#She’s telling him a story about basilisks in the center of the Earth

[generaljinjur]

Enrichment time!

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:P

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#She’s telling him a story about basilisks in the center of the Earth #Using a tiny ball of her own as a prop #ballpython #ball python #good snek #dangernoodle #his name is Loki

[rampanttheories]

Something I’d really love to read a long coherent story on would be Sybill Trelawney preventing the rise of Voldemort in the summer after third year.

Now that everybody thinks I lost my marbles, let me elaborate:

First off, she absolutely would be entirely unaware of just having saved the wizarding world and having made her own prophecy obsolete. As far as we can tell from canon, she does not notice when she makes a “true” prophecy and Dumbledore sure as hell did not inform her. So she accidentally-s her way through fixing canon. Which is the only way this works.

So, what goes down?

I noticed that Sybill is actually incredibly accurate with most of her prophecies (unless she is put under pressure to tell something Right Now, in which case she defaults to drama). What hinders her from being acknowledged is that either the audience is missing some vital information or just straight up disbelieve her/interpret the words the wrong way.

For example when Ron and Harry stumble over her in sixth year and she keeps drawing cards, reading them, and disregards the warnings about a troubled young man and grave danger (or something along those lines) as impossible. From a meta perspective, this fits Draco Malfoy’s plot during that time perfectly.

Others have pointed out multiple other instances of her predictions coming true in a round-about way. So maybe she suffers a similar fate as Cassandra in the Iliad, speaking true but never believed. Or she is just painfully incapable of putting what she sees into convincing words.

The part I am most interested in is when she speaks to Harry and points out a few of his features ending with “I assume you were born in mid-winter”, which of course is seen as an enormous blunder considering Harry’s birthday in July. But Tom Riddle was born in winter and shares the physical features Sybill mentions. So potentially she was seeing the horcrux in that moment, not Harry.

So how about Sybill has a constant case of double vision around Harry and it is giving her HEADACHES of an epic proportion. So when she passes out to give her second prophecy to him at the end of third year, she chalks it up to that kid being Not Good for her health due to whatever is going on with him and decides to do something about it over the summer holidays.

She can sense the strings of fate and the one centered on Harry lingers in Hogwarts, so she takes to following it. To fix her headaches, of course, but also thanks to a solid professional work ethic and curiosity. It wouldn’t do to ignore such a fascinating phenomenon. She follows that string all the way to the seventh floor, where she finds a diadem with the same mid-winter fate on it. She follows a minor trace through the walls until she ends up in the plumbing system and stumbles over the carcass of the basilisk next to the dying spot of this connected string.

She walks through tunnels and grottos and runs from the dragon and finds a cup.

She walks across hills and fields and talks with gentle Luna Lovegood, who talks about creatures Sybill cannot see, but she knows better than to ignore what others sense. And she listens closely to tales of cleansing breaths belonging to an unspeakable animal summoned by poppy smoke of all things. She leaves that meeting on a new path, as the disappearing string would only lead to Ginny Weasley, pockets full of poppy and a bag with pristine ancient artifacts that do not scream of danger anymore. The small cleansing ritual did relieve a great deal of her headache. She decided to repeat the ritual at every end of one of these strings of fate.

She walks across dales and hilltops until she stumbles through the decrepit wall of a hut and finds a ring screaming of death. She takes the cleansed ring, but leaves the stone at a riverbed. She doesn’t know, but it is vanished by the next dawn.

She walks along bustling streets and gets thrown back on her path by house elf magic. She plants poppy and elder in every bit of earth she can find on that street and the next one over. The house elf eventually rips out and incinerates the offending plants and is overjoyed when his next attempt to fulfill his orders works.

She follows the roads to a neighbourhood filled with identical houses and precisely manicured lawns, but finds herself turned back the way she came time and time again.

She follows a string across dales and hilltops and speeds up when she recognizes the village of the hut. And apparently a mansion. She leaves poppy burning in a way the wind brings the smoke into the old building. She is too far away to hear the screams of a semi-human creature vanishing from the smoke and invisible breaths, but she does see the enormous snake leaving through a window. She is long gone to Hogwarts, relieved of the pressure in her left sinus, when the rabid young man scrambles to put out the fire she lit.

Her headaches haven’t fully disappeared yet, so she opens to windows to her class room and lights up poppy instead of her normal “incense”.

When Harry Potter walks into her classroom in his fourth year and begrudgingly takes his regular place next to a surplus of burning poppy, she is delighted to notice her headaches weaken by the minute and none of the irritating strings cling to him when he leaves through the trap door.

#Harry Potter #sybill trelawney #fix the timeline #alternate universe #universe altered #Harry James Potter #Luna Lovegood #I can't believe this is my first post with Luna #Kreacher #crack #mini fanfic? #I guess? #own content #some parts of this are #meta talk

[looniecartooni]

Random Belos thoughts/ possible theory

Belos has done a lot of crazy things and asked people to do a lot of crazy things. But we know that the things he does is all leading up to something- presumably the Day of Unity. And that may or may not be because he is one of the long lost Wittibane brothers with prolonged life- yadda yadda yadda...

Or is he? He must be because a. He’s been to the Human Realm and b. Hunter claims he’s his uncle and Hunter has an uncanny resemblance to one of the Wittibane brothers (possibly being a Grimwalker or Oretet or something the Titan has plans for according to Belos).

But with a difference of 300 years between the start of the story and when Phillip Wittibane got trapped, it seems very peculiar. Belos rises to power only about 50 years before the start of the story and the coven system was installed. At some point, Kikimora joins the scene having control over those coven marks that suck up power/ cocoon unsuspecting coven followers until the Day of Unity where a very modern city is built upon the Titan. Belos also seems to know a lot about technology, building a variety of magic-based, robotic machines that seem pretty odd for someone that lived before electric inventions were of common use to know how to use (assuming he didn’t learn later in his years) or want to achieve as a peaceful future. Then of course we have Lilith that joined the coven at least 30 years before Luz came to Earth and Hunter being 16. How do these things all connect though.

Let’s just return to Belos for a second. There’s a couple things in season 2 that feels like they fit together and perhaps patch things up in this mystery. We already know Belos is trying to create a grimwalker (possibly something for the Titan, himself, or replace possible grimwalker or possible ingredient for a grimwalker Hunter) hence he wanted selkiedomas scales and possibly more palisman.

But Belos has also been seen taking the essence of palisman to tame his black, goopy “outbursts”(keep in mind the goop for later). “Wild magic” he so verbally hates and constantly tells Hunter to be weary about, going as far as to nearly stab him at the very mention of using it. Yet he depends on it to keep his human form and ease the pain. You know who else depends on magic to keep their form yet resents it? Vee. A basilisks of who’s species was meant to be extinct until Belos and the Emperor’s coven secretly somehow managed to bring them back to life.

Vee says the reason she and the other basilisks were brought back was so that they could observe how they absorbed magic. Now given that the Day of Unity also possibly requires absorbed magic and we aren’t sure of how long these experiments went on for along with that the basilisks managed to escape not too long before Luz first came to the Demon Realm, it may be too soon to conclude if Belos himself is connected to basilisks. It is kind of odd though that Belos relies on absorbing magic, somehow managed to find the DNA of an extinct species (although the Emperor’s Coven could have raided a Night Market or something for that), and an episode heavily hinting at Phillip Wittibane and his previously unconfirmed sibling centered around a basilisk disguised as Luz somehow wouldn’t piece together somewhere in this fishy puzzle.

Let’s go on and discuss Belos’s “outbursts”, shall we? It is clear that Belos is perhaps cursed, paralleling Eda in a sense. We know very little about this curse except that “wild magic” caused it. There is a large range of possibilities, but 2-3 come to mind when I think about this...

One is abominations. The Abomination Coven seems to be a highly respected coven so much so that Willow’s parents thought Willow would get the most opportunities for a future if she joined it. Its also possibly worth noting that Belos bought the Abomitons Amity’s parents had rather than destroy them despite seemingly hating private armies. Why would this be important?

Belos’s movements are a lot like that of an abomination. He can melt and change form. And we’ve seen a witch capable of being both an abomination and a witch (not entirely sure what he really is) with the head of the Abomination Coven.

But unlike Darius, the goop that makes up Belos is black while abomination goop is typically purple and occasionally pink (although the color can change depending on what material you use as we’ve seen an abomination made of mud before). Also, Belos’s eyes and movements are a bit more like Jean-Luc’d from King’s castle with the tilting of his head and control of his body. 

No one is quite sure what Jean Luc is yet, but he definitely seems to be very abomination like. He also appears to be made out of more natural materials like rocks and possibly moss (or flesh) and parts of a crab. Belos appears to have a lot of plant like things he’s comprised of especially with his face. There’s also a hint that what he is made of could be mud with the cryptic “curse of mud and feathers” from the title cards, thus perhaps Belos could have been a Wittibane brought back to life via some sort of abomination spell or whatever Jean Luc is. The Owl House’s original plot was Luz going to learn necromancy, so it isn’t too far fetched and in my own opinion the most likely thing that Belos is/became.

However there is a second/third possibility that always makes me wonder if Belos’s transformation/curse was actually an accident caused by glyphs. Glyphs fall into the category of wild magic according to Hunter and the books he read on it. And Eda said that a witch’s bile sack is a bunch of glyph fluids sloshing around together. However, when she tries to use all the glyphs at once with paper, what appears but a weird, uncontrollable amalgamation that keeps expanding and nearly freezes King. Now imagine if that was those glyphs being used perhaps by accident on someone, perhaps by someone less experienced. Or perhaps someone ingesting all those glyphs like a hungry basilisk. We’ve seen that basilisks can not consume glyphs back when one attacked Hexside back in season one.

Most people’s theories on Belos and his condition are more thought to be related to Titan’s Blood corrupting him or him accidentally ending up in the Inbetween Realm at some point and falling victim to the voices. Given that he claims that he talks to the Titan and has tried for ages to make a working portal to unite the Human and Demon Realms, those are possibilities as well. We’ll have to wait and see, but hopefully this information can help us try to piece together the puzzle that is Belos and his Day of Unity.

I didn’t quite get in all the information we know about Belos and the story. I comprised this of all I could remember that I thought would be important and originally I had plan to use pictures, but this thought/theory list got way too long. If you do make you theories out of this, please credit or tag me in someway, and don’t be afraid to share your own takes on this. I might post a more concise theory later when I have time, but until then- here’s this.

#the owl house #owl house #toh belos #toh #emperor belos #owl house theory #toh thoughts #toh theory #toh hunter

[halothenthehorns]

TLTNL- THE DEATH EATERS

Sirius had lived through a lot of crap in his life, some real life shattering moments, but the act of forcing himself to read about the return of Voldemort, when he technically hadn't even fallen yet so they'd never even been allowed to live in that lifespan of peace like Harry had, really was doing something to his psyche as he got started.

Voldemort looked away from Harry and began examining himself. His hands were like large, pale spiders.

Harry almost longed for Sirius or someone trying to crack a joke during all of this, it would make what he was hearing feel even slightly better, his first thought that someone could have made a mention of how Ron would hate Voldemort just for that fact alone, but humor was going to be hard to come by until Harry was out of this danger.

All his other features were as inhuman as well, pale and more serpent like than ever. He took no notice of Wormtail continuing to sob at his feet, still bleeding from his stump.

'As much as he deserves, he's got a fate worse than Quirrell's coming up,' Remus viciously thought to himself.

The large snake from Harry's dreams wasn't given much notice either as it continued slithering across the ground.

Voldemort put one of those unnatural hands into his pocket and came back with a wand, which he caressed with his new fingers.

Lily gathered from that act that this must indeed be Voldemort's own wand, the one with the phoenix core he shared with Harry's. It took a moment for Lily to even push past her disgust at all the cruel things that wand had done to her, James, and what felt like everyone she ever loved, to even try to guess where it had even come from, until she remembered who'd been tending to Voldemort this whole time. Lily couldn't help but wonder for the first time if that rat had possibly made an appearance at their house that fateful Halloween night as well, if he'd come across the body of Voldemort and taken possession of his wand for safe keeping, or perhaps even a level of power, and then hid it away before he went underground as Scabbers. It didn't even seem that far fetched, as he hadn't a wand on him that night he'd been confronted by Sirius and Remus, so he'd held this one as a backup all these years. At the same time as she realized that though, it also meant he would have had to cross James's body, and she hoped in the blackest way possible that had hurt him. To see what he'd cost in deceiving a man who still didn't want to believe the worst in him after everything.

    The first act he performed was to point it at Wormtail, who sailed back into the headstone

James held a remarkable look on his face as he heard that, somewhere between demented humor that this was Peter's reward from Voldemort himself, and still some grains of wondering when he'd finally show regret for his decision.

and again crumpled in pain, begging his master to help him, to keep his promise.

Voldemort indeed asked for his arm, but when he held up the stump hopefully, Voldemort pushed that aside and instead tried to snatch the other one. Wormtail again whimpered and pleaded his Master to help him,

Sirius got through that exchange like an executioner reading out the final charges. It really was easier to think of this cretin as some corpse going through these motions rather than someone he'd once put such trust in, put his own life in those hands, one of which was now gone in a willingly given gesture for these actions to be occurring.

but Voldemort ignored this and pushed back the sleeves of his unbloodied sleeve. There Harry spotted something branded into the skin, the same image that had hovered in the sky the night of the World Cup, the Dark Mark.

Voldemort pressed one of his long white fingers into it, and Harry's scar imploded with pain again.

Remus' mind flashed back through all the mentions of Snape and Karkaroff talking about something on their arm, and then to find the same thing now on that foul little rat, it couldn't really be a coincidence. But what was it exactly?

Voldemort straitened with satisfaction, murmuring to himself that now he would know the brave to return,

Lily had not a clue what was going on, what Voldemort was doing, nor where on earth that tattoo had come from. What she did gather was the fact that it seemed to be some sort of calling symbol, and that meant even more bad news was about to arrive.

and those foolish enough to stay away.

Harry was rubbing at his forearm thoughtfully, some lingering thoughts floating just beyond his conscious mind of how he felt about those questions.

Voldemort began pacing across Harry's field of vision, his ruby eyes again falling on the gagged teenager as he informed him that Harry stood upon the bones of his late father. Much like Harry's mother

James had already grown up hating Voldemort through his life, but in that moment where he actually referred to Lily, James wanted to see him dead more than ever. No one got to talk about his wife like that!

both had died but held their uses.

"Uses?" Lily spat in disgust. "I lived trying to protect my son, that's more than he'll ever understand."

Lily Potter had died defending her son,

Sirius would forever hate himself for having to say that, and still having even the slightest bit been involved in that happening, but then he conjured back the image of telling his wasteful parents that their precious Voldemort was in fact a half-blood with parent issues, and it gave him enough breath back to keep going.

and Voldemort had killed his father,

"So it was Voldemort who killed Riddle and his own grandparents," Remus marveled, wondering why he was even shocked. There were some questions in there he was curious about, like why, but this was Voldemort he was thinking about, he'd never really needed much of a reason to kill anybody, especially Muggles, certainly ones he was related too would be eliminated at Voldemort's earliest convenience.

and look how useful he'd been in his death.

Harry rubbed at his forehead a bit at that, there was a significance to what Voldemort had said about a father being useful in death...his eyes flickered to his own and away, he didn't like to think of his dad as dead in any sense even if it might have been helpful to him in his past.

Voldemort gave a soft laugh again as he continued his pacing, that snake still circling in the grass below mimicking his movement.

"I want to know what's with that thing?" James muttered of no one, anything to keep the feeling alive that they were hearing of this in the room rather than having to think about Harry living it. "They were only using its weird venom to keep Voldemort alive, yet he named it didn't he. What's so special about this snake?"

"I'm not really that surprised," Remus shrugged, "Voldemort claims to be the descendant of the Great Salazar Slytherin, I can easily picture him with some snake for a pet now."

