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rikalovesrice · 3 years

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Douxie x Reader (#2) - About You!/Remarkable

Reader : Has a difficult home life. You live in the shadow of your popular, straight-A, athletic older sister and often go unnoticed by your parents. You wonder if there’s more to your life, if you’ll ever be more than a forgotten child. If you’ll ever be more than what your parents see you as, what your sister sees you as...what everyone seem to see you as : Unremarkable.

Then....You meet Hisirdoux Casperan. And one night when you were particularly upset with things at home, you went for a late night stroll and saw him...You discovered that things definitely aren’t as they seem.

And, well....The rest is history!

You’re a pizza delivery girl part-time, often using your scooter after hours and not damaging it at all to assist Douxie, Archie, and Zoe in their late night hunts. You allowed Douxie to take it for a spin one night. Yea, never again. (Explaining all the damage to your manager was a nightmare like Douxie can’t drive anything except a magic ship)

You carry your dad’s old metal baseball bat for good measure (cause, you know, you’re not a freaking wizard).

And so.....

- After dropping off your last pizza, you check the time on your phone. It’s about an hour before Douxie’s shift as Benoit’s ends. You’ve made it a small tradition to hang out there until it’s time to roll. So you cruise over, park your scooter, and head inside, one server already starting to make your usual. You greet everyone kindly as you take a seat on the couch.

- Douxie backs out of the kitchen door with trays full of food and milkshakes. As always, he acknowledges you with a smile. And as always, your heart skips a beat.

- You pass the time by reading a novel you got from Arcane Books, sipping on your hazelnut latte made with almond milk. You feel a light tap on your head and look up from your book to see Douxie leaning his arms on the back of the couch. They’re about to start shutting it down so Doux is gonna start cleaning. You lend a hand, picking up trash wherever you see it.

- For good reason, Douxie allows himself to be the last to leave the cafe every night. You’re texting Zoe when one of Douxie’s co-workers, putting on his jacket to leave, speaks to you.

- “So how long have you guys been dating?”

- Your fingers freeze and you look up, confused. “Um...Dating? Who’s dating?”

- “Uh, you and Doux? You’re always comin’ in and waiting for him, aren’t ya?”

- You hope the co-worker can’t see the heat blossoming across your cheeks. You honestly hadn’t thought about how this looks, you coming in here every night for past week or so and staying until closing. Always leaving with Douxie like...

- “N-no! It’s not like that. We’re just friends.” You hope you sound convincing because it’s true. “Us and two other friends like hanging out after work, is all. Nothing else!”

- There’s a small pang in your heart but you quickly sweep it aside.

- “What are you talking about?” Douxie walks over, looking ready to head out for the night.

- “Uh, n-nothing!” you say, smiling through the awkwardness. Feeling and ignoring the co-worker’s suspicious gaze, you stand up and move to Douxie’s side. “Um, ready to go?”

- “Um...Yea.” Douxie’s a bit perturbed, noticing that you’re flustered as you brush past him and hurry out the door.

- Making the coast is clear, you two round the cafe and head into the near pitch darkness of the alley. Douxie secures his bracelet and wills a ball of blue light to form in his palm, bathing the alleyway in soft light. You retrieve your dad’s baseball bat from behind a trashcan. At the concrete back of various shops, where rows of alleyways converge, Zoe and Archie are waiting.

- You give Zoe a hug and Archie a couple scratches behind his ears.

- The typical arrangement : You drive, Zoe’s tiny self sits on the pizza box behind you, and Douxie rides on Archie, who’s shapeshifted into a horse.

- It’s quiet. Way too quiet. And then, before Zoe can finish yelling your name, something slams into the scooter. You nearly bang your head on the wall as you’re thrown out of your seat and onto the ground. Zoe’s already back on her feet, volts of pink lightning sparking between her fingers.

- You slowly but purposefully get back on your feet, groaning and your head spinning, and set the scooter back upright. Douxie and Archie, now a dragon, are in front of you, shielding you from the threat.

- You hear the bone-chilling sound of congested snarls, wheezing, and clicks. Under the glow of magic, you see the faint shape of white, cloudy, veiny eyes like the undead. Thick dribble oozing from a wide, crooked mouth crowded with rows of needle-like teeth. Claws like icicles for fingers. A tail thicker than your entire body thrashing against the ground so hard you feel your bones tremble. You wonder why the creatures seems to be getting louder. And then, to your horror as you look to the side, you realize there’s two of them.

- “Ghouls...,” Douxie says, the word shaking and breathy, laced with terror. The runes circling Douxie’s bracelet glow brighter. “(Name), you need to get out of here. Now.”

- “Wait, what? No, I’m not leaving you guys!” You take hold of your bat.

- “You don’t understand, (Name),” Zoe says, sounding just as grim. “These are ghouls. And all they want is human fle-”

- The ghouls lurch forward, bashing their disfigured faces into a blue barrier of Douxie’s magic. They rake violently at the barrier and their mouths snap wildly, spit flying, growling and gurgling.

- “Go, (Name)!!” The force and urgency of Douxie’s voice coupled with how hideous and frightening the ghouls really are have you mounting back on your scooter and taking off in the opposite direction. “Go with her, Arch! Keep her safe!”

- The barrier breaks and the ghouls begin to clamber after you. Douxie isn’t having any of that and he quickly subdues one with a rope of magic, engulfing the monster in blue flames for good measure. Zoe surges forward, pink electricity flaring around her, and zaps the second ghoul into submission.

- Archie’s flying beside you. “What’s going on? What are those things?” You’d seen plenty of scary monsters now but those abominations were a whole other level of horrifying.

- “Ghouls,” Archie says, anxiously looking back. “They consume and crave human flesh and only human flesh. We must get you to safety!”

- You felt your insides turn to ice. Two adults and one teenage boy had mysteriously and recently disappeared without a trace. Nothing left of them except splatters of their blood. And as the fear of being the next victim crawled under your skin, you screeched to a stop as something leapt from above, landing heavily in front of you. The terror spikes tenfold. A third one.

- Archie immediately goes on the offense, blasting the ghoul with fire before shapeshifting into a bear, tackling the foul creature. “You must go, (Name)!” Archie claws the ghoul in the face. It retaliates with its teeth, biting Archie in the shoulder.

- You speed your scooter past the scuffle. But hearing Archie’s pained cries, you heart clenches and you know you can’t leave him. The ghoul has Archie pinned to the ground, mouth still latched onto and claws raining down on him.

- “Stop it!” you screech, head pulsing wildly with adrenaline as you rush the ghoul with your bat, swinging as hard as you can into its head. It’s enough for the thing to reel back and let Archie go. And definitely enough to make it angrier. Your stomach plummets when it turns its attention to you, but you stand your ground, brandishing your bat. “Leave Archie alone! It’s me you want!!”

