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via-whitmore · 3 years

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Fic: you’re too intact (Giles/Ethan PWP)

Oneshot for the @buffyversegiftexchange and @ Aspasiathebloody

CONTENT WARNINGS: Consensual breathplay/choking, powerplay, nonconsensual voyeurism, magically infused sex

Read on AO3

The truth of it was Ripper was never cut out for glam. By the time Bowie killed Ziggy, he was grateful the sequins and feathers were drifting to the stadium floor in spotlight and fading smoke. Ziggy was the beacon out of the dark of archives, tea rooms, and graveyards but he had no desire to start dressing like a peacock and learning to apply lip liner. He believed his mask was more subtle. The working class hard knocks dropout was easier to live in until he could forget everything they’d wanted him to be. So what if his parents hadn’t run a grocery? When he said anarchy he saw the Council building going up like Guy Fawkes day. He had his tower to pull down, same as any of the born East Ender. The death he’d seen would wake these alley brawlers screaming in the night. He deserved London. He deserved punk.

Ethan, on the other hand, would not let glam die even if he had to keep it alive single handedly under his own skin. Ethan taught Ripper much of this--the deserving. Ethan had the ability, with magic or without, to be so a part of London that he could wear its shadows like a skin while simultaneously being a bonfire in the gray rain. He wore the safety pinned leather jacket and the pink boa and lipstick. This was not always good for his safety. And much of their gang’s lives were taken up with cracking skulls over Ethan’s appearance. But he taught Ripper about dancing on the line between wanting to disappear and demanding to be heard. It was Ethan who stole Ripper his second guitar and their record player. It was Ethan who suggested Ripper sing lead vocal while he took the role of mosh pit disciple.

Now here they were. There was no place to fuck in the one room squat they were calling a flat unless all six of them were doing it together. Nominally, nebulously, the lines broke down into Deidre and Tommy, Randall and Phillip. Now, Ripper supposed, he and Ethan. One or the other had decided they wanted to fuck alone together. Ripper couldn’t remember who’d set his eyes on whom amidst the tangle of limbs and made the decision. He would never be able to even after it all turned to ash. They might still get pulled in on public indecency but this was the first year sodomy itself wouldn’t get them arrested. At least on paper.

“Someday we will all be free,” Ethan had said, tone flippant but eyes shining.

It was the kind of thing one could only say without irony at eighteen, no matter how disaffected one was trying to look. Ethan always believed in a future and his ability to move into it. Ripper was trying only to think about the now.

And now had Ethan up against an alley wall, the boy’s legs wrapped expertly around his back. Ethan was biting into the leather that covered Ripper’s shoulder to stifle his moans. It was not the first time, but one of the first. The first time, Ripper never would have done what he did next.

“Stop my breath,” whispered Ethan.

Ripper didn’t know what he meant. He covered his inexperience by reaching down into Ethan’s jeans, where the two of them rubbed together, and pinching the bare cock with two fingernails. He hushed Ethan’s scream by shoving his thumb into the boy’s mouth. Ethan could smell himself on fingers that were callused not only from guitars and fistacuffs. He would never ask where they came from. He pulled at the hand and placed it over his nose and mouth as Ripper expertly got his own jeans down just enough, Ethan supporting all his own weight. Something flashed in Ripper’s eyes, the barest spark of a question. Ethan nodded. Ripper reached into his pocket, smeared his fingers with lube, and began to play expertly against Ethan’s hole.

“Oh God! Oh God!”

Only Ethan knew what he was saying against Ripper’s palm. Sex was the only time he ever called down what was a fiction at best and an old bastard at worst.

What could I call down and move through this man’s hands? Ethan thought distractedly. What could I make with them? What could we make?

Ripper was rod-hard against Ethan without so much as a kiss in return. Ethan rubbed against him like a cat, slid down, and turned against the wall; presenting his ass. He never wore underwear. He reached into the pocket of his lowered jeans and pulled out a black scarf, tied it around his eyes, and listened to the sound of unzipping. The deep grunt Ripper gave as he pulled his cock out and slicked it thrilled through Ethan’s body. Under the layer of body heat and the cool mist, Ethan could feel the low current of dormant magic rolling off the other man’s taut body and touching deep inside to meet his own. In his personal darkness, he felt Ripper reach out and brush a fingertip against the scarf and into his curls. Then he slid a palm under Ethan’s silk shirt and stroked up his spine. Ethan’s breath deserted him at the shockingly tender touch, his jaw falling. He wanted to buck away from it and dissolve simultaneously. There was someone gentle underneath all the fury roiling in this man. Ethan had no use for gentleness.

Liar, liar, he thought. That’s okay, beauty, we can make you anyone you want to be. All masks become real with enough time.

He was forgetting the drab surroundings, retreating into a plane of only sensation under the hands. Then Ripper pinned him with all his weight to the wall and slipped inside him. He exhaled a hot breath on the back of Ethan’s neck. When Ethan howled, the palm came back against his lips. He licked it playfully. Ripper gave him a moment to adjust, to just let them feel one another, before he drew out slightly and struck into him.

“Faster,” Ethan begged after the third such movement.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” growled Ripper, but he picked up his pace.

Maybe he could sense how best to please Ethan. But it was a shaky assumption. He wasn’t used to this, Ethan could tell. No dirty little quickies in the hay with the stableboy at the country house. Maybe there had been a mean older boy in the dormitories. Or maybe there hadn’t been anyone at all. The thought added another layer of delight over the mounting pleasure and the low scald of magic.

“I could do anything to you,” Ripper hummed hotly against his ear. He sounded less commanding and more incredulous at the idea. Seeming to sense the slip in his guise, his voice assumed a harder edge. “Leave you here blind in a heap. Like a rat in the gutter.”

Ethan nudged the hand away from his mouth. Ripper obviously didn’t know enough to hold his turf.

“You’re in the gutter with me now,” he answered breathlessly.

Ripper didn’t know how to reply and so licked the back of Ethan’s neck. He crested Ethan further and further towards release but it wasn’t quite enough. He knew how to put the cherry on the cake.

Ethan knew how to bend a lover’s will with a spell. It did absolutely nothing for him. Devoting himself to chaos had been a way to rid himself of the controlling impulse inherent in magic. Molding the world to one’s desires was too...available. Ethan wanted to be Puck, not some Old Testament god.

He wanted the chance to give himself over to this mess of a man walking between selves. But sometimes, one had to grease the wheels just a little to see what the outcome would be.

He sent the message to Ripper’s hands where they pressed on the wall above his head, not to his mind exactly. The idea needed to be Ripper’s. Ethan was no beggar. The hands slid down and began to gently massage the sides of Ethan’s throat. He sighed encouragingly.

There was the barest instant of a halt while Ripper considered and even the fear Ethan felt added to the closeness of orgasm.

“That’s what you want?”

“Hurt me.”

“I--”

The illusion of Ripper broke for just that breath. Ethan wasn’t worried. All things with time.

“I’ll teach you.”

It could easily have been a disaster. Ethan might have had to think through the brink of orgasm to loosen a less experienced partner’s hands and avoid danger. It was his own fault. He hated asking for what he wanted; all the discussion. But he certainly didn’t want brain damage. But Ripper knew and somewhat hated that he knew. Old combat training came back. He mentally worked backwards from the desire to subdue an opponent, placing cupped hands on either side of Ethan’s neck again. The flutter of his rapid pulse beneath his fingers excited Ripper and pulled him back into the moment. He squeezed gently, moving his forefinger to apply some moderate pressure just below the trachea. Ethan’s legs tightened spasmodically around Ripper’s body and he bucked as he came. Ripper released his hold quickly, clutching Ethan close as he shuddered and muffled his cry in Ripper’s neck.

“Got you,” Ripper gasped. “I’ve got you.”

It was a long moment before Ethan wrapped his arms around Ripper in return.

“You’re good,” he gulped.

“You’re a manipulative little shit. And if you ever control me again, I’ll break your fucking jaw.”

“Promise?”

Ethan batted his eyelashes. Ripper pushed him away with a sneer. As Ethan stumbled backward, Ripper disguised catching him by the shoulder by steering him onto his knees.

“I gave you what you wanted.” His voice caught, then turned hard. “Your turn.”

Ethan grinned. As he obliged, neither of them knew someone out in the night rain had watched the moment with a hidden set of animal eyes. He admired the look of the two punk lovers. Watching them in the first fumblings of sticky submission almost made Spike wish he could still breathe. He did not know he stood several feet from a boy trained in every way to tear him apart. He did think perhaps it was time for a new look for such new and brazen times; something to lure such kids in their dark clubs.

It’s not the place of this work to ask if the boy would have done so had he caught the vampire staring. He only tossed back his head with a silent cry against the brick and let the cold air expand his lungs before he did up his pants and offered a hand to the one on the ground. Then they walked through the mist past the one who had been watching.

They raced each other up the stairs to their squat like children. They took off their damp clothes and didn’t bother to put on new ones. Ethan covered his surprised squeak when Ripper pulled him down to lay at his side on the mattress. If they fell asleep together, it wasn’t anyone’s business.

#I ACTUALLY DID IT #liv's fic #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #btvs #rupert giles #ethan rayne #buffyversegiftexchange

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unpeumacabre · 3 years

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soaring dragon dancing phoenix - 龙飞凤舞: chapter one

Yunmeng is no longer home for Wei Wuxian, for he is no longer welcome. And so when he visits he can always count on Jiang Cheng descending upon his head with the full strength of heaven's fury, to chase him out. But one day when he sneaks into Yunmeng again, days go by without Jiang Cheng making an appearance. Something has happened to Wei Wuxian's prickly shi-di, something that - once they reunite - they will find is far greater than they could ever have anticipated. Accompanied also by Wei Wuxian's dear friend (?) Lan Zhan and a Lan Xichen who has only just reluctantly left isolation, the four of them set out on a journey that will bring them across the greater part of China to the mystical Kunlun mountains of mythology - and more importantly, may bring them love, healing, and reconciliation.

If only Wei Wuxian could take his head out of his oblivious arse and start putting himself in other people's shoes for once...

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Wangxian, Xicheng, Wei Wuxian & Jiang Cheng

Read on AO3 (bc tumblr might mess up the formatting + more extensive author’s notes on the story)

Count: 8k

<- previous

Wei Wuxian woke in darkness, and it was a darkness he did not recognise.

He sat up, groaning as the movement jarred his bones and made him ache in places he’d not known existed. There was something clouding his thoughts, draining his energy; after a few moments wherein he tried to get his bearings, he sensed the presence of a suppressing array designed to repress spiritual energy and sap his strength.

It was not a man-made array. Instead, it had the hallmarks of something far more ancient and terrible.

The amount of resentful energy in the air was so thick that he almost choked on it. In fact, if not for the suppressing array, he would have had trouble stopping the energy from churning through his body and sending him into a state of backlash.

As he stumbled to his feet, there was a crunch underfoot. Something sharp poked into his hand as he steadied himself against the ground. He felt for the object, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realised he had stepped on and broken the jaw bone of a skull.

“Ah – “ reflexively he recoiled. Then he relaxed as he realised it was likely the skull of a deer.

As he blinked and looked about the room, slowly things came into focus. First he saw around him walls made of dark, dank stone. There was a sour, mossy smell in the air; the air felt thick with moisture, and he wrinkled his nose in response. His head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, and there was a faint ringing in his ears, likely from the blow to his head he’d received to knock him out before he’d been dragged into this chamber.

“At least whatever took me left me mostly intact,” he muttered to himself, fishing a talisman out of his robes and lighting it with a brief spark of spiritual energy.

He looked down, and realised that the floor was littered with more bones – animal bones, human bones, and unidentifiable shards which were coated in a thin layer of something shiny. When he nudged one of the fragments, it made a squishing noise under his foot, and Wei Wuxian instantly regretted his curiosity.

This must be the lair of the human-eating monster, he thought to himself, and this is where it chucks the remnants of its meals…it must have deemed Mo Xuanyu too skinny and underfed to be worthwhile fare, and tossed me in here for storage instead. It’s not my fault his isn’t a body which builds muscle easily! Why, if I only had my old body…

As he continued to stew indignantly over the monster’s disrespect of his physique, he returned his gaze to the walls, and suddenly realised that there was a passageway carved into the wall, leading into the next room. With one last glance around the chamber he was currently occupying, he deemed there to be little else of note therein, and trotted over to the aperture in the wall.

As he walked cautiously through the passageway, feeling his way with his hands and trying not to cringe at the thin layer of sticky moisture which gathered on his palms, suddenly the corridor opened out into a large chamber. More bones crunched under his feet, and now he found he had to pick his way carefully across the floor without falling over.

Abruptly the faint light from his talisman revealed a purple-clad body on the ground, and Wei Wuxian tripped.

Thankfully, he caught himself before he managed to fall on the body, and once he had regained his balance, he squatted over the body and squinted balefully at the face of the unfortunate person.

Jiang Cheng?! Wei Wuxian exclaimed mentally. What luck!

- Or, lack thereof, depending on how you looked at it. It was supremely lucky that he’d managed to find Jiang Cheng – alive, judging from the steady shallow rise and fall of his chest – and with all limbs and his head still firmly attached. But also supremely unlucky in the sense that they were now alone in a room with both their spiritual energy severely depleted, and without other Yunmeng Jiang sect members/Lan Zhan as buffers.

“Oh well. The rice is now cooked; what’s done is done, and there’s no way around it,” Wei Wuxian sighed. “I’ll just have to deal with his bad temper when he wakes up.”

Wei Wuxian leant over Jiang Cheng and scanned his body. There were faint lines on his temples where dried blood had trickled down from a wound on his head, similar to that on Wei Wuxian’s own forehead, but there didn’t seem to be much lasting damage. His spiritual energy was worryingly low, however, and it could barely be felt through his pulse point. Hurriedly, Wei Wuxian yanked open the collar of his robe and undergarments and placed his hand against his chest.

Thankfully, the thrumming of his spiritual energy was still present – very faint and weak, but still there.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING,” Jiang Cheng said weakly.

“Aaaahhh!” Wei Wuxian yelped, falling backwards and dropping the talisman. They stared at each other for a moment.

“Why are you the one yelling? I’m the one who woke up to being groped by a goddamn cut-sleeve!” Jiang Cheng shouted, albeit a bit feebly.

“Even when you’re half-dead you’re still so noisy,” Wei Wuxian said peevishly. “I was just checking your golden core! As if I’d want to touch you. Gross. And I’m not a cut-sleeve,” he added quickly.

Jiang Cheng ignored him, lifting himself up on his elbows and attempting to get onto his feet. He slapped away Wei Wuxian’s outstretched hand and managed to hobble upright on his own.

“My golden core,” he said suddenly, and looked up at Wei Wuxian with wild eyes. “I can barely feel it. And my senses feel dulled. I can’t think properly. What the hell’s happened to me?!”

“There’s a suppressing array in place,” Wei Wuxian answered. “Can’t you feel it? It’s suppressing your spiritual energy and sapping your strength.”

“Why don’t you seem affected then?” Jiang Cheng said, his tone mildly accusatory.

Wei Wuxian paused. “I don’t have a golden core, remember. And I’ve gone so long without one, I suppose it’s easier to get used to operating on lower spiritual energy.”

He kept his tone breezy and light, but even he felt that it was slightly over-played. Jiang Cheng’s jaw clenched and he turned away.

Wei Wuxian sighed. “Come on, Jiang Cheng,” he tried. “You know it doesn’t matter to me anymore. It’s an old wound, and I was the one who chose to give it up anyway. It wasn’t your fault at all.”

When Jiang Cheng turned back, there was so much guilt and anger in his eyes, Wei Wuxian found he could no longer stand it. He broke their gaze and looked around instead.

“We’re going to need weapons for defence,” he said, thinking out loud. “Spiritual weapons won’t work, since you’re low on spiritual energy, so Sandu and Zidian are out. Oh, how about this!” and he skipped over to the corner of the room, where a bunch of corpses were haphazardly piled on top of each other, covered in sparse cobwebs. A giant hairy spider crawled out of one of the skulls’ mouths and scuttled sideways into the shadows.

From their garb, the bodies had apparently been farmers or fishermen, and accordingly, there were various tools scattered on the ground next to them. Wei Wuxian picked up a few of the items and scrutinised them.

“Here, Jiang Cheng!” he called, and held them out. “Hoe, spade, pitchfork; time to play farmer for the day! Take your pick?”

Jiang Cheng grabbed the pitchfork without looking, his eyes trained on their surroundings and scanning the walls with what little light from the talisman remained. He clenched his fist, and Zidian crackled weakly, but otherwise there was no response, as expected.

“What do you remember before you were knocked out?” he said finally. “How did you find me here?”

Wei Wuxian was relieved to find that Jiang Cheng’s demeanour was back to normal.

He dropped the tools carelessly. “Hmm… I’ve been in Yunmeng for a while, and I went to – I met some Yunmeng Jiang disciples in Yunmeng and they told me you’d taken a group of your cultivators to the area outside the city where there had been a monster causing trouble and eating humans,” he said. “Since you’d been gone for quite a while, I figured it might be an interesting monster, so I came to have a look. I found the entrance to a cave in the area the disciples mentioned, but just as I entered, something knocked me out. Though I didn’t see what.”

“It was the same for me.” Jiang Cheng’s brow darkened, and his jaw clenched. “We must find the Yunmeng Jiang cultivators who came with me – whether they be dead or alive.”

Wei Wuxian nodded grimly. “I came from another room in which there were also many bones and remnants of clothing. There must be other rooms in which they may be found.”

They made their way sombrely through the various passageways and tunnels into other rooms which also reeked of dampness and decay. One by one, they found the distinctive bright purple robes of the Yunmeng Jiang disciples, covering bodies with the flesh only recently gnawed off the bones. For all of them, Jiang Cheng knelt by their sides and covered their bones with their robes, and arranged their remains tidily as best he could.

As he stood up from the side of the last corpse of the Yunmeng Jiang cultivators who’d accompanied him on his night hunt, his eyes were red with unshed tears. Wei Wuxian tactfully remained silent as Jiang Cheng took a few moments more to compose himself.

“We should get out and find reinforcements,” Wei Wuxian said at last, when Jiang Cheng’s colour had returned, and his grip on Sandu’s handle had loosened.

At Wei Wuxian’s words, he stiffened, and said suddenly, “What about the monster? It’s somewhere in here causing havoc. Who knows how many more people will killed in the time it takes for us to get back to Lotus Pier and fetch more people to help?”

“Our spiritual energy is so diminished, and we don’t have any useful weapons on us,” Wei Wuxian answered exasperatedly. “With this suppressing array in place, what damage can we possibly do to the monster?”

