IM ALIVE ---

HGNFDH Im sorry i was away for awhile friends ;_;) I had a lot of work to get through after a big month of traveling, expenses, and The Horrors...Finally re-stabilized abit to feel safe enough to relax. I hope everyone has been doing well! I'll be back to responding and uploading my dumbass art shenanigans/projects shortly!

Keigo Takami ღ Hawks x Reader {Kingdom AU}

Buy me a coffee!! <3

Why do birds deem it necessary to shout during such early hours?

The matutinal chirping was that which your mind vehemently claimed to hate, and yet you couldn’t get enough - you remained unsatiated, even as the chorus reached its most deafening. Your hunger for the oddly-mellisonant noises grew with each passing day.

It tells me that they're still alive. When did I begin longing for such an ensemble, so spirited…so within my grasp? Perhaps they hide the key to my cage…to this prison of self-spite and deceit? If only I could capture one. I would ask it all that I wish to know - its infinite knowledge of my future…if I am doomed to live. The birds here…they’re so, incredibly free. I yearn to have that same liberty.

With a drawn-out sigh, you added, That's but a mere fantasy, a childish day-dream. It is certain to disappear with time. These shackles are the curse of my birth. Freedom…true freedom…it will forever evade me.

Your untamed, maudlin delusions penetrated every crevice of your being, but as you rose from a half-slumber, you pushed them down. Shifting your focus to something real, something imminent, was the best course of action. So, exhaustion-glazed eyes ghosted over the makeshift bed to which you had confined yourself. Or, more accurately - to which the villagers had confined you. This was far from a gesture of concern for your health, although disease was often rife amongst the peasantry. No…this was the result of their refusal to so much as acknowledge your existence. Only work managed to rouse you. Work - the very warrant for your ostracization. In a way, you supposed that was valid. You never wanted such unsavoury jobs, but how else were you to make ends meet…especially now?

What if I simply abandoned my post? Would I be punished? Executed? Either way, I am deserving of it. If only death could cleanse me of my sins…Is food off the menu today, too? It is becoming nigh-impossible to find enough, even for a single day. No-one sells to me anymore. Not even that kindly old woman near the village outskirts…

"Is that my fate then, to die of starvation?" Despite the indifference lacing your tone, you prepared for an onslaught of tears.

This world, infinitely cruel and rotten as you perceived it, seemed to loath your very essence. It slowly whittled you to the bone, rejected your abject cries and those pitiful, helpless tears. Yet, not a soul threw you pity - not even an ounce. Nothing should have tethered you to this ground, this filthy house, where the faintest illumination of a flickering candle was all the hope you could afford. Though, lack of money was never truly the problem. No…the fault lay solely with the villagers. And the King. If only you hadn't been threatened to assume your mantle. If only this was the fantasy - this bloodthirsty kingdom, the ignorance to such plights as yours, the senseless slaughter of your parents…

By my own hands. I cannot masquerade as the victim forever. They already haunt me…the ghosts. All the ghosts…

"It would be a fitting end, I suppose." The breaths that tore apart your lungs failed to distract your wandering gaze.

It fell suspiciously upon an unopened scroll, donning a sickeningly-familiar wax seal. Had a member of the Royal Guard crept inside, under the cloak of night? It appeared that even the most highly-trained soldiers in the land would wretch at the thought of an encounter with you, awake and alert. How utterly ridiculous. A young, sullen-faced girl couldn’t exactly compete with the King's personal guards, even if you were able to wield an axe. Your defeat would be anticipated, underwhelming. You strolled over to examine the parchment, malnutrition forcing your slowed movements. It was a fresh order, you wagered, straight from the King himself.

I had hoped to be proven incorrect. No bother. Well…perchance with another few coins, I could convince a poor villager to sell me some bread? A nice loaf, maybe?

Your stomach grumbled its agreement. 'Kill or be killed' wasn’t simply an idle comment, after all - it encompassed the very nature of humanity.

"Brutish." A susurrant sound tumbled from your lips. "But I am no better."

If honesty must prevail in this world, then I shall attest to being so much worse.

The scroll's seal broke with ease, leaving you to unfurl the paper and trace the words, bile endeavouring all the while to scale the walls of your stomach. The name engraved in black ink was a recognisable one. He, alongside his unfledged son, worked as palace servants. The latter was especially flighty, always being reprimanded by his seniors. This, you had witnessed on occasion. A fleeting glance was all you ever allowed yourself, and that name never once caused your skin to crawl so horribly, as it did now.

"XXXXX Takami…a thief?"

Is there no justification? I wonder if he truly stole anything. The King is most likely in the mood to watch an execution today. If so, then this will not be the first instance of an innocent dying by my hand.

As guilt poured from your eyes, silent and crystalline, you muttered, "I cannot profess to be his champion. Nor even my own…Why must my resolve be so frail?"

Why must cruelty reign supreme?

Your reflections were quelled by the searing pain exuding from the mark that tainted your wrist. It was customary for executioners, but designs varied. You were unfortunate enough to be branded with something simple, yet imbued with the weight and meaning of an entire people. It was as though your words, however few, and your actions, spoke for all your kin. It was curious, as the symbol was the runic ᛒ, although Japan was far removed from any other civilisations. The deplorable truth of the matter, was that it solidified your societal status. It served as a reminder that you wouldn’t ever escape from the Burakumin - the lowest class. The peasants. The dirty, the untrustworthy, the sinners. You couldn’t cover it up. To do so might be counted as treason, fighting against the authority of the crown. You would be executed, just as your parents, and now…as this conceivably blameless man.

…This father.

You would so disturb the structure of a family?

Have I any other choice?

Life never presented you with choices, different paths to follow, to branch off from the main narrative. The door to your cage was securely chained. The key, presumably, rested within the bulging pocket of the King. Your sleight-of-hand skills weren't masterful enough to allow the evasion of every soldier at the King's command, so you couldn’t ever move to grasp self-sovereignty. That worthless tyrant had to understand this. He likely laughed at the image. You couldn’t simply neglect your responsibilities, for this one man, for his youthful son…

What use are sentiments, if only to distract from this morbid reality? Their family cannot be satisfied, if he would stoop to thievery. Criminals cannot proceed unpunished.

"Though they can, and often do." The glimmer of remorse reflecting in your eyes alluded to the ever-dwindling fire in your soul - you couldn’t comprehend your position…why you still lived, after everything - every rolling head, every spatter of blood, every jeer and taunt…

Between the burning of the brand on your wrist, and the nipping of the tears in your (e/c) irises, you decided that a moment of respite was needed. You perched on the unsteady floor, clutching both face and wrist. Why was this happening now? Morning-tide shouldn't be harder than any other time - least of all early afternoon, when families would gather around the execution grounds, blithely chatting away and gnawing on bread, or the rare sliver of cheese that almost compelled you to salivate. Honestly, it was a miracle you could still hold the axe aloft, in spite of your meagre diet. You sighed, rehearsing the time of this newest dispatch. Three hours…that was hardly fair. It required far longer to mentally prepare for such a killing. This man had a wife, surely, and a son! As you defended against the sick feeling nestling in your stomach, the repugnant sight of ebony in the corner of the room caught your attention. You wished so desperately to sacrifice that garb to the flames of Hell. You couldn’t bear to look at it, let alone adorn it.

Why do I bother to wear a mask, when they all recognise me?

Oh, of course…"It veils my tears."

And also, perhaps, my rugged appearance. I cannot even claim to resemble a respectable young woman. The villagers would sleep easier without beholding such an unsightly face. I should pay thanks the gods that the cloak disguises my figure, as well.

Broad shoulders and pancake-like breasts plagued your waking thoughts, but they were well-shielded underneath the dark, flowing robe you had just picked up. You utterly despised them. With less than three hours before the execution, you slipped on the cloak, but left the mask. It couldn’t be properly washed by hand - the blood of hundreds, innocents and sinners alike, had seemed to seep into the very essence of the fabric. It repulsed you, and yet an odd warmth accompanied it. Maybe…because it was the only constant in your life? The only thing providing purpose, whether you desired it or not? The fragrance was familiar, sometimes comforting on a particularly savage night. It nearly stung.

Just as a sorrowful breath escaped your lips, a series of frantic knocks alerted you to the door. Your entire being shuddered, nerves exploding. A bead of sweat rolled down your forehead. If you opened that door now, which now appeared more foreboding, who would you greet? The Captain of the Royal Guard? That once-lovely elderly woman, who used to sell you bread? A tax collector? A thief? Nobody in their right mind rapped on the door of an executioner…an outcast. They must have a certain degree of battle prowess, then. Shakily, you started towards that wooden entrance.

The knocking never ceased. In fact, was it intensifying? Whoever this was, they were desperate.

There would be nowhere for them to hide, in this small house.

The door swung open, revealing a dishevelled young man.

Is this…him?

The moment his words flooded your ears, the whole world collapsed around you. "Are you the executioner who is going to kill my father?"

You wanted to deny, to beg for forgiveness, but you couldn’t. Instead, with an averted gaze, you responded, "I am afraid so."

"You don't…you don't want to? You aren’t excited about this?" His tone indicated confusion, perhaps even sympathy.

To where did his formalities retreat? What a brazen boy…

You shuffled in discomfort. "I apologise for not taking pleasure in my work."

He looked unsure. "Please don't kill him. He is not thief - it's a lie!"

"That is quite a claim. Do you have any proof?" You didn’t wish to interrogate the poor soul - he was about to lose the greatest role-model he would ever know.

"No…" He stared at the ground briefly, before a fiery determination illuminated his eyes, and he looked back up. "…Would you…would you help me save him? Please?"

Does he assume me a hero? Or a vigilante?...Me?

The idea was half-baked, teeming with flaws. Wasn’t your capture, and subsequent execution, almost inevitable? Clearly, this had been a spontaneous decision, and the consequences floated just outside his mind. You swallowed down any further words. Something about him, something he exuded…pain? Fear? There wasn’t a single spark of confidence twinkling behind those golden eyes, and yet…you felt your heart pounding in compliance. In truth, did you not yearn for such an opportunity? Did you not wish to bellow to the universe, that you were capable of possessing a righteous nature, even at the expense of your life? If you couldn’t save one innocent from your own axe, you would never again begin to dream of redemption. It would set in stone your utter worthlessness.

Paranoid, (e/c) eyes skirted around the boy, searching for any characters of suspect. With a heaviness burrowing amid your heart, you ushered him inside your humble abode. Immediately, he spotted the scroll lying on the table. You made no effort to divert his attention.

After a few moments of tense silence, he spoke. "(L/n) (Y/n)…that your name?"

"Yes, though I rarely hear it anymore."

"Would he be in the dungeons right now? My father, I mean." He was deep in thought, incredibly serious.

Your gaze strayed - this boy was far too ethereal to be viewed by your peasant eyes. "Yes, along with the other prisoners."

"You believe me, don't you?" Shock was evident in his voice.

"Should I not?" You questioned, still refusing to glance his way.

A low chuckle tore from his lungs. "You should. How long do we have? We need a proper plan, right? Unless you're leaving me to do this alone. Something tells me you aren't willing to do that…"

"Alone, you would achieve nothing."

"Haha, well, behind every man there's a strong woman, right?" He displayed a closed-eye smile, blinding you for the few, sparing seconds you allowed yourself to witness it.

You couldn’t have realised the crimson hue worming its way on to your cheeks. "Absolutely not."

"Why're your replies so short? You not like talking to me, or something?"

Is he forgetting his reason for being here, so quickly?

"What of this plan? What of your father's fate?" You asked, hoping to remain on topic.

He chuckled again, sourly this time. "The plan…I was thinking, would it be possible to sneak him out of the dungeon? Or…replace him with someone else? I know it's horrible, and I feel awful about it, but…"

"The first one would never be possible. If we entered as two, and left as three, would you expect not to be questioned?" You bit your lip in contemplation. "On foot, journeying to the castle will take an hour. No matter our plan, we have to leave soon."

"You're right…of course you're right." He smiled, crookedly. "Is it bad to say I hate that?"

Shaking your head, you muttered, "Once in a while, the prisoners will wear masks, to shield from the jeering eyes of those in the crowd."

"So…if we had someone with a similar figure…" He trailed off.

Is this…a choice? Do I really have the option to save someone? To do a modicum of good, for once in my life? I…I have to...I cannot tear apart this family. I cannot accept that responsibility.

"Me."

The concerned expression painting his face was replaced with one of terror, of guilt. Clearly, this was an unexpected turn of events, and he opened his mouth, about to protest. He was likely to spew some nonsense regarding being young, throwing your life away…but you would remain resolute. You wouldn’t waver - not on such an important matter. As the years slowly trickled away, you had already reached a conclusion about your life, about your future. You reasoned that it wasn’t worth all the hassle, all the blood, sweat and tears. It wasn’t worth anything. So…why bother? Why bother living it, only to be thrashed around, ripped to shreds and then eventually killed, anyway? You adored nothing of yourself. You adored nothing of anyone. Without a meaning to your life, weren't you simply a husk? A broken shell of a once-pure, youthful girl?

"You?" His voice was quivering, as if he was infinitely opposed to your proposition.

A single, solemn nod confirmed his query.

"But…" He managed, trying to find a different solution. "…aren’t you the executioner? And…why does it have to be you? Can't we find someo-"

"It should be me." You cut him off, desperate to put this behind you. "I am not the only executioner. The other one…I have no doubt he will assist us, voluntarily."

All his dreadful emotions clogged his throat. The words wouldn’t exit seamlessly. "Why you? Tell me why…"

Your sigh was drawn-out, heavier than all the previous ones. "I can bear this world no longer, Takami. This job…even this house…everything is a cage, a prison. I cannot continue to live this way. I need you to understand, and respect my decision."

If not for the dire circumstances, a blush would have exploded on his face; you referred to him by name. Though…he couldn’t fathom the idea of you being separated so soon after meeting. For years, he had watched you, silently admiring all your adorable little quirks. All the features you despised, he loved with the passion of a thousand suns. To him, you weren't any less than human…no, in fact, you were a goddess, sent from the Heavens to bewitch him, to make him swoon, all while erecting an ignorant façade. He spent hours upon hours, mostly during nighttide, wondering, praying, that you had taken note of his presence…that you saw him, as you glided around the castle. He wished so desperately to be your swain, but despite being little more than a peasant boy himself, he still held the higher title. He knew of your job, but he witnessed your anguish. He observed the unrelenting tears that dripped down your face. He knew you were hurting.