- The ghoul howls and goes for you. You don’t know what’s happening. Somehow, you manage to avoid the first couple of swings of its claws. The next things you know, you’re on your side on the ground, your right arm suddenly wet and warm. There’s horrible ringing in your ears. The world is spinning. In fact, you almost don’t even notice the ghoul above you opening its mouth wide, ready to finish you off. Then there’s fire. Fire and fire and fire. It just keeps going and the ghoul tumbles away from you, writhing and yowling.

- An exhausted Archie shapeshifts back to his smaller dragon form and hovers over you. “(Name)...! Oh no...Oh no!” Archie nuzzles your face. You moan, trying to turn over but Archie carefully lays a paw on you. “Don’t move, (Name). You’re...You’re badly injured...”

- “So...are...you...M’sorry...” You can’t really hear yourself. Lacerations are evident by patches of wet, sticky fur. There’s a cut over one of Archie’s eyes. You black out for a second. And when you wake up again, you’re in someone’s arms. A black sweatshirt against your cheek. A skull necklace. The smell of old paper and cats and burnt cloves.

“(Name)...,” Douxie says, cupping your cheek, his golden eyes wide and swimming. “(Name), you’re going to be alright. I’ve got you...I’ve got you.”

- For some reason, as soon as you register Douxie’s face, your eyes burn with tears.

- “M’sorry....I’m sorry....I...I...” You couldn’t do anything. You got in the way. What were you even thinking? Idiot. Useless. Just...useless as always.

- “Shhh, love,” Douxie whispers, brushing hair out of your face. “It’s alright. Hold still for me.” His bracelet glows and magic swirls around his hand. Douxie murmurs an incantation, touching his fingertips to your head, then to your arm. You sigh in relief as the pain begins to lessen, relaxing further into Douxie’s arms, your head lolling against his chest.

- Douxie grips you closer to himself. “I’m sorry...I’m sorry. I couldn’t...” Seeing you in this state, he’s reminded in one second centuries of loss. Of bloodshed and violence. Of people fading, drifting away right in front of him. And now you....

- “She’ll be fine, Doux,” Zoe says, resting a hand on his shoulder. “This...This isn’t anyone’s fault. It’s not your fault.”

- “I’m sorry,” Archie says. “I couldn’t protect her...”

- “No, Arch, you saved her,” Douxie says, finishing his healing spell. Douxie holds you closer still. He doesn’t quite understand the squeeze in his heart looking at your sleeping face. You’re so frail. So small in his arms. So, so vulnerable to the dangers lurking in Arcadia compared to himself and Zoe and Archie. And yet...

- “She just about gave her life for me,” Archie whispers, pressing his nose against your temple.

- “You’re so strong,” Douxie whispers above you. “So...remarkable. And you don’t even know it.” Douxie lifts you up, cradling you close. “Let’s get her home.”

Aaaaaaand you decide to take a break from the hunts. Because you’re feeling low and worthless, and also cause Douxie’s worried sick. But after getting into an argument with your materialistic, vain, and conceited sister, you rush out into the night, baseball bat in hand, and end up bashing a monster in the face. Because you don’t want to be like her, even if you feel worthless.

- “(Name)?!” Douxie says, rushing over to you, already scared for your safety. “W-what are you doing? Are you sure you want to -”

- “It’s okay,” you say, meeting Douxie’s eyes. “I know...I know I can’t do much. But I can at least do this!” You swing at a monster just as it jumps at Douxie’s back, sending it sprawling. Huffing and puffing, you manage a smile. “I’ll do this... with you.”

And Douxie knows you will. He knows you can.

He knows, he sees, how remarkable you truly are.

#spellcasterdouxie's gifs are the BEST #okay yea this was really long #I may as well write a fic at this point lol #I hope this wasn't horrible #writing is haaaaard but i try #Douxie being a worried and protective boi #the best wizard boi #The idea was that ghouls would go for your flesh over Doux's or Zoe's since you're a human-human #So yea they zeroed in on ya #Archie's also the best boi #I have a headcanon that shapeshifting into a larger dragon is difficult for him #Hence why he doesn't do it right away #These are fun though #Love imagining Douxie being a precious oblivious boyfriend #what a sweetie #I wanted Douxie and Reader to share the hardships of feeling unappreciated and not good enough #It's cute cause they both see the greatness in each other #ahhhhh #BURNT CLOVES #tales of arcadia #douxie x reader #hisirdoux casperan #toa zoe #toa archie #toa wizards #Whatever you do don't think about all the loss and pain and suffering Douxie's had to endure for the past 900 years #What its done to his mental health and how he had to learn how to cope with it but it's still so hard for him at times and -#Love how relatable Douxie is in so many ways #it's a slow burrrrrrnnnn #Douxie has Adrien Agreste levels of obliviousness I swear

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torchstelechos · 5 years

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Hey Hey, I see your Jake Coolice is the *insert Yeti, Dragon, Jack Frost, other snow creatures* but what if he was a Church Grim? They are usually big black dogs that protect a churchyard from thieves, vandals, witches, warlocks, and the Devil himself. They are also known to ring a bell when someone is going to die. To get a Church Grim for your church you have to bury a dog in the foundation, and it will guard it for as long as the foundation stands.

So please consider a young teen finding the Amnesty Lodge and becoming friends with the people around and in it before tragically dying in an abomination attack(Or a misunderstanding with a new exiled individual), they have to bury him at Amnesty and they hold a funeral for him. Everyone goes to bed that night crying, wishing that he still lived. The next morning he is there at the door, changed. Instead of a human appearance he changed into a white wolf humanoid form and can’t quite speak. Everyone is in tears, he’s alive but at what cost to himself? This kind selfless human that had so many years ahead of him, that became the exiled’s friend at the cost of his life. Now he can’t ever go to his home, his family, his friends that would recognize him. They give him a human appearance but its different, his hair that had once been dirty blonde is now a pastel yellow(Almost white) and his eyes are now a piercing blue that had once been a warm hazel, his teeth are sharper and his nails longer.

So he stays, he stays at Amnesty and mourns for his old life. He can no longer go into town and he lives just as long as any other individual from the lodge, he mourns and mourns. But as years go by he starts to grow into his old self, but always different. Instead of his need to bake and paint, he can’t sit still or pay enough attention for that, so he gets a need for speed and doing anything. He learns to ski and snowboard but he also learns how to use his new powers, to find the people who are going to die, to pinpoint anyone who wishes the lodge harm, to find the thieves, the magic users, and abominations that dare to hide among his own. He guards the lodge with his (undead)life.