“Even if we bring reinforcements, they’ll be hit by the suppressing array too,” Jiang Cheng said stubbornly

“This creature is clearly a dangerous one, if our experiences have taught us anything, and one not to be taken lightly. We won’t be able to do much to it!” Wei Wuxian protested.

“Didn’t you kill the Xuanwu even while starved for three days, and heavily injured?” Jiang Cheng rebutted angrily. “Are you saying I’m not as competent as Lan Wangji?”

When Jiang Cheng was like this, it was difficult to deal with him. Wei Wuxian let his exasperation get the better of him. “Fine! Have it your way then!” he snapped. “For the record, I still think we’re going to our death. But since you’re being so pig-headed about it, we might as well try and find the monster and do what damage we can before we end up dying.”

They walked for a bit in a stony silence. The talisman, previously already on its last embers, soon shrivelled away into nothingness. Wei Wuxian wordlessly fished another yellow sheet from his robes and lit their way once more.

In the few moments in which darkness had reigned, Jiang Cheng’s expression had changed.

He quickly schooled it back to his familiar frown, however, and Wei Wuxian would have thought it a trick of the light, if he had not seen it plain as day.

“At least… let’s at least scope out the terrain so we know it better,” Jiang Cheng muttered, with a curious scraping noise, as if he were grinding his teeth. “Then we’ll know it better the second time when we come back with reinforcements.”

“… Are you feeling alright?” Wei Wuxian asked cautiously, with concern. “You don’t have a fever, do you? Why are you agreeing with me all of a sudden?”

“Shut up! Don’t make me change my mind!” Jiang Cheng said huffily, and walked a little bit faster.

Now I remember why Jin Ling’s princess-like temper seemed so familiar, Wei Wuxian thought to himself. He’s a carbon copy of Jiang Cheng as a child! No wonder, what with the way Jiang Cheng raises him.

Of course he would never dare to say such a thing to Jiang Cheng’s face, so they continued ambling on in more silence. Suddenly, Wei Wuxian stopped in his tracks.

“What is it?”

“I can sense something different,” Wei Wuxian said, turning his head from side to side as he attempted to trace the thing which had caught his attention. He closed his eyes and focused his mind.

It took him much concentration and mental capacity, but finally he sensed what had distracted him – a tendril of energy which differed from the constant thrum of resentful energy that threatened to overwhelm him at every step, the latter which likely came from the multiple corpses that they had left behind in the previous rooms. This new energy felt more similar to the force that sustained the suppressing array, but at the same time, curiously unlike. Wei Wuxian tilted his head to the side as he tried to sort out the tangled coils of energy in the air, into a more coherent map.

“I think I can sense the spiritual energy of the monster,” he said, after a few moments. “That is, if this creature is indeed the one that set up the suppressing array. Following its energy should lead us to its location.”

“There’s such a thick cloud of resentful energy. You can tell the monster’s energy apart?” Jiang Cheng asked in disbelief.

“Master of Demonic Cultivation, remember?” Wei Wuxian said, mustering up a grin. “I lived and breathed resentful energy for a while before I, er, before the siege on the Yiling Mounds.” He rushed on quickly before Jiang Cheng could become maudlin again. “It’s nothing to me, to tell apart different sources of resentful energy.”

“I’ve never before heard of a beast that was able to cast a suppressing array,” Jiang Cheng said, thankfully too preoccupied with the matter at hand to be easily distracted by talk of the past. “It must be a human-like monster then – but no, those were clearly the marks of an animal’s teeth on the bodies of my cultivators.”

Wei Wuxian nodded. “My line of thinking was the same as yours. I don’t think this thing is purely beast-like nor human-like, and it’s probably a mix of both, such that it’s able to cast a suppressing array, and yet attack people with such ferocity and strength. We’ll have to trace the energy to its source to find out.”

With a grunt of acknowledgement from Jiang Cheng in response, they continued trudging on in a firm, painful silence. This was a foreign concept to Wei Wuxian; even in his time with Lan Zhan, that taciturn rock of a man, he’d been able to fill the void between them with his aimless chatter and the playing of Chenqing. But something between him and Jiang Cheng still felt too raw, too new and vulnerable, to risk damaging with his usual frivolous antics.

This is so awkward, Wei Wuxian thought. Should I make the first move? But he might yell at me again. Hang on, since when have I been so afraid of Jiang Cheng’s scoldings? Anyway, what would I even ask him? ‘How are the lotuses doing in Lotus Pier?’ Um, no…

Surprisingly, however, Jiang Cheng was the first to break the silence.

“How – ahem. How is Lan Wangji?”

Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure he’d heard him right at first, but as he looked at Jiang Cheng incredulously, the question forming on his lips, Jiang Cheng flushed, and looked away.

“Oh! Er, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian asked, loudly to cover up both their discomfort. “I haven’t seen him in a while. He’s Chief Cultivator, you know! Isn’t that amazing?”

Jiang Cheng muttered something that sounded suspiciously like I’m the Yunmeng Jiang sect leader, of course I know who the fucking Chief Cultivator is, but then he harrumphed and cleared his throat. Wei Wuxian magnanimously decided to let him off and pretend he hadn’t heard anything.

“I thought you two were inseparable?” Jiang Cheng asked, darting a sideways glance at Wei Wuxian. “And yet you haven’t seen him for a while?”

For some reason, that particular question grated at Wei Wuxian’s skin, and the light of the talisman flickered in response to his annoyance. “Well, he’s busy,” he said airily, “and… and I’ll see him soon. I’m sure of it. As if he could go a day without my presence!”

“He seems to be getting on perfectly fine without you,” Jiang Cheng pointed out, detestably reasonable as always.

“With Lan Zhan’s poker face, how can you tell?” Wei Wuxian returned quickly. This time it was he who walked a little faster, just to be spiteful, and just because he could.

“You look like you’ve been tramping through the wilderness,” Jiang Cheng said, abruptly switching the subject.

“I’ve just been living wild for a while. You know, living off the land, eating only fruits and berries, surviving by my abundance of wits as usual…”

“Hah!” Jiang Cheng snorted. It was not a nice snort, Wei Wuxian thought crossly, and in retaliation, he decided not to respond.

Jiang Cheng finally spoke up again, after a long while in which Wei Wuxian had been distracting himself with thoughts of a new classification system for demons of the five elements. “We’ve been going in circles!” he said, and his tone bridled with frustration. “I recognise that rock formation over there. I caught my hand on it earlier – look, my blood is still fresh on the stone.”

Wei Wuxian looked at the rock, and indeed, Jiang Cheng’s blood still glistened on its surface. He wondered how he could have gotten so completely turned around – hadn’t he just been following the tendril of malevolent energy? He could’ve sworn he’d felt it getting stronger, too, which should have meant that they were nearing its source. How was it that they’d ended up circling back to where they’d started?

“I thought we were following the energy from the creature,” Jiang Cheng said irritably.

“Shhh,” Wei Wuxian said, not paying attention to him. “There’s something else at work here. Something I’m not getting.”

Surprisingly, Jiang Cheng quieted down, and leaned against the wall. He did so surreptitiously, as if to escape Wei Wuxian’s sight, but of course he noticed.

Jiang Cheng must be more drained than I thought, Wei Wuxian thought, if he’s stopped arguing with me. Especially since he’s been here for a few days more than me already, and with no food or water. I must find a way to get us out of here - and quickly.

He mustered what little spiritual energy he had left, and focused. In his mind he pushed aside the suppressing fog that clouded his thoughts and distracted his attention, concentrating only on sensing the pulses of energy emanating from every wall in the passageway around him. There was the faint tendril of energy from the creature responsible for the suppressing array, yes, and overwhelming amounts of resentful energy pouring from the corpses of the creature’s meals, and underneath it all… underneath all that energy…

“There’s a maze array in place,” he realised suddenly, his voice echoing in the stillness of the corridor. “It’s cleverly buried under the other layers of energy in this cave, but it’s there. It must have been cast a long time ago, for I could barely sense its presence. And it was not cast by the creature maintaining the suppressing array.”

“That’s what’s confusing your sense of direction?” Jiang Cheng asked despairingly. “Then how are we supposed to get out of here with little spiritual energy and our only lead a complete dead end?”

Wei Wuxian shook his head, mustering a small smile. “Don’t lose hope so easily, Jiang Cheng! We’ll find a way out. We just need a way to overcome the maze array – then we can follow the creature’s malevolent energy without being confused. We just need some way of maintaining our sense of direction.”

“What do you suggest we do? Is there any way to track our steps, perhaps?” Jiang Cheng said.

Wei Wuxian tapped idly at the side of his nose as he thought, pacing back and forth in the confined space. Jiang Cheng’s eyes, lit up by the flickering light of the paper talisman, followed him back and forth.

“I could cast a tracking spell… no, but with my depleted spiritual energy, that wouldn’t last long… I have the Compass of Evil which I worked on to improve last week, but this creature doesn’t consume souls, and so it wouldn’t work… Oh?”

The unravelling hem of his ratty travelling robe had snagged on a shard of rock protruding out of the wall, and had caused him to pause in his steps. Wei Wuxian stared down at the little loop of thread curled around the stone protrusion.

Suddenly, an epiphany came upon him.

“I have an idea!” he said, excitedly, and began picking apart the hem of his robe. Jiang Cheng lifted himself off the wall and came over to inspect what he was doing.

“What’s that supposed to do?” he asked sceptically. “Is it just another excuse for you to go naked again? Oi, just because it’s just me down here with you - ”

“It was one time, and I was eight,” Wei Wuxian said exasperatedly, “and don’t tell me you’d never seen a penis before that! I don’t know why you had to act like a blushing maiden and try to stab me with your brush. We’re both men, aren’t we? Nothing you haven’t seen before!”

While he’d been going on, and Jiang Cheng had started spluttering and turning interesting colours, he’d managed to unpick the thread from his robe, and tied it around a sturdy stalagmite on the ground. He gave the limestone pillar a few experimental pulls, and it didn’t budge.

“Now we just have to follow the thread, and we’ll know which routes we’ve walked, and which routes we haven’t!” he said brightly, as he straightened up.

“That’s… actually a good idea,” Jiang Cheng said grudgingly, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at the stalagmite.

“I always have good ideas. Don’t you know?” Wei Wuxian said, grinning. “Come on, let’s hurry. I don’t know how many days have passed, but surely it’s been too long already. We should quickly find the monster’s hideout and then figure out a way to escape.”

It was indeed a good idea, if Wei Wuxian said so himself (and he did, multiple times, very smugly, so much so that Jiang Cheng started ignoring him again), and with its aid, they managed to find their way out of the maze of corridors that surrounded the rooms containing the corpses. Wei Wuxian heaved a sigh of relief as he finally felt the thick fog of resentful energy that had been giving him a massive headache, fade away into the background and eventually disappear.

Now, the passageways they walked were a little less damp, and a little less foul-smelling. There were even lamps embedded in the wall, unlit and covered with cobwebs, but obviously made by a talented craftsman. Wei Wuxian stopped to inspect one of them, and the style of its carvings and the technique of its forging marked it as a craft belonging to the dynasty of six centuries ago.

“Whatever inhabits this cave must be ancient indeed,” Jiang Cheng said grimly, as Wei Wuxian shared this insight with him.

They stopped abruptly as a carven wooden door appeared beside them, looming out of the darkness, leading into an enclave that branched off from the main tunnel.

The frame of the door extended high above their visible range, and as Wei Wuxian guided the talisman as far up as he dared without losing his tenuous hold on the charm, they realised just how large the tunnel was beginning to run. All they could see above them was darkness, and there was no observable ceiling. They exchanged glances, and with a mutual nod of acknowledgement, Jiang Cheng placed his palm on the door and pushed firmly.

It creaked open with a loud sound of protest. The noise made both of them wince and glance around sharply to see if the clamour had attracted any undue attention. But thankfully, even after a few moments of silence, they were still alone in the tunnel, with no foes in sight. Jiang Cheng pushed the door open all the way, and they peered into the darkness cautiously.

“It’s a library - !” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, his voice hushed, as the talisman floated into the room and lit up shelves upon shelves of crumbling, decaying books and scrolls. Jiang Cheng scanned the titles, trying to make out the words on their spines.

“Vegetarian Dietary Principles,” Jiang Cheng read out, “Journey to the West, Classic of Poetry, Classic – Classic of – Music?”

Wei Wuxian expelled a surprised breath and shook his head. “Whoever owned this library must have been a great patron of the arts - he’s even managed to acquire books which no one’s ever had a copy of before! It’s a collection to rival even that of the Gusu Lan library. But such a valuable hoard would usually be maintained zealously by its collector, not left to rot away in such a sorry state.”

The talisman settled on a pile of objects arranged neatly in the corner of the library, and Wei Wuxian felt his brows shoot up even further.

“A guqin, guzheng, pipa, dihu, yangqin – truly an impressive collection of instruments from all across China!” he said admiringly. “They’ve been left to gather dust as well, and they haven’t been maintained in a while. Things are becoming curiouser and curiouser indeed.”

“Perhaps the owner of the collection was eaten by the monster,” Jiang Cheng suggested.

“Perhaps,” Wei Wuxian said doubtfully. I feel that there’s something here we’re still not getting…

They left the library behind, unable to see much in the darkness and with their limited light source. Wei Wuxian had to light another talisman, for the previous one flickered and shrivelled to dust. Just as he did, his stomach let out a loud sound of dissatisfaction, and he automatically pressed a hand to his abdomen.

“I’m hungryyyyyy,” he whined. “Jiang Cheng, do you have any food?”

“Stop talking nonsense,” Jiang Cheng retorted sharply. “If I’d had any food, I’d long since have eaten it up already!”

“Ugh,” Wei Wuxian groaned, leaning dramatically forward as they walked. “I’m going to die of hunger. Who knows how many days and nights we’ve spent in here! It’s not like you have a set sleep schedule so we can count the days. We’ve probably been walking for a few days without rest already – and who knows how much longer it’ll take to get out.”

He felt his coat slip off his shoulder, and he looked down at it. Because of the unravelling string, his already-raggedy outerwear was falling apart, and it no longer resembled anything coat-like. Wei Wuxian shrugged it off and tucked it under his right arm, and was left only in his underthings.

“I feel the wind blowing through places I didn’t know existed,” he complained, shivering.

Jiang Cheng looked at him and immediately averted his eyes, a dull flush colouring his cheeks. “Shameless!” he spluttered. “What wind?! There’s barely any wind, we’re underground! Wei Wuxian, you’re truly shameless as always!”

“Now you’re starting to sound like the old Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian muttered under his breath. “One of him is good enough, thank you very much…”

Suddenly, there was an ear-splitting crash, and it was only their quick reflexes that caused them not to be buried under a large column of rocks that suddenly came pouring down on them. Both of them leapt to the side, and stared, bug-eyed, at the spot in which they had been standing just moments ago.

“Agh, my eyes,” said Jiang Cheng loudly, as the fog from the avalanche cleared, and piercing sunlight shone down on them from the large hole which had suddenly opened up in the ceiling of the tunnel, far above them. Wei Wuxian shielded his eyes with his hand and squinted blearily up at the hole.

…

“LAN ZHAN!!!!” he cried out happily, as he made eye contact with a very dear, familiar figure. Lan Zhan peered imperiously down at them, the sunlight making it seem as though his head was glowing.

“Speak of Cao Cao and Cao Cao will arrive,” Wei Wuxian said, bouncing excitedly up and down on the spot. “Didn’t I tell you Lan Zhan could be counted on to rescue us?* Huh? He’s reliable, isn’t he?”

*A/N: (he didn’t)

“Did you really have to invoke his name?” Jiang Cheng said grumpily, following his gaze upwards. “I always feel like he’s looking down on me, but now he’s actually literally looking down on me.”

Another figure appeared beside Lan Zhan and peeked cautiously over the edge of the hole. After squinting for a while more, Wei Wuxian realised it was Lan Xichen.

“Are you two alright?” Lan Xichen called down to them, his gentle voice filled with concern. “I’m afraid we went a little, ah, overboard in trying to get down to you two…”

“We’re fine, Zewu-jun, thanks for your concern!” Wei Wuxian hollered back up at them. “Won’t you come down and join us? We’re depleted of spiritual energy and unable to join you up there!”

Lan Zhan immediately flew down, but the moment he alighted and laid his eyes on Wei Wuxian, his finely-sculpted eyebrows shot up towards to his forehead.

“What – what happened to your outer robe?” he said, sounding faintly strangled.

“Oh – this? I used the string from my hem to track our progress through this cave,” Wei Wuxian replied cheerily. “There’s a maze array in place, although it’s quite difficult to detect, and with our limited spiritual energy there wasn’t any other way to stop ourselves getting lost. Jiang Cheng will tell you it was quite a clever idea. It must have been quite cold outside, Lan Zhan, your ears are turning pink! Here, rub your hands together…”

Jiang Cheng, predictably, ignored him and lifted his hands in a salute to Lan Xichen, who’d descended as well to join them. “Sect Leader Lan,” he said formally, and Lan Xichen returned the gesture. Jiang Cheng turned to Lan Zhan and repeated the gesture, a little more unwillingly.

“Here, take this,” Lan Zhan said, pulling a qiankun pouch out from his sleeve. Sticking his hand inside the pouch, he drew out an overcoat with the designs of the Gusu Lan sect and placed it securely around Wei Wuxian’s shoulders.

Wei Wuxian whistled in surprise and appreciation. “Lan Zhan, you came prepared! It’s one of your robes, isn’t it?” A thought occurred to him which made him laugh out loud in pure delight. “Ooh, Lan Zhan, are you embarrassed by my lack of clothing? You know I’m shameless, I don’t mind even if I’m just parading around in my underwear or even if I’m stark naked.”

“As you can tell, Hanguang-jun, he’s doing perfectly fine,” Jiang Cheng said acrimoniously. “The days of starvation and lack of spiritual energy haven’t done anything to dampen his personality.”

Wei Wuxian pouted. “Lan Zhan knows that,” he replied peevishly. “We killed the Xuanwu together under the same circumstances, remember?”

A soft laugh from the side reminded him of Lan Xichen’s presence, and he spun around to face him.

“Sect Leader Lan, what’re you doing here?” Wei Wuxian asked curiously. “I thought you were in seclusion. What brings you here?”

Lan Xichen smiled. “I was in seclusion, but Wangji came to me today and told me of your and Sect Leader Jiang’s disappearance. He was quite distressed by the news, and asked me for help to track the two of you down. And when I heard that A-Yao – that Jin Guangyao had been seen in the area…”

He hesitated, and said no more. None of them pressed him further.

“How did you manage to find us?” Jiang Cheng asked quickly, directing his question at Lan Zhan.

