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deltas-writing-corner · 3 years

Text

No regrets

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Sukuna x reader (reader is referred to with gender neutral pronouns, but there are slight implications of them being AFAB)

Author note: At a whooping 11.5k words, it’s finally here! Thank you all for your patience as well as those who gave feedback during the initial interest check! I hope the wait was worth it and you enjoy this long piece! A bit of forewarning, this piece is rather dark, so please read the content warnings carefully and only proceed if you are comfortable doing so.

Revisions made on 3/30/2021

Minors do not read/interact with this post!

Heian era

It was only a matter of time before the king of curses came to your village and slaughtered you all. It was inevitable, but the village elders were determined to hand over every last scrap of fabric and goods if it satiated the cursed being for a short while, knowing the all powerful curse was an indulgent one. Your village was a well known trading settlement, so gathering and setting aside the best of the best on the market was rather easy with all the merchants coming in and out of the town nearly every day.

Your family specialized in sword crafting, often forging or repairing swords for soldiers or aristocratic families who merely collected them as works of art. Your father taught you a bit of the craft and a few seasoned samurai humoured you and taught you some forms while they awaited repairs, but you mostly spent time helping your mother around your quaint home. Your days with them were peaceful, even with the ever looming and expected arrival of Ryomen Sukuna blanketing your people with constant fear.

The day finally came, yet all the preparations you and your people took to secure a better chance of survival still didn’t feel like it was enough as the four-armed monster of a man easily destroyed several houses with a mere flick of his hand and cut down several innocent individuals who fled last minute due to their anxiety getting the better of them. He was at least willing to see all that was being offered to him when it was made clear your people were not going down without trying their luck, but that sadistic smile of his was all the proof everyone needed to know that their careful efforts meant nothing.

Your village elders remained determined, and to the shock of you and your parents, they grabbed you and offered you up as one final offering. You were young, the youngest in the village in fact, and unmarried too. A perfect candidate for Sukuna’s harem and they knew this when they turned and grabbed you without a second thought. You still remember the way your mother began to smack your elders with her shoe when they yanked you away from her and your father’s side. Bless her heart.

Perhaps a part of you knew that your status as the youngest would be taken advantage of if things weren’t working out. Sukuna’s harem was only a rumor, scary gossip whispered amongst the housewives. Yet the idea of a monster like him having a harem didn’t seem so farfetched. You knew better than to question the validity of the lucky few who got away and were displaced because of Sukuna’s village razing and massacring.

Whether he accepted the last second addition to the offer pile or killed every single one of you right then and there, you accepted that your life would never return to how it once was before he came. You didn’t make so much as a peep of discomfort when the brute began to manhandle you, pulling back parts of your clothes away from your body to inspect you in front of the entire village, in front of your distraught parents. You didn’t wince in pain when he roughly grabbed your cheek between two of his meaty fingers and examined your face like you were merely a piece of art, an object. You just went completely numb.

Everyone, including yourself, was shocked when he agreed to take you along with all the goods your village offered, but not without ordering them to prepare another pile for his followers to collect every following month from now on. He made it clear that if they held back a single grain of rice or gave him anything else but the best, he’d send your body back to them in a bloody sack before reuniting them with you in the afterlife shortly after.

As the king of curses hauled you away like a sack of potatoes, your emotions came flooding back in. You kicked, scream, cried and begged like a moody toddler for your mom and dad to help you, to not let this monster take you away and do know who knows what to you. The last you see of them before you’re forcefully knocked out is your mother suddenly collapsing on the ground like all the energy she had just left her body instantaneously. Your brawny father seemed equally at a loss as well.

When you were brought back to Sukuna’s temple, you were hauled away by servants after he unceremoniously dropped you on the ground and retreated to his chambers. You were thoroughly bathed, skin rubbed raw of outside filth and dressed into a fresh new robe before being whisked away to Sukuna’s quarters by his demand.

That first week under his roof was meant to break you, but for some reason you kept fighting back because of something a bit stupid. You wanted to keep your old clothes the maids forced you out of and you wouldn’t shut up or keep still under him no matter how much he harmed or degraded you. You don’t know why you kept pushing back against him over something so meager. The fabric wasn’t anything that fancy. The color was faded and you were even beginning to outgrow them. It’s the only memento you have of your home, so maybe that’s why your mind zeroed in on it and refused to yield to his torturous ministrations until you made certain it wouldn’t be taken away from you.

“Again with those rags you call a kimono?” he clicked his tongue with annoyance. “You want to keep them so badly? Fine, but don’t think I’ll be so accommodating next time.”

Living in a merchant town, you know how to tell when someone is trying to swindle you. As much as you hate the man who has been violating your body for literal days now, you can tell that he means what he has stated.

When you finally relax your body, he lets out a disgustingly child-like cackle, but before you can express any sort of rage that bubbled up within yourself, your mind goes numb once more if only to alleviate the pain you’re in just a bit.

There are two types of fates for those in Sukuna’s harem. There are the favoured concubines, who live relatively better than the disfavoured, who are made into servants. Of course, this is all a meticulous set up by the king of curses himself. Those he shows higher favoritism towards are desperate to remain in his good graces if only to make their way of living that bit easier to bear. Those he turns into lowly servants and brushes aside are desperate to rise above their rank and gain the privilege and spoils he grants to the selected few. It’s all an elaborate plan to instill discord between members of his harem so he can sit back and watch them tear each other apart without lifting a finger.

Your fighting back was what earned you an automatic spot amongst his favoured. He thought he had broken you, but just as soon as you yielded to him you flared up and began to fight back once more. It was invigorating, seeing the rage and desperation in your eyes when you were quiet and had a distant, blank look just moments before. How long had it been since a human raised their fist against him? Far too long for him to remember.

You were an outlier. Where all would refuse to meet his gaze whenever he passed through, you would always meet and hold his gaze without fail or hesitation. You talked back, cursing him a thousand ways into the next phase of the moon. You never bowed when others did. Never.

Your disobedience gave him plenty of reasons to drag you to his chambers and attempt to break you once more, only for you to shut your mind down as soon as you were thrown into his bed. Perhaps it's a defense mechanism? A way of trying to disassociate from all the rough treatment you endure under him? A part of him is grateful you aren’t like the others, that you’ve come up with a way of protecting yourself while the others around you, who give into the despair and hopelessness he brings them or lie to themselves that he holds some sort of affection towards them, if only to find some sort of hope through this hell even if it means lying to yourself. Both of which bore him immensely as well as annoy him greatly.

It’s sudden and neither of you can recall when it began, but after he was done having his way with you and you regained your sense of reality and would devolve into the usual episode of flailing rage and crying, he began to hold you against him and whisper soothing phrases like “good job” or “It’s over, you did well”. He kept his many arms wrapped around your shaking figure, waiting for you to eventually exhaust yourself and pass out before doing so himself. When the sun rises you are always gone from his chambers. How you manage to escape right from under him is a mystery, but he doesn’t have much of a desire to ask you about it. He likes waking up surprised. Hardly anything surprises him anymore.

It becomes clear to everyone that Sukuna acts differently towards you, treats you differently than the rest of his concubines. There are even periods of time where the rest of his harem is given little to no attention because he’s completely focused on you. The time he spends with you isn’t anything kind or relieving. He purposely says things that offend you and have you screaming at him. Should anyone else say what you say to him in return, he’d rip their tongues out and swallow it before their very eyes without any remorse. But you? He’s smiling down at you, as if you were an actor entertaining him with an elaborate and well-rehearsed performance.

“Damn you! Damn this temple! Damn your ancestors for existing and bringing you into this world!”

“Yes, that’s the spirit!” he gives you a toothy grin, his sharp canines glinting under the light of the sun. “Damn me and damn the rest of the world for that matter!”

His encouragement only infuriates you more. Without a second thought you began to throw whatever it is you can get your hands on at him. Your comb, your shoes, your untouched makeup products, anything in sight is hauled at the deranged man who dodges everything with ease. Just as you throw a jar of ink at his head and it shatters against the way, bathing the wood with dark ink, he grabs you and you both tumble back into your unmade futon.

As usual, you thrash and voice your disdain as he presses his lips against your neck and aggressively undresses you. He’s high off the adrenaline from earlier, making his ministrations much more excruciating than they normally are.

To him, it feels like a passionate session of lovemaking and he’s left light headed when he finishes.

For you, it’s just another day under his reign and body, your mind going numb as soon as he puts you on your hands and knees.

Just as quickly as he gave you most of his attention, he turned away and left you in the dust.

You have been his concubine for over a year when it happens. Your village continues to uphold their end of their deal and provide him with all the luxurious goods they can get their hands on each month. You’re not sure if he’s trying to torture you more or genuinely thinks he’s bringing you some sense of comfort and calm, but he personally brings you a small bunch of fabrics and trinkets that your father specifically went out of his way to get for you, hoping you would receive them somehow as a reminder that he still thinks of you. It’s during these small moments of Sukuna passing on these items that you learn that your mother passed after you were taken.

You didn’t shed even one tear when this information was given to you, as a part of you knew that was the case after you saw her collapse. Sukuna expected you to fly into another fit of rage. That was the only reason he told you if he’s being honest. He’s caught between feeling disappointed or worried when you just hummed in acknowledgement as you rolled up the soft, intricate rolls of fabric and stored them away. You never did anything with them, so they were sure to collect a layer of dust like the rest in due time

No one, not even Sukuna or even yourself, expected your village to take up arms and fight back against the followers he sent out to collect his offerings. When word came back of what transpired, Sukuna was tempted to take you with him and force you to watch as he slaughtered your village in retaliation for breaking the accord. He didn’t, nor did he send back your disfigured corpse like he promised he would back then. He simply went out, killed them, and then came right back to wash off all their spilled blood. All within the same day.

After he killed all the villagers, he attempted to locate your father amongst the scattered corpses, but they were too mutilated and disfigured to discern who was who. Even if they weren’t, it’s not like he remembered what your father looked like. Did you even bear any resemblance to him? He overheard you speaking with one of the other concubines that your father was an armorer and was tempted to grab one of the expertly crafted swords the villagers were carrying and bring it back to you, blood and all staining the scabbard. He decided against it.

He’s demoted many concubines, all with the purpose of watching them try to regain the meager luxury and privilege they grew accustomed to. He did the same for you, eager to see you break character and come crawling back to him with pitiful desperation.

A part of him knew that it wouldn’t take much effort on your part to have him changing his mind. He’d easily forgive you for the betrayal of your village. All you had to do was put on a show and give him the entertainment he wanted from you. You can kick and scream and deny him all you want, but he’s broken many people like you before. He’s had you under his spell since day one.

Except, you didn’t do anything. When he sent you to live within the overcrowded servants chambers near the far end of his temple, you never put up any sort of fight or caused a scene. Not even when he gave away all the fabrics your father sent you to the other favoured concubines, going as far as to force them to wear the garments whenever and wherever your presence is at. He waited with giddy for someone to inform him of how you lashed out at another girl and attempted to rip the cloth off of her body because they were wearing the fabrics meant for you. But there was nothing from you.

