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kingdaddydaichi · 2 years

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| title: the devil's bride

| pairing: r. sukuna x f!reader

| wc: 5.4k

| cw/an: nsfw, mdni, hard!Dom/sub dynamic, Master/slave dynamic, dubcon/cnc, monster fucking, fear, mindfuckery, oral sex (m/f receiving), blood/dark content, degradation/praise, punishment, throat/face fucking, nicknames/titles used: "pet"/"angel"/"Master"/"Lord", mocking, forced marriage, bondage, hair pulling, cumflation, black semen, (black) creampie, squirting, ass play, breeding

| soundtrack: nomads - the weeknd (sunny marx remix)

| tagging: @cyancherub @kagejima @raggedyannazon @victoriacapo @yuujispinkhair & any of my other fellow sukuna fuckers

By reading beyond this point, you agree that you are 18+ and acknowledge that you are about to consume adult/dark content.

You’d long been obsessed with the king of curses. You’d chanted his name innumerable times, performing little rituals and seances to invoke his spirit. All in service to the king. Your king. It had been a thousand years since he'd been defeated and sealed away. You never dreamed that he’d come back.

Little did you know, one night a young high schooler named Yuuji Itadori swallowed the first of Sukuna’s twenty fingers. Power had been choked back into the shaman-turned-demon like breath into the lungs of someone who’d nearly drowned.

The beastly king had returned, full of vigor and rage and hunger. But he hadn’t long been able to play when that Yuuji brat had stuffed him back down, settling him down somewhere deep inside his bones.

A couple of days passed and he was finally able to spread his proverbial wings when the pink-haired brat succumbed to his power - begged him even - to save his own life as well as that of his friends. By the end of the night, the king of curses had regained some of his tremendous power. However, ultimately, he was once again silenced, subdued.

All he could do was stew and simmer. Until he was reminded of something. Of you.

Ignorant to his revival, you held another seance. He could take it or leave it, but decided to play along out of sheer curiosity and boredom.

Driven by the moist heat in your loins, you beckoned him just as you’d done so many times before.

This time, he answered.

“I can smell you, mortal woman.”

You jumped back. How many times had you done this, never once expecting a response? You scrambled until your back was flush against the side of your bed, mind hurtling through the various possibilities, limited as they were. You had almost convinced yourself that it was your own imagination - or was it wishful thinking? - that Lord Sukuna was speaking to you.

“Your scent is…” He took a deep, long whiff. “...divine.” His taunting laughter settled into your core. “Hmm…how many times have you beckoned me? Hm? How often have you willed that I mount you and fuck you raw, human?”

You shuddered as a chill traveled down your spine. You pulled your knees to your chest, daring not to speak.

“Oh, come now. Don’t be shy.” His sardonic chuckle crept into your bones. “Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? To have your sweet little cunt spread around my cock? Hm?” His laughter ricocheted off the walls of your bedroom. He was in every corner and crevice of the space surrounding you, tapping and scratching his long, black fingernails against your psyche.

You didn’t move.

He clicked his tongue and sighed. “I suppose it’s just as well. Perhaps I’ll answer one of the countless other moans of my name…”

“Wait!” you jolted. “I want it. I…want you.” He was right. You’d wanted this all along and this was a once in a hundred lifetimes opportunity. Just one brief jaunt with him wouldn’t hurt too bad, would it? “But how?”

“It’s easy. Just relax…” He hummed. “Yes, that’s it. Now…give yourself over to me, pet.”

The walls of your room fell away as darkness consumed them. You found yourself standing in an ankle-deep pool of blood that surrounded you as far as your straining eyes could see. Heart pounding, you began to panic, checking every part of your body for injuries.

“Calm down, pet. That’s the blood of my enemies; you are unharmed…for now.” That familiar insidious chuckle encompassed you again, closer this time.

Your clothes were gone, replaced by a sheer white camisole gown that ended just below your hips. You looked around for him, gingerly turning your head from side to side, afraid to make any sudden moves. You’d researched Ryoumen Sukuna extensively; you knew what he was capable of.

“W-where are you?” you hazarded, your voice small and shaky.

Ominous red clouds swirled above you, casting their own dim light causing your white gown to glow deep pink. The space around you seemed to breathe on its own and you heard Sukuna’s voice from directly behind you.

“Careful. You’re in my domain now, mortal. Do not presume to speak to me unless spoken to.”

You turned to find him towering above you, reclined high atop a mound of bull skulls and bones. A faint blue glow emanated from somewhere behind him, casting eerie shadows across his devilishly handsome features. You recognized the distinct markings on his face, even from such a distance.

He looked down his nose at you and licked his sinful lips. With his legs crossed and his jaw propped on his fist, he lifted his other hand from his knee and curled his finger, bidding you to move closer to him.

“Come, pet. Let me get a better look at you.”

You waded your bare feet through the shallow, bloody lake, stopping to kneel at the base of his throne, waiting for his permission to speak to him.

He hummed. “What a precious, well-behaved pet you are! So pliant and eager to follow my commands. Hm? I might just decide to keep you.”

You could feel his scarlet eyes on you, coveting your sexy, feminine form - every curve and basin and fatty deposit it had to offer him. His hungry gaze settled on your visible breasts, his heavy cock stirring as he watched the flesh of your nipples darken and pebble into cute little buds ripe for the sucking.

“Look at me, pet.”

You obeyed and right away you were taken by his raw, animal sexuality and a tempest began to rage in your loins. All four of his eyes were trained on you, his pinky and ring fingers pressing against his bared teeth as he grinned down at you.

Your focus drifted to where he’d begun wringing the head of his growing cock through the cloth of his white kimono. Your walls clenched, sending a delicious ache deep into your lower belly. Feeling your warm cream coat your inner thighs, you squeezed them together with a quiet, pitiful whimper.

“What is it, angel?” His voice had grown deeper along with his arousal.

“Wanna suck your cock, Master.”

His toothy grin widened at the title you’d so willingly given him as a dark, guttural chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“Well, then…” He let his legs fall open. “…come to kneel at my feet.”

You eagerly did as you were told, stumbling a couple of times on the skulls beneath your feet. You’d almost reached his knee when you lost your footing and slid halfway down again, collecting nicks and scratches from the sharp edges of bones and bull horns along the way.

He could’ve easily grabbed you, but sensing how badly you wanted him, he chose not to. Watching you work so hard for him was infinitely more interesting. He instead tilted his head at you and frowned.

“Oh no. You poor thing,” he mocked. Once again he curled a sharp, black fingernail at you. “Ganbare, ganbare…try again, angel. Or maybe you don’t want it badly enough?”

Keeping your head down to avoid his intoxicating gaze, you said, “I do want it, Master. Every inch.”

“Yeah? Show me how much you want it then, pet,” he said, untying his obi.

With tiny trails of blood snaking down your arms and legs, you began working your way up the pile of bones again. You noticed the large tent that had formed beneath his kimono, which had fallen open just enough to expose the tattoos on his broad, bare chest. As if you needed any more motivation.

When you finally made it to his feet, you knelt once more, keeping your head bowed to your Master. He was so close you could smell him.

Sukuna shifted a little, but otherwise intended to let you do all the work. “Take my cock out, angel.”

Your hand traveled up the inside of his naked thigh, further up beneath his garb of silken ivory until you felt the rough texture of his pubic hair. Your small fingers found purchase around the wide base of his cock, growing harder still under your divine touch. Even before laying eyes on it, you could appreciate the size of his blood-engorged member. You were impressed, but not at all surprised. Big dick energy oozed from every pore of his ink adorned skin.

With him firmly inside your grasp you gently pushed his robe out of the way as you pulled his cock out. The sight of it alone sent another gush of slick down between your naked legs. Two thick black lines encircled his girth and all you could think about was how nicely they would contrast with the pearly white rings you were bound to leave on top of them. You started bringing your mouth to his cockhead when he stopped you with a thumb to your chin - the first time he’d touched you.

“Ah ah ahhh! Did I give you permission to taste my cock, pretty angel?”

“No, Master. Please forgive me. It just looks so good.”

You stroked him nice and slow, his shaft like hot steel under the soft, velvety skin of his length. You watched, mouth watering as the thick veins rolled under your fingers.

He moaned. “Of course I forgive you, my sweet pet. There will be a small punishment, but nothing you can’t handle.” He raked his long fingernails against your scalp as he pushed your hair over to one side. Your eyes fluttered closed at the titillating sensation as his cock twitched in your hand. “Go ahead, pet. Taste me.”

You inched forward on your knees, resting your free hand on the curved musculature of his right thigh as you kitten-licked the dark pink tip of his cock.

Sukuna hissed. “Don’t be a fucking prick-tease. I wanna see you wrap those pretty lips around my cockhead like you fucking mean it.”

You fulfilled your lord’s wishes and stretched your wet lips all the way around him, sinking down as far as you could before choking and coming up for air.

“That’s better, pet. Again.”

You swirled your tongue around his salty tip before sinking down his length as far as you could go before hollowing your cheeks and slurping your way back up.

“Mmmfuck, yes angel. Keep sucking my cock just like that,” he groaned.

So you did. You sucked and gagged on him, your saliva bathing the full length of his throbbing cock. To say it had been a while for him would’ve been a tragic understatement. He watched and admired you as you bobbed up and down, his full balls drawing closer to his body with every passing minute.

Sukuna, you quickly learned, was a very vocal lover. He moaned and hissed his praises as you gobbled his cock down without a single care.

“Mmhmm…” He sucked air between his clenched teeth. “Keep going just like that, pet. Get -mm- get ready to -fuck!- take my cum down your throat.”

His hands were in your hair, holding your head to keep you from escaping as he began fucking himself into your throat. He pressed his spasming balls against your chin. You couldn’t breathe. You choked and gagged and tried to scream, but the vibrations only drove him harder to his end as he emptied himself inside your raw gullet. Your hands urgently tapped his thighs, but your rhythmic gags only fueled his orgasm.

Only once he’d spent himself did he start to pull out of your throat. You choked and spat until you opened your eyes to see what could only be described as thick black sludge oozing down your fingers and Sukuna’s cock.

You pulled off of him in a panic, choking on his semen as you breathed it in, chest heaving as you gasped for air.

“What’s the matter, angel? Does my black jizz frighten you?” What began as a low rumble in your master’s chest quickly erupted from his open mouth as laughter. “What the fuck did you expect?” He pulled your head back by your hair and brought his mouth to your ear. “I’m a fucking demon.”

You were still trying to catch your breath when the tables suddenly turned.

With your back on the seat of your master’s throne, he splayed your legs open, staring shamelessly at the glistening insides of your trembling thighs.

“Look at the mess you’ve made between your thighs, pet. This all for me, pretty baby?”

You arched your back, willing him to taste you. “Y-yes, M-master.”

He watched as your tight pussy hole opened and closed around nothing, sending another wave of your juices flowing down between your crack to coat your puckering asshole.

“Now this…” he put one of his knees down, then the other. “...This I’ve been dying to taste all night.” His long tongue darted out of his mouth as he dipped his head down and began to lap and suck at the soft flesh between your legs. “Mmm so fucking delicious. It’s been too long since I’ve tasted a woman’s arousal.” He switched and licked a long, languid line along your other inner thigh. “God! Even longer since I’ve tasted one as good as yours, angel.” He sucked and slurped, collecting every last drop of your essence from your thighs, leaving little bruises on your skin as he went.

Once he’d licked your inner thighs clean, he went right for the source.

His big, strong hands pushed your thighs further apart. He flattened his wide tongue over your sex and dragged it from your winking hole upwards along your plump pussy lips. Your breathy moan was replaced by a sharp gasp when he flicked the pointed tip of his tongue over your erect clit. Without thinking, your hands flew to his hair. He stopped moving and pulled his tongue back into his mouth. Oh shit.

Only his eyes moved, rolling up to look at you. “Did I say you could fucking touch me?”

With your eyes wide open, you covered your mouth with both hands and shook your head.

“You’re in a rather compromising position to be misbehaving, wouldn’t you agree?”

You slowly pulled your hands away from your face, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You knew you were pushing his patience, something much of which he didn’t particularly have to begin with. “Yes, M-Master. I wasn’t thinking. Please? Give me another chance?”

His cheek kissed his teeth. “I’ll give you one more chance, pet. Misbehave again and I will punish you. Do you understand me?” The heat of every word fanned over your dripping cunt.

You nodded frantically. “Y-yes! Of course, Master!”

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. “You’re lucky you’re so cute. Besides, this pussy of yours is a fucking delicacy and I intend to devour it.”

And devour it he did. He alternated between prodding your hole with his slithering tongue and sucking your soul from your clit. Carding your fingers into your own hair, your thighs trembling, you rocked your hips as he wore you down. He growled, the vibration sending yet another thread of pleasure coursing through your body. His fingers began to play at your entrance making you tense up at the thought of those sharp fingernails. But interrupting or questioning him would be even more dangerous, so you kept your mouth shut.

“Relax, angel. I know what I’m doing,” your host murmured, his lips moving against you.

Sure enough, he slipped two fingers inside you without so much as a pinch. He watched your eyelids flutter closed, a self-satisfied grin creeping across his face. He carefully massaged that unmistakable ribbed pad of flesh less than a finger-length inside you.

“Oh god!” you cried.

“Yes, angel?”

“Fuck, feels so good.”

With a low chuckle he latched onto your clit again, sucking it loudly as his fingers began to tug on your g-spot.

Your back arched, leaving nothing but space between your shoulder blades and ass. Sukuna slurped away at your messy cunt, a mixture of your slick and his saliva dripping from his chin and landing between his knees.

Your legs began to shake uncontrollably and he knew. He tugged harder at your sweet spot while flicking his tongue over your clit at an inhuman speed.

“Mm! Oh fuck! Fuck, M-Master Sukuna, please!”

He groaned at the way your clenching pussy sucked on his fingers as your juices filled the huge palm of his hand and spilled over the sides. Your breasts heaved in the air as your pounding heart rattled your rib cage.

He withdrew his fingers and stood up, shirking his kimono off his shoulders before it fell into a heap at his feet.

“Well, well. Isn’t that just a picture perfect sight? You haven’t even had my cock yet and you’re already too weak to move.”

He leaned over your trembling form, digging his nails into the fabric of your camisole. With one swift jerk of his hands he ripped it apart, sending pieces of the thin material fluttering around you like papier-mâché.

He opened his mouth wide around your jugular to feel it pulse against his tongue. His heavy cock thumped against your clit as his sharp canines scraped along the length of your neck, not enough to break the skin, but enough to leave matching trails of red welts in their wake.

“That’s too bad, angel, because I’m nowhere near finished with you yet,” he growled.

You whimpered beneath him when the soft texture of his tongue dragged between your breasts. He licked the sweat from your cleavage before sucking one of your budded nipples into his mouth. You obliged him, jutting your tit deeper into his hot, wet cavern. He pulled away, a string of spit bridging the gap between your nipple and his bottom lip, before lapping just as hungrily at the other one.

He was still licking his chops when he scooped up your limp body and sat back down on his throne. His cock had grown impossibly hard again, his hips already beginning to roll of their own accord as he situated you on top of him.

You straddled his bare thighs, two thick black bands underneath each ass cheek. You’d come back to your senses enough to know what was to come, but you were having a bit of trouble balancing yourself on top of him. You began to lean but he caught you.

“Tsk. You look so adorably pathetic right now, pet. Tell you what. Since you can’t seem to even sit on your own, I’ll let you use me as leverage. Come on, put your hands on me.”

You leaned forward and placed your palms flat down on the sculpted plane of his stomach.

“Thank you, Master. So gracious of you.”

“Don’t mention it. It’s for my benefit, not yours. You’re here to pleasure me. Lucky for you, feeling your cute little cunt squeeze and suck on my fingers and cock gives me immense pleasure.”

He grabbed an ass cheek in each hand and yanked you along his thighs until his leaking cock was sandwiched between your slippery pussy lips and his lower abdomen. You cried out at the sudden stimulation to your still-twitching clit. But the rough texture of the underside of your Lord’s thick shaft proved heavenly and you began rocking your hips.

You leaned forward to rest your head on his chest as you worked yourself into a frenzy, riding your Master like a steed. You were whining, nearly sobbing, begging him to fill you up.

“Listen to that sweet, precious sound. Like music to my fucking ears. Mmm…such a good fucking girl, yeah? You deserve to beg for my fat cock. You want it, sweetheart?”

“God, please yes! Need your cock, Master!” You squirmed on his lap, chanting a string of pitiful pleas.

“How can I say no to such a needy whore?”

He lifted you up by your ass while his other hand reached around to guide his huge, drooling mushroom tip to your aching cunt hole. You shuddered against him as he began to push inside you. He let you lower yourself down onto him slowly, the rim of your tight hole twitching and burning as it stretched around his monstrous girth.

Broken whimpers of his name fell from your lips all the way down; at the same time, his mouth fell open as a long groan of relief escaped him.

It had been over a thousand years since he’d buried his cock inside the tight warmth of a soft pussy. In all honesty yours had been well worth the wait, but feeling you swallow him whole stirred the feral beast within from his slumber.

He picked you up by your ass until only the tip remained inside, your flesh dimpling under his fingertips. Without warning he brutally slammed you back down, impaling you on his angry cock.

You screamed, clawing at his chest as you threw your head back in agony. He repeated the process, picking up his pace with every thrust of his hips against your reddening bottom.

“M-master! It hahhh! It hurts!” you wailed. “Too big! No! Please stop, you’re hurting me!”

The plump veins running the length of his cock dragged against your succulent walls, rolling under his skin as he pumped himself in and out of your pussy with force. There was his derisive laughter again.

“Such an ungrateful fucking pet!” He huffed and puffed as he spoke, still spearing you on his throbbing cock. “You beg me to fuck you so I fuck you! Now you’re begging me to stop! Like hell! You’re my plaything now. As of tonight, you're the devil’s bride and I’m going to fuck you until that weeping pussy of yours knows only my shape, my size! You’ll never be able to cum on another cock after I’m done with you, angel! Only mine!” he hissed.

He dug his fingertips deeper into the plush of your ass, his nails beginning to puncture your sensitive skin. Small trails of blood trickled down as Sukuna’s hard, slick-coated thighs slapped against your cheeks.

“God please! No! Stop! I never said I wanted that!” you cried, trying to claw at his face but he caught your wrists. He easily bound them with one hand, keeping a painfully firm grip on your butt with the other.

“Guess you should’ve done your fucking homework, angel. The second I penetrated you, you were claimed!”

But you had done your homework. You knew everything there was to know about Ryoumen Sukuna - the man, the shaman, the curse. Your mind reeled, thoughts racing, poring through the bits of data you’d collected about him over the years. Nothing you’d ever stumbled upon ever mentioned this. Or…was this how the binding contract worked when he took a mate in his domain? Fuckfuckfuck!

“You got yourself into this, pretty angel. Now you’re going to suffer the consequences!” He grunted every word in time with his powerful thrusts.

Your sobs turned to whimpers as the pain gave way to pleasure. Deep down, this was what you ultimately desired. Your dreams were coming true. Or would it prove to be a nightmare?

You were snapped out of your thoughts when your host pressed the pad of his middle finger against your tiny asshole. Clenching harder around his cock from the stimulation, you stopped resisting him. You’d never been so wet in your life, your pussy making lewd squishing sounds as he pounded up into you. The unrelenting pleasure courtesy of Sukuna began to pool into a point of singularity deep inside your womb.

“Fuck, angel! Your little cunt is sucking on my cock so hard. You gonna cum for me? Hm? Gonna cum all over your Master’s loins?”

“Y-yes-s M-Mas-s-ter!” You were fucking him back now, bouncing up and down on him, your fingernails digging into his chest, holding on for dear life as he owned your pussy. With every wet clap of your plush ass against his thighs, you threw it back on him in hot pursuit of your release.

“Shit, that’s it, pet! Cum for your Master!”

When he poked his fingertip into your little asshole you came apart around him, squirting your cum all over his abdomen and chest.

“Yes, that’s it! Bathe me in your juices, pet!” Closing his eyes, Sukuna leaned back, grinning from ear to ear like he’d just been sprayed with cool, refreshing water on a hot summer day.

You chased your orgasm all the way to its end and your whole body went limp and collapsed on top of Sukuna.

He rolled his eyes. “Tsk. There you go again, tapping out on me like the hopeless lightweight you are.” He chuckled as he gathered you up and positioned you on your back. “No matter. I’ll just use your body as my live sex doll, hm? Yes, such a submissive little cocksleeve.”

He positioned himself between your open legs, droplets of your slick still trickling down the hills and valleys of his delectable abs. You opened your eyes just in time to see him push his thick cockhead back inside you with a soft pop.

You cried out, thighs clamping around his hips as they began to move. Fucking hell, he really was the perfect shape and size. If his was to be the only cock you’d have for the rest of your life, such as it was, you were grateful that it was also the very best.

Sukuna pried your thighs away from him and pushed them open until your knees were out beside you. “Keep those sexy fucking legs open for me, pet! I’m gonna destroy that sweet fucking pussy!”

He slammed into you so hard it took your breath away.

“Fuck! Master! That hurts!” you whined. “Please don’t, please!”

“Shut up!” he growled. “Didn’t I tell you there was going to be a punishment?”

“What did I do wrong, Master?” you cried, tits bouncing in time with his violent thrusts. “I thought you were giving me another chance!”

A maniacal smile was accompanied by a wilder than usual look in his eyes. “I changed my fucking mind!”

Sukuna laughed as horror shone in your watery eyes. He leaned over you and pounded into you like a wild animal.

“No! Nononono! Stop! Please don’t do this!”

He responded by plowing his beast of a cock into you even harder. “Thought I told you to shut up, pet!” He reached for his discarded scarf and gagged you with it, tying it behind your head.

“Now listen! The sorcerers - they’re going to try to kill me. That’s not gonna happen, but just in case, I’m going to take out a little insurance policy.”

Your tear-filled eyes looked up at him with a combination of fear and confusion.

“Or, more accurately, a whole litter of them.”

Litter?

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your cheek. “I know you’re fertile right now, angel. I could smell it from miles away. I’m going to breed you, hm? Pump that cunt of yours full of my black demon seed!”

As more laughter erupted from him, you shook your head frantically. Your pleas were little more than mumbles through his scarf.

Sukuna started to move inside you again, bullying your sore cunt with his huge cock. You tried to push him off you, but that was futile. So you started swinging and clawing at whatever you could reach, but he was able to block or dodge every punch you threw.

“Ooh feisty! I like it!” he mocked, his ass and thighs flexing as he mercilessly fucked his cock into you with all his strength.

Screaming into your gag, you began squirming and kicking his legs, distracting him enough from your hands that you were finally able to drag your nails across the side of his face.

“Okay, now you’re just being annoying!”

He grabbed a long scrap of your camisole and wrapped it around your wrists, binding them together before manhandling your thighs back open. Gripping the backs of your thighs, he pushed your knees back towards your ears.

“Why don’t you just let go of your pride already, angel? Who do you think you’re fooling? Me? Hah? After all the nights you laid like this in your own bed, on your back with your legs spread wide, screaming my name while bullying your own pussy with the biggest fucking dildo you could handle?! The only one you’re fooling here is yourself! Just stop fighting it! I’m driving my fat cock deep into your slippery cunt just like you’ve always wanted! Now take it! Let me fuck you until you can’t fucking walk! Scream my name like I’ve heard you do so many times before!”

You reached up with your bound hands, grabbed two fistsful of his powder pink hair, and began tugging and yanking with all your might.

He moaned. “That’s just gonna make me cum faster, pet!” He quickly pulled the gag out of your mouth. “Scream my fucking name, human! Sukuna! Say it!”

Fuck him for making your pussy clench around his delicious cock again. You were still crying, but he was right. You’d been trying to fight the pleasure that he’d been pushing into you like tidal waves. “SUKUNA!”

“Oh fuck, that’s it baby girl! Again!”

You were pumping your hips up to meet his thrusts now, tears streaming across your temples, pussy tightening into a vice-like grip around his pistoning cock. “SUKUNAAAA!”

“Ahh so fucking sweet!” He looked down to where he was plowing his cock into you. “Look at these beautiful creamy rings you’ve made on my dick.”

You raised your head up to see. You were right. His black tattoos did contrast nicely with your white pussy cream. You watched his cock glide in and out of you as even more of your essence collected under the thick head.

Your head fell back again when your pussy began to convulse around his veiny girth. “Oh god! Sukuna?! You’re gonna make me cum again!”

“Fuck yeah, good girl! I want that cunt pulsing when I fill you with my jizz!”

With one final scream of his name, you came hard, milking Sukuna’s cock of his seed.

“Shit, that’s it! So perfect! Gonna fucking cum so hard and watch your belly grow plump with my spawn!”

He grunted and slammed his cock into you, making sure to get deep enough so his cockhead peeked through the opening of your cervix.

“Fuck!” he growled, his cock jerking as it released long ropes of his thick, black cum, spilling the contents of his tightened balls into your womb. He unloaded so much into you that your lower tummy began to swell, your womb stretching to accommodate all his semen.

Panting, your king kept you pressed beneath him, resting your ankles on the sinew of his inked shoulder. He wanted to ensure that as much of his sperm as possible would take hold and seed you.

After a few minutes he finally dismounted you, pulling his softening-but-still-very-thick cock out with an audible gush of his dark, hot cum.

~ epilogue ~

He rolled over and collapsed next to you. “Give me a few minutes to rest and I’ll show you to your cage, pet.”

“Cage?” you asked incredulously. “I thought we’re, like, married now or something?”

“We basically are, but as long as you’re still trying to claw my eyes out while I’m fucking you, you’re not fucking sleeping with me!”

“You were hurting me, Sukuna!”

“Oh and clawing someone’s face off doesn’t hurt?!”

“Can you just try being a little gentler? Maybe ease me into this?”

He turned his head to face you and scoffed. “Ease you into this? Have you even met me?”

“Can’t you make an exception or two for the fucking mother of your children?”

“Fucking relax, angel! I’m gonna take real good care of you. Trust me.”

“Says the arguably least trustworthy guy ever?”

“What?! I’m letting you call me by my name! I’m not even mad that you’re speaking so freely to me! Rather flippantly too, I might add!”

“You’re impossible.”

"Come on, let's go. I'm taking you to your cage."

"Such a gentleman..."

And just like that, it was like you’d been married for half a century.

#king daddy sukuna 😈#ryoumen #ryomen #sukuna #ryoumen sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x f!reader #ryoumen x f!reader #ryomen x f!reader #ryoumen sukuna x f!reader #ryomen sukuna x f!reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut

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apathetic-pixel-42 · 3 months

Note

hello, I noticed that you write for shaman king and I wanted to request if you could make like oneshots or head cannons about the boys realizing that they fell for the reader. You can use any gender you want. Thank you!

Hiii!! Thank you so much for your request!! I hope you love it! <33333

Shaman King Boys Realizing That They're In Love 💌

Includes: Yoh, Horohoro, Ren, Lyserg, Chocolove, and Hao

Yoh:

I think when Yoh first figured out that he had feelings for you, he'd definitely have a mini mental crisis.

I mean, he planned on marrying Anna after all! Imagine what would happen if he tried to call it off.

He'd probably take some time to clear his mind, asking his friends and family for any advice on what to do.

He'd eventually talk it out with Anna, which surprisingly goes quite well. No hard feelings and even some words of encouragement!

During this time, I think he'd definitely be a bit distant. I don't think he'd actively try to avoid you, but he'd probably be less talkative or touchy.

However, once he has everything sorted out, he'd slowly start actively pursuing you.

There'd be little changes in his behavior: he'd be hugging you or holding your hand more often, naturally standing closer to you, staring at you more often, and the likes!

It probably wouldn't be super noticeable at first, since you guys would probably be close friends before all of this.

If you don't get the hint, then he'd start upping up the ante. He'd start spending more alone time with you, gifting you little trinkets, training with you, etc.

Eventually, he'd have the courage to confess to you. Of course, if you confess to him first, he'd be ecstatic.

Overall, super sweet and chill about the whole thing. He'd have his awkward moments, but he's super relaxed and comfortable around you.

Horohoro:

Another one who'd have a mental crisis, but for different reasons.

Given what happened last time Horohoro liked someone, he's terrified that you'll end up with the same fate.

He almost immediately becomes distant, too lost in his fears and intrusive thoughts to actually consider what he's doing.

