#Imperium 3: Chapter 3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

amayadartan · 1 year

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CHAPTER 3

WARNINGS - Fiction, Not Real, Swearing, Intimidation

There was silence in the inky blackness that seemed to stretch forever. Dartan was not about to break it. Even if he had wanted to, he wasn’t sure exactly what he’d say now. His revelation had no doubt shocked the female in front of him. Not that realizing what she’d done had been easy for him to accept, but she seemed to be taking it harder, or digesting it slower.

"I'm sorry, WHAT?!? I know I did not hear you right. So, you just back that up a step and say that again." Amaya spat out at him in final exasperation as she finally got the cogs in her brain moving after the shock of his words sunk in. Raised eyebrows and a cocky smirk were her only answer from him. Aw fuck!

“But you’re…” Amaya started and broke off. She looked down at the ground she couldn’t even see, as if not looking at him would somehow make everything more logical. Nothing was logical, and apparently it wasn’t going to get more logical. “I want a divorce. I can’t be married to a ghost.” She shook her head, not looking up at him again.

“That’s not how this works. Also, I’m a spectre, not a ghost. If we’re going to be married,” Dartan cleared his throat. He was married to a fucking human. A MOTHER-FUCKING HUMAN. Who had he pissed off in which of his lifetimes? “I WAS an immortal warlock that got beheaded in a coup of my realm. Spectre, not ghost, never was human.” He further clarified, not happily either.

“Fine, you’re a spectre. You’re still not alive and you don’t like me. So, how do we get out of this pitch black and find someone to give us a divorce and send us both home?” She looked up at him and sighed, her arms going out as she talked. There had to be a solution to this, HAD to be. There was no way she was going to be stuck forever in the pitch black with a ghost, excuse her…SPECTRE.

“Let’s get one thing straight first, there is NO divorce for what you did. I’m not even sure how whoever gave you that spell knew how to do it, or if they fucked up what they were actually trying to do and that was the outcome. Either way, we’re bound together for eternity, dear. So, we can either make you dead or find a necromancer to fix my problem, at least that way we’ll be on equal footing.” He grinned and lightly chuckled. She was pissed, he could see it, and for some reason that made him happy.

“This isn’t funny!” Tears were pricking at Amaya’s eyes and she all but screamed at him. He was grinning at her and finding this amusing and she just wanted to go home. At no point had she wanted to be married to some immortal warlock that had been too stupid to keep his head on his shoulders but called HER stupid. “I didn’t ask for this!”

“No, it’s not funny, Amaya, and I didn’t ask for it either. But here we both are in Hell, literal HELL.” Dartan’s voice dropped and his face became serious as he stalked towards her. “I wasn’t exactly planning on spending my eternity married to a human witch who was too stupid to consider she was being given a bogus spell. I’m not the one who is responsible for getting us both here. That, my dearest, is YOU. So stop your yelling at me and either work with me, or eternity is going to suck for both of us.”

To her credit, Amaya hadn’t backed up as he came towards her, his features darkening and it clear he was done with everything. He’d expected her to cower in fear, back up, try to hide, something, anything to get away from him. Not that he knew where she’d go, she couldn’t even see in the absolute blackness that surrounded them TO know where she was going or what was around her. Still he had expected her to try and get away from him. Instead she had stood her ground, and for that she had earned a little bit of his respect. He didn’t want to fight with her, but the more the situation was revealed the more he was enraged at it.

“How can we be married if I didn’t even know what I was doing and you weren’t even there? Marriage is a contract, an agreement.” Her voice was no more contrite as she realized he was the only one with any kind of answer to how they ended up there and how to fix it, even if it was just to make it more bearable. He was also right, it was her fault in some respect. She wouldn’t admit that aloud though.

"You are thinking of marriage in human terms. Think beyond that. Marriage is a contract, but it is also what?" He looked at her in a way that indicated that he expected a response of some kind, but all he got in response was a shrug with her arms out to her sides and raised brows. "A novice witch, got it." He sighed. "It is a binding of souls." His lips pursed and his head tipped to the side.

Amaya made a noise that Dartan couldn't quite put his finger on. It wasn't a gasp, maybe a squeak or wheeze. It was clear shock and trepidation. Now the full measure of their predicament was setting in for her. Good. If they were going to get out of this, whatever brain cells actually worked in that pretty head of hers needed to be firing. She wasn’t bad to look at, but she certainly needed some lessons in street smarts and common sense.

"And, my darling bride, you invoked the binding. So, in a way you did consent as far as the universe is concerned. Maybe unwittingly, but the fact remains you summoned me and bound me to you, soul to soul. The universe does not deal in nuances, only in black and white of what is done and said. You invoked and bound, so here we both are and so it is." He watched her blinking slowly, a deep swallow, and her head very slowly nod. Yes, now she was understanding and he could see that she was petrified. Something inside him began to thaw and he actually began to feel a little sorry for her.

"But how did I get you? You said that you were never human. So was this an accident?" Amaya was shaken to her core and so confused. There was also a great deal of fear, she was out of her element and so beyond anything that she had ever been trained for. Dartan had said he was a warlock, which meant when he was alive he had possessed powers far beyond anything that she could summon or invoke even with the strongest of spells and potions. Now that he was a spectre, if he still could call upon those, he truly could make her life miserable in ways she could not even begin to fathom on top of everything else. If everything he said was true then…then she didn't know what to do.

"The language you spoke is ancient and not even from your own realm. My name was most likely the mispronunciation of a word that would have meant angel. Unfortunately for you, the person who gave you the spell had you saying my name instead, likely because whomever taught it to them either was also not from the realm it comes from or was playing a cruel joke on them. Could be either one. If it had been pronounced the other way you'd be married to an angel right now, although doing it in Hell would be a twist that would be oh so interesting to watch. Imperium has changed, but outside the Palace angels are still not all that welcome." There was heavy sarcasm in his voice as he continued to clarify the situation with a sardonic grin and sarcastic tone. His age and wisdom helping himto discern what had happened and how. Fixing it, well that was another matter entirely and far beyond his abilities.

"I'm sorry." Amaya finally said after a long pause. She no longer knew what to say or do. "I just wanted protection for those of us on the expedition. I never meant for something like this to happen. I'm sorry your…life…was ruined. I'm sorry you're stuck with me." As she spoke defeat crawled through her voice and took hold in her heart. By the time she finished speaking, she wasn't even looking at him but at the ground somewhere between them. Regardless of the fact that he was truly the only thing she COULD see, it was easier to stare at the nothingness around her than to face him. Shame filled her entire being so it bleed from her pores and stained the very either around her with its aura. A mistake. One mistake. And now two lives were upended. Maybe more.

“Sorry isn’t going to fix it, nor is it going to take care of you now that you’re here. You’ve got yourself in a tight spot, little witch. I do know a few here who might help figure out some place for you to live and something we can have you doing. You can’t go back to the life you had, now we’re bound as we are.” Dartan’s agitation was still clear, but he was trying to be a little sympathetic since it seemed to be sinking in to her that things were completely fucked up for both of them now. “The most pressing thing is to get you out of the middle of this clearing and get you some rest. We’re going to have to walk to the Palace and I’m not sure how long that’s going to take or if we’ll be able to get you food. Being dead has some advantages for me, but I’m not going wish it upon you as a punishment for this. You’re going to have to trust me, but I will get you to someplace safe where you can rest, and I’ll make sure your safe while you do. Then when it’s light, we’ll start to get this solved.” His voice was calmer, but that did not mean he was any less angry, but beating her up over it more was going to serve no purpose.

#The Imperium Chronicles #My Writing #Writeblr #New Chapter #Chapter 3 #Amaya #Dartan #Spectre #Witch #fiction #fantasy #original world #original story #writing #intimidation #swearing #female writer #writers on tumblr #hell

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kentuckywrites · 2 years

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Imperium 3: Chapter 8

Te amo. (I love you.)

He was Pongo.

He was Pongo, and that was okay. He was okay.

Pongo was far form perfect. He would never have admitted to perfection even before Cocytios, even before Starr was brought into existence. He was something fragmented, torn asunder by trauma and a broken past, stitched back together because he willed it to be so. Starr accepted death, and Pongo - though reluctantly - accepted life. And Mira remained by his side, existing here in this body alongside him as an eternal companion. It had once felt fitting that he give himself a new name, but now, the only name was Pongo.

He was Pongo.

…

“Wake up, Pongo.”

He wasn’t asleep. He was hiding this whole time. Sleeping and hiding were not the same.

And yet, Pongo opened his eyes. He couldn’t hide from the sunrise, golden and orange hues dancing across a once darkened sky. He couldn’t hide from the familiar face staring down at him, her smile wider than he’d ever seen it before, a single relieved laugh leaving her lips. Oh, Elma, Pongo was so happy to see you again! He wasn’t afraid, not like he was when Starr walked the earth. He let himself smile back, revel in the joy he felt.

“Hello, Elma,” Pongo breathed, his voice hoarse.

Before he could react, Elma had lifted him up, and there he was in her embrace, his first hug after waking. Pongo knew Aidoneus’s transformation had left him weak, he couldn’t feel any of his usual strength in that moment. But he hugged back, after his moment of surprise had faded, and damn did it feel good. There was solace, here, a sense of peace that he had difficulty finding in most circumstances. He missed her, he missed this. But she had to pull away, as did he. There was no world where they could stay in each other’s embrace forever. There was too much that needed to be said, too much that needed to be done.

“Friend Starr is okay?” That was Froyoyo, asking that question. He stood behind Elma, and Pongo could see him over Elma’s shoulder. If the names and roles were reversed - Froyoyo asking Starr if Pongo was okay - Starr would’ve flinched, been angry. But all Pongo felt was the exhaustion that came with accepting life once again. He grinned at the question, a sad but understanding thing. He opened his mouth to tell Froyoyo the truth, explain what and who he was, but Vanala stepped up before he could.

“Friend not Starr anymore,” Vanala said, mesmerized, “Friend is whole again. Found peace in self.”

Her lessons rang true in Pongo’s heart, even though Starr was the one to receive them. She knew Starr was fragmented, back then, and that he’d need to heal in order to understand both aspects of using water ether. Ripples, she called them. Imperfections, flaws, ruins of the past he could never leave behind. Starr had been wary of that sentiment, believing himself too broken to heal. But Pongo…now he knew the truth. He was always going to be imperfect, he was always going to have ripples that he couldn’t stop from existing. This was a life he was going to cherish, a self that he would accept despite all of its evident flaws.

As if to test his theory, to reassure Vanala, Pongo shifted away from Elma. He raised one of his hands, and in his palm, a ball of water formed, shaping itself into a heart. The ether came more naturally than it did before, and with wide eyes he realized that the ether wasn’t originating from Starr’s gauntlets. This was a creation he deemed into existence without the gauntlets’ help. This was Pongo’s doing, his whole and undivided doing. Vanala mimicked his widened eyes, though her gaze was full of pride.

“My name is Pongo,” He formally introduced himself to Vanala and Froyoyo, “I am the original inhabitant of this body, alongside Mira.” A pause, a softening expression. “I want to apologize to you both. I caused your caravan a great deal of pain when I -”

“Furry dragon was not Pon,” Froyoyo butted in forcefully, “Nothing to apologize for. Froyoyo confused, but know that friend wouldn’t hurt on purpose.”

“Right!” Vanala agreed, “Friend Pon doesn’t need to ask forgiveness. Vanala just happy that Pon is okay!”

And then, a little furry body snuggled up between Elma and Pongo, hugging Pongo tightly. He chuckled, hugging Sprinkle Sprinkle back after letting the water ether in his palm dissipate. The littlepon’s voice was muffled as they said, “Sprinkle Sprinkle didn’t even say goodbye to Starr. Can friend Pon tell Starr goodbye?”

That nearly broke Pongo’s heart. He could feel it splintering, the weakened thing beneath his skin, but he was Pongo. Pongo was stronger than he knew, and he used that strength to smile, just as he always had. Even with his reputation, his near-inability to lie, he did his best to ease Sprinkle Sprinkle’s worries. “I will. He loved you a lot, you know. You, and all of your brothers and sisters.”

“Sprinkle Sprinkle knows,” They leaned back, sniffling. “Will miss Starr very much. Will…Will Pon come back to caravan instead?”

…Perhaps Pongo wasn’t as strong as he thought. He felt it, then, that pathetic little heart of his shattering into porcelain fragments. It wasn’t as severe a breakage as when he was brought back to life; the pieces had been stitched back together thanks to Mira’s handiwork back then, and that had been the reason Starr was born. This was a fracture Pongo would have to fix, and this time, he would do it on his own.

“I have to go home,” Pongo said truthfully, “Back to the city. But I promise I will visit the caravan often. Goodness knows I will miss you and your siblings too.”

Sprinkle Sprinkle took a moment to process his response. Then, he all but launched himself back into Pongo’s arms for one last hug. Gods above, he truly missed this feeling. And it ended too soon, with Sprinkle Sprinkle pulling away and giving Pongo a sad but sympathetic grin. They were young, of course, but Pongo got the feeling that they were more in tune with his mental state than all the others around him.

Then, a rumble, almost akin to a cat’s purr, echoing through the frost-stricken air. Pongo swiveled his head and came face to face with the bowed muzzle of Telethia, the Endbringer. How patient they had been, to wait for all the others to speak their piece. In this form they could offer no words of their own, so the gentleness of their descent had to suffice. Though the memories of their time in a humanoid form were not his to claim, Pongo saw the image of Solstice smiling down at him, their blue-green eyes shining with admiration and relief. How lucky Nessa had been, to have them by her side. How lucky Aidoneus had been, to have them fight Corvhesperikon alongside it.

And how lucky Pongo was now, to be able to reach his hand up to the Telethia’s snout, to be able to whisper, “Thank you, my friend. Thank you for everything.”

The Telethia hummed, accepting Pongo’s touch and closing their eyes, His hand was so tiny in comparison to their body, yet it basked in the contact, the warmth connecting them in the frigid cold. They both pulled away simultaneously, and as the Telethia opened its eyes, it seemed to ask a silent question. Pongo knew what that question was, and he knew the answer to give. All he had to do was nod, and the Telethia backed up, turned, gave one last glance towards the group. Their wings beat heavy against the air, stirring up the snow beneath their feet, and soon they had flown off into the sunrise, light bouncing off of their etheric feathers. Pongo watched Solstice depart until there was no silhouette left to track.

Froyoyo broke the silence left in their wake. “If friend going home, should start traveling soon. Having sun in Cocytios very good for staying warm.”

“Should go back to caravan too,” Vanala told her husband, “Caravan likely worried sick about Legendary Heropon!!”

“Worried sick about both Froyoyo and Vanala,” He corrected, his fuzzy hand reaching out to clasp Vanala’s. “And likely lots of rebuilding to be done. Corvhesperikon made big impact on caravan.”

“If there’s any resources I could have BLADE send to you to speed along the reconstruction process, let me know,” Elma offered, frowning when Froyoyo quickly shook his head.

“Not need outside help. Would rather not have caravan well known outside Cocytios.”

Pongo immediately sensed the reasoning behind that request, and to reassure Elma, he nodded again. She maintained a frown, though that simple gesture softened her expression. “I’m sure there’s a way I can work around your involvement in this whole endeavor when I write the BLADE report. Either way, HQ will ask questions about how and why our research operations failed. I’ll have to come up with a rather convincing story, especially if I’m to omit you and Aidoneus from the record.”

“We should count our lucky numbers that Solstice was able to help, then,” Pongo said, “You can tell them that the Telethia from Noctilum appeared and destroyed Corvhesperikon - all by itself.”

“BLADE might believe it, on account of the Telethia’s involvement in subduing Pharsis last year,” She concurred, “Either way, you won’t have to worry. The caravan and Aidoneus’s involvement won’t be revealed outside of myself, Pongo, Lin and Tatsu.”

“Tatsu was Nopon that came with friend Elma before, no?” Froyoyo squinted as he tried to remember, “Froyoyo taught littlepon fighting moves while Elma, Nessa, Solstice and other friend went to find Starr. Little friend - that Lin?”

“Yes, I arrived with them both the first time we came to Cocytios. Tatsu still talks about you back home. You’re something of a role model to him.”

“Happy Froyoyo could make difference in littlepon’s life. Froyoyo give permission to speak of events here with Lin and Tatsu. Friend Elma trusts them, and Froyoyo sense that trust from Elma is important thing indeed.”

“Seemed very much like Lin and Tatsu were Elma’s family when everyone was at caravan,” Vanala agreed, “Would make Vanala uncomfortable if Vanala requested Elma to keep secrets from own family.”