The Stunt group he finds is something outside it all, he can be someone else just for as long as he hangs with them. Hollis and Keith are the ones who pulled him in, when they saw him do a flip that would kill any normal person(good thing hes not). So he smiles and his heart grows, he learns how to grow past the mourning, how to just smile for once instead of grimace. They hang, they have picnics, he’s there when Hollis learns about their pronouns for the first time, hes there for everyone. But when they start getting angry he can’t help but feel dread, “they aren’t going to sit down and take it, they’re gonna fight it” he hears them say and his veins become ice. He tells them he doesn’t support this, he can’t be apart of the now proclaimed Hornets, and he gets punched. The rings on the hand of Keith rips across his face, its going to scar for a long time. A constant reminder that his friends that taught him to smile are going to be just bitter memories and cold glares. So he goes back to the lodge, but he continues to smile and go snowboarding because for all the bad he still has good memories of them.

He is not the oldest member, but he is older than Mama, Barclay didn’t join until afterwards, everyone at the lodge is either not there for when he first appeared or keeps what he is a secret. He hates his Insomnia, when he needs to go to a bell in the lodge at midnight to ring it to announce a death. He is aware when Aubrey comes into the lodge that she is a magic user, he is aware that Ned is a thief, and he knows that Duck is more than he appears(Old friends great great great grandchild, oh how he will guard the Newton family with his life), He knows everything about everyone in the lodge. And yet he continues to smile and ignore everything that could set off an alarm bell, he is still the friendly human he was before he died(And oh that stings to say). But now he is also the guard, and when the Hornets appeared and took over, he sat up and paid attention.

(Any way, that’s my thought on Jake Coolice as a Church Grim but if its like, sketchy or ignorant in some way please tell me. I get confused on what counts a cryptid and what counts as culturally creatures.)

#The Adventure Zone #TAZ #Jake Coolice #Idea #Headcanon #cause Griffin has come into my house and slapped me before so why not now

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fullmetalcarer · 7 years

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Lips as Red as Blood - part 4

Now in the far north of the land, where perpetual snows made an unwritten page of the landscape and the trees snapped in twain under their burden of white and great rivers of ice flowed from the mountains to the valleys, there dwelt a powerful sorcerer named Shaw.

He hated the fae, for their powers rivalled his own and he would brook no equal. He took as servants those who had been touched by the fae and taught them their gifts were a curse and that they should hate the fae who had so cursed them.

His greatest servant was Erik the Hunter. Shaw had brought up Erik from a child and had often told him how the fae had slaughtered his parents and gifted, or rather, cursed him as a grim jest. Erik's curse was to know the mind of metal and bend it to his will. He felt the currents that moved the compass needle and could change their course. Iron answered most readily to his call. It took many years of harsh training before he could master other metals, but now, in his twenty third year, all bowed to his command. Gold like sunlight, silver like the moon, copper like the bright leaves of autumn, steel like spring rain and iron like thunderheads; he was liege lord to them all.

Shaw was a stern master, but Erik owed him his life and and living and felt bound to him. Sometimes he dreamed of another life. A workshop where he created beautiful things of metal. A cottage with a vegetable patch and flower beds. Children who called him father and laughed in play and cried at scraped knees, who he could protect and love. No wife though, for Erik was doubly cursed. His thoughts of love turned not to women, as was natural, but to men, an abomination in the eyes of God and man. Shaw had discovered his second curse and told him it was of the fae also, so Erik hated them greatly.

The sorcerer called Erik his Hunter because any man Shaw wanted dead, Erik slew. He never failed. How could he when his arrows never missed and his blades ever struck true, dancing to his power? His enemies weapons flew from their hands or turned upon their masters. He could track a man by the metal he carried and the iron in his blood. He had even slain fae; who are stronger, faster and more cunning than men and have their magicks. Iron is poison to the fae. Erik was grim beyond his years and all feared him, save his master, Shaw, who called him his son, though Erik was no child of his.

Kurt, Lord Marko, Regent of Westchester, made the long journey to Shaw's fortress one frozen summer. He brought gifts of gold and silver and gems. He spoke flattering words and bowed down to Shaw and feared and hated him. Shaw saw his heart and was amused.

"Honoured as I am by your visit, Lord Marko, surely you have come so far on such a perilous journey for more than an exchange of courtesies?"

"I have a stepson of some sixteen years of age, my Lord Sorceror, the heir to the kingdom. Since I married his mother, the Queen, many . . . accidents have befallen him, yet still he lives. Stones fall from crumbling towers and miss him by inches. Brigands plan to waylay his carriage, yet stand aimlessly by while it passes. His favourite dish is placed before him at dinner and he will not touch it and the food is found to be poisoned. He has a charmed life. People whisper he is protected by the fae."

Shaw smiled. Beads of sweat formed on Marko's brow. Erik, standing at Shaw's side, thought him a contemptible creature.

"All this is most interesting, but what has it to do with me?"

"I have heard, Great Sorcerer, you are able to know all the secrets of a man merely by touching something he has much handled."

"This is so."

Marko produced a bright blue tunic from a satchel.

"This belongs to my stepson, Lord Shaw. Would you do me the great favour of telling what you glean from touching it?"

Shaw nodded graciously and gestured to Erik to bring the tunic to him. As soon as Erik touched the garment, he felt a strange thrill run thorough his whole body. He stood amazed.

"Erik, the tunic," snapped Shaw.

Much loathe, Erik bowed and handed it to his master.

Dark currents moved about Shaw's head and hands. The shadows deepened. Strange whisperings sounded at the edge of hearing. Marko looked as though he was going to void his bowels. Shaw laughed. Marko went white as the snow on the window ledges. Shaw chuckled.

"Lord Marko, your stepson is not protected by the fae, he is fae, or at least half of their blood. His mother begged him as a boom from the forest spirits and their filthy touch is all over him. He has the power to read men's minds. He has the power to change men's minds. He is a dangerous creature indeed, as is his companion, the golden haired, grey eyed, peach skinned girl."

"The Lady Darkholme?" cried Marko, astounded.

"She is full fae, blood of their blood, bone of their bone, ancient and accursed. Would you see her true form?"

Marko trembled and nodded.

The dark currents poured into the centre of the cavernous hall and surged up to form the image of a young girl, as Shaw had described her, a pretty, fair haired, fair skinned, plump cheeked child. The currents swirled. Her skin turned to scales of cobalt, her hair as red as the fires of hell and her eyes golden as some fanged forest beast.

Marko shuddered. The image disappeared and the currents dispersed and faded into the shadows.