It isn't until someone like Ren or Yoh knocks some sense into him that he understands what he's actually doing.

He takes a lot of time to himself, reflecting on what he should do and if he should even try to pursue you at all.

Not only that, but he also has to consider a lot of other circumstances! With the competition still going on, Hao's presence, and his own personality, who knows what'll happen?

He's so scared about scaring you away. He doesn't want to hurt you, but he also doesn't want someone to target you.

If you confronted him first, he'd be extremely nervous. He'd be serious though, explaining his fears and apologizing for pushing you away.

If you didn't confront him, he'd probably approach you when he knew he couldn't avoid it any longer. He tells you about the issue, wholeheartedly expecting you to reject him.

If you reject him, he'd understand. If you reciprocated his feelings, he'd be so grateful and happy. It'd take him a while to get fully comfortable with the new situation, but you'd get to see the old, playful Horohoro soon enough.

He'd be stuck by your side, always at your beck and call whenever you needed him. He's super protective and clingy, always going to you whenever something upsets him. Overall, it'd be a bit of work in the beginning, but he'd be super sweet and loyal!

Ren:

I can see this going one of two ways. He'd either be super confident and accepting of his feelings, or he'd be panicked and freaking out. Maybe both.

Ren's the kind of guy who confronts his problems head on, but he seems to struggle when it comes to an internal problem.

He probably seeks out Yoh's advice first. I mean come on, Yoh's the one with a fiancé after all.

Ren also talks to his family, asking them about how he should go about this. He also wants some other points of view on the matter. After all, he wants to be prepared for every possibility.

He takes some time to prepare. He plans out an outline of what he wants to say, but he also prepares himself for rejection.

Once he feels ready, he approaches you nonchalantly. He keeps his confession short and sweet, laying out the basic foundation of what he wanted and what he'd like if you agreed.

If you reject him, he understands and quickly moves on. It would depend on you whether or not your relationship with him changes, but he wouldn't be too bothered by it.

If you accepted his feelings, he'd be pleased. He'd sit down and quickly establish stuff like boundaries. He's let you know about the stuff that comes with beings his partner, and you'd do the same.

He's not super physically affectionate, but he makes up for it through acts of service.

He's also a bit protective given the enemies him and his family have, so he's usually stuck by your side.

Overall, he's super loyal despite not being super vulnerable. It'd take some time for both of you to find a normal routine, but he'd eventually get the hang of it.

Lyserg:

Lyserg is definitely one of the more complicated ones on this list.

Given how good Lyserg appears to be when it comes to hiding his feelings, I honestly don't know how he'd react when he first realizes his feeling for you.

Whether or not he's with the X-Laws, I think he'd be conflicted on what to do.

I see Lyserg as the one who doesn't do anything about his feelings. He tries pushing them down, hoping that they'll eventually just go away.

I doubt that he'll approach you about it, so you'd probably be the one to confront him about his behavior.

I also think it'd be a lot worse if he had just joined the X-Laws. He'd be missing you terribly, but he'd also be actively ignoring you and pushing you away.

With everything and everyone in the way, you'd probably get fed up or give up. He's not surprised, but he slowly becomes more frantic and persistent in wanting to see you.

If you agree to meet, he'd confess everything. He'd probably cry and beg for at least your forgiveness, promising to never do this again.

If you reject him, he cries himself to sleep that night. If you accept his feelings, he runs to you sobbing. He hugs you tightly, nuzzling into your shoulder and accidently getting your shirt wet.

He'd actively start working on himself in order to help the relationship, even sticking up to Marco a few times. He's not the most affectionate, but I see him as a guy who's great with words. He'd write you little love letters, expressing his love for you and how grateful he was for you.

Overall, he's super sweet and affectionate behind closed doors. He's more modest around the group, but he makes sure too make up for it.

Chocolove:

The most accepting and reassured with his feelings out of the entire group.

When he first realized he fell for you, he didn't mind acknowledging it. Sure, he felt a little embarrassed, but he couldn't help but feel giddy.

He wouldn't change the way he acted around you, but it'd be obvious that he was taking a liking to you. He'd be more playful, more touchy, and he'd do more jokes and stunts to get your praise and attention.

If you reciprocated with teasing remarks, you can expect him to be flustered as hell. He'd quickly regain his composure though, teasing and playfully flirting back.

This wouldn't change when he became blind, but I think he'd start spending more alone time with you.

With everything that'd happened, he'd be a lot more vulnerable with you. The loss of his friends hit him hard, and he doesn't want to take his time with you for granted.

He'd initiate small acts of physical affection, testing the waters to see what you like and don't like. Once you were comfortable with each other, then he'll start being more openly affectionate around the others.

Wrapping his arm around your shoulders, hugging you, holding your hand, it doesn't matter. If you like it, then he likes it.

Eventually, he'd build up the courage to properly confess. Maybe with a cheesy pun, but it's certainly adorable.

If you reject him, he'll understand and back off despite being disappointed. If you accept him, he'll be so happy that he'll pick you up and twirl you around.

Overall, the most playful and relaxed. He'll have his flustered and embarrassed moments, but he knows you love it.

Hao:

The most confident about his feelings. The second he realizes what he's feeling, he immediately begins pursing you.

If you were on his team, he'd pursue you in private. He'd start hanging out with you more, but he doesn't beat around the bush about his feelings.

If you weren't on his side, then he'd have fun messing with you. He'd show up at random times, teasing you relentlessly just to get your attention.

Sometimes after your fights, he'd secretly approach you and compliment your skill. He doesn't do this with amateurs, so he considers you special.

Given his mind reading abilities, he'll automatically know whether you like him or not. Even if you don't feel the same, he'll still continue his fun until he's bored.

If you happen to be bold, he'll happily have flirting sessions with you. His remarks are teasing and playful, but they can sometimes become a little possessive.

He doesn't necessarily feel the need to confess, but he will nonetheless. In private, under the stars, he'll take your hand and ask you to rule beside him.

Breaking the news to the others doesn't matter to him, but he'll be alright with keeping the relationship a secret if you really wanted to.

You'll have to make up for his lack of physical affection from the last 1000 years, so be prepared for a lot of late night snuggles. He'd only be affectionate in private, since he doesn't need anyone else knowing about his weakness: you.

When he becomes the Shaman King, he gives you the option of whether or not you want to stay with him in the Great Spirit. Though, he'd much prefer if you stayed with him.

Overall, he's infatuated with you. After years of being alone, he's grateful to have you by his side.

#shaman king x reader #hao asakura x reader #horohoro x reader #lyserg diethel x reader #ren tao x reader #yoh asakura x reader #chocolove mcdonald x reader #headcannons

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shanastoryteller · 1 year

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HAPPY HALLOWEEN: Zuko and the spirits 💜

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Yue is prepared to sacrifice herself for the moon, to return the gift of life the deity has granted her, when a bedraggled Fire Nation soldier finds her and says, "Let me help."

She shouldn't trust him, probably, but there is something - off, about him, almost. Yue has lived her whole life as spirit touched, and there is something in this boy that calls out to her.

When she find Tui and sacrifices uses her spirit to guide them home, she expects it to end in her death.

But instead warmth fills her body, the sensation of fingers grasping at her spine and tugging her backwards keep her spirit from wandering. She opens her eyes to find two koi once again swimming in the pool and bright golden eyes staring down at her.

"What are you?" she asks.

There are no shamans or monks who could do what he's just done.

"Agni loves Tui," he says, "we were meant to work together."

"You burn," she says, reaching out to him. He flinches, but doesn't move away from her, so she presses her fingertips against the edge of his jaw. He's warmer than he should be in the chill, but that's not what she means.

She can see auras, sometimes, if she focuses. But she's never before seen anyone who walks enshrined in flames.

Later, she notices dark marks around her waist. At first glance she thinks they're bruises, but they don't hurt, and they're perfectly black.

The shape of Prince Zuko's fingers have been tattooed onto her skin, right where his spirit touched hers to hold her in place.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #anon #atla

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trancylovecraft · 7 months

Text

(KNY) YANDERE PLATONIC! KOKUSHIBO x SISTER READER: You, Shibou. I, Kokoro (CHAPTER NINE)

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CHAPTER NINE: "Feel your breath course frankly below and see life as a worthy opponent"

Shrine maiden's are young priestesses who work at shinto shrine's. They use to be viewed as shaman's but are more accepted into society.

In daily life they are trained to perform tasks such as sacred cleansings and performing the sacred kagura dance.

Early Miko were important social figures and were associated with the ruling class. One Miko has even stated that they descended from the Goddess Uzume.

Inari shrine's however are the most common despite Inari having no presence in mythology.

The lukewarm breeze brushed against his body, A soft wind that rustled the leaves ever so slightly and left only the faintest of chills on his skin.

The sun was low in the tangerine dusted sky. The atmosphere ablaze in hues of red, Oranges and artic blue's. It was a cool summer evening, One you might sit on the porch to admire the setting sun or go out with friends for a drink.

However that was far from Genya's thoughts. One foot in front of the other as he scaled the steep hill, Steps catching on rocky bumps as he went. Occasionally he had to stop to regain his balance, Careful not to fall down.

He had to get up. From what the locals had told him they had seen the man he was looking for come up here. Genya hoped that their word was true as he wiped his brow of sweat, He prayed that he hadn't moved on.

Genya had been searching for weeks now. He had been to villages and cities, Asked dozens of people and came up empty anyways. The man he was tracking down was fast, Tricky and hard to catch.

Genya even doubted that he was real, Doubts clogging up his mind as he near tripped again on the hillside. Sightings of him were few and far between, Majority were around the Kakushi base going in and out but even when he went there he came up empty.

Maybe he was a myth. An urban legend perhaps, A way to motivate the other slayers to do better. After all, One thousand demons in a year is a staggering and impossible number. He could be fake, But even then that motivated Genya further.

It had only been a good month or two after final selection, In that time he had been to many Hashira and higher ranked slayers looking for advice and help yet none of it ever did assist. So if he was real, He must of been it. If Fujimori was unable to help him, Then no one would.

Genya exhaled, Almost a wheeze as his jog staggered into a stop. He keeled over slightly, Resting his hands on his knees absolutely exhausted. He tried to steady his breathing like he was taught to, In and out like he was trained.

It was only when he looked up that he was graced with the top of the hill. A beautiful sight to behold within the oncoming summer evening. The air was cleaner up here, The breeze just a little bit heavier as it tickled at his skin.

It ran through the grass, The leaves and the ferns as his breath hitched in his throat. It was a beautiful landscape, But that was not what he focused on as his eyes locked onto the shadowed man a few metres away from him.

He was tall, Facing the sun and casting a long shadow within a stagelight of evening glow. He stood at the edge of the hill, His sandles kissing the edge of the cliff as he stared longingly at the sun.

Genya had to squint, Barely making his shadowed figure out.

"Hey..!" He tried to call out, Yet it only came out as a mumble. His vocal chords felt tied in his throat as he gazed upon the man, Watching his loose haori flow gently within the wind. He didn't turn around, So Genya tried again.

"H-Hey..!" It came out louder this time, Loud enough for the man standing at the edge of the cliff to stiffen his shoulders and lazily turn his head around to face him.

As soon as he did, Genya was met with the fated mask resting upon his visage. The eyes akin to the sea gazed at him with the equivalent vastness, Almost if his side-look was enough to pierce through his very soul itself.

Genya's jaw dropped only slightly, His breath taken at the sight. He seemed ethereal, Nigh divine in nature as he looked upon him now. He was real, A god incarnated in the flesh and one that looked at him now with such otherworldly grace.

"Oh, Hey.. Didn't see you there." His voice resonated out, Loud above the midsummer evening breeze. It was boyish, Casual and spoke with a non-chalant charm as his mask's irises looked him up and down.

Genya felt like he was nothing under his scrutiny. His messy half shaven hair and his mid-puberty skin made him feel insignificant like an insect, A sudden urge to tidy himself rose from within Genya's chest.

"You must be the slayer that was following me around for weeks, Right?" [F/N] asked, His voice still held that casual tone as he pointed out Genya's game. Genya himself felt his breath catch in his throat and his face heat up from embarrassment.

"Y-Yes Fujimori-sama, I'm sorry!" Was all he could say as he instantly bowed low in front of him, Arms tightly locked to his side as another bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. He had knew Genya was following him for weeks, How? He had no clue.

Genya heard a snort muffled by his mask with a light chuckle to chase it. It made him blush harder, Shame appearing in the red.

"Don't sweat it. I was wondering when you'd show up anyways.." [F/N] remarked. The bottom of his sandals that mingled with the cliff's edge parted, His overcast figure turning around and pacing a few steps towards him.

"So.. You must've been pretty determined if you wanted to find me this bad, It's admirable really but.. Whatever you wanna say, I'd do it now. The nights almost here and I gotta head soon." [F/N] said, Coming to a halt just a few feet away from him, Waiting for his answer.

Genya swallowed the bundle of words choking up his throat, He couldn't take his eyes off the masks as he stared into their patient blue.

"I.. I want you to make me your Tsuguko! I want to learn Soul Breathing- I-If that's okay with you.." Genya exclaimed a little too loudly, Making it up by quickly adding cordiality at the end.

The mask's eyes blinked. [F/N] cocked his head to the side as he stared down at him. It was basically impossible to tell what he was thinking behind it, The best Genya could make out was a hint of contemplation.

Then, [F/N] shrugged.

"..No can do. Sorry." [F/N] replied. Raising a hand to the back of his head to lightly scratch it as he looked down at the boy with a semi-apologetic look.

Genya's frown grew sharper.

"What..?! But why?" Genya argued lightly, Almost like a toddler throwing a tantrum. [F/N] sucked air through his teeth in response.

"Mmm.. I'm sorry. I'm just not good with that sort of stuff. I'm not exactly a life model to follow or give guidance, You know?" [F/N] explained, This time almost fully apologetic as he bowed his head lightly.

Genya looked baffled. He had spent all these weeks searching for him, Looking for miles just to beg [F/N] to take him as his Tsuguko. He had expected a yes, A reward for his hard work yet he was faced with a no. And that's something he just can't take.

"So what? I've been looking for you for ages now, You may not be used to this sort of thing but I promise I'll try my best! You.. You don't even need to do much, I can just take notes if you bring me along with you so.. Please!" Genya bargained once more, Bowing again before him.

He stared down at the ground, Begging whatever god was listening that somehow he swayed his mind. Convinced him that it was a good idea to take him in, This was his last resort.

A sudden snap of fingers brought him back to reality.

"Ahh.. That's where I recognise you from. You're The Wind Hashira's brother, Genya.. Right?" [F/N] said. Fingers positioned in a check before him after snapping, An eccentric quirk as he sounded relieved.

"Y-Yeah.. That's me." Genya confirmed with a nod.

"Then why don't you ask him to take you in as a Tsuguko? Wouldn't that be easier?" [F/N] questioned, A dramatic raise of his lower lid and a tilt to his head as he inquired such.

Genya's fist subconsciously started to curl up.

"It's.. My brother and I aren't getting along right now. It's complicated but.. I can't ask him, He.. He doesn't really like me anymore." Genya admits, Tossing his head and his eyes to the side. Anyway to not meet the other man's gaze.

[F/N]'s eyes narrowed, He hummed slightly under his breath. He seemed to taste his words on his tongue, Thinking over and mulling every little detail of it. He shook his head lightly, Then sighed.

"..Alright then. I won't take you in as a Tsuguko, But I can give you some advice at least." [F/N] finalized. A compromise came to and one he was fine with, If not a little hesitant.

Genya looked up at him. The disappointment quelled only a little bit, While it wasn't the prospect of training under him the information that he could turn into advice must of been invaluable. It was better than nothing and better not to push his luck.

"I.. Thank you, Fujimori-sama." Genya mumbled gratefully. [F/N] snorted again.

"Drop the 'sama', Makes me feel old. Fujimori-san is fine with me." [F/N] said. Turning to the side to pace off towards the surrounding forest life and sitting down on a old fallen log, One with festering mushrooms growing from the sides as he sat faced the sun.

"Come on, Sit with me." [F/N] called out to him, Patting the space beside him on the log expectantly as he looked at the boy.

Genya quickly nodded, Hastily moving over to the fallen log and quickly sitting down beside him.

As he sat down, He felt his body tense up at the awkward silence. Stealing a quick gaze towards [F/N] he saw him take in the scenery, Admiring the fungi and the blossoming flowers surrounding them.

He breathed in, The air fresh in his lungs. It made his shoulders relax ever so slightly, Only a little bit as the strangeness of the situation set in.

"So.." [F/N] started. "You mentioned earlier that you wanted to learn Soul Breathing, Right? I'm guessing this means you don't have a breathing style then." [F/N] deducted, His eyes never straying from their surroundings as he spoke.

"Yeah. It's actually part of the reason I wanted to be your Tsuguko in the first place.. I've been to lots of cultivators, Senior slayers and even a Hashira or two.. But no matter how hard I try or train I just can't learn any of the styles." Genya explained, Remembering the events that brought him here.

[F/N] hummed, Taking in the information.

"Really, Even the basic one's like Fire or water?" He queried, Eyes only now taking a glance towards him.

"Yeah.. Fire, Water, Wind and countless others.. I just can't learn any of them." Genya confirmed.

[F/N] nodded, Taking in a deep breath of the ripe air.

"Well breathing styles themselves are a reflection of our strengths and talents. Almost mirrors of ourselves, Really. Each of them has a special strength you need to excel in to learn how to wield them" [F/N] started, His vast knowledge of breathing styles starting to come into play.

"Breathing styles like Stone breathing require excelling in durability. Fire and Water both require hard work and physical fitness. Thunder requires speed, Wind is Swordsmanship. Other styles that descend from them require more such as Love breathing descending from Fire, Both requiring physical fitness and flexibility. The more you descend down the chain, The more difficult it is to master the style." [F/N] explained.

Genya took in the information, Slowly nodding along to every word the man spoke. He tried to register it inside but the onslaught was a lot to handle in his head, But he tried his best to follow it.

"And what about Soul breathing?" Genya asked.

"Soul Breathing requires Mental Strength." [F/N] replied, Now turning to look at him through his porcelain sapphire irises. "Soul Breathing is one of the fundamental basic breathing styles along with the one's I mentioned."

Genya lowered a brow.

"Mental Strength? What does that mean?" He asked. The term was broad, Vague to be precise. It made his lip quirk and his mind fuzz up even more than it was already. [F/N] chuckled lightly.

"It requires a will that rivals the gods themselves. A determination to keep going through any situation, To keep going even though you know every single bone in your body is broken. Stability and a calmness in your soul. Everyday I need to meditate around three hours just to be able to wield it." [F/N] answered.

Genya nodded yet he felt baffled at the training regiment. Three hours, Just for meditation. It sounded insane, It was as well. Genya could barely imagine doing it himself.

"Don't take any offense to this, But you don't seem like you excel in that sort of thing." [F/N] commented, Eyes running him up and down from the tips of his hair to the soles in his shoes.

Genya groaned. Even though he hated to admit it, [F/N] was right.

"Listen.. You are physically fit, You're durable and you're fast. I've seen it over the past few weeks but it's nothing you specialize in, It's not your special skill that can set you apart from the others" [F/N] started, A follow up with purpose to comfort him.

[F/N] leaned in closer. The mask's eyes locking onto Genya's own in a staredown, One that made him feel that same insignificant way he did the first time. Like he was judging him, Looking straight into his soul.

"So, Genya. What do you excel at?" He asked.

The question reverberated in his ears. Genya knew it wasn't meant to be rude or invasive in anyway but he felt like his head was cut open, Like [F/N] was questioning this not to his face but to his very core down to the bottom.

He thought for a moment. Words ringing as he contemplated them over and over. Genya was physically fit, He could take a punch and could run faster than the average person yet it wasn't anything he was particularly great at.

But the skills pushed away in the back of his mind, They weren't something he was proud of and they weren't useful at all. But the prying gaze the man sported made him want to cough them up, Already spilling out.

"Well.. I'm not really good with a sword to be honest. I'm great at hitting targets though, As well as this.. Special kind of talent.." Genya mumbled. Almost regretting his last words as he let them out.

[F/N] hummed.

"Special kind of talent? You want to explain it to me?" [F/N] asked. A sudden undertone of curiosity playing on his tongue. Genya pulled his gaze away from the man, Watching his shoes as he contemplated his words.

"..Well, It's not really something I like to talk about but.. A few years ago I figured out that I could become a demon by eating their own flesh" Genya admitted, Slightly nervous as he looked back up at him. "..It's how I got past final selection in the first place.." He added.

[F/N]'s eyes narrowed. His stare made Genya feel more exposed yet it wasn't in the usual scorn he got when he told people. It was surprised, Maybe even a little intrigued.

"I see.. Well I've never heard anything like that before, Can't say I can give any advice on that front." [F/N] remarked, His look finally pulling away from him to longingly look at the sun once more.

"So you do have talents. Like you said you've got your demon eating as well as your skill in hitting targets, However neither of those are able to be turned into a breathing style." [F/N] concluded.

Genya felt himself deflate. He had been wanting to find [F/N] for weeks, Wanting an answer to his incompetence in breathing styles and his lack of skill. [F/N] was suppose to know so much about breathing styles and if he said that he couldn't then that was that.

He needed to become a Hashira, He wanted it so badly it churned in his stomach. A breathing style was a slayers life-blood, If he couldn't learn one then how-

"Ah, Whatever. It's not like a breathing style matters much anyways." [F/N] remarked as he gazed into the sun, Shrugging his shoulders as if it wasn't a big deal.

Genya's eyes widened, Looking up at him.

"What do you mean..?" He asked slowly, His words were an oddity. A breathing style was all everyone discussed in the corps, Their techniques and their types. Everything about them yet the strongest among them brushed it off like dust on his shoulder.

[F/N]'s eyes shined, Reflecting in the evening light.

"As I said, Our style is a reflection of us. It's not a breathing style that makes us strong, Genya. It's our strengths that make the breathing style. Maybe a breathing style is just not the mirror to reflect your strength so-" [F/N] cut himself off, Shoulders raising along with his eyebrows.

"Ah-! Hold on.." [F/N] muttered as he reached around to somewhere behind the log. Genya watched him rustle about, Muttering 'no' or 'not it' as he heard several things clinking and hitting against each other.

"Aha!" [F/N] called out in triumph as he turned back around and in his hands it was something that made Genya's eyes widen. Held with such 'nonchalantness' was a gun, A shotgun to be precise.

"Where did you get that?!" Genya gawked, Eyes locked onto the sudden weapon he wielded with such causality as he now noticed the open bag sitting behind the log.

"Got it while scavenging a demon's house.. Oyataka-sama has decided docked my pay until I start showing up to the Hashira meetings. Of course being the stubborn bastard that I am, Won't let him win so I've been taking stuff from the demons I slay and selling them in the villages." [F/N] groaned like a child not getting their way, Scratching the back of his head.

"Unfortunately though you can't really sell something like this in a small village so.. I was going to head to Tokyo after this to sell it there but, I suppose you'd get some use out of it." [F/N] said, A smirk appearing on the corners of his porcelain mask.

"Me?!" Genya exclaimed, Taken aback by the sudden proposition as he watched [F/N] push himself up from the log.

"Yeah, You. You said you were good at hitting targets, Right?" [F/N] didn't wait for an answer as he paced forward, Gun in hand as he beckoned Genya to follow him which he did quickly.

[F/N] stopped in front of the cliff, The sun shining bright onto the two of them. Genya watched as [F/N] flipped the gun around, Presenting him with the handle.

"Careful. You know how to use one of these?" [F/N] asked to which Genya nodded. Taking the polished wooden handle with utmost care, He looked it over and examined the metal.

"..Yeah, Only the basics though.." He replied yet was still enthralled with the craftsmanship of the shotgun.

"Great. Now here's what I'm gonna do." [F/N] reached down towards the ground, Stretching out his hand he grasped a handful of pebbles from within the grass and got back up.

"I'm gonna throw these off the cliff, Your job is to shoot them mid-air alright? Let's see if this is your special talent after all." [F/N] said, The smirk playing on his mask widened only a little more as he turned to the cliff.

He tossed Genya a bag full of ammo, To which he nodded gratefully and quickly loaded the gun if with a little difficulty.

"Ready?" [F/N] asked, Holding up a single pebble in his hand.

"Ready." Genya nodded. Raising the gun towards the sun he wiped the sweat and steadied his heartrate, Waiting on baited breath.

In a single toss the pebble was flung high into the cool air. Hurtling like stars through the sky and quickly dipping, Starting to fall into the ground.

BAM!

But in a pull of the trigger and a wince at the backlash, The pebble exploded into chunks in a burst of dust and stone leftover falling to the ground. It was completely destroyed within the second it flew, Split into a million pieces.

Genya's breath hitched, Surprised at his own outcome.

"Nice." [F/N] praised. "But that was just one, Not enough to prove your skill. So, Round two?"

"Right.." He said. Genya nodded then looked back at the sun, Ready for the second round.

And in another split second another flurry of rocks flew up into the air. Several dozen moving through the air like plane trails. Genya's eyes narrowed, His finger playing with the trigger.

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

Several gunshots went off followed by more rocks exploding mid-air. Dust scattered across the atmosphere as more rocks were tossed, [F/N] not giving him a break for a minute.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

Genya kept shooting, One after the other not a single rock spent a single second in the air without being hit. No stray bullet, His eyes locked onto every single pebble thrown like he had a homing system built into his mind.

BAM!

One final shot echoed out into the setting evening night. One final explosion of dust and rock falling away from the impact. Genya was breathing heavily, Looking for the next rock before realising there was no more.

The gun lowered in his hold, Falling to his side.

"Hey.. Nice job. I guess you really are skilled at this after all." [F/N] applauded, Now fully turning his body around to meet Genya. The way he looked at him now was filled with nothing but pride, The way an older brother might look at their younger sibling and one Genya hadn't had in a long time.

Genya showed a small smile through his exterior. Looking at [F/N] now he saw something deep within the god he appeared to be, Through the divine atmosphere surrounding him there was something undeniably human in there. Something warm and benevolent, Something that seemed locked away by his ethereal status.

"Thanks.." Genya muttered. His smile full of appreciation and flattered joy as he looked away. [F/N] raised a hand and placed it on his shoulder.

"You can keep the gun, Alright? You'll need to purchase the rounds yourself but I think that this will be much easier for you than a sword or needing to constantly eat demon meat." [F/N] said, Nodding once before removing his hand.

"Oh, By the way. If you still want to work under a Hashira, I'd go for Himejima Gyomei. Tell him I sent you, Okay?" [F/N] added to which Genya nodded gratefully.

Genya looked down at the gun, Looking from the wooden handle to the steel bound barrel. It was perfectly crafted if not for a scratch or two and it was the first gift anyone had given him in a long time. He chuckled lightly, Wiping away the tears building up in the corners of his eyes.

"Thank you, Fujimori-san but how can I ever repay yo-"

But by the time Genya went to thank him, He was already gone.

His presence disappearing into the sunlight leaving the boy standing stunned on the hill. The wind brushed through the grass and forest life, The serene quiet falling over him once more.

Genya's mouth closed, He nodded slowly as if to accept his current situation. While he hadn't gotten his goal of working under him he came out with something much more valuable, Both in the lesson he learned and the expensive quality of the gun.

He turned, Back facing the sun as he slowly made his way down the hill. Now his goal was to find The Stone Hashira and ask for his help and with the recommendation of Fujimori it felt like everything was falling into place.

Fujimori, The god in human clothing. His faded presence leaving a lasting effect as he went back down, A light and blessed kick in his step now.

He stood unshakeable above everyone else, At least that's what Genya thought anyways.

☆♡☆

[F/N] opened her eyes wide, Skin drenched in cold sweat as she gasped for air.

Shooting up on her futon she sat alert on the mattress. Shoulders raised high as if she was to be attacked, Fingers itching to draw her sword or throw a punch.

Though she calmed down when she was met with the cold darkness of her room. Her hair was a mess, Knotted and greasy from not showering and her nightwear was clammy from the amount of sweat she was secreting.

Her shoulders slumped. This was the first time in who knows how long that she had a dream, It wasn't the empty void of a restless slumber but instead a rekindled memory. An unusual kind of dream and one she had never had before.

It was usually just the blizzard or in recent cases the face-melting dream. This one was actually one she remembered, One that took place only a few months ago. The dream was when Sanemi's younger brother came for advice and she had given it readily.