“She will probably have questions about where I have been these past few months, too,” Pongo added softly, “I do not think I could lie to her.”

“It’s something we’ll discuss once we’re back in the city,” Elma stood herself up, dusting the snow off of the back of her armor. Now that the sun had risen further up into the sky, her hair shone with angelic brilliance. Something about it reminded Pongo of the first time he’d met her, that first sunrise looking out at Primordia after being awoken from the lifepod, and the sense of deja-vu only increased when she held out her hand for him to take. “For now, Froyoyo’s right. We should get moving if we want to return home. The journey here took about two days, but if we’re quick, we can set up camp on Primordia’s beach by nightfall.”

Pongo took Elma’s hand, and she hoisted him up, though it took him a moment to find his footing. The journey seemed reasonable enough, though considering just how vast the continents were, it almost seemed too quick. He had to tell himself that it was because of BLADE’s vast technological resources, something he’d been deprived of during his time in Cocytios. Honestly, it felt strange to think about. Soon he’s be on board a vessel, soon he’d be reassuming his work with BLADE. Soon he’d be wielding his weapons, familiar in the past but foreign to the present, and he’d be putting that technology towards the betterment of humanity. He’d be helping people, protecting people - just as Aidoneus wanted to do.

“Froyoyo wish friends safe travel back home,” Froyoyo said, “And Froyoyo thank friends for everything. Always welcome at Desserta Caravan.”

“Better visit!!” Sprinkle Sprinkle reiterated, jumping up and down to prove the importance of their demand, “Or Sprinkle Sprinkle find way to friend’s home and visit there!!”

Vanala rolled her eyes at that, though it was clear it wasn’t out of annoyance. Sprinkle Sprinkle had all but proven that their stubbornness would put them into any situation they wanted to be in. They’d find a way to fulfill that promise of visiting NLA, one way or another. Pongo chuckled, imagining how Lin would act to another furry friend in their midst. The food puns would only continue to grow, and it didn’t help that Sprinkle Sprinkle’s name was…well. It was ripe for jokes, to say the least.

And with all of that in mind, the time finally came to bid the Nopon goodbye. His second family, his second home. They may not have been Pongo’s memories to keep, but he walked hand in hand with Starr through it all, and that had to count for something. For his own sake and for Starr’s, he spoke for them both.

“Goodbye, everyone.”

Froyoyo gave one last bow, Vanala gave one last smile. And then they turned away, with Sprinkle Sprinkle in tow. Elma did the same, and Pongo joined her. Not once did he think of picking up Starr’s mask, set so perfectly in the snow mere yards away from his feet.

The journey across Cocytios was quiet. Elma and Pongo hardly spoke a word to each other, even when they passed by the research base that BLADE had set up for the investigation of Corvhesperikon’s skeletal remains. The base was in terrible shape, the entire structure demolished and materials scattered across the snow. No humans emerged, no signs of life made themselves known. Elma and Pongo exchanged a meaningful glance. Elma did not smile, and she quickly averted her eyes to the wreckage after their eye contact. Pongo knew in that moment that none of the operatives that had joined Elma on this venture survived. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, a sour pit in his stomach. They didn’t linger, pressing on quickly past the base.

When they reached the ocean, a boat was conveniently parked by the shore. It was a massive thing, clearly made to hold lots of cargo and passengers. It felt empty even when Elma and Pongo boarded, and Elma quickly assumed the controls and turned on the engine. Pongo hadn’t hesitated in stepping on board, yet a part of him wished he’d given Cocytios a proper goodbye. He’d been trekking through snow and the frigid winter air for so long that it felt like home. He reminded himself that it wasn’t his true home; no, if anything, Cocytios belonged to Starr. NLA was Pongo’s home, NLA was where Pongo belonged. He wouldn’t miss the cold if he had the warmth of his friends and family at his side.

And yet, he watched Cocytios disappear beyond the horizon as they sailed off deeper into the ocean. Why did Pongo remain so attached to the continent that had brought him so much pain? Maybe one day he’d be able to verbalize it, but for now, he let the sadness of farewell make itself known. This wouldn’t be the last he saw of Cocytios, he promised. After all, Starr had made a promise to Lumina to return, to find her the help she needed to recover. In Starr’s lieu, Pongo felt it was fitting to uphold that promise.

After what felt like a lifetime, Primordia appeared in the distance. The cold had left them behind, and in its stead was saltwater and warmth. Pongo became increasingly aware that he was still wearing Starr’s clothes, and gods, did it make him uncomfortable. He shifted in his spot, beginning to wonder if it was a good idea to enter the city in Starr’s attire. Starr would’ve hated NLA, he would’ve hated the hustle and bustle and he would’ve despised people staring at him. Pongo reached for Starr’s breastplate, lifting it easily over his head. The cape came off with it, attached near the shoulders, and Pongo instantly felt a sense of relief. He wondered if he should’ve left it back in Cocytios, a memorial to the fallen. But Starr wouldn't have wanted that, either, would he? This was too complicated to process. He resorted to carrying it back home.

The boat slowly approached the shoreline, a smooth transition thanks to Elma behind the controls. After the engine was cut, she left the helm, coming up on Pongo’s right side. She looked up at him, searching for his response, gauging his headspace. He stared ahead at the land before him. Night had long since claimed the skies, but it was young enough that his visibility hadn’t been impacted. It certainly helped that a few temporary lampposts had been constructed at the beach, the sand shifted where boxes and supply crates had once stood. And the breeze that wafted over from the land…it felt good. It was welcoming him home with open arms. Pongo melted into its embrace, emitting a soft sigh.

Elma opened up a control panel within the ship’s wall railing, and as she held down a button, a metal ramp emerged out of the ship’s side, touching down on the shore. She closed the control panel, opened the door to the ramp, waved with one hand for Pongo to go first. Step by step, he grew closer, closer, until his foot sank into wet sand. There it was again, that welcoming breeze, a kiss to reassure him that there was nothing to fear. Pongo was home.

It didn’t take them very long to set up camp for the night. Even though the city was close, indigen activity at this time of the night wasn’t something either of them wanted to deal with, especially when Pongo felt his eyelids trying to force themselves shut. By the gods, it had been some time since he’d truly slept. Starr knew how to sleep, how to navigate the nightmares and emerge from them unscathed. Did Pongo have that strength, too?

Before he could answer his own question, footsteps approached, and Elma sat down next to him. He’d been leaning against one of the cliffs, exhaustion written on his face despite his best efforts to keep it subdued. A lamppost flickered a few yards away, not close enough to illuminate them fully. They sat like this for a while under the cover of night, simply existing beside each other.

“I’ll keep watch,” Elma told him, and it occurred to Pongo that this was the first time either of them had spoken a word since leaving Cocytios, “Get some rest.”

Pongo fought it, that base instinct to deny needing any rest, to offer to stay up the whole night to help her. But nothing came. He closed his eyes, silent and wordless, his head heavy and tilting. He found purchase on her shoulder and never saw her surprise, her confusion, her sympathy all blending together. That night, he did not dream. That night, Pongo slept soundly.

In the morning, there was no snow, no precipitation to speak of. The sun bore down on them like a dream come true, and with renewed energy the two reached the West Gate in no time. Elma showed no hesitance in stepping forward, continuing to lead Pongo as she always had. But Pongo stopped, staring up at the shining metal gate, the gleam of the crystals shooting out of the impact site. Did anyone ever figure out that those crystals were condensed miranium? He supposed it was something he was attuned to, but never had the appropriate reason to share. Though the sunlight caught on it in fractured mirror reflections, he could see the pulse of the planet cascading through it, blood pumping through the system, a buried heart beneath the ground. Mira had been silent for their voyage, but this was reassurance that it was alive, just resting.

Elma looked over her shoulder, finding that Pongo had paused. “Are you okay, Pongo?”

He spoke the truth. “It feels strange, being home. There is a sense of…of day java.”

“Deja-vu,” Elma replied, “I feel it too. After all, this is the same route that I brought you on when I first found you in Starfall Basin.”

“That feels like it was so long ago,” Pongo breathed, “I could never have predicted that all of this would come to pass. To think, back then I had no idea who I even was…”

“Do you know, now?”

“Hm?”

“Do you know who you are, now?”

The question took him by surprise. But as the realization set in, Pongo found that it was easy enough to answer. There was so much he could say.

I am an Interceptor with BLADE.

I am a part of Team Elma.

I am an avatar of Mira.

I am the founder of the Free Hug Stand in the Commercial District.

I am self-sacrificial to the point of self destruction.

I am happy even when I am hurting.

I am a broken soul on the way to repairing myself.

And in the end, he simply said, “I am Pongo.”

Elma smiled. “I’m proud of you, Pongo.”

Light flooded through his body, a warmth unparalleled. Had he ever heard someone say that to him before? Was he worthy of that pride she felt? Pongo pushed those thoughts down, instead following after Elma now that he’d been reassured. Truth be told, he was not nervous about coming home after being away for such a long time. There was the panic of falling into the same routine, that he’d fall down the same holes and make the same mistakes. He was Pongo, yes, but Pongo had his flaws. Reclaiming the name and the being meant he had to reclaim those unsavory parts of himself. But he’d be better this time, he had to be. It would take time, but he would be Pongo born anew, free from those flaws of the past.

The transition between Primordia’s wilds to the confines of NLA was a familiar one, though jarring all the same. Voices echoed from all around, the Industrial District’s hustle and bustle sweeping Pongo into its mix. Elma took everything in stride, though Pongo was all too aware of the turned heads and shocked expressions of those who saw them walk past. He swallowed hard and kept his focus on the sidewalk, on Elma’s back, clinging to ignorance like a plague.

The test hangar was busier than the district outside, but luckily Elma raised a hand to Pongo before they fully entered. She told him to wait, for Lin was likely inside performing some Skell armor resistance tests as she had been for the past few weeks. Pongo laughed, saying that sounded like Lin. They agreed the fresh air would do her some good. Then Elma dove into the chaos, her bright red armor still pinpointable through the crowd. Pongo backed up so he was leaning against the hangar entrance’s wall, putting his hands in his pockets. Some people walked by and gave him strange looks, and again he was reminded of how uncomfortable it was to wear Starr’s clothes.

Perhaps the clothes were the reason Lin didn’t recognize him right away, following behind Elma for a time before they finally saw each other. And when she finally recognized him, she bolted across the hangar, tears in the corners of her eyes, jumping up into Pongo’s embrace as he spun her around and laughed and relished in the joy he felt. She asked many questions, and Pongo gave her many answers, though he saved the overarching and important ones for when they went back to their barracks. There, he answered everything he could, even through Lin’s heartbreak and tears. She hugged him so many times that it was almost as if she never let go. Tatsu appeared at one point, emerging from behind a wall with his head lowered in shame. He’d been eavesdropping, he admitted to it, but curiosity had gotten the better of him once he’d overheard news of the Desserta Caravan. Even now, he had a soft spot for Cocytios’s Legendary Heropon and his loving wife, a hero all her own. To think, two immortal Nopon had taught him how to fight! What luck indeed!

And after all was said and done, Elma told him he could change into his combat vest and jeans, hanging up perfectly in the closet in his room. The moment Pongo had changed and saw himself in the mirror, everything felt right. These were his clothes, this was his body. He was home, finally home.

When he came back outside into the main area, Lin handed him two cups of hot chocolate, ones that she’d brewed herself. Pongo raised an eyebrow - why two cups? - but everything made sense when she said that the second cup was for someone he hadn’t seen yet. Someone who was, in fact, worried about him from the very start of his disappearance. He’d even filed a missing persons report, though Elma said Chausson didn’t think much of it. After all, Pongo was one of the most revered and capable fighters in BLADE. He’d be back.

So with two styrofoam cups in hand, steam pouring from the top with hints of deep dark chocolate, Pongo left the barracks and walked down Armory Alley, towards the one he missed the most. It appeared to be a day like most others for him, a profitable but busy day indeed. Jejebba and L both were teaming up to try and sell a pair of swords to a young Curator - oh goodness, it was Mia. She looked entranced by the swords, one a vibrant red with green etheric inlays, and the other gleaming a royal white and gold. She grabbed her comm device only to sink into herself. Pongo could immediately tell she didn’t have the funds. She never did.

Deja-vu, Pongo thought as he grabbed his own comm device with one hand. A few quick taps, and the funds had been sent over. Mia’s eyes suddenly widened, and though she was still too far away for Pongo to hear her, he could see her evident excitement. He continued walking towards her until he was closer, and after swiveling back and forth, she met his gaze and her smile reached both of her ears.

And L’Cirufe, bless his heart, found him standing there seconds later. His surprise quickly bled into his relief, his adoration, his love.

Pongo smiled.

“I still owe you more than a hot chocolate, but hopefully it is still a good start.”

#xenoblade x #Imperium 3: Chapter 8 #thank you so much for reading.#thank you for being here.#this feels beautiful and whole and utterly real. i can't believe i'm here now.#but know this.#this...this is not the end.#imperium may be finished but it is not over.#but for now...i will sleep.

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alavestineneas · 2 months

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and if you are there, why do i feel alone in this room?

pairing: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!reader summary: The woman—a siren, some kind of sea beast lurking in deep, salted waters—sits near him with the ottoman under her feet that still seemed to deny her the comfort of rest, her eyes glinting with mischief when she notices his stare. Taunts, even, forge obliviousness to the spells she casts. Strange, otherworldly—redundant. Everything about her, down to the light gown and a headdress that showed little of her face, Feyd-Rautha was not used to seeing. warnings: mentions of death, violence, implied/referenced child abuse, religious symbolism, mentions of sa (!), blood and other parts of body, very non-healthy relationships chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 !this work is part 2 to the i can feel the soil falling over my head; no people are here, just the void in my chest! word count: 7,3k

author's notes: hi beautiful people! today, I have finally finished this chapter and am thrilled to say that this fic requires part 3! be aware that this piece of literature is explicit and touches on some very heavy themes, including sa and child abuse. Please be mindful of it! As always, your opinions, suggestions, and critiques are welcome in the comments. Love you, and have a tasty read!

There are a lot of books stored in her memory, locked in the neurocytes safely. They are tucked into the cortex with love and tenderness that YN otherwise taught herself to suppress as a sign of her weaker self. But papers were non-living, so she felt like it was less dangerous for her to show warmth towards them; after all, if the objects can not acknowledge your love, does it really count as real? She read everything, mostly in an attempt to prepare herself for something she did not know the face of; she read to build the shield around herself, in desperate hope to be able to help at least her future self. YN read even now, although her foolish childhood desires were long gone, just to get a glimpse of the girl she was before the monsters escaped the pages.

The book she re-read the most was nothing special, nothing suiting the image she moulded herself into—a giant, relatively old encyclopaedia of animals inhabiting the furthest corners of Known Imperium. The letters inside, although faded a little, were left almost untouched by eyes—maybe it was what drew her in in the first place—to cherish something seen as unneeded. YN learned the small paragraphs almost by heart; she liked the idea of someone taking enough time to observe something as small as a roden to know its habits. She liked the idea of it happening to her one day. As it always is, it did not.

She chose her favourite animal without that much thought. Although even the notion of having something beloved was foolish, YN was made to choose; she and her sisters played the game of forest most often. The game was simple: pretend to be a creature you are not, forgetting the countless rules they had to follow. Pretending they have claws and teeth; pretending they can protect themselves not through intrigues and hidden motives but through open, bold force. Irulan was always a Katanga Lioness; she liked it because of the proximity to their house's symbol. YN did not; the grey pages of her beloved book described them as "observed to also scavenge on carrion of animals that were killed by other predators or died from natural causes''. What king of the animals steals the work of others simply to feed themselves? She did not tell Irulan that, of course—why would she?

YN chose a mountain lion for herself. Sure, she may have made a mistake thinking it was just another type of lion, but the game went too far to change anything, so she stuck with that. She even grew to love it—the drawing of the mountain lion on her character sheet, the way it prowled through the forest in her mind's eye. It had many names and many homes. Adaptive. Captivating.

She does not know why it came into her mind suddenly—maybe it was the dim light of the closed arena. The air circulated here freely, cooling through the complex systems of vents, even though it seemed to be deprived of any life—just a mechanical circle of the same molecules moving around her seated figure and returning to the hidden openings again and again. YN looked straight ahead; the two men were still sparring.