When he dragged you to his quarter and began to violate you like normal, he forced himself to brag and even fabricate details of the day he slaughtered the people from your village. He even lied about how your father asked about you before he was killed, falsely stating that the man had a smile on his face when Sukuna told him that you received all the goods he selected just for you.

Like always, your mind went blank until he finished. There were no twisted words of comfort afterwards like before. He simply ordered you out once he was done, one final attempt to invoke something out of you. You merely redressed and left in silence. He nearly got up and dragged you back, but once again, he decided against it.

One day he ordered a few men to build a crude looking home out back, detached from the main temple, and have you moved in it upon completion. If his normal efforts won’t elicit the usual reaction out of you, then he’ll take a different approach. He’ll deprive you of everything, social interaction, decent and consistent meals, and a stable shelter. He’ll have you isolated for a short while, after which he will visit you out of pity and revel in the sight of you crawling back into his arms. If the time he forces you alone is not enough to break you, he’ll simply extend your stay until you either give him what he wants or die because of your own stubbornness.

It hasn’t even been a day since you’ve been moved from the servant's chamber to your new quarters, and already he’s come to visit you. Within the same breath that tells you that your only other option besides begging for his forgiveness is to rot away in this poorly made shack, he gives you one final chance to change his mind, to beg him to take you back into his good graces.

The tatami is poorly crafted and discolored. The rafters used to construct the frame of the house already show signs of rotting and water damage. Before he allowed himself in, the tiles on the roof appeared to be hastily made and were not properly laid out. It was lightly raining outside, yet you already have a wooden bucket set up to collect leaking water.

“Can I help you?” you ask without glancing over your shoulder. He smirks at the thought of you knowing who he is by presence alone.

“No,” he smugly answers. “But maybe I can help you?”

You look back over to him with a mean glare. “You’re the one that put me here in the first place.”

“No, I didn’t,” he shakes his head to further cement his point. “You’re in here because your people thought they stood a chance against me and broke our agreement. Killing you would be an act of mercy to them. So long as I keep you alive and slowly torture you in both mind and body, they will never know peace.”

“You’re lying,” you say with certainty, with no fear. “I’ve never lied to you once. I would appreciate it if I can at least be given the same courtesy in return.”

He hates when people demand things from. Most importantly, he hates that you’re right. Your neck is always so small within his grasp, his fingers able to meet and fold over one another without strain. He keeps you suspended in the air just enough to where you can balance yourself on the balls of your feet. Whether you were tall or short, it mattered not. He always towered over you like the predator that he is.

“You want to know why you’re in this shitty home?” he sneers down. “You’re in here because you’ve begun to bore me. You amused me so much before, but the moment you started depriving me of my source of entertainment on purpose is the moment I decide to deprive you of your basic needs in return. I take what I want, when I want it, in whichever quantity I desire.

“You want out of here?” He makes a sweeping gesture around the room. “Then you better press your forehead all the way to the floor and beg for me to take you back. I’ll even tell you the exact words you need to say. ‘Please Sukuna-sama. Please allow me the privilege of sleeping under the same roof as you. Please let me breathe the same air as you.’”

He lets you go and grins when you prostrate after regaining your breathe.

“Please Sukuna-sama,” you beg.

“Please what?” he mocks. “Use your words.”

He feels a vein pop out on his forehead when you dare to look up and look at him with yet another angry grin. Without an ounce of hesitation, you say, “Please get out and leave me be.”

He nearly breaks the door from how hard he slams it shut. He abruptly turns around when he hears a roof tile fall over and splat into the muddy dirt. Those followers of his really built you a shitty home, exactly like he ordered them to do.

He feels the urge to gather them and wring their necks one by one, but he doesn’t know why.

Sukuna can’t sleep during those weeks apart. Not because of you, but because right as he drifts off into slumber he’s abruptly woken up by an intense source of cursed energy flaring up out of nowhere. But just as quickly as he feels it and wakes with a startle, it vanishes without a trace. He’ll go out onto his balcony and try to locate where the energy is coming from, but for some reason he can never pinpoint it despite his superior senses. He tries to suppress his own energy in the hopes of tricking the source into thinking he’s asleep and unsuspecting, but it would seem that they’re smart enough not to fall for the bait.

He doesn’t need sleep in the first place, so he’s tempted to just stay up and catch whoever is trying to scare him red handed and be done with them. The idea of someone getting the upper hand at him and forcing him into a position of defensiveness doesn’t sit well with him, so he decides to just let the unknown person have their fun for now and continue this little back and forth with them. Eventually they’ll grow cocky and slip up and he’ll confront them when it happens.

Because your little shack is located near the back of the temple, completely out of sight from Sukuna’s view from his balcony, Neither he nor the others notice the plumes of smoke that rise during the dead of night. No one also takes notice of the bits of metal that go missing throughout the temple.

The rise of the next full moon indicates the end of the month. Sukuna sends for someone to go retrieve you, but they never return and he’s left waiting long enough for the moon to reach its highest peak in the sky. When he orders someone else into his quarters he’s met with more silence that only further enrages him.

Just as he’s about to call for Uraume to figure out what the hell was wrong with his servants, he feels it. The cursed energy that he’s been trying to catch off guard the last few weeks. It’s willingly making itself known, practically begging him to follow its trail and meet with him. Just as quickly as he is able to identify and figure out which direction it’s originating, he notices that it strangely leads him in the direction of your poorly built home.

It’s impossible that it’s you. Cursed energy is born from negative emotions. He’s sure you still have an abundance of negative feelings towards him. Yet never did he feel even a speck of cursed energy resonate off of you. His mind immediately wonders if the individual knows of his strange obsession over you and is using you as bait. It’s foolish on their part, thinking the king of curses would yield for a mere human.

His pace quickens despite his internal dismissal, failing to notice that everyone is hiding and waiting in anticipation.

When he discovers that the cursed energy is indeed from you, he can’t help but to laugh like a crazed hyena. The sword by your side further amuses him and he’s genuinely curious as to how you got the proper materials to craft it.

“It took a bit of convincing,” you willingly answer his question. “I made everyone believe I could stand a chance against you and they gave me all the materials and tools I needed and looked the other way. I guess watching all those traveling merchants try to hype up their goods came in handy after all,” you look out in the distance as you briefly reminisce on the bygone days of your former life.

He begins to slowly clap with one pair of hands, the other crossed over his chest in amusement. “This is by far the most entertaining performance I’ve ever witnessed. Bravo. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

“I’d gladly accept the compliment, except this isn’t a show,” you stand to your full height and get a better grip of the hilt of your sword. “It’s the real deal.”

He erupts into yet another cacophony of wild laughter. “Do you seriously think you can kill me?”

“No,” you answer, truly throwing him off guard by the way he goes still so suddenly. “But that’s alright. I’m fine with never being strong enough to put a permanent end to you. Only one of us will be walking away from this fight, and I assure you that it’s going to be me.”

You draw your blade out and get into a low, defensive stance. Even under the lackluster light of the moon, he can see how well crafted your weapon is. He’s reminded of the craftsmanship the weapons your people carried when he slaughtered them, no better than a bunch of wooden sticks against him either way. Immediately, he regrets not bringing back one of their weapons and forcing you to expose to him your knowledge of swordsmanship and blacksmithing. Perhaps then he could have had you brandishing your blade under his command rather than against him.

Oh well, it’s better this way. It’s just as exhilarating and head swirling as those instances where you damned him with all of your being and threw things at his head. No, it’s more than exhilarating. It’s downright intoxicating seeing you readying yourself for his first move. How sweet of you to allow him the honor to make the first strike.

“You truly are something else entirely, beloved,” he dreamily sighs. “Did you honestly think you’d have the upperhand against me just because I gave you a little bit more of my attention?”

“Never,” you reply. You press your eyelids shut for a moment, and the moment you open them up the layer of dissociative numbness vanishes into a look of total focus and emotions he cannot discern. “But whether I live or die, I have no regrets about tonight.”

You really didn’t have enough strength to kill him. However, you did have enough to dismember all twenty of his fingers and seal him away. For the first time in years, the sun rises and bestows its warmth to a world in which two-faced Sukuna does not instill fear upon humanity or stain the earth in their blood. You and those who were under his servitude walk out of his temple as free people, hopeful people. As an act of gratitude for becoming their savior, nineteen others take one of Sukuna’s fingers each and swear to scatter them as far as they can so he cannot be brought back into the world.

As for yourself, you set out to rebuild your destroyed village and take up your father’s legacy as a maker of swords. Eventually you meet and settle down with a loving partner and raise children together. You pass on the family trade, your self developed cursed technique, as well as the memories of your time as Sukuna’s concubine. Those who come after you continue to carry on your will, to ensure that Sukuna can never be reborn into the world. Your sword and the old robes you kept after you were taken away are passed down as family heirlooms, but they are never used by any of your descendants.

That is until the year 2018, when Sukuna is resurrected within a compatible vessel.

Modern era

You bear not only a striking resemblance to your ancestor, but many of their memories as well. The family sword that was used against the king of curses is bestowed upon you, now dubbed the next in line to claim the title of clan leader, their preserved kimono now fashioned into a sageo that wraps around the scabbard.

Your family stays out of most affairs within the jujutsu world, but your birth and the strong connection to your ancestor eventually reaches the ears of many prominent figures within this hidden society. They think your birth a bad omen, a sign that the king of curses may return to the world one day. Most are scared, but your family pays them no attention. Even if the damnable curse did find a way to revive into the world, you and most of your family members who have inherited your ancestor’s technique will oppose him just as they did a thousand years ago.

“You don’t look too concerned,” Gojo makes his observation known to you as soon as the two of you settle in the small private room you ushered him to when he came to your family estate. He wanted to confirm the news of Sukuna’s resurrection to you himself. “None of you do, actually.”

“We all knew this day would come,” you calmly tell him as you poured him a cup of tea. “This is the risk our ancestor took when they developed their technique. In exchange for the strength and ability to seal Sukuna away, they willingly gave up the ability to deliver him a fatal and final blow against him.”

“I’m not well-versed when it comes to binding vows and heavenly restrictions,” he takes a moment of pause to sip his now cooled tea, visibly showing his disdain over it’s bitterness. “But is giving up the satisfaction of killing him really a fair exchange for a specific technique and a bit of cursed energy?”

Your lips pressed together in a grimace. “You have no idea what it was like living underneath that monster’s reign. Even if the binding vow had odd conditions skewed against their favor, every bit of what was given up was worth it if it meant regaining their freedom.”

Gojo isn’t moved or even impressed by your admittance. He simply shrugs before taking another sip of his tea, face contorting in displeasure once again as he forces himself to swallow the green liquid. You’re tempted to ask him why he keeps sipping if he hates the flavor, but he begins speaking again before you can voice your thoughts.

“So, about the vessel,” he leans against his closed fist, propped up by the low table underneath him. “The higher ups are willing to postpone the kid’s execution in favor of the opportunity to kill Sukuna, but they want someone from your family, preferably you, to be his second shadow so to speak. You’re the failsafe in case the plan doesn’t play out like I promised and the curse needs to be sealed again.”

“Sukuna’s vessel...is a child?” you ask incredulously.