[F/N] sighed. She recalled at the time how the boy looked at her, The way he thought she stood above the clouds themselves. It was a look that made her groan and feel icky, More than she already did with the dirt on her skin.

[F/N] remembered how much she took for granted the sun on her skin, The warmth of it like a featherlight touch and the embracing light that came upon her. Not to mention the wind as she stood on the cliffs edge, The soft breeze as her sandals near tipped off.

It was such a beautiful evening. It was only until the sky was now only a dark void that she wished she could see the sun once more.

[F/N] wiped her brow full of sweat. She groaned and flipped her legs over the side of the frame and slowly stood up on aching legs. She was glad though, Recently it took a good few hours before she could even dare to get up. The nightmare did have a sliver lining at least.

Her bare feet hit the old wooden floorboards as she pushed herself up. Remembering the events of yesterday [F/N] hummed. Pulling back her pillow she saw the sixteen separate tallies.

[F/N] slowly etched another tally beside the lonely tail to the side, Her uncut nails making it easy to do so. Seventeen sleeps, The information put onto the wall now.

Akaza was now in her corner. He was now available for handing in small items of use and providing information, Of which she already knew what she was going to ask now that she had slept on it.

Whenever he did show up that was. Whether it was Kokushibo or Akaza on shift she had no clue, But as she moved over to the vanity desk and averted her eyes from the mirror she knew that it was only a matter of time until she found out.

Though, She'd need to fix her appearance first. For weeks she had been putting it off, Brushing it away with the excuse of it being no big deal but as she felt the grime on her skin and the knots in her hair she knew she'd need to fix it.

So instead of throwing on another kimono she instead tossed a lotus-patterned one over her shoulder and headed out the room, Going to see if there really was a bathing place here after all.

☆♡☆

The pull of a string, The small drops of water building up into a rushing flood.

The bamboo irrigation pipe was pulled down from the wall, Letting a gush of running water flow down and into the empty pit below.

[F/N] stood on the wooden rim of the square-shaped bath, Her bare feet touching the somewhat dusty birch wood flooring as she watched the already steaming water start to fill up the pit.

Walking over to a small drawer built into the wall she pulled it open. A burst of dust was released making [F/N] cough and wheeze, Wafting away the soot with her hand she peered inside only to be met with an incense set.

It was old and unused for assumedly a long time but that didn't matter to her as she smiled, The incense always being something she enjoyed when she use to take her baths back at the shrine. The cherry lotus always being her favourite scent.

Luckily while wandering around one of the previously unwandered parts of the shrine she had came across the bath houses. And fortunately they were only mildly dusty, Easily cleaned up by the first shower of water she sprayed into it beforehand.

Speaking of the water [F/N] didn't really want to think about where it came from. Hopefully not the ocean outside, But if that was the case then the water would be a slightly murky and translucent liquid and not the clear water that was flooding down into the bath now.

[F/N] was glad at least. Grabbing the two incense sticks she struck one against the matchbox provided. Slightly raising it up to her nose she expected the usual scent of cherry lotus.

But as she inhaled in the only thing she smelt was the delicate bitterness of lotus, There was absolutely no cherry to be found. Instead it was the new yet old smell of fresh water flowers entering her lungs.

A disappointed frown spread across her face. The lack of the sweet aroma mixing with the bitter was an unwelcome sensation, Though the stick had already started turning black she set it back down into the tin with the new smell starting to diffuse amongst the room.

The bath had now raised to a fair level and with the pull of the string once more the irrigation pipe raised back up into the wall, Water going with it as it clicked back into place.

[F/N] didn't take any time to set her foot down on the first step, Water pooling around her ankles as she took another few steps down the stairs until the water reached her midsection.

She winced slightly, The water stinging her injury but it didn't deter her in anyway as it reached her shoulders then her neck. [F/N] was completely submerged now, All except from her head.

[F/N] was left to bask in the warm embrace of the water. It was quiet, The only sounds being the sparks of incense and the sound of water sloshing against each other at any little movement she made. It all left her vulnerable to her thoughts.

Floating in the little lake she made for herself she could only focus on the lotus lilt drifting around the room. The cherry that was missing made it feel so incomplete, [F/N] didn't even know why but as she inhaled it in she could feel an undeniable hole in her heart.

Her plan, She needed to focus on her plan out of here. Luckily she has access to Akaza now so with that in mind she laid down the steps in her mind.

Get the proper information: Akaza was a useful source so she needed to gather information. Where the exit was and perhaps where Kokushibo was storing her mask and sword.

Plan out an escape route and time from there. It was a difficult decision whether to do it while Kokushibo was here in the shrine during the day or while Akaza was here and Kokushibo was out there in the night.

Get the sword and mask. [F/N] didn't think he would've destroyed them or tossed them, They were nigh indestructable and highly valuable so it wouldn't make sense if he did. Afterwards, Step four.

Escape.

It was a four step plan. One that seemed much easier in her head than would be put into practice, Either way once she was finished with her bath she'd need to write it down and hide it in-between her bedframe.

Taking the oil sat on the edge of the bath she popped the seal, [F/N] let the lavender scented liquid pool in her hands and rubbed it between her palms. Raising her hands to her hair she started to massage the oil into her scalp.

Anyways she had somewhat of a plan now. Well, the bare bones of it but she was trying to focus on the positive here.

[F/N] would still need to find a way to deal with Kokushibo, She'd still need to figure out what time would be best to leave or what time it was at all. [F/N] had all the time in the world however, There was barely anything to do here anyways.

[F/N] continued massaging the oil into her previously greasy hair, Feeling the grime washing out of her overgrown and choppy locks into the bath water below. It was somewhat therapeutic, Her nerves had been on edge lately but as her shoulders relaxed she could feel her heartrate slow down with it.

[F/N] tilted her head back, Body now lying on top of the water of which was keeping her afloat. The bathhouse was surprisingly cosy and warm, This was probably the most calm she had felt in weeks.

[F/N] didn't want to remember the last time she took a bath. Last time she had sunk so low into the water, Sunk so low that water started to invade her lungs and leave a lasting effect afterwards.

She moved her palm down to her chest. [F/N] felt the water running down her skin, Pressing it close to her heart. The pain had completely healed now, Probably from the amount of rest she had while unconscious. A silver lining at least.

[F/N] tossed her head to the side as she continued to work the oil into her hair, Running her fingers through the ties and knots built up in it all easily coming loose. She shut her eyes, Focusing of the rhythm of her hands through the strands.

Her body felt like jello in the water, The warmth flooding her system like the pool rushing around her like ocean waves. She leaned her head back, Shoulders slumping as she let all her worries leave her system.

She sighed, Breath exiting her lungs as th-

BANG! BANG! BANG!

[F/N] jolted up from the water.

She took in a sharp gasp of air, Eyes shooting open at the sudden scream of noise hitting at the door. [F/N] raised up from the water, Head snapping towards the door.

"W-Who's there, I'm busy!" [F/N] called out, Suprised from the abrupt intrusion as her eyes looked at the door like a ticking explosive. It was silent, Only for a moment.

"Kokushibo.. Who else would it be?" Kokushibo called back out from behind the door. His voice was muffled yet [F/N] could hear his signature voice from behind it, Topped with the usual cold and indifferent tone.

[F/N] groaned lightly, Rubbing her temples. What could he want? For days since the dinner incident he had been avoiding her and ignoring her in favour of his "No respect or gratitude until you start behaving" rule.

Has he really given up in that rule? What could he want with her now, She hadn't done anything at all except.. Did he find out she had been talking to Akaza?

[F/N] swallowed. For Inari's sake she hoped not, He was her ticket out of here and she couldn't risk losing him. Hoping for the best she opened her mouth to respond.

"F-Figure of speech! What do you want..?" [F/N] muttered out, Resting her hands on the edge of the poolside. She made sure to emphasise the irritation in her voice, The only form of protest she could muster right now.

"Show some respect and adress me in proper honorifics, Girl.. Now are you decent?" Kokushibo hissed in response to her tone. [F/N] gulped in return and shook off the cold sweat.

She sighed.

"..Fine, Kokushibo-sama.. I am not decent." She emphasised again, Feeling a slight uncomforting taste on her tongue as she said it. "May I please ask what you want with me?"

[F/N] heard nothing for a few moments, Her eyes stuck on the door wondering if she had done anything wrong before she heard a deep sigh.

"That'll do.. Once you are done with your bath.. I expect you to get dressed and meet me out in the courtyard.. You are aware of how to get there, Correct?" Kokushibo inquired, His voice still rough but less irritated now.

"Yeah.." [F/N] replied cautiously. He wants to meet? In the courtyard? What could he possibly want that warrants her presence in the courtyard? [F/N] could feel her stomach turn, This couldn't be good.

"Alright then.. Make it quick and do not keep me waiting." Kokushibo ordered. [F/N] listened close as she heard his heavy footsteps trail off down the hallway, Feeling the vibrations through the door. All until she couldn't hear or feel anything of him anymore.

As soon as she knew he was gone, She pushed her head into her palms and groaned. [F/N], Foolish of to think he'd leave her alone. Whatever hope she had left of that was now diminished into water foam.

She shook her head. [F/N] rested her hands upon the rim of the pool, She pushed herself up and hoisted her bare body over the side until she was completely out of the water, Save for the droplets dripping down her skin.

[F/N] got to her feet, Her steps leaving watermarks on the floorboards as she grabbed the towel hanging on the rack and tied it around her body.

Kokushibo, The thought of what he could want reverberated in her mind like a yell in a cavern. [F/N] just hoped to Inari that it wouldn't mean any roadblocks in her path, She hoped it wouldn't affect her escape at all.

☆♡☆

[F/N] walked down the chilling hallways of the shrine. By now her hair was only damp and her skin revitalized from the recent bath, A welcome change from the grime and dirt covering her head to toe.

Her footsteps stopped. In front of her stood the courtyard doors, As she reached a hand out to the knob she could feel the faint brush of heat coming from the other side. Enticing, Yet she kept her hand firmly rested on the doorknob.

She stared at the silver gripped in her hand. Kokushibo was on the other side of this door, The sheer acknowledgement of that made her want to puke. [F/N] didn't want to spend time with him or talk to him in any way but by the tone in his voice she knew it wasn't a debatable option.

[F/N] ran her fingers through her hair and adjusted her lotus-patterned kimono. A beautiful emerald sunset of fabric brushing against her fingertips, It fit perfectly well and suited her figure to the fullest.

Taking a deep breath in she turned the knob.

The door opened with a click, Easily pushed open by [F/N] as the light started to dance on her face making her squint.

She walked in, Closing the door behind her as she walked down the dark hall towards the light. The warmth getting more and more evident as she went, Near tickling on her skin as she finally reached the end.

The warm light finally washed over her entire figure, Her semi-blurry vision met with the towering Hyperion tree flourishing in the centre. It's leaves were as green as always, It's branches producing ripe apples.

It was a welcome sight, Almost enough to steady her nerves as she looked down under the shade of the blossoming leaves. There stood her captor, Standing strong underneath the shadows.

His back was facing her, He stood under the tree with his stance wide and strong. The samurai appearance he sported was on full display now as she noticed his flesh forged sword drawn and placed in front of him, Supporting him.. Not like he needed it, Though.

Kokushibo. As much as she hated him, Loathed him in every way possible [F/N] could not say he wasn't dignified, An honourable man if she didn't know the full extent of who he was and what he was capable of.

Kokushibo cocked his head to the side, Three golden eyes landing on her small figure in the doorframe looking up at him. His expression was emotionless and cold as he turned around to face her in that same position.

"You've arrived.. That took longer than expected.." Kokushibo remarked. His jabbing gaze scrutinizing every little inch of her like a hawk closing in, One that made [F/N] feel nervous.

"..What can I say? This is kind of on short notice..- Kokushibo-sama." She quickly added on the name and honorifics to try and balance out her previous statement. It worked apparently, Evident by his lack of emotional change.

"It doesn't matter.. While you are here you should be ready to come when I call.. If I want you to dress or act a certain way you shall do so.. Do you understand why?" Kokushibo asked, Eyes expecting her to know the answer.

[F/N] bit her tongue, Both in thought and effort not to bite back at him.

"Because.. Because.." She mumbled.

"-Because I am the head of this family as well as your older brother.. You may still be confused but that does not excuse you.. So, Hold your tongue when you are with me.." Kokushibo said slowly, Almost as if he was spelling it out to a toddler.

Hold my tongue? What do you think I'm doing? Either way no matter how much he enraged her she didn't want to send another jab back, Not unless she wanted to invoke his wrath that is.

Kokushibo took a few steps down from where he was standing under the Hyperion. His figure becoming more illuminated as he was only a metre away from her now, Much to her displeasure.

"So.. About the last time we spoke.. Have you thought over my words at all? The coincidences in your nightmares.. Do they make any more sense to you?" He asked. Though his face was stone cold [F/N] could see the dirt in the cracks, He was curious, That much she could tell.

In all honesty it hadn't left her mind. While she hadn't had it at the forefront, No, She had other things to think about. It was always a parasite eating away at the back of her brain, Things she'd lie awake at night mulling over or think about when she chewed on her food.

The coincidence was no longer coincidence, Instead it had turned into correlation. There was no way it was just a match of chance. Everything matched up from the setting to the bleeding wounds it was all up to the tea.

At first it alarmed her, It made her panicked. Her religion believed in energy passing back to the environment, Not reincarnation: A Buddhist belief. It was an existential crisis only put off by her meeting with Akaza, Barely at that.

But as time passed on and as she was left to her thoughts, The more she started to come to terms with her situation.

Reincarnation. Shintoism has always been hand in hand with Buddhism, Things mixed between the two faiths so she supposed that it wouldn't be too out of line that reincarnation was the next step.

Just like she came to terms with her location at the shrine she became more at ease with the reincarnation theory. Not comfortable, Not at all but she was managing.

Even so the chances of her being related to the Uppermoon one then becoming a Hashira to fight him hundreds of years in the future. That was the hardest part to wrap her head around but she had to if she wanted to escape.

So she swallowed it down, Kept it hidden before opening her mouth to speak.

"Well if I am speaking in all honesty, I kind of believe you?" [F/N] stated, A casual remark as if explaining the sky was blue. A remark that made Kokushibo raise a brow.

"But.. Even so.. Even if I was related to you in the past doesn't mean we are now. I.. We're not siblings, I.. I have been reincarnated into a new life. I don't mean to offend you.. Kokushibo-sama, But I'm just not your little sister anymore." [F/N] shrugged her shoulders and if she didn't have her hands slack to her sides in view of him she would've crossed her fingers.

Kokushibo stood there seemingly thinking over her words. His eyebrows lowered once more as he looked down at her and took in a sharp breath of air.

"..It seems like you didn't understand what I said at all.." He concluded, A slight shake of his head and the roll of his middle eyes showed that completely. The absolute delusion made [F/N]'s skin crawl more than it already was.

"No matter.. As has been made clear to you we have all the time in the world for me to help you understand your situation better.." Kokushibo turned away from her, Leaving [F/N] in confusion.

"Is.. Is that all? Can I go?" [F/N] asked slowly, Testing the waters as she watched him march back over to the Hyperion tree with curious eyes.

"No.. I didn't just bring you out here for a catch up.. I called you out here because I want to see your swordsmanship.." Kokushibo replied. He reached over to somewhere behind the Hyperion tree, Reaching his toned arm out he grabbed and raised a wooden practice sword.

[F/N]'s lips parted, Seemingly breathless at the sight of the sword. Out of all the things she expected to be doing today it wasn't showing off her lack of swordsmanship to her captor.

"But.. But didn't you see enough back at the shrine, You know.. When you fought me?" [F/N] asked, Mouth wide and agape as she gawked at the sword. Kokushibo took a few more steps towards her, The wooden sword held in both his hands.

"Yes.. However I want to see it more up close.. Without the use of my own breathing technique. I want to examine your skill.. Your form and your footwork.. From what I did see back at your shrine it was some of the best I have met." Kokushibo said.

It was an unusual compliment coming from him, Mostly due to the stark contrast in the way he said it. Walking forward a few more steps Kokushibo presented her with the practice sword.

[F/N]'s arms reached out, Her fingers shaking as she grasped the bamboo fibre handle of the sword and took it into her hands. The cool timber resting within her palms as she surveyed the woodwork.

"So.. Do you want me to do a few stances or..?" She trailed off, Waiting for him to finish the sentence for her as he took a few strides back from her.

He didn't respond, Not vocally as he only drew his own blade from it's biological hilt. The fleshy muscle of what should've been metal pulsated like it was alive, Wretched eyes sticking out to stare at her small form below her.

"No.. Instead I want you to face against me.. A one on one fight without the use of my own breathing style." He announced and as the last letter left his mouth her eyes shot open wide like saucers.

"W-What?! But I'm still injured, I can't fight you!" [F/N] exclaimed, Words babbling out on instinct as she gawked at the living blade. Disgust and repulsion revering on her tongue as she spoke. Kokushibo hummed.

"Not in a proper fight.. No.. Which is why I am promising to be gentle with you.. Nothing that might strain or impede your injury's near full recovery.." Kokushibo said, Eyeing her up and down with a glint in his eye.

Almost as if he knew something.

[F/N] gulped, Eyeline drifting away from his.

Kokushibo didn't hesitate to hold his blade to the side, A casual stance and a basic one at that. His entire demeanour radiated danger and his voice spoke forward.

"Lets begin.." He stated. "To start us off.. Your only task is to land a hit on me. Nothing more, Nothing less.." Kokushibo said. An open task as she looked at him, Unsure and nervous while she raised the wooden blade in her own stance.

[F/N] didn't move an inch however. A cold sweat running down her brow as she bit her lip, Her mind seemed to race a thousand miles per hour yet her feet stood fixed onto the smooth ground of the courtyard.

"Well..? Are you going to make your move.. Or would you prefer it if I do mine first?" His words a suggestion yet a threat was held in the undertones, Dark and inferring.

It was also everything [F/N] needed to steel her nerves and put a single foot in front of the other, Until her slow march became a faltered run. Her practice sword drawn to her side as [F/N] charged at him.

tap, Tap, TAP, TAP!

Her footsteps grew louder, Her knees bended as she launched herself up into the air with her sword swinging.

Kokushibo raised his own in turn, Drawing it back and launching it forward with both swords creating rushing winds by their sheer force.

CLASH!

The bamboo sword collided with the flesh of his own sword. Bits of splinter burst out from the impact yet it wasn't enough to shatter her sword.

[F/N] gritted her teeth. Still in the air she drew her sword back once more, Eyes locked onto his open neck as she swung it down harder, Quicker and with more burning desire to slice open his jugular.

CLASH! SLASH! THUMP! SLASH!

Her sword hit against his over and over with a sudden rage brought up in her. Kokushibo on the other hand didn't break a sweat, Effortlessly stepping to the side and lazily raising his sword to perfectly block every little one of her attacks.

Her steps were light as her sword danced in the air. Her technique wasn't usual. Kokushibo noted her fighting style was similar to that of a Shrine-maidens dance, Graceful and coordinated yet had a touch of ferality and desperation in every sway of the bamboo.

"Hmph.. Try and steady your footwork there, You are missing several turns you should be making.." Kokushibo commented as he watched her featherlight steps on the ground, One's that seemed perfect to her. Hair catching in her face as she went.

"I-I'm doing my footwork fine! Maybe if you give me the mask and sword I'd give you a proper demonstration!" [F/N] replied yet she never strayed from his neck. Sword swinging and hurtling down hard only to be blocked yet again by his fleshy blade.

"..No, They've been confiscated for your own good.. You're not getting them back" Kokushibo replied as he swayed his blade, Confirming that her items were not destroyed.

His own movements were absolutely flawless as he blocked another one of her attacks. Even though [F/N] wasn't as good at her swordsmanship in her normal form this was just ridiculous, She could still do a good few moves yet he kept dodging and weaving around her.

Maybe it was the anger that was putting her off, The way his dry lips turned into a small smile as he fought with her made her enraged. It was the way both the eyes on his face and the ones on his sword shone with enjoyment.

[F/N] hurled in the air, Tossing and turning until her body landed a few metres away from him. Low, Crouched and out of breath as she looked up at his untouchable form through the mess of her hair.

"Hm.. Already tired? I expected more of you.. Little one.." Kokushibo said with his flat voice yet the taunt perceived by [F/N] didn't go unnoticed.

"I've been asleep for weeks.. I'm injured and I'm doing this in these blocky sandals.. What more do you want from me?" She panted, Gesturing to her maiden sandals she wore. Body burning from the smallest exercise she's had in ages.

It didn't make sense to her either. If he wanted to see her technique then he should of waited until she was fully healed from the cut on her abdomen, Why did he want to do this? He wasn't even putting any effort in so.. Why?

"I want to see your breathing style.. What was it.. Soul breathing?" Kokushibo remembered, Spare hand pointing up beside him in recollection. "Hm, Yes.. Why don't you attempt to use your breathing style? ..It was rather impressive the last time I saw it.."

[F/N] pressed a hand to the dirt ground, Pushing herself up with effort as she stumbled a bit.

Her eyes dragged themselves up to him, A look of disbelief and raw defeat permeating through them as she tried to steady her breathing. As his proposition rang in her mind, So did the sunset, So did the breeze on her skin and the ledge of the cliff.

"I can't use my breathing style.. I.. I just can't.." She sighed, Shaking her head as the grip on her bamboo sword loosened. Fingers leaving the hilt as it skittered to the ground with a light thud.

Kokushibo's eyes narrowed.

"Why? Your lungs seem fine.." Kokushibo said, Eyes running down her chest to examine her lungs with transparent world. To him they were fine, Not a scratch or tear to be seen in the organ.

"..I need to be in a good headspace to use Soul Breathing.. I can't just wake up and use it I need to meditate or- or read a book-! Or- Something.." [F/N] sighed. She was slouched over as she turned away.

"..Where are you going?" Kokushibo called out. His voice was no longer commanding nor was it entirely void of feeling, She could make out the genuine confusion. One which she mutually shared when she heard it.

"I'm gonna go read a book.. Or meditate.. I dunno.." [F/N] mumbled as she dragged her feet out of the courtyard and down the shadowing hallway. She didn't even look back as she pushed the door open lazily.

But as she stepped into the hallway she could see the dark shadow stretched, Hiding the pooling light from the opened door. [F/N] sighed softly, Cocking her head to the side.

"Yes.. Kokushibo-sama?" She mumbled as courteously as she could. Looking up at his towering figure with an exhausted if not semi-nervous gaze.

Kokushibo in turn didn't say much. The shadow casted over him made his expression murky and unseen by the girl in front of him, [F/N] waited on baited breath for what he wanted now. What more he could want after destroying her illusion of semi-competency in the one thing she could do?

He sighed, Breath almost visible as it escaped his mouth.

"..You are not going walk away easily next time.. The reason I brought you out to oppose me is to teach you dignity while in my presence.. You practice a dignified art while you realise the dynamic in place.." Was all Kokushibo said. Cold and commandant as if she was nothing under his thumb, An insect under the shoe.

[F/N] expected to feel the nervous chill run down her back, The quirk of her lip or her cowering form but instead she responded with.. Nothing..

It was weird, Strange to no end and distracting her from the man in front of her. [F/N]'s brows knitted together as she mulled over it. Was it because she was use to it by now?

Before looking back up at him with a defeated acknowledgement.

"..Understood, Kokushibo-sama." [F/N] replied. Bowing down in a show of faux respect though not thought out. It was just a natural response at this point as she raised her back to its original posture.

Kokushibo looked down into her eyes, Watching and listening the obedient demeanour she handed to him. It was one he had been going after for a long time, Yet it was one that felt like rocks in his intestines.

"[F/N].. Come here.." He commanded and he promptly watched her take a few steps forward, All until she was only one foot apart and he could feel her body heat radiate off of her skin.

Kokushibo reached into the side of his kimono, Searching through the inner pockets of the beehive patterned lavender he pulled out a small trinket looking thing and held it in-between his clawed hands.

[F/N] squinted to look at it through the shadows. Though her eyes softened once she realised what it was.

"I will keep coming to collect you.. From now on this will become a regular part of your schedule.. Though during our fight and our passing in the hallways.. I couldn't help but notice your hair, It's rather.. Overgrown.." Kokushibo said.

His hand reached out. The thing he held in his fingers was a hairclip, A beautiful sapphiric jewel in the shape of a lotus flower. One with gold trimmings and plated pearl ribbons flowing down from it. It looked expensive, Near precious luxury.

Kokushibo's clawed hand took her overgrown and choppy locks into his hands, [F/N] only flinched a bit. Though his expression was cold and harsh his touch was gentle as he took the clip and set it down into her hair.

Finally the overgrown mess of her hair was out of her face. [F/N] stood there confused and frozen in place as she raised a hand to examine the clip. Her fingertips brushed the lukewarm lotus jewel, Feeling so alien in her grasp.

"There.. Be grateful for this.. As soon as you start to get back to your old self the luxuries like this one will be more.. Abundant.." Kokushibo spoke. His arm finally pulling back to his side.

[F/N]'s vision was locked onto her shoes. Her fingers still dancing on the lotus as if trying to test if it was real, The action confounded her to no degree as she shook her head.

"No.. What did th-"

But as soon as she looked back up his shadow was gone, His aura dissipating into the drafty air in the hallway. [F/N]'s eyes widened at the sudden disappearance, Head looking back and forth to find him with futile results.

Once he was gone however, She stood there silently. Contemplating her situation.

[F/N] felt a spark start to flicker in her stomach, A small lighter clicking over and over again. It sizzled and hissed, It started to burn and scorch her insides. It was another feeling she recognised well yet welcomed like an early morning guest.

It was anger, It was frustration. He had called her out to the courtyard only to spar with her, Hit her to the ground and show her exactly why she was incompetent in the ways she was already painfully aware.

Afterwards he tried to quell the situation with a promise of the situation repeating and a tiny little hairpin. Did he expect to buy her old self with promises of riches and luxury? The one she had only one, Maybe two dreams of.

It was ridiculous but she was glad. At least she had some anger left in her, The rest of it turned into defeated compliance. [F/N] still held onto that sense of self, Grasping at it for dear life.

Either way, A neuron clicked in her mind.

[F/N] could no longer feel Kokushibo's presence lurking around in the shrine, Nowhere near her anyways. This most likely meant that he left entirely, Therefore Akaza should be arriving anytime now.

A small smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. Finally, It was time to put step one into action. Her plan of getting out of here will now commence.

☆♡☆

The floorboards creaked, Depressing under Akaza's firm march. Finally, Kokushibo had left. It took him long enough, Long enough for Akaza to get his fill on human meat and search for the blue spider lily.

Of course as usual he came up empty handed leaving a bitter aftertaste to swallow down the flesh.

The breeze ran past him as he walked down the winding docks. The labyrinth of spiderweb architecture stretched on forever as he neared the shrine in the distance, Towering above everything below it.

Just like he did every night he made his way, The building in the distance getting closer and closer until he could make out the walls of wooden window shutters. Akaza made out the rocky red tiles and the Hyperion tree bursting out from the top, Leaves in bloom as he stepped onto the main deck.

Though the dandelion hues of his eyes focused on the artistry of the shrine before his irises now homed in on a different target, One sat under the shade, Sitting slumped on the porch as she leaned up against the banister.

"Hey.. Took you long enough.." [F/N] yawned as she watched Akaza approach. She stretched her arms up into the air before using the banister to pull herself to her feet.

"You've been waiting for me?" Akaza questioned as his eyes narrowed in on her tired form. He looked over her, Seeing the bottom of her lotus-woven kimono pattered in dirt.

"Yep.. Maybe for like, An hour or so?" [F/N] pondered "I dunno.. It's just been a while" She concluded, Shrugging her shoulders as she began to trail down the porch steps to meet him.

Akaza 'tched.

"Why? Wait.. No, Scratch that.. You're here about the deal, You want something" Akaza realised as she came to a halt in front of him, Only a few metres away she nodded lazily.

"Bingo, Right on the money.. Wouldn't be here talking to you otherwise." [F/N] said as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"Yeah alright then.." Akaza looked her up and down. "So what do you want?"

"Well I have a few things, You know.. Information and maybe a few materials depending on the former. It's really not much so.. First of all-" [F/N] cut herself off once she noticed the expression on Akaza's face.