From her bench, they looked like one—two bodies moved so swiftly that one was unable to differentiate where the lines of their limbs ended. YN squinted her eyes; she was alone in the seating area, and still, she dared not move closer. The taller, thinner figure possessed skin so white it looked almost translucent underneath the cold light—YN wondered if she would be able to see the structures in his body through his clothed stomach. He moved well, almost too well for her not to press her lower row of teeth to the top one, hiding the tongue in a cave of pearl bones—she had hoped he was worse with his bare hands. YN had counted four hundred and five seconds before he made a mistake in his steps; it was a lot more than her own results, but for a man, he was good.

Feyd-Rautha had style; she had to give him that. He fought like a serpent would: calculated, precise. His fists knew the most effective targets, and his legs knew how to escape the blows of his opponent. If YN was to guess, he relied on muscle memory less than a usual fighter would, preferring to dwell in the moment instead. It made for a good show, sure, but it was not practical. She smiled to herself; of course, the na-Baron could not know what the real battle was like. How unfortunate for him—how delightful for her. YN still can't believe he let her watch his training every morning—was he really that stupid not to realise her motive? Was he too confident to consider having weaknesses?

Regardless, she saw what she needed to do - for three hours every day, she set unmovingly on the third bench in a small fighting ground, imprinting his every move in her mind. There are so many moves you can use and so many tricks you can do before she learns them all. YN did not care for the cold gaze thrown in her direction when Feyd-Rautha collapsed on the ground, taking a moment to rest before lurching onto his opponent again. She can wait.

Mountain lions are stealthy predators.

The days she spent here changed into months, their slow steps morphing into each other until time became a blur, a concept she did not grasp. Feyd-Rautha was a hard one to warm, but before she would mould him into something she wanted, YN needed to heat his DNA to a certain magnitude; otherwise, he would simply break. She would've gladly accepted this turn of fate too, but right now, keeping na-Baron alive is far more convenient for the Bene Gessarit. For her.

A concubine. A slap in the face: it seemed like life was determined to dissolve the small bits of her dignity in its endless pool of secrets. She was not a wife to Harkonnen na-Baron; no, she was to be his whore. If she was not too tired, she would've felt a pang of fear on her rising with oxygen lungs; a concubine's position is even lower here compared to one of a lawful wife's. YN remembers the words of her teacher as she prepared her for the union: Harkonnen concubines are killed after their first night in a position; if one is lucky enough to escape the fate by being with a child, she bears him until it's time for the baby to be born. One of the greatest honours for a Harkonnen is to take the life of his mother as soon as he enters the world.

She was to join na-Baron for breakfast today—a proposal YN waited long to receive, but part of her wishes she never did. It was worded like an invitation; YN knows it was not. Harkonnens rarely spoke when they did not give orders—a creature of habit, she supposed. So, she did what she had to: follow the slave to the chambers designated for the meal. The hem of her dress shone with a colour so foreign to the fort around her; YN needed to make herself stand out. Men are much like children, she learned—the more colourful the toy, the more likely they will want to play with it.

The walls were heavy here. They didn't bend in the shapes she was used to, preferring to stand tall. They didn't have to hide their strength underneath a complicated facade—quite the opposite. They paraded it, wearing it like the honour it is. Staying unremorsefully unbending. Maybe it's the air or a different measure of gravity; maybe it's her habit of soaking up the surroundings and letting them poison her insides, growing rotten in between the folds of her stomach tissue, but her legs are metal, stone-cold, pulling YN deeper and deeper into the floor. She tries so hard to ignore the three creatures in the corner.

They are hairless, much like the man in front of her, and dressed in matching black. YN would've mistaken them for Harkonnen royalty if it were not for the iron collars on their necks and the glowing black eyes that seemed to follow her every move. She would've been happy to have some company and not be forced into solitude with na-Baron if it were not for a still convulsing body on the floor. A body she did not recognise, but it could've easily been her own.

The creatures seemed to enjoy the involuntary moves of the soon-to-be corpse; they closed their eyes in delight and bared the sharp, black-coloured teeth in sheer pleasure as they lurched into the white flesh. They ripped it apart with only their hands, not bothering to use the prepared knives for more than a big incision from head to stomach. The sounds of chewing and gnawing filled the room, echoing off the walls and sending electric impulses down her body. YN was used to the metallic smell and the bright colour of arterial blood, but this was not a simple death. It was a show, and she was the long-awaited watcher.

Feyd-Rautha seemed unbothered by the sight near him. His hands, covered in thick streaks of blood, were deep to his elbows in the body. He dissected the corpse with precision, his eyes focused and his grip steady. He looked calm, even peaceful. Na-Baron was in good humour today. ''I must say, your arrival has graced us with much more than just the dowery; nothing could've made this union more auspicious—such a rare bird you are, daughter of our generous Emperor. A princess, yet treated no better than a common slave.''

Here it was: the thing she was thinking about all the way to this strange, garbage planet in the dress that pokes bleeding holes in her abdomen with each glass she downs. From his lips, it sounds even more bitter; even savages found the way the Emperor sold one of his daughters so easily strange. "Both of our houses have traditions far beyond our understanding," YN shrugs, scaring her thoughts away like annoying flies. Here, in a room so far from the comfort of her home, they moved too fast, bringing nausea to her throat.

She is here to secure the bloodline of House Harkonnen, to ensure the balance needed in the Imperium. YN does not notice how suddenly her gaze darkens or how tightly the hands that rested on the chair are now holding the pleated velvet of her ruby-red gown. Oh, the baby. The tiny creature inside her womb, the future head for the Baron's crown to be placed upon. The yet unconcieved child she could not feel love for. She was given no other choice but to risk its life before even giving it a chance to obtain its gift.

''Then you will find my present to be quite fitting.''

YN watches in silence as na-Baron reaches inside the rib cage of the corpse. He reaps out an organ with one swift motion, almost like plucking a harmful sprout from the garden. The organ is broun and rosewood, a weird mixture of shades that make it harder for her to focus on anything but the thing in his large hand. The gift he meant to give was a human heart.

She feels his walk long before she sees a figure departing from its place at the table; she guesses the end point of his manoeuvres too easily. It's almost funny—a cruel, senseless joke; how obvious the slight tremor in her hands is; how heavy her eyes become at the sight of Harkonnen black. The body positions itself near; if she squints, she can hear the hot breathing somewhere between her shoulder blades. His hand snakes around her neck quickly, positioning the organ right in front of her mouth. YN can detect the smell hitting her nostrils before she closes the receptors in them. She wants to scream, but the notes die in her throat. Who would she scream for? She hears the creatures hiss and whisper—the heart is a good part, from what she can make out. It did not need to be wasted on people like her.

''Will you not accept it?'' Feyd-Rautha's words are mocking, but his dark blue eyes stay virgin to the laughter. They drill small spots on her neck from behind with such force that YN can almost feel the burnt smell of her sweat-covered skin.

She takes a breath. Her own heart shrinks, its vessels beating with intensity twice as much as needed. Still alive, she notes absently. Still breathing. The feeling is natural and easy; the forced calmness in her body tingles the muscles, braiding her nerves into a pattern similar to the netting. Then, she opens her mouth.

"If I shall lick the blood of your hands, Feyd-Rautha, dare to make it your own."

That's it.

Maybe the Emperor was right to spare her none of the Sardaukars and a quarter of her dresses. She did not need more; she was not expected to survive long enough to use half of her clothes. YN chucked under her breath. Dead over diet preferences—how profound.

After a moment, the pale face behind her also twists, allowing the blackened teeth to escape the grip of thin lips. Like this, na-Baron looks less human and more like the evil he was said to be. He throws the heart to the creatures—they catch it greedily—and places a bloodied hand on her shoulder, the droplets of crimson going unnoticed on the brightly coloured cloth. ''Very well, then. Let us eat.''

YN nods. She looks around almost instinctively; nothing could make her eat a thing after the sight she just witnessed, but she refuses the na-Baron once; she is not about to do it again. The food is a lot, but her plate is almost empty: only a small amount of salad is here, sadly staring into the hunger in her eyes and a now featherless creature in an unnatural pose, suggesting its non-poetical death. The bird is small, almost delicate; its wings are pitifully glued to the body. YN does not want to let her mind draw the comparison, and does not allow her brain to admit a direct analogy; she dissects the bird with a dull knife and puts a piece in her dry mouth. The creature tastes good—almost too good to be expected in this brightly lit hall.

Most often deer is the mountain lion’s staple diet. However, they can survive preying on small animals as well.

The night covers Giedi Prime rather quickly; it never lingers, politely waiting for its masters to finish their daily affairs; it hits like a coward, from behind, trapping those not careful enough to hide before its arrival. The harsh, toxic waves of lazy winds hit the walls of the halls coldly lighted with a few sphears; they look like deep forest clearings, forming a system of endless options, ultimately leading to one, inevitable, end. His work chambers aren't big; he does not visit them often for them to be. The solitary metal desk before him is filled with letters, drafts of laws, and official documents, all waiting for his approval. It exhausts Feyd-Rautha to no end, the sheer stupidity of most of the advisers here; almost half of the documents were riddled with errors and inconsistencies. The forever present in his head dull migraine grows stronger when he opens the shortest letter; he almost busts his skull open when the pain heavies.

He ponders too much—the type of thoughts you can feel running on your tongue but never escaping. He is not used to being in the mist; all of his life is so painfully contrasted that no doubt of its nature can survive the sharp edge of his mind. There are things he can escape—forget, even—but some linger in his ribcage too long for them to vanish. Soon, they grow into his lungs with small, unbreakable threads, becoming him. He used to try to get them away from his heart, as if it held some value. Now, he is smarter, older, and more indifferent, he lets them pierce yet another piece of human flesh with no sorrow.

Of course, he remembered her face. The same face that haunted his sleep ever since she dared to appear before his eyes. Feyd-Rautha, naturally, found her little frolic that day. He spent an entire evening studying her work, analysing every move she could've made with her blade to achieve such outcomes. Sure, some things he would've done differently, but the sheer brutality of an animal he would not have guessed the girl possessed charmed him. Feyd-Rautha was a proud man, but he, too, held a love for beautiful things. For that, he hadn't told the Baron of the sight he discovered in the reading room. For that, he is now willing to pretend to believe her eyes when the fear fleshes in them.

Feyd-Rautha curses; she sickens. Like a bone stuck somewhere down his throat, not letting him live without a pang of mocking. She lurks, and whispers—Feyd-Rautha wants to smash her pretty head against the wall just to reveal the secrets she hides from him so he can finally understand the hold she retains. He is no stranger to the desire to own, or devour, but the fear in the back wall of his stomach is an alien in his body. He tries to hide it—to paint over it with anger or violence—but it remains a constant presence, gnawing at him from within. It's no use; the woman is a shark, designed to sense the fright. Maybe that's what brought him in in the first place—the steel eyes so similar to his own in a narrow hall all those years before. Maybe he was so used to the danger that he craved it subconsciously, looking for it to make him feel like himself again. A reoccurring childhood nightmare he can't escape; he doesn't want to escape.

Feyd-Rautha finds the chair to put his weight on and waits until the tingling, spinning sensation spreads from his temples down his neck, finding its way into his bloodstream and passing his organs one by one, until none are left uncorrupted. Of course, he expects it. The woman slipped into his brain and now chews her way into it like a parasite downs the rotten body. He knows he should be terrified, but instead, he feels a strange sense of relief. Feyd-Rautha can hear the whispers of his own mind fighting to remain the only owners of the secrets and desires buried within. He feels his eyelids heavy; a second later, the whites of his eyes are staring at the ceiling, the blue eye lenses dissolving in light.

Water. The first thing he feels is ice-cold water dripping onto his face, filling his lungs, and sending a shock through his arms. This body does not feel like his; it's too small, too narrow. His eyes are trying to adjust as fast as they can, jumping from one blurred spot to another until finally catching a glimpse of the surroundings. His brain does not have time to process the picture; his nose is filled with fluid again, and his open mouth is gasping for air but only taking in more liquid. He tries waving his hands around, but the stronger grip is firm on his nape, pulling him further down into the depths. The hand yanked him out just as he was about to fall into darkness again, the sound of water changing to loud screeching.

''How dare you hit me, devil child? Let the water wash away your dirt. Repent; beg for forgiveness for all of your rotten nature.''

The voice is unknown to him; it is harsh and filled with fury. The woman's face is twisted in anger; splashes of water on it match his. He can't tell if they are from his antics or tears. The woman's grip tightens, her nails digging into his skin. The black clothes on her figure make her status known - a Bene Gessarit witch. Feyd-Rautha tries to lurch forward and hit her back, but her strength is overwhelming. He feels panic coursing through his veins instead of oxygen—a sensation he did not think he could experience anymore. He wants to bark a response to show her that he is not afraid, but his voice catches in his throat.

Feyd-Rautha has no time to wonder what the woman wants; she brings his face to the bathtub again, and he opens his mouth involuntarily, frantically begging not to do it anymore. He says everything she wants to hear; he cries out and promises to wash his sins away. The voice does not sound like his at all. He is desperate to end this nightmare now, but some force holds him here. The woman is not satisfied; her ears are deaf to his pleas.

His face ends up on the water surface a moment later, his nose hitting the wall of the bathtub as the woman holds him down. He feels his body go limp with utter horror; this time, the shouting woman won't stop. Her voice grows quieter, replaced by the sound of small waves hitting the brim and spilling; from right to left, the water turns red, and his tongue tastes the iron he knows from sliding blades into his mouth.

''Echidna, what the fuck are you doing? Let her go; she is going to choke!''

''Get that spawn to me, for I will not let her ruin my life anymore! I must finish what I have started!''

Feyd-Rautha's head is filled with oxygen once again; his lungs take a desperate breath in, sending too much air to his blood system. He falls on his back, the world spinning. He does not care for the weeping woman in black or the chaos unfolding around him. His only thought is that everything is finally done and that the white floors are a magnificent place for drops of liquid to fall from his normally bald head's waterfall of hair.

He wakes up suddenly, the sensation long gone. His steps are heavy again; the body he inhibits no longer feels like a cage. The voices have left him for now, and the only thing on his forehead left is small drops of sweat and a pathetic, frightened, beating heart. The cold breeze from the darkened sands surrounding the city wishes to prove otherwise—it heavies and plants its spikes into his reddened cheeks. The horizon gleams at him, almost taunting; not a single star is to be seen under the imposing clouds. He will kill her; maybe he will even enjoy it. Feyd-Rautha can handle a lot, but not the shame of being seen. Not the guilt of being caught wanting.

There are only three ways to hunt a mountain lion: tracking, waiting in ambush, and with dogs.

The gliding motions of heavy fabrics across the wooden floors created a strange pattern of a song now centuries old. Here, in a room so long that the wind travelled through the hollows, her careful steps seemed to almost fall silent. Nothing was there for the preying eyes to see. YN closes her eyes; with that, even for a moment, the world stays still. She knows where the hollow staircase will lead her; she feels it in her stomach with every step she takes. YN knows nothing about the future, but the past lives deep in her memories, haunting her every move. She knows she shouldn't have done it. Travelling through one's mind is a sin she can't escape; she will pay the price for it in her blood, but the Bene Gesarit did not send her here to survive, so it's of no use to be afraid now. It makes no difference for the dead if you weep at their grave or not.

The burning sphere of light in the hall stops spinning; the doors open without any noise, although if the pounding eardrums had not stunned her hearing, she could've noticed the faint thuds. YN waits; there are no flashes of her happiest memories or the faces of her loved ones in her drained mind. No, in what seems to be her last moments, she thinks of what she could've been if the world had not given her a sword to turn into.

Feyd-Rautha appears in the hall; his steps aren't rushed, and his expression is stone-cold. She eyes him shamelessly: nothing. She sees nothing; she senses it deep in her crying bones. He drags her by the hair like a mother would with her misbehaving child; roughly, he pulls her towards the exit, his grip tightening with each step until the door behind them closes and her knees meet the cold ground with a nasty thud. The bruises will stain them soon, not that it matters now.

''You should've known better than to cross me,'' he hisses, his voice gruff. It's cold, chilling—the way his lips part to reveal a sinister smile. ''Now, you can think yourself vanished, little witch.''

YN does not answer—what fool would beg the deaf? The blade against her chin is sharp; she knows how attentive he is when it comes to inflicting pain. It pokes right into the Omehyoid muscle, a dull pain shooting through her body. If she has got to die, it may as well be from his skilled arms. How beautiful he is in the twisted pleasure he finds in her suffering. Unearthly, almost too perfect to be made of simple flesh and bone. Something was unnerving, unforgettable in the net of veins under his pearly skin; it was as if he were a work of art, meticulously crafted to bring physical pain and optical pleasure in equal measure. A silver glint under the defined cheekbones, a redness of lips filled with blood vessels. For a second, YN wonders what it would be like to bite into it, like an apple that lay too long under the golden sun; would the blood slip as generously as the sweet nectar? Handsome as poison, as a black sun on his forsaken planet, as death.