Was he honestly now granting assent to your death?

"Keigo." He suddenly made a grab for your hands, feeling them callous and trembling slightly. "My name…it's Keigo."

You nodded, plunging into uncertain waters. "Keigo…"

"Please call me that, every time you address me, from now until…" His head fell; was this really happening?

Was he truly unable to stop you? Unable to change your mind? Even as this thought rocketed around his brain, he knew the truth. He couldn’t ever hope to stop you. It was clear - your decision was final.

He waited until you nodded again. "We should probably go now."

No response came, but none was necessary. The two of you ran, bounding towards the castle, side-by-side. You were determined - Keigo and his father would live. In this cold, cruel world, they would flourish…they would become something. And you would watch this, his adventure…from another plane. Perhaps it was Hell, perhaps Heaven, perhaps neither. Either way, you wouldn’t let this be the end. If you had the chance to keep walking by his side, even in death, then you would welcome it with open arms. You wouldn’t shy away from it, from providing him with security - you could ward off all the negative energy, all the malign spirits, threatening to cause him harm. You would be there.

Even in death.

The courtyard approached. Tugging on his sleeve, you directed him to a large, metal door, complete with padlocks and some ominous-looking scratch marks. So far, nobody seemed to have paid you any mind. You thrust the key into the lock, hoping that the sound of metal against metal wouldn’t attract too much unwanted attention. Keigo was fixated on the patrolling guards, who were thankfully more interested in showing off their swords to the noblewomen. You slipped inside, unnoticed. Awaiting you was Keigo's father, alongside a few others, mostly unconscious. From severe beatings, you presumed.

"(Y/n)! What is he doing here?"

You shushed him. "Shinya…I need to call in a favour."

"I have a bad feeling about this." He pointed to the two males, now attempting to comfort each other. "Does it involve them?"

He managed to unlock the shackles, so easily?

"Yes. You must listen to me - I am begging you."

He was hesitant, but replied, "Alright. What do you need?"

"I need you to execute the criminal in my steed. This, I cannot do." You answered, pouring your heart into the words.

"The criminal…" He paused. "…You are not speaking of Takami, are you?"

You shook your head. "I am afraid not."

"Then…" He sighed, as the truth dawned. "…You are speaking of yourself."

"Indeed."

A glint of sorrow lingered in his eyes. "Are you certain? You cannot recover from death."

"I am certain, beyond question." There was no hesitance in your voice, no doubt…not even a hint of anxiety.

You sounded free. At long last, you sounded free. Finally, you could dictate which path you took, and when it all ended. To object your wish now…Shinya couldn’t imagine the guilt. Forcing his heart to agree was no uncomplicated task, and he wasn’t likely to cease grieving for many moons, but…he couldn’t deny you. He couldn’t strip you of what little serenity you were able to feel, in this moment. He was already dressed in his executioner's garb, anyway. Nobody would recognise him…not until everything was over. The head probably wouldn’t be checked, either. Not for a while. By that time, Keigo and his father should be liberated, freed from the clutches of the evil King Enji Todoroki. Hopefully, they could settle within the boundaries of land of King Toshinori Yagi, or All Might, as most affectionately named him.

That loathsome, ebony robe slipped from your body, and Shinya presented you with some smaller, dirtier clothes. You didn’t mind. In fact, you relished in it. Finally, finally...something was happening on your terms. You would die, on your terms, not by the instruction of the King. And…even though it signalled the end, the extinguishing of your life…you couldn’t have been happier, in that moment.

"(Y/n)…" Your young accomplice whispered, half-adoring, half-fearful. "…Do you really intend to do this? Isn't there anything I can say, to stop you?"

What sort of…no, that would be giving himself false hope. Your intentions were crystal-clear. He couldn’t sway you. Before a single word fell from your lips, he took a chance, he grasped at straws. He did something for which he had waited a lifetime…something that ignited a passionate flame within both your hearts.

He kissed you.

Time, obligations, fate…everything ceased to exist. Your lips danced together, like they were created for that exact purpose. It felt natural…It felt right. When you parted, gazes burning into one another, everything clicked into place.

"I will always be with you, Keigo. I swear, not even death will do us part." The words you uttered…they weren't scripted, weren't rehearsed, but…maybe they had forever nestled on your tongue.

Maybe it was something I always longed to say?

A sad, little smile perched on his lips. "I know, and I will always look for you. I will see you in everyone…in everything. I will be yours, until the very end."

"I wish you would live…I wish you would marry." Your whispers caressed his ears, and he shivered.

"But you know I won't."

How things progressed so far, you knew not. A loud bell-toll, a harbinger of death, echoed across the castle. This was the end. You captured his lips again, swiftly, and then you pushed him away. He couldn’t be allowed to witness such a tragedy. He looked about to cry, about to compromise this entire plan. You placed a finger in front of your mouth, as a reminder. You wanted this. You had always wanted this. Shinya donned the mask, but you saw his strife, the melancholy swimming in his eyes. You smiled. You smiled at Shinya, at Keigo and his father, and at the glaring sun, as you were led out, into the courtyard. The mask obscured your vision, but it would have been difficult not to realise how brightly the sun was shining.

I am certain that it will shine brightest when the axe is at my neck.

In spite of the agonising loss, the newfound frigidity of his heart, Keigo ran, his father in tow. Nothing would tempt him to glance back. Nothing could. Your promise, your wish for him…all except the marriage, he would honour. To be caught now, imprisoned, killed…your bodies would never again find comfort in each other, for there was a separate, less well-kept burial space for people of the Burakumin. If he was captured, he wouldn’t be buried with you. And your spirit might wander eternally, never finding him, never achieving peace.

So, he continued to run, tears cascading from his eyes. It seemed merely a second, but the reality was hazy. He was panicking now, whispering, then screaming at the top of his lungs. He knew it was idiotic, he knew it was a death sentence, but he was lost...so, hopelessly lost.

"Father! Father, where are you? Answer me, please!"

That wasn’t the man with whom his body collided. His tears were incessant, stinging.

This…this was a Royal Guard.

In an instant, he shattered all your hopes…all your dreams. A crow, no…perhaps three crows, flew close, carried by the gentle wind. Keigo collapsed, exhaustion, shock and unadulterated grief stabbing at his heart. Your head had just rolled…hadn’t it?

[Word Count: 4128]

Hcs for Zim liking someone he knows is with Dib

Ooh! Let the chaos begin!

Here’s the song I used btw

From the very first day you set foot in the skool, Dib’s eyes were on you!

You had it all! You were smart, funny, attractive, and even open minded!

Whenever someone bullied Dib for being weird, you would always stick up for him. You even listened to him ramble about his paranormal studies.

Dib was beyond overjoyed when he discovered that you also shared his love of the paranormal!

From that moment on, you and Dib were inseparable! You would always sit with Dib at lunch and tell stories of your paranormal encounters

Little did you know, Zim had also taken an interest in you.

Never had Zim expected a human to be so attractive! Just looking at you was enough to make his PAK spark like crazy!

Zim couldn't believe that a FILTHY human could be so beautiful! He had to know why you were so attractive! Every time he asked why you were so pretty you would always shrug it off and say you were born with it.

Eventually, Zim’s warped mind came to the conclusion that you weren't human at all. Clearly you were another alien in disguise!

After hours of research, Zim became convinced your were actually an Enchantling, an alien from the planet Enchantix.  

Enchantlings were renowned for being the most beautiful beings in the galaxy! Zim nearly fainted when he saw a picture of what they looked like.  When his PAK reactivated him, Zim knew there was no doubt about it!

You had to an Enchatling in disguise! There was no other explanation for your beauty!

As much as Zim hated feeling attraction, he took comfort in believing you were an Enchantling.

Since you clearly weren’t human, his attraction to you shouldn’t interfere with his mission.

Or so he thought.

The next day at skool, Zim couldn’t take his eyes off of you. All he could was imagine what you looked like under your supposed ‘disguise’.

His PAK sparked so much he got stuck to his locker for almost two minutes! It certainly didn’t help that you were the one who yanked him free.

“There we are! How did you get stuck up there anyway?” You asked sympathetically as you gently put him down.

Zim tried to speak but his words melted into gibberish.  It wasn’t long before,

WHUMP!

Zim’s face kissed the ground.

You let out a gasp. You were about to check up on him but there was no need.

“REACTIVATING!”

ZAP!

Zim’s PAK sent out a small electric shock and revived him from his trance.

Zim shook away the excess shock and rubbed his head.

“Oh my god! Are you ok?” You squeaked as you tried to hold out a hand to help him up.

“ZIM IS FINE! I-I mean, I’m perfectly fine! Yes! Perfectly fine!” Zim laughed nervously as he swatted away your hand.

“Okay then….Well since you’re ok, I was wondering if you’d like to sit with me at lunch” You offered gently.

Zim’s eyes widened and his PAK sparked once more.

“Eh?!”

“I know. I know. I usually eat lunch with Dib but he’s not here today. Plus I kinda want to get to know you better. Dib always says you’re an alien but I bet him 10 dollars I could prove him wrong.” You explained as you rubbed the back of your head.

And just like that, Zim’s bubble of euphoria popped.

“Dib” Zim spat out his name like it was poison.

He was so captivated by your beauty that he had forgotten that Dib liked to hang around you. Just the thought of Dib even being in the same room with you was enough to make Zim’s blood boil.  His hatred of Dib aside, he couldn’t risk him trying to expose you too!  Zim didn’t want to see your beautiful guts spewed all over an autopsy table!

“So…Is that a no or?”

“I ACCEPT YOUR OFFER! I mean, sure why not?” Zim cleared his throat as he regained his composure.

“Great! Now, c’mon! Let’s get a good seat!” You chirped as you grabbed Zim’s hand.

More gibberish fell out of Zim’s mouth as his PAK begun to spark again.

Zim finally managed to pull himself together when you sat him down next to you.

“Aren’t you going to get your lunch?” Zim asked as he gestured to the mile long lunch line.

“Nah, the last time I ate the garbage they served here I puked my guts out! I bring lunch from home now.” You shuddered as you pulled out your lunch bag.

“The skool lunches make you sick too?” Zim’s eyes lit up.

“Oh yeah. I can’t believe they even call that filth food!” You ranted as you took a bite of your lunch.

“Right? How could humans even eat that DISGUSTING GARBAGE?!”

You let out a giggle at Zim’s overdramatic behavior as you continued to eat.

Zim’s PAK sparked a bit at the sweet sound of your laughter but he was too busy ranting to notice.

As lunch went on, you begun enjoying Zim’s rambling and even agreed with him on quite a few things.

Zim soon found himself enjoying your company as well. He was surprised by how much you had in common with him.  Not to mention you were an excellent listener.

BRRRING! BRRRING!

The lunch bell rudely interrupted you and Zim’s conversation.

“Aw, man! Looks like you’ll have to tell me that Dib story later, Zim.” You sighed as you went to throw away your trash.

“Curse that infernal bell!” Zim growled as he watched you get up.

“I know. I know. But hey, maybe we can hang out again sometime!” You offered as you flashed him a warm smile.

“Really?! I mean! Yes! We shall continue this conversation tomorrow!” Zim announced as he pointed at the ceiling.

“Eh…I dunno about that..Dib’s supposed to be back by then and he doesn’t really like you all that much.” You explained as you rubbed the back of your head.

“ARGH! Dib!” Zim growled as rage begun to boil deep within him.

“So yeah..Sorry I guess. Well, see you around!” You chirped as you trotted off to class,

“Oh don’t worry, Y/N. You most certainly will.”

After skool, Zim stormed into his base, threw off his disguise and flushed down into his scheming lab.

“That smelly Dib! He will not be exposing beautiful Y/N on my watch!” Zim ranted as he gathered assorted mechanical parts.

“Let’s see how the smelly, squirmy Dib-worm likes having his secrets exposed.”

Zim let out a maniacal laugh as he begun to work on his next invention.

The next day, Zim arrived to skool with a large purple megaphone in hand.

It did’t take long for both you and Dib to notice Zim’s new toy.

“What are you up to, Zim?” Dib’s eyes narrowed as he approached him.

“Yeah, what’s with the megaphone?” You asked as you gestured to the megaphone.

“Oh you’ll see…” Zim let out a dark chuckle.

Dib’s eyes widened a bit.

“Wait what are you-”

Zim tapped the megaphone a few times before bringing it to his lips.

“ATTENTION HUMANS!”

Both you and Dib covered your ears as the megaphone let out an awful shriek.

“Heh. Sorry about that.” Zim chuckled as he adjusted the megaphone.

Zim cleared his throat and tried again.

“I HAVE COME TO MAKE AN ANNOUNCEMENT! THE DIB-WORM IS A BIG HEADED STINK BEAST! HE HAS A HUGE CRUSH ON Y/N!”

“WHAT THE?! HOW DID YOU FIND OUT ABOUT THAT?!” Dib wailed as he grabbed the sides of his head.

“THAT’S RIGHT! HE’S GOT ALL KINDS OF MUSHY GUSHY FEELINGS FOR Y/N! HE EVEN WANTS TO HOLD THEIR HAND!”

Dib was about to lunge at Zim but you stopped him.

“Dib? Is all that stuff really true?”

Dib fumbled over his words for a moment before regaining his composure.

“Ugh. I guess you were bound to find out sooner or later. Go on, run off. Our friendship is ruined.” Dib sighed as he hung his head in defeat.

“Well I wouldn't say that. I’d consider it more of an upgrade.”

Dib’s eyes lit up as he turned to look at you.

“Wait. You’re not grossed out?”

“What if I told you that I felt the same?” You asked playfully.

“I would say this is the greatest day of my life!” Dib sang as he pulled out into a tight hug

“SO I’M MAKING A CALL OUT-EH?!” Zim dropped his megaphone when he saw Dib hug you.

“Looks like your plan backfired, Zim.” You chuckled triumphantly

“WHAT?! BUT-”

“But nothing, Zim! Y/N loves me too! And next time we’re going to expose your secrets! Together! As a couple!” Dib mocked as he snapped a finger in Zim’s face.

“As a couple!” “As a couple!” Dib’s words rampaged throughout Zim’s mind.

“No! No! NO!! I WON’T STAND FOR THIS MADNESS!!”

And with that, Zim ran screaming back to his base.