"I can't picture him with anything resembling a pet," Lily disagreed, "he doesn't have the capacity to take care of a goldfish."

"We should just be thankful it's whatever this is, and not a basilisk," Sirius muttered.

Harry wasn't that grateful for his dad's comment, that annoying feeling cropping up again of an answer that should have been there. There was indeed something very significant about Nagini he just wasn't remembering.

Voldemort began telling Harry his story, how his own father had lived just over on that hill. His mother had lived in the village and fell in love, but Riddle had abandoned her when he found out what she was, his father hadn't liked magic.

"Oh joy, just what I always wanted, more Voldemort backstory," Sirius groused.

Lily on the other hand couldn't help but picture someone else saying this, someone who was now in Voldemort's ranks himself. Snape had made many of the same comments about his own father from time to time. It never failed to sadden her just how much alike her old friend and Voldemort seemed to be, far more than Snape and her had ever had in common it seemed.

He'd abandoned her while pregnant and not looked back, and she'd died giving birth to him, leaving him in an orphanage with the foul name of Tom Riddle, of the very same man who he now vowed revenge on.

Remus shook his head in disgust the longer this dragged on. "While no one's arguing the guy's an arse for trying to abandon his kid, I'm still struggling to wrap my head around how this turned him into the greatest evil in our world. And now I'm even wondering why he was named after his father, did the orphanage find out about that name through the mother before she died and gave it to him, because it's not like that Riddle seemed to have a say in it."

"You are reading far too much into this," Sirius sighed. "Just hate him and start plotting ways to stop this from happening like the rest of us."

Voldemort seemed to catch himself as he realized he was becoming sentimental,

"There's one thing I don't think anyone in the world's ever called that megalomaniac," James rolled his eyes.

recounting his life story for Potter, but now his real family was arriving.

Sirius sneered at the word family, absolutely convinced that Voldemort had no clue what that meant any more than the pathetic rat he employed.

The air was filled with the swishing of cloaks in long black attire and all faces covered as they Apparated as one. For a moment none moved, frozen in shock, until one finally shuffled forward, and flung itself at Voldemort's feet, kissing the hem of his robes.

Remus was flickering through all the known Death Eaters he'd heard about, and any one of them were considered so full of themselves it really was laughable whichever one it was groveling like that, making it all the more unbelievable they bowed to anyone, even Voldemort.

Soon they were all doing it, until Voldemort waved his hands that was enough, and then they all backed away and formed a circle around them with some noticeable gaps. Leaving Voldemort and Harry in the center, and a sobbing Wormtail still curled on the ground.

James wanted to ask Harry exactly how many there were, but he was honestly already faint at the idea of just how outnumbered his son was. The question had only occurred to him because he was pissed of how many free Death Eaters were out there. They'd known of some numbers, but this felt ridiculous that the Ministry hadn't been able to get so many of Voldemort's inner circle.

Voldemort didn't seem to be expecting anymore, as he began addressing them all by reminding them of how long it had been. Thirteen years, and they came to his call as if nothing had changed, still united.

Then he inhaled deeply, those blood-red eyes taking in all those around him as he stated he smelt their guilt.

Sirius had the mad desire to laugh. The way Voldemort was speaking to them, it all felt as theatrical as possible. He'd had a sense back when he'd been dealing with that odd diary that Voldemort had a grandiose idea of himself, but to be speaking like this really did just put a spin on how ridiculous the man sounded.

Voldemort stood before these men, healthy and free, and Voldemort asked himself why none before him had aided their master before this night.

Remus made a thrumming noise in his throat of deep curiosity as well, while not in the same light as Voldemort he did wonder the same. Like Sirius, he did wonder what exactly drew these people to Voldemort, if it was all to gain a bit of power than they should have been actively looking for the man who could give that back to them. Yet it had been a rat to find him and make this possible. This either meant he wasn't hard to find by Death Eater standards, or more likely since Dumbledore hadn't been able to find this husk, the rat had simply been the dedicated one to figure it out. His thoughts went back to that Pensive, of that deranged woman screaming about how Voldemort would reward her for being so loyal, and he was starting to wonder if in her own twisted way she'd been right. Voldemort was surely ticked at all of these that had been free and not spent every waking hour before now to make this moment happen.

No one spoke. No one moved except Wormtail, who was upon the ground, still sobbing over his bleeding arm.

Every time that was mentioned Sirius somehow still managed to add an extra layer of menace into his voice, even listening to all this Voldemort crap he still managed to somehow hate this most of all.

Voldemort answered his own question, how his followers had believed him broken and gone. They'd slipped back to society pleading ignorance and bewitchment.

"I'd make a joke about how talking to himself has made him go as mad as Crouch has, but I guess we already knew that ship has sailed," James huffed.

"There's still a chance he's gone even more up the ladder," Lily reminded, "getting blasted out of your body most likely does something to your mental health as well."

"I'm so sure Voldemort cares deeply about this," Remus rolled his eyes at the pair even if he did manage a smile, they're comments really did seem to be helping Harry as a constant reminder that they were here for him.

He returned by asking himself why they would believe such a thing? When he'd shown them all the steps he'd taken to defeat mortality.

Sirius narrowed his eyes curiously at that, hoping that if this monologuing was going to continue, at least Voldemort could go into details about this part. Sirius wanted to know what exactly those steps were, they'd clearly been the thing to keep him alive against a rebounding Killing Curse.

They'd seen his proof of becoming mightier than any alive being.

"I can not get over how full of himself he is," Lily shook her head with a twist of her lips. "I'm now grateful that in the times where he's fought our side he's never tried to monologue during it."

"Though if he had, we'd have this problem nipped by now," James pointed out, "so maybe that's how we get rid of this guy, try to get him talking about himself."

"I'll make a list of conversation starters," Sirius rolled his eyes at the pair.

He again answered himself that his loyal followers could have perhaps traded allegiance to that of their enemy, Dumbledore.

His circle shivered as one, some even murmured this not to be true, but still they were ignored as Voldemort continued speaking to himself about how disappointed he was.

"First bit of good news I've heard all night," Remus grumbled.

"Wish he'd stay that way," Sirius agreed.

One man collapsed to his knees again, begging his Master to forgive them, forgive them all.

Voldemort's response was to use Crucio on him.

The Death Eater writhed on the ground, shreking in agony, while Harry was left silently begging for someone nearby to have heard.

Lily's arm kept tightening around her baby all the time, sure she'd never gripped anything so tight in her life to assure herself Harry was right here beside her now, not being forced to live through this again any more than he had to. Pity didn't quite define what she felt for her baby. She completely understood his desperate desire for help to arrive, but she had no doubts that not a soul actually knew where he was, and no Muggle could do a thing for him.

Voldemort lifted his curse, and commanded Avery to get back to his feet. Voldemort would not be forgiving anyone until they repaid their thirteen years of service owed.

"I'm hoping you won't live past the next thirteen minutes," Sirius snapped, "so Avery's not going to get his chance."

Another high pitched sob drew Voldemort's attention back to Wormtail, admitting to himself that at least this one had already started on that path. Reminding him that he deserved this pain-

James was trembling, whether in rage or despair no one was sure, for that being so irrevocably true and he still wanted more than anything for it to not be.

to which Wormtail moaned in agreement even while still begging his Master to help him.

Remus was starting to get concerned about letting Sirius continue like this, it just couldn't be good for his health, or throat, to keep reading about that in the most violent way possible, but as it was the only release Sirius could find instead of murdering that rat like he deserved, Remus wasn't going to be the one to stop him.

Voldemort nodded to himself, saying that while worthless, Wormtail had been of service, and Voldemort rewarded that.

Lily already realized that rat had broken her list of people who needed to be purged from her life, but now every time she was forced to see the reaction it gave James it was still somehow made worse every time.

Voldemort gave another flick of his wand, and something silver materialized in the air, which sunk down to Wormtail's level and developed into a fist over his stump. His sobbing finally ceasing, Wormtail sat up and inspected the now gleaming metal, flexing his fingers in surprise.*

The fact that he was actually being rewarded really did somehow feel like the worst part. Like their friendship, this family, all the times they'd shared over the past years of their life hadn't been enough for him, and he'd gone crawling to everything they'd ever stood against, and somehow he actually still hadn't shown an ounce of remorse for his choice.

He remained on the ground for a moment longer as he began kissing the hem of his Master's robes, thanking him for such a thing.

Sirius didn't care how long he lived, that image would forever be branded into his brain and he couldn't ever peel it away no matter how much it hurt, how much he still didn't want it to be true and still wanted to end his life before any of this could begin.

Voldemort told Wormtail that this was a sign Wormtail would never again question his loyalties, to which was instantly agreed.

For some reason something of what Dumbledore had once said tried to come floating back to the surface of Harry's mind, something about how Harry actually would one day be thankful that Wormtail was so heavily involved in all of this. Harry believed that now more than ever as he heard about this hand.

Wormtail finally got to his feet and entered the circle, while Voldemort began addressing more individuals, starting with Lucius.

"Wow, so we were right, Malfoy is part of the inner circle," Lily huffed, her own mind still distracted, caught on the never ending realization they'd all been suffering through that one of their own was now a part of the same thing.

Voldemort began with reproach, asking how someone who had made it so high in the Ministry's rankings had never come to his Lord's aid.

Malfoy swore he'd always kept a watchful ear out, if ever he'd heard the slightest sound of his Master's return he would have been there-

"Is it wrong to say I'm actually enjoying listening to him beg like this," Sirius got out through gritted teeth, the opposite of looking like he was enjoying any part of this.

Nobody responded, they weren't entirely sure how much of a joke that was supposed to be, as well as Sirius could find his own pleasure in whatever he needed right now anyways so they wouldn't tell him off for it regardless.

Voldemort cut him off by reminding he'd fled when the Mark had been cast in the sky.

Mr. Malfoy instantly stopped his speech.

"I can not get over the fact that Harry's referring to him as Mr. Malfoy," Remus directed at Lily, hoping the friendly reminder of when Harry had first met Hagrid would make even one slight worry line disappear from her face.

Voldemort told how disappointed he was in this, and expected more faithful service in the future.

Harry wondered why he thought he should have a feeling about that, some sense of something telling him the Malfoy line and Voldemort's service could hold something to him...

Voldemort moved on from him then, where a double space could have housed two people. Voldemort stared as if he still saw them there, murmuring to himself about the Lestranges.

Sirius' hard face managed to give an extra spasm of hatred at the reminder of his family. He already knew what had become of one of his cousins, Narcissa had married a Malfoy and he was honestly surprised she hadn't been mentioned right along with Lucius, and he'd heard rumors of what Bellatrix had become, if he wasn't mistaken this was in fact her new last name. Only Andromeda had made anything good of herself, at least he hoped she'd stayed that way in all these years.

He knew of their life in Azkaban, how they were there because they had not renounced their ways, and Voldemort swore when Azkaban was broken they would be honored for this.

Remus shook his head in disgust, thinking back to that Pensive and that woman who had believed this same thing. Guess she had been right, though with any luck she was long dead, it would certainly serve her right. They had no confirmation if Crouch's son had been involved in what happened to the Longbottoms, but she certainly hadn't done a thing to make it seem she hadn't otherwise, so Azkaban was a rightful resting place for a wretched being like that.

Then he mentioned how easy this would be with the dementors joining their side,

"I believe that," James shivered, "Dumbledore's always said it's a miracle they haven't deserted us already, the majority of them have. I keep hearing fewer numbers are keeping their prison in check all the time."

"Well we need a new prison anyways," Lily snapped, "so good riddance to them."

as well as the giants and all manner of dark creatures.

Remus gave a particularly vicious shiver at that, it really wasn't his favorite job he now had to be helping keeping tabs on a select group of those fearsome monsters, he among them.

Voldemort moved on to face Macnair, speaking of his job in the Ministry as a beast executioner.

Sirius had an individual hatred for that loon, the one who'd tried to kill Buckbeak, the same creep who'd walked around with an axe the whole time around children. It really didn't surprise him in the slightest he was among these high ranking, he was the kind you had probably found burning live kittens in his youth.

Next he addressed Crabbe and Goyle, only sparing enough words to gain their promises of further loyalty.

"Wow, and here I thought their kids were just meat suites without brains," James said nastily. "Turns out they're as trollish as their own dad's."

Lily hummed without comment that time, etching all of these into her own mental list, some of the worry for her son finally lessening just slightly enough she was realizing how useful all this information could be to the Order, they were getting a handpicked list of the elite after all, many of which were indeed still active in the Ministry now. She'd worry about details on how to nail them all after Harry was out of there, she'd still rather have the ignorance of not knowing than how she was learning this.

They bowed clumsily, muttering dully.

"That about describes everything they do," Sirius snarked.

After Nott was next named, Voldemort stopped in front of the largest gap, where he claimed six should stand. Three had died, one was clearly too cowardly to return, and another had long since left his service and would pay with his life. The last of which Voldemort already knew of and still remained his faithful servant.

"That was mentioned once before too wasn't it?" Lily muttered to herself. "Someone faithful who'd been helping him out along with- the first one we heard about." Her throat wasn't quite able to swallow all of a sudden it was so dry, and she trailed off from there with nothing more to add on. The one name Voldemort hadn't given, the one they really wanted to know.

Remus was keeping his own running list in his head, and realized that at least two of those most likely referred to Karkaroff and Snape, though he had no clue who was who. He didn't really think that was giving them too much credit anymore, not the way they'd been speaking all year about something like this happening. All he was left wondering who the third was. Could it be one of those two who were his most faithful and had been helping him out as well, or someone else altogether they hadn't even heard about yet.

Voldemort informed those around him his faithful servant was at Hogwarts, and was the reason they were all here tonight.

James made a demented noise. He somehow had found a new level for hate on either Karkaroff or Snape. His money was on Snape, but since it really had been either of them to put his son in there, they were going to suffer for it in the worst way he could conceive.

All attention was turned back on Harry now, some would even call him their guest of honor.

"Well I'm certainly not that some, and you need to not ever say that again," Lily snapped to no one, knowing she couldn't stand Voldemort taunting Harry being there much longer without blasting down a wall of her house in anger.

Voldemort let the silence continue until Malfoy spoke up again, craving his Lord to tell how this miracle had become.

Voldemort agreed he'd share the tale, which all began, and ended, with Harry Potter.

Aside from the abundance of information regarding names they were being force fed from his meeting, James wondered if he'd get something even more important to him. Would Voldemort finally divulge the very reason he'd started with his boy in the first place?

He began by recounting this boy as his downfall, all the while Harry was only just managing to follow along every word with his scar in agony.

Lily was mouthing her anger that on top of all this Harry was in fact in pain this whole time, if being in close contact to the essence of Voldemort had hurt Harry, then she could only imagine how that had increased with his own body. Her only saving grace for now was that it wasn't happening to him now, he still kept himself still as possible, one hand curled securely around her, the other hooked into James. James had been randomly patting it this whole time as a reminder to himself as well, thankful beyond words their infant had never been brought back down to be any part of this.

Stating the fabled tale of how his mother had died to save him,

Lily's touch seemed to warm Harry all the more. Not that he'd ever forget that for a moment in his life, nor ever be able to find happiness in the act of her life being cost, but there was still something he could never put into words of the magic of the act that went beyond any spell.

and how she'd unwittingly given him life that night, something that had not been foreseen. Voldemort could not touch him.

Remus was starting to get a bad feeling about this, his fingers already tightening around his wand as he remembered the last time Voldemort had tried to act on that and had nearly choked Harry to death. Why was Voldemort even keeping Harry alive now? He'd played his part in the resurrection potion, was it all really for gloating now?

Voldemort raised one of his long white fingers and put it very close to Harry's cheek.

