#croaky chronos

[hibiscus-percy]

Don't imagine Zagreus when Melinoë was born. Don't imagine him seeing her and immediately knowing he would do anything to protect her. Don't imagine him being excited to be a big brother; to give the love and attention and patience he never really had growing up. (Sure, he had Mother Night, but he never understood why his father hardly ever paid attention to him for anything other than to enforce his lessons. Something always felt off..) Don't imagine the joy he felt, posing for that family portrait.

Don't imagine the fear he felt when the House got attacked by Time itself. Don't imagine him doing everything he could to protect his family; his newborn baby sister.

Don't imagine him thinking, for all those years, that he failed.

[mwolf0epsilon]

The Frog Trooper - (2/4)

Summary: Dogma's morning takes a very drastic turn as the curse set upon him activates abruptly...

WARNING: Vomiting and Body Horror!

[Now we're really jumping into the main event. Dogma is not having a great time, but to be fair neither are the others... The question now is just how bad is it gonna get before it finally does gets better? It remains to be seen...]

[Part 1 can be found here or on AO3]

---

Strangely Dogma's dreams were not the haunting flashes of purple hued forests illuminated in reds, pinks, and other bioluminescent washes, that kept appearing to him every single night for the last couple of weeks.

There were no eerily phantasmagorical shrieks from atop dense tree canopies, nor any mechanical creaks and hisses signaling the presence of enemy vehicles. No green glowing eyes, flaps of leathery wings, gnashing maws full of teeth, or lashing tendrils trying to pull him and his kin beneath the soil and into an acid bath.

The familiar and constant droning orders designed to send the vode to their doom, led astray like sheep to the slaughter, were completely absent. So were the awful echoing jeers of the devil amidst them.

The wolf in sheep's clothing miraculously banished from his mind.

For the first time in so long, Dogma doesn't dream about the darkness of Umbara. Doesn't dream about the final screams of the dead and dying, nor of Krell's cruel mockery of his naivety. Is temporarily free of the guilt and self-disgust that comes from being tricked so easily into helping butcher his brothers.

Instead he dreams of a well lit body of water. The current he feels tugging and pulling at him in an undoubtedly constant, yet soothingly calm and gentle manner. Very unlike the savagery of Kamino's oceans.

A lake, perhaps? Or a pond?

He's not entirely sure but it feels completely welcoming rather than hostile. Reassuring in a way that's completely alien to him. Like an all-encompassing embrace, strangely warm for an undetermined amount of water.

In this dream, this sweet little fantasy, Dogma felt safe and at home.

And then he stirred. Blinked himself into sudden awareness. Surrounded not by water, but by the artificial darkness cast by the coarse fabric of his bed covers. Back in both the waking world and the barracks.

The comforting feeling dissipated almost immediately, leaving behind a dull sense of sadness and disappointment that would surely follow him around like a dark cloud.

This was not his home and it would never be. That much he had now come to accept...

Sighed to himself, the weary trooper pulled the covers away from his face so that he could catch a glimpse of the chrono that hung just over the barrack doors. The previous night's bitterness resurfacing as he noticed that he was 30 minutes well into early-meal. Not only had no one deigned to check in on him, but now he'd also likely missed the more palatable breakfast options because no had even had the decency to wake him up.

If there was anything Dogma hated more than sleeping in, it was getting the scraps no one else liked to eat...

Grumbling to himself, he did pause to marvel at a startling revelation. His throat, which had been bothering him for several days now, was blissfully pain-free. This brought a small smile of relief to his face, before he shook the expression clean off and huffed. It's not like he felt like talking to anyone now that he could.

It wouldn't be petty of him to omit the fact he was no longer a croaky and raspy mess. He was just being mindful of his own health, since he really shouldn't strain his vocal chords so soon after recovery.

Yeah, that was it. No pettiness whatsoever. That sort of behavior was beneath him.

Getting up and hastily putting on his body-glove and armour, Dogma got ready for the day and then began proudly marching towards the mess hall. Making sure to keep his chin up the whole way.

No one was getting under his skin today. He wouldn't allow them that much power over him two days in a row. They'd had their cruel fun, now he was taking back some semblance of control and officially setting into stone the distance they'd already covered for him.

He wasn't one of them, so he wouldn't bother to pretend or try. Maybe in due time the idea would stop hurting so much.

Speaking of which, now that his throat wasn't bothering him, he made a mental note to mention to the medics that his back felt a little sore, right along his spine... How odd...

-

He'd been right in assuming the better nutrimush, protein bars and side rations had already been picked clean off the trays. Gobbled up by the first few waves of clones who wouldn't be caught dead eating the dreaded yellow rations bars, or gray gruel that barely passed off for food...

For him this meant a rather unpleasant experience coming up, as Dogma was well known among his peers for being a little picky with when it came to his eating habits.

It wasn't that he was being a bratty snob about it. He ate what was available to him without complaint most days. It was just... The yellow rations were very dry and their texture was like sandpaper against the tongue, with an overly bitter taste to add salt to metaphorical wound. And then the disgusting glob of grey goo tasted vaguely of fatty meat and soggy flimsy that had been left out for a little too long...

The combination of gritty, fibrous, and oily did not make for a pleasant meal, and it honestly made him tense up uncomfortably while trying to fight his gag reflex. It set him off so badly that it was easier to justify skipping a meal altogether, as that would disrupt his functionality as a soldier less than subjecting himself to a bout of sickness.

Glaring at the lacking food options as if they'd personally offended him, Dogma merely shook his head and put back the empty tray he'd picked up on entering the mess. Once it was back in it's proper place, he headed straight for the clunky old (and eager to burn) caf machine. He wasn't that big a fan of caffeinated drinks, but it was a lesser of two perceived evils. And at least the warmth of a hot beverage might trick his stomach into feeling a little fuller.

Grabbing a cup and setting it on the unwieldy machine's indicated slot, the disgruntled clone pressed the button and waited... And waited... And waited some more...

Someone had neglected to refill the caf machine.

Pinching the bridge of his nose in slight frustration, Dogma instead set off to fill the cup with water and went to sit on his own at an empty table. He glared into his cup, eye slightly twitching, as he took quiet little sips. Aside from the lack of food, zero caf, and the uncomfortable aching of his back, could his morning get any worse?

"Hey Dogma."

Without looking up from his cup Dogma internally groaned. Of course. Of course it could. Why would he even ask?

Hardcase was standing there with a big smile on his face, while holding a tray filled to the brim with food. He was accompanied by Jesse, Fives, Echo, Tup and Twitch. The very same group of people that he most definitely didn't want to talk to today. Especially not over breakfast.

"We noticed you coming in and we saw that your table was free, so we figured we might have breakfast together?" Hardcase offered, still smiling from ear to ear up until he noticed Dogma's lack of a lunch-tray. "Oh uh... Did you already finish up?"

Still not looking up Dogma locked his jaw and gave no reply. After all, why should he make the effort? It's not like they cared about what he might have to say anyway...

"Dogma...?" Echo spoke up, tone a little apprehensive. "You didn't skip first-meal did you?"

"What, Dogma skipping designated mealtimes? Good one Ey'ik--OOF!" He did manage to catch a glimpse of Twitch elbowing Fives in the stomach, jostling the contents of his tray as he did so. That at least got his lips to momentarily quirk upwards before he forced them back into a more neutral position. Dogma needed to maintain the aloofness if he had any hopes of the group leaving him be.

"The options weren't great today... We've already run out of caf." The youngest clone smiled uneasily. "I uh... I got the last bit of red nutrimush if you'd like to share? I know it's your favourite..."

The grumpy clone frowned at this. It was indeed his favourite (a soft fruity flavoured puree that washed down all the other unpleasant tastes), but it was also the smallest of Twitch's portions... And as mad as he was at the young clone for what happened yesterday, he couldn't ask a kih'vod to part with their own food just so he could have it.

No matter how hungry he felt at that moment...

He shook his head in reply, holding up his cup and shrugging. It then occurred to him to sign to Twitch, just so he didn't have to reveal to the group that he was no longer medically required to keep his mouth shut.

Blessed ARC signs and their versatility in and out of combat. He was glad to have started learning them early on for the convenience, since most medics knew them out of necessity. It also offered Dogma a bit of a security blanket when he found it hard to vocalize what he had in mind.