“He’s about your age,” Gojo admits with a displaced smile, but it soon falls once you suddenly erupt into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

“That’s priceless!” you say while wiping away a stray tear. “The king of curses, Ryomen Sukuna, stuck inside some teenager’s body? I bet he’s pissed off and swearing up a storm inside the kid!”

You’re not sure who exactly is getting the most amusement at the turn of events, you or your ancestor from beyond the grave. After your laughing fit subsides and you straighten yourself out, you turn back to Gojo to ask him the burning question.

“So when do I get to meet him?”

Itadori Yuuji is the polar opposite of Sukuna. While Sukuna had a smile that both angered and scared your ancestor and those around him, Yuuji’s was like a literal ray of sunshine. He’s nice, energetic, strong willed and even humorous. You’re honestly surprised he can act so hopeful despite all that’s happened to him and has been forced upon his shoulders.

You’re not going to lie, but you honestly expected a timid and somewhat gloomy kid. Someone easy to manipulate to put it bluntly. Yuuji’s friendly personality is welcomed in your book. Though you admit that now that you’ve exchanged a few words with him, you feel bad and pitiful that he’s been marked for death and likely has to deal with Sukuna on a somewhat regular basis.

As Yuuji rambles to you about some childhood incident, the slits underneath his eyes open up and a familiar pair of red eyes meets your gaze. “It’s you,” the manifested mouth on the side of his cheek morphs into a deranged, toothy grin that is so painstakingly recognizable.

Your heartbeat picks up and your palms are coated with an instantaneous layer of nervous sweat. You contemplate saying something or simply ignoring the curse, not wanting to give him any satisfaction of hearing the voice of your ancestor acknowledge him in any way. Before you can come to any consensus, you’re amazed at how Yuuji easily slaps his hand over his cheek and tells the curse to buzz off.

Itadori further cements that he is Sukuna’s antithesis as he goes out of his way to apologize to you for the inconvenience the curse caused you (How could he tell you became nervous when Sukuna spoke only two words at you?) He even brings you a can of soda as a sort of peace offering/token of forgiveness! You’re grateful for the gesture, but you feel bad for letting him think that he’s at fault for something that wasn’t even that big of a deal to begin with.

“Still, I made you upset,” he looks down to his empty can and pouts. “If you don’t want to be around me-”

“Yuuji,” you interrupt him. “I’m fine, really. My ancestor stood their ground against him once. Surely I can do it again a millennium later.”

“Gojo-sensei was telling me about that!” his eyes sparkle with recollection. “That’s so cool! You’re basically his arch nemesis!”

You awkwardly laugh at his enthusiasm. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“So, Senpai,” he looks at your with a hopeful gaze. “Gojo-sensei seems pretty certain this plan of his will work, but what do you think?”

“Well,” you take a quick sip of your drink before continuing. “Before I tell you what I think about this whole debacle, I need to make a few things thing clear regarding the two of us.”

He obediently nods, face now serious, though it takes you a considerable amount of effort not to laugh from how innocent he still looks. It’s hard to believe he’s housing the king of curses within himself.

“First and foremost, don’t call me Senpai! ” you firmly say. Don’t call me by my family name either. We’re about the same age, so just call me by my first name from now on. Understood?”

“First name, got it!”

“Second,” you put up two fingers. “This is the most important point, so pay attention,” you look at him to make sure he’s ready to commit your words into memory. “Whether the plan works out or not, you must never forget one important fact of the matter. You are not Sukuna.”

He flinches, clearly not expecting such words to be directed towards him.

“I’m sure Gojo whipped up some epic tale about my ancestor’s grudge against that two-faced monster. I not only inherited their technique, but also many of their memories during their initial life. In a way, I suppose I hate Sukuna as well, and based on my reaction from earlier when he popped out, I’m not exactly going to handle moments where he gains control with as much poise as I should.

But remember Yuuji. My discomfort will never be towards you, but the curse you are now bound to,” you reach out and pat his head in assurance. “As the saying goes ‘the enemy of my enemy is a friend.’ Which brings me to my final point!” You excitedly profess. “I want us to be friends!”

“Wait, really?” he sounds almost unsure over your insistence. “I mean, I don’t mind, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to put up with me for my sake.”

“I’m not saying we have to be the best of friends” you explain. “Since we’re going to be around each other so often, I at least want us to be on friendly terms. I want your time left in this world to be as enjoyable and carefree as possible.”

“I guess we can be friends,” he crosses his arms and stares off in deep thought. “I’m just trying to think of a good starting point to get to know you.”

“You can always keep it simple and ask me what I like,” you say, laughing at the way he suddenly has an “ah hah!’ moment and looks at you like an excited puppy.

“Do you like Jennifer Lawrence?”

Yuuji is almost offended that you didn’t know who Jennifer Lawrence is. He was utterly flabbergasted that you haven’t watched any of her movies either (“I don’t even know who she is Yuuji how the hell am I supposed to know she was in movies?”). He went on and on about every single film, but if you’re being honest his 2 minute summaries (infodumping, really) of the plots didn’t really do them justice. Out of nowhere he proposes that you and him have a movie night so he can show you exactly what you’re missing! Of course, it’ll have to be after the two of you settle into your dorm rooms.

It’s true that you were offered immediate admission into Tokyo Technical college due to your lineage, but no one but you and your family knew about this. Gojo also knew. He was the one that brought up the idea in the first place…

Oh, Gojo told him. Well now you just feel stupid.

That’s how you found yourself in the dormitory’s common area with Yuuji and your other classmates, Nobara and Megumi. Meeting them wasn’t that bad. Just kidding, it was terrifying! Megumi looks exactly the way your family often describes members of the Zen’in clan to look like, blank and unnerving. You honestly thought Nobara would beat you up just from the way she was looking at you with such an observing glare, completely forgetting the fact that you’re a descendant of the person who single handedly sealed Sukuna away.

Oh yeah, Yuuji told them that! Was he not supposed to?

“Hah?” Nobara scowls at Yuuji, who puts his hands up in defense. “You mean their old ass grandparent turned that ugly ass curse into bite sized pieces?”

“I did,” you answer, but you quickly catch your mistake and correct yourself. “They did. Along with the sword they used to cut Sukuna down I also inherited most of their memories which is...It’s not as pleasant as you would think.”

Her expression softens up a bit and she steps in front of you. She holds out her palm and makes a beckoning gesture. “The sword,” she clarifies when you look at her with confusion. “Let me hold it.”

You make a quick trip back to your room to retrieve it. She nearly doubles over into you once you pass it over to her.

“Damn! How much does this thing weigh?!” she looks at you with disbelief

“It weighs next to nothing whenever I hold it,” you explain, taking it into your hold and tossing it in the air and twirling it around to further drive your point.

“Bullshit! It’s like 50 pounds!”

“It can’t be that bad,” Megumi comments.

“Oh yeah? Here!” Nobara grabs and tosses it at him, much to your dismay. “See?” she shrills when he nearly doubles over himself. “It’s heavy!”

“Yeah, ok. This is definitely the sword that took down Sukuna,” Megumi gasps.

“My turn! My turn!” Yuuji makes grabby hands, but you push yourself between him and Megumi who’s still holding onto it before he can get too close.

“It’s probably best if you don’t touch it. Y’know?” you point back and forth between him and you.

“Oh, right,” he sheepishly remembers. “Crap, the popcorns gonna get cold!”

You sigh in relief when his attention goes elsewhere before quickly heading back to your room to put the weapon away. When you reenter the lounge, Yuuji greets you with a cheery smile before patting the empty space next to him. He wants you to sit beside him, but Nobara seems to have other plans as she sits right in your intended spot and tells you to sit next to her instead. You were honestly scared and a bit reluctant, but your fears subside once you sat down and she locked her arm with yours and leaned her head on your shoulder for the rest of the night.

She and Megumi eventually retreated back to their rooms before they could fall asleep on the couch after the second movie concludes.

“Do you want to keep going?” Yuuji asked, hands fidgeting with the next DVD case he had at the ready.

“Sure,” you nod, not tired in the slightest just yet.

“Sweet!” he gave you a toothy smile before standing up to head towards the dvd player. However, the moment he stood to his full height he went deathly still. His body contorts before swiftly relaxing. He rolls his neck a few times and lets out a relieved sigh. Before you can ask him what’s wrong, that’s when you feel that disgusting familiar aura and your heart starts beating like you just did a triathlon in a few short minutes.

“Finally, some fresh air,” he sighs in relief as he arches his back and his spine lets out a few crisp pops. His voice hasn’t changed in a thousand years and neither has your fear and disdain for it. When he turns and looks at you with those familiar blood colored irises, you involuntarily reach out to grab your weapon, but you only grab at empty air.

“Hey,” you flinch when he addresses you. No, it’s not you he’s talking to. Given your identical appearance and even your cursed energy that you manifested out of habit, in his mind he must think of you as your ancestor themself, not a distant descendant. “It’s been a while.”

“What do you want?” you somehow manage to stutter out.

“Nothing,” he admits. “’Just want a good look at you.”

If your ancestor or even your family were to see you now, you’re certain they’d be disappointed in you for going still before your greatest enemy. All those years of hating and experiencing all those horrible memories feel like a complete waste when you can’t even muster the strength to bat his hand away when it takes hold of your chin and turns your head over for him to thoroughly inspect you.

“Did you miss me?” he strangely inquires.

Finally. You feel some control over your body come back and answer with an affirmative, “No.”

“That’s too bad,” he clicks his tongue with mocking dissatisfaction. “Because I missed you.”

His face begins to lean into you, lips slightly parted, and you know that he’s going in to press them against yours. Just as you’re about to gather all the strength you can muster and push him away, his body seizes once more and the black markings cross his face and wrists begin to fade and crumble away. An in-control-again Yuuji blinks a few times before checking his surroundings to regain his bearings.

“What happened?” he looks down at you and asks, not registering the fact that he was kneeling over you and firmly pushing you back against the couch with a painful grip.

A part of you wanted to punch Yuuji and run back to your room so you can wait out the slight panic attack that overcame you once Sukuna vanished, but you had to remind yourself that you would be hurting Yuuji if you went through with your action. In all honesty, that second point you told him of remembering to never think of himself as Sukuna was more for you than for him. While your ancestor would willingingly strike down any and all who have the slightest bit of affiliation with their tormentor, you are not them. Therefore, you will not stoop down to their discriminating level, no matter how justified it may be.

The night ended on an expected awkward note. Yuuji, bless his heart, went out of his way again to make it up to you. How? He bought a bunch of snacks from a convenience store in the city and gave them to you in a pretty, gift wrapped box. Nobara and Megumi, who helped him put together the forgiveness present, thought the gift itself was dumb and lackluster, but he reasons with them by stating how you also come from a countryside town as well and how you’d definitely like to try some of the Tokyo-exclusive goodies.

Well, the way towards another’s forgiveness is through the stomach, or something like that. The exact quote is a bit lost to you since you’re too busy savoring all the odd flavored chips and candies you’ve never had the chance to taste back home. Nobara and Megumi feel the immense urge to punch you in the back of your head over how easy you are to win over, but you look so happy eating your second bag of potato chips and Yuuji looks very relieved that he’s earned your forgiveness-

Oh wow you’re offering to share your snacks with them? Don't mind if they do!