Harry had to beat back the impulse to lean away from those touching him now, that horrible ingrained pain still trying to remind him it had once existed in his scar, soon to be even worse though he wouldn't have believed that possible.

Voldemort whispered and still all heard that the sacrifice of old magic had been overlooked,

"You make that mistake a lot," Sirius snapped cheerfully, "and it's put a hole in your boat so many times I hope it never stops."

"Sirius, I don't think that's actually a saying," James sighed more than joked back.

"Well it is now," Sirius replied like that was obvious, and for a moment as the two best friends met eyes something felt normal even for just that second before Sirius forced himself to resume.

but in the end, all in vain. Harry Potter could now be touched.

He placed the tip of his finger against Harry's scar, who screamed harder than he had in his life, now convinced his head was being cleaved in two.

Voldemort hissed a laugh in his ear, but pulled away to continue.

"Wha-How!?" Lily screeched, her arm starting to shake across Harry's shoulders. The thing she'd been able to leave him with, a sliver of protection she'd lost her life for, and now even that was gone. She felt like a failure as a mother, nothing she'd ever done had been enough for him.

Lily looked as likely to burst into tears of frustration as murder someone in that moment, so Remus felt like he was poking his own death as he reminded, "the potion that resurrected him Lily. He used Harry's blood, that makes them as connected as their wands now." He'd thought the others had realized this, it made sense when you went back and realized why Voldemort had wanted to use only Harry for this when that rat had been right, it would have been easier to get a hold of another other than Harry for this.

Apparently not as the others lost an extra shade of color, all false bravado of pretending this was okay falling out the window. Stupidly, Harry had felt a teensy bit safer with at least the knowledge Voldemort couldn't lay a hand on Harry, now even that was taken from them!

Sirius was looking from the book, to each of them in turn, like he was waiting for someone to actually offer some good news, something that would make this bearable for him to keep going. No one was, that ship had long sailed, and instead Sirius just wanted this chapter to end with Harry getting out of this place already.

His fault had been his downfall, and he was stripped from his body with pain he could not begin to describe. Still he did not despair, as some of the measures he'd taken for immortality had seemed to take effect, but not in the way he'd hoped. He had no body, and no way to use a wand,

James could feel the powder he was grinding his teeth to in frustration. In all this talking and posturing and making his life a living hell, Voldemort was still holding back on the important details, like an example of those bleeding experiments so they could make sure this didn't happen when James removed this snake's head!

so he'd been forced to exist in that state of being as he snuck away to a safe forest he knew of, waiting in vain for the help he should have expected from one of his loyal followers.

Those around him all shivered again in fear, and Voldemort let the silence linger for emphasis before continuing.

"If only he'd kill them all and save us the job," Sirius snarled.

The only temporary solace he'd found was when a young, foolish wizard had found him, and in luck's favor, had even been employed in Dumbledore's very school.

"What do I have to pay this guy to make him stop already," James moaned. He was sick with worry every passing moment Harry was there a second longer, and now they were having to hear about all of this stuff again they'd already had to live through. Harry didn't need this in his life repeated a third time, it had already nearly killed him the first two!

His goal had been the Philosopher's Stone, but again he'd been thwarted by Harry Potter.

"Did we ever congratulate you for doing that?" Remus sighed as he tried to usher back to a time where Voldemort popping out of Quirrell's head was the worst part of their day.

He didn't know what kind of answer he was expecting, but Harry not answering wasn't an encouraging one. He was still acting distant to the world around him. This night in the graveyard, what he'd already witnessed happening to Cedric, it was enough to drive anyone mad the first time around, now he was being forced to hear it all again. The one and only thing that seemed to be keeping him here was whatever response he got from his parents.

That struggle had ended with the death of Quirrell, and he was left as weak as ever.

"Please don't tell me he's going to start recounting your second year as well," Sirius groaned.

"That's actually an interesting question of if he even knows," Remus reminded. "We never even understood how a bit of his soul got into that diary, and Harry killed it with the basilisk fang. I can't imagine why Voldemort would know anything about it, considering it was aged so many years before the body he's in now, so the most he'd say was a passing comment about Harry doing that when he felt a bit of his soul die." Remus kind of wanted to keep going, that old intriguing question of what exactly would be happening if that Voldemort soul part had succeeded and come back to life. Would it have merged with the rest of this body, or stayed two separate entities? He was clearly the only one thinking on this, and knew the others were long since done with this whole night and wanted it to be over. Remus didn't even really care for finding answers to this, it was just easier to postulate ridiculous ideas like this than have to keep thinking of Harry tied to a headstone.

Voldemort had returned to his hiding, giving up hope.

James released a torrent of sounds as he begged this to end there no matter how much he knew otherwise. The next part, the bit where he had indeed gotten exactly what he wanted, was still the worst part of all.

Even he hadn't expected the change to come, when Wormtail had been driven out of hiding by once friends and forced to seek out his old Master.

Harry again felt the burn of Trelawney's prophecy tormenting his life, now complete and in the flesh. What he would give to go and take back his part in this coming true.

This had been accomplished through his curious affinity with rats.

"One that he thankfully can't retain in death, so look for some silver lining," Lily hissed under her breath.

The rodents had whispered of the forests of Albania where their kind sensed evil, and Wormtail had made his way there. All had almost been lost before it even begun, as Wormtail stumbled into Bertha Jorkins. Showing a spot of intelligence none would have guessed from him, Wormtail had continued to work this in his favor and a wealth of information was born from that woman.

Sirius hated himself for somehow still finding new ways to despise that miserable bit of existence. He just wanted to have him dead already and be done with that part of his life, this continuing to be dragged out always managed to find new ways of torturing him along.

Through persuasion, she'd told of the Triwizard Tournament, and even after a Memory Charm had been broken, divulged of a faithful Death Eater willing to go to Voldemort's service. Once she'd shared all she knew, her mind and body were damaged beyond repair.

Harry couldn't even imagine what Bertha's last few moments of life had been like, but he could understand a small bit of her pain. He felt it every time a powerful memory was returned to his own mind after some kind of Memory blocking had been put on him. He was going slow, relearning this bit by bit, and he still felt like it was slowly driving him mad. He couldn't imagine someone being forced to have it all come back at once, that really would drive a person out of their own skull.

Remus shook his head in disgust at himself, this was all so clear in hindsight. Bertha had worked in the Department of Magical Cooperation, and would have known about the Tournament before hand like every other employee there. When Voldemort had previously mentioned how useful her information had been, that had been what helped put this whole plan into action. The reason her memory had gone from so good in the way they remembered to this way was because she'd had a Memory Charm placed on her, and then broken in the worst way. Now the only thing he was left wondering was who was the servant that had executed that plan, and who'd placed it on her in the first place, what had been hidden that revolved that secret?

Voldemort shown his scarlet eyes on Wormtail, admitting his own shock at such an ill adapted wizard accomplishing all that.

A distant part of James absently noted how even Voldemort kept downplaying Peter's skills when they'd been the very things to get Voldemort where he was now. It seemed everyone constantly mocked and laughed at him, and yet the Marauders never had, but instead encouraged and helped along what he was good at. What had they done so wrong that had forced their friend away?

A plan had been formed from Bertha's information, and while Voldemort had been nursed back to health using Nagini's venom, the potion was being prepared that gave Voldemort the body he now possessed. They had the first ingredient of unicorns blood, but still needed the rest. The flesh had been provided, the bone would detail the setup of where this would happen.

Lily hadn't believed she could be any more shocked tonight, but still she managed to utter in surprise, "so, his Death Eaters know he's not a pureblood?"

"I, um, guess they do," James wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about that, but he knew at some point in the future when he sadly would go back thinking to this he'd be disappointed. They'd been planning to spread this information around, hopefully discredit Voldemort's top people in hopes they'd desert him, and now that plan seemed as useless as anything else they'd ever tried to do.

The blood of the foe had been the tricky part. Wormtail had been happy to use anyone, but Voldemort knew the one he must have. To share Harry Potter's blood, so that the lingering magical protection would now be in his own veins.

Lily looked beyond disgusted at the idea. She'd thought it repulsive to share anything with Petunia, but this was just as bad! How dare the very thing that kept trying to hurt her son somehow manage to house his very protection!

The boys were suddenly aware of a way to kill Voldemort, release Lily on him. She looked so fearsome in that moment if she'd actually had her target present, not even a puddle would be left of him.

The question of how to reach Harry Potter was the issue, as the boy was so well protected in ways Dumbledore had planned from the moment this started.

That question made something occur to Remus for the first time, but it was such a small thing making a blip in his mind as compared to the other more pressing matters he knew he couldn't be bothered to question that until he had the much better knowledge of hearing Harry be free of this nightmare.

Ancient magic was invoked to ensure the boy's protection as long as he was in his relations' care.

James' brain felt like a broken record, all he'd been managing to due for ages now was utter, "wait, what?" Always feeling one step behind now.

Lily's face squinched up in pain as she processed this, muttering, "I've never heard of that."

"I can believe it though," Remus said sourly. "It doesn't excuse what Dumbledore did in even the slightest bit in not checking in on Harry with those abusive excuse for people, but it still always blew my mind of why he'd been put there in the first place when neither of you ever even mentioned Petunia's existence."

Sirius wished that at any time Harry had ever demanded of Dumbledore why he had to keep going back there, if Dumbledore would really use the excuse Harry was safer there than out because of some protective magic. No magic was infallible, and safe was the last thing Harry was at the hands of those Dursleys.

Harry watched them all with fascination, surprised he'd finally been dragged out the recesses of his mind to focus in on them muttering about the Dursleys again. He supposed if there was someone to rival their hatred of Voldemort and Wormtail, it was Vernon and Petunia, not that this was at all comforting. Harry at once wanted to sink back into not having to listen to anymore words, if he kept trying to understand past that to those around him he was going to suffer even more pain for the realization he was living through all of this because the scene around him would never happen in his own time. Sadly, now that he'd been snapped out, he couldn't find the distance to go back.

Then there had been the Quidditch Cup, where his body had still been too weak to attempt a kidnap around so many, but then more of Bertha's information had been of use. Voldemort had placed his faithful Death Eater at Hogwarts, who'd ensured Harry's name would be placed in the Goblet of Fire.

"Holy Godric Gryffindor!" Sirius yelped.

"We are complete morons," James gasped as that was slapped into his face.

"This whole bleeding time, we were thinking they were actually two unrelated- Merlin's pants are we something stupid," Remus snarled as he nearly ripped the sleeve of his robe off he was pulling on it so hard in agitation.

That one really should have clicked together when Harry had appeared here, but in between Cedric dying and the appearance of that rat, it had been hard to think past anything else. Now they realized that in fact, this whole year had been one big set up to this end, and they all felt like fools for not grasping this sooner.

Harry wasn't going to let them wallow in their misery for long, failing to come up with an encouraging smile in his search for something to say, but still getting out, "if it makes you all feel any better, no one else figured this out either. Really, how could anyone have known that Voldemort's ultimate plan was for me to win some competition."

Lily supposed when he put it that way it did sound ridiculous, but it still didn't erase how bleeding frustrating it always was to find themselves lost amongst all these plans around Harry until it was too late. Still she forced some chipper into her voice as she agreed with him, if anything just because it was the first time he'd spoken in ages and she wanted to encourage that as much as possible.

Sirius forced himself to keep going at this point just because he saw an end in sight of this chapter.

His faithful Death Eater had ensured Potter's first place, and transformed the Triwizard Cup into a Portkey so that they could all be here now, far from Dumbledore's protection.

None of that was helping narrow out their two suspects, both had access to all of that.

Now here he was at their mercy, the one who everyone believed to be Voldemort's downfall.

"And will be again, and again, and again, until you learn to stay the hell away from him," James snarled, his own arm tightening around his wife and son possessively which would stay that way until Voldemort was gone.

Voldemort moved slowly forward and turned to face Harry. He raised his wand,

Harry recognized what was coming a moment before he watched Sirius utter that spell.

and used Crucio.

When the memory of that pain surged in his mind, but didn't actually make a comeback on him, Harry forced himself to slowly relax back into his parents grip, trying to insist upon his brain that wasn't happening to him now, but it helped nothing when he couldn't convince himself this still wasn't the most painful part of his night.

This was pain beyond anything imaginable, his eyes were rolling in his head, he knew the only relief he'd ever feel again was the blackness of death.

Sirius felt tears stinging at the edge of his vision as he forced himself to read of that happening to his pup. He could hardly imagine the idea without wanting to throw himself in front of Harry now. The infant in the crib, the fourteen year old suffering through this for the first time alone and helpless, or even the adult now cushioned between his parents. Absolutely none of it could ever be comprehended in any way other than the worst torture in the world to imagine that happening to Harry.

It stopped as suddenly as it started, and if Harry hadn't been bound in place, there was no way he'd be upright.

Voldemort looked pleased as the night rang with laughter from his followers.

Whatever the opposite of laughter was, Remus could hear himself making that, but forcing himself to do it as privately as he could, he didn't want Sirius to stop now, he was to desperate to hear of the something else, anything else happening than Harry torture until he got out of there which wasn't happening soon enough.

Still, Voldemort swore that while it would be easy to dispose of this child, he wanted no one in doubt of his own true power. Harry Potter would be killed now, with no Dumbledore protection, and no mother to die for him.

There was not a shadow of a doubt in anyone's mind that Lily would make that call over and over again, but it didn't explain why something came over Harry's expression when he heard that. In fact Harry had looked the same way every time one of his parents had come up for a while now, what was it about this night that had him feeling so much for the two. Was it possible Voldemort would start taunting their last moments again, Harry had looked much like he was now when that had happened before.

Instead, Harry Potter was to be released, and handed back his wand.

"That was the stupidest thing he could have done," Remus sneered, "as I finally figured out the way you're going to get out of there, putting Voldemort in his place."

"I think you lot have far too much faith in me," Harry whispered, still keeping a tight hand on each of his parents. "No, whatever did save me from that place, it wasn't my doing, it was Voldemort's own fault, again."

"Well whatever the case, let's be done with it," Sirius pleaded, of whom even he wasn't sure.

HPHPHPHP

*Did anyone else first read this moment and think, 'oh my god he's going to kill Remus!' I mean, I'm happy I was wrong, but come on, the silver hand, he'd already been a hand in killing one Marauder and trying to kill another, (yes I consider leaving Sirius when he did was as good as a death sentence.) Remus was the only one he hadn't personally had a chance at yet...

#The Life that Never Lived #Harry Potter #HP #fanfiction #reading the books #GoF #Marauders #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Lily Potter

[trouvelle]

Striking Balance (II) // Emogust 14.08 — Character A protects Character B

A/N: I couldn’t hold back from writing more of this, so here’s part II. Please bear with me! I sincerely hope you like it. And I’d like to apologize in advance if there are some parts that are confusing and not canon to Avatar: The Last Airbender / The Legend of Aang, it’s probably because I made some stuff up in this fic. DCMK Emogust 2019—Character A protects Character B, @mintchocolateleaves @sup-poki !!

The sun is infinitely brighter outside, warming their clammy skins as they walk away from the inn and into the heart of the town. It’s barely past sunrise, but time moves quickly during this time of the year, especially when they’re scouting the location for a missing person.

River Village is lovely and peaceful. Everyone greets each other even when they are all the way across the street, children are running around carefreely without a hint of worry on their faces. It seems like everyone here is on first-name basis. 

This section of the market is probably the most crowded part of the town, Shinichi observes. There are merchants everywhere, selling all kinds of things—there are fruit stalls, jewelry stalls, liquor stalls, and one that catches Shinichi’s eyes is the one with stacks of scrolls displayed on the table. Ran herself can’t hold back from walking toward one of the stalls to get a better look at the robes.

Shinichi doesn’t blame her. They’ve been on the move for a while. They do have extra clothes but Ran is unable to wear most of what she brought from home because the climate is very different in this part of the world.