Back at his base, Zim threw off his disguise and returned to his scheming lab.

“I can’t find a new road anymore. To lead forth the heat of this love’s war.”

Zim let out another enraged scream as he tugged on his antennas.

Once he was done screaming, Zim threw on a white lab coat and a pair of green goggles.

He then begun to gather as many mechanical parts as he could find.

Once he had the parts he needed he pulled out a few alien tools and got straight to work.

“Somber clouds embrace the night. Crowds of monochrome paint the twilight.” Zim sang as he continued to work

“Rays of sunlight cast the dawn. They shine one by one. Yet I know, this light won’t reach you!” Zim growled as he wiped away a few sweat beads.

“Ah, the world around me blurs away. Yet even so, will I continue to fall for you?” Soon the lab seemed to melt away into swirls of monochrome.

“I know it’s true, yet I don’t know what the hell to do! Oh how can I begin? How should I begin?” Zim heaved as he closed his eyes for a moment.

“I have been fooled. I’ll show you!”

Zim’s eyes burst open as his imagination begun to run wild.

“Let’s go fighting from the start! I’ll tear the world apart!” Zim stomped his feet and imagined the Urth crumbling beneath him.

“No I can’t stand to see you be with anyone but me!” Zim imagined himself smashing a monochrome statue of Dib.

“Your passion will not win! When ardent love is sin!” Zim continued his imaginary rampage. Stomping about and smashing more Dib statues.

“But from my core my feelings will prevail when love is war!” Zim let out a maniacal laugh.

It didn’t take long for him to notice his megaphone lying on the ground.

“Crying out words through my purple megaphone. Broke it right from the start!” Zim picked up the megaphone and slammed it back onto the floor.

“Even if I try to stretch into your love’s gaze, there is nothing that can clear this great haze!” Zim growled as he imagined himself looking up at a stormy sky.

“Ah, the dark clouds leave my eyes, revealing a clear sky!” The clouds slowly left the imaginary sky.

“But I don’t feel right, seeing the light.” Zim shook his head and looked away from the imaginary sky.

“I can’t control my true feelings’ soul and body How can I begin? How should I begin?” Zim hugged himself for a moment.

“The one thing I won’t do. Is shed my tears in front of you.” Zim balled up his fists and gnashed his teeth.

“I LOVE YOU SO!”

“Let’s fight, shooting for your heart! I swear I’ll hit the mark!” Zim roared as he pressed a button.

The ground shook for real as Zim’s freshly made battle mech sprung to life.

“It shouldn’t have to be this way! I’ll have the final say!” Zim sang as he threw off his lab gear and hopped inside the mech.

“Upon your silent gaze, I will take your breath away!” Zim begun to press button after button.

“And with the wind I will shine above him all and make you fall! Be prepared for my attack!” The base’s roof lowered as the mech emerged from the top.

“Despite my losses, I will fight this battle without end! Love is blind! And Endless bliss! The only way to break this spell is by your loving kiss!”  Zim took a deep breath before stomping out of his base.

“This is war”

Deathmarked, sneak peek

As it is the 31st, I have decided to share a small part of a project very dear to my heart. I’ve mentioned Deathmarked before, and I very much love the characters and the overall tone of the thing is humorous if perhaps a bit dark in places, but there is one scene which has been made to be as grim as possible. 

It’s actually inspired by the song The Hangman’s Body Count by Volbeat, which has been one of my favorite bands for years.

TW / Trigger Warning / Content Warning: Death, murder, stalking, blood. Graphic depictions of the above. Skulls, demons. Hanging, choking. 

Here it comes: 

________________________

The air breathed in the dark night, fog clinging to the skin of the crawling creatures. Silver shards pierced the fog, moonlight gasping for breath among the chattering teeth of dark shapes. They stood in clumps, manifestations and creatures born of shadow, moving as one being.

A dark shape passed through the night, cutting clean through the fog. The creatures paused their chattering and stepped aside for the form that was blacker than the night. The shape reached the small dias, granting it reprieve from the snapping teeth around it. It held out an arm, and powerful wings flapped once, twice in the darkness before the raven landed on the appendage. 

Sharpened teeth showed as the humanoid in the cloak smiled. Even with its head covered, the smile spread through the shadows like rings through water, and the creatures hiding there pulled back. The darkness held its breath, silence ringing in the air. 

The smile widened in response.

“You’ve arrived just in time, Mortis,” it said. The voice pierced the air, the rasp of old papyrus coating the words. The raven cawed, its hoarseness rivaling that of the humanoid. 

The cloaked male inclined his head, smile all but lingering on his face, and the raven’s dust gray eyes peered into his. He let his cloak fall, the silver moonlight falling upon his face, exposing his features beneath.

Creatures of shadow hissed and fled to the corners of the valley.

The shape was merely human in kind with its rounded skull, jaw and cheeks. But that was where the resemblance stopped. Skin as white as bone stretched taut over hard shapes. He ran his fingers through the hair that went to his waist, his fingers coursing through strands as smooth as oil. Fanged teeth grinned in the moonlight and eyes as large as coins shimmered, the abyss waiting patiently within them. 

He let his eyes meet the beady ones of the raven, tipping his head further as the bird hopped nearer and put the tip of its beak to his lowered temple. Closing his eyes, he let himself be drawn into the maelstrom of the raven’s mind. His vision became dotted with color while twisted sounds echoed in his mind. Liquor and sweat lingered in his nose, mixing with the ash and dust that covered the creatures of shadow around him. 

Whispers of words poured from the world, and strands of lost souls wailed in the valley as the colors turned sharper, a vision unfurling within his mind - fractured like glittering sun on broken glass. 

The man’s blond hair rustled in the wind, his gray eyes scanning the world around him. Wrinkles crinkled his face but even in this age his limbs felt powerful as he stalked his prey. He thanked the Them for giving him the strength to serve. 

Tonight, he had visited a new inn. One that was placed across town. He’d kept to the shadows almost on instinct, his fingers tracing the black and white lines that curved atop his skin, covering the veins beneath. He’d decided his target the moment he had walked into the inn - a young girl with dark hair and fair skin who looked more than a little uncomfortable. A young man stared at her from across the bar, warm eyes glittering with ravenous hunger. 

She was a sheep staring into the maw of the wolf. And what better sacrifice than a sheep?

The blond man had sashayed up to her, put an arm around her and proclaimed loudly that he was her father who’d come to take her home. His pretended stern glances had earned him wary looks in return. 

When he had asked her whether her home was far from here, she’d given him a clipped smile, her eyes betraying that flicker of life that surged within them. It had made the blood in his veins pump faster, his fingers twitching. 

She would do just fine for Them.

He turned on his heel and walked away, letting her stand in the clammy air in front of the inn as he walked away. Away from both her and the suspicion that she fostered. A few beats and then the sound of footsteps, mirroring his but going in the other direction. He turned his head and mumbled the words, the sigil stinging on his chest. He reveled in the pain - in the meagre drop of power that They had given him as a tendril of black smoke escaped from his fingertips and surged in her direction. 

Turning left, he pressed his back into the rough stone wall of the house behind him and breathed.

Waited. 

 The tether around his hand grew taut, forming a band of darkness. It hurt to keep waiting, his circulation cutting off with every second. But eight breaths had to pass. One for each of the elements that They had within Their power. 

Eight breaths, and she would not know what had happened until it was irreversible.

Darkness had led him to the outskirts of the village, had led him down the streets slipping from shadow to shadow. She didn’t realize he was there until he had dragged her down an alleyway, the tendril of darkness coiling around his wrist like a snake ready to strike. 

It was a moonless night, but he had no qualms with the darkness. Ghostly lights had shined in his eyes as he had grinned into his neck, a hand over her mouth. He had drawn his double-edged knife, darkness and light curving up its blade in perpetual battle.

Tonight, the darkness would prevail. 

Tonight, he would revel in the sounds she made as she screamed. 

The edge had since then turned crimson, blood dripping down the shaft and over his hand. The ground had likewise been stained, blood already darkening. Seeping into the earth and giving Them life. 

He allowed the girl to stumbled back, blood streaming from the cuts and wounds that covered her. She was shaking and he didn’t hold the smile back that twisted his lips. 

She tried to scream, a last attempt at escaping before her life drifted away between her fingers. A shrill sound ripped its way up her throat, but it never reached past her lips. The intolerable pain in her chest prevented her from pushing the sound past them, and when she looked down, that wicked curved blade was buried in her lungs. 

Blood poured out of her mouth, warm and thick as it bubbled down her throat. The man leaned closer, relishing in the gurgling sounds that she made. The knife turned in her chest, steel scraping against bone as his features twisted further, veins of black and white framing the gruesome grin he bore. 

The girl saw nothing but darkness as Nergiel greeted her. 

It had been so many months since he had reaped her soul. It had been scarred, the slivers and traces of trauma falling off it in flakes as he sent it to his sister. He cursed himself as he shook his head, one hand rubbing at his temple. 

Too late, he had realized his mistake. Too late he had seen the trauma that Kalami had helped the soul cleanse. 

Anger rose in his heart, as he sent an unvoiced commando to the raven. He watched it soar into the sky, the moon glinting in the dark feathers. Then, the cowled male opened his hand and let a sliver of power form. Tendrils of black smoke sprouted as if the shadows lent parts of themselves to him. They thickened, became solid, and weaved amongst themselves until a noose lay fully formed in his hand. 

“We all face the consequences of our actions,” he murmured, voice crackling. He let his tongue slide across his sharpened teeth, eyes following the black form in the night. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, and he tightened his grip around the noose.

The raven flapped his wings to keep the pace, disappearing into the horizon. It did not take long for it to arrive at its destination. 

It circled the small inn before settling on a branch with a caw.

The man rose from his bed and scrambled for his clothes. Wind ripped at the windows, and the clattering had woken him up. The sour smell in the inn had not improved as he slept, and the rot of the lake he had washed the blood off in still clung to him. 

He made his way towards the outer door, blackened hands rubbing at his eyes. The darkness in his veins simmered, as if they were a compass that he merely needed to follow. He realized it as he walked out the door, greeted only by the wind and a hoarse scream of a raven. 

They had called upon him. 

A hand traveled through his hair, the song of the wind swelling within him. It was making his head fuzzy with anticipation. He had finally been noticed. His devotion - his hard work - it had all paid off.

The wind had found him in his dreams, and he heard the same sentiment now. Follow the raven and you shall receive what you deserve. 

If for a moment, doubt stirred in his mind, and he wondered if it would be clever to break his own rule. Never exit the place in which he stayed so few days after a sacrifice, even one as rancid smelling as the White Ram. 

Another rustle of the wind sent him moving, his name ringing out as a whisper from the darkness itself. They had noticed him. There was no doubt of it. And he knew that They would keep him safe under Their protection - after all, he had united Them with countless of Their children. The man sent a prayer of thanks to Them while he moved, frigid wind ripping at his clothes. 

Rain poured from the sky and the soft earth squelched beneath his shoes. The valley in front of him was dark, clouds blotting out the moonlight. 

A cowled figure stood at the bottom of the valley, the fog avoiding it as if even the phenomenon created by Them dared not touch it. It sent spiders skittering down his spine, the darkness seemingly closing in as he neared. The figure bore a noose in its hand, the rope leading up to a behemoth tree behind it. At its feet was a stool. 

The man’s fingers twitched, panic welling in his chest. His instincts roared at him to turn around, the terror poisoning his mind until he couldn’t think. 

He turned, his feet already taking the first leap. It had been a trap, but if he could get out of this valley - if he could just make it to the edge, then They would be able to protect him. 

Ice slid down his back, spreading to his limbs as he froze. Goosebumps broke out all over his arms and necks, and his muscles spasmed against invisible bonds. Bonds that pushed his body, forcing him to turn around and stumble forwards with jagged movements towards the cowled figure. 

The man fought every step of the way, sweat breaking on his forehead as he set foot on the stool and with an agony that wracked through him, he stepped up. A stranger to his own body, he watched as his own hands betrayed him, accepting the noose as a priced gift.

He placed the noose around his neck and pulled it tight, the rough rope like a band of molten iron against his neck. 

The stool disappeared beneath his feet.

The noose tightened as he was pulled downwards, hands now free to grasp at the rope burning its way into his neck. The air in his lungs was ripped away from him and he kicked feverishly, fingers clawing at the noose. 

His lungs screamed for air, black splotches forming in the edges of his vision. Copper tainted his mouth but he could not determine whether he had bit his tongue because his lungs were screaming with pain. His blood roared in his ears, even as the grip of his fingers weakened on his neck.

Mind filled with a growing darkness and the terrible pain, he tried to scream. 

It died in his throat as the cowled figure moved to stand in front of him, showing him sharpened teeth as it let its cowl fall from its head. Staring into the abyss within the eyes of the creature in front of him, the man let his limbs drop as his terror rose and rose and rose.

A single soundless word slipped past his lips, a mere whisper of life as his eyes bulged in his head. 

“Nergiel.”

The Midwife

AO3 :: Previously

XV

The soreness was still there as I sat gingerly at the dresser, while one of Jared’s maids—Suzette—attempted to tame my hair into a semblance of matronly respectability. Jamie had nuzzled me awake, his mouth trailing kisses down my body and asking with pleading blue eyes for a repeat of the previous night.

“I ken once is enough to make it binding, but would ye mind verra much…”

I hadn’t minded.

Dressed in a cheery yellow dress, I thanked Suzette and made my way downstairs where Jamie was waiting for me. He had had to leave earlier to settle his affairs at the university and arrange for our passage out of France. His dazzling smile at the sight of me made me bashful, as he took my hand to help me down the last steps.

“Sassenach, ye look lovely.” His lips grazed my knuckles. “No longer my wee milkweed puff.” I recalled his words when he had tangled his fingers in my hair, the curls wild on the pillow. Desire kindled in my belly, and I remembered that Jamie was now mine to enjoy when I would. We would have that night, and every night after that.

“Suzette tried,” I said ruefully, touching the up-do carefully. “And it was kind of Jared to find me a dress more suitable for meeting your family.”

“I have something else for ye, Claire.” Still in his kilt, Jamie reached into his sporran and drew a small velvet sack. He tilted it and poured its contents into the palm of his hand. Bright pearls interspersed with gold roundels twined in his fingers. “These were my mam’s. I’ve had them since I left Lallybroch. They are meant for my wife, a bride gift.” He stepped behind me and laid the necklace around my neck, fastening it at the nape with a kiss. I touched the cool pearls, the significance of this gesture weighing on me like the ring on my hand. “Do ye like them?”