''Go on. Kill me, then; let me escape you once and for all.''

Under the deep sea of his eyes, something moved; his eyes dipped into her, part by part. Like the slow, deliberate dance of a predator stalking its prey, his gaze lingered on her, calculating and intense. YN lowered her head to push the knife a little deeper into the flesh. A strange thought lingered in her brain; she found herself on her knees in front of him, almost willingly. She has worshipped God all her life; who, if not her, can recognise his creation? The Devil. Lucifer. Satan. The man with horns so big they once touched the skies; a corrupt angel, fallen from grace so long ago he couldn't remember way back if he tried. They have warned her about him, but is it her fault that God has disowned her earlier than she could? Did it really matter to her, before whom to kneel, as long as she felt a sense of power and control in her submission?

All that mattered now was that he wanted to hurt her. He wanted her.

She sees the recognition flicker on his face. Caught. The blade slides quickly across her exposed neck, the blood sprouting out in a weak, painfully quick stream. Feyd-Rautha kissed her, biting her bottom lip till the stream of boldly coloured blood trickled down his chin. He did so like an animal would, baring his teeth and dragging them across the pulsating vein on her neck. YN's laughing cry echoes in the empty room; she is forced to admit that he felt good.

Never approach a mountain lion; most mountain lions prefer to avoid confrontations, so never approach them and make them feel cornered.

The woman—a siren, some kind of sea beast lurking in deep, salted waters—sits near him with the ottoman under her feet that still seemed to deny her the comfort of rest, her eyes glinting with mischief when she notices his stare. Taunts, even, forge obliviousness to the spells she casts. Strange, otherworldly—redundant. Everything about her, down to the light gown and a headdress that showed little of her face, Feyd-Rautha was not used to seeing. The beautiful substance of her hair caught the light from the sun like a mirage in the desert, reflecting in his eyes with painful hits. The jewels, too, have found their way onto her clothes, but they were hidden beneath the layers of fabric. They shined brightly, impertinently, framing her figure in a glow that seemed to come from within.

To his surprise, the skills woman possessed spread out to politics as well, with her witch training proving useful in court. Feyd-Rautha did not miss how his advisors grew more uneasy when she entered the room, her careful eyes scanning their faces for even a hint of betrayal or deceit. Like a proud discoverer, he ached to share his new-found wonder with the blind audience, but something in him protested in a mare thought of showing the precious jewel of his eye to the cluster of unworthy. So, Feyd-Rautha did the only thing he knew how— all of his secret observations were done from afar, masterfully hidden behind the facade of casual indifference.

As he drags yet another blade across the surface of the whetstone, he thinks about her delicate hands on his neck, her ringed fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. Harkonnen men rarely wed; they just take what they capture—men and women—and turn them into slaves. Some, if particularly sweet, are reserved for fucking. There are no special songs for that; there isn't a specific word in their native tongue for wife, either. It doesn't matter; YN is nothing of the sort. A concubine, a possession, a tool for pleasure and procreation—the Harkonnen way was simple.

''Are you done eye-fucking me now, or do you need more time with your blade?'' she sneers, her voice mocking. Only she could get away with such bold defiance in his presence, but she does not seem to care for the unusualness of it.

YN motions for him to come closer, her eyes studying the way his legs move. Feyd-Rautha has no control over them; the steps make themselves. She plays the game very well; the chase fuels something primal within him. Thirst. Hunger. It was the Harkonnen training talking to him—the wild, ancient sensation taking over his insides and imprisoning his mind in a cage of helpless desire. It spread its tentacles down to his fingertips, nesting in his abdomen. He positions himself in front of her, his body betraying him as he leans in closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Feyd-Rautha's hands repeat the ritual almost instinctively, rolling the hem of her deep purple dress up to her waist.

''Stop for a second,'' she whispers against his ear, her breath warm and inviting. ''Can I give you a piece of advice?''

Feyd-Rautha can feel the anger creeping into his body; he does not like to be refused. ''No,'' he grumbles, turning her around forcefully. "I don't need your advice," he snaps, his grip tightening on her arm.

YN does not seem to care for it. ''Don't do it. It will only lead to trouble.''

''What?'' He stops, his eyes narrowing as he absorbs the woman's words. The doubts that had lingered in the back of his mind suddenly grew louder, echoing through his mind. He releases her arm, his expression stoic. ''You are insane, woman. What are you talking about?''

''You know what I mean.''

The unease boils in his stomach. How could she know? He was careful not to slip anything; she wasn't able to cast her spells anymore either. But her knowing gaze tells him otherwise. ''You can not know the future,'' he pronounces.

''I don't need to know the future to see the truth, Feyd-Rautha. Your judgement is clouded by rage, and your mind is not as sharp as it usually is. You are not as invincible as you think you are.''

She is bluffing, he thinks. He hopes she is. Feyd-Rautha almost wished there was no cloth covering her face, nothing to hide her expressions as she lay beneath him. He catches her flamed eyes and the way they circle his face in one swift motion before settling on the ceiling above. It unnerves him, but he refuses to show it. She is no master here; she is simply a servant. That is not what power looks like, if he ever recognised one, and Feyd-Rautha knew power.

''Get out, now.''

Nothing was portrayed on her face as she curtseyed; nothing was there when she turned and walked to her rooms, leaving nothing but the ghost of the human body's warmth.

Mountain lions are more at home in brushy areas than in open prairies.

And then, he disappeared. Like the sound of the morning birds falling silent in the cacophony of voices of the city on her home planet, there was no trace of na-Baron in the entire Harkonnen fortress. YN thought she was slowly but surely going mad; no one but her noticed the usual place by the window empty, and no one but her seemed to care enough to know where he went. She caught strange looks from a few, and frankly, she thought they were right. She looked like a mad woman, her hair quickly plated and her dress hurriedly laced, her eyes darting around the room in search of any sign of Feyd-Rautha's massive figure. Noon was dragged into the evening, and then night, for three, long days until she heard the long-awaited news: na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen had tried to usurp his uncle and had failed.

She has told him so. A fucking brainless ram, with stubbornness bigger than his cock—why did he think he could outsmart the Baron? He will pay for his dumbness with his blood, perhaps even his limb—the thought brought nausea to YN's throat. She was lucky the Baron did not consider her important enough to be knowledgeable of such schemes; she lowered her head in the desert, hiding from the sand storms of Harkonnen politics; she waited for two long weeks until the announcement was made; Feyd-Rautha was forgiven. The celebration in honour of this news is to be today; she is to attend it. Not like his concubine, YN supposed, but more like the princess she still was.

Now, she took her time. YN chose a gown she wanted long enough to make even a tireless slave yawn, savouring each moment before their meeting. She was a victor now, in their small game of cat and mouse. He was a cat, but the mouse could still outwit him with grace and style. YN smiled at the wondering attendants; she looked good, and she was going to meet him.

The walk from her chambers to the Grand Hall wasn't too long; she would've walked a thousand more stairs if it was needed. The doors opened without a sound, revealing nothing but a mere celebration of yet another year under the reign of Harkonnens. The lines of slaves changed one another, the uneven circles of people dancing appearing and fleeing to the cheerful tone of strings. She was set somewhere between two Harkonnen lords she had no chance of knowing; she felt a sense of unease creeping up her spine as she tried to maintain a polite smile. Their gazes didn't look right; something sinister lurked inside them—hiding a secret she had no chance of knowing.

One of them turned to her, a chilling smile spreading across his face. "How are you finding the evening, lady YN? Or, what should I call you?,'' he mastered a fake confusion. ''Perhaps, darling? Concubine has a cheap wing to it; quite unworthy of a face so lovely as yours, don't you think?"

Dirt. The thing that crawled under her skin at his words was like dirt, making her feel unclean and exposed. She forced a laugh, trying to brush off his comments, the crown of her hair moving with muscles underneath her skin. "I am a princess, my Lord. Address me as such."

It would be enough every other noon, but today. The man's face twists, as if he just remembered something; he turns, the wine in his goblet splashing on the tablecloth. ''I think na-Baron wouldn't be too angry if I stole a princess for the night," he sneered, his eyes darkening with malice.

''Does it matter to you either way?''

YN watches as the smirk, so similar to Feyd-Rautha's, appears on the men's lips, although it doesn't feel the same. She fights back disgust as the man nods, biting into a hefty chunk of prey. His eyes, once focused on her, drifted away. YN chose to follow them; the string of fat streaming down the man's mouth onto the silver tablecloth made her nauseous. She looked from one unfamiliar face to another, until the cold feeling in her abdomen crept its way onto her chest.

There he was. His figure is unusually crouching as he sits on the podium reserved for members of the dynasty. The dark blue eyes are red now; the thin blood vessels in them are torn and emptied. His body seemed to suck the light out of the hall inside, casting a shadow over the room. There are no scars on his smooth face, but the sunken cheeks and hollow eyes spoke of a suffering that went beyond physical wounds. YN almost wished she saw him dead; whatever this was, it was surely much worse. He raised his eyes slowly to meet hers; something flickered in them before turning back to their empty state. Feyd-Rautha parts his dry lips to say something to her—she can't understand a word he draws with his breath.

From the place nearby, the Baron's voice booms, his low, almost whisper-like vowels mending into one. His face, covered with layers of skin and dead cells, twists into what was meant to be a welcoming smile—the corners of his paper-thin lips dance, lowering themselves only to jump higher, and his eyes travel from one corner to another, unable to be still even for a moment. He speaks of things YN knows nothing about court intrigue, power struggles, and alliances that shape the fate of their world, heavy with hidden meanings and unspoken threats. She does not listen until he gestures towards her, a scent of spice and decomposing flesh lingering.

''Sergeant Voss has served me well, and his loyalty at the right time is not to be forgotten. Here, I bestow upon him the highest honour of all; what was once mine, is now his. Do not let go of her if she screams, Sergeant; the girl is a fine one.''

No. YN almost does not recognise the hand as her own as the man drags her to the bed that appeared out of nowhere, freezing with horror as the people around her continue to watch in silence, their eyes devoid of any emotion or empathy. The tradition, she notes, is the one she learned so much about bedding in front of the entire court as a symbol of unity. She choked on her own tears as the man smiled at her pleas for help; they seemed to make him even more pleased.

YN looks, frantically, to the place she saw Feyd-Rautha sitting just a moment before. He would help; surely, he would not let them do it to her—his servant, his concubine, his. But the seat is empty. The scream echoing through the hall does not register as hers right away; he has sold her. For his own freedom, for a chance to be free from the consequences of his own stupid actions. Surely, the Harkonnens could not get rid of her openly—it would mean war—but she was not immune to the man who now owned her. His hands travelled her body with such audacity that YN wanted to cut them off—to cut her chest just so she could not feel the fingers digging into her skin. A sole reminder she was a woman first and a human second.

Mountain lions are solitary hunters.

The man undressed himself quickly; all of the soldiers were trained to do so. She should run; she should fight back, but the pair of unmoving hands pinning her wrists down was a stark reminder of her helplessness. The man lowers himself closer, his hot breath against her neck making her shudder in fear. She can feel him against her skirts; she can feel the weight of his body pressing down on her. The adrenaline is pumping through her veins; she will survive. Whatever it fucking takes, even if her body is bruised and broken, she will survive.

They prefer to ambush their prey from behind by swiftly and cleanly breaking the neck.

She bites—her teeth launch towards his cheek, feeling the warm flesh give way beneath her. She sinks them deeper, making holes big enough to draw blood. It's hot, and sickening on her tongue, but she does not have time for these thoughts; her next blow is in his stomach, with his knee jammed into his gut. She can feel his body convulse in pain, giving her a chance to throw him on the bed, his broad back facing her.

If they haven’t broken the neck, they will suffocate the animal.

There is nothing around that could serve as a knife; her captors made sure of that, and the sheets are too thin to wrap around his neck. She looks around the room, desperate for something to use, but the space around her is empty. YN curses as the man regains his composure and begins to struggle against her hold. Her elbow meets his nose with a sickening crunch, causing blood to spurt out. She takes a breath in; her hand wraps around his neck, forming a tight hold as she goes into the headlock. She chokes him, so desperately trying to live. And the man trashes against her grip, his white face turning a deep shade of purple before finally going limp in her arms.

Shame.

A thing that followed her after every life she took is now absent. Maybe the Giedi Prime's cruelty did have its effect on her; YN feels nothing but a sense of emptiness as she stands over the lifeless body.

''Do you have any more men to gift me to, Baron Vladimir? The night is still young.''

Her voice has changed. It holds a certain hiss now, a rasp that wasn't present before; it has matured and bloomed into half an octave deeper tone. It bites through the noise easily, cutting sharply.

The Baron laughs. His eyes gleam with amusement as he gestures towards the door. "Plenty more where that came from, my dear, but it's enough for today. Here,'' he throws something in her, a smirk ghosting on his lips. ''You've earned it.''

YN catches it and inspects the object in her hand. A small, golden broche catches the light, glinting in the dimly lit room. A head of the Bighorn ram stares back at her, the symbol of House Harkonnen. The taste of victory mingled with the metallic tang, leaving a bittersweet sensation in her mouth. Joy courses her veins—she isn't afraid. Finally, she is not afraid. Finally, she can look at her blood-stained hands without humiliation. Is it her fault she was born a better knife than a person?

Bighorn sheep are not a primary food source in most areas. However, when a lion does kill a sheep, they typically will continue to do so over and over again, until the herd is depleted.

tag list:

@oh-you-mean-me @juliskopf @moonsoulk @mamawiggers1980 @ashy-kit

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call-sign-shark · 1 year

Text

Heaven In Your Eyes || Masterlist

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC (Heaven Lavey Shelby)

Additional content/Info: CLICK HERE

Fic Summary: He meets her at church one dreary night, guided by her singing. Her name? Heaven Lavey. White ivory hair, fair porcelain skin, and petite shape, this almost ethereal creature is Arthur's strict opposite. Yet, all it took was one dive into her heavenly eyes for him to be convinced God has sent His sweetest angel to save his bastard soul. The two lovebirds, obsessed with each other, are determined to live their love no matter people's judgments and no matter the dangers of a Peaky Blinder's life. They are together through the best and through the worst.

But behind her holy appearance and sweet facade, Heaven Lavey is dangerous. With rumors of witchcraft and murder, her shady past weighs on her shoulders. And if she is a blessing for Arthur Shelby, she will soon prove to be a curse for those who dare to stand in her and her husband's way. Even Thomas Shelby himself.

She is Arthur’s Angel, but don't get fooled by her doe eyes: for the rest of us, she is the White Devil.

And by extend, you are too.

Why? Because Heaven Lavey… It’s you.

TW: Major character death, explicit sexual content, canonical violence, graphic description of violence, blasphemy, witch trials and burning of innocent women, dependent relationship (if Arthur and Heaven are happy in their relationship, they are obsessed and possessive, which leads to bursts of violence and deifying from Arthur. By no means I am claiming their relationship is healthy, but it is what works for them)

ACT I.

♢ Ch. 1 || Heaven in Your Eyes

♢ Ch. 2 || Never Did, Never Dared

♢ Ch. 3 || Something Wicked This Way Comes 🔞

♢ Ch. 4 || Dead Bird at Witchin Hour

♢ Ch. 5 || The Hell in His Eyes

♢ Ch. 6 || The One They Should Have Burned

♢ Ch. 7 || Of Matches and Gasoline 🔞

♢ Ch. 8 || Tango on Broken Dreams

ACT II.

♢ Ch. 9 || For Whom the Bells Toll

♢ Ch. 10 || Closer to Heaven or Closer to Hell? 🔞

♢ Ch. 11 || When The Bridges Burn

♢ Ch. 12 || As They Always Did

♢ Ch. 13 || Cross My Heart and Hope to Die

♢ Ch. 14 || Pure As a Lamb 🔞

♢ Ch. 15 || Women Like Me in a Men's World

♢ Ch. 16 || Après Moi le Déluge ( c o m i n g . . .)

♢ Ch. 17 || ( Il Diàvulu Biancu)

♢ Ch. 18 ||

ACT III.

♢ Ch. 18 ||

♢ Ch. 19 ||

♢ Ch. 20 ||

♢ Ch. 21 ||

♢ Ch. 22 ||

♢ Ch. 23 ||

♢ Ch. 24 ||

♢ Ch. 25 ||

♢ The series can be longer.