While all of you try each and every snack Yuuji gifted to you and rate them like you’re all a bunch of snack experts all of a sudden, Sukuna is brewing in his own satisfaction as he watches you through the eyes of his vessel. Nevermind the fact that you sealed him away all those years ago. He’s back now by a stroke of luck that only seemed to strike again when he saw your familiar figure through Yuuji’s vision. The cursed energy that radiated off of you, the sword you carried by your side, even your face, there was no doubt in his mind that it was the work of fate that you and him were reunited in this new era.

He made the mistake of letting you out of his sight back then, and he isn’t going to let it happen again. He wants to take control over his vessel's body each and every time he’s anywhere within your vicinity, but not only does the brat have the convenient ability to suppress him, you’re a rather cautious one. Just when he thinks Yuuji to be alone and susceptible, you appear out of thin air and keep him at a standstill from within. It’s annoying, but at the same time impressive as well.

While you may be oblivious to his vessel’s budding feelings towards you, he sees this growing fondness Yuuji is beginning to garner towards you as an opportunity, a weakness he can exploit to force a small rematch between you and him. He won’t kill you. He just wants to know if your technique that surprised and caught him off guard back then still elicits the same thrill it did then.

You are his favorite source of entertainment after all, and it’s been far too long since he’s been amused.

Sloppy and desperate. Those are the best descriptors of your cursed energy the first time he detected it. Your sword still remains as beautiful and deadly as it was, cutting through rows of trees with ease with just the slightest bit of cursed energy embedded into your attack. It makes the phantom sensation of his vessel’s freshly ripped out heart, beat faster and his grin widens to the point of his cheeks hurting from the uncontrollable strain.

Precise and brutal. That is how he would describe your energy now. He easily feels the hatred and sudden rage that began to fuel and flare up your aura oozing out of you that only further accentuates its new characteristics. Normally, you would be swearing at him with a mouth so foul that it would make the average curse blush in embarrassment. He can’t say he likes the way you silently assault him. Where is that crude vocabulary of yours?

“Senpai!” Megumi shouts for your attention as he tries to keep up with your fast paced exchange with Sukuna. “You need to call down-”

“Megumi, don’t call me your damn Senpai!” You shout in response, eyes never daring to look away from Sukuna even as you address your classmate.

“That’s more like it!” he cheers with satisfaction. “Oh, how I’ve missed your damning words beloved.”

“Don’t call me that!” you shout as you swing your right arm and impulsively punch him. He easily blocks your melee, though you send him skidding back a few feet.

With the much needed space set between the two of you, you correct your stance to a more defensive one. Your innate technique has been actively running ever since Sukuna took over Yuuji’s body and activated his domain expansion. Your sudden bout of rage overwhelmed you after witnessing Sukuna rip Yuuji’s heart out, nearly forgetting that you’ve been barred from the ability to inflict any lasting damage against him in your frenzied state.

Your inherited technique allows you to perfectly parry his ‘Dismantle’ and ‘Cleave’, but no damage will be inflicted if you purposely strike with the intention of dealing a lethal blow as you have been for the past few minutes. Your sword is blunt upon contact, evident by the lack of any lacerations upon his skin.

He may have offered the chance to heal Yuuji if you agreed to spar with him, but you know better than anyone that it’s all a bunch of lies coming out of his stolen lips. Yuuji was lost the moment Sukuna came out and set his sight on you, or rather, who he believes you to be. You’d easily blame yourself for being the cause of his demise, but you also know that Yuuji wouldn’t like it if you blame yourself over this from the afterlife.

The least you can do to make it up to him is bring his body back so it can be properly cremated. He at least deserves a proper funeral.

“All tuckered out already?” Sukuna mockingly coos at you. “I suppose that’s to be expected. How long has it been since our last battle? I doubt there was any curse who could live up to my strength this past millennium.” He cackles when you don’t reply. He’s right. He knows he is.

You finally break your silence with an odd comment. “You really think I’m them, do you?”

Though obviously rhetoric, Sukuna gives you a questioning look. “Elaborate,” he commands.

“I’m not who you think I am,” you simply state. “I have the same technique as them, but I am not the one who sealed you away that fateful night. That person is my predecessor, while I am their descendant.”

You state your family name, then your first name, and wait. He willingly takes in this information, cupping his chin and looking up at the sky as he mulls it over before coming to his own conclusion. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t seem to accept it as the truth, evident by the way he slips his hands back in his pockets and cocks his head at you with a playful attitude.

“Whatever the punchline was, I’m afraid it fell flat,” he lets out a sympathetic laugh. “You mean to tell me that after I was sealed away, you found yourself a spouse willing to take you, a washed up whore, into their bosom and bear children with you?”

The way he shakes his head and clicks his tongue in a dismissive manner pisses you off more than watching him crush Yuuji’s heart in his bare hand. Most of the memories of your ancestor revolve around their time as one of Sukuna’s concubines. The memories you have of their life afterwards are foggy at best, but you do remember the feeling of peace as well an overwhelming amount of bliss and mutual love their spouse gave them despite their history. It was one of the happiest moments of their life and it never once faltered even after they retold their darkest memories to their children and handed down their initial will, to always oppose the king of curses, no matter the era.

People may think it cruel, selfish even, that they did not strive to develop a better technique and pass down such a heavy responsibility to their children and their children’s children. But if there’s anything those hazy memories taught you, is that they do not regret the efforts that they did make to set themselves, and the others under his servitude, free from his tyranny. Had they submitted and gave into his whims, they would have never been blessed with their children and loving spouse.

Had they not done what they did, acted the way they did, you would not be here, opposing the king of curses within this new era of curses.

“I have never lied to you,” you repeat those now ancient words. “The least you can do is give me the benefit of the doubt before dubbing me a liar.”

It happened so fast that you question if it even happened or not. His eyebrows furrowed, the exact same manner when your ancestor severed the first of his twenty fingers on that fateful night.

When he began to approach you, you sheath your blade and returned to a neutral stance, feeling safe to do so as the previous hostile energy he exuded calms. Megumi stumbles in just in time to see Sukuna and you standing nearly chest to chest. He presses his palms together in preparation to summon one of his shikigami to provide support, but he stops his incantation when he notices that neither of you are exchanging blows anymore, though the two of you do exchange unfaltering glares towards each other that puts Megumi on edge even though he is merely a spectator in this situation.

“I am not them,” you firmly state. “This is the truth.”

Sukuna hums, dissatisfaction clear as you repeat your claim from earlier.

“It seems you weren’t lying,” he finally concedes. “Such a shame.”

With one final shrug, the black markings all over Yuuji’s chest and limbs begin to crumble until there's nothing but his unblemished skin. The sharper features his face takes on when Sukuna takes control and taints with his sigils turn back into those belonging to the typically boisterous boy.

“Hey,” his slightly raspy and confused voice greets you so genuinely.

“Hey,” you greet him back with a relieved, yet sad smile. His eyes follow yours that seemed focused on his chest and that’s when he finally notices the gaping hole as well as the lack of a beating heart and blood trail.

The grey clouds that have been gathering before you all were dropped off at the school finally begin to shed droplets of cold rain down on you. A drop lands perfectly on his face that looks indistinguishable to a shed tear. You instinctively reach out and wipe it away.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” he pouts.

“It’s alright,” you withdraw your hand away from his cold and sickeningly pale cheek. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you from him.”

He took a deep breath as if he was about to say something else, but his eyes finally go blank and his upright body gives out and falls forward. You catch him with ease and carefully set him down on the damp soil. He’s officially gone to you, yet you take extra care to cup the back of his head and gently set him down with shaking hands. As you kneel beside his stiff body, another drop falls on his face and trickles down.

You’re not sure if it’s another raindrop or the first of many teardrops that begin to spill from your tear ducts once your brain finally registers that your best friend is lying dead before you.

A week later

Yuuji is dead, yet it is as clear as the large hole in his chest that Sukuna is still living on within the body, if only barely. Ieiri, Gojo and Ijichi can’t tell, but you can. Call it yet another inherited skill or instinct, but no amount of pitiful words or comforting pats on your back from either of them are going to make you second guess yourself on this matter.

Sukuna is alive, yet for some reason he isn’t staking his claim on the body. You know he can at any moment, but it seems he’s not entirely stupid and is trying to play his cards right.

Perhaps he’s waiting for something? Maybe a certain someone instead? It wouldn’t surprise you if he has allies that are still alive and are well aware of his resurrection. It wouldn’t surprise you either if they were gathering his other fingers in his stead. Those damn things are blinking beacons for other curses, so gathering them shouldn’t be hard even for the most mediocre of cursed beings. Even when he’s made into a bunch of inanimate objects, he can still cause some amount of chaos and grief.

Damn him.

Your claim that Sukuna still lives goes from outlandish and desperate to undoubtedly true when a faint pulse of his energy brings everyone’s attention to Yuuji’s corpse and puts you all on the defensive. It was a signal, specifically for you. He wants you to come to him, within his own playing field and without the prying eyes of your superiors or the chance for any outside interference from your teacher.

Speaking of Gojo, he’s been trying to pull you away from Yuuji’s corpse and usher you out of the room for your own protection.

“He wants to talk to me,” you state the obvious to him.

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” he says with finality. It’s almost adorable how he’s trying to play the role of the stern authority figure when he’s normally such an eccentric man 99% of the time. “C’mon, you need to leave.”

“Gojo-sensei,” you reach up to your shoulder that he’s tightly gripping and gently pry his hand off. “I mean no disrespect to you, or anyone at this school for that matter. But when it comes to matters regarding Ryomen Sukuna, you and the higher ups don’t know a damn thing about that monster.”

Your hand hastily reaches out and your fingertips merely graze against Yuuji’s cold and rigid skin. Just that slight contact is enough to have your surroundings shift from a stagnant and grey autopsy room to a dark and brooding domain. You blink away the dizziness from your sudden shift of reality and the first thing you notice is the pile of ox skulls. You also notice the endless rows of ribs high up in the air that further add towards the domain’s ominousness.

“I’m here!” you cup your hands around your mouth as you yell out. “The hell do you want from me you two-faced bastard?!”

“Quit screaming,” his annoyed yet strangely soft voice startles you. You abruptly turn around to meet him face to face.

“Where’s Yuuji?” you ask with command behind your infliction.

“There’s no one else but us,” he says in a poor attempt to make you drop your defensive body posture. When he notices that you aren’t relaxing, he points behind you with an annoyed glare. You turn to see nothing but the collection of dirtied animal skulls, but at the last second you see an unconscious Yuuji planted face down into the ankle deep water (blood?) at the bottom of the mountainous pile. Upon seeing the familiar tuft of pink hair, you sprint towards his unmoving body. You flip him upwards once he’s in reach, fearing he was drowning or at the very least injured in some way.