“Jin Ling wrote to me when he found that you were missing,” Lan Zhan answered. “We followed your trail to this place. And I could sense Wei Ying’s energy coming from here, so we entered here.”

“You could sense my energy?” Wei Wuxian asked, bewildered by this new turn of events. “But – how? Plus the suppressing array – “

“Where is the human-eating monster?” Lan Zhan asked abruptly, cutting him off. “Have you already killed it?”

After a pause, Wei Wuxian shook his head, and relayed the events of the past few days to them. It turned out that Jiang Cheng had been missing for nine days, and Wei Wuxian for three – that explains why Jiang Cheng looks so exhausted, he thought to himself; nine days without food or drink will do that to you.

Lan Xichen passed them water in a flask and two bags filled with baozi, steamed buns, which Jiang Cheng immediately started scarfing down ravenously. Lan Zhan took the other bag and held up the flask to Wei Wuxian’s mouth.

“Drink,” he said softly. One of his hands came up behind Wei Wuxian’s back to steady him.

Wei Wuxian drank obediently, thinking, I am so loved.

When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Lan Zhan immediately fished one of the baozi out of the bag and held it up for Wei Wuxian to take a bite. The meat inside the bun tasted truly delicious to his starved palate, and he couldn’t stop himself from letting out little ‘mm’s of enjoyment as he chewed.

Only when Wei Wuxian had finished munching on the baozi did Lan Zhan exhale and relax, although his hand still remained on Wei Wuxian’s lower back.

“Thanks, Lan Zhan,” he said, smiling widely. Something about Lan Zhan’s presence always left him feeling refreshed. “I knew I could count on you. You’re such a reliable friend. No wonder you’re the Chief Cultivator, indeed!”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Jiang Cheng said indistinctly, and Wei Wuxian whipped around to look at him.

(If he was being perfectly honest, he’d forgotten Jiang Cheng – and Lan Xichen – were there.)

The two of them were staring openly at him and Lan Zhan, the bag of baozi dangling loosely from Jiang Cheng’s hand and Jiang Cheng’s cheeks still stuffed with bites of baozi so that he looked like a squirrel. Lan Xichen’s smile looked like it had ossified on his face.

“What?” Wei Wuxian said in confusion. He looked at Lan Zhan for reassurance that he wasn’t the only one bewildered in this situation, but Lan Zhan seemed to be trying to do something with his face, alternately widening and squinting his eyes at the two other people.

Lan Xichen coughed. “Never – never mind, Young Master Wei,” he said, his smile back on his face, although now it looked a little bit forced. “If you’ve finished your meal, we should proceed with your original plan to find the human-eating monster. Wangji and I have spent only a few moments in this cave, but already I can feel the effects of the suppressing array. Wangji, you feel it too?”

Lan Zhan inclined his head, his face back to its usual expressionlessness. “It was not cast by a human,” he replied. “The energy is different. Staying here longer than necessary will result in full depletion of our spiritual energy.” He materialised his guqin and played a few complicated sounding notes. Blue light flared as he cast the pathfinding spell, and it formed a faint line on the ground showing the direction in which they were to go.

“We must hurry,” he said brusquely, “or my energy will fail and the spell will disappear.”

“Got it,” Wei Wuxian said, nodding decisively, feeling much more comfortable and at ease now that he was no longer alone with Jiang Cheng, and Lan Zhan was here at his side. As they walked, Wei Wuxian filled the silence with his usual chatter, speculating about the origins of the creature and how it could possibly have cast a suppressing array, interrupted only by Lan Zhan’s ‘mm’s of acknowledgment and the occasional offered insight.

If he was speaking a little louder than usual, it was only because he could feel the supreme awkwardness radiating off the two sect leaders walking behind them. It wasn’t coming off Lan Xichen, no – Wei Wuxian had previously turned around surreptitiously to check on the two of them and Lan Xichen had looked perfectly at ease and his usual composed self. Rather, it was Jiang Cheng who was blatantly trying to avoid everyone’s gaze, and who’d answered Lan Xichen’s initial attempts at conversations with curt, albeit polite, rejoinders.

That’s strange, Wei Wuxian mused to himself, as he chattered on to Lan Zhan about his theories regarding whether or not beasts had souls akin to that of humans, Jiang Cheng’s used to silence and isn’t often fazed. I wonder if something happened between him and Zewu-jun? Or maybe he’s just tired. Or maybe he feels left out of the conversation between me and Lan Zhan? But that’s not my fault! He’s the one being all grumpy and crabby. I mean, I know things aren’t exactly back to normal between us, but I’d thought after the Guanyin Temple events he’d started to hate me a little bit less…

“We’re here,” Lan Zhan said, stopping abruptly, as the faint blue line on the ground ended and they were faced with a large door.

This was different from the door that had led into the library, for it was carved out of granite and not wood, and gems were embedded deep into the stone in a pattern that radiated out from the centre, where two large knockers were located. The faces of two door gods glared at them out of the darkness, painted as they were on either panel of the door.

It must have been a glorious sight, Wei Wuxian thought to himself, when the lamps had been lit. But now the gems only gleamed dully in the limited light from the talisman, and the paint of the door gods was chipped and peeling. Now their stares looked mournful, rather than stern and majestic, as they would have been before.

Words were carved into the upper frame of the door, large, sombre characters in ancient text. They looked as if they had been etched into the stone by a great claw, the edges of the words were still clear and relatively unchipped by time.

“Cave of… Cave of Dormancy?” Wei Wuxian read with some difficulty, for he had not practised reading ancient scripts to any significant extent.

“There is a great well of yang energy beyond this door,” Lan Xichen said from behind them, his voice almost awestruck. Wei Wuxian concurred. As they had been following the path indicated by Lan Zhan’s pathfinding spell, he too had felt the presence of a boundless amount of yang energy emanating from some unseen force, that now apparently lay behind this door.

Even in his weakened state, it felt ponderous and overpowering; he could not imagine what it felt like for Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen, whose reserves of energy were mostly intact. True to his thoughts, Lan Zhan staggered slightly, and the blue line on the ground faded. Wei Wuxian dropped the ratty overcoat tucked under his arm, and steadied him with a hand on his elbows.

The faint crackle of Zidian echoed throughout the space as Jiang Cheng clenched his fist, and he strode forward, placing his palm on the handle of the door.

“Sect Leader Jiang, we must be cautious,” Lan Xichen said, and in his gentle voice it did not sound like a rebuke. Jiang Cheng spared him a sideways glance, then nodded shortly. It took the both of them to push the heavy doors open, and Lan Zhan levered himself out of Wei Wuxian’s grasp to peer carefully into the chamber.

It was the light that hit them first, and blinded them.

Jiang Cheng grunted in surprise and cast his head away, for he had been the first one to gain entrance to the chamber. Wei Wuxian pushed his way forward and squinted into the blinding light.

Once his eyes had stopped metaphorically bleeding, he made out lamps on the walls, larger than the ones in the passageways, and this time, these were lit, with a curious iridescent flame that flickered and danced even though there was no wind.

As his eyes adjusted to the brightness, he began to make out more features of the room. It was a vast chamber, with the ceiling towering high above them, and every panel of the walls inlaid with gold and jade. Golden dragons snarled motionlessly at them from the corners of the room, their presumably-once-gleaming surfaces now flecked with dirt. Two thrones sat at the far end of the room – which was more like a hall – one enormous and golden, the other slightly smaller and carved in jade. A thin layer of dust covered every single object and surface in the room.

Except for the centre of the chamber, a shining golden pedestal, upon which lay a great slumbering long.

There was a sharp intake of breath from behind Wei Wuxian from Lan Zhan that told him he’d noticed the long as well. Very slowly, not daring to take even a single breath, Wei Wuxian stepped backwards and back into the passageway.

Once he was no longer in the hall, he spun around, his eyes open so wide he felt they were about to fall out of his skull.

“It’s a Shenlong. A heavenly dragon,” he hissed frantically. “The nine resemblances were present: the stag’s horns, the camel’s head, the demon’s eyes, the snake’s neck, the clam’s belly, the carp’s scales, the tiger’s paws, the cow’s ears, and most distinctive of the Shenlong, out of all the types of long – the eagle’s claws, of which there were five on each foot.”

Jiang Cheng’s were equally wide. “Is it… is it the real thing?” he managed. “Or is it a deformed copy, like the Xuanwu of Slaughter you and Lan Wangji fought?”

“He is a true Shenlong,” Lan Xichen spoke, and there was a subtle tremor in his voice. “He had the chimu atop its head, without which he may not ascend to the heavens.”

“That explains how he was able to cast the suppressing array, and the non-human aura of his energy, given that a Shenlong is a fully sentient being and not merely a mindless beast. But what’s he doing down here, though?” Wei Wuxian wondered aloud. “A Shenlong belongs in the heavens or in the body of water he governs, not under the ground where he has no access to the water which sustains him.”

Lan Xichen shook his head, his gaze equally uncomprehending. “Before we left the chamber, I observed that there were large lacquer panels on the walls with accompanying text, which likely depicted the Shenlong and his story,” he said quietly. “I did not get a close enough look at the words, however. But there is one thing beyond doubt – this Shenlong is unlike his more benevolent peers, and is responsible for the disappearances of the people of Yunmeng. We must find a way to observe both the Shenlong and the panels on the walls, which may give us a clue as to how to combat him.”

“According to the stories, it has superior sight and smell,” Lan Zhan spoke up. “It will be difficult to evade its notice.”

“It did not notice us when we first entered, however, and we were rather noisy,” Jiang Cheng said. “If we are careful, we should be fine.”

Given that none of them saw any other way to proceed, it was on that note of caution that they entered the chamber once again. Wei Wuxian kept his eyes firmly trained on the Shenlong, but even as they eased themselves slowly past the door and into the room, he did not wake. The lines of his magnificent, serpentine body rose and fell in tandem with his breaths, and the silky tendrils of his beard fluttered in the air that whooshed out of his nostrils. A pearl glimmered faintly from where it was nestled underneath his chin.

Wei Wuxian could not help but stop and admire his majestic beauty. It was truly a sight he’d never thought he’d see in his lifetime, for long were said to be mere figments of imagination, myths of the past.

But… I suppose, if there’s a Xuanwu, why not a Shenlong? It was a perfectly reasonable line of logic, he thought, and besides, unless he and the other three were having mass hallucinations, the proof of truth in those supposed legends lay before his own eyes.

It was only when he was sure that the Shenlong was deep in slumber, that he finally turned his attention to the four lacquer panels on the wall. These were clearly done by a great artist - like the rest of the statues and art pieces of the chamber - for the panels were carefully inlaid with mother-of-pearl and gold leaf carved into the shapes of miniscule birds and flowers that fluttered in and adorned the background of the scenes. Below each panel were lines of ancient script, carved deep into the rock by the same great claw which had labelled this cavern the Cave of Dormancy.

The words were not clear to him, given his inability to read ancient text, but thankfully, the pictures were evocative enough that he was able to get the main gist of the story. In the first panel, the Shenlong perched atop a mountain, watching as the towns and people in his purview were washed away by strong wind and rain. In the next screen, he was depicted swooping downwards into the fray and picking off various unfortunate victims from the deluge of water below. His large bulging eyes, created with carven jade gemstones, glimmered malevolently in the light. Blood gushed from his cavernous jaws.

Then, in the next panel, a Fenghuang – a divine phoenix - had descended upon the scene, and was tussling violently with the Shenlong, her long, sharp beak digging into the flesh of the Shenlong’s leg where it was buried. The artist had captured their likenesses so perfectly that the extended claws of the Fenghuang seemed to leap out from the painting at viewers, and her vibrant feathers appeared soft and inviting to the touch.

The scene depicted in the final screen was set in a familiar location: here, in the Cave of Dormancy, the Fenghuang presided over the Shenlong, the iridescent plumage on her wings spread wide as she cast her shadow on the slumbering Shenlong. His long body was now marked heavily with the scars of battle and blood, and he lay in exactly the same position as he was in now, atop the golden pedestal, feet tucked under his body and tail curled round his head; a curiously docile posture.

The only difference between then and now, Wei Wuxian reflected, as he glanced back to the actual Shenlong, was the array of bones now scattered haphazardly around his pedestal – some animal, some human.

The old stories only tell of the Shenlong as a noble and wise creature, who bestows rain upon peasants as a water god, Wei Wuxian thought to himself. This Shenlong must be a rogue one, akin to the black dragon of Jizhou which was killed by the goddess Nüwa. This Shenlong must have brought calamity to the surrounding towns and abused his power to consume human flesh.

All this information he recalled from dusty textbooks and boring lessons on rainy days that seemed a lifetime away – well, he corrected in his mind, for him at least, they were a lifetime away. But there was no time to dwell on his sad past, now. The important thing at hand now, was to find a way to defeat this Shenlong, and stop it from killing any more Yunmeng people. The only thing was – how? Wei Wuxian could see from the grim look in the eyes of his companions that they were similarly nonplussed.

In the stories, there were few who actually fought a long, and even fewer who survived, Wei Wuxian thought, his brain working furiously. Of those few, most were deities or gods like the Monkey God Sun Wukong, or the Third Lotus Prince Nezha. Long have few weaknesses and many strengths, and it will be difficult to conquer it without external, godly help…

Then, all of a sudden, came the clear, sonorous ring of a bell.

Immediately, all four of them froze. Slowly their gazes turned, from the four panels on the wall, and landed on the Shenlong sleeping atop the golden pedestal.

Wei Wuxian’s last thoughts?

…

We’re fucked.

#wangxian #xicheng #upm works #upm #cql #wwx #lwj #jiang cheng #lxc #jc #mdzs #mdzs fanfiction #cql fanfiction #wei wuxian x lan wangji #jiang cheng x lan xichen #wei wuxian #the untamed #lan wangji #lan xichen

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fenfyre · 4 years

Text

Apocalypse

Day 1 of @erejeanweek - Injury/Apocalypse

The morning air tasted of ash when Jean crawled out of the partly caved in basement he had used as shelter last night. He was careful not to skim his knees on the rubble he had to climb over, then made sure there were no signs of life around the destroyed village before setting off on his path again.

The sun was still hanging low above the horizon but the heat was already sweltering, adding more sweat stains to his threadbare tunic as he wandered the winding roads through burnt farmland.

He remembered this area from his youth, remembered the golden ocean of wheat swaying in the warm wind. Remembered playing hide and seek with the village kids in the towering corn fields on the other end of the forest.

Remembered Armin's bright blue eyes when Jean snapped and made colourful sparks explode from between his fingers. Remembered long nights of studying scrolls and dusty books just so he could make those green eyes he adored so much shine with the same fascination.

Nowadays when Jean snapped nothing happened, no sparks emerging, no spells manifesting his will. And certainly no pretty green eyes sneakily watching him with wonder.

With the sacrifice of the Iris many years ago humanity had given up their chance to control the Flow. A sacrifice greater than even those who made it had been able to predict at the time but a necessary sacrifice nonetheless. It had bought them the months they needed, had protected them until they could take care of everything. Had pushed the Greekin back long enough to retrieve those still alive.

But it was never supposed to be a solution. Before long their enemies had torn down the protective barriers and laid waste to the land they had not yet destroyed, forcing the humans to retreat even further behind the walls they had been able to build. Walls that would stand at the very end of Jean's journey. Once he had found what he came for, out in the barren wasteland of Shiganshina.

He had been travelling for most of the day, the sun beating down on his burnt neck, forcing him to work his way through his water supply more quickly than he had calculated for, and the only sign of life he had seen were the hulking, moving outlines far on the horizon. The danger of being detected by the monsters was ever present but never did any of the shifting shapes move closer, keeping their distance as they roamed the once fertile land.

It was close to nightfall and hunger was stabbing painfully through Jean's stomach when he finally saw the familiar shapes of Shiganshina's gates appear behind the top of a flowing hillside. The town was much smaller than he remembered. Partly due to him having been barely fourteen years old the last time he had visited, partly due to entire streets of houses having collapsed under the onslaught of the Greekin.

As he made his way through the rubble Jean recognized certain corners and buildings, memories of the happy summers he had spent out here, so far from the cold, dark walls of the academy. He remembered the stairs leading to the market place that he would race up and down while playing catch with the other children, remembered Armin's house where they would sit on the steps in front of the door and read together. Remembered the old church, the bells ringing out around dinner time. Remembered the street corner where he had first run into the green eyed boy he would kiss many summers later, under the shade of the sturdy oak tree just outside the gates.

The oak tree had long since been burned down, only a charred stump remaining where it had once stretched its mighty crown into the sky.

Jean was not able to make out where Armin's old house had once stood, among the rubble of the buildings that had collapsed during one of the attacks. The church had been reduced to burnt out remains, the bare skeleton keeping part of the structure upright, threatening to collapse at any gust of wind strong enough to shake it.

But the corner where he had first met Eren, barrelled straight into him running to make it to his lesson on time only to get right into a brawl with the moody boy, that corner he found almost untouched. And when he rounded the corner and peeked into the alley that lay behind, a leaden weight began to loosen its tight grip around Jean's heart.

The house was not exactly like he remembered it. The roof had partly collapsed but the walls seemed to still be intact. If he was lucky, and Jean always hoped to be, he would be able to find what he was looking for. The front door was barely hanging on its hinges, creaking ominously as he pushed it open and stepped into the house. In his memory it had been much larger but memories could be deceiving. He had been just a boy back then, enjoying his summers without a care in the world about what was creeping up on the horizon. Now he knew better and he needed to be prepared.

The steps leading down into the basement were creaking under his boots, the noise loud enough to make him flinch. He dearly hoped there was nothing hiding in the ruins around him that might be interested in investigating the disturbance.

Once he reached the bottom of the stairs Jean wrapped a careful hand around the door knob and tried to turn it, but of course the door was locked. Examining it for a moment he decided that it seemed to be much more sturdy than the front door and had survived the years of decay without much damage at all.

Years ago, when Jean had still spent carefree summer in Shiganshina he only had to reach out and mutter an incantation for locks of any kind to spring open for him. This one had posed as little a problem as any other ordinary lock and he remembered sneaking down here at night with Eren, eager to find out just what his father was hiding behind that unusally sturdy door. Neither of them would have expected just what they found after Jean had whispered the door open.

Nowadays Jean had to use much more traditional methods.

The lockpick was a familiar weight between his fingers as he pulled it from his bag and inserted it carefully into the keyhole. But he had only been working to pry open the rusty old lock for a few minutes when he heard the creak of floor boards behind him.

Before he could compute the cold shiver running all the way from the back of his head down his neck and spine, let alone try and turn around to see who or what was approaching, he heard a familiar metallic clicking noise. Then there was a voice coming from the upper landing of the staircase.

"Step away from the door."

