelation as you parted them to display your openings for his inspection. For his use. The dildo –wholly inferior compared to the vampire’s elegance– fell out coated thickly in cum, your gaping hole winking in anticipation. 

Yes, yes, yes. It was finally happening.

Ruby irises settled upon your lascivious presentation with a feral leer. The craving within them made you shudder in suspense. He promised many things back then, including taking you to Nirvana.

His shaft smacked your vulva and he slid between the lips of your drooling slit, dragging it down lengthwise. Once again he marvelled at your wondrous heat as you whimpered when he passed over your clit. The vampire sighed and stayed flush against your slit as he pushed your legs together to hump your thighs with zest. Wandering fingers found their way inside.

The teasing stimulation was both too much yet not enough. You wanted his cock, though on reflection, he was actually way too large and you'd rip. You didn't care as you locked your ankles over his shoulders to pull him in further and rocked against him. Your basest urges screamed for more and you moaned for him like a wanton whore while drizzling honey around the intruding fingers.

He grinned with utmost satisfaction. "That's it, Dear. How flattering to have a lovely little human offer herself to me so earnestly."

"Do you want this?" He asked.

"Please!" You spread as wide as you could to show yourself off again, but he pulled you onto your front. His heavy white pillar bobbed at your face, dripping with fluid. A hand threaded through your locks and held your head to his crotch, lightly pushing you onto him. 

You took him immediately without hesitation, fervidly filling your mouth with the heady flavours of sex. Delectable. Eagerness did not equate to skill, and you sputtered with a string of spit and coughing. Your eyes flickered to his with uncertainty and the unspoken plea for him to help guide you, hoping he felt your sincerity about pleasing him. You truly wanted to become adept at this.

Fingers rubbed your scalp for several moments before he drew back and drove his hips forward, precisely up to the point where you began to gag. He began to copulate with your throat, until you gagged repeatedly and slobbered over yourself. You heaved with discomfort, but though your eyes watered and your jaws locked, you did not attempt to escape his grasp beyond tightening with tension. You gave your trust in his touch and his experience even as you choked on him.

If you were finally honest with yourself, you’ve wanted Alucard to fuck you for years, perhaps even soon after you first met, only you were too overcome with fear of him then. 

He hit the back again, but didn't force himself further than the few inches that were already embedded. You tried to relax your throat and go loose. It became apparent you didn’t actually want control, but to let go and have Alucard lead. Let him have his way with you. Hopefully, he will sate himself as he did for you. 

The melody of gurgling and choking filled the room. All you could see was him. All you knew were his taste and his behemoth presence stretching your mouth.

Alucard withdrew and offered a chance to breathe, leaving you bowed over in a hacking fit as you greedily drank in the air. You inwardly thanked him for the lenience and sniffed, wiping away the spit before steeling yourself to try again. Sucking him wasn’t as distressing when you weren’t involuntarily fighting the intrusion.

He was enjoying himself as he maintained the smooth, steady thrusting. Blinded by tears, you worried about your unflattering gargles, but stayed put despite the cramping. Who knew keeping your mouth open was so tiring? You supposed that was why blowing was called a “job.” You swiped the bottom of his dick with the flat of your tongue.

Through bleary eyes, you saw impassioned red observing you intently. You returned the stare with docility as he continued to tickle your throat, putting your hand around the part of him that didn't fit into your mouth. You caressed his flesh as he demonstrated as he pleasured himself with your body.

His grip was steel, until he yanked himself out with a soupy slurp and leered at the sight of his fluids and drool sliding down your chin as you coughed and tried to catch your breath with a dazed expression. 

“Beautiful.” He exhaled. 

The hand tangled in your hair tugged to let you look the King in his eyes. "Do you want this?" He repeated.

Was that still a question? Spittle oozed down your jaws and pooled in your lap. Through lidded eyes, you whispered, "Yes, I can take it Alu. Put it in. Need you." The simple word couldn't describe how you NEEDED to be one with your vampire. If he wasn't holding your head, you would have turned over to present yourself again, to persuade your lover to finish what he started.

He growled upon brushing minds with yours, fully aware of your repressed libido come undone and he nearly went rabid with the urge to bury himself and seed you well. How you tempt him into the irreversible. "How improper for a lady such as yourself to beg for a monster's cock," he commented through jagged teeth. "Naughty girl."

You moaned at his words and wiggled free to spread yourself further and prove his assessment correct, if it would facilitate him in providing what you desired.

…

Alucard’s covetous gaze roamed your splayed body as agitated shadows whipped about. Strangely, the thought of making love to you remained tantalizing, but he didn't want to anymore. No, that wasn't it. More than anything, he wanted to have you. He wished to defile you in every way possible for a week straight, but he knew with increasing clarity that he wouldn't if it meant you might die for real. 

He was a selfish, Godless monster. He needed the option to turn you should anything happen to you, or if you decided to fall with him. All he wanted…was to be with you for as long as possible. He rumbled from the internal conflict as he brushed a palm down your calves and licked them.

He looked at you again and noted your complete ease and openness with him, a stark contrast from the paralyzing fear of when you first met. He preferred your bliss. You were lovely, warm, and willing. It would be so easy to take you. You were his. His to fuck, his to devour, and you were an absolutely scrumptious morsel. But at the thought of an existence without you, the void in his chest that did not beat ached.

Nothing was happening. Your eyes fluttered open before alarm seized you. There was blood trailing down his eyes! Gasping, your hands shot out to hold him, your heart throbbing at your vampire's expression – he was a broken man. 

Before you could ask if he was okay, he fell over your body to cage you with his arms, his bangs tickling your forehead. "You are a mere human. What have you done to me?" The powerful vampire whimpered, his face furrowed with emotion.

No, the instant gratification was not worth losing you. He got off of you.

”Wait! Don't go!” You scrambled up and reached for his wrist.

–Only to be spun around and sat in his lap with his overly long, gangly arms twined around your waist and neck unnaturally like rope to press the back of your head to his shoulder. He wouldn’t let you see him. 

His steely length wedged between your butt cheeks. You sat facing away from Alucard, disoriented from the sudden shift in mood, quietly panting as you waited for him to do something. He hooked his arms around your knees to cradle you while fingers meandered their way to your open pussy. Vaguely, you were aware of ferrous fluid flowing down the side of your head and neck. 

“Is this about my virginity?” You ventured, parting your legs further to grant him better access. “To turn me?” You had an inkling of an idea of why Alucard refused to take you.

Dexterous digits explored every ridge and valley inside your sheath and you melted into him. The pleasure was such that you regretted holding back for so long because you thought sleeping with the vampire was wrong. Being with him like this was meant to be, and it felt so right. 

His prodding and caresses were expert, yet though you suspected you knew why Alucard dallied with your inevitable penetration, you kept begging to be plumbed. You moaned and wriggled in his lap to try mounting him properly, earning a low, warning growl. 

“Behave.” 

Shadow hands materialized to grab your wrists and ankles, holding you down snugly on top of him with your back to his chest. He dominated the interaction from below. 

“I alone shall have you in this manner. No one else,” he declared. 

As if anyone else would ever compare. It wasn't like Alucard forever ruined your standards of what to expect from men. “I don't want anyone else, Alucard. Only you,” you clarified. “Alucard…” 

Your hips rocked in an uncoordinated ride of his fingers while he held you captive. No matter how you squirmed, you were unable to impale yourself on your vampire's rod. You whined piteously with need. This wasn’t exactly what you desired, but it was as close as he’d allow without fucking for real. 

The fingers scissored to stretch the ring of muscle before plummeting to the knuckles and continuing to dance. You wailed from the welcome assault. As you twitched, a consideration came to mind and you pouted. "Can't you simply make yourself smaller? When I lick you, I mean."

The wicked vampire cackled and drew you closer to himself. "Fragile little human, you have no understanding of how I must already restrain myself to be with you in this capacity."

“Then let go,” you told him, the phantom limbs thwarting your attempt to turn and look at him. You wanted to reason with him. It was his inhuman size that was an issue. If he was smaller, giving him head should be at least manageable, even if he became more animated.

He chuckled, "Tempting." A sharp talon traced down your throat as you held still with your head tilted up at the lights. "But you would not survive my passion." His tongue replaced the claw and lapped slowly down the same path before nibbling on your throat, causing your skin to pimple into gooseflesh. You tensed, your pussy pulsing with climax nearing as you felt the tingling of every individual hair on your arms with heightened clarity.

“Oh, you do not wish to be bitten, yet you want me to drink from you? Bad girl." You were a sack of boneless limbs, nearly incapacitated by your lover’s devilish ministrations as he read your deepest desires and voiced them. 

Your nails dug into his legs, you stopped breathing as your vision went white, blinded by the dazzling luminescence of the light fixtures above. The tip of a claw pressed against your throat and you winced at the briefest of sharp pains when he opened a tiny wound in the side of your neck. You hissed and tightened around his digits.

The vampire king was on your throat in an instant, lapping up the few droplets that oozed to the surface, moaning as he fed. Pain morphed into pleasure and you arched against him, nearly delirious from the staggering cocktail.

He snickered between licks. "If only I knew you were this partial to pleasure from the beginning.”

Alucard simulated intercourse. He pistoned against your rump with his fingers buried to the hilt inside your snatch. You spasmed from the relentless, ravenous assault as you moved as one.

At last you strained, shuddering around his digits as he sprayed your back and crack. His semen was indeed cool.

Sure enough, his face was now clean of his tears. Neither was there evidence of any blood on your back. It was as if Alucard never broke down. You reached back to stroke his hair, twisting around as much as possible to gently kiss his temple as he rocked up and down to fuck his essence back between your mounds.

You crumbled into his chest to rest. “How am I still a virgin after everything we do?" You questioned with a mouth full of cotton.

"You are a virgin according to vampire laws." He pecked your cheek.

You muttered, "I told you your vampire rules are stupid." He threw his head back, laughing raucously at your willful comment and pulled you tighter to himself. His teeth had retracted back behind his lip and he pressed his face to yours with a tender smile. "I adore you, sweet human."

~To be Continued~

Next Chapter: A New Home

[nuttytani]

His dear worshipper

pairing: zhongli x childe

fandom: genshin impact

summary: this story is about a mortal named Ajax, how he caught the attention of a certain god and made him fall in love.

warning: character death but temporary, has a happy ending

notes: ...... okay so..... runs away

“Will you tell me a bedtime story?” Ganyu turned in her bed, now looking at the older woman with hopeful eyes.

“Only if you promise to sleep afterwards,” Cloud Retainer said softly while tucking her in. 

“Pinky promise!” 

“Alright little one, mmmh… Yes, listen closely now.” 

.

Once upon a time, there lived a young mortal. His name was Ajax. 

Ajax the mortal had bright ginger hair that would sparkle under the sun’s light, skin as pale as snow with freckles adorning his rosy cheeks; like stars in the vast sky. He had eyes as deep as the uncharted ocean, and his lean body moved so fluid like a veil blowing in the wind. Most would agree that he was easy on the eyes and a delight to look at, but that’s not the focus of our story today. 

Every evening without a fail, he would bring offerings wrapped up in silk cloth and place it before the brass idol. Whose idol? you may ask. Well, Morax of course. 

Morax was the god of war, the god of commerce, the god of contracts and was the Prime of Adepti. Like any other god, he was worshipped and loved by many. Had temples dedicated to his individual titles, and they were decorated in gold, brass, copper, you name it! They were like a treasure trove and so blinding with everything shining from top to bottom. His temples were filled to the brim with knick knacks offered by his worshippers and followers alike, they could be fresh dumplings from a famous chef down the road, or a beautiful porcelain vase made specially in Inazuma, silk embroidered robes made and designed from Sumeru. But it wasn't the offerings that Morax was fond of, no. He was fond of these brave and resilient mortals. 

He was one of the few gods who was curious about how the tiny humans were able to face life, how they could unconditionally love each other, help one another and keep coming back strong and unwavering from the heavy waves of life that would keep toppling them over. 

Due to his curiosity towards them, Morax would descend personally from the heavens every decade and observe the land of mortals for a short time. It was then, during one of his descents, that he caught sight of a youth with bright orange hair with a radiant smile. He noticed that the ginger would place a single wild glaze lily, with a handful of berries and sunsettia. The few incense sticks next to the brass idol were set alight. There wasn’t anything unusual about the act, of course, but it was his prayers that caught the god off guard. 

“Dear Lord Morax, I offer you once again with some fruits and a flower. I hope you enjoy them,” the young man said and raised from his kneeling position. 

That’s it? 

Morax quirked his brows. 

Yes, that was it. The god found it strange, generally humans would make long prayers. Nothing he’s not used to. He’s heard many mortals asking for good health, fortune, kids, wishing for their daughters to be wed to a good husband, requesting him to make them knowledgeable enough to pass the imperial examination, and so on and so forth. 

Thus, he was surprised by the length of the young one’s prayer or…lack of. He didn’t ask for anything, only wishing for Morax to enjoy his offerings. Strange indeed. He thought to himself, he must keep a lookout on this one. To satiate his curiosity, he reasoned. 

. 

“What happened then, auntie?” whispered Ganyu, snuggling deeper into her warm blanket. 

“And then… Hmm… Morax would keep coming back to that old temple.” Warm hands brushed slowly through Ganyu’s hair. 

“And then?” the child asked, once more, now with sheer excitement. 

“Patience, Ganyu. Worry not, I will complete the story, but next time– ah ah! Don’t give me that puppy dog eyes look. It’s past your bedtime now,” Cloud Retainer let out a hearty chuckle, and pinched her cheeks. 

That earned an angry glare, though it looked too adorable to be called one. 

. 

Once upon a time, there lived a young mortal named Ajax. He would leave offerings at an old temple dedicated to Morax, a quaint rundown one, right in the outskirts of Liyue. He caught the attention of a certain god and that certain god would observe the strange mortal every evening, in time to see the ginger stroll in with his offerings wrapped in the same blue silk cloth. 

Morax forgot all about going back to the heavens. He was only supposed to spend a few days in the realm of humans, but it slipped out of his mind. He kept coming and coming and coming, looking at the youth with wonder. The boy would never ever wish for anything for himself, no. Only prayed for Morax to enjoy his prayers, though sometimes he would recount some silly happenings of his day. 

“Greetings, Lord Morax. Here are your offerings, I apologise but ahh– I wasn’t able to get a glaze lily today. Little Qiqi looked like she wanted it, and I let her have it. Have a qingxin instead,” the redhead chuckled sheepishly. 

“Apology accepted, my dear boy,” Morax replied in a hushed voice. He was standing right next to the mortal, of course, invisible to the other man. 

One thing to note, is that humans could not easily see or hear the gods, only if the gods wished to reveal themselves. Though for some reason, the youth’s eyes widened like saucers and his complexion paled…. As if he saw a ghost. It was not a ghost he saw, but a ghost he heard. Said ghost being a god but semantics. More importantly, was it even possible for him to look paler than he already was? Apparently yes. 

“Wh-wh-who’s there?” the boy sputtered, looking around the temple in panic. 

Of course, no one answered him. Though Morax did laugh at him in amusement. 

Either he heard Morax or it was the whispers of the wind. We shall never know as the human ran straight out of the temple, not even bothering to look back or to pick up his silk cloth. 

The next time the youth came back, he brought offerings wrapped around the hem of his robes. He looked warily around the temple before nodding to himself, finally taking a seat on the floor and lit the incense sticks. This time, he placed down two wild glaze lilies, and a couple of berries and sunsettias (as always).

“Good evening, Lord Morax. To make up for yesterday’s blunder, I’ve brought you two glaze lilies, your favourite. Last night I felt as if someone was speaking to me and I ran off… I’m sorry for that pitiful scene. I will make sure it never happens again, after all it was probably just the wind,” the youth rambled, recounting the incident from yesterday. 

It must have been the wind, Morax agreed. After all, the boy can only hear and see him only when the god wishes so. 

Once the mortal finished talking, he picked up his silken cloth. “Huh… Surely I didn’t leave this behind in such neat folds. Strange.”

Not strange at all, in actuality, Morax folded and placed it there personally. His thoughts however, were interrupted as someone hollered outside the gates of the temple.

“Brother Ajax, what’s taking you so long? Come now, let’s go back home.” A little girl in two little braids waved enthusiastically at the ginger. 

The boy looked back in surprise, walking hastily outside the temple to meet with the little girl. 

“Just a minute Tonia, I’m coming.” 

They chattered a bit before walking back home, holding hands and singing a tune. 

Morax watched them carefully and slowly emerged outside from his hiding spot, though useless because no one could see him. He was now in a trancelike state, rooted in one spot, still looking toward the duo. Ajax... 

So that was his name, how lovely. Fitting for a resilient little mortal, brave like a warrior that his name suggests. 

He smiled, molten gold eyes shimmering with wonder underneath the moon’s glow. 

.

“Wait, so all this time Morax never knew his name?” she questioned the older woman, with wide doe eyes.

“Yes, strange isn’t it? He was observing the boy for weeks now, nearing a month in fact… and he still didn’t know his name!” Cloud Retainer exclaimed and pushed her spectacles back on her nose. 

“Well then, good night. It is time to sleep now.”

“But…The story!”

“Tomorrow, my darling. That’s enough for today.” 

.

Once upon a time, there lived a young mortal named Ajax. He caught the attention of the god Morax. The god was so enamoured and curious about the boy, that he hadn’t gone back to the heavens in months now. 

His fellow friends became concerned about his absence. Perhaps something terrible happened, and the gods held an emergency meeting in the heavens. Making theories, wondering, panicking, pacing. Thus, the goddess of dust, Guizhong volunteered to descend to the realm of mortals to check up on Morax. Though the god of wind, Barbatos was adamant on joining with her. The goddess swiftly rejected him because of his tendency to “drink too much wine” whenever they would visit down there, and Guizhong was not going to drag his drunk body back up to the heavens. 

It didn’t take too long for the goddess of dust to find Morax, following his spiritual trail all the way to a rundown temple in the outskirts of Liyue. It surprised her to find her dear friend looking at a…redhead mortal with a warm expression. Is this the reason the other god had stayed in the mortal realm for so long? Guizhong walked quietly towards Morax and joined him in watching the mortal. 

“What brings you here,” Morax inquired, noticing her presence. 

“You. Why do you still remain here, you need to go back to the heavens, my friend,” whispered the goddess, as if scared to break the serene moment. 

“Well–”

“Obviously because of a pretty little mortal, he’s in love, Guizhong!” a shrilling voice spoke. Startled, the two looked back to see Barbatos, leaning against one of the railings of the temple. He took a cursory glance at Morax before sighing. 

“Pray tell, what brings you here?” Morax muttered under his breath. Not ecstatic to see Barbatos at all. 

“The same reason Guizhong– er– alright! Don’t give me that look. I was only curious about what Morax was up to, though now I regret coming hmph.” The green-haired god rolled his eyes.

“So, have you been ‘observing’ the moral all this time?” 

“Yes….”

“Not even speaking to him once?”

“...”

The silence spoke louder than words. 

“Morax, you must know that this behaviour is quite—”

.

“Cre– ahhhh-haaaaa– creepy! Why did he not say hello even once to Ajax?” yawned Ganyu, all cozied as she hugged her little crane plushie closer to her body.

“Well, Morax was known to have rocks for brains when he was younger,” Cloud Retainer stated, with no hesitancy in her words.

“That explains nothing….”

“Hush now, I’m turning the lights off.”

.

There was once a young redhead mortal named Ajax, he would visit an old rundown temple of the god Morax and give offerings daily. He had been visiting the temple since he was as young as a little sapling, so it was second nature for him to get the same flowers and fruits wrapped up in a silk blue cloth, walking on the same dusty path. The same old, same old. But his lonely routine was interrupted one fateful day.

Ajax met a breathtaking man, looking solemn in thoughts, staring off into the evening sky. The strange man stood near the entrance of the temple, turning around as he sensed the younger man’s presence and smiled. He was tall and lithe, with eyes bright like warm topaz, hair so long and dark that lit up in gold towards the end. Beautiful, is what anyone would describe him as, similar to a white jade. 

The boy could only smile back awkwardly and avert his eyes. Quickly making his way inside, trying to ignore the loud thumping of his heart. Though what he didn’t know was that the other man felt the same way. Many days passed and the beautiful man would always stand there by the entrance, as if waiting for Ajax and they would both enter the temple together. Eventually, they started speaking with one another rather than only exchanging pleasantries. 

That was also when the beautiful man (Morax’s mortal disguise) introduced himself by the name Zhongli. The boy felt embarrassed because he had forgotten to ask for his name, let alone share his own! To which the two laughed. 

Now they would both look forward to meeting each other, using the offerings as an excuse. Slowly but surely, they grew closer and their conversations would last throughout the night till dawn would arrive. Only then would they break away and go back and resume their daily lives. Their relationship bloomed, from mere strangers to close friends, and perhaps more than that but not exactly beyond it either. 

“Mister Zhongli, why do you choose to come here? It’s not exactly a well known or loved temple,” one day the boy asked.

“Perhaps I was entranced by someone who’d drop offerings to Lord Morax.” Zhongli smiled and glanced at the younger man. 

“I– Mister Zhongli! Don’t tease me so, please… I don’t like such jokes,” Ajax choked on his words, turning bright red similar to jueyun chilli.

“Who said that I was speaking in jest? It is the truth. You have me enamoured, my dear Ajax,” chuckling, the man tucked a stray piece of copper hair behind Ajax's ear. 

Oh, they were so close. Only a breath apart, the tips of their nose touching. They couldn’t dare to tear their eyes away from one another, waiting in patience. Waiting as the tiny gap between them grew small until– their lips bridged the final gap. The touch was featherlike, afraid of breaking the tranquil moment. Their eyes fluttered shut, casting shadows on their pale cheeks. A shy hand found its way to the boy’s until gaining confidence and their fingers intertwined. 

Needless to say, the two grew to love each other. 

However, remember that Morax was a god, even though he came to Ajax in his mortal disguise, that did not mean his responsibilities and obligations would vanish. He had to go back to the heavens and leave the realm of mortals for a while.

And so, Zhongli had to apologise to Ajax for not being able to meet for the coming days. It was temporary; he told the boy that he would come back and return to their routine of meeting and chattering. The boy didn’t mind at all and wished luck to Zhongli for his endeavours. 

The god finally returned to his rightful place in the heavens. There were a lot of things to be done, contracts to fulfil, humans to guide, battle against evil. He did none of it alone, of course, alongside him were his trusted gods helping him along the way. 

At last, a few months passed and Morax could finally descend to the human realm again. 

.

“Months? That’s a long time…I hope Ajax wasn’t lonely,” Ganyu interrupted, in a hushed tone. 

“Maybe he was, but Morax…Well, Zhongli did promise him, didn’t he?” 

“Mmhm. Granny Ping always tells me to keep promises.”

“That’s right, she has taught you well.”

. 

Morax took the form of his human disguise once again and waited for his lover by the entrance of the temple, as usual. Once the skies turned many shades of red, he saw the youth walking along the same path, with his offerings wrapped in a silk cloth in tow. 

The moment Ajax saw the lithe figure standing, he ran towards the man and jumped into his arms, almost making him stumble and fall on the ground. Almost. 

“I missed you Zhongli.”

“I missed you as well, my dear boy.” 

.

“And they married, happily ever after!” giggled Ganyu.

“No, there’s more to it. Now, my child, be thankful I didn’t leave you on a cliffhanger. I shall continue the rest tomorrow.” The raven haired woman grinned at her.

“What’s a cliffhanger?”

“It is basically when–”

.

Once upon a time, there lived a mortal named Ajax, he would always give offerings to Lord Morax’s lesser known temple. That is also where he fell deeply in love with a strange man called Zhongli, it was Morax’s human disguise, not that the boy had known. It was a secret to be kept, even from his lover. Fate is a funny thing indeed, when Morax descended to the human realm after so long, he did not expect to become so curious about a certain redhead, no he didn’t. Neither did he expect to become fond of the boy till he accidentally fell too hard and fast for him. 

Morax was happy, like a cat bathing under the warm rays of the sun. Happy to spend his days away with his precious lover, have meals with him, meet his family, talk with him, touch him, love him, admire him. He was extremely happy, one might say. Too happy in fact.

That it all came crumbling down on an unfortunate day. 

Ajax the mortal did not arrive at the temple on a particular evening. The god waited and waited, with no signs of the boy. He was worried, this had never happened before. The boy was diligent and never missed a day to give offerings, regardless of his busy or tiring day, regardless of his sick and unfeeling self. He never missed a day. 

And so, Zhongli set off to find his boy. Where was he? What happened to him, was he alright? 

His thoughts came to a screeching stop when he got closer towards the Harbour. There was a sizeable crowd of people, all panicking and yelling. He came closer, faintly able to see a boy laid in the centre of it all.

Then all he saw was red. 

There was a pool of blood and it was Ajax’s. His dear boy’s blood– his body laid cold against the hard brick street. 

His boy, his dear boy, his precious lover— was gutted with a knife.

Morax– Zhongli.. No did it even matter anymore? 

He fell on his knees scrambling towards the ginger. The crowd could only look in pity and whisper amongst each other as they observed the man hold the boy’s lifeless body in his arms and cried silent tears. 

A young child, who also seemed to be crying, patted him on the shoulder, “Qiqi gives mister a handkerchief. Don’t be sad, or Qiqi will be sad.”

Hearing that, the god could only wail as more tears of pain streamed down his face. 

His boy, his little worshipper, his dear Ajax–

.

“Now, don’t cry little one. It has a happy ending,” Cloud Retainer hushed Ganyu and wiped away the small tear dripping down her cheeks. 

“Pro-pro..mise?”

“Mmmhm, I do.”

“O-okay… I trust…auntie.”

.

Morax stood in front of Ajax’s resting site. He placed a lone wild glaze lily on top of his tomb. The god was never the same again, since the death of his beloved. Yes, he had witnessed deaths of his comrades throughout centuries and years, witnessed his people and worshippers alike succumbing to strange plagues and entire towns becoming a husk of its previous opulent self. Throughout his immortal life, Morax was not a stranger to death. It was something to accept. 

But this death was different. 

This death shook him to the core. So Morax left the heavens, taking off his mantle of responsibilities and started roaming the realm of mortals, looking for his dear boy, waiting for his precious. He promised himself to meet Ajax once again, no matter how long it took and no matter in what form he’d be. 

Just like that, a millennium of years passed as Morax tried mingling into the world of humans, calling himself Zhongli and changing his disguises once in a while so as not to cause suspicion. Mortals were quite skittish, if they noticed he wasn’t ageing as similar to them, they would be wary.   

As time passed, Morax was still on a quest to find the boy’s reincarnation. In search of the boy, however, the god was able to witness the growth of his people. Liyue had developed in terms of culture, religion, people, infrastructure over these past few years and he was proud of it. 

One day, as he was purchasing some freshly made bao from a vendor, he heard a snippet of conversation. 

“Grandpa, stop being stubborn and come back home!”

“I will! Just one match at the parlour and then I’ll go. Just one match,” the old man coughed, holding his walking stick tighter. 

“Oh ho, fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice and shame on me! You’re going to stay there till someone wins against you. I know you so,” the younger scolded, hands on her waist as she admonished her grandpa. 

The vendor must have noticed him listening to the pair and so he chuckled, “An adorable pair aren’t they? Mr. Turov always does this. He’s fond of playing weiqi, you see.” 

Zhongli nodded in understanding and grabbed the parcel of baos from him. Now fully turning to carefully watch the pair. Then he noticed, the slightly washed out red of the hair, the same deep blue eyes and the same radiant smile. 

Ah. It’s him. It is his boy. He still looks handsome as ever, the sight made him smile. Zhongli must have been obvious in his staring at the man because he glanced at him and waved while beaming. Briefly introducing himself and his grandchild. 

.

