#Black magic is something at least sorta known about in this universe so its a tragedy not unexplainable to the general public | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kareofbears · 3 years

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plainly in truth, chapter 4/5

“Without you around, it’s sorta like stuff is just kinda…bleh.”

—

Or: hiding, confiding, and misguiding.

read on ao3 or below the cut

Niijima Makoto doesn’t know what she’s doing.

It’s rare, but it happens. Sometimes she doesn’t understand the material in university. Sometimes the trains close down before she can catch the last one. Sometimes she has a breakdown because what does it mean that the system that got her father killed is the same one that she’s working so hard to get into.

But there’s always a way to find a solution—ask the professor after lecture. Call Sae and, as humiliating as it was, ask for a ride home. Convince herself that maybe she’s what the system needed in order to get real change. (She’s not quite there yet.)

She doesn’t know what she’s doing with Ryuji, and the internal tug-of-war is almost getting too much for her.

Makoto can help him; how many students has she worked with to help get them back on their feet? But each of those students she had tutored wanted help—she didn’t need to convince them to focus on school. How do you convince someone to get academic help? Duct tape them to a chair and show them a PowerPoint about how their life can fall apart if they don’t take this seriously? Then she’d be blatantly ignoring his mental struggle, and be no better than the adults who want to push kids through a meat grinder that’s the education system and turn them into mindless workers, existing solely to earn them profit.

Then she can leave him alone. That’s what he wants, anyway, and it’s by far the simplest option.

However, if she leaves him alone, would that mean that she’s still the same person who let Shujin students sell themselves to Kaneshiro? Convinced that they can handle it on their own, but only letting their debts pile higher and higher on themselves until they get crushed?

Sudden laughter and shouting from behind pulls Makoto back to reality. They were all in a heated game of Tycoon, and it sounds like Akira’s been on a winning streak for the past half hour.

She grips the steering wheel tighter, forcing herself to focus on the road and not the whirlwind of thoughts. The highway is nearly empty, despite the sun being high in the sky, not a single cloud blocking its rays. They’re on their way to Okinawa, and it’s her turn to drive.

Makoto may not know what she’s doing, but she can at least do this.

—

Okumura Haru has always had a bit of a guilt complex.

It started with refusing to give her hand to an abusive man for her also abusive father’s business, and it had only escalated even further once she realized that it’s technically her fault that her father had been killed; that one in particular had been crippling. Not only because he died due to her poor decision making, but it was another reason why the Thieves had fallen for Shido’s trap last year.

She respects herself enough now to understand that most of it is misplaced, but it doesn’t erase any of the guilt she still carries today. Far from it—that guilt has only grown to be bigger, looming over her as if it were ready to consume every inch of her body and spit out a bag of bones.

This situation, though, she can’t help but feel that her guilt isn’t quite as misplaced as she likes to convince herself it is.

They were all having lunch at the ferry’s restaurant; it’s small, given how little people want to go all the way out to Okinawa, but it’s still selling ludicrously overpriced coffee and pastries. Nobody seems to mind, though. All of them were sharing one cheese omelette, each with a plastic fork in hand, tapping them against each other to get the best piece and assert dominance like animals at a watering hole.

A way to soothe guilt is to somehow find a way to remedy the situation. Employees of Big Bang Burger have been unionized, her father is now remembered for the man he was rather than the man he became, Sugimura has long since been a problem (how he stopped being a problem, she legally cannot speak about), and Shido isn’t even in the public’s conscious anymore.

But for Ryuji, there is no way to soothe that guilt. Not in a way that matters.

It’s not just because Haru had essentially been the reason why too many people know his secret, but because the secret should have never happened in the first place. She’s his senpai, she was supposed to be the one looking out for him. Ryuji was struggling, mentally and academically, and she hadn’t realized it until it was far too late. He had been there for her, ready to knock Sugimura’s teeth into his throat, but she couldn’t have done the same for him when it truly mattered.

How do you soothe that guilt? Buy out the entire school? Forge his grades? More cram books? That’s ridiculous.

There’s no way to soothe that guilt, she realizes, because the only real way to do that was to turn back time.

—

Kitagawa Yusuke understands pride better than most people.

Without a cent to his name for most of his life, pride was all he had. Pride of being the pupil of someone great, pride of turning money away in the name of art. Being able to withstand enormous pressure and stick to his guns has always been one of his strongest abilities.

They’re in the Okinawa jail, tearing through Shadows and screaming Sophia’s name, over and over again until all of their throats are torn raw. He calls for Goemon, and ice crawls over the narrow corridors of the facility like ants covering every inch of a buffet. They’re all strong, because they have to be, but the Shadows here are cunning; fast and magic-infused, drunk on the strange, thick air that’s bled into every inch of cement in this building.

But pride can be an unforgiving catalyst that can change you from the inside out, like a parasite hijacking your brain stem and compels you to bow down to it. He had refused to see the truth, turned a blind eye to the evils of his sensei, and it made him into a lesser version of himself. It had made him weaker.

A crack of lightning strikes, emanating light so bright that he instinctively raises a hand to block it out. When it dims, any smell of the cold, dry air is gone—in its place is the distinct scent of ozone wafting around him, and a light buzz that settles atop his skin like a second layer. The hair on his nape stands, but Yusuke’s positive it didn’t come from the electricity still buzzing from the ashes of the Shadows.

Ryuji had obliterated all of their foes with one, clean strike.

—

Takamaki Ann can tell that something’s off.

Her toes are buried deep in hot sand, taking refuge under their big umbrella. The sun is just about setting over the horizon, casting an orange glow on her skin, and she idly hopes that she had put on enough sunscreen. They’ve tired themselves out for the most part; some were taking naps on beach towels, some had retired back to the RV where air conditioning awaits them.

Only Akira and Ryuji were left, standing where the sand meets the tide, water lapping at their ankles. She couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but she recognized the look on Akira’s face—with his glasses hanging from his button up, his eyes sparkled brighter than the ocean does, not quite smiling but his lips are curled up as if unable to completely restrain itself. It’s the look he reserves for Ryuji.

She digs her feet deeper into the sand, enjoying the way it tickles her calves. Ann’s been thinking about this whole thing in her head ever since she found out the truth, and something just isn’t adding up.

As absolutely insane as it all is, if she closes one eye, tilts her head, and slams her head against a wall, she can sort of, kind of, maybe understand where he’s coming from. She’s known him too long not to. The whole actively lying to his friends thing is still unforgivable, but the need to hide it? Understandable. She barely scraped by second-year herself with a prayer and English-speaking parents, and even then her grades are nothing to write home about.

Ann could barely believe that Ryuji really thought that Akira would leave him over something as stupid as flunking school, but even that she can understand, too. Everyday, she wants to be a better person for Shiho, and everyday, she goes to bed thinking that she didn’t try hard enough. Ann gets it. Love screws with your brain, swirls it up until you can barely stand up straight, and definitely messes with your perception of yourself. Ridiculous, crazy, but still somewhat coherent.

There’s still one piece in this whole puzzle that hasn’t clicked yet, and it’s been bugging her ever since that night in the cafe.

As perceptive as he is, as smart and observant and unstoppable as he is, as kind and knowledgeable as he is, as much as he adores Ryuji to the moon and back—

Why hasn’t Akira said anything yet?

—

Sakura Futaba knows that something’s off.

As the navigator, she sees everything she needs to make sure her team makes it out of every battle alive and victorious. Necronomicon can see stuff that no one else can, can predict two, three, four moves before it can happen. She eats stats for breakfast and spits out results by second breakfast. She knows her team’s moveset like the back of her hand and then some. Futaba takes this seriously, because if she doesn’t, someone’s not walking out alive.

The best part is that she’s good at this. So good that the eternal worrywart, Joker himself, can still walk out of the Metaverse with a head of thick, black hair.

But something’s been off. She felt it in her bones and that feeling only gets more prominent with every passing Jail—no, not even Jail. With every battle, that feeling only gets stronger in her gut.

When it started is still a mystery to her, but she started picking up on it in Sapporo. Sapporo. Her mom told her never to pray, but by god she’s hoping that it started in Sapporo, because this—this thing, is too big to have missed.

Futaba isn’t sure what it is yet, but she has no idea what’s happening with Ryuji.

To be more specific, she has no idea what’s happening with Captain Kidd, but that’s basically the same thing; Personas are the extension of the user, I am thou, et cetera. The weirdest part is, she knows something’s off, but she doesn’t know if it’s necessarily a problem.

It’s as if Ryuji’s been hitting the gym while they weren’t looking, or giving Kidd a stern talking to. His attacks, which used to be around the same baseline as the rest of the team, is nearly outputting double the amount of damage than the rest of them. His hits are buffed to the wazoo on a level she’s never seen before in any other Persona user, even Akira.

She’s considered bringing it up with him dozens of times. The two of them have to be honest with each other, not because they love and respect each other or any of that bullcrap—it’s because it’s the only way anything can ever function in the team. Between the navigator and the leader, if they ever hide anything from the other, no matter how small, things would never run smoothly. Or worse: it’ll crash and burn.

And then Ryuji comes along and makes them all take a blood oath to never, ever tell Akira a really big secret.

Technically, she doesn’t see an issue with it. It’s more of an unspoken rule than any kind of signed contract, and it’s mostly about Metaverse stuff instead of real world problems. She’s not eagerly telling Akira about her private Pixiv account or anything. But it’s not impossible to think that Ryuji being strong enough to be wearing ten Gilded Vests stacked on top of each other is somehow connected to his very real, very heart-affecting situation. If she really thought it was a problem, she’d tell Akira right away. It’s better to have Ryuji hate her than to have him dead.