Kaito has also advised them to ditch their distinctive Water Tribe kimono-like tunics because they attract unnecessary attention, and to start wearing outfits with more of Earth Kingdom’s elemental color in them (It’s green, and Shinichi is not a big fan. “It’s not that I like wearing green either,” Kaito retorts). They do have some coins to spare, so he gives her a nod as a green light for her to purchase something for herself. 

Ran makes her choice rather quickly. She has her eyes on a fairly beautiful piece, with a pale green dress as the under layer and a sleeveless outer tunic in a contrasting dark green. The booth owner is quick to give her the price, and it was a ridiculously high number. Ran, being the sweetest soul, is already reaching into her pocket to pay when Kaito pulls her by the arm.

“You’re gonna overpay for that piece of cotton; you don’t look like you’re from this area. He purposely offered you a higher price and squeezed all the profit he can get.” Kaito clicks his tongue in distaste, after watching the way Ran is about to close the deal on what would have been her new tunic.

“Think about it in a positive way, maybe he has a big family to feed.” Ran, although kind of surprised, is unaffected by his remark. 

Kaito only shakes his head and mouths, “Watch me.”

He makes his way down a few stalls and stops by another one that also sells tunics and other apparels. He picks a set of bright green and yellow bundle, smooths his hand over it back and front to get a feel of its texture, and proceeds to drop the stack of garment on the counter. He sees Ran and Shinichi in the corner of his eyes, watching him as he starts talking to the man at the booth, both of whom ended up chattering animatedly. Kaito then hands half a roll of coins (Ran turns to Shinichi, gobsmacked, “That cheap?”) to the man as his payment. 

If Shinichi isn’t paying close attention, he wouldn’t have caught the tiny, but swift movement of Kaito’s fingers. A gust of wind suddenly blows in the stall owner’s face and he reflexively squeezes his eyes shut. Within that second, Kaito has already had an extra scarf snuck into his other pocket. When the owner has both his eyes opened again, Kaito is already waving him a goodbye, to which he cluelessly waves back.

He skips back to Ran and Shinichi, trying to hold back a smirk on his face, to eagerly show them his achievement. 

“Next time, let me handle our shopping necessities,” Kaito now allows the smirk to consume his face, rubbing his victory.

“How’d you only pay such a small amount? What did you even say to him?” Ran asks, genuinely curious as to how the airbender closed the deal. 

“You just have to be extremely charming when swaying a deal your way.” Kaito doesn’t try at all to hide the smugness in his voice, tossing the two-piece garment and with the addition of a stolen scarf over to Ran. “Consider this my thanks for healing me.”

Shinichi stays silent, as if he’s deeply contemplating the logistics of Kaito’s way. Kaito suddenly gets nervous. 

He is so used to manipulating store owners, coercing them to his benefit, and even goes so far as to steal sometimes. His skillset is what Aoko and him rely on the most, to get through their days. It’s either resorting to his tricks or having no food, nor clothes, nor any place to stay. He wonders where Aoko has been taking shelter for the past few nights. Does she need new clothes after the disaster? Should he get something for her so when he finally finds her, she has something to change into? But if he goes around to steal again with Shinichi and Ran watching him...

Kaito knows the two waterbenders probably think what he does is immoral, but he does it without any regret. 

“We could actually save some money.” Shinichi comments. 

Kaito lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. His face breaks out into a large smile. Despite Shinichi’s Mr-Right-attitude, Kaito is starting to respect him. In the past week that they’ve been together, he has learned that Shinichi’s cautiousness has actually done them nothing but good. Kaito has never caught him off-guard, not even once.

So when Shinichi stops in his tracks and doesn’t respond to either Ran or himself, Kaito is sort of amused. They’ve reached the east end of the market. There are no more stalls up ahead, only a marble fountain and what seems like a vast area of woodland behind it. 

“I’ve been here before!” exclaims Shinichi. “It’s been a few years, and I think a huge part of this town has been reconstructed, along with the market. There used to be a dome over there,” He points at the north end of the market, “Maybe it was demolished. But I know that fountain when I see it. And that was an area I frequented as well.” He explains, jerking his chin to the direction of the woods. 

Φ

Young Shinichi loved tagging along with his father. Being one of the Elder Advisors of the Tribal Council meant Yusaku had to do rounds of their whole territory, all the highs and lows of the village. Shinichi made sure he woke up early enough every day to go with his dad on his morning rounds.

His father always had stories to tell him; about why this igloo hut looked different from that one, why the Palace is always glimmering even during cloudy mornings, what the big giant pendants around the necks of some of the older girls are. “They’re betrothal necklaces, Shinichi. It means they’re getting married soon,” explains his father. When he was out to play with Ran later that day, he very enthusiastically told her about the ugly betrothal necklace she eventually had to wear in the future.

It soon became more than just rounds. His father eventually had to sail away twice every month, leaving North Pole for a few days. Shinichi had heard rumors about the possibility of an upcoming war, he should’ve known that his father was one of the few delegates that were tasked to go out there, then come back bearing reports. 

He wanted to go with him, and so he did.

It seemed that the trips his father had gone off to, were to the same town every single time. Shinichi didn’t bother to find out the name of the town, but his father told him that they were in a village in some part of the Earth Kingdom. He was beaming with pride, for certainly no one else around his age had ever been out of the realm of North Pole. He couldn’t wait to go back home to tell all his friends about how he had been to Earth Kingdom. 

When his father was called in for the meeting in the town dome, Shinichi wandered away from center of the town, past the loud voices echoing from the mine, past the small downtown area and shops, past the sporadic houses that dot the outer edges of the town and into the woods.

He ran around and explored as much as he could, anything to make for a great story later back home. He loved the feeling of his feet padding gently on the soft earth floor beneath him. It’s very different from the cold, rock-hard ice that he was used to. There were so so so many trees here in Earth Kingdom, Shinichi thought in glee. 

He came back with his father the following week and then after, and he always made sure that he had enough time to play in the woods. Never had he seen another person in the woods—they were not that deep, but surely confusing, free of trails and pathways that mar their surface (besides the main road going east, but that’s more south than where Shinichi always was), which was why he’s surprised when he chanced upon a monstrous lizard this time.

Shinichi analyzed the creature, a mere few feet away from him. This was a Beaded Basilisk Lizard, if he remembered his father’s words correctly. “Beaded Basilisk Lizards are carnivorous and venomous, and they chew their venom into their prey,” his father told him once.

This lizard stood about four feet taller than him, even if he ran with all his might, it would definitely catch up to him within a few steps. Maybe he could splash some water to the lizard’s eyes and quickly hide from its sight? That will definitely work, he thought, that’s why Dad always makes me carry this water pouch everywhere.

He slowly reached downward to his water pouch, ready to guide the water out... only to find that it’s empty. Dear Holy Spirit of the Ocean and Spirit of the Moon, he grunted inwardly. He totally forgot that he had drunk all his water supply because running around and climbing trees up and down was tiring. Way more tiring than all those waterbending training back home.

A distant sound moving in a pattern toward them caught both his and the lizard’s attention. Shinichi used this chance to hide behind the largest tree within his range. His thoughts raced, but the adrenaline forced to keep him moving. He chanced a peak around the tree. 

Something jumped out of the trees and landed next to the creature. With a loud cry, it—he, Shinichi realized—drew on his sword, slashed the creature on its right leg and quickly ducked to avoid the whipping of its tail. The dark-skinned boy looked no more taller than Shinichi himself, and he was winging a sword half his size. 

Judging by the amount of blood, Shinichi observed that the sword left a fairly light wound on the creature. The other boy took no notice of this and kept jumping here and there, as if encircling the creature to slash its limbs as often as he could. Then Shinichi realized that the boy wasn’t trying to cut off any of part of the creature. He was trying to inflict as much injury as he could on it, possibly to slow down its movements. Or at least he was, until its scaly and beady tail smacked the boy on his knees. He was inevitably flipped over in the air and landed on his back, his sword strayed out of his reach.

A sharp intake of breath almost choked Shinichi, and without even thinking he stood out from the trees and yelled, “Hey!”

The creature turned his attention away from the dark-skinned boy. Shinichi felt like he just swallowed a boulder at the way it’s now staring at him with a deadly intent.

He didn’t wait to see what it would do, just turned and started running as fast as his feet would take him. He ran past thickets of thorns that scratched his pants, and small trickles of blood ran down, but he hadn’t time to think of it, couldn’t even feel the stinging pain as he pounded the earth beneath him. If only he was an earthbender, he thought, he could throw huge chunks of rock at the lizard. Or better yet, dig a hole to hide in.

Just when he felt it was catching up to him, he heard a gurgle, the kind that builds bile up in the back of someone’s throat, followed by the hard thunk of something hitting the ground. Shinichi tried to stop himself, but skidded across the brush and fell to his hands and knees, panting.

He took a moment to catch his breath and pushed himself back up onto his shaky legs, and walked the few paces to where the creature was flailing around, blood pouring from the back of its neck. Not a minute later, it turned to another direction and scurried away, its humongous beady tail whipping weakly behind it.

He watched the other boy, seemingly not much younger or older than him, who had jet black hair with equally thick eyebrows. He had the tip of his sword plunged lightly on the ground he was standing on as he rested his weight on the hilt. The boy turned around, scanning the forest. After making sure that the creature was really gone, he walked towards Shinichi.

“You’re from one of the Water Tribes?” was the first thing the boy said, his mouth curved up into a smirk.

“What’s yer name? Why are ya here?” He continued to press on unabashedly.

Shinichi replied with a scowl, “I’m Kudo Shinichi, from the Northern Water Tribe, the oldest one. And my father is here for the Delegatory Meeting.” He felt no obligation to give an answer, but he wanted the other boy to know that he is not to be underestimated, that his father is of importance. 

“Ah, ya mean that meeting in that giant dome?” asked the boy with his lips stretched in a grin.

“Who are you anyway?” Shinichi asked, brows furrowed. He felt his annoyance slowly melting away at the easygoing behavior the other boy was displaying.

The boy regarded him with something akin to excitement in his eyes (Shinichi was a little confused, how could this boy be this relaxed after having just encountered a monster?), before answering, “Name’s Hattori Heiji.” 

“You’re not an earthbender, are you?” Shinichi voiced his suspicion. This boy, Heiji, was wielding his sword the whole time. What earthbender would do that when they were literally on the ground?

Heiji shook his head. “I’m more of a.. Warrior, I guess.” He said with a twinge of confidence. He started walking back to the direction of the town, dragging his sword beside him, and Shinichi jumped into step with him.

“Heh. Did you know that that creature is a—”

“Beaded Basilisk Lizard.” Shinichi finished Heiji’s sentence. He turned to look at Heiji with a smug smile. “Just because I’m from the Northern Realms doesn’t mean I don’t know anything about the variation of creatures here, you know.”

Heiji pondered about it for a second. "I’m not saying that you don’t know anything. But I certainly think that I know more than you do."

Shinichi snickered. “I know waterbending. All you can do is wield a sword.” Seriously, he was suppressing the urge to stick his tongue out.

“Oh yeah?” Heiji’s voice seemed like it was raised by an octave, followed by a howl of laughter. “Then why didn’t I see you do any of your water magic on that Basilisk Lizard earlier?”

“I was thirsty and ended up drinking my water supply,” admitted Shinichi lamely. He crossed his arms and shot Heiji a look, “I didn’t have that much water on me to begin with. Didn’t think I would have to fight today... but I do can waterbend! I’ll show you when we get to the town fountain.”

But once they got back to the town, he heard their signature Northern Tribe foghorn blow—a sign that their ship is about to leave. His father would be mad at him if he was late, and possibly forbid him from coming along for the meeting next week. But Shinichi wanted to come back, so he did the logical thing and started to make his way down to the pier. 

“I really am a good waterbender. I’ll show you next week!” Shinichi called out. The last thing he saw was the massive grin on Heiji’s face, mirroring his own. Things were going to be so much fun the next time around. 

During his waterbending lessons, he was more determined than ever. He even skipped his daily morning rounds with his father as well as his playtime with Ran, just for extra training. He had to get better in the next few days, preferrable before next week. He was going to show that Hattori boy how powerful his waterbending was. 

Over the next few weeks, he quickly found that he enjoyed spending time with Heiji more than any of his friends. Well, except Ran, but she’s different from the rest. Heiji knew a lot more things than any of the kids back home and they could end up talking about so many things that he couldn’t even bring up to his friends. Most of the things Shinichi knew came from his father, but he wasn’t sure how Heiji knew as much as he did. Sometimes they would bring their heated discussions to some of the town people—awakening laughters and bringing ruffles to their heads—when all they wanted was to know who was on the winning side of the argument.

He was kind of disappointed when Heiji told him that he wouldn’t be able to meet him in the woods every week anymore. He didn’t specify where or why he was leaving, but both of them had parted ways with their heads and noses high. 

They were really young then. Shinichi had no doubt that he would meet Heiji again.

Φ

Many years have passed, Shinichi muses. 

“Say, Shinichi, isn’t this where you said your best friend from the foreign land lives?” Ran’s voice gently pulls him back from his thoughts.

“Ah,” Shinichi nods, scratching the back of his head. Back then, he was always so pumped after their playtimes and whenever he got back home he would always tell his everyone about the cool things he and Heiji did. Shinichi’s mother thought he regarded that boy with such adoration and at one point started referring him “Shinichi’s foreign best friend” although Shinichi himself always denied it outright. “I don’t think he lives here anymore. I don’t even think he ever lived here.”

Kaito’s interest suddenly spikes. He takes a moment to evaluate Shinichi, taking in his face and his seemingly ever bored expression. “You had a best friend?” He chuckles, and Shinichi kind of feels mocked.

“We’re more like... rivals.” Shinichi settles with a shrug, no anger or annoyance in any ounce of his body, the corners of his lips tugged up in a grin, “But I guess you could call us that.”

#so kaito's kinda protecting ran from a bad bad deal or should I say.. a scam? LMAO #Ran our sweet sweet dear #and Kaito this charming brat #it's the cue for heishin bromance!11 #also Yusaku would make one suave ass waterbender #I'm sorry if this came out kinda different aaaaahhhhhhhh #DCMKEmogust2019 #Detective Conan #Kudo Shinichi #Kuroba Kaito #Mouri Ran #Hattori Heiji #Shinichi x Ran #ShinRan #Kaito x Aoko #KaiAo #HeiShin #fic #bender au #atla au

[strainingfororiginality]

Chapter 13.4 - Redemption

Note from Author: Chapter 13 was supposed to be 6 parts, but when I looked at the current chapter, I already had over 30 pages and it was only half done, so I’ve broken the latest one into 2. Looks like Chapter 13 is gonna be 7 parts.

The fight outside of her mind had come to a standstill and all of the attention was on the assault that waged within. None of their consciousness could spread their attention between the two separate realms and their shells upon Earth had frozen in whatever stance they were in when she started to fluctuate the flow of time.

Raphael watched calmly from the back of her consciousness. He was better than any of them, but he needed to let his brothers have their victories. He needed them to know they were better as well.

Biding his time in the shadows, as he was so used to doing, he knew there would be a moment when he would need to step forward, but they were doing so very well without him and he billowed with pride. The twins and Gabriel took turns coming forward and Dawn accepted their motions, matching their speeds with Lucifer’s.

It wasn’t until she suddenly flicked a glance in Ozryel’s direction that Raphael realized something else was afoot, something outside of this internal fight. He could have picked into their minds to see what might have been stirring, but he didn’t want to bring any attention that the Morning Star might catch.

There was some sort of plan in the works and the concerned look on Oz’s face was matched with Dawn’s own. In that fleeting and miniscule moment, that one look seemed to convey an entire conversation. Ozryel was asking for something. Gabriel was at the forefront, allowing them to pay full attention to each other. For just that split second and Dawn gave a half nod to Ozryel, accepting whatever she was promising.