Turns out, this was a frequent scene. Why did Zhongli not notice it before? Maybe he had always been there at the wrong place and time. Who knows? Eventually, he felt bad for the little one having to drag her stubborn old grandpa back home, and offered to play weiqi with him at their home (to which the two happily agreed).

Mr. Ajax Turov was in fact a fantastic weiqi player, and he was glad to have found someone as good and perhaps even better than him. He was having fun after many years of playing; it was the first time that a youngster made him lose so quickly. 

“Oh, hmm… I lost. I look forward to a rematch now!” 

Rematch he got indeed. Every afternoon, Zhongli would drop by the old man’s house and play weiqi for hours on end, drink tea and talk plenty. It was easy to get into this sweet and lax routine, the two would look forward to it daily. Mr. Turov would sit on his bamboo chair, newspaper in hand and keep glancing towards the fenced gate. Zhongli would soon arrive, with fresh scallion pancakes or fried pork dumplings in tow, to match their tea of course. Who drinks tea without snacks in hand? Though he never had to bring any as Mr. Turov’s grandchildren and kids would drop snacks in brief intervals of their matches. The family knew their tendency to sit for long and play and they were delighted to see the old man having fun after so long. 

They were close friends now, and Mr. Turov would invite him over for dinners. Much to his family’s pleasure, they loved the young man, and they were glad that someone would be there to keep their lonely grandpa Ajax company. 

Years passed and the old man grew weaker and weaker, but his radiant personality never dulled. He’d still wait by the chair in his lawn, reading the newspaper while drinking tea. Zhongli would still come over to play and stay the night.

Unfortunately, like any life, his too came to an end. It was a peaceful one at least, Zhongli felt relieved. His funeral was a quaint affair. His old friends, family and acquaintances paid their respects. In the end, only Zhongli was left to bid his bye. He stood near the casket and sighed shakily. Taking a peek to see his boy smiling even in death. Placing a lone glaze lily on his precious heart, he left. 

Once again, the cycle of reincarnation repeated itself, a few hundred years later. Ajax took birth in a monastery this time, Zhongli found out. This also meant that he could not frequent the monastery and meet with the boy whenever he wished so, but he found a loophole. This time, the god disguised himself as a stray black cat. Sneaky, but it worked. 

He watched the boy grow from a tiny sapling to a young teen, regularly dropping by the temple (practically lived there) and playing with him. Sometimes even annoying him, whenever the mortal would try to concentrate and meditate. 

“Hm- Not now. I’m busy,” Ajax grumbled.

“Mrrooowwwww.” 

“Come on, stop disturbing– OUCH! Hey! That was rude Rex!” The boy looked at him with furrowed brows.

“Mmeeeeeoowwwwwww hmph.” Rex the cat with an offended look, turned away and padded off. 

“Awe! You can stay— don’t go!”

.

The monastery was dedicated to Lord Morax and thus, once again, Ajax continued providing offerings (as he did in his once previous life). The offerings would keep disappearing, particularly the ones provided by Ajax. All the elder monks found it strange but brushed it off as Lord Morax being the one eating it during the night. That theory came to a stop once the boy, Ajax, found the cat, Rex, snatching the offerings from the altar that had an enormous dragon statue.

“Stop! Rex, bad kitty! NO! Drop them,” the boy yelled trying to grab hold of the cat.

Rex hissed and scratched at Ajax’s hand and ran way. 

These are for him anyway, why should he stop from taking his own offerings? The god thought to himself and huffed while munching on the offerings. 

The next day, the entire monastery found out the secret behind the vanishing offerings. They didn’t mind of course; they had a rough idea who that cat was. After all, they say that Morax can shapeshift to anything but his cor lapis eyes were the one thing that he couldn’t change. 

. 

And so, another lifetime passed. Soon after, the boy took birth once again.

He was a prince this time. A precious sweetheart loved by all. Brave, strong, beautiful and knowledgeable. Prince Ajax was known to be a helpful person, always catering to those in need. He could never see someone suffering from pain, be it literal or metaphorical. Some labelled him to have a heart of gold, that would get him in trouble one day. 

Prince Ajax would often put on a commoner’s disguise to venture outside of the palace walls, without the emperor and empress knowing. It was to experience life he said, to see the troubles of his people and to see sights the nation had to offer. 

Venture he did indeed. Strolling along a dusty path on the outskirts of Liyue, it led to an old rundown temple. He passed through the entrance and went inside to see a brass idol of Lord Morax in the centre. For some reason, it felt so familiar and right for him to be there. Caught in a stupor, Prince Ajax simply stared at the idol in a daze. 

It was then, that the god, in his own human disguise walked in to find his boy, once more. He did not expect to meet him in such a way, not when he was a prince now. 

“Are you alright?” Morax asked, right behind the mortal. 

The boy turned in surprise, his deep blue eyes widened and stared at him, unmoving. He was lost in those amber eyes while a million thoughts ran through his mind. 

“Your highness?” Morax now furrowed his brows in concern, why was the boy so quiet, did something happen?  

“Ah apologies, I’m alright. It’s just… You looked really familiar.” Sheepishly he rubbed his head.  

Oh. So his boy remembers. Or at least his soul does. 

The youth opened his mouth to speak again, “But how did you–”

“There is only one man in the nation with bright hair and blue eyes like yours,” Morax chuckled. His naive little boy. Precious boy. 

“I see…My disguise must be quite poor then. I’m quite embarrassed,” the prince sighed, “Well then, please just call me Ajax!”

“Ajax…” the god mumbled, feeling a sense of déjà vu, ”Well dear Ajax, I am Zhongli.”

And so, they became friends.

.

From then on, Ajax would sneak out of the palace walls every night, to the rundown temple. It felt like strings of fate begging at him, pulling at him to go. And who was he to deny them? So he went with offerings in tow, wrapped in a silk blue cloth. Because it felt right. 

Zhongli would wait for the boy by the entrance of the temple, reminiscing about the past. Once Ajax would arrive, they would both go inside, unwrap the offerings that contained a single wild glaze lily, some berries and sunsettia. Placing it before the brass idol.

They would sit on the floor and chat. It felt right. It just did. Hours would pass till the starry sky would change its colours and welcome the sun peeking from behind the mountains. The little mortal would then dash back to the palace, promising Zhongli that he’d come back the next day. It was a routine. A comforting one. 

Months passed, and Ajax would still sneak out of his palace, with offerings in tow. Walk down the same dusty path as he did previously and wave at the long-haired man to catch his attention. 

The two would call each other soulmates. As the world felt appropriate since whenever they were in each other’s presence, they would feel complete, warm and at peace. The boy would say that whenever he looked at Zhongli, he would feel indescribably happy and bubbly. And even though he had never seen the man before in his life, he felt as if he’d known him for many many years. It was fate; they concluded. Fate that brought them together. Yes. 

One day however, he had a strange encounter. Right after the little mortal sneaked out of the palace, he would always stop by a lake to wash his face and hands. This time, a blinding flash of light emerged from where he was standing, startled he fell on his back. 

A body took shape in front of him, of a woman no less. Slowly, the light subsided and he could finally see. It was the goddess of dust, Guizhong. In all her bright and silvery glory. As soon as he realised, the boy bowed down haphazardly. 

“Rise, my child,” said the goddess, as she tipped the ginger’s face upwards to meet her grey eyes. 

“I dare not, goddess, lest I disrespect you,” he mumbled and averted his eyes.

“Fear not, little mortal. I am not here to punish you, in fact I am here to reward you,” she chuckled, eyes crinkling in delight. 

To which, the boy looked at her at last in curiosity. She took this as a chance and continued, “The heavens are impressed by your devotion and they have decided to give you a boon. Ask away, my child. What do you wish for?”

The boy was stumped. A boon? But he has done nothing worthy in his life, so why? 

Guizhong replied as if reading his mind, “Throughout your many previous lives including this one, your good deeds, offerings and deep meditation tallied up. Therefore, you are given a chance to ask for anything you want.”

“But I want nothing… I need nothing, goddess Guizhong. I only hope to be with Zhongli forever,” Ajax declared instantly. 

What he didn’t realise was his choice of words.

“Very well, you shall spend eternity with Zhongli, and so, I bless you with immortality,” the goddess spoke in finality and placed her hand on the boy’s head. 

His body shone like a million stars had occupied his body until it disappeared. Memories of his many past lives flashed through his mind at a frenzied speed, he did not even realise drops of tears rolling down his cheeks until the goddess gently wiped through them all. 

“Hush my child, go now, your Zhongli is waiting for you. He has been looking over you in every single life you lived. It is nigh time that he reveals his true self today.” Smiling, she pulled Ajax up and sent him on his way to the temple. 

Slowly, the boy made his way to the temple and saw the brunet standing by the entrance as always. He ran into Zhongli’s arms, colliding with such great force that it almost took the breath out of the man’s chest. 

“What happened, my dear boy?”

“Mister Zhongli…. I remember now, everything. Every life. All the forms you took.” The ginger hid his face under the nook of the older man’s shoulder. 

Zhongli rubbed the boy’s back until he calmed down, gazing at him with warmth. 

“Even if you did not, I would still love you,” he whispered against the boy’s hair. 

.

“Happily ever after? Did they get married?” Ganyu asked at last, barely able to keep her eyes open. 

“Yes indeed. And Zhongli revealed his identity to Ajax, to which the boy wasn’t surprised. Saying he was quite obvious about it and with Ajax’s immortality, they now spend eternity with each other,” Cloud Retainer announced at last, “The end.”

“So, what do you think of this story?”

Sadly, Ganyu had been fast asleep by the time the raven haired woman asked her. With an exasperated sigh, she readjusted the blankets and turned the lights off, wishing her good night before leaving the room. 

Bonus scene 

Ganyu was excited when she heard that her uncle, Zhongli, would come with his spouse to dinner. It would be her first time seeing the person that turned her uncle into a blushing schoolgirl. What she didn’t expect was the bright ginger hair, deep abyssal eyes and a radiant smile. For some reason, her uncle’s spouse looked very familiar, except she just couldn’t place her finger on it. 

“Hello Ganyu, nice to meet you! My name is Ajax,” Uncle Zhongli's lover introduced himself. 

“Ajax? That’s a nice name, it reminds me of the little mortal from the story my auntie told me! He also has red hair and blue eyes, just like you.” Beamed Ganyu, looking at the man with sparkling eyes. 

“Will you tell me a bedtime story?” Ganyu turned in her bed, now looking at the older woman with hopeful eyes.

“Only if you promise to sleep afterwards,” Cloud Retainer said softly while tucking her in. 

“Pinky promise!” 

“Alright little one, mmmh… Yes, listen closely now.” 

.

Once upon a time, there lived a young mortal. His name was Ajax. 

Ajax the mortal had bright ginger hair that would sparkle under the sun’s light, skin as pale as snow with freckles adorning his rosy cheeks; like stars in the vast sky. He had eyes as deep as the uncharted ocean, and his lean body moved so fluid like a veil blowing in the wind. Most would agree that he was easy on the eyes and a delight to look at, but that’s not the focus of our story today. 

Every evening without a fail, he would bring offerings wrapped up in silk cloth and place it before the brass idol. Whose idol? you may ask. Well, Morax of course. 

Morax was the god of war, the god of commerce, the god of contracts and was the Prime of Adepti. Like any other god, he was worshipped and loved by many. Had temples dedicated to his individual titles, and they were decorated in gold, brass, copper, you name it! They were like a treasure trove and so blinding with everything shining from top to bottom. His temples were filled to the brim with knick knacks offered by his worshippers and followers alike, they could be fresh dumplings from a famous chef down the road, or a beautiful porcelain vase made specially in Inazuma, silk embroidered robes made and designed from Sumeru. But it wasn't the offerings that Morax was fond of, no. He was fond of these brave and resilient mortals. 

He was one of the few gods who was curious about how the tiny humans were able to face life, how they could unconditionally love each other, help one another and keep coming back strong and unwavering from the heavy waves of life that would keep toppling them over. 

Due to his curiosity towards them, Morax would descend personally from the heavens every decade and observe the land of mortals for a short time. It was then, during one of his descents, that he caught sight of a youth with bright orange hair with a radiant smile. He noticed that the ginger would place a single wild glaze lily, with a handful of berries and sunsettia. The few incense sticks next to the brass idol were set alight. There wasn’t anything unusual about the act, of course, but it was his prayers that caught the god off guard. 

“Dear Lord Morax, I offer you once again with some fruits and a flower. I hope you enjoy them,” the young man said and raised from his kneeling position. 

That’s it? 

Morax quirked his brows. 

Yes, that was it. The god found it strange, generally humans would make long prayers. Nothing he’s not used to. He’s heard many mortals asking for good health, fortune, kids, wishing for their daughters to be wed to a good husband, requesting him to make them knowledgeable enough to pass the imperial examination, and so on and so forth. 

Thus, he was surprised by the length of the young one’s prayer or…lack of. He didn’t ask for anything, only wishing for Morax to enjoy his offerings. Strange indeed. He thought to himself, he must keep a lookout on this one. To satiate his curiosity, he reasoned. 

. 

“What happened then, auntie?” whispered Ganyu, snuggling deeper into her warm blanket. 

“And then… Hmm… Morax would keep coming back to that old temple.” Warm hands brushed slowly through Ganyu’s hair. 

“And then?” the child asked, once more, now with sheer excitement. 

“Patience, Ganyu. Worry not, I will complete the story, but next time– ah ah! Don’t give me that puppy dog eyes look. It’s past your bedtime now,” Cloud Retainer let out a hearty chuckle, and pinched her cheeks. 

That earned an angry glare, though it looked too adorable to be called one. 

. 

Once upon a time, there lived a young mortal named Ajax. He would leave offerings at an old temple dedicated to Morax, a quaint rundown one, right in the outskirts of Liyue. He caught the attention of a certain god and that certain god would observe the strange mortal every evening, in time to see the ginger stroll in with his offerings wrapped in the same blue silk cloth. 

Morax forgot all about going back to the heavens. He was only supposed to spend a few days in the realm of humans, but it slipped out of his mind. He kept coming and coming and coming, looking at the youth with wonder. The boy would never ever wish for anything for himself, no. Only prayed for Morax to enjoy his prayers, though sometimes he would recount some silly happenings of his day. 

“Greetings, Lord Morax. Here are your offerings, I apologise but ahh– I wasn’t able to get a glaze lily today. Little Qiqi looked like she wanted it, and I let her have it. Have a qingxin instead,” the redhead chuckled sheepishly. 

“Apology accepted, my dear boy,” Morax replied in a hushed voice. He was standing right next to the mortal, of course, invisible to the other man. 

One thing to note, is that humans could not easily see or hear the gods, only if the gods wished to reveal themselves. Though for some reason, the youth’s eyes widened like saucers and his complexion paled…. As if he saw a ghost. It was not a ghost he saw, but a ghost he heard. Said ghost being a god but semantics. More importantly, was it even possible for him to look paler than he already was? Apparently yes. 

“Wh-wh-who’s there?” the boy sputtered, looking around the temple in panic. 

Of course, no one answered him. Though Morax did laugh at him in amusement. 

Either he heard Morax or it was the whispers of the wind. We shall never know as the human ran straight out of the temple, not even bothering to look back or to pick up his silk cloth. 

The next time the youth came back, he brought offerings wrapped around the hem of his robes. He looked warily around the temple before nodding to himself, finally taking a seat on the floor and lit the incense sticks. This time, he placed down two wild glaze lilies, and a couple of berries and sunsettias (as always).

“Good evening, Lord Morax. To make up for yesterday’s blunder, I’ve brought you two glaze lilies, your favourite. Last night I felt as if someone was speaking to me and I ran off… I’m sorry for that pitiful scene. I will make sure it never happens again, after all it was probably just the wind,” the youth rambled, recounting the incident from yesterday. 

It must have been the wind, Morax agreed. After all, the boy can only hear and see him only when the god wishes so. 

Once the mortal finished talking, he picked up his silken cloth. “Huh… Surely I didn’t leave this behind in such neat folds. Strange.”

Not strange at all, in actuality, Morax folded and placed it there personally. His thoughts however, were interrupted as someone hollered outside the gates of the temple.

“Brother Ajax, what’s taking you so long? Come now, let’s go back home.” A little girl in two little braids waved enthusiastically at the ginger. 

The boy looked back in surprise, walking hastily outside the temple to meet with the little girl. 

“Just a minute Tonia, I’m coming.” 

They chattered a bit before walking back home, holding hands and singing a tune. 

Morax watched them carefully and slowly emerged outside from his hiding spot, though useless because no one could see him. He was now in a trancelike state, rooted in one spot, still looking toward the duo. Ajax... 

So that was his name, how lovely. Fitting for a resilient little mortal, brave like a warrior that his name suggests. 

He smiled, molten gold eyes shimmering with wonder underneath the moon’s glow. 

.

“Wait, so all this time Morax never knew his name?” she questioned the older woman, with wide doe eyes.

“Yes, strange isn’t it? He was observing the boy for weeks now, nearing a month in fact… and he still didn’t know his name!” Cloud Retainer exclaimed and pushed her spectacles back on her nose. 

“Well then, good night. It is time to sleep now.”

“But…The story!”

“Tomorrow, my darling. That’s enough for today.” 

.

Once upon a time, there lived a young mortal named Ajax. He caught the attention of the god Morax. The god was so enamoured and curious about the boy, that he hadn’t gone back to the heavens in months now. 

His fellow friends became concerned about his absence. Perhaps something terrible happened, and the gods held an emergency meeting in the heavens. Making theories, wondering, panicking, pacing. Thus, the goddess of dust, Guizhong volunteered to descend to the realm of mortals to check up on Morax. Though the god of wind, Barbatos was adamant on joining with her. The goddess swiftly rejected him because of his tendency to “drink too much wine” whenever they would visit down there, and Guizhong was not going to drag his drunk body back up to the heavens. 

It didn’t take too long for the goddess of dust to find Morax, following his spiritual trail all the way to a rundown temple in the outskirts of Liyue. It surprised her to find her dear friend looking at a…redhead mortal with a warm expression. Is this the reason the other god had stayed in the mortal realm for so long? Guizhong walked quietly towards Morax and joined him in watching the mortal. 

“What brings you here,” Morax inquired, noticing her presence. 

“You. Why do you still remain here, you need to go back to the heavens, my friend,” whispered the goddess, as if scared to break the serene moment. 

“Well–”

“Obviously because of a pretty little mortal, he’s in love, Guizhong!” a shrilling voice spoke. Startled, the two looked back to see Barbatos, leaning against one of the railings of the temple. He took a cursory glance at Morax before sighing. 

“Pray tell, what brings you here?” Morax muttered under his breath. Not ecstatic to see Barbatos at all. 

“The same reason Guizhong– er– alright! Don’t give me that look. I was only curious about what Morax was up to, though now I regret coming hmph.” The green-haired god rolled his eyes.

“So, have you been ‘observing’ the moral all this time?” 

“Yes….”

“Not even speaking to him once?”

“...”

The silence spoke louder than words. 

“Morax, you must know that this behaviour is quite—”

.

“Cre– ahhhh-haaaaa– creepy! Why did he not say hello even once to Ajax?” yawned Ganyu, all cozied as she hugged her little crane plushie closer to her body.

“Well, Morax was known to have rocks for brains when he was younger,” Cloud Retainer stated, with no hesitancy in her words.

“That explains nothing….”

“Hush now, I’m turning the lights off.”

.

There was once a young redhead mortal named Ajax, he would visit an old rundown temple of the god Morax and give offerings daily. He had been visiting the temple since he was as young as a little sapling, so it was second nature for him to get the same flowers and fruits wrapped up in a silk blue cloth, walking on the same dusty path. The same old, same old. But his lonely routine was interrupted one fateful day.

Ajax met a breathtaking man, looking solemn in thoughts, staring off into the evening sky. The strange man stood near the entrance of the temple, turning around as he sensed the younger man’s presence and smiled. He was tall and lithe, with eyes bright like warm topaz, hair so long and dark that lit up in gold towards the end. Beautiful, is what anyone would describe him as, similar to a white jade. 

The boy could only smile back awkwardly and avert his eyes. Quickly making his way inside, trying to ignore the loud thumping of his heart. Though what he didn’t know was that the other man felt the same way. Many days passed and the beautiful man would always stand there by the entrance, as if waiting for Ajax and they would both enter the temple together. Eventually, they started speaking with one another rather than only exchanging pleasantries. 

That was also when the beautiful man (Morax’s mortal disguise) introduced himself by the name Zhongli. The boy felt embarrassed because he had forgotten to ask for his name, let alone share his own! To which the two laughed. 

Now they would both look forward to meeting each other, using the offerings as an excuse. Slowly but surely, they grew closer and their conversations would last throughout the night till dawn would arrive. Only then would they break away and go back and resume their daily lives. Their relationship bloomed, from mere strangers to close friends, and perhaps more than that but not exactly beyond it either. 

“Mister Zhongli, why do you choose to come here? It’s not exactly a well known or loved temple,” one day the boy asked.

“Perhaps I was entranced by someone who’d drop offerings to Lord Morax.” Zhongli smiled and glanced at the younger man. 

“I– Mister Zhongli! Don’t tease me so, please… I don’t like such jokes,” Ajax choked on his words, turning bright red similar to jueyun chilli.

“Who said that I was speaking in jest? It is the truth. You have me enamoured, my dear Ajax,” chuckling, the man tucked a stray piece of copper hair behind Ajax's ear. 

Oh, they were so close. Only a breath apart, the tips of their nose touching. They couldn’t dare to tear their eyes away from one another, waiting in patience. Waiting as the tiny gap between them grew small until– their lips bridged the final gap. The touch was featherlike, afraid of breaking the tranquil moment. Their eyes fluttered shut, casting shadows on their pale cheeks. A shy hand found its way to the boy’s until gaining confidence and their fingers intertwined. 

Needless to say, the two grew to love each other. 

However, remember that Morax was a god, even though he came to Ajax in his mortal disguise, that did not mean his responsibilities and obligations would vanish. He had to go back to the heavens and leave the realm of mortals for a while.

And so, Zhongli had to apologise to Ajax for not being able to meet for the coming days. It was temporary; he told the boy that he would come back and return to their routine of meeting and chattering. The boy didn’t mind at all and wished luck to Zhongli for his endeavours. 

The god finally returned to his rightful place in the heavens. There were a lot of things to be done, contracts to fulfil, humans to guide, battle against evil. He did none of it alone, of course, alongside him were his trusted gods helping him along the way. 

At last, a few months passed and Morax could finally descend to the human realm again. 

.

“Months? That’s a long time…I hope Ajax wasn’t lonely,” Ganyu interrupted, in a hushed tone. 

“Maybe he was, but Morax…Well, Zhongli did promise him, didn’t he?” 

“Mmhm. Granny Ping always tells me to keep promises.”

“That’s right, she has taught you well.”

. 

Morax took the form of his human disguise once again and waited for his lover by the entrance of the temple, as usual. Once the skies turned many shades of red, he saw the youth walking along the same path, with his offerings wrapped in a silk cloth in tow. 

The moment Ajax saw the lithe figure standing, he ran towards the man and jumped into his arms, almost making him stumble and fall on the ground. Almost. 

“I missed you Zhongli.”

“I missed you as well, my dear boy.” 

.

“And they married, happily ever after!” giggled Ganyu.

“No, there’s more to it. Now, my child, be thankful I didn’t leave you on a cliffhanger. I shall continue the rest tomorrow.” The raven haired woman grinned at her.

“What’s a cliffhanger?”

“It is basically when–”

.

Once upon a time, there lived a mortal named Ajax, he would always give offerings to Lord Morax’s lesser known temple. That is also where he fell deeply in love with a strange man called Zhongli, it was Morax’s human disguise, not that the boy had known. It was a secret to be kept, even from his lover. Fate is a funny thing indeed, when Morax descended to the human realm after so long, he did not expect to become so curious about a certain redhead, no he didn’t. Neither did he expect to become fond of the boy till he accidentally fell too hard and fast for him. 

Morax was happy, like a cat bathing under the warm rays of the sun. Happy to spend his days away with his precious lover, have meals with him, meet his family, talk with him, touch him, love him, admire him. He was extremely happy, one might say. Too happy in fact.

That it all came crumbling down on an unfortunate day. 

Ajax the mortal did not arrive at the temple on a particular evening. The god waited and waited, with no signs of the boy. He was worried, this had never happened before. The boy was diligent and never missed a day to give offerings, regardless of his busy or tiring day, regardless of his sick and unfeeling self. He never missed a day. 

And so, Zhongli set off to find his boy. Where was he? What happened to him, was he alright? 

His thoughts came to a screeching stop when he got closer towards the Harbour. There was a sizeable crowd of people, all panicking and yelling. He came closer, faintly able to see a boy laid in the centre of it all.

Then all he saw was red. 

There was a pool of blood and it was Ajax’s. His dear boy’s blood– his body laid cold against the hard brick street. 

His boy, his dear boy, his precious lover— was gutted with a knife.

Morax– Zhongli.. No did it even matter anymore? 

He fell on his knees scrambling towards the ginger. The crowd could only look in pity and whisper amongst each other as they observed the man hold the boy’s lifeless body in his arms and cried silent tears. 

A young child, who also seemed to be crying, patted him on the shoulder, “Qiqi gives mister a handkerchief. Don’t be sad, or Qiqi will be sad.”

Hearing that, the god could only wail as more tears of pain streamed down his face. 

His boy, his little worshipper, his dear Ajax–

.

“Now, don’t cry little one. It has a happy ending,” Cloud Retainer hushed Ganyu and wiped away the small tear dripping down her cheeks. 

“Pro-pro..mise?”

“Mmmhm, I do.”

“O-okay… I trust…auntie.”

.

Morax stood in front of Ajax’s resting site. He placed a lone wild glaze lily on top of his tomb. The god was never the same again, since the death of his beloved. Yes, he had witnessed deaths of his comrades throughout centuries and years, witnessed his people and worshippers alike succumbing to strange plagues and entire towns becoming a husk of its previous opulent self. Throughout his immortal life, Morax was not a stranger to death. It was something to accept. 

But this death was different. 

This death shook him to the core. So Morax left the heavens, taking off his mantle of responsibilities and started roaming the realm of mortals, looking for his dear boy, waiting for his precious. He promised himself to meet Ajax once again, no matter how long it took and no matter in what form he’d be. 

Just like that, a millennium of years passed as Morax tried mingling into the world of humans, calling himself Zhongli and changing his disguises once in a while so as not to cause suspicion. Mortals were quite skittish, if they noticed he wasn’t ageing as similar to them, they would be wary.   

As time passed, Morax was still on a quest to find the boy’s reincarnation. In search of the boy, however, the god was able to witness the growth of his people. Liyue had developed in terms of culture, religion, people, infrastructure over these past few years and he was proud of it. 

One day, as he was purchasing some freshly made bao from a vendor, he heard a snippet of conversation. 

“Grandpa, stop being stubborn and come back home!”

“I will! Just one match at the parlour and then I’ll go. Just one match,” the old man coughed, holding his walking stick tighter. 

“Oh ho, fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice and shame on me! You’re going to stay there till someone wins against you. I know you so,” the younger scolded, hands on her waist as she admonished her grandpa. 

The vendor must have noticed him listening to the pair and so he chuckled, “An adorable pair aren’t they? Mr. Turov always does this. He’s fond of playing weiqi, you see.” 

Zhongli nodded in understanding and grabbed the parcel of baos from him. Now fully turning to carefully watch the pair. Then he noticed, the slightly washed out red of the hair, the same deep blue eyes and the same radiant smile. 

Ah. It’s him. It is his boy. He still looks handsome as ever, the sight made him smile. Zhongli must have been obvious in his staring at the man because he glanced at him and waved while beaming. Briefly introducing himself and his grandchild. 

.

Turns out, this was a frequent scene. Why did Zhongli not notice it before? Maybe he had always been there at the wrong place and time. Who knows? Eventually, he felt bad for the little one having to drag her stubborn old grandpa back home, and offered to play weiqi with him at their home (to which the two happily agreed).