With no real way to defend himself, gun strapped to his thigh but too hard to remove and whirl around before a hole was blown through his skull, Jean followed the command. He went so far as to slowly raise his hands above his head, making sure the man at the top of the stairs could see the object in his hands was not a weapon. Then he took a slow step back, still facing the heavy basement door.

"Look, I don't want any trouble. I just came here for a book and then I'll get out of your hair."

A dry laugh full of sarcasm.

"You're gonna get out of my hair, period. There's no way I'll give you anything behind that door."

That gave Jean pause. He took a shallow breath, narrowed his eyes. If the basement still contained what he had come here for it would be useless to most people. Dusty spell books and incantations only those with a suitable background would understand. Only those practised and well versed in the arcane who had studied the subjects long before humanity had lost the Iris.

Aside from fellow former sorcerers there were few people who would care if Jean broke into this basement to retrieve a dusty old book. And only one his mind immediately jumped to.

"Eren?"

His lips had formed the name, so familiar yet distant like a memory almost lost to time, before he could consider just how likely that suspicion was.

The floor boards upstairs creaked like the other man had shifted his weight. He gave no indication if Jean was right, though.

"Turn around", the voice bellowed and Jean slowly followed the command.

On the top of the stairs, backlit by the orange glow of the setting sun, stood a man of roughly the same age as Jean. His clothes were stained and tattered, his hair a mess, his jaw stubbled. But those eyes Jean would recognize anywhere.

The man seemed to recognize Jean in turn, his hard expression shifting into confusion as he slowly lowered the gun that had been steadily pointed at Jean.

"What ... what are you doing here?", Eren asked, his voice much quieter than the command he had snapped before.

This was not at all like any reunion Jean had ever pictured in the privacy of his bed. Yet his heart was thumping against his ribs all the same and it was not just because of the barrel he had stared straight into moments ago.

"I told you: I'm looking for a book." A brief pause. Then he added: "I heard your father won't need it anymore. I'm so sorry."

For a second Eren's face twisted into something hard and unforgiving that almost turned him unrecognisable to Jean. Maybe he should not have mentioned the old man. Or his death.

The message of Master Jäger's end had reached Jean mere weeks ago even though the event itself had come to pass months before. The old sorcerer and the handful of his guards had been attacked by Greekin on their way to Shiganshina, caught outside without shelter and overwhelmed by the sheer number of enemies crossing their way.

But the circumstances of his death had made Jean suspicious. There were whispers on the streets about something in the destroyed settlement that would tempt the old man to hire personal guards and leave the secure walls of the Bastion. Something that would help him rebuild what had been lost. Even though nobody Jean talked to seemed to believe in any of the rumours they still circulated. They still gave hope to those who had lost it.

Maybe it was the most foolish thing Jean would ever do but he could not resist undertaking the same journey, needing to find out just what Master Jäger had been on the hunt for. What he had not gotten the chance to rescue from his basement while fleeing the city.

"His books are not here anymore", Eren said, his voice still cold. But there was something in his eyes, still as expressive as they had been all those years ago, in the blistering summer heat under the old tree just outside the gates. "I took them away."

"Away...", Jean mindlessly repeated, then blinked once, twice. "Where did you take them?"

Eren had never seemed very interested in his father's research. Even when they had been kids quietly sneaking into the basement the intrigue on his part had stemmed from the secrecy, the hidden things he could uncover where his father went to work without him. Once they had broken in and his father's lab had turned out to be a whole lot of books and not much else of interest to him he had been disenchanted rather quickly.

Unlike Jean who would have spent hours upon hours sifting through the notes and scroll and books on topics he could not even find in the grand library of the academy if it hadn't been for Eren's mother catching them in the act. What he had caught glimpses of during their brief foray into the basement though had stayed on his mind for all the years to come. And he still remembered it now, well enough to leave the secure walls of the Bastion in search of the knowledge he had once been kept from soaking up.

Enough time had passed after his question that Jean decided Eren wouldn't answer him like that. Not without being properly persuaded at least.

"Back in the Bastion of Dawn there was word on the street your father worked on restoring what we lost. A kind of ... artificial Iris that would allow us to connect with the arcane again, that would give us a fighting chance against the Greekin. Whatever he wanted to come here to look for was important enough he risked being killed. It must be something valuable, something that can help."

Instead of showing the reaction Jean had hoped for, maybe relief or excitement, Eren only scoffed, rolled his eyes. That he did not raise the gun again out of sheer annoyance was the only good thing Jean took from that kind of reaction.

"Because sorcery helped us so well the first time we got attacked", he mumbled, voice dripping with sarcasm.

And with that Jean understood the sudden hostility.

He had heard about the fall of Shiganshina, how the few villagers gifted with a connection to the Iris had stood in the way of their attackers, had tried to defend the settlement long enough for a successful evacuation. But they had fallen much too soon, leaving the village defenceless as the Greekin approached. More than half of the population had been razed, Eren's mother among them.

Grisha Jäger had travelled for an emergency meeting at the old capital mere days before the attack, leaving the less trained magic users to fight for themselves. Had there been more sorcerers, or simply ones that were better trained, maybe Shiganshina would not have fallen that fast. Maybe more people could have been saved.

But the tragedy had gotten lost among the many others and Jean had pushed it away, assuming Eren had fallen alongside his mother and their childhood friends, slain on the dusty streets of Shiganshina.

"I had a feeling some thief would come to search for his old stuff sooner or later. But I never expected it to be you..."

Jean's arms and shoulders began to ache but he didn't yet dare lower them. Not while Eren was still holding that gun and was this obviously pissed. He did try to gave a nonchalant shrug though, not sure if he really projected the ease he wanted to with the movement.

"Why not? I learned from him, I know his work. If there's anyone who can finish what he started it's me."

Another scoff but this one did not carry quite as much heat.

"You always were a cocky asshole." The grumble was low but Jean liked to imagine it carried traces of old fondness. It was the only thing giving him the bravery to utter:

"And you always liked that about me, if I remember correctly."

Eren didn't visibly react to the words but, once again, neither did he raise his gun to shoot Jean for his audacity. That was as good a sign as any, Jean supposed.

"The only thing I liked about you was how you'd leave me the fuck alone come autumn."

The words were harsh but they didn't bite Jean the way there were probably supposed to. Not when he remembered their kisses underneath the oak tree and the way Eren's eyes had glistened suspiciously the last time they said goodbye to each other standing underneath the sturdy gates.

That had been the last autumn of peace before the Greekin attacked in the following spring, weeks before Jean was supposed to travel to Shiganshina to continue his studies with Master Jäger.

Jean let out a tense breath through his nose. Eren had always been more stubborn than anyone else he'd known. This song and dance didn't help and time was ticking by fast while they were standing here. The sun was already dipping low against the horizon and he really had not planned to be here after it set.

"Are you gonna tell me where you took the books or not?"

For a moment Eren hesitated and it seemed like he would evade the question, dance around the subject even more. Tell Jean to mind his own business, to leave and never come back.

But in the end he let out a long, slow sigh, shoulders sagging.

“It’s quite a way. Didn’t want anyone to just stumble over them while searching the ruins.”

So Eren had taken them away from the village? Several backpacks worth of old books and scrolls? No matter what he said he had to see the inherent value in his father’s notes or he wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to protect them. Let alone from made up thieves.

He wouldn’t have done that, taken the books to a secure location instead of destroying them, if he didn’t think someone could make good use of the collected information.

“How far did you take them?”

“Two days west”, Eren shrugged, his piercing eyes trailing down Jean’s body, bruised and dirty from his travels. “Maybe three, considering the state you’re in.”

Of course. It was suitable to Jean’s luck that just after reaching what he thought was his destination he would find out he still had three more days of travel before he could find what he was looking for. But then again it had been his inherent luck that Eren even found him here. Otherwise he would have broken into an empty basement and never found what he set out to retrieve at all.

In the end, Jean gave a grim nod, ready to keep going on his journey until he had found the valuable information he was hunting.

“I’m not going back before I have the notes”, he said and Eren’s expression shifted again. His challenging stare softened, a smirk appearing on his lips that could almost be called proud. There was still that old fondness lurking behind his green eyes as he stepped back and nodded for Jean to follow.

“We should get going, then. The sun is setting and the next suitable shelter is at the other end of the village.”

He didn’t have to tell Jean twice. Taking two steps at a time he climbed the stairs until he had reached his childhood friend at the top. As they turned toward the open door they fell into a rhythm of quiet steps that was more comforting and familiar than anything Jean had been able to build even in the safety of the Bastion of Dawn.

Commissions | Kofi | AO3 | twitter | pillowfort

#JeanEren #EreJean #EreJeanweek #EreJeanWeek2k20 #Jean Kirschtein #Eren Jäger #snk #Day 1 - Apocalypse #apocalypse #of course this apocalypse has magic in it #because i say so that's why

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serenitydusk · 5 years

Text

Thank you all for being so patient with me. I”m trying to work through my asks (which ...I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you all sending) and hopefully will be getting back into some rp very soon. In the meantime, here is a little ficlet I wrote about Dusk and her misadventure into the Void with Dark and a cameo from Wilford.

Safe Characters: Dusk, Dark, Wilford Warfstache Word Count: 2650 Warnings: Descriptions of violence, mention of blood

Dusk had stayed too long, lulled into thinking perhaps she had managed to finally lose them. She had been lulled by this world and its quiet, unspoiled beauty. She had been lulled by the kindness of the people there, who had welcomed her without reservation, though she was a stranger.

She had been foolish to stay. And some of these people and some of the beauty of this world paid the price for her mistake. It was not her blade that cut. It was not her fire set to destroy. But the sin would still stain her soul, darkening it further, tipping the balance she strove to keep.

Opening a portal, she fled. She was not afraid to stand and fight, but she knew when she left, they would follow. To linger and fight would only bring more suffering to the innocent. She held a picture of home in her mind, seeing every detail as though she stood there, smelling the flowers that bloomed in her garden, feeling the cool air of her forest home, hearing the wind sing through the trees, tasting the sharp, bittersweet tang of the herbs that hung drying in her workroom. With those firmly locked in her mind, stepped into the portal, grabbed the winds and rode.

And fell.

Dusk felt the moment her power gave out and she could no longer ride the winds that carried her in the In Between. They slipped through her grasping, panicking fingers as she plunged into darkness. She tried to at least guide where she would land as she ripped through the In Between, but it was like sailing in a hurricane. Her breath was knocked out of her when she did finally land, skidding across the ground until she came to a stop beneath a bent and gnarled tree. Lying there panting, she finally was able to scoot over to it, using it to pull herself up to a seated position and lean her back against it. Every breath was agony and her head throbbed. She didn’t know how long she rested against the tree, eyes closed, trying to breathe through the pain, but she knew she had to find someplace safe and soon. Looking down at her body, she saw mostly cuts and bruises, some bad, but none debilitating. No broken bones, but her ribs had taken a beating when she fell. Her powers, however, were weakened. She could still feel a faint spark, trying to heal the worst injuries. Eventually, with time and rest, they would be restored, but right now, she couldn’t even open a portal, let alone ride the winds. She was trapped.

Staggering to her feet, she looked around. She knew this place. Of all the places she could have ended up, why here? Here in the very den of a predator. While he always seemed cordial and even at times almost friendly, she didn’t know yet how much of that was real and how much of that was a polished façade carefully crafted to make his prey unwary. No matter. She couldn’t change anything. At best perhaps she could find a place to hide and heal. Normally Dark didn’t seem to notice she was here unless she called for him. Perhaps she could heal and be gone before he found her in her weakened condition.

Turning a slow circle, she tried to decide which way to go. The landscape was shrouded in a thick fog, obscuring landmarks, while the sky was dimly lit by a sliver of silver. She had no landmark to guide her, and no place to go if she did. She closed her eyes in a moment of despair. Letting it wash over her, she grimly set one foot in front of the other and began to walk.

*******************************************************************************************

Dark was sitting in his study reading when he felt Dusk cross over. He frowned, normally her arrivals were quiet affairs, but this felt wild and violent. Waiting for her call for him, his frown deepened when there was nothing but silence. He knew that she sometimes came and spent time exploring before asking to visit with him. He indulged her curiosity because he found it…quaint and somewhat endearing. But always after her little forays, she would announce her presence. This wasn’t like her, at all. Snapping the book shut, he rose, leaving his manor and heading out into the bleak night to find her and find out what was going on.

As he walked, homing in on her, he felt the others rip through the barriers in between the worlds and enter his territory. Five of them, empty shells full of ravening hunger and malice. Revenants. Disgusting creatures. Created using unholy means, they possessed a degree of intelligence, but their will was bound to another. Dusk was one of the rare few he allowed to come into his demesne with no repercussion. These beasts, however, were not welcome here, and he didn’t take their intrusion lightly.

He found where she had arrived, her scent and blood still marking the land in a shallow trench leading to the base of a tree. Following her path, he felt her presence as he drew closer. Her normally calm demeanor was riddled with pain and he tasted her despair, bitter and hot. His jaw clenched, no small part in anger, but also as the delicious taste of her pain and despair rolled over him. Shuddering as images broke and distorted around him, he cracked his neck and reined them in until they are just a jittering blue and red outline, barely visible from his form. As a rule, he didn’t indulge in the suffering of those considered… He paused in his thoughts. Had Dusk managed to worm her way into a friendship? Grimacing, that was something to ponder another time. Regardless, he had grown accustomed to their conversations. For now, he preferred her mind and spirit intact.

Quickening his pace, he soon heard fighting. Down in a sloped valley, Dusk was surrounded by four of them. A fifth already lay at her feet dead. She was struggling to keep the four from flanking her, but it was a losing battle. He could tell by her movements and the scent of her blood she was injured. But still, to watch her fight was a thing of beauty. It seemed almost like a dance when she moved, bringing her sword up at the last moment to strike, cutting the arm off a revenant right below the elbow. Precise and elegant.

Dark moved to intercept one of the revenants flanking Dusk. It was so intent on her, it didn’t see the shadowy tendrils until they had wrapped around it, tearing it apart with brutal efficiency. It dropped to the ground, in pieces, as the shadows drifted back to Dark, pooling on the ground around him. Dusk had finished off the revenant, who was now headless in addition to missing their lower arm. She circled the two remaining, barely acknowledging Dark with a glance. Her movements were becoming slower and jerky, and she was favoring her left side which was shiny with blood.

Dark leapt without warning, bearing down on the revenant on the right, while Dusk waited for the one on the left to come to her, buying a little time to catch her breath. Dark whirled his black cane in a blur, the silver grip arcing through the air with a whistle until it connected with the revenant’s skull, crippling it. It twitched and shuddered on the ground until Dark brought his cane down a final time.

The last revenant barreled after Dusk with a roar and she couldn’t turn fast enough to avoid the full weight of its blow. Staggering to her knees, she fought to stand back up. The revenant grinned, its poison green eyes full of gleeful hate. It stalked her, taunting as she pulled herself up. She brought her sword up. If she was to die, it would be fighting and she damn sure wasn’t letting them take her alive.

Shadows speared through Its chest, flinging gore and ichor everywhere. The surprise on its face would have been amusing if Dusk hadn’t been fighting to remain standing. Revenants were relentless, but not very bright. Ignoring Dark has been their undoing. The shadows recoiled, slithering back to Dark and vanishing.

“You’re hurt.” It was not a question. His voice, silken and low, more than a hint of mocking. He cleaned off his cane, polishing away the blood and bits left behind. It was hard to watch her, vulnerable and hurt. It called to him, to his darker instincts. It would be so easy to give in and feast on her pain. He could break her. Break her mind, crush her spirit, watch her crumble. Rip open her psyche and see what all was inside and what it took to make it snap. The thought slithered through his mind and he dismissed it. He had somehow grown partial to her. For now, anyway. He huffed at himself in annoyance at the inconvenience of it. He watched her, head tilted as though waiting to see what she would do. Would she attack or flee? She hadn’t lowered her sword yet, though it was not raised to attack either.

She didn’t answer him, as she panted. Her injuries were obvious. She looked him in the eyes and wondered if it was her own death she saw mirrored in them. Her sword fell from her numb fingers and she swayed on her feet. Dammit. The last thing she saw was the cold smirk on his face before he lunged, and darkness closed in.

He, of course, had caught her, his shadows slowing her fall, holding her until he reached her. Scooping her up, he was surprised at just how small she was. She whimpered, even though unconscious. He wasn’t one to comfort, but still, he adjusted her carefully against him, not to further exacerbate her injuries.

*******************************************************************************************

She awoke with a start, disoriented. Bolting upright, she looked around the unfamiliar room, her too wide, too wild eyes landing on Dark. He was sitting back, looking out a window, when he heard her indrawn breath. Turning towards her, he waited, still and unmoving. Speaking soft and low, “Are you alright, dear?”

Her breath came out in pants, as her fingers clutched the sheets. Her voice sounded gritty and raw, as though she had been screaming. Perhaps she had been before he arrived. “I have to go before they find me.” She looked around the room, eyeing the door and considering her options.

“They won’t find you. I’ve made an example out of the last creatures they sent. They won’t be back.” He looked away and out the window, “But if they do, I can make my message louder if need be.” There was something about the way he said the words, devoid of anything remotely benevolent, that sent ice sliding down her spine.

Before she could comment, a man burst into the room, bringing with him the smell of sugared treats and gunpowder. All in pastels, pink and yellow, he spoke in a voice of honeyed cream, as though chewing around fluffy taffy, “There you are, Dark. I have been looking all over for you.”

“I’ve been attending to my guest, Wil.” Dark inclined his head towards Dusk, the faintest smile ghosting over his lips, as he looked up at the newcomer. Wilford turns and seeing her exclaims, “Why look at her! She’s just a little bit of fluff.” His face scrunches, “Do you intend on keeping her?”

“Keep me?” her voice grew low and cold. Fissions of heat shimmer formed around her body, the faintest lavender.

“She’s not a pet, Wilford,” Dark smirked as Dusk’s eyes narrow. He’d noticed the strange shimmer radiating off her. This is new, he thought.

“She looks rather pale.” Wilford pulled up a chair right beside Dark. Concern and something much darker went through Wilford’s eyes as he turned them towards the woman, “Do you think she’s going to make it? Might be best to put her out of her misery.” His hand flexed, fingers curling, as though holding a gun.

A low rumble grew, as Dusk growled, the sound much bigger and deeper than it should have been from someone her size. Her lips curled back baring curved fangs. The shimmer around her darkened to amethyst, and her eyes lit in violet smoke and flame.

Wilford gasped in amazement, “Why, Dark, she’s positively feral!”

“It would appear the little one has fangs.” Dark kept his satisfied smirk to himself. He enjoyed watching her reserved demeanor bend and crack, so he could see what lurked inside. “Why don’t you go get her something to eat. She’s been unconscious for three days. She’s sure to be hungry.”