The twins stepped forward again, always together, in beautiful and elegant unison, and that’s when he heard the voice from outside. Masculine, distant, and very distinctly German. Raphael’s skin flushed with bumps as he heard it so faintly in the background. The look between Ozryel and Dawn was understood. The Angel of Death was asking her permission for something terrible and drastic.

"I’m so sorry, my Dear. Forgive me."

Lucifer’s ears pricked, his eyes growing wide. Of course he had heard it and he attempted to pull back into the real world, to flee back into her physical body and Raphael knew it was finally his turn.

"This …" He stepped forward, his skin crackling with divine light. He gripped the fleeing Morning Star, holding him in place.

"No. NO!" Lucifer struggled, pulling furiously at his soul to stop the impending blow. “Don’t. Don’t make me do this! DON’T MAKE ME--”

"This is how you lose, little brother." Raphael whispered into his ear as he held his ground. “Through redemption …”

They all felt the staff the moment the Nazi pushed it into her body.

As he descended into the very center of the crater, Quinlan hoped, as he always had and always would.

"Hic abundant leones." He urged himself on, pushing himself forward and down the steps as his eyes locked onto the cowering mass below.

"The rapture? Andy, you’re talking about Revelations." Uriel’s path dipped slightly as her words fully sunk in and his mouth fell agape. “You’re talking about … The End of Days?”

"Of course it is! Are you daft? Have you not put all the signs together, brother?!" She was certain she had never before seen such amusing panic on the overly stoic angel’s face. Perhaps it was that unusual response that made her snort, but she quickly regretted it as his flight slowed and more panic set in. “Come on. Come on!” She needed to stop smiling, it was only making his fear deepen, but his reaction was continuing to wildly tickle her. “It’s not that bad! I promise!”

"But this .. this can’t be the end."

"‘The End of Days’? ‘The End Time’? I assure you it is, brother. Everything lines up with what was foretold, does it not?" The Left Hand grew silent. “The Great Tribulation itself has already occurred. Don’t you see? The Seventh Shard’s stranglehold on mankind, when everyone, across the globe, experienced disasters, famine, war, pain, and suffering. The Master decimated three quarters of all life on the planet. He was the Abomination of Desolation, Uriel. He was the perversion of Baal Shamem, one of the Lords of Heaven. And then the Second Coming took place. Lucifer had no idea he would be the catalyst for it.”

"The Second Coming?? The children … " Uriel hadn’t yet put two and two together. Even after the story she spun him, he couldn’t see passed his own assumptions of what the next messiah should be.

"The children. And they have both already died and risen again. Have they not? One for the Right. One for the Left. Do you not see it? Does it not make perfect sense now? Like a painting that has finally come together. And do you know how many weeks it has been since that plane first landed in New York, brother?"

Uriel’s lips pursed together. She knew he knew the answer but he didn’t utter it, at least not out loud.

"Seventy weeks. One year, four and a half months. After seven weeks and sixty-two weeks, the messiah will be severed. They will die and rise again. And the Battle of Armageddon? It wages right now on the shores of Baikal. Two divine armies are clashing there as we speak, before the end times will occur."

"If everything’s gonna end …" She’d never heard such defeat in the warrior’s voice. “Then why are we bothering right now?” He slowed even more, even as the wind carried him on. “It can’t … it can’t be … over. I need to find …” His words trailed off, ashamed to utter the name that fluttered on the end his tongue. Sandalphon knew the name that clung to his mind. “If this is the end, I need to find …”

"The end of everything? Oh good Lord no. Calm yourself. I expected less drama from you, of all people. End of Times, I mean, it sounds scary, but I assure you, it’s not what you assume. It’s merely the end of an era. Nothing more. Nothing less. They used my prophecy, my words, translated it poorly, to strike fear into the hearts of man, to obtain compliance."

"And the rapture then?" Uriel grasped for straws. “How does this even play into your plan? How is going to the Well of Souls going to help us save the souls on Earth.”

"The souls on Earth?" She nearly giggled. “Who said anything about the souls on Earth? The Rapture is the time for the dead to rise. For those forgotten to be received into Heaven light … finally. For them to be gathered into the air by God.”

They landed on the ledge in unison and swiftly entered the cave. The chamber hadn’t been used in nearly six thousand years. It was locked when the first of the Basilisk used the portal to flee Heaven, against the rules. Uriel placed his hand on the keystone and the doors shifted and rolled open before them.

"So why Dawn?" Uriel waved his sister in first. “I know you’re still not telling me everything.”

"I rarely do." Sandalphon chuckled as she accepted the lead and entered the cave. “She has a very important purpose she has yet to fully grasp. But she already has all the clues and she’s very, very clever.”

As Uriel entered from behind, the torches mounted to the walls around the room came alive to his presence and the room danced with amber light. They approached the dark, round well in the very middle of the room and Sandalphon sat on its edge, peering down into the perfectly still water. Such a tiny opening. This was going to take a long time and she sighed over the coming task and its inevitable exertion upon her. "Riddles. All you say are riddles. Fine. Don’t tell me then. Then why Quinlan? Of all people, why did you choose Honoria’s son? Why would you make her an accomplice in this--"

"Why him?" Repeating the question to him, she smiles. She liked that question. Quite a bit actually, especially coming from him. Now she was laughing again and his expression was growing more exasperated. “Don’t you get it? You’ve already answered the question.”

"What?"

"You are the answer to your own question. I found him because of you, Uriel. It was your love for Honoria that put a spotlight on that child." The look on angel’s face was priceless. “And we knew, anyone that we picked, would need divine help to escape Heaven ... and in all the possibilities, in all the futures … no matter what we did, you’ll always love her.” She stood and placed her palm on his chest, directly over his raging heart. “He would never have made it out of Heaven without your submission to her and you would not help me now unless your love for her had not spilled over onto him.”

"You … used me?" Uriel’s face contorted, unsure how to process the information.

"I use everyone." She had never been one to beat around the bush, nor refuse the truth, regardless of its uncomfortable undertones.

"She is … " His shame tormented her. It oozed from his eyes as he stared down at the ground. “Honoria has always been my downfall.”

"No." Sandalphon gripped his shoulder. “She is your grace, brother. But enough chit chat. Yeah?” Turning back to the well, she raised her hands, bellowing into the air. “Well!? Your turn. Finally. We’re waiting.”

The faintest of breezes tickled the brown hair across her face and as it grew into a torrential cyclone in the circular chamber, visions of memories fluttered across her mind. Uriel’s question riding the front of her consciousness.

Why Quintus? No, the correct question was: why Cassius?

Heavy - Birdtalker

Are you tired are you weary of the hidden hate

You’ve been holding, yeah

Did you lose that love

Or have you never had it

A simple house. A poor family. The Roman Empire, 50 A.D

It wasn’t actually Rome. At least, not the one that would be known. It was just an echo of a possible future of it. A fleeting shimmer of a memory that would never actually occur. Reverberating across the waves in the confluence, Sandalphon watched this possibility again from afar. She watched herself approaching the sleeping boy in his bed, his siblings and parents still fast asleep in the only room of their simple house.

Time slowed to a near halt and she sat quietly on the edge of his straw filled bed. She watched his closed eyes darting back and forth as the nightmare took hold of him. Sweat beaded up on his tiny forehead and when the nightmare climaxed with his fall, he sat straight up in the bed, panting wildly and her arms were there to catch him from rolling off onto the hard and cold ground.

"Shhhhh. It’s alright." She consoled him. He tried to pull away from her, shocked at her strange yet beautiful appearance. “Not to worry, little Cassius Densus.” His tiny eyes had grown wide at the site of her towering above him. “I am not real. This is your dream. You’re still sleeping.” She lied, brushing a lock of his golden hair from his dark blue eyes and she tucked it lovingly behind his ear, urging him to lay back down.

"I was … dreaming." He confessed as his lids grew heavy, threatening to close as he relaxed back into the comfort of the bed and stared up into her divine form with absolute innocence.

"What were you dreaming of, child?" She smiled. She already knew, of course. It was always his fall. When his foot slipped on that wet boulder and the violence of his fall cracked his leg in two. He always dreamed of this. It tormented him.

"I was dreaming … that I was strong." It wasn’t a lie. That’s what he wanted so very badly each and every time his fall happened in his nightmares. Careless and young, he wished nothing more than to take that moment back, as he rightly feared his life would be shaped by this poorly healed injury. “I want to be strong again.”

"Do you now?" She asked, placing her palm on his chest as she felt his thunderous and hopeful heart rage within. “And how strong do you wish to be?” He looked ashamed, his eyes darting down and refusing to meet hers. “You can tell me. It will be our little secret. I promise.”

"I want … to be strong … like papa." This little boy respected that grumpy man so much and she grinned at his unwavering devotion. Cassius had no idea that he would already be stronger than his father. This mother’s special lineage had already solidified that matter.

"Really?" Her tone feigned surprise. “Only as strong as him? He’s just a man, you know.” She patted his chest and leaned forward, whispering down to him in hushed tones. “Are you sure that’s it? I thought your ambition knew no bounds.” She leaned further down and her voice grew even fainter. She knew he wished for more than just that. “Come on now. You can tell me what you really want. It will be our little secret, dreamer. I promise it.”

The boy’s face lit up and he clenched the top of his wool blanket in his tiny fists. "I …" He hesitated. “I …”

"Yes?" She egged him on. Oh how she loved to indulge this boy’s imagination. It was spectacular. “Come on then … this is only a dream, right? Indulge me.”

"I want to be as unbreakable as Vulcan." The confession poured forth and his true desires escaped with so much excitement, he might have woken his family had she not plucked them out of the normal flow of time. “I never want to break again.”

"Never again." She nodded, accepting the request. “Alright. Got it. Anything else?” She knew there was more. There was always more.

"I want to be …" He bit into his lower lip. “As smart as Apollo.”

"God of Knowledge himself? Hmmm. It’s a good choice, but nope. Can’t do that one." She refused and his face fell. Poking him in the chest, she grinned madly as she admitted to him. “Can’t do that one because you’re already smarter than he, little Cassius. I will not make your mind shine less than it already does.” This wasn’t a lie. He was absolutely brilliant and that was one of the reasons she was consistently drawn to him, over and over again. She loved to pick through his vibrant thoughts and the smile that spread across his face now was well worth this visit. “What else?”

"I want to be …" He fidgeted under the covers and she could feel his excitement rising; his eyes darted to the single crutch leaning against the wall next to the bed. “I want to be as powerful as Hercules!”

"Hercules?!" She feigned surprise again for she already knew this. This hero was always his favorite. He beamed. “Are you certain?!”

"Yes!" Upon her question, he sprung straight up, standing on the bed and grabbing at his crutch as he swung it wildly in the air like a sword. He swung it around and around as he fought an army of invisible foes all around him.

"Remember that Hercules was made to suffer for his strength, dreamer. Perhaps a different deity might suit your needs better?" But his enthusiasm did not waver from her words of caution and she knew it wouldn’t. “He paid a most terrible, terrible price for what he was. In fact, his family paid that price. Those around him, those he loved the most, suffered greatly for who his father was. The gods took everything from him.”

"If I could save everyone, I would pay the price! I will slay the Nemean Lion and the Lernaean Hydra." He was young and foolish and even with his crippled leg, he was full of so much hope. “I will steal from the Amazons. I will capture Cerberus.” She beamed as he danced around, hopping without mind to his weak leg. “And I will climb to the top of Mount Kazbek! As Aeschylus foretold, I will free Prometheus himself! I will undo the injustice upon him!” He had been completely obsessed with that play since he’d seen it three weeks ago. Since then, his crutch had become his go-to sword and he had hobbled around in the grass as he pretended to free the Titan from captivity.

"Free Prometheus himself?! You wish to defy the gods, little one?" She giggled. “That is either a brave endeavour, or a truly foolish one. Why would you want such a thing?”

"Someone has to! I would stand against the tyranny of the gods and--" He had spun, swinging wildly again and his leg finally gave out. The twinge of pain that jolted across his little frame sent him collapsing back down onto the bed. Even through the pain of it, he didn’t whine or make any noise at all. His strength and fortitude, even at this size, even at this age, was greater than most grown men could even dream about.

It seemed the sudden collapse caused him more emotional pain than physical. "Papa says I’ll never be the same again." Cassius sighed as she took the crutch from his little hands and set it against the wall again. “He says I’m broken.”

"Your father speaks the truth to you. Appreciate that. He loves you. He knows your life will be hard. And he knows that you must understand if you are to find peace with it."

"He’s says I can’t be fixed." The boy continued to struggle with his father’s demand that he let go of hope for a better life, for a miracle.

The pain in these words were such agony to her ears. If only the child knew the truth of it. That the fact that he was strong is why he still breathed at all, because that fall would have killed a mere human. An adult much less a child. Plummeting twenty-five feet down that slippery crevice, cracking his head on the rock from side to side as he tumbled. Had his leg not caught between two jagged rocks near the bottom, his fall would have continued straight down, head first. It would have crushed even his skull upon impact.

"Ignis aurum probat, miseria fortes viros, Cassius. Those who break are not weak. In fact, those who break are very often stronger than those who have never." She pulled the covers open, encouraging him to lay back down and he melted into the bed. The excitement died away as his eyes grew heavy again. “You know, dreamer, you remind me of a little girl I hope to know someday.” She pulled the blanket up and tucked it around him snugly.

"I do? Why? Is she broken … like me ... too?"

"Oh yes. Very much so. And she will break many times. More than even you will." Sandalphon nodded as she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his forehead. “And it too will make her stronger. Fire tests gold, little one; adversity builds the strongest of us all. Painful but necessary.”

"Just like Hercules."

"Yes." She laughed. “Just like him.”

"Can I … meet her?" His eyes were growing heavier and heavier. His mind was dancing around the possibility of her words and she felt him beginning to daydream about it all. “Do you think she’d want to play with us? Is she good at swords?”

"Silly boy. She isn’t even born yet ..." She took a deep breath in. “Not for a very long time, in fact.”

"Oh … I can be her friend still?" His pure disappointment amused her endlessly. “Is she pretty?”

"Pretty? Why on Earth is that important?" She poked his side and a sinister giggle escaped him. He was on the very edge of true childhood and she knew his mind struggled with maturing thoughts. “You’re such a little lover boy, aren’t you?” The giggle erupted from her without warning and she touched the very tip of his nose. “Not everyone will think so. You see, she’s very unique. But I do think she’s lovely. Yes. And quite brilliant I assure you, just like you are, Sun prince. Smarter than Apollo himself.”

"I don’t like the sun. I burn easily." He was dozing now. His words sloppy and slow as he struggled to stay awake. “I think she’s probably good at swords too then.”

"Would you like to meet her, Cassius?" The question was fleeting and she wasn’t sure why she had even asked it, but as the smile danced across his face, she was intoxicated with the idea of it. Aurora would like him. She would like him very much.

"Can I?" He was nearly out and she could see the images dancing across his mind. He was imaging all sorts of little girls now. His mind raced with unvoiced questions of what she might look like. Tall, skinny, or plump? Dark and light skinned? Straight or curly hair? Smooth or bumpy? Flawless … or lavishly spotted. The thought of spots obviously amused him and he smiled. His imagination was on fire with simply the possibility of her. “I don’t think she’d like me …” He mumbled, glancing down towards his leg, shame and disdain for his own body thick in his dark blue eyes grew nearly too heavy to open again.

"I think she would. Your leg aside, you’ve traits that are to be admired, little one. To be sought for, in fact. Plus …" She smiled madly. “Girls love scars, do they not?” The angel touched the side of his head and fixed his changing vision of the little girl and his eyes closed slowly. The little girl, as she really was, or would be, stood perfectly before him in his blossoming dream. He grinned, uttering one final gasp before he’d fall back to sleep entirely, taking the fixed vision of the girl as they ran off into the high grass together. “Oh … She is pretty …”

"Yes." She smiled. “I think so too, my little dreamer. I think so too.” There was something in the innocent way he admitted it that crushed her angelic resolve. He hadn’t imagined anything like Dawn, and that’s what made her beauty so much more profound to him when he actually saw her.