Mr. Ajax Turov was in fact a fantastic weiqi player, and he was glad to have found someone as good and perhaps even better than him. He was having fun after many years of playing; it was the first time that a youngster made him lose so quickly. 

“Oh, hmm… I lost. I look forward to a rematch now!” 

Rematch he got indeed. Every afternoon, Zhongli would drop by the old man’s house and play weiqi for hours on end, drink tea and talk plenty. It was easy to get into this sweet and lax routine, the two would look forward to it daily. Mr. Turov would sit on his bamboo chair, newspaper in hand and keep glancing towards the fenced gate. Zhongli would soon arrive, with fresh scallion pancakes or fried pork dumplings in tow, to match their tea of course. Who drinks tea without snacks in hand? Though he never had to bring any as Mr. Turov’s grandchildren and kids would drop snacks in brief intervals of their matches. The family knew their tendency to sit for long and play and they were delighted to see the old man having fun after so long. 

They were close friends now, and Mr. Turov would invite him over for dinners. Much to his family’s pleasure, they loved the young man, and they were glad that someone would be there to keep their lonely grandpa Ajax company. 

Years passed and the old man grew weaker and weaker, but his radiant personality never dulled. He’d still wait by the chair in his lawn, reading the newspaper while drinking tea. Zhongli would still come over to play and stay the night.

Unfortunately, like any life, his too came to an end. It was a peaceful one at least, Zhongli felt relieved. His funeral was a quaint affair. His old friends, family and acquaintances paid their respects. In the end, only Zhongli was left to bid his bye. He stood near the casket and sighed shakily. Taking a peek to see his boy smiling even in death. Placing a lone glaze lily on his precious heart, he left. 

Once again, the cycle of reincarnation repeated itself, a few hundred years later. Ajax took birth in a monastery this time, Zhongli found out. This also meant that he could not frequent the monastery and meet with the boy whenever he wished so, but he found a loophole. This time, the god disguised himself as a stray black cat. Sneaky, but it worked. 

He watched the boy grow from a tiny sapling to a young teen, regularly dropping by the temple (practically lived there) and playing with him. Sometimes even annoying him, whenever the mortal would try to concentrate and meditate. 

“Hm- Not now. I’m busy,” Ajax grumbled.

“Mrrooowwwww.” 

“Come on, stop disturbing– OUCH! Hey! That was rude Rex!” The boy looked at him with furrowed brows.

“Mmeeeeeoowwwwwww hmph.” Rex the cat with an offended look, turned away and padded off. 

“Awe! You can stay— don’t go!”

.

The monastery was dedicated to Lord Morax and thus, once again, Ajax continued providing offerings (as he did in his once previous life). The offerings would keep disappearing, particularly the ones provided by Ajax. All the elder monks found it strange but brushed it off as Lord Morax being the one eating it during the night. That theory came to a stop once the boy, Ajax, found the cat, Rex, snatching the offerings from the altar that had an enormous dragon statue.

“Stop! Rex, bad kitty! NO! Drop them,” the boy yelled trying to grab hold of the cat.

Rex hissed and scratched at Ajax’s hand and ran way. 

These are for him anyway, why should he stop from taking his own offerings? The god thought to himself and huffed while munching on the offerings. 

The next day, the entire monastery found out the secret behind the vanishing offerings. They didn’t mind of course; they had a rough idea who that cat was. After all, they say that Morax can shapeshift to anything but his cor lapis eyes were the one thing that he couldn’t change. 

. 

And so, another lifetime passed. Soon after, the boy took birth once again.

He was a prince this time. A precious sweetheart loved by all. Brave, strong, beautiful and knowledgeable. Prince Ajax was known to be a helpful person, always catering to those in need. He could never see someone suffering from pain, be it literal or metaphorical. Some labelled him to have a heart of gold, that would get him in trouble one day. 

Prince Ajax would often put on a commoner’s disguise to venture outside of the palace walls, without the emperor and empress knowing. It was to experience life he said, to see the troubles of his people and to see sights the nation had to offer. 

Venture he did indeed. Strolling along a dusty path on the outskirts of Liyue, it led to an old rundown temple. He passed through the entrance and went inside to see a brass idol of Lord Morax in the centre. For some reason, it felt so familiar and right for him to be there. Caught in a stupor, Prince Ajax simply stared at the idol in a daze. 

It was then, that the god, in his own human disguise walked in to find his boy, once more. He did not expect to meet him in such a way, not when he was a prince now. 

“Are you alright?” Morax asked, right behind the mortal. 

The boy turned in surprise, his deep blue eyes widened and stared at him, unmoving. He was lost in those amber eyes while a million thoughts ran through his mind. 

“Your highness?” Morax now furrowed his brows in concern, why was the boy so quiet, did something happen?  

“Ah apologies, I’m alright. It’s just… You looked really familiar.” Sheepishly he rubbed his head.  

Oh. So his boy remembers. Or at least his soul does. 

The youth opened his mouth to speak again, “But how did you–”

“There is only one man in the nation with bright hair and blue eyes like yours,” Morax chuckled. His naive little boy. Precious boy. 

“I see…My disguise must be quite poor then. I’m quite embarrassed,” the prince sighed, “Well then, please just call me Ajax!”

“Ajax…” the god mumbled, feeling a sense of déjà vu, ”Well dear Ajax, I am Zhongli.”

And so, they became friends.

.

From then on, Ajax would sneak out of the palace walls every night, to the rundown temple. It felt like strings of fate begging at him, pulling at him to go. And who was he to deny them? So he went with offerings in tow, wrapped in a silk blue cloth. Because it felt right. 

Zhongli would wait for the boy by the entrance of the temple, reminiscing about the past. Once Ajax would arrive, they would both go inside, unwrap the offerings that contained a single wild glaze lily, some berries and sunsettia. Placing it before the brass idol.

They would sit on the floor and chat. It felt right. It just did. Hours would pass till the starry sky would change its colours and welcome the sun peeking from behind the mountains. The little mortal would then dash back to the palace, promising Zhongli that he’d come back the next day. It was a routine. A comforting one. 

Months passed, and Ajax would still sneak out of his palace, with offerings in tow. Walk down the same dusty path as he did previously and wave at the long-haired man to catch his attention. 

The two would call each other soulmates. As the world felt appropriate since whenever they were in each other’s presence, they would feel complete, warm and at peace. The boy would say that whenever he looked at Zhongli, he would feel indescribably happy and bubbly. And even though he had never seen the man before in his life, he felt as if he’d known him for many many years. It was fate; they concluded. Fate that brought them together. Yes. 

One day however, he had a strange encounter. Right after the little mortal sneaked out of the palace, he would always stop by a lake to wash his face and hands. This time, a blinding flash of light emerged from where he was standing, startled he fell on his back. 

A body took shape in front of him, of a woman no less. Slowly, the light subsided and he could finally see. It was the goddess of dust, Guizhong. In all her bright and silvery glory. As soon as he realised, the boy bowed down haphazardly. 

“Rise, my child,” said the goddess, as she tipped the ginger’s face upwards to meet her grey eyes. 

“I dare not, goddess, lest I disrespect you,” he mumbled and averted his eyes.

“Fear not, little mortal. I am not here to punish you, in fact I am here to reward you,” she chuckled, eyes crinkling in delight. 

To which, the boy looked at her at last in curiosity. She took this as a chance and continued, “The heavens are impressed by your devotion and they have decided to give you a boon. Ask away, my child. What do you wish for?”

The boy was stumped. A boon? But he has done nothing worthy in his life, so why? 

Guizhong replied as if reading his mind, “Throughout your many previous lives including this one, your good deeds, offerings and deep meditation tallied up. Therefore, you are given a chance to ask for anything you want.”

“But I want nothing… I need nothing, goddess Guizhong. I only hope to be with Zhongli forever,” Ajax declared instantly. 

What he didn’t realise was his choice of words.

“Very well, you shall spend eternity with Zhongli, and so, I bless you with immortality,” the goddess spoke in finality and placed her hand on the boy’s head. 

His body shone like a million stars had occupied his body until it disappeared. Memories of his many past lives flashed through his mind at a frenzied speed, he did not even realise drops of tears rolling down his cheeks until the goddess gently wiped through them all. 

“Hush my child, go now, your Zhongli is waiting for you. He has been looking over you in every single life you lived. It is nigh time that he reveals his true self today.” Smiling, she pulled Ajax up and sent him on his way to the temple. 

Slowly, the boy made his way to the temple and saw the brunet standing by the entrance as always. He ran into Zhongli’s arms, colliding with such great force that it almost took the breath out of the man’s chest. 

“What happened, my dear boy?”

“Mister Zhongli…. I remember now, everything. Every life. All the forms you took.” The ginger hid his face under the nook of the older man’s shoulder. 

Zhongli rubbed the boy’s back until he calmed down, gazing at him with warmth. 

“Even if you did not, I would still love you,” he whispered against the boy’s hair. 

.

“Happily ever after? Did they get married?” Ganyu asked at last, barely able to keep her eyes open. 

“Yes indeed. And Zhongli revealed his identity to Ajax, to which the boy wasn’t surprised. Saying he was quite obvious about it and with Ajax’s immortality, they now spend eternity with each other,” Cloud Retainer announced at last, “The end.”

“So, what do you think of this story?”

Sadly, Ganyu had been fast asleep by the time the raven haired woman asked her. With an exasperated sigh, she readjusted the blankets and turned the lights off, wishing her good night before leaving the room. 

.

Bonus scene 

Ganyu was excited when she heard that her uncle, Zhongli, would come with his spouse to dinner. It would be her first time seeing the person that turned her uncle into a blushing schoolgirl. What she didn’t expect was the bright ginger hair, deep abyssal eyes and a radiant smile. For some reason, her uncle’s spouse looked very familiar, except she just couldn’t place her finger on it. 

“Hello Ganyu, nice to meet you! My name is Ajax,” Uncle Zhongli's lover introduced himself. 

“Ajax? That’s a nice name, it reminds me of the little mortal from the story my auntie told me! He also has red hair and blue eyes, just like you.” Beamed Ganyu, looking at the man with sparkling eyes. 

To which, the man froze and chuckled nervously, “Oh I see, you like stories I presume? Would you like to hear some of mine? I promise you’ll love them.”

some author's notes

bao - steamed buns with filling

turov - surname for ajax

weiqi - chinese go

anyways...... @tsubaki3192

I've also cross posted this on ao3! 👉👈

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50668606

[johaerys-writes]

Ch. 17: Cherry

Read on AO3 | Read from the beginning

It’s been a wet kind of summer. The rains started early after spring and persisted until the tail end of June, unusual for this time of year. The air is thick and humid, as if moving through water, and the sky hangs dull and heavy above the valley.

For the most part, Patroclus has been working in the vineyards of the area, along with the throngs of other seasonal workers that arrive in Phthia for every harvesting period. It’s hard work, but Patroclus has never minded physical labour overly much. More than anything, he’s glad that the exams are done and over with; if his mind had to retain yet one more piece of information, it might explode.

Bees buzz merrily around him as he clips the grapes from the vines and tosses them in his basket. His back is aching and the sweat stings his eyes; there’s only a few more minutes until the end of the work day. Patroclus is looking forward to a cold drink of water and an even colder shower. He woke up at six this morning to ride his bike all the way here; the vineyard is quite far out, past Atreus' farm and across the Spercheios river, miles upon miles of wheat and alfalfa fields with their deep irrigation ditches. Grape harvesting pays slightly better than other jobs, but you can't work too fast or the fruits will be bruised. Employers don't like that. 

Some days, like this one, when the sun burns bright above them and there isn’t the reprieve of rain clouds hovering above, Patroclus wonders if he’s making things way too hard for himself. Peleus all but assured them that he would pay for any and all expenses he and Achilles would have during their move to the capital, and more besides, but Patroclus feels better knowing that he won’t be relying entirely on Peleus’ charity. His savings will be just about enough to cover his personal expenses for the first couple of months, until he finds another job there. Patroclus considers that a win; he thinks it will be good for him to be a little bit more independent. 

He returns with his basket filled to the brim and a procession of bees in tow, then lines up along with the others to receive his pay for the day. Most of the workers are undocumented immigrants; the job pays five bucks per hour and there are no papers to sign, no tax deductions. They're all paid under the table, in cash. 

Patroclus accepts the bills with fingers darkened by dirt and sticky with sap, and slips them in his pocket. 

He gets on his bike and pedals fast down the dirt road. A quick stop by the house for a shower, a change of clothes and a snack, and he’s off again. The others must already be at the basketball court, probably already a couple games in. Achilles must surely be among them, obliterating the opposing team’s defences. 

He had found Patroclus’ decision to work for most of the summer odd. He didn’t tell him as much, never tried to dissuade him, but Patroclus could tell from his baffled frown and the words he held back that the notion of working the summer before college never once crossed his mind. Not out of laziness, but out of a lack of need. What use was there to waste his time working in someone else’s fields, when his father owned so many of his own?

“It’d be a conflict of interest,” he’d told Patroclus with an easy smile. “Bad for business, you understand.” 

Patroclus had laughed and they’d said nothing more about it, but the tinge of disappointment in Achilles’ eyes every time Patroclus has to miss one of the boys’ outings or basketball games is impossible not to notice. Perhaps it grates a little at Achilles, the same it does at him, that they aren’t spending all of their time together like they used to, like they have done every other summer since Patroclus came to Phthia. That they aren’t racing with their bikes down the empty dirt roads, leaving clouds of dust in their wake, or reading dusty books from Peleus’ library underneath the shade of the willow tree at the shed. That they don't... exist together as naturally and effortlessly as they once did.

But things aren’t quite the same between them now as they were back then. Since their row in the garage, Achilles has been a little quiet and aloof around him, not quite as eager to monopolise his time and company. And in the span of two months, Patroclus has been to the shed with Achilles all of five times and to the beach only once. During those times, he was careful not to linger too long, not to let the conversation drift towards… dangerous places. Not to sit too near, lean too close, touch. No funny business. 

It’s all for the best, Patroclus knows. The right and sensible thing to do. The line they’ve been walking with all of this has been far too thin; it was only a matter of time before it all blew up in their faces, surely, before someone found out or before their friendship started unraveling because of it. But he still can’t shake the feeling that he’s missing something essential, that he’s fucked up somehow. He doesn’t know how to fix it.

The echo of the ball’s dribble and the scattered conversations reach him before Patroclus turns the corner to the basketball court. It’s rather busy now that the sun has fallen a bit, and the bleachers are half full, younger kids from school or from the next village over. He spots Briseis and the other girls up on the third row, giggling amongst themselves as they watch the game. 

Briseis waves happily at him. “Took you longer than usual,” she tells him as he comes to sit next to her. “Does the future of Phthia’s winemaking rest solely on your very capable shoulders?” 

Read the rest on AO3!

[klaus-goldstein]

Dreaming in Silver and Gold

CHAPTER 25, Klaus/Liz, Rated: Explicit

Prologue \ Ch. 1 \ Ch. 2 \ Ch. 3 \ Ch. 4 \ Ch. 5 \ Ch. 6 \ Ch. 7 \ Ch. 8\ Ch. 9 \ Ch. 10 \ Ch. 11 \ Ch. 12 \ Ch. 13 \ Ch. 14 \ Ch. 15 \ Ch. 16\ Ch. 17 \ Ch. 18 \ Ch. 19 \ Ch. 20 \ Ch. 21 \ Ch. 22 \ Ch. 23 \ Ch. 24 \ Ch. 25 \

Demon au requested by @itsmeimcathy thanks for getting my butt back in gear and giving me awesome prompts. <3

Sorry for the delay in posting once again. Life has been crazy for the last *looks at watch* four years. Yikes. Tbh the reason it’s taken so long is I lost all confidence in my writing. I’ve decided to power through regardless of my feelings of inadequacy. Here we gooooo.

****Also there is Elias/Luca smut in the third section. It’s pretty much the whole of the third section.****

Fates weave their threads

Our lives are sewn

Born to a life

All but our own

We feel it inside our bones

It’s in the blood. - In the Blood from the ‘Hades’ soundtrack.

Liz closed her eyes as she adjusted the metal crown on her head. The elaborate piece was made of muted gold and encrusted with glittering white and black diamonds. It was heavy and it pressed into her messy chestnut-colored curls. Her eyes were lined elaborately with gold and charcoal, it contrasted against the bright color of her eyes and made her look mysterious. Her dress was simply cut with a high neck and long sleeves. The material was made from heavy gray velvet and she had to stop herself from constantly running her hands over the plush fabric. Embroidery made of golden thread covered the bodice and the sleeves. A train of sheer material fell from her shoulders and flowed behind her when she walked. Yellow diamonds were scattered across the train and shimmered like stars in a cloudy sky.

She approached the golden double doors and waited as the angels on either side of her threw them open. She was met with thunderous applause as she stepped onto the path in front of her. There was a multitude of angels lining the walkway and thousands more in the sky watching her.

A marble floor made of gold and silver stretched in front of her. The images of the angels hovering above reflected off of the polished stone. The setting sun cast hues of gold and pink off of the numerous clouds. A shimmering waterfall made of sparkling bronze water cascaded from a break in a cumulonimbus. Flowers spilled out of vases and lined the path Liz was walking. The aroma was heady and sweet. It swirled around her. Curtains of gossamer swayed in the breeze of the giant arched doorways that lined the balcony. 

A month ago she had been crowned as queen in the underworld without Klaus. It had felt like a betrayal to him to do something so impactful while he was somewhere alone and hurt. The archangels and demon council had argued that it would come across as a unified front if she was crowned now rather than later. Sadly, they were right. 

The week after she was crowned in the Underworld she was elected as the Archangel of the Sky, with stipulations. Sebastian would retain his power as an Archangel since he already knew how to manage it. Liz would work on learning to fly and developing her powers while also learning about the duties that Sebastian handled. When the council felt that she had grown into her power and position then they would do a power transfer. 

Elaine had been crowned as Goddess of the Underworld at the same time, with Demetre taking the silver crown and pledging his sword, shield, and protection to her. Liz wondered if he had already done that before many many millennia ago.

Elaine’s situation was complicated. She couldn’t entirely take on Klaus’ powers because he wasn’t there to give them up. When an archangel is elected their power is linked to their second in command so that they may have a sliver of it. Moira had discovered a spell that increased that sliver of power for Elaine and also sealed her off from Klaus slightly. The council was afraid of what was being done to Klaus under Ahaz and didn’t want Elain to be completely linked to Klaus if things went sideways. 

She was approaching the end of the path and the archangels and commanders came into view. They all smiled encouragingly at her. Elaine and Demetre were standing closest to the raised dais in front of Liz and they both looked powerful and intimidating. Elaine wore a crown made of black gold. Spikes of metal extended from the base of the crown. Her tresses of golden hair were braided around the base of the crown and the pointed metal. Her dress was black silk and strategic cutouts fashioned from black lace were sewn into the dress. It was striking and alluring. Demetre had his hand at her back and he was whispering into her ear. Elaine was laughing but she wasn’t looking at him she was looking at Sebastian. 

Sebastian was standing at the end of the path in full ceremonial armor. It was polished to gleaming gold. A shield was strapped across his back, and his baldric of knives was his only weapon. He winked at Elaine and it pulled the scars on his face as he grinned. When their gazes met Elaine blushed and returned the gesture to him. He smiled and shook his head before his gaze fell on Liz. 

He bowed to her, and despite all the chaos in her life, Liz smiled. This was exciting after all. She was about to be crowned as a goddess. Sebastian offered her his arm and Liz gripped it tight as they ascended the steps together. Sebastian fell into step behind her as they climbed the dais towards Moira. 

The sun was low in the sky behind Moira and rays of the setting sun framed her. The light bounced off the silver and diamonds covering her white dress. Her pure snow-colored wings extended behind her and she raised her arms to the sky. 

“Today,” Moira’s voice boomed and echoed through the space. She paused as she waited for the multitude to quiet down. “Today, we swear in a new archangel. In this time of turmoil, we look for new light. We continue on despite the threat at our doors and we lay the foundation for a strong future.”

Liz came to stand in front of her and Moira smiled down at her warmly. “Archangel, do you commit to serving the realm to the best of your ability?”

Liz cleared her throat slightly and took a deep breath. “I do.” 

“Do you promise to uphold law and justice, in mercy, and for it to be executed in all your judgments?” 

“I promise.”

“Do you promise to protect the realm and the people of the earth until your dying breath?”

“I do.”

Moira’s hands came to hover above Liz’s head. “Words have power and the vows you make are binding.” As she spoke light haloed around Liz’s head. It slithered down her shoulders and across her neck. “Breaking these vows have consequence. Should you ever forsake them you shall burn in the fires of the underworld forever.”

The halo settled on Liz’s head and she bent her knee to the scribe. “I understand.”

“Then rise and take your place as Goddess of the Sky.” 

Liz rose and the room erupted into applause. 

“Second,” Moria turned to Sebastian next. “Please kneel and state your vows.” Sebastian knelt in front of Liz and bowed his head baring his neck to her. 

“On bended knee, I swear to serve and protect my archangel and the realm, to serve the good of both, even if it costs my life. I swear to be brave and strong by sword or bow, in wilderness and cities, in the fires of the underworld and the weather of the skies. I swear to help govern and recommend judgment in good faith and understanding. All this to the best of my ability.” 

Moira handed Liz a sword and Sebastian extended his arms to take it from her. He slid the metal into the scabbard that ran down his spine. Moira then handed Liz a silver crown and she placed it on Sebastian’s blonde curls. 

Liz extended her hand to him and Sebastian rose to his feet. The crowd of angels cheered for their newest archangel and second. Liz smiled up at the bright sky and for just a moment she felt elated. 

-----------------

After the ceremony, Elaine opened up a portal to the underworld, and Liz, Sebastian, and Demetre stepped into the darkened realm. Without Klaus there the underworld seemed so dim and bleak. Everything was the same but there was no life to it. The garden was dull where there had been light previously. The temperature was cooler and the fog that naturally settled over the world was heavy and stifling. It seemed like all warmth was slowly seeping out of the realm. It was getting harder and harder for Liz to want to be there. Every time she went up to the surface for school or to the heavens it was a breath of fresh air.

Liz slowly crept into the room she shared with Klaus. Ever since she had seen Ravenna in there a month ago she was weary every time she entered her space. There didn’t seem to be anyone there and she relaxed as she began to take the pins out of her hair. She deposited them and her crown on her nightstand and shook her hair out. 

They hadn’t told Demetre about Ravenna yet. It was agreed that it would do him more harm than good to bring up her shade. After the encounter, she went to Sebastian and Elaine immediately and explained what she had seen and the cryptic message that Ravenna had given her. Neither knew what to make of it and that sat Liz’s teeth on edge. There were so many uncertain things surrounding her. Keeping her head above water was becoming increasingly more difficult.

No one had heard a whisper of Klaus or Ahaz since they disappeared and Liz was getting desperate. She wanted something, anything to happen. This time of limbo was driving her insane. Things were going well despite that though. The seraphim, demons, and angels had combined their councils and forces and were going through war strategies and plans daily. That seemed to be the one bright spot in all of this. Centuries-old tensions and discrepancies were slowly being healed and repaired. All parties involved were realizing just how much the gods had decayed the views of the others and they were doing away with it. 

They hadn’t seen or heard from Sigurd since that day in the council chamber when he appeared with the seraphim. Elaine had explained to Liz that it was because it was dangerous for him to get correspondence to them most of the time. Sometimes Klaus would go months without hearing from him. It was important that his cover remain intact. Liz understood that but it was frustrating to have someone so close to enemy lines and not have more information on Ahaz and Klaus or the rebel demons and seraphim. 

She walked into her closet and unzipped her coronation dress. She let it fall to the floor and she rolled her shoulders as her wings appeared at her back. The weight settled into her shoulders and she sighed. She was accustomed to her wings now. They could vanish and appear at will and she had full mobility over them. She still didn't know how on earth to fly. For now, she was focusing on learning to use her magic in this new form. Sebastian had decided that they needed to focus on that before they started on her flying. 

She had also begun weapons training with Isidore and Natalia. That hadn’t done anything to improve her relationship with Isidore. She had a certain respect for him sure, he was brilliant when it came to fighting, but that didn’t make him any less a pain in her neck. Luckily Natalia usually kept him in check. Her favorite weapon right now was a spear and she wasn’t half bad at it. At least she thought so, Idisore didn’t agree. 

She dressed quickly with a snap of her fingers in a pair of black silk pants and an oversized black sweater. She braided her hair out of her face and pulled on a pair of fuzzy socks. That sort of magic came easy to her.

 She made her way to the library at the center of the archives. That is where the oldest books in the underworld were located.  In her spare time, she was researching poisons and antidotes in an attempt to gain some knowledge about the poison coursing through Demetre’s veins. Daphne was tackling the library in the heavens while Liz was working in the underworld. 

Today however she found Daphne in the underworld with books scattered across the tables. The other angel looked tired and Liz frowned. She hadn’t seen her at the coronation and knew that it was probably because she was down here searching through the endless texts. Daphne was working the hardest out of all of them in preparation for what was to come. When she wasn’t dealing with her specific duties as Charis’ second, she was researching Demetre’s anatomy and expanding her knowledge of poisons and binding spells. For some reason, she was taking her lack of knowledge personally. Daphne told Liz once that it was her job to know how to counteract poisons. The fact that she couldn’t figure out Demetre’s poison was slowly breaking her. 

“You look like hell,” Liz said as she sat down across from Daphne. She was starting to learn that bluntness was the easiest way to communicate with Daphne. The angel appreciated honesty over deception and pretty words. Daphne preferred to dish lovely words and deception instead of receiving them. 

“Thank you so very much.” Daphne clipped as she turned the page in her book. She didn’t even look up. 

“I mean it, when was the last time you slept.” 

Daphne finally looked up at her and the circles under her eyes were dark. “I don’t remember.”

Liz sighed and drummed her fingers impatiently against the table. She realized that it was a habit she had picked up from Sebastian. “You need to sleep.”

“I need to find the components of this potion.” Daphne huffed.

Daphne buried her head into her book and tried to physically dismiss Liz. She tried a different tactic. “You aren’t any use if you’re too tired to think straight.”

The book in Daphne’s hand snapped shut and Liz knew she had won. Daphne directed her hardened gaze to Liz and threaded her fingers together. Liz fought the urge to audibly gulp. Sometimes she forgot how scary Daphne could be. Now she was going to turn that sharp mind on Liz instead of her book.

“And what about you Liz?” Daphne asked all too innocently. Her eyes were wide and her expression a practiced softness. Anyone else would see it as honest concern but Liz could see through it a mile away. The more she was around Daphne the more she could see why she and Klaus didn’t work out. They were far too cunning and similar. No, Daphne’s concern was a calculated assessment and it was searching out weaknesses. 

“Having any nightmares lately?” Liz winced but held Daphne’s stare. “Any visions? Any sleepless nights? Panic attacks?”

Liz sighed and tilted her head. “Look, I didn’t say you couldn’t come back and continue but you need a break. Let me research a bit and go and sleep. Hell, you don’t even have to leave there’s a couch over there in front of that painting. Take a cat nap.” 

Daphne held her gaze before standing from her chair and smoothing out her sweater. “Fine.”

“Fine,” Liz replied.

“You’re such a mother hen,” Daphne grumbled under her breath as she made her way over to the couch at the far end of the stacks. She snapped her fingers and a pillow and blanket appeared. She threw her cover over her while she continued complaining under her breath. 

“Night Daph,” Liz said as she glanced down at her book. 

“Yeah yeah,” Daphne grumbled. 

Liz smiled to herself and soon she could hear Daphne breathing softly. The stillness crept into the archives and Liz let it consume her for a bit. After about an hour she heard Daphne stir and she watched her friend sit up against the couch and rub her eyes. 