"Monstrous is she not? And this is the companion your stepson chooses. Hers are the words that govern his actions. Fae and half fae. You are in great danger, my Lord Marko."

The Regent fell to his knees.

"Help me, Lord Shaw, help me I pray."

Shaw stood and stepped down from his throne. He gestured for his guest to rise. Marko clambered ungracefully to his feet.

"I will gladly help you against the treacherous fae. Erik here is my most trusted servant. I call him my Hunter. He has slain many, men and fae. He can do what is necessary to protect you and the kingdom of Westchester."

Marko's gaze fixed on him. Erik smiled widely. Marko blenched and turned to Shaw.

"Thank you, my Lord Socerer, thank you. I am forever in your debt."

"Oh, not "forever", Lord Regent," said Shaw, smiling his silky smile. "Come, let us take refreshment and speak more on this grave matter."

They walked away, side by side, Sorcerer and Fool.

Erik thought on what he had seen and heard. Marko had obviously been trying to kill his stepson, but if the boy was half-fae and consorted with fae, he was hardly to be blamed. Yet something stuck in Erik's craw. Marko had thought the boy human until this day. Then there was the fae girl. Erik knew he should find her blue and scarlet and gold form vile, but he did not, he found her beautiful.

He picked up the tunic. It was scorched as though it had passed though fire. It drifted to ashes in his hand.

part-3

part-2

part-1

#cherik #fic #fanfic #Fullmetalcarer fic #fairy tale

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spookyspaghettisundae · 7 years

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Shark Eyes

The young man’s long dirty-blond hair stuck to his head with a thick sheen of saltwater and sweat. While he did his best to remain silent, his lungs screamed from the pain of holding his breath for so long. Johnn Von Brandt fancied himself many things—a privateer, vigilante, freedom fighter, part-time smuggler. But one thing he was not: a coward.

When he and one of his fellow countrymen had followed up on a lead of a slave trader operating out of a cave on the Scarlet Coast, he had not expected to find himself in this disastrous situation. A wolf the size of a horse was tearing his compatriot, Terry, to shreds. From his hiding spot between the rocks of an adjacent tunnel, he dared not move, contemplating his next move. The squelching noises of flesh and muscle being ripped apart got mixed up with what sounded like branches breaking, when in reality it was the snapping of giant jaws breaking human bone.

The past seconds were returning to him, helping him focus, perhaps aiding him in breaking out of this paralysis that the sheer terror had left him in. Terry had hissed through the cavern tunnel over to Johnn, telling him that he had needed to see something. It had all happened so fast after Johnn had moved closer and heard the growls and a scream that was cut off before it truly began. The wolf-monster must have bitten Terry’s throat straight out.

Johnn remembered his time growing up, when Old Ned’s guard dog Similianus caught a thief breaking into the villa and mangling the poor bastard’s leg. And that other time when Johnn almost got away with stealing Maid Alma’s fantastic chocolate cookies, but Similianus got him into trouble because the blasted hound had sniffed his pockets in such a suspicious fashion that he got caught, which prompted some pretty severe punishments from his parents. He sometimes wished Alma had raised him instead of them.

Wait. Terry.

Right then, he swore inside his own mind for digressing, and distilled it down to one single thought: these beasts have a terrifying sense of smell. If it had not noticed him already, it would any moment now. Another deep, baritone growl and more disgusting sounds of a feeding beast gave him another painful reminder. He had to fight back the tears while clearing his head.

Johnn looked down at himself. Dirty shirt from having swum along the coast and climbed the cliffside to enter the cave unnoticed, the leather band of a light crossbow strapped to his back, and the forearm-long dagger sheathed at his side. His stomach knotted—he always thought he was adequately prepared to deal with hostiles, but what he needed here was the stopping power required to put down an elephant. Something with enough reach or force to halt this monstrosity from getting too close to him. A spear maybe?

He snapped out of his thoughts and looked back up when the creature snarled at him and began to pace around Terry’s mangled corpse, moving in a half-circle around Johnn. The creature’s legs were tremendous, like the arms of a circus strongman. Its eyes glowed red. There was something like a demonic hellfire emanating from them and they eyed the man with a strange and unnatural intelligence. For a split-second, Johnn’s own gaze had averted from them to spot an old piece of wood along the ground, probably a support structure beam left behind from when this hideout was being tunneled out. Not sharp, not particularly long, and too unwieldy to be used as a weapon.

It would not matter. Both driven by predatory instincts, it was over before it felt like it was over. Johnn felt the pain of some sharp rocks pressing against his side, and he had hit the back of his head. Lying on the ground, he edged and inched backwards, away from the beast, as good as he could, scraping against the rocky surface. The giant wolf pushed along the wooden beam towards its intended prey, impaling itself even more on the beam between them. He had reacted just in time, lifting the beam before the creature had lunged at him.

Johnn’s eyes were as wide as saucers when a giant mouth lined with several rows of teeth snapped at him, and an almost dog-like whine emerged from the hungry maw, followed by deep growls and snarls that chilled Johnn to the bone. It took him a few moments to realize that the monster had clawed his shoulder and left a nasty wound in its death throes, but then the pain set in. The beam had not been long enough to completely keep the creature at bay after all. But long enough that Johnn was still alive now, and this thing was dying.

Johnn let out a short yell that spoke volumes of pain. With all his might, he hoisted the wolf aside and against the wall, and spun to his feet. What the vigilante lacked in muscle strength, his light-footed movements made up for in speed. Using the right amount of leverage, he twisted and turned the beam, not satisfied until he heard the sounds of crunching bones and ensuring that this horrible thing was dead—and Terry was avenged. The wolf-monster whined one more time. It was almost pathetic, but Johnn saw red now. Not leaving anything to chance, his dagger flew out of its sheath and slit the beast’s throat with one eerily graceful motion.

He quickly stepped away into a defensive stance and flipped the blade into a reversed position that was probably useless here, against an abomination like this, though it was a clear indication of his experience in many a knife fight in the darker alleys of Crimsonport.

Breathing heavily, he backed away a few more steps, observing with grim determination how the wolf slowly bled out. Johnn pulled up his shirt and checked his own side for injuries, and figured the rocks would only cause some bruises. The claw mark on his shoulder, on the other hand, could use some attention from a doctor—preferably soon. He winced when he explored how deep the open wound went and more blood trickled down, and then used his dagger to slice a strip of fabric off the lower end of his shirt. He used that to haphazardly bandage himself up, clamping one end of the cloth with his teeth while knotting it with his free hand.

Johnn shivered from his now exposed midriff and brushed his wet hair from his face before he turned to look how Terry was doing. And froze. He decided against it mid-motion. From the corners of his eyes, Johnn could tell that Terry was well beyond saving. The lifeless heap of what used to be a human being was not recognizable as such anymore.