“They’re beautiful, Jamie. I shall treasure them always.” I turned my head, and caught his mouth. Jamie’s hands rested on the bodice of my dress, but with a sigh he pulled away, mindful of the time.

“Are ye ready then? We canna miss the tide.”

“We sail at noon. I can ask Mother Hildegarde for some seasickness remedies.” I was determined to continue my work as a healer, and Jamie fully supported this. We were going back to l’hôpital to gather my meager belongings; after that we would board a coach courtesy of Jared that would take us the port city of Le Havre. After that, we would be bound for England on another of Jared’s ships. Jamie dreaded this—he had admitted he suffered from crippling seasickness, but there was no other way across the channel.

We gripped hands tightly as we climbed the steps to the hospital entrance. He placed a kiss on my temple once inside, in the vaulted foyer; I could hear the hum and bustle of patients and healers down the stone hallway. We veered away from the main sick room and closer to Mother Hildegarde’s chamber. Jamie planned to thank the abbess and lay down our new plans, as well as leave a small donation to the convent for the keeping of l’hôpital.

Repeated knocks on her door were met with silence. I frowned. “Perhaps she is tending to a patient. Or at the convent. I shall pack my bag and ask one of the sisters where we can find Mère Hildegarde.”

“I will meet ye by the garden door, is that alright?”

“I won’t be long,” I promised. I watched the back of him briefly before turning to the passage leading to the novices’ cells. I stepped into my room, noting the bare plastered walls, the tiny bed, the dust motes floating in the shaft of sunlight from the window. I noticed everything for the last time, before I took my other old dress, a blanket, stockings, and small trinkets that had belonged to Maman from a small chest at the foot of the bed. I folded them inside the same burlap sack I had first brought them in, shutting the lid of the chest with a muted thump. With an air of finality, I bid farewell to the room and left.

Malva was waiting for me in the corridor.

I halted in my tracks, my heart beating hollowly in my chest. Fight or flight? I had no time to waste on the petite salope, and made up my mind to walk past her quickly and hope she did not try to stop me. Malva hadn’t uttered a word or attempted to get close to me. I held the sack in a white-knuckled grip, prepared to use it as a weapon if I had to. I met her eyes with as much steel as I could muster. I brushed against her shoulder when she spoke from behind me.

“I can smell him on you.”

Malva’s voice made my blood run cold. At the same time, white hot anger flared in the pit of my stomach. She had wilfully murdered a woman who had done no wrong—nothing but cross Malva’s path in her vendetta against me. I took a deep breath, turned to her, and slapped her with my left hand, forcefully. Her head rocked sideways, with a satisfying crack.

Malva faced me, hand to her cheek. My wedding ring had cut her, blood seeping slowly from the wound. Her grey eyes were pure hatred. She looked haggard and disheveled since the last time I had seen her. Her hands were dirty—something unacceptable in the Hôpital des Anges—and her apron stained.

My voice hissed across the silence in the narrow corridor. “Do not ever speak to me again. Good riddance, you murdering bitch.” I backed away, wary of turning my back on her after our confrontation. Malva could only stare, the palm of her hand dotted with blood. I hoped it left a scar. I hoped she would look at it every day and remember what she had done.

“Claire!” Sister Angelique’s voice rebounded from the stone ceiling. She turned the corner and found us, clutching her habit and out of breath. I noticed that Sister Angelique was not her usual impeccable self. Her wimple hung limply, covering half her head. Much like Malva, she had a worn-out expression on her face and had a handkerchief tied around her neck loosely. I recognized it as a face mask, a policy implemented by Mother Hildegarde years ago. The scent of vinegar permeated Sister Angelique, as she looked at me imploringly. “We need your help!”

* * *

“It’s smallpox.”

I found Jamie at the garden gate, stopping five steps shy of him. Sister Angelique had taken me to the main hospital sick room, filled with pallets of ill Parisians. After donning a face mask of my own, I had looked around me in horror. Many of them were sailors, but others civilians, a red rash covering what could be seen of their face and hands. Some were fevered, others vomiting into nearby clay basins. Sisters Minèrve and Celeste were also infected, lying side by side. And most frightening of all—Mother Hildegarde was among the sick, her broad and sweating form still beneath a woolen blanket.

“Smallpox?” Jamie’s brow furrowed as he tried to come closer. I jumped back and he stared at me in confusion. “What is it, mo nighean donn?”

“You—you shouldn’t touch me. I could be carrying the disease.” I swallowed hard. All round us, the garden lay dormant in hues of gray and brown, awaiting spring to bloom again.

“Not touch ye? Lass, we are bound for Scotland in mere hours!” Jamie said pleadingly, his hand outstretched, trying to bridge the gap between us. I clutched my hands inside my cloak tighter, the smell of vinegar steadying and familiar.

“I can’t Jamie. I… we can’t go to Scotland yet. I could make you sick, or the ship’s crew… we cannot risk it.”

Jamie was quiet, considering. “Ye say ‘yet’,” he responded finally, a resigned expression on his face. “When could we go?”

“I’ll need seven days. Then, if I am not ill, we can depart.”

“Seven days? Ye mean to stay, love?”

“Jamie, I am needed here. Mother Hildegarde is also ill.” Tears slipped unheeded, knowing what I must do. “Give me a week, so I can help the sisters. Go to Jared, and wait for me. You may already be infected, but if you are not, in one week we shall go to Scotland as planned. We cannot wait and also risk your uncle Dougal’s wrath.”

“I canna imagine Jared will be well pleased either,” he said with a brief smile. “He has already risked much by helping us.”

“’Tis the sailors who brought the illness here,” I replied with a shiver. “The same sailors Jared recommended come here to be healed spread the smallpox. We did not see what it was.” His look of horror helped steel my resolve. “It is my duty to help, Jamie. Please understand.”

He took a deep breath, resigned. “We can wait seven days. I understand this is who ye are, mo chridhe, and I would not for the world tell ye to be otherwise. But can I not stay here and help ye? Another pair of hands would be useful.”

I shook my head. “I would not risk your health, Jamie, or your life.”

“Ye risk yers, why not mine?”

“I need to know you are waiting for me, and that will be enough to get me through.” I was weeping openly now, fear coursing through me. This could go badly for me, but I had to put my faith in God and Maman’s memory and believe that we would prevail, and we would go to Scotland together.

“Malva, she’s a wicked woman, a murderer—”

“Do not worry. I will steer clear of her, and try to never be alone with her. I will be safe.” I drew a shaky breath. “And… you must promise not to come back to l’hôpital. It is dangerous, you could fall ill. Promise me, Jamie.”

Jamie reached me in three strides, despite me trying to push him away. He held me tightly to him, and I surrendered, gripping the back of his coat as though my life depended on it. “I promise lass, if it means this much to ye,” he whispered. This is what it felt like, to be torn between duty and love, and my heart ached, with the knowledge that I might not see him again.

“Ye will be safe. Ye have my name and my family, my clan, and if necessary, the protection of my body as well.” He kissed my hair, whispering words of comfort. “I will wait, Sorcha.” Light—Claire. “I love ye, dinna forget it.”

I set him firmly away from me. Jamie’s face was white and strained, what I was imagined a mirror image of my own. His eyes filled with yearning. With a final kiss to my hand—the one that wore his ring—he let me go. I made my way out of the garden, walking slightly hunched as though I were in great pain, as someone who knows she must keep moving, but feels her life and soul ebbing slowly away. I dared not turn around.

I prayed for the strength to let him go, if only for a little while, and not fall on my knees and beg him to stay or take me with him. Let me be brave enough, I prayed. Let me love him enough to see him away safe while I committed to my responsibility as a healer.

“Go wi’ God,” Jamie murmured behind me.

A New Vampyre (Part 1) - a fanfiction from the BBC mini-series Dracula

I do not own the rights to the show and all characters are copyright to its creators. This is merely for fun as a fan of Dracula and The Vampyre by underrated writer John Polidori.

It could have been the sound of the pelicans in the distance or the smell of sulfur that prevailed in the air as Ruthven washed up upon shore in the early hours of dusk. That first breath...it was everything as he opened his eyes to the horizon before him. How long had it been and how did he end up off the ship? Endless questions swirled in his head but were in the background as one objective maintain the spotlight. Something he had never felt before in his body. A hunger. It coincided with a pounding headache that reverberated through all of his muscles. It felt like a weight he bore as he tried to stand up. His tongue salivated as he was almost drooling in a haze. Just for one taste. Nothing else mattered to him which for a moment made him tremendously depressed. His love for Adisa...he considered him stronger than he could have ever been and maybe that’s why he threw it all away. A chance to be something he could have complete control over without social constraints which started at the mercy of...Dracula.

“I will drain you dry,” he whispered into Ruthven’s ear as he laid motionless on the cabin floor. In his last moments, he turned to his own bringer of death. 

“I know...I know I am worth nothing...But I beg you to take a chance.” Completely drenched in a dying man’s blood and flesh, Dracula burst out into hysterical laughter. He continued, holding his side and smiling at a confused Ruthven. It would have been an opportune time to find something to defend himself but he could barely move, anxiety on high. 

“My good man, why on earth would I do that? You ruined my chance at obtaining esoteric knowledge that most human beings are stupid to care about. Even though I may eat you parasites, at least I allow your lives to live on within me. I don’t waste my food. So give me one reason,” he proclaimed to Ruthven. 

What could he possibly offer a 400-year-old monster who held his life within his fingers? 

“Give me a new life...as you are...as you said...you will inherit my fortune from Dorabella. We can say that I died. When you are wealthy, I will meet you in England and I will be your humble servant..I have learned and will continue to do so...” It was the best he could do with moments left. 

Dracula sat in the pool of blood that surrounded the two of them for a few brief seconds, pondering the idea. His fondness for Jonathan was so short lived after Budapest. A bride that could have been one of his best. What could this vain, weak human have for him? With the body count of the ship rising and the unknown of a new country on the forefront, it was something he could try. 

“I can tell you are close...The boy won’t bother you. If I do this and you cross me, I will put your head on a stake so you can watch your body burn. Do you understand?” He crawled over to Ruthven, climbing on top of his body and arched his back. 

“Yes...partner.”

That last word lingered as Ruthven was able to stand and began to walk across the sand, hearing it crunch against his feet. His desires were answered as he saw a young man working on a docked sailboat, illuminated by an oil lamp, across the way. The man appeared to be of some Mediterranean descent as the flame’s light kissed his olive skin with black tresses of hair held back by a white ribbon in the darkness. He appeared to be lower class with clothing covered in a day’s work of sweat and dirt. Not that it would bother him in that moment.

“Are you all right, sir?” Ruthven didn’t realize that he had tred his path to his first meal so quickly as the Boatman spoke to him within arm’s reach.

“I...I was thrown overboard on a ship...I feel I am a bit perplexed.” 

“Oh yes! I saw it explode in the distance. We sent for help and there should be a crew to see for survivors. Praise the Lord that you survived!” The man’s voice was warm and it only enticed him more to which he closed his eyes to savor it. 

“Yes...I shall praise him...” 

When he opened his eyes, the Boatman fell back against the hull of the vessel behind him and began to shake. The whites of Ruthvan’s eyes had turned red to which he smiled, looking up at the night’s blanket of stars. Out of his mouth sprouted a set of sharped canines, curved that protruded over his lips. He moved his right index finger across the tips of them and sighed in delight. A newfound instinct kicked in and he lunged at the man before him, sinking his jaws into his throat. This was better than any orgasm he had ever felt. When it had to be secret as he clenched his pillows and held his lungs from letting out a moan as he spent a night with Adisa. Or when he was a teenager, Ruthven’s father took him to a Chinese opium den. Nothing. Nothing at all could compare to the exquisite taste that filled every ventricle of his body at this very period of time that he was able to secure. And he drank and drank and drank until he felt the Boatman’s heart stop which he let his body drop once it faded away. 

It had to begin this way. 

God bless you all on this Palm Sunday of the Lord's Passion!