As you try to gently coax or check for any sign of life within your friend, you ignore or even fail to notice the way Sukuna observes you from behind. The boy is unconscious only due to Sukuna easily decapitating him earlier as they fought over the conditions of the binding vow he was enforcing in exchange for healing his vessel’s body and bringing him back to life. Just as he was about to uphold his end of the vow, he felt as you entered the room his vessel’s lifeless body was most definitely being stored to be later cremated.

His reaching out to you was an impulsive action on his part. He now knows that the one who stands before him is truly not you. Your energy and your descendants are near indistinguishable, so his sudden call of you was a mere force of habit and his prevailing desire to chase after you. It’s not his brightest moment, but you tend to make him act beyond what is usually his typical behavior.

As he watches your descendant talk to a half awake and delirious Yuuji, he can’t help but to examine them with a bit of awe. The one before him is your descendant of a thousand years, perhaps even more. They are your flesh and blood, and yet they retain not only your image, but even some of your memories as well. He doesn’t know what to think of this revelation, truly he doesn’t.

The only thing that’s rubbing him the wrong way is the fact that they are not a product between you and him. It’s not that he has or had any sort of unfulfilled paternal desire locked deep within him. Even if he did contemplate producing a few offspring before his temporary demise, he only wanted children for the same reason he wanted a harem, as a source of amusement that he can freely manipulate however he sees fit. Perhaps he did consider impregnating a few dozen of his concubines to see if any could birth him an heir worthy of his legacy, but the entire process was too much of a hassle that he wasn’t willing to deal with at the time. He had no pure intentions when it comes to spreading his seed into the world.

So why is he angry that you went ahead and did so without him?

“Your ancestor’s spouse,” he idly mentions in an attempt to garner their careful attention. From the way they stiffen up and look at him with that familiar glare of yours, he has it. “What were they like?”

“As if I’d tell you,” they say.

“I see you inherited their stubbornness,” he huffs with annoyance, but deep down in the deepest and most hidden parts of his mind, he feels somewhat glad that your stubbornness continues to live on in the world. “Tell me, and I’ll let you return with Yuuji-”

“Their spouse was just as stubborn as they were,” they cut him off with an immediate answer. “No matter how many times they tried to ignore or downplay their advances, they continued to chase after my predecessor until it was as obvious as the sun that they truly wanted to be together with them and make them happy.”

As he expected, their recollection of your life after him is too disgustingly domestic and romanticized for his liking. What does come at a surprise is that they completely went against their earlier proclamation of remaining silent and divulged him on the information he initially asked of you rather readily. Something must have switched in their mind. Are they trying to get back at him on your behalf by proudly stating that you lived a happy life without him?

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” they say with a smug voice. “They hated you beyond comprehension, and even if they are long gone from this world, I assure you that their hatred remains just as intense as it was when they lived.”

“Don’t be mistaken, you pathetic human,” he growls, much more angrily than normal. “I could care less who they fornicated with and how many children they produced.”

“For the self proclaimed king of curses, you sure are a terrible liar,” they say, almost pitifully. “You regret the way you treated them, don’t you? Deny it all you want, I know I’m right.”

Your last comment is the final straw. With the flick of his wrist he casts you and Yuuji out of his inner domain and back into the living world. He heals Yuuji to maintain his side of the binding vow before settling back atop his rigid throne of horned skulls. He watches through Yuuji’s eyes how the two of you squeeze each other into a firm embrace after he reawakens. When Gojo makes a comment about how Yuuji is stark naked on the metal table, he feels the immense urge to grab one of the skulls and crush it into a fine dust in his bare fist as the two of you devolve into a fit of awkward but good natured laughter at the realization.

He can’t remember a time when you ever laughed or smiled like your descendant is doing now.

Does he regret never once seeing or hearing you in such a way? Maybe.

But you’re gone, so there is no point lingering on it too much.

There’s no point in having regrets now.

Bonus

Sukuna knew it was only a matter of time before you and Yuuji solidified your relationship as a romantic one. Back in his prime, he behaved no differently than Yuuji did after he brought him back to life, straightforward and without a second thought. Ever since he stole you away from your family and home, every chance you took at defying him and damning his name into the fiery pits of hell invoked something within him. Something no other man or woman can or ever will be able to. And yet, each time he reached out to indulge himself further of you, you retreated into yourself and tried to cast him out of every corner of your mind while he tried to engrave your everything into his very being. Your behavior to his advances differ greatly from your descendant, who accepts Yuuji’s advances with an honest and willing smile.

He watches the relationship through the unsuspecting eyes of his vessel. Sometimes, he gags at how sickeningly affectionate Yuuji can be. Yet despite his behavior, your descendant drinks it all up and returns the hugs and the kisses tenfold. Nobara and Megumi often roll their eyes on the sidelines and comment on how they were practically made for each other. Sukuna can't help but silently roll his eyes as well as agree with their annoyed comments, even if it makes him incredibly irritated.

Will he ever admit to the latter? Never.

He does not regret the way things turned out between you and him. He cannot regret for the sake of his sanity. Instead, he often ponders about the possibilities. Had he not taken you from your home, could there have been a chance you and him could have been friends despite his reputation at the time? If he courted you properly instead of forcing you into his collection of common whores, could you look at him the same way your descendant looks at Yuuji, with so much love and tenderness that it makes his stomach twist into knots and the back of his throat burn? Despite being a curse who sustains himself on his pure carnal desires, could he have been selfless and put forth the efforts to make you happy?

During nights when they share a bed together, he sneaks control over the body and traces what was once your face with his black painted claws. Could you ever look so peaceful as your descendant does now if you laid beside him? Would you remain in his bed until the sun rises instead of fleeing? Would your body feel just as warm, fit just as perfectly in his embrace as your descendant does?

Sukuna does not regret the path he took. He cannot, for the sake of his sanity. He does wonder about the possibilities.

He wonders, could this descendant of yours have been his as well?

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lestkarrkingofeurope · 7 years

Text

@lordgeales liked for a drabble!

“What’s with that look, Lord Geales?”

He advanced upon his Lord’s kneeled figure, the other’s head raised and gazing at him with such disgust. Certainly this was new--but should he really be so surprised? Especially to pull such an attack out of nowhere? Perhaps...yes, he was a despicable person, but this time, he didn’t mind it all too much. If that’s what he had to be considered as to achieve something like this, he’d do it over and over and over again. With absolutely no hesitation.

“Weren’t you expecting something like this? Hadn’t you told me before that you...what was it again? Never trusted me, and never have or ever will? How can you look at me like that when you gave me the impression that assured me you wouldn’t hate me for this? Or is this just natural instinct? To hate someone for doing this to you? That’d be more of a fair point than the other then, right? You can’t possibly hate me because you feel betrayed, right? You just can’t.” Surely the words that came from his mouth sounded absolutely foolish and that of a naive child, but he was only playing his part as a child. Just like everyone considered him as, even Lord Geales.

Spiteful as he may be doing so, he held no regret for acting so. If anything, he felt proud to be this petty. Certainly a bad thing, but honestly, did he have much to lose at this point?

He lifted the blade he wielded, now drenched in the other’s blood. Gently, he rested the point of the blade against Urd’s shoulder, the length pulsing with unearthly power. Effective in preventing his Lord from recovering. He was certainly prepared this time, to prove once and for all if he had really surpassed his Lord. If he had changed at all in the last few centuries, gained any more power, gotten any more stronger, able to prove himself worthy; now was the time to prove it.

“I said I’d be known for either two things--one who was strong enough and respectfully and fairly surpassed his Lord in strength and power, like what I aim to do now; or protect and die or survive ‘saving’ his Lord--if anyone else...what’s the phrase? ‘Beat me to the punch’? Either way, I’ll certainly have gained some sort of...legacy-worthy reputation.”

His ambition and naivety had gone too far this time--or has it really? Weren’t vampires always fighting for more power? Well, perhaps in the past--but now in this modern-day apocalyptic world of their’s, peace and order was the only goal of their kind...for the majority at least believed in. Then there was the scandal with Krul Tepes working with the humans, then Ferid Bathory failing to maintain control over Japan and lost even Sanguinem to the humans, not only that foul plans laid in waiting to overthrow the hierachy of the vampires. Absolutely despicable. Frankly, the reason why the naive Third Progenitor wanted to gain so much power, enough to overthrow the current but temporary head figure and ruler of their brethren, was simply because...he had other plans. None that he had spoken of or suspected off--well perhaps by Urd and Krul at least, but no one else probably.

“Certainly though...I wasn’t expecting to use this method of all...” The blade he wielded shuddered in response, as if protesting its wielder’s words.

He was no different than Krul, somewhat, using such arts to fight and gain something he wanted... Then again...his Lord was already aware of the power he held and the blade he now brandished; not only that, but he had carried out such a ‘practice’ by legal and allowed means...before it had been branded as forbidden anyways. With his status and ranking as a High Progenitor and powerful vampire, they had made exceptions for him to keep whatever he had gained from those restricted practices since, as long as they didn’t prove to be destructive towards the world, especially their own kind. Dabbling his hand in magic and other such otherworldly powers, he held considerably compatibility with it, even possessing an affluent amount of it within himself. Rarely did he ever use it, however, knowing the conflicts it can create and troublesome, political matters would arise with it. It’s been a while since he last used such skills, but his talent certainly hasn’t waned since. If anything, he seems far more in-tuned and fluent using it. What a delightful surprise.

“When we fought previously...I realized how far I was behind you in physical prowess. I respect and envy that part of you, My Lord.” The casual smile on his lips didn’t seen to convey the same tone as his words did, but he continued anyways. “However, you of all people were quite aware of what sort of...abilities I’m capable of. This being one of them.” He moved the point of his blade from Urd’s shoulder to tapping it lightly upon the other’s nose, his smile widening to a slight, childish grin.

“Durandal is surely fond of you--just like how I felt about you, Lord Geales.”

The next moment, his sword had been moved from its place tapping against Urd’s nose. Instead, with a single, almost effortless thrust, it went straight through the fallen Lord’s right shoulder, going halfway before it stopped. Leaving the blade where it is, yet keeping a firm grip on its handle, Lest leaned down slightly to see eye-to-eye with Urd, an almost maniacal gleam in his crimson hues. The other had flinched slightly, almost giving a pained groan but otherwise kept silent. How resilient.

“No hard feelings, right?” Lest didn’t even bother to wait for a response before he mercilessly tore the blade through Urd’s shoulder, drawing the blade to the side instead of pulling it back out from its resting place, effectively cutting through the shoulder. The arm itself clung feebly to the rest of the body, hanging by just a bit of sinew and flesh. Blood coursed down the arm and gathered in a growing puddle on the ground, exposed bone and tendon, ragged muscle and a thin blood vessel or two hanging.

He relished the flinch of agony, the way his Lord widened his eyes from the burning pain, and how he gritted his teeth oh so tightly that he was sure a molar had to be broken. “It seems being the powerful and evasive individual that you are, Lord Geales, has rendered you unprepared to remember what pain and agony is. Yet another weakness for me to have discovered--though that’s hardly of any use to me now. However, it does do me some good to achieve something. That aside, someone like me would know all too well how such pain feels like, don’t you remember?”