Not that this was a common occurrence. Words just broke sometimes and he'd learned to live with it, but it was nice to still have a way to communicate with others if need be.

"You're not hungry?" Twitch didn't seem convinced by his dismissals. In fact the astute kih'vod seemed to be scrutinizing him with those piercing eyes of his. It made Dogma a little uneasy. "Are you sure...?"

'Positive' he signed as clearly as he could. Hoping that perhaps the medic would give in and eat his own food, rather than keep insisting with him on the matter. After all Dogma didn't have to listen to Twitch's nagging until he was on the clock. Out in the mess hall he didn't outrank him.

"If you're sure... You can still just hang out with us while we eat." Jesse shrugged, sitting down and setting his tray on the table.

The others followed suit much to Dogma's annoyance. He massaged his wrist and flexed his fingers, noting that the hand he had used to sign felt a little achy. He had probably slept on it funny. Not that that was his concern for long, when the blissful silence of the lonely corner he'd found respite in was completely shattered by idle chatter from all around him.

To his great dismay, even without caf, Jesse was already being quite loud today. And Hardcase being Hardcase, fed off that energy and talking twice as loud in between bites. There went his peace...

If there was something he'd learned from his cadet days, was that staring at other people while they ate was not socially appropriate. Most would even go so far as to say it was rude to do so, and might try to put you in your place if you didn't stop on the first warning. With that in mind Dogma made sure to keep his eyes glued to his cup. Doing his best to stay as passive as usual despite the growing indignation he felt at being so impolitely disturbed.

He made an effort not to focus on their idle chatter and instead counted the scratches on the cup's glassy surface, as well as the cracks of the ceiling tiles he could see whenever his eyes wandered upwards and away from the other clones. Normally he'd be happy to sort of be included in something as mundane as first-meal, but right now he just wanted to be left to his own devices.

Just him and his sad little cup of surprisingly refreshing water...

Uh, maybe not having caf wasn't so bad after all. He still felt quite thirsty and would soon need to get a refill, since his cup was already halfway empty. Oddly enough, his lips felt dry despite taking a sip every so often.

"Is your throat still giving you trouble?" His eyes landed on Echo, who seemed to be watching him instead of focusing on his food. Dogma gnawed on his lower lip in thought before shrugging, which didn't seem to satisfy the ARC in the slightest. "It's just, you're back to drinking a lot..."

"Maybe we need to change the antibiotics prescription." Twitch mused aloud, spoonful of nutrimush in hand. "Some of the vode need the stronger stuff. Our metabolisms are all pretty high, but some clones have slight variations that affect how they react to medication."

Well, he didn't doubt that. If there could be slight mutations that affected cosmetic appearance and immunity system strength, then why not something that could destabilize the Kaminoans's genetic tampering?

But it wasn't his throat that was bothering him right now. It was his aching back, his sore wrists (because now his other hand was also starting to ache), and his unreasonably dry lips and mouth. Come to think of it, his ankles also hurt a little...

Actually... He felt a little funny all over...

"Hm..." Echo looked to his right where Fives was seated and cleared his throat. When that failed to catch the other Domino's notice, he repeated the action albeit a little louder. When that also failed, Dogma assumed that Echo kicked Fives from the way the other jolted suddenly.

"Ack!!! Echo!" The clone with the numeral tattoo glared at his batchmate. It'd be funny if not the fact the strangeness he felt seemed to be making Dogma's stomach twist uncomfortably.

"Don't you have something to say?" Echo asked, seeming both oblivious to Dogma's odd demeanor and unimpressed with his twin's protests.

"I... Uh..." Fives pushed his food around in his tray, seeming a little uneasy himself. The usually boisterous ARC worried his lip while supposedly in thought about something. "Well... About yesterday..."

The twisting feeling was worsening.

It didn't feel like nerves, or irritation, or even discontentment over the previous day being mentioned. Instead it felt like his stomach was trying to tie itself into a bowline knot. Dogma could practically feel his face slowly turning a more ashen color as his eyes began to water, and his tongue began to feel as heavy as durasteel. He was going to be sick.

"Dogma I'm really sorry about yester--"

BLURGHHH!!!

Time came to a standstill in the mess hall.

Fives was completely frozen, his eyes as wide as saucers and mouth half open from getting cut off mid sentence. His shocked expression was mirrored by everyone else, Tup going so far as to cover his mouth in horror (and likely to keep from gagging himself, as he was never very good when it came to being around someone throwing up).

Dogma hadn't had anything to eat at all, so the only thing that had come up was the water he'd been drinking. Rather unfortunate, as its completely liquid nature meant it had come out as a projectile stream directed at whatever might be in front of him. And, since Fives was sitting opposite to him, he was the one on the receiving end of a rather gross surprise attack. A very unlucky accident.

In his defense, Dogma would feel bad about it if not for the fact the painful tightness of his stomach hadn't subsided whatsoever. In fact, it was both spreading and increasing in intensity. So much so that he cried out in alarm as he fell out of his seat and curled up into the fetal position, as his entire body was wracked by intense and indescribable pain.

"Dogma!" Twitch was by his side almost immediately, the others jumping out of their own seats while looking unsure of what was going on, or what to do. Every other clone that had been eating was also now either staring from their tables, or also up on their feet trying to get a better look at whatever might be happening.

"Dogma!" Twitch put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly to try to ground him, only to let go once he flinched away in pain.

It hurt! Little Force Gods everything hurt!

"Dogma, talk to me vod! What do you feel?"

Easy for him to say, he wasn't the one currently feeling like he was dying on the filthy mess floor! Still, the frantic kih'vod was a medic. If you were hurt you had to report to a medic. He wanted to, but it hurt too much to get words out.

When his mouth fell open once more it was to throw up more water. The taste of bile was nauseating, but not as alarming as the coppery hint to it, nor the soft pearl like clink of something solid hitting the ground.

"Karking sith-spit is that blood?!" Hardcase (or at least he assumed it was Hardcase), screeched in horror.

"Nevermind that! Did he just spit out a tooth?!" Jesse (because he was to Dogma's right wasn't he?) sounded even more horrified than Hardcase, which was never a good sign. Jesse was meant to be the composed and reasonable one out of the two of them.

Afraid and in aching all over, Dogma made an effort to stare at the puddle of sick that had come up.

It was foamy pink, translucent (because it was mostly water), with a single tooth in the middle of it. Brushing his tongue over his gums, he quickly found where it had come from. And then suppressed a scream when more teeth popped free and fell out of his mouth to join their lost brethren.

"Holy shit..."

"Twitch what the hell is happening to him?!"

"I don't know!"

Heart racing from both pain and panic, Dogma pushed the young medic away as he got up onto his hands and knees. He spat out the remainder of his falling teeth (ignoring the splatter of blood that followed them, due to his raw gums seeming to be weeping their losses) and pushed himself up onto unsteady feet.

If Twitch didn't know what this was, someone else more experienced might. He needed to get to the medbay immediately.

"Dogma wait!" He ignored Tup, avoiding his twin as he made a break for it. Stopping once at the doorway to throw up more bloodied water, before continuing on his mad dash to get medical attention.

The mess hall and the medbay were fairly close to one another. It was the most convenient setup for when the medics needed to take meal breaks, but also needed to be back at a moment's notice if the occasion called for it. That said, the hallway connecting the two seemed to have somehow gotten longer than Dogma recalled it having ever been.

Or maybe distances just worked strangely when you were wracked with agonizing pain...

Every inch of his body felt like it had been dipped in lava. Any slight movement made white hot agony shoot up his spine, and stars fill his vision until all he could see were dots and blurry halls. It hurt so bad that his head was swimming and his ears felt like they were stuffed full of cotton.

His balance was also off-kilter, if him swerving wildly and hitting every wall was anything to go by. Hitting them with such force that his kit was being displaced in the confusion. Each fallen piece clattering noisily on the floor.

Not that he was complaining, since the added weight of it was causing him even more distress. Losing it was alleviating some of the burning agony coursing through his veins.

Behind him he could sort of vaguely hear the others, but he didn't stop to pay them any mind. The medbay door was in sight, he just had to keep going. Stopping now wouldn't do him any good.