But when she sees Akira’s face flash with relief in Akane’s Jail when Ryuji all but annihilates a mega-super-high level Shadow, one that Akira’s been stressing about the entire time since they’ve been here despite him trying his best to act cool about it because he has to be, it’s kinda hard to consider this to be a problem at all.

—

Between Konoe’s attacks and relentless bolts of ions getting shot up every few seconds, the static is so thick in the air that their hairs are all frayed and heading skywards.

The blast from Konoe’s mech, once a symbol of their triumph and had pulled no small amount of whoops and cheers from their throats, is only the first stage of their fated battle. They hadn’t planned for an extra phase, and the only reason they were able to escape was that steam from the busted metal and machinery had given them a few seconds of cover.

All of them are huddled behind a wall, outlined with neon blue that only served to blend them in with the futuristic technicholar that is the Osaka Jail.

“We’re clear,” Makoto announces, voice low as she returns from peeking around the corner. “No chance he knows our location.”

“Thank you Queen,” Akira says, mask pushed far up his head, clear eyes rapidly checking over each of his teammates, nodding. “Good work out there with the mech, now let’s figure this one out. What do we know?”

“Not a lot,” Futaba’s goggles reflect data as her fingers dance over the screen. “If we assumed that his weaknesses would be the same as his mech, then it would be lightning and nuclear.”

“Only if we assume that his physical form reflects his robotic form,” Yusuke points out. “What are the odds that that’s the case?”

Morgana taps his paw on the ground, deep in thought. “High, I’d say. Remember, he didn’t even think anyone could actually get into his Jail. He was worried enough to give himself two forms, but I doubt he’d go much deeper than that in terms of protection.”

“Look, my math might be a little off,” Ryuji starts. “But it’s literally a ten-on-one, right? I vote we kick his ass from the get go.”

Akira grips his arm. “Don’t. It might be a ten-on-one, but I don’t want to be walking out of here with only nine or less. We take this slow, like we always do.”

“...Fine.”

“What I’m worried about is that big sword of his,” Ann says grimly. “It looks like one hit from that thing I can kiss my entire torso goodbye.”

“That’s what I was thinking.” Eyes flickering to Futaba, Akira asks, “Possible defenses?”

“I’m not seeing anything special from it other than it’s huge and sharp and could kill us if he really wanted to, which, he does. So it looks like it’s physical, unless he has something up his sleeve.”

“Which he probably does, because that’s just how things usually go for us,” Ann sighs.

“We’ll go with what we know.” Akira gets on his feet, taking another peek, black coattails swishing around his ankles. With blood-red hands he pulls his mask back down, and they all straighten up. His voice is barely above a mutter, but they all catch every word he says. “Panther, how’s your energy?”

“Nearly full,” she answers.

“Use Concentrate on Queen and Skull on their call, double their magical attack whenever you can. I know it takes awhile to reuse when you’re using it for anyone but yourself, but try your best. Ryuji, how you holding up?”

“Like everything’s zero gravity, leader.”

“Then I want you to do the same with Charge for Fox, Noir, and yourself. Don’t overdo it though—only do it on my call.”

“Got it.”

“Sophie, Morgana: healing duty. Especially for those of you who drain your health like an open tap. Noir, try to get a vantage point and use Milady’s arsenal. Catching Konoe off guard can be what we need. Oracle, watch our backs. Everyone else, on standby. Are we all clear?”

With a nod, Akira takes a deep breath. “Then let’s get this show on the road.”

He takes the first step, knowing full well that ten more are right behind him.

The minute Konoe spots where they were hiding, he takes a slow pace towards them, confident in his own abilities. He swings his lightsaber around him with ease, footsteps heavy and sure.

They take his lethargy to their advantage. “Split!” Akira calls, and immediately they head to where they need to be. “Let’s take this nice and—”

In a split second, the unhurried pace that Konoe was taking dissipates and he dashes forward, a blur to their eyes, heading straight for Ann, who just barely dodges out of the way.

“What the hell?!”

“He’s fucking fast now!”

“This guy’s speed just cranked up!” Futaba yells. “If he could do that without me even realizing it, then who knows—”

“Stay sharp, we know what we’re doing.”

“How on earth are you still so calm, Joker?!”

“Because I believe in all of you.” Dashing left, he brushes his mask. “Neko Shogun, help me out.” A black cat with eyes bigger than his hand materializes from the monochrome mask, and they all suddenly feel lighter on their feet, ready to dodge anything that comes their way. “Queen, Skull.”

“Roger that!”

Makoto scales one of the neon walls, grip strength insurmountable, and runs across the wires that are tied from each platform, boots barely touching the cord, before jumping down. “Johanna!”

An explosion, or something more akin to a nuclear bomb getting set off mere meters in front of them, occurs where Makoto lands, hitting Konoe head-on.

He staggers back, obviously shaken but he recovers quickly. Lightsaber buzzing red, he’s about to strike at her when she hops on the back of Johanna, engine revving. “Lucky us, he’s weak to nuclear.”

Ryuji hops on his feet, hyping himself up. “Not all of us have cars for a quick getaway,” he snarks, before he’s gone, sprinting so fast that he’s nearly a blur to anyone looking his way. Racing behind a wall, he gets the jump on Konoe. “Come on out, Captain!”

A storm brews even without a single cloud over them as ozone reeks and lightning strikes, the deafening sound of thunder makes their ears ring.

“Holy crap,” Futaba breathes.

“Is he weak?” he asks.

“Uh,” Ann says. Konoe uses his lightsaber as a makeshift cane to get himself on his feet, shaking his head aggressively. “Yeah, I’d say he’s weak to it.”

“Comms are set,” Futaba announces. “Noir, can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Oracle,” a bright voice chirps in their ears. “Joker, it’s an easy shot.”

“Take it.”

“With your help, Milady.”

The unmistakable sound of a gunshot rings out, and their heads swivel to see if it hit, but there’s no one there.

“What the...?” Ann wildly spins around, eyes widening. “Sophie—!”

Without turning her head back, Sophia instinctively ducks sideways, bits of red locks falling to the ground as Konoe’s lightsaber slices through the edges of her hair, and again when it grazes past her head, and another when it slices through the metal flooring like it was butter.

Panic grips her. “Pithos!” Sophia shrieks, voice high with fear. Blinding light shines from her hands, but Konoe walks into it like it was nothing.

Yusuke grips his katana, and silent as a gust of wind on a winter’s night, cuts through the air in front of him to deliver a myriad of slashes over Konoe. It does little to him, but it’s jarring enough that Sophia can escape where she was cornered.

“He’s very speedy,” Sophia says shakily. “Thank you, Fox.”

He nods, touching his mask in preparation. “That speed is nothing to jest about.”

“And we can’t do anything about it by just standing here! Makoto, back me up here.” Ann throws her mask in the air. “Carmen!”

“Find me an opening, and I’ll handle the rest,” Haru’s voice crackles.

“She’s right.” Akira touches his mask as it burns bright with the strength of dozens, maybe even hundreds of Personas. “She needs cover, and we need the element of surprise. Fox, Morgana.”

“Not a word more.”

“You got it!”

Ann takes a leaf from Makoto’s book, using her whip to grapple herself onto a ledge, running to take the high point behind Konoe, grazing Haru’s shoulder on the way there.

Konoe turns, but before he can take a counter measure, Akira calls out: “King Frost.”

At the same time, Yusuke says, voice loud and clear: “Goemon!”

Together, pillars of ice, meters and meters high surround Konoe, high enough that he can’t see anything past a few feet. But that height comes with a price; they can only make it so thick, and the lightsaber didn’t hesitate to crush it into bits.

“Panther, we don’t have too much time.” Already, sweat begins to pool and roll down Akira’s skin, using up his magic rapidly. “Are you in position?”

“Just—” she hops, heels clicking rapidly against the floor. “—About! Ten seconds!”

“We can hold it. Sophia, stay close on standby.”

“Understood!”

Motorcycle wheels screech next to Ryuji, and he doesn’t hesitate to hop on the back before they’re off again, leaving tire marks where they skirted off. “I swear to god, you play the racing games in the arcade. How the hell else would you get so good at this?”

“Would you shut up?” Makoto snaps.

“Roger that.”

“I’m in position!” Ann announces. She’s almost directly on top of the ice pillar. “On your signal.”

Gritting his teeth, Akira wipes the sweat away. “Hold.”

Yusuke swivels his head to him, knees shaking. “I can hold for as long as you need me to, but I might not be as much use afterwards.”

“It’s fine.” His eyes narrow at Konoe, still tearing through their ice blockade as the pile of shards only gets higher and higher. “Just a little bit longer. Sophia, use the biggest, most pinpoint bless move you have on my word.”

“Yes,” she responds, before hesitating. “He’s immune to it, I’m afraid.”

“I know.” Even Akira sounds breathless, his footing becoming unsteady.

“Joker, you don’t have much left,” Futaba warns. “You better hope this ends things, or we’re gonna have a real big problem on our hands.”

Once the shards of ice have piled high enough that it would surpass Konoe’s height twice over, and despite his hands beginning to turn blue, Akira's grin is wide. “Three—”

Yusuke’s vision begins to blur, but he refuses to relinquish Goemon.

“Two—”

Haru rearranges her finger on the trigger, palms drenched in sweat but they don’t shake. Not anymore.

“One—”

Ann takes a few steps back, sucking in a breath before sprinting forward, jumping straight over the open-chasm of ice and death beneath her.

“Now!”

Carmen releases a blaze of flame intense enough to encompass an entire neighborhood and then some, taking the shards and bits of ice that was piled high on top of each other and turning it into a cloud of fog and hot mist, shooting straight up and turning the visibility of the whole area to zero.

Yusuke crumbles to his knees as Ann tucks and rolls onto the floor, hissing as she feels her ankle twist into something nasty. “Shit!”