She laid her hand on the top of his head, atop the obfuscation mark that had been placed shortly after his birth and she kissed him one final time as the entirety of his sad little life flashed before her eyes. "I’m so sorry, little Cassius. I shan’t be bothering you again." She stood from his bed and the vision of that possible future ended abruptly. She was back in the twilight of the confluence sitting before that undying fire.

"You like that one. You keep going back to it." Lilith could read her like a book. After all this time, she supposed that was expected. “What did you see? Can we use it?”

"It’s nothing. I was just looking at the Al-Mudhib Abba Deebaj line." Sandalphon explained it away with a wave of her wrist.

"His daughter … again? You are still holding out hope that Uriel’s affection for her can be harnessed? We have been down that path … countless times. You’re wasting your time. His loyalty to Heaven is unflinching. Even for love, that soldier does not stray."

"I know. I know." She shook her head and chewed on her lower lip. “But I mean … maybe there’s more to it?”

"You weren’t looking at Honoria though." Lilith sniffed out the white lie. “You look at her boy again.”

"You watching me now?" She already knew she had. They both watched each other very carefully.

"I’m always watching you. I watch everyone. I am starting to doubt this path. We should consider another child. I think it is time to consider a new path. She is weak. There is no--"

"No." Sandalphon knew the argument would revert to this again. “I’m not ready to give up on this path yet.” She was not yet ready to give up on Dawn. “There has been no soul that affects the Morning Star as she does. Perhaps your reluctance is rooted in jealousy rather than logic?”

"Hmmmm. Whatever." Lilith squinted at her. She had struck an obvious cord. “Anyways, a crippled, quarterling Marid will not help us in any way. Let it go. Let him go. There are more important things to focus on.”

"I know. I know. It’s just … It’s such a wasted life for such a vibrant soul." Sandalphon stared into the fire and it danced back and forth as she pondered the possibility again and again.

Was there something there? Something picked furiously at the back of her mind.

"I know that look." Lilith squinted again, leaning back against the log as she dug her bare toes into the sand. “What is going on in your swirling mind now, wheelie wheels?”

"It’s just … He thought she was lovely." They had looked at so very many possibilities. Nothing was lining up. Nothing was going the way they wished. Free will was skewing the results. Each and every damn time. Dawn’s sacrifice would sway Lucifer’s heart, yes, but the little bastard had a backup plan they couldn’t figure a way out of, and Dawn couldn’t be in two places at once. Anyone sent into the pit never returned. Even Hayyoth. “I think we’ve been going about this the wrong way.”

"Oh?" Lilith tilted her head inquisitively. “How so? Are you ready to try a different child?”

"Yes and no." The Wheel looked across the fire to her accomplice and a smile spread across her face as she remembered his excited eyes when he said he wished to defy the gods. And then when he saw the little girl, when Sandalphon had showed her to him. She kept coming back to the same thing in her mind: He’d thought she was lovely. Truly. Purely. Honestly. Smitten. A broken prince for a broken princess. She thought of Zeus, and Hercules ... and … Prometheus. Everyone they sent into the depths of the pit never succeeded. “There needs to be two. Hayyoth work best in pairs.”

Avalanche - Zola Jesus

In the end I saw you

Visions of something I wasn't used to

And I let it all go, oh

With my heart, with my body, with all

And it all falls down

And it all comes around

And it all goes down

And it all comes

Oh, it all comes around

And I knew it will be you

Coming at me like you do

Feel my heart, my soul with fire

And I won't know

No, I won't know who you are

In all of the horrors that he had seen and done, none had prepared Quinlan for what he would witness next. The myth behind this legend was far more accurate than he assumed, but the reality of seeing it in person had distinctly more weight that just hearing the words of this poor creature’s fate.

This myth was not an exaggeration at all. In fact, it was clearly an understatement.

The cave itself was both the cell and the rock to which the titan was chained. The giant sat upon the ground, his knees pulled tight to his chest, his massive arms wrapped around them, and his face pushed into the darkness beneath his forearms.

There were six silver lengths of the metal, each link larger than Quinlan’s entire head. Four extended from a metal collar securing the titan’s neck to the ground, holding him in place in the center of the very room, at the very bottom of the pit. Each wrist was bound with the same metal, each chained to the rock floor to prevent him full movement of his arms. Bits and pieces of the same vibrant silver metal laid strewn across the ground.

There was no movement. No sound. Nothing. At first, he was not certain if the creature still lived. As Quinlan tried to make as little noise as possible, stepping from the final stair in Hell, onto the stone ground, everything started to vibrate. At first, he was certain he caused it, but this was obviously not the case.

The pieces of metal twitched and then rolled together into four separate piles as they began to fuse together. Quinlan’s mouth opened agape as he realized what they were. He watched, unmoving, as they formed clockwork eagles. Entirely mechanical in nature. Their gears crawled with silver sparks as they came back together and then descended upon the titan in vicious unison, tearing at his flesh.

The myth was wrong. It wasn’t just one eagle; it was four. And it wasn’t just the liver that was rent from the titan’s body. As the mechanical beasts descended, they tore savagely at all of his golden flesh and then the titan finally moved, bringing his head up and Quinlan finally saw the giant’s face. He began to fight his attackers. He stood entirely erect and he was easily over twenty-five feet tall.

He looked nothing like the other phoenix Quinlan had confronted in Heaven. There were no wings. No, this creation was more like an ape than a bird or a reptile. His arms much longer than the proportions of a man’s and his back slightly hunched from the bulk of his upper body’s mass. His head as bald as the dhampir’s usually was. Though he clearly had the physique of a man, his body was as smooth and bare as a strigois. No phallus. No nipples. No belly button at all. His skin was an iridescent, metallic gold. He had no wings, though it was clear that this likely didn’t stop the titan from flight as fire began to erupt and burn from his body. Prometheus’ body hovered above the ground, the heat of his flames pushing him up as far as his chains would allow and a spiderweb of ember ignited across his skin.

The eagles were not deterred and they tore at him from below and above, taking flight as they picked at his face, his eyes, his chest, his ears, his fingers, his toes. Talons pierced him everywhere, tearing chunks away. The fire god cried and screamed, reaching for the attacker on his face and pulling it away as the others carried on their endless, programmatic torture.

And then the titan’s fire erupted fully, pulsating away from him in a rippling explosion. He raged and sparked, sending his attackers in all directions. The remaining three eagles hit the far walls and shattered from the blast, chunks of them disintegrating with the force of the detonation and Quinlan regretted stepping into the singed room as the heat flooded across his body. His arms came up to shield the outburst, but he felt his skin singe and melt. He was thrust back to the wall.

The ground shook as the Prometheus collapsed back down to his knees. The wounds across his body began to smoke and all of the flesh and organs that had been torn out burned into ash in the air. It swirled around, dancing in circles before returning to the titan’s body, reforming him.

Deodamnatus.

The titan pulled his knees to his chest, back into the same fetal position, burying his head from view, just as when the dhampir saw him when he first entered. And then he wept.

Ozyrel had done this to him and Quinlan felt shame over it. He felt shame for her actions. She created these mechanisms, these machines to torment him because Prometheus could end any other soul with his divine fire. Once destructed, they simply pulled themselves back together and began again. Endlessly.

Thus was the poor titan’s punishment ...

Damnation … quite literally.

Quinlan remained motionless on the ground where he fell, watching the beast tremble before he was entirely still and silent again. It was clear he hadn’t noticed the dhampir yet and there was still a possibility of retreat. One which the dhampir considered very, very carefully.

He could just wait until the torment began again and slip back up the stairs and …

It was no more than a few seconds until the metal pieces on the ground began to shake again. Even the molecules of the metal that had been turned into nothing more than ash began to swirl in the air and their atoms reformed.

Oh gods. No. No! Not again. He could not, he would not, permit this to happen … ever again. Quinlan reacted before he realized what he was doing.

The first of the four eagles came together and lunged towards its prey as he flicked the sword up and through its left wing. The mechanism felt no pain and paid the attack no attention as it continued its programmed path toward its huddled and shaking target. The next flick of his wrist severed its legs across both knees and the creation fell forward, flailing into the dirt and then clawing forward with its remaining arm.

Quinlan placed a boot upon the center of its back and he raised the blade, execution style, as if it was an axe, and Ozryel’s divinity first sparked out the corner of his eyes. The energy arced over his face as his anger mounted. It flowed up and into his arms. The silver light surged across the surface of the metal and the machine’s head rolled as he rent it asunder.

"Never again, lupae filius." He wasn’t certain if it might move again. He half expected it to pull itself back together, but somehow he knew it would not. He was of Ozryel and it remained still, obeying the divine command.

But he had paid too much attention to just the one, and the titan’s screams spun him around as the other three had already begun to tear the creature to pieces again. Quinlan moved like water, swinging for the head of one, stepping between and through the giant’s legs, through the center of his stance and decapitating the third with the same broad stroke of his vorpal sword.

There was only one remaining now and it was already upon the giant’s chest, too high for Quinlan to reach from his standard human height. He would have to leap from the ground, but as the dhampir crouched and his quadriceps flexed, the titan’s skin glowed with amber fury, and Prometheus began to burn again.

Damnation.

He was too close! He was unsure if he could even survive the titan’s fury and Quinlan swung at the chains instead, hoping the face of god would not burn if he could simply tear his attacker away.

He targeted the chains that held Prometheus’ arms at bay. Accepting that with this action, there was no longer room for any doubt and he hesitated no longer. First, the blade sparked with Ozryel’s light and sliced through the massive link holding down the Titan’s right hand as if it were butter. And then he sliced the left. The metal melting away, surrendering to the power of its creator.

This was the first moment Prometheus laid eyes upon the dhampir, a sudden change in his monotonous eternity and the glow of his skin abated. There was a moment of strange reflection as his entirely black eyes rolled over Quinlan’s features and the titan’s lip curled up slightly. Anger flooded over him. His face and his mouth opened, clearly preparing to speak, when the remaining eagle tore into his chest again.

With his arms now free, he grabbed each end of the machine, gripping its head and feet. His biceps flexed as he ripped the creation in half, throwing its still-moving pieces away from him. That would not be the end of it and Quinlan moved in unison to remove its head from its twitching form, the sword prickling with silver lightning as he dismantled it for good.

All was still and he froze, peering at his companion from the corner of his eyes. He felt the quiet yet angry gaze of the giant. He took the deepest breath he thought he ever had as he held his blade steady and turned, facing the scrutiny fully. He presented himself for full inspection of the god, his arms out to express no aggression.

"איר וועט האָבן אַ געלעגנהייט צו געבן איר עמאָ יאָ? רענאָיטאַסע ים .טהעעד עטהוועד פֿאַר ניס"

Uh oh. This was Enochian. Of course it was. He really should have expected as much and Quinlan regretted not learning more of the archaic language from Sempronius before his rushed escape from Heaven.

"Προμηθεύς." Quinlan attempted his greek name and he took a step forward. The titan twitched in reaction to perceived advancement and his golden skin began to burn with amber hue again.

Damnation. Quinlan’s free hand was up, palm out, attempting to convey peace, but the Titan pulled furiously at the chains still holding him to the ground by his neck. The fear that poured from his eyes nearly crippled the dhampir from taking another step.

Quinlan could still try and run now. Flee the cave. Escape from the inevitable fire. He considered it, as the heat began to rise and he felt tiny drops of sweat beading up on his forehead, he hoped. He had come this far and he would get back to Earth. This choice was already made and he took another brave and unwavering step, this time showing more confidence in his stride. "Prometheus ..."

The titan paid no attention to Quinlan’s open left palm; his eyes were locked onto the blade in his right.

"I am not here …" The glow increased and even the sweat upon his brow, that had started to trail down the his cheek, now began to evaporate into the heavy, stagnant air. “ … to harm you. I am here--”

Another step and the titan’s panic only increased further. Quinlan’s skin began to singe and crack. The intensity of this heat reminded him of the lava and his heart raced. He disliked being burned more than any other pain. He took another step and the skin began to flake off of his face, turning to ash the moment that it hit the air. The open wounds did not last long, as his divinity sparked across the raw flesh and reformed his spirit.

Another step. And then another and Quinlan was finding it increasingly difficult to move against the force now emanating from the giant. As waves of flames pulsated from Prometheus’ body, he stood his ground against it, but for each two steps he took, every painful and burning inch that he came closer to the titan, his body was pushed back, his boots grinding back in the dirt against the power.

Though he feared, Quinlan was not deterred. For there was a prophecy he knew all too well. It was said that Zeus would permit Prometheus freedom from punishment if two criteria were met. The first was that an immortal must volunteer to perish for him. This choice must be freely made and not coerced in any way. The second was that a mortal, many thought would be Hercules, must kill the eagle and unchain the titan.

If the Maiden was being honest in her sacrifice for coming to Hell. If she had really come to Hell for him, then her freedom did perish. She was indeed the immortal of this payment.

The dhampir had always felt a curious fascination with Hercules. He had found that he had much in common with this mythological half-breed. Quinlan, no more mortal than Hercules himself, was the second part of this payment.

He stepped forward, taking one final, agonizing step to be in the range of the first link which attached the titan’s collar to the ground and his body tensed, preparing to move against the heat. His bicep flexed with great intent and he flicked the crackling sword up. It glided with ease through the force, the fire, and ... the metal.

An audible gasp escaped the titan and the fire eased, allowing Quinlan to step right and sever the next chain … and then next. With each swing, the fire and fear abated further and Prometheus spun, watching him, specifically his sword, with careful, expressive, and confused eyes.

There was now only one remaining but Quinlan paused. This was the moment of absolute truth. This was the moment where he could still leave him here. His hesitation was easy to read, and in hindsight, perhaps he should have moved out of the giant’s reach. The titan stretched his shoulders back and stood fully erect and Quinlan stared up into his face like a child, his mouth agape while he was struck thoughtless by his menacing size. Prometheus’ massive hand instantly cupped around his entire jaw and the upper portion of his spine and neck.

Quinlan gagged and the sword slipped from his grip as his hands instinctively clutched at one of the single fingers around his throat. The titan began to squeeze gently and Quinlan felt his feet leave the ground. Damnation. He was entirely powerless to stop it and he was lifted to the titan’s eye level. Thunderous thoughts invaded his mind.

Give me your tongue.

Oh gods!

He should have definitely stepped out of reach. Quinlan kicked violently into the air and flailed against the grip, but he was tiny against to titan’s will. He imagined the next part would be the violent extraction of his tongue, but Prometheus pulled him close and gently their foreheads touched.

In a brief and tortuous spark, Prometheus ripped knowledge from him and Quinlan became rigid, his mouth stuck in a silent scream, as the pain of it paled in comparison to when Michael had done the same.

Everything danced for a brief and torturous moment before everything turned black.

Cut and Run - Yoke Lore

Find a way

Say her name

Keep her there

Don't let it fade

The slope of your neck gives me something to believe in,

but when the beat hits the base it takes away my aching

You make me forget myself,

but I love you I don't want anybody else

He smelled her. Musty and floral. Deep and powerful. Angelica.

Oh … gods. Yes.

It had been so very long since he had dreamed. Really dreamed. Freely. Naturally. Not the illusion that Persephone had forced down his mind, spoon-feeding him memories to control his actions.

He didn’t even think it possible with just his spirit, but after the Titan’s fire touched his mind, he found himself back in that training room. He found himself atop her. His body pressing his weight to hold her down. She had failed the technique and he had taken her to the mat to make a point of it.