“Feel better?” Liz asked.

“Yes,” Daphne said quietly. “I’m sorry for snapping at you.” 

“It’s alright.”

“It’s just,” Daphne trailed off and Liz waited on her to continue. “I feel like this stuff with Demetre is on my shoulders. There has never been a poison I couldn’t counter. I’ve studied extensively for hundreds of years to make sure that I have the tools and knowledge necessary to combat what I need to combat and heal. I’m not in the habit of being wrong or without knowledge. I’m taking it personally.”

“Gods you and Klaus are too similar.” Liz sighed. Daphne glared at her and got up from the couch to come and sit across from her. “It’s not your job to know everything. That isn’t possible. I know that breaks your heart to hear.” Daphne rolled her eyes and Liz continued. “Work with what you have. Theodora, Randy, you, and I are working on this. Between the four of us, we should be able to figure it out. It’s just going to take some time. We have about a million years of source material to go over.” 

Suddenly a flash of smoke broke into existence next to them and Demetre appeared. He didn’t say anything just rolled up the sleeve of his dress shirt and held his arm out to Daphne. The material pulled over his sculpted chest but Liz could see that he was thinner than the last time they had looked him over. His body was doing well to sustain him but she could see the small changes little by little that reminded her that they were losing.

“I’m ready for the midday torture.” He said sarcastically. They had been drawing his blood three times a day and searching his vitals to monitor them and see if there were any changes in his body. 

Daphne blinked up at him and Liz thought for a second she was going to murder him. That’s one thing about this situation that was becoming increasingly comical. Demetre and Daphne despised each other. They grated on each other’s nerves and both were sharp-tongued enough to cut the other down to size. Liz enjoyed watching them interact. 

Daphne didn’t say a word. She grabbed his wrist and Liz saw Demetre wince at her grip. 

“Ouch.” he hissed and Daphne flashed him a fanged smile. She slid her fingers lightly up his arms as she felt for his veins. When she was satisfied she snapped her fingers and a syringe appeared in her grasp. She drew his blood quickly and Demetre watched her intently. Liz watched as golden ichor filled the vial and Daphne finished her task. She handed Demetre a bandage. And he wrapped it around himself. 

“Are you going to kiss it and make it better?” He asked. Liz saw his eyes dancing in amusement. 

Daphne hurled a book at his head and he disappeared before it made an impact with his skull. It drifted through the space he had occupied and slid across the floor. 

“You know, maybe I’m not so bent out of shape about saving him,” Daphne said quietly. 

Liz laughed and went back to her research. 

-------------------------------------

“Ventos!”

Elias dodged Luca’s spell easily and spun to grab at him. His black claws glinted in the light and Luca jumped back to avoid them. 

“Apareo umbra!” 

A perfect copy of Luca appeared and began to engage Elias in magical combat. The umbra held Elias’ attention and Luca used this time to begin to corner Elias against the wall. 

They had been training for weeks in Luca’s defenses. He was a talented wizard and was more than capable with a wand. Elias was concerned about how well he could handle himself in stressful situations. Being naturally skilled in magic was one thing but using it in combat was a different beast entirely. Elias wasn’t going to risk Luca being defenseless against a demon or a Seraphim. 

So they practiced daily much to Luca’s dismay. Luca’s magic burned fast and strong which gave him the initial advantage in battle. However, they soon discovered that tactic cost him precious magic as the fight went on. So, Elias had begun tackling his stamina, making him fight longer, learning how to siphon every drop of magic out of himself, and making sure that he used his magical reserves accurately. 

Elias pierced the umbra with a blast of light and watched as the copy disintegrated in front of him. He was about to lunge at Luca again when Luca unleashed another spell on him. 

“Funus captis!” 

A chain of light shot out of Luca’s wand and clamped onto Elias’ wrist. The chain flew to the wall throwing Elias back off of his feet and stuck to the marble behind him. He tried to move his arm but it was held tight by the chain of magic. He put all of his immortal strength into pulling his arm off of the wall. It moved slightly before slamming back against the stone. 

Luca walked towards him slowly twirling his wand. “Well well, that’s 6 to 5. I guess I’m winning now.”

Elias barred his teeth at him and Luca’s gin widened. Elias saw Luca’s grin falter slightly as he assessed Elias’ mental state. The other week they had been training like this and Luca had made the mistake of restraining Elias’ body entirely. The demon had immediately gone into a panic attack when he couldn’t get out of his bonds. Luca didn’t think that being confined like that would’ve had that reaction and neither did Elias. It made sense though. The last time Elias had been restrained he had his wings cleaved from his body. 

Luca had been careful not to fully restrain him after that. Always leaving him mostly in control of his movements and position. He always restrained him enough to keep him at bay and nothing more. When he saw that Elias was fine he continued his gloating. 

“It must be so hard for you to be beaten by a human.” 

Elias narrowed his gaze at him. “What you are has nothing to do with it. Talent isn’t bound to a specific species.”

“Still,” Luca was standing inches in front of him now and clasped his hands behind his back. “Must sting a little. I mean you are what…thousands of years old right? I’m just decades out of the wound. How humiliating.” 

“Ha ha,” Elias replied dryly. “Let me out of this spell and I would be happy to show you a few thousand years of experience.”

“And what type of experience would that be?” Luca’s eyes danced suddenly and Elias had the sneaking suspicion that they were no longer talking about magic. Luca took a final step toward him and Elias gulped as Luca’s scent engulfed him. Eucalyptus with a hind of lilac. Elias quieted his pounding heart and let his eyes darken as his smile widened. He was aware he was letting his fangs show and watched as Luca swallowed. Good. Elias wondered if sometimes Luca forgot what he was. He couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. 

He still had a free hand and he could get out of the bond at his wrist if he took the time to break apart the spell. He wanted to see where this went.

Elias shrugged. “Like I said let me out of these bonds and we’ll see.” Luca muttered another “funus captis” and Elias felt his other wrist hit the wall. 

Interesting. 

He waited for any hint of panic to set in and when it didn’t he tilted his head at Luca in question. 

Luca brushed against Elias, his left hand running up his chest and his fingers splaying the length of that side of his neck. Luca’s thumb ran up the column of his throat in the smallest whisper of a touch and it made Elias shiver. 

“Maybe in a minute. I’m quite enjoying being able to touch you freely.” Luca murmured, his lips just a breath from Elias’.

The wand was gone and Luca’s other hand splayed across his ribs and drifted around his back. He pressed Elias against him. Luca’s eyes searched his for a moment and Elias took a deep breath.

“I’m fine,” Elias reassured him. 

Luca’s hands drifted. The one at his neck slid into his hair while the second one traced the curve of his hip. Elias shifted against him and tugged at the bonds slightly. The hand at his hip slid under his shirt and Luca’s nails scratched lightly at the bone of his hip that jutted above the waist of his pants. Elias hissed and Luca smiled.

He kissed him then, finally. It began softly with their lips barely pressing against each other. Elias smiled against the kiss and he felt Luca do the same. Then the hand at his hip pulled him flush against Luca. 

The kiss was no longer soft then. They kissed desperately, all gentleness was gone and an urgency slipped into their actions. They suddenly couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t feel enough, couldn’t taste enough. 

“Get these damn bonds off of me right now,” Elias said when they finally came up for air. 

Luca’s wand appeared again suddenly and the bonds were gone. Elias moved them from the training area of the castle, where they were, to his bedroom. The teleportation tore at them almost like it could sense their urgency. When they reappeared they staggered slightly before drifting back together. 

Elias’ hands were in Luca’s hair and he was bending down to capture his lips again as Luca righted himself from their hurried teleportation. Luca’s hands clamped around Elias’ waist his hands freely grasping at his back, his hip, the curve of his ass. 

Elias gently pushed Luca against a bookshelf and cupped his face and deepened their kiss. His leg drifted between Luca’s legs and he ground against them. Elias tore away from him and inhaled deeply as he caught his breath. Luca took the opportunity to kiss up the side of his neck, capturing his earlobe with his teeth. 

Suddenly wings exploded from Elias’ back. It made Luca jump a little, sometimes he forgot that Elias had wings again. Elias brought his wings down and they engulfed them. The light filtering through the tips of the feathers cast a light blue tint around them. The heat of the wings and Elias’ body against him was driving him mad. He ground against Elias again now completely aware of both of their body's reactions. 

They had been in this position again and again for the last few weeks. Usually, someone would interrupt, or one of them would break away awkwardly, or something in the underworld would need Elias’ immediate attention. Luca was so damn frustrated he had been taking cold showers daily. 

Today though nothing happened. No interruptions occurred. The underworld was quiet. Neither of them seemed inclined to pull away. 

And that is how Luca found himself still pressed against the bookshelf with Elias on his knees in front of him. 

Luca had seen a lot of beautiful things in his life. The view of Elias kneeling in front of him though had to take the cake. His wings were spread and limp on either side of him. The warm light from the fire reflected lightly off the blonde of his hair and it gave him an ethereal glow. Elias’ eyes met his, black to green. 

Elias reached up and undid the button at Luca’s waist and shimmied his pants and undergarments down his hips. His erection bobbed between them and Luca swallowed thickly. 

“So help me, you better put the fangs away or I’m going to murder you.”

Elias laughed softly before giving Luca a sarcastic smile. The fangs were gone and Luca motioned for Elias to continue. Elias dragged his tongue up the length of his shaft and Luca felt like he was going to burst into flames.  

Elias licked him a couple of times like that, long and slow before his lips closed around the head of his cock. Luca fought the urge to thrust into his mouth and instead tangled his fingers in Elias’ hair. Elias took him in inch by inch and every little movement rocketed Luca toward his orgasm. 

“Gods you look so beautiful like that.” Luca breathed out. 

Elias peaked up at him through his lashes. Luca did thrust into his mouth then and gasped when Elias took all of him. His fingers tugged on Elias’ hair lightly and he felt him moan around his cock. Luca closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling as he thrust in and out. 

Elias pulled back all the way and Luca gasped as he took him to the hilt. Elias repeated that over and over and the slow pace was enough to undo him. He thrust into Elias’ mouth again and the demon let him. He kept him there and Luca moaned as Elias’ tongue flicked against his shaft. 

He was going to cum.

He was about to pull out but when he tried Elias grabbed the back of his thighs, his talons scraping at the sensitive skin there. He kept Luca against him as he came with a whine down Elias’ throat. 

Luca barely had a moment to collect his thoughts before he was tugged by his collar to the couch in front of the fireplace. Elias pushed him down onto the settee none too gently and placed a hand on his chest. Elias perched a knee next to Luca’s hip on the couch and positioned the other between his legs. 

Elias freed himself and all of Luca’s focus went to Elias’ cock. He was rock hard and leaking precum. Luca raised up to do something about that but Elias pushed him back down onto the cushions below him. The hand at his chest was making quick work of the buttons of his shirt while Elias’ other hand began to stroke himself. 

Luca realized that Elias was about to cum all over his chest and it sent a thrill up his spine. 

Luca noted how he stroked himself. The slight twist of his hand near the head of his cock, the way his breath hitched as he got closer to his orgasm, the way his muscles bunched. Elias’ wings were taut and raised behind him. 

Luca watched his fathomless black eyes and suddenly realized he was wrong. The sight of Elias kneeling before him wasn’t his favorite view. This was. Elias was the most gorgeous creature he had ever seen. 

Elias let out a low growl as warm streaks of cum slid across Luca’s chest. They held each other's gaze and Luca raised on his elbows so he could press his forehead against Elias’. Elias closed his eyes at the gesture and pressed a kiss to Luca’s temple. 

Luca’s stomach took the opportunity to growl in the silence and Elias huffed out a laugh.

“Let’s bathe and then I would appreciate it if you could take me to the surface for food,” Luca said.

Elias pushed off the settee and began to straighten his clothes. “Or,”

Luca was watching the way Elias fiddled with his cufflinks. Elias continued.

“You could do up your shirt and fix your clothes and I could take you to the surface. That way anyone who comes across us is going to know what you and I just did because you smell like me.”

“Who knew Elias was so naughty.” Luca laughed and Elias helped him to his feet. 

 ------------------------------------------------

He opened his eyes with a soft grunt and immediately winced at the tightness in his chest left behind by hours of hanging from the chains that supported him. Klaus was tall but even he struggled to stand on his tiptoes in order to keep his full weight off his arms and shoulders. He could feel his pulse hammering through his veins and secretly hated it for keeping him alive. He spat old blood onto the dirty floor and sighed, long and low. 

Right. He was in Ahaz’s hideout, still. He knew he had been there about a month based on the passage of the sun he could see from the small windows near the top of the wall. He had painstakingly kept count of the days. He sighed through his nose and glanced up at the ceiling with a critical eye. There was a series of hooks connected above him. There was no way he was getting out of this without help. He was so incredibly bored and tired. 

He had listened to Ravenna and played nice with Ahaz. Klaus gave up bits and pieces about the underworld and the heavens. Nothing that would harm either realm but it was enough to keep the torture at bay. While uncomfortable, they had yet to torture him in a way that made him desperate. This was child’s play. 

He still didn’t understand Ravenna’s end game. She apparently saw a conflict between the angels and the gods but that seemed so impossible. The gods had been dead for millennia, their souls toiling away in the deepest parts of the underworld. It was impossible to bring a soul back to the world of the living.

Well, it was also impossible for a shade to remain on the earth and yet, there was Ravenna. 

Klaus was quickly learning that the impossible didn’t apply to their lives. They were angels of course, with powers that they had stolen. Technically anything was possible. He spent his solitude trying to mull through the possibilities and implications. If the gods could get out that meant that the underworld wasn’t as secure as they believed. Which was a problem on so many levels. 

Then there was the immediate danger if the gods were released. Would the angels have the resources to take them on again? They had the veteran archangels of course but they also had a lot of young archangels. He had never seen combat on the scale of a cosmic war. Even with the powers of the gods at their disposal it seemed bleak. There were still things about their powers they didn’t understand even after all these years. If the gods broke free from the underworld then surely the souls of the damned and the demons would follow. While those souls may not be loyal to the gods they would create havoc which would make it harder for the angels to focus on the problem of the gods and only the gods. 

Then there was his role in all of this. Ravenna said he needed to unleash his horseman form for there to be a chance at keeping the gods at bay. That also spelled havoc for the world. In that form he was uncontrollable and his only goal would be to bring death. Which is why he also wondered why Ahaz wanted to. If Ahaz unleashed him he could easily kill Ahaz, his followers, and everyone else. Was his goal ultimate destruction?

Klaus didn’t think so. Ahaz had survived too long to just give it up. He wanted power. This meant that Ahaz was confident that he could leash Klaus like the angels had done. That made Klaus uneasy because if Ahaz did manage to leash him then he would be used as a weapon against his friends and loved ones. 

He did know one thing. He was going to tear Ahaz limb from limb when he did escape this. He would escape this. He had too much to do and a life too precious to die in this dingy dungeon. 

Klaus missed Liz terribly. He hadn’t realized how integral she was to his daily life until she wasn’t there. He missed the touch of her skin, her warmth, but most importantly he missed her smile. He just wanted to see her, wanted to see her eyes meet his and that beautiful smile grace her features. He hoped she was doing well. Really hoped that his disappearance hadn’t shattered her. 

Klaus knew it had. He also knew it would fuel her. Liz was determined. If anyone was in danger she was going to save them. She was stupidly gallant like that. It was one of the things Klaus loved about her. He just hoped she was smart about it. She was coming for him, he knew it.

He just had to hold on. 

[tokiro07]

Ch. 137 thoughts

[Anyone Know a Good Vet? Cus These Pythons Are Wicked Sick!]

I am looking at Fuuko respectfully...👀

So Fuuko’s Unluck summoned Feng, to Nico’s confusion, and Fuuko explains that she has no control over what form Unluck takes, which is...not entirely true, but I guess it’s not a lie either. Fuuko is beholden to what is available to be drawn in; if it’s stormy, she can focus on making lightning or hail, but if there’s not a cloud in the sky she can’t spontaneously change the weather, it would definitely take some time at the very least, and Unluck seems to take the most convenient thing

If there’s cars around, she could reliably make one hit her target, but if she were in a barren field she’d be limited to something like an earthquake or a meteor. She can’t make literally any Unluck happen, but if she can identify her options, she can presumably choose from them

Feng having an established dynamic with Fuuko is really fun, with him viewing her as a rival martial artist when originally she was without question the weakest fighter that the Union had. Honestly knowing that he’s been chasing after her and she’s basically been manipulating that to get him to defeat UMAs for her...there’s a certain flavor of romance in that, y’know? 

Feng notes that Fuuko hasn’t aged since their first meeting and attributes this to her grasp of her soul, implying that Feng has retained his youth because he has somehow gained definitive knowledge of his own soul the way he did at the tail-end of Loop 100. Presumably this is a “young as you feel” kind of deal or an inverse of Andy’s vision of his soul being an old man; whereas Andy views himself as an old soul, Feng views himself as a peak human (hence his name), so if he found a way to superimpose the image of his soul onto his aging body, then of course he’d be able to overcome the weakness of Unfade being tied to its activation date. Also fitting that Feng has gained the ability to retain his youth in the same arc that we’re being reintroduced to Gina, whose Unchange only allowed her to fake retaining her youth rather than literally doing so. Perhaps Gina will learn to control her soul as well?

As Fuuko prepares for battle she lets down her hair; once a symbol of reclusion, her long hair is now a symbol of her confidence in her abilities, as she weaponizes it as a method to impart a small dose of Unluck into Feng in order to manipulate the ground and momentarily trap him. She’s also an incredibly difficult opponent for a martial artist, because any contact with her can create Unluck, so taking a hit is a small sacrifice if it means that the opponent only ends up damaging themselves

It’s also worth noting that part of Fuuko’s agreement with Feng is that he won’t kill anyone; him being able to keep that promise undoubtedly makes Feng more likable and endearing to Fuuko, ironically making Unluck more effective on him

Fuuko finishes the match with a Tetsuzanko, an attack that we learned in Shen’s flashback is well-suited for fighters with minimal skill/strength; Fuuko clearly isn’t as experienced as Feng, Andy or Shen, but she only really needs a move that will allow her to make contact, so it ends up being the perfect move for her to use. And she looks great doing it, too

I especially love her bandoliers, they give the impression of the iron rings used in Hung Gar. I’m a huge fan of the arm-warmer aesthetic, and knowing that the weight of the bullets probably increases her striking power makes them even cooler

I do wish that we could have seen Fuuko actually training with Shen and Mui, especially since this clearly took place during the three month timeskip between Unrepair and the Four Seasons (the last time she would have had any free time not taken up by being Under’s prisoner or a literal ghost, and considering that Shen isn’t a Jiangshi here), but hopefully the anime will give us a few clips here and there for moments like this

I also appreciate that we’re getting everyone’s full names one by one; Shen Xiang and Feng Kowloon in this instance. Without seeing the hanzi, obviously I can’t say for sure what they mean, but Kowloon means “nine dragons.” Weirdly, though, Kowloon is (as far as I can find) an anglicized corruption of the the Cantonese pronunciation (gaulung) and not the Mandarin, as everything else about Feng has been. In Mandarin it would have been jiulong, but the Japanese pronunciation is kuron, which is definitely closer to the Cantonese than the Mandarin, so that’s likely what they went with here. I imagine it draws from the Cantonese because it’s in direct reference to the city in Hong Kong, but I’m not an etymologist. Either way, I can’t fault Tozuka for going with the Japanese pronunciation in a Japanese manga, nor can I fault David Evelyn for basing his translation directly off of the material’s language and not another one that he probably doesn’t know. It’s like how Shen’s name should be “Zhen,” but the “zh” sound doesn’t really exist in Japanese and making his name “Shin” would defeat the purpose. If it were translated to Chinese I’m sure they’d go with what’s the most appropriate for the dialect, but it’s being translated to English from Japanese, so this is really what makes the most sense

Feng asks Fuuko what she believes it takes to be “the strongest,” and in regular fashion, she says she doesn’t know, as she’s seen many people be strong in different ways, but concludes that the unifying factor between all of them was their dedication and love for each other. Feng disagrees, but acknowledges that he lost and thus any argument he has to the contrary is currently moot, so he resolves to prove Fuuko wrong. However, we can be sure that this is step one in his development, and he will come to see the truth (or SHEN!) in Fuuko’s words, and will become strong because he takes Fuuko’s advice to take on Shen as a pupil. Shen once asked Feng if he ever considered him and Mei to be family, and under the influence of Untruth Feng said no; I’ve always taken this to be ambiguous between “lying because of Untruth” and “speaking the truth because of Untruth,” as we had seen both of those functions in the preceding chapters, but this arc is undoubtedly going to provide the answer as the former (especially after we saw Feng come in to make the save at the end of Loop 100)

As Feng makes his exit and his promise to kill Fuuko and Shen, Fuuko declares “sick. Wicked sick,” which frankly just absolutely gut punched me. She knows Feng’s gonna become a dad, all according to plan. She’s so devious now, I love her

Fuuko and Gina officially become friends, and Fuuko gives Gina her uniform, which I guess makes her the first official member of Fuuko’s Union! I guess Ichico counts, but I’m not really sure from this moment

The chapter ends with Fuuko digging up Apocalypse, confirming that the quests haven’t actually started yet, which more or less confirms that the punishments haven’t been introduced yet. This only confuses the issue on why the stars were present a few chapters ago, though, as Galaxy shouldn’t exist yet. I’m starting to wonder if that was just an error or if there’s going to be an explanation for it? Either way, I’m really excited to see the earlier quests and their potential punishments and rewards, and any Negators that might be introduced in the meantime. I’m not really expecting new Negators, but I am hoping for some (as they are my favorite part, obviously)

This arc has gotten better and better each chapter for me, so I am psyched for this next phase. See y’all next week when I gush over whatever else we learn!

[steadybelieverpersona]

Ch.28: The Fond Farewell

Paimon: Is it... finally over?

Moon Carver: The ominous aura of that monster has indeed begun to fade. The effects of the Sigil of Permission last but a short time. It will be some time before the Overlord of the Vortex can make any waves again.

Ningguang: We are indebted to you for your assistance. If the adepti hadn't happened to be here, the future of Liyue Harbor would surely have been in great jeopardy...

Cloud Retainer: Hmph, save your flattery. We didn't just "happen" to be here... Surely you won't pretend to have forgotten the reason for which we came?

Madame Ping: Come now, there's no need for such harsh words, Cloud Retainer. I've heard that when Ningguang began learning to do business, she had already started setting aside part of her then-limited income in preparation for building the Jade Chamber. At first, it was only the size of a small room. But with continued expansion, it has become the palace that lies before you now. It is a testament to Ningguang's entire life, both as a businesswoman and as the backbone of the Liyue Qixing. Seeing the Jade Chamber destroyed in the defense of Liyue means much to her. To me, such cooperation and sacrifice deserves at least some recognition, don't you agree?

Ningguang: Well, I was really hoping you would say that such sacrifice could at least be used as some leverage in our negotiations.

Madame Ping: ...Heh.

Ningguang: Thank you all for hearing me out. We know very well why the adepti came here today... But please forgive us, we cannot yield to your wishes.

Moon Carver: Oh?

Ningguang: 3,700 years... According to our records, the adepti signed a contract with Rex Lapis to protect Liyue 3,700 years ago. Even to this very day, Liyue and its lands have stood the test of time, immovable as stone, just as it was thousands of years before. This is truly no small feat. But that does not mean that Liyue today is the same city as it was all those years ago. Do not merely cast your protective gaze upon the land. Instead, focus your sights on our city and each of the citizens that dwell within it.

Moon Carver: Are you questioning our means of protecting Liyue?

Mountain Shaper: Hmm...

Ningguang: I mean no offense. I simply hope that our new adepti forebearers would see Liyue in a new light.

Cloud Retainer: Hah, "forebearers," you say. One doubts you would be fit to be part of such a lineage...

Ningguang: This morning, Rex Lapis appeared to me in a dream.

Cloud Retainer: What?

Ningguang: In the dream, I yearned to tell him that we Qixing, though mortal, are equally bound to the contract. Each passing generation of the Qixing leaves many things of value to be inherited by the next generation. I also thought to tell him how the past generations of Qixing had strove under his rule to survive in our mortal world, establishing a network of contracts which has since come to be known as "trade." But I dared not speak. I could only gaze at him in silence until the moment I awoke.

Paimon: Aw, Ningguang...

Y/n: We're all on the same side here...

Cloud Retainer: Yet another perspective... What are you trying to say, Y/n?

Y/n: When there is discord between the guardians and those they were meant to defend... Harmony becomes very difficult to restore.

Paimon: Right, that's something that happened in Mondstadt — it's a story about the Four Winds and the people of the Anemo Archon. The Anemo Archon sought to quell the strife between the two sides, because he believed that such conflict would only scar the hearts of both and that nothing good would come of it...

Aether: This is what we learned in the City of Freedom.

Y/n: Each of the Seven Nations has its own scars from the past.

Mountain Shaper: Though your point is the very height of simplicity... As adepti, we've become a laughingstock, to be chastised thus by an outlander who has lent us such succor.

Madame Ping: Alright, alright. Didn't Ningguang suggest that we should focus on the city and each of its citizens? I know I already have, so why not see for yourselves?

Fengyan: I apologize for appearing in full armor. I'm afraid I cannot show the proper courtesies.

Moon Carver: And who are you?

Fengyan: I am Fengyan, a sergeant of the Millelith. I have come to extend my thanks to the adepti. I thought this battle would perhaps be my last. But thanks to the aid of the adepti, our forces were not as badly battered as I feared we might be. Although I am a mere mortal soldier, I promise to hold the line and never betray the grace given to us by the illuminated adepti this day.

Moon Carver: ...

Xiao: ...

Soon, a little girl ran to the scene

Changchang: Huh? Why does everyone look so down? Didn't we just beat that big monster?

Madame Ping: Hahaha! Weren't you frightened, dear? It was quite the predicament...

Changchang: I wasn't afraid. All the strong Millelith guards were there, and those powerful heroes with their Visions were there... Everyone was there! When danger is near, everyone always protects me. And the rest of the time, they make fun toys, and tasty snacks, and... and loads of things that make the harbor so pretty! Thanks for protecting Liyue Harbor! Please come visit us for the next Lantern Rite!

Xiao: Unfortunately, we wouldn't be able to participate.

Changchang: Huh?

Xiao: Because we are adepti.

Changchang: Oh, okay... It must be hard being an adeptus.

Paimon: Aww...

Madame Ping: You see, this is what Liyue is like today. The country of contracts is grateful to the adepti for their protection. But it is no longer necessary for the city to rely on the adepti's power to solve every little niggling matter. Although their blood is weak, there is still strength to be found in those we call mortals... The time of contracts between gods and Liyue has long since passed. Now is the time of contracts between Liyue and its people.

Mountain Shaper: Hmm, seeing the port around us now, it is hard not to feel a bit out of place... wouldn't you say so, Cloud Retainer?

Cloud Retainer: Your line of inquiry is askew. One did not spearhead this expedition to Liyue Harbor...

Paimon: Hmm... seems like the adepti have had a change of heart.

Aether: They've listened to what the people have said. And they're trying to understand things from their perspective.

Xiao: Let us return now.

Moon Carver: ...Eager to leave, Conqueror of Demons?

Madame Ping: Hehehe...

Mountain Shaper: Yes, one understands what the Conqueror of Demons means. The city of Liyue has changed much after our long separation. One fears that by the time one finally grasps the new contracts of Liyue, you humans would have once again changed the place beyond recognition. Fair enough. Away we shall, and return whence we came... *flies off*

Moon Carver: Hmph... Since we adepti have consensus, then one shall persist no further. But how will we ensure that the Liyue Qixing will not simply exploit their power once we depart? In my view, that is still a thing to be guarded against...