Some events from the show are taken and obviously reworked. Yet, except for a few quotes and scenes, everything else is imagined by the author.

Related works - in chronological order-

♢ From Blood We Will Grow

♢ To Bark and Bite

♢ Kaiser Meeting Cyril (requested)

♢ A Bone to Pick With It (requested)

♢ Perfect Lines

♢ Savage Daughter

♢ A Slice of Us (Modern!HYE)

♢ Love Ritual (@zablife's celebration)

♢ The Woods Whisper 1, 2 (Halloween Horror)

♢Little Lamb 1, 2, 3 (Yandere!AU)

Moodboards and other content

♢ Playlist

♢ Moodboard Aesthetic

♢ Moodboard Chapter 6

♢Heaven In your Eyes Act II trailer

♢ Moodboard Chapter 12

♢ Heaven in your Eyes chapter 16 trailer

Looking for more? Check out Heaven's masterlist I and II.

Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @cherubswhispers @he6rtshaker @bemyqueenofdarkness @cljordan-imperium @cjarbo @red-riding-wood @rysko

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circeius-invidioso · 2 months

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I do not get why the Red Corsairs are not a popular choice.

Like.

Like here is the elevator pitch for the warband and then we can come to some justified conclusion.

What isn't there to love?

You want me to turn into an infomencial and make a top 3 reasons why the Red Corsairs are great?

Cause I can.

And I will.

The Diverse Working Enviroment

Here in the Red Corsairs we might have started as Ultramarines but the barrier for entry is on the floor. So anyone can join.

You are Night Lord with a bad rep and no ship.

Buckle up we got you covered.

You are a Fallen and have 20 Dark Angels all up in yo business? Trying to shoot down the boss babe you are?

Fear not, or in our case. Know no Fear. We are strapped and don't get clapped.

You are a traitor that likes their Legion but sadly you got in our way?

Tough luck buddy, you will join or die and your geene seed will join our cause. Nothing personal battle brother. Just business as usual.

Everyone is welcome as long as they follow Huron's guidelines and don't aggitate the topless sweaty Khorne worshipping Ultramarines in the basement.

Sustainability

Unlike the corrupt Imperium of man and the corpse Emperor our leader is powered by miracles (which is trully a miracle how he survived but that on the next section), and we use 0 psyckers to power our crap.

Our carbon footprint is also minimum as we use salvaged goods and don't indulge in toxic industries that destroy worlds.

The Red Corsair base of operation is in the Eye of Terror and from there we expand our scope. A place greatly known for its constant shifts, and horrible conditions but the tan our serfs have are spectacullar from all that cosmic radiation.

Finally we are commited to recycling. As in we take from our victims benefactors and put those stolen goods to some great use. Nothing goes to waste, neither mortal, nor static object. If something is not nailed on the floor we will take it.

In fact we might take the floor too and the nails used to set it in place.

Nothing goes to waste!

Unmatched Leadership

Last, but certainly not least.

The man.

The myth.

The Legend.

Huron Blackheart.

Aka Lufgt Huron.

Aka what would happen if we gave a compressed Guilliman a daemonic familiar and left him to ferment in a warp storm.

Not only the name is so edgy you might cut yourself by saying it out loud. But also it's complex enough that if you say it quickly three times without twisting your tongue theres is a chance furniture might start levitating.

The man has put his Ultramarine brain to use and amased enough influence and power to put the Black Legion to shame.

Huron went from 0 to 100 in no time, he is a self made Warmaster. With no daddy issues or troubles in the world, he goes into battle blasting Alestorm in the voxxcasters.

He does not care.

He probably wears this when he wants to relax.

You think he cares?

He does not care.

He has a biker gang specifically organized to hunt down those who have betrayed him.

They slap those things on their armors not for the usual biker reason

(which fun fact the meaning is, 99% of the bikers are law-abiding, where the 1% are not. That's where the 1% comes from. The more you know 🌈)

no they wear that 1% because that's how high are your chances of escaping from them are.

Is that a bit extreme?

Yes.

You think he cares?

He does not care.

The dude once gathered his buddies and decided...

to you know. Have a casual outing. Nothing too serious, it was a sunday afteral.

So they decided on.

Kidnapping Guilliman.

Which they almost did if not for a Fallen of all people getting in the way.

But still.

The mad lad took Macragge's Honour and went on a joyride/ mini civil war.

Who in the galaxy can turn and say.

Yeah, I stole Macragge's Honour, almost captured my old Primarch. Told a daemon prince they are irrelevant on my way there. Anyway after crushing a fool who thought he could take my crown as king of the space pirates, I went to the home planet of the White Scars and kidnapped and tortured their Chapter Master. What did you do this week? 💅

Who wouldn't want to be a part of that?

You tell me I can be an immortal, gorgeous chaos Ultramarine goth boy going on pirate adventures across the galaxy?

Where do I sign up?

I don't need ink for a signature.

I will use my own blood.

#warhammer #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 40k #wh40k #shitpost #red corsairs #chaos ultramarines #chaos space marines #games workshop #black library #huron is the chaos ultramarines representation we deserve

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shiyorin · 2 months

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The Inquisitor knows about yandere astartes, it won't end well

Inquisitor [REDACTED] report on yandere Astartes (????)

+++ CLASSIFICATION: [LOCK]

+++ CLEARANCE: Obsidian

+++ ENCRYPTION: [LOCK]

+++ DATE: 327.M38

+++ AUTHOR: Inquisitor [REDACTED], Ordo Malleus

+++ SUBJECT: INVESTIGATION INTO SUSPECTED GENEFLAW AFFECTING ADEPTUS ASTARTES SUBJECTS ACROSS ALL CHAPTERS AND FOUNDINGS

+++ EYES ONLY HIGHEST TRANCHESINQUISITORIAL CASE FILE [EXCISED]

Summary of Findings:

Initial reports of this suspected "Geneflaw" first reached my conclave several terran years ago. Astartes assets deployed to war zones began exhibiting highly erratic behaviors and perverse compulsions unbecoming of the Emperor's finest warriors.

Behavioral divergences included:

Unnatural emotional outbursts and loss of emotional mastery

Uncontrollable sexual urges and deviant acts

Possessive, clingy behaviors violating sacred chains of command

Irrational self-destructive and anti-imperial actions driven by object fixations

At first, these cases seemed sporadic and isolated across different Chapters. However, as more deplorable incidents piled up, a clear pattern emerged. Something grievous had gone wrong on a fundamental level.

Excerpted examples of documented cases:

[REDACTED] - BLOOD ANGELS CHAPTER Audio log of Sanguinary Priest [REDACTED]

"Some dark curse has been visited upon our Chapter. A growing number of my battle-brothers have become… afflicted with wanton hungers. No mere physical needs, but all-consuming fixations on certain mortals within our care."

"They will stop at nothing to "claim" these individuals for themselves, body and soul. Any attempt at intervention results in unthinkable acts of disobedience and violence…"

[SAMPLE ENDS]

[REDACTED] - BLACK TEMPLARS CHAPTER Thought downloading from captured Chaplain [REDACTED] upon interrogation

"The time for restraint is at an end. I can bear this throbbing in my soul no longer! She must know the depth of my unfettered desire, the fever pitch of my infatuation. If she does not return these longings, I shall shatter worlds until the God-Emperor take pity!"

*Interrogator's Note: [NEUTRALIZE]

[REDACTED] - EXCORIATOR CHAPTER Recorded pict-captures from helm-cams during incursion on [REDACTED]

-Extreme Battlefield Fraternization between crusaders and human auxiliaries -Acts of exhibitionism and self-mutilation by crusaders -Systematic execution of any battle-brother expressing disgust at above actions -Final pict: [REDACTED]

The list of astartes goes on. Worse, there appear to be no patterns in age, founding, homeworld or even primarch genealogy. These repulsive behaviors are emerging across every Adeptus Astartes chapter at random. The Imperium teeters on the brink of an catastrophic, gene-coded crisis.

Research into potential countermeasures and remedies continues. However, my conclusions thus far firmly advocate an extreme response to contain this threat.

RECOMMENDED ACTIONS:

1) Immediate executions for any Astartes subject exhibiting Geneflawed behaviors. No exceptions.

2) Full and systematic extinction-level viral bombings against all potentially compromised Chapters and fleets.

3) Pre-emptive destruction of all Astartes gene-seed repositories, along with any Adeptus Mechanicus factions and forge worlds implicating in its creation or study.

Only through the complete erasure of this genetic stock can the essence of the Adeptus Astartes be preserved for the inevitable darkness yet to come.

The Emperor's work must be done, no matter how abominable the means required.

I await your tribunal's final judgment on this matter.

Thought for the Day: "There is nothing to be gained through mercy, only fleeting weakness and eventual damnation."

-Inquisitor [REDACTED]

#shiyorin's writer #tw: yandere #yandere au #space marine x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #lol

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moodymisty · 3 months

Text

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝕺𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝕸𝖊

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Part 2 of 5 - Part 1

Author's Note: Part 2! I know it came out kinda fast, but part 3 might take a bit longer since it's a bit more heavy than these first 2 chapters. It will also feature much more of our spooky man than this one has. Either way, I hope you enjoy meeting our stinky little Night Lord.

Summary: A Night Lord becomes interested in you while you stand under the eyes of your Salamander guardian, and you find yourself stuck between two titans.

Relationships: Yandere Salamander/Fem!Reader/Yandere Night Lord

Warnings: Hints of nsfw at points, Yandere, Size differences, Very toxic suffocating relationship(s), Some knight/princess dynamics, Demeaning language, Both these guys have hero complexes, Violence blood and bruises and possibly death to say without spoilers

Word Count: 3446

You need to eat.

When Ralkan had told you to stay you’d trusted his judgment; Staying put in your quarters. It wasn’t safe for you on your own, not with Night Lords now prowling around. At least in his eyes. You didn’t have enough information to feel either way about it, though you can't say you have no fear of astartes you don't know.

Even when you first came aboard this ship, coming face to face with astartes for the first time- even as their kind faces smiled and they gave you polite dips of their head and welcomed you aboard- you still felt the heart pounding fear of seeing towering warriors on the line between human and something else.

Floating in the vastness of space beside the Flamewrought, Night Lord ships linger around with an unnerving aura you could feel when looking out any of the large viewports. it almost was like the ships were leering, as ridiculous as such a notion sounds.

There wasn’t much you could do in hidden away in your quarters, however. You could only write so much before you could no longer avoid the growling of your stomach, and the way it aches.

You can just go to the mess hall and get something to eat, and rush back to your quarters. It's not as if you have other options in the matter; He surely hadn't expected you to just starve, or get someone to wait on your hand and foot.

You had your fill of that on Terra. You can get your own food, you aren't a child anymore. And this ship is alive and well, you aren't going to let yourself fear some invisible terror in the dark.

Having your fill of hermitry you get up from your desk chair, leaving the small quarters that have been designated as your own. It has only the basics; A bed, a desk and chair, and a few other basics for a human to live. Perhaps it isn't as grandiose as a study in your highrise on Terra, in the shadow of the gilded Imperium palace, but it is far more freeing.

Upon leaving hall was relatively empty; They hadn't felt content to put you in quarters with other baseline humans, but you were still far away from the Salamanders own barracks. You were sure Ralkan had a say in this intentional placement as your guardian.

Down adjacent halls you can sometimes see a hint of dark blue armor pass the corner of your eye as you walk, but by the time you go to look, it’s gone. You've seen glimpses of the Night Lords now that they're aboard the ship, but you've avoided a full confrontation as of yet.

Ralkan's suffocating protection has done a good job of it. However he has his duties and cannot be around you always, and you’ll take the moment to take a deep breath free of him for just a little while.

You would never say you dispised him, but his aggravating behavior has begun to make your quarters feel like a cage. You cant stay in there forever, you have to eat. You doubt he would scold you for such a thing.

When you reach the mess hall you quickly grab a heaping portion of food- anyone who notices pays no heed to the amount- and sit to quickly shovel it all down. It's less than appealing taste is like nothing else now, with how hungry you are, and you find it gone within minutes. Only crumbs are left, and finally you're full again.

You quickly get up and move to shuffle back to your quarters not moments after the last bit of food hits your belly. If you're quick and avoid too many eyes he'll never know, and you two can both continue being sweet on one another with him being none the wiser.

His heart is in the right place; It's just that his grip is far too tight.

Your feet hit the floor at a quick place, walking as fast as you can go. The halls are a bit emptier than they were earlier, but you notice your door is within sight after what feels like only a few minute trek. When you get in, you can continue to write about Commander Artellius, and your time with the Salamanders. Being in travel has made things largely uneventful, other than the edition of the new temporary allies.

You reach towards the door open it, when a voice cuts the air and nearly startles you into to the ceiling.

“Well, what is this?”

The voice is loud, with an odd accent that warps his words ever so slightly. The shadows overtaking you are massive, and they almost seem to have appeared out of nowhere.

Maybe they had been following you. You were too busy staring at your own feet to notice, worried about making it back before a fellow of Ralkan spotted you out and out.

With no other option you turn and look up, gazing over dark blue armor with dents and scratches, marked with brass edging and red accents.

Only one had spoke, but there's three here; The middle is the tallest, but the one to his right is the most scarred; And the one that spoke, judging by the way he's smiling. He's the cockiest one, clearly.

The one in the middle has skin pallid and marked, a massive, jagged scar cutting across the bridge of his nose and brow. You think his irises might be a color, brown or grey, but there’s something in them that almost seems to suck the light out of everything around him and make them almost as black as his hair. But unlike his brother, he's yet to speak a word.

Your hand hovers over the handle of your door, frozen. You've barely even looked to the third Night Lord to your right.

Stuck like prey, you jolt as you spot an armored hand begins to reach towards your face from the corner of your eye, towards your jaw, and you yelp as it clamps around your jawline. Instantly your own hands try to pull at his armored fingers, teeth gritting as he holds far too tight. The cocky one steps a bit closer and turns your face as if examining a curious trinket, before he notices something.

“She’s all bruised,” He says, his thumb shoving your cheek and pushing it.

You were? When Ralkan grabbed you last you saw him he must’ve done so too hard. You can’t feel it hurting, but you are more than used to the smattering of bruises across your skin from him. Even at his most gentle, it’s obvious he isn’t made with it in mind.

You look up at the one gripping you, watching his eyes rake over you. He laughs, a gravely chuckle that you can feel in your chest as his own rumbles. The third one simply watches, body blocking the only escape path away from the other two. He's watching, like the act of doing so is more amusing that actually joining in.

“I thought the Salamanders were supposed to be altruistic.”

The Night Lord turns your face harder, and you gasp trying to pull at his gauntlet to free yourself even a minutia. Your muscles ache, jaw yelling in pain as his gauntlet is like a vice grip around the bottom half of your face.

“Hey, careful.”

The one in the middle finally speaks up for the first time, and the one grabbing you turns to him and scowls, clicking his tongue. His nose wrinkles but he doesn't let go of you, goading his taller brother.

“What, you suddenly care? We don’t feed other people's pets.”

Reaching forward he tugs one of your hands away from your captor's gauntlet, raising it for your captor to easily see.

“Look at the clothes. I think she’s important.”

The one grabbing you scoffs and turns away, pulling you around again. His other gauntlet grabs at your other arm, and looks at your hand. His face perks considerably, and the jolt of fear it sends through you beats all others.

"Ink stains. You don't work. You're soft."

Something on his face and in his voice changes, and you try to dig your heels into the ground in some fruitless effort to stay put.

"Volya." The middle one says as your capture seems to be readying to pick you up. You can barely open your jaw to speak let alone yell, unless someone spots you, you stand no chance of getting out of where ever he's planning on taking you.

"Yeah yeah, she's important; What important person is shoved back here by all the serfs and storage? They won't notice."

You yelp digging your heels deeper, and briefly look at the one who has voiced even the tiniest bit of concern for you. He catches your gaze, and something changes in his eyes as your hands pull at the fingers that hold you.

Moments later he grabs at his battle brother’s gauntlet, the ceramite clanking against each other as armor plates collide. Your captor looks at the taller one like he's furious at just being touched.

“We’re already far out-numbered on this ship. Just leave it. Find a less important one to toy with.”

He looks at his brother for a moment, nose wrinkled and teeth barred, and you can feel the air change like a fight is brewing; But he lets you go.

“Fine.”

Taking his fellow with him the two Night Lords leave you and the tallest of the three, the one who stood up for you, alone. You rub your jaw and look up at him. He watches with an unreadable expression on his unkempt face.