"Hey! Are you even listening? Can't just ask what I want and proceed to ignore me." [F/N] chided as she seen Akaza's gaze far off and looking away from her. He seemed to be focusing on something behind her, Making her turn.

[F/N] snapped her head round and followed his line of sight up to the top of the shrine. At first all she could see was the infinite nothingness and the temple surrounding it, But as [F/N] narrowed her eyes to focus she could see a flash of black and blue darting around.

"What the.." [F/N] didn't get to finish her sentence as she felt a hand wrap around her wrist and yank her in the opposite direction. Her body near fell forward as she was dragged by the wrist inside the temple at quick speeds.

"We can't speak here." Was all Akaza said as he started to march off at a quick pace.

"Get off-! What the hell is wrong with you?" [F/N] yelped as Akaza dragged her along. She noticed the alarmed expression on his face and the scowl that chased it, He didn't respond to her he pulled her down the hallway.

After a few minutes of what seemed to be searching he yanked open a shoji door. He wasted no time on pulling her inside and shutting it, Only then did he let go of her wrist to let her back away from him.

"Why'd you do that.. Ugh, Thought you didn't hurt women.." [F/N] muttered angrily as she rubbed her sore wrist, The skin aching as she tended to it.

They seemed to be standing in an empty room of the shrine. The only thing inside was a few vanities and the floors layered with a tatami mat. It was cold and dark like the rest of the shrine yet it was quiet, The usual sounds of the ocean or the settling of the shrine's structure was gone.

The entire room seemed to be soundproof, Either due to the material of the walls and door or the thickness of it. Akaza seemed to have chosen well, Most likely sensing it as he stood there agitated.

"We couldn't speak there.. Otherwise we would've got caught doing this.." Akaza replied, Pinching his temples which were already pushed together by his knitted brows. [F/N] noticed his high risen shoulders and felt the aura coming off of him.

Akaza hoped that he had thrown Kaigaku off his trail after spotting him prowling around on the rooftops. He hoped that it would buy the two of them time to get their dealings over with.

"Why? Don't tell me Kokushibo is here.." [F/N] pleaded, Her heart dropping in her chest at the mere thought that they would get caught in the middle of their trade.

Akaza shook his head.

"Hell no.. We'd already be dead if that's the case." Akaza said. [F/N] sighed in response, Her drumming heart slowing to a slow beat as she nodded.

"Right.. Then who is?" She asked, To which Akaza responded with a scowl as he recalled.

"Upper six.. The bastard works under Kokushibo as a student similar to how Demon Slayers- If you know what they are, Train their own.. Turns out he's been following you for weeks on Upper one's orders." Akaza reveals.

[F/N]'s jaw dropped. Her mouth left agape as she gawked at him, The information a complete surprise to her. How did I not notice him? The thought ran through her head at lightning speed, She was usually able to pinpoint a location from someone's aura but this time she was left in the dark.

"Let me get this straight.. So Upper six has been following me around for weeks, I haven't noticed him at all and now your telling me he's Kokushibo's what? Tsuguko?" Though the weight of the situation started to sit in, [F/N] couldn't help but feel baffled.

This was an issue. If he was watching her, Tracking her every movement and following her around her possibility of escape or doing stuff unseen dwindled to a thread.

Akaza raised a brow.

"Tsuguko.. How do you know that word?" Akaza questions. His suspicions raised with his guard once she spoke of the term used near exclusively by the slayers.

[F/N] huffed.

"Akaza.. I'm a Hashira." [F/N] responded, Almost as if it was obvious.

"What?!" Akaza exclaimed. His eyes widening and his eyebrows raising to their peak height as he glared at her with a newfound scorn. He looked her up and down, Her body structure to the way she carried herself. A Hashira, Impossible.

"I know I don't look the cut, Akaza, Trust me I know.. But I just happen to be one, Okay?" [F/N] explained, Dragging her eyes away from him.

She seemed to be taking this whole thing like it was nothing yet the revelation shocked the demon she spoke to like a bolt of lightning.

"Can we just get back to the deal? I don't want to get into this and we said we wouldn't get personal" [F/N] reminded, Exasperated.

Akaza looked at her once more, Up and down a final time before he nodded.

"..Fine.. Alright.." He conceded though the look glimmering under the darkness of the room still stuck out like the speck of a star within a night sky, Staring at her, Questioning her motives.

"Good. So as I was saying I do have a few questions.." [F/N] said. Starting to pace around the empty room, Her footsteps were light as she spoke.

"One, How the hell do you get out of here in the first place?" [F/N] asked, Raising her hands and looking at Akaza expectantly.

He sighed.

"I travel through several cracks or separations in the water. We're in what we call the Infinity castle and the layout outside of this section is wide and cavernous.. If you try to escape through those ways the drop would kill you.." Akaza explained, Several hand motions backing him up as he did.

[F/N] hummed, Taking in his words as her mind started to wander.

"And that's it? There's no more exits?" [F/N] mumbled to herself.

"Correct. Even if your weak little human body was able to stay intact after the fall, You'd need to deal with finding the exit door, Which is one of thousands in the entire castle and controlled entirely by the biwa demon." Akaza replied.

[F/N] bit her lip and her face scrunched up. While she hadn't seen the outside of this sector, The way Akaza described it seemed like it was a fortress. A labyrinth more complex than the one she was in right now.

"Great.. Just great.." [F/N] said, Her hands raising to her head and carding through her hair in annoyance. Her hands however were blocked by her lotus hairpin, Still freshly placed into the side of her head.

"There isn't any other escape, I haven't searched because I never needed to." He shrugged.

"Alright then.. How about the looping affect around the shrine?" [F/N] asked, Hands raised to her hips.

"Hm?" Akaza questioned to which [F/N] huffed.

"..Everytime I try to run away through the docks I end up coming back to the other side of the shrine. Is this a natural affect or does this have something to do with this 'Biwa demon' character?" She asked.

Akaza hummed.

"Don't know.. Probably is the Biwa Demon but I can't be sure. I've never had that sort of issue however.." He said, Folding his arms over his chest.

[F/N] shook her head. So far her questioning had gotten her nowhere.

There was no viable escape from what he said. If she tried to escape through the 'cracks' in the water or whatever he said, [F/N] would instantly be killed from the drop.

And The Infinity Castle, Though she had brushed off the weight of the name before it now seemed much more.. Well, Infinite. Thousands of doors he described, Thousands of doors that could be her exit as well as her failure.

"Right.. You know what? Take me to the so called cracks in the water. I want to see them for myself and make an opinion on my own." [F/N] concluded, Raising her head and eyeline to match Akaza's own.

He 'tched.

"As I said. It won't do any good for you. It's impossible to escape that way with the things you have right now." Akaza emphasised his words more clearly, Spelling it out to her with an edge like a knife.

"I don't care, I'd like to see it and if you want Kokushibo's head you'll do it." [F/N] said with the same tone he did, Taking a few steps towards him and getting up in his face like she usually did. Akaza responded in his usual kind, The scrunch up of his nose and a twitch of his eye.

"Watch your tone.. If you were a man I would've already killed you and wear your guts as trophies" Akaza hissed. His teeth were bared as if to lunge at her yet he held back.

[F/N] chuckled. A cold and emotionless sound reverberating in her throat.

"You say that like I'd be opposed to it." She responded with a malicious smile, One that made Akaza's eyebrows lower in confusion. She shook her head once before backing away from him, Folding her arms over her kimono and looking at him.

"So? Are you gonna take me there or not?" [F/N] asked, Now staring at him with a more confident and controlled look as she tilted her head.

Akaza groaned at her insistence. His shoulders going slack in annoyance as he looked back with a scowl.

"Sure, Whatever. But once you see it you'll find out how hopeless it is."

Next Chapter

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corruptedcaps · 7 months

Text

Jane’s Ascension

Special thanks to @lsat (discord: thedivergence, Twitter: LSAT1886) for generating the images used here that allowed a long time idea of mine to come to life.

It had nearly been a year since Tarzan and Jane had defeated their nemesis, the cruel and power-hungry Queen La. She was a formidable adversary, known for her dark magic and ruthless ambition. Queen La had ruled over a faction of jungle-dwelling followers, seeking dominion over all living creatures. However, her reign of terror had come to an end when Tarzan, Jane and their friends thwarted her wicked plans, banishing her from their realm.

It was only now that they had decided to explore the ruins of La’s once thriving city of Opar. Jane had always been enamored by the mysteries of the jungle. Her days alongside Tarzan, swinging through the treetops and learning the ways of the wild, had filled her heart with love for both the man she adored and the lush, untamed world around her. She begged Tarzan to bring her back to Opar, to explore its secrets now that the once threat was long gone. Tarzan had been hesitant but he couldn’t say no to his love.

“Tarzan this place is amazing isn’t it? Just think of how bustling and vibrant this place once was. It makes me sad that it all ended when La was defeated.” Jane said with a hint of melancholy. Tarzan did not understand her fascination with a place he could sense held great darkness but looking at her he knew that he would do anything for her.

Unbeknownst to both of them, Jane’s words travelled on the air around the ruined city causing the stone walls to creak and the wind to howl. It was as if her words breathed life into the city and it responded by opening a hidden door to a chamber below. Jane and Tarzan looked at each other confused. Tarzan knew Jane would want to investigate but he felt uneasy. Before he could voice his concerns she was already descending into the hidden chamber.

As they descended they saw in awe the full scoot of the chamber. It aas steeped in a chilling aura of both grandeur and malevolence. The walls were adorned with faded murals that depicted the cruel reign of Queen La, showcasing scenes of conquest, subjugation, and dark rituals.

The chamber's ceiling, supported by ornate stone pillars, bore intricate carvings of jungle creatures and twisted vines, as if nature itself had been subjugated by a twisted will. Shafts of eerie, filtered light penetrated the chamber through narrow cracks, casting eerie shadows upon the cold stone floor.

At the center of the chamber, on an obsidian pedestal, rested a necklace. It glimmered with an unholy radiance, its central red gem catching the scarce light and reflecting it in unsettling patterns. Its beauty was mesmerizing. So much so that Jane, who didn’t want for anything in the world, felt immediately compelled to reach out and touch it.

As her fingers barely brushed against the surface of the gem, an otherworldly sensation coursed through her veins. Her eyes widened in surprise and then immediately vacant. She stood like a statue with her index finger barely touching the necklace the entire time.

However Tarzan was quick to notice his paramour was eerily silent and when he saw her transfixed state he jumped into action pulling her away from the necklace. Jane crumbled in his arms unresponsive, seemingly comatose.

“Jane! Jane! Wake up Jane!,” he said urgently. “Hold on, Jane. I won’t let anything happen to you.” Desperation etched his face as he made a painful decision to leave Jane. He knew there were wise shamans living on the far side of the jungle, keepers of ancient knowledge and medicines that might hold the cure for Jane's mysterious ailment. Without delay, he set out on his perilous journey through the dense, untamed wilderness.

Meanwhile, in the solitude of the chamber, in the depths of her coma, Jane found herself walking amongst the buildings and the people of Opar. However this wasn’t the Opar she knew, all empty and ruined. This was a vibrant, alive grand empire. She followed the flow of people to the central hub, the palace. At the center of this opulent building, was a lone woman, beautiful, powerful, strong. It was Queen La like Jane had never seen her. Jane’s hate for all the valuess that La held faded away as she gazed in awe at the magnificent queen astride her throne.

Up until now no one paid Jane any attention, it was if she were a spectre, floating around unseen but one person now saw her. With a smirk and a gesture to come closer, Jane found herself gravitating towards La. Only once she got closer did she notice that the cocoa skinned Queen was positioned in such a way to show off her glistening bare pussy. The sight stopped Jane in her tracks.

“Come closer Jane, pay tribute to your Queen. Taste royalty so you too may ascend.” La said in a purr. Jane was transfixed, almost hypnotized by La’s words as she knelt in front of La and leaned into the monarch’s most prominent care of regions.

Jane’s tongue gingerly touched the top of La’s clit. As soon as it did it was a revelation for the reserved English scholar. The taste was unlike anything she had known before. It was pleasure personified and Jane wanted more.

Placing her hands on La’s smooth thighs, Jane pulled the Queen closer to her face so she could exploring her depths deeper. La let out a soft moan that Jane took to mean she was equally enjoying the experience.

However as both Jane and La were experiencing pleasure like no other, a voice was breaking through to her. It was Tarzan’s. His voice was acting as her conscious, compelling her to wake up, to reject La’s empty promises. His voice sliced through the trance she was experiencing and she pulled herself away from La.

“Wait this isn’t right, this isn’t who I am.” Jane said unsteadily getting to her feet and wiping away the juices from her lips. However with lightning speed La rose and stood behind her, whispering in her ear.

“And who are you exactly Jane? A sidekick to that muscle bound moron? A damsel in distress always waiting on your prince to save you? Aren’t you tired of that?” La purred in her ear as she place her hands on Jane’s hips.

“Wouldn’t you rather be something more capable? More powerful? More feared? Wouldn’t you like that?” La said as she pulled Jane closer to her, their bodies touching from neck to thigh.

Maybe it was fear that kept Jane from moving but maybe it was La’s tempting words that kept her there. Maybe it was La’s soft breath on her nape that caused Jane to forget about Tarzan in that moment. Maybe it was the promise of beauty and power that made Jane whisper, “More than anything!”

Jane closed her eyes as she felt La’s warm embrace around her sink into her skin. She felt La’s very essence be absorbed into her body in a pleasurable slurping sound. She felt her drab and simple clothing become La’s gloriously revealing regal attire. Gold hooped earrings drip from her ears pairing well with think gold bracelets adorning her arms.

Her skin gradually taking on a deeper, exotic tan, reminiscent of the sun-kissed hues of the jungle. But the changes were far more profound than a mere alteration in complexion and clothing. Her body seemed to ripple with newfound vitality, her curves becoming voluptuous and alluring. Her nails grew long and sharp, like obsidian talons, ready to strike.

Jane's once-ordinary hair thickened and lengthened, cascading down her back in a torrent of glossy, ebony waves. Her breasts swelled with a newfound plumpness, going from a meagre B cup to a commanding double D. Her figure transformed into an embodiment of seduction and power.

Muscles that had once been delicate and feminine now hardened, sculpting her into an athletic and toned form, blending grace and strength in a way that was both sexy and fearsome.

Carnal images and sensations filled her mind, like a vast library of pleasures were getting downloading into her brain. Knowledge of magic spells, hexes and curses invaded her brain and gave her intimate expertise as if she had been a student of the dark arts for decades. It was intoxicating.

Opening her eyes she found herself now awake from her coma, standing back in the chamber alone. The necklace that had started all of this was clung tight to her chest. Her eyes, now shimmering with a malevolent light, reflected the eerie radiance of the cursed gem. In that moment, her transformation was complete, and a dark presence had taken root within her.

She gazed at her reflection in an ancient, cracked mirror within the chamber, and her voice, now dripping with seductive cruelty, echoed in the silence. "Ah, much better," she purred, her own voice sounding both familiar and yet profoundly altered, "I was once so naïve, so kind-hearted. But look at me now."

With a haughty laugh, she envisioned herself ruling over Opar, Queen La's dark legacy reborn in her. "I shall be the new queen of this empire, and the jungle will tremble at the mention of my name. No one can resist the allure of power, especially when it's draped in such beauty."

Her fingers, adorned with long, razor-sharp nails, traced the contours of her transformed body, admiring her newfound allure and power. "The jungle will bow before me," she continued, her voice filled with icy determination. "And Tarzan... oh, Tarzan, he will come to realize the joy of serving me."

Almost as if he had been summoned, Tarzan appeared at the foot of the chamber having descended with a shaman mixture that he believed would reawaken Jane but found it suddenly unneeded.

There, before him, stood Jane, but she was unrecognizable. Her once-kind eyes now glinted with a sinister light, and her body had transformed into a vision of seductive power. She wore the cursed necklace with an air of cruel confidence.

"Jane?" Tarzan's voice quivered with disbelief and desperation as he stepped closer.

She turned to face him, and a wicked smile danced upon her lips. "Oh, Tarzan," she purred, her voice dripping with both familiarity and malevolence, "you've returned."

In that moment, Tarzan realized the depth of the darkness that had taken hold of his beloved Jane. "What has happened to you?" he pleaded, his heart heavy with sorrow.

Her laughter was chilling, a stark contrast to the laughter he once knew. "I've embraced the power that this necklace has given me, Tarzan," she declared. "I am the new queen of Opar, doesn’t royalty suit me perfectly?"

Tarzan's eyes pleaded with Jane, desperate to reach the woman he loved, hidden beneath the darkness that had consumed her. "Jane, please," he implored, his voice filled with anguish, "you must destroy that necklace. It's corrupting you."

But Jane merely chuckled, the sound cold and heartless. "Tarzan, you underestimate me," she said, her voice dripping with scorn. With a swift, mocking gesture, she tore the cursed necklace from her neck.

Tarzan's heart leaped with hope, but it was short-lived. In the palm of her hand, she squeezed the necklace causing it to crumbled to dust, as if it had never existed. Jane's eyes blazed with a newfound malevolence.

"I don't need the necklace to be queen, you fool," she sneered, her gaze locked on Tarzan. "The power is within me now. I am the queen of Opar, and no one can challenge my reign."

A sense of dread washed over Tarzan as he realized the extent of the transformation that had taken place. Jane had become a force of darkness, and there seemed to be no way to reach the woman he had once known.

"In fact, as a show of my power," Jane hissed, her voice filled with a chilling determination. With a casual flick of her wrist, the very vines that had once been their allies came alive. They slithered and twisted through the air, responding to her dark command.

Tarzan's eyes widened with alarm as the sinewy vines snaked around him, their grip growing tighter with each passing moment. His powerful struggles were rendered futile as they constricted, holding him immobile, like a helpless prey ensnared in the jungle's unforgiving embrace.

Jane's eyes bore into his, devoid of the warmth and love he had once known. Instead, they gleamed with an eerie satisfaction, reveling in her newfound dominance.

"Tarzan," she taunted, her voice dripping with cruel delight, "you see, there is no escaping my rule. The jungle is mine to command now, and you are but a mere obstacle."

"But you may be useful to me yet," Jane mused with a sinister smile, her lips curving in a mocking grin. Leaning in, she pressed her lips to Tarzan's with a chilling, calculated tenderness.

As their lips met, a malevolent energy surged from Jane's mouth into Tarzan's, and a darkness seemed to creep through his veins. Agonizing pain wracked his body, and he convulsed as a profound transformation began.

Tarzan's muscles bulged and expanded, his body becoming more impenetrable, like the very stones of the jungle. His once-tanned skin turned an eerie shade of gray, and his eyes, once filled with warmth and life, darkened into abyssal pools of black.

Through the torment, Tarzan's voice turned cold with an eerie subservience as he asked, "What is your bidding, my Queen?"

Jane's malevolent laughter echoed through the chamber as she gazed upon the creature that Tarzan had become, a loyal servant of her dark reign. The jungle had truly fallen under her dominion, and she held the once-mighty Tarzan in her thrall, a grim testament to the extent of her power.

“Come my pet, there is much to do.” She said with a knowing smirk as she released Tarzan from his binds and he followed her obediently.

For another tale of Jane’s corruption check out this fantastic story here by @misseviehyde

#f2f #corruption #bitchification #magic #evil bitch #magic jewelry #corrupted jewellery #evil couple #fanfic #ai image #merged #corrupted couple

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arting-block · 22 days

Text

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 (𝟐) | Eleventh Doctor x MCU!Sorcerer Reader

❝𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵—𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩—𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥?❞

Summary: Recovery and revelations.

Genre: Romance, AU/Crossover

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, PTSD, graphic depictions of violence, mentions of killing, comfort

Words: 26.2K (yes you heard that correctly)

Reader: POC friendly, she/her, 24 y/o.

A/N: i wrote 6 whole drafts of this god-forsaken chapter all of which included more backstory and angst. trust me, this was going to be over 50k but i didn't think tumblr could handle allat.

previous chapter |

[KAMPOT, CAMBODIA 24 YEARS AGO]

The humid air from outside still somehow seeped into the old hut of the village shaman. Dark, moody clouds could still be seen over the night sky. A small abode tucked away from the main roads, separated on all sides by thick foliage and dense forest.

Therula hated using Eldritch Magic more than anything, but cannot deny the ease of the sling-ring. Cracks of azure light cut through the air in front of the hut. Warmth from the (L/N) estate and its lavish tapestry halted, turning to centuries-old wood and tropical breeze. The door to the hut, covered in red talisman and chicken feet, was left ajar. Yellow candle light came through the crack of the door frame, enticing the young woman inside.

Bright yellow walls and intricate drawings cover the old shaman’s home. Ink sketches of human bones against mandalas; the hollow sockets where eyes were supposed to be staring back. On the ceiling there was an intricate projection of the night sky. Nebula, stars, and planets floating against the inky black of space, much like the one Therula conjured in her own home.

It smelled of incense and peppers. A horrid combination that made Therula (L/N) physically ill. Even without the pregnancy hormones, she would still gag at the sharp smell of the home. Silks adorning Therula clung to her clammy skin. Its ornate pattern, coupled with hand-woven lace seemed odd in the humble environment.

Anxiety crept in her bones slowly. As if to draw out her unease for as long as possible. A dull cramp settled in her gut, making her seeming calmness falter. Therula placed a laced hand above her stomach, exhaling softly to get her mind under control.

This is for her own good.

A new mantra she often found herself saying. It keeps her focused, reminding herself that sacrifices are worth it.

Months of sleepless nights are finally catching up to her. No matter how much concealer or color corrector she puts on, there’s still the gaunt look under her eyes. Her skin is losing its usual luster, and her fidgeting increased tenfold. Very improper indeed, but she gave up trying long ago.

With anxiety came the sudden rise in heat. Therula felt her chest, neck, and face starting to flush. Inch by inch, crawling up her skin until sweat collects at the base of her head. She couldn’t help but mutter a soft prayer, hoping a call to her patron will give her strength, “Planet of oceans and ice, I ask to strengthen my veins with your power.”

She spoke in an ancient tongue, one that no book held record of. A language passed down from mother to child, only spoken within family.

On cue, the familiar chill of her magic materialized. It took root in her heart and quickly overtook her body. It wasn’t enough to send her teeth chattering, but enough to calm her. Above all, it was a testament of Therula’s bond to her planet. A sign that they were there for her, aiding her through this difficult time.

Whilst Therula was acclimating, she failed to notice the shaman materialize behind her. She didn't feel the air shift or the feeling of magic crackle through the air. A sign of the old shaman’s abilities than the lack of awareness on Therula.

“Back so soon? And without your husband, no less,” a snide voice said from behind Therula.

Therula whipped around, placing a hand over her startled heart. She silently cursed herself for letting her guard down.

The shaman is a raggard woman with a hunched posture and a perpetually hoarse voice. Her tan skin was wrinkled heavily, but still had some residual roundness of her youth. The whole of her chest is covered with amulets and thick, circular clusters of peppers which Therula believes contributes to her posture. Bright primary fabrics construct the robe she adorns.

A stubborn woman and old enough to have seen Pluto’s full orbit thrice. Her bony hands are covered in dainty tattoos and the tips of her fingers are dyed bright red. The old shaman regards Therula with a piercing gaze and her wrinkled lips into an even thinner line.

Therula had only met the old woman once before. Months ago, when she was barely showing her pregnancy. Therula had come with her husband then, seeking arcane advice for something barbaric. Enestor wasn’t keen on seeing a traditionalist, especially if it concerns his wife and unborn daughter, but he knew how much it meant for Therula.

At that time, the shaman pushed back at Therula’s request. Too risky, especially when the subject has yet to breathe air.

Now, as her due date grew nearer, Therula acquired new information regarding her family history—around the curse plaguing her unborn daughter.

Therula rolls her shoulders back, holding her head high, “He doesn’t understand the situation we are in.”

The shaman shuffles closer, the amulets clanging softly against one another. Peppers along her neck are still sharp with capsaicin, making Therula’s nose scrunch. The shaman’s gaze zeroes in on her large stomach. Beneath the extravagant dress and expensive lace, the shaman could feel the pulsing heartbeat of an unborn child.

A grunt came from the shaman, “You make decision without husband? Something that will not be reversed?”

The same warning, the same displeased look.

Something in Therula hardens under the gaze, hardening her voice as much as she could, “He’s not part of my practice. This is a matter that concerns me, no one else.” Her tone is final despite the obvious waver. Her hands stuck along the sides of her swollen stomach, both soothing the baby and her own nerves.

The shaman’s smile is smug, almost proud. She wags a red dyed finger at Therula, “You are bold, I’ll give you that. Many people come to my hut asking for power. None have asked to take it away.”

A warning. Something irreversible that cannot and would not be undone.

“Will you do it?” Therula asked, her nerves starting to get the better of her. The calm, collected façade chipping away.

The shaman huffs, “You ask for impossible, I give you impossible. Although I advised against this, it is clear you are stubborn.”

The old crone beckons Therula to the other side of the room. Wood beneath their feet creak and groan under their weight. The small room only takes a few strides to cross. On the other side, a dark wooden door with a large magical seal painted in red. The brushstrokes are precise and delicate, but it looked more haunting than beautiful. As Therula approached closer, she could make out the grooves of a fingerprint along the paint strokes. The sound of keys clanging made Therula watch the old woman shuffle through her belt.

Keys, small knives, and talisman were bunched up on a single loop of her belt. The shadows swallowed any definition, making it seem like one big mass. It was hard to tell which key started and the talisman ended.

A few seconds of shuffling until Therula heard the click of the keyring. An old brass key was finally found. Carved by a dark metal with small flourishes.

It seemed heavy by the looks of it. The shaman’s shaky hands lodged the key into the lock, twisting it with some strain. The door creaked open as the gears of the lock shifted. Therula could see clusters of lit candles of different colors in every corner of the room. Despite the numerous candles, it was much dimmer than the room previously. Ends of the walls were a dark, inky black with no discernible corners.

Light from the candles gave a blue hue to the contours of their faces. The smell of incense wafted away to a damp, moldy smell.

Shelves filled with exotic herbs and more peppers sat along the wall. Glowing bottles next to wet specimens. Even a few shrunken heads dangled in the dark corners. All of which were nothing surprising to Therula. An old crone of her caliber is expected to adhere to traditions, no matter how unsavory.

In the middle of the room was a giant magic seal. Old Khmer script along its edges along with complicated geometric patterns in the same red paint as on the door. Therula found herself transfixed by the seal. It was a dying art in the magical world. With newer mages seeking Eldritch Magic, there was no need for manually hand-drawing seals. Here, in the small hut in Kampot, a piece of this tradition is marked in stone.

In the dim lighting of the room, the red seemed dark and muddy. Almost like…

Something uneasy was felt in her gut. Therula took a deep breath, caressing her abdomen. The door creaked shut with the sound of a metal lock clicking, making the poor mother jump. The shaman snickers, no doubt trying to make Therula on edge.

“I fail to understand why you come here. Plenty of other strong, young mages to do your bidding,” the shaman grunts, pouring glowing liquids and peppers into a wooden bowl. Her bony fingers found a stone pestle to grind the ingredients together, “Not that I mind. Rare to see such esteemed witch from powerful family come to old shaman. Many good elders from your clan to take care of your problem. Those who know this curse better than I.”

Therula shifts her weight, feeling a dull ache in her knees, “You’re the only celestial witch old enough to pull this off. Even the most promising witches and warlocks from my clan only have a planet to call upon. Rumor has it that you have a star. A large one at that.”

A planet for guidance is a feat in itself. Talented mages had taken decades of their lives trying to build a connection. Complete devotion wields pure energy to siphon off of. Planets, with their rich mythology and monstrous size, give unparalleled power to their mage.

But a planet would only take you so far.

The shaman smiles at the praise, “You need power to match the curse, yes? One that is old and of equal value.” She brings the wooden bowl to Therula, who hesitantly accepts.

Fluorescent blue liquid sloshes inside the bowl. The sharp sting of peppers hits Therula, forcing her to aggressively blink away tears. The shaman once again took another look at the mother’s stomach. There was no doubt that the unborn child had the gift. A strong current of magic swirling in around the womb despite the soul not taking hold yet.

A strong vessel, perfect for a powerful witch.

“I wonder what your ancestors did to warrant such a nasty curse,” the shaman mutters, still loud enough for Therula to hear, “No doubt the caster pulled divine intervention. Your family is protected by the nine planets, yes? But that’s not good enough. Not pure enough.”