He steeled himself and kept his gaze fixed to the ground as he strode past the two dead bodies and into this larger cavern. Broad daylight shone in through a natural opening to his left, and the table in front of which Terry had been slaughtered was splattered in blood. A leather-bound tome was open on top of the table, along with an inkwell, a feather, and a set of tools that Johnn would only have described as torture implements.

He winced again and flipped through the pages. The adrenaline was wearing off, and his eyes darted along the neatly-written lines of strange words and numbers, something like names? Abbreviated names, probably. Transactions. Buyers, sellers, quantities. It was a ledger of some sorts.

Johnn spun around as he heard a sound from deeper inside the caverns. The wolf-thing was still there, dead, impaled on the wooden beam and in a growing pool of blood that looked almost black from where he was standing. Impossible—Terry and him had observed this base for the past two days. The slavers had always been out during daytime. A crew of ten, with their infamous leader, Fentin ‘Shark-Eyes’ MacLachlan.

Another noise. It sounded like metal softly hitting another piece of metal.

A figure emerged from the darkness of the tunnel, near the body of the dead wolf. Johnn froze again. It was ‘Shark-Eyes’ himself. There must have been another entrance they had overlooked when investigating this hideout. But why was he here? Now? Johnn’s hand instinctively crept down to his side.

Fentin raised his hands in a fashion that instantly reminded Johnn of those smarmy aristocrats he had always seen his parents gallivanting about with. It was contrasted by Shark-Eyes’ looks. The slaver captain was clearly a rogue. Unkempt blond hair, a thick stubble that could sand down stone, buckled boots, baggy pants, a dirty shirt much like Johnn’s own, and both a flintlock pistol as well as a cutlass by his side. Yet his gesture, his hands were up, in the open. Almost like he was welcoming a guest.

“I’d invite ya fer a drink or two so we could speak about yer skill in gettin’ in here, maybe get ya workin’ fer us,” Shark-Eyes said with a thick accent. Something from up north, possibly Bolwick.

Although he stepped closer and into the rays of sunlight shining through the rocks to his side, the slaver’s face darkened. His eyes were of such a bright blue that they appeared almost white in the bright light, and his gaze pierced into Johnn’s soul. He did not realize that there was something utterly wrong about Fentin’s hand gestures, but it was dawning on him that he was feeling dizzy—perhaps hypnotized—as long as their eyes were locked.

“But ya killed Bastian. Me little worg. Raised that pup meself. Ya know what I had to do to get him? Was almost as harrowin’ as, well—why am I botherin’ to tell ya, anyway?”

Johnn’s brows furrowed. He wanted to move and make a break for it, maybe even lunge at Shark-Eyes, yet he could not budge. He was barely capable of forming a clear thought. Though something at the back of his mind was alerting him, something he had seen in that ledger. A weird name—was it Lancaster? Lancaster was someone Johnn had heard about before. Rumor had it, Lancaster was a warlock of sorts. Trade. Fentin had traded with Lancaster, but what. Was this black magic? Had he put a spell on Johnn? What had he just done with his hands? Those damned piercing eyes.

Shark-Eyes set into motion again, slowly approaching, carefully unsheathing the cutlass from his scabbard. Still, Johnn could not move.

“This is fer Bastian, ya pissant,” the slaver suddenly said in a tone that was dripping with deep contempt.

With a swipe of the blade, blood sprayed across the cavern and hit the stone with a wet sound. It sputtered out of Fentin’s neck. The cutlass clanged as it hit the ground, and Johnn’s eyes were wide again. He had gone right back into that familiar, defensive stance, blade held in reverse against his forearm, but this time, the opponent and opportunity had been ideal. Johnn spat some blood—he had bitten into his own tongue and drawn blood, but it seemed to have worked to break free; break whatever the hell the slaver had done to his head.

The slaver stumbled a few steps to his side, clutching his neck with both hands while blood continued to sputter out from in between his filthy fingers. He then fell down onto one knee, still staring intently into Johnn’s eyes, as if he was trying to silently curse him with his dying breaths. Johnn narrowed his eyes but maintained his composure. His face was a steely frown, waiting till Fentin ‘Shark-Eyes’ MacLachlan had fully collapsed onto the ground.

Now he knew where the slaver captain had gotten his name from. He wondered if he worked this same kind of sorcery on the poor souls they had been rounding up and selling off to people along the Red Coast.

“Hell,” Johnn muttered to himself. He wiped the dagger on his sleeve and sheathed it again by his side. He swiveled to grab the journal and then felt a hand clamp down on his injured shoulder with an iron grip. Johnn yelled out in anguish and instinctively elbowed backwards, hoping to hit his assailant. A thumb dug itself into the injury, and Johnn clenched his teeth, not even having time to register that he was staring into the cold dead eyes of Fentin again, but so close up this time that their noses almost touched.

“It’ll take a lot more—”, Shark-Eyes said in a voice that did not resemble anything human anymore, while blood poured out of his mouth and drops of it sprayed over Johnn’s face. Fentin was however interrupted by Johnn’s dagger being jammed through his jaw and straight up into the brain.

Johnn butted his head into Fentin’s face and withdrew the dagger with a twist, getting sprayed with even more blood in the process.

“You learn something in Crimsonport, doing what I do,” Johnn said, gritting his teeth. He shoulder-checked Shark-Eyes away from himself and doubled down with a kick into the man’s knee, sending the slaver tumbling backwards. Sprawled on the ground, Shark-Eyes stopped moving. Maybe he even stopped breathing. “You get that close to someone with a knife? You’re already dead.”

Johnn spat blood onto Fentin’s corpse. Not wanting to take any more chances, he spent what felt like a solid minute of stomping his boot into Shark-Eyes’ head to make sure that the monster would never get up again.

So he would never have to see those creepy eyes, ever again.

He staggered forward and explored the caverns, delving ever deeper. This led him to another large cavern where he discovered a dozen iron-wrought cages with straw on the floor. Rusty manacles, dried blood caked in everywhere. The whole place smelled of urine, feces, and vomit. An awful place to end up. More things that looked like unsanitary torture instruments. The cove here was open, but too narrow for boats to drift into it. Had Shark-Eyes climbed in here to surprise them? Was this yet more dark magic?

Johnn shook his head as if to dispel the eerie thoughts and gave up on this place for now. He would have to rally some of the others, camp out here, and then they would take the rest of these slavers down, once and for all.

He returned to the cave that almost seemed like an office, walking past the dead bodies of the creature, the monster, and Terry. There was a pang of remorse when he realized that he should not risk taking the time required to get Terry’s body out of here. Instead, he picked up the ledger and flipped through it again.