Right, he was commanded to stop the runaway traitor on the spur of moment--when he barely had time to recollect himself. How that brutal cut tore into his body and split him in half--how he was left lying on the ground burning in agony while still forcing to mend himself together once more. How he had to apologize right afterwards, even if he had nearly sustained a most-certainly life-threatening wound. How come he was the one who was always docile and polite?

Swinging the blade to his side, the dripping, rivelets of blood upon the body flung off to the side, creating a sharp, vermillion arc on the ground. Surely, that was a masterpiece. One to be kept there for eons and to always be remembered. He lifted the blade to his lips, only the lightest of crimson stains remaining. Pressing it to his lips for a brief moment, he then turned to gently tap the blunt side of it against Urd’s head lightly. Surely something that simple in nature to do wasn’t troubling to carry out--the older vampire was in far too much pain and overwhelmed with conflicting feelings to bother with such.

“ ‘The higher one’s rank is...the more irresistable and delicious their blood is.’ Is that not what I was informed of? So that I can be warned of the danger I’m in, being a Third? Ah, I suppose that also contributes to the established law, where if one vampire drinks from another, it’s an unforgiveable act. The council fears that if one common vampire were to find out just how tempting a Progenitor’s blood was, surely they’ll all be driven mad to just have one taste. Really, the rules we established...was it for the sake of our brethren as a whole, or only to a few priviledged individuals?” At this point, perhaps he was only rambling, but he was too caught up in his own excitement to make any sense.

Oh, how he favoured his dearly trusted blade. One that wielded power that far surpassed the Demon Army’s “Cursed Gears”, even their so-called, infamous, “Black Demon Series”. One false move...then even its own wielder can fall victim to its deadly intent to kill. Truly without it, then perhaps in the first place, he wouldn’t have managed to best his Lord at all.

“I may not have gained more power, or at least enough to surpass you, Lord Geales, but my compatibility with this weapon surely speaks for itself. Not just anyone can harness such dangerous power--and was that not what stood out about me that interested the First? Our father?” Urd shouldn’t be surprised at all to hear the bitter tone Lest held when he spat out the term given to such a lousy parental figure.

“Stop looking at me like that.” He scowled before planting a foot against Urd’s wounded shoulder, roughly pushing him back and lying down on the ground. “I hate it when you give me that look--of dealing with a child’s tantrums, and that you would discipline the said child once you’ve let them ‘had enough’. I’m not a damn child!” Only on rare occasions, did he swear blatanly or spoke with crude words, but his temper was getting the better of him.

“It’s already enough I had to work so hard to be liked by you. I was already terrified for my life that Lord Rigr didn’t favour me at all. Isn’t that what we vampires are? The strong steps over the weak, or those they look down upon. Wasn’t that always your impression of me when dearest Father introduced me to you guys? Even if I’m ‘sired’ by the First, there’s no guarantee that I’d be protected from being slaughtered out of someone feeling that I was inferior. I worked so hard to get into favourable ranks with either you or Lord Rigr--and yet even then all my efforts barely paid off, so I’ve been stuck with this sort of odd relationship between you and I, My Lord.” His heel dug into the open flesh wound Urd harboured, effectively drawing out a larger puddle of blood and torn muscle. It was a gruesome yet oddly fascinating sight to behold.

“I’ve tired myself of any more conversation with you, forgive me for my imprudence.” A satire remark, but really would it matter much at this point? “I really have looked up to you, Lord Geales, but there’s only so much being stepped on that I can take--even if it’s not you yourself who means to do so. Being compared by the rest of our brethren, how bothersome. Even Krul is far more favourable than I. Even--dare I say it?--that missing brother of our’s, Ashera Tepes. Surely, more liked those two than me. I’ve even heard a few smart alecks dare call me the ‘black sheep’ among the higher ranks. How despicable of a thought. Surely, you are no doubt the favourite of everyone. Oh, what I would do...or kill who to gain such reputation. Too bad.”

He leaned down closer to Urd, promptly sitting on his chest as they met eye to eye. His blade long-forgotten, fallen to the side as he reached out with bare hands, encircling them around Urd’s neck in a gentle manner. “I really do admire you, Lord Geales, honestly I do. I have much more to say to you, so many things I’ve wanted to say but kept to myself--oh but why does it matter? You don’t care enough, always brushing me off as some annoyance. And that aside--why would I tell a dead man anything?” The smirk he gave held an ominous look to it, thought that wouldn’t matter much to the Second anymore. He was going to die.

Lest reached for his blade once more, bringing it up to rest the point over where the other’s heart would be. He gave a small hum, gazing down at the almost nonchalant look on Urd’s face. Ah, so he was no different from the other. “I’m surprised you never thought to fought back--though I do appreciate the gesture. Even if I insist on gaining more power and defeating you on my own, it seems your little assisstance can’t be refused here. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, My Dear Lord.”

“A new King will rise today--and fret not, I’ll be sure to lead the vampires to victory. Leadership is in capable hands, please have faith in me.” He said no more before ultimately plunging Durandal deep into Urd’s chest, piercing his heart and feeling the frail organ rupture. The curse and power of the blade spread from there throughout the older vampire’s body, corrupting him and breaking him from the inside. An unforeseen, unfathomable, unlikely death for a vampire, especially one as strong as Urd Geales.

“No matter, your legacy will live on--even if you haven’t done much. I’ll be sure that you’re remembered, as the great Lord you are. I’ll make sure of it.” Even if his ending motives were bloody and unlawful, his morales stayed the same, and his respect and admiration ran deep for those he looked up to.

Just perhaps, Urd Geales ranked as the second highest upon that tier if not any more.

“Sleep well, Urd Geales.”

#lordgeales #drabble #IC #tw gore #tw blood #(( LATE BC SCHOOL BUT AAAAAAA HERE IT IS ))#(( I may or may not have gone with my HCs of Lest ))#(( You know what I hate myself lololol ))#(( I can rewrite this bc it just seems far too ooc or just of my personal story for Lest ))#(( I'M SORRY AAAAAAAAAAA I JUST GOT TOO EXCITED ))#(( ;;;;; Lest shouldn't be able to do this with how things are in canon atm but man....I just really wanted Lest to do something... ))#(( Cool or impressive idk man but JFDSGHSKDFJGHSDKLJGHDS I HAD FUN WRITING THIS BUT ALSO FEEL BAD ))#(( if you don't like it I'll rewrite another drabble more close to canon ;;;; ))#(( Bc I also do want to see Urd putting Lest in his place ))#(( then again I really did want to write about Lest killing Urd too.... lolololol why do I want that D: ))#(( HEAVY BREATHING AT SELF ))

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plutojones · 6 years

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The Wolf and the Fox

When I first came up with the Wolf and the Fox, I knew the names sounded familiar and was unsurprised when I came upon a fable of a similar name. You may know of it: After being abused by the Wolf, the Fox begins to plan the demise of the Wolf, eventually tricking it to enter into the cellar of a nearby farmer’s house, upon which it is found and killed by said farmer.

I don’t care too much for this story. Especially for the characters that I had made, I really didn’t like the dynamic between the Wolf and the Fox. So I started thinking…

What if it was told from a different perspective? What if the Wolf and Fox were in cahoots somehow? Like all of it was planned, and the capturing of the Wolf was just one big distraction.

What if the farmer was meant to think he had won?

I know, sounds weird.

Crazy even.

And yet…intriguing…

Enjoy! ❤ Pluto

Luna (Wolf)

Kyra (Fox)

Image Source

Luna Tervanki was born when the full moon was high in the sky in the middle of the Qurosi Desert, dead in the heart of Torsiqa. Her mother fought like the strongest warrior in the tribe, all the way up until her passing shortly after seeing her newborn child. Her father, on the other hand, was absent the night of her birth…and for the entirety of her life. Being a half-orc, Luna was neither accepted into the tribe of her mother, nor the arms of her human relatives. However, rather than toss her out onto the streets to die, her human aunt brought her to the nearby town and left her on the steps of a building. It was one of the largest buildings in the town, and perhaps that is why she chose it. Or perhaps she simply did not know which building was the orphanage when she left Luna at the museum.

The caretaker of the museum came across her on his way home, and not knowing what to do, brought her home with him. He named and raised Luna as his own daughter with his wife, who was unable to conceive. Not a day went by when Luna felt unloved or unwanted, though some days she would wonder where she came from, who her real parents were. Questions such as these were always met with a smile and a prayer to the gods thanking them for her arrival.

The city of Rocuzi was large and bustling with people from all across the continent. People who wanted to learn, to grow, to change. Or people just looking for a good time. All kinds and types of people lived and thrived in the town, and the energy was always high. However, while countries like Delmos may promote free education for all, the Empire of Torsiqa had no such policy. So, in a large metropolis such as Rocuzi, unless you had some gold to pay, your education was rather limited to what you were able to learn on your own. Thankfully, Luna was a fast reader.

The caretaker, whom Luna called father, would bring her to the museum every day and let her read the books in each room as he cleaned and reorganized them. He felt bad he could not give her the proper education she deserved, so he hoped in some way this would aide her, even if she didn’t have official documentation on her status of learning. One day, when Luna was twelve, one of the curators of the museum stumbled upon Luna lying on her stomach as she read The Tales of The Hundred, a history book recounting the journey made from Evondir to Torsiqa to start life anew. Beside her was a large pile of other, larger, even more, complex novels and history books. As he approached, he could see she was deep in thought, her eyes fixed on one part of the page. He attempted to greet her, but her focus was solely on the book below her. It wasn’t until his feet ghosted the edge of the book that she finally looked up.

“What is a cornucopia?”

After a small bit of banter and a brief explanation on his part, Luna went right back into the book. She paid him no mind and continued to read, completely immersed in the story before her. The curator, amused, went to ask the caretaker if he knew about the small half-orc girl currently lounging in the middle of the aisle for Rare and Sacred texts. After being informed that it was the man’s adopted daughter and many profuse apologies for bringing her, the curator informed him that he’d like to take her on as his apprentice. Such devotion to ancient literature, he explained, proved promising, and was a rare quality in students from the well-known schools and households around the city. The caretaker was a bit flabbergasted, but nodded his head and said he should ask Luna, as it was her choice to make after all.

By the time Luna was fifteen she had been working as the apprentice to Lord Carter Longleaf for two and half years. It was a bit of a scandal, at first, for the old and noble Elf to take on not only a half-orc, but a common half-orc with no proper education as his pupil. Nevertheless, Luna proved to be far more capable and devoted to her studies than any of the other students he had overseen. A desire to learn, to understand, to improve guided her ambitions and led her to surpass him in his old age. By the time she was eighteen, she had proven herself to not only be physically but mentally stronger than all the other apprentices at the museum. She was recognized by the board of directors for her brilliance in solving the Riddle of Heshpotet and was publicly awarded honorary degrees in History and Literature by the dean of the local school.

Before he passed away, Lord Longleaf gave Luna a small, worn, leather-bound journal with prayers written on each page, and a tarnished holy symbol. He told her that if she wished to pursue knowledge all her life, then the goddess of knowledge, Reina, would guide her and protect her. The museum, which was also a temple to Reina, then initiated Luna into their circle, promoting her from apprentice to official caretaker, and began to train her for the journeys she would travel on to seek and recover ancient artifacts that had been lost to time. At twenty years of age, Luna became the first half-orc to join their ranks, taking on the codename: The Wolf.