Akira staggers back, gripping his head like it hurts for him to stand, but that doesn’t stop him from yelling out: “Sophia!”

“Makougan!”

Like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm, there shines a beam of light so bright, so concentrated into one area, that they all know exactly where to aim their fire.

It all comes tumbling down, a perfectly set-up domino trap; Haru pulls trigger after trigger, bullet shells flying, ignoring the way her shoulder is inching further and further from where it’s supposed to be by taking the brunt of the recoil. Ryuji hops off the bike, crossing his arms in front of him calling two, three, four bolts as Makoto calls another nuclear blast.

From inside the whirlpool of thick clouds, where the fog is most dense, a figure sways, coughing and lurching forwards and back, trying desperately to escape.

“Oh no you don’t! Zorro!”

Wind, so thick you can almost see it, swirls around most of the mist, locking it in and dragging everyone else’s attacks right in the center.

Futaba’s clacking can be heard even now. “He’s losing health fast! Eighty percent, seventy percent, sixty—”

The ground trembles ominously.

“What in the world…?” Yusuke pants from the ground, elbows barely able to keep his torso up.

It happens again, stronger this time.

“Fifty, forty—” she continues, voice small and desperate. “Thirty! Twenty!”

Akira presses his palm against the ground, eyes closed before snapping open. Despite his exhaustion, he compels himself to stand, arms outstretched defensively. “Guard!”

They do so, and a streak of pure light flickers from the inside, before rapidly getting larger and larger until it turns into a scintillating sphere that grew and pulsed, eating up everything in its wake and blowing away the captivating fog. Try as they might, there’s nothing they can do to stand up against a Megidolaon.

Bruised and battered, Konoe stands tall as the Phantom Thieves can do nothing but look up from the ground, energy and options all but dried up until neither was left.

—

“Stop, I can walk, let me up—”

“Panther, stop struggling, your ankle is already too injured to—”

“Fuck! Oracle, does he know where we are?”

“Not yet; looks like that vanish ball Joker threw out gave us some cover but it’ll last for a way shorter time considering he blew through our plan in less than—”

“Whoa, Fox, you’re not looking good.”

“I’m afraid I can’t keep going, everyone. Goemon has reached his limit, but I don’t necessarily need him to keep fighting. Judging by my vision, however, my accuracy might be much lower than usual.”

“Man, shut up and stay down.”

“Sophia? Can you hear us?”

“Yes, but—ow!”

“Okay, stop moving, you’re only going to make it worse.”

“Joker, we still have plenty of items that we’ve accumulated from previous Jails. We don’t have much time before he can find us again, but if we put our heads together—”

“Are you talking about the scraps of grilled corn and the three life stones we have left? It would be suicide. We have to go in, guns blazing. It’s the only way it can work.”

“You’re talking about suicide, Mona, and the ‘guns blazing’ strategy you’re talking about would be literally lead to us serving our heads on a silver platter.”

“So what’s your plan, Queen? I’m all ears, I’m serious.”

“G-guys, stop fighting! We’ve barely got enough time as is. Just let me scan—”

“We’re pulling back.”

All eyes turn to Akira, posture straight despite the sheen of sweat clinging to his forehead. It’s obvious how he was barely able to stand.

Ryuji takes a step forward. “Are you crazy?”

"More than half of us are running on fumes, and half of those people are injured to the point where they can barely keep going. Our plan was shattered like it was nothing, he has a super move that’s so powerful that it tears through our defenses like tissue paper. We’re retreating.”

“Like hell we are! Do you know what’s gonna happen if we leave?”

“We heal our injuries, we get more items, we prepare better this time, and we come up with a better plan.”

“And that gives that bastard—” he jerks his thumb behind him. “The exact same advantage.”

“And what advantage do we have?” Akira’s voice is calm but they all feel the edge to it. “Who can even fight?”

“I can,” Morgana answers quietly. “He takes wind like concrete, though.”

“So can I. However, I can’t do as much as I normally can.” Haru rolls her shoulder, wincing. “I may have dislocated my shoulder earlier.”

“And me, obviously,” Ryuji finishes. “That’s nearly an entire team. We even have support and a distance shooter, and Futaba’s still in this too, so—”

“No.”

“What?”

“I said no,” he says, hard. “Don’t be stubborn about this. You know damn well why we can’t.”

Akira turns on his heel, only the slightest wobble in his movements. “Let’s move out. We only have thirty seconds left before the vanish ball wears off.”

“We’re not leaving.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Is it because you’re not on the team?”

A hush falls on them, and for a second, everyone forgets that they were even in the middle of a battle.

Akira glances back, hair covering his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Ryuji takes another step forward, chin tilted up. “That you don’t think that we can handle this without you.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it really? When was that last time you weren’t on the A team, Joker? Does anyone remember?” He glances at the rest of them. “Anyone? No? Yeah, I figured.”

He stares at him. “What’s wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?”

“I just don’t like that you’re implying that I can’t do shit for myself.”

“Ryuji…” Ann tries quietly.

“Yourself?” He faces him, expression blank. “I thought this was about the team.”

“And I’m part of the team, ain’t I?”

“You’re not dragging the rest of them into your petty, nonsensical argument, Skull,” Akira goes toe-to-toe with him, neither one blinking. “That’s final.”

“You know it would be dumb as shit to give that guy even more time to prepare. It’s like Shido—he was the toughest guy we went up against because he gave himself a billion counter measures since he knew we were coming. Konoe barely knew jack but he handed our asses to us. We finish this now or we don’t finish this at all.”

“I’d rather lose the battle than lose my friends,” he hisses. “We’re leaving. Now.”

“You’re too fucking blind to see that this is more than just us, leader,” Ryuji spits the word. “I can do it—no, I will do it.”

Akira grabs the bandana around his neck. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” he says through gritted teeth. “But you’re not going anywhere near Konoe.”

But it’s useless, and they both know it—Akira’s far too drained and Ryuji’s far too strong for it to be much more than an empty threat.

Ryuji wraps his fingers around his wrist. “I’ll prove to you that I can fucking do this,” his grip is tight, before forcibly peeling Akira’s grasp from him. “Believe in me. I’m strong, Akira.”

“Don’t do this.” Any anger from his words dissipates, and desperation takes its place. “I’m commanding you, as the leader of the Phantom Thieves of Hearts—do not do this.”

With a wide grin and lightning behind his eyes, Ryuji’s gone, and Akira’s hand is grasping thin air.

“Fuck,” he clutches at his head, body shaking with exertion. “Fuck.”

“Oh my god,” Makoto breathes. “He’s going to fight Konoe alone.”

“Over my dead body,” Akira touches his mask. “Come out, Yoshits—” Before he can finish, a gutteral sound from deep in his throat cuts him off, and he crashes ungracefully on the ground. “God dammit.”

Makoto shakes herself out of her stupor, taking a deep breath. “Alright, we can’t leave Skull. We’ll work with what we have.” Instinctively, she looks to Akira for advice, but his eyes are glazed over. Whether or not it’s from exhaustion or shock from what happened, she doesn’t know. “Noir, range attack. Shoot down the broken limbs from the mech, pray it still has nuclear running through its pipes. Mona, you’ll be on the support. Noir is already down in health, and Lord knows Skull’s going to need it. I’m down energy wise, but I have a good visual from above.” Eyes sliding sideways. “Oracle?”

“Comms are set up, I’m scanning for weaknesses, and Skull’s almost there,” she replies instantly. “If you’re going to join him, it’s now or never.”

“Alright.” Makoto swallows. “Everyone else, stay back. You two—go.” Morgana and Noir dart out.

“Thank you,” Akira says quietly. “I was just…out of it.”

“You don’t have to explain. That was…” she trails off when he looks up at her. His gaze in the Metaverse is sharp, always sharp, but now they’re dull. From knives to pebbles.

“Why did he do this?” he whispers. “What did I do wrong?”

The floor begins to rumble again, and they all lean over the edge to watch the battle playout.

“Everyone’s in position,” Yusuke narrates with a frown. “I don’t doubt Skull’s skill, but even at our full power, Konoe couldn’t be beaten.”

“He’s there,” Makoto says, and Akira watches, perfectly still. “He’s about to hit first.”

Ann leans forward, as they all did, at how Ryuji calls Kidd, voice ringing so loud they can hear it from where they sat on top of a wall. “Can he really do it?”

“Well,” Futaba heaves a deep sigh. “He’s right that this is probably our best shot, considering that we already got Konoe down to twenty percent of his health.”

Captain Kidd materializes, and his cannon is leaning back, glowing with power, and Konoe takes a step sideways, about to dodge.

“But Ryuji isn’t the same fighter that he was before.”

Instead of shooting forward, the cannon is swiftly raised skyward and thunder cracks before lightning strikes Konoe, followed by Ryuji lifting his pipe and slamming it straight into his skull and dodging just as another Megidolaon grows where he stood.

All of them stare, wide-eyed, at the spectacle before them like it was a sporting match; a back and forth happens, where Konoe would use his immense speed and power to try and get the leg up on Ryuji, but he would only hit thin air as he dodges and parries, shifting and ducking with a finesse they’ve never seen before, calling up Kidd and using electricity so potent that they feel can its static. Konoe grips his saber and swings and swings, triple-attack rolled into one but everytime he tries he only gets cut off when Ryuji slams his hand into the ground and calls dozens of wildly waving purple hands, each of them clawing at Konoe mercilessly.

“I knew he was stronger than he was before,” Makoto’s eyes are wide with wonder. “But it's like I don’t even recognize him.”

