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wiltkingart · 3 months

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HYMN: extra story

since my rewrite of HYMN is on extended pause, ive decided to extract one of the new scenes and share it here as an extra so that it can see the light of day one way or another. its a look into atom's past when he was much younger, during his final eval for becoming a unity keeper. 3.8k words, the usual violence ahead:

On the morning of his final eval, the weather is just warm enough for Atom to wear one pair of gloves without running the risk of frostbite. The sun is a bright pinprick in a pale blue sky. Beside him, Lev's hands are tucked deep into his coat pockets. An icy wind cuts down the residential street and plays with the dark wisps of hair that refuse to be contained under his fur hat.

Lev hasn’t said a word since the two of them got off the metro and made their way here. Atom knows he’s nervous, he admitted so himself that morning over breakfast, but it’s still weird to see him this quiet. Out of the two of them, it’s Atom who often has little to say in any given situation. In the unusual silence, Atom tries and fails to come up with the right words to ease his worries. Pulling his scarf higher up his nose, Atom can't help but feel eager to get the mission started just so they can get this over with and Lev can stop looking like his stomach is eating him from the inside out.

Ten minutes later, Sergeant Milanova exits her armored Keeper vehicle and makes her way over to join them at the foot of a tall apartment building. Metal spikes on the soles of her snowboots noisily crunch across the frozen road until she comes to a stop in front of them.

"Your names?"

Lev stands up straight, raises his chin, and remembers to take his hands out of his pockets. Being older than Atom by 5 months, he goes first. "Lev Lukovich."

"Atom Belov."

Sergeant Milanova grunts in acknowledgement and flips through a thin folder in her hands. Snow goggles cover most of her face and her straight mouth betrays nothing of her opinion of them.

“As you already know, I am Sergeant Danilla Milanova and I will be overseeing your final evaluation today. The two of you will work together in a live field test mission where you must follow a standard takedown order and apprehend an active Target. This type of mission is the most common type of work you will be doing as active Keepers, besides regular patrolling. As active Keepers you will most commonly work in groups or pairs, unless you are promoted into a solitary position down the line. Today I will be testing your ability to work together to take down your Target in an efficient and timely manner.

“This is a live test, meaning your Target is actively wanted. This is not staged. If you fail, your actions will have severe consequences. I am here to observe, not intervene. The only reason I will step in is if I deem the mission a complete failure and have to take out the Target myself. If that happens, you will be sent back to training with the opportunity to retake this test in two years. Is that clear?”

“Yes Ma’am.” Lev and Atom answer in unison. Milanova digs through the pages in her folder until she finds what she’s looking for.

“The Target is Sergei Ivanov. Age 32, Electrician. He lives in this apartment—room number 716—along with his family. He has been found guilty of High Treason. Today is his day off and he is expected to be home all day. He is to be shown no mercy. His penalty is death.” The folder snaps shut in Milanova’s hand and she passes a look over them. “Any questions?”

Atom rests his hand on the sword strapped to his belt and looks up at the apartment building. He hopes it has a working elevator system. If not, at least a heated stairwell. But the smooth, dirty concrete walls don’t get his hopes up very high.

“Treason for what, if I may ask?”

At the sound of his voice, the world drifts to a stop, like the first gentle flakes of a snowstorm. Atom, surprised, looks at Lev. Did he really just ask that? Milanova’s straight mouth twitches and pulls down at the corners, confirming that yes—he really did.

“That is not your concern, Cadet.”

Lev swallows and looks down at his hands. Atom thinks he’s dropped it, and is about to apologize on his behalf, but Lev pushes on before Atom has a chance to open his mouth.

“I think it is my concern if he is my Target. High Treason is a serious offense and I would like to know what he did to deserve—”

“He’s guilty. That’s all you need to know.”

“But what did he do?”

Milanova takes two crunching steps forward to stand directly in front of Lev. She isn’t much taller, but that doesn’t stop her from looking down at him.

“Why does it matter to you, Cadet?”

“My—,” Lev bites his lip. Atom sees that his fists are shaking at his side. Briefly, Atom feels the urge to take them and warm them between his own hands. Maybe he should have brought an extra pair of gloves after all, only so he could give them to Lev. Maybe if he wasn’t so cold he wouldn’t feel the need to do whatever the hell this is.

“I’m sorry, forget it.” he says.