There was a grim determination in Johnn’s gray eyes as they scanned the pages once more. Abbreviations all over the place, but he could guess what names might be behind some of them. Buyers of slaves, traders who might ship slaves to other nations. Figures, callous numbering of 'failed test subjects’, judging by notes in the margins. Torture victims? And 'Sir Lanc.’, or Lancaster, the supposed warlock who had been knighted by the king. It had to be him. Johnn clapped the book shut and turned to leave. He peered down at his side to see if his dagger was still there. He felt certain that he would continue to rely on it in the future.

He had plenty of work cut out for him now.

—Submitted by Wratts

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lord-dusk · 5 years

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Jurassic Emblem-Chapter 15

Introducing the second Aberrant Form(s)! This boss-fight music can be played while reading this boss fight! Enjoy! ;9

“You know Lucina, had I not read about you in this castle’s archives, I would have thought you were an InGen scientist,” Sobek said as he sat in the throne room, his partner Gorgonorhea curled up near his chair basking the shining sunlight penetrating the room as Lucina and the raptors entered.

“Sole Survivor often talks about this “InGen” cult she speaks of, but I don’t really know nor care about it,” Lucina replied.

“A-ha! That’s what makes you an InGen employee,” Sobek the purple spinosaurus pointed out. “You are so obsessed with saving your daddy and reliving your childhood you didn’t concern yourself with the consequences of destroying the neighboring countries surrounding you. And look what you sowed-isn’t it beautiful?”

“.......I don’t dislike monotony.”

“Oh, so you wish to kill your daddy’s ex-wife again but not restore your homeland’s ecosystem? Well, isn’t that tragic. In my opinion, this landscape would look a whole lot better if they were dinosaurs thriving in it, and I’m willing to spill blood to make it happen.”

“Whose blood are you going to spill?” Blue questioned, posed for battle.

Sobek got up. Gorgonorhea slithered out her coil and followed as well.

“Preferably my own,metaphorically,” the spinosaur said. “Though I highly doubt you girls have invited me to a picnic.” He put spread out his arms as to expose himself. “If I really wanted to, I could morph into my original form alongside Rhea here but I thought I could go easy on you. Go ahead, land the first strike.”

Lucina eyed Sobek closely, to gauge her opponent’s next move. “I find your actions VERY hard to believe. I’ll bet you’re setting this up as some sort of trap.”

Sobek’s expression grouped, as though he didn’t like to wait. “Trust me, young lady, if you tried to tackle me in my dinosaur form, my teeth would slice your body up like a piece of salmon. Are you going to make the first move or not?”

Gorgonorhea agreed. “My pharaoh is right. He is deliberately allowing himself to be cut up because he’s a masochist.”

“Exactly-hey! I don’t get high from getting hurt!”

“Alrighty would you all shut up already!?” The brown velociraptor Echo charged in and sliced apart Sobek’s left arm, throwing it across the room. A stream of dark crimson flowed out.

But something was odd. Echo was burying her talons in Sobek’s flesh, and a Mimikyu-sort of insect sprang out of the blood and chomped her on the shoulders. As she fell off the spinosaur’s body, strange frogs and insects were springing up from the blood pooling from Sobek’s wounds. Lucina and the raptors were at disbelief at the various vermin crawling out like some abominable imps from Hel.

“And indeed, I voluntarily took a vacation down to Hel and acquired a very special ability I used to get back on the millionaire that bought and raped me,” Sobek proclaimed as locusts are squirming out of his socket and flying off. “My special move 12 Plagues of Egypt allows me to summon vermin out of my blood and wounds and launch them at my foes. I can also heed the call for Lif and nekomata, but that’s a lot of button combos to get right. Keheh.” He chuckled.

Luci and the raptors had very little capacity to comprehend this madness. A entomantic spinosaurus who bled out his underlings from his beehive body? As they were smacked by frogs, wrapped around by velvet-worms, and exploded by incoming locusts, a gush of bright flames spewed their way, and the girls barely missed it as they jumped back.

Gorgonorhea spoke up. “If you prefer to take your time with my partner’s bugs, I’ll accept. But this fanfiction is not published by Shonen Jump and as such,I think I’ll end this battle quickly with a burning aftertaste.”

“Whoa there Rhea, don’t burn my precious underlings,” Sobek ushered. “they might be the condemned souls of humans I’ve eaten, but ammo is limited you know?”

“Is that necessary information?” Blue remarked as she squished a frog’s tongue and dodged an incoming spider. She ran towards Sobek.

“When I become a playable character for Fire Emblem Heroes, yes. There’s a difference to being a strategist and taking too much damage.” The spinosaurus then poised his remaining arm to strike, and fell unto the floor when Delta had sank her talons unto his back.

Gorgonorhea didn’t ignore Sobek’s collapse. “You lizards! Do you not see he plans to restore this land?” She spewed out more flames at Blue and Delta. But what the cobra-woman didn’t realize was that Blue and Delta had merely pinned down the spinosaur as a distraction, and the cobra didn’t see Lucina and Charlie leaping from behind and slashing at the gorgon, falling right next to Sobek. By now Echo had smashed all the vermin flying and hopping everywhere by now.

“Okay, I think I surrender-at least, for this battle.” Sobek raised his right arm as a sign of submission.

“Will you give up this country as well?” Lucina demanded, pointing her Falchion at the dinosaur.

“ Humans can’t even build sand-castles in the desert.” Sobek commented. “Listen, I’ve hired some crocodile mages to summon continuous rainfall to this region. Combined with constructing a few river-courses and lakes, and poof! A paradise to be had, and I’m terribly sorry to say that I can’t allow you rodents the right to rule this land.”

“What are you implying? Don’t make me lop that head off. You can hurl all the insects and spiders at me, but what of it if brain activity stops?”

Sobek’s expression turned grim. “ Dear child, you really are “thin-telligent.” You don’t see the surround. You don’t care about the consequences. You’ve killed the Fell Dragon, save Princess Daddy, and still live life wholly unsatisfied.

“And for your information, me and Rhea are NOT of her grand scheme to recycle the people of this world. And you don’t even realize the true evil happening right beside your eyes.”

“What the hell are you saying? What are you talking about?” Lucina questioned with irritation tinged in her tone.

“Icul Ettil O, uoy fo dir teg ot tuoba m’i naems ti,” an odd white sang.

A white dragon with mechanical parts suddenly landed just near the spino and the cobra. Teba and Warber were clutched in its arms.

Lucina and the raptors looked up. They weren’t too happy to see this new adversity.