“...Thank you,”

You say, and you’re surprised by the way he reacts to it. Though his surprise fades away, as he smiles. It feels like his teeth are too big for his mouth, his two sharp fangs press against the inside of his upper lip.

“It talks? A surprise.”

Whereas Ralkan is stoic and mindful, this man is the opposite; His smile is cocky and posture relaxed even in his hulking armor. His arms cross, but given the size of his chestplate, the closest he can get to fully doing so is gripping his forearms with the opposite hand.

You swallow the knot in your throat. You know that while he did chase the other two away, it's very well possible it's only because he wanted you to himself.

Though maybe it's that curiosity in you- the thing that Ralkan seems so irritated by- that has you prying for answers rather than just crying and pleading for him to let you leave.

“What is your name? You’re the first of your Legion I’ve met.”

That wasn’t the question he expected to hear, you suppose. His face perks with surprise and curiosity not unlike a child.

“Lev.”

Ralkan told you they enjoy terrorizing the weak, only picking fights that they know they can win by overwhelming odds. You'd say if you didn't cower like prey maybe he would leave you alone, but that's impossible when Lev is a terrifying example of just how little of a thing you are, in comparison to these giants.

But he doesn't seem like how Ralkan described them on first impression, however. Perhaps he’s just hiding it so you let your guard down. Though why would he risk a fight with his battle brothers if that was the case?

“We didn't know they had any of you studious types on board. Do they keep you all locked up?”

You're sure Ralkan would like to, if he had his way with it. Had he been less inclined to take your opinion seriously, you'd probably be chained somewhere in your quarters, right about now.

"I was, informed, to stay in my quarters until you all left the ship."

Lev snorts, his smirk lopsided. Before he has a chance to say anything more, you notice that he has blood coming from one nostril, down his lip. It’s dry, but you wonder if he was in a fight and broke his nose not long ago. The bruising around it and dipping underneath his eyes adds to the theory.

“You’re bleeding…”

You say, gesturing to your own nose. He brushes his gauntlet against his upper lip, and watches dried blood fall to the ground. He licks his upper lip, and more of the blood wipes away. You find yourself more distracted by the gesture than one would like.

“Ahh, one of your Salamanders saying things he shouldn’t have; He could throw a punch, but couldn’t take one.” He smiles at you again.

“I didn’t kill him, if you’re worried about him.” "Believe me, I wanted to. All these overgrown lot are a bunch of stuck up types. You think they'd learn to keep their mouths shut before I take something from it."

You get the hint that he's joking, as odd as that is; Salamanders don't often joke. But you also get the hint that the only reason he didn't kill the man, was that as he mentioned before, he's greatly outnumbered on the Flamewrought.

You hadn't been thinking about the Salamander oddly enough however, too focused on the purple and blue bruising scattered across the hump of his nose. Your eyebrows raise, back still pressed against the wall.

“But, are you ok?”

You mumble, watching his eyes look over you. It almost looks like he thinks you're messing with him, until he seems to realize you were serious, and his expression mellows a bit. He uncrosses his arms and reaches a hand for you, and unlike his battle brother, you don't shirk away from his gauntlet nearly as much.

He grabs your jaw much in the same way his battle brother had earlier, but soft enough that it doesn't hurt.

"You stink like one of them," He remarks, and you assume he's referring to the Salamanders. His fingers grip your chin and pull it upward, exposing more of your neck.

He looked as if he was going to open his mouth and speak more, but a voice cuts through the air and stops him dead.

“Do you not have somewhere to be, Night Lord?”

Ralkan's voice makes your heart nearly stop, though you can’t manage to pull your eyes away from the Night Lord even as he approaches with thundering footfall. Lev however does, and looks towards the Salamander who stands no more than a meter to his right. You can see his face sour as he’s forced to drop his hand.

“Perhaps. But I believe on our arrival you said we were welcome guests, can I not wander?”

Ralkan steps forward, just short of trying to shove his slightly larger body between the both of you. He reaches for you, a massive green gauntlet landing on your shoulder.

“Move along, Son of Curze.”

He gives Ralkan a look. One that while irritated, is pleased that he managed to get under the Salamander’s skin.

But the Night Lord still hesitates to leave, watching as you shrink under the shadow of your returned guardian. For a moment you fear he might start something, with the way he looks at you and follows the arm trailing up your shoulder to Ralkan.

But recognizing the fight isn't one that he's sure he'll be able to win, Lev turns away from your overbearing knight to look down at you with the same smirk he'd given you earlier.

"Another time, little Salamander."

Lev leaves. He walks past the Salamander with not even a look, and just barely they manage to not slam pauldrons as he turns away.

When he is safely out of earshot, Ralkan looks down at you; His expression is still stoic, but you can see the anger hidden beneath it.

“I told you to stay out of their sight,” He says, gripping your shoulder tight. You attempt lightly to pull away, his grip painful, but make little progress.

“I, I’m sorry Ralkan but I had to eat. Did you want me to just starve in there?”

His gaze softens ever so slightly, but you can still tell he’s more than a little bit angry. At you, and himself. Even if he wasn’t at all angry at you, his emotions weigh still on you like lead. He takes this whole protecting you duty that he has been given so incredibly seriously, you wonder how much worse it's going to get until someone else might have to protect you from him.

Ralkan takes a kneel, coming eye to eye with you. Both of his hands now cup the sides of your shoulders, and he looks at you like he's almost pleading at you.

“Now that he has his sights on you there’s nothing that’s going to stop him until he has you.”

Despite his unnerving look, the blood on his face from a fight that put a Salamander on an apothecary table, he didn’t seem to be the way that Ralkan had described them.

Maybe he's lying, maybe Lev is faking it.

“It wasn't like he was going to carve me up; By the Throne, Ralkan he saved me. There was more of them, but he chased them off.” Ralkan lightly shakes you.

“They enjoy toying with things like you. Don’t assume anything.”

You take in a deep breath, your face beginning to get hot with anger. You'd said earlier that this ship was more freeing than Terra, but not that's beginning to not be the case.

“He didn’t do anything, just-“ Ralkan’s brow knits in anger and he cuts you off, speaking angrier than you think you've ever heard him. Astartes voices are booming, and his hits you in the chest as he raises his voice.

“There are Salamanders already injured because of them. I asked you to stay here because I trusted you to heed my warning, if you won’t, then I can bring you to my own quarters and lock you inside.”

You look at him surprised at his anger, and your mouth clamps shut. You're angry at him for threatening such a thing, as much as your not surprised by it, but you can't fight him. Not realistically. You look away from him and try to swallow a knot in your throat at suddenly appeared.

Ralkan, realizing he’s upset you, softens his expression and sighs. His hands slide down from your shoulders to hold your hands in his massive gauntlets. The gesture doesn't go unseen, as you look down at them for a moment. The ceramite is cold and rough on your skin.

“I want you safe. It is my duty now yes, but,”

He hesitates for a moment, before removing one of his hands from your own and cupping the side of your face. You hate that the gesture melts away some of the anger you have welled inside of you.

“I would be beside myself if anything were to happen to you. I want you to be safe for your sake and my own.”

He leans closer. In your personal space, breath fanning across your skin, he closes the gap and presses his lips against yours. You don't move for a moment, before you gently exhale and lean closer to him. His nose presses against your cheek, and you can feel the small scars of his skin brush against yours. With him so close you realizes just how warm he is, astartes always run hot but it's like his blood is fire, your lips and face feel so warm. Though it could be your own flush, body heating up.

When he pulls away from you lips separating with a soft pop, you feel some of that stuffy heat dissipate, but the burn over your face remains.

“I must remove my armor first but, will you return to my quarters with me? I will tell you all about Nocturne. You can rest there as well, if you’d like.”

He’s trying to make it up to you, you can tell. He may not be directly apologizing, but he's trying to give you something he knows you want in an attempt to be sweet on you again. You hate how well it works. If only it didn't feel like he had you trapped in a cage, bars getting tighter and tighter.

With the warmth of his lips still on your own, you nod.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

Ralkan smiles and rises to his feet. He gestures for you to walk beside him and takes your hand in his gauntlet once more, and you both leave your quarters for his own.

#warhammer 40k x reader #space marine x reader #salamander x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting #Yandere!Salamander/Fem!Reader/Yandere!NightLord

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encyclopediacr · 3 months

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Last month at the wiki — February 2024

Every month, we highlight significant work done in the previous month by our editing community at Encyclopedia Exandria. We're a little bit out of schedule, a week late, but we still take the time to look back at February 2024.

To start, here's a selection of ten articles created in February. You can find more of our newest articles at the 50 newest pages report.

Glove of Storing, magical glove that stores an item by shrinking it

Crafting a Mystery with Aabria Iyengar, special on game mastering Candela Obscura: Tide & Bone featuring @quiddie

Midst Season 2 Roundtable Discussion w/ Sam & Marisha, as it says on the tin with the creators of @midstpodcast

Kreviris Imperium, a government based in Kreviris on Ruidus

Wuukor, bison-like creature on Ruidus

Sia Kresh, expositor of the Cobalt Soul in Rexxentrum

Arborea, an Outer Plane of Existence

Lake Umamu, lake in Issylra

Dragon tooth necklace, necklace that notifies wearers of other paired necklaces that a wearer was knocked unconscious or killed

Phyllis the Pain Elemental, player character of Anjali Bhimani in the DOOM Eternal one-shot

We're continuing to explore ways to cover campaign player character stats over time. In February, levels subpages for Campaign 3 were created to help set that up and start covering this topic as part of our routine coverage. Each main player character of Bells Hells has one, and you can check out the pages for Fearne Calloway and Orym as examples.

A number of early Campaign 2 Talks Machina articles have been updated with answer summaries, including 54: The Howling Mines (2x06), 55: Hush (2x07), and 56: The Gates of Zadash (2x08).

The fourth chapter of Candela Obscura premiered in February, featuring the Circle of the Crimson Mirror. As always, we have articles for our newest circle of investigators.

#Critical Role #Critical Role wiki #last month at the wiki

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toribookworm22 · 5 months

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One Big:

Whatcha Been Writing

In the spirit of actually cleaning up my hoarded tags, I am combining not 1 but 52 Last Lines, Heads Up Seven Ups, and other miscellaneous related tags into a mega-share.

Thanks @thepedanticbohemian @writeintrees ×2 @saltysupercomputer ×2 @winterandwords ×3 @oh-no-another-idea ×3 @writernopal @pluttskutt @late-to-the-fandom @akiwitch ×3 @ashen-crest @sunset-a-story @ashwithapen @briannaswords @flock-from-the-void @bubbles-the-banshee ×2 @kaiusvnoir @scifimagpie @chainsaw-raven @axl-ul @primroseprime2019 ×3 @acertainmoshke @magic-is-something-we-create @rubywrite @reading-by-the-pale-moonlight @sam-glade @galactic-mystics-writes ×2 @authoralexharvey @frankensteinshimbo @sergeantnarwhalwrites @surroundedbypearls @frostedlemonwriter ×2 @theunboundwriter @sparrow-orion-writes @forthesanityofstorytellers @buffythevampirelover @digital-chance ×2 @cljordan-imperium @olivescales3 for all your tags!

I am just leaving one giant OPEN TAG!! ♥️

And for my share, have an excerpt from Chapter 10 of the second book of my Secondary Series. 🙃

The guards stationed at the entrance barely have time to see us before J has a knife in each of their throats. She retrieves them before they’re even dead as Vieve forces the doors open.

I want to be angry. Or shocked.

But all I can see is Edward frantically trying to save me while I died on some expensive rug. He’s the only person who’s actively and always chosen me.

Who has ever chosen him?

The wind is even fiercer than before. But before I can even dread the trek back to our safe house, there’s a vehicle pulling up and a voice calling out, “Get in!”

“Courtney?” I dare to ask.

Her bright head of hair appears from the driver’s side as the back is opened up. “Hey, there. Let’s catch up on the road, barkeep.”

We all collapse against the thin walls of the transport, a woman in white reattaching the flap before calling out to Courtney, “All clear, let’s go.” The engine revs, and we start an angry path forward.

The sudden movement rolls my stomach and I fall onto my hands, spitting up more bile and poison. After a couple of heaves, I feel a hand softly press into my spine. It almost makes me feel safe. A gentle hand when I’m hurting, a soft towel wiping at my mouth, two voices I never get to hear again. Then I throw up again.

“Hey. You’re alright.” I glance up at Edward, his legs thrown out beside me. His face is already scarred from where the gag dug in. I want to say something, but I can’t figure out what. I’m just seeing him fall into the grass and seeing his sister get up and never come back and taking one last look at his sleeping form in his bed. “We made it out.”

The woman in white kneels in front of me with a scrap of something and starts cleaning up my mess. I stop her with a quivering hand. “I got it,” I say.

She smiles at me, even if her bright star-shaped eyes are almost empty. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do anymore. Courtney helped me. Let me help you.”

The fabric rustles and shifts, revealing the front of the vehicle and Courtney’s back. “Seriously. What were you guys doing there? I didn’t think you were going to make it out. Especially after Ani went down.”

“Supply run,” Casa tells her.

“You went to Alswik for supplies?” Courtney asks, incredulous. “Don’t you still have a contact at the base?”

Edward’s hand falls from me. “Don’t work with them anymore. And you’d be smart to do the same before it gets you killed.” He watches Ani kick the vomit-stained fabric into the corner of the vehicle. “You and the people you love.”

Without slowing down, Courtney takes a long look back at us. “Thanks for the concern.” She looks back at the road. Ani walks carefully to the front to sit as close to her as possible. “Now where am I dropping you off?”

…

I offer to help Ani hide the vehicle under a cover of leaves and brush as best as possible while the others plan routes to the safe house and the ship. It’s not safe to travel in a big pack when Alswik could possibly have people after us. Or Insignia could have people on their way. While we work, I hear Edward pull Courtney aside, his voice low but insistent. “Listen. You are more than welcome to stay the night on my ship before you keep moving. But you breathe a word of this to Kat and I’ll have you boxed up and sent to Adenrore.”

“I just came to get Ani, Rescue. I’m not here on her orders. Or anyone’s.”

“I can’t risk you traveling with us.” He glances at the woods we’ve stopped in, halting on me for a moment. I snap my gaze back to the brush I’m pulling over the wheels. “And you shouldn’t risk it either.”

J and Vieve take the woods, Edward and Casa following the stream nearby. I offer to travel with Courtney and Ani through the overpass.

There’s still something in my system, even as the daylight fades away. I’ll probably be throwing up through the night, too. But at least the last thing I saw wasn’t the terror in Edward’s eyes. Seeing him worried like that is a fate worse than death. But it’s all I can think about as we walk over dirt and grass and rocks. All I can think about is how Imre made sure Edward was always front and center in front of him, how desperate he seemed to ignore everyone else. How badly I failed at keeping him safe.

“He’s going to get you killed,” Courtney says.

The sun has just begun to set and I can see the cabin Edward calls their safehouse emerging from the thick of the trees below us. I think of all the times Edward has been the one at my side, wrong or right or everything in between. “I’d follow him anywhere,” I whisper into the wind.

Courtney just sighs. Like that’s the response she expected. Dreaded. Something else. I don’t know what kind of history they have, I don’t know who Kat is or why neither of them seem to be working for her anymore. But I do know Edward. “And that’s why.”

#writeblr #writers of tumblr #writing tag game #whatcha been writing #secondary series #bookworming

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thegodemperorsmycopilot · 29 days

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The Geese Stars.

Located along the southeastern periphery of the Imperium, it is home to the human diaspora that travel this collection of systems aboard a myriad of migratory fleets, farming cosmic resources for survival and trade from the asteroid belts, gas giants, and even surfaces of great stars.

Occasionally, they will attempt to mine or reclaim resources from planetary bodies, but the wide range of dangers and xenos threats often make these resource expeditions prone to failure.

Planets of note:

1) Kanossian-VII is an active Forge World that has suffered a Tyranid invasion and is struggling to rebuild. It is the only other currently inhabited planet in the Geese Stars.

2) Eucliktus-Omega is an abandoned Forge World due to an unknown disaster, and has descended into a feral state. It is a prime destination for expeditions to recover tech and supplies.

3) Anser Prime and its artificial moon, Cygnoides, was the Geese Stars' unofficial capital and were the victims of a catastrophe that laid waste to the planet and its orbiting moons. The rings that surrounded Anser are the remains of several moons reduced to rubble and asteroids kept in orbit around the planet. Cygnoides is a torn and seemingly hollowed out wreck, originally constructed as a naval base and network of shipyards.