Ions and plasma strike as lightning meets saber, causing a violent cascade of sparks to fly frantically around the two of them. Bullets ring out whenever Konoe takes a step back, only to send him flying as a mini nuclear blast explodes behind him; Haru’s aim is impeccable.

This dance plays out for a long time, with Ryuji calling earth-shaking attacks and dancing around Megidolaons while Haru finds weak spots.

“Has he grown even faster?” Yusuke wonders aloud.

Futaba is struggling to watch all the data, attention straying to watch the fight. “He’s shaved off another ten percent off his health!”

“He’s incredible,” Ann says, awe-struck. “Isn’t he, Joker? He’s totally kicking his ass, pretty much by himself.”

“There’s something wrong.”

She peels her eyes away from below to stare at him, perplexed. “Things couldn’t be any better.”

Akira’s eyes are trained on Ryuji, on the way he’s limboing, countering every single attack rather than guarding. “I’ve seen his style since the very first day he got his Persona, and I’ve never seen him dodge so fluently. So desperately,” he says, eyes narrowed. “Something changed. And I didn’t notice.”

“Guys, am I crazy,” Morgana’s voice crackles in their ear. “Or is he really, really good at dodging attacks? I’ve only healed Noir this entire time, and she’s not even down there.”

“I just think he’s being cautious,” Haru replies, cocking her gun before continuing her assault. “Oracle? Report, please.”

“Five percent left,” they all hear the grin in her voice. “He’s actually going to do it.”

“Panther.” Ann blinks at Akira. “Help me up.”

She does, pushing his shoulders up until he’s sitting straight. “Needed a better view of him being a badass?” she teases.

Instead of answering, his gaze focuses, irises turning into a bright shade of blue.

Third eye, she registers with surprise. “We already know his stats.”

“I don’t care about Konoe’s,” his brow furrows slightly. “I care about his.”

“Two percent!” Futaba calls gleefully.

Suddenly, air catches in Akira’s throat. “What?” Ann startles.

“His endurance,” his voice shakes so intensely that she almost can’t understand what he’s saying. “His endurance.”

“What? What does that mean? Joker?” He tries pushing himself on his feet, crumbling and spewing obscenities when he can’t. “What are you doing? There’s nothing you can do, and Mona’s already got the healing taken care of.”

“One percent!”

The look in Akira’s eye is wild, and he’s paler than she’s ever seen him—whiter than when he came back from the interrogation room, and it’s enough to make her stomach drop all the way to the ground. “By the time they heal him, it’ll be too late.”

Everyone cheers and they both turn their attention back to the battle below them, where Ryuji summons one last bolt at Konoe, and finally, it’s enough to take him down.

Ryuji turns his back to Konoe, arms raised in triumph and drenched in sweat, immense pride clear on his expression.

It all happens in slow motion.

Akira jumps down, ignoring the protests from above, limping and scrambling towards Ryuji. Behind him, Konoe tries for one last, desperate attempt to win by swinging his saber weakly at Ryuji’s ankles, grazing his flesh ever so slightly.

“No!” Akira cries out.

Despite the cut being as shallow as a paper cut and as wide as a bee’s sting, Ryuji crumples to the ground, all life seeped out of him like he was struck through the heart.

#p5 #p5s #mine #fic tag #plainly in truth #persona 5 #persona 5 strikers #ryuji sakamoto #akira kurusu #akiryu #pegoryu #chapter four...how the time flies

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secret-engima · 4 years

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A gift thing for @sparklecryptid since thine computer hath died. Been meaning to do this for a while actually, but finally got it down. I call it: In Which Ace meets Tiny Child Nyx, Libertus Is Having a Crisis, and Why Is Cor Wearing Makeup That Looks Like The Scourge.

...

Ace should have known his day was about to go weird. It was just- one of those days. Where everything felt strange and the clouds overhead had just a little too much power in their rumble to not have Ramuh lurking somewhere inside them.

Still, it was a nice, if cloudy day outside and he’d had plans to hang out with Nyx and Lib and Selena today for a month now. He wasn’t going to let a bit of uneasy feelings stop him.

He should really, REALLY know better than to tempt fate like that by now.

They were all talking as they walked down the street when there was a- blip. Or glitch. A moment where Insomnia shivered around them and Ace’s magic JERKED like there was a hook in his navel, trying to yank him sideways. It stopped almost as soon as it started, but from Nyx’s and Lib’s cursing, he wasn’t the only one. A moment later Nyx was spinning in place in alarm and Ace felt his stomach drop in cold fear and anger when they realized Selena WASN’T THERE ANYMORE.

They started to search frantically, so caught up in looking that they didn’t notice that Insomnia itself was different for at least fifteen minutes. Not until Ace tried to take a shortcut he’d been using for ages and found a dead end instead. The surprise made him stop short, and once he stopped he became aware of Insomnia’s magic. It felt different. It felt foreign. He could feel it rippling and twitching, poking and prodding at him in a way it hadn’t since the day he first set foot in its walls.

What was going on?

Ace emerged from the alley again, looked around with new eyes and realized that all of Insomnia was … a little bit different. A little tweaked. It was enough to creep him out and make his skin crawl as he grabbed Nyx by the elbow and pointed it out to him. Nyx made a face, and Lib growled low in his throat, “So what in the world is going on? Insomnia couldn’t have just changed. Cities don’t do that!”

“And yet,” Ace drawled despite himself, “here we are, and it’s not like there’s two Insomnias around here.”

Nyx huffed a laugh, “Yeah, that would be something a little too much like an episode of that bad sci-fi show Selena likes to watch. With doubles of us running around or something-.”

Magic flared, spiraled out and twisted like a firework on Ace’s senses, loud and emotive in a way Ace had never felt magic be before as something warped out of nowhere to tackle Libertus, “Lib!”

Nyx reached for his kukri and Libertus flailed as if to grab the thing that had just smacked into him and throw it. Ace did neither only because his magic senses were screeching with the realization his brain was still trying to process as Libertus and Nyx both got a good look at the limpet around Libertus’s neck and … froze.

Flyaway velvet black hair in ratty Ulric braids and big, big blue eyes and a smile that was two parts mischief and one part pure joy, the little boy that looked like he’d come straight out of Nyx’s baby pictures leaned back enough to look at Libertus’s face and gush, “Found you! You’re big! How’d you get so big, Lib?”

Libertus gaped. Opened his mouth, closed it, instinctively raised his arms to support the boy hanging off his neck and rasped, “…Nyx?”

The little boy’s grin grew bigger, “Yeah. Who else would I be?”

Nyx- Ace’s Nyx- made a strangled, garbled sound in the back of his throat that Ace agreed with wholeheartedly. Because this kid looked just like Nyx at that age, and he knew Libertus, but he also had magic clear as day on Ace’s senses (it felt like the bright flare-snap of fireworks and the gurgling rush of jungle waterfalls and the tang of ozone, unique and different from Regis’s magic, or Ace’s).

Another magic, this one tasting decidedly of Regis’s but with more ozone in it, flared in anger-worry-annoyance and all three Galahdians turned to face the person stomping his way down the sidewalk, pushing anyone too slow to move out of his way with one arm while the other supported the child on his hip, “Nyx Ulric get back here you little scrap rat so freaking help me-!”

Child!Nyx just laughed and waved cheerfully at the approaching teenager, “Cor’l! Cor’l look! I found a big Lib!”

The teenager came to a stop in front of them and Ace had a heart attack twice over because one: that was a teenage Cor Leonis glaring at them in confusion and two: his face. It took a moment of horrified staring to realize it was makeup, because it was an almost perfect replica of Ardyn’s face when the Scourge was on full display and it was terrifying.

Then he had a third one because the child perched on Cor Leonis’s hip was Libertus. A tiny Libertus who couldn’t have been more than six or seven, and now that he was looking was that … was that a baby sling over Leonis’s shoulders?

Movement stirred over Leonis’s back and Ace managed a strangled noise at the sight of a little Selena, no more than two years old surely, peaking over Leonis’s shoulder in curiosity.

The teenaged Immortal in Scourge makeup stared at them. They stared back. Then he sighed and held out his free hand, “Nyx. Nyx come here.”

“No.”

A dark scowl made terrifying by the makeup, “Nyx Ulric Lucis Caelum,” he growled, “Come here. That is not Libertus. You should know better than to warp to strangers.”

Little Nyx just clung tighter to Libertus’s neck, ignoring the vaguely hysterical look on Libertus’s face as he pouted, “No. Big Lib. Mine now.”

Little Libertus sighed, looking far too put upon for a small child, “Nyx, no.”

“Nyx, yes.”

Cor Leonis’s eye twitched, then he took a deep breath and eyed them skeptically, “You’re really Libertus Ostium and Nyx Ulric?”

Two very numb nods and Cor sighed, “I thought the city was acting up this morning. Come on, Aulea will probably have an explanation for this and I won’t be able to pry Nyx off with a crowbar at this point.”

Ace opened his mouth, “You’re just- gonna accept this? Adult doubles of two kids and a stranger and you’re fine with it?”

“You’re Galahdians, aren’t you? You’re Clan. Besides this isn’t the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. Now come on.”

With nothing really better to do in the wake of the child version of Nyx happily perched in Libertus’s arms, they did.

Ace had a feeling today was going to be a Headache.

(Swapping to HC format for convenience):

-Cor’s Coeurl shows up halfway to the Citadel with Ace’s Selena in tow. No one is sure why they got separated, but she’s here now, and is frankly the only person of Ace’s group handling the situation calmly (sorta. But instead of panic she’s more hyper fixated on BABY NYX. SO CUTE. SHE GETS TO BE THE BIG SIB FOR ONCE YES.)

-Regis knows in an instant who Ace is, Ace wants to know why Regis has a more mild version of Scourge makeup on.