Ningguang: *chuckles*

Madame Ping: Alright, Moon Carver. You needn't worry. It seems to me that this right of supervision is best left to the people of Liyue.

Paimon: Whew... Looks like the conflict between humans and adepti was avoided. All's well that ends well, huh?

Y/n: You can say that again... The adepti were quite reasonable in the end...

Paimon: Oh, right! It's nice that we've got peace and all, but we're forgetting one thing! Childe wanted to unleash the god so he could lure Rex Lapis out! But we were able to handle the Overlord of the Vortex on our own... So Rex Lapis never showed up! Oh, and speaking of that — don't we still need to get to the bottom of that archon's "death," too? Paimon doesn't get it... But, isn't the strongest lead we have the adepti-less Rite of Parting that we're organizing? No idea where Zhongli's gone. Let's ask for him at Wangsheng Funeral Parlor.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Ferrylady: Is there anything I can do for you two? I'm afraid that Wangsheng Funeral Parlor isn't in the best state to receive guests.

Paimon: We've come to see Zhongli. Could you please tell him we're here?

Ferrylady: Unfortunately, Zhongli isn't here at the moment. It seems he went to Northland Bank.

Paimon: Doesn't the Northland Bank belong to the Fatui? Last time we saw Zhongli was before we went to the Golden House... Do you think he doesn't know about the attack on Liyue? Visiting the Fatui at a time like this could only mean more trouble! We had better go and make sure that everything is okay.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Childe: You call this "cooperation between Harbingers"? Cooperation involves communication, you know...

Signora: Hehe, don't take it to heart, Childe. Besides, weren't you happy that you got to skip the formalities and bring chaos to the land? I'm sure you must've enjoyed that......Oh, it seems that some of your friends have arrived.

Paimon: Hey, it's Zhongli and Childe! And... you! You're also one of the Harbingers...

Aether: Signora!

Signora: Haha, it's you two. I believe we've met once before... In the City of Bards, was it? I'm glad you still remember my name. Ah, right. I imagine that it must have been rather hard to forget watching helplessly as something precious was snatched away from your friend.

Aether: "Breathe... Just stay calm." I still have time to take it back.

Y/n: No, don't let her get to you, Aether...

Paimon: You've yet to gather the powers of all seven elements, and our last battle at the Golden House was almost more than you could handle... So it might be best to keep things peaceful this time, seeing that two of the Harbingers are here.

Childe: Well, if it isn't Aether and Y/n. This is our first time seeing each other since Liyue was nearly wiped off the map. This is certainly a bit... awkward, wouldn't you say?

Paimon: Hmph, Paimon knew that we should never have trusted a Fatui Harbinger.

Childe: Aw, now don't say that. Sure, I may have misled you, but I never had anything against you personally... Besides, I thought we were getting along quite well together, didn't you? Except for that little tussle we had at the end... Haha. Nothing personal, we just have... different views, that's all. Of course, you may very well hold this against me, but that's up to you... The real deceivers here are Signora and Zhongli... curse them for leading me on.

Aether: Signora and Zhongli?

Childe: So actually, I think—

Signora: Stop wasting time, Childe. There'll be plenty of time to chat once I'm through here. You remember the agreement, Morax. Now, if you would be so kind... The Gnosis, please.

Aether: Agreement? Gnosis?

Y/n: *looks at Zhongli* Dad? What is she talking about?

Paimon: What in the world are you talking about!?

Zhongli: ... The contract is fulfilled. That which thou seeketh is now bestowed unto thee, for my promise is solid as stone.

Signora: Hmph, how sanctimonious...

Aether: So Zhongli is actually Rex Lapis?

Paimon: What! So you're the Lord of Geo? No, wait! That's an exciting twist and all — but why give the Gnosis to the Fatui!?

Zhongli: I do not give it for free. I give it as agreed upon in the contract... for it is a matter solely between the Tsaritsa and I. You have to understand this Y/n

Y/n: I'm afraid I don't understand... why did you feign your death?

Paimon: Yeah, you don't think you went a little bit too far with that whole fake death thing!? Everyone was preparing the ceremony for you when splat, this big dragon falls out of the sky and all of Liyue goes into an uproar. Talk about a disaster!

Signora: Hehe... Gathering all the forces that had been bubbling behind the scenes, and then stirring them together in a pot that was bound to boil over... That's what he wanted to see, am I right?

Paimon: Wait... what?

Zhongli: Perhaps it's best that I explain. As you know, I've dwelt upon this world for more than six thousand years. It is now 3,700 years ago that I founded Liyue together with the adepti. Even boulders that can withstand whirlpools will erode with the passing of time. I kept convincing myself that cracks had not begun to form and that the end of my time had not yet come. Until one drizzly day, as I was strolling along the harbor, I heard a merchant tell one of his workers, "You've finished your duties, go ahead and call it a day." I stood motionless among the crowds, asking myself, "Have I already finished my duties?"

Paimon: Oh, Zhongli...

Zhongli: But as I began to consider relinquishing my divine role, I soon discovered that many reasons still remained to not hastily depart. Was Liyue, the city I had dwelt in for so long, already prepared to enter its next age? I decided that a test was needed in order to reveal the answer. So I feigned my own death, and gathered the cast of Childe, the adepti, and the Liyue Qixing to play their roles together on the stage that was Liyue.

Aether: So, were you satisfied with the finale?

Zhongli: Indeed, I was. The Gnosis I had kept for so many years suddenly seemed to have lost its meaning.

Y/n: *chuckles nervously* Let me guess — you had another plan in case it all burned down.

Zhongli: That's right, which is why I continued to safeguard the Gnosis until now.

Paimon: So you mean that if the chaos ever reached the point of no return, you would simply appear and use your divine powers to bring Liyue back under control?

Signora: Of course. And it would have been all too easy for him, too. Just as a child quickly matures after losing their parents, so has Liyue matured when faced with the death of its deity...

Zhongli: In the end, the resolution to all that has transpired was even more satisfactory than I could have hoped for. Take the adepti, for instance. Owing to their years of seclusion, they were the least informed. Yet, when faced with a crisis, they, commendably, showed the greatest amount of restraint possible. Not only did they manage to co-operate with the Qixing, but in the end, they even made efforts to understand the hearts of the people. Credit is also due to Signora, the emissary dispatched by the Cryo Archon to fulfill our contract. At my request, she kept everything she knew in strict confidence — this despite the eavesdropping ears of her colleague, Childe. This meant I could remain as Zhongli, even having the chance to fulfill the age-old traditions of Liyue in this mortal form. Thank you for joining me on this journey, Aether, Y/n. All of these things turned out as I had planned. There is only one thing that I had not anticipated... and that was the conduct of the Liyue Qixing. I had expected them to do no more than the adepti... To come to the defense of Liyue. But when all was said and done... They seized the opportunity to supplant Liyue's divine protectors, and used the subsequent power vacuum left by my death to quickly gain complete control of Liyue.

Paimon: Huh? That doesn't sound good at all!

Zhongli: Hah... On the contrary, I think it is excellent. I had always feared that it was far too soon for them to take over from me, and it was also that which I longed for the most. As such, this is the best parting gift anyone could have given this god of old.

Childe: Hey, what about me? Doesn't anyone feel the least bit of remorse for deceiving me? You've practically kept me in the dark!

Signora: Heh, I think that thanks would be more appropriate. You certainly played no small part in all of this... Wreaking havoc and turning the city upside down. The Lord of Geo ought to thank you for your performance, if anything. If you hadn't created the pressure of a battle between mortals, adepti, and a god, the lump of coal resting in the hands of the Geo Archon — Liyue — would never have been able to become a dazzling diamond of a city.

Childe: Huh? Just whose side are you on, mocking me like that? Are you itching for a fight?

Y/n: You've really embarrassed yourself this time.

Childe: Hey! Haven't you learned the Liyue saying? "Don't always call it as you see it"!

Signora: Well then, with the Gnosis in my possession, I have no use for such idle chatter. We should return to Zapolyarny Palace and seek an audience with Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa. Come, Childe.

Childe: Ugh, fine... I'll meet you there later. I'm not sharing a boat with the likes of you.

Signora: Hmph, do as you wish. *leaves with the Gnosis*

Zhongli: Now then, is there anything else you wish to ask me?

Y/n: I'd like to know what the Cryo Archon offered you. What could that so called "God of Love" possibly offer you that would be worth a Gnosis?

Paimon: Right! As Zhongli always told us, "a good trade is a fair trade." Paimon has no idea what could be a good trade for a Gnosis.

Zhongli: Realistically speaking, there is no such thing.

Paimon: Huh???

Zhongli: However, I am the God of Contracts. For thousands of years, I have made countless contracts. If the deal was of no benefit, then I certainly would not be inclined to agree to it. My agreement with the Cryo Archon will be the last of my contracts as the Geo Archon — my "contract to end all contracts." As for the bargaining chip that the Tsaritsa used to balance the scales... Uncover that answer for yourself in your future journeys.

Paimon: Paimon... can't... absorb so much information at once... So, Zhongli, what sort of contract did you sign with the Cryo Archon? Paimon's so curious!

Zhongli: ...One of the clauses of our contract was not to divulge any of its contents.

Paimon: Ugh... You're so petty.

Y/n: *walks up to Childe and kicks him in the balls*

Zhongli/Y/n/Aether: !!!

Childe: Agh!!! What was that for!?!

Y/n: That's for hurting Aether *punches him* And that's for hurting me!!!

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

After the dust settles, a date is fixed for the Rite of Parting...

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Paimon: Today's the day of the Rite of Parting. Although the star of the show is fake, we've spent so much time trying to organize it. It would be a real shame not to go there now.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Big-Footed Dajiao: ...Well, since we're going through with this Rite of Parting... I guess it means that those rumors hit the nail on the head.

Wrench Wang: So Rex Lapis is really... But they didn't catch the culprit, did that?

Big-Footed Dajiao: Ah, come on, do you think that the assassin could have been a normal person? You know what I think? I don't think any of the gossip on the streets you hear from those shady types is worth anything. There's only one real possibility in my mind. I've heard that the assassin was that Fatui fellow. Youngish, pretty high in rank — I think they called him Childe.

Wrench Wang: The Fatui? They certainly are very suspicious. Who knows what those greedy, crooked folks...

Big-Footed Dajiao: Shh! Lower your voice! If the Fatui catch you in their sights, Rex Lapis won't be around to protect you this time!

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Uncle Gao: You know that god from the ocean couldn't have just shown up out of nowhere. I mean, it's been two thousand years since Rex Lapis subdued it.

Uncle Sun: Yes, and to think that this happened right on the heels of the incident with Rex Lapis, too...

Uncle Gao: Say, do you think the person who assassinated our Lord and released that evil god might have been one and the same?

Uncle Sun: Now that you mention it, that's very possible. Yes... it's very possible indeed. I mean, it all fits together! That person must have colluded with the evil god to harm Rex Lapis. Ugh, that wicked black-hearted scoundrel... Still, what sort of supernatural prowess must this person possess to be able to do such things? I have never heard of such a person in all my years.

Uncle Gao: Ah, forget it. Guessing's no use to us. Look, the Millelith over there looks like he's about to make an announcement. Let's hear what the Ministry of Civil Affairs has to say first.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Fengyan: Hear ye all the Qixing's words: 'Though a dragon soars ageless as the mountains, it too must return to dust. This is common knowledge. Gods and adepti live glorious lives, but both light and shadow have their season. So, too, must they face divinely-appointed trials. Rumors and hearsay abound on the streets that Rex Lapis was murdered. Now, let the truth be revealed. Having been thwarted in his trial, Rex Lapis' soul has recouped the celestial heights. He beseeches the people of Liyue to grieve not, and to not let their hearts be saddened. Nor are they to believe street-borne rumors or indulge in baseless speculation.'

Paimon: Ah... Um, Paimon needs a translation on what the Qixing's announcement said.

Aether: They said that Rex Lapis wasn't murdered. Instead, Rex Lapis died because of a divine trial.

Paimon: ...So that's how they're spinning it... Something feels off. Why would they suddenly give up looking for the murderer? Not to mention how this excuse sounds like something they just made up on the spot. Could the Qixing already have known that Rex Lapis wasn't dead? But Zhongli said that neither they nor adepti knew anything.... Hmm... Did Zhongli tell them in secret after his Gnosis changed hands?

Y/n: That's possible. I think you've hit the bull's-eye this time.

Paimon: Exactly, right? Ooh, seems like the Rite of Parting has been going on for a while now. Let's go have a look.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Paimon: Look, it's Ningguang and Keqing. Are they saying something? Are their speeches over?

Ningguang: ....As said previously, Rex Lapis' soul returning to the heavens is the end of the contract, and it is also the end of an era.

Shitou: 3,700 years of contracts, burnt and reduced to ash...

Ningguang: We, the people of Liyue were indeed prosperous. But blinded by our prosperity, we forgot that time can be pitiless.

Ying'er: The long, unending dream of our archon walking among us...

Madame Ping: Mm...

Ningguang: Now that we have awoken from our dream, we must learn to say farewell. Will you stand with us as we reestablish our contracts — as we build a new age of prosperity?

Ganyu: So concludes the words of her Eminence, the Tianquan. Does Her Eminence the Yuheng have anything to add?

Keqing: *looks at Aether and Y/n*

Paimon: Eh? Is she looking this way?

Keqing: Aether. Y/n.

Paimon: Yikes! She really is looking our way!

Crowd: Are those the travelers who they say defeated the ancient god? So young...

Keqing: The Liyue Qixing always repay their debts. And as you both have heard, our eyes see far, and our reach is long. Name both of your prices. You both deserve that much.

Paimon: Whoa...

Y/n/Aether: ...

Aether: Well... could you help me put up some missing person posters...?

Keqing: *nods* And you, Miss Y/n?

Y/n: Well, my only wish is for the people of Liyue to live a safe and prosperous life even if Rex Lapis is gone now...

Keqing/Ningguang/Ganyu: *surprised* ...

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Paimon: Hey, Zhongli! Look at this. Everyone in Liyue's caught up in their emotions, thinking they'll never see Rex Lapis again......And here you are, looking all relaxed!

Zhongli: Hahaha. Why would I not feel more at ease after laying down the burden I have borne for 3,700 years? Right, if the two of you can spare the time. I should treat you to a meal at the Xinyue Kiosk.

Paimon: Hah! That sounds like big talk, Zhongli. Paimon might have believed you if you were treating us to some Third-Round Knockout, but you'd have to pay out your nose just to stand inside Xinyue Kiosk. Are you sure you can afford it?

Zhongli: Hmm... You're right, I do lack the Mora

Aether: But why would Morax lack Mora?

Zhongli: As the Rex Lapis Morax, I can easily create Mora. But since I have chosen to walk this earth as the mortal Zhongli, I should abide by the same rules that mortals do. When I was journeying with you guys, though I still had the Gnosis in hand, I knew that I must soon retire from my role as an archon. So I had to... rehearse a little, for my new life.

Paimon: Oh, no wonder! Paimon gets it now. You didn't look at the price tags when we were spending because you've never had to. But since you weren't used to not being able to just make some Mora as and when you wanted to, you had to try becoming a parasite to society who lives off of other peoples' credit...

Zhongli: Well, we were only spending Fatui money. You don't have to say it like that... In the city of commerce, we do not merely exchange money or goods. We also exchange knowledge, memories, and foresight, as well as positions, roles, and lives. The archon Morax could never experience life as the true mortal Zhongli could, no matter how many times he descended to be with his people. Haha, I must thank you for that, Aether, Y/n. I will treasure the memories that I made as Zhongli, traveling the streets of Liyue with you.

Aether: It was a fine journey.

Y/n: It was, and the fact that me and dad finally got some bonding time after 495 years makes it better

Zhongli: That is true, but there is no journey that does not end. No meetings without partings.

Paimon: Mm... Paimon thinks that we should make a move and continue our search for The Seven.

Zhongli: I fear that continuing your journey may be difficult. The nation that neighbors Liyue by sea, Inazuma, is presently closed.

Y/n: "Closed"?

Zhongli: Yes. The nation has been closed by order of its deity. The Electro Archon, Baal — and just as the people of Liyue preferred to call me Rex Lapis, she too goes by another name among locals in Inazuma.

Paimon: Um, Paimon thinks we've heard that one before. Uh.. Rai... Raiden?

Zhongli: That is the case. And since Raiden is also the Shogun of Inazuma, people call her the Raiden Shogun.

Aether: The Shogun...

Paimon: That said, though people at the wharf were saying that the situation in Inazuma is very tense, Paimon doesn't remember that always being the case. It wasn't that bad last year... Zhongli, since you're Rex Lapis, shouldn't you know something about what's happening there? Just how did Inazuma become a closed nation?

Zhongli: It's because of Visions.

Y/n: Why would visions be the problem?

Zhongli: When faced with circumstances beyond their control, humans often bemoan their lack of power. But if a person shows true strength of will at a desperate and fateful moment in their life, the gods will look upon them with favor. That is what Visions are. Magical foci bestowed upon those who have been acknowledged by the gods.

Paimon: Uh-huh. That's how people in Teyvat see it.

Zhongli: But starting from last year, the Raiden Shogun began promulgating the "Vision Hunt Decree."

Paimon: ...Vision Hunt Decree?

Zhongli: Yes. It was an order to seize all Visions within Inazuma's borders, and to inlay them upon the hands of the Statue of the Omnipresent God.

Paimon: They want to seize Visions? But why? Aren't Visions blessings from the gods?

Zhongli: I should think that in the Raiden Shogun's eyes, it is precisely because they are divine blessings, that they should be under the sole dominion of divinity.

Paimon: Whoa... That's harsh.

Zhongli: The Anemo Archon is the God of Freedom, and the Geo Archon is the God of Contracts. For her part, the Raiden Shogun is the God of Eternity. It seems as though she has finally decided to eliminate any unstable elements that could pose a threat to her eternal realm. The fact that even I, the oldest of The Seven, have now "passed away" will only strengthen her resolve to pursue eternity. Knowing her, she must have again quoted that adage she is most fond of when proclaiming that decree to her people: "Seven ideals for seven gods, and of these, Eternity is nearest unto the Heavenly Principles."

Y/n/Aether: Heavenly Principles...

Zhongli: Alright, then. Was there anything else you wished to know?

Aether: So, about the "trial"...

Zhongli: Haha... Ah, that was a good one. Failing a divine trial? How they came up with that excuse, I will never know. That said, the reason why the Qixing were so eager to resolve the incident and stop pursuing the culprit was indeed because they received news in secret that Rex Lapis was not dead. I hinted as much to the adepti as well. How did I accomplish that, you ask? Hmm... Have you ever heard of this particularly convenient adepti art known as "gifting dreams and visions"?

Y/n: What about Childe...

Paimon: Yeah, about that. Before the Qixing made their announcement, we listened to a lot of people talking on the way. Most of them put the blame of everything on Childe.

Zhongli: These are indeed false accusations, but it remains undeniably true that Childe did send people to the Jade Chamber to prevent the adepti and the Qixing from defeating the ancient god. I've heard that Ningguang is busy milking that for all it's worth on the foreign relations front at the moment, browbeating the envoys of the Fatui. Ah, those poor Snezhnayan diplomats. If it were not for Childe's exalted position as a Harbinger, I'm certain that they would have shifted all the blame to him and called for his dismissal by now.

Aether: As for the Liyue Qixing...

Zhongli: "The time of the adepti has long passed. If even the Liyue Qixing don't want to face that truth, then what future is there for Liyue?" Keqing is absolutely right in saying this. Now, though I did laud Ningguang's desire for power, believing this to be a good thing, and thought as a matter of course that she must have been behind the Qixing's plan to take governing power over Liyue from the hands of the gods and adepti... Could the original person who brought up the idea of seizing power have been...? Hmm...

Aether: Now, about Mora...

Paimon: That's right! Zhongli, now that you don't have your Gnosis, what's going to happen to all the Mora in Teyvat? Since Morax is "dead," are they all just gonna disappear? Also, isn't the Golden House the only mint in the entire continent? Will it even continue to work?

Zhongli: The Mora present now will not vanish. But the Golden House will indeed have to cease operations for a lengthy period of time, since creating Mora requires the use of the Geo Archon's power.

Paimon: Argh! This is terrible. We're all about to run out of Mora! The world is coming to an end!

Zhongli: Yes, this is indeed a major issue from a financial standpoint... Uh... Well. I suppose we'll just leave such troublesome matters to the Liyue Qixing to debate.

Paimon: Then... did you at least set some private funds aside for yourself?

Zhongli: Oh, a private fund? Hmm, this does seem like a good, logical, common-sense idea. Ah, it's a shame...

Paimon: What's a shame?

Zhongli: It's a shame that I didn't think of it at the time.

Aether: There's nothing else...

Zhongli: Well then, I suppose you'll have to find a way to get inside this closed nation. Have patience... I suspect that some serendipity must first come into play...Please protect my daughter during this journey that lies before you all

Y/n: *hugs Zhongli* Xièxiè bàba

Zhongli: *hugs her back* Yuàn wǒ de zhùfú bǎohù nǐ

Xièxiè bàba = Thank you dad

Yuàn wǒ de zhùfú bǎohù nǐ = May my blessing protect you

[spumonibones]

Chasing Wings: Ch. 07 Lore/Story

Chapter 07 (Ao3) | Chapter 07 (Tumblr)

Chapter One (Ao3) | Chapter One (Tumblr)

Surprise!!! Two updates this week to say thanks to the two kind souls who have taken the time to leave comments. Your words mean the world!!!

Lore+Notes under cut!

***

LORE/STORY: • Using Anemo to Fly

→ As of version 4.6, of the Anemo Characters listed (playable), only the inhuman ones have been shown using Anemo for flight. We've seen Kazuha utilize his Anemo to do an extended jump, but that's the closest. Scaramouche is a doll with Forbidden Knowledge and experience with Gnosis'... And well the whole... Remembers himself despite erasing his history from the very concept of the world...? We're not getting into that, it'll take too long. At any rate, he can get away with a lot. Xianyun/Cloud Retainer is a bird adeptus, so she has that going. Barbatos is gonna Barbatos. Xiao, I think we've only seen him use Anemo for high jumps thus far?

→ But for the purpose of this fic, Xiao does not have the capacity to use Anemo for flight nor does he have wings anymore (he has tried and found it does not work). Venti does have the capacity, but hasn't figured it out yet.

GAMEPLAY: • Weapons appearing and disappearing: I don't know if there's an in-game explanation for this, but I'm to assume it's Vision-related.

• Xiao can Plunge Attack from any height and walk away. 10/10, one of my hobbies in Genshin.

• Dragon-like creature: if you didn't already guess, it was a Geovishap. The game describes them as being dragon-like, and since dinosaurs don't seem to exist here that's what we're going with.

STORY: • Venti having a panic attack.

→ While never explicitly stated, the fic often alludes to Xiao having anxiety, and with that he has experience in what to do when someone is showing signs of it. Different methods work for different people. In this instance, Xiao is walking Venti through a breathing exercise, trying to help mitigate sensory overload by having him focus on specific things (Xiao's voice as he repeats a mantra, Xiao's heartbeat has a steady rhythm to focus on). Generally it's a bad idea to grab onto someone and hold them when they're panicking, but in this very specific instance Xiao has a valid concern Venti will hurt himself so he temporarily tries to restrain Venti.

→ And no, you still don't get to know what happened with Venti back in Monstady yes thank you, you are so welcome. That's still like... another 10+ chapters away, but less than 15 chapters away.

Chapter 07 Song/Lyrics: "My Goal, Is Your Goal" Song: My Will by Aleah

This song just seemed to really encapsulate where these two are in the fic.

[bigegomagick]

Ch. 3

The flight was leaving in an hour so Gabe purchased tickets at a touch screen kiosk and Hazel waited for him at the gate. The travelers around them sported tidy athleisure sets and white sneakers. Many of them had preemptively donned leis and drank frothy cocktails out of tall plastic cups in a range of jewel tones. Everyone trailed a regulation-sized carry-on stacked with purses and cosmetic cases. Men clustered around charging stations slumped forward under the weight of engorged backpacks.

Gabriel returned as the plane began to board in hierarchical order and when boarding group X was finally called they sped past the checkpoints and accordion bridge through to the back of the plane, where they took their seats and unclenched for the first time.

Once the plane was coasting through thin air, gabe ordered a drink from a swaying attendant and sipped with perfunctory satisfaction.

“Sometimes I’m tortured by the idea that I’ll never be a great man. Drinking a whiskey on a plane doesn’t hold the same simplicity that it does for you, it’s layered with too much awareness and I have to watch myself do it, which is so boring,” Hazel said.

Gabe flipped through sky mall and clinked his ice cubes next to her ear.

“Shall I tell mother we’re coming?” He said with a Brit-like affect.

“No no, don’t want her to roll out the red carpet. Best to see how she’s really been living recently, I don’t think she gets many visitors out there. “

“I say, I do believe you mean to intimidate old mummy by showing up unannounced!”

Mother had refused to sell her land when the travel companies resort-ified the east coast. Her house now squatted precariously between the bulbous cheeks of two adjacent geodomes, privy to unregulated climates and exempt from travel law like a maritime zone. Occasionally, private appraisers would come and stomp through the weeds, waiting impotently outside the house and wrapping impatiently on the softened wood of the porch in hopes that Edwige would emerge and fess to her betrayal of various ordinances. Edwige had the wide front steps removed a decade earlier, so the porch dropped off suddenly, a solid 6 feet above the land, making entrance to the house a humiliating maneuver up splintery trellis. Given that the land Edwige retained between the domes was too small to colonize for their purposes, private companies had little motivation to hoist themselves up outside of a general bureaucratic interest in extirpating any niggling bodies yet unconsumed by their ever-expanding territory.

Gabriel placed a bulky wireless headset around his crown and began talking aloud to a group of online friends, his eyes glazed over as he laughed and quipped. Leaning back in her seat, Hazel inserted a pair of complementary noise-canceling headphones and selected “sound of jungle” from options on the screen set into the back of the chair in front of her. Swallowing a mild, linty sedative from her pocket, she closed her eyes and gradually drifted into sleep.

Hazel dreamed that she woke up on the wing of the plane, seated with her shins dangling over the edge. Wind blasted her in the face and her hair whipped behind her so fast it felt like it was being yanked out of her scalp. Ahead of the plane, against a rich purple cloud, a V of large grey geese pursued some southerly oasis. The nearmost of them was sucked violently into the engine and expelled in a mist of blood and feathers. Hazel gripped the sides of the wing, inched herself over to the tiny porthole and peered in at Gabriel, who had his head tipped back and eyes closed as he continued to chat with the losers on his server. Hazel banged on the window with the flat of her fist and Gabriel startled, looked up, and gasped in horror at her bloodspattered, wind-beaten visage. Through the vignette of the window a silent film played out before her – Gabe jumping up, grabbing a stewardess by the collar, dragging her to the window. The stewardess, seeing nothing, adopted a n stern, authoritative expression as she urged Gabe back into his seat. The panicked expressions of other passengers, overhearing the drama, turning to vague irritation when they saw nothing zfor themselves. Hazel banged again, this time on the window, the side of the plane, with one fist and then both, her grip of her knees slipped and she flew to the side, grabbing the edge of the wing at the last moment, holding on for dear life as her clothes were ripped away until she clung nude in the wind, tits flapping hideously. Now travelers looking out the windows could see her and they laughed but without much interest. She woke up to the chill of aggressive air conditioning blasting her in the face from the ceiling and an announcement piped over the speaker.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THIS IS YOUR CAPTAIN SPEAKING.

I need to bring your attention to a change in our flight plan. We have encountered unexpected inclement weather that is preventing us from safely landing at our intended airport.

In the interest of your safety and well-being, we have made the decision to divert the aircraft to the nearest suitable airport. Our crew is well-trained to handle such situations, and please rest assured that your safety is our top priority –”

The plane bucked and the audio drowned in a collective squeal from passengers.