“No. This is important to you, clearly. I want to know why.” Milanova’s tone holds no warmth. Wind whistles down the street, deafening in the silence it demands. Milanova isn’t going to let Lev drop the subject, Atom knows it, as sharply as the sick feeling building in his stomach. He wants to grab Lev by the shoulders; knock some sense into him, tell him to shut the hell up, plead with him to keep his head down and obey like all the others. Like they promised each other they would, over countless nights in hushed whispers with their heads under a shared blanket. Always, with his hand an icy stone in Atom’s fist.

Instead he holds his breath and watches as the unthinkable happens.

“My father was...when I was a kid, my father was charged with Treason and taken from us. My mother and I were never told why. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for speaking out. It won’t happen again.”

Milanova laughs once, without smiling—a quick noise in her throat. “No, it won’t.” Tucking her folder under one arm, she takes another impossible step closer to Lev. “Sergei Ivanov was charged with High Treason for giving aid to other active Targets, and allowing them to escape punishment at the hands of the Law. People like him need to be eliminated for the sake of public peace. The world is a better place without people like Sergei. Without people like your father.”

Lev snaps up to look at her face, and by now his hands are balled so tightly they no longer shake. He sounds confused when he says, “He’s just an electrician.”

“He is your Enemy.”

“No,” he whispers. “No, he’s not.”

Milanova sighs through her nose. The wind screams. There’s a movement, a sickening sound, and the two of them sway. There is a knife in Lev’s belly and Milonova’s hand is on the hilt. She jerks it up, stretching the wound, and pulls out. Lev stumbles back, hitting the pale blue concrete wall. He slides to the cold ground, eyes wide, face white. The hands clutching his stomach quickly turn red—so very, very red. Atom takes a step toward him and Milanova commands him to stay put. Lev looks up at him and attempts to speak but can’t quite manage it. Or maybe he does say something but the ringing in Atom’s ears drowns it out.

It isn’t quick, and Lev keeps his eyes on Atom until the end, until his eyes turn glassy and his chest stops its panicked heaving.

“What a waste.” Milanova’s voice cuts through the noise like a—like a knife. “To make it all this way, dedicate his entire life to becoming a Keeper, only to throw it all away like this." From the corner of his eye, Atom sees her pull out a handkerchief to wipe the blade clean. "Unfortunately for you Belov, that means you’re on your own now."

A deep dark red stains the white of Lev's Keeper uniform. Today was their very first day wearing official whites. Only hours ago, in the changing room, Lev had joked about how the color washed him out.

"Belov?"

Atom blinks, tearing his eyes from the body. It takes an immense effort to look at Lev’s killer.

"Do you have any questions?"

"No, Sergeant."

"Then you may begin your mission."

"Yes, Sergeant."

Atom's feet carry him to the apartment's entrance. When the door clicks shut behind him, everything goes quiet. His own breathing sounds too loud in the vacant hallway. A choking feeling rises in his throat. Atom yanks down his scarf to heave. The image of Lev on the ground burns in his vision, like after looking at a bright light for too long, dragging across his line of sight no matter where he looks.

With effort, Atom pulls himself together before he can slip any further. He pushes himself away from the wall and breathes until the hallway stops looking like it wants to collapse on him. Until the sick in his throat is something he can leave on the floor, at his feet. To be collected after.

It turns out that the stairwell has no heat, but it at least provides shelter from the wind. Taking one step at a time, Atom climbs all seven flights.

He doesn’t know how long he stands outside the door to room 716. Somewhere down the hall a dog is barking. At one point, an elder woman wearing a colorful headscarf exits her apartment and makes her way towards him, but when she gets a better look at his uniform, she turns around and walks all the way to the stairwell at the other end of the hall. Inside his Target’s room he hears music—something slow and crackly, from centuries past. It sounds like something Lev would play from his radio, quietly from the bunk above Atom during nights when he couldn't sleep. The noise would in turn keep Atom up well into the night, but he never complained about it.

Atom raises his fist and knocks, loud and heavy.

The music dies. Footsteps approach, followed by whispers just on the other side. The door opens to a man's face. He looks older than 32, square-jawed with a graying beard. As his eyes take in his visitor his expression morphs from curiosity to thinly veiled fear.

"Sergei Ivanov?" Atom asks.

Before the Target can answer, a middle-aged woman appears over his shoulder. Her eyes are large and brown and framed by silver glasses. "Who is this?" she asks.

"Keeper Atom Belov, acting on the behalf of the United Keep. I am here to speak to Sergei Ivanov."