Gospel LK 22:14—23:56

When the hour came, Jesus took his place at table with the apostles. He said to them, "I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer, for, I tell you, I shall not eat it again until there is fulfillment in the kingdom of God." Then he took a cup, gave thanks, and said, "Take this and share it among yourselves; for I tell you that from this time on I shall not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes." Then he took the bread, said the blessing, broke it, and gave it to them, saying, "This is my body, which will be given for you; do this in memory of me." And likewise the cup after they had eaten, saying, "This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which will be shed for you. "And yet behold, the hand of the one who is to betray me is with me on the table; for the Son of Man indeed goes as it has been determined; but woe to that man by whom he is betrayed." And they began to debate among themselves who among them would do such a deed. Then an argument broke out among them about which of them should be regarded as the greatest. He said to them, "The kings of the Gentiles lord it over them and those in authority over them are addressed as 'Benefactors'; but among you it shall not be so. Rather, let the greatest among you be as the youngest, and the leader as the servant. For who is greater: the one seated at table or the one who serves? Is it not the one seated at table? I am among you as the one who serves. It is you who have stood by me in my trials; and I confer a kingdom on you, just as my Father has conferred one on me, that you may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom; and you will sit on thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel. "Simon, Simon, behold Satan has demanded to sift all of you like wheat, but I have prayed that your own faith may not fail; and once you have turned back, you must strengthen your brothers." He said to him, "Lord, I am prepared to go to prison and to die with you." But he replied, "I tell you, Peter, before the cock crows this day, you will deny three times that you know me." He said to them, "When I sent you forth without a money bag or a sack or sandals, were you in need of anything?" "No, nothing, " they replied. He said to them, "But now one who has a money bag should take it, and likewise a sack, and one who does not have a sword should sell his cloak and buy one. For I tell you that this Scripture must be fulfilled in me, namely, He was counted among the wicked; and indeed what is written about me is coming to fulfillment." Then they said, "Lord, look, there are two swords here." But he replied, "It is enough!" Then going out, he went, as was his custom, to the Mount of Olives, and the disciples followed him. When he arrived at the place he said to them, "Pray that you may not undergo the test." After withdrawing about a stone's throw from them and kneeling, he prayed, saying, "Father, if you are willing, take this cup away from me; still, not my will but yours be done." And to strengthen him an angel from heaven appeared to him. He was in such agony and he prayed so fervently that his sweat became like drops of blood falling on the ground. When he rose from prayer and returned to his disciples, he found them sleeping from grief. He said to them, "Why are you sleeping? Get up and pray that you may not undergo the test." While he was still speaking, a crowd approached and in front was one of the Twelve, a man named Judas. He went up to Jesus to kiss him. Jesus said to him, "Judas, are you betraying the Son of Man with a kiss?" His disciples realized what was about to happen, and they asked, "Lord, shall we strike with a sword?" And one of them struck the high priest's servant and cut off his right ear. But Jesus said in reply, "Stop, no more of this!" Then he touched the servant's ear and healed him. And Jesus said to the chief priests and temple guards and elders who had come for him, "Have you come out as against a robber, with swords and clubs? Day after day I was with you in the temple area, and you did not seize me; but this is your hour, the time for the power of darkness." After arresting him they led him away and took him into the house of the high priest; Peter was following at a distance. They lit a fire in the middle of the courtyard and sat around it, and Peter sat down with them. When a maid saw him seated in the light, she looked intently at him and said, "This man too was with him." But he denied it saying, "Woman, I do not know him." A short while later someone else saw him and said, "You too are one of them"; but Peter answered, "My friend, I am not." About an hour later, still another insisted, "Assuredly, this man too was with him, for he also is a Galilean." But Peter said, "My friend, I do not know what you are talking about." Just as he was saying this, the cock crowed, and the Lord turned and looked at Peter; and Peter remembered the word of the Lord, how he had said to him, "Before the cock crows today, you will deny me three times." He went out and began to weep bitterly. The men who held Jesus in custody were ridiculing and beating him. They blindfolded him and questioned him, saying, "Prophesy!  Who is it that struck you?" And they reviled him in saying many other things against him. When day came the council of elders of the people met, both chief priests and scribes, and they brought him before their Sanhedrin. They said, "If you are the Christ, tell us, " but he replied to them, "If I tell you, you will not believe, and if I question, you will not respond. But from this time on the Son of Man will be seated at the right hand of the power of God." They all asked, "Are you then the Son of God?" He replied to them, "You say that I am." Then they said, "What further need have we for testimony? We have heard it from his own mouth." Then the whole assembly of them arose and brought him before Pilate. They brought charges against him, saying, "We found this man misleading our people; he opposes the payment of taxes to Caesar and maintains that he is the Christ, a king." Pilate asked him, "Are you the king of the Jews?" He said to him in reply, "You say so." Pilate then addressed the chief priests and the crowds, "I find this man not guilty." But they were adamant and said, "He is inciting the people with his teaching throughout all Judea, from Galilee where he began even to here." On hearing this Pilate asked if the man was a Galilean; and upon learning that he was under Herod's jurisdiction, he sent him to Herod who was in Jerusalem at that time. Herod was very glad to see Jesus; he had been wanting to see him for a long time, for he had heard about him and had been hoping to see him perform some sign. He questioned him at length, but he gave him no answer. The chief priests and scribes, meanwhile, stood by accusing him harshly. Herod and his soldiers treated him contemptuously and mocked him, and after clothing him in resplendent garb, he sent him back to Pilate. Herod and Pilate became friends that very day, even though they had been enemies formerly. Pilate then summoned the chief priests, the rulers, and the people and said to them, "You brought this man to me and accused him of inciting the people to revolt. I have conducted my investigation in your presence and have not found this man guilty of the charges you have brought against him, nor did Herod, for he sent him back to us. So no capital crime has been committed by him. Therefore I shall have him flogged and then release him." But all together they shouted out, "Away with this man! Release Barabbas to us." — Now Barabbas had been imprisoned for a rebellion that had taken place in the city and for murder. — Again Pilate addressed them, still wishing to release Jesus, but they continued their shouting, "Crucify him!  Crucify him!" Pilate addressed them a third time, "What evil has this man done? I found him guilty of no capital crime. Therefore I shall have him flogged and then release him." With loud shouts, however, they persisted in calling for his crucifixion, and their voices prevailed. The verdict of Pilate was that their demand should be granted. So he released the man who had been imprisoned for rebellion and murder, for whom they asked, and he handed Jesus over to them to deal with as they wished. As they led him away they took hold of a certain Simon, a Cyrenian, who was coming in from the country; and after laying the cross on him, they made him carry it behind Jesus. A large crowd of people followed Jesus, including many women who mourned and lamented him. Jesus turned to them and said, "Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me; weep instead for yourselves and for your children for indeed, the days are coming when people will say, 'Blessed are the barren, the wombs that never bore and the breasts that never nursed.' At that time people will say to the mountains, 'Fall upon us!' and to the hills, 'Cover us!' for if these things are done when the wood is green what will happen when it is dry?" Now two others, both criminals, were led away with him to be executed. When they came to the place called the Skull, they crucified him and the criminals there, one on his right, the other on his left. Then Jesus said, "Father, forgive them, they know not what they do." They divided his garments by casting lots. The people stood by and watched; the rulers, meanwhile, sneered at him and said, "He saved others, let him save himself if he is the chosen one, the Christ of God." Even the soldiers jeered at him. As they approached to offer him wine they called out, "If you are King of the Jews, save yourself." Above him there was an inscription that read, "This is the King of the Jews." Now one of the criminals hanging there reviled Jesus, saying, "Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us." The other, however, rebuking him, said in reply, "Have you no fear of God, for you are subject to the same condemnation? And indeed, we have been condemned justly, for the sentence we received corresponds to our crimes, but this man has done nothing criminal." Then he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." He replied to him, "Amen, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise." It was now about noon and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon because of an eclipse of the sun. Then the veil of the temple was torn down the middle. Jesus cried out in a loud voice, "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit"; and when he had said this he breathed his last. Here all kneel and pause for a short time. The centurion who witnessed what had happened glorified God and said, "This man was innocent beyond doubt." When all the people who had gathered for this spectacle saw what had happened, they returned home beating their breasts; but all his acquaintances stood at a distance, including the women who had followed him from Galilee and saw these events. Now there was a virtuous and righteous man named Joseph who, though he was a member of the council, had not consented to their plan of action. He came from the Jewish town of Arimathea and was awaiting the kingdom of God. He went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus. After he had taken the body down, he wrapped it in a linen cloth and laid him in a rock-hewn tomb in which no one had yet been buried. It was the day of preparation, and the sabbath was about to begin. The women who had come from Galilee with him followed behind, and when they had seen the tomb and the way in which his body was laid in it, they returned and prepared spices and perfumed oils. Then they rested on the sabbath according to the commandment.

Or LK 23:1-49

The elders of the people, chief priests and scribes, arose and brought Jesus before Pilate. They brought charges against him, saying, "We found this man misleading our people; he opposes the payment of taxes to Caesar and maintains that he is the Christ, a king." Pilate asked him, "Are you the king of the Jews?" He said to him in reply, "You say so." Pilate then addressed the chief priests and the crowds, "I find this man not guilty." But they were adamant and said, "He is inciting the people with his teaching throughout all Judea, from Galilee where he began even to here." On hearing this Pilate asked if the man was a Galilean; and upon learning that he was under Herod's jurisdiction, he sent him to Herod who was in Jerusalem at that time. Herod was very glad to see Jesus; he had been wanting to see him for a long time, for he had heard about him and had been hoping to see him perform some sign. He questioned him at length, but he gave him no answer. The chief priests and scribes, meanwhile, stood by accusing him harshly. Herod and his soldiers treated him contemptuously and mocked him, and after clothing him in resplendent garb, he sent him back to Pilate. Herod and Pilate became friends that very day, even though they had been enemies formerly. Pilate then summoned the chief priests, the rulers, and the people and said to them, "You brought this man to me and accused him of inciting the people to revolt. I have conducted my investigation in your presence and have not found this man guilty of the charges you have brought against him, nor did Herod, for he sent him back to us. So no capital crime has been committed by him. Therefore I shall have him flogged and then release him." But all together they shouted out, "Away with this man! Release Barabbas to us." — Now Barabbas had been imprisoned for a rebellion that had taken place in the city and for murder. — Again Pilate addressed them, still wishing to release Jesus, but they continued their shouting, "Crucify him!  Crucify him!" Pilate addressed them a third time, "What evil has this man done? I found him guilty of no capital crime. Therefore I shall have him flogged and then release him." With loud shouts, however, they persisted in calling for his crucifixion, and their voices prevailed. The verdict of Pilate was that their demand should be granted. So he released the man who had been imprisoned for rebellion and murder, for whom they asked, and he handed Jesus over to them to deal with as they wished. As they led him away they took hold of a certain Simon, a Cyrenian, who was coming in from the country; and after laying the cross on him, they made him carry it behind Jesus. A large crowd of people followed Jesus, including many women who mourned and lamented him. Jesus turned to them and said, "Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me; weep instead for yourselves and for your children for indeed, the days are coming when people will say, 'Blessed are the barren, the wombs that never bore and the breasts that never nursed.' At that time people will say to the mountains, 'Fall upon us!' and to the hills, 'Cover us!' for if these things are done when the wood is green what will happen when it is dry?" Now two others, both criminals, were led away with him to be executed. When they came to the place called the Skull, they crucified him and the criminals there, one on his right, the other on his left. Then Jesus said, "Father, forgive them, they know not what they do." They divided his garments by casting lots. The people stood by and watched; the rulers, meanwhile, sneered at him and said, "He saved others, let him save himself if he is the chosen one, the Christ of God." Even the soldiers jeered at him. As they approached to offer him wine they called out, "If you are King of the Jews, save yourself." Above him there was an inscription that read, "This is the King of the Jews." Now one of the criminals hanging there reviled Jesus, saying, "Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us." The other, however, rebuking him, said in reply, "Have you no fear of God, for you are subject to the same condemnation? And indeed, we have been condemned justly, for the sentence we received corresponds to our crimes, but this man has done nothing criminal." Then he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." He replied to him, "Amen, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise." It was now about noon and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon because of an eclipse of the sun. Then the veil of the temple was torn down the middle. Jesus cried out in a loud voice, "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit"; and when he had said this he breathed his last. Here all kneel and pause for a short time. The centurion who witnessed what had happened glorified God and said, "This man was innocent beyond doubt." When all the people who had gathered for this spectacle saw what had happened, they returned home beating their breasts; but all his acquaintances stood at a distance, including the women who had followed him from Galilee and saw these events.

Title: La Pucelle et la Coccinelle (Part 7)

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Word count: 5089

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

This is the chapter that killed me. Fight scenes are always terrible but medieval fight scenes are even worse.

She had never had cause to doubt her ability to protect her master before...

At the Burgundy Gate as Joan rode out to meet Dunois' forces, she came to a sudden halt. A soldier was being carried back into the city, groaning, by two other men. He had clearly been in the thick of the battle. His armor was slick with blood, and there was a hideous gash that ran the length of his face from his temple down to his jaw on the left side, bleeding heavily. He was limp in the men's arms—he had probably passed out from blood loss. Tikki was willing to bet that even if he received some form of medical treatment, he wouldn't survive the night.

“Who is this man?” Joan asked the men in a trembling voice.

“A Frenchman,” one of them replied, readjusting his grip on the soldier's blood-slicked pauldrons.

Tikki felt, through the armor, a shiver run over Joan's body. “I never see the blood of Frenchmen without my hair rising on my head.” And she crossed herself.

The carnage only got worse as they went on. More groups passed, with wounded and dying men being carried back to Orleans, and when they neared Saint Loup, the ground began to be littered with bodies. Dead eyes stared, lifeless and unseeing, at Joan and Jean as they rode past. The grass was dark with blood that glimmered wetly under the light of the moon. A single racked sob escaped Joan, but she wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of one armored hand and kept riding.

The fighting was the worst at Saint Loup—the French were being forced to pull back, pressed away by the English defenses. Joan let out a long breath and then raised her banner high.

The effect was nothing short of miraculous. All at once, a deafening cheer rose up from the French, and they surged forward against the English. The defenses around the fortress began to crumple like paper. Joan stirred her horse back into a gallop and rode forward to join her men.

The next three hours passed in a sort of blurred whirlwind. The stench of sweat and blood hung heavy in the air, and Tikki was certain her ears would be clanging with the echoes of swords clashing for weeks. Within a few minutes of Joan's arrival, the English fell back to the bell tower in Saint Loup to salvage what they could of their defenses. They held out admirably long, all things considered. But when the bell tower was finally claimed by the French, it was a massacre. Those who weren't killed were taken prisoner, only forty in number of the more than one hundred and fifty men originally in the garrison.

And Joan cried.

Friar Pasquerel stood by her side while she wept. He seemed to know that she didn't want comfort, and said nothing, only waited.

“They died without confessing,” Joan finally managed to choke out. “Father, their souls…” She dropped to her knees. “Please, Father, let me confess.”

He kneeled down in front of her with a sorrowful smile. “Of course, my dear. In nomine Patrii, et Filii, et Spiritu Sancti…”

That was the first and only time Tikki was present for one of Joan's confessions, and the raw grief and agony she displayed over her sins was more than enough to keep Tikki from ever wanting to overhear her confession again.

When Friar Pasquerel had concluded the prayers of absolution and Joan had wiped the last of her tears from her face, she gripped his shoulder tightly. “Father, please publicly advise all the soldiers to confess their sins and to give thanks to the King of Heaven for our victory today. Caution them that if they do not, I will withdraw myself from their society. But whatever they may do, I promise you that within five days, the siege on the city of Orleans shall be lifted.”

Battle was suspended the next day—it was the Feast of the Ascension, Joan explained to Tikki when she asked, which meant that as a holy day there was to be no fighting. She took the opportunity to write another letter to the English, and had an archer send it by arrow with the announcement “read, it is news!” Its reception by the English was not a kind one. After a delay in which Tikki could only imagine they were reading the letter amongst themselves, mocking shouts of “it's news from the whore of the Armagnacs!” rose up from the English fortresses. Joan didn't seem to take their response well. She spent the next half hour or so crying and praying.

That evening, the commanders updated Joan on their plans for the next day. Or at least, for part of their plans. They refused to tell her everything. Dunois tried to cover up with a vague explanation of the rest of their plan, and Joan seemed satisfied, but Tikki could sense her disappointment in them. She was hurt that they didn't seem to think she could keep a secret. Despite the commanders' determination to keep Joan in the dark, she took her place at the head of the army with La Hire the next day as if their secrecy hadn't offended her in the slightest.