By the time Luna was twenty-one, aiding dig sites in uncovering lost cities and finding rare artifacts and fossils had become the primary focus of her life. She would travel into forbidden regions, fight off monsters and beasts, accidentally trigger traps, and always return with another large scar and artifact in hand. Everytime Luna returned with an artifact she was met with applause and praise; a hero of the museum. Of course, every great hero must have a nemesis, and it wasn’t long before The Wolf met hers.

“Sorry. It’s just business.”

The sun-kissed half-elf tugged at the rope and was swiftly whisked out of the underground cavern and through the ceiling, artifact in hand. Luna ran to try and catch the last bit of the rope, but it slid right through her fingers.

“See you next time, Wolf.”

“It’ll be sooner than you think, Fox.”

As the Fox disappeared from view, Luna slammed her foot into the dirt beneath her. She went to brush her mane of hair out of her face, only to pause at the sound of a low growl behind her. Turning slowly, she could begin to make out a form in the darkness: a four-legged beast, with a long tail and claws that gleamed in the faint light. It was a lion…or perhaps a manticore…? Oh dear.

“Cat-Big cat…uh…oh no…” Luna slowly reached for her longsword and shield, keeping her eyes trained on the beast. “Here kitty-kitty-kitty.”

“You couldn’t have worn quieter armor?”

“I’m not the one who thought sneaking into the tent of a goliath overlord, in the center of a goliath camp, was a good idea.”

“Yeah well, you didn’t have to sneak in after me.”

“Oh really? And what, let you get away?”

“Yes.”

“Ha! Not a chance. That amulet belongs in a museum, not in the hands of some grubby black market dealer.”

“Shhhh. They’re coming back.”

“I’ve enjoyed our little game Wolf, but isn’t it time you accepted you’ve lost this round?”

“Not a chance.” Luna reached for her shield and morningstar, legs shifting to a defensive stance. The Fox let out a small laugh and pulled out their daggers, twirling them in their hands.

“I’ve been looking forward to dancing toe-to-toe with you since we met in the Caves of Xanthor.”

“Xanthor? That was two years ago.”

“And on my birthday no less.”

“Wait…your birthday?” Luna relaxed her posture, standing straight up, a curious look on her face and eyebrows furrowed. “It was my birthday.”

“Really?”

“I distinctly remember having to deal with a manticore and thinking ‘this birthday sucks‘.”

The Fox’s hands lowered to her sides. “Then is today your birthday as well?”

Luna nodded her head, a slight smile creeping up her face. “..What do you think the odds are? That we share a birthday?”

“Small, probably….Well, I’d hate to kill you on your birthday, especially after the whole ‘leaving you to a manticore‘ gift from last time…Hows about we postpone this till tomorrow, hm? There’s a lovely tavern nearby and it’s happy hour.”

“They got beer?”

“They have everything.”

“…This isn’t one of your tricks right? To get me drunk and then come for the artifact while I’m incapacitated?”

“Hm…as tempting and good idea as that might be, I don’t play such low tricks.”

After a short pause, Luna put her shield and weapon away. “Lead on.”

“Thank you, Luna.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to just leave you to die.”

“Yes, but you could’ve.”

Kyra let go of Luna’s arm and staggered forward, away from the crumbling ledge behind them. “You okay?”

“I’ll live.

“I never did thank you, by the way, for the birthday drink. I know that was a few months ago, but…”

“Oh, well…what are rivals for?” Kyra paused for a moment and then started laughing to herself. “I still can’t believe you threw a whole table at that guy.”

“Ha, yeah…You know, I think that night was probably the first time I had relaxed in a long time.”

“Honestly? What do you do when you return to the museum?”

“Sleep, eat, leave again.”

“Have you never taken a vacation?”

“Of course–”

“That didn’t involve work?”

“…no.”

“Mmhm. Well, after I get this artifact, I think we both deserve a vacation.”

“I think you mean, when I get the artifact.”

“No, I meant me.”

“You sound confident.”

“I don’t need confidence to speak the truth.”

“Well, if you’re that certain of the outcome… would you care to make a wager?”

The Fox lifted an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

“Loser pays for the winner’s vacation. One hundred gold max.”

“Deal.”

“Any luck, Kyra?”

“No…There doesn’t seem to be a viable mechanism. Doors locked shut.”

“Damn.”

“What does the inscription say again? I don’t speak Ignos.”

“When two of equal blood rest on the altar, the gate to Dushma will open.”

“Equal blood…what does that even mean?” The Fox stood up from their kneeling position and walked away from the door. The room they were in was small with a dome-shaped ceiling that came to a point about twenty feet above the ground. In the center was a small stone altar, no larger than a desk. She leaned back on it, elbows resting on the top and keeping her supported.

“Well, given the familial theme of the riddles and puzzles thus far, I’d say a relative.”

“Just, any relative?”

“Well, the answers so far have been ‘father’, ‘mother’, ‘child’, and ‘grandparent’, so my guess is this would be ‘sibling’.”

“So, in order to open this door, we need to get two siblings.” The Fox let out a frustrated sigh. “Great. I don’t suppose you have any lying around?”

“None that I know of. You?”

“Only-child.”

“Then this is a predicament.” Luna stepped away from the door and walked over to the altar next to Kyra. Taking a deep breath, she let out a breathy growl as she placed her hands on the edge of the altar. A large clunk resounded behind her, followed by the sound of stone grazing stone. She turned around to see the door opening slowly before them.

“Did it just–”

“Yup.”

“I thought you were an only child?”

“Well, it’s possible my father wasn’t the most…righteous of individuals.”

“Huh. And we have the same birthday.”

“Strange.”

“Yup…I was born at midnight.”

“High noon.”

“Well then, guess that makes me your older sister. Therefore, I’m in charge.”

“That is not how that works.”

“Pretty sure it is.”

“Well, I’m twenty-four.”

“I’m…also twenty-four.”

“Same year too? What the heck?!”

“You don’t think there’s some prophecy somewhere about this do you?”

“…Nah.

A deep, guttural sound came from past the door. As the two whipped their heads to peer into the darkness, a large Ogre in golden armor stepped into the room, axe in hand.

“Well, as much as I’d love to continue this conversation, I think it’s time to tango.” Kyra reached for her daggers, taking a few steps away from the creature.

“Couldn’t agree more. Shall you lead or I?” Luna removed her longsword and shield from her back, preparing to charge.

“I think you should. You are the eldest after all, isn’t it your job to protect me?”

“Ha! You got me there.” Luna turned to the Ogre, weapon ready. “Hey Big-Nose! Hey! Did it hurt when you fell from heaven? Cause your face looks like sh-”

After they left Dushma, but before they went their separate ways, Luna offered Kyra the chance to join the Order of Reina, to spend the rest of her life collecting artifacts and going on adventures. She had been drunk, but she very much remembered what Kyra had confided in her that night on their birthday, when they first exchanged names. The only reason she became a mercenary was because of her father’s debt. See, he’d passed away a decade ago with no money to his name, and several crime lords pounding the door. Eventually, the need to pay the debt forced her into a life of crime, but she wanted to do something more than just be a petty thief. So she went looking for ancient artifacts, fossils, antiques, anything that would sell for a lot without branding her or throwing her in jail. With her expensive education growing up, she knew a thing or two about where to look. When Luna asked what she’d do once the debt was paid, Kyra said she’d probably just keep tomb raiding. It was all she knew at this point, and she had started to love the thrill and the chase.

“Ha…why? Why offer this to me? I’m not exactly a believer.”

“You’re good, light on your feet and a fast thinker. The Order could use someone like you, faith or not.”

“I’ve still got a large debt to pay.”

“The museum pays well, it won’t take you long.”

“Would you have offered me this if I wasn’t your sister? You’re not doing this out of some sense of duty, are you?”

“I am…but, I’ve also been thinking about it for a while. I haven’t discussed it with any of my superiors yet, but I could probably convince them.”

“…We wouldn’t have to work together on every mission, would we? I’ve started to enjoy our little competitions these past couple years.”

“I’m sure some members of the Order would enjoy placing wagers on which one of their agents would return back with the prize.”

“Now that sounds fun.”

Sometime after Kyra’s initiation ceremony, they had gotten matching facial markings, their own personal ‘tribal tattoo’. It was a symbol that no matter what, whether they were working together or against each other, they were family.

The Wolf and The Fox had quickly become a legendary duo over the next three years, their names and stories becoming tall tales in every village they traveled to. No one knew much about them, other than that wherever the Fox went, the Wolf was sure to follow. Outside of the Order, no one knew that these two worked together, or even more importantly, that they were related. This proved to be a useful facade when dealing with other mercenary groups and wealthy collectors who would stop at nothing to get their hands on an artifact. The Fox would be hired, or would offer their services, to these groups in order to learn information on where the artifact was and how they were planning to steal it. They would then offer a plan on how to stop the Wolf, to trap them so that she could not prevent them from obtaining their goals.

This was, of course, a trap in it of itself.

What if they wanted the farmer to believe he had won?

They would cover their tracks, of course, so no one suspected that the Fox had double-crossed them, or that the two were actually in cahoots. Every now and then they would have to let the farmer win, of course, or else people would get suspicious and not trust the Fox’s plans anymore. In those cases, when they couldn’t beat the thugs to the artifact, they would steal it from them while they slept.

And thus, two new heroes were born in the World of Roe. Heroes who would play a very important role when face to face with five quirky souls from another story.

Short Story #1 The Wolf and the Fox When I first came up with the Wolf and the Fox, I knew the names sounded familiar and was unsurprised when I came upon a fable of a similar name.