-Also why does he have both an Ulric braid and a marriage braid. Regis isn’t Galahdian w h a t.

-Who is the red-haired Galahdian at Regis’s side, watching them with sharp eyes and also Scourge makeup and ANOTHER COEURL. WHAT.

-What do you mean you’re Vitae, what’s that. What do you mean you were adopted by Galahd. What do you mean GALAHD IS STILL STANDING. W H A T.

-ALSO WHY DO BOTH BBY NYX AND BBY LIB AND BBY SELENA ALL HAVE UNIQUE MAGIC SIGNATURES. WHY CAN BBY NYX WARP. SOMEONE PLS EXPLAIN. AND BRING ALCOHOL. ACE NEEDS A DRINK VERY BADLY PLS.

-Group ends up going to Galahd, which is an angst trip and a half and also a total SHOCK because WALL. MAGIC WALL THAT ISN’T THE INSOMNIAN ONE. TONS OF GALAHDIANS.

-Galahd reaches out her magic to the group the moment they enter this second Wall and Ace almost CRIES at the feel of it. Of a Galahd that is not only unburned but breathing with magic, generations upon generations of magic that have turned the isles to something semi-sentient in their own right.

-Ace does cry when they get to the Sage’s home and its Ardyn, dressed in native Galahd garb, with a cluster of smol magical children around him telling stories.

-Ardyn doesn’t hesitate to sweep this strange Galahdian boy from another dimension into his arms in comfort, his magic reaching out fearlessly to tangle with Nyx’s and Libertus’s as well.

-They figure out how to send them back in like- two days but don’t actually send them back for like- a week because Displaced Galahdians from An Angsty Universe. Must Mother. Must Comfort. Must Cuddle.

-Nyx and Lib spend 90% of the visit with the younger counterpart of their best friend clinging like a monkey to their back because BIG FRIEND. HI BIG SIB FRIEND. Also Nyx just about cries over the cuteness of having a Tiny!Lib trying vainly to Mom Him into being Safe and Reasonable. Lib could bang his head against the wall trying to keep up with a hyper Warptastic child Nyx (he’s never going to complain about the Warptastic adult version again- Warptastic Kiddo Nyx is SO MUCH WORSE-.)

-Ace gets universally Mommed by every Galahdian he meets. He has an entire PACK of Ostium plus Regis following him around in concern. It would drive Ace crazy except they are all projecting love-concern-ours-ours through their magic and its hard to get mad when someone cares that much about you.

-Selena meets Cor’s Bellum wife Adrastia. It’s a match made in Chaos. They get along far too well for comfort. Many things are set on fire. Adrastia offers to share her magic, Ace manages to shut that idea down only because they have to go back to their world eventually and Selena might not cope well with having the magic taken away from her during the return trip.

-All of Galahd plus Regis and Co universally plan to murder some Nifs for the story Ace and the others tell. Of a Galahd that burned. Of a Galahd with no Vitae, no Sage, no protection when Mors pulled back the Wall.

-Nyx gets to meet Callida. Callida is Bursting With Mom Pride and totally teaches him new warp techniques.

-Ace realizes that Cor is universally called “Cor’l” (Coeurl) by Galahd and that it’s not an accent thing and almost dies of hysterical laughter.

#Melodies and Manuscripts #Secret Engima Rambles #Thrown to Wolves verse #royal bastards au #sparklecryptid #xover

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lizzy1162-blog · 5 years

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Phan Rp Starters

RP starters that I've created over some time. you're welcome to use them or message me if you'd like to RP with me.

Total Opposites

Dan was the soft, innocent popular boy that everyone loved, nice but was known for being sassy and sarcastic. Phil was the local badboy and rising rockstar, known for being nice but cocky. They've known eachother for a long time, since they were kids because their houses are right next to eachother. They've always been friends as long as they can remember, always annoy each other on purpose. They still hang out sometimes and Dan even helped Phil with some of his music. They both enjoyed eachother but sometimes to other people it might seem like they just relentlessly tease eathother. Everyone figured Dan and Phil would never end up together because they were so different, some even thinking they hate eachother. Dan really did like Phil but he found it hopeless since he knew Phil didn't like him. So Dan was always seen flirting with other guys at parties or around school. And so there Dan was at his locker putting away his things talking to one of the football players that walked up to him while he waited for the bell to ring.

Local Photographer Dan

Dan was the local photographer, well, more people knew him as the “kid with the camera”. He was always taking pictures on his old Pentax film camera, he refused to use anything digital because he just loved to shoot film, saying it was better because all of the imperfections are what made the picture. Phil was the punk boy who Dan sorta knew. They had a few classes together and Phil talks to him every now and then seeming super friendly to Dan who didn't have many friends. Well Dan was always interested in taking pictures of Phil, he loved his style and confidence and honesty, thought he was really cute. He didn’t think that Phil cared either because he’s caught Dan in the act of snapping a photo of him a few times actually. Sure, it was embarrassing for Dan but Phil didn’t seem to mind, or at least giving him a very staged smile or pose seemed like he enjoyed the attention. Today Dan walked into school with the same camera around his neck over top of a soft blue pullover, paired with some black ripped jeans and the black vans he wore nearly every day. He was in the hallway, looking around a bit before leaning back against his locker and raising his camera up, looking through the viewfinder for something interesting to snap a picture of.

Fallen Angel

Heaven is very picky about the angles they pick from every soul that passes on. When Dan died he got to be an Angel which he was so incredibly greatful for, that was until he made a few mistakes and lost his faith. Heaven casted him out and he fell down to earth now becoming a fallen angel. Though he was a fallen Angel he wasn't much different except the color difference in his once pure white wings, now a dark grey almost black but lucky he still had all his powers and his halo, which stayed lowly lit above his head. Other then other angels and other supernatural beings, no human could see his halo or wings. So now that Dan is back on Earth he was kind of happy but was also scared. Since Angels didnt go to earth often, demons are everywhere around Earth. Dan was warned about demons, heaven told him things like demons would take angel's wings or even kill them so he was nervous to be back but he tried to blend in. He decided if he really wanted to blend in and to keep himself busy he started attending school. He had been going for a few weeks now, going to school slowly becoming his norm. Today was no different, walking into school and walking to his locker grabbing his book but he soon became uneasy as he felt a dark presences suddenly and he glanced around a bit quickly

Philip Frost

Dan's favorite season has always been winter. As a kid his bestfriend would come every winter season, but his friend wasn't just anyone. He was friends with Phil Lester, or his more common nick name Jack Frost. He'd run around with the other kids telling them all about Phil and how he had all these magical powers but no one else could see him, no one believed Dan. But Dan didn't care he was happy seeing his only friend but when Dan got older, Phil stopped show up, and Dan kept being told by everyone jack frost wasn't real and Dan eventually convinced himself it was his crazy imagination as a kid. Dan now older still loved the winter time, and as he walked outside, the snow lightly falling on the already snow filled streets. Dan was happy school got cancled so he decided to just go for a walk to the small patch of woods so he see the snow cover trees and frozen lake.

Popular Dan

Dan dressed in innocent colors but he was far from innocent, and was actually a bit of a trouble maker. It was only him and his dad but his dad was always traveling for work so he was never home leaving Dan to do absolutely anything he wanted and Dan being the popular teen he was threw partys almost every weekend, got any guy he wanted and pretty much woke up with a new guy everyday. He was Mr.popular but he wasn't happy with how he was living but didnt plan on changing anytime soon. After a party Dan had woke up sprawled out in his bed with a huge headache. He groaned and just laid there for a few moments feeling someone next to him and just rolled over not caring.

Angel vs. Demon

Heaven and hell have always hated eacher. Heaven chose to ignore hell and all its creatures unless they had to come in contact with them. That worked until a full on war broke out between the two. Demons and Angels faught for years bring carnage. Angels tried to flee to Earth to live peacefully and to get away from war but when more and more started to just live among humans, hell started sending a few demons to kill those who tried to avoid the conflict. Heaven cast those Angels who weren't whiling to fight to Earth, letting the demons deal with them instead of the mess being on their hands. Dan was one of those angles, one that was sent to earth never to return to heaven and to live there for eternity. Dan just tired to stay hidden and blend in, so that no demon could find him. And it started to work. He was still a very younge angel so he started going to highschool and even making a few friends that he talked to sometimes and was doing pretty well on his own until today. He was at his locker wearing white jeans and a light blue jumper and was smiling softly until he suddenly felt a dark presences in the building and knew it was a demon.

Rockstar Lovers

Dan and Phil were like the power couple of highschool. Phil the punk rocker who had a real future in music, Dan the local soft boy and film photographer. They were inseparable. Dan went to every show, even the ones they had in Phil's garage. And when they started playing in bigger places, though he was very differnt then Phils usual crowd, Dan was still singing along with the rest of his fans. But eventually Phil got signed and started traveling, days before he left they got in an argument that ended everything. Dan decided to stay in their small hometown to attend some university close by, leaving Phil to live out his dream without holding him down.

Dan's friends saw that Phil's band was coming back to their hometown for a special show and bought tickets forcing Dan to go. He was nervous as hell and, he didnt know what to expect nor did he think Phil would notice him sitting a few rows back from the stage though he kinda stuck out amongst all the black with his soft blue jumper and his camera around his neck like always bitting his lip as they waited for the concert to start.

Prince Daniel

Dan was almost 18 which meant it was time him to start acting his age and taking charge over his kingdom. He is the prince and heir to the thrown. Hes always been one to get himself into trouble all while trying to follow every rule hes been taught since he was little. Dan wasn't bratty but sassy and he wasn't irresponsible he just found himself in situations where he couldn't help but wonder off or get distracted, but no matter how many times he got into truble he still somehow manged to still be so innocent. Although Dan was a nice and good prince, his father not wasn't anything like him. Many have been angry, making threats towards the king and even towards Dan. He knew his father wasn't a good or even a kind king. Gaurds have caught a few people trying to assassinate his family. More guards have been hired and more rules Dan had to follow but he didn't follow most of them, like sneaking out to the garden after sunset. So their Dan was out walking around the moonlit paths through the castle gardens quietly.