Her presence, with her banner, proved again to be an inspiring force for the French. They took not only the church of St. Jean-le-Blanc that day, but also the Augustinian monastery it flanked. Les Tourelles, the most important of the fortresses, was almost within their reach. Joan camped with her men in the field surrounding the fortress that night.

One of the commanders came to her after dinner. “Joan, I and the other commanding officers have held council, and we have elected to pull back to the city for the evening while we await reinforcements. As a precaution.”

“You have been in your council,” Joan replied, “and I in mine; and know that the council of my Lord will be carried out and prevail, and this council will perish.” The commander blinked, looking taken aback, and probably would have said something if she hadn't then turned to Friar Pasquerel at her side and said, “Get up tomorrow early in the morning, and earlier than you did today, and do the best that you can.” Her fingers crept under the hem of her doublet to nudge Tikki, a warning that she needed to take note of what Joan was saying as well. “Always stay near me, for tomorrow I will have much to do and more than I ever had, and tomorrow blood will leave my body above the breast.”

Tikki paled. Joan was going to be injured? Tomorrow? How? Granted, she had made mention of it to Tikki on occasion in the past, but had never given a specific date. Tikki had thought she was just being paranoid about something that was the norm on the battlefield. She hadn't realized it was meant to be an actual prediction.

“If you think you're going to be injured tomorrow, then maybe you should consider using your Lucky Charm when it happens,” she suggested when they were alone and Joan was preparing for bed. “It will enable you to repair the damage done.”

“I will not.” Joan tightened the last piece of her armor back into place—she had decided to sleep in her armor again tonight as an added measure of security. She was getting better at putting it on without help.

“But Joan—”

“I told you I would not use the Lucky Charm or any of your powers of creation, Tikki,” Joan interrupted firmly. She caught herself then, obviously realizing she was speaking too harshly. Her expression became apologetic. “I'm sorry. But you must trust me. Everything I am doing is by the will of God. Even after I am injured, I will continue to lead my men as I am meant to do.”

Tikki frowned. She had come to respect Joan a great deal—she was easily the strongest, most resilient seventeen-year-old Tikki had ever met—but something told her that Joan didn't realize just how painful a wound on the battlefield could be. Especially in heavy plate armor. Joan would be lucky to join the fight again at all if she were to be injured, let alone lead the troops.

But Joan was technically her master, even if Tikki had trouble thinking of her as such, and so she held her tongue.

Their attack against Les Tourelles was launched at dawn. The commanders had stationed their men at numerous points around the palisade, and the troops surged forward at the signal seemingly without any fear. Whatever English troops were in the fortress had not prepared well for the assault. Scaling ladders were propped against the sides of the towers without much difficulty. It was only once soldiers began to scale the ladders that any strong resistance was met. Not long after their assault was fully underway, screams pierced the air as men were knocked from the tops of the ladders and those on the ground were wounded by archers. The coppery stench of blood was overpowering. Joan herself was positioned on the ground where her army was thickest, with her banner raised high. She didn't so much as touch the sword at her side. Friar Pasquerel, next to her as she had requested, kept his eye on her as she shouted encouragement to the men.

“Do not lose hope!” she yelled over the sharp cracks of cannonfire and clanging of weapons. “God is with us! He has promised us a great victory; we shall not leave Les Tourelles this day without it!”

Another man fell, not far away, with a sickening, ringing thud as his body hit the ground. He didn't get back up. The soldiers around him scattered to the sides for a moment, before swarming back in around the ladder he had fallen from. His body was hauled off by two squires to clear space for those trying to ascend.

“Forward!” Joan urged. “The fortress will soon be ours!”

She continued to shout similar things to her men for the next couple of hours, keeping her banner raised. And though the French fought just as fearlessly as they had on the first day of battle—perhaps even more so—they didn't seem to be making much headway. Tikki wondered if Joan's “counsel” might have been wrong about their predicted victory. Or if Joan's counsel might just be the invention of her own mind.

Then one of the scaling ladders was pushed back from the tower wall and fell to the ground. Soldiers scrambled to put it back into place. Joan noticed, and hurriedly dismounted to help. “All together, on a count of three,” she instructed them. “One, two—”

That was when the arrow struck.

It seemed to come out of nowhere, though Tikki knew it must have come from one of the English archers up above. She had never had cause to doubt her ability to protect her master before, trusting herself to provide an impenetrable defense, but the arrow struck right between two of the plates in Joan's armor, in the small space where her neck met her shoulder. Joan was flung backwards by the impact. She landed with a heavy thud on the ground, the arrow sticking out her back by several inches.

Friar Pasquerel came running. “Joan! Are you all right?”

She clutched at the wound tightly. “It has happened as I told you, Father.” To anyone else, her voice would have sounded remarkably steady for someone who had just been wounded by an arrow, but Tikki detected the almost imperceptible wobble that meant Joan was trying to hold back tears. “I need this to be tended…” She broke off, and now she was crying. The sound was heartbreaking.

I'm so sorry, Joan, Tikki silently apologized to her charge.

Several other soldiers had come to Joan's side once they had realized she had been wounded. Among them was Jean de Metz, who took charge with Friar Pasquerel. “We need to move her. She cannot be tended to here. Gently,” he urged when the others went to pick her up. “We must avoid disturbing the injury.”

The soldiers did as he instructed, and Joan was carried off the battlefield. They seemed to be at a loss as to how to remedy the issue, though.

“Perhaps we could cast a charm,” one of them suggested, after several minutes of deliberating had gotten them nowhere. There was a general murmur of agreement.

Joan jerked in horror at that, and would have sat up immediately if Jean de Metz hadn't restrained her from doing so. “I would rather die than do something which I know to be a sin, or to be against God's will,” she said sharply.

“You heard her,” Jean de Metz said when the soldiers hesitated. “No charms.”

“You may treat it by other means,” Joan added.

“We will have to remove the arrow,” Jean warned her.

“Do it.”

He looked down at Joan with something that might have been pity. “It will be very painful for you. Wouldn't you prefer this to be done in Orleans?”

Joan attempted to sit up again, and was forced down a second time by Jean. “My men are fighting the godons, and I must return to them today. If we return to Orleans, I will not be allowed to go back to my men. You know this. Do it now.”

Jean sighed. The look he gave her was not unaffectionate, though. “Very well, la Pucelle. We will do it here.” To one of the other soldiers, he said, “Go to the camp and fetch cotton, olive oil, and bacon fat. We'll need to stop the bleeding once the arrow is removed.”

The soldier rushed off to do as he had been told. While they waited for him to return, Friar Pasquerel held Joan's hand and helped her to breathe through the pain. The desired materials were brought after about half an hour's wait, with a breathless apology for the delay. Only then was Joan allowed to sit up.

“Here,” Jean said, offering her a glove. “You'll want to bite down on this.” Joan allowed him to place the glove in her mouth, and braced herself with her fingers dug into the ground. He and Friar Pasquerel each grabbed one side of the arrow. At a nod from the friar, Jean snapped the head off the arrow. Joan screamed into the glove.

“You'll be all right, child,” Friar Pasquerel promised, smoothing Joan's hair away from her face where it had begun to stick from sweat. “Worry not.” Joan whimpered, but nodded her assent. Her moment of peace was short-lived as he pulled the shaft out the way it had come. The scream this time was much more prolonged.

Once the arrow was out, they had to act fast. Her wound was bleeding now at an alarming rate. The silver of the armor was already red, its surface slick by the time they managed to move the plates away to stuff the wound. Joan's screams died down to quiet sobbing. A couple of the soldiers looking on suddenly turned their heads, as if trying to find something they couldn't see. Tikki wondered if Joan's face had taken on its rapturous expression, and if so, if one of her saints was comforting her. Cotton was stuffed into the wound first, and then the bacon fat and olive oil were mixed together and applied to the surface. If she hadn't been inside the Miraculous, Tikki would have grimaced. She'd seen a lot of different medical techniques over the years for dressing wounds, but this was definitely one of the grosser ones.

“This is only temporary,” Jean cautioned her as they finished. “When we return to Orleans tonight, you will still have to have the wound dressed properly.”

“I understand,” Joan assured him. She probably would have tried to stand up then if he hadn't held her down. “But for the time being, I must return to my men. I cannot fulfill my mission by lying here like a cripple.”

“Your men are still fighting,” Jean said. “The commanders have not ceased their assault on account of your injury. Can you not hear them?” He fell silent, long enough for the echoing clangs and crashes of the battle to reach their ears. Joan relaxed marginally at the sound. “You must rest. Once you have recovered, you may rejoin your men.”

Joan sighed quietly, but didn't argue. She probably didn't have the strength to protest anymore. “Very well, Sir de Metz. I will rest. But I will return to my men by sundown.”

The group took that as a sign that she was willing to return at least to the camp, if not to Orleans. Rather than permit her to walk, they insisted on carrying her the whole way, “as a precaution,” Friar Pasquerel explained to her. The instant they turned their backs to fetch chain mail that Joan could use in place of her plate armor (which was far too heavy for her to use now, given her injury), Tikki released her transformation and hid under Joan's breastplate.

“I'm sorry, Tikki,” Joan whispered to her as the men continued their hunt for Joan-sized chain mail. She stuck her finger under her breastplate, and rubbed the top of Tikki's head when she rose to meet it. “I must have given you a terrible fright today.”

“I ought to be the one apologizing,” Tikki whispered back. “I was supposed to protect you today, and I failed.” Seeing her charge's face for the first time since before dawn, and seeing how red and sweaty she was, the still-glimmering tracks where her tears had fallen, Tikki's heart ached with guilt. Joan was still so young. Still a child, in so many ways. She did not deserve to be sitting here in a war camp with her shoulder stuffed full of bloody cotton. Tikki felt even worse when Joan smiled at her.

“You did not fail,” she insisted. “You have protected me so well, Tikki. Just think, perhaps if I had not been granted the use of your armor, the arrow could have pierced straight through the plates rather than between them. It could have pierced my throat, or my heart. Then I surely would have died today.” The sound of someone running in armor drew near, and Joan hurriedly looked up and away.

“Here, la Pucelle. This can replace your armor until your wound has healed.”

There was a long series of rattling clinks, which Tikki presumed was the chain mail being dropped into Joan's hands. “Thank you, sir. Might I have privacy while I put it on?”

“Of course. Friar Pasquerel is waiting for you outside once you have finished.”

As soon as the soldier was gone, Joan gestured to Tikki that she could come out of hiding. Tikki flew up and out. “Please don't talk about the possibility of you dying, Joan. That's a horrible thing to think about.”

Joan was already occupied with removing her armor, wincing when she used her injured side without thinking. Tikki rushed to help her with the more difficult pieces as best she could. “We are dust, Tikki, and to dust we shall return. I am no different than any other mortal man on the battlefield.”

“But you are different,” Tikki protested. “You're here because of your mission, aren't you? I would say that that is very different from any of the other soldiers here.”

Joan's smile took on a wry curve. “My mission does not make me immortal.”

She went to Friar Pasquerel and asked him to hear her confession before allowing herself any rest, and even then, she only rested for a few minutes. There was a moment of minor panic when she realized her banner had not been brought to the camp with her, which subsided when she was told her squire had been given charge of it. When sundown began to draw near, she requested that one of the men bring her a horse. She was going back to the battlefield.

“You'll have to hide under the mail, I'm afraid,” she said to Tikki. “I apologize if it's uncomfortable for you in any way.”

“I can provide you with chain mail armor,” Tikki pointed out. “Your transformation doesn't have to be plate armor. And then you won't have to worry about keeping me hidden.”

Joan looked surprised. That must not have occurred to her. Perhaps she had assumed the transformation could only take a single form. “That would be much easier,” she admitted. “Tikki, transform me.”

She and the others ran into Dunois on their way back to the battlefield. “You may as well return to the camp,” Dunois told them. “I was just on my way to inform you, la Pucelle, that the commanders have decided to pull back for the night. We have achieved nothing today.”

When Joan replied, her voice was terse. “Return to the commanders and tell them to wait a little longer. I will join them shortly.” She turned to Jean de Metz. “Help me to mount my horse. I must pray, alone.” Jean did as he was told. As soon as she was on her horse, Joan steered herself away from the group, towards a nearby vineyard.

She didn't pray for long. Maybe ten minutes at most, which for Joan was extremely brief. Tikki, knowing how much Joan valued her privacy during prayer, occupied herself with mental preparation for rejoining the fight.

The men, except for Dunois, were waiting right where Joan had left them when she returned. Dunois had presumably gone back to the battlefield to relay her earlier message. “My standard,” she said to Friar Pasquerel. “Where is it? I was told my squire had charge of it.”

“Dunois informed us it has been given to le Basque, so that the forces might see it and not lose hope,” he answered.

Joan stirred her horse to a canter. “I must retrieve it. Come! We return to the battle now!”

Once they reached the battlefield, it didn't take more than perhaps a minute for her to locate her banner. A bit of a tug-of-war ensued between her and the soldier referred to as le Basque, who apparently didn't realize that it was la Pucelle who was trying to take the banner from him. She eventually succeeded, and positioned herself at the top of the trench before the earthwork with her standard lifted high once more. Disbelieving (and rather dismayed) cries could be heard from the English atop the fortress. They must have presumed she was dead, Tikki realized. Joan had been holding the banner up for only a few seconds at most when the wind abruptly changed, and the standard began to blow in the direction of Les Tourelles.

“Our sign from God,” Joan murmured to Tikki. Out loud to her army, she shouted, “All is yours; enter!”

It was like the first day at the fortress of Saint Loup all over again. All at once, the French overran the earthwork, the English's defenses crumpling despite having held strong the whole day. Joan rode down to join her army in the fight, Friar Pasquerel at her side. Though she didn't draw her sword, she used the butt of her standard to club Englishmen in the head when necessary, which worked surprisingly well.

The tower side of Les Tourelles didn't seem to be faring much better for the English—the drawbridge was coming down, presumably so the men there could make an escape to the earthwork. For the Englishmen's sake, Tikki hoped none of them tried it. A fisherman from Orleans had been appointed the previous day to set his boat ablaze and beach it beneath the drawbridge if it were to come down. If one had been able to peer through the chaos taking place on the earthwork, they would have been able to spot the fisherman right this moment doing as he had been instructed. Almost as soon as the drawbridge was fully dropped, thick smoke began to rise.