A foot away from the door his legs gave out under him and Dogma couldn't keep from screaming this time. Little gods above and beyond, he'd felt something snap like brittle twigs. And if that wasn't already bad enough, he could feel the undoubtedly broken bones grind and move against each other beneath his skin almost as if they had a mind of their own.

Thankfully the door slid open almost as soon as he began to wail and howl in agony from the torturous pain.

The startled look on Pitch's face one of the last things he saw before the world began to fade into darkness. The other thing that managed to register was his twin standing over him looking beyond terrified.

And then Dogma knew no more...

-

Voices... Muffled voices all around him... Talking in hushed tones that did absolutely nothing to quell the pounding headache that he's waking up to.

Of all the times he's come to in the medbay (and he's sure it's the medbay because the covers are too soft to be the ones in his bunk), this had to be one of the most unpleasant ones. Mostly because of the rush of memories accompanying his return to awareness. Impossibly terrifying memories that made him want to sink back into the mattress even further, instead of getting up and facing whatever might be awaiting him.

All of that... All of that couldn't have happened right?

Dogma didn't just suddenly throw up his own teeth in the mess hall, or break his legs while making a break for the medbay, right? Surely it had all just been a weird fever dream brought on by his bacterial infection? Maybe he'd been sicker than he thought, and he'd never left when he'd first been given his diagnosis and prognosis?

Surely... Surely that had to be it, right?

The voices were getting louder. Nearing him slowly but steadily, likely to check up on how he was currently faring. Anger momentarily forgotten (why was he angry? If it was all just a dream then he'd never even gone to the zoo, and Fives hadn't called him ugly, and the others hadn't laughed, and he didn't have a reason to be angry right?), Dogma couldn't help but want to cry tears of joy at the thought that at last he wasn't just being tossed aside to fend for himself.

Whether or not what had happen was a dream, the terror he'd experienced felt all too real. The sensation of his bones snapping, the rawness of his bare gums, the taste of copper... It felt real. Too real. The current numbness of his body also didn't ease his mind in the slightest. If anything it just made his eyelids feel heavier.

"I don't need any more inconclusive tests, I need answers!" Dogma winced as he heard the telltale harshness of a clone pushed well beyond their limit. He couldn't be sure which of the medics was upset at the moment (as they all shared the same brand of snappiness when they were stressed), but whatever was going on didn't sound good. Had something gone down while he was under?

"And I'm telling you that besides the blood tests, nothing's coming back conclusive." Someone else replied, sounding just as stressed as the first medic. "Farking Force gods ori'vod, the kid was dragged in looking like he was melting!"

"Not just looking, Dogma WAS melting."

Hearing his name followed by the phrase 'was melting' made Dogma's eyes snap open immediately. He'd been what now?!

"W-whoa...?"

"I'm still trying to wrap my head around that..." The second medic sounded nauseated. "I've seen some karked up shit in the field, been elbows deep in many brothers' guts, but even I felt sick to my stomach seeing the poor kid like that..."

"I'm not surprised. You have always had a soft spot for Tup and Dogma." The first medic pointed out. "Your barghest was more thrilled about this whole mess than any of us..."

"Ugh... Don't. Just don't..." So the second medic was Sponge. Which meant the first one was likely Coric, as they rarely called anyone else ori'vod. "I know that animals aren't constrained by the chains of morality and all that, but it was nothing if not alarming seeing her react like that... I haven't quite managed to teach her to not eat strange meat off the floor. She shouldn't be eating hazardous material of any kind."

"Lets just hope she hasn't acquired a taste for clone flesh..."

"W-what are you... What are you guys talking about?" He couldn't see past the covers. He was laying with his back propped up against something soft (a bunch of pillows perhaps?), but he couldn't really see over the covers that were laid on top of him. Had the medical staff piled up a bunch of them on top of him?

Apparently he'd been in a critical way (melting, as absurd as that sounded, had to meet the requirements), which would explain why they'd do such a thing... Allocating so many resources to comfort someone who wasn't in dire need, would not have been justifiable otherwise. None of the medics liked lying in reports.

Although that said, he didn't feel like he'd melted. He wasn't sure how that should feel, really, but as numb as he was now he still felt all his extremities. He had a body that wasn't moving 100% due to drowsiness and whatever drugs they'd pumped into his system. A body that was dulled and heavy from all the sheets covering it, and that felt none of the discomfort it should if it had gone through such an alarming sounding ordeal.

"I think he's awake..."

"Prime's balls... Alright. Alright I'll grab Kix, Pitch and Twitch." Sponge took a deep breath. "Just... Ease him into... Into this, whatever it is... He's gone through enough."

"Go on vod'ika... Take it easy alright? We've all seen some stuff today."

The covers were pulled up and away from him. The white incandescent light hitting his eyes rather harshly, causing Dogma to wince and close them again. Once the stinging lessened considerably, he blinked them back open repeatedly to clear his vision of the spots that had cropped up from the previous assault on his senses.

What he saw upon glancing to his right, where the covers had been pulled to, made him nearly jump out of the cot in fright. Looming over him, blotting out the blinding white lights of the medbay, was Coric. Only he was gigantic in size.

"What in sithhells?!"

"Dogma..."

"W-what... What happ-" Dogma yelped, flailing as he realized that despite laying on his back against a pillow, he couldn't actually sit up properly or even get his arms to bend back enough to hold himself in a seated position. He tried to right himself, but a sharp pain on his back and hips made him stop. Leaving him propped up against the pillow for support like he had been since the beginning of his struggle. "Coric...? W-What happened? Why are you... Why are you so big?!"

"Hey now, don't do that..." Dogma flinched slightly when the older clone reached down to scoop him up. He was speaking so softly, as if Dogma were a scared cadet that needed to be comforted and reassured. "Easy... I'm not going to hurt you kih'vod..."

"I... What...?" He looked around, noting how his general surroundings were all much larger than he was. This meant that the medic hadn't been the one to grow, rather, he'd been the one to shrink.

Had that been what they'd meant by him melting? But then... Then that didn't explain the talk about strange meat and Sponge's pet being a menace about it...?

Dogma gasped when he felt something touch his head. He glanced up to the best of his abilities (his neck felt stiff and weird) to find that Coric was carefully patting him with his right index finger. The look on his face was one of concern, despite his attempts to keep a mask of calmness about him.

"Dogma... I..." The older of the two sighed, seeming conflicted about this situation. "There's no easy way to tell you this..."

"Tell me what?"

"I might as well just... Yeah, I'll just show you. Just know we're all looking into a way to fix..." Coric shook his head, trying to find the right words while moving away from the cot so that he could find a reflective surface. "We'll find a cure."

"A cure for what? What aren't you telling me?"

"Just don't freak out." The medic opened up one of the medicine cabinets. The one that had the mirror attached to the inside of the door, in case the person opening it needed to see their reflection for some reason or another. Self-examinations maybe?

Wordlessly, Coric held him up so that Dogma could see himself.

Instead of seeing his shrunken human form laying on his belly on his older brother's open palm, he saw a dark brown ugly little frog with beady little eyes, a wide mouth and flat wrinkly body.

The previous day came back to him, as the frog reflected in the mirror gaped back in horror. It was an almost perfect copy of the one in the tank back at the zoo (save for it's dark brown coloration and Dogma's iconic tattoo stamped across it's hideous little face). The one that Fives had insisted looked so much like him.

"Dogma?"

He kept staring, mouth wide open in shock, as the little thing moved about mimicking his attempts to get up and inspect the reflection up close. It looked so much uglier now that his nose (could he say that he still had a nose? Was it a snout now? Just nostrils?) was pressed to the glass.

He reached out a hand and touched the reflective surface. The arm that was attached to him did not at all look like his own. Neither did the hand attached to it.

Conclusions made, Dogma screamed.

-

The medbay ended up becoming barred from anyone that wasn't part of the medical personnel. In between waking up, finding himself horrifically transformed, screaming his head off, and then passing out again, Dogma had endured several hundreds of scans and tests.

Every single medic on leave had been called in to help figure out just what had happened to cause such an inexplicable metamorphosis. One that, according to Twitch's recounting, had been quite gruesome to bare witness to (the poor kih'vod was pretty shaken up telling him about it).