With a large hand the Target—Sergei—reaches up to wipe a sheen of sweat from his forehead. His wife's grip on his shoulder tightens. After a moment of silence, she asks Atom if he would like to come inside for a cup of tea. “We can all sit and talk at the table.” she says.

"Honey—" Sergei tries to protest, but she won’t hear it.

"It's okay. It's going to be okay." With visible strain she manages to urge her husband away from the door, forcing a smile at Atom as he steps inside. He follows her to a small wooden dining table and unclips his sword, leaning it against the wall beside his chair before taking a seat.

“Sergei, could you get the teapot started? I’ll stay out here and keep our guest company.” She takes the seat in front of Atom and pointedly avoids looking at the sword. “I’m Katya,” she says. “Sorry about the mess, we weren’t expecting company today.”

From what Atom can see, the apartment is spotless, and smells like freshly baked bread. He hears Sergei in the kitchen to his left and turns to watch the open doorway.

Katya tries again to get his attention. “How long have you been a Keeper?” she asks. Atom fiddles with the knife holster on his thigh. He doesn’t feel like lying, but he doesn’t want to admit to her that he isn’t an official Keeper—not yet—so he says nothing.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you look young. How old are you?”

Atom bites his tongue, but decides to answer anyway. “Sixteen.”

Her chair creaks as she leans back. “Good God.” she whispers.

Atom doesn’t look at her. She stops asking questions and sits in silence until the teapot starts to make noise. Then she excuses herself to the kitchen. Above the whine of the teapot Atom overhears Sergei’s low, pleading voice.

“Take all the money in the pantry and go with Dasha to your mother’s house. Go now, I’ll tell him you went to the store. Katya, please, I want to know you and Dasha are safe. Leave now.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Kat—”

“Let’s sit down—together, and speak to him. He’s just a kid. He has no reason to be here. Whatever this is for, there’s no reason to be afraid.

“Look at me. There is no reason for him to be here. Right?”

But Sergei doesn’t answer. Or if he does, Atom can no longer hear him above the deafening whine of the teapot. One of them finally takes it off the stove and Atom listens to the aggressive clinking of tableware before Katya comes out of the kitchen carrying a tray of warm bread, sliced strawberries, a dish of butter, and tea. She sets the table for three people despite Sergei having yet to show himself. She pours a steaming cup of black tea into a delicate porcelain cup and sets it in front of Atom before slumping back into her seat.

Somewhere in the living room, a clock ticks.

“Why are you here?” she asks.

“I need to speak to Sergei.”

“About what?”

But Atom doesn’t look at her again. He pushes himself to his feet and takes up his sword. Katya stands too, nearly knocking her chair over in the process. She calls out her husband’s name in alarm. Atom finds him leaning over the kitchen sink with his back to him. His head turns, just so, when he hears Atom enter the room.

“Sergei Ivanov. The United Keep has declared you an Enemy of the public and found you guilty of High Treason. You will pay for your crime with your life. You can come with me, quietly, and I'll let you say goodbye to your family. Or we can do this another way."

Slowly, Sergei straightens his back. He lets out a shaky sigh. “What is the other way?”

“You die. Here and now.”

Sergei nods, and makes a noise that sounds almost like a laugh. Then he turns around with a large kitchen knife in his large hand.

"Let us see if there is a third way.”

He looks tired, but by no means does he look weak. Sergei is a large man, twice Atom’s age, and they both know there is no way out of this without a fight.

So Atom widens his stance and raises his sword. "So be it."

The Enemy takes a heavy step towards him and the kitchen is so small that there is nowhere for Atom to duck to. So he doesn't. He swings, a clean upward arc, and a scream fills his ears on impact. Bright pure red sprays the walls and ceiling and blooms across white kitchen tiles underfoot. The Enemy’s momentum propels him forward and he lands on Atom with a guttural noise, crushing him against the refrigerator. Atom drops his sword in favor of fending off the knife aiming for his face. Sergei uses the last of his strength to try and drive it through his cheek and manages to break skin. Atom feels the tip of the blade clink against his teeth at the same time that shock seizes Sergei, and he collapses to the ground, dragging the knife down with him.

Atom swears, clutching at the stinging pain in his face. He tastes blood, and the feel of it is slick against his gloved hand. Through a blinding haze of pain he sees Katya on the ground beside Sergei. Her hands, trying to close the large, weeping gash, are red. When she realizes that it's already too late and her husband is dead, she takes up Atom’s sword and stands. It shakes in her hands. Thick blood drips slowly from her fingers.