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justicewinged · 6 years

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Character-Driven Worlds and the Noxus Update: a “meta”/rant

// On the topic of the Discourse Regarding Noxus. I’m gonna be blathering about novels, GRR Martin, the IoW retcon, and a lot else, but despite the fact that @bendingfrost said it so eloquently people still don’t seem to understand what we, as writers, have to gain with this lore update, and every lore update before it.

More under the cut.

A lot of you guys know that I write outside of this blog quite a bit. My series thus far is a character-driven story based universe that covers many, many perspectives, not just the heroes. And in this, I see what Riot is doing very closely mirrors what I’m doing. They’re playing with and studying the concepts and ideas of grey morality, the fact that everyone has a different story to tell and a different idea of what’s going on. In my writing, I have chapters from the perspectives of at least twelve characters for any given book. Some of the stories aren’t written out in the text, and readers are left to understand what they gather from conversations between characters. Between books three and four, there’s a 16-year gap. And no, I didn’t cover hardly any of it in a prologue, or hash it out in such a way that gave the word of god narrative to everything that happened in the world in the meantime. I took it from the characters’ perspectives.

Example of this, in the meantime, Zaqarai and Celine married in that 16-year gap. I tell the readers by having them be parents. They’re leaders. He’s a lord now, and she’s a lady, and the lot of them have reforged a clan seemingly lost for decades. Zaqarai finds his close friend Kendor working a forge in a faraway arena in the middle of a wasteland. I don’t tell the readers this at face value. I imply it through the fact that in the previous book, a character named Daria had a blade that was Black Fire make, Kendor is a Black Fire clansman, and she got it from an arena. He recounts knowing her. You have to read deep, in order to see where they met up again, but it’s there, it’s so truly there. In that gap, my character Felici takes on apprentices. By knowing her history, you know where these three children came from. You just have to read deep and see what the writer (in this case, me) is implying. GRRM does this too -- when you read about his court drama, you're expected to put two and two together and figure out who YOU think is the good guy or the bad guy. He doesn’t need to tell you whether Tyrion is morally ambiguous at times. You need to tell others what you think Tyrion is. Writers are being told more and more that readers are smarter than you expect in your first draft. I’m standing by that Riot expects you to read deeper now.

We can blather all day about whether or not Rito is doing good by their lore updates, but all I’m seeing are things that tie this universe together. With the Vastaya update, we get an entirely new race to play with. We get explanation behind why Nidalee can transform, why there are upright cat people, why there are people like Ahri wandering around. And while we had alright lore for Ahri before, a kitsune is just a legend. What they’re doing, what I think they’re doing, is more or less giving personal truth and definition to these characters that were otherwise flat and nearly meaningless. We only had our imaginations before, and what wound up happening with a good lot of us is that we took that flat character and breathed life into them. Gave them personality and goals and ambitions and stories amongst themselves. That’s exactly what Rito is doing! Why complain about it, when you did it yourself? What updates the lore gets don’t diminish your efforts in character building, but they should give you further definition to define your character with.

Varus got people all up in a huff because his lore wasn’t necessarily flat. But if you look deeper, you can see that his lore held true. Before he was a defender of the being known as Pallas. Pallas is now a place, but one of him was still a keeper there. We had Nami’s story, that everyone loved, where she was on a quest for the Moon Pearl or whatever, and she’s still hunting for it there. The lore people at Riot aren’t attempting to kill your characters for you. They’re trying to add definition and meaning to the otherwise meaningless. Like the IoW plot.

What story did we have with the Institute of War? We had some quirky happenings, some fights, some individuals only existing in the game because they were forced to be there... but what makes them that legendary? This is what they’re giving us here. Reasons why each of the characters might see the legendary aspect of others. Now, without the IoW being canon, we have an entire world awaiting us. I know there are some folks out here in the community still clinging to IoW as if it’s the gospel, but look at this. They’re trying to open doors and throw things out the window that really weren’t good choices from a writer standpoint. Like, okay. Institute of War is a cool concept, but what story motion did it really have? Does it have the power behind it that a Noxian empire commands? Does it have the motion that Demacia has, a nation that’s on the verge of a pivotal change or collapse, thanks to its hatred of magic? Does it have the intrigue of Bilgewater falling to pieces because of a near-death of its leader?

And this brings me to my point again, because lord knows I love to ramble on this sorta thing. Noxus update, right? The land of the “gentle conquerers.” That’s soooo fucked, right? Totally oxymoronic and impossible, never would happen, right?

Except, that’s exactly how Rome saw themselves. Like good writers, Riot is parsing bits and pieces of the real world into something fictional and understandable by writing parts in. I might not have read all of the Noxus rework, but what I have seen has made me excited. It invites me to see the power they present, the sort of propaganda they offer their people. Noxus no longer requires everyone to be a soldier. They have their farmers, their business people. They’ve got technology and strength in numbers. They are no longer the representative of the ideal “strength of unity.” That’s Demacia, now. Noxus is now the strength of the many and the strength of the diverse. They’ve offered up grey morality on a silver platter.

Historically, most of us will say Romans were the good guys, right? That’s what our history books preach? Well, Noxus is doing the same. Rome wiped out population after population, expanded their empire, and fizzled out by virtue of weak democracy. Noxus is taking it into their own hands, and Swain is forcing the world around them to bend knee to Noxus’s might so they all do not perish.

All of this, between Noxus, the Targonian aspects, the Harrowings, and Ionia so far, we have the landscape for something much greater than these characters can ever dream. Which makes me curious... when will we see more that is just, straight-up, more plot for the whole world? What forces are driving Runeterra to its current place? Does Swain know of the greater purpose of the world, by virtue of Beatrice? Is he trying to save the world itself, not just Noxus?

Only time will tell.

#lore #new lore #lore rework #noxus #institute of war #outoffeathers #like legit #actually think about these things #consider what impact it has on the bigger picture #don't just get butthurt over the fact they change your precious lore #please #try to think of if from rito's perspective #you'd notice something's going on #all this is coming from someone who's agreed with every single lore rework and retcon thus far #hell my quinn's lore was nearly spot on to the lore rework #one might think i know what i'm talking about

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galimatios · 4 years

Text

finally, an overview ramble of fortuna

thread here

—

anyway ftf au is self care. i'll post a thread about it to get my mind off things working title- fear thy fortune, i actually hate it but like, idk, maybe i'll rename it to just "fortuna" for now since that least that's vaguely more Aesthetic high fantasy but like, a blend of asiatic and catholic aesthetics, think gothic architecture, cathedrals, but also golden temples, just, lots of gold in general in the midst of pristine ivory, pearls, roman pillars, dramatic archways and incense i am talking REALLY dramatic archways. the main cathedral inspo?

it's actually more of a complex of several HUGE cathedrals— a maze, actually. the governing body stays in the frontmost building but there's so much more, parts of it sectioned off

but outside the main cathedral, you have a few temples here and there that are part of a popular alternative religion— see, the main religion of this country believes heavily in predetermination, while this alt religion believes in the exchange of karma and fate naturally the theocracy forbids this but in practice it's.. quite corrupt and some officials even go to these places themselves to "buy/trade/sell" their own karma as if it was goods/currency at these temples, priests/monks facilitate the exchange sorta like brokers they perform the exchange for a small fee, and the bigger the karmic change the larger the fee the fee is not paid to /them/ though— it's paid to, i suppose their patron pantheon? i haven't thought this out too much but it's most likely a polytheistic religion in which invoking a particular god/goddess is necessary to facilitate a specific karmic change regardless. these exchanges are very popular, though not every exchange is granted. it more or less depends on the whimsy of the invoked god nevertheless, it's successful enough to be notable, and as the numbers of followers of this particular religion grow, the more the main theocracy feels threatened so they've started to persecute those who follow it, though not entirely because— well. there's an ulterior motive at play here that only the highest of the high council is aware of. those at the very top of the theocracy are actively using these persecutions to generate karmic energy. the more unjust suffering, the faster this karmic energy accumulates so many, many innocent people are killed for this purpose, and those at the top of the theocracy are actually in cahoots with a few temple leaders as well. it might even be the case that they're one in the same— just two branches purposely created for this reason and why is this energy being generated? to feed the "one true god king" this religion of predetermination relies on the myth of one all-powerful god-king that rules the land. it's a brutal and unforgiving religion the idea of penance and pain are heavily tied together, and pain is proof of penance. to suffer in the name of the god-king is to be pious. in exchange, those who follow this religion hope to be good enough to earn a place in heaven i mean. it's very heavily catholic. but like, With Magic. it turns out there's a method to convert karmic energy into a force that can be used at will, just like magic. and the leaders of this religion use it to enforce this theocracy and also play up this idea that they're Holy/granted these gifts by the god-king but in actuality, the god-king... doesn't really exist. at least not in the form people expect. it's not a higher being, it's not even a person— it's a huge golden mandala embedded with jewels crafted with karmic essence distilled into a physical form kind of like— a mix of these, but completely made of metal with slots for gemstones— and it is fucking HUGE. at least a story tall, if not more.