Needless to say, Sponge and Coric hadn't been spouting hyperbole when they'd said he had been melting...

His teeth, hair and nails had fallen off. His bones had become brittle and snapped, so that they could reshape themselves to fit this new form of his. His skin and muscles had liquefied and sloughed off of him in waves so quickly, that it had been nearly impossible to stop Beau in her innocent animal ignorance, from lapping up the disgusting mess of primordial flesh soup (she was currently locked up in her kennel, which he imagined neither Sponge nor the barghest were happy about).

In less than a few seconds Dogma lost a lot of weight, his heart-rate had increased drastically to fit the metabolism of a frog, and it had taken every single panicking party a solid minute to realize he wasn't just disintegrating into messy nothingness.

It had been Pitch who'd braved digging his tiny amphibian body out of the slop the rest of him had become. It was also Pitch who'd made sure to put him in as comfy of a cot he could find, while Dogma recovered from his painful transition into froghood. And now it was still Pitch who was trying to make him comfortable, despite the endless barrage of tests that didn't seem to hold any promising answers as to why any of this had happened.

"Any word from general Skywalker?" The hoarder of sweet treats asked Kix, who was yet again scanning Dogma's vitals. Nothing had likely changed from the last few scans he'd done, but the older medic was likely doing them to reassure himself more than anything else.

Kix was a mother-hen at heart. He had to be, with batchmates like his.

"Still nothing... He's gone on one of his private meetings with the chancellor." The distaste in his tone was palpable. "We haven't been able to reach him at all..."

"And general Kenobi?" Pitch insisted. "Has anyone been able to comm him or his commander?"

"Rex has been trying to comm Cody." The frustration was also easy to discern in his tone. The amount of bad luck they'd hit was clearly wearing Kix down. "No luck on that front either. I think the 212th is under communications blackout at the moment..."

"Splendid..." Pitch groaned. "Anytime we need a Jedi to come to medical they're off either playing politics or gone somewhere unreachable..."

Dogma croaked (because he couldn't talk anymore) miserably at the hopelessness of the situation. They could really use someone that was experienced in the bizarre and inexplicable. The Force clearly had a hand in this and, even if it was not the kind of thing that the Jedi likely dealt with all the time, they must have some kind of information on some other practices that did do things like this?

There must be something in the archives about people turning into frogs, like old stories about witches and mages of ancient times? Or maybe he was being silly and putting all his credits on children's fantastical tales. Only a child would believe in things of this nature ever happening to someone.

"If we can't reach either one of the generals, we might need to get our commander involved instead..." Sponge spoke up from where they were currently perched over a workbench, looking down a microscope lens to study one of the skin samples they'd kindly asked from him. Dogma's side still stung a little from where they'd gotten the scrape. "Which is not ideal, but the best bet we've got at the moment..."

"You're right! Commander Tano has gone to the archives before on assignments!" Twitch seemed to be on board with Sponge's suggestion. "She might be able to help gather information for us!"

"And if not, she could always ask the archives master." Kix offered. "It would be a lot better than waiting on the generals, or recruiting the other battalion medics to help sort this out..."

It would also spare Dogma what little dignity he had left. The less people saw him in this state, the better. Not only was he already feeling like the freak of the week just from having the 501st's medical staff scrutinizing him, he was really not coping all too well with how little he could do for himself right now.

All of his words falling on deaf ears because to the others they weren't words anymore, and body all weird and uncooperative because it just didn't feel like his body anymore.

Sith-spitting hells, he wasn't even sure how to walk around like this!

Did he slap about on uncoordinated limbs, hoping to get somewhere? Or did he hop about and hope it worked in his favour? There had been one attempt already, and he'd nearly fallen off Pitch's hands before he'd been relegated to the blue haired medic's bucket.

There was also something else... His skin was all itchy!

At first he just assumed it was meant to be itchy. It's not like he was an herpetologist or anything of the sort, so who could possibly blame him for lacking that particular sort of knowledge on the matter? But then, the more tests he was put through and the longer he just waited around, the more unbearable the itchiness had gotten.

It was also hard to get rid of the persistent tingling feeling, as his range of movement was limited in the articulation department. He was unable to reach certain spots that shouldn't be hard for him to get, so Dogma was essentially stuck uselessly slapping his flat and wrinkly little body with clumsy limbs. The lack of fingernails was also proving to be a headache...

But he did remember reading a little detail back at the zoo, about this damnable critter he'd ended up as: These unsightly lumps of frog had fangs.

And he was just so darn itchy!!!

"H-Hey! Don't do that!" He squirmed uneasily as he felt someone scoop him up and out of Pitch's bucket. That someone turned out to be Kix, who was trying to pry Dogma's little stubby arm away from his mouth, and consequently the twin fangs attached to his lower jaw. Both the feeling of the contact against his bare aching skin, and the feeling of vertigo hit him all at once.

Dogma shrieked in discomfort, letting the shrill noise taper off into a pathetic squeak as he puffed up his body momentarily, before just slumping in his grip. It hurt to be touched!

"Kriff, he's all dried up. That's not... That's not good for a frog is it?" Kix gulped loudly, Dogma able to see his Adam's apple bob downwards and then upwards as newfound reason for concern seemed to take a hold of the older clone.

Pitch, Sponge and Twitch all looked their way, trice the worry written on their faces. And perhaps a little fear as well. Dogma thought he could smell it... Which only make him squeak even more miserably.

He shouldn't be able to smell emotions. He hated this.

"Most amphibians are semi-aquatic by default." Sponge pointed out.

"At the zoo the plaque for their tank said that Budgett's frogs prefer to live in water." Twitch added. "And since he looks like one, he probably needs the same things as one to stay healthy..."

"Including hydrated skin. Little gods..." Kix winced apologetically as he placed Dogma back into Pitch's bucket, moving over to the sink where the medics scrubbed down their hands prior to performing any kind of surgery. "I'm so sorry kih'vod, we should have known..."

He squeaked up at Kix once more, hoping that the slightly less offensive noise indicated to him that he wasn't upset with them. It's not like they'd been taught how to deal with this sort of experience, so why would he blame them for not thinking about what his body might need now, rather than what it needed before?

Dogma would have definitely remembered if there was some kind of Animal Transformation 101 field guide provided by the trainers back on Kamino.

Relief washed over him as the tap was turned on, a steady stream of cool water rushing to both fill up Pitch's bucket and sooth Dogma's irritated skin. Almost immediately the itch was gone and he couldn't help but take a deep breath and submerge himself, kicking his clumsy limbs about so that he could properly dive. To his great surprise, his arms and legs were more coordinated in water. Which made sense in hindsight...

Dogma rushed back up despite not feeling a need to take another breath just yet, peeking back up at Kix with as much satisfaction as a frog could give off. The medic seemed just as relieved as he felt right now.

"That better?"

"Much!" he was floating pretty effectively and felt perfectly fine now, so there was that. Remarkably he didn't even feel parched anymore.

"I'll take that as a noise of positive affirmation." The older clone hummed. "This would be easier if we could understand you... I hope you can still understand us."

That made Dogma pause. Had he any eyebrows he's sure they would be furrowed. Of course he could still understand them! He'd responded hadn't he?

"This is going to be so weird to explain to everyone else..." Twitch remarked wistfully, as Kix approached the group after making sure he had Pitch's bucket (and Dogma) nicely secured in the crook of his arm. "Tup's going to go ham if he doesn't hear from us anytime soon regarding Dogma's condition..."

"One thing at a time..." Sponge groaned. "The vode can hear about this after we contact the Jedi."

"I'd rather they not..." Dogma grumbled to himself while trying to ignore the fact none of the medics turned to look at him when he spoke up. They couldn't understand him, so that was a perfectly valid reason not to look, and not because they didn't want to listen to what he had to say. He hoped.

"They were there when Dogma collapsed at the door." Kix pointed out to the scissor cut grouch of the group. Poking them on the side of the temple where the incision marker tattoo flashed prominently with bold ink. "They saw he was in a bad way..."

"They also made fun of him yesterday." Sponge growled. "You can't tell me you're not mad about that?"