Curses, especially ones involving the soul, are notoriously difficult to break. The older the curse, the more it festers and grows. With time comes the destruction of knowledge, including customs and language. Sooner or later there would be no one alive, nor any record preserved, to break the curse.

The old shaman was born centuries before, older than some of the elders in Therula’s clan. Her magic was cultivated during a time where magic was still abundant in the public mind. A celestial witch with a star as her patron. Pure energy, older than the curse festering in Therula’s child. Energy that is easy to bend and manipulate, especially when it comes to magical seals.

Therula huffed, a bead of sweat dripping down her temple, “It has to be done. Trust me, I weighed any other possibilities.”

There wasn’t any other choice. Not one that could save both mother and child.

“Each year fewer of us are being born. Not to mention the sickness that's spreading,” the crone says, still eyeing her stomach, “I’m sure you’re aware of the potential of your daughter—.”

“Potential means nothing when her life is at stake,” Therula snaps, her eyes burning despite placing the bowl away from her face, “Powers or not, she’s my baby. If there’s a chance to give her a better life, then I’m willing to take it.”

Months of stress pouring through each word; no mistaking the raw edge of desperation.

The shaman’s lips pressed to a thin line, but said nothing. It was clear that Therula was going through with her plan one way or another, even if it meant going to a lesser mage to get the job done. At the very least the old woman could provide a safe, stable spell that won’t harm either the mother or the fetus.

The shaman reaches within the deep sleeves in her robe, pulling out a small decorative dagger. It was gold, matching the amulets on her chest, and encrusted with blood-red rubies and rich emerald. The blade gleams despite the low lighting, curving down to a sharp point.

“I need to ensure the seal will last. Blood from me—” the shaman wastes no time slicing her palm. The thin skin broke through, and her darkened blood dripped into the bowl in Therula’s hand. The shaman took the bowl and flipped the handle of the knife to Therula, “ —blood from you. Power from two witches, and their patrons, are better than one.”

Therula’s heart hammered in her chest, but her hand grasped the ornate handle with no hesitation. A slight burn emanated from her hand where the deep cut was made. She clenched her hand, watching the blood pool out of her fingers and into the glowing bowl. Fluorescent liquid bubbled upon contact.

“You drink this the moment you go into labor.” The shaman decants the liquid into a clear jar. “The soul of your daughter will start to enter her body. This elixir will enter her bloodstream and create a barrier around her spirit. Once child is born, she will be cut off from magic. The older she grows, the stronger the seal. Her soul will attach itself to barrier and create unbreakable bond.”

Therula takes the glowing jar. It’s easily a cup of liquid and no doubt will taste like copper and spice. Her hands tightened their hold. Early victory could easily sour as there were still five weeks left in her pregnancy. Nothing is for certain until the time of her labor. Even then, Therula would still worry and fret over her child.

“How strong? Nothing is unbreakable, you of all people should know that,” Therula bites.

The small kernel of hope did nothing to mask the skepticism. After many months of mental torture, it seemed too good to be true.

The shaman smirks, all knowing with her centuries of power, “Not even a star could undo it.”

— — —

[PRESENT]

Sound is a distraction. It dulls your brain and nullifies your other senses. Silence, in the absence of numbing noises, makes the air coil around you. Your body becomes aware of forces beyond your control.

It wasn't crippling, but always there.

Vibrations of energy flowing inside your skull, through your bones. It fills space between your atoms, making your body denser. It’s been the background of your existence for so long, that a part of you feels empty. It feels…

Lighter. You feel lighter.

The Doctor left the room to retrieve his companions: Amy and Rory Pond. Husband and wife who he swept away from their ordinary lives back on Earth. Rather, they became husband and wife during his time with them. Not too long ago, but he seemed unsure. His eyes are always going about from one side to the next. The Doctor then remembered why he went off on a tangent, saying it would only take a few minutes.

“Get comfortable. Don’t exert yourself.”

It’s been a few minutes. You shuffled back to the meager cot against the far corner of the room. Each step sends an ache in every fiber and joint in your body.

It’s unnerving. The quiet of the air. No overbearing weight on your chest. There’s space between your thoughts and air into your lungs.

It’s a new feeling, too new to be comfortable with.

Sitting on the edge of your bed you let the seconds tick by, hoping to gather your bearings, think things over before the Doctor and his companions arrive.

Your hands drag against the edge of your wrappings. Numb, damaged fingers find the frayed threads to slowly unravel. Scratching would hurt, so you quell the urge to scrape your nails on your palms. Keeping your fingers occupied so that you can fuel your nervous tick. A habit you couldn’t shake off and one that your mother always disapproved of.

Scattered thoughts pass through your mind.

Flashes of color. The familiar burn of your magic. The rush of adrenaline—

Your throat closes. You need to keep calm. Focus on the now, figure a way out…

Silence bites your mind. It makes your feelings more apparent and it frightens you.

You don't know the next step. You always know—should always know.

A Master of the Mystic Arts, always a step ahead of everyone else. Commander of spells with experience that came with being an apprentice for six years. You had a big role to fill the moment the Ancient One anointed you as her apprentice and you met her expectations step by step.

You were powerful. Surrounded by heroes and supportive friends alike.

You were on top of the world. Power imbued in the fibers of your body. All the knowledge the universe had to offer at the tips of your fingers.

So why did you wish to leave?

Being stuck in space wasn’t the issue. Being stuck in a universe with no discernable way out isn’t what’s plaguing you.

Why did you leave? Why did your only thought—your dying wish—was to leave the world behind?

You were supposed to be a brave soldier, fighting for the universe itself. You never caved, never wavered in the battlefield. When the blood spills from your teeth or bones break beneath your skin, you always get back up.

You swore an oath, bound by blood, to serve humanity and in return was bestowed the highest honor a sorcerer can have.

And yet…you’d wish to give everything up. To leave your family, Peter, the Avengers—even Stephen and Wong. In your dying moments you acted on selfishness.

The guilt causing tension in your body wasn’t from failing to keep Wanda and Vision safe…

It was because you chose your own life above all others. Above your friends; above the billions of others who no doubt deserved it more than you.

The only surefire way to get back is if someone opens a portal and brings you to them. There’s too many variables, too many worlds to slip into. Traversing through the multiverse is like gliding through hot syrup and pure madness. No one in their right mind would suffer the cost just for a ghost.

There’s no guarantee that even if you manage to survive another trek without magical protection that you could sift through and find your universe. The equivalent of finding a needle in a larger, near infinite pile of identical needles.

You’re stuck.

Thump, thump, thump.

Voices and footsteps echo outside. Growing louder, getting closer.

Your body stiffens, your ears trying to pick up their conversation. Closer and closer they come. You shake away any stray thoughts, focusing on the present.

Their voices sound clearer. Accents, different from the Doctor’s. Male and female, young, agitated. Arguing about something. They're too far away for you to make heads or tails of their conversation. Their voices come fast, fluctuating between stuttering exasperation (the Doctor most likely) to scathing retorts (Amy, judging from the higher pitch) and a deep groan that oozes annoyance (Rory, process of elimination).

Voices and footsteps grow louder as the seconds tick by. Jumbled noises smooth into intelligible words. Not enough to piece together their conversation, but enough to know that they were a few paces away.

Whisper-shouting and rustling of clothing stops the moment they reach your door.

The ornate brass door knob rattles against the steel door. Side to side, as if it’s stuck. The door creaks open, the voices hushed the moment you see three figures standing outside.

Red hair, plaid shirt with worn jeans, and curious eyes peek through the door frame first. A beautiful woman, with a round face and even rounder eyes. She steps into the space with an air of caution, but there’s no mistaking the piqued curiosity.

A tall man with sleepy eyes and spiky blond hair follows behind her. He wears a comfy, soft sweatshirt and a pair of dark, crisp denim. He doesn’t appear fearful, but doesn’t look too happy to be here. You notice the squared shoulders and measured steps, reminiscent of those in the military.

The Doctor comes in last with a mind swarming with unfinished thoughts. His hands sweep around his jacket, trying to fix his appearance before stepping beside the blond man. The tension from your conversation seemed to dissipate, leaving a rather aloof expression on his face.

The woman—Amy, you assume—stares at you, unblinking as if to not miss any movement. Her husband with cool regard, but has a protective arm around her shoulder. Their eyes take in every bruise and discolored skin, waiting for the Doctor to speak up.

You can’t help but observe them too. They stood far enough that you could take in the tops of their head and all the way down to the worn converses they both had. Human, but something tells you they’re a bit more than that.

Everything about her and her husband seemed so…ordinary. Civilians with catalog clothes and that tentative look on their face. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume they would be another faceless civilian out on the streets of whatever city you’re stopping in. The three of them stand in opposition to you. Each with their own perception of you, ranging between caged animal to war-stricken soldier. Pity, confused, and sad. It’s almost suffocating. Beneath the hesitance was an undeniable feeling of sorrow. As if seeing you was a tragedy.

You don’t like it. Despise it, even. It seems that in every corner, in every face you see, there was an underlying sadness for you. It seems the lingering stares follow you outside of the multiverse and into the green eyes of Amy and the steel blue of Rory.

The Doctor doesn’t seem to notice his companions’ less-than-enthusiastic mood. He stands beside you, bending slightly to get to your eye level. “These two lovely chaps are my companions: Amy and Rory Pond! Ponds, meet the wonderful—and very much alive—(Y/N)!” He does some jazz hands towards you with a proud smile on his face.

They each wave to you awkwardly.

You lick the sharp skin on your lower lip, the tiniest of smiles on your face. “I’m assuming you’re the Nurses?”

Rory and Amy seemed a bit stunned at your poor attempt at a joke. You guessed the contrast of a beaten face and a strained smile was a bit jarring.

Then, Rory chuckles. Airy and genuine. It seemed the tension between them lifted. Amy’s shoulders relaxed, letting a smile of her own to be seen.

“That’s a good one, I see what you did there,” Rory says. “Though, for the record, I’m the only certified medical nurse here.”

Your brows pinch, turning towards the Doctor with suspicion. He doesn’t seem to notice your wary looks, simply beaming at you with that smile of his.

You shift in your spot, “Uh, I should’ve asked this when I woke up. How long, exactly, was I out for? When I blacked out, I didn’t register time passing. At all. Lemme guess, a few months?”

You’re not stupid. Back in the jungle, lying in that ditch, you felt your soul bursting inside your body. If it wasn’t for your unwavering spite, that stubbornness to get up, to keep trying, you would’ve seen the familiar skeletal face of Death herself.

So far gone, that enough time passed that you are able to walk. You clearly remember struggling to do so; the biting pain still lingers in your knees.

Something flashes in the Doctor’s eyes. A shift in his cheery demeanor to something serious and foreboding.

Caution, you thought.

“Five days.”

You blink. Once. Twice.

Maybe you shattered your eardrum on the way here.

“Sorry, I thought you said five days,” you scoff, almost laughing at the ridiculous thought. Sure you may heal cuts and bruises relatively fast, but you were on the brink of death. Bones were broken, no doubt a ton of internal bleeding sprinkled throughout your body.

A taste of lemon on your tongue, a warm energy above the nerves of your spine.

Truth, your body says.

You look at the Ponds and see the same look of weariness. Amy gives a slight nod of her head, confirming what the Doctor said.

Denial grips your mind. Doubt in their words despite the lack of obvious deception. It makes the settling realization hit a lot harder.

“It doesn’t make any sense. I should be out for weeks—months even,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. “Damage like that, I wouldn’t even bat an eye if it was a year.”

Acceptance creeps up, denial withers and in its place the cold grip of anxiety. You feel the leftover stinging and the scattered numbness from your injuries. You’re still healing and nowhere near full health, but you could walk and think somewhat clearly.

A distinct memory floats in your mind; the time when you sustained a nasty fall from an eight story building. While some magic had cushioned your descent, you still heard the crack of bone when you landed on your side. Your humerus had deep fissures which took three weeks to fully heal, even with the help of healing magic. Not to mention the physical therapy alongside it.

No, there’s no way I could’ve healed like that on my own.

You lift your head up towards the Doctor. “Did you give me some sort of medicine? Some technology that could advance human healing?”

“Well, not exactly,” the Doctor says, trailing off at the end. “Most of the machinery here requires blood work and stem cell extraction. However, because your body was retaining so much heat, we quickly realized that it could damage our equipment. Our biggest concern was the amount of blood being kept in your body cavity—a big sign of internal bleeding. And boy did you have a lot!” The Doctor chuckled, but upon seeing the disapproving look of his companions, he immediately smoothed his expression.

Rory rolled his eyes, continuing where the Doctor left off: “When the Doctor initially scanned your body in the jungle, he identified the sources of your internal bleeding. Mostly in your spleen and around your abdomen from blunt force trauma. We thought we would need to take you in for surgery but—”

“Your body cauterized the wounds,” the Doctor cut in, too eager to let Rory finish. “Initially we thought it was due to the burning you sustained, but upon closer inspection, I realized that the burning was localized to the wounds you had. Tried my luck and decided to nick one of your veins and observed what happened. Sure enough, you sealed it moments after.”

You almost couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Almost. At this point you were willing to believe that you were a long lost moon princess that can transform with a magical compact. Somehow that seemed more believable in your mind than crossing the entire multiverse.

At your stunned silence, Rory clarified further: “What he means is that your body—somehow—burned off the areas where you were bleeding without damaging surrounding tissue. But that wasn’t the weirdest part.”

“That wasn’t weird?” you ask, wondering how much new information you could take before your mind breaks. “So I now have burnt tissue stuck in my body on top of CMBR? Are my organs constantly boiling?”

The Doctor taps the bridge of your nose, making you jump. “Good, you’re paying attention. Luckily your cognitive functions seem to be working fine. To answer your first question, no. Whatever burnt tissue remained was overtaken by healthy tissues. Your cells were rapidly dividing to fix whatever damage was left behind. Even your bone marrow was working overtime to bring back the blood you lost.”

“What about the second question?” you ask. “You said that I still housed the CMBR—Big Bang CMBR—in the tissues of my body. Correct me if I’m wrong, but shouldn't my insides be cremated by now?”

In a flash, the Doctor’s finger points dangerously close to the middle of your brows. “I’m a bit insulted that you think I forgot.” He retracts his hand and paces in front of you. “To answer your other question, yes and no. The heat is mostly concentrated towards your heart and your blood. After a few days your body returned to normal temperatures and the CMBR was safely stored. For the most part.”

You can’t help but inwardly wince. Phantom licks of fire tingle around your hands, threatening to swallow you whole once more.

Amy moves closer, peering at you. Less analyzing, more like gazing over your features. When your eyes met, you were surprised she didn’t falter. She moved one step closer, her hands tense at her side. A bit of fear clung to her skin.

“You told the Doctor something, before we came in,” Amy prompts. Any caution melted, spurring her curiosity. “You came from another universe, yes?”

“Don’t entertain her,” the Doctor says, though there isn’t malice. He seemed more exasperated that his companions were considering your story despite his opposition.

Amy ignored the Doctor, focusing her attention on you, eager to what you had to say.

It was hard to pinpoint where you could even start. Bruce crash landing on the foyer of the New York Sanctum or the Battle of New York years prior?

Events in your mind cloud and blur together. Too fresh of a wound to recount, even though five days have passed. Your body is still tense. The adrenaline has long since faded, but you can’t seem to unwind the taught muscles in your body. It doesn’t help that you’re in a room with strangers and a humming environment that seems alive.

“I was in battle, protecting Earth,” you start, the words scratching your throat. You can clearly remember the panic and animosity on the battlefield. The air was sparked with rage and stank of blood. “An alien named Thanos wanted to kill half of all sentient beings from the universe in order to preserve resources. He managed to collect five out of the six Infinity Stones. Each stone represented a core trait of existence. Infinite power, that when collected together, could bend the entire universe to your every whim. They were remnants of the Big Bang, hence the CMBR in my body.”

Your voice wavers slightly. Tired, scabbed, numb fingers clench the cotton sheets beneath you.

Guilt swirls, clawing the inside of your chest. Enough to force your words out with anger lacing each syllable. “My friend had the last stone. He was already injured and Thanos’s army had worn through our defenses. I swore that I would protect him. I took an oath to protect humanity, even if it costs me my life. I tried to stop him—I did what I could and it didn’t matter—”

You cut yourself short. Your eyes were trained on the linoleum floor but all you could see was blood. The sound of flesh being torn apart by alien teeth and the screams of Wanda pounding in your head.

“The stones—my arms—I tried to stop him. I absorbed as much as I could and I wasn’t strong enough. But I didn’t care about the burns, all I wanted at that moment was to save my friend…And it wasn’t enough.”

It didn’t matter that you managed to hold off Thanos long enough for Wanda to break the Mind Stone. Your promise was null and void and perhaps deep down you both knew it. It was better to hope than go into battle with defeat instilled in your mind.

Forcing your head upwards, you locked eyes with the Doctor.

Something passed through the Doctor’s face; his lips pressed to a thin line and his eyes holding what words would fail to say.

Understanding.

The atmosphere of the room was thick with tension. Though your rushed and jumbled recount of events left more questions than answers, the three strangers didn’t pry further. Amy seemed to be the one most visibly upset.

Feather light steps and a pinched expression on her face, Amy sat down on your bed beside you. Her weight makes the old foam creak, the close proximity makes the emotion pouring out more apparent. Pity and empathy came off of her in waves. If it was anyone else, under any other circumstance, you would recoil at the feeling.

“You’re safe now,” Amy whispered, her hands on your shoulder accompanying the gentle words. “You don’t have to explain yourself. Not unless you’re ready.”

Citrus on your tongue and the waves of sorrow easing the tension in your body.

You don’t let the tears flow. You scrape together any ounce of energy to let yourself fall apart. Not now. You’re not ready for that.

Breathe.

A muffled groan leaves you, your shoulders sagging with the weight of…honestly, you don’t know what to call it. Overwhelmed is a vast understatement to what you’re feeling. A throbbing headache threatens to pound against your skull, your body still desperately trying to pull itself together. You were teetering dangerously close to the edge of your sanity; one wrong thought and you’ll plunge into a familiar abyss.

The three strangers dare not to move, scared that they’ve pushed you too far. The Doctor’s bright, observant eyes watch every movement of your face, trying to gauge your reaction.

A shuddering breath escapes you, and you force yourself to fill the empty silence.

“I-I think I need some time…alone.” Your voice is cracked, barely audible to Amy. You lower your gaze to your clenched fists, barely keeping yourself from trembling. You feel too vulnerable, exposed like a raw nerve. You mumble a strained: “Please.”

Amy doesn’t move right away, lingering in her spot beside you. After a few moments, she gives a feather-light squeeze of your shoulder before standing up.

The Doctor, despite his distance, seemed to hear you just fine. Shoving his hands into his pant pockets, he sends a tentative smile your way. “Of course, we’ll be out of your hair for the time being.”

He walks to the other side of the room, opening a cabinet to reveal a small fridge. He bends slightly, rummaging through the fridge before grabbing a glass pitcher filled with cold water and a mug from an adjacent cabinet.

Long legs carried the Doctor back towards you, setting down the pitcher and water on a nightstand beside your pillows. Opening the drawer from the nightstand, you hear the sound of rattling before the Doctor retrieves an orange bottle with large, white pills.

“Some medicine to help you sleep,” the Doctor explains. “Don’t worry, we ran tests for any allergens.”

You make no move from your spot, only giving the man a stiff nod.

The Ponds observe silently, fearing that any sound could set you off. They wait until the Doctor ushers them to the door to finally move. Amy twists her head, trying to keep you within her sight even as the door was being shut on her. You catch the quiet panic in her voice as she talks to Rory, but they’re retreating away from your room before you could catch what they’re saying.

The Doctor is the last to cross the threshold, lingering once more. The corner of his mouth twitches to a slight frown, before straightening to a thin line. “Give a shout if you need anything. Don’t try to leave the room, it can get a bit confusing navigating the hallways. I’ll come back in a few hours to change your dressings.”

He didn’t wait to hear your reply, softly shutting the door with a faint click.

— — —

The second the door closed, Amy wasted no time dragging the Doctor down the corridor and into the console room. The Doctor protests against her harsh tugging, something about expensive wool, but she couldn’t care less. Her grip on his sleeve was like steel, unyielding even when the Doctor tried wiggling out of her grasp.

When the familiar flight of stairs came to view, Amy shoved the Doctor forwards, causing him to nearly fall down them. His feet miraculously stumbled to place, albeit with little grace to his movements, saving him from a nasty fall and possible regeneration. The Doctor stumbled the remaining steps before turning back towards Amy.

“What was that for?” he demands.

Amy descends down the stairs rapidly, stomping towards the man. “You knew she was gonna be awake.” She pointed a finger square in the Doctor’s chest, her accusing tone pinning him in place. “You didn’t want us in the room with her. All week you’ve been dodging questions—hiding something. Why?”

The Doctor scoffs, which only fueled Amy’s anger. “I told you not to worry about it. Besides I was testing, you know how dangerous CMBR is? Dangerous, lethal. Does that not scare you?”

“You said the radiation levels were not a problem! You tell us what’s going on right now because whether you like it or not we are in this mess together. We found that girl together and that means that Rory and I are just as responsible as you are,” she reminded.

The Doctor leans back, putting distance between Amy’s face and his. He looked to Rory for support but all the blond could offer was an exasperated look.

The two of them had an inkling that the Doctor was avoiding them only in regards to the comatose patient in the med-bay. Stuttered, whip-fast excuses, and long winded explanations for his continued disappearance. They knew the Doctor tried to work around their sleep schedule, so Amy proposed sleeping shifts to catch him. It never worked and couldn’t confirm their suspicions, but they couldn’t ignore their gut feeling. He deflected questions from Amy and outright refused help from Rory.

Amy leaned closer to the Doctor so he could see every inch of her displeased face. Rory, who usually let his wife do the scaring, stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Amy. Effectively creating a human wall against their Doctor.

The Doctor raised his hands in surrender. “It was only a hunch—but I immediately went back to you two afterwards.”

Rory rolled his eyes. “Telling us after isn’t the same as letting us know beforehand. What happened to being a part of a team? Why did you feel the need to sneak around? We’re here to help.”

The Doctor heard the faint sound of disappointment from his companion, sending guilt straight to his two hearts. He sighs, running his hand through his hair for the umpteenth time. He hoped to have gotten away with it for longer. Alas, nothing could get past Amy or Rory. A part of him—a large one—was glad they were observant to see through his attempt at secrets.

“You’re right, I was sneaking around,” the Doctor admits sheepishly, though a part of him was unwilling to say it. “I wanted to be sure. This situation is unlike anything I’ve ever dealt with.”

Amy scoffs, but lets a smile peek through. “Just hack it up already.”

The Doctor’s mood lightens a bit, letting him shift in excitement. “As you know, I’ve been trying to comb through her things, rather, what's left of them. Right when she was stable, I checked the driver’s license number on her ID. Y’know, run it through the New York DMV database to find any matches—”

Amy cuts the Doctor off, “But you didn’t find anything. She didn’t exist with no living relatives. You checked her DNA and knew she was human. You traced her back to around our time. We already know this, just tell us what you found out.”

“There, that’s the problem,” the Doctor states rather unhelpfully. Amy groaned.

The Doctor pivots around, already ignoring Amy. “Girl crash lands in a jungle and has energy from the Big Bang. Wears clothes of a monk but clearly has defensive wounds meaning she was in battle. Odd, monks in battle. An oxymoron if I ever heard one.” He turns back to his companions but continues to ramble to himself. “Why would a New Yorker wear monk garb? A young one at that? Temples, monks. You don’t find enlightenment on the Statue of Liberty.”

Rory nudged Amy’s side, mouthing something to her: money.

Amy’s eyes widened in realization, digging into her pocket.

“Forget crashing, why voluntarily fight if you value all life?” the Doctor mumbled into his hand.

“Doctor, I think I found some—”

The Doctor cuts Amy off, not even looking in her general direction. “Stones? Who uses stones? Oh, who am I kidding, stones are cool, stones are sturdy and reliable. If I was the Big Bang I would be a stone too.”

“Doctor would you please—”

“Not now Amy, I’m in the middle of something.” The Doctor tries to maneuver around the console, but Amy grabs him by the shoulders, forcing him to acknowledge her.

God, sometimes she wants to smack him, possibly knock his brain in the process.

Amy shook the Doctor, glaring at him with enough heat to make anyone wither. “If you would just listen for once, I could tell you where she became a monk. Goodness, it’s like you get paid to ignore people.”

The Doctor looks to Amy’s hand. In it was a crumpled 20 rupee banknote.

“National currency of the Federal Democratic Republic of Nepal. Odd currency for someone living in New York, isn’t it?” Amy smirked at seeing the Doctor’s eyes widened.

The Doctor snatches the rupee, giving it a sniff and inspecting it under the TARDIS lights. It was real all right. He spun back towards his companions, “How come I didn’t see this earlier? Were you hiding this from me?”

“A taste of your own medicine,” Amy quips. “It was in her robes, not her wallet. Found it a few minutes ago when I was inspecting it.”

It was a stroke of luck that Amy managed to see the red bank note in the sea of red fabric. Whoever constructed the robes had a knack for secret pockets and seamless edges. At first glance, the pockets themselves were placed in rather odd places. It seemed as though they were slapped on haphazardly; one of them was adjacent to the armpit, another placed smack in the middle of the back. Most of them were empty, save for an odd post-it note or some receipts from Delmar's Deli-Grocery. The Doctor had already found no matches for the receipts or any deli in New York with a name like that.

Pride bloomed in the Doctor’s chest. He gives Amy a giddy smile and ruffles her hair, “Oh, Amelia. What would I do without you?”

The red banknotes flips in his hand. Another clue for him to dissect.

“So our soldier-monk went to Nepal to be enlightened,” the Doctor observed. “Somewhere along the way she somehow gets recruited into a big war where monks are part of enlistment. Sounds like an awful system to be living under. Things happen, stones get collected, infinity becomes real, she crash-lands on Rwanda.”

“Think you missed a few steps,” Rory mumbled.

The Doctor flicked the side of his head. “Plot holes in stories are what gives us clues. If her memories have been tampered there would be glaring problems with her story. Problem is, her story is just a big hole with bits of plot in them. A plot stew if you will. No, that’s not right.”

Amy leans against the console. “Maybe she doesn’t trust us to give the whole story. She didn’t seem like she was lying. Everything felt so…genuine. Besides, what else could cause those injuries if not…stones made from the Big Bang?”

“I’ve come from a whole line of medical professionals,” Rory adds. “Never had I seen burns look like that. The skin only split where her veins were. Any other normal injury would follow the pattern of the fire or lightning, not the pattern of your veins.”

The Doctor had to agree on Rory there. Nothing about this made any sense. Normally that would be a surge of excitement. Few things puzzled the Doctor, especially for days on end. What would usually be something of a game very quickly turned to a massive headache.

You believed everything you said wholeheartedly, but everything that came out of your mouth seemed to contradict the thing before it.

The Doctor rounds the console, finding the swiveling monitor, with Amy and Rory trailing behind him. His fingers type out something on the keyboard, the monitor beeping to life.

Charts, data, and a scan of your body was shown. Text flashes, blocks of letters and numbers that could make anyone’s head spin. Amy had seen this screen many, many times, yet couldn’t make out anything in plain English. Rory’s nursing background gave some leverage, easily spotting medical terms and diagnoses that the Doctor gave.

“Remember how I said that I couldn’t find a relative traced to her?” the Doctor asked, enlarging the scan of your DNA. Large parts of your genes were highlighted in bright orange and another set of text appeared: NO GENETIC MATCHES FOUND. The Doctor continued: “I checked everything. What diseases she’s immune to, her microbiome, and general physiology. All signs point to her being human, but it’s this that gives me trouble. This specific sequence not only doesn’t belong to any human, but doesn’t relate to any living species on Earth. It’s not spliced, it’s the same genome she was given to the day she was born.”

“So she’s an alien,” Rory said, albeit a bit unsure.

“As much as she is human, yes,” the Doctor answers, typing more things out. “Monk working as a soldier, New Yorker with Nepali money, human with alien DNA. So alien that the sequence doesn’t match any known species—sentient or not—across the Milky Way. I even sent a sample to the Department of Intergalactic Biologics back in Andromeda. Nothing back yet, but I’ve been told that my case is top priority.”