Wil gave Dark a little pout, “I know what you’re doing, but I’ll go get our pet a little something.”

It was all Dusk could do not to hiss and snap at him as he left. Her eyes never left Wilford. It was not until the door closed, did she look back at Dark. She wondered what these men were to each other. The way Dark relaxed around Wil would suggest a deep level of trust.

He watched as she slowly pulled herself back together, fangs hidden, growl fading, eyes their normal, non-glowing shade of violet. Her aura still flared and shimmered, though it was pulled much closer to her body now.

“Three days?” She rasped.

Dark shrugged, “Tomorrow will be four.”

“I have to leave. I can’t stay here.” She tried to swing her feet over the edge of the bed, only to be pushed back by Dark.

“Don’t be ridiculous. The moment you leave here, they will swarm you.” He barely had to exert any effort to keep her pushed back against the pillows. He leaned down, his face close to hers, the smell of vetiver and citrus filling her senses, “I didn’t drag you here, so you could end up someone else’s prey.”

Fire lit in her eyes again, pushing back the fear with anger. “I am no one’s prey.”

He smirked, her response exactly what he wanted. And just in time, Wilford returned with a tray of food, “Here we go. Little bits of everything for our fluff.”

Dark rolled his eyes and took the tray from Wilford, placing it on Dusk’s lap. “Do take care around her, Wil.”

Wilford cocked his head to the side, “Do you think she bites?”

Dark smiled slyly as Dusk’s aura flared and sparked, but she remained silent, though glaring at Wilford. “Wil, why don’t give me a moment to get her settled in and I’ll join you downstairs.”

Wilford sighed dramatically, “Fine, fine. But if she bites you, I don’t want to hear a peep about it.” He huffed out the door, and she could hear him talking and muttering as he left.

When his voice finally faded, Dark turned back to her. “Why do they hunt you?”

She looked down, her food suddenly needing to be examined intensely. “It’s hard to explain.”

He leaned against the wall, and shrugged, “Stay.” He didn’t push, sensing she was too brittle right now. Brute force had its uses, but so did surgical precision, keeping her carefully off balance.

“What? What do you mean ‘stay’?” She looked up at him, genuinely confused.

He laughed humorlessly and pushed away from the wall, returning to his seat, “Stay here.”

“I can’t hide here forever.”

Looking back at the window, he answered, “No, not forever.” His images glitched wildly, one of them turning to look at her, screaming at her in rage, reaching towards her. “But for a time, you would be safe. They can’t hurt you here.” Seeing her reflection in the window, he smiled mercilessly, “You’re not afraid of me, are you dear?”

“Only a fool wouldn’t be.”

#Safe #Dusk #Darkiplier #Wilford Warfstache

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antiquechampagne · 5 years

Text

Antique Champagne - Chapter 33 - The Hook

Hancock was half way through telling Payne and Fahrenheit about the time he dared his 10-year-old brother to ride a wild brahmin for a bottle of Nuka Cola when he noticed one of the Vertibirds circling a bit too close for his liking. With a slight nod, he caught Fahr’s attention and directed it to the encroaching aircraft. Unexpectedly, the vehicle dipped down close to the horizon. In the dark, it was hard to see beyond the sandbanks, but Hancock was fairly certain he saw some hulking silhouettes jump from its open sides before it returned to its circling pattern.

“These Brotherhood guys aren’t exactly subtle, are they?” He popped a Mentat in his mouth, downing it with a few swallows from the bottle in his hands.

As Fahr readied her weapon, Hancock shook his head.

“We gotta play this cool.”

Scowling, Fahr put it back down, keeping it within easy reach. Payne moved to sit next to him just as four people crested the hill. Three were in power armor. They stopped at the edge of the ring of firelight. The fourth, a woman in a drab and orange bodysuit, stepped forward. All held laser rifles in their hands.

"We are clearing this area of non-Brotherhood personnel. You need to move along," ordered the woman, addressing Fahrenheit directly. Fahr just scowled.

"It's such a nice night, why don't you join us and have something to eat." He motioned jovially to the roasted meat remaining in their unconventional cooking pot, a carefully crafted smile spread across his face. He was calculating the odds of them taking on such a heavily armored group, hoping it wouldn't come to that.

"Soldiers do not fraternize with Commonwealth... citizens." Hancock had the feeling if she could have set him on fire with her eyes, she would have. She turned back to Fahr. "Your camp is too close to the airport. Leave or you will be removed."

"Come on, there is no need for all that. We'll be gone in the morn... HEY NOW!" Hancock protested as a steel clad boot swiftly kicked over the pot, dousing the fire with leftover mirelurk meat and juice. Everyone rose to their feet, the air tense. Payne and Fahr looked to him for direction. These guys were acting like they were itching for a fight. Hancock wasn't about to indulge them.

"We're not going to ask again."

"Fine. Fine. We're going." He started to pack up the few things that were laying around. Payne and Fahr followed suit, keeping their eyes glued to the soldiers. "The Commonwealth isn't exactly a cakewalk at night, ya know."

"Not my problem, zombie."

Hancock could see Payne clench her jaw, but keep whatever she was thinking to herself.

They trudged back up the sandbars in the dark. It wasn't hard to spot the Vertibird that tailed them. When they reached the edge of the city, it turned back in the direction of the airport.

"That wasn't exactly what I had planned." Hancock shook his head. Good to know the Commonwealth found another bully in their midst. Fahr laid a hand on his shoulder briefly before passing him to take point.

"There's a group of buildings up there. There might be a decent place to hole up for the night," she suggested.

They found a clump of old shops along the wide crumbling road. As they walked, Hancock found himself looking back at Payne. The pale moonlight outlined her features in a particularly pleasing way; a bit softer than the harsh electric lights in Goodneighbor. He found himself liking being out and about with her again.

Two of the buildings looked promising enough to attempt a closer look. Payne took up watch as he tried the door on the first building. It looked like it might have been a bar, with small boarded up windows. The door only budged a few inches as he pushed. It took both him and Fahr to force it open; the boxes that barricaded it shut scraped noisily against the tile floor inside.

Payne looked back to them. “Anything inside?”

Fahr stuck her head in, peering around the door. “Nah, just a skeleton. We should sweep for ferals, just in case.”

Payne nodded and turned to enter when an echoing howl broke the still night around them. Turning on their heels, a snarling mutant hound bounded across the street towards them.

“Shit!” spat Payne, opening fire with her rifle and missing.

Fahr managed to sink a bullet into its flank, but it continued its deadly charge. As Hancock took aim and fired into the beasts head, a super mutant popped their head around the corner of the opposite building.

“Die puny human!” it screamed as it lobbed a grenade into the air.

“TAKE COVER!” Hancock shouted.

The trio scrambled for cover. Fahrenheit dove head first into the building while Payne and Hancock ducked behind debris on opposite side of the door.

Bits of stone and metal fragments bounced off the overturned vending machine protecting Hancock. His ears rang as he lined up and shot at the aggravated mutant. It look him a moment to notice Payne frantically waving her arm for him to get down, her yelling muted by the recent explosion. After glancing over his shoulder, he dropped back down on his knees behind his cover. Behind him, charging down the road at full tilt was a super mutant, a mini nuke in the crook of its left arm. He couldn’t hear the telltale beep of its deadly payload over his temporary tinnitus. Payne unloaded half a clip into the mutant’s head, the body skidding to a stop a few feet from Hancock, the nuke thankfully still intact.

Hancock turned to give Payne a quick thanks, just in time to see the super mutant who had been hiding behind the building sprint to her side. It wrapped a huge meaty hand around her throat, lifting her off her feet. Her feet kicked wildly as the mutant began to squeeze, her mouth gasping to breathe.

Shoving a pair of shells into his shotgun, Hancock tried to unload them into the mutant’s face. He only succeeded in grazing their shoulder. It turned to face him, snarling in rage.

The snarl quickly turned to scream of pain, the mutant’s new target was quickly forgotten. Payne grabbed two of its branch-like fingers and pulled; the sickening snap of bones forcing the creature’s hand to open. Hancock was about to let out a sigh of relief as Payne dropped to the ground, but he saw face splattered with super mutant blood from his shotgun blast. Her eyes, bloodshot to the point of being little more than red orbs, were wild and crazed. His stomach dropped as she hungrily licked the mutant blood from around her mouth.

He felt he was moving in slow motion as Payne turned and crawled up the green giant’s body. She locked herself around the monster’s head, fingers dug knuckle deep into the flesh under its massive jaw. Blood poured down the beast’s massive chest as it danced wildly; beating its thick muscled fists on her back in an attempt to break the deadly lock. She barely register the blows. Payne heaved and pulled, struggling to rip the skull free from the shoulders she sat on.

Her mouth twisted into a startling grimace as she screamed in rage. Hancock watched her veins pop in grotesque patterns over her straining muscles. With a sickening crack, the mutant fell to the ground, Payne rolling with it, landing on her feet. Her eyes locked with his, just for a moment. Suddenly another mutant hound appeared, snarling with rage as it ran towards them. Payne immediately snarled back and ran to meet it.

A bewildered Fahr ducked out of the way as Hancock dove into building.

“Close the door!” he ordered.

“What?”

“DO IT!”

They both pressed themselves against the warped wooden door. The rusty metal hinges screamed in protest before giving up and swinging closed.

Hunkered down below a boarded up window, Fahr asked frustratedly, “What the fuck is going on?”

“Stay down.” Hancock snuck a peek outside through the spaces in the boards. He didn’t have time to explain right now.

More mutants had circled around, taking aim at Payne as she caught the hounds jaws mid-lunge. With one yank, she ripped off its lower jaw. Leaving it mortally wounded in the street, she rushed the remaining mutants. Hancock saw several bullets hit, but Payne didn’t even flinch as she ran directly for the group. They quickly retreated back around the corner with Payne in hot pursuit.

Hancock tried to formulate a quick answer to satisfy Fahr. The sound of screaming and gunfire was making it hard to concentrate. “Super mutant blood is like Psycho for her… really concentrated Psycho.” He winced as another explosion ripped through the air.

“And you were going to tell me this when?”

All Hancock could do was shrug weakly. If looks could kill, Hancock would have been dead on the spot. After a few minutes under Fahr’s gaze, he realized gravely that the gunfire and yelling had stopped. They held their breath as they waited in the dusty dark for any signs of life.

The seconds ticked by. Hancock couldn’t stand it any longer. He turned to head out the door. As his hand reached for the door handle, Fahrenheit grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back.

“Where the hell do you think you're going?” She was furious.

“I have to see if Payne is alright. You stay here.”

“Like hell I am!”

Hancock didn’t know how Payne would react to Fahr, especially if she was still neck deep in her mutant-blood filled trip or if she perceived her as a threat. Not that he was too sure how Payne would react to him, but he had to know. “No, you have to stay here. Cover me.” Fahr started to argue. He cut her off. “Cover me.”

Before he could get through the doorway, he saw movement across the road. Payne slowly walked along the side of the building, dragging herself along the brick wall. She left a shoulder high bloody streak. Her tired body covered in grime and gore, she looked around, panicked and bewildered.

“John?” she called weakly. “Fahr?”

Hancock stepped forward. “Payne?”

When her eyes drifted up to see him, her shoulders slumped as she let out a sigh. “Oh, thank god…” She gripped the wall in an attempt to mover herself along quicker. Hancock began to run to her side, but she collapsed face-first as she stumbled into the street.

“Payne!” Hancock quickly helped her up.

“John… Fahr? Is she…” she struggled to get the words out.

“She’s fine. She’s inside.” Under his fingers, he could feel her frame shaking. He pulled her arm over his shoulders, helping her to her feet. She tried to support herself, but her muscles were failing. “Let’s get you out of the open.” Payne took a few more steps before her head rolled forward and she collapsing again. Hancock stumbled.

“Fahr! I need some help.” he called desperately.

Fahr emerged from the doorway. She studied Payne before hesitantly grabbing her other arm. Quickly they drug her unconscious body into the relative safety of the building. As they lowered her to the floor, Payne perked up. She seemed to not know where she was, looking around frantically again.

“John? Fahr?”

“It’s okay, we’re fine,” Hancock tried to soothe and reassure her again. He took out a small lantern from his pack and started to look over Payne. She was clearly exhausted and in shock, her eyes struggling to stay open. What really worried him was the nastly burn that extended the entire length of her left leg. He got out a can of water for her to drink, but she collapsed before he could hand it to her. He cursed under his breath.

Fahr paced angrily. The sound of her boots grated his frayed nerves.

“Could you go make a sweep out there? Make sure no other mutants are going to surprise us. Take the leftover grenades.”

“We just watched Payne go all ‘Grognak-the-Barbarian’ and you want to be alone with her?” she balked.

“She can barely walk, Fahr, even if she was awake. It shouldn’t take you long just to look.”

Fahrenheit scowled. “If I come back and she’s pulling off your arms and beating you with them, I’m just going to watch and laugh.” She steamed off.

Hancock shook his head and focused on the task at hand. Pouring the water on a rag, he started to clean the gore from Payne’s face, pulling chunks from her hair. He inspected her burn. It was a deep, and filled with debris and remnants of fabric. It needed to be cleaned out before it started to heal.

Suddenly, he heard retching coming from outside. He put the water down carefully next to Payne before poking his head out the door. Fahr stood doubled over across the street, heaving into an ancient concrete planter. A bad feeling started to prickle the back of his brain.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he crossed the street quickly, feeling it would be tempting fate to leave Payne alone for too long in the state she was in.

Fahrenheit gasped for air. Unable to form words, she just pointed behind the building.

Hancock rounded the corner and immediately stopped. Inside the façade of the gutted building lay a half-dozen giant green bodies in various stages of dismemberment. Returning to Fahr’s side, he found himself fighting a wave of lightheadedness.

Taking off his hat with one hand, Hancock ran his other hand over his snarled scalp. “Well, that’s all kinds of fucked up.”

“Ya THINK?” Fahr spat back. “It looks like she fucking climbed through a few of them.” Her eyes were on fire as she glared at him. “And you were going to tell me about this when?”

Hancock shrugged uncomfortably. “It didn’t really come up.”

“HANCOCK! Seriously? What would have happened if she went nuts in town and ripped through… god knows how many people?”

“That’s not going to happen. There is no reason for there to be any super mutant blood anywhere in town. Besides, I told Charley to only give her clean drinks.”

“What about out here? We could have ended up in that pile!”

Hancock shook his head. “That didn’t happen. She wouldn’t do something like that.”

Fahr’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Then why did we hide?” Hancock paused, eyes narrowing. Fahrenheit took this as proof she right. “Payne is dangerous, and you know it. Leave her here. If the other shit you’ve told me is true, she'll be fine."

He could feel his chest get tight, his face tighten. “She hasn’t killed anyone who hasn’t deserved it! And she saved our asses just now!”

“Quit thinking with your dick and think with your head! She’s not worth the risk!”

He stomped the crumbling cement. “Fahr!”

He meant for that to end the argument, but Fahr had other ideas. “No, John. Not this time. I’m not playing this game. I’m leaving. You need to come with me.”

They stared at each other in the still dark night. Stone faced, Fahrenheit turned on her heels and walked away, leaving Hancock alone in the middle of the vacant street.

This trip was definitely not going as planned. He had wanted a little jaunt to stretch his legs. Maybe they'd get some firsthand look at the Brotherhood. If Fahr and Payne could work out some of their kinks, even better. What a shit-fest.

He started a small fire and kept watch over Payne until she started to stir about an hour later. She woke bewildered like before, calling out for Hancock and Fahr.

“I’m here, Payne,” he sounded a bit more tired than he intended.

“Where’s Fahr?” she asked tensely.

“She’s fine…” He guided her attention away from Fahr’s absence. “How are you feeling? You did quite a number on those mutants.”

“I hurt all over. My leg… is it burned?” She tried to bend to see the swath of burned fabric covering her raw leg. “Oh, shit. That’s bad.”

“Do you recall what happened?”

“I don’t…” she struggled for words. “I don’t remember much. I remember the suicider… and then one grabbed me,“ her hand went instinctively to her throat, then to her mouth. She grimaced and looked down, shame on her face. Her voice was barely a whisper when she spoke next. “Did I hurt her?”

“No. You didn’t lay a finger on either of us. Fucked those muties right up, though.”

She was silent for a while. "Did you two fight?"

Hancock nodded his head.

"She thinks I'm a monster." he didn't move this time. More silence. "You know, she's right."

"When I became Mayor of Goodneighbor, I made sure everyone knew that everyone was welcome. No judgments. I still stand by that."

He could see by her eyes that she had a hard time believing that. "I just have to double check that Charley keeps the super mutant martinis off the menu." He felt he had won a small victory as she cracked the smallest of smiles.

"Now," he continued. "We need to get to some nasty business. That leg needs to be cleaned out, and it ain't gunna tickle."

"Bring it..." she didn't sound so sure. "I can get most of it, probably to the knee. But after that, I'm gonna need some help."

Hancock had studied the wound.” Many of the edges appeared fused with the burn. "First off, we need to get those pants off.”

She propped herself up on her elbows, chuffed and ignored the innuendo. “That’s not going to be easy… just cut the leg off.”

Hancock froze for a second before he realized she meant the pant leg. He grabbed his knife.

“I’ll get it.” Payne grabbed the blade from him, slipping the blade between the fabric and her skin. Her weakened state combined with some very awkward angles, she struggled to cut it, but the edge was sharp and soon Hancock was helping her remove the blood soaked denim. Exhausted, she dropped back to the floor, sweating and panting.

Recovering her breath, she asked “Could you get that bag of concrete?” She pointed to the corner of the room. “I am going to need something to lean on.”

Hancock was sure the prewar package would split under the stress of being moved, but it stayed intact as he slid it into place. Payne pulled out the two blood bags she had packed, a prize for once they finished. Over the next hour and a half, the two of them worked in tandem to remove bits of burned fabric and embedded rocks from her leg. Payne grunted and hissed as the pain peaked and ebbed. Pulling her boot and sock off earned the bag of concrete a few choice punches. Washing the wound was reserved to the very end, their clean water supply pitifully low. When Hancock finally gave the all clear, she guzzled the blood down greedily.

Morning had begun to lazily stream through the board-covered windows as Payne’s wounds started to ever so slowly close.

“Mind handing me a stimpak?” She asked. “It’ll help a little bit.”

“Won’t it make you sleepy?” Hancock asked as he handed one over.

“Yeah, but with daybreak, I’m not going anywhere soon.” She stuck the needle into her bare thigh and pushed the plunger down.

Hancock scrounged up a pair of Potato Crisps, tossing one to Payne. They munched in silence.