"And Fives was going to apologize this morning! But then this happened..." Twitch cut in. "Yesterday was dumb, I know, and I feel bad about it. We all do! But we can't just keep this secret from everyone else!"

Dogma closed his eyes in frustration at the reminder, and dived back down into the safety of the bottom of Pitch's bucket. The water muffling the ongoing conversation between the clashing medics.

He didn't want to hear it.

Not whatever new half-assed excuse of 'boys will be boys' like the ones the captain often gave him, whenever he'd gone to him seeking help after he'd been once again mercilessly pranked by the other troopers of the 501st.

He just wanted this fixed so that he could get some rest.

Maybe if he just stayed under for a little bit he'd feel a little better. The water did feel quite nice...

[shipaholic]

Omens Universe, Chapter 11 Part 1

Oof. Busy day at work today. Resume! The boys have something to talk about...

Discussion this chapter of magical injuries, and we get our first big swear.

Link to next part at the end.

(From the beginning)

(last part)

(chrono)

---

Chapter 11

Aziraphale’s upturned face was full of hope. He opened his mouth to speak.

Crowley held up a finger. Aziraphale’s mouth snapped shut. Crowley had no idea what his own face must look like, but the sight of it caused the light in Aziraphale’s eyes to snuff right out. The angel swallowed and stared at him.

Crowley tried to collect himself while experiencing twenty-two emotions in the span of ten seconds.

In a cracked voice, he said, “What. The Hell. Are you doing here.”

Aziraphale’s hands wrung together. “I’m so sorry to drop in unannounced,” he said.

He sounded sincere. As if a lack of manners was the issue. Crowley made an undignified noise.

“It must have given you quite a shock. If there was some way to contact you beforehand -”

“I didn’t need another of your notes.”

There was a horrible pause.

“Qu-quite.” Aziraphale looked pale. “Um. Perhaps I should explain?”

An explanation. Crowley flashed back to the day he’d returned to the bookshop, shame-faced and heart-bruised, and found it dark and empty, summoning circle cold for hours, and that one sheet of paper on the bureau addressed to him. His stomach dropped away.

“I came back, because… because I had to see you. The thing is…”

Aziraphale’s lip wobbled. Then it burst out of him like a dam exploding.

“I couldn’t do it, Crowley! I couldn’t sit up there and smile while they all counted down to Armageddon like it was New Years’ bloody Eve. I want no part in any of it. They were going to give me a regiment and - Crowley, I can’t do it. Killing for them, seeing you killed. They’re looking forward to getting to melt the Earth down to a slag heap. I can’t even comprehend it. I’ve seen the world they’re so keen to duplicate down here, and it’s awful, Crowley. Seventy-eight years of Singalong Sound of Music, you have no idea. I can’t take an eternity of that. I thought I had no choice, I thought I had to stick it out, but it got to today and it was all too much and I just had to come and find you. I’ve been an idiot. We should have done this from the start, when Zadkiel wanted to. He was right all along, and I was wrong. We have to escape. This world is going to end, no matter what, but it doesn’t have to be the end for us.”

Nothing could have prepared Crowley for Aziraphale bursting up to him and suggesting they go on the lam.

He managed a croaky, “You what?”

Aziraphale took a step towards him. His eyes held a feverish glow.

“We can do it. I’ve thought it all through, and it’s possible. If we act now. Flee into space, live as a fusion. Heaven and Hell won’t be able to track us. Besides, they’re going to be busy with everything down here. We can have our pick of where to settle down. Er, where’s nice… Alpha Centauri, say? I’m sure I’ve heard you talking about it.”

Crowley said, “Nnng.” It was all he had left.

Aziraphale came closer. He took Crowley’s hand. Crowley stared down at it as if it wasn’t attached to him.

“Will you please come with me?” Aziraphale said.

Crowley forgot what breathing felt like.

Aziraphale noticed something. He glanced down at their joined hands.

“Crowley, why are you wearing one glove?”

Crowley remembered what breathing was. He sucked in a lungful of air. Aziraphale’s face dropped at his expression.

Crowley made a strained hissing sound. Tears leaked out of his eyes and streaked down his face, under his sunglasses. Shit. Shit.

He scrubbed his face. Aziraphale made a soft noise and reached for him.

“Get back. Don’t you dare.”

Aziraphale turned white and backed away.

Crowley shook, face hidden in his hand. Everything was upside down. He didn’t know how to even voice everything he’d felt over the past seventy-eight years. What it was like to cram all the love he had into a box and bury it and go back to work, and keep going back to work, every single day.

“How fucking dare you pull this. I never thought I’d see you again. You abandoned me. You got scared, and you fled and you left me alone. Ran right back to that supercilious lot without a word. I’m sorry you haven’t been enjoying their company these last few years, that must have been really hard for you. I’ve been down here with Hastur and Ligur and half of Hell. I’ll tell you something, I’d rather see them right now than you.”

“Oh, goodness. Crowley.” Aziraphale’s eyes filled with tears. “I thought I was saving your life.”

“Saving my -?” Crowley barked a laugh. More tears came. “What kind of -”

He had to pull his sunglasses off and wipe his face. What was the point in dignity when Aziraphale looked at him like that?

“What happened to your arm, Crowley?”

It hurt. Crowley didn’t know why, but his arm was in more pain than it had ever been since it first happened. He clutched it, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Can I see? Please?”

Why not. The glove felt as though it were compressing the wound, making it swell with pain. Crowley fumbled with it, forgetting he could just miracle it away. Maybe he didn’t want the dramatic reveal of baring it all at once. He peeled the glove down, ignoring the way Aziraphale’s eyes widened.

It looked appalling, he knew. His arm was withered from the elbow down, drained of colour and white as a corpse. Cracks in his skin ran all the way along his forearm; unnatural gaps, as though his arm was pieced together from shards of pottery. Gold shone through them, a strange effect that was not quite liquid and not quite light. It was the colour of angels.

Crowley didn’t understand why the pain had spiked. The injury was old. His jacket covered most of it, luckily. Aziraphale’s face was bad enough as it was.

“My poor Crowley.” Aziraphale reached for his other hand. Crowley let him. He let himself feel the warmth of Aziraphale’s thumb stroking the back of his hand.

“Turns out fusing had some extra perks,” he said, attempting levity.

“What do you mean?”

He might as well tell him. He cleared his throat.

“I was in SoHo. It was… I dunno, nineteen-sixty something. I planned a heist. Got a whole crew together. I knew it was dangerous, but I wanted insurance. Even with you gone, I was afraid Hell might poke around and find the last thousand years’ lunch receipts or something. Figure out I’d got a bit too chummy with an angel. So I hired a team, and we did the job. It was in a church. It went wrong.”

“What were you stealing?”

“Holy water.”

Aziraphale’s thumb stopped moving. His breath trembled out of him. Then he resumed stroking Crowley’s hand.

“Oh, Crowley. If I’d been there. I’m so sorry.”

Crowley had to look away. “Didn’t kill me though,” he said. “I think all the fusing must have made me immune. Slightly. It just… burned.” He winced. It was still burning. His arm and heart hurt in equal measures. “I went home and licked my wounds - figuratively, I don’t want a withered tongue - and I’ve been trying to hide it from the rest of my side ever since. Don’t have a very non-treasonous explanation for it.”

“That must have been so hard. All those years.”

“Well.” Crowley shrugged one shoulder. “What was one more secret?”

He felt exhausted. Whoever said confession was good for the soul hadn’t talked to demons.

“You’re probably immune to hellfire, too, a bit,” he said. “Don’t go testing it, obviously.”

Aziraphale shook his head. Crowley fiddled with his sleeve. He hoped he could cover up soon. Looking at the gold seeping through the cracks in his skin for too long made his eyes go funny.

“I wish I could take all this back,” Aziraphale said.

The pain was subsiding a little. Rather than constant agony, it came and went in waves. Crowley still didn’t know why it had spiked. Looking at Aziraphale made it worse, a fact that hurt almost as much as the physical pain.

“Why did you do it?” he asked, dreading the answer.

Aziraphale’s movements stilled. He sighed.

“I thought I needed to. It was the only way to keep us safe. We couldn’t trust ourselves around each other. Someone had to separate us, and I thought it should be me. I thought I was being noble. It was cruel. I’m sorry.”