“You—,” Her eyes are wide and wild behind her glasses. “I let you into my home.” She takes a frantic step towards him. “What kind of monster are you? You—You’re nothing."

Atom lets his hand drop. The blood running down his chin almost feels like he's crying. Slowly, he stands up straight, and wraps both hands around the blade pointed at him. He pulls, and at first Katya resists. Then she catches another glimpse of the body at her feet and wrenches back in horror. Atom turns the sword around in his hands. He exhales.

Outside, the wind screams. It howls and it rages and in his ears he hears Lev pleading, ‘But what did he do?’ and there are two bodies at Atom’s feet.

He feels cold all over. Then the shaking starts. The stench of iron fills his lungs and Atom gags, stumbling from the kitchen. He drops heavily into the chair at the dining table. The clotting, drying blood on his face starts to itch. The clock keeps ticking. He fishes out a radio from his pocket and tosses it onto the table. He touches the still-full cup of tea beside it and feels warmth seep into his fingertips. It feels wrong. He returns his hands to the hilt of his sword.

A pair of eyes tracks the movement from the bottom of a narrow staircase by the front door. When Atom turns his head to look, he sees the face of a young girl staring at him from the shadows. Atom hadn’t noticed her with how still she sat there, but as soon as he makes eye contact, she stutters to her feet.

Atom knows what she sees, knows what he looks like at that moment, but he wonders if she knows that her parents are dead. He tries to say something to her but the only thing that comes out of his mouth is an ugly choked noise. At that, she makes her decision and bolts for the front door.

He stands up and manages two steps in pursuit before he stops.

She slips through the door barefoot and runs. Atom holds himself still and listens to her footsteps rapidly growing quieter as she makes her escape. His body screams at him to go after her, quickly, before he loses her trail. Keep your head down, follow your training, do what needs to be done to stay alive. But the smell of blood is still churning his stomach and she is just a child. So he refuses to take another step, despite the sudden spike of adrenaline rushing through his bloodstream, urging him to go and fulfill his duty. Or else—

Scrubbing at the crusted blood around his mouth, Atom spins back to the dining table and picks up his radio. He clicks it on and tunes in to the channel for body collection. After listing off the apartment address and room number, he reports a total of two bodies and sits back down to wait for their arrival. He keeps his back to the door and stares at a single point on the wall and waits.

A team of four shows up, clad from head to toe in stiff white plastic garb. One of them greets Atom and tries to make small talk but Atom only motions to the kitchen and tries not to look at anyone. The rest of them don’t pay him any attention anyway, and get right to the task at hand. They make quick work of it, and in a matter of minutes Sergei and Katya are neatly hauled out of their home in two shiny white body bags. Atom follows them out of the apartment just as the cleaning crew arrives.

Outside, the world is just the same as it was before, and Milanova is still polishing her knife. She looks up at the commotion at the door and nods at him. Atom walks over to stand beside her. She slides the knife into her holster before giving him a stiff smile.

“Congratulations,” she says. “You passed. I’ll get the paperwork started tonight, and by tomorrow morning you should be able to start your duties as an official Unity Keeper. Welcome aboard, Belov.”

Her hand lands heavily on Atom’s shoulder. She gives it a tight squeeze. “Would you like me to call medical for your face, or do you want to catch a ride with me back to the base?”

“It can wait.” Atom musters a shrug. “Just a scratch.”

“That’s going to get infected without treatment.” she says, as a matter of fact. But she doesn’t push it. She takes her hand from Atom’s shoulder and he takes a small step away. His attention lands on the body collection crew as they begin lifting each bag into the back of their van. Four body bags. Atom ticks off the names in his head. Sergei, Katya, Lev, and a fourth, smaller lump.

Atom has to grip the wall behind him to stay upright.

“You passed your test today, but I hope you know that in the future, there will be no leniency for the type of mistake you made. I understand that you were not intended to take on this mission by yourself, which is why I’m willing to look past your error. But for all future missions, from this day forward, you will be expected to take out all witnesses, despite their involvement with the Target, just as you have been taught all throughout training. Do I make myself clear?”

Atom feels numb from the inside out. A bone-deep, chilling numbness.

“Yes, Sergeant.” he says.

“Good. One more thing, I wanted to give this to you. As a reminder.”

She walks over to the back of the body van and presents him with a bundle of white fur. Lev’s fur hat. Atom takes it and holds it. He doesn’t know what to do with it. He doesn’t know what to say. He wants to leave, he wants to go back to his bed at the barracks, he wants to go to medical, he wants to get back on the metro and rewind this entire day, but the gift works as Milanova intended—Atom digs his fingers into it and knows that there is no going back.