#adventure #fantasy #fiction #worldbuilding #writing

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libeltz-blog · 7 years

Text

Non-fiction

From Love to Hate

The growth of sports continues to pass levels anyone could have ever thought. Not only do we see a tremendous amount being talked about in the sports world but the involvement of people from six to sixty years old in sports is more than ever. The perception of women in sports is becoming better, thought it is not completely equal yet, along with the amount of new sports that are introduced. But we take sports for granted. As kids so many of us play sports, whether it is swimming or football or gymnastics, kids now more than ever are getting involved. I was five when I started playing soccer. Being from Southern California, where it is “perfect” weather all the time, kids were urged to play outside. There are not many backdrops as perfect as a Southern California afternoon. The weather is perfect, 75 degrees and sunny. There is no humidity and just a slight breeze in the air. How could you possibly stay inside on a day like that? Still to this day I find some excuse to get outside. So what is a great way to get your kid outside and exercising? Put them in a soccer league. AYSO, or American Youth Soccer Organization, is a countrywide organization that has programs set up in most major areas in the country. Region 2 is where I got my start. I would be lying if I said it was my choice to start playing soccer. Like many other kids, my parents wanted to get me outside running around. I am sure if I am ever a parent I will understand completely the reasoning behind having a source for your child to run around, getting all that youthful energy out. At some level I would think that you want to also test out the sports world for your kids. Is there a hidden talent for a sport that your child has? Lets put them in a program and see. Like any other kid I was excited and nervous as my first practice approached. The first team I was on was the Mean Dogs. We were great, with no help from me. My first practice came and I was horrible. I was a small kid that was extremely thin with the no coordination. I might as well been a chicken with its head cut off, running around aimlessly. I had no desire to touch the ball but rather watch from a distance. I understood the game but didn't have the talent to get involved. The coach did not help me at all as he was preoccupied with winning. His son was on the team and he was the star. I don't remember his name but I remember him being very good. All I wanted was to be good but I just wasn’t. I made friends on the team so it wasn't all terrible. I talked with them usually while the games went on. It wasn't until my fourth year playing that miraculously my game turned around. It was when I was nine years old and this was the turning point of my soccer “career”. The Junkyard Dogs was the team and it was my first time that I had ever been considered one of the better players. This was the first time a coach had payed any attention to me. Mike Goblirsch was his name and he became friends with my dad through the season. Coach Mike was the first person coach of mine to really take me aside and help me out. He would sit me down and say “Stay hungry” or “Don’t let them push you around”. I still remember our chant before games, “It’s not about the size of the dog in the fight, it’s about the size of the fight in the dog”. As a kid I thought this was the most badass thing ever, it also applied a great deal to me because I was an undersized, skinny, pale English boy who did not look like any sort of threat to the other team. This was the first time I really had the drive to make people stop and say “Did you see that skinny boy move!?”. I began to understand the game better than most kids did and I used that to my advantage. All of the years I sat on the bench I watched how the game should be played. I wasn't the biggest kid or the fastest but I knew the game. After the season finished I was nominated by him to be on an All-Star team. There were three levels of All-Star, staring with Regional. Regional was followed by Area and the highest level was Sectional. I was put on the Regional team, where I would meet more friends that I still have to this day. My confidence sky rocketed from there. It was a recognition of the work that I had put in and it was great. I had finally reached the “star” level I wanted. The following year my Dad, Michael Belter, started coaching. My Dad is a very well respected Defense Attorney standing at about 6’2 with a very stalky figure. To the say the least he can be intimidating. Most kids would have hated this but it was me that actually pushed him into doing it. I love my Dad and this was just another opportunity for me and him to hang out. My Dad and I have always had a great relationship, as we are basically the same person. We have the same personality and have the same thought process about most things and this only strengthened it. His support and praise was the next boost that pushed me into becoming an even better player. I changed from being a goal scoring oriented forward to a center midfielder who controlled the pace of the game. This is where I could best flourish. I never cared about scoring for myself as much as I cared about winning. This is where I was taught to be unselfish. By being an unselfish player and creating opportunities for others to score, we could win even more. Eventually I got to the highest level of AYSO my Dad and I became known as the “Belters” as we dominated the league for years. Our regular season team was always in the Championship and our tournament teams always came in second or first. I felt like we were the dynamic duo of father and son who conquered the surrounding areas. The following five years I played soccer year round. I played during the regular season, on All-Star teams, and tournament teams. It seemed like I never was not playing. It was then when I started to think about what I may do with this skill in the future. Do I want to play professional soccer? Up to this point I had been playing so much I never really thought about the inconceivable future. But as a 13 year old boy you don’t want to think about the responsibilities and hours you have to put in. So I continued to play, not really thinking of much else. I was too focused on winning and the competition that came along with that. The teams we had after the regular season always consisted of the same players. These players went from teammates to great friends. My Dad become great friends with the parents and I with the kids. For years we would gather at the end of the regular season to prepare for the months of practice and games. We hopped from tournament to tournament where we excelled but also had a great time. Not only were we playing great but we all got along. What could beat playing soccer under the California sun with your best friends? Not much. Once I got to high school I had take my game to the next level. The only way to improve my game was to join a club soccer team. My first year in high school I did not make the team as our high school was a high ranked soccer school and my skill just wasn't all the way there yet. I remember one of the coaches saying in a meeting “If you only play AYSO you will not have the skill to be on this team”. Kind of an asshole thing to say but it was true. This woke me up and I went and joined Crown City United, a club soccer team in my area. Many of my friends who I played during those great summers were on this team so it seemed like a perfect fit. My Dad hung up his whistle and coaching hat and wen back to being a proud parent in the stands, which he to this day recalls as some of the best moments in his life. My try out for the club was not as great as I hoped for. I made the team but I realized that I had gotten lazy with my soccer career. It was easy to be a great player in AYSO, as the talent was good but not that great. A great AYSO player was still barely good enough for a club team. I wanted to be a superstar so I changed how I played. My soccer I.Q. was always one of my better skills and that helped me to become better. All I wanted was to be the best at some aspect of the game. What I could do best over most players was what I learned so many years earlier, play smart and unselfish. I always loved to set other people up for the goal so that’s what I did. Distributing the ball and setting other people to finish became my strongest skill. I wanted to be good enough to make my high school team. The hard work payed off and I made my high school Junior Varsity team my sophomore year. The school soccer team was an entirely different environment. St. Francis High School is an all-boys Catholic school. The school itself prided itself on giving back to the community and shaping boys into good men. So the soccer team brought that same mentality to it. We were very uniform in the way we acted, a completely different outlook as I had. I loved the game but still wanted to be able to joke around with my friends. That was an aspect to the game that I enjoyed, the ability to play with great drive while having fun. This was the moment I really thought about what I was going to do. I When your a kid playing a sport your thought is, “Oh well I am going to play professional soccer and also football and maybe also be a race car driver”. Sadly for most of us that is only a fantasy. I thought about it briefly but that was it. The season was a very mediocre one. The coach made me co-captain of the team about halfway though the season as I got along with all the players. We didn't do that great and I played decent, nothing to write home about. I was pulled up to Varsity when they went to the playoffs but didn't play much. My Junior year I was the sole captain of the JV team. This was the year that I really played great. Leading not only the high school team in assists but the league. I could score but always looked to pass first. The problem I faced was the leadership role. I was liked by the team and the coaches but I wasn't the one to lead the team. I remember one game against our biggest rival school, Loyola, one of my coaches yelling at me from the sideline. He was yelling at me saying “Liam get your fucking team together!”. This shocked me. My team? I never treated the sport like that before. Where I fell was with the commitment to the game as I didn't always try my hardest and often did not take the game very seriously. The leadership role was something I didn't really want, as I just enjoyed having fun. This is when my game began to plateau. My play did not get better, rather just stayed the same. I had never really taken practices very seriously, goofing around with friends. My skill began to become a backseat to the team “goofball” that everyone liked. I enjoyed that role much more than the leadership one. That year I was brought up to Varsity again and played nicely. The coaches wanted me to try harder than I wanted to. I continued to play at the club team when high school season was over. This is what I loved about the game. The club team was not as serious and the practices were more fun. My senior year I played on the Varsity team and was a co-captain with one of my buddies. Waking up at 4:45 a.m. to go to morning workouts was horrible. As someone who did not take the game very seriously anymore, this was hell. I missed the days of having a great time under the sun with my friends, playing the game that I loved. I did not have that same love anymore. I despised going to practice five times a week. Having coaches yell at me in games because the team was down and somehow I had to fix that. I would play almost an entire 90 minutes and be exhausted afterwards. I went from dominating the game to being worn down game after game. I was just tired. When my senior year was about half way through people started to decide where they were going to go for college. I had a list of about nine places I wanted to go. All the schools were in cool cities like Chicago, Philadelphia, and San Francisco. But would I rather play soccer somewhere? I got a couple offers to play at some division three schools in the middle of Fucking Nowhere County, USA. Athletes at my school were good but not great. So many of the “supreme” athletes of our school went on to go play football and basketball at these schools in the middle of nowhere. Why though? To occupy yourself with a sport in college that will lead you nowhere? None of these guys were good enough to play professionally or even at a level below a professional league. A choice had to be made. A choice between going to school in an awesome city where the options are limitless or go to Rhode Island College and be miserable. I sat down with my Dad who had always supported and adored my soccer career and talked with him. He told me the truth. He could tell I wasn't totally into it anymore and said to me that attempting to follow something you are not passionate about will only only turn out awful. My Dad will always be my wise wizard who gives me sage advice. After that the decision was easy. I didn't care that much about the sport anymore and I wanted to be able to become whatever I wanted. I chose DePaul University and haven't looked back. There is a notion that if you play a sport for a long period of time, maybe even occupying more than half of your life, you are a failure if you do not try everything in your power to prolong that career. In high school there are so many kids who are dying to go to a college that is offering them a chance to play on on their team. So many kids go to these division three schools and occupy their four years at that university by playing a sport they will never do anything with. As much as you would like to believe that if you try your hardest you will achieve that dream, in sports it is not as true. No one is going from division three football to playing in the NFL. The amount of kids who play at a division one level in college to go play in a professional league is small. By occupying yourself with a sport that will turn into no career, you waste time while you can being finding something you really love. College gave me the opportunity explore my options. There were friends of mine who played football and took the division three scholarships they were offered and picked up and moved to these schools that they would never go to if football wasn't involved. One of them was so miserable that they quit and came back home to California. It taught me a lesson, to only follow the things that you are extremely passionate about. His mistake was that he was like me, he was a good player but not as invested in the sport as other people. But he followed the sport like a abusive girlfriend who tantalizes you to go to college with her. Break up with her before it’s too late. After playing for so many years, almost non-stop for the last seven years I played, I began to wear down. I realized that it wasn’t laziness to get better that stopped my career from flourishing but rather the fact that I was done. I played so much for so long that the sport that I once loved began to be a burden. The excitement to play was not there anymore, I just wanted to enjoy having fun with my friends. It was that senior year in high school where it all came to a halt. Every person who plays a sport, whether you are playing in high school, college, or professionally, will come to that point. The point that you just cant do it anymore. It may be a physical problem or mentally checking out, but we all get there regardless. In my case I was frustrated to some level. I got to what seemed like the highest level I could achieve. Thinking back I wonder if I had tried harder, because God knows I rarely did, could I have been great? I had solid talent that I worked very little for. If I had worked out more and gotten faster and stronger could I have been a real superstar? Maybe. But at the end of the day it wasn't the fact that my game wasn't getting better that put me off the sport but rather time that put me off sport. Now I can look back at the times I spent playing soccer and appreciate them for what they were. The involvement in a sport is great for getting children to be healthy and exercise but it offers much more than that. Playing a sport as a kid can teach you teamwork and social skills, along with sportsmanship and qualities that can best be taught in a group environment. I owe so much to who I have become because of my involvement with sports so many years ago. Like many kids, I started playing soccer when I was in Kindergarten. This was the beginning of a thirteen year long journey that had ups and downs, along with building great relationships with fantastic people. We often do not realize how great something is until we don't have it anymore. The warm Southern California days that I spent with my best friends kicking around a ball, cracking jokes and competing. Early mornings with my Dad deciding the game plan for the Championship while going through the McDonalds drive thru(not the greatest pre-game meal). I am sure you could find lessons in this story, like to not take things for granted or to learn from others. All I know is that the time I spent playing soccer are ones I will never forget as long as I live and I will forever be grateful to soccer for giving me that.

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