"Submit." He urged and she struggled under his grip, half-giggling, half-grunting. Wait … was she the one giggling? Or had he? But really … Did it even matter?

"Never."

"Submit." He spoke down, his breath hot on the skin of her ear. Enjoying her body as she pressed and fought uselessly against his will, he knew he should stop this. This wasn’t how a teacher should act. This wasn’t a lesson he needed to teach, but he pushed harder and repeated the words. “I will release you … when you submit … to me.”

What had been the point of this lesson?

Oh gods. Her head came up in a failed attempt to butt against his and her defiance flared. He could see it spark in her wild eyes. "NEVER."

"Move." The voice was distant and his vision swayed. He was being urged back to the present, but he clung to the memory, relishing in it.

Not yet. He wasn’t not done here yet ...

"You have lost. I am stronger." His weight pinned her and he resisted the urge to laugh at her slipperiness as she twisted furiously beneath him. “Just surrender ... I can remain this way all day if necessary.” It was a terrible bluff. He would have to get up very soon or they were both going to be incredibly embarrassed, but Quinlan hoped he could bluff his way into a victory before he would give in.

"Wake up."

The look of absolute refusal was both foolish and beautiful. Her lip curled up; her nostrils flared; she clenched her jaw shut as she hissed the word through her teeth. "NEVER."

Damnation. Why was he remembering this now?

"Move."

He heard the word again, distant and curt and he felt something nudge at his shoulder, rocking his body side to side against the dirt. His head pounded with abating waves of pain. He was nudged again before his brows knit and he opened his eyes.

He was laying on the ground, entirely on his side. The light invaded and everything came sharply back into focus, or at least the ground did, as his face was shoved squarely into it.

"Weak baby …"

The back of a giant hand, equipped with elongated primate fingers, nudged him again, pushing its knuckles against his shoulder and sternum as if it was prodding him for life. Quinlan’s face ground against the dirt as he groaned.

The titan grunted at his small movement and the dhampir rolled over onto his back, his body throbbing still. He wasn’t even sure if he could move again but the clanking of metal against metal concerned him enough that he finally forced himself to sit up as he grabbed the back of his neck and cracked it from side to side, cursing lowly under his breath as he did. "Deodamnatus. Auribus teneo lupum …"

Prometheus stopped whatever it was he was doing and gazed upon the dhampir, tilting his head to the side. He brought his right fingers to his lips, confusion flashing across his ape-like features while he squinted. "Wrong tongue?"

Quinlan might have questioned the meaning of the short query, but as the giant grabbed his ankle and began to drag him across the dirt, the dhampir waved his hands back and forth, crazed to not go through that pain again. The titan had clearly taken only English from him.

"Not tongue! Language! It is called language!" He corrected in haste, panic pumping through his chest. “Please! Do not! I will speak English! I WILL SPEAK ENGLISH! Do not!!!” He could not remember the last time he had begged anyone for anything, but that pain was something he did not wish to experience ever again.

"Yes. English good." Prometheus grunted a disturbing laugh and released his grip of Quinlan’s foot before returning to his previous task and the sound of metal on metal emanated from his lap. “See … weak baby.”

The titan was sitting before him, legs crossed like a child, and as Quinlan sat up again, he was able to see he was holding the dhampir’s blade in his left hand, gripping it like tiny twig in his left fist. Using clumsy caution, he ground the sword’s edge and pushed the tip against the locking mechanism of the manacle on his right wrist.

Prometheus bit his tongue, trying to be as careful as possible, but failing clumsily to force the latch open with the tiny instrument. Thrusting it into the latch, the manacle spun about his wrist and the blade pierced into the giant’s wrist in the process. Raging in frustration and pain, when it was obvious the metal would not give for him, he screamed, the volume of his voice shaking the walls and the dhampir shielded his ears from the noise. The fit of anger was followed by a simple sneer and Prometheus tossed the blade into the dirt at Quinlan’s feet.

"Useless." It was half-defeat, half-melancholy.

"No. It is not useless and I am not … weak." Quinlan responded to the ape’s earlier quip as he forced himself to his feet, dusting off his black jeans and retrieving the discarded sword. “Nor am I …” Even uttering the word revolted him. “... a baby.” He pointed to the titan’s right hand and the giant lifted both wrists to him, without hesitation or question, though the tiniest of chuckles did escape the giant.

"Heh. Heh. Weak baby. Tiny baby." The titan grunted the words again, rich in simple amusement and the dhampir slid the sword between the titan’s wrist and the manacle. As his biceps flexed, the vorpal blade went snicker-snack and the metal melted like butter against Ozryel’s divine command.

The look of amazement on Prometheus’ face was more childlike than anything. His eyes grew wide, in pure awe, and his mouth opened slightly. Remaining entirely still, he watched with bated breath as Quinlan cut the other from his remaining wrist.

What came next froze Quinlan. For he knew this feeling, though he imagined, even in all the years of his own enslavement, it likely paled in comparison to what this poor creature had been through. He knew this feeling. That overwhelming and powerful rush of freedom. Touching his newly freed skin, Prometheus took turns rubbing each wrist. He stared down upon them, touching the skin that had been hidden from him for god knows how long, and then the tears came. Freely and without hesitation.

The relief that poured forth shook the dhampir to his core as he recalled his own tears after his chains were shed. He had shamefully hidden them from Ancharia, weeping silently into his blanket that first night.

But the giant was unable to prolong or hide his. He was unable to wait and his shoulders heaved heavily as he gasped the stagnant air. He wept in front of his saviour, with no concern for shame or showing such raw and untethered weakness.

Quinlan took a deep breath. It was clear this was not a creature he needed to fear. In fact, he felt such intense connection to him that the doubts about fleeing were entirely gone. He moved to slide the blade through the final chain.

"No." The titan’s sudden movement shocked him and Quinlan pulled back in confusion. Prometheus grabbed at his chain protectively and held it away from the dhampir. “No! Chained. Chained!”

"I am quite aware you are chained. I am here to remedy that situation."

"Executioner … No! Son of White Death … Go! Now!" Prometheus pointed to the stairs.

"No. I am not an executioner." Quinlan’s word were firm. “I am not here to end you.” His brows pinched. “I am here to free you, Great Titan. I am not--”

"No!" The giant shook his head, using the back of his hand to push the dhampir several steps away from him. “Forgotten. Forsaken. Go. GO!” Pointing a thick finger up towards the stairs, he nudged Quinlan again. He attempted to stand his ground, but he was moved several steps before he could fully protest.

"Stop that! I have come here to fr--"

"Leave me. I am …" Until this point, Quinlan wasn’t entirely certain if the giant was even capable of complex language beyond that of a single word at a time. “Villainous.”

"No. You are not villainous. Stop this."

"Go!" He flung his hand hand towards Quinlan, hoping to scare the dhampir away, but he did not flinch. “I am a villain … in his eyes … In all eyes! I am treacherous. Forgotten. Leave me.”

"No. You are not a villain." How long had the Titan been down here? “And you are wrong. You have never been forgotten or I would not know of you. The World would not know of you ...” Quinlan understood the way into Prometheus’ heart now and it was obvious: how Heaven truly viewed Prometheus’ ’treachery’. “You were once a hero ...”

"Hero?" The titan mocked the work, snorting madly as he rattled his chain to make his point painfully clear. “This is ... hero?!”

"The World knows of your deeds, Great Titan. In fact, history remembers you as a hero. Do you not understand what that implies?"

"Means nothing ..." Prometheus grunted, turning a shoulder to the dhampir as he continued with his childish reaction. “Villain.”

"It means everything." The giant stirred, peeking back at him out of the corner of his eye. “I know, better than most in fact, that history is always written by the victor.”

"I lost."

"Precisely. Even with your perceived treachery, even after your judgement and punishment, when they could have wiped your memory from known existence. They did not. They could have written whatever they wished about your actions; they were the victors. They could have dragged your name through the mud, but they never let your memory be tarnished. They did not allow you to be forgotten or vilified."

"History … ?" Prometheus’ shoulders slumped and he stared down into his open hands. The breadth of his grip was easily half of Quinlan’s entire height. “Man … remembers me?”

"If your maker truly thought your actions corrupt, then why would he have allowed history to remember you as a saviour? As our saviour."

"Saviour? Lies. You are--"

"If you cannot believe my words, then believe my mind." He really didn’t wish to make the offer but he did. Quinlan tensed considerably, preparing for the jolt as Prometheus turned back and touched his forehead with his index finger.

Stealing a single fact wasn’t pleasant, but it was far less painful than an entire lexicon. Quinlan took one step backwards as he steadied himself from the intrusion. The giant’s shoulders slumped further and he collapsed to his knees on the ground before him, staring at his open palms. "I am not … villainous?"

Pinching the brow of his nose, he fought the throb. "No. You are remembered as an advocate of mankind."

"My children … I gave them creation, but they saw only the weapon."

"They are young and foolish, but they have grown much while you have been … away. While you pity yourself down here, the Morning Star marches upon Earth, seeking to destroy them all."

"My morning child. I felt him …" The titan looked up the staircase. “I felt him come to the door. I felt him. He did not free me … he …” Prometheus looked upon his dirty, open palms again. “He left me here …”

"He fears you." Quinlan knew this statement to be true. It was unlikely Lucifer would have left such a strong ally locked away. “And I am very curious to see what could possible make a Hayyoth afraid.”

"He … " There was a spark of rage and the Titan’s upper lip curled with burgeoning anger. “He left me … here.”

"Yes he did. Shall we go? Shall we ask him why?" Quinlan offer his hand, though he imagined if the giant took it, there was no way for him to help such a giant, but Prometheus made no movement. “Will you stand with us? We could do with your help right now. Can you help us?”

"Us?" The titan looked up, confused by the word. “We?”

"We." Quinlan nodded. He planned an explanation, but there was no need as another voice joined him in the assertion.

"We." It was feminine and he was grateful. Their conversation had stolen all of their attention, and he hadn’t noticed her sneak into the chamber. She was nearly down the steps entirely and both turned to see her at once, the raggedy old man following closely behind and Quinlan grinned.

"Sister? You …" The titan’s voice cracked. “Why are you here? Why … did you … You came ... for me?”

"Amiran. Of course I did. So very long ago." Her tone quaked with the same emotion as his as she walked to him. Their familiarity was clear. “You may have been lost …” She had definitely been listening to the entire conversation. “But never forgotten.”

"So … what says you, Creator of Fire? Do you wish to stay down here and cry?" The titan turned back to the dhampir, his lip curling further with growing anger and Quinlan held his blade up for the last chain. “Do you accept my offer?”

"Do you offer me freedom?" Prometheus asked, tilting his head inquisitively. “Or revenge?”

"Neither." Quinlan said. “I offer redemption.”

Raum reached for the shackles again but Asbeel pulled away … again. This task was proving far more difficult that he assumed it would be. How hard must it be to free people?!

"You think you offer us freedom, Lord." The fallen Djinn laughed. “You offer us further pain. More punishment.”

"You know me, Asbeel. You know I would ne--"

"Knew." The Djinn Commander corrected. “We knew you, Lord. But when you ran free, we came … here.” Raum didn’t like the emphasis placed on the title. It was condescending and purposefully so.

"I did not wish you all to this fate. We had no idea this would happen. That was not my choice--"

"It does not change what happened. We came here. You did not." Asbeel interrupted him. “We came here … without true choice. Without … freedom.” The Djinn’s brows knit together. “You have no right to ask this of us.”

"The time has come." Raum looked around at his chained men. “Don’t you understand?!” He called out. “The prophecy is here … now. Everything that we worked for … everything that we sacrificed for--”

"We sacrificed for a prophecy that does not exist." Asbeel shook his head. “There is no hope, Lord. There is only subservience. When our penance is paid, he has promised we will be free to return to the top--”

"Free? How is that freedom? Serving him is not freedom. And then what?" Raum spit at the concession. His disgust painfully obvious across his face, though he knew he had no right to judge them. He had no idea what they had been through. “And what then?! Huh?! Will you bow to him? Will you fall to your knees and kiss his feet?” He spun around and screamed his growing disgust. “You would not even bow to God himself, and yet you concede to his foolish child?!? You are The Rebellious! Never forget tha--”

"Concede?" The tears in his man’s eyes stung his merciful heart and Raum regretted the harsh words immediately. “Concede?!? You have NO right to jud--”

"I know I have no right, but you misunderstand, my brothers. I’m not asking you to follow me. I would not do that." Raum took a step back from the Fallen as he felt that familiar presence enter the room from the door on the ledge from above. “I’m unworthy of your allegiance. But I will prove myself to you all again.” He saw the shadow of the dhampir across the ground before him and in a wave of unison, his men’s heads tilt up to the ledge as a flurry or words danced across their minds.

                             "Is he …"

                                  "That’s …"

         "He’s of …"

              "Ozryel …"

    "The Prophecy."

                   "The Prophecy. It’s real … It’s … "

                        "The Prophecy."

         "The Child."

                                  "Could that be the child?"

                        "The Prophecy."

              "He’s of … Ozryel."

    "Ozryel."

                                       "Ozryel."

                        "Angel of Death."

                                  "Ozryel."

         "Ozryel."

                        "The First."

                                  "He is Hayyoth.”

                   “He is man … "

    "Is it … really possible?”

                                       “After all this time … Is it possible?"

Thousands of voices, all at once, and the faintest hint of hope sprinkled across just a handful of them. Yes. This was a good start. His pride in the boy billowed out in a rich smile. The whispering thoughts spread like wildfire across the vast room and there was as stir of uncertainty.

"This?" Asbeel laughed. He was not swayed at all. “This is what you offer us?! A god-child?!”

"No." Raum looked up and nodded to Quintus. The nod was returned before he turned back to face his weary commander. “Not him.”

The next shadow was curvy and she didn’t remain as quiet as the dhampir. Her patronizing tone echoing against the rock walls as she stole Quintus’ line. "Are we going or what? Chop chop, boys! Don’t tell me you’re afraid!"

"Persephone? Really? You think she can raise a hand to the Rainbow King?!" Asbeel raised a hand and all his men grew complacent. “Lucifer PUT her in that cage. He can do so again.” The demon laughed. “You offer a us a cowardly commander … a halfling hayyoth … a defeated seraphim?! I am sorry, Raum, but we will remain--”

Insurrection (Instrumental) - Tommee Profitt

"No. I’m not asking you to follow her either." The words trailed off as the ground rumbled and Raum grinned slightly at first. “No, brother. I’m not asking you to follow us ...” He looked up, and for the first time caught the dhampir’s triumphant grin and he matched it as his eyes followed the figure that slowly walked into view from behind them. The figure from which all the shadows were illuminating. “We’re asking you to follow him.”

There were no whispered words. No mad flutter of furious thoughts across the chained fallen. There were no sounds of even the slightest movement or even breath as Prometheus came into view above. There was only silence and absolute stillness. The Titan looked out across the vast room and Persephone reached a hand up to lay on his wrist in quiet support.

"Good. Fire children don’t burn easy." Goodness. The titan had always been a man of curt phrases.

Turning back to Asbeel, who had not yet torn his eyes from the Titan and whose mouth hung slightly agape at the revelation, Raum cocked his head slightly to the side. "So what say you, brother? I mean, you are more than welcome to stay here. Or--"

Asbeel raised his chain to Raum, still not tearing his eyes from the fire god. The Marid moved to unlock the chain but Prometheus raised his hands, palms up and then he made fists of them as he growled into the dank air. The room filled with glorious light as all the chains melted away with his focused fire. Before turning to leave the room, he uttered only a single word.

"Come."

Quinlan watched from above as Raum waited at the base of the stairs below, greeting each and every soldier that walked by. Thousands of them. His relief was obvious and it was coupled with happiness to see them all again. He shook each hand and remembered each name. Each one. Their beaten and broken souls sparking with the tiniest hint of hope. There was an immense respect shown between them that Quinlan envied and a clear history he longed to know more about.