Joan plowed her way through the English forces in the direction of the drawbridge. Wondering why, Tikki belatedly remembered that Glasdale had been positioned in the towers. Joan was after a surrender.

An English soldier attempted to yank Joan down from her horse; she turned on him and dealt him a sharp blow with her standard. He let go in favor of clutching his shoulder where she had struck him. She turned her horse back towards the drawbridge and continued on her way. Friar Pasquerel had to sidestep the now-stumbling soldier to follow.

She stopped short at the edge of the earthwork. A moment later, Tikki and Friar Pasquerel could see why: there were figures visible through the smoke on the drawbridge, making an attempt to run across despite the flames licking at the timber.

“Glasdale, Glasdale, submit, submit to the King of Heaven!” Joan shouted to the figures, her voice breaking in desperation. Tikki wasn't sure how Joan was able to recognize Glasdale from that distance, let alone through all the smoke, but she knew Joan well enough to know that if she believed one of the men to be Glasdale, then it was Glasdale. “You called me a whore, but I have great pity for the souls of your people and yourself.”

Perhaps if he had had more time to consider, Glasdale would have submitted. But the words were hardly out of Joan's mouth when, in one great smoky whoosh, the drawbridge collapsed into the river. Glasdale and the others floated for only a moment before their armor pulled them under. Joan let out a loud, ragged cry of despair.

As the French behind her destroyed what was left of the English troops and victory cries began to rise from their ranks, Joan buried her face in her hands and wept.

She spoke little for the rest of the night during the proper dressing of her wound, while the rest of Orleans was celebrating with cheers and songs of praise to God. Though she smiled when spoken to, and seemed genuinely happy for their victory, she was obviously still distraught over what had happened to Glasdale and the others who had been with him. She ate only four pieces of bread before going to bed. Tikki tried to offer her comfort by snuggling close, but she wasn't sure how much it helped.

The next day, Joan was informed that the English were lining their forces up outside of Orleans—what was left of them, anyway. Her commanders, and her army, were already waiting for her at the city gates. Joan hastily threw on the chain mail she had been provided and rode out to join them. For an hour, the two armies faced one another, neither one making a move to initiate another battle. The French probably would have liked to attack, but Joan barked out an order for them to stay put. Then, slowly, very slowly, the English forces turned and began to retreat, making their way in the direction of far-off Meung-sur-Loire.

Some of the French attempted to pursue them, but Joan held up her hand to signal a halt. “In God's name, they are going; let them leave, and let us go give thanks to God and not pursue them any further, for it's Sunday.” With that, she turned her horse back towards Orleans. Her commanders followed, giving the army no choice but to obey her orders.

The rejoicing in Orleans that day was even greater than it had been the day before. A grand procession was made through the city, and the Mass was filled with hymns of praise and thanksgiving. Joan scarcely had a moment to herself, what with all of the crowds who wanted to speak with her, to thank her, even just to touch her garments. A few women attempted to kiss her hand, but Joan withdrew from their touch with a gentle admonition to give their thanks instead to God. It wasn't until supper time that the attention died down enough that she could spend time with her companions, and even then, people kept bursting into the room and interrupting every few minutes. By the time it came for her to prepare for bed, Joan looked exhausted.

“Joan.”

She halted on the way up the stairs and turned to face the owner of the voice. “Yes, Sir de Metz?” Hidden inside her doublet, Tikki sighed in affectionate exasperation. Leave it to Joan to engage in conversation even when she was practically ready to fall asleep on her feet.

“You really did it,” Jean said, and there was no surprise in his voice. Only a reverent wonder. “More than ever, I find myself believing that you are truly sent from God. Already your mission is halfway completed. All that's left for us to do is clear the way to Rheims, and the dauphin will be crowned just as you said.”

Joan hesitated, then went back down the stairs to join him. “There is still much for me to do,” she assured him. “My mandate is to have my dauphin crowned king, but my mission will continue after that is done.” She clapped him on the shoulder. “I'm afraid you and my good commanders will have to remain in my company for quite some time.”

Jean laughed. “I would not have it any other way, la Pucelle. You do us all good. You know what they're calling you now, don't you? The Maid of Orleans. You're their hero.”

Joan laughed as well, but only for a moment. “They ought to consider God their hero, not me. I am—” There was a long pause. Curious, Tikki peeked out from under the doublet to see what was going on, and saw that Joan was looking intently at a silver ring on Jean's hand.

That ring was familiar.

“Sir de Metz,” Joan said. “That's a curious ring. I don't believe I remember you having that when we first met.”

Jean twisted the ring around. “A gift,” he said with a knowing smile. “From an unknown benefactor. It seems there are a lot of them around these days.” He gestured towards Joan's earrings, and gave her a nod of farewell. “I should let you get your rest. Good night, Joan.”

Joan seemed too thunderstruck to say anything in reply as he departed. She glanced down at Tikki, her eyes wide. Tikki, equally shocked, nodded.

Jean de Metz had Plagg's Miraculous.

The Forbidden Blade: Ch 89

Ch 88

The two pace around the edges of the lake with their swords pointed at one another. They eye each other down as they do so. Oud smirks. “This is the very sword I had used throughout my time in the war, the very one that’s killed hundreds of Kralans, and it looks like it’s going to have another taste of Kralan blood very soon.”

“You’ve won many battles. I’ll give you that, but it seems that winning so many has dulled your tip,” Zelous remarked.

“Amusing, you speak with such cockiness, but you have yet to become hardened by man. You had spent hundreds of years watching us comfortably from afar, and even now you rest in comfort, as you reside in that Palace.”

“It’s been years since you’ve been on the front line.”

“Yet there hasn’t been a single moment that I’ve softened. Even when I was not on the battlefield I trained. Every second of my life has been used to lead to this very moment.

“You have become blinded.”

“No, it is you that is blinded. I have remained focused. There hasn’t been a single second where I have forgotten my purpose,” Zelous’s grip loosened, “Anarchy shall rain before your death bed. In the world’s rebirth, after your demise by my sword, there shall no longer be Emperor or Empress, or any sort of ruling. We will finally be free from your tyranny.”

“The world will be sent into chaos. Your empire will be sent into chaos.”

“With every flame that burns into the night sky there will always be rain to put it out on the coming day.”

“Why are you doing this? Do you no longer care about your own empire?”

“I have witnessed what humans are capable of, the blood, smell of decay, and cries of those that have been left behind. They happened because we were ordered by our leaders. As they bathed in their riches, we were forced to endure these horrors. I care about the people, not Ignitus.”

“Isn’t that ironic?”

“Yes, but sometimes in war you must become the thing you dread in order to win. This title of mine will cease once you do. However, the true irony lies with you. Zelous, was this not your philosophy?” 

Zelous runs across the lake. He swings the sword with such a force that it slices off one of Oud’s arms. Oud stumbles back because of it, but he laughs. Zelous lunges at him again. He throws the sword towards his opponent at every angle he can muster. Oud, as Zelous’s movements are brash, is calculating. He is able to block every single attack with ease. “You pompous mortal. How dare you talk to me with such a degrading attitude. Have you forgotten who I am? I am Zelous, the being whose brought fear to the likes of Dieus.”

“That is true, but that mortal body you’re covered in hinders that prestige you speak of, but you already knew that.” Zelous’s movements slowed, allowing Oud to find an opening. A kick from Oud causes Zelous to be pushed back.  

Panting, as he stares at the unfazed Oud walking towards him, Zelous is brought to desperation. Within a blink of an eye Oud is also pushed back. His body is sent flying and dragging across the river before us. Oud gets back up easily. He laughs, as he cracks his limbs and neck. “That’s it?” What a shame. I expected too much from you.” 

Zelous, again, makes his way towards Oud. Their swords clash over and over, but it doesn’t last too long. Oud slams his sword into the dirt, and then sends his newly freed fist into Zelous’s stomach. This causes Zelous to stumble back. He regains his senses quickly, but it isn’t quick enough. Oud punches Zelous across the face. The Emperor then presses his foot against Zelous’s foot before he’s able to stumble backward. Over and over Oud punches Zelous across his face. 

Zelous falls to the floor, as Oud turns around and regains his sword. He turns back to the demon, but to his surprise Zelous swings. The sword glides across Oud’s sword and nearly touches his eye, but Oud lets go of the sword and catches the blade in his bare hand before it can. His blood drips down the sword. As Zelous is distracted by Oud’s determination to prevail, Oud gains the better of him. He pulls the sword back, and then has the handle’s end thrust into Zelous. However, Zelous doesn’t want to fall so easily again. He punches Oud. 

The Emperor of Ignitus’s blood dripped out of his mouth, yet this doesn’t wither away his boastful demeanor. Instead, “I do know what you’re capable of. I fear it even though you’re in that child’s body. I know you could kill me instantly if you wanted, but you would rather toy with me. So, let’s finish this glorious fight of ours before you grow bored of me.”

Zelous doesn’t waste any time in being the first one to strike. Their swords swung and clashed, each attempt equal to the last. The scene looks as if they’re dancing across the edges of the lake. Half of their body reflects the clear, angelic water before them and the other is basked in darkness. Each time one of them dodges it’s met with an attack by the other, but with each stroke it’s met with a swift counter. 

Sparks skipped across the water and into the dark belly of the cave. I watched Oud sweat and a wicked smile make its appearance in between their strikes. 

Something I have not seen Zelous do before arises before my eyes. He basks the sword in a glowing heat. With each time he’s able to land a strike on Oud not only does it open his skin, but it stops his blood from coming out as well. Sure it could’ve been an act of kindness, but I know by now it most likely isn't. He doesn’t want Oud to fall ill to loss of blood so quickly. As Oud stated before, Zelous wants to prolong the excitement he feels towards Oud’s suffering. 

Zelous kicks him across his face, sending Oud flying into a jagged wall. Rock pierces into Oud, a little off from his chest. His blood, because of this, squirts out from the site and more comes out of his mouth. Zelous pushes him further into it, causing Oud to scream in agony.

Oud lowers his head. Stepping back, he points the sword at his weakened opponent. “This is why I am feared.”

Oud lifts his head up. Their eyes meet, but it’s not the eyes of someone pleading for mercy. It isn’t one of respect, or even one of submission. No, it’s of a man who knows he’ll win. A dagger pierces into Zelous’s chest, causing him to fall. His hand clutches the wound, as Oud plucks himself off. As Zelous is driving towards unconscious, Oud kneels down and lifts up his head. “And this is why I am feared.” 

“How…” Zelous turns his head and takes note of the Shadowman. 

“You know what to do with the body.”

“But what about the other,” the Shadowman spoke. 

“Whatever you please. It is your gift for helping me.”

All I can do is watch the Shadowman throw us into the lake and Oud grinning from afar. 

IN THE CAVE

Piccolo Dai Maho, second in command in the Sacred Circle of Elders in the Namekusei planet entered his home with tired steps.

 Three days ago, a space ship crashed outside one of the villages, and from it, appeared a bunch of strong warriors with tails and armors. The villagers went to their rescue, as expected, and were greeted with laser beams and destruction.

 It was madness, a full afternoon of madness… but their warriors prevailed.

 Apparently, these foreign warriors thought namekians were no more than a bunch of peace makers and weaklings. It seemed they knew nothing of the namekian warrior race, which erased the saiyans, as they called themselves.

 But now, the namekians were worried, since it appeared that this lot had been no more than a recognition lot, and that meant that stronger warriors would come… and soon.

 The eyes of the Elder looked in the direction of his son´s home, which was absolutely silent.

 Piccolo Jr. was his pride and join, a warrior namek to the core, so opposed to all of his brothers of race. He knew nothing of peace and quiet, for him everything was movement, training, and techniques. In a way… he had waited for something like this to happen all of his life.

 The old namekian thought for a second in his son, keeping an eye on one the surviving saiyans, one of the weakest, who had been captured for information, to know about the horrors that were to come to them very soon.

 As his father had thought, Piccolo was with the captive, but he was not searching for any kind of information, neither was he worried about the other saiyans that would come soon, or thinking about anything related to an imminent war… even if that is what the namek warrior waiting outside the cave thought he was doing.

 His thoughts were confused, his dark eyes were upon the creature before him, unconscious and chained to the rock wall.

 It was a female, apparently. He knew they existed, but of course, never encountered one before.

 Pale skin, dark long hair, petite body. How was it even possible that such a little thing had been able to fight?

 He knelt in front of her, and not even by that action was he able to look at her straight at the face. He was tall, taller even than most of his warrior namek comrades. And this… female… was so small…

 She also had a weird smell, something sweet, but strong… like flowers and wet dirt, like… like the air before the rain.

 Piccolo knew he should wake her, force information from her, everything necessary to protect his people… but he was too busy mesmerized by the foreign creature… by her smell, her soft lips, the unknown feminine curves…

 The namek forced himself to stand and step away.

 He needed to focus.

 But this female…

 Piccolo knelt again and took her face delicately, making her face him. Her lips opened with the movement, and the warrior felt a strong pull.

 He needed… he needed to put his mouth on hers… as weird and stupid as that sounded.

 So he did… he tasted her, he forced her neck until almost breaking it, he felt a strange energy blasting inside of his body, he felt the necessity of holding her closer, of touching every inch of her skin hidden by the armor, to bite her neck and make her bleed…

 But it took him less than a second to let her go and throw her at the wall then she bit him with all her force, bleeding his lips and staining her pretty face with his purple blood.

 -          FUCKING PORUNGA!! YOU IMBECILE!

 Piccolo retrated, a hand to his bleeding lips. He turned around to see the saiyans, his emerald hand still covering half his face, and saw the female still chained to the rock. She was wide awake, an angry scowl on her face, his blood still on her lips.

 -          Well that was rude of you, namek.

-          Shut up you woman.

-          But impressive… I mean, for a warrior with empty pants, that was quite good. Even better than the ones I have received from my fiancée.

 The saiyans female spitted, and then shrugged to take out some hair out of her face.

 -          Name is Chichi… and you are, big boy?

 There was silence, she was looking at him… and kept doing it. No one had ever done that, everyone said his eyes were so hard to stare to… and she was doing it easily, almost as a game.

 -          Piccolo.

-          What did you say, big boy?

-          PICCOLO. And stop talking you crazy female.

-          Female, that one is weird.