“-- weather conditions at our alternate airport are more favorable for a safe landing. The air is fresh and clear, the ground staff and emergency services at the alternate airport are prepared to assist us, and I can truly ensure a smooth transition upon our arrival.

We understand that this may be an inconvenience for some of you, and we sincerely apologize for any disruption to your plans. Connecting flights will be organized upon disembarkment.

Once again, we appreciate your understanding and cooperation during this unexpected turn of events. Thank you for flying with us, we’ll be landing shortly.”

Everything stuttered and Hazel lunged upwards in her seat, the stiff belt at her hip carving into flesh. Weight collected on her shoulders like bags of sand and she slammed back down. Vibration turned her vision to static. The glossy magazine pinched in the seat in front of her a ragged spray of color as the interior of the plane reduced to a wash of gray, and then they dropped, around her bodies collapsed into the ceiling, she imagined the sound of skulls knocking but all she could hear was the ovular wallop of sheet metal flailing and the dense rush of air. She reached down and unbuckled first her seatbelt, then gabriels, and they slammed up, each of them flat against the corrugated plastic facade, their arms and shoulders overlapped, she turned her face to his and he to hers, they looked at the garbled blur of their partner’s eyes and lips and breathed until the plane leveled suddenly and they dropped again, the backs of their knees cracked against headrests in aisle E19, howler monkey screeching peeled out from below, accompanied by a terrible rumbling shiver as the plane sped forth on the vast runway, lights from the airport streaked like lasers in the most beautiful lightshow Hazel had ever seen, getting closer and closer until the nose of the plane plunged into the airport, carving a perfect orifice into terminal C.

[thequietmanno1]

Thelreads, MHA 275, Replies Part 1

1) “The stakes are high, so let`s jump in, on chapter 275: Encounter, part 2.

wait, 2?

When was the first part? let me check.

…

oh

holy shit, part one was back on chapter 68, when Midoriya and Shigaraki had their pep talk on the mall

fucking hell Hori”-  Oh yeah, this face-to-face rematch has been a long time coming. And to think, back then, we thought Midoria was gonna be the one who was overpowered compared to Tomura’s strength and speed. 2) “Ah, so that`s how you got him on your sights, I see. I thought the fact you had seen him before was enough, but that also explains it. Kinda.

Would that technically classify the search quirk as a stockpile one?”- In a sense, yes, though the fact it retained the data also further necessitated AFO stealing Ragdoll’s Quirk, because then he wouldn’t need to go to the trouble of adding Midoria’s info to it himself. Truly, the man will put no effort into a task if he can simply trick others into doing it himself and reap the rewards of their hard work in an instant. 3) “Now I had forgotten the part about the weakness being also on display on his HUD, that is kinda OP we need to nerf it in the next patch

Fate… The word makes me shiver in fear, considering what I now know…”- TBH, I’d be interested to know what it lists as Miidoria’s ‘weaknesses’, because that might allow us further insight into what his total powerset with be with all of OFA – or on the other hand, if it still retained the data from the training camp, what weaknesses he might have had might simply have been overcome by the present. And as for fate…well, it all comes back to that question: How much of this fight is destined because of Izuku and Tomura’s opposing natures, and how much of it is AFO’s controlling hand from the shadows? 4) “Anyway, that might indicate that Aizawa is going to join the fray earlier than expected… which might also mean he`ll be at the risk earlier than expected. Oh boy, that ain`t gonna be good.”- Not good, but also, not the worst. He is basically the only reason Tomura can be attacked at all right now, especially with physical blows. Still not an overwhelming advantage, but not as much as it would be if he had his full powers on demand. 5) “And Shiggy is landing, it`s time for the next leap, if Endeavor don`t get to him in time.”- For a given value of ‘landing’. Graceful and dignified, it was not. 6) “oh jesus what the fuck is that Shigaraki? What you`ve done with your body, I can`t even process what is what in this image”- Still not used to his own immense power, so when he tried to twist his upper body to the side to follow Izuku’s path, his own momentum partially buried him from the inertia. 7) “Shiggy, why does it look like you`re glaring at your own crotch? At least that`s what the previous` panel seem to point at”- Glaring straight at izuku all the time, through all the buildings and dust clouds between them, never once taking his eyes off the target, not unlike Aizawa does in a moment. It just helps sell how deadly focused he is on getting to Izuku above all else, at the whim of his master’s compelling voice. 8) “did he slinked his spine back and used it to catapult himself the other way? At least that`s what it looked like to me”- He might have somewhat used his upper body as a fulcrum to launch himself sideways asap- hasn’t quite figured out how to fly yet, so he’s doing what he can to keep moving towards Izuku in the shortest possible time, no matter the method he has to work with to achieve that. 9) “Anyway, I think Shigaraki is about to deploy an EMP on the battlefield, which might be a considerable problem for the heroes, because that mean they`ll have to fight him without reinforcements.”- Not that there’s any reinforcements leftto call for anyway. The radios’ best function is keeping track of where Tomura’s heading, and now he’s taken that out, once he gets ahold of Izuku he can rush anywhere he wants to and appear without warning.

(MHA ch 246)

10) “Yeah Endeavor, those are the soldiers of tomorrow, they will be the one fighting for justice and all that. You better train them right, because there’s a good chance they’ll end up saving your life one day, unfortunately.”- Some day’ wound up being ‘less than 4 months from now’. If not for Izuku’s presence as a massive piece of AFO bait, Tomura would have dusted Endeavour a long time ago by now.

11) “I mean, he did hear it Midoriya, he`s right behind you, and he has a communicator as well, I know we theorize he might have some hearing loss from his own explosions, but I do believe that he would hear endeavor shouting on his ear.”- Also, a disability like that would have limited his effectiveness as a hero, especially if he’s incapable of hearing cries for help over the sound of his own blasts.

12) “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN MIDORIYA HE WAS RIGHT THERE ALL ALONG HOW DIDN`T YOU NOTICED HIM BEFORE”- He did notice him, he just expected that Bakugou would hang back and look for the opportunity to blindside Tomura from his blind spot whilst he focused on Izuku, not stick right by his side the whole way. 13) “WHY ARE WE STILL SHOUTING MIDORIYA WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR EYES”- Sheer shock at bakugou’s character development. 14) “But yeah, there`s also that point, Bakugo has this rotting inside his soul for quite a while, his last, erm, “talk” with Midoriya brought this to light, but wasn`t enough to solve it completely. Now, the chance to finally pay back All Might for his sacrifice is here, and Bakugo won`t let it slide”- On the other hand, his actual chances of victory/payback against Tomura as slim to none at present, even with Erasure limiting him. 15) “Been quite a while since we last saw a murder face, but this time it is more than welcome.”- Bakugou’s murder face vs Tomura’s. Who wins?.... Tomura. His serenity over killing you is far more intimidating than Bakugou’s eagerness. 16) “Yeah definitely didn`t catch that, but alright… let`s see if this is at least a more positive way to look at it than the previous outlook you had in your own strengths and weakness.”- It’s at least pushing him to improve himself and his strengths and weaknesses more, to become a better hero capable of catching up close to Izuku, even if he may never quite surpass him 17) “Oh, alright, that`s even better. He didn`t had an specific quirk for that, but he quickly put together other options that could be used to serve the same purpose.

which is a good sign of his own potential with the pile of toys he was given, but is a terrible news for the heroes.”- Izuku always had a lot in common with AFO’s usage of his multiple powers, what with his ability to combine his classmate’s strengths together for effective strategies. It makes sense that now Tomura has the same power, he’d also be likewise inventive with his various different options.

18) “HE GOT HERE BUT WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT WHY IS MIDORIYA DECAYING HE DIDN`T EVEN GOT HIT BY THE QUIRK YET WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING AIZAWA ARE YOU THERE WE NEED SOME HELP HERE”- The body’s natural instinct reacting to a superior menace that’s focused on killing you, as depicted creatively by Horikoshi. Fight for flight, but neither one will save you. @thelreads

[dalleyan]

Elfwine Chronicles (new LoTR stories, Adventures of Theodred, Son of Eomer, ch 7 posted, 5-17-23)

Theodred's adventures as he travels with Freahelm, trying to find a direction for his life.  (Adventure, Drama, Angst, Romance, Family, Humor) (19 chapter story)

 Chapter 7  -  (begins late April, 44 IV)

The two men leaned back in their saddles, one hand on their horses’ rumps in an attempt to see the top of Orthanc, but it was a cloudy day, and the pinnacle was obscured from their view. At length, Freahelm straightened and shook his head, commenting, “You know, I have the utmost respect for Gondorians…”

He paused and Theodred’s eyes narrowed.  “Yes?” he prompted.

“But the man who built this must have been utterly mad!  Who in their right mind could think such a building was worth constructing?  It is imposing, to be sure, but…useless.  The view from the top might be magnificent, but things on the ground must appear the size of ants from up there.  And, for that matter, who would want to make that climb on a regular basis?  Perhaps if a man had wings he would attempt it, but I doubt I would often go more than five floors up!  Useless, I tell you!  Utterly useless!”

Theodred grinned at the diatribe.  It was not the first time he had heard such an opinion expressed of this place.  His father had long held that view, and indicated he was happy to let Gondor retain possession of the place as he could see no practical value to it.  Indeed, as Saruman’s stronghold, it had been a festering sore in Rohan’s side for far too long, and Theodred suspected Eomer would not have been sorry to see it completely destroyed when Treebeard and the Ents took control of Isengard.  Now it was little more than an interesting landmark for any who cared to venture this far off the beaten path.

In all his years living in Rohan, Theodred had never taken the opportunity to make the journey to see the place.  He had decided now was the appropriate time, and he thought it worthwhile to glimpse it at least once, since it had played such an important role in Rohan’s history. Tonight he would have much to write in his journal.

Treebeard had long since returned to Fangorn Forest, and Theodred regretted not having had the opportunity to meet him.  The Hobbits had spoken much of him on their last visit, when he was a child, and he had always hoped to have that chance himself.  There was something magical in the notion of an actual treeherder, who appeared to be a tree himself almost.

“Well, shall we go inside and have a look around?”  Freahelm’s voice broke through his reverie.  Eagerly Theodred nodded and they rode closer.

The lake surrounding Orthanc had receded somewhat over the years, but the water still reached their stirrups, so they drew as close to the entrance as they could.  Had the doorway been larger, they would have ridden inside to dismount, but there was not enough room for their horses, so they slipped into the water and waded in.

Theodred knew that while Treebeard had been in residence at Isengard, few had dared visit, being almost as afraid of an Ent as they were of Saruman.  Once the treeherder had taken his leave, the place fell victim to looters who were eager to pilfer anything they could use or sell.

Most of the rooms now stood empty but for a few scraps of destroyed furniture.  The two winced inwardly at the sight of iron rings affixed to the floor or walls of various rooms, clear evidence that they had once housed prisoners of some sort.  They preferred not to dwell long on that subject.

It took some doing, but Theodred was able to persuade Freahelm to climb all the way to the top, so they could at least get the full experience, and say they had done so.  A few drifting breaks in the cloud cover gave them glimpses around them.  As Freahelm predicted, their horses were almost indiscernible pinpricks on the ground from that great height.  Though not usually affected by extreme heights, both of them were unnerved here, and they did not linger.  Still, the views they got of the surrounding country were incomparable.  Skeletons of destroyed machinery still lay hidden under the lake, and Theodred studied the sight with a practiced eye, committing it to memory so he could later transfer the image to his journal pages.

At length, they had seen enough, and decided to be on their way before the afternoon was too far gone. They hoped to reach the Fords of Isen before nightfall and make camp there.

 continue reading on AO3:

              https://archiveofourown.org/works/46771651/chapters/119042485

[parangat-tech]

Enterprise software development trends are frequently evolving. An emerging trend nowadays is deploying Mendix-9 low-code platform applications to cultivate optimum benefits! But why? Fine-gained conflict resolution Low-code application development platforms are a graphical approach to developing software using little to no real coding. At a time when customers want their services in a digital-first environment, employees require better tools to execute their jobs, and corporations have realized that extensive digital transformation is the cornerstone to long-term survival and success, use of Low-code platforms hiked to 94% in 2022 from the previous 77%. Moreover, the global low-code market is estimated to produce $187 billion in revenue by 2030. 

Mendix, a Siemens firm, is gradually becoming the centerpiece of this digital landscape. The global release of Mendix 9 has once again upped the bar for low-code application development with a slew of exciting new features designed to stimulate productivity. Leading industry analysts have recognized this cloud-native, open, agile, extendable, and proven platform as a pioneer and visionary.

What precisely makes it stand out from the other low-code application development platforms? Read ahead to discover what additional perks Mendix 9 have and why it is the best low-code platform for developers and companies!

What makes Mendix 9 unique?

Speeding up the digitalization of user interaction and embracing a dispersed workforce define the new normal. It is a good thing that these are the central themes of the latest low-code application development platform Mendix 9! 

Mendix has enhanced the system with several features resulting in more productivity and efficiency than ever! This version of the system has a few more features than before. Each of these features helps Mendix users have a better experience. For instance,

Workflow Editor 

Case management or workflow logic is a prerequisite of every other project. However, the previous version of Mendix did not offer workflow automation. Mendix Studio Pro accompanies a workflow editor as a Beta feature with version 9. The efficient workflow Mendix 9 features guarantee is one of the most sought-after advantages because: 

Now, business developers and users can visualize corporate procedures and easily craft and create workflows to incorporate human and automated actions with relevant logic. 

It comes with an interactive and intuitive drag-and-drop interface.

It reduces the workload of developers while retaining the flexibility to create customized applications. 

Task Queue

Mendix 9’s low-code platform gives access to a horizontally scalable solution for performing microflows. It enables the execute-at-least-once option, which handles node restarts gracefully and keeps account of pending, completed, and aborted tasks. 

Task Queues thus allow microflows and Java operations to operate while permitting you to control the maximum load. It also enables you to execute microflows with a retry mechanism so that if or when one fails, Mendix will automatically retry it every x minute until the task is completed.

New Merge Algorithm 

The Mendix 9 platform features a new merge algorithm, which is enabled by default. It is used when performing an update or a merge to combine changes in the application. The new algorithm outshines the previous one in the following terms:

Fine-gained conflict resolution 

You no longer have to pick between entire documents when there are conflicting modifications to a single document. You can resolve conflict at the specific elements like attributes, entities, data reviews, and microflow activities. Moreover, the fine-grained conflict resolution instantly accepts and forwards all your non-conflicting modifications. 

Ability to make parallel changes to a list of widgets 

Mendix 9 enables parallel changes to widgets without leading to conflict. When two developers insert a widget in the same data view, the old algorithm requires you to go with one of these changes. The new algorithm, however, offers a list order conflict to remind you to determine the final order of widgets if the changes are very close. 

Evaluating conflicts is easier now because the Mendix 9 low-code platform consolidates the lines referring to the same element. Mendix 9 offers no toggles for “Change in mine/theirs.”

List Filtering by Expression

Mindex 9 offers filtering/finding by expression in a List operations activity. It enables you to filter a list based on numerous attributes or criteria without using a loop or several List operations. Currently, if you wish to filter a list based on a more sophisticated condition than can be described in a simple statement, you must either:

Manually traverse the list. Maintain a reference to the object if you find it through a custom NPE associated with that object. 

Walk over the list iteratively using Head and Tail operations if the list becomes too big.

Mendix 9 platform features an easy way to filter and curate the list with minimal or no coding from your end.

MxAssist Performance Bot

MxAssist Performance Bot was created by statistically analyzing hundreds of anonymous Mendix apps to comprehend prevalent anti-patterns. It employs Mendix Expert Services’ best practices in developing microflows, domain models, pages, and security. It identifies anti-patterns during design and development, highlights them for you, recommends solutions, and automatically eliminates these problems. It improves your app’s performance by assessing your model against Mendix development best practices.

Detection

The bot feature assesses the application, locates the issues, and notifies you about the document or element behind the problem.

Recommendation

The bot then explains the identified problem, its impact, and ways to fix it.

Auto-fixing

The bot automatically leverages and implements the best strategy to fix the issue once you acknowledge the problem. 

New Atlas UI Folder Structure

Atlas UI has been updated as part of Studio Pro 9.0. Atlas UI 3.0 has a new feel and appearance, simplified customization, and enhanced out-of-the-box templates. Moreover, its new folder structure makes updating and extending your theme much easier.

Atlas UI has grown significantly in Mendix 9 low-code platform, from using Calypso to compile SCSS files to modifying SCSS and JS files directly in Studio Pro. Mendix 9 eliminates the need for an external editor and simplifies the work process: 

It allows you to set the custom style directly in Studio Pro. 

Contains autocomplete and IntelliSense support for both SCSS and JS files, making developers’ lives much simpler because Studio Pro bundles everything. 

Effortless sharing of modules that combine a pluggable widget with necessary design features and styles or integrate company-specific layouts and templates.

Power to the Text

Text templates are multilingual and allow you to input a formatted attribute value. However, there are situations when greater power is necessary than what an attribute can supply. What if you wish to pluralize a word? For example, “You picked one product” versus “You picked two products”) or insert language based only on logic?

Mendix 9 low-code platforms have made it simpler for you! You can use expressions as text template parameters. With logic (if-then-else), functions, retrieval through associations, and the context of parent data views, you now have access to the entire power of client-side expressions.

Progressive Web Apps (PWA)

Mendix Studio Pro 9 supports the creation of offline-first Progressive Web Apps (PWAs). PWAs, like native mobile applications, include offline-first features, but they do not need you to publish your app in any app store. Mendix 9 low-code platform accompanies multiple eye-catching PWA features to stimulate application development. For instance, 

PWAs on a Device’s Home Screen

The offline-first applications using PWAs make it simple to access data dynamically from a data source. End users can quickly add a Mendix PWA to their home screen on iOS and Android devices using the new PWA capabilities. It makes it simple for end users to restart the app and gives it a more native-mobile feel by displaying a splash screen and obscuring browser controls when launched.

Other PWA capabilities 

Offline-first PWAs keep users signed in for extended periods. However, it automatically logs out users after 7-days of inactivity. Rather than using a nanoflow with a fetch action, you can now utilize XPath directly as a data source. List views, data grids, template grids, reference pickers, and any pluggable widget can benefit from this. 

You can design an offline-first PWA by incorporating one of the following new navigation profiles into your app: responsive offline, tablet browser offline, or phone browser offline. The offline profile is loaded by web browsers, currently, Google Chrome and Microsoft Edge, that provide the essential offline functionality. Other browsers revert to the online profile smoothly.

While Looping

The loop activity presently includes a new function looping through lists based on a condition called “while loop.” It indicates that you will continue to loop through the list till the condition stays true. If the statement returns ‘false,’ the looping is sacked on the spot.

Previously, you had to apply a decision in a loop and a break event. But the Mendix 9 low-code platform has ruled out this time-consuming function. Its optimal ‘while loop’ technique also efficiently creates enormous volumes of test data.

 Native Dependency Management 

Mendix 9 features a simplified process of adding new React Native modules to your native mobile apps with its latest version. Instead of relying on Studio Pro-supplied or manually-added modules, your pluggable widget or JavaScript action can now specify which native modules it requires. It streamlines the development of more sophisticated and robust pluggable widgets and JavaScript actions for native mobile apps.

When creating a native mobile app for development or delivery, the Mendix Native Mobile Builder will contain the modules. The most recent version of the widget tooling will generate the statement file depending on the requirements for pluggable widgets. Then you have to repackage your widget with the updated tooling. This file must be explicitly created for JavaScript tasks that necessitate native modules. 

How does Mendix 9 spike developer productivity?

Enterprise development teams and developers use the low-code platform to design, integrate, and launch robust multi-device apps. About 70% of firms recognize low code as the core of their business.  And more than 60% of developers deploy Mendix Assist’s artificial intelligence features to speed modeling. Artificial intelligence solutions enable developers to produce high-performance apps with excellent user experiences faster and with fewer mistakes. 

Mendix 9 low-code platform enables you to digitize any process without the complexity and lengthy procedures that traditional approaches need. It spikes the developers’ productivity by considerably reducing the workload. It offers several perks that make it the ideal low-code platform for software companies. For instance,

Accounts for both process-centric and data-centric development approaches.

Furnishes adequate tools for various developers

Matches particular infrastructure, architectural, and development process specifications.

Enables copying and pasting multiple entities and annotations in the domain model.

Another developer productivity boost in Mendix 9 is Visual Conflict Resolution, which allows for the simple resolution of disputes and merging of changes when teams of developers work in multiple parallel branches. The Mendix UI Kit enables designers to collaborate in Mendix development teams using their favored tools, such as Figma and Sketch.

Further, the new Control Center in Mendix 9 platform features a consolidated view and supervision of the whole Mendix ecosystem – users, apps, and resources to developers. It unifies the tools IT needs to maintain enterprise-level control and governance over applications, data, and users. It includes citizen developers who play a significant role in application development but are less equipped in security, system integrity, and privacy.

Is Mendix 9 a digital breakthrough in the corporate world?

Mendix is the leading low-code platform for digital-first organizations. Set up on the pillars of abstraction, automation, collaboration, and cloud, it significantly enhances developer productivity and emboldens a legion of ‘citizen’ developers to create apps guided by their specific domain expertise. Its latest version provides everything from artificial intelligence and augmented reality to intelligent automation and native mobility. As a result, more and more enterprises deploy Mendix low-code platforms to realign their strategic technology direction and support diverse business needs.

Parangat is a Mendix service provider, that gives a hand in developing software and mobile applications using low-code platforms to assist you in flourishing your venture. Our team promises you a seamless development process with state-of-the-art tools and customizable solutions requiring no manual coding. To know more about implementing the well-equipped low-code platform, connect with Parangat and embrace the new change without hassle!

[tiramisiyu]

Thoughts on Xia Yan’s Anniversary/Kiss Date

Not a translation, but rather an unleashing of the many thoughts I had for his date because it made me feel so many emotions and think so many things;;

Wordcount: 2.8k

Date Translation

Preamble

Tears of Themis’ 1st anniversary features one of the most significant in-story events you can view within an otome game - the confession event between MC and respective male leads. The gravity of this confession event, however, is intensified with respect to the ML Xia Yan, as their emotions towards each other is not the only focus of said confession - he must also reveal the heartbreaking truth that his life is likely to end in three years. 

In the below sections, I will discuss the significance of various components that comprise Xia Yan’s anniversary date. My primary focuses will be on Xia Yan’s internal struggles, his care for MC, and the nature of the confession, and I aim to ultimately express why this date had such a major effect on me and whoa if you’re still reading this rambling part, I applaud you. I’m really just doing a fancy thoughtdump here.

The Nature of the Confession Event

From the beginning, XY never intended for the confession to be full of pomp and circumstance - and this was out of concern for MC, fearing that she would be too swept up in emotion to make it. Based on how the other guys’ cards look (them being outside and MC’s all dressed up), I assume that there was some ceremony-like aspect to their respective confessions, and I think that this draws a stark contrast to XY’s (who staunchly refused Yang Xiao’s offer to help make his confession just as ceremonial). In XY’s, MC’s not dressed up the way she is for the others, and both have been drenched in rain and are dissolving into tears of sadness as they speak. In addition, their desires are conflicting (rather than a situation where both parties confess and get together, and thus have coinciding interests) - despite what XY has said before, he does not want MC to be with him, while MC wants the exact opposite. It’s not a beautiful or gorgeous scene by design - instead, it’s very raw, very 狼狈 as the two lay bare their own painful emotions, discuss/cry about heavy topics, and show very vulnerable sides to each other, trying to get through to the other person. 

Speaking of showing vulnerability, the fact that Xia Yan is so anguished by what he has to say that he has to sit down and cry hits particularly hard because he has always, always tried to put on a strong face in front of MC. Whenever his illness strikes and MC sees it, such as in aquarium date or Neruda poem date, he’ll smile and/or joke about it after. When the two were talking about his posthumous letters during the RRG date, he still had a calm smile on his face. Even when he talked about being shoved into a car trunk to be “disposed of”, he was still calmly smiling. As MC noted, his job has taught him to have extreme control over his emotions, so it’s almost overwhelming, trying to imagine how much sadness pushed him to that point.

Pathetic fallacy also plays a part in increasing the impact that the confession event had. In the days leading up to the last part of the date, storms keep striking suddenly, such that it’s even described as “strange”. Storms are, of course, generally associated with less-pleasant things, such as conflict, anger, depression, difficulty, and so on. The meaning behind why they appeared suddenly or frequently is a little harder to understand, but my assumption for the frequency of the storms (rather than an ongoing storm or gloom) reflects how things could not completely “clear up” (despite uplifts in emotion from time to time) until they confronted each other with their feelings. During the confrontation, not only is the storm still going on, but they’re also harshly drenched in the cold rainwater. It is only after the kiss, after their interests finally coincide, that the storm lifts and the beautiful starry sky casts its light on Xia Yan, who was holding the majority of the conflict/sadness/depression between the two of them. (This is also highlighted in how MC notes that Xia Yan feels slightly cold (during the kiss), and she tries to transfer her warmth over to him, trying to alleviate that heavy emotion that’s wrapped itself around him.) 

The Location

The attic of their old home remains an important location for these two, and I pretty much can’t think of a better choice to set the confession. It contains their childhood memories, and it also came into play during Xia Yan’s first birthday after his return (i.e. the idea of continuing to make memories there). It’s also interesting to note that Xia Yan, from his rational mindset, did not intend to see MC… yet he still came to this place - a place that was equally meaningful to both of them, and a place where he’s likely to get lost in emotion. He may be restraining his emotions for MC’s good, yet they still show in small places. (At least, there doesn’t seem to be any logical reason for him to be there, since he wasn’t setting anything up there…)

The Humanizing and Internal Conflict of Xia Yan

I call it “humanizing” because I’ve done some commenting before on how Xia Yan has felt a little superhuman - so many skills everywhere, and rarely a moment of weakness. Now, this date really drives home that he is just human too, with the harsh reality of imminent death hanging over him (especially since we also learn a few more concrete details on exactly what his illness is). This point is brought into attention when he talks about how he’s neither able to be as brave as Schumann (who acted based on emotion) nor as silently strong as Brahms (who acted based on reason). He’s pulled in so many directions for all the things he wants - a desire to stay by MC’s side and do so much with her, whether as family or as something more, versus his rational mindset that tells him to not see her at all, to disappear from her life after, or to push her away even after her confession. There was also his “rationally” created plan in which he would give her the letter and let her decide, yet he still tries to convince her to not be with him. 

The Schumann/Brahms comparison shows how he keeps getting pulled back and forth between reason and emotion. He reveals his feelings to MC (Schumann), but wants her to make the optimal decision, which he believes is to not be with him (Brahms). He then kisses her after hearing her conviction (Schumann) and then gives her the gift that’s linked to Brahms. In realizing that he’s not able to stick to either path, he calls himself a coward - but he doesn’t need to be like either person. As MC says, his restraint is a part of his own background, and his emotional wavering is because of his care for MC - all in all, his motivations are because he is Xia Yan, not Schumann or Brahms. 

Personal Story Chapter 2 Parallels

In Xia Yan’s personal chapter 2, Yang Xiao sets up the story of 零/Zero and 玛丽薇莎/Marivisa to mirror MC and Xia Yan (respectively). The mention of what will bring Zero and MC happiness is starkly similar in these two situations:

⊳ Personal Ch.2-9

Xia Yan: 因为...这样，零会更幸福... 她不是在牺牲，她只是用自己的方式让零能幸福。Because this way, Zero would be happier… She wasn’t sacrificing herself. She was only using her own methods to make Zero happy.

MC: 但零的幸福就是她啊。But Zero’s happiness is her.

Xia Yan: 她已经无法给零幸福了。 It’s already impossible for her to give Zero happiness.