“Xerytpinimodni het Amirg ma I,” the white dragon announced. “Depots eb tusm uoy and.” Amirg picked up Lucina by his jaws and flew off.

“Sorry girls, I honestly have nothing against you,” Teba apologized to the horrified raptors down below. “Had I not been assigned this mission, I wouldn’t go arms-length near you.”

#jurassic emblem #fire emblem heroes #jurassic world #lucina #raptor squad #blucina #sobek #spinosaurus #gorgonorhea #gotta love a good pun #backwards speaking and writing increases your vocabulary.

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rudra-writes · 5 years

Text

Pallas Meets Teekalos (Part 2)

In a library at Dalaran, Pallas the Anchorite meets Teekalos the Scribe. Teekalos belongs to his player.

Pallas hadn’t expected he might have to steady Teeks as the other draenei barely avoids running into him. The worst that happens is that his avocado-green fruit drink slops over and spills on the formerly spotless purple and gold trimmed library rug. “Are you all right? I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t mean to run into you.” The Anchorite apologizes before looking down at the juice mark on the rug. “Oh dear, I hope Lirael didn’t see that.”

At the introduction, the white draenei looks back up and into Teekalos’s face, and smiles openly. “It’s nice to meet you, Teeks. I’m Pallas.” He offers a wrist to shake. The other draenei is very fashionably dressed, Pallas thinks; the sophisticated elegance of Dalaran suits him. “So you are here so often the real librarians ask you to help them?”

Teeks has to reposition some of the books in his arms so they don’t fall, but he takes Pallas’s hand as soon as he can and offers Pallas another broad smile. “No-no, I’m fine, it’s my fault really, I wasn’t exactly looking at where I was going! And I’ve made you spill your drink…which you really shouldn’t have in here, which - I don’t know how you got past the front doors with, now that I’m thinking about it. No matter.” When Pallas asks about ‘helping’ the library staff he laughs, warm and open. “Hah! Good one! Demands is more like it!” He shakes his head. “Anyway, did you need something?”

Pallas looks cheerful at meeting Teekalos and at the conversation. His pleasant mood causes his face to brighten like a flower. At least, until Teeks mentions he probably shouldn't have a drink in the library, which causes his white eyebrows to tilt with guilt. Of course, he should have known better, but Dalaran had been so overwhelming, and his thoughts had been all over the place when he had walked inside.

"I'll just have to be careful with what's left... Really, they are so demanding towards you? That hardly sounds grateful." He speaks this humorously, his lips forming a wry sort of expression.

Then Teekalos asks if Pallas is looking for something. "Oh, yes, I was, ah..." The white draenei hesitates. Should he tell Teeks the real reason he came into the library? What will his potential new friend think of the fact that he might want to read about Scourge, and abominations against the Light, and horrible, gruesome, (but misunderstood?) death knights? Pallas chews on his bottom lip, until he catches sight of the title of one of the books Teeks is holding. His eyes widen. "Oh, what's that you're carrying?"

“Nah,” Teeks replies, looping his newly freed arm around the shorter draenei’s shoulders in a friendly way and herding him in the direction he was heading, intending to reshelve as they spoke. “You get used to it, and Aelatrel’s my neighbor, so it’s more like….demanding a favor from a friend.”

He tilts the spines of the books in his other arm Pallas’s direction when the other man asks with a shrug. “Just a bunch of stuff that I’ve been tasked with reshelving, because ‘it was on the way.’” Teeks wrinkles his nose and plays into the put upon patron act he’s got going on.

Pallas hunches his shoulders slightly, but looks pleased, when Teeks puts his arm around his shoulders. Apart from his three sisters, no one has physically touched him in any form in years. As an Anchorite, his relationships with other draenei have all been professional, since the crash of the Exodar and the years he spent in mourning on Azuremyst. Although he is now coming out of the mourning process, exploring Azeroth as a part of it, bonds with other people are something he is still trying to form.

"I see, I see. Have you lived in Dalaran long?" Pallas chatters in Draenic, thankful for the excuse to use his native language again. "Well, I was looking for, erm..." Back to this uncomfortable revelation. "I might take an interest in studying, um... Well, it's kind of unusual." Pallas looks at Teekalos helplessly. He's going to alienate his new friend, he just knows it.

Teeks raises an eyebrow at Pallas’s stammering. He guesses it might be because of the arm he’d slung over his shoulder, his flinch at odds with the pleased expression Pallas had sported afterwards. Perhaps it was just that the other draenei was unused to physical touch. “Unusual how?” He prods, his lips curled into a smirk. “No reason to be shy, I’ve done all sorts of *unusual* research….let me guess, something of the...ah, physical nature perhaps? Got a lady you’re trying to impress?”

Teekalos's guess is so far off from what the answer actually is that Pallas's head jerks up, his eyes wide and his elegant lips falling open in an expression of barefaced surprise. His white cheeks start to tinge cornflower blue. "What? N-no, nothing like that!"

The priest shakes his head, then laughs in embarrassment. It doesn't escape him that Teeks suggested such a topic of study himself, and that he's done /all sorts/ of research himself. What could he mean by such an inference? Pallas wonders if the other draenei has had many seductions. Fucking pretty high elves or humans in Dalaran, men as handsome as Teeks is, or maybe attractive women of other races, women who might never have before experienced what a draenei's cock might feel like inside of them, with its soft ridges... Why is he thinking about this? Pallas quickly shakes his head again.

"Ah, no, certainly not. I don't really swing that way, you see. I mean, I think women often look very aesthetically pleasing, but I've never felt anything beyond that." The question catches him so much by surprise that he forgets to mention what the real answer actually is.

Teekalos’s answering grin to that statement is broad enough to nearly split his face. “Oh really?” He asks, trying not to let his libido go to his head at the sudden and specific confirmation that Pallas isn’t interested in women, which leads Teeks to conclude he must be interested in men. He pulls Pallas in, almost a side-hug, and pats him on the back as he lets go of Pallas now that they’re headed the right direction and the other man seems to be following him. “Does that mean I stand a chance of you agreeing to let me make it up to you that I spilled your drink?” He asks with a lopsided smile. “I know a great cafe just up the road…”

"Oh--You do?" Tail swishing inquisitively and with a sort of nervous flutter, Pallas follows Teekalos's lead. "You don't have to feel bad about that, I shouldn't have had a drink in the library to begin with, but... a cafe sounds lovely, I passed one on the way here and it smelled wonderful. There was a bakery right beside, with fresh cinnamon rolls and breads..." The priest imagines such confections wistfully. They are far different from what he is used to, working at churches and soup kitchens around Azeroth, and his temple prior to that. "I can see why you make your home here, even if it's so far away from everywhere else."