Crowley was right. Hearing that didn’t make him feel any better. He didn’t feel worse, either. He’d settled on slightly numb. He wished he could say the same for his arm. It throbbed like poison.

The pain must have shown, because Aziraphale looked concerned. “Is it still bad?”

“Fnn.” Crowley squeezed his eyes shut.

“What’s causing it? It’s not…” Aziraphale sounded suddenly alarmed. “Is it reacting to me? Because I’m an angel? If the wound was inflicted by Heavenly means - oh dear -”

Crowley gritted his teeth. He forced himself to look at Aziraphale. The angel’s wretched expression stung his heart. Some mean, hurt part of him wanted to make Aziraphale feel worse.

“It’s not because you’re an angel, Aziraphale. It’s because I’m angry. At you. I haven’t forgiven you. Seeing you just. Hurts.”

Aziraphale flinched. Crowley felt a wave of vindication. Then he just felt sick.

For a while, no-one spoke.

Aziraphale muttered, “Psychosomatic.”

“Bless you,” Crowley said irritably, ignoring the burst of foul taste in his mouth.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. Rolled his eyes -! Crowley was so outraged he temporarily forgot all the other things he was outraged about.

“It’s not just a physical injury. It’s emotional. You associate it with me… abandoning you. Well, I’ll tell you what, you old serpent. I will never abandon you, never. If you’ll let me, I will stay by your side, from now until the end of everything. Which I’m hoping won’t be today. I love you.”

Aziraphale moved closer. There was a determined, blazing look in his eye.

Crowley tried to splutter about demon and feelings and don’t pull faces at me, you bastard, but lost every word in his head the moment Aziraphale pressed closer and kissed him.

They never. Quite got around to doing that before.

A turbulent ocean fell suddenly calm.

Crowley’s arms had fallen to his sides (useless lumps, if they were house-plants, he’d put the fear of him in them). He realised, through the haze that had settled around him, that the pain in the right arm had soothed to a dull sting.

Aziraphale’s hands were on his face, holding him like something precious. Crowley whined. Then he blushed so hotly his head was in danger of melting. He rallied his mutinous arms and wound them around Aziraphale’s plump shoulders.

Time swum, deliciously.

Aziraphale shifted. He broke the kiss, but still leaned his cheek to Crowley’s. Crowley felt as if he lacked any say over his feet or tongue, but did his best to stay upright and form sentences.

“You - ah. Hn.” Going well. “You said you had a plan?”

The unangelic gleam in Aziraphale’s eye was mesmerising this close up. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

Crowley wetted his lips and got distracted utterly by recent memory. “Alpha Centauri… ‘s pretty nice this time of year…”

Aziraphale’s face lit up. Crowley took in the love and joy beaming from it and tried to keep a lid on his emotions for both their sakes. He failed.

“Crowley… are you saying you’ll come with me?”

Crowley didn’t trust himself with words. He nodded.

“Yeah,” he managed. “Why not? I like space.”

His happiness was such that he didn’t even kick himself over that line. He suspected he was grinning like an idiot. Might as well commit to the madness fully. He bent down and kissed Aziraphale first this time.

An unknowable amount of time passed.

From the doorway, someone coughed.

Crowley and Aziraphale froze. Their lips unstuck, with a noise that rather burst the bubble of romantic frenzy from moments ago.

Crowley’s eyes flicked past Aziraphale’s shoulder.

An unimpressed eleven-year-old Antichrist was watching them.

There were probably a few ways this could be a bigger fiasco. Probably. Crowley took a half-step back and tried to straighten his clothes out.

“You’re not dead,” Adam said, flatly.

Aziraphale turned and tried to smile. “Erm -”

“And you -”

Adam looked Crowley up and down. Crowley felt that he was being seen right through to his very demonic core. He resisted a panicked urge to fling himself out of the window.

“You’re normally a snake,” Adam declared.

Crowley cringed.

“And imaginary,” Adam added, accusatory.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Crowley said, pointlessly, because he wasn’t entirely sure what it did look like.

Adam gave them both a shrewd look. “It looks like you’re my imaginary friend and you’re a magician I murdered, and you’re planning on running away together into space.”

It was hard to dispute any of that. Crowley opened his mouth to try.

“Can I come?” Adam said.

“What? No.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered.

“Are you aliens?”

Crowley glared at Adam, trying to calculate a response. “Why…?”

“Space.” Adam gave him a look, as if it were self-evident. “Plus, you can shape-shift.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, insistently.

Crowley turned to him, hoping he had a brilliant suggestion.

“Is that the Antichrist?” Aziraphale stage-whispered.

Crowley rolled his eyes so hard they sprained. “Yes, that is the Antichrist,” he hissed back.

Adam scowled. “You sound like my mum.”

“Look, er.” Aziraphale tried another smile. “I’m terribly sorry about earlier, but this really isn’t… anything. We were just joking around, you know, and…”

“I know everything’s messed up,” said Adam.

There was a pause.

“What do you mean?” Crowley asked.

Adam shrugged. “Everything. I know… I know stuff isn’t normal. The stuff that goes on in this house isn’t… how things are supposed to be. I’ve had enough of it. I want to go with you. I’d rather live in space.”

Aziraphale shared an uncomfortable look with Crowley. Crowley decided this had gone on long enough.

“Go to your room,” he said, and snapped his fingers.

Adam stayed where he was. He folded his arms, implacable. He was a five-foot barricade, as impassable as a steel door.

“That won’t work, he’s immune to occult persuasion,” Aziraphale murmured to him.

“Oh, now you’re the expert?”

Adam took a step towards them. They leaned back.

“I want to see space.”

Crowley wanted to see space, too, and he could feel it slip from his grasp the more time they wasted arguing with an eleven-year-old.

“Fine, you can come,” he snapped.

A grin split Adam’s face in two. “Really?”

Aziraphale’s head snapped around. “Really?”

“We’ve got between here and Alpha Centauri to ditch him,” Crowley muttered to him.

“I am not kidnapping a child, Crowley!”

“How are you kidnapping him? He’s kidnapping us! Besides,” Crowley lowered his voice further. “Armageddon can’t happen without him. If the Antichrist isn’t on Earth…”

Aziraphale caught on. “Maybe it never happens.”

Crowley still had it. Temptation accomplished.

Aziraphale bustled up to Adam. “Welcome aboard, young man.” He shook Adam’s hand.

“Thanks,” Adam said. He’d forgotten about the whole manslaughter debacle already, by the look of things.

“Now, stay close.”

Aziraphale peered along the corridor. He beckoned Adam and Crowley to follow him. Crowley brought up the rear, wondering how all this had happened to him.

On the way out, they ran into the American cultural attaché. He waved vaguely to Adam as he passed.

“Merry Christmas, son,” he said, sounding a bit uncertain.

“Bye, dad,” Adam said, distractedly.

They left him behind and went out the front door, all three acting as though they were in very different spy films.

As they snuck across the lawn, with maximum drama and minimum stealth, Crowley remembered something.

“Hey,” he said to Adam. “Did a giant dog ever show up?”

Adam looked at him as if he was talking nonsense. “No. I haven’t wanted a dog in years.”

“Cool, cool. Just wondering.”

~*~

In the shrubbery, the enormous and poorly concealed Hellhound put its tail between its legs.

It didn’t understand. It was made for one purpose. If its master didn’t want it, why was it here?

It crept from the shrubbery, far less conspicuous than the three beings it was following, and stalked across the lawn towards the street. It would stay in its master’s shadow, out of sight, until he decided he wanted a dog after all.

---

Musical interlude x2! This chapter has a soundtrack. For Aziraphale’s perspective of the last seventy eight years, go here!

Then, the boys duet about their feelings here!

---

(Link to next part)

[mizumi-kahago-writing]

Arc 6 Part 2: «Chronos» (MYSMESS FANFIC; Demon AU)

Authors Notes:

This was written before I even started writing the main story.

So please ignore any consistency errors.

Also this scene is not fully done.

It will cut off at some point, but was actually meant to go further.