“Why did you stay? I would have been fine.”

“Would you have come back to Goodneighbor, if I left?” Payne didn’t answer. “That’s why. You’re a halfway decent bodyguard. Plus, I trust you.”

“What about Fahr? She’s not going to be too happy to see me when we get back.”

“You really think this is the worst thing I’ve ever done?”

Payne shrugged.

“She’ll get over it. She always does.”

#antique champagne #fallout #fallout 4 #fanfic #fan fic #hancock #fahrenheit #payne #brotherhood of steel #Super Mutant #gore #ao3

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maniacalmachinist · 5 years

Text

Predator/D&D (pt 7)

Sorry about the delay, this chapter wound up a bit longer than expected, amid other bit of life’s complications. Hope you enjoy it. XD

CHAPTER 7: CONSEQUENCES

Hachende darted ahead, thankful to be away from those lesser creatures for a while, leaping from tree to tree, keeping his footholds light and quick. He was above the pack of “noles” within minutes, trying to find a good spot for an ambush. They appeared to be little more than short, drooling brutes, hunched at the shoulders, and their heads darting around, sniffing the air. He spotted mostly simple weapons similar to the commune of humans in their village. Most had simple masses of heavy wood, or something resembling a spear. There were a few in the rear of the hunting group that had staves much like the elf Sedira had, and figured it implied a similar “magic” talent to some degree. He continued to look around them, and spotted a larger one which seemed to make the others around it cower, and was the only one that appeared to have some metallic weapon, a “sword” he recalled the humans calling it.

He set his sights on ten targets, and unclipped his discs, linking them to his tracking, then dropped into the middle of the hunting group. He flung the discs to his sides when he landed, and they began to whir around, the cries of the brutes echoed as few were taken by surprise, the rest ducked. His discs returned, and decided to brandish them as hand weapons for expediency as a few had locked their sights on him where the kicked up snow had made his presence known. The large one glared at him, and barked orders in some unknown tongue, the ones with the solid wooden weapons set on him quickly, swinging their weapons clumsily. “You lack form . . . you insult my honor with how poorly you fight!!” He clipped a few in their thighs as he dropped to one knee, relocking the discs on targets and letting them loose, providing a defense of blades.

He danced with the discs and gnolls, wounding some and killing another with each attempt they made. He roared loudly, shouting his victory cry, before being hit with a stinging sensation, finding a solid shaft digging into his side. He panned his vision, trying to track the direction, but saw nothing in thermal . . . he switched until he picked up on movement, more shafts flying at him. “More . . . how can there be more?!”

“ANUKH ARUMWON!!” Came a shout, the voice clearly the one called Wagh. The gnolls gave pause, and there was a sudden blood curdling howl, as a pair of glowing large canines barreled through a few of the creatures, ripping them apart. Therein chaos erupted, Hachende shocked at the sudden shift in the gnolls attention amid the orc and dwarf charging in, their massive weapons batting the ugly fuckers aside. Hachende focused himself, not to let these two show him up, he took out his spear and made for the large one. The gnoll leader deflected his weapon amid the screams of his cohort falling to the crazed pair, the sword actually biting into his spear. He aimed for the beast’s legs and arms, but it showed an amount of experience dodging and deflecting. Hachende lunged, but was stopped short of his prey, something had caught onto his leg, then rolled to keep his attention on the Pack Leader.

“Tha’s it lad, keep tha’ boggart tied up wit ya fancy moves!” gloated the dwarf, bisecting another gnoll. “Gnolls travel in groups o’ six . . . aye, they ha’ four more waitin’ on tha’ Pack Leader’s orders! RYAAA! Lass!! Grease their shaman!!” and he was answered by a chain of melodic speach rolling through the trees and a sudden glob of sludge splashed among those with the wooden staves.

The Pack Leader was distracted a moment amid the wails of their casters being caught in the sludge, giving Hach time to sever the root that had tripped him. He leaped back up to his feet just as the Leader made another lunge at him, catching the sword with his spear again, he batted the weapon aside and drove his spear at the brute’s head. The brute growled, shifting aside while grabbing Hachende’s thrusting arm, “FUCK!!” screamed Hach, pissed at making such a suckling’s mistake. Despite it’s size, it threw Hach over it’s shoulder, the yautja let go of the spear; rolling on the ground and took out his discs. He darted at the Leader, flinging one disc and held onto the other, the Leader deflecting it with his sword, but it overexerted. Hach caught the returning disc, punching the beast with the one in hand, splitting it’s lower jaw, then slash it it’s throat with the other . . . there was no howl, only the gargling of it last breath while it collapsed. Hachende let out a cry of victory . . . his prey had been taken by the kiss of midnight!

The hunting pack fell apart not long after the loss of their leader. Their shaman couldn’t stand on the sludge, fighting to maintain balance while Lars beat them into a near pulp with his fists, astounding Hachende more. Wagh was tending the dwarf’s wounds, his hands glowing green while he chanted, and Durgo’s cuts were mending before Hach’s eyes. Lars came back moments later, having killed off the hidden archers, “They’re ugly and smelly fuckers, but at least they carry decent equipment sometimes. I know the ol’ blacksmith would love to have more material.”

Hachende tended himself with a medikit, still puzzled why he couldn’t detect the other four creatures. He used the tools to extract the shaft and “head” from the bolt that struck him, crying out in pain, which startled the rest of the group.

“Laddie, no offense to ye, but best to see a healer . . . doesn’t do to let tha’ pain dull yer senses.”

“With as much as you drink, Durgo . . . you’re not one to talk about dulling senses,” Lars retorted.

“It is through pain that we know we are still alive, as is our path of the warrior,” growled Hachende.

“Well, regardless . . . time for the spoils of war . . . “ chimed Sven. “Oh, Durgo . . . the big guy himself netted six, and you only downed 3 . . . so, you owe us a round tonight.”

“Wha? Wait, thar’s no . . . “ he started counting with his hands how many final blows he actually made, “Fook!!”

Jessica groan, rummaging through the pile of things collected from the Gnolls. “Hmmmm, the sword is unusual . . . “ she touched the edge of it and suddenly hiss in pain, “Shit!! Acid!!”

Hachende looked up at her shouting, then inspected his equipment . . . his spear and one of the discs had a series of melted points where his weapons made contact with the sword, “What in the name of the Dark Warrior is that weapon?!?!”

Jessica went to her pack and pulled out a scroll, then held out her hand over the weapon while reciting what was one the parchment. The scroll glowed and disappeared while golden light descended on the weapon, and symbols appeared on it’s edge. “Oh . . . oh my . . . how did a gnoll get something like this, of all things!?!”

“You’re fucking us with the suspense here, what is it Jess?” groaned Lars.

“It’s a Black Dragon falchion, The Scorned One. Gyremar will want to see this immediately!” She looked at Hachende, “It’s your weapon now . . . it ties itself to the one that bests it’s owner.”

Hachende pondered . . . touching the sword and found it slightly warm, and welcoming to his touch. He picked it up, then headed to the Pack Leader, and removed it’s spine and skull in a roar of triumph.

Durgo scratched his head, watching Hach’s seemingly ritual collection. “Dunnae’ know why ya collectin’ hea’s here, lad. There is nae any bounty on these boggarts.”

“There will be proof of my conquests to go with the others . . . doesn’t do to return for mating season and not an exceptional kill to enthrall the females.”

Sven and Lars laughed together, “Fucking hell, I love your society already . . . “ Lars bellows.

“I doubt you could survive our females . . . my last mate broke my arm last season, and that was a result of being tossed across the room.” Hachende cackled.

“The more I learn about you Hachende, I’m not sure if yours is a society of fighters, or fools,” bellowed Gyremar. The group looked up, seeing the silver approach the ground, surrounded by the shuffling of Kobolds among the rocky edges. “I had told them to prepare in case your team couldn’t handle the Gnolls. Daresay, I’m proud you made it out intact.” He looked at Jessica, “Now what’s this about a falchion?”

Jessica pointed at Hachende, and motioned him to raise the sword. He raised a brow under his mask, and presented the weapon to the dragon. “Hmmmm . . . that is an odd find for a group of gnolls. I’m assuming a large, strong one had it, yes?” Hachende nodded, presenting the head of the Gnoll Leader. “The Scorned One . . . fells, hoped I would never have to hear that title again.”

Lars looked up, “What’s the deal with it, Steward?”

“Come inside, I’ll explain . . . oh, and Hachende, I think I have something for you. Dar’gor, we’re going to have guests for a while, take them to my Den, and get them some food . . . then you and yours can do as you will with the gnolls.”

“Yip! Yes boss!” Dar’gor barked, “You warm-bloods, follow . . .yes, follow, yip!”

“Wor’ o’ advice lads . . . dunnae be eatin’ kobold cuisine . . . ya’ will be payin’ fer it lat’r.” warned Durgo.

The Steward’s “Den” was a large cavern near the middle of the mountain. Dar’gor, their guide, wasn’t very talkative, but Kobolds were overly cautious and fearful by nature.

“At least these caverns are big enough for us . . . hate to have to hunker down to the height of a dw-uuuuuh,” Lars began, then caught himself . . . sadly, Durgo caught on.

“Ya’re havin’ a problem wi’h me height, boyo? Lemme tell ye, caves are large fo; a reason . . . cannae be tellin’ how much ye’ll be haulin’ from end to ‘nother. Bigger halls, more swag to be haulin.” He then made what Hachende thought was considered a rude gesture.

“Enjoyed your trip to my Lair, friends?” Gyre interjected as they came into view.

“Oh . . . huh . . . thought you Dragons had lairs of treasure lying around . . . this is kind of . . . vacant.” observed Lars.

Gyre responded with a chuff of mild amusement, “Not all dragons are covetous of such things. That tends to attract a lot of fools out for hide and gold.” The dragon was sitting on it’s haunches, looking through what was a VERY large book, it’s binding half the length of Gyremar himself. “Part of this was the journal of this lair’s former master, Carmix’la the White Wyrm. Watching you fight, Hachende, matches her last notes . . . but it also explains something else.” Gyre reached to his side opposite the group, picked up something, the placed it before Hachende. “I think you will find something in there that could explain more than I can on your current situation.”

Curious, Hach knelt and ran his claws over the chest, “Im assuming this has been around for quite some time?” To which Gyremar nodded. He lifted the top, and his eyes and mandibles flared in shock. “Dark Warrior . . . this was Dur’ton’s!” He pulled out a biomask, more ornate than his own, and wristcomp, but the symbols were unmistakable . . . both saw heavy damage, but still slightly functional.

“Uhhh, Dirt on? Dirt on what, I don’t . . . “

“Shut it, Wagh!” shouted the three humans in unison, to which the orc tapped his fingertips together, uncertain what he did wrong.

Hachende grunted in agitation and bewilderment, “He was among our legends, cycles ago . . . and then vanished. We had assumed his last hunt claimed him and his equipment . . . “ he then donned the mask, and played the last images of his life, which displayed through the old wristcomp’s projector.

“Hmmmm, lad these images app’er close to what you showed us las’ nigh’. But his landin’ seems to be furt’er southeas’ o’ ere. “

Gyremar gazed at the playback intently, “Hmmmm, at least a day’s travel by flight . . . seems your predecessor had bad luck on his side, landing and hunting where the White Wyrm was already tracking prey at the time.”

Hach grunted, going through the playback, then getting a date on the last entry, “Hmmmm . . . 2,000 of this world’s cycles have passed . . . “

Gyre ponders, “Has it really been 2000 years . . . can’t believe I was so young then. Still, it does explain why the white wyrm fell so easily, as I said earlier.” He looks up at the ceiling, stroking the long, feathery scales on his chin, “It was likely a few days before I engaged her, scales were torn or missing, wings were shredded in several places, burn marks in various areas . . .”

Hach listened, “ Dur’ton was likely having trouble tracking this creature, as I had trouble tracking you.”

Gyre snapped his gaze to Hach, “Trouble tracking a dragon . . . in close proximity? You’ll pardon my understanding, but it’s kind of hard to miss us when that close.”

Hach shook his head, “Our equipment allows us to track prey, switching out ‘modes,’ so we can mark our quarry.” He pointed at the humans, dwarf, and orc, “They show up in heat detection, but you do not.”

“Ah, tha’s a flaw laddie . . . ye’re bett’r off tryin’ use yer senses than usin’ fangled contraptions. Is like how tha’ gnolls escaped yer vision when we fough’ ou’side. Sure, seein’ a targe’ is nifty . . . but ye cannae use gadgets to replace tracker senses.”

Hach groaned, irritated that this little creature was trying to lecture him, but noticed one of the two of the humans were missing. He looked around frantically, “Wha . . . where?!?!”

The one called Sven rose up, face to face, right under his mask, “Yup . . . blind spots my friend. And don’t even bother trying to see Jessica then . . . cloaking spells are hard for most to see through.” Hach panned his gaze again, unable to see anything, frantically switching his biomask’s vision . . . she was nowhere to be found. There was then a tap on his shoulder, turning to see the female become more visible, as if there was some shroud peeling away.

“My magic is more like displacement, or short range teleportation . . . but I agree. For as good as your equipment may be, here . . . it would be a hindrance in some aspects.”

This world constantly confounded him . . . standard weapons work a bit, but the technology he’d been raised with since he could carry a spear had become nearly useless.

Gyremar stroked his muzzle, watching the events unfold, “Well, you are a capable warrior perhaps . . . but you will need to attune yourself to this world. But it’s assuring to see you’re adapting this well . . . and at the same time, puzzling . . . I will have to do more research after we get your ship to Crosslight. From there, we’ll have to address some urgent problems . . . “ he closed the book, and beckoned the group to follow him, escorting them to the landing.

It had become mid-afternoon, the day was at it’s warmest, and the skies were rather clear as the group flew to Hach’s ship. Gyre had allowed the Yautja to hang onto the rope so he could better direct the dragon. Gyre was thankful that the craft cleared a decent “landing strip,” but hated that it was in such an awkward locale.

The ship itself was as Hach described, the length of it running from Gyre’s front legs to his hind limbs. “You may want to have our companions in there with you, might make it easier to deal with than the skiff.”

Hach grunted, but understood, “Fine . . . but they are to touch NOTHING. I can try and set the ship to hover, but from there the rest is up to you.” He growled to the group, “You . . . follow me, but leave everything ALONE. You will sit just behind the command chair, and NOTHING ELSE!!” He unsheathed his wrist knives as if to emphasize the point, to which they nodded. He retracted the knives, “Gyremar, can you get that snow off my ship?”

The Silver nodded, rearing back and unfurling his wings . . . then flapped them forward, mighty gusts sending debris and snow everywhere, clearing the vehicle.”

“Spirits of invention!!” gasped Wagh.

Hach tapped his wristcomp, and his ship hummed to life, then brought up the holo displays, trying to reroute power to the hover functions. The group quietly followed him, and his instruction, taking note of his trophies . . . some of which were definitely human. Wagh pointed at one that had an elongated head, “Dat one dark and mean . . . it notin’ but hate!” He shivered. Hach clicked in agitation, taking up the command chair, and attempted to reorient the ship. The group gathered behind him . . . he was at least thankful that they could follow orders.

Gyremar tapped the ship, “I’m going to start pushing the ship . . . brace yourselves!” at which point the ship shook, then settled as the dragon pushed with his hind legs. Hach let a snort of amusement watching the spectacle from the ship’s eyes, the whole thing looked like some giant reptile trying to mate with his craft.

“Well, since this will take a while . . . what stories you have of your travels, Hachende?” inquired the one called Lars.

Hach grunted, but figured it might make time pass by, “The one called Wagh pointed out one of my first kills, during a blooding rite.” He then pointed to a symbol, etched on his massive forehead, what looked like three intersecting curved lines. “All younglings on The Path must go through this, and survive, as proof that they are worthy of the Hunt.” He pointed at the elongated skull, then pulled up his holo imager, displaying the full scale and size of the creature. It stood easily eight feet tall, and twelve feet long, the image replicating it’s movements and even the sounds, a hissing that could only be described as metal sliding over metal that grated the nerves. “We call them ‘Kiande Amheda,’ the Hard Meat . . . they of the black shell, and acid blood.”

“Aye, laddie . . . tha’s a real nasty already . . . “

Hach grunted, mildly amused, then pulled up a large ovoid, then what seemed to have a 10-legged scorpion crawling about, no pincers, but a deep recess in it’s underside. “Oh, that’s hardly the worst . . . this is what they look like, prior to a host anyway.” Hach kept the image animated, a generic human figure was shown walking near the egg, when the scorpoid sprang up with it’s tail, and latched onto the face of the human, the legs wrapping around the human’s head. “This stage plants the seed of it’s kind in the host . . . “

“Wait wait . . . you mean . . . that thing . . . it . . . rup-rup, er, bursts o-out . . .,” Jessica asked, clearly unsettled . . . the image moving forward and confirming her fear, as a smaller version of the beast erupted from the host. Jessica, suddenly turned around and retched. Hach had never seen this reaction so frequent in a species.

“Oh, ugh . . . now I can’t even imagine that horror . . . and I thought undead were bad,” grunted Sven.

“Ya said it lad . . . tha’s mos’ unpleasant . . . and it takes a loot ta get me unsettled.”

Hach snorted, “Oh, it’s not done yet . . . “ the image went back to the full grown beast, and it opened it’s jaws, launching an inner set in Durgo’s direction.

“Fookin’ hell, you bloody son o’a boggart!!” yepled Durgo, falling back, and the image continued, it’s skin molting, and it resulted in a slightly larger form, but it’s head flared out a bit, more ornate. The process repeated again, the relative sizes adjusting to compensate for the small room, the creature appeared massive, it’s head had become a fully flared comb, it’s body thick and heavy, with a pair of smaller claws on it’s chest. “This is the egg layer . . . their mother . . . or matriarch . . . “

Wagh seemed openly scared, “Dat bad creature . . . it mean . . . an nasty . . . it hate life . . . it eat life!”

“Fuckin hell . . . a Queen . . . you know, like in ant hives . . . “ remarked Sven

Lars popped him up the back of his head, “Bees, asshole . . . bees have hives.”

“Fuck . . . you know what I mean!” groaned Sven.

Hach was mildly amused with their responses, “I killed two on my blooding . . . this one put up the better fight.” There was an air of pride in his tale, but the company didn’t seem to enjoy it . . . he looked at Jessica, and could smell the rank odor of regurgitation.

“Ah, bloody hell . . . fookin nasty Jessica.”

“Urgh . . . bleh . . . sorry . . . that was . . . not expected ugh!” She drew a symbol in the air above the rather insulting mess, producing a glowing green mark while she whispered, then waved her hand over the mess . . . the puddle of putrid dissipating into dust. Hach was momentarily insulted by her weak constitution, but still amazed that she was able to do such in her weakened state.