karmic energy usually adheres to a law of equal exchange— you know, what comes around goes around

but in the face of extreme unjust suffering, that energy has nowhere to go— and it lingers at locations, in people, until something happens to balance it out (be it doing a good deed, a blessing, etc) so the high council actually harvests this untapped potential energy theoretically you can do the same with immense unwarranted good fortune, but that's a little trickier since in order to "harvest" the energy, you kind of have to... kill the person? which sorta negates that good fortune in a way, therefore making the action moot i'm sure there's a way that makes sense within the constructs of the universe but it's not Entirely relevant rn so. shrug. either way, negative karma gets distilled, placed into this mandala, and that provides malleable magic energy to the high council additionally, bestowing gifts of the jewels placed into the mandala will grant a person the ability to use magic as well, whether they know about the mechanics behind it or not this is mostly done for people in the theocratic order, but also princes/princesses— these people are chosen via prophecy as "candidates" for the next "god-king"— who is only known as a figurehead and is never seen, because the public's been told they've "ascended" to a higher realm so basically princes/princesses are chosen to duke it out battle royale style fighting for the right to become the next god-king... and they receive preferential treatment for this reason which. is mostly brainwashing and torture disguised as "penance" and piety. the same goes for knights, which are also chosen and paired up with these candidates knights tend to come from horrible situations, so-called "saved" and essentially given to candidates as, well. gifts! they're objects baby! taught to follow their candidates every order. yes. it's extremely unhealthy! That Is The Plan, Though the entire goal of the candidate/prince system is to essentially create the major components of the mandala by, literally investing suffering into specific individuals. this method isn't the only way to produce these components, but it's the easiest to control and after all that fighting, when a candidate/knight pair comes out on top, they're chosen to ascend— the highest possible honor— which. is death! you gotta die baby! the other dead candidate pairs are also utilized for the mandala components each time a major component is added, the magic capabilities of the council increase— i wouldn't be surprised if some fuck was trying to become god-king by continuously adding to this mandala but you can only have so much suffering in one artifact before something happens that "something" is largely the events of fortuna, where a prophecy deems a young boy to death because it is foreseen that he will destroy the system/commit mass murder— confirmed thru the appearance of an unholy birthmark (so they say) he is burned at the stake, but there's something odd about his remains— they don't fully burn the way they're supposed to. in fact, it mixes in with the ashes of other victims and becomes... a pulsating black mass a natural-born curse, or otherwise known as a miracle this pulsating mass is actually a naturally-made version of the large mandala components. it has the ability to convert karmic energy into tangible change— or in other words, It Does Magic but it's... not malleable. it defies the will of others this black mass is locked away, as it cannot be destroyed and bad things keep happening around it. and over time, it takes shape and gains a voice— the souls of the remains of the victims all merge together into a collective consciousness, including that of the boy's pretty soon, it begins to speak, saying it will enact a "miracle" in exchange for a high enough price the temple priests are charged with keeping this monstrosity while also utilizing it as another one of their services— just, very special i imagine their ability to divert karmic energy is useful in keeping the miracle's negativity from affecting others too much, which is why it's kept at the temple and one young boy grows up being this thing's caretaker it's the twin brother of the boy that was originally burned! his name is yonah. which is just, an au jonah with a y. either way, because of his connection to his twin (named august), he can exert more control over the miracle. he's dubbed the gatekeeper, because. that is literally what he does. he simply guards the door to the room containing the miracle, processes requests to see it, and... that is his job. he volunteered for it, fully knowing his brother was in there he wanted to be close to his brother, even in this... weird state of non-death. and jonah is able to enter the room with no adverse side effect— he talks to the miracle, sees, feels, understands that its existence is a state of constant pain it's similar to being like, a pmmm witch in that you continuously relive your trauma while you feed on the offerings of others— the wishes the miracle grants in exchange for a high price and with each offering, it gets ... bigger, more powerful, but still trapped the miracle does not have a will of its own, simply acting in its nature as defined by the karmic laws of this universe— as a naturally made conduit of karma to reality. it feeds and grows bigger not because it wants to, but because it is law it's kind of the karmic equivalent of a black hole in a sense, and the god-king mandala is similar. it draws energy towards it— but where it differs is that it converts it into tangible change. normally this would spell disaster, with all that negative energy but since the mandala is man-made, the high council members managed to control this energy and use it to create whatever change they want the miracle does not operate like that since it's natural, hence the high price paid for its wish granting there are ways to neutralize a miracle— and in the distant past, these things were called curses— not miracles —because they're essentially giant monkey paws that curse you with Suck but the methods to remove them were lost to time after years and years of tending to this miracle though, yonah... finally snaps. he can't handle the its suffering anymore. far too empathetic for his own good, he enters the miracle's room himself and enacts his own exchange take his life, he said, use it. anything to ease the suffering— the first time anyone's made a wish for the miracle itself, rather than themself this kind of selfless offering defies the nature of the miracle, plus august's soul is still in there. So Weird Stuff Happens remember that prophecy august was killed for? yeah. well. yonah's offering allowed august's personality to surface as dominant, and since they're genetically identical, he also... assumes control of yonah's body guess who's back bitches! anyway. he's older now and he remembers the years and years of trauma he's had to experience, both his own and the others' within the miracle— they all merge into one. when august declares revenge, it's not just for him— it's everyone and so august, with the magic of the miracle now under his control, basically goes on a rampage and fulfills the prophecy he was originally killed for. he also personally invades the cathedral and slaughters the high council himself! so now we're entering post-fortuna material, which is another concept/story in of itself, but same timeline same universe, just years in the future august declares himself the true god-king and decides to harness the mandala for himself he basically just. does whatever the hell he wants, completely capricious with no rhyme or reason— not out of sheer malice, but because the pain he contains from all the victims demands it. all that negative energy finally being released outwardly but once the country is reduced to a barren, desolate land, when his work is finally done and revenge complete, he's just... hollow. and he lives a hollow existence high on top of that cathedral. he can't die, he's not even really alive the humans he chose as his own personal court also can't die, and over time they've become more or less inhuman, twisted by the negative energy that runs rampant through the land it's a court that must be put out of its misery august's life is tied to the mandala as well, because... the mandala is, actually what caused the entire plotline of fortuna to start with. although the god-king was always a made-up figure, in a way, it became something real, just different in execution despite everything, karmic laws are still in play. the high council may have circumvented them for quite a while, but you cannot defy the laws of nature so, law demanded that retribution be paid for the suffering of those souls in the mandala. august was that retribution and because he is technically an extension of the mandala himself, his magic can't destroy it. even though his work is technically done (like, the country is In Ruins) he can't be released to finally die either so he essentially is just waiting for someone to finish him off anyway, the plotline of post-fortuna material (needs a name? fortunata? idk) essentially is some dark souls type shit where an outsider comes to finally vanquish the god-king and lay to rest the court he's kept different ways to do that though i kind of brainstorm stuff about it in this thread but it's pretty messy if i do go a gamedev route, different actions allow you to "save" these court members and the king

i think. honestly the only true way to save this entire country is to plant the seeds of goodness by doing good things... by taking a pacifist route to properly restore balance and bring peace to these different souls fortuna/nata is very much about trauma and healing or rather, cycles of pain that perpetuate. breaking cycles. a large bit of inspo comes from the concept/imagery of the wheel of fortune tarot that is why the mandala is A Mandala— it's a wheel. a circle, a cycle to truly free the country, it's not about slaying the sitting god-king, august— but the mandala itself, in a way the "true" god-king. destroy the mandala, free the souls, end the cycle, break the wheel i have NO idea how the protag will do this, but it's something with fire i think. i think the protag. will attempt to exchange fates with the mandala. going back to the concept of a miracle, but this time.. a true miracle, not a curse that's called a miracle. like, an actual miracle the protag is only one person, but i believe... this wish is enough to enact the karmic law just so that the mandala finally— cracks with the protag probably committing self immolation, offering their life to set these others free and with that, a martyr is born, and so begins a process of healing the mandala is broken and those souls inside it can finally rest. august can die, his court can... be humans again. and i guess they become the first followers of a new religion based on mercy and selflessness i like the concept of fire here as a destructive force (the burnings) but also cleansing, healing... like, the burning of offerings, the burning of incense, the cremation of bodies. but also the idea of a phoenix rising again from the ashes i think... the protag does not die. but instead , burning themself on the mandala actually merges the protag with the souls of those inside it. and they're still suffering, but... now the protag can tell them it's okay now, no one's going to hurt them anymore so protag's reborn, very phoenix-like... god i need to actually make an oc for this character bc they're becoming too developed but now protag has insight and MAYBE magic themself. i wonder if this is the birth of like, the TRUE TRUE god-king of this country? like. a Good one i have to think more on this concept bc i love the idea of cycles... i do want to leave fortunata on an uplifting note tho so i have to leave enough hope that goodness will come but also, this new religion is... kinder, merciful. do good unto others. golden rule it still operates on karmic law, of course, you can't Change physics, but i think the framing of it as a force of good rather than evil... is important. like a testament to how hope is a force to be reckoned with, that it IS tangible to believe in it instead of predetermination and the idea of penance and pain, it's important to forgive oneself, to do good, and help others... if you do wrong, you do good to balance it out. still penance, but minus the self hate. and i guess, in buddhist-inspired fashion, the ultimate goal / teaching of this religion is to "break" the cycle of suffering. and helping others break their own cycles. it does different from buddhism in that it doesn't teach that existence itself is suffering or rather, even if it does, the average person can work to break it by accumulating enough good karma to "break" their own cycles across different lives and finally reach some nirvana-equivalent so, different from buddhist monastic practice anyway. i think i managed to cover all of the big details. there's a few other loose threads, like details about the candidates/knights, individual characters, but that's... basically the gist of the entire universe and plot god. i FINALLY wrote it out. holy shit

#fear thy fortune #fortuna

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crimsonrevolt · 7 years

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Congratulations Fallon you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Thorfinn Rowle!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

Death Eaters are always chilling to me, especially when written well, and Thorfinn was no exception. I loved how you balanced the subtle edge between charming and vengeful and constructed a character who uses everything he can to his advantage and spares no mercy. Your interpretation for him was everything that I didn’t realize he was lacking in skeleton form alone, and it was beautiful (and terrifying) seeing him come to life in your writing! We’re so excited to see what you do to build him further and what kind of impact he’ll have in the rp! *your request to age Thorfinn up has been accepted

application beneath the cut; tw: death, violence, murder, torture, abuse

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

Hello! I’m Fallon, twenty-one, reside in the CST, and go by She/Her pronouns. And for that optional fact: I am originally from Germany.