“Blood is the price for peace, Belov. Never forget that.” she says, and Atom—sixteen years old and a killer for the first time in his life—commits those words to memory.

#if there are any original hymn readers still around... hello! surprise!#still care deeply about atom and his story. its just not the type of story i can submerge myself in right now #maybe i will circle back to it someday but if not at least this part can breathe #HYMN #my writing #will post new art soon. maybe even today! thank you to those who have sent kind messages in the meantime <3

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suburbanbonfire · 2 months

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tagged by @18minutemajor for a hockey art share tag game! I enjoy talking about myself but am terrible at posting so this is perfect. i WILL talk too much, this is a threat.

rules: post your first ever hockey art, your latest hockey art, and your favourite hockey art, then tag three hockey artists.

FIRST ART

I made the Kraken Orb (Korb) at the end of the 22-23 season, as a commemoration, although a sort of ironic one considering i had only gotten into hockey in time for the playoffs so there are a couple players here i actually never got to see play at all before making this (Joonas, Jaycob, Burky, Fleury)

it was a whole lot of fun though! Prior to this i was in a months-long art slump after leaving a fandom, so it was a total surprise to have hockey of all things be what revitalized my art.

technically, the very first hockey art from this was Matty; you can kinda tell by the way his lines are a bit thicker than the rest since i wasn't in my groove yet. i also knew coming in that i wanted to arrange the faces in a circle, but didn't plan out beyond that, so i just made sure that i was getting a variety of head directions in my references and hoped for the best. My favorites from this are Gru, Soucy, Dunn, Schultz, Borgen, and Eeli. I think they all turned out really well.

LATEST ART

MEAT CUT MEAT CUT

this one is fun for me because it's quite different from my usual style of art, with lineart and non-realistic forms/face. I've had the concept in my head for awhile after hearing/reading so many interesting descriptions of the physical qualities that good hockey players possess.

'Sacrifice the Body' actually came in mid-art when i had an epiphany doing something like driving my car or an activity similarly unrelated. Before that, it was going to be a lil heart drawn on the chest and the going contender for the label was 'Ferda.' which would've been great, but sacrifice the body just worked too dang well with the themes.

FAVORITE ART

i mean, c'mon. it's gotta be this one.

my magnum opus, my white whale. it came out even better than i saw it in my head and i love everything about it. when i came up with the idea, i had TOTALLY forgotten that Climate Pledge has those giant windows, so when i set out to find references and saw it, it instantly made everything even better with LIGHTING!!!!

It was my first time drawing this kind of interior architecture and although there's definitely things i would do differently now, im so so proud of how it looks and turned out. I was also still drawing through my decade-old laptop at that point, so I had to split up the work on this into two files - i sketched everything, then worked ONLY on the bg until it was about 90% done, then made a flattened copy to open as a new file to draw the players on top of.

I also have a bunch of WIP shots of it in my drafts I guess I'll throw in here now!

initial sketch to get down the composition before i remembered the window | lines of the building! i actually found a 3d virtual tour of CPA from before it was built which had the PERFECT angle, so i screencapped that and straight up traced the architecture. Ultimately, the scoreboard and the paint lines ended up getting moved around.

planning out my lighting in greyscale (i really need to do this more often, i struggle with values so much, alas) | in progress bg! at this point, the ice and the boards/glass were the only things completed. I eventually said 'fuck it' to being able to see the areas behind the stands like you could in all my references, and just put the people dots all the way up.

Now the most gut-wrenching part

THE TAGS

this is where me being bad at posting comes into play, because instead i just lurk and thats not great for forming connections HERE GOES

@ruinedcasket - it has been awesome seeing your art progress! would love 2 hear your thoughts about it

@rouzys - your kraken stuff is so pretty, love how you capture likenesses

oh god oh fuck everyone else i know has already been tagged fuck oh sshit

If You Are An Artist On Hockey Twit And See This, It Is A Sign

#believe it or not this is actually a sideblog #and i dont do any posting on my main blog either #just reblog memes from sun up to sun down baybeyyy #i am simply not as funny as i think i am and only realize it when i go to post and so i hit delete #but i love babbling i truly do #its why my tag section is always a CVS receipt in length #if you are an artist please i want to see you work #submerge me in art i love 2 see it bless my eyeballs #maybe this rambling im doing rn is because i need to actually eat so im gonna do that #godspeed #rambles #tag game

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