Amy leans her body against the edge of the console. “Last time you asked them for help they took a month to reply back. If I recall correctly, that case was also top priority. Are you going to keep her here until then?”

“That’s the plan, yes,” the Doctor replied. There was an edge of frustration lined in his words. He hoped his normally erratic behavior covered it well enough. “Even if she did omit elements to her story, I doubt it will clear anything up. However, my reason for keeping her onboard is to monitor her CMBR. Specifically, how her body houses it. Or worse, if it can metabolize it.”

Amy’s lips pursed in thought. “Metabolize? As in eat it?”

“As in convert it to energy,” Rory corrects. He glanced at the Doctor for confirmation, to which the man nodded.

“And that’s supposed to be a bad thing?” Amy asked. “Shouldn’t that be a good thing? That means that the radiation wouldn’t harm her or us.”

The Doctor shakes his head, his body wrung tight with tension. “You and I see her as who she is, as a sentient being with ambitions and goals. At best she could harness the radiation and be at peak physical performance at all times with little food. But not everyone will see her as such.”

Amy’s eyes narrowed slightly in confusion at the Doctor’s purposefully vague wording. A part of her regretted trying to prod the alien for information.

Realization of the Doctor’s word dawned on Rory nearly immediately. “She’ll be a battery.”

The Doctor let out a heavy sigh. “A weapon would be the correct term. That's why I couldn’t let her go to the hospital. Even a human one. At such a vulnerable stage, anyone could try to conjure ways to extract the energy inside of her. If not the staff, then surely any desperate enough group who are willing to get their hands on a stable energy source by any means necessary.”

As much as your odd words and mysterious origin makes the Doctor’s temple ache, it relieved him that he and the Ponds were the first to find you. With countless wars and fights for resources plaguing galaxies across the universe, there’s no doubt in his mind that you would’ve been picked off and made into something less than. All things good and human would be torn away, and you would be left as a husk whose sole purpose was to give and give until you simply couldn’t.

If what you said was true, that multiverses do exist, then that reality has already come true. The Doctor didn’t make it in time and the universe would have swallowed you into an unknown path where not even the TARDIS could track you down. So many possibilities sprung from his mind that he nearly forgot he was being watched carefully by the Ponds.

The Doctor didn’t acknowledge the worried looks of his companions. With a deep breath, the man steadied his mind and straightened his back. Back to his old self.

He clasped his hands and pivoted towards the Ponds. “Right, no point in worrying about the would have or could have. Focus on the now—the present and what we control. As Amy pointed out, our top priority should be our patient’s health and well-being. I’ll save the testing ‘til she’s in full recovery.”

“And how long would that be? A few days?” Rory asked. At the rate you’ve seemed to recover, it would be a matter of time before you were at your full strength.

“I don’t know,” the Doctor admitted. Arguably a worrying statement coming from someone like him. “Internal bleeding and bruising are healing exceptionally fast, but it’s her arms. Whatever force, power—what have you—had done that damage seemed to alter the way her cells repair themselves. It’s hard to tell why, but it’s not going to heal the same way the rest of her body does. That is a certainty.”

“But she’ll live, right?” Amy asks, a bit fearful of what the answer would be.

Rory looked expectantly at the Doctor as well.

Once again, the Doctor is reminded of why he is so fond of humans and their planet. Why he orbits the Earth and adopted it like it’s his own.

“The chance is never zero,” the Doctor reminds, but his grin betrays his own bias. “I think she’ll be okay.”

— — —

The medicine the Doctor gave you managed to knock you out for three hours. There was no label to tell you what exactly you were putting in your body, but you knew that the Doctor could’ve easily killed you in the five days that you were in his care. After drinking the entire pitcher of crisp water, you took a single pill. In no time, your body sagged against worn pillows and the warm duvet.

You would’ve probably slept a lot longer had it not been for Amy desperately trying to wake you.

“You have to get up,” she whispered, gently shaking your shoulder. When you stir slightly, she raises her voice a bit louder. “Rory says you need to eat. You can go back to bed after, promise.”

Sleep still clung to you, trying to pull you back to the soothing, dreamless state you were before. You had half the mind to ignore her, hoping that she will get the message and leave you be. As you shifted your body away from her hands, you felt a familiar ache in your stomach. A loud, rumbling growl that echoed inside your body.

That certainly woke you up.

Amy’s laugh further cemented your embarrassment, but you knew she wasn’t trying to make fun of you. She helped you out of your bed as your arms were incapable of hauling the duvet off of you. Still groggy with sleep, you allowed Amy to hover beside you as you stubbornly limp to the door.

“The Doctor went out for supplies,” Amy says. “Just going to be me and Rory for the time being. We would’ve let you sleep longer, but Rory realized that the Doctor took out your feeding tube, meaning you haven’t had any food for twelve hours.”

“He knew I was going to be awake?” You had to remind yourself that you weren’t back on Earth with your limited technologies. They probably had your whole genome mapped and analyzed by now.

Amy let out a frustrated sigh. “He had a hunch, but kept Rory and I in the dark. Turns out he wanted to interrogate you alone. He didn’t piss you off, did he?”

You tried to think back on your initial conversation with the Doctor. The confusion, the whip-fast talking, and the odd words he said. U.N.I.T.…Torchwood…

“The Doctor called me something.” You wracked your brain, trying to push past your sleep-deprived memories. “Spor…Sporgatuu? He got pretty upset, accusing me of trying to get him to join a club?”

Amy stopped in her tracks and gave you a questioning look. “He said that to you?” She gave a scoff and under her breath mumbled: “Unbelievable.”

“What? What did he mean by that?”

“The Doctor calls them a fringe, off-the-wall cult,” Amy starts. “One of the oldest in the universe. What we know is that they want the Doctor to join and they always send a woman to speak with him. I’ve only seen one of them, and I can tell you first hand that they got a few screws loose. They believe in magic and that their gods live in other universes. Don’t worry, I’m sure the Doctor knows by now that you’re not one of them.”

You gave a small chuckle. “He sure seemed pretty convinced back there.”

Amy rolled her eyes. “The Doctor is as stupid as he is smart. His heart is in the right place, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t do questionable things. How about we put away the multiverse talk and think about something else for a change. Like…how do you feel about stew?”

— — —

The kitchen wasn’t too far off from the med bay. You managed the distance without wincing or injuring yourself further. Inside, you could smell the cooking vegetables and feel the steam warming up the room. Rory stood at the stove with a plain black apron and some upbeat jazz in the background. You wanted to keep to yourself, opting to sit on the barstool on the kitchen island. Amy respected your silence, not wanting to further distress you and went to join her husband despite his insistence that he could handle cooking.

She helped Rory with setting the table and poured you a generous serving. Dinner consisted of veggie stew and mashed potatoes. The steam kissed your cheeks and the plate was warm to the touch.

Rory became sheepish when you rightfully complimented his cooking. The steamed carrots melted on your tongue and the seasoning was a delicate blend of savory with a tiniest splash of sweet. The last meal you remember having was microwaved dim sum and expired fried rice. Between covert missions and temple duties, you didn’t think to restock your fridge or have any spare time to grab a decent meal.

You learned that Rory was automatically elected to babysit you as the only human medical professional. The Doctor simply handed a communication device should he run into trouble. Amy wanted to stick behind, partially because she wanted Rory’s cooking, but also to see how you were doing. She knew how hard transitioning into TARDIS-life (as she called it), and hoped to make it smoother for you.

After your first plate was cleared, your stomach still felt hollow and ravenous. By the third time Amy refilled your plate, Rory brought the cast iron pot on the stove to the counter in front of you. Breathing became a suggestion and shoving spoonfuls of stew became your sole priority.

You didn't realize how much you missed home cooked meals. With missions across time and space, your options for food were limited at best. Slobs of unintelligible meat with exotic plants that could poison you were unfortunately very common.

It was during the holidays or times where your body was on the verge of collapsing were when you could indulge in simple comforts.

Warm food, cozy bed, time with your parents and siblings.

The thought makes you pause. Hunger that festered in your stomach for the past hour had evaporated, leaving a sour pain.

Amy, who was observing you like a hawk, immediately picked up the miniscule change in attitude. “Something wrong?”

You cleared your throat. A scratchy, hoarse sound. You shook your head, “Sorry, just lost in thought. It's just…been so long since I had any good food.”

Just how long has it been? Weeks? Months?

It was better to consume anything remotely edible than be picky. You’d learned that the hard way. That didn’t mean that eating mystery meats and slobs was enjoyable. If anything, it made the juxtaposition of seasoned stew and creamy mashed potatoes all the more jarring.

The two of them said nothing as you slowly ate the rest of your plate. By the time your spoon scraped the bottom of your bowl and your fork scooped the last bits of mashed potato, Rory had decanted the leftovers into plastic tubs. Amy took over dishwashing duty, thoroughly scrubbing the pans and utensils.

Slowly, you rose from your chair with your empty plate in hand. Movement was difficult and your full stomach made you feel the beginning stages of sleepiness. Still, you made your way over to the couple and placed your plate beside the sink.

“Thank you. Seriously, you don’t know how much this means to me,” you say softly.

Amy seemed surprised at your admission. Then, a wide grin blossomed on her face. You returned with a small one of your own, pained as it was.

— — —

The first time you wandered through the TARDIS by yourself was downright terrifying. When the Ponds supplied you with their information regarding the space-craft, you realized that you were far too tired to actually hold onto the information. Bits and pieces of the conversation stood out; bigger-on-the-inside, spatial warping, dizziness. Amy advised to call one of them to guide you around as it can be overwhelming to experience the TARDIS alone.

Three days and some hours have passed since you’ve woken up on the strange ship. You’ve always had a speedy recovery—something you’ve come to loathe—and your altered cells have only increased it. Walking around the room can now be handled without any opioids or morphine (courtesy of Rory). Days were spent glued to the bed, broken by the timely visits by the Ponds or the Doctor. Rory made the executive decision to prescribe bed-rest. A week at least.

Three days and you’re now starting to lose it. With all the sleep medication and sore limbs, you were practically welded to the mattress.

You’ve walked down the hallways before, but always accompanied by one of the Ponds and never further than a few doors down to the kitchen. So when you woke up much earlier than anticipated, you made the impulsive decision to wander out.

The door to the med-bay was a light blue tint over the steel; it silently shut itself behind you when you crossed into the hallway. Other doors were other versions of plain steel. You foolishly thought that if you kept track of the doors you’d see, you eventually make your way back to your squeaky cot until it was time for the Doctor to do his daily checkup. You told yourself that you’ll only be gone five—maybe ten minutes tops.

Blue steel of the med-bay’s door marked the end of the hallway. You hadn’t walked for thirty seconds before you felt a strange shift in the air. As if something had moved and the air blew in response. Turning around, you expected to see the end of the hallway staring back.

An endless, repeating hallway met you instead. On and on it went that you could see a small vanishing point on the horizon.

Maybe you were freaked out. A cold sweat overcame you and you started to walk back to where you came from. You twist your neck left and right to try and see the familiar door. All of the doors along the hallway were plain silver steel.

Air billowed around you, like seconds before. This time, it fluttered your cotton shirt and the cuffs of your loose pants. You turned around, nearly jumping out of your skin.

Blue steel inches away from your face. You turned back around and saw the same endless hallway. Looking at the reflective surface of the med-bay, your fingers hesitantly felt the metal, shocked that it was solid.

Now you were more than a little freaked out. Maybe you were a little impressed. Was hallucinating part of the side effects of the drugs you were taking? No magic, so space-warping spells are immediately ruled out. You’d encountered many things, but the warping of space without the aid of some type of magic was perplexing. Scary, even.

And very intriguing.

It took some mulling and a lot of overthinking. The best hypothesis you could come up with is that the TARDIS is somehow telekinetic. When you panicked and tried looking for the med-bay, it immediately materialized, just out of your sight.

So you wandered about away from the med-bay, longer than you had previously. You needed to put as much distance between you and the last known location of the med-bay so there could be no doubt. As you gingerly walked, you took the time to catalog the different doors. Most of this hallway was steel, but now that you’re taking time to observe, you realize the slight variations. Some were inscribed in alien language, others had tacky door knobs that didn’t fit with the aesthetic of the door, each one had a small plaque next to them. Some were numbered and others had plain English. Words like “pool”, “storage”, “1890s Costumes”, and other odd labels.

Turning around, you see the endless hallway. Turning back, the same was met back. Closing your eyes, you plead:

I want to go to med-bay.

Air in front of your face swooshes away, kissing your eyelids. When you opened, the blue steel flooded your vision.

You were still freaked out, but curiosity eventually won.

You told yourself a couple minutes at the most to explore; that the Doctor would be waiting to check up on you.

Five minutes easily slipped to ten. Ten to twenty, and eventually you had been gone for an hour. Instead of the med-bay, you tried to summon different doors. Hell, you even opened a few rooms.

The pool room (yes, a room full of pools) was huge, easily swallowing the med-bay by a few thousand square-feet. Costume related rooms were mostly a plain white room with racks of period clothing. Sometimes there were a pile of mismatched fabrics in the corner, as if someone haphazardly sifted through them.

Easily, you’ve been in over fifty different rooms. You’d found the kitchen, which looked straight out of a 60s home magazine. Light green walls, pastel appliances, and a large fridge filled with various leftovers. It was bigger than the ones in New York, but smaller in comparison to the vast rooms of the TARDIS.

You walked down the hexagonal archways, everything blurring together. You didn't mind the repetition as it made each room seem like a mystery.

A few rooms stood out the most. Ones that had a name and had painted wood instead of steel. They were spread out from one another, taking you twenty to thirty minutes before seeing another one.

Their knobs were round brass and when you went to touch it, there was a whisper of warmth. As if someone just held it before you. Some variations of these doors were present.

“Martha” had grooves and was painted beige.

“Donna” was a light blue with some flourish on the door knob.

“Rose”, as the name suggests, was a dusted pink with small, colorful flowers. Each of them was locked shut, so tightly in fact, that the door knob didn’t wiggle no matter how much force was put in them.

Old companions was the likely answer. People, like Amy and Rory, who were swept away from Earth and into deep space and time. You get the feeling that the Doctor locked them for a reason.

Eventually, you made your way through the endless hallways, completely forgetting about the Doctor’s timely visit. Your hand glides through the oddly shaped hallway and your feet softly padding down clean floors. You didn’t have a destination in mind, just blindly walking in a straight line. It was repetitive, calming in the way meditation was. You didn’t think about potential meetings with masters, or the Infinity Stones residing inside you.

Guilt was still there, always lingering in your body. Then again, there was always something weighing you down. Still, you kept walking, completely lost in your own bubble.

Your body has healed remarkably since your waking. Soreness ebbed to stiffness and the nerves damaged had slowly, but surely, been repaired. Your hands haven't had the same luxury as the rest of your body. Still stitching itself together. Deep lines along your veins that had barely been scabbed over. Even if weeks passed the Doctor believes it will take a year before your skin will finally close. Until then, gauze will cover them, keeping them safe from further damage.

You hope your body will pull itself together soon. Residue energy from your universe—though terribly unlikely—could help speed things up.

Air shifts behind you.

Confused, you turn to see the med-bay materialize, even though you didn’t summon it. Footsteps were heard behind the door and before you knew it, the door swung open.

The Doctor hung in the doorway, equally as confused.

“There’s a lot of doors out here. Gets kind of confusing,” you say, as if it was the perfect explanation to your whereabouts. You slipped past the Doctor and into the room.

The Doctor followed you, still utterly confused. “You could’ve at least told me you wanted to wander. You could get lost in there.”

“But I didn’t. It’s not that hard to figure out how to find your way back,” you say, plopping down on the squeakiest mattress. “Amy failed to mention how the TARDIS can warp space and is telepathic. Is it sentient? Did someone die here?”

A ghost, an emotional one especially, could explain the weird ship without delving into magic. Still spiritual, but not touching sorcerer territory.

“Kind of, and no. If you knew your way back, why did you take so long to return? I had to get the Ponds out there looking for you.” The Doctor grabs several rolls of gauze and some ointments.

You paused for a moment. Then, you answered honestly, “It was repetitive. I could walk for a mile and have the med-bay appear the second I command it.”

I didn’t feel lost.

For the first time in weeks—months even, you managed to entertain yourself without interruption. You had time to focus, shift your mind into a peaceful state. Even if it was temporary. You take any victory with stride, no matter how small.

The Doctor unravels your gauze with surprising carefulness. You don’t see him much on account of your sleeping habits and his tenacity to leave the TARDIS for long periods of time. In the rare glimpses you do see, the Doctor is erratic as much as he is smart. Constantly bumping into corners, fumbling instead of walking, always in motion even when seated.

It’s only when he engages in his namesake is when the Doctor is gentle and slow. Mumblings are few and his focused gaze is hidden behind his brown, wild hair.

When the entirety of your right arm is revealed, it’s still as raw and tender as yesterday. Most of your skin seemed to remain intact, save for the deep, exposing gashes along your veins. A burn describes skin that's peeled and blistered. A cut would aptly describe the wounds you have. It’s clean, burrowing deep into muscle like butter. It winds and twists around your arms, only stopping around your bicep. From there, the only damage you see is dark, almost purple markings that extend to the middle of your chest and back.

“It could be worse,” the Doctor notes, sincere and light-hearted.

A small chuckle escapes, but your words are dull. “It definitely feels worse.”

The Doctor reaches for the ointments, weird smelling pastes, and a saline solution. The saline is bottled in a dark, glass bottle written in a script that barely passes as English. After submerging a cotton round, the Doctor dabs the solution along the open wounds. Cold liquid cascades down, kissing the raw edges of your tissue. Up and up the cotton goes until all sides are discolored with flecks of blood and old ointments.

You don’t mind the silence this process brings. It’s never awkward or boring. The cleanings don’t burn or sting anymore and the Doctor’s focus allows you to observe him. A habit you’ve gotten since you were young, always cataloging features of the people around you. Doctors, policemen, civilians.

When the Doctor moves to get the next set of items, your eyes briefly meet. He doesn’t seem alarmed at your staring, even when he catches you often. He commented once how you often look at people more when they face away from you. You suppose he’s referring to the times where the Ponds interact with you. For a moment—perhaps for the first time—you really observed his eyes. A clear, muted green that easily slips into blue. The skin and features surrounding his eyes are young and prominent. It’s easy for his eyes to blend into his face and go unnoticed. But at this distance, you see him for who—what he is.

“You’re old.”

It’s a second too late and you realize how terribly you’ve worded your scattered thoughts.

The Doctor looked startled. He immediately turns to the reflective bottles beside him and twists his head around, capturing his features on all sides. Before you could take back your words and verbalize what you actually meant, he scoffs, never taking his eyes away from his reflection.

“Old? Me? Humans age, it’s natural, it’s supposed to happen.” You can’t tell if he’s talking to you or just rambling to himself. Then, he turns to you with concern, rubbing his throat. “It’s the neck isn’t it? Amy tells me that it’s the first place that starts to change. Or is it the hair? She tells me it doesn't suit me. Or was that Rory?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you say, trying to cut in before he misunderstands further. “I mean, sort of—I just mean that you’re older than you appear. You still look young, but you’re for sure older than us, the Ponds and I. You’re immortal. At the very least not human.”

Now that you’ve verbalized it, everything about the Doctor’s behavior and being makes sense. Apart from the odd clothing and overly loud personality, there’s something off about him. It really shows when the Ponds are also in the same room as him. It’s not scary or uncanny. So subtle that most wouldn’t be able to tell. But you’re not most.

It’s the misplaced, dated slang. The sense that he knows too much and isn’t afraid to show it. How he constantly refers to the Ponds as “people” but sometimes slips into “you humans”. It seems he catalogs every sensory input, from the subtle change in the air to the pumping of his heart, because his brain has the capacity to do so.

The sheer happiness radiating off the Doctor is infectious. His wide grin and twinkling eyes, joyous that you’ve caught on.

“What gave it away?” he wonders, an echo of childlike curiosity. He tilts his head, leans ever-so-slightly towards you.

It’s clearer now. The weight of centuries lingering in the depths of his iris. How could you have not noticed sooner? It’s familiar. Being an apprentice of the Ancient One; having spent countless months—maybe years—traveling between worlds where time is merely another dimension for you to alter. You’ve met and befriended a god whose age transcends the thousands and more so deities who have made you their sworn enemy.

You remember the first time you’ve met Rocket. How despite his appearance as a normal mammal, you could immediately spot his wisdom before he uttered a snarky question. The way the Collector carries himself and how his brother regards you as less than. But time always manifests. Maybe not in the grooves of one's skin or the white strands of hair, but in the eyes. Always.

“I’ve seen enough to know. You hide it better than most.”

The Doctor’s smile doesn’t fade. He still has your wrist in his hand, a gentle but firm grasp. When he squeezes it subconsciously, he finally remembers why he’s there with you.

Something crosses his face. A thought that makes his brow twitch and his focus falter. “And what are you?”

It shouldn’t surprise you that he asks. You survived a shock of radiation that would’ve no doubt vaporized any other being. Your body heals at an accelerated rate to the point where it takes less than a week for you to walk again.

It shouldn’t surprise you, but you’re caught off-guard nonetheless.

Your throat tightens, your tongue feeling like paper in your mouth. “I’m a person. With thoughts and feelings.”

The Doctor stares a moment longer. His lips settle into a more neutral state, and he thinks over your response. You wait for a response, but he turns away. He then grabs a tube of blue paste, the one that smells like burnt rice, and resumes his care.

You watch as his fingers glide over your hand. Starting with the middle of your palm and working his way out. To the lengths of your fingers, then the tops of your hand and up your forearm. The paste is dense and hard to manipulate. The tips of his finger catch on the sharp, dry flakes of skin and it stings.

His response is delayed, so much that you’ve returned to watching his work on your arm in deep thought. When the Doctor speaks in a calm, observant voice, it glides through the silence. “You used the word ‘person’. Not ‘human’ or some snide comment that humans normally respond to when asked. Your first thought was to make me emphasize, to humanize yourself without saying it.”

The Doctor’s analysis cuts straight through you, pinning you in place. The way he says it is so matter-of-fact, as if reading from a book that is lying in front of him.

To have the observation made by someone you know little about—

Your answer is rushed, almost shamed. “It’s just that…some people seem to forget. They’re more concerned about what I can do for them, feelings are second.”

You couldn’t blame the masters for doing so. You often took the hardest jobs, throwing away your childhood one mission at a time. Perhaps it was easier to treat you as a powerful soldier, pushing you to your absolute limits, because it’s easier than acknowledging that they’re enabling your suffering.

The Doctor doesn’t comment or try to analyze the words you say. Fresh gauze winds itself securely back onto your wounds. Your left arm was cleaned and wrapped at the fraction of the time it took your right. At the speed he was going, the Doctor still made sure to not harm you further.

You don’t say anything when he piles the glass bottles into a drawer next to the sink. Nor do you acknowledge him when he goes towards the door. You feel his heavy stare and the questions that hang in the air.

You don’t move from your spot until long after his footsteps fade away.

— — —

In your travels you’ve come to know two things. One: you do exist in other universes. Two: none of them are sorcerers. None of them get their magic. They all seem to live ordinary lives, plagued with little threat, and return to their homes safe and sound. Sometimes there’s trouble in the form of being late to appointments or the forgetting of pants. It’s a break from fighting demons in realms without time. Perhaps you offer alternate versions of yourself fantastical dreams. In return you get to live out a life where you chose differently.

You’ve come to treasure these dreams. It was a break from the norm. So when you start to lie down and the TARDIS lights dim, it wasn’t dreams you were experiencing.

Instead of the normal dreams, ones where you live vicariously through the various alternate lives that you have, you have memories. Exact recreations. No autonomy; nothing you can do but simply watch.

— — —

Guilt festers. It grows and grows until you can do nothing but wallow in your anger. Anger is new. What used to be bottomless sadness that leaves you heavy has now been replaced by bubbling rage.

You’re glad no one on board shares your gift of sensing energy. Behind every neutral look, every small grin, every dry-humored joke were storms of emotion. It hurts, physically pains you that you allow your grief to evolve.

You deserve it. All of it.

There was a point in time where the voice in your head sounded like yours. Then your mother’s.

Wanda now whispers, her voice echoing in your ear like nails on a chalkboard.

— — —

There’s a pattern to the dreams—memories, rather.

If one night you experience a pleasant, mundane sliver of your life, the next will be filled with agony. Sometimes you’re lucky, and get a dreamless rest. But those are few and far between.

You’re not in bed, lying on a dingy cot that squeaks with any miniscule movement. Glowing orange walls are replaced with light green paint and white trim. Disinfectant morphs to a sweet, ambery vanilla from the candles your mother collects.

The air is warm with the bristling of energy, and sunlight caresses every surface in the living room.

You shouldn’t be here.

“Are you okay?”

A childish voice, one that rings through the air, in the silence of your thoughts.

Snapping your head down, you meet the scrutinous gaze of your younger brother. Younger than you remember when you’d seen him last. He sits on the old Persian carpet your father loves dearly. No one is allowed to play on the good carpets, lest they ruin the intricate design underneath. Elio sits with his trucks and action figures scattered around him.

But your parents are away and you let him play as long as you’re watching.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I’m just tired from traveling. Probably be even more tired when I go back to the Sanctum.”

“You’re leaving again.”

You feel his pain before his face betrays him. He knows it, hiding his eyes as he stares at the dozens of toys lying around him. Too many for one boy to play with.

You were gone for three months, trapped in a universe that is comparable to Hell on Earth. Nearly missed your father’s birthday and Master Hamir’s annual potluck; the latter you don’t really care as much.

No matter how sore your body is or how much work awaits you at your office, you make it a point to see your family after each mission. Always.

“Not for a few hours at least. Seems like you’re stuck with me.”

For someone who’s age hasn’t passed the double digits, Elio doesn’t let his emotions show. You don’t blame him. Since you’ve gotten promoted, your visits have gotten shorter and shorter. Soon, you’re going to be regarded as just another adult in his life.

No. You already are. The Elio in front of you is not the one you’d left behind once more.

The floorboards creak, signaling the arrival of another member of the family. A pink ball of energy, with a fury that rivals your own.

“Elio! I told you not to take my stuff!”

Lene’s shrill, whiny voice is almost jarring against the silence of the estate. Her puffy cheeks and wrinkled princess gown makes it known that she had just woken up.

Elio doesn’t bother to look up from his toys. He responds in a calmer manner than his younger sister, “(Y/N) said I could play with your toys as long as you were still asleep.”

At the mention of your name, Lene freezes. Her face was so full of surprise that her eyes bulged out of her head.

You’re situated on a couch right beside the entrance of the living room, yet Lene’s face morphs into shock at you. As if she’s seeing you for the first time.

“I thought you left already,” she mumbles, her gaze wide and unmoving.

You stare back, unsure of how she would react.

And react she did. Not a second later, her nose scrunches up and tears begin to form. “Does…Does that mean—”

Lene couldn’t finish her sentence before a sob escaped her. Tears that are almost comically big started to bead off her eyes in droplets. Her shrill voice got louder with each cry. Immediately, you scrambled on the floor to embrace the small girl. Her tiny hands wrapped around you and you feel your shirt getting damp.

“I’m not leaving for a while, okay?” you cooed softly in her ear. Scooping her up in your arms, you start to rock her, holding her tightly. “(Y/N) is gonna leave tomorrow morning, so that means you have the rest of the day with me!”

Your words did nothing but make your sister sob even harder into your chest. You can barely make out her words between each hiccup. “I-I already sl-slept all d-day!”

Glancing up at the window, you can see the sun making its descent.

Not again.

“I’m gonna visit again soon, you’ll see me again,” you promised, trying to speak over her wails. Still, it feels empty when you say it. “Mommy and Daddy will come home soon and you can ask them to visit me in Nepal. Or what about New York? Don’t you wanna see New York?”

If it wasn’t for the fact that Lene is burying her face in your shirt to muffle her cries, you would for sure lose hearing in one ear. She shakes her head violently, gripping onto you tighter.

You rock and bounce, still remembering the motions when she was just a small baby. You still see her as such, even now that she’s bigger than most kids her age.

Her cries mellow into loud hiccups and her pudgy fingers grip onto your crisp shirt like a vice. You feel the wet patch where her tears fell, but you continue to rock her in your arms.

“Are you really gonna leave tomorrow?”

You almost didn’t catch what Elio said. His voice sounded so small. Far away. His face is downcast, picking at the fibers of the rug beneath him.