Both these celestial bodies are covetted by salvage and reclamation expeditions.

4) The Astartes moon of Skein, in orbit around the gas giant Cinju Gigant, is presently under a quarantine order of unknown provenance. The Astartes Chapter whose fortress and base of operations rests upon this harsh moon, the Mist Hawks, are not very inviting.

Very little is known about the Mist Hawks and their Founding, but they have been observed to have black & yellow striping upon vambraces and greaves, winged blade heraldry and avian skulls decorating their power armour.

(Inspired by @woahspacewizards)

NOTE: May be used as a setting for Crucible 7's Wrath & Glory or Imperium Maledictum, any FFG Warhammer 40000 RPG, and your own tales of the Grim Dark.

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kentuckywrites · 2 years

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Imperium 3: Chapter 7

Tempus est dicere bonam noctem. (It’s time to say good night.)

Starr knew his eyes were open. He could feel himself blinking, shaking in the onslaught of confusion, but everything was pitch black. There was no structure below his feet; he was floating, somehow, in this dark expanse of nothingness. Was this death? Was this somewhere in between? He took a deep breath, the air cold and frigid around him, but no condensation dared to form, no sign of life emerged from his being.

“Mira?” He called out, hoping for some kind of answer. It was foolish to expect one if he was dead, but maybe the planet had a way of reaching him in this state, so far from the realm of reality and life.

I am here. I just…

The planet responded, hesitant, unsure. Starr grit his teeth. They had no time to be cowards. This was what needed to be done, and the sooner it was over with, the sooner he’d be gone. He didn’t want to linger here, not in this world, not when the beings that formed him had clearly changed their minds about fusing together and finding their path towards healing. Were they both happy with this, truly? Was Starr really just a plaything for them to find their peace, and now that he’d fulfilled his purpose, they’d discard of him? The longer the silence lasted, the more Starr felt angry at the entire situation. This was wrong. This was unfair. He opened his mouth, about to scold Mira for taking its sweet time in killing him, when -

“You must be tired of falling into holes and dying. I hope this is the last time you’ll ever have to do it.”

…

Starr turned his body, his heart plummeting into his stomach, freezing over from the ice that electrified his veins. There, floating in the darkness, kissed by the faintest blue glow…

“Hello, Starr,” Nessa said, her smile so soft and sad and full of pity. “I’m Nessa. Mira’s told me a bit about you.”

“So we are dead,” Starr couldn’t help but hiss the truth, “Mira lied.”

“No, not exactly. Not yet, at least,” She leaned towards him, moving slowly closer. “Right now, we’re in a kind of limbo between life and death. You’ll die when Mira leaves your body and Pongo takes over. It’s just having a hard time letting go of you, I think.”

“Why? We were pointless, in the end. They both used us as a means of achieving their own personal goals without any consideration as to my own happiness. We were an escape and nothing more.” He hissed, the initial shock of seeing Nessa turning into rage. Her smile faded, replaced by an even sadder frown. The pity even shifted into sympathy, the understanding of his plight. Somehow, it felt worse.

“Do you really think you were pointless?” She asked, “Because the way I see it, you’re the reason both Pongo and Mira were able to heal. You saved them both from sinking deeper into their trauma.”

“They made us live with it instead of dealing with it themselves! They were too weak to carry their memories, so they dumped the hard work onto us in the hopes we could fix it for them!”

“...They did. You’re right.”

That caught Starr off guard, her readiness to agree with him. She pressed her hands together, held them up to her chest as she massaged her own knuckles. “I don’t think it’s fair that you got dragged into this. I think there might’ve been other ways to help Pongo and Mira both. But…well, that’s the shitty part. We can’t go back and change things. We have to live with the consequences of both our own actions and the actions of those around us, as unfair as that might be.”

“I never asked for this!!” Starr cried out, the sudden increase in volume causing Nessa to flinch, “I never had a choice, I never wanted to be their puppet! And now they expect me to die!! Was everything I did meaningless? Was it a waste to try and live?!”

“...That’s not something you should be asking me.” Nessa said, “Ask yourself that. Was it a waste, living the life you created for yourself? Was it a waste forming the bonds that you did, or fostering the powers that you got? Was it a waste, making all of those memories over the last six months?”

Starr didn’t respond right away. All of the memories he’d created came to the surface: meeting Vanala and Froyoyo, being accepted into the caravan, learning how to use water ether, creating the gauntlets to house his ether and using it to defend the caravan from indigens, playing with the littlepon and listening to their bedtime stories until the night had fallen and they’d snuggled up together. There were memories of being awake, being alive. But just as many memories were of his sleep, the blissful and peaceful slumber. The Disgrace’s nightmares would sometimes greet him in the unconscious, but Starr never let them prevent him from sleeping, because he knew the waking world would be kinder to him. He was so thankful for that, so incredibly thankful that he’d been able to forge ahead of the Disgrace’s fears. And in reminiscing, in his gratitude towards the past six months, Starr found himself grinning. No, none of it was a waste. He’d lived. He’d lived the life he was given, and he never regretted a second of it.

“I lived.” He breathed, “I am so thankful that I got a chance to live.”

“You lived for yourself, and in doing so, you lived for Pongo and Mira,” Nessa told him, “You are Starr, and Starr lived according to his own desires. But Pongo and Mira were able to see how you lived, and your joy is what set them on their path to heal. They never told you how to live, they just…they wanted you to live. That’s all.”

Hearing that brought tears to Starr’s eyes, and he sniffled, looking down. Only the darkness existed around them, and yet, he began to find it soothing in a way he couldn’t quite describe. When he looked back up at Nessa, her sad smile had returned, and her hand was extended out towards him. He willed himself forward on instinct, his own hand getting closer, closer. A memory shot forward of himself, the Telethia self, flinging his tail upwards and launching Solstice and Nessa into the skies to plummet to the ground below. He could feel her shock, her betrayal, her pain.

He did not take her hand, his arm falling back to his side.

“I hurt you, back then.” Starr whispered, “And I am hurting Mira and…and Pongo, now, by existing. They gave me the chance to live, but in doing so, they denied themselves that very same chance. They have always deserved that chance, far more than I ever did.”

“Don’t say that,” Nessa begged, her own tears beginning to spill over, “You deserve to live just as much as they do. I’m just…I’m so sorry you can’t. I would’ve given you the biggest hug.”

“You sound like Pongo when you say that,” Starr chuckled. It felt strange, using Pongo’s name again, but…but it was harsh, calling him the Disgrace. Pongo’s only sin, after all this time, was the severity of his breakdown. He and Mira had both come a long way, and Starr could attest to their growth more than anyone. A moment passed, and the warmth left his body, fleeting into the cold expansive void. He couldn’t revel in this comfort forever, this chance at seeing Nessa again.

“I…I think I am ready,” Starr confessed, “But before I go…can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“You, um…you are dead. Do you know what comes after dying? Will you be there?”

Nessa swallowed hard, the topic causing her shoulders to tense. “Death is like falling asleep. There’s not much afterwards. But for the time being, even if we can’t see each other, I’ll be there with you.”

“Then I welcome sleep with open arms,” Starr said, grinning despite the pain. Was it pain, at this point, or was it resignation? Could it have been both? How fitting, it was, that he was born into life welcoming the darkness of sleep, and in death he was holding himself to the same acceptance.

Nessa looked up, almost looking at something specific, but there was nothing there. Starr felt his heartbeat slowing down, Mira’s presence becoming increasingly stronger. It had been a part of him this entire time, and though he knew this swelling in his chest was the beginning of the end, he could only feel gratitude. He’d been given a chance to live, however small his time had been, and dying with rage in his heart would leave a bitter taste on his tongue. No, he refused to die with regrets, not when he’d lived such a wonderful and beautiful life.

I am sorry. I am breaking my promise.

“It is okay,” Starr said, “We both knew this would not last forever.”

That does not change how much it hurts.

“I know.”

…Good night Starr.

“Good night, Aidoneus.”

Starr closed his eyes. The world left him, and he passed into the arms of eternal slumber.

Good morning, Pongo.

“...”

How do you feel?

“...”

I know this must feel strange, after all we have been through, but -

“It still hurts.”

The body’s eyes opened, and both were now indigo, Pongo’s color. The separation had gone smoothly; he felt no traces of Starr internally. Externally, however, this was not Pongo. It was his body, taken over by someone he’d forced into handling his pain. It didn’t feel right, returning to what Pongo had been gifted, but…but what else was there?

“I feel like a fool,” Pongo said, “Starr was right. I am a coward. I…I do not regret his creation, but it was wrong of me to agree to it. I should have been strong enough to handle my own trauma.”

It was my prerogative to fuse. The blame is as much mine as it is yours.

The planet sighed, a deep and wistful thing.

But we cannot linger. You know what has to be done.

“I do.”

Are you ready for it?

Pongo did not respond, not immediately. His hands shook, quivering with the weight of expectation. Nessa had been right, too - how many times did he have to do this? Fall into a hole, die, and somehow save the world? Why, why was it constantly him who had to make the sacrifice? Why did he keep placing himself into that role, why did fate keep insisting that this was all he was good for?

Pongo?

Pongo buried his head into the crook of his arm, a combination of cool metal and warm fabric rubbing against his skin as he attempted to push his tears down. When he finally had the strength to respond, his voice still shook, weakened with emotion.

“Starr was angry. He had every right to be, considering his circumstances. I always thought his anger towards me was justified, because I was being selfish. I should have simply pushed it down and gone back to NLA to continue my life. But…but I would not have been living, if I had done that.”

Because the pain you carry would have held you back.

“And I would never have forgiven myself, knowing it would have. I would have wanted to push through it and act normal so I did not worry those around me. But I…I was not strong enough to do that.”

That was never going to be a question of strength, Pongo. You are putting too high a standard onto yourself.

“I am. I did,” Pongo admitted through his tears, “And that is something Starr taught me. I need to…to be kinder to myself. I want to live. I want us both to live, and not be burdened by the pain we have accumulated. I want to drink hot chocolate with L’Cirufe at his shop, I want to help Lin with her schematics, I want to get book recommendations from Elma, I want to meet people and make friends and just…I want to live.”

At his confession, the space in front of him grew brighter. Pongo half-expected the figure that appeared to be Nessa, but she’d disappeared when Starr died. She was keeping her promise to him, that she’d be there with him in death, and Pongo couldn’t fault her for that. Instead, what formed was a small ball of white light, ether sparkling and rising up from the shape inside it. A little draconic tail, spined and curled around itself - Mira.

When it spoke again, a strange effect occurred. Pongo could hear it in his mind, just as he always had, but he also heard its voice echoing from its ethereal form.

That is what you deserve. You have deserved the chance to live ever since I created you. I am so sorry that your life has treated you so unfairly up until this point, but I swear that no matter what comes your way, you will never have to face it alone. Myself, your friends, your family…you are surrounded by people who love you. Now, the last step is to love yourself as much as you love those around you.

Pongo sniffled, wiping the tears from his eyes. “That may be the toughest thing I have ever tried to do.”

It is a good thing you are brave enough to try.

Another deep breath, filling his lungs with all that he felt, all that he had pushed so deeply inside his subconscious returning to the surface with the strength he finally knew he had. Pongo was shaking, his nerves comprised of fire and electricity and a deep, deep sense of responsibility. He was stalling, right now, but he didn’t care. This was a good feeling, being able to speak, able to be heard. He would never let go of this blessing again.

“I am ready now,” Pongo told Mira. “I am ready to end this.”

It will hurt.

“It will be nothing I cannot handle.”

Pongo.

“You should know more than anybody else that I have suffered through worse. As long as you are by my side, I will bear it.”

…I made a promise to Starr. I will extend that promise to you. We will be together until the end of time.

“May the sun and the moons above grant us the power of the star. Let us, the humble servants, protect the land and the sea, the sky and all between…” Pongo finished, trailing off into a quiet smile.

It is time. I will be here when you wake.

The image of Mira pulsed, forcing itself back into Pongo’s chest. The impact threw him into an expanse of white, and he felt full, bursting to the brim with energy about to ignite. He knew his body was morphing, morphing to accommodate the expanse swelling within him, and the resulting effect on his body was indeed a physical pain he’d never experienced before. But Pongo was telling the truth, before. He could handle it, because he knew Mira was there with him. That would always make the pain worth it in the end.

Before he fully receded into the back of the body’s subconscious, Pongo could see Nessa. She was smiling. She was proud.

He smiled back.

Elma thought she had seen it all. Mira had thrown challenge after challenge at humanity, yet they always came out on the other side. Even with the understanding that there were new continents to explore, that there were threats at their doorstep that were awesome in their destructive capabilities, Elma truly thought that nothing could phase her.

Corvhesperikon’s reawakening, its reanimation from a pile of bones, did not surprise her. Sure, Elma admitted to fearing the yggralith, especially after dealing with Pharsis. She understood the danger that yggraliths posed to Mira, a planet which was nothing short of a tasty appetizer to a world-eating extraterrestrial goliath. She would stop at nothing to defeat Corvhesperikon and see to it that humanity’s home remained relatively hospitable.

Elma had even seen Starr tumble backwards into the pit, swallowed whole by the darkness. She’d been firing at Corvhesperikon’s legs - minimal damage, hardly left any impact at all - when the monstrosity directed all of its ire towards the “little godling”. She could only conclude that it was referring to Starr. After all, Corvhesperikon took the plunge into the darkness after Starr fell, screaming with all the rage it had stored in its blackened heart. Elma was not surprised by this, no, she was scared. Fear and shock, though they often worked in tandem, were completely separate entities.

That being said, Elma was shocked by what emerged from Cocytios’s pit.

There was a brilliant beam of light, nearly as wide as the pit itself, reaching up and into the night. The sheer force of the blast nearly knocked Elma off of her feet, but she maintained her balance, shielding her face. She heard a screech as the light separated and Corvhesperikon emerged, its wings flapping with wild abandon. Was it hurt? No, no. That was anger of the highest caliber, anger that could never be tamed.

As the initial wave of light began to recede, a figure became apparent. It wasn’t as large as Corvhesperikon, far from it, but it was far taller than any xenoform or human Elma had ever encountered. It was white, blinding white. Every part of its body was a beacon, dimming down to the point of acknowledgement but not to comfort. A massive pair of wings stretched out of its back, reminiscent of the Telethia’s, and its limbs were long and dangly and coated in stardust. Parts almost appeared as armor, chitinous and otherworldly. Centered in its chest was an emblem, a draconic tail that swirled around itself. From its head, two jagged horns, two elongated and pointed ears, something akin to hair covering one ear. A halo of every color imaginable shone just behind it, and those same colors danced in its singular eye like a galaxy contained.

From a respectable distance, Corvhesperikon spat at the figure with nothing short of hostility.

“IT IS YOUR TIME TO DIE, AIDONEUS.”

Aidoneus? Lumina had mentioned the name, Lumina admitted to seeing this Aidoneus’s ether strand intertwined with Starr’s - Pongo’s? Fuck, this was getting complicated, and all Elma knew was that Aidoneus was a friend according to Vanala and Lumina both. It had fought alongside them in the first battle against Corvhesperikon and Syriahnydra. It was here again, rising from the depths that Starr had been pulled into.

Aidoneus had no mouth with which to speak, yet its voice rang out as a song; Elma heard it all around her, from above and below and behind.

“I WILL NOT LET YOU DESTROY WHAT I HAVE WORKED SO HARD TO CREATE. THIS ENDS HERE.”

Corvhesperikon screamed, charged at Aidoneus. Its maw was easily larger than Aidoneus’s body, it could swallow the entity whole if it wasn’t careful. Yet Aidoneus snapped out of existence, reappearing by Corvhesperikon’s left flank and throwing balls of energy directly into its side. Finally, attacks that did noticeable damage to the yggralith, noticeable and painful. Elma could only stand and stare, watching the exchange unfold in the sky above. A tinge of orange on the horizon, an indication that the dawn was close to greeting them. Did the sun want so badly to witness this fearsome battle? Elma had to admit she was thankful for the dawn, for the chance at seeing a new day grace the world. But for now, the darkness was nearly all there was, save for Aidoneus’s everlasting glow.

“Friend Elma!!” Vanala sprinted over, her wings balled up behind her. Her fire ether sparked in her hands, her gloves turning red from the flames. “Need to get far away from here!! Take Sprinkle Sprinkle and run!!”