Please do not be confused

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Arc 6 Part 2

Smut Scene

The golden pocket watch in her hand displayed 8pm as it kept ticking. Her fingers wrapped tightly around the metal, her torso rising and sinking with the rhythm of the time. The stars sparkled over her, illuminating the small chamber from above the glass ceiling. No moon stood in the zenith for the time being.

Soft scuffles on the cushions on the floor as her hands moved a little. Her head turned slowly over to the other side as her jaw sank to part her lips letting a small sound escape. It was a peaceful scene unfolding.

One floor higher, just above the chamber, connected with a wooden staircase, he read over his studies one last time. Before turning off the light, he sorted out the sheets he held in his hands. Taking off his glasses, he placed them beside his work. He let out a soft sigh as he ran his hand through his light pink hair, flicking it back, though his hair found its way back on his forehead quickly.

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Another sigh as he closed his eyes for a moment, leaning back to rest. The research was tedious, but he had done it for centuries now. He had yet to discover so many secrets, while simultaneously being a teacher for his demon child. Though, for now, his work was finished, and he’d pick it up again after taking a well-deserved break. Maybe he would use this time to have some fun with his little star, who was still sunken in a deep slumber underneath his workspace.

He rose from the chair, pushing off the table, as he decided to get up and walk down the stairs with easy and gentle steps, making his way through the library to the little chamber in the corner.

The floor was patterned with soft cushions, pillows, and blankets chaotically spread across the ground. In one of those blankets she was halfway tucked in, clinging to the golden item in her hands. In a way, he didn’t want to disturb her, but the opportunity was too teasing for him to resist.

“My star?” he whispered, carefully waking her up, bowing down and touching her shoulder with the tip of his fingers. At first, there was no reaction but then her eyes slowly opened. Her lips made another undefined sound as she awoke. “Huh?” She was visibly confused about the situation she found herself in, but already unconsciously happy to see his face in front of her.

Usually, demons didn’t need to sleep, only young ones were prone to do so from time to time. “Wake up,” he said, his voice as soft as the mat underneath him. By now he was kneeling and helping her to sit up, while she was rubbing her eyelids, still drowsy from the sleepiness enveloping her.

“I am awake,” she replied with a little croaky voice on her own. Her hair showed signs of being asleep for a while. He was already brushing it back in place. Shortly after, he lifted her off the ground by putting his arms under her legs and back.

“Where are we going?” she asked, opening her eyes wider. Her mouth hung open as she asked this surprising question. “Where do you want to go?” Replying to a question with another question. “I would say, to the living room.” It was her decision, and so it was about to be as they made their way to another part of the castle.

One of the many rooms suitable for a living room was located further up in the castle. An elegant door made from wood, engraved with the symbol of the demons, was the entrance for such a room. Opening the door with simple magic as the two of them stepped in, he placed her on a soft couch in the middle of the room.

Snapping his fingers, he lit up the candles, illuminating the room with a gentle glow, setting the mood. Shortly after, the door fell shut quietly. Nervously, she moved her hips a little on the couch as she sat up, rearranging herself and her garment to cover up a little.

Besides a pair of panties and a short-hemmed robe, she wasn’t wearing anything, and the room was still cold, making her shiver a little. It didn’t take long before he came close, admiring her figure sitting on the couch. Kneeling in front of her, he moved his hands over her knees and down her legs adoringly.

Her skin was smooth beneath the tips of his fingers as he moved upwards again with his hands, slowly parting her legs a little. Eventually getting a grip on her thighs, he squeezed them gently. A small gasp escaped her lips as she closed her eyes and pulled her eyebrows up.

Wiggling nervously with her hips, she tried to get into place. Meanwhile, he was brushing aside the fabric, which he had lined over her legs before, exposing some more of her skin. A cold shiver ran through her, partly because of the breeze in the room and partly caused by the surprise.

Slowly but surely, his lips found their way to the inside of her legs. Pecking teasingly at first, then sucking on the skin lovingly, already leaving small red marks on the upper layer of her skin. Her lips parted again, and her claws tensed up, trying to find some cushions to hold onto. Rather they were scraping over the soft material.

Soft and pleasant moans of hers started to fill the room as he continued loving her so deeply. His lips kissed up towards all the sensitive spots of the space between her legs. To round it all off, he began sucking gently and leaving small marks. He became a bit rougher as he decided to play around and let his sharp fangs sink into her skin.

Small dots where blood dripped out were left all over her upper legs, giving her pleasant pain. From all this stimulation, it was already hard for her to contain herself. Her body shivered and her legs flinched from time to time.

Shortly after, he took another bite, licking over the freshly caused wound, adding more to the sensation and sealing the wound with his saliva shortly afterwards. Her cheeks were glowing bright red, and a little bit of her own saliva dropped off the corners of her mouth. Tiny noises echoed through the room, indicating that she enjoyed what he did to her.

By now her legs had wrapped around his shoulders, but he wanted to ask for more. Quickly getting up, lifting her feet up in the air with him, he brushed his finger over the drool on her lips, looking deeply into her eyes and kissing her lips gently.

“You already taste so good, let me taste more of you,” he said, with a sneaky grin on his lips. His fangs reflected a bit of the light in the room. The kiss was only short-lived before he dived down again, his hands following over her curves, resting on her hips for a moment and then splitting open the robe she was wearing, exposing her still covered crotch.

The panties had to be gone, he decided, and quickly slipped his sharp claw on the side of it. With a snapping sound, the fabric ripped open and almost sprung off her, displaying her most private parts in front of his very eyes.

To her surprise, she let out another quiet scream of joy. Knowing exactly what would follow. Not hesitating any longer, he bent forwards, holding her legs in place with his hands, giving them a sweet rub with his thumb and getting to work.

Sticking out his pierced tongue, he went over the full length of the more sensitive lips between her legs. A rush of lust and electricity went through her body like a shockwave. She began to groan out loud and fiddled with her hands to find them in placed on the top of his head. She started to play with the strands of his hair joyfully as she wanted to experience more of this feeling of ecstasy.

Lucky for her he was more than willing to provide it to her. After a few more strokes with his tongue over her pleasure spots, he started sucking again, this time on her clitoris. The sensitive ends of the nerves immediately reacting, causing her own claws to spring out and dig into the back of his neck.

By now her own wetness mixed with the saliva of his, while he was joyfully licking off her juices, confirming for himself how tasty she really was.

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«« Summary | « Arc 6 Part 2 (Summary) | Arc 6 Part 3 (Summary) »

[incomplete-nano-stash]

Time Wolf - Chapter 3

               Rockford spent the entire trek from Laricia’s house to the central hub looking around at the place he was being held. It was made to his proportions, at least, so he had not encountered any low bridge situations where he had to duck, but all the same every person he saw around him was no taller than three and a half feet. They were all clearly adults, though, and that was the most disorienting part of the circumstances.

               Not the least of which being they carried full-size weapons. It was Rockford’s humble opinion that, were one of these short people to fire the rifle being pushed into his back, the recoil would send them flying six feet backward, never mind whether they hit anything or not.

               The walk was long, but eventually it ended at a municipal building, three blocks away. It was crudely marked as the city hall, but appeared to have been an elementary school at some point. The captors led Rockford inside the building, directing him toward a large room he supposed had previously been a gymnasium.

               Inside, hundreds of the short people bustled back and forth, while numerous others lay on the floor, in various states of injury or illness. A couple were being covered completely in white sheets, which made Rockford shudder. He was roughly pushed past the scenes of mass humanity, only able to witness a doctor visiting here, a loved one mourning there. Eventually he was pushed toward one end of the room, close to a stage.

               “We brought him, sir,” the leader piped up.

               A deep voice cleared its throat, croaking back. “So it appears you have. Leave him to me.”

               “Understood, sir.” The leader turned toward Rockford. “The Mayor wishes to speak with you. If I were you, I would simply listen and only respond when you are spoken to.” The shorter man shot Rockford a stern look before taking his leave with the other men.

               “Mr. Rockford?” The same croaky voice called out. “You may come in now. Please forgive my son, he can be a little overzealous at times.”

               Rockford was confused. All he saw before him was a draped curtain. “Are you behind the curtain?”

               “Just about. What are you waiting for? Just come under the curtain, it’s all right.”