Pallas decides that perhaps it’s safe for him to reveal his real reason for coming into the library. "Actually, I wanted to research about the Ebon Blade... I met one of them while working, and his condition was so strange to me."

“Cafe Du Monde?” He asks, starting to ramble himself. “That’s the one I’m thinking of. Owner’s a real sweetheart, and they make some of the best pies around. It’s a bit lonely here, but there’s enough of us exiles around to make the Azerothians comfortable and not gawp at my hooves while I’m trying to ask a question...Was that a yes, by the way?” He smirks, and doesn’t let Pallas get a word in before he continues.

“Ebon Blade, huh? Pretty grim topic, but lucky for you, we’re headed in the right direction, all the information on them is filed under the Scourge, and that’s where we’re headed.” He hefts his stack of books a bit higher. “Ah, here we are, you should look on that shelf over there, I think the Ebon stuff starts around 606.66? or 616.66, I can never remember....” Teeks gestures vaguely to the other side of the row that he’s looking at, muttering the numbers on the spines till he comes to the gap for his first book.

Pallas laughs. "I suppose it must be a yes! I admit, I am enjoying the atmosphere of Dalaran; a trip to a cafe and some good company would only make it better." The priest tries not to allow himself to become bashful in the face of this unexpected detour. The other draenei looks about a similar age as himself, and seems quite worldly and sociable.

The Anchorite feels rather less interested in his research now that he's met this chatty and interesting new person. He reads over the spines, and quickly takes out a few tomes that look interesting and informative. "Light, this one's bound in black leather and all of the pages are black! It's written in glowing blue ink. Look!" Pallas shows Teekalos the particularly grim book about death knights, and he shivers. "It looks like it's good information... Oh dear, runes of pain? Circles of defilement? Commanding bone wraiths? Ohhh, I feel as if I'll be cursed if I read this. Dalaran doesn't carry cursed books in its library, does it?"

#draenei #Pallas #Teekalos

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son-of-salem-blog · 7 years

Text

Memoirs of a Madman

(A little ficlet of the Obscurus bringing Credence back to life and they begin a merry journey of retribution. The Obscurus speaks in first person)

With a flick of my wrist, I make time stop. I reflect. I observe my rather maimed body from a sufficiently vast distance. This could be described as awkward, for it is not so often that one so coldly observes their own remains. No Grim Reaper came to collect me. Or did he? Or was it she? Let us be polite, after all. But something was missing.

“Your soul.“

No, such a petty thing. What should I do with a soul? I am a self-sufficient bundle of condensed sorrow. Souls are only additional luggage. A burden. A keychain that rattles and makes itself a nuisance. No. I am better than any soul, for I am here. And the soul is not.

And I lose my human form yet again, as my concentration wavers. I keep trying to adjust it, I promise. But it is so hard for an incorporeal abomination to maintain a fixed form. Apparently I am doomed without true flesh, my poor broken body, the broken young man that lies there motionless.

Floating ash begins to cover Credence's body. No, let's correct that; my body. This would normally ignite an existential crisis in most sane people. I was the antonym of sane. I was (I am) Credence's insanity. What do you think, curious reader?

Let's explore my abilities. An Obscurus needs a nice warm home, after all. No additional emotions left to feed me and my deranged intentions. I should perhaps start a little diary. My magic is mad, flooding the place, it explores every nook and crany of this wretched warehouse. The seconds and minutes held still on a distant clock, since I stopped time to hold the decay away from my oh-so-dead host. Why do warehouses need clocks, I wonder?

Credence (Is he still me? Am I still him?) never liked November. He was often cold and his stepmother never clothed him (us…) well. I feel no cold now. He cannot, for he is (we are) dead. Is that not enough to make a stone cry?

I find this all quite annoying; I cannot wreak havoc, he cannot breathe, we cannot act. It should take quite a while until I regenerate enough to enter my body once more. This soulless shell that would begin to decompose if I were to let time fly again. It is common lore that ghosts can possess other human beings, but I technically do not count as a ghost.

You should see me, in my state. A floating mass of shapeless undulating smoky tendrils. I appear as a nigthmarish version of what one would find in a crowded room full of smokers. A puffy dandelion that was dropped in black ink. It is not very dignifying. I feel rather embarassed.

I should sign all this as “The Sorrows of the Young Obscurial“. I hope Goethe won't sue me for it, poor equally dead chum.

I hover and begin to approach my poor host, my dead home, and with all my might, I command my tendrils to regain some shape similar to his. It is not as easy as one may think, you know.

I observe my dark hand as I clench it into a fist, then I bump the shoulder of this “slumbering“ young man. And again.

“Credence, do you mind? We are on a tight schedule. I have some wizards on my death list and one particular Auror whom I want to rip to tiny shreds.“

No response. It only occured to me now that the ashes around us are tiny parts of me that I had not collected yet. Oh, must I do everything alone?

I lean closer to him, connecting with the familiar pull of flesh, trying to summon any familiar memories of looking through his eyes. I need to return to this shell if we are to live.

“Credence, you nut, you idiot, we are gonna die for good if you don't let me back in. We have so much to do. Our mission is not over. We started something we have yet to finish. Do you want the story to end this way?“

I poked his chest several times. Poke, poke, poke, no reaction, poke. I truly wonder if there are any phonebooks nearby. I could search for “necromancer“ under “N“. Oh, how silly of me, such modern things in this early decade. I suppose my afterdeath experience made me see several novelty scenes farther in time as I detached from my formal body. Do I remember the future? If I do, then it appears even gloomier than myself.

A groan. Well, this is…new.

“Creedy, who are you to complain? You're not the one that has to think of survival plans. You're just collecting dust.“

The dead young man definitely mumbled something similar to “shut up“. Well, that was rude.

“Atta boy, Creedy! Guess there is some life still left in ya. So how about we go grab some ammunition and blow the living pieces out of the one that betrayed us? Use his brains as paint for our walls? Come on, let me! You want it as much as I do.“

I was taken aback when he grasped at me, tearing at my impromptu shadow-human form, his eyes pearly white. He wasn't in a very good mood, not at all. Can't you people take a joke?

“Hey, Creedy no hard feelings, I merely speak the truth.“

“Get back inside to your place. We have work to do.“

“Oh, goodie!“

I felt the familiar pull of his conscious mind, as he absorbed me within, and I felt is if I finally got my favorite coat back on, a warm shape. I looked through his eyes, our eyes, our thoughts merging back again. We are one. We live as one. We die as one.

“I got promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep…“

#credence barebone #obscurus #fantastic beasts and where to find them #powerful baby #obscurial #ficlet

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