⊳ Date

Xia Yan: 如果你选择别的男人。。。只要他能给你幸福。我只会带给你不幸，我没有时间了。。。If you choose another man… As long as he can make you happy. All I can bring you is unhappiness. I don’t have much time left…

MC: 你怎么可能带给我不幸，你怎么可能做不到给我幸福。你在我身边，你的存在本身，就是我的幸福。How is it possible that you can only bring me unhappiness? How is it impossible for you to bring me happiness? You being by my side – your very existence – is my happiness. 

Yes, the Zero/Marivisa story was intentionally made to parallel these two, so it might feel moot to compare them like this. However, I still really appreciated that they brought this discussion of what brings MC/Zero happiness back, especially since XY’s chapter 2 was very major in developing his character. Back then, MC is vehement in that Zero would have been happier spending all the time he could with Marivisa, as well as even having the choice to spend that time with her. I think that this part was instrumental in Xia Yan eventually deciding to tell her the truth and letting her make her own decision (as he explicitly stated to Yang Xiao in part 1 of the date). However, he still wasn’t fully convinced by what MC said back in chapter 2, so we satisfyingly see this discussion of happiness come full circle by the end of this date, when Xia Yan finally trusts MC to make the best decision for herself. 

Xia Yan’s Considerateness

Xia Yan’s enduring consideration for MC displays itself in nearly every single action within this date. 

The flashback, when he thinks about MC potentially having to go through what the widow is now experiencing, and how his own happiness for three years isn’t worth that

His conviction to give her the right to decide in this matter that involves both of them, because he can’t be the one to decide everything

He insisted on not making it a romantic event, because he wants MC to make the best decision without having a mind clouded by emotion. He’s also made peace with the idea of not being with MC, for the sake of her long-term happiness. All he wants is for her to know the truth of his feelings and illness.

His decision to still make MC a gift to retain some aspect of the romance in the confession (but he only gives the gift after MC has made her decision, again to ensure that her mind isn’t clouded). I think the concept of the gift is particularly beautiful - the little, happy holograms of them inside the glass, as if ensuring that he will always be by her side in some way; the music that brings back their childhood memories and alludes to an enduring, quiet, and protecting love that puts the recipient first (i.e. Brahms to Clara); and the rainbow, which has its childhood memories and treasure implications that are already mentioned in the date, but it also reminded me of the miraculous double rainbow in his Lost Gold date. That double rainbow was the trigger for Xia Yan to proactively seek out a future with MC, when he took the initiative to ask MC if she could be with him to seek out more miracles. Overall, there are a lot of beautiful memories and implications wrapped up in that music box/snowglobe. 

The little comical segment where he worries about the optimal time to deliver the letter, worrying about MC’s sleep or if she’ll be able to eat well.

His stress over what he should’ve done after the letter was delivered, and how he immediately answered MC’s call out of pure worry, despite being so resolute about not answering her calls that he’d turned on airplane mode before. 

Their ensuing discussion in part 3 is just full of Xia Yan’s consideration for MC at its peak - 

Rather than being ecstatic about MC’s confession, his first instinct is to tell her to take a few days to think about it logically. (But really, emotions aren’t logical to begin with, so it’s not like MC would’ve stopped liking you after mulling it over for a few days, haha)

His immediate apology after yelling that he has to mention his death

His worry about how MC will cope after he’s gone, going so far as to saying that she would be better off with another man 

I think that this particular (above) line got a particularly visceral reaction from Xia Yan fans, including myself. Because like MC, our initial thoughts fell along the lines of “How could I ever choose someone else when the only person I like is you? There’s just no way someone else could make me happier…”. Another reaction that I’ve seen among Xia Yan fans (yep, including myself) is how we originally viewed the story in third-person, seeing “MC” in the story, but this date (and this particular scene, where MC says nearly everything that I myself would want to say) dragged us into a first-person position. 

The heartbreaking scene where Xia Yan cries from being unable to give MC the happiness that he wants to give her (or so he thinks). 

He’s just so painfully selfless. I also really like the line during the kiss where MC tries to transmit her warmth to him, trying to balance things out between them and have him feel better, when he had already written himself off by thinking that his happiness is better off sacrificed for hers. 

Jin Xian’s Voice Acting

Jin Xian’s voice acting deserves a whole section to itself, because I think that he did an amazing job of portraying the intense emotions Xia Yan feels during the date. Just going to list some lines that really hit hard - both because of the content, and because of the voice acting that really considered how Xia Yan would be feeling then. 

我可以去追她，我甚至可以和她结婚。我可以把最后的三年过得很好，过的毫无遗憾，但是然后呢？她一个人要怎么办。。。谁陪她走出来，谁来照顾她。。。(“I could pursue her. I could even marry her. I could live my last three years happily, without the slightest of regrets. But what about after? How will she cope on her own… Who will be with her as she handles this? Who will take care of her…”) The ups and downs of this section’s voicing really hit hard.

The gentleness with which he speaks about what he plans to tell MC, especially the line 她从来都是这样 (“She’s always been like that.”)

He’s so cute in Part 2!! The tone’s a lot happier and relaxed and it’s really nice to see and hear. 

In part 3, the vehemence with which he talks about how the risks of MC’s work aren’t comparable to his established time limit, which then softens into something sadder when he talks about how Yang Xiao’s efforts haven’t extended his time by much. 

The intensity when he says 我��须说 ! (“I have to say it!”) (when MC reacts to him using the word “death”), and how he immediately softens his tone after. But then his voice starts to rise again as he worries for how MC will bear his death… and then he takes a break to calm down, and then makes the suggestion of MC finding another man with a near-inflectionless tone that gradually slips into a whisper

His whispering voice makes the impact of 我在乎。。。！(I care…!) hit even harder because it’s suddenly loud, and you can clearly hear the tears in his voice. Once again, he takes a breath to calm himself down and quiet his voice. But even as he keeps talking in a voice that descends into a whisper again, you can tell that he’s still on the verge of crying…

Also the 我也。。。好喜欢，最喜欢你. (I also… like you. I like you the most) line left me screaming with how it was whispered but really strong and adamant-sounding aaaaa

Anyways I could list more but at that point I might as well list Jin Xian’s entire script lmao. He did such a good job!!!!!! 

Sound Effects 

I’m laughing at myself for including this section - if you turn off the music that accompanies Xia Yan’s card, you’ll… hear some very interesting sound effects [狗头]

They’ve got to make the most of their limited time together, after all, and this is the only date out of the set of four that’s indoors… it makes sense…

Other Thoughts 

Two kisses!!

What sort of treatment would leave Xia Yan infected with drugs with prohibited components? What were they even trying to do? 

The date was short relative to the other, super-long Themis dates, but I’m personally alright with that because it places focus on the confession itself. It hit all the points that I personally was expecting for Xia Yan’s confession, including his past struggles with the idea of staying with MC, his confession about both his feelings and his illness, and how resolute MC is about staying with him vs. how hard he tries to get her to understand the implications of being him, considering that he doesn’t have much time left. 

I think now’s a good time for the two of them to get married if they’re well aware that Xia Yan’s time is limited, so Xia Yan, where’s the ruby ring? 

I wonder what implications this will have on the main story - e.g. will the rest of NXX find out about Xia Yan’s illness in Chapter 7.2? Or will they never know? Actually, I wonder if they’ll have MC be aware of his illness in the main story because… that implies his confession happened, which might anger fans of the other boys. 

Conclusion

I love Xia Yan and I love this date. 

[obae-me]

Tainted Reflections- CH 7

Start the story from the beginning! 

Previous Chapter                 Next Chapter

Haunting Premonitions 

Warning: Possible spoilers for OM lessons 12+, Mentions of blood, Violence, Injury, Manipulation

“See? Didn’t that make you feel so much better?” Asmo uttered, his tone hush as he continued to dry MC off with a towel he claimed was as soft as Celestial clouds. They’d finally had that bath, and as nice as it was to see them devoid of blood and muck, their bruises were all that much clearer. Fragile, much too fragile, Lucifer thought. He had half a mind to never let them out of his sight, tucked away and hidden, but...he’d already learned his lesson in that regard, and it...well, let’s just say he would never make that mistake again. Ever. Asmo continued, gently patting down their skin, rubbing it over their damp hair as he kept them steady on the bed. Lucifer resumed his brooding lean against the wall close to the window of the bedroom, flickering his watch between the human and the yard. Despite the sky retaining the same level of darkness, Lucifer knew it was already evening. A full day had passed. A single day was nothing to an eternal being, practically a blink of an eye, and yet, this one day had felt like a century. It was hard to imagine that this time yesterday, everything had been fine, normal even. Now everything felt wrong. At least MC is safe. Lucifer observed the breeze roll over the plants outside, causing them to sway back and forth, hardly disturbed. It upset him, he wasn’t quite sure why, but the flora was not what he was keeping an eye out for anyway. Diavolo and the others were on their way, and he wanted to have a few words with the Demon Lord before the house became filled with chatter. MC was home, yes, but there were other answers that needed to be found, other issues that needed to be addressed before this was over. 

“Oi! You’re being too harsh!” Lucifer’s thoughts were disrupted as Mammon shouted. The second-born tore the cloth away from Asmo’s grasp, neither of them having left MC’s side once everyone began to settle. “Learn something from your older bro, you do it like this!” As a demonstration, Mammon proceeded to...do exactly what the demon of lust had done just moments before. Obviously he just wanted another excuse to pamper MC himself, but who could blame him. Lucifer’s energy was already at an all time low, so he couldn’t be bothered correcting their behavior. Of course, the two of them began to bicker in whispers, as if doing so would prevent MC from hearing them despite the demons being merely inches away. 

The door then swung open, turning heads. “MC! I’m here! I made your favorite!” The bickering was interrupted as Levi finally entered the room after some time in the kitchen. He’d opened the door with his tail, his hands occupied as he carried in a warm plate of human food on a silver tray alongside a much needed glass of water. In a final grunt, Asmo snatched the towel from Mammon’s hands, turning to continue to care for MC. The demon of greed let it go, focused now on riling up his other sibling.

“Eh? What took you so long?” Mammon scowled, hands on his hips. “MC could be starving! And you decided to take your sweet time, that’s for sure!” Now Lucifer’s nerves were being toyed with. Why did his brothers always insist on causing contention? Not only was it driving him mad, but it was appalling bedside manner. They’d just brought MC back home, and as soon as possible, they reverted back to their irritating nature. Could they not have some decorum, especially after what the human had been through? Childish. Boorish. Although somehow, MC didn’t seem to mind too much, the faintest undertones of a smile on their lips, staring at the mirror on the wall opposite the bed. 

“I didn’t see you jump at the opportunity to make yourself useful!” Levi started, but just as Mammon opened his mouth, the eldest simply snapped his head to address the rowdy individuals. 

“Ahem,” He cleared his throat, sending vibrations through the floorboards, his siblings tightening their lips into thin lines as they clammed up. The only one to have an unexpected reaction to this was MC. Their eyes went wide as they looked at him, jaw slightly open, a strange expression on their face, one he couldn’t place. This obviously hadn’t been the first time they heard his tone like this, and yet they appeared shocked. Were they scared of him? Was this an after effect of what they’d gone through? He hadn’t yet considered the mental ramifications...Frowning, he peeled himself away from the wall, a little bit of guilt eating away at him. He’d have to watch himself, they all would. “Do you think you can eat some?” 

Levi shuffled over, kneeling at MC’s feet as he presented the tray and settled it in their lap. MC swiveled their head from the otaku to Lucifer, giving him a little wary nod. The silver fork between their fingers trembled. Every demon in the room--including Lucifer himself--instantly offered to help feed them, but the human quickly shook their head. “I can do it.” Lucifer’s brothers tried to insist, but...despite things, he curiously found himself smiling. There was that stubbornness, the one he’d initially despised but now found incredibly endearing. Humans were so weak yet so determined, too prideful to ask for assistance. Oh, how grateful he was that they hadn’t changed too much. 

MC slowly took the utensil up to their lips, ingesting it with a curious glint in their eye. A hint of disgust maybe? Or surprise? Lucifer couldn’t tell, which frustrated him more than usual. There was a time when he thought he could read them like a book, but now it was as if he couldn’t tell what they were thinking at all. Levi let his face fall. “Oh no, I made it wrong, you hate it don’t you? Leave it up to me to ruin your favorite meal! I’m sorry, I-”

“It’s...amazing,” MC uttered, causing a pair of ruby red eyes to squint. Was it just him, or did he detect a lie? “Levi...I..” Their voice wavered, face contorting in despair as tears started to roll down their cheeks. They began to sob, the first intense emotion they’d shown since they came home. Had their shock faded? Lucifer’s jaw clenched, the lie forgotten, too busy boarding up his emotions while his brothers tended to the comforting. “I was...so scared...so worried that I’d never see you all again. That I’d die in that awful warehouse.” A jolt shot through Lucifer’s body. What he wouldn’t give to destroy those demons--those vermin--once more, those who had dared to mess with RAD’s exchange student, with the human he had gotten to know so well. It seemed as if Mammon was experiencing the same thought, his golden smile gone, only a strained and serious expression on his face as he battled his fury. 

Levi took the tray and quickly set it on their nightstand, preventing the meal from falling to the floor. Immediately, the third-born began to tear up, sitting up straighter as he rested his head in their lap and hugged their waist. The movement nearly left Lucifer stunned. So rarely had Levi ever been so bold. It was...heartwarming in a way, reminding him of times in the Celestial Realm before anxiety and the urge to escape reality had sunken their hooks into his little brother. “Don’t cry, MC...Please…” 

“Darling, no,” Asmo begged, his own arms wrapped around MC’s shoulders, his nose buried in their hair. “You’ll use up the last of your strength.” The demon of lust gently swayed MC back and forth, protecting the back of their neck, attempting to make them feel safe, knowing how to properly calm the body down. “Shhh, that’s it. Just breathe, dear.” 

It dawned on Lucifer far too late that he’d just been standing there, watching. How unlike him not to take action. He quickly strutted to their bedside, bending over to pluck a tissue from the box near their mattress, and then began to dry their face. As soon as he touched them, they stopped their cries. He took pride in that, his chest fluttering. When had he allowed himself to be swayed by such little things? “You’ll never have to see those demons again.” MC glanced away from him, unable to look him in the eyes, staring straight past him. He turned his attention to his brothers, all clinging to the human, and he sighed. “Detach yourselves,” He commanded, but with a softer, more sympathetic voice than usual. “Can’t have MC be smothered, can we?” Levi obeyed, pulling away, using his sleeve to dry his eyes. Asmo however, looked defiant, worried. Was this because he still felt guilty for leaving them earlier? Lucifer gave his younger brother a knowledgeable but stern look, Asmo’s irises lowering in defeat. He gave MC a quick kiss on the cheek before backing off. The last thing the demon of pride wanted to appear as was a hypocrite, so he only let his touch linger against them for a few seconds more. We were worried too, so worried, he wanted to tell them. I haven’t been that scared since… “Eat some more if you can. Once they get here, I’ll have Simeon and Solomon look you over, and then you can get some rest.” 

As if on cue, he spied out the window just as the front gates began to shut. It wasn’t long till he could feel holy presences nearby. Lucifer stood upright, his hand dropping from MC’s face. “Speak of the devils, huh?” Mammon forced a little grin, nudging MC’s shoulder, the corners of his mouth drooping as the only response he got was a raised eyebrow and tilt of the head. “Ya know, that popular human expression you always use...but they’re angels...Never mind.” Downtrodden would’ve been an understatement, Mammon looked downright distraught, possibly mourning the fact that it might take a good while before his human would be laughing at his jokes. 

“I’m going to go greet them, let them know what’s going on, and then I’ll be right back.” He was speaking more to his brothers, but Lucifer flickered a smile at MC. The eldest turned to leave, taken aback when Mammon got to his feet. 

“I’ll...go with ya,” he announced. Now of course, Lucifer’s gut reaction was to deny him. Skepticism was a needed trait around the demon of greed, but this offered him no reward. Was it too optimistic to think he’d grown from this whole event? Regardless, he allowed Mammon to tag along. Together, they briskly headed down the hallway, meeting the group of visitors just as they started ascending the stairs. 

A small blur of white and gold zoomed between Mammon and Lucifer, pushing them aside. They both blinked in surprise, catching one last sight of Luke before he ducked into MC’s bedroom. A familiar hum buzzed in Lucifer’s ears. “He’s been crying non-stop since he heard the news.” Simeon stepped onto the even floor, standing before his former brother before pressing his palms together in front of his chest; a prayerful position. “I’ve been thanking father every second since Satan told us they were safe.” Mentions of his father dug deep under Lucifer’s skin. 

“It’s not father you should be thanking, he had nothing to do with this,” he growled. Simeon dropped the holy deed, reluctant to push Lucifer further. The angel’s aura was discordant with how it usually was. Missing grace, glow, the glimmering effortless effervesce that ordinarily emitted from him. The fallen angel let the hostility flow away. “I take it you’ll examine MC?” Simeon mustered up a little confirming gesture. “Kick my brothers out if you need to.” He moved on, the shadow of Solomon following after. 

“I’m thankful they’re alright,” Diavolo commented, Barbatos following up behind his Lord as they reached the top of the stairs. Satan came up last, glancing back at Lucifer and Mammon for only a moment before slinking away silently to check on the human. “I was told they were found in a warehouse? About an hour southwest of here?” 

Nodding, Lucifer spoke hesitantly. “It’s true. It’s a building I’ve never seen until now. But before we continue, how about we move this conversation from out of the hallway?” 

“A splendid idea. In fact, there’s something important I need to tell you and your brothers.” Diavolo’s normal carefree smile erased itself completely. Eyes dark, mood heavy, the Demon Lord folded his arms. “Simeon and Solomon can watch MC for the moment, I’d have you gather your siblings. It’s about the Primordial Prison.” 

Tugging, pulling, twisting. You’d been working at your binds for who knows how long. Long enough to leave your fingers bleeding apparently. Trying to unbolt the chains keeping you to the floor was apparently a lost cause. Was that it? Were you just supposed to lay over and wait? Wait and hope someone would come save you? Maybe they already had...The other you, that is. Maybe Ikito’s plans had worked. Was it that easy to mock you? To take your place? The idea of that nearly tore at your heart. Pressing a hand to your chest, you stared at your reflection in the golden mirror. The bruises around your neck were a sickly purple. Some odd instinct urged you to touch them. Even just the thin skin of your fingertips grazing the surface was enough to make you wince. Crawling on your hands and knees, you tested the length of the chain. No matter how hard you stretched, the magic mirror in the middle was out of touch, tauntingly close. The mirror Ikito used to come and go was much too far away. And the third mirror…It was the only one accessible enough to you. Why? If it were useful, Ikito would’ve made sure it was far away from me. You gave the chain some slack, slowly attempting to stand. Even after the spell you’d been able to use, your body still ached, shooting painful fire through your veins. 

Maneuvering while standing was fairly difficult, the thin chain hooking both your ankles together forced you to shamble along. Keeping your balance was easier if you supported yourself along the back wall. The third mirror was the perfect length away, your fetters reaching its limits just before the reflection. It felt intentional. All of these items served a purpose...was it really just an ordinary mirror? And if it wasn’t, would it bring about assistance...or something catastrophic? Bending forward, you attempted to get a closer look at the glass. Runes, hidden messages, anything? There had to be something, surely. Some clue? Some hope? There was nothing you could see, not in this dim lighting, not with your dry eyes. Left with nothing but the tormenting image of your own distressed body. Gripping the bottom of the shirt, you adjusted the blood-stained fabric, tugging it down in an attempt to cover your knees. 

A little thought ended up making you chuckle, a crazed laugh of someone who was almost at the breaking point. “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?” Who were you thinking of exactly? Who did you want to see? Regardless, it was fruitless. Nothing. It had been a complete shot in the dark, and while you didn’t expect it to work, it was hard not to be heavy-hearted. Worth a try. I definitely won’t be fairest of them all looking like this. You reached out, pressing your finger over your forehead’s reflection, trailing it down, a thin clear line left behind. Just as you were about to wipe the excess dust off your finger, you could just make out a small voice. 

“...make yourself useful!” 

It was over. That was it. You were truly mental now. Insanity must’ve been creeping in because you could’ve sworn you hear Levi. Not even a day and you’d already started hearing voices. Maybe it had been a day? Time was lost, the light outside still hadn’t changed at all. It could’ve been five hours or four days and you wouldn’t have known the difference. 

“Ahem.”

The tone made you jump, and for a split second, you felt fluttering hope. Tears speckled your eyes. “Lucifer?” Frantically, you scanned the area for the demon, your bottom lip quivering. “Lucifer! Where are you?!” 

“Do you think you can eat some?” The question confused you. Not what you expected. Although, this line among the rest had been clearer, and you discovered the source. It was coming from the mirror. So this one is magical too. With your palm, you dusted off a better portion of the surface. At first, nothing seemed to change. It was still just you, battered, falling to pieces. But then, the longer you stared, the more the reflection shifted, almost making you cross-eyed as it swirled in your mind’s eye. Once everything settled into place, you felt your chest squeeze so tightly, you couldn’t breathe. 

A moving picture of your bedroom, yourself sat on the mattress over the covers. Levi watched you eat your favorite meal, sitting at your feet while Asmo massaged a towel against your hair. The image of you took a bite, and then the demon of envy began to panic. You couldn’t remember this scenario. No matter how hard you tried to place it, it wouldn’t click in your memory. The future? Maybe it’s the future! They save me, they do! Your reflection began to sob, the demons in the room rushing to come to your aid. “I was so scared...so worried that I’d never see you all again. That I’d die in that awful warehouse.” You blinked, the word repeating in your head. Warehouse? No, that couldn’t be right. This wasn’t a warehouse was it? A shed maybe but...Darkness seeped into your bones, but you did your best to ignore it. No...it’s just a future vision, it must be. 

“You’ll never have to see those demons again,” Lucifer promised, taking his hands and cupping the side of your face in the mirror. Those demons? Multiple?...Maybe they were mistaken, maybe you’d be handed off to other demons later and taken somewhere else? Trying to come up with excuses didn’t deter the churning feeling in your stomach. No, no this is wrong, this isn’t right. Twisted occurrences, warped memories, faulty activities. Something in your body wanted to purge it, destroy it, like you’d swallowed poison. 

Gradually, the you in the mirror moved it’s head. Slowly. Incrementally. It didn’t stop till it looked you dead in the eyes, the imitation of yourself giving an all-too-familiar smile. How could you forget it? The echo of it had been burned into your mind. 

“No…” This...this was the reason why it was within reach. It was another segment to this nightmare, another version to this torture. The final nail in the coffin. It had taken your last spark of hope and smothered it before it could ignite. “That’s not me!” Springing forward, you gripped the edges of the mirror in your hands. The picture distorted a bit with your disturbance, taking a little while before it went back into focus. Lucifer and Mammon got up to leave the room, and although you were simply observing this through a screen, you found yourself still screaming at them. “Lucifer! Mammon! I’m right here! Don’t leave! Don’t--don’t leave me! Just turn around! Please!...” Desperately, you shrieked, throat already sore. “Oh god, please…” The glass was frigid, but despite that, you leaned your forehead against it anyway. You’d been desensitized before, probably part of the shock. It hadn’t quite hit you yet, not like now. Trapped. No way out. Alone. Imprisoned. Paralyzing panic took you over. It had worked. You’d been replaced. They had no idea. Easy to double, simple to copy. The demons who you thought knew you so well didn’t even question it. Why? Why had they fallen for it so easily? 

“There’s nothing to worry about anymore, MC,” Asmo purred, running his fingers against the familiar figure’s back and shoulders. “We’re right here by your side.” 

“NO!” You pounded the walls, releasing the frame. “You’re not! Asmo! Levi! Let me out!” You tugged at the chains. “Help me!” You shook the mirror. “Someone help me!” Your voice started cracking. “That’s not me!” You banged your fist against the glass. 

No one could hear you. It was useless. 

The otaku turned towards the door as it burst open, Luke sprinting in at full speed to wrap his arms around your double’s waist. Some laughs, some teasing comments about the pesky angel before Simeon and Solomon walked in, Satan coming in soon after. “MC, I’m so glad you’re alright,” Simeon rejoiced, giving the copy a hug as well. 

“Simeon! Satan! Solomon!” Was it possible for your heart to hurt this much? Your head pounded with each surge of blood. No. It’s not supposed to go this way. The glass started to fog up with your hot rapid-fire breaths. Hyperventilating only made your body feel worse, but you couldn’t stop. 

The angel pulled away. “Thank goodness the worst is behind us now.” 

Don’t leave me behind!

“C-can I ask something strange?” The mimic shyly looked down at the floor, nearly dropping you to your knees. It looked like you. It sounded like you. It acted just like you. 

“Of course, lamb,” Simeon answered, leaving little angelic caresses against their body. “Anything you need.” 

One last glance, one last twitching smile before the fake turned away from you, leaning fully into Asmo. The demon of lust was elated, fully bringing them into his arms. You hugged your own torso...but it wasn’t the same. “Can you cover up the mirror please? It’s hard to...see my pathetic reflection.” Everyone sympathized as you gritted your teeth. Simeon grasped a small throw blanket, turning towards you--the actual you. 

Gasping, throat burning, you still squeaked out some words, pounding at the mirror as if he would be able to hear your knocking. “Simeon! Simeon, please! It’s MC!” The man approached, looking right at you...but past you. You might as well have been a ghost. “Simeon!” The fabric raised, coating your vision, blocking you away. “No!” The mirror shimmered, the image inside melting away until it was just you. “No…” You sunk to your knees, you hand grasping at your throat. Encased in pain inside and out, you curled into a ball. A final dispirited wail left your lungs, the loudest you’d ever cried. They weren’t looking for you. You were on your own. Numbness flooded your body, shivering against the cold. There was no fight in you left. There was still one last persistent thought, anticipating that they’d figure it out...but what if it was too late by then? What if...this was where you would die? The last place you’d ever see. A bitter empty, desolate place. Alone...That’s what hurt you the most. 

You were here, abandoned. Ikito, your tainted reflection, had deceitfully and swiftly taken your place. 

The library was silent, serious, Lucifer and each of his brothers settled down on adjacent couches, primed for discussion. That was, everyone save Beel and Belphie who had yet to return home. At this point, Lucifer was beyond troubled, but there was nothing he could do about it for the moment. As long as they stuck together, they should be fine. They would be fine, he had to correct himself. Diavolo crossed one leg over the other as he leaned back in an armchair, everyone’s focus directed to him. “I would prefer everyone to be here, but it can’t be helped.” With that, Lucifer felt some shame, too many things felt like they were slipping out of his control. “I will waste no time. The Primordial Prison was broken into recently.” Stunned faces popped up around the room, but none of them dared interrupt the prince. “We’re still unsure how they managed to get in, but the bigger worry is who got out.” 

“Someone escaped?” Lucifer questioned, pressing a hand to his chest. The Primordial Prison was a fortress, magically reinforced by demons throughout the centuries to lock away objects and people that were too much of a threat to the kingdom. It was where Belphie had been taken after...Lucifer forced that from his mind. The creatures in there...were dangerous, very dangerous, demons with grudges, items with irreversible curses, magicks untamed. 

“A few ‘someones’ actually,” Diavolo divulged, letting his features convey indignant aggravation. “Members of the old council. The three that remained.” A collective chill darted through everyone’s nerves. Members of the old council...Diavolo’s father’s council. Demons of immense power, great evil, creatures he and his siblings learned to fear and denounce during their time as angels. They were souls who enjoyed the suffering of living beings, humans, angels, and demon kin alike. Before Diavolo stepped up as Demon Lord, the Devildom had been focused solely on destruction. The Dark Ages. Chaotic. After Lucifer and his brothers had fallen, Diavolo saw fit to change his council, to adjust their way of life almost entirely. Those former demons were demoted, removed from their status, and ultimately filled with resentment. They didn’t approve of the new Demon Lord or his plans for the three realms. They had called him a traitor, a disgrace. Diavolo unconsciously brushed his hand over his shoulder, his scar of war. An attempted assassination, a coup, a bloody brutal battle for the throne. Lucifer and his family had helped win in Diavolo’s favor, but just barely. It was one of the first times Lucifer had seen the prince fight, a new respect blossoming for the young lord he had served allegiance to. After that, Diavolo had taken to calling Lucifer ‘friend’. The few defiant members that clung to eternal life had been locked away for the rest of time. “Alastor...Beleth...Ikito.” Names Lucifer had wished to never hear again, ones he had nearly forgotten about. 