 She stood up and looked at him from below, smirking.

 -          Pleased to meet you, big boy. As I said, my name is Chichi, low level saiyans soldier, and I must say, that watching you crush Yamcha´s head against a rock and seeing his insides turn into syrup was quite entertaining… but quite revealing also… I above his power, but not by much. If you opened that idiot as a fruit, I am quite sure you can do pretty much the same to me. So…

 She pulled both of her hands, breaking her chains in a smooth movement, and then laid her hands on her hips.

 -          What happens now?

-          Now, female, now you are going to tell me everything about the saiyans that are going to come to our planet.

-          You don´t say! Gossip me sharing that kind of information.

-          DON´T YOU DARE TO PLAY WITH ME!

 Piccolo advanced the few steps he was away from Chichi and took her by the neck, pulling her up and choking her. Even with the lack of air, she did not stop smiling.

 -          YOU DARE TO COME TO OUR PLANET, TO KILL OUT PEOPLE, TO MOCK US, AND YOU THINK THIS IS A GAME??

 With the last word, the namek warrior threw the saiyans female against the wall. The mountain shook and a few pebbles fell to the floor.

 Chichi coughed for a few seconds, a hand trying to recover her sore throat… and then, came a light laughter. A bell of happiness sounding in the deep hearth of the mountain.

 -          I like you… if you had been born a saiyans; you and I could have had so much fun together.

 The female warrior stood again, still smiling confidently.

 -          As I said… so much passion for someone with empty pants.

-          I´m losing my patience, female.

-          You never had much to begin to, big boy… you want information? Ok, I´ll give you some.

 She walked over him with feline steps, his hips swinging hypnotically in her deep purple uniform, her hair a cascade or darkness. Chichi floated until she was eye to eye with the warrior, who started to sweat.

 -          Listen carefully, big boy.

 Her lips caressed his, and Piccolo felt his hands moving without permission, until he was holding her waist.

 -          Saiyans are mercenaries. Once we spot a planet, that planet basically belongs to us already. We are thousands, all of us warriors… you are a few hundreds, mostly farmers. Your little planet is doomed. It belongs to us already… but you are not aware of it yet.

 Chichi pressed her soft lips against him, and Piccolo almost choked at the sound that tried to escape from him. He separated a little, just enough to talk.

 -          When?

-          Soon, big boy… my body won´t be in the grave for long before the next team comes… and if they fail as we did, another one shall take their place… tell me big boy… do you have enough people to stop us?

 She left his lips and moved to his oversized ear, licking it, and biting his earlobe. Chichi whispered.

 -          Are you sure you can stop us?

 Piccolo felt a shiver, and his hands squeezed the narrow waist, his claws almost piercing the armor.

 -          You are a bunch of animals…

-          That we are.

 Dark eyes meet again, and this time, both of them felt a potent pull passing between them. She touched his cheek and cupped his face; he took a string of hair and put it behind her ear.

 -          What would I give, big boy... for your fangs piercing my neck in a mate bite… but that cannot be.

-          You won´t stop, will you?

-          Never.

-          If I release you, you will be off to kill more of my people.

-          That I will do.

-          When the saiyans come, you will go to them to tell them what you know of what you saw of our fighting techniques.

-          I would… If I could. But I am realistic… you are the last living thing I´ll ever see.

 Chichi took the face of the namek warrior in her small hands and kissed him fiercely, the taste of his blood still on her lips. Piccolo answered, almost crushing her with one of his arms. Her legs surrounded him and embraced him strongly.

 She moved away only enough to speak.

 -          If only you had been born a saiyan… big boy…

  Outside the cave, Nail was looking at the distance.

 He was the personal protector of the patriarch, just as his father had been, as the father of his father had been. And now, he was away from his sacred duty because he was with the crazy warrior fanatic of a son of Elder Dai Maho. He did not like it, of course… but he knew that there was no better warrior than him.

 The ground moved beneath his feet, and the mountain seemed to breathe for a moment… and in the silence, the echo of steps made him turn around.

 Piccolo was coming.

 Nail suppressed a growl. He did not know why, but Piccolo and he were so alike, they could have easily been twins.

 -          Is everything ok, brother Piccolo?

 The answer was a simple noise.

 -          Brother, you are bleeding, are you…

-          We need to call the seven Elders. I´ll go inform my father while you go with the Great Patriarch and prepare for the invocation of Porunga.

-          What?

 Piccolo started to float, and Nail was immediately behind him, both of them moving smoothly towards the sky.

 -          What is going on? What did the female told you?

-          The saiyans that will come are monsters. We will never defeat them.

-          You and I…

-          You and I are useless against hundreds of well-trained warriors. Even if we win a few battles, we are doomed to lose this war. We will call Porunga and request Him to move our entire planet to a safe location somewhere in the universe, where those animals cannot find us.

-          WHAT! You cannot decide such a thing! You need the elders to…

-          I can, and I already did. Go to the Great Patriarch. NOW.

 Nail looked at Piccolo with something very close to hate. He loved peace, he lived for peace… but this namekian in special… he had very… unpeaceful feelings towards him. The protector did not say other words, and instead flew away.

 Piccolo stared at the mountain for a moment, and finally, he raised his hand, and released a powerful blast of energy.

 The sky turned orange with the explosion, some trees from the neighbor islands were lost in the wild wind, and the fish swam away as fast as they could to avoid the pile of heavy rocks that landed in the water.

 Among the pebbles, a female body was buried. A young corpse with hair as dark as the night, dark eyes that would never see the light again, and pale, almost perfect skin, with an still bleeding mark of fangs in the neck.

Sunday, 14 April 2019 : Holy Gospel of Jesus Christ according to Saint Luke 22:14-71.23:1-56.

When the hour came, Jesus took his place at table with the apostles. He said to them, "I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer, for, I tell you, I shall not eat it (again) until there is fulfillment in the kingdom of God." Then he took a cup, gave thanks, and said, "Take this and share it among yourselves; for I tell you (that) from this time on I shall not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes." Then he took the bread, said the blessing, broke it, and gave it to them, saying, "This is my body, which will be given for you; do this in memory of me." And likewise the cup after they had eaten, saying, "This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which will be shed for you. And yet behold, the hand of the one who is to betray me is with me on the table; for the Son of Man indeed goes as it has been determined; but woe to that man by whom he is betrayed." And they began to debate among themselves who among them would do such a deed. Then an argument broke out among them about which of them should be regarded as the greatest. He said to them, "The kings of the Gentiles lord it over them and those in authority over them are addressed as 'Benefactors'; but among you it shall not be so. Rather, let the greatest among you be as the youngest, and the leader as the servant. For who is greater: the one seated at table or the one who serves? Is it not the one seated at table? I am among you as the one who serves. It is you who have stood by me in my trials; and I confer a kingdom on you, just as my Father has conferred one on me, that you may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom; and you will sit on thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel. Simon, Simon, behold Satan has demanded to sift all of you like wheat, but I have prayed that your own faith may not fail; and once you have turned back, you must strengthen your brothers." He said to him, "Lord, I am prepared to go to prison and to die with you." But he replied, "I tell you, Peter, before the cock crows this day, you will deny three times that you know me." He said to them, "When I sent you forth without a money bag or a sack or sandals, were you in need of anything?" "No, nothing," they replied. He said to them, "But now one who has a money bag should take it, and likewise a sack, and one who does not have a sword should sell his cloak and buy one. For I tell you that this scripture must be fulfilled in me, namely, 'He was counted among the wicked'; and indeed what is written about me is coming to fulfillment." Then they said, "Lord, look, there are two swords here." But he replied, "It is enough!" Then going out he went, as was his custom, to the Mount of Olives, and the disciples followed him. When he arrived at the place he said to them, "Pray that you may not undergo the test." After withdrawing about a stone's throw from them and kneeling, he prayed, saying, "Father, if you are willing, take this cup away from me; still, not my will but yours be done." (And to strengthen him an angel from heaven appeared to him. He was in such agony and he prayed so fervently that his sweat became like drops of blood falling on the ground.) When he rose from prayer and returned to his disciples, he found them sleeping from grief. He said to them, "Why are you sleeping? Get up and pray that you may not undergo the test." While he was still speaking, a crowd approached and in front was one of the Twelve, a man named Judas. He went up to Jesus to kiss him. Jesus said to him, "Judas, are you betraying the Son of Man with a kiss?" His disciples realized what was about to happen, and they asked, "Lord, shall we strike with a sword?" And one of them struck the high priest's servant and cut off his right ear. But Jesus said in reply, "Stop, no more of this!" Then he touched the servant's ear and healed him. And Jesus said to the chief priests and temple guards and elders who had come for him, "Have you come out as against a robber, with swords and clubs? Day after day I was with you in the temple area, and you did not seize me; but this is your hour, the time for the power of darkness." After arresting him they led him away and took him into the house of the high priest; Peter was following at a distance. They lit a fire in the middle of the courtyard and sat around it, and Peter sat down with them. When a maid saw him seated in the light, she looked intently at him and said, "This man too was with him." But he denied it saying, "Woman, I do not know him." A short while later someone else saw him and said, "You too are one of them"; but Peter answered, "My friend, I am not." About an hour later, still another insisted, "Assuredly, this man too was with him, for he also is a Galilean." But Peter said, "My friend, I do not know what you are talking about." Just as he was saying this, the cock crowed, and the Lord turned and looked at Peter; and Peter remembered the word of the Lord, how he had said to him, "Before the cock crows today, you will deny me three times." He went out and began to weep bitterly. The men who held Jesus in custody were ridiculing and beating him. They blindfolded him and questioned him, saying, "Prophesy! Who is it that struck you?" And they reviled him in saying many other things against him. When day came the council of elders of the people met, both chief priests and scribes, and they brought him before their Sanhedrin. They said, "If you are the Messiah, tell us," but he replied to them, "If I tell you, you will not believe, and if I question, you will not respond. But from this time on the Son of Man will be seated at the right hand of the power of God." They all asked, "Are you then the Son of God?" He replied to them, "You say that I am." Then they said, "What further need have we for testimony? We have heard it from his own mouth." Then the whole assembly of them arose and brought him before Pilate. They brought charges against him, saying, "We found this man misleading our people; he opposes the payment of taxes to Caesar and maintains that he is the Messiah, a king." Pilate asked him, "Are you the king of the Jews?" He said to him in reply, "You say so." Pilate then addressed the chief priests and the crowds, "I find this man not guilty." But they were adamant and said, "He is inciting the people with his teaching throughout all Judea, from Galilee where he began even to here." On hearing this Pilate asked if the man was a Galilean; and upon learning that he was under Herod's jurisdiction, he sent him to Herod who was in Jerusalem at that time. Herod was very glad to see Jesus; he had been wanting to see him for a long time, for he had heard about him and had been hoping to see him perform some sign. He questioned him at length, but he gave him no answer. The chief priests and scribes, meanwhile, stood by accusing him harshly. (Even) Herod and his soldiers treated him contemptuously and mocked him, and after clothing him in resplendent garb, he sent him back to Pilate. Herod and Pilate became friends that very day, even though they had been enemies formerly. Pilate then summoned the chief priests, the rulers, and the people and said to them, "You brought this man to me and accused him of inciting the people to revolt. I have conducted my investigation in your presence and have not found this man guilty of the charges you have brought against him, nor did Herod, for he sent him back to us. So no capital crime has been committed by him. Therefore I shall have him flogged and then release him." But all together they shouted out, "Away with this man! Release Barabbas to us." (Now Barabbas had been imprisoned for a rebellion that had taken place in the city and for murder.) Again Pilate addressed them, still wishing to release Jesus, but they continued their shouting, "Crucify him! Crucify him!" Pilate addressed them a third time, "What evil has this man done? I found him guilty of no capital crime. Therefore I shall have him flogged and then release him." With loud shouts, however, they persisted in calling for his crucifixion, and their voices prevailed. The verdict of Pilate was that their demand should be granted. So he released the man who had been imprisoned for rebellion and murder, for whom they asked, and he handed Jesus over to them to deal with as they wished. As they led him away they took hold of a certain Simon, a Cyrenian, who was coming in from the country; and after laying the cross on him, they made him carry it behind Jesus. A large crowd of people followed Jesus, including many women who mourned and lamented him. Jesus turned to them and said, "Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me; weep instead for yourselves and for your children, for indeed, the days are coming when people will say, 'Blessed are the barren, the wombs that never bore and the breasts that never nursed.' At that time people will say to the mountains, 'Fall upon us!' and to the hills, 'Cover us!' for if these things are done when the wood is green what will happen when it is dry?" Now two others, both criminals, were led away with him to be executed. When they came to the place called the Skull, they crucified him and the criminals there, one on his right, the other on his left. (Then Jesus said, "Father, forgive them, they know not what they do.") They divided his garments by casting lots. The people stood by and watched; the rulers, meanwhile, sneered at him and said, "He saved others, let him save himself if he is the chosen one, the Messiah of God." Even the soldiers jeered at him. As they approached to offer him wine they called out, "If you are King of the Jews, save yourself." Above him there was an inscription that read, "This is the King of the Jews." Now one of the criminals hanging there reviled Jesus, saying, "Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us." The other, however, rebuking him, said in reply, "Have you no fear of God, for you are subject to the same condemnation? And indeed, we have been condemned justly, for the sentence we received corresponds to our crimes, but this man has done nothing criminal." Then he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." He replied to him, "Amen, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise." It was now about noon and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon because of an eclipse of the sun. Then the veil of the temple was torn down the middle. Jesus cried out in a loud voice, "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit"; and when he had said this he breathed his last. The centurion who witnessed what had happened glorified God and said, "This man was innocent beyond doubt." When all the people who had gathered for this spectacle saw what had happened, they returned home beating their breasts; but all his acquaintances stood at a distance, including the women who had followed him from Galilee and saw these events. Now there was a virtuous and righteous man named Joseph who, though he was a member of the council, had not consented to their plan of action. He came from the Jewish town of Arimathea and was awaiting the kingdom of God. He went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus. After he had taken the body down, he wrapped it in a linen cloth and laid him in a rock-hewn tomb in which no one had yet been buried. It was the day of preparation, and the sabbath was about to begin. The women who had come from Galilee with him followed behind, and when they had seen the tomb and the way in which his body was laid in it, they returned and prepared spices and perfumed oils. Then they rested on the sabbath according to the commandment.