As the marid followed the last one up the stairs, he found only Quinlan remained. Raum grinned as he moved to step past and Quinlan found his prideful amusement confusing. "Why are you smiling? You thought it not possible. You assumed I would fail."

"Oh my boy." He chuckled. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you … in all of your brief two thousand years …” The marid gripped Quinlan’s shoulder again and for the first time, the dhampir didn’t cringe at the contact nor the title of ‘boy’. This gesture was actually beginning to grow on him though he would never admit it. How he hated this man and his contagious smile. It displayed a level of affection to which he was uncomfortable.

"And what … exactly ... is that?"

"That the best way to get you to succeed at something difficult. In fact, to get you to succeed at anything ..." Raum smirked even wider. “Is to tell you that you can’t.”

Quinlan now stood alone in the vast room for just a moment and he gazed down at the thousands of chains, melted and scattered across the chamber’s floor. Raum’s words had annoyed him at first, but as they sank in, the smallest of grins crept at the left corner of his wide mouth and slowly stretched the full length of it, to his right.

"Heh. Irrumator." No one would see him smile as he wiped it from his face before he joined them in the corridor. Nor would anyone hear the genuine grunt of a chuckle, except for that quiet wind that blew across the room.

"You look …" Adam scratched his chin as he grinned and leaned heavily against his staff; his eyes seemingly stuck on a point on the ground two feet in front of Quinlan. “Relieved.”

If was obvious the blind man had been waiting for him to exit the room after the large cohort of soldiers, who were already making their way down the long corridor and up the winding stairs.

"I am …" Quinlan wasn’t sure what it was that he felt, but if wasn’t exactly relief. “Hopeful.”

"So am I." Before they walked, Quinlan paused and looked at the other doors sprinkled around the area. This level, the level right before the very bottom, was reserved for those considered the blackest of souls. Those who had committed atrocities unmatched. These were the ones judged like none others. There were five other doors and the dhampir gazed upon them, his mind racing at the possibility of who else might be housed within. Except for the one that they had just exited from, none of the others were open or empty.

Lucifer had chosen to leave all of these soul behind.

"If Prometheus and The Fallen were down here …." Without much thought behind his action, he approached the oldest one. It was large and black and oddly menacing. A strange sigil was carved into its front and a flood of bumps prickled across his skin as he touched the engraved mark. He could now hear the crying of a man within and he reached for the knob, leaping at the opportunity to free another tormented soul. “... perhaps these others souls that might be usefu--”

"No!" Adam’s hand was upon the door. The force of the slap shocked Quinlan and he took a step back as the prophet’s unusually rattled voice surprised him. “No. No. Not this one. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to … I’m … just … no … Not this door.” Adam was rattled. His hand moved up to the mark and his fingers prodded the grooves delicately. “Some souls … some are not ready for redemption yet.”

"Not ready for redemption?" Quinlan tilted his head. “Or perhaps you mean some souls are not ready for forgiveness?” Who was behind this door was now obvious to the dhampir and he took another step from it.

"Forgiveness is not always an easy thing. I think you understand this better than most." Adam whispered the words as they caught in his throat. “Some actions … cannot be so easily forgiven … ”

"I meant no judgement. Only understanding."

He turned to leave the man to deal with his solace and reflection in his struggle for forgiveness. His hand still on the door, and Raum nearly bumped into the dhampir as he rounded the corner back into the area.

Both stopped in their tracks and the marid spoke first. "Well? Are we going?"

"Yes. We are." He nodded. “Adam just needs a moment and--”

The voice was tiny. Young and masculine. It cracked with trembling pain. Almost inaudible, its cry leaked from the door directly to the right of him. The last door in the level. The newest door. Black, shiny, and metal. Without any marks. "Mister … Quinlan?" It was followed by what sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard and Raum’s brows knit together. “Is that … is that you? Mister Quinlan?”

"Who the fuck is--" Raum began but as familiarity rolled over Quinlan, his mouth curled up with rage. He grabbed the Djinn by the arm and turned him around.

"It is no one. We need to go now."

"Please …" The word was rich in pure desperation and the scratching began again. “Don’t leave me here … please. Where’s my dad? Please. I’m so sorry … I’m so--”

"We are going. Now." He only took one step when he heard Adam shuffling up behind them.

Though he waved the prophet by, Adam tilted his head down, listening to that private voice and nodded. "Yes. Yes. I agree. Yes. He’s had enough." The prophet reached for the handle of the black metal door.

"No!" Quinlan slapped the door much the same way Adam had done earlier, although much harder. His words were just as firm. There was a sound of something falling to the ground on the other side of it and he imagined the boy had been listening with his ear pressed to the metal.

"Quintus ... I do not think you realize who is behind this--"

"I know who is behind this door." He slapped it hard again. “I KNOW.”

"His punishment has been enough. He is--"

"His punishment?" Quinlan snorted. His eyes grew wide and slightly mad. He poked the metal with his gloved hand. “This soul was responsible for more deaths on Earth than any soul that has ever lived before. Billions of souls. BILLIONS.”

"What happened from his actions were not his intention. Intent is important when--"

"Intent?" The dhampir laughed. “Intent? I saw the pain that resulted from his actions. You think ignorance alleviates one from responsibility? Or perhaps it was his age that you feel his actions forgivable? In my time, you were an adult at 12. Age does not preclude you from evil deeds. I witnessed, first hand, the death and destruction he caused. I was there. We had the Master. It was over. We had won and … none of this would have happened.”

"None of this?" Adam sighed. “Exactly. If he had not done what he did, you would have never met her.”

Quinlan turned his pointed index finger towards Adam. This was the first time the prophet had ever provoked his usually dormant temper. "Do not use her as a weapon in your argument against me."

"We are all pawns in this game of Gods, child. Don’t you see that? He was a pawn the same as you. The same as her."

"I’m sorry." He tilted his head and squinted. “I believe your words were: Some actions cannot be forgiven. Is that not right, Adam?”

"This is hardly the same--"

"If you wish to bargain, prophet. My terms on this matter are simple." He pointed back to the metal and touched his finger to it. “If you open this door.” Quinlan then pointed to the old door with the ominous mark. “Then I open that door. The choice is yours.”

There was audible gulp from Raum and the marid stared at the direction of Quinlan’s threat. Clearly, he was very familiar with that mark. "Let’s … uh … yeah. Umm. No. Let’s not open that door. Please?"

Adam shook his head and stepped out of the room. His disappointment in the dhampir was clear, but Quinlan didn’t care. Not one bit.

"Please … Mister … Quinlan … Please. I’m so sorry." The voice trembled and that pathetic scratching began again. Raum stared at the metal as the dhampir turned to leave. The Djinn’s heart was clearly torn at the pathetic plea.

Quinlan was having none of it and he turned back and uttering his catchphrase one more time before he would escape out of sight and up the stairs. "Well? Are we going then?"

Ambling back up the stairs took more time than he had hoped. Their speed dictated by the much-slower time of those at the very front. Adam didn’t seem as talkative this time, but the two still walked side by side. He did not regret his tantrum over the uncomfortable situation concerning that miserable brat and Adam’s first born. Quinlan’s words had been right and true. Regardless of the boy’s age when he died, he was not easily swayed by modern day’s definition of child, nor over the infantilization of children in general. He’d seen many horrors that humans of all ages were capable of.

"So …" They had made it up ten levels in silence when Adam finally spoke again and Quinlan was grateful. “Why do you still look like that, Quintus?”

"I …" He had no idea, actually. “It is not me. He still--”

"He still lingers? You still think that?" Adam stole the statement swiftly. “He was you, Quintus. He will always linger. That is a deflection of my question and I think you know it.”

"I …" Quinlan stuttered. “I do not know how to answer your question. This is not my doing. I …” Was that true though? He could force his appearance, but didn’t that mean that he was in control of it? Could it have been his unconscious that was doing this? “I …” Was it shame? His shoulders fell and he nodded. “She liked this. She liked me being … human. She--”

"Can you blame her?" Raum snorted from ahead and Quinlan shook his head. He was eavesdropping. Damnation. “Maybe she just prefers a man with a little hair on his head?”

"Quintus …" The prophet’s hand was on his shoulder. “She will like you any way she can have you. I think that should be painfully clear by now. Would you have wanted her to stay as the disingenuous Elaine?”

"No. Of course not! That face was …" He had disliked it intensely. He prefered her uniqueness and suddenly the consideration of it hit him hard. “That is not what I … I just … ” His head flicked suddenly to the right as he stopped dead in his tracks and stared down a long, dark corridor.

His head tilted right, then left, then right again. On the way down, they had been in a hurried rush and now, as they were delayed a bit, the noises of Hell beared down on them with all their volume. In the midst of it, he heard something ... familiar. He heard someone familiar and his heart billowed with relief.

Oh gods … Could it be? Could it really be?

He had searched for this soul in Heaven. When Hathu had explained his fate, Quinlan regretted pulling him into this battle. The cost of the revenge he had promised turned out to be eternal damnation, and this was all Quinlan’s fault.

"What is it?" Raum asked, turned to investigate the sudden pause.

"What is down there?"

"The next several hundred floors are the Breaking Rooms. Where the human souls were broken so that Lucifer can convert them to his will … to convince … to seduce them to his side. Any left here are the ones he found entirely unusable."

"Why not move them to purgatory?" Quinlan stared down the darkness and tilted his head as the sound looped.

"I think you know why, Quintus." Adam smiled. “The ones left here could not be controlled.”

"Your men …" Quinlan turned to Raum. “Are they completely loyal to you or are they also loyal to your brother?”

"That’s …" Raum swallowed. “That’s a difficult question. I--”

"Yes. A difficult but an important one." The dhampir agreed. “No matter how good you clearly are, you know you will need help getting into that tower.”

"I think I know who I’ll take. I’ve already been consider--"

Quinlan cut him off. "You will need a team unloyal to Shaitan. A team well-trained. Surgical. Incorruptible to Lucifer’s will."

"That would be nice, yes, but the Djinn and Gregori are all we have. Human souls cannot be--"

"My soul is human." Quinlan finally began to smile and he looked down the corridor again. He heard the old man’s voice. In fact, he even remembered him uttering that same sentence when they first met.

Raum sighed. "We’ve been over this. Your soul is bathed in the divini--"

"Yes." Quinlan took a step toward the hall. “My human soul is not the only soul in Hell bathed in Ozryel’s divinity.”

#the strain fanfic #quinlan fanfic #Mr. Quinlan fanfic #quintus sertorius fanfic #quintus densus #strainingfororiginality #an insatiable ache #chapter 13 #part 4 #did you see that one coming? #who understands the end?

[johnny-writes]

Yesyes, Eagle's BEGINNINGS sound agreeable! Would an elimination of borders really further the cause?

        Your Muse’s Story | Accepting!

“I still remember, it was a night that got darker and darker…”

                                         =[BMG: The Inferno]=

It was June 1st, 1995. The balance of power in the Belkan War tipped on the Allied Forces’ side, with Belkan forces retreating further north.

The Allied Forces needed to cut down Belka’s remaining military strength, for that reason they prepared a bombing mission against the city of Hoffnung, an industrial center under the yellow-white-black flag.

Galm Squadron’s task that day was to escort bombers in the dead of the night, a simple task. It was late in the night, while a F-15 with the red wing crossed the sky. The difference was that this particular F-15 had an idea of what happened in the world.

During the flight, Pixy played games with Eagle, guessing games to teach her vocabulary - he still didn’t understand how the in-flight computer of his F-15 managed to acquire a mind of her own. Not that anyone would believe that, and if they did, they’d disassemble and sput her under a cage to study her. For that reason, he wasn’t willing to tell more people about her, not even Cipher.

“Alrigh, three eyes have I, all in a row; when the red one opens, all freeze.”

The words appeared in a panel at the aircraft’s HUD. She hadn’t installed a voice yet, so she communicated with a panel.

“No, Eagle.” He chuckled. He made sure to never show record his dialogue with Eagle, or go into the usual frequencies.

“Nah, they are suppose to make sense in hindsight. Do you know what’s nonsensical, Eagle? War itself.”

“Because sometime life likes to tell jokes.”

The voice from their executive officer interrupted their chat, giving instructions. The chat became silent, while they entered the mission flight area. Pixy confirmed a burning city ahead.

“The city is on fire!” An allied pilot exclaimed. Pixy sighed when he heard PJ’s voice.

“I don’t know if you’re being empathetic or sarcastic.”

“What’s up, Pixy?”

“Nothing, Cipher.”

“To all bombers. Remove Belka’s ability to counterattack. Priority is placed on destruction over accuracy.”

“Cover me, Galm 2,” Cipher said, “I’ll attack the ground units.”

The enemy air force hadn’t arrived yet, so Pixy remained above a certain altitude, giving support to Cipher while he wiped out ground units, but then he realized Cipher attacked civilian factories.

It made sense, since even civilian factories were used by the Belkan war effort, but he could hear their screams through the open channels.

“This is a private factory, don’t attack!”

“They dropped a bomb at the fuel tank, we-AAHHH!”

“Abandon Hoffnung!”

“Yes.” His response was short, but then he saw a bomber squadron he was supposed to escort. They dropped cluster bombs at a factory complex close to a residential condominum. He could see the explosion blasts definitely hitting normal houses.

Pixy didn’t reply. He felt tense - although he had no family there, he couldn’t stop thinking about it, after all he was Belkan himself. Being a mercenary meant he never fought for a country, but for who paid him.

Noticing Belkan fighters, he went there and shot them down in no time, thanks to Eagle’s computing power.

Meanwhile, the allied bombers levelled the city. He heard PJ blurting that a Tomahawk missile hit the city.

“The city is going up in flames!”

“Learn to accept, kid. This is war.”

Pixy cried, his voice sounded irritated and even unhinged. He couldn’t stand PJ’s naïvety and, at the same time, he felt guilty because Eagle was the same.

The message appeared in the monitor the moment PJ said, “You expect me to believe that arson and indiscrimate bombing is war?“

“There’s no mercy in war. It’s a collision of powers.”

“Even war has a set of rules to follow.”

Pixy turned off the chatter. He didn’t want the others listen to him talking to Eagle and ask prying questions.

“We’re mercenaries, Eagle, we make war for others,” Pixy said, while covering Cipher bombing another factory in the distance.

“We kill for a bunch of privileged people so that they can sit down in their meetings rooms. The enemy does the same. In the end, both nobody and everybody are the enemies.” His voice sounded heavy.

Pixy didn’t reply immediately. He was busy thinking and engaging a Belkan F-16. After making an aileron roll, twisting his plane in a circular jolt to the left, allowing the enemy plane pass through him.

With the enemy behind him, he pressed the machine gun button and the flurry of bullets damaged the enemy aircraft enough for it to release fumes. The enemy plane tilted down and retreated.

He thought of the letter he received in his locker, about A World With No Boundaries. Lame name for an organization like that - they were a bunch of soldiers from both sides of the war, tired of being the meat shields from their higher-ups. They had access to weapons that could turn the tide of war, but they wouldn’t be using for Belka, for Osea or any other faction - instead they would unite the world.

Pixy wanted that.

“Yes, Eagle. If we eliminate the borders between people, these wars wouldn’t be necessary.”

He thought again about the letter. Then, he considered he had made a decision.

“We will, Eagle.”

“Operation complete, Hoffnung is in ruins.” Their executive officer announced through the open channels.

“Damn them all!” Pixy cried through the channel.

“My hatred of borders started that day. It started small, but it continued growing. I was just like a small child, still learning about the world. For that reason, Pixy and I joined A World With No Boundaries, an organization many would label as a terrorist, in order to eliminate the borders of the world. But that’s another story.”

#muse: eagle #replies in character #tried to make a write-in of mission 11 of ace combat zero