“What?!” Levi clenched his hair in his own hands. “B-but, we destroyed them! I thought we-we-” 

“So they’re the cause behind the massacres,” Satan concluded. “Could they have been behind MC’s kidnapping as well?” 

Lucifer closed his eyes, contemplating. “The warehouse felt sloppy. Poorly guarded and barely thought through. If anything, it was carried out by loyal followers attempting to appease their old masters.” Lucifer pressed roughly at the base of his neck, the tension throbbing against his gloved fingers. “This is all much more serious than we originally presumed.” 

Every demon lowered their heads, overwhelmed by it all. “If I may suggest, I propose you all get a good night’s sleep tonight...for it may be awhile before your next rest,” Barbatos offered, speaking up for the first time since he’d arrived. The butler was right, Lucifer and his brothers were drained. Pursuing the prisoners at this juncture would be a mistake. 

“Tomorrow I want you, Lucifer, as well as you, Mammon to accompany me to the Primordial Prison,” Diavolo commanded. “It’s important we figure out how they escaped before we attempt to imprison them again. Satan, Asmo, I want a thorough sweep done of the warehouse. There’s something there...I can feel it. Levi, I want you and Beel to escort Barbatos to the Ancient Tomb. It’s possible there’s a clue there that might direct us to the fugitives.”

“What about Belphegor?” Lucifer wondered, cautious of how he would approach the...sensitive issue of his youngest brother. He’d been so easily swayed by the old council, his raw desire for revenge easily manipulated in their hands to serve their advantage. The worst fear Lucifer held hidden deep within his soul, was betrayal. He couldn’t lose another sibling, he couldn’t, but worst of all, he panicked at the prospect of someone he loved completely turning against him. He’d manifested and dealt with this fear in the worst way. A firm hand. A close eye. Locking it up. Locking Belphie up. It was truly a miracle what MC did, bringing his family back together. But what if that deep seeded hatred reignited in Belphie? What if everything they had worked towards crumbled at their feet?

“I want him to protect MC. Stay by their side, watch them, protect them,” Diavolo asserted. Lucifer almost found himself relieved. Diavolo knew the weaknesses of them all, the demon of sloth included. It was the smartest plan. It would keep them both the safest. “Let the twins know of the situation. Oh, and as for tonight, the residents of Purgatory Hall will be staying here, I hope you aren’t opposed.” 

It would be safest to stick together. The exchange students, angels included, could be in terrible danger. Although the added guests made Lucifer’s headache grow ever more painful. “A...wise idea, Diavolo,” the eldest acknowledged. 

“But with that, I leave you to rest. I know you’re all itching to get back to MC’s side after all.” The humorous and bubbly Diavolo returned, his chuckle a deep rumble in his chest. Only the Demon Lord could drop such serious information and quickly turn to his usual state. However, Lucifer knew that the prince was taking this far from lightly. Who knew what steps he’d already taken towards this issue? He always seemed to be one step ahead. Lucifer couldn’t ruminate on it further. Diavolo stood up, everyone else rising to their feet out of respect. They followed him out of the room, Barbatos keeping the door open for everyone, shutting it silently behind them. 

No one could find the words to say. What could possibly be discussed after what they’d just learned? Diavolo turned just before the front door. Lucifer and his brothers bowed, staying in place till the Lord left. Lucifer was the first to rise, muscles aching with stress. Rest he said, Lucifer rubbed at his eyebrows. He knows full well none of us will be able to. His gaze snagged upon the few suitcases tucked in the corner of the entrance hall. The guests had already been aware of their new arrangements. 

There was too much to do, too much to prepare for, too many thoughts racing through his brain. Lucifer looked down at each of his brothers. Exhausted. Uneasy. “Mammon can you please take the luggage upstairs and have it placed in the guest room?” 

“...Yeah, fine,” Mammon agreed, his voice monotone, already in the middle of dragging the weight up the stairs without a second complaint. Oh, Mammon...This whole time he’d been trying to act chipper, but everything was affecting him more than anyone realized.

“Satan, Levi, I need assistance in safeguarding the house. Every door, every window, we need it protected. You remember the defensive spell I taught you?” 

The demon of wrath scoffed, but was devoid of his usual sharp witty tone. “Of course I do.” 

Levi was not as confident. “I-I-I think I do…” Satan spun around to face the window to their left, green magic flowing to his fingertips. Calling out to Levi, he told his older brother to watch his refresher course. The blonde drew a symbol in the air with his index, encasing it in a magic circle, guiding it towards the glass with his palm. The pane shone a bright viridescent hue before fading to normal. The demon then searched around for something, Lucifer already preparing for something aggravating. Satan set his sights on a vase, clutching it within his grasp before sending it flying full force towards the window. The vase shattered completely, but it’s target remained unscathed. Rapping his knuckle against the glass, Satan managed a smile, some stress alleviated from the broken shards. 

“Was that entirely necessary?” Lucifer groused, his eyes narrowing. “I ask that you not destroy anything else. You’ve made your point.” With a jerk of his head, he sent Levi and Satan on their way. “And Asmo…work on that wall will you?” The two of them focused on the hole still breached in their home, a straight shot to the outside. Asmo slumped his shoulders, cursing under his breath about his uncanny attention to detail. “Oh, and keep an eye out for the twins will you?” Lucifer took a deep breath. They’d been gone too long, and for what? What’s going on, Belphie? I wish you would talk to me. As he always did, the demon of pride suffocated his worries under the crushing weight of his responsibilities. “When they show up, inform them of the...state of affairs.” Murder, MC’s kidnapping, a breakout? It was foolish to hope that this was the end of the road. He should’ve felt it earlier. He’d ignored the subtle shift in the air, and now...the thick unstable mood hanging in the atmosphere told Lucifer what he needed to know. 

Things from here on out were about to get much worse. 

[strawberrysoup]

Let’s Review || Chapter 22

Peter Parker knew that his big sister would do anything for him to be safe and happy. She’d given up everything for him twice over already and would do it again in a heartbeat. And that’s why, when the criminal mastermind Tony Stark started inextricably following him around, he didn’t say a word. Because he knew without a doubt Penny would do whatever she had to if it meant keeping Peter safe. He had to protect her, just like she always protected him. He never considered what would happen if Stark decided both Parker siblings were worth taking. Never considered who else in Stark’s inner circle would agree. He just wanted to protect her and yet somehow, they both ended up with needles in their necks.

relationship: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character/Bucky Barnes, background Peter Parker/Tony Stark rating: Explicit warnings: Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Bucky Barnes, Dark Tony Stark, Dark Avengers, kidnapping, non-consensual&dark sexual situations, underage Peter Parker, emotional and psychological abuse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat  additional warnings: open the read more, CTRL + F and search “content warnings” to skip to the additional "spoiler-y" tags for trigger warnings

hey guys! i made a ko-fi! if you enjoy this and have some cash you could spare to help me out with my bills, id really appreciate it! if you follow the link and check out the ‘posts’, there’s a snippet for ch. 4 of posies! 

Their parents had died a few months after her thirteenth birthday and Penny essentially blacked out for the next 8 months. She didn’t remember anything from that school year, although she’d evidently scraped by in all of her classes—actually, Penny was still convinced that little Peter, who was already showing signs of being a tiny genius, had done at least half of her homework. She didn’t remember Hanukkah that year, or the first Christmas she’d ever celebrated with Aunt May and Uncle Ben. She had zero friends coming out of that year, having accidentally pushed everyone away in fits of rage or sadness that she couldn’t even remember. The pain cut just as deep every time she remembered showing up to school the first day of her freshman year only to receive the cold shoulder from half her grade.

That was actually one of the first memories she’d retained after coming out of 7 months and 3 weeks of complete emptiness, how none of her best friends wanted anything to do with her. Everything had been confusing, somehow devastating all over again but… it was less. Her parents were gone and it hurt so much but it was nothing compared to the agony that had beset her form seconds after being informed her mom and dad were dead. When Penny racked her brain she could almost remember Aunt May crouched in front of her while she sat on the couch at home, holding her hands.

Somewhere in her brain, Penny had known that plane crashes were possible. Like, as a concept she understood the idea. The plane that was flying through the air stops doing that, and all the people inside the plane die. But it couldn’t possibly happen to her parents—they were her parents, they were infallible. Plane crashes happened, yeah, but her parents couldn’t be gone. Aunt May had told her several years later that she and Ben had been petrified she would try to kill herself, especially when the state tried to take the young girl away from the Parker’s.

They’d never had the money for therapy and Penny figured she’d never regain the memories from those months but honestly, she didn’t want them. The gaps were reprieves, the missing conversations, the absence of any and all detail. Wasn’t she sad to not remember her eighth-grade graduation? Fuck no, it was a blessing to forget how she’d felt like everyone in existence had their eyes on her—except for the ones she wanted.

There were times she absently wondered how disappointed her parents would be that she didn’t finish college, let alone get an actual high school degree. Her dad had been so smart, a genius in his own right. And her mom… Penny tried not to think of her mom often, not when it hurt so deeply. Mary Parker had been a gentle soul with an IQ of 150 who made Penny feel safe and loved and understood every day of her life. Her mother would’ve been understanding, she would’ve seen the necessity in her dropping out but it would’ve hurt that gentle soul to know the opportunities her baby had missed.

It hurt Penny in a special way that neither of Mary and Richard Parker’s children would be graduating from high school. Neither would attend university. They wouldn’t go on to press the limits of their parent’s knowledge or make an impact on the world. Somehow despite everything she’d sacrificed, Peter would never get the opportunity that he deserved. Her genius baby brother, his potential capped before he had a chance to try. God, it was an agonizing burn in her chest, a searing pain that made her nauseous and light-headed.

Her heart was pounding so hard she wondered if her ribs would crack. The cabin was lovely. Dark wood and an A-frame, a nice deck in the back and lots of windows. It was surrounded by trees, with dark needles or thin pale trunks, the purple mountains of the Rockies a lovely backdrop. It was colder than she’d expect for summer, especially considering the overcast sky and the breeze. The clouds moved so fast at such a high altitude and Penny watched trembling as a shadow passed over the house, chasing the light away before the sun followed its path ravenously once more.

Steve and Bucky were unloading suitcases from the back of the SUV, passing each other calculating looks as Penny stood practically frozen in place. Her shoulders were hunched almost to her ears, arms wrapped gently but tightly around the white kitten in her arms. It was purring quietly, the same way it had been for hours now. The little thing had cried the first few hours after they’d left the tower and subsequently the chubby cheeked orange kitten behind, only settling when Penny laid down across the middle seat in the SUV and let it burrow into the crook of her neck.

If Penny turned around she would’ve recognized the mournful looks on their faces, the pain in the lines of their eyes. The soldiers knew the hurt she felt, to be separated from their most important person—they understood that Peter was the most important person in Penny’s world. This separation was on their heads, but what could they do? They’d worked themselves into a rut, the three of them, wearing such deep treads into their negative behaviors that they couldn’t climb out. A complete shakeup was the only solution.

Both winced when she abruptly folded at the waist, clutching the kitten to her chest, and vomited over the pine needle strewn dirt of the driveway. Her hair fell in heavy, curly curtains around her face as she heaved again, hiding her tear-streaked face from the soldiers’ view. The sound of them setting the bags they held down registered in Penny’s ears but she couldn’t find the strength to collect herself before they converged on her.

“Come ‘ere doll, lemme take you up to the bathroom,” Bucky stated quietly, sweeping her and the cat up into his arms as gently as he could, “you can take a bath while me and Steve get everything unloaded. I think you’ll really like the cabin baby, we… well, we designed it just for you. If there’s anything you want to change, you just tell us. We want it to be perfect for you.”

She mostly caught flashes of green and white and brown, tucking her chin to look at the kitten snuggled into her cleavage. It felt cruel, to have taken the white one and left the orange, but the little chubby-cheeked kitten had taken to her brother so well—better than it had taken to her, even. Peter had named it Malcah and while it still didn’t like being picked up or held, it twined his ankles and meowed at him for love.

“Sit here baby,” the soldier set her carefully on the lid of the toilet, after having climbed a set of stairs and turned multiple blurry corners, “let me run your bath.”

It was all white tile, the toilet built into the wall. The tub was a freestanding clawfoot, with a spray nozzle and high sides. It was surprisingly small, considering how large the tub in the tower had been. Penny idly speculated that only perhaps one of the soldiers would be able to fit at time and it would certainly be a tight squeeze if she was forced in with them. There was a standing shower on the other side, where the roof wasn’t so sharply sloped by the A-framed roof. The nice thing, that Penny would never admit was very nice, was all of the plants. The entire room was predominantly white but there was a long-vined philodendron hanging gracefully over the tub, snake plants sitting on the shelf before the toilet. She could see a rubber plant and another type of vine by the sinks, framing the mirror.

They’d obviously gone to great lengths to make sure it would be something she liked, clearly evidenced by the bathroom alone. There were even candles waiting to be used on the antique, hunter green shelves and bath bombs with lovely scents. If she’d been able to design a personal bathroom, Penny figured it would probably have looked something like this and that made her hate it all the more.

The bastards were so in their heads they could barely see the sunlight. Penny was convinced that they were so distracted orchestrating her nightmare they’d lost the plot. They kept throwing stuff at her; beautiful plants, nice clothing, cute cats, lovely homes—but it didn’t mean a single thing. All of the possessions in the world didn’t make up for the gaping, rotting hole in her chest.

“Alright doll, let’s get you undressed,” Bucky shifted towards her once the water was at the right temperature and filling the tub, a small smile on his stubbled face.

“Do you think I’m debilitated?” She rasped after a moment, rolling her eyes up to stare him in the face before spitting a vomit speckled wad of phlegm onto the rug by her feet and setting the kitten on the shelf next to the snake plants. “Last time I checked I didn’t need to be treated like a baby. Are you gonna keep standing over me like a pervert? Get out.”

The soldier’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, surprised by the calmness behind her cutting tongue. Usually, when Penny got an attitude, it came with fury and fists and resulted in broken bones or bleeding wounds. This was overwhelmingly controlled; a bitchy rebuttal. Her voice was the gravelly tone she usually got after screaming or crying, dark brown eyes nearly black.  When he didn’t move, Penny rolled her eyes and stood, whipping her t-shirt over her head and dropping it to the ground.

“You’re bein’ a little moody, babe,” Bucky watched calmly as she undressed, her clothes piling up on the floor. “Wanna think about reigning it in?”

Penny’s hair was big and curly around her face, framing the clenched jaw and sneering nose. “What are you gonna do, kill me? Whatever.”

“Penny, what—”

“Peter is a thousand miles away,” Penny’s voice started out sharp but very quickly faded into a tired drawl, “you can’t hurt him from here. And what do I care if you hurt me? So could you either get the fuck out and let me take a bath or fucking drown me in it? Whatever it takes for this interaction to be over.”  

“Are you looking for a punishment right now?” Bucky’s lips pulled down at the corners, eyebrows furrowing, “‘Cause you’re working your way towards one really quick.”

“What’re you gonna do? Kill someone in front of me?” She groaned, reaching up to dig her fingers into the roots of her hair, tugging sharply before dragging it into a tangled, thoughtless bun on the top of her head “Or spank me until I can’t sit? Rape me? Could you just get it over with? I want to be alone, please!”

Bucky was silent for several long seconds before sighing through his nose, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows. “Take your bath, think about your fuckin’ attitude. Steve and I are gonna bring the bags in.”

He left the door open and Penny was further irritated to learn he had too much dignity to stomp down the stairs the way she’d hoped he would. His break in composure had been so good for her it was unbelievable—but there was likely a punishment on the horizon and Steve wasn’t likely to let her off easy once the brunet told him what she’d said. The bastard was stone cold when it came to that shit.

She stared idly at the steaming bath, naked with her clothes piled around her feet—the question was whether she wanted a bath or if she’d been resigned to it? The water was scented, because of course it was. It was even one of her favorite citrusy scents, she noted disdainfully, another thing they had paid so much attention to while keeping her locked up in a tower like fucking Rapunzel. Now in a cabin, she figured she was a Jewish Goldilocks surrounded by hungry bears.

But it smelled nice and her body ached from the long car ride, it had already been run so why not hop in? Besides, it would keep her busy while the soldier’s fucked around and she wouldn’t have to see them for a bit. They were shuffling around and she could hear the sounds of bags being placed around the cabin. The door banged off the walls several times, always accompanied by a groan or a curse, one of which she recognized as a Yiddish swear—which she refused to find endearing. The kitten meowed at her from its position on the shelf, looking put out to be so far away but Penny shushed it quietly.

“You won’t like the water, just stay there,” she murmured quietly at the distraught little creature, picking up a washcloth and dunking it into the perfumed water. “If I come get you I’ll make a huge mess.”

She ignored the kitten as it continued to communicate with her, chittering in annoyance and pawing the edge of the ledge for several minutes before evidently surrendering and lying down with its little paws draped over the edge. Penny smiled to herself, the cat’s tail was roughly the size of its body and when it curled the fluffy mass of fur around itself it became unrecognizable as a cat. The orange one would’ve continued to complain until Penny let it down, would’ve just barely given her ankles a rub before running off to hide somewhere.

That’s why she decided to leave Malcah with Peter; the orange cat didn’t run from or scratch him. She twined his ankles, sat next to his thigh on the couch, kneaded her little paws against him. Peter had decided both kittens were female, based on the very reasonable basis that he wanted them to be. Penny wasn’t sure, didn’t quite care. The only thing she ever referred to the cats as was Chatul—which literally meant cat in Hebrew. She’d shortened it to Tuly for the white kitten, for the sake of ease, but refused to say it in front of the soldiers. The cat was hers, she didn’t have to share it with them.

The sounds of the soldiers were becoming more consistent throughout the cabin and Penny figured they must’ve brought in all of the bags and were focused on unpacking. She could hear someone down in the kitchen, unloading the masses of groceries they’d brought up the mountain while the other was in the bedroom. Penny rubbed the washcloth over her skin lightly, the oils from the fragrance making her skin soft and slippery.

She didn’t hear him come in, she felt Steve come in. The blond’s presence was just as overwhelming as Tony Stark’s, an aura bigger than his body that filled the room. She could feel the disappointed stare, even as she continued to wipe herself down with the washcloth. Her teeth ground together as he watched in silence, just waiting.

“Bucky said you’ve caught an attitude, baby doll.”

“Caught an attitude?” She rolled her eyes. “Wow, if only I hadn’t become desensitized to living in constant terror—you never would’ve realized I’ve had an attitude the whole time!”

“We’re supposed to be turning a new page, Pen.”

“Turning a—” Penny scoffed, face appalled as she abruptly stood from the bath and ignored the water going everywhere, “we’re not turning a new page—You burnt the fucking book!”

The blond’s eyes widened; Penny had gotten angry in the past, furious even. She’d broken things, broken skin, broken bones and it was always accompanied by outraged screaming. But Penny didn’t make unnervingly straight eye contact while she did it. She was barely coherent at the best of times, mostly she screamed to the room at large before flying into a violent frenzy—it was different. It was startling, the light in her eyes and the way her voice cracked.

“There is no page turning, there’s no fucking­—fucking reconciliation here, Steve,” she snatched a towel from the rack behind the tub, wrapping the light green fabric around her chest tightly, “I can’t believe after, fuck, how long has it been? A month and a half? Two months? What fucking day is it?”

“…It’s July 2nd,” he found himself choking out, still feeling shell shocked as she stepped out of the tub.

“A month and a half,” Penny’s face twitched, just barely concealing the distraught look he could see she wanted to make and she started shifting past him, “Jesus Christ after a month and a half you guys still don’t get it—you know what, never mind. After a month and a half, I should’ve been smart enough to realize what dumbasses you both are.”

“Penny—”

“God, fuck!” She shouted up at the ceiling, stopping in place halfway out the door. “I have listened to you two talk at length for what’s apparently been a month and a half! I have tried to listen to your stupid fucking rules, I put in the fucking effort and you still decided to take away the one thing I care about! I’m sick and tired of you saying my name in that fucking tone, I’m tired of constantly internalizing and I’m tired of being fucking walked on! So I’ll tell you what I told Bucky—either kill me or leave me alone, but for fucks’ sake just give me space!”

A low mew followed her statement and Penny made an abrupt about face, stomping past him to snatch up the kitten from where it had been sitting on the ledge and storming past him again. It was like getting brushed by a wildfire and Steve fought the urge to take a step back when her wet hair whipped against him.

She dug through one of the bags that held her belongings angrily, kitten on her shoulder, knowing that the blond continued to watch her from the bathroom doorway. Shorts, underwear, a sports bra, a t-shirt, and a hoodie over that. She would’ve put on socks but she knew it bothered Steve when she went barefoot.

“Come downstairs, precious,” he sighed after watching her dress, gesturing towards the stairs, “we’ve got to talk.”

“We’ve always got to talk,” Penny snorted derisively but started down the stairs anyway, Tuly back in her arms, “but it’s usually just you two telling me what I can and can’t do. Stop bossing me around.”

Steve followed after her, aghast and confused—Penny had always been brave in the situations she was forced into, whether it was taking custody of her fourteen year old brother or dealing with being kidnapped from her apartment by a billionaire criminal, but she hadn’t ever antagonized before. She’d talked back, got irritated, snapped, but she hadn’t ever just been flat out bitchy.

On the main floor, Bucky had already put away all of the groceries and was folding up the cloth shopping bags to tuck away for next time. The brunet’s eyes locked on Penny for several long calculating seconds and her hackles raised; whatever was coming was going to be annoying. She refused to be afraid though, not when there wasn’t anything to lose. Not anymore.

“Sit on the couch, let’s talk,” Steve directed, watching as she seemed to contemplate following the direction before doing so, “things are obviously going to be different here, precious.”

“The cabin is equipped with the same AI as the tower but its restricted to monitoring and safety protocols,” Bucky explained, gesturing to the open layout of the main floor, “you’ll be able to go outside so long as you ask first, there’s plenty to do out there. When Steve bought it there was an overgrown vegetable garden out there, we had it cleaned up for you and the shed fixed up and stocked. A lot of good hiking around here too.”

“I can’t talk to JARVIS?” She asked, eyes tracking the way the soldier’s exchanged glances. “Of course not. Then I would have some sort of interaction beyond the pair of you. Damaging to your plan, huh?”

“Penny, the rules didn’t end just because we’re out of the tower,” Steve had one hand braced on his hip while the other rubbed over his forehead, “be—”

“If you say Be Sweet I’ll find a way to kill myself,” Penny intoned, a dry look on her face. “Jews don’t have an afterlife you know, I’m not afraid of going to Hell.”

“Penny, we’re trying—”

“Penny we’re trying,” she mocked in a high-pitched voice, dead eye stare once again boring into Bucky’s, “I’m not. I’m done trying. You’ll either kill me or drive me insane, I’ll never see Peter again—I…I failed. I couldn’t protect him, I couldn’t even keep him safe until he was an adult, isn’t that insane? Grand total of three years and some change and I fucked it up.”

Penny stood up from the couch, shaking her head as she went. The kitten was quick to jump off the couch and follow after her, meowing while that massive fluffy squirrel tail curled over its back. The open floor plan of the cabin came in handy for the soldiers though, because she couldn’t really escape even as she walked across the living room and into the kitchen.

It was hard to pretend she didn’t actually love the cabin. The kitchen was small, located beneath the loft that held the bedroom and bathroom. The railing to the loft was covered in live vines that hung down to create a tiny illusion of separation between the living room and kitchen, the kitchen itself was sage green with white and dark brown accents. There were more plants, open cabinets mounted to the walls, the sink was small but there was a dishwasher. She loved the spiral staircase that led up to the loft, framing the kitchen to the left with small shiny baubles hanging from it.

There was a hamsa and a cross, both stained glass and hanging from the tallest step. Pretty cat toys hung from the lower railings, just within the kitten’s reach. It made Penny’s skin itch, just how lovely and perfect the whole cabin was. More evidence that they were paying a freaky amount of attention to her and every move she made.

“You didn’t fail, doll,” Bucky’s tone was quiet and he hesitated for a moment before following after her several paces, ending up on the edge of the kitchen, “You didn’t fuck it up, Peter—”

“Peter is trapped in a prison in New York with a creep more than twice his age who wants to violate and brainwash him,” Penny was on her knees in front of the fridge, digging through the crisper drawer in the bottom. “Literally all I had to do to prevent that from happening was pay more attention to his daily life. Fuck, kid was practically raising himself with how often I was gone—never stood a chance, you know?”

“Don’t think like that Penny,” Steve sighed, leaning down to pick up the kitten that had circled back to his ankles and setting it on his shoulder, “there’s nothing you could’ve done. You know who Tony Stark is, you know what he’s capable of. You can’t heap that guilt on your shoulders.”

“Oh, can’t I?” She hummed, absently throwing a package of bacon onto the floor, followed by a flat of raw chicken and beef. “There can be dairy in here or there can be meat, not both.”

“We might need a second fridge,” Bucky observed quietly, watching Penny drop a couple of deli bags with sandwich meat onto the ground before she started shuffling everything into different places within the cooler. “We could keep it in the shed?”

“No room,” Steve shook his head absently, “garage?”

Penny had collected a stack of items from the fridge and piled them onto the counter, not even bothering to look back on the soldiers as she began puttering around. The open-faced cabinets on the walls held mostly dishes and containers filled with ingredients and she ducked down, opening the lower cabinets and digging out several pans.

“Do you… do you want a hand, doll?” Bucky asked hesitantly after several moments, watching her collect ingredients and tools and turn on the stove.

“No.”

“Penny—”

“Can I make lunch please?” She whipped around, an irritated look on her face and a spatula in hand, looking like she was about to use it to beat them both, “I’m hungry and I want to die, I figure you’ll only allow me to fulfill one of those wants so can you let me cook?”

The next thing she knew, Penny had been swept up into Bucky’s arms. The solider looked confused, lips curled in frustration but his brow furrowed with dismay. She stiffened at the action when he stomped back to the couch and sat down roughly, dropping her over his knees and landing a smarting blow to her ass through her shorts without warning.

“Thirty for this fucking attitude,” he barked, yanking the shorts down until the waistband settled under the curve of her ass against the tops of her thighs, “count.”

A sharp inhale followed the first skin to skin hit and Penny snarled in response, “one.”

“Apologize,” Steve’s fingers tangled into her hair, extracting the hair tie and letting the curls fall in chaotic waves over her shoulders and face.

“Two,” she counted dutifully and angrily, narrowed eyes landing on Steve’s face, “I’m sorry you’re a fucking monster!”

“That just added ten more, Penny,” Bucky sighed through gritted teeth, “you better reign it in.”

“You better just kill me,” she rasped, nails digging into his leg where she was holding on for balance through the hits, “because I won’t reign it in. I’m sick to death of you motherfuckers—Oh, fuck, three!”

“No cursing during punishments, start from one,” Steve ordered darkly, the hand in her hair pulling taught as he glanced into Bucky’s eyes—the baffling combination of anger and dismay and loss in the brunet’s eyes let him know he wasn’t the only one scrambling.

“Fuck you!” Penny shook her head roughly as if to dislodge his hand, canting her head to the side the best she could manage to look him in the eye, “beat me black and blue, I don’t fucking care. Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter anymore! Nothing fucking matters.”

content warnings: spanking *edit, addition content warning: disrespectful terminology for Jewish people