In keeping things going, the group continued to share stories and the like. Hach found himself oddly intrigued, coming to understand the humans a bit more. While they were ideal prey, their methods of fighting was oriented in what they called “warfare.” Hach was curious, “And how many are involved in this event called ‘warfare?’”

“Ach, it depends laddie . . . which nations, wha all they have, why they be fightin’. Armies can consist o’ ‘undreds, ta thousan’s.” Recited Durgo. “I remember the Battle for Nae’rwinter, the major citeh neares’ ‘ere, as me gran’pa tol’ me as a wee tyke. The mighty city were under siege . . . all manner o’ soldiers an’ adventurers were answerin’ tha call to figh’ back the demons an whatnot tryna take tha citeh.”

“Demons you say . . . what manner of creature is that?”

“Ugh, from what I know, they’re hellspawn . . . creatures from the fiery depths that cling to shadows, and hunger for life. You can banish them from the mortal plane, but to actually kill them requires you to do so in their domain.”

Hach blinked under his mask, “What does that mean?”

“Their bodies turn to ash since they’re not of this plane . . . so there’s very little they leave behind. If you want demon horns or trophies, you have to go into the burning hells to get it.” recited Jessica, rather matter of factly. “Getting there is the easy part . . . getting out, not so much. The only exception would be those born with infernal blood in their veins . . . Tieflings. And dealing with them can be rather . . . aggravating.”

Something dawned on Hach, “Pardon, but is that form of procreation common?”

Sven nodded, “Lars and I are brothers, but my mother was a planetouched Aesimar . . . kind of like the opposite of Tieflings. Where they’re infernal, Aesimars are Celestial . . . opposite sides of the same coin. You also have the Dragonborn, Ganesi, Half-Orcs, Half-Elves . . . the list goes on and on. The larger the city you find yourself in, the more hybrids you’ll likely run into.”

“Wait, Dragonborn?” Hach keyed the external comms, “Dragons actually mate with humanoids? Is this true, let alone possible?!?!”

Gyremar bellowed, almost laughing, “Well, that’s an awkward question . . . when you’re able to transform, there’s often no telling what kind of trouble you’ll get into, or when. But, when bonds form, there’s little way to get out of them. I think some have a village several days travel by foot from Crosslight . . . hmmmmm, Frostperch I think they call it. Gold, Silver, Red, and White live there if memory serves, as their bloodlines prefer rocky mountain regions. There’s stories of ‘Prism’ villages, which are comprised of most or all lineage variations.” He grunted, pushing the ship up an incline, then stopped when they reached the peak. “Oh . . . uh oh . . . “ he paused, an epiphany hitting him.

“Gyremar, why have we stopped?” inquired Hach.

“It occurred to me . . . the gnolls were silent for months, but just came out several days after the wyvern was put down. Fells, fells, fells . . . I should have checked the den more closely. That beast was likely keeping other savage creatures at bay. And if the gnolls close to the Kobold barrows were active, it would mean that the Orcs to the north of the village may also mobilize!” He grunted, taking the ship in his front and hind claws, hugging it to himself then pushed off the ridge with his tail, powering his wings with all his might. “APOLOGIES FOR THE ROUGH RIDE!!”

Hach was thankful for being in the command chair, but could hear the yelps and groans from the group getting tossed and flung into the rear wall. He had to admit, flying about, strapped to a multi-ton reptile was almost as thrilling as the Path itself. He initiated the ship’s scans, adding data from his own wristcomp, and from Dur’ton’s equipment. The mapping was tremendous . . . he had been in the area for a long time before meeting with the “White Wyrm” as the others called it. He made a mental note to review the recordings at a more convenient time as it appeared one slight change in the area can throw things off.

#predator #yautja #D&D #gnolls #combat

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fireintheforest · 5 years

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Wild hunts

‘It was only a joke’ her bony ass. She was going to show them, she’d decided. It was the bile of spite what had her now hidden in one of the lower branches of a tree in Valenwood, trap set hours ago and waiting twice as long, knowing perfectly that this clearing was a usual spot for pigs to eat or just pass by. Pigs that hadn’t passed at all, but she still stayed. She stayed still. Whether the water running down her arms, scalp, back and legs, under her clothes and in the bare skin, was sweat or the air’s humidity, she didn’t know or care. Giant bugs zoomed around, easily identified by the grotesque buzzing of their delicate but strong wings. ‘You can’t be a hunter’ her bony ass.

She was glad her waist-length hair was tied back. Otherwise, she would’ve missed the mother boar and her four piglets that started to walk by. If all went well, the mother would be the one on the trap and her piglets would be easy game. The last thing she needed was to track an animal for a long time in these forests, and honestly tracking a beast that takes a fucking long time to die and likes to charge hunters instead of fleeing was not on the top of her list. She had to keep advantage at all times.

She tensed her bow and fired a broadhead arrow, immediately reaching for another arrow as the first whistled in the air and landed at the mid-point of the chest of a piglet, while the second landed on the mother’s shoulder. The piglet immediately let out a wail, blood sputtering, and fell down. That’d be a quick death, with both lungs penetrated. Mother sow let out a roar of pain and stepped back, the other three piglets squealing next to her. She tensed and looked around, preparing to charge against whatever she thought was her enemy.

Alright, she had 5 more arrows, she mused. She needed a hell of a good shot to nudge mama pig to the trap she was avoiding. She had to move her to the left, but with all three of her piglets running around, this was going to be a toughie. Furthermore, the blood gushing from the dying piglet could attract bigger, meaner predators and Malari didn’t need to deal with a wild pig and something else. One piglet on her behind. One on her left. One on her right. Malari aimed an arrow and shot, landing on the right piglet’s skull. The piglet cried in pain, forcing mama pig and her babies to move to their left.

Right on cue, the trap activated and wrapped around the mother’s hind leg, making the rocks fall and the mother be lifted up in the air. The squeals were high pitched, wild with anger and pain as her hind leg broke and dislocated at the hip from the force. She frantically moved her front legs, while her two living children rushed under her still squealing.

This is the easiest part, now with 4 arrows for two piggies. She had a headache from being dehydrated and under the sun all these hours, with nothing to eat. She was annoyed by the humidity and sweat that ran over her body and she was still clutching her jaw at the nerve of her peers (which wasn’t helping the headache).Two arrows would go like the first piglet’s, and two more for momma. She had to make sure the pig was dead before approaching her. So she tensed her bow, waited for a clear shot, and released the arrow.

Cleanly, magically, in a way that almost lifted her mood, the arrow hit square in the mid point of the third piglet’s chest. Again more squeals of pain, and not before long the third piglet was dead. Their sibling got the clue that this was not a safe place and started to run away.

“NO!” Malari yelled, leaving her perch and running after it. The mother boar let out harder roars when she saw the killer of her litter, but Malari kept running after her prey. She could leave the boar up there. She wouldn’t go anywhere. She was bringing this family to her village. She knew where the piglet was going because of the rustling of leaves and squeals, but Malari’s thin legs could take her so far. She had to make him slow down.

Bow tensed, arrow ready, she stopped briefly and aimed, then shot and kept running. The arrow hit the back of the piglet’s neck, and while that did bring some blood and screams of pain, she wasn’t sure if it had made the piglet slow down. She just had to keep running. She was starting to give up hope on that pig dying until she found him passed out, a large circle of blood surrounding it. She carefully knelt down and checked for a pulse, only to find none.

Proud of herself, she picked the arrow from it, slit his throat to make sure he was dead, and grabbed the piglet’s hind leg, dragging it back to the clearing where the rest of his family was. It wasn’t hard to return, she just had to follow the trail of blood he’d left earlier, past the big root that was poking out and the trees filled with mangoes: shiny, red ones on their branches and rotting ones at their roots. She kept going until she reached the clearing with the other three dead, miraculously intact piglets and their mot-

Where is their mother

Malari’s eyes went to the leather rope of the slipnoose she’d set, only to find it empty. “Oh shit.” She whispered, “ohh shit”. She quickly collected the piglets and put them in a pile, but a deafening roar from the right made her reach for an arrow, place it on the bow and shoot automatically. The mother boar was charging at her and received the arrow on her face, but that didn’t stop her. Malari pulled out the knife she had, but then decided to make a run for the perch branch where she’d done the massacre. She wasn’t going to reach in time. She had to try anyways, the mother was dangerously close. Heart thumping at her ears, she jumped to grab the branch and let a scream when she, while climbing like a frantic monkey, felt the tusk cut the tree near her foot. She was up on her branch before the boar could try anything, but she’d be damned if she didn’t kill her.

The boar was still attacking the tree, making Malari lose balance and clutch the branch harder. This wasn’t going to help with her archery, and getting close with a hunting knife was suicidal. She had some poison darts but she didn’t feel confident enough to release her hands to prepare it, how would she hold onto the tree while the mother pig attacked? The wild sow didn’t give her much time to think, though, because one more body slam was what made Malari fall to the ground on her side. Malari didn’t think it much: she reached for the poison dart and curled in a ball in time to feel a tusk hit her square in the nose.

CRACK!

Blood gushed like a waterfall, her right side of the face felt unnaturally hot from the impact and she was pushed some feet away and the excruciating pain on her nose invaded her. She’d lost the poison dart. She scrambled to her feet and ran backwards, the boar charging again. She pulled out the blowpipe, inserted the dart and shot, aiming with her left eye since the pain told her her right side would swell up soon. The dart landed on the pig’s snout, not like Malari stopped to see. She’d scrambled again up another tree, going upwards to a higher branch. The pig rammed itself against the trunk again and again, hoping to make her children’s murderer fall. All Malari did was stop, the pain now mixing messily with anger. She was going to kill this pig, fuck damnit, and she was going to bring it and rub it in Karobor’s face. The minute the poison started to work (which wasn’t for long), the wild sow took steps back. Malari immediately dropped the branch, aiming to land on top of the pig. With a scream, she let the blade fall, vicious and with all her strength, on the back of the pig’s neck. The sow screamed and tried to run, aiming to make the huntress fall. But the Bosmer’s poison and the blade that had penetrated between two vertebrae of her cervical spine made her stagger and fall face-first. Malari flew and landed on the ground (hadn’t thought that would happen) five feet ahead. She got on her feet quickly, expecting to have to run again, but the sow didn’t seem to move.

Someone yelled what seemed to be her name nearby. She didn’t listen. She pulled out an arrow, tensed her bow with it, and approached the pig. She aimed the arrow to the pig’s heart just in case, and delicately poked the pig with her foot.

The sow didn’t move. She fired the arrow. A leg twitched, making Malari gasp and run backwards some steps, but that was it.

“Malari!”

Malari put away her bow and approached more confidently, looking for a pulse. As many times as she’d seen her grandmother make the poison, she was always marveled at how quickly and well it worked. The sow was dead. She plopped herself to the ground and let out a shaky breath, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

“Malari!”

Bo moved plants aside, entering the clearing with wide eyes.

“What’s all this?” he asked

“Isn’t it obvious?” she asked with a grin, teeth stained by the blood of her broken nose, muscles spasming from the chase and adrenaline released, four piglets and a wild sow dead and wet with sweat, half of her bun released and sticking to her skin, she was panting, “I hunted them, dummy.”

“…by yourself?”

She opened a palm and showed the clearing.

“Y’see a hunting party around here?” Bo put a hand on his hip, looking at her amazed. “Please tell me you brought your buffalos.” Malari pleaded, “I…didn’t consider really with what I’d bring back the meat. And Auki can carry only so much.”

“Yeah, I left them with Auki.” Bo gave her a half grin, “That’s gonna scar awfully.”

Malari stood up slowly and sighed, “Tell you what. I carry the piglets, tie them to Auki, and then I return to help you with…this one.” She gave it a gentle kick, “What a bitch, she gave me a fight.”

“Well, it is a wild hog.” Bo said sternly, crossing his arms as he watched Malari release the leather rope of the trap to use it to tie the piglets together, “And it’s not like you’re known to be the strongest of the village. Nor the wisest, from what I see, coming to hunt a wild pig by yourself.”

“Oh you shut up. I literally just killed a wild pig by myself and lived to tell the tale. You can nag me while I’m at the healer’s getting my busted face back to normal.” She finished tying the piglets and picked them up, heading to where she’d left her water buffalo, on the side of a river. It took them a while to drag the sow to Bo’s buffalos and another while to get to the village, where Karobor’s reaction was the sweetest thing Mal could see after that hunt. Maybe adding a middle finger to her smug smile was an overkill, but it felt just right. Karobor hasn’t joked about her hunting skills since.

#Malari #oh wow that was a writing right there #so ok this is when Malari is younger #which explains why she had such a long hair #and also the origin story of her crooked nose #which was already crooked-ish from birth #but it just healed Like That TM #Bosmer #Valenwood #tesblr #tes #in which Malari killed a wild pig out of spite #in which we know Malari excells when mad #in which Bo goes holy shit this kid isn't fucking around #also yeah Bo and her weren't married by then #she married him later #this is for Kris #get well soon Kris!!!

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cybervigilant · 5 years

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@fire-hoes -- “Ow, yeah, okay, that’s starting to hurt.”

“ You have a CASANOVA FRACTURE, ” he replied, facial features twisting in a way that spelled out uncertainty. They had to MOVE him — there was absolutely NO doubt about that — but the question of HOW kept resurfacing. The injury was of delicacy . . . one wrong move && whatever INTACT alignment he had left throughout his back was shot. && then they had a BIGGER problem on their hands. One that would surmount to UNNECESSARY && UNREASONABLE bouts of PAIN. Nevermind the fact that losing whatever remnants of CONSCIOUSNESS he had ( && he seemed to be more awake than the LAST Casanova Fracture he encountered ) weakened every minute he stood there CONTEMPLATING their next move. Nay — every minute NASH stood there pondering their next move.

Cheeks puffed as his lungs slowly inflated with air, holding it hostage as he tried to wrap his mind around the mess he’d been hastily thrown into. The initial shock of the landing had worn off, his FACE the most telling sign of the pain that had just begun SEEPING into his system, && the adrenaline that had kept him FOCUSED on getting HELP ( the uncertainty of whether he wanted it or not still playing largely in his mind ) had QUICKLY began to dissipate. What was once something deemed to be a simple TUMBLE off a roof ( simple being the word used by the dispatcher ) had quickly turned into a nightmare.

“ There’s a DEFORMITY in your heel. When you LANDED you fractured a portion of your HIP or LOWER BACK. Won’t know ‘til we get you to the hospital. But I HAVE to put you on a backboard so . . . ” CONFIDENCE in his actions oozed through the soft exhale that had expelled itself from his throat, but uncertainty in the SMOOTHNESS of the procedure held prominent within the glance shared with his Captain. THIS WAS GOING TO HURT. Not a little, not a smidge, but A LOT. The faster they could slip the backboard beneath his weight the less damage they risked inducing, but the PAIN. The same pain he felt coursing through his entire being every time he took a breath — the burning that ripped through his back every time he THOUGHT about moving — THAT was what was going to make this difficult. People tended to squirm away from discomfort — an involuntary response to SURVIVE without misery cascading through their system — && it made things like THIS dangerous. Something as simple as a MOVEMENT turned into a CHALLENGE which is why, as a final breath broke free from his lips, he began again. “ . . . this is going to hurt A LOT more. I’m gonna need you take a breath && try NOT to move. ”

The only reason he probably was still conscious was the morphine coursing through his veins still. He’d taken his hit two hours ago but it’d be in his system for 2-4 more. He had this shit down like a science by this point. 3 miligrams exactly, followed by Suboxone later to counteract any withdrawal symptoms. His perfect system. Most days it helped him convince himself he wasn’t an addict but part of him, somewhere in the back of his mind, told him he should probably tell these people that. Another part didn’t feel like speaking. Too focused on the pain ebbing up his back in sharp pangs to steady hurt. Elliot’s head turned a bit before hands gripped at the sides of his head to keep him still, some Korean guy. Instinctually, Elliot flinched a bit at the contact, eyes widening as he fought the desire to pull away from the contact. In any other situation he would have asked the person simply to not touch him but this wasn’t one of those times. From what he could see, he hadn’t fallen to the ground but a lower rooftop. This team must have climbed up here? The guy standing over him must be in charge, he had that look about him.

Casanova fracture. “That doesn’t sound like a real thing,” he commented dryly to Buck, face pinching in pain as Chimney carefully felt at the base of his skull and up the back of his head, making sure he kept Elliot’s position. Gray eyes closed and fluttered open as he tried to regain focus on his soundings.

𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚖 𝙸? 𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝙸 𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎? 𝙳𝚘 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛? 𝙲𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗?

As usual, his silent observer never responded. It was always a one side conversation but he still found comfort in it. Not much comfort right now with the pain he was experiencing. Elliot’s eyes had started to water a bit and his jaw clenched down with a groan as he shut his eyes again. He thought he was clenching his fists but he wasn’t sure if they actually were. Maybe a bit. Breathe and don’t move. Breathe and don’t move. He could do that, right? 𝚂𝚑𝚒𝚝. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚜. “Okay. I’ll try.”

#injury cw #rp #fire-hoes

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kyberled · 7 years

Note

☯ for... the civilian casualty that dies in braig's arms

Send me ‘☯ + a scene from my characters canon’ and I will drabble it from my character’s POV. || Accepting

There have been many, but the first had stuck the longest.

He wasn’t sure why; Perhaps it was because that was the moment that the gravity of the war had realised itself. He had seen soldiers die, and other Jedi, and he had mourned them, of course, grieved as much as a Jedi was allowed to, on the battlefield, and off of it, too, if he’d been close enough to whoever had passed.

But, there was something different, something wrong, about having a civilian be the victim.

It was far worse when the victim was a child.

He’d seen death before, but he’d never seen it in one so young.

It had been an easy battle, as far as battles went, and Braig had made it out with only minor damage. A few scrapes here, a bruise there, bloody knuckles on his left hand, the burn of exhaustion settled stubbornly in his muscles, but that was to be expected. There had been a few losses in their numbers, and Braig could see some of the men already slowing down, heads bowing and shoulders drooping as they began to mourn their fallen brothers. He decided to give them their space as he and those soldiers who were in better shape continued sweeping the village, just to be sure. The village was supposed to be abandoned, but there had been times they’d found stragglers, and, even worse, surviving battle droids. A careful search now would save lives and time, later.

It had been a while, maybe up to half an hour, before the Force gave an uncomfortable twinge. It wasn’t a droid, and it wasn’t nearly dark nor powerful enough to belong to Count Dooku or Ventress, and so he spared only the slightest glance to the men, making sure to not to stray too far in his investigations, and picked his way over the rubble.