“He misses you a lot, you know. Looks up to you, more than anyone else.”

Your father’s disappointment hits you hard. As stoic as Elio always seems to be, you know how much you mean to him. How much he means to you. How you fight tooth and nail to make it home for the holidays, birthdays, and everything in between.

To the world you’re Seraph. The Burning One. Master of the Mystic Arts.

It’s hard to see yourself as anything other than that.

It was difficult to maneuver on the floor with a crying child in your arms, but you managed to lie down on your back next to your brother. Lene’s cries dwindled to violent hiccups as she curled up on your side. You turn your head towards your brother who avoids your stare. Stubborn. You pat the empty space next to you.

Elio hesitates. For a moment, he stays rooted in his spot, contemplating. At this angle, you can clearly see the hurt on his face. Can feel the hurt. A constant stream of deep longing that pours and weaves between the space of spiritual and physical. Between dream and reality.

With the wobble of his lip, Elio scoots to your empty side and hugs you tightly. The river of emotions is more intense, almost washing over you. It didn’t take long for his tears to follow. It's a silent cry, one that shakes his body but no noise escapes.

His grip is tighter, his hold on your bruising. The lack of outward passion and vigor doesn't diminish the intensity of his feelings. More so than the normal person.

It's why he doesn't run to greet you at the door anymore. Why he tends to play next to you rather than with you.

You don't know whether he naturally keeps his emotions to himself, or if it's something he learned from you.

“They don't want a hero,” your mother once snarled at you. Her wrinkled eyes would pierce through you, full of hurt. “You're their sister. Act like it.”

You don’t remember how long you stayed on the floor, staring at the ceiling. Your shirt was drenched with tears, spit, and snot but you didn’t move or push them away. If anything, you pulled them tighter against you.

You didn’t cry. Your chest didn’t ache nor did your stomach cramp from the guilt. You can’t allow yourself to. If you keep crying helplessly whenever you leave, it will only hurt you more.

By the time the sun dipped past the horizon, your two siblings had long exhausted themselves. You wait an hour more before gently carrying them up to their rooms. With a help of some magic, you managed to tuck them in their beds without so much as a single stir.

A buzz came from your phone, along with it a sense of dread.

Master Rokda: The Elders request a debrief of your mission on Earth 75-C. Do not keep them waiting.

When you meet your parents at the front door, they don’t comment on the fact that you’ve put on your sorcerer attire. You promised to be gone for an hour and be back for dinner.

You pretend not to notice the crestfallen expression of your father or the lack of emotion from your mother.

— — —

Energy still fires in your blood. Taunting you.

You should try. The very least you could do is try to harness the power you absorbed.

It’s easier to move now that most of your body has healed. Sleep is now in tune with your circadian rhythm meaning you can stay awake for longer. Your hands are still tightly bound with gauze with only your fingers being exposed. The Doctor replaces the wrappings everyday so you can clean and examine the progress.

The Doctor had warned you that your arms wouldn’t heal the same, even with the technology he possessed.

You shake your head, clearing unnecessary thoughts.

Try. That’s all you have to do.

Taking a deep breath, you perform some basic maneuvers that maximize the flow of energy throughout your body. Stiffness in your legs and arms are expected, but the strain is difficult to push through. Your muscles still remember the placement of your arms, the amount of force with each step, the way your lungs expand in your chest.

Your body is used to taking. Greedily absorbing any energy you come into contact with. It’s hard to reverse what you’re used to. To release rather than to hoard.

The power of the stones sits stubbornly in your body and around your soul. Once frenzied and bubbled, the energy slowly settled as the days passed. Burrowing deeper, melting into any space between your cells.

You feel your body warm up. Heartbeats quicken and your breathing gets deeper. Your tempo doesn’t change, only the force behind each punch and step. Again. Again. Again. You focus on precision. Every valve of your heart, every cell moving in your body. The way your nerves spark and burn around your arms, down your spine, surrounding you.

Again.

It’s slow at first. Barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. A flow of heat blooming from your soul, bleeding into your physical body. Streams of static curl alongside the blood flowing, and it creates a strain against your movements.

As if something’s holding you back.

Fluid movements slow. Muscles start tightening as the stones’ power solidifies. No longer a scalding plasma, but a physical force that locks your body.

Again.

Muscles beneath your skin grow taut. Sweat accumulates, forming a film around you.

Again.

It’s starting to hurt. The fluid precision is slowly morphing to choppy, erratic motions.

Aga—

The tension wins out against your body, locking you in place. You drop to the floor, gasping as your knees knock painfully on the floor. All at once you cease movement; not even able to twist your neck or limbs.

You’re trapped.

You can’t move. You can’t move. You can’t move.

All at once, the orange walls turn into the familiar grasslands of Wakanda. It’s hot. It hurts.

A scent that is so sickeningly sweet and leathery that hangs in the air like thick smoke. It mingles with the ash on your clothes and you can’t breathe.

Screaming. You hear it in front of you. Around you.

Breathe breathe breathe—

You can feel it—God you can taste it. Your own flesh searing off. It’s in your mouth, all over your body. You can’t breathe. Why can’t you breathe? Why can’t you move?

You don't see the old creaky cot you’ve been sleeping in or the mirror next to the porcelain sink. You’re still on the field—no in the jungle. It hurts, it burns, everything is killing you.

I want to leave. I want to leave. I want to leave—

The air hums with energy. The floor rattles and shakes. Someone’s—something’s panicking.

Your body caves in on itself and your cheek smashes against cold flooring.

You feel the strong pulses of energy flowing beneath you. It’s erratic. Alive. Your body tries to siphon it off. No, that’s not right.

The energy is coming to you. It’s warm. Your hand reaches out, trying to meet it halfway.

You see the door slam open, a rush of voices, and a burst of emotions mingling with the warmth.

“You’re not meant for this.”

A voice. Familiar. It’s angry, bleeding with disdain and hurt.

“Can’t you see this is killing you?”

Your mother’s voice sounds so clear. You miss her. Even if most of the words you spare to each other are angry.

“Give up. Give up everything. This life isn’t meant for you.”

No. No it wasn’t.

Only when you closed your eyes, and your consciousness slipped away, is when the taste of your flesh finally leaves your mouth.

— — —

When you finally came to, it had only been a few hours since the Doctor had found you on the floor.

He had parked the TARDIS beside the Ponds’ house, hoping to pick them up from their family reunion. The moment the three of them entered the console room did the TARDIS suddenly start acting up. Lights around the room started to flicker and the room seemed to pulsate with urgency.

It wasn’t long before the med-bay materialized and the Doctor found you lying on the ground.

There was a dazed look in your eyes, as if you were caught in a dream-like trance. Only when the Doctor came did the TARDIS return to normal.

A quick scan of your body revealed nothing out of the ordinary. A temporary paralysis brought out by excessive movement. Or so the Doctor says based on what you told him.

You were trying to gain movement back and became engrossed in your exercise. Not an outright lie, but you didn’t want to remember what transpired.

You’re tired and you make it known.

Thankfully, no dreams come to haunt you. Or the night after that.

— — —

A full week has passed. At least, according to Rory. It certainly felt longer.

You’re glad they respected your space and need to grieve silently.

You reap what you sow.

Today the voice is the sweet, gentle cadence of your mentor. Late mentor.

Yesterday the memory was of an afternoon brunch with Stephen and Wong. Warm pasta with the side of your favorite juice. A rare day when the three of you forgo the sorcerer attire and wear something casual. Of course, you and Stephen transmutate your robes into jeans and a sweatshirt. Wong tends to spend his limited paycheck on “real clothing”.

It’s only fitting that tonight’s memory is a violent contrast to yesterday’s serene moment.

You knew it wasn’t real. All of this. The blood, the panic, the body, was all just a cocktail of chemicals made by your brain.

You’re fine. You’re in bed, you’re safe.

The Ancient One lies a few feet from you. Her golden robes slowly turned a dark crimson from the gaping wound in her stomach.

You’re screaming. The air cuts your throat, your lungs burn with the force you exert. An ear-splitting screech that pulls your entire body with it.

Everything feels sluggish as you desperately try to crawl towards her. Your hand tries to stop the bleeding but the wound cuts through her whole body. The blood is cold, gushing around your trembling hands. You can’t stop shaking.

Something in the air crackles. A twisting feeling in your chest.

“Does it pain you?” Kaecilius asked, bent down to the other side of the Ancient One’s body. In his hand was a bloodied time shard.

You can’t force a word out. Pitiful sobs leave you; tears slide onto the sickly skin of the Ancient One’s forehead. Every shuddering breath makes it harder to control your body. The Ancient One’s skin is cold, infecting your skin with chills. Why is it so hard to breathe?

It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s—

Kaecilius hovers above you while the other Zealots stand by awaiting orders.

No other master is around to help you. They’re guarding the Sanctums while the Ancient One tracked her former student.

Except they knew you were coming. They knew that the Ancient One would try to fight Kaecilius one-on-one.

She made you wait with the other Masters in the Hong Kong Sanctum, but something in your gut told you something was wrong. A cold feeling that spreads all over your body.

It was too late.

Kaecilius knew you would come. He aimed the very shard in his hand towards you.

He knew the Ancient One would come to block it.

Your hand trembles in a way that makes you angry—boiling with rage.

“I’ve heard many stories about you. How the Ancient One sends you away on long, grueling missions into the multiverse. How she makes you take powers from dimensions above without indulging the true secrets to her powers.” Kaecilius gently raises your chin upwards, forcing your eyes to lock. “You can be something greater. Join us and together we could bring Dormammu to Earth. He is a savior. Our savior against time. Against death.”

At this distance, you can see the flecks of brown in his light blue eyes. No regret whatsoever for the deaths and damage caused by his selfish actions.

There’s a sharp sting where your nails dig into your palms. Suddenly, everything hushed. The crushing despair and endless anger swirl in your chest.

“What are you going to do about it, Seraph?” Kaecilius taunts.

Your body jerks awake, chest still struggling to inhale.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Glancing at the metal plating of the ceiling, you reminded yourself of where you were. Not in one of the Sanctums, or your lush room in Kamar Taj, or your room in your parent’s house. You’re a very long way away.

You throw the blankets off your clammy skin. It’s cold, unbearably so. Every hair along your body stands and your skin rises with it.

Forcing your body upright was a feat in itself. Your limbs are still numb with sleep and your head throbbed in pain. Bringing your hands to your temples, you tried to stop the panic rising or spreading to your head. The last thing you need is to lose focus.

He’s gone.

Dead, along with the others. You made sure of that.

You took a long, deep breath. The stitches along your ribs throbbed as your skin stretched. You let the breath go with a shudder. Repeating the process again, this time with less resistance. Again, again, again until you can stop the shaking.

Control yourself.

Fear would only make you vulnerable. Others could die by your inability to control it so you smother the fear, the panic, the guilt until there’s only an ache left behind. A cavernous hole in your chest that weighs you down.

The room is suffocating, the walls are too close, you can still smell the blood—

You need air. Real air. Not the recycled stuff coming out of the vents. Rising out of bed, you try to find some way out.

In your unrest you always find yourself wandering down the corridors of the living machine. Endless halls, geometric interiors. An almost sentient being confined in a box of wires and metal.

Although you are in the depths of space, the TARDIS tries to mimic night on Earth with its lack of lighting.

Your vision is hazy and grainy, greatly increasing the risk of your tripping over. Placing your hand on the wall, you let the worn pads of your finger feel the traces of the TARDIS circuitry. Energy, old and powerful, dances beneath the wires and metal. As if to sense your apprehension, the walls slowly glowed a soft orange.

“Thank you,” a hoarse whisper of appreciation. Your throat is still dry and swollen.

Warmth envelops your spine and the rhythmic pulsing of energy beneath your fingers. A thanks back.

With each step you take, the more your body seems to wake. Keeping your fingers on the wall, you let the TARDIS be your guide. There’s no words communicated between you, just instinct and feeling.

The hallway is short, only one soft turn at the other end. You can hear a faint clattering of metal just beyond.

It takes you a long while before you reach the entrance of the console room. A wide room with various lights, colorful wires, meta, and glass. At the center of it all, a large contraption with a mix-match of levers, knobs, and buttons. It was unlike any spacecraft you’d ever encountered, and you’d seen many. You were sure Rocket would curse at the lack of standardized spacecraft mechanisms.

Beside the entrance of the room—the front door to the TARDIS—was a large hole filled with more wires and more circuitry. You try to stay as quiet as you can so as to not disturb whoever was tinkering. As you approached the hole, to your surprise there was no one inside.

The air shifted behind you.

“Can’t sleep?”

Spinning around you were face to face with the Doctor; in his hands a wrench and some alien-looking parts.

“You scared the fuck out of me,” you grit, loud enough for the Doctor to hear.

“Hey, what did I tell you about that, hm? No cursing. My box, my rules.” The Doctor passed you and tentatively stepped into the abyss of wires. The hole was only chest deep, but he bent down so he could fully disappear.

You followed him to the edge, but didn’t step inside.

Sensing your staring, the Doctor turns slightly towards you, locking eyes for a moment. Turning back around, he unscrews a few bolts. “Are your arms bothering you again? I have some medicine stocked up in the back of the cabinet next to the sink.”

Sitting down, bringing your knees to your chin. Phantom pains still come and go, especially after a rough night of sleep. No doubt the Doctor put two and two together.

You pick at the exposed wires jutting out. The rubber casing rolling between your thumb and pointer. Bright red. The color of your robes, the color of blood. “You’re right, can’t sleep. I should be too old for nightmares and yet, here I am.”

The Doctor stops his tinkering, standing upright so he can peek up at you. Pity clearly displayed. You try not to scowl.

“No one’s too old for them. Dreams are a reflection of your life. Nightmares, as much as we hate them, do have their purpose.”

You grunt, half agreeing. Because to him, dreams are nothing more than a cocktail of bad memories and hyper-active imagination. Nothing you say will change that.

So you wipe away the discomfort, the guilt that bleeds into anger. You remember why you left your room in the first place.

“I’ve been walking on my own for a while now. A week at least.” You continue to roll the wires and pick at the copper sticking out. You feel the Doctor’s eyes on you, but you don’t mind him.

The Doctor catches on to what you’re implying. “You want to go outside. On Earth?”

You shake your head. Because what good would it do to bring you to an empty imitation of the real thing? “I don’t mind going on a different planet. I just…I’m starting to go a bit crazy walking down the maze outside my room.”

“Thought you liked walking aimlessly for hours on end,” the Doctor says, leaning against the edge. His voice balances along the edge of teasing. “I have a box that travels through space and time. Anything you want—anywhere you want, I can take you. Any historical figure, any future figure. We can go to the first pizza shop, y’know because you’re from New York.”

A breath of a laugh escapes. “Very observant of you Doctor. Truth be told, I don’t want to get back to Earth. Not for a while at least.”

You try not to think about what you left behind.

They’re resilient, you often have to remind yourself, They will survive. They have to.

The Doctor, either choosing to ignore your sullen words or just happy to have the chance to show you something new and fun, immediately gets out of the man-made hole with a broad smile. His hand, warm and inviting, takes yours and sweeps you off your feet. Giddy and mischievous, the Doctor tugs you along to the convoluted and intricate console.

You’ve peered at it a few times, often when you perched yourself atop the staircase or in passing when walking through the TARDIS. Never this close.

Knobs, dials, metal, plastic, glass, and other random items welded or bolted together. Either true engineering feat or complete nightmare, you don’t know. The way the Doctor immediately goes to press buttons and pull levers at such a speed to where there’s a gentle breeze when he zips past you is fascinating to see. The more you look, the more puzzling the mechanisms. Do your eyes deceive you or are you looking at a rotary phone that is bolted to the side of the console?

“Time and space, all within our grasp.” The Doctor rushes to your side and whips out a swiveling monitor and a mechanical keyboard. “Since it’s your first time traveling, I do have to lay down a few ground rules. Firstly, do not wander off no matter how many times Amy encourages you to.”

The Doctor types out something on his keyboard, the monitor displaying characters in some alien language. Pictures of a planet and charts of data appear along with some notes.

“Two, never ever drink what’s being offered. More often than not it’s going to make you puke and have an aneurysm.” The Doctor spins around to smack and pull whatever’s in front of him. All of which is nonsense in your eyes. When he turns back to you, his gaze is serious and his finger points between your eyes. “Third, the most important. Always have fun!”

A lever with a cherry red handle is pulled down and the room shakes with energy. The TARDIS pulses, sings with power that flows and ebbs in the air.

Your hands clumsily find purchase on the edge of the console, bracing as the shaking worsens. The sparks of energy lap at your skin and trickle into your flesh. Warm, tantalizing energy that makes you feel rather than empower.

The TARDIS is alive.

As if reading your jumbled thoughts, the energy pools toward you. Caressing your shaking body, enveloping you in a comforting hug. It doesn’t seep into your body and get absorbed by you, but simply hovers.

When the shaking ceased, only then did the energy rippled in the air, settling to a stillness once more.

— — —

The door to the outside opens, and the bright light from a foreign sun momentarily stuns you. First, you feel the crisp air kissing your face. Next come the smells of dirt, ocean, and salt. Shouts of street vendors, ships docking in the bay, and children laughing.

You open your eyes and the light settles. Colors bloom into your vision with colorful signs, exotic tapestry, and anything that could possibly be eaten or made being sold in crowded huts. Clear, open blue sky and buildings that remind you of the bustling coast of Greece. Vendors of varying species, colors, and size all hustle anyone walking in hopes to purchase their goods. An entire city, alive and thriving off the coast of a foreign land on a planet across the Milky-Way.

“The Veskarla Markets from the planet Tresh,” the Doctor says with pure delight, “Haven’t been here in centuries. Met their queen once, she was a very nice lady. Though, she would later put a nasty bounty on me. It’s not my fault that I didn’t know chickens were seen as a declaration of war.”

Amy steps in next to him, observing the scene in front of her. “You really start cracking open history books before going to places. Would save us from all the trouble you keep bringing.”

The Doctor sniffs, fixing his tie. “Reading history is not my style. No, I would much rather experience history rather than think about it from a dingy old book. It’s good for you.”

You ignore the chatter, focusing on securing the black leather gloves you nabbed from one of the costume closets. The cloak you adorn is light with breathable cotton and slightly bigger on you. The color of the midnight sky, swallowing you from head to toe. A stark contrast to the lively colors that surround you.

Taking in a deep inhale, you relish in the soothing the air gives your lungs. The stuffy ventilation from the TARDIS is slowly leaving your body.

“Now remember,” the Doctor warns, pointing between the Ponds. “Stick together. We have fresh meat here with us and I don’t want to get into another nasty skirmish with Treshian royalty. No adventures today. Just simple, fun leisure.”

Rory scoffs, “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

Amy skips over to you and links up your arms. “You boys get more food and supplies. We’ll venture in the markets.”

The two men nod and scurry away into the depths of the city. The Doctor excitedly mouths off any fact he can remember about Treshian wildlife while Rory tries to read off a supplies list. It took only a few seconds before a current of people swept them out of your sight.

You look back at the tall blue box that is parked in a very obvious area. It sat snugly beside two open restaurants facing the main road.

“Wouldn’t someone notice the TARDIS there?” you ask, pointing at the very conspicuous timecraft.

Amy waves her hand dismissively. “Trust me, the Doctor left it parked outside Buckingham Palace when Queen Victoria first ascended the throne. If no one on the streets of London cared, I think we’re safe here.”

That was another thing you were getting used to. The jarring recounts of time-travel that slip into every conversation. A part of you still doesn’t believe their stories or the figures they’ve met. You’re glad that the Doctor decided to simply travel through space rather than time; the mere idea of time-travel feels taboo to even think about.

Weaving through the sea of people is difficult when Amy is speed walking effortlessly, practically tugging you by the arm. Your steps, whether it be from the lack of exercise or grogginess, are far less graceful. A few times your boot hits a stay cobblestone or your shoulder roughly hits a pedestrian. Somehow, you manage to stay linked with Amy.

“Two fish! Great price, the best in the galaxy!”

A vendor with purple hyde and jagged yellow teeth shove two fish in your vision. His many eyes on his face stare expectantly. You peek around the cramped shop, eyeing the walls of fishing rods and weathered nets. Clear basins filled with various marine life are tucked beside the vendor. All the colorful fish were clearly displayed, while the ordinary ones were stored in the depths of the shop.

Before you could utter a reply, Amy manages to haul your body down the block. You force your stiff legs to carry you faster until you’re walking in tandem.

“That vendor—Did he speak English? How come I can read the signs posted?” Your eyes follow the cluttered wooden huts and their weathered signs. On a different planet with various species that no doubt immigrated here, there should be shouting in different languages and tongues.

Amy laughs, bumping her shoulder with yours. “The Doctor didn’t explain? Typical. I can’t explain in detail, but the TARDIS can go into your brain and translate everything for you. Words, shouts, anything really.”

Everything you learn about the TARDIS, both from your own observation and tidbits of what others tell you, makes your decades of knowledge of the arcane feel rudimentary. Science that borders on sorcery would be revolutionary back home. A strange universe indeed.

The two of you continue down the single street along the edge of the city. Vendors continue to shout and shove. There seemed to be an endless, unbreaking street with hoards of people acting as a current to pull you through. The worn shoes you hastily put on were not ideal for walking. The tough soles of your boots feel more stone than rubber. You don’t complain, having needed the exercise after essentially being a human vegetable for a week.

You quickly realized that Amy was looking to do more personal shopping rather than gather items from the Doctor’s supply list. Each shop you stopped inside was ornate and featured odd trinkets. While Amy converses with the vendors, you tend to hover behind like a shadow.

For an intergalactic merchant hub, Veskarla lacked any shops for weapons or machinery. From the hundreds of shops you’ve passed through, there only seemed to be fish, jewelry, or clothes for sale. Any knives being showcased were for decoration only, often using shells for the blade and gold plated wood. Perhaps there was a different district that handled metal and tools.

After passing by a myriad of fish sellers and net makers, Amy finally stops by a large shop. It’s lavish with teal paint and gold trim around the frames of the large glass windows. Large, chunky pearl necklaces the color of iridescent snow enticed your eyes.

Amy lets out a low whistle, taking in the shiny entrance. “It doesn’t hurt to take a peek, right?”

Amy’s sight has caught a beautiful bracelet made from pearls and gold. In fact, the entirety of the shop is dripping with dazzling gems and shiny trinkets. What made the pearls and gold special is that it lets out a twinkling sound whenever there is a breeze passing by. You seemed to have entered a more wealthy part of the markets as now the crowd has dwindled to about half than it was before. The people around you have more intricate clothing with gems and pearls sewn into them. Vesklara is a city of seafood and jewels, judging from how even the lower income district of the town seemed to also carry these goods, albeit at a lower quality.

Immersed in the distinctions between Orthalian gold or Treshian silver, Amy doesn’t notice your wandering gaze. While the crowd had certainly diminished, it doesn’t mean there wasn’t a myriad of beings still pushing their way through the markets. Very little seemed to interest you. Most of the items sold were nothing you haven’t seen before.

After taking a glance around the store, you ended up going back outside. A warm breeze brushed over you, carrying the smell of the sea with it.

You were glad to have a change in scenery. The nightmare that befell you hours before is now at the back of your mind. Being grounded, tethered to a living, thriving city with people and stone to stand on brings an ease back to your body. It doesn’t replace the electric hum of the atmosphere back home, but it does allow you to feel connected to the space around you. You feel the rush of excitement, the displeased customers, the swell of pride for a city that is the crowned jewel of Tresh. So caught up in your musing, you almost failed to hear the stall across from you, across the sea of beings.

A boy, whose back faces you is pleading with a grumpy vendor. His clothes are dirty and ragged with spindly limbs and matted hair. You peer over to Amy, to see her still obsessing over the bracelets.

Without a second thought, you cross between the crowds of people. Limbs and pointed joints shove into your body, but you force yourself through. When you exit out of it, you find yourself next to the small boy. You can see just how frayed the edges of his shirt are. How the deep blue skin in his legs and arms are smeared with dirt and scrapes. His long black braid has leaves sticking out of it.

“Please sir. Just let me try once,” the boy, who looked no older than ten, asks pitfully. “I’ve been saving for a while now and—”

The vendor grunts out, slamming his fist against the wooden counter. “How many times do I have to tell you boy? We don’t serve your kind here.”

You see how the boy’s face crumpled. His shoulders cave and his lip wobbled. “Please…just once. If I lose, then you will never hear from me again.”

The vendor laughs at that. Cruel and full of teeth. You step back to see what the man is selling—or rather promoting.

Proto’s Festivities! Try Your Luck or Buy Trying!

Three red targets are parched behind the counter, similar to ones in amusement parks. There’s scratches and indents, but more so on the wall behind them. When you look to the side, you see a stack of daggers hanging from the wall, blunt from repeated use. What really caught your attention was the ornate items dangling from the ceiling. Pearl necklaces, polished leather shoes, and laced fabrics encased in gold.

“Can I help you lady?”

Your attention snaps to the large alien who stands behind the counter. His face looked like an unholy union between a pig and a snake; reptilian eyes and mouth with a large snout placed in between. The collar of his shirt is stained with grease and the purplish hue of his skin glistened with sweat.

Proto towers above you with a questioning gaze.

“Do you serve humans?” you ask, sharper than you realized.

Proto’s beady yellow eyes scan you from head to toe. A noise, something akin to a snarl, emits from his throat. Scratching at his chin, he answers, “Not my preferred customer. But I suppose money is money.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Then let me play in place of the boy.”

The child’s eyes widened, mouth agape. He takes a small step towards you, a small look of hope graces his features. “Y-You would do that?”

Proto lets out another laugh, louder than the first. It drones on for a few seconds longer than necessary, and he goes to wipe his eye with a pudgy finger. He wheezes, “You—ha—You’re gonna play for him, yeah? You and your tiny human form? Is this a joke?”

You reach out your hand towards the boy expectantly. His hold on the gold coins in his hands tightens, just for a moment. Then, he relinquishes his hold, placing the heavy currency on your palm. The leather in your gloves squeaks when you close your hand.

Slamming the coins down on the counter, you cease the light-hearted attitude of Proto. “The goal is to hit the targets, correct? Money is money. Let me play.”

Proto’s eyes narrow at you in suspicion. Picking up one of the three coins, he holds it up to his face, inspecting every groove minted on the metal. Once he deems the coins genuine, he looks at you with wickedness on his face. A grin that shows the rows of teeth caked in plaque.

His hand reaches for the knives hanging on the wall, picking off the shortest and dullest ones from the set. His face inches towards yours with a condescending grin. “Yes, you simply hit the targets and your efforts will be rewarded. Simple as that.”

There’s a concerning amount of insincerity dripping from his voice; glee and dishonesty practically oozing from every word. Proto slides the knives to you whilst pulling the coins towards him with his other hand.

You take in one of the knives, flipping it in your hand experimentally. There seemed to be no weird center of gravity or any odd characteristics that might give away foul play. You can make do with the dull edge. Looking at the targets ahead, you can easily make the throw blindfolded. You move to raise the knife, but Proto stops you.

His finger wags in your face. “Ah, ah, ah. I didn’t say we could start yet.”

You hear the click of a button, then the whirr of machinery.

The red targets seemed to jerk and slide, the machine beneath them creaking and groaning from overuse. Red circles move from side to side. There’s no pattern to the speed or direction of the targets’ movements.

Your lips curl to a snarl, at which Proto starts laughing once again.

“Oh! Is the tiny human regretting her choices already?” Proto slaps his leg as he wheezes out another belly laugh. “Look at that face! You’re practically seething! Ha!”

This son of a bitch.

You ignore the howling mass of scum behind the counter, focusing on the blurring vision of red targets. Gripping the tip of the knife, you steady your breathing, bracing your knees. A lingering, dull throb still haunts you, but you ignore it. Focus.

Twisting the knife in your hands, you try to find the target with the slowest movement. Judging by the choppy movements and run-down shop, Proto might’ve never had any repairs. You can make out the large patches of rust and hear how the gears catch onto one another. A harsh, screeching sound that barely makes the targets falter. Click, click, click. You stand still, counting the gap between each miniscule falter of the machine.

Ten seconds exactly.

Proto’s laugh continues. He grins, wider this time. “Is the tiny human having second thoughts? I forgot to mention this before, but no refunds. Ha!”