ACTIVITY

Between a 1-10 I would currently set myself at a 6 or 7. I do run two roleplays of my own, and university is back in session as well as me having work.

TRIGGERS

*removed for privacy

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

Your confessions blog showed up on my recommended blogs, and clicking it out of curiosity, I found myself very much appreciative of all the kind words your members left there. Hoping the roleplay was still active I clicked onward to the main, thus discovering your exquisite roleplay! Also sidenote hi Jen Boo Bear.

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

Hang on to your wands, kids, because this is about to get deep (sorta). I identify most with Sirius Black (alright, so maybe I haven’t been to Azkaban, but we’re disregarding that bit). Being considered as an initial outcast, especially amongst his family, is something I can greatly relate to. With a family that has always ventured on a certain path, holds strict values, and expects their descendants not to differ, both my brother and I haven’t always been received in the best of light. But in the end this unfortunate upbringing didn’t discourage him, but shaped him, and I like to believe that like Sirius, in the end, will be sure of my chosen path.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Just to age up Thorfinn to twenty as earlier discussed, and thank you for considering my application!

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

Thorfinn Aesir Rowle

Thorfinn: ‘thunder’

Aesir: ‘of the gods’

Rowle: ‘renown, wulf, wolf’

FACE CLAIM

Dominic Sherwood

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER

I’m a sucker for the dark, battle-worn antagonist, and most likely lack the ability to play anything but. I often play Antonin Dolohov or Amycus Carrow, but one of the things that drew me to Thorfinn Rowle was the simple fact that I’ve never seen him as a character in an HP roleplay before, and that I was instantly drawn to give his character a voice that I have yet to see. I immensely enjoyed all the carefully chosen aesthetics for your characters, but the dark princeling aura I was struck with by Thorfinn’s stuck with me.

I see him with wicked grins and darkly promising smirks; donning a crimson, cracked crown. He is not the calm before the storm, or the storm itself. He is the devastating aftermath; what the world left for others to see. A loose cannon, an army’s artillery, the Coliseum walls, and possibly the tragedy of Pompeii. Rage is his conquerer. I see him a strong-willed and brutally honest; with a sharp dose of unforgiving. He is prepared to move hell and earth to obtain what he wants, obliterate anything in his path no matter the consequence. Socially, he prefers isolation; volatile actions being the loudest thing about him. He’s apathetic, and considers emotions a distraction, a waste of ability. People tend to avoid him due to his cynic and unpredictable nature. However, if he likes you— though you would never find him admitting it— then he’s more inclined to make an effort not to piss you off. He wears vengeance without a cloak, and has swept over lives with its very existence. His charming persona is often a ruse, a swift way to invite you in before the killing blow.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

Thorfinn identifies as a male with the use of He/Him pronouns. Though he is demisexual, he has found that he holds a preference for men. Romance is a falsity, and sex is as simple as intoxicated convenience. With parents that married due to bloodline, had a child for the sole purpose of an heir and lineage, he does not hold the best views on relationships. He considers them a ruse, and strongly believes he lacks the emotions to pursue them (or hold the patience to achieve them).

As for ships, Thorfinn, I believe, would do well with someone of similar mind and position. A death eater, as merciless as himself, would cause an initial, gravitational pull. Someone that has known their share of tragedy, and that holds a pension for volatile behavior. Someone he can kill with, but also, in the end, perhaps trust and self-teach a fondness for.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

You can find headcanons, aesthetics, a playlist, and more on a mock blog right HERE!

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it:

His mouth twisted with vile intent. There were plenty of spells for inducing silence; to singe the worthless tongues emitting mindless, dimwitted banter. “Perhaps a spell that removes your tongue,” he proposed, mismatched eyes flickering toward his inquirer, “so that when the silence is lifted, you will be forced to remain mute.” He sunk into the leather sofa — his seat a throne wherever he sat— and hoisted legs crossed at the ankle atop a crystalline table. Someone’s priceless heirloom, no doubt. Thorfinn pictured his knuckles testing the strength of the glass, and the force needed to fracture its history. How little he cared, and how much he urged to set ablaze someone’s foundation of precious memory. “Or,” he continued, a dark chuckle bubbling within the cauldron of his hollow throat, “I could simply cut out your tongue.”

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

His grin was a trap; a feigned charming persona a fallacy. It was an invitation to lean toward the wolf’s bloodied maw and bare their jugular to ivory fangs; their life forfeit to his usurping snarl. Camaraderie was a long lost, archaic concept to the bloodied prince. Who would he have beside him in war, if not but himself, the only being he knew to depend on upon a genocidal battleground? “Freyja.” At least she was loyal. “Scarier than any bloody werewolf, and knives have never done me wrong.”

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

His brows furrowed, and a dramatic, over-exasperated sigh was its accompaniment. “The decision to answer this question.” He could feel his hands become coated in oil-slick scarlet, sticking his palms together with familial blood. Then his fingers, curling around the dagger’s hilt, and its silvery blade embedding its sharp structure into an unmarred canvas. Again. And again. And again. The parental slaughter had been the most effortless decision of his life. What could be difficult, when your actions were comprised of reactive ideas? Decisions for my wellbeing, he thought, the realization tasting acidic.

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you?

Flames licked behind mismatched irises. That was rather personal. Through his stoic demeanor came a feign of allowance where discord stood vigil. The query posed could never truly hold a valid response. To allow a crack disrupt his fortress? The idea was built on an inferior man’s principles. His voice captured a death eater’s generic principle: “That I was merciful.” What priest in their dutiful confessional could possess his true answer? Oh, how Thorfinn’s words could set its frame ablaze. The presence of his sins could ignite it, perishing the priest to embers, leaving the scene to ash.

WRITING SAMPLE

(Flashback, Age seventeen, Christmas Eve)

Outside, the Rowle mansion was an exquisite portrait; its estate’s entirety blanketed by a delicate layer of frigid snow. Dusk had sunk the brightest globe, and engulfed the elegant architecture in a fine veil of twilight. Inside, the shadowed hallways were ablaze with screeching, humanoid howls. Inside, a chamber’s immoral walls were drenched by a garnet-tinted paint.

It had begun with his vision of a mother— an empress in her evening silk. A son had ascended stairs which rose toward heaven, yet truly descended into hell. She was seated upon her deep-violet, ornately carved throne, the tip of a feathered quill peeking through a curtain of ashen hair as her cranium dipped to write upon parchment. “I am busy, Asger.” The son had taken another, sinisterly determined step. His mother’s head lifted, and he was met with her porcelain features through a mirror’s reflection. She swiveled around to face him. “Thorfinn.” Her tone was riddled with surprise; had he ever intruded her chambers before? Or, perhaps, the shock withdrawn from her siren-song voice was the result of his wand, steadily directed toward her. She rose with years of practiced grace, and he, the birthed puppeteer whom cut her fraying chords by a whispered, fatal curse. And then, she cascaded, her elegance smite. She looked like the angel she never was. And him? Only demons soaked themselves in blood.

The man convulsed beneath the wand’s volatile scrutiny. Its possessor stalked felled prey, predatory gate circling the pursuit of an oncoming kill. The last of his lineage, brought low. “How does it feel?” he queried, tone level, voice failing to rise above his father’s ceaseless war-cries. “Does your blood feel frozen? Do your bones feel shattered? Does your body feel ripped apart?” He wished to pluck his tendons, incinerate his veins. How does it feel? he thought, to be the receiver of such senseless, merciless brutality. He’d known its pained definition for seventeen years— a length that which confessed itself a millennia of accursed onslaught. His father had swallowed lucifer’s luck; he’d only tasted its iron for mere hours.

And then he unsheathed a bladed heirloom; meant for crystalline encasement, yet selected for insidious motive. Thorfinn knelt beside his father’s mangled figure, the torturous curse subsiding, paying tribute to its subterfuge. “How does it feel?” he repeated, the inquiry infested with sadistic promise. “I’ll teach you.” Like you taught me. There was a spray of pink mist as he drove the dagger home, discoloring his ivory flesh. Turbulent wrath. Barbaric savagery. Ferocious fury. Colossal sin. The blade rescinded to his potent rage with a sickening shing and squelch. The knife committed its massacre; a rerun of sharp steel embedding itself into a shallow-breathing frame.

The host’s mouth parted to expel a current of blood; staining loathing lips with death’s lipstick. Again, a caged voice whispered, rattling his vandalized skull. Again. Again. Again. The battlecries no longer echoed from his father’s frozen throat. They were his elicitations, tearing through his system with each thrust of the weapon.

Exhaustion finalized the deed. At its release, the knife struck the earth with clattering force. The victor rose, armored in liquified rubies. His victim lay in grotesque mutilation, a corpse devoid of its proper casket. The wraith vanished from its demolishing destination, and sought an eloquent alternative.

Deft digits slipped upon the keys, revealing red smears upon their stark notes. The kneazle’s lioness paws left perfect, scarlet-printed shapes atop the piano’s glossy roof. She sat poised on charcoal-colored haunches, sharing a piercing gaze with her murderous owner. “Happy Christmas, Freyja.”

#accepted app

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