He would remember little of the moments leading up to his morbid discovery. The streets were dusty, silent and dead aside from the somewhat muffled sounds of the men from behind him. The sandstone walls were painted black with ash, and, as he paused to look around the street, he rested his hand against the doorway of a mostly-intact house. When he pulled his hand away, a pale orange hand print was left in its wake. He let his hand fall to his side. Upon noticing the hand print, he glanced down at his palm, scowled at the soot-stained mess that greeted him, and wiped it off on his tunic.

It didn’t help much.

A soft sigh breached his lips as he walked, wiping his hand down his face, pausing just long enough to make sure that it wasn’t the dirty one, then closing his eyes. The disturbance in the Force was close, enough to cause an ache in his skull that he tried to rub out with the heels of his palms. It didn’t work, only serving to leave smudges on his forehead. He took a deep breath to steady himself, letting air tasting of road-dust and fading blaster fire spill over his tongue and into his lungs. Opening his eyes, he crept forward slowly, hands resting on the saber hilts strapped to his hips. The charred remains of wooden beams crunched under his feet as he walked, blackened splinters sticking to the soft leather of his boots. The faint breeze blew towards him the sent of ashes, and… Cooked meat?

His brow furrowed in confusion as he stepped into what appeared to be the remains of an empty room. The stone walls reached only to his belt at highest, cut across in an uneven line that reminded him of a predator’s teeth, and boxed in the room except for the gaps where explosions had caved them in. The ashen coating on the walls was identical to that on the floor, slashed through by the wind and driven into piles that were scattered across the room. The smell was almost overpowering here, a barbecue that had been left on too long, mixed with the reek of fear and something that was sickly-sweet, almost like bile but different, and Braig wrinkled his nose. He didn’t like that smell. He pulled his scarf over his face in an attempt to filter the scent to a less suffocating level. The pain in the Force was even worse, and yet he just couldn’t tell what it was coming from. He toed at one of the piles closest to him, brow furrowing as the heap fell away, revealing only the remains of some sort of furniture buried underneath. He exhaled softly, head tilting to the side and brow furrowing, before moving to the next pile. He regarded it for a moment before crouching down. Was it this one? No, no, it was still coming from a ways away… He frowned at the pile, then turned his head to survey his surroundings. It looked like there were just more heaps of ash… Until one of them moved.

The breath caught in his throat as his eyes focused on the source of the discomfort. Blackened and disfigured, coated in a layer of grey ash, it was almost indistinguishable from the rest of the terrain. The only reason it- they? - was - were? - at all visible was because its, or their, shifting had dislodged the coating of ash that had buried it, or…

Braig stood slowly, almost clumsily, moving the few steps to take him to the burned thing’s side before falling to his knees in a cloud of grey. The cooked-meat smell was overpowering here, and he absently tugged the useless scarf off of his slack-jawed face.

Their skin was charred black, cracked through with bloody lines like raw lava across a ravaged landscape, with too-thin limbs like gnarled tree branches, warped and distorted by heat and pasted to the filthy ground by dried gore and melted flesh. It was only by the whistling attempts for breath that he even knew they were still alive. The Force was a maelstrom of sensations, pain and fear and confusion and the slightly muted sensations of the men a ways away, mixing with his own stuttering heart and soft breaths, and he had to throw up a shield to avoid being overwhelmed by it all.

He had been staring at her face- The Force was definitely saying it was a ‘her’ - for a full ten seconds before the scraps of information quilted themselves together into what little the heat of war had left behind. A single eye stared up at him, sclera seared a bloodshot red as a milky pupil flitted anxiously back and forth, as though tracking the movements of a particularly erratic fly. In spite of himself, Braig searched the Force for what she couldn’t possibly be seeing. The rush of agony that slammed into him had him throwing his shields up even as his vision blurred. Her breathing stuttered, and he glanced to the cavernous remains of what had been her nose. A flap of blistered skin had fallen over half of it, and each laboured breath seemed like it might cause her to inhale it. He was tempted to wipe it away, and nearly did so, but caught himself, stopping his hand half-way. He didn’t want to hurt her… His eyes wandered over the horrific grin left behind from where lips had boiled and bubbled and melted away, and only one thought crossed his mind.

She shouldn’t be alive.

“I need a medic,” he mumbled, turning slightly, before snapping out of whatever trance had taken hold of him. “I need a medic!” He was shouting, now, turned as best he could without standing, one hand supporting his weight against the ash-coated ground.

(He tried not to think about how much of the grey had once been a part of the dying youngling in front of him.)

The comm on his wrist pinged suddenly, and he jumped, eyes darting to the blinking green light before he answered and was flooded by an onslaught of voices.

“Sir, are you okay?!” That was the first sentence he was able to pick out, and it was being repeated over and over.

“I’m fine, guys, I just– It’s a civilian, send a medic, quickly!” He stopped listening to the chatter entirely, not even bothering to shut the little device off. His hands hovered over her for only a moment before the Force glowed at his palms. In spite of his increasingly frantic efforts, she was fading away. He could only assume that the damage had already been done - that he’d gotten there too late. The slurry of negative emotions still poisoned the Force around her, the fear, the confusion, those were still there, but they were overpowered by a sense of utter loneliness.

Did she even know that he was there? Or, did she think that she was alone in her final moments?

He swallowed hard, then carefully worked his hands under her body. Lifting her into his arms had been meant to comfort, but the pained whine that broke past her soot-stained teeth lanced guilt through his heart. He almost put her back down, but her hands twitched and he felt a sliver of- Relief? through the Force.

For one brief, eternal moment, her eye locked on his, as though she could see him - but no, she couldn’t possibly - and he met her gaze, and time seemed to stretch out for years within the span of one rancid breath, and then there was a shudder in the Force and the temperature around them seemed to drop, and then she fell limp and still in his arms (Force, she was small, so small, she fit in his arms perfectly why had she been left here) and the chaos that had been clouding the Force vanished, even when he hesitantly lowered his shields.

She was gone, and he was alone.

He sat there, staring down at her for so long (he wouldn’t remember the moments leading up to his discovery, but he would remember that mangled face for so long, so long, too long) and it was only by the ping of his commlink that he was able to tear his eyes away.

“We’re nearly there, sir, just hang on!”

Braig did his best to raise his arm to his face without dropping her (he wasn’t sure why he was bothering).

“Cancel that order.” That was his voice speaking, but he wasn’t aware of having formed the words.

“What?” The voice over the comm sounded shocked; Braig was quite sure he was much the same, though his voice didn’t convey nearly as much emotion, was far too hollow for that.

“There’s no point,” it was on the final syllable that his voice broke, and he had to swallow a lump of bile or tears or both that was building in the back of his throat. “Save the supplies.” He stood, then, walking on numbed legs as he held the charred body against his chest, eyes staring unseeing at the ground in front of him. He stumbled once, didn’t notice, kept going. Someone would take the body from him, and he looked up, but didn’t process who it was, only nodded at the drone of sound that was probably a question, probably asking if he was alright, and crossed his arms tightly over his chest, trying to ignore how damp his sleeves felt, how a coppery stickiness had seeped through the fabric and settled itself around his forearms.

He didn’t realise he was shaking.

All he could think of was that horrid face, and the last look he had shared with that blind, milky-white eye.

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mythopoeticursa · 5 years

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This is a short borderlands thing for my character Clawtooth I guess. Idk if this’ll really land for people but eh I’m living my life.

I’m writing on mobile so I can’t put it under a cut sorry, I’ll tag it as a long post though. Also it’s a bit violent and graphic so sorry.

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24601.

The desert sun loomed over, crushing him with its oppressive rays. The heat rising from dust, rock, and sand dizzied his eyes. He was near collapsing and crawling, but he limped on, clutching his starved stomach as it roared and ached. His lips, his tongue, his throat all felt as dry as the sand beneath his broken, tattered boots.

Dahl Private Code Number 24-60-1 couldn’t remember how long he had been wandering the Pandoran desert, scraping through piles of garbage and feces for food and drink as he went. All he could remember from before his weeks wandering was the news that Dahl would be pulling its hand out of Pandora’s lands and ruins, then the confiscation of his standard rifle. When the prisoners broke out from the mines, and the ships took off at the space port, Dahl Private 24-60-1 knew he had been abandoned by his superiors on this shithole planet and he’d never make it home again.

The rocks underfoot grew unsteady as he limped under the tall, dusty bluffs. The scraping of his boots against the rocks filled the quiet air, and with a cry, the tattered leather caught against a loose rock strewn haphazardly on the earth, sending 24601 down into the dust. Groaning, he lied on his back, staring up at the desert sun. Despite his large size, tall height and strained muscle, seeing the bluffs overhead and the sun above, he felt so small, insignificant.

His eyes grew fixated, staring up at the sun as it rolled, beaming overhead. He watched it tick, tick, tick, through the sky, reminiscent of the clocks he would stare at in the bunkers when waiting to take his shift down at the Eridian quarries. How had he not noticed the shift of the sun, the dusty clouds floating in the sky, a natural clock? Did nature always look that way? Was it always a ticking, natural, flowing machine of its own design?

A low growl and sniff took 24601 out of his dreaming of the sky. His head rolled to the side, and his eyes locked with the giant beast sniffing his outstretched arm. A dog with leathery, armored skin drooled over his arm, it’s mouth unhinging in its three-lipped opening. The head lowered to his arm, hissing low, ready to feast. For a moment, 24601 was suspended there, watching, wondering if this is all he was meant to be. Some dog food, food for the beast he was told was a skag.

The jaws of the skag beast clamped down on his arm, teeth plunging into his flesh, and he gasped. 24601 tensed, bracing his muscles, and staring into the beast’s eyes, he had never felt so clear in his head since he arrived on Pandora at age sixteen, something that felt like ages ago rather than a few short years. 24601’s free hand extended, going directly to where he knew he could go to survive. His fingers gripped the eye of the skag, burying into the wet muscle, and pulled it clean out, skag blood spurting onto his face.

The skag recoiled, roaring. It’s hulking muscle tensed and twitched, the beast’s eye leaking and oozing blood as it stared with its one glowing eye. The beast roared, mouth dripping red with 24601’s blood. The Dahl Private looked down at his arm, judging its condition. He felt surprisingly calm at the sight of torn, ribbon flesh, blood dribbling from multiple puncture holes. Uncertain, he thought he could even see a bit of muscle and bone deep in one of the holes. Looking back up at the skag, he realized that it was as big as he was, if not exceeding in mass with the armored dome on its back. Staring each other down, 24601 felt he was staring death itself in the eye, and already filt its chilling hand gripping his heart.

The skag roared and leapt at him, and the Dahl Private leaned back and attempted to evade the hulking mass. The claws scraped 24601’s chest, ripping the matted uniform and spraying light flecks of blood into the dust and sand. 24601 did not cry out, merely winced as he landed on his back with the skag above him, roaring and drooling onto his face. With a desperate flail, the Private managed to fling his hand up onto the beast’s face, and out came the other skag eye in a spurt of blood and acid. The beast wailed and shook on its feet, and 24601 raised his legs up and kicked his heel into the soft underbelly of the great monster. The skag trembled and collapsed on its side, writhing and attempting to get back on its feet. The beast was managing to get all four monstrous paws on the rocks below it as 24601 began to heave up a large stone that had cracked from its fall from the bluff’s cliffface nearby.

24601 felt his arms wobble as he raised the boulder above his head, muscles straining and screaming in protest against the weight he carried. He stared down at the cowering skag, blinded and bruised in its weakest points, and for a moment he felt pity. But when the skag gurgled and squealed again with its hideous rumbles, he could only feel disgust. The boulder slammed down, echoing the crunch and splatter along the desert and canyon as the armor, skull, and insides of the skag collapsed in on itself under the boulder. The body twitched and rolled, as if for a moment suspended with life without a head intact, then laid still in the bloody dust.

24601 stared on at the heaping body before dropping to his knees before it. Without question, without thought, he grasped a sharp rock beside him and used it as a fine tool to carve open the skag. He devoured and engorged, his starving body relishing in the raw and bloody meal he partook. Blood and juice from the meat slathered his tongue and throat, tasting like the cleanest water he’d had since arriving on this awful planet. Coated in skag bile, he rejoiced in the feast.

As his belly began to feel full, fuller than he’d ever felt, he heard a rumble and scratching near him. Turning his head, 24601 saw that he was surrounded completely by skags. All the dogs were smaller, cowering and sniffing, watching him. It only struck him after he looked on for a few minutes that this skag he killed must have been their leader, the father of the pack, and here he was, gluttoning himself on the carcass in front of its children.

The skags watched him with as much silence as a dog could muster, until one of the smallest, a mere pup, approached. It sniffed 24601, confused by the skag-human mix of smells. It licked his wounded arm, lapping up the ribbony flesh that hung off it. 24601 watched the dog as it licked and eventually sat beside him. It stared on, expectantly, waiting for something. The Private glanced from the skag to the partially eaten remains of its leader. Gently, slowly, he offered the chunk of flesh he had consumed to the pup. The small dog bit at his hand instantly, scooping up the meat with its grotesque jaws. 24601 flinched back, but saw that not a mark had been made on his hand. More skags took this as a good sign, and approached the remains of their leader, and each began to feast themselves.

24601 watched, and after a time, began to feel comfortable with these smaller skags. A few sat beside him, sniffing him, sensing his determination to survive and choosing not to try and make him falter. They watched him carefully, but an understanding came to both parties, and somehow. 24601 knew he wouldn’t be rid of this pack by simply walking away. He killed their leader and stood strong amongst those remaining in their family, and that meant he’d show their family how to survive as much as they’d show him.

Looking down at the body of the skag, which was less dog than bone now, he picked up one of its great paws, nearly as big as his head. With the sharp rock he had used to cut open its leathery belly, 24601 cut out two of the large claws that stuck out of the deceased paw. Setting them down by his legs, 24601 looked at each skag, demanding its attention. The beasts all stopped, tense, watching him. Waiting to see what their alpha would do.

24601 raised the rock up to his mouth, pulling back his lips. With great effort, and not without tears and cries of pain, the Dahl Private broke free two of his own teeth, sending them to the desert sand below him. Blood dripped from his mouth, and the pain was severe, but the soldier could not cry. He picked up the skag claws, and with great care, wedged them into the spots he removed his teeth. With the rock, he hammered them into place, crying out in an ugly scream with each hit, until eventually the claws were in tight, fixated. They pushed past his lips and stuck clear out of his mouth, preventing him from completely closing his lips. The skags all stared, seemingly in awe at 24601.

Finally, he stood. Looking at each skag, he grunted low, as he was in too much pain to speak, let alone the blood dripping from his lips. And he knew with beasts like these, human language was the last thing he needed. The skags all stood as one, and watched him with an eagerness that 24601 had never seen from any of the soldiers he had worked beside for 3 years. Looking down at his uniform, he felt somehow disgusted by the serial number and the Dahl logo gleaming back at him. He tore the ruined shirt from his body, dropped it in the carcass of the skag, and grunted to the rest. He announced, without words, that he would abandon his number, his past. He was stuck on Pandora, and 24-60-1 would get him nowhere. Now he had a pack, a loyal one, and he wouldn’t just survive. He was going to thrive.

Through the Pandora desert, Clawtooth and his pack marched on.

#borderlands #borderlands oc #writing #long post #graphic #violence #clawtooth

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serenitydusk · 6 years

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Safe

Here’s a fic based off an rp between Dusk (my female OC) and @darkipliersjournal, also featuring @wilfordsdiary, and a quote “I could keep you safe. They’re all afraid of me.” Enjoy.

Opening a portal, she fled. She was not afraid to stand and fight, but she knew when she left, they would follow. To linger and fight would only bring more suffering on the innocent. She held a picture of home in her mind, seeing every detail as though she stood there, smelling the flowers that bloomed in her garden, feeling the cool air of her forest home, hearing the wind sing through the trees, tasting the sharp, bittersweet tang of the herbs that hung drying in her work room. With those firmly locked in her mind, stepped into the portal, grabbed the winds and rode.

And fell.

Dusk felt the moment her power gave out and she could no longer ride the winds that carried her in the In Between. They slipped through her grasping, panicking fingers as she plunged into darkness. She tried to at least guide where she would land as she ripped through the In Between, but it was like sailing in a hurricane. Her breath was knocked out of her when she did finally land, skidding across the ground until she came to a stop beneath a bent and gnarled tree. Lying there panting, she finally was able to scoot over to it, using it to pull herself up to seated position and lean her back against it. Every breath was agony and her head throbbed. She didn’t know how long she rested against the tree, eyes closed, trying to breathe through the pain, but she knew she had to find some place safe and soon. Looking down at her body, she saw mostly cuts and bruises, some bad, but none debilitating. No broken bones, but her ribs had taken a beating when she fell. Her powers, however, were weakened. She could still feel a faint spark, trying to heal the worst injuries. Eventually with time and rest, they would be restored, but right now, she couldn’t even open a portal, let alone ride the winds. She was trapped.

Turning a slow circle, she tried to decide which way to go. The landscape was shrouded in a thick fog, obscuring landmarks, while the sky was dimly lit by the sliver of silver. She had no landmark to guide her, and no place to go if she did. She closed her eyes in a moment of despair. Letting it wash over her, she grimly set one foot in front of the other and began to walk.

He found where she had arrived, her scent and blood still marking the land in a shallow trench leading to the base of a tree. Following her path, he felt her presence as he grew closer. Her normally calm demeanor was riddled with pain and he tasted her despair, bitter and hot. His jaw clenched, no small part in anger, but also as the delicious taste of her pain and despair rolled over him. Shuddering as images broke and distorted around him, he cracks his neck and reins them in until they are just a jittering blue and red outline, barely visible from his form. As a rule, he didn’t indulge in the suffering of those considered… He paused in his thoughts. Had Dusk managed to worm her way into a friendship? Grimacing, that was something to ponder another time. Regardless, he had grown accustom to their conversations. For now, he preferred her mind and spirit intact.

Shadows speared through Its chest, flinging gore and ichor everywhere. The surprise on its face would have been amusing, if Dusk hadn’t been fighting to remain standing. Revenants were relentless, but not very bright. Ignoring Dark has been their undoing. The shadows recoiled, slithering back to Dark and vanishing.

“They won’t find you. I’ve made an example out of the last creatures they sent. They won’t be back.” He looked away and out the window, “But if they do, I can make my message louder, if need be.” There was something about the way he said the words, devoid of anything remotely benevolent, that sent ice sliding down her spine.

“Keep me?” her voice grew low and cold. Fissions of heat shimmer formed around her body, the faintest lavender.

“She’s not a pet, Wilford.” Dark smirked as Dusk’s eyes narrow. He’d noticed the strange shimmer radiating off her. This is new, he thought.