               Rockford tried to control his heart and prevent it from jumping up in his throat as he lifted the curtain and stepped inside. On the other side, the stage had been crafted into a laboratory of sorts. Three chalkboards rested on one side of the room, filled to overflowing with calculus, so much that it was scrawling on the wall. A workbench with microscopes and analysis chemicals lay in front of him.

               A familiar sight greeted him on the wall opposite from the chalkboards: the TX-31. It was affixed to the equipment in much the same way as it had been in the lab, but the power glows around it were fainter.

               “You have no idea how long I’ve been looking for you, my friend.” The croaking voice piped up behind Rockford, who turned to face the owner, a haggard old man looking nearly ninety years old, wearing a lab coat and rags and not much else.

               Still, he seemed vaguely familiar. Then the realization struck; not only was this man normal sized, he was familiar. “Underwood?”

               Underwood laughed at the recognition, reaching out to embrace Rockford. “It’s so good to see you! Oh, and please, call me Ian, I made sure everyone here calls everyone else by their first names.”

               Rockford gently hugged the old man, still confused. “So … uh, Ian … what do you mean looking for me?”

               Ian backed away from Rockford, eyeing the younger man. “Yes, you’re in fine shape. TX-31 did its job magnificently.” He crossed the room away from Rockford, patting the suit on the shoulder. “Well done, old girl.”

               “Okay, everybody else knows what the hell is going on but me! I need some answers!” Rockford’s voice cracked at the end of his demand.

               Ian turned and shot an apologetic look at Rockford. “I’m sorry, Stephen, I’m sure this is a shock to you. It sounds like you just got here not too long ago.”

               “You’re right about that. I just need to find out where I am, what’s happened, and how I go back.”

               Ian’s eyes took on a dark shadow. He cleared his throat. “Well, let me fill you in. Why don’t you take a seat and we’ll begin your catch-up learning.” Ian crossed the room as Stephen sat down, heading for a small bookshelf near the chalkboards. After three or four seconds of searching, Ian pulled a book off the shelf and dropped it in Stephen’s lap. “Take a look at this.”

               Stephen picked up the book and examined it closely. The title was written in gold lettering, embossed in the leather binding.

Wolf Technologies: the Company That Changed the World

An Oral History

By Ian Underwood

               Stephen smirked. “You couldn’t just tell me?”

               “Well, I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but it took a long time to get that published. And it’s packed to the brim with utter corporate BS.”

               The book felt heavy in Stephen’s fingers. He opened it and flipped a few pages. “It’s not true?”

               “It’s the company line I was told to write. Company got wind of my big publishing contract for a tell-all about Wolf Technologies and got all paranoid about it. They wanted final editorial say, and so they put wholesale changes in just about everywhere.” Ian approached Stephen slowly, reaching for the book. “What I want you to look at is right here, around page 240.” The older man flipped pages gently until the chapter appeared.

Chapter Six: New Times, New Innovations

Many would have claimed that a company suffering such a devastating attack as WolfTech did that fateful day in July of 2038 could never recover would be those who seriously underestimated the resiliency of the Company. In two days, research resumed. By the end of the following week, WolfTech had called a press conference to declare its most recent innovations, not the least of which being the Z-30K smart phone (better known later on as “the Dominator” for its conquest of the marketplace), the 704 series of Internet routers, and the crown jewel of the company’s eventual rapid growth: the TX-31 Chrono Suit.

           Stephen gazed up at the suit, hanging from its apparent charging station. “That? It went into production?”

               “One of the top sellers. You wouldn’t believe how much the governments of the world would pay for ‘chronal intervention,’ or whatever the hell line it was that marketing came up with for the suit. Before long, you had nations equipping entire military units in TX-31’s, until every standing army had a time unit.”

               “But … the prototype …” Stephen motioned toward it. “It’s here, so how can they produce it …?”

               “You went back. Read on.”

               Stephen flipped a few pages into the chapter. He was surprised to find a photo of himself smiling up.

Production of the TX-31 Chrono Suit would never have occurred if it were not for the brilliant mind and efforts of project head Stephen Rockford, stepping in at a difficult time. The original project team had been taken by the terror attack, leaving only Mr. Rockford as the sole possessor of knowledge about the product. During the recovery, he accelerated the production of the suit, and had it ready for the next trade show, in September. His demonstrations and his tenacity in finishing the project minus a production team ultimately led him to be elected CEO of the Company three years later, a position he still holds to this day.

               This was a little too much for Stephen to absorb. He sat down, the book falling from his hands. “So … how did all this … ?”

               “You haven’t figured it out yet?” Ian sat down next to Stephen. “You guided Wolf Technologies into the world’s biggest conglomerate. The contracts that were negotiated for the TX-31 were worth, literally, trillions. As the governments of the world collapsed, Wolf Technologies simply continued to grow, and ultimately became the only stable entity with any kind of international clout. In essence, Stephen … you’re the president of the world.”

               Stephen shook his head. “No, I can’t be.” He stood up. He wanted to run away, but he had to know more about this twisted world. “Tell me, how did all of this occur? How did the world turn so crappy? Why is nobody growing taller than four feet tall?”

               “That’s the thing about chronal intervention … it has some really wacky side effects.” Ian reached to a cube refrigerator next to him and extracted two glass bottles. “Have a beer with me?”

               “I could use something harder,” Stephen replied as he took the offered bottle. “So the side effects of chronal intervention caused all of this destruction, am I right?”

               “Some of them,” Ian muttered as he sipped gently. “The short people, well that came about after a time war took place, a few countries got too big for their temporal britches and started trying to assassinate each other’s leaders before they were born, and before you knew it human evolution had gotten so screwed up that only the smallest survived. Yet here we are, still at our original height.”

               “How is that possible?”

               “Another side effect of time travel, since we were exposed to TX-31’s radiation we’re immune to any temporal effects changes have. Thus you still have your resplendent height. The company’s employees gained the immunity by close proximity to the production TX-31’s, so they use it to their advantage.”

               Screaming erupted throughout the building. Ian’s face went pale. “Like now. We’ve gotta run. Grab the prototype!” Ian scrambled around his small laboratory, collecting notes and books and everything he could carry. He cupped his hand around his mouth as he left, shouting for Laricia.

               Stephen clutched TX-31 tightly, ripping it down from the charging station. In a panic, he flung it on his body.

               Chime. “Welcome, Stephen.”

               “No time,” Stephen panted as he ran, trying to catch up to Ian who was unusually fast for a man his age. “System scan go.”

               Chime. “System at 85% of charge, holding steady. Chrono intervention circuits charged at 100%, ready. Upgrades online and ready.”

               Upgrades? Stephen had very little time to ask about them before full-size footfalls trampled behind him, chasing after Ian and himself. The footsoldiers, or police, or whatever they were dressed in head-to-toe black, carried high powered firearms, and had no intention of listening to reason. They also all happened to sport Wolf Technologies insignia on every exposed piece of their uniforms.

               Chime. “Recommend confrontation of threat. Upgrade ready for activation.”

               The upgrade was some kind of weapon. Stephen raised an arm subconsciously. “Activate upgrade and engage.”

               Chime. “Thank you. One moment please.”

               The pursuers stopped short, narrowing their eyes at Stephen. One pulled out a riot club, swinging it threateningly. “Come now, friend, hand over the suit. You know townies aren’t allowed to have WolfTech on hand …”

               Chime. “Upgrade activated.” A pulse of greenish-white energy pulsed through the entire arm Stephen held upraised toward the soldiers, nearly knocking him backward. The closest pursuer, the speaker, was unlucky in the sense that he was the very first one hit with the beam. In a flash, he appeared to be sucked into his own personal black hole and vanished without a trace. The other soldiers dropped their weapons.

               Stephen would have, as well, were he not wearing his own weapon. He stood dumbfounded for a moment, deciding whether to panic or to cheer and simply staying silent. The confrontation was finally broken by another soldier stepping forward, gun raised.

               “Not another step,” Stephen intoned, re-establishing his upraised arm. “I don’t know what the hell just happened, but I’m not afraid to use this again!”

               The soldiers backed away slowly from Stephen, who backed up himself, continuing down the hallway he had last seen Ian rushing down. He hoped he would be able to catch up.