“I won’t leave,” Elma spoke before she could fully think things through. Wait, Vanala’s idea was smart - what help could she possibly provide? But there was this nagging feeling in her heart, a need to remain behind and see things through to the end. Was Aidoneus a permanent resident? Was Starr dead? By extension, was Pongo dead? Fuck, FUCK. Elma reiterated her stance, “Aidoneus may still yet need our help.”

Vanala looked up at her, and somehow, she must’ve known there would be no convincing Elma out of her current plan. “Vanala will help Aidoneus. But friend Elma can’t fly, and -”

“LOOK OUT!!”

Froyoyo charged at the two, carrying Sprinkle Sprinkle in his wings. Behind him, Aidoneus was tossed into the side of the mountain, Corvhesperikon roaring in absolute delight at getting a hit in. The resulting impact brought down debris, sprinkled in with snow and rubble and boulders the size of houses. That was not what Froyoyo warned them against, however. Corvhesperikon circled the mountain perimeter in the hopes of repositioning and getting a better angle on another attack, and in doing so, it swept low to the ground, its claws mere inches away from slicing through the snow. Elma lept to the side, dodged with a swiftness she’d perfected over the years. Vanala flew up, lingered by Elma and Froyoyo even though everything about her suggested she wanted to give chase.

Aidoneus never made contact with the ground, but it dipped in a moment of recovery from the blow it had received. By the time Corvhesperikon returned to re-engage, it was charging more energy-based attacks to throw at its body, and still every hit made its mark, still every hit burned through the layer of feathers protecting the flesh and bone beneath. Elma was in awe, tracking the battle and maintaining close visual contact with Aidoneus. Even with Vanala’s help, weakened after the first battle, would Aidoneus be able to defeat Corvhesperikon? There had to be something, some way she could make a difference, it was torture just standing by while the fate of the world was decided in a matchup between two godlike entities -

What the hell was that?!

Another screech, beyond the horizon of snow-peaked mountains. That didn’t belong to Corvhesperikon. It couldn’t belong to Aidoneus, no? No. Something was flying towards them, something with long crystalline wings, yellow shards of ether mimicking the movement of feathers. Elma couldn’t contain her smile, the single laugh that escaped her mouth.

“Hello again, Solstice!” Elma called out. Telethia, the Endbringer responded with another screech - they heard her, they knew, and they were happy to see her again. But kicking Corvhesperikon’s ass was their duty, and their duty came before all else.

Aidoneus looked over its shoulder. Curse that form for not having a mouth, because Elma was certain it was happy to see Solstice, happy enough that it would have smiled. A resolute nod later, and the two were tag teaming blasts at Corvhesperikon. Man, maybe Elma didn’t need the sun to rise after all. Solstice and Aidoneus were doing just fine pushing the darkness back on their own.

“Go, mamapon, go!!” Sprinkle Sprinkle cheered, drawing Elma’s attention for long enough that she saw Vanala push herself up into the air with her wind ether, joining the fray. Her attacks had hardly left a mark before, and they didn’t do much now, but Elma had to admire Vanala’s willingness to fight despite the odds. Froyoyo had placed the littlepon down in the snow, watching the scene just as intently. That was worry there, in his eyes, that familiar shine of hope and concern. Elma wished she could reassure him that this wouldn’t be as devastating as the first time he had fought against Corvhesperikon, but how could she say that in due confidence? She wasn’t there. She hadn’t seen the devastation all those centuries ago.

Solstice dove down onto Corvhesperikon’s back, her claws digging into its flesh and ripping chunks out one by one. It wasn’t a pretty sight, far from it, and yet Elma felt resolute pride in how effective their attacks were. Lightning cascaded off of their body, a storm of ether surging straight into the freshly formed wounds. Corvhesperikon screamed, its neck suddenly swiveling as it tried to bite at Solstice. Solstice darted out of the way long before the yggralith was able to land a hit; in this form, they had access to its mind, its thoughts, its plans. And even without that ability, she was fast, terrifying so even for her size. Elma remembered her very first encounter with Solstice, back in Noctilum, back when she and her team had been fighting the Sphinxes. Even then she’d displayed an intergalactic strength, an unparalleled speed - a recognition that Elma hadn’t been able to decipher. Now, looking back, she knew that Solstice had been bowing her head to Pongo, to Mira, to the body they inhabited together and to the being that gave her purpose.

Aidoneus released another powerful blast of ether, directing the energy towards Corvhesperikon’s face. It flinched backwards, shaking its head. It swung its claws in every direction, blinded for the time being but still enraged enough to keep fighting. Aidoneus floated, hands balling up into fists as it spoke to Solstice and Vanala.

“KEEP THE BEAST OCCUPIED.”

Solstice roared again to convey their understanding, and Vanala reacted with a hearty cheer. “Vanala do her best! Send Corvie to hell!!”

And off the two went, unleashing blast after blast into the yggralith’s flank. Corvhesperikon kept swinging in each direction, its focus constantly switching and propelled by blind rage. It snapped at Vanala, and the Nopon was able to just barely dodge out of the way. She was hardly visible when paired against the other three beings, an insignificant speck spouting fire and ice and lightning. She had speed on her side, however, and she used that to her advantage. Solstice continued drawing most of Corvhesperikon’s ire, flipping onto their stomach to release a beam of ether out of their mouth and into the yggralith’s neck. Corvhesperikon screamed, and quicker than anticipated, it struck at Solstice with a mangled talon that rivaled their size. Solstice wasn’t able to dodge the attack and took the brunt of the damage, faltering and falling a couple hundred feet out of the air. Speckles of blood dripped down to the snowy surface, an impromptu rainfall. Elma flinched as the wind carried some over towards her, not far enough to stain her armor but far enough to leave a mark a few feet away from where she stood.

With Solstice out of commission for a short period of time, Corvhesperikon was able to direct all of its attention towards Vanala. Elma cried out a warning, but it came too late, it came without enough strength to carry it to her ears. Corvhesperikon lunged, and in one fell swoop, it snatched Vanala up into its jaws. She had no time to react and disappeared from Elma’s view, trapped within its maw.

“VANALA!!!” Froyoyo cried, his voice cracking from the strain. Sprinkle Sprinkle watched on in horror, shrinking into their father’s side. Elma felt her heart plummet, thinking that Vanala couldn’t survive such an attack.

Solstice roared, pushing their wings furiously in an attempt to return to the fight faster. Corvhesperikon anticipated how fast she was, where she’d attack next, and grabbed Solstice out of the air with their talons, locking her within its grip. More blood rained down as its claws dug into Solstice’s body, and the Telethia yelped and squirmed in pain.

But then, Corvhesperikon’s mouth began to leak. Something was trying to emerge out of it, something blue and white and shining. It tried to scream, but that was exactly what it wasn’t supposed to do. The floodgates opened, and from inside its mouth, ice formed along its jawline, freezing it wide open. The source of the ice was none other than Vanala, poised on Corvhesperikon’s tongue as ether glided out of her hands. Sprinkle Sprinkle cheered at the sight of his mom, but Froyoyo remained wary, watching, anticipating the worst.

“Aidoneus…better…be ready!!” Vanala shouted through gritted teeth, the frost from her hands beginning to falter. Some of the ice began to crack as Corvhesperikon waved its head back and forth, attempting to regain control of its mouth. Vanala wouldn’t be able to hold the effect for much longer.

Aidoneus had been floating in the same spot all this time, unmoving. Swirls of ether were condensing in the air, flowing straight into its chest where the spiked draconic symbol was ingrained. It was amassing power, but how would it release it? Was Vanala seriously suggesting that she’d keep Corvhesperikon’s mouth locked open and let Aidoneus fire its shot through her and into the yggralith? That was suicide!! And even if Aidoneus couldn’t finish its charge by then, the ice would shatter and Vanala would be swallowed up, separated from her family and her ether feasted upon until she was nothing but an empty husk, a body starved of life’s building block.

“NOW!!”

Aidoneus yelled, and Vanala closed her eyes, tumbling forward. It was a miracle that she didn’t hit any of Corvhesperikon’s teeth on the way out, for the ice shattered almost instantly when she stopped supplying ether to create it. Corvhesperikon let out another painful screech - its loudest one yet, making Elma flinch back.

And then, Aidoneus let go.

From its chest, the ether had congregated and released into one fiery beam of energy, piercing straight through Corvhesperikon’s mouth and through its body, exiting out the other end. It was every color imaginable, a cosmic rainbow of sound and beauty. Elma couldn’t pull her eyes away, watching as the yggralith’s scream was cut off and its body torn asunder. The beam persisted for what felt like an eternity, and when it finally imploded on itself in a storm of light, Corvhesperikon’s body dispersed, fragmented into tiny pieces of flesh and unprocessed ether.

Elma hadn’t realized her jaw was slack until she forced her lips back together. Corvhesperikon was dead. The yggralith was no more.

The debris was like snow, polluted and darkened. They were the fragments of Corvhesperikon’s feathers, those that had once given it the capability of flight, now falling to the earth. Some clung to Elma’s armor, desperate and wanting, but she shook them off. They reeked of death and rot, bitter when mixed with the cold. She’d rather not have it surrounding her.

Vanala was the first to descend from the sky, but her first target was not Elma. She instead ran to Froyoyo and Sprinkle Sprinkle, hugging the two with her last ounce of strength. Froyoyo’s face nuzzled into her fur, and Sprinkle Sprinkle found themself happily squished between their two parents. The occasional sniffle rang out in the wind. Elma looked up when she heard another creature descending, quickly revealed to be Solstice. She landed, creating a whirlwind of snow and Corvhesperikon debris. If Elma didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought Solstice was trying to control how hard they flapped their wings in an attempt to lessen the pollution. Their flank was still soaked in its own blood; Corvhesperikon had held it in a vice-like grip, before, and it hadn’t freed them during Aidoneus’s attack. Elma wasn’t sure if any of their injuries were collateral. She took a step forward, seeing the recognition and respect in the Telethia’s eyes, and by the time her boot finished crunching the snow beneath, Aidoneus floated downwards, positioning itself between herself and Solstice. Elma paused, swallowed. She continued onwards until she was next to them both.

Solstice made a noise akin to a huff, and then a rumbling purr. Elma raised her hand, touching their snout gently. Through her gloves she could feel the swirls and delicate patterns in her chitinous body, a natural armor that housed a cacophony of ether below the surface. She allowed herself a moment to connect, to feel, to be.

“HELLO, ELMA.”

Aidoneus spoke, softer than before. Had it used up its strength, too, or was this tonal shift on purpose? Elma had a suspicion that it was the former, and thus, she found herself mimicking its tonal level.

“Hello, Aidoneus,” She said, “Thank you for saving Mira.”

“MIRA AND I ARE ONE AND THE SAME. IT WAS NOT MY TIME TO DIE, NOT WHEN I HAVE SO MUCH LEFT TO DO.”

Ah, that explained a few things. Elma smiled at the realization, the conclusion that Aidoneus was the being Mira had once been and the reason the planet was sentient to begin with. But that connection also harbored another question, one that she wasted no time in asking.

“If you’re Mira, then what happened to Po -”

Wait. No, he said that wasn’t his name. That hurt, that hurt so badly. She corrected herself despite the pain.

“- to Starr?”

Aidoneus seemed to recognize this tension, averting its gaze for a moment. Elma expected bad news - how could you feel good about an answer when the other party wouldn’t meet your eyes? But when it spoke again, it was with a combined softness. Yes, it was weakened, and that was affecting its volume. But there was a love there, too, a compassion so deep that Elma could feel it through every part of her being.

“THIS IS A TEMPORARY FORM I CAN TAKE. PONGO AGREED TO RESUME CONTROL ONCE I HAVE REVERSED THE TRANSFORMATION. HE HAS MADE PEACE WITH HIMSELF, THOUGH HE WILL STILL NEED TIME TO HEAL. I THOUGHT I COULD HELP, BUT…BUT I MADE THINGS WORSE. I REALIZE THAT NOW.”

A pause.

“WILL YOU BE THERE FOR HIM? HE WILL NEED YOU AND HIS FRIENDS NOW MORE THAN EVER.”

“Always,” Elma didn’t hesitate in her response, “But if you’re really Mira, then you must know that Pongo needs you just as much as he needs us.”

“...I DO NOT KNOW IF I BELIEVE YOU. HE IS WHO HE IS TODAY BECAUSE OF HUMANITY - BECAUSE OF YOU.”

“Sound like friend Aidoneus don’t know value of self,” Vanala piped up, having walked over with Froyoyo and Sprinkle Sprinkle by her side. Eye bags were beginning to form under her eyes, tired yet still shining with compassion. “Does Vanala need to sit Aidoneus down for pep talk like Vanala did with Starr?”

Aidoneus chuckled at that. “NO, THAT WILL NOT BE NECESSARY. BUT I ADMIT…I HAVE THINGS I MUST COME TO TERMS WITH REGARDING MYSELF. PONGO WILL NEED TO DO THE SAME.”

“And we’ll be there for him every step of the way,” Elma reaffirmed, “Thank you again, Aidoneus.”

“Many thanks indeed,” Froyoyo said, “Were it not for Aidoneus, wifeypon would be…” He shuddered, the mental image giving him pause. “Second time now that Aidoneus saved world. Makes you honorary Heropon in Froyoyo’s book.”

“...AN HONORARY HEROPON?”

“Not as cool as Legendary Heropon. Froyoyo still Legendary Heropon of Cocytios. Honorary Heropon like sidekick.”

“I CERTAINLY FEEL HONORED BY THAT. THANK YOU, FROYOYO.”

“Meh meh!! No reason dadapon and Aidoneus can’t both be Legendary Heropon!!” Sprinkle Sprinkle pouted, “Both heroes! Both heroes Sprinkle Sprinle forever look up to!!”

Aidoneus chuckled again, reaching down to pat Sprinkle Sprinkle’s head. The height difference between the two was laughable, even more so when Aidoneus returned to its previous stature. It looked off into the distance, to the pit that it had emerged out of. “EVERYONE, FOLLOW ME. IT IS TIME.”

And off Aidoneus floated towards the edge without further explanation. Was it needed, when they all knew what was going to happen? Elma and the Nopon followed silently, though moments after their first steps the ground below them shook. Sprinkle Sprinkle was the only one who looked outwardly panicked, and Elma couldn’t blame them. It was Solstice behind them, the great and powerful Telethia, attempting to follow as well. She made eye contact with the littlepon, and after that, all of her steps were calculated, softer.

The sunrise was beginning to dominate the night, midnight mixing with the oranges and yellows of the dawn. As everyone congregated by the cliffside, Aidoneus turned back towards the group, making a request.

“I ASK THAT NO ONE HERE SPEAKS OF ME, OR WHAT HAPPENED THIS DAY. I DO NOT WANT TO CAUSE ANY UNNECESSARY CONCERN, NOR DO I WANT HUMANITY TO RELENTLESSLY PURSUE ME IN THE HOPES OF ANSWERING THEIR QUESTIONS.”

“Humans are a naturally curious race,” Elma said, “But I understand. I promise BLADE and those who live inside NLA’s borders will not hear of this.”

“THANK YOU AGAIN.”

A pause.

“THE EARTH WOULD BE PROUD OF YOU. FOR HOW FAR YOU HAVE COME, AND FOR HOW YOU HAVE GROWN.”

Elma wasn’t sure what to make of those unspoken implications, but she could feel the sentiment, the nostalgia dripping through Aidoneus’s voice. All she could do was smile, nod, watch as Aidoneus flew upwards and then descended into the darkness of the pit. The same beam of light that had graced its entrance to Cocytios returned, though nothing emerged from it for quite a while. When something finally did begin to take shape, Elma observed with keen interest. There was a torso, arms, legs, a head. As the light began to fade, more details became apparent - black hair, pale skin. Elma got her hopes up…

Until she recognized Starr’s armor.

Starr descended down from the light, eyes closed and body limp. His hair was short like Pongo’s, and the scars across his right cheek were gone. Maybe this was Pongo. He fell into Elma’s arms just as the light vanished, and Elma turned him over so that he lay in her arms. The moment reminded her of when she’d first met Pongo, that fateful day in Starfall Basin. How time had flown past them, how time had treated Pongo. If she could only go back in time and warn him then about all the pain he’d bear, all the loss and tragedy…

No. There was only the present, there was only the gift of today. Elma had to make it count, and she’d make sure Pongo made it count, too.

Softly, gently, Elma spoke.

“Wake up, Pongo.”

#xenoblade x #Imperium 3: Chapter 7 #ow.#yeah i lost track of how many times I teared up in that first scene #but um...yeah.#good night starr.#one chapter remains.#and then...it's over.

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