You quell the urge to dig the blade into the gummy flesh in his thick neck. It might take some hacking, but it would be worth it to shut him up.

The squeaks of the machine snap your focus back. You take a steady inhale, clearing your mind of murderous thoughts. This wasn’t about you.

Focus.

Metal scrapes against metal in an awful pitch. The targets blur, and the laughing continues.

You hear the familiar click, click, click.

Inhale. One. Two. Three.

Quick as a whip, your body snaps in motion and the blade lodges cleanly into one of the targets.

A gasp comes from the boy beside you. Proto’s howls of laughter cease.

Another knife finds its way in your hand and you repeat the motions. You eye a target, trying to predict its motion. Whatever force you exerted on the first target had altered the motion of the machine. It was slower and the falter in of the targets’ movements were longer.

Click, click, click. In another flash, the knife lands clean in the middle of another target.

You hear the shuffle of feet and the whispers of passersby.

“There’s no way she would make that shot.”

“Isn’t that Proto? I thought he was still in jail.”

“Come on! Shoot it already!”

A crowd has formed behind you, but your sole focus is the last of the shuffling targets.

Its movements are faster than the last two. Almost a blur of red that dances between one side of the stall to the next. Your body tenses, being still longer than previous tries. Your brows furrow, your muscles flexing beneath your skin.

Proto seethes in his corner, nostril flaring like an animal. The crowd draws nearer, trying to get a better look at what you’re doing.

Excitement buzzes in the air. Fueling you.

The scrape against metal, and the tune of click, click, click.

One.

Two.

Three.

The knife whistles in the air, the crowd goes still. Wood snaps and buckles, caving under the pressure of your throw.

For a split second, your heart stops. Then, a wild cheer erupts behind you.

Under the sheer power of your throw, the target snapped backward, nearly breaking off the machine entirely. Still, your knife sits lodged in the wood, swinging erratically with the rest of the set. The machine lets out one last howl before the rust and age finally forces it to stop. The metal groans and creaks in protest before succumbing to its fate.

Proto’s jaw unhinges, gaping at the sight.

The boy with deep blue skin and rags for clothes is beaming. Tears prick his eyes and he’s jumping up and down in sheer joy. Before you could say anything, the boy leaps into you, giving you a bone-crushing hug. Maybe you were lucky that you heal fast.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” the boy squeals, pressing his face against your stomach. He releases you and points to an item hanging off the rack inside the stall. “That one! I want that one please!”

You follow his finger, trying to find what the boy wanted so bad.

Red robes sewn with a delicate lacing of pearls and gold. Decadent craftsmanship that no doubt took months—maybe even years to create. You dare say more intricate than the attire you’ve seen around the whole market.

You couldn’t fight the smug grin even if you tried. Proto looked furious. “You heard the boy. Give him the robe.”

Proto huffed, looking monstrous and wrathful. If there weren't so many watchful eyes, you were sure that he would try to skin you alive with one of your dull knives. Begrudgingly, Proto marched up to the robes and snatched it off its hook. With a nose-flaring glare, he tosses it to the gleeful boy beside you.

Above the cheers of the small crowd, you hear the familiar shouts of your group.

Amy is jumping up and down, similar to how the boy was moments before. Rory hollers with the crowd, waving his hands in the air.

The Doctor comes barreling towards you, clasping his hands on your shoulders. He shakes you with a big smile on his face. “Bra-vo! Splendid, that was absolutely—positively—brilliant! Well done!”

Hands from the mass of people shake and prod you. Praise and cheer ring hollow in your ears.

When you turn to look at the boy, his toothy grin is aimed right at you. Only for you. Tears flow in rivers down his face, curving around his smile. “Thank you!”

Sincerity, joy, relief. It flows from the boy and straight to your chest.

Only for him do you smile. It’s small and beaten around the edges, but a no less genuine thing. Something warms the hollow in your chest. A crack in your armor, one that makes the pain erode away. Ever so slightly.

— — —

“How on Earth did you manage that? I thought you would be stiff from sleeping all week.”

You take a bite out of your dessert, taking a moment to ponder Rory’s question. “One of the first things I learned when I started training. Knives were much easier to handle when you’re twelve.”

The sky is turning a hazy orange and the shops along the coast of the busy town are still alive. The small café tucked away in an alley deep in the city where their hours of operation start when the sun lowers in the sky.

After destroying Proto’s machine, you walk the boy to his family who live in a small house at the edge of town. Only when you arrived at his front door did he give you his name: Rivolo. His parents were both equally shocked at what the boy delivered and were eternally thankful for what you did. You were simply glad to give the boy a chance to have new clothes to wear. Though, the strain of your body lingers, especially in your upper back.

For the first time, the four of you collect around with food and drinks, talking. It started with little stories about the last few hours when you departed. Rory bought a new weighted blanket with fabric that behaved like water. The Doctor tried bargaining with a seamstress for a new jacket and ended up being kicked out of the establishment. Supply runs and odd occurrences transitioned to earlier adventures. Mostly the Doctor talking about famous historical figures with such clarity it might as well have happened yesterday.

“I did have a knife throwing contest whilst traveling during the Ottoman Empire.” The Doctor takes another heapful of shaved ice and condensed milk. His mouth is full when he speaks: “I still technically have another date set up. You’re going to come with me.”

“Is that a threat?” you muse, picking at your own bowl.

“Most definitely.”

Streetlights that dot along the pier were the first to alight. Then the ones along the edge of town, until the cobblestone streets are bathed in warm light. Stars are beginning to twinkle in the sky and the ocean breeze makes the air drop significantly. It doesn’t stop the people who journeyed here from crowding around bars and enjoying the dusk.

Rory is the first to groan out, stretching his arms over his head. He rubs his stomach, his eyes pinching close. “I think I ate enough for three. God, it feels like my stomach is about to burst.”

Surrounding him were piles of fish bones and dessert bowls. At least he had the courtesy to stack them. Amy and the Doctor lean against one another, the former sharing her husband’s discomfort. You had the foresight to order enough to quell your hunger, not enough to inhibit movement.

“I’ll clear these up, you guys get back to the TARDIS.” You take the hefty load of plates and bowls into your hands with little effort. “I can find my way back. Go before it gets too dark.”

The three of them huff and groan, slowly rising out of their seats as if it pains them to do so.

Amy pats your shoulder with a grimace. “You’re an angel, thank you.”

Rory gives the Doctor his shoulder to lean on as Amy trails behind them. You couldn’t help but watch them stagger down the street.

A family. A unit. Whatever the three hold runs deeper than friendship and would be an understatement to say so.

Walking down the alley, you try to locate the front of the café. With the crowds of people blocking the entrances of any open building made it all the more challenging. You walk in slow, measured steps, careful to not trip over any wobbly stone that pokes out. When you do manage to slip into the right café, the sun has more than set. The chill in the air turns into a cold breeze that flutters your cloak and makes the hairs on your body stand on edge.

You don’t feel safe. If you had the thunderous power of the multiverse behind you, then you wouldn’t feel so paranoid walking through the narrow alley. No weapons adorn your legs, no phone to call for help. You cursed under your breath.

Pulling on your hood, you let the dark fabric cover you completely. You keep towards the edge of buildings, always scanning ahead for any activity. Find a crowd, blend in. Easy enough when the entirety of the marketplace is still buzzing.

It’s hard to pin down exactly where you are. Your eyes squint in the low light, trying to find any landmarks to help you journey back. You don’t realize how lost you are until the crowds slowly disappates and the lamps along the streets get fewer and fewer.

Shit.

You should’ve swiped the knives from Proto. A dull blade is better than no weapon at all.

Straining for any signs of life, you try to backtrack your steps. Maybe if you make your way back to the café, then you could wait for the Doctor to come get you.

Your foot was already pivoting before you caught a faint glimmer of red fabric out of the corner of your eye.

Turning around, you see a familiar cloak with pearls and gold stitched along its side.

Rivolo!

What better way around the city than the boy who lived here? With newfound determination, you follow the trail of red down another alley. Your legs are loose from walking, already catching up to the fleeting figure.

Your feet soundlessly trek the uneven streets, bobbing and weaving through tight corners and miscellaneous boxes lying around. Rivolo seems to dash just out of reach, always dodging out of sight whenever you cross another street.

“Rivolo!” you call out, trying to keep the fabric in your sight. The boy is a few ways ahead, delving deeper into the city. You quicken your pace.

In a matter of seconds, you’ve managed to close the gap between you two. The boy is fast but you have a decade or so of running through the boroughs of New York under your belt. You push through the burn in your muscles. Your hand stretches outward and you catch the scruff of the hood.

With a twist, you reel the boy back and spin his small body around.

Your chest heaves, putting your hands on your knees. “I’m so sorry, I tried calling you but you were too far away. I need some he—”

You freeze, the blood in your body running cold.

The person you’ve tracked down wasn’t the innocent boy with a long braid and toothy grin. In the low light, you can clearly see the robe this stranger adorns. The intricate stitching, the same glimmering pearls that twinkle under the light. You reel back, as if the sight of it offends you.

Whatever you caught looked almost human. Its flesh was a ghostly pale that looked sickly under the streetlights. Gaunt face with a long nose and bulging eyes. His iris looks like a small pinprick, wild and focused on you. No hair on his head or on his face. When you observe longer, you see the imprint of scales along his skin.

You narrow your gaze, your voice an echo in the silent alley as a deadly whisper. “Where did you get that cloak?”

The alien eyes you up and down, tilting his head to the side. His words are impish, almost nasally in tone. “Hm? Who are you? You don’t seem related to that Ikrallian boy.”

“I’ll ask you again.” Your hands shoot out, gripping the color of the red cloak. The alien falters at your harsh movements. “Where did you get this cloak? A boy named Rivolo had it earlier.”

He didn’t seem frightened by your tone. Boredom is set in his features, as if you’re inconveniencing him. He ponders for a moment, only for his features to light up in mock realization. “Oh, that’s his name. Did he have blue skin and freakish hair? Y'know, introductions never came up. I could barely hear my own thoughts because of his screaming.”

Pure delight drips from his mouth. The thing in your hands snickers as if he’s letting you in on some inside joke.

Your heart pounds in your ears.

Something poked your ribs, and the man’s mouth curled to a sneer. “Now, now. Usually I don’t like fighting women. Gets too messy and there’s always so much crying. If you just walk away, go back to where you came from, I won’t have to gut you in this alley.”

The familiar heat of rage bubbled in your chest. Tension in your body cramps your muscles, threatening to snap.The knife the man holds starts dragging up towards your ribs, teasing the soft flesh there. The thing chuckles, his breath fanning your face.

“Maybe I should. ‘Cause then you can see your friend…what’s his name again?” He tilts his head up, pretending to think. “Ah, Rivolo. He probably bled out by now. Oh—where are my manners? I haven’t introduced myself. The name’s Beetle—”

Your fist connected to his jaw with a sickening crack.

Beetle’s body flies out, landing into the ground in a heap. You take lungfuls of air, trying to cool down. The alien twitches before rolling back to his feet. Blood dribbles out of the corner of his mouth, but his grin still remains.

Wiping his chin, he hunches down, the knife in his hand gleaming in the moonlight. His nasally, gruff voice cuts through the still air. “Just my luck, a lady who can fight. Now I won’t feel so bad when I drain you on the street.”

His body caves in before he launches himself.

You stagger to the side before you twist around, dodging his slashes. When he gets too close, trying to aim for the spot where your heart lies, you grab his arm and pull him across your body. Using your leg and stiff muscles, you use his momentum against him and slam him to the ground with his arm twisted behind him. In the quick second that he’s off-guard, you stomp on his hand, forcing him to let go of his knife. The knife, you realized, had dark substance caking it.

Blood.

You hear something crack before Beetle’s body rotates beneath you. Dislodging his arm out of his socket allowed him to sweep your body off balance and bounce back up. You land on the ground, your jaw connecting to stone with a pained groan. The stitches under your clothes throb painfully.

Beetle swings his dislocated arm back, forcing it in the socket once more. He laughs at the face you make.

A dull cramp locks your joints. Cold air and strained tissue squeeze your nerves, sending pain throughout your body. You try to brace yourself on your forearms, but a heavy foot stomps on your back, forcing your back down. Your chin collides with stone and your teeth rattle in your mouth.

“I’m starting to like you like this.” He raised his foot from your back momentarily before slamming it down. Air is forced to leave your chest as you cough beneath him. His other foot is planted just beside your head, the other digging between your shoulder blades. “Maybe I’ll let you go just so I can chase you down the street. I’ll let the fear settle in, then delight in your screams when I finally catch you—”

You put every ounce of strength into maneuvering over to his ankle and bite. Your teeth sink into skin, catching the tendons of his foot. Warm liquid gushes in your mouth, spilling between your teeth. A shrill howl of pain and the weight lifts off your back. Beetle falls, desperately grasping his ankle. Blood seeps, coloring the pavement beneath him.

“You fucking cunt!”

You roll to your side, hacking out the bitter blood into the cobblestone. With a grunt, you rise to your full height, swaying slightly.

A mouthful of iron is on your tongue. It mingles with the ocean breeze and sours in your mouth. Your steps are silent and methodical. Half limping, half striding to your target.

The red cloak Beetle wears beckons you closer. Your heaving comes from the barely hidden wrath that bubbles. You reckon you looked more like a rabid animal than a human. When you approach Beetle, you grasp the back of the hood and yank it. His smaller, stout frame unraveled from the flowing cloak and you held it tightly against yourself.

Something warm trickles down your abdomen. Bringing your hand to the bottom of your rib, you feel the cotton of your shirt being soaked. Your stitches torn and the thin skin broken. All the energy you had gained this past week has been sapped, leaving you trembling.

You spare the alien a cold, withering stare. Your bloodied mouth is twisting to a snarl. “Thank every single star under this sky that I am not in full health. If I see your wretched face ever again, I will not hesitate to rip you apart. Bone by bone.”

Kill him, leave nothing behind.

Your voice sounds unfamiliar in your own head. A monotone, apathetic edge, almost clinical in nature.

Another voice rings over. Young, still full of life.

Don’t be the monster everyone expects you to be.

Peter did not understand the beaten path you’ve forged for yourself. Nor did he understand the continuous nature between black and white; to him, good deeds and bad ones are objective without nuance.

Beetle is hunched, body held taut with caution. Gauging to see what you’ll do next.

No matter how much you want to wring his neck like a stubborn piece of cloth, you can bring yourself to spare mercy. Just this once. You will alert the proper authorities and hope that Beetle is injured enough to not stray too far.

Karma will see to it, sparing you of the role of judge, jury, and executioner.

“(Y/N)? Is that you?”

A voice, accented and childlike.

You back straightened, whipping around to the entrance of the alley. A shallow breath escapes your throat and relief washes over you.

“Rivolo, y-you’re safe.” Your voice is raw around the edges, and you catch the unease in his face. You stagger towards the boy, bleeding and hurt. When you grasp his narrow shoulders, you utter a rushed, “What happened?”

The boy maneuvers to your side, pulling your arm over his shoulder. “I went to get food for my family. I was trying to get back home before a strange man tried taking my food. He stabbed me, but it didn’t matter. My species don’t bleed out easily.”

At the sound of his voice, Beetle thrashes around. His head jerked and his mouth frothed in fury.

“Of course you survived. Of course! Even after I went after your heart—just my fucking luck!”

Beetle rolled to his stomach with a murderous gaze. His teeth bared and his back hunched like a prowling animal.

So much for mercy.

You hurriedly unlatched yourself from Rivolo and shoved his cloak in his arms. “Go find the Doctor and the Ponds. Run as fast as you can from here and whatever you do, don’t look back.”

Sounds of bones cracking turns your attention to the heaving alien. Beetle’s finger is shoved in his ankle, forcing his bony finger into his Achilles tendon. Blood gushed out more, spilling over his leg and arm. With a strained growl, Beetle rearranges the fiber in the back of his ankle.

Anger and determination pulse in the air. A warning.

“Go, go, go!” You shove Rivolo into the open street. He scampers away, and you see him retreat out of sight.

You couldn’t anticipate the speed at which Beetle came at you. Without warning, Beetle sent a punch straight towards your stomach. As if his punch was a singularity, your body caved inward, warping around his balled fist. You slam against the wall, not even a moment to think before another punch lands squarely on your cheek. Whipping your head to the side, you feel your skull throb painfully and the vessels inside your face break.

Beetle’s hand wraps around your throat and slams your head into the stone wall behind you. His hold constricts, closing your windpipe as he kneed you in the abdomen. Once. Twice. You try to squirm out of his way, blocking his repeated attack with your hands but you’re losing strength.

You’re getting lightheaded. Everything hurts. Bile tries to climb its way up your body, but Beetle’s hand prevents anything from getting in your body or getting out.

The sickly creature looms over your face. His earlier grin and playful façade completely wiped clean. “Do you know what I hate more than cunts who fight dirty? Hm?”

Another kick. Your organs contort inside your body, trying to accommodate the point of Beetle’s knee. If choking you out won’t kill you, internal bleeding certainly will. You try to muster a cough, only to choke on your own mucus.

His face draws closer, into your ear as you desperately gasp and thrash in his hand. His words sliding across your skin like sandpaper. “An ugly, bleeding woman. No matter where I stab, you’ll always look gross and disgusting when you die. I suppose it isn’t such a loss though. I do enjoy watching your life get snuffed out. And once I dump your body on the street, I’m tracking your little friend next.”

You don’t stop writhing, even when he keeps slamming your head against the wall. Even when he sends another punch to your face, bursting your lip open. Even when the next one lands in the middle of your face and you feel blood gushing out. It hurts, your lungs burn. Your soul rams against the confines of your body, trying to break itself free.

His laugh is cold, void of any real humor.

“What are you going to do about it?”

The words cut through your mind like an arrow. Everything stills, and for a moment Beetle's eyes morphed into a light, steely blue.

Glass and stone contort, fractals that dance in the background with magic humming in the air. A blade made of air and crystal that drips crimson blood, the markings of Dormammu's power etched in your mind forever.

“What are you going to do about it, Seraph?”

The hush of the world around you. A moment where nothing exists but the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your head.

A goal carved its way to the forefront of your mind, silencing all other thoughts, wants, needs.

Make him bleed. Make him suffer—

The heat came first. A thunderous roar that synced with your heart, it flooded your body with a burn. Energy that lights up your cells and singes the ends of your nerves.

Grasping the thin, pale wrist of your attacker, you focus the energy that’s building. It lights up your body with a crack. Beetle’s smug face falters. The bones in Beetle’s wrist snap and crumble. You feel the fragments ripple beneath his skin and his tendons bunching as your grip gets tighter and tighter.

A blood curdling scream rips through Beetle as he jerks away from you. With his weight finally off your throat, you collapse against the wall trying to catch your breath. Releasing the hold on Beetle’s wrist, you stagger to your feet. Every ragged inhale sends shocks of pain from your midsection. Using the wall for support, you lift yourself up. Everything feels numb, your legs and arms feel like static.

You watch as Beedle clutches his swollen hand. When he jerks his body, his hand rotates dramatically, detached from the forearm entirely. You give no warning, no ounce of preparation. Before Beetle had a chance to blink, you were already towering over him.

The first punch made Beetle’s head turn so sharply that you thought you’d broken it. A loud, thunderous sound came, echoing in the narrow back alleys. The sounds of Beetle’s ragged breathing and heartbeat were the only indications that he still lived. The next hit was just as hard, with no time to react. Each blow you deliver slices the space between you, turning his skin to paper and bones to glass. A precision that comes with years dealing with the worst outcome possible. A lingering notion that each blow you deal is fatal.

Sometimes the flesh caves and splits where you hit. Blood splatters on your gloves, making it increasingly difficult to continually land punches. When the blood in his face makes your fist slide off his skin is when you move to kicking his body. Over. And Over. Wherever your foot lands, his body jerks accordingly. Again and again.

Only when you stop your onslaught do you manage to get your heartbeat to steady and your breathing to even.

Your body is a furnace. It trembles trying to keep whatever power lies in your veins. When you move, it feels distorted in a way. Your mind is still hazy from the oxygen deprivation, near floaty in feeling. One foot in front of the other, you move through the stagnant air. The thrashing, bleeding alien tries to crawl away from you. Your hands shoot out from your robes, catching his ankle and dragging him close to you.

Mixing in with the salty ocean air and the blood coating your teeth is a taste you’ve come to hunt for. It’s sweet, addictive and delights you so.

Beetle’s fear is palpable. As he lays shaking below you, he doesn’t tear his gaze from yours.

“You hurt my friend.” Beneath the soft whisper of your words, an undeniable edge of wrath can be felt. “I gave you a chance to run and you used that as an opportunity to attack me. You’ve made your decision and I have no choice but to see it through.”

The scum twisting and groaning doesn’t get a chance to fix his mouth before your foot connects with his sternum. Not enough to break it completely, but enough to knock all of the wind out. You can’t move effectively without the entirety of your midsection erupting in pain. You crept your foot up Beetle’s chest, seeing the realization hit him.

A barbaric move. But it’s clear that Beetle has already done more, if not worse, on innocents. When your foot meets the middle of Beetle’s neck, you ignore the spark of delight at the sight of his terror. You slowly apply more of your weight as thin hands try to wrap around your shoe.

His feet kick wildly trying to land a hit but his strength is weaning. You offer him no taunting words, no remorse for what you’re doing. Beetle was trying to kill you from the start and it would be dangerous to let him wander.

You didn’t want to spill blood on your first day out, but you’re too worked up to care. What’s another death to you?

Beetle squirms, trying desperately to throw you off. Murderous intent swallowing his eyes, directed only at you. Whatever good he managed to do, it will never balance the harm he confessed to doing. He would be better off as fertilizer, the only way his existence would ever be a net positive. You wouldn’t mind if his dying breath lingers in your dreams.

You don’t find it in yourself to care.

Movement dwindles and the fiery passion is slowly dying the longer your foot lingers. Copper and sugar invade your nose in harmony.

Beetle spasms and gargles. His already pale skin gets impossibly more stark.

Just a bit more—

You feel the air shift, a presence just beside you. But you felt it a second too late.

A blur of black and a crackle of light is all you see before a powerful punch sends you flying backwards. Your body tumbles down further into the alley, rocks and sharp debris awaiting you with each hit. Your momentum finally stops when you collide into a stack of wooden crates, splintering the wood upon impact. You let out a pained hiss through your teeth, trying to move.

Moonlight scatters where the streetlamps fail to illuminate. Shadows bend and warp most of your vision, but you spot the imposing figure easily. It’s tall, whatever it is. Humanoid in shape, covered head to toe in fabric. You’re too far away to see any clear details, only a vague, smokey outline where light manages to hit.

Something else invades the charged air. For a moment, the pent up anger and murderous intent evaporates leaving behind something primal.

Hairs on your body stand on end. Dread suffocates you. It surrounds the cloaked figure and you wonder how it managed to sneak up on you.

Your body trembles, nearly collapsing down into the pile of broken wood again. The energy you’ve mustered up has already started to disperse.

Beetle gasps loudly, wheezing with such ferocity you think his heart would climb up his throat. The pungent smell of blood and sweat hangs in the air, encasing him.

The imposing figure doesn’t spare him a single glance or word. No mask or identifiable features could be seen, but you feel the weight of his gaze. An inhuman, powerful energy accompanies it. Grasping the leftover wood that surrounds your body, you force your weakened body to get up. To fight, to stand your ground.

Beetle hacks and coughs. “You were there the whole time?” His voice is raw, his words barely intelligible. “Why didn’t you come sooner?”

The figure offers no words or acknowledgement, never turning its head away from you. Your skin prickles and a dull instinct makes your hand twitch.

Beetle turns his head, ready to mouth off to his companion. When he sees the figure’s hard gaze fixated on you, Beetle’s face morphs to a furious sneer.

“You’re my assignment! Are you kidding me? What about the Ikrallian boy?”

Your ears perk up, your body on high alert. They wanted you here. Beetle may not have realized, but he wasn’t just a simple passerby. Assignment…had they…planned this?

Then it clicked. Maybe it was your proximity to the Doctor, perhaps they believe they could kidnap you to have leverage over him. You did spend a good few hours with him and the Ponds, traveling around the market. Why would they target him? For the TARDIS perhaps? Amy did say that it was the last of its kind. A powerful machine that could travel anywhere would be a target for any criminal worth their salt.

But why Rivolo? Why target him? Cruelty for cruelty’s sake?

“(Y/N)!” A startling loud echo of your name, one that seems to have a series of footsteps that follow. It was behind you. “(Y/N) are you there?”

Before you even had the chance to turn your head to the direction of the voice, you hear the thundering steps halt behind you.

The Ponds are out of breath; Amy grabbing onto your shoulder for support while Rory has his hands on his knees. Their skin glistened with a mixture of sweat and humid air, their chests heaving with exhaustion.

“We…Rivolo…help…” Amy could barely muster up the words, her head hanging low, trying to even her breathing. Whatever relief she had when find you was wiped clean when she got a look at your face. No doubt the blood from your nose had already crusted on the lower half of your face. “What the hell?”

Rory was already tensed beside you two, staring at the two figures in the alley. He cleared his throat, gesturing towards Beetle. “Is this why you couldn’t find your way back?”

You move out of Amy’s concerned hold, putting yourself in front of them. “You shouldn’t be here. Go find the Doctor—”

“There you guys are!”

As if the mere mention of his name summons him, the Doctor rounded the corner also out of breath with the familiar blue alien boy behind him. The Doctor’s arms flail as he forces his feet to stop. “How many times do I have to have the talk with you two? Hm? No wandering! No running off in foreign lands! It’s rule number one when traveling. I don’t expect much from (Y/N)—”

His tangent stopped when his mind finally caught up with the present. His face frozen, looking over your newly battered face. Rivolo cowers behind him, clutching his jacket in a tight fist.

You cursed under your breath. It’s one thing to have to fight, it’s another to look after four individuals who don’t seem capable of fighting. You’d barely healed enough to walk properly and now you could look forward to another week of mindless wandering in the sterile hallways of the TARDIS. Great. So much for a first day outside.

Beetle hauled up his shaking body, his two legs appearing as though they might snap under his own weight. Hunched and heaving, Beetle clutches the midnight fabric that encases the figure. Even from this distance, you can clearly see the pure hatred plastered on his face. “Why wasn’t I made aware of this? I thought the boy was the target!”

It was then that the dark figure finally directed its eye-less gaze to the trembling alien beside him. Beetle doesn’t falter, instead gripping tighter on the fabric to stabilize himself.

When the figure spoke, it was a deep, rumbling sound. Smooth and unhurried. It carried through the salty breeze as if they were speaking right next to you. “Target the young Ikrallian and remain in the city thereafter. Your duty has been fulfilled.”

There was something in the tone of his voice. Such finality, a sureness that everything that has happened was meant to be. Dominos falling into place.

“Target the Ikrallian boy…” you thought, everything rushing in your head at once. I was their target. By attacking Rivolo, it would guarantee that I would try to follow him. Why me? They don’t know who I am.

The eye-less figure slides his head in your direction. You feel its glaze stripping you, peering through skin and muscle. It shakes off Beetle’s grip like he’s nothing more than a speck of dust, stepping towards you. Feather-light steps with only the sound of plated armor clinking together being heard, its glaze holding yours.

You force yourself into a defensive position, trying to lock into every movement. The figure stops a few feet away from you and you can make out the reflective surface of armor underneath a billowing cloak. There’s enough light to show the texture of the cloak and the buckles along its waist, but the place where a face should be is pure darkness. No curve of a nose, or sockets where eyes would be, nor a mouth to speak from. A smooth, glossy surface that reflects your bruised face.

“Who the hell are you?” you hissed. Your warped reflection moves, highlighting the swollen jaw and caked blood across your face. “Did you purposefully lure me out here? Am I some unlucky passerby you just so happen to choose for your sick little game?”

The figure takes a few, slow steps towards you. The way his body moves seems streamlined; no unnecessary sway of his arms when he stands still nor any miniscule movement of his chest to indicate that he’s breathing.

When he speaks, it’s calm, barely passing a whisper. Still, you hear it loud and clear. “We know what you are. Where you are from. What you will become. You will come to shape my past; I too shall shape yours. You will fight me, here in this city. It would mark the beginning of the end.”

“End of what?” you demand. You try to shake off the way his tone makes the hair at the back of your neck raise. The total resolve of his voice, as if whatever you do will make no difference.

“The end of everything.”

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