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frostsinth · 4 years

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Royal Flush - Pt 12

Part 1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9|10|11 - MasterList - Art - Art - Art - Art - Art - Art - Art - Art - ... Art - Art - Art ( #obsessed)

... I cried writing this part. I’m not going to lie. I felt like there was so much I wanted to put into words, and I couldn’t quite seem to get it all out. But this is the second to last part.

I hope you guys enjoyed all this... let’s call it ‘seriousness’, shall we? Part 13 will conclude the story. I’ve already got it mostly underway. I appreciate you all so much for sticking with me through this and indulging my obsession. These are my boys, and I’m right along with you guys on the roller coaster they brought us on.... I hope you can hang on for the final plunge...

If you want a happier chapter, I wrote an alternative Part 11 that spins off in a better, NSFW direction. Fully in character, but it was a “what could have happened” alternative timeline. That is available on my BuyMeACoffee which you can access through my MasterList page above. Only a few copies available, so be sure to get them while you can!

Anyways... I won’t say enjoy... Because I think that’s the wrong word for this chapter...

I stood before the small gathering of goblins, turning over the information just relayed to me in my head a few times. They waited in silence with bated breath. I could tell they were not used to that; I was sure “silence” was not a thing they experienced often with Grier as their King. The thought set a bitter soreness in my chest, and I tried to brush the memory aside before it could overwhelm me. I noticed them exchange a few looks as well, as if trying to ascertain what to do. Hibik’s eyes flicked to Damjan at the corners, and then he even turned slightly to look at the Master Healer and his apprentice. Damjan shifted, clasping his hands behind his back, and I saw Seoc’s hands wringing in front of him.

They appeared very unnerved by me. I could read it in their faces plainly. All their anxiousness, their fear; I could see their thoughts etched into each flick of their eyes and twitch of their expression. But I knew they would not be able to pull a thing from the mask I had constructed. I had carefully stacked every last grain of mortar and chip of stone back into place. A masterpiece perfected over a long lifetime of necessity. A face sculpted from marble and polished as smooth as glass. I considered them each one more time, and they became somehow even more restless beneath my scrutiny.

“You are certain?” I said finally, and they all seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. I was happy my voice was flat and emotionless... considering the fear that pulsed through me at that moment. I felt faint, and my heart raced to try to provide the same blood currently rushing as fast as it could away from my head.

“Yes, Your Highness.” Hibik replied, bowing slightly. “We have confirmed it... The King has contracted the Rotting Sickness.”

“How is that possible?” I asked, my voice still flat but still firm. “I was told this sickness could not affect goblins. You have no record of it in your cities.”

Hibik hesitated, then glanced at the Master Healer, who bowed low until his long white beard scraped the floor by his toes. I tried to remember if I had been given his name, but felt as though I was swatting at drifting ash in a pitch black night.

“In its natural form, we cannot, Your Highness,” He explained, “However, it seems to have… mutated.”

“And your magic?” I demanded quietly, and I saw him wince.

“This mutation… it seems to have targeted His Majesty's own innate magic. Turning it against him.” He glanced back towards the bedroom door, where the King in question lay in a potion induced slumber. “Therefore our healing magic is ineffective against it, save to help temporarily alleviate his symptoms.”

My heart thundered in my chest, pounding relentlessly against my ribcage. I became distinctly aware of each crescendo of my breath, crashing in my ears like the waves of the ocean upon the shore. For a moment, I couldn’t do anything else. I stood, trying to bury the sinking dread that threatened to drag me beneath the cold waters. Trying not to linger on thoughts that grabbed at the corners of my consciousness and shook me for attention. I stubbornly pushed it all down, and stood like a statue for another long moment as I did.

I realized belatedly the tension rising in the room again at my silence. They were at a loss, I realized. None of them knew what to do... They were all waiting for me to decide. To command them. I flicked my hollow gaze to Hibik briefly, then returned my attention to the Healer. Trying to fight my way through the numbness to force sound from my lips.

“Then what is the King’s prognosis?” I barely recognized that the words came from my own mouth. They sounded distant and hollow, even to me.

“... The next few days will be critical to His Majesty’s recovery.”

My whole body stiffened at his words. I adjusted my tongue in my mouth momentarily before continuing. “And what are his chances?”

I saw the Healer hesitate, and glance to his second. I didn’t need to hear his words to know his response. It was written plainly across his face. My blood ran cold. “I am afraid… they are not good.”

It took every last ounce of my strength not to collapse. I had imagined myself into stone, and embodied a statue of a man instead of one made of flesh and blood. Withdrawing deep into the walls of my own design. Ones I had begun to turn a critical eye on. Ones I had dared to start to disassemble. Now ones that I needed almost as much as the air I drew in; elsewise I would melt into a helpless pool of gelatinous goo.

“What can we do to improve them?” I inquired stiffly. “What treatment are you attempting?”

“Rest.” The Healer spoke through his teeth, and I could see the sorrow lingering in the corners of his eyes. “Broth, when he can manage it. Keeping his temperature down… The majority of the battle will be up to the King alone now.”

I nearly bit my tongue to keep from snapping it at him. That was it? That was the best they could do? No teas, no potions. No magical charms or amulets or anything else? He was a King! Surely no expense would be spared for his treatment. There must be something more they could do. Honestly, I would settle for spiritual circles and prayers to dead ancient gods… The realization that it was because it didn’t matter who he was did not settle well on my shoulders. I quickly sought to think of something else and shifted my gaze to Hibik.

“The other goblins who came with us to the human Capital. Have they shown any signs of the sickness?”

He shook his head so hard his big ears flopped audibly. “No, Your Highness.”

I nodded curtly. “They shall be quarantined as a precaution. And warded, if possible. Any and all preventative measures put into place.” I looked back at the Healer and considered him with a harsh eye. “I do not want this to spread. Any spare resources will be utilized for researching a method to combat it. And I want a Healer to certify the Princess’ warding is still in place.”

Both Hibik and the Master Healer bowed. “Yes, Your Highness. Right away.”

“Consider all non-essential duties on hold for now.” I continued. “Everything that can proceed without approval or review may do so, but everything else must wait.” I looked at Hibik sternly. “If it is an urgent matter that cannot be suspended, bring it to me. I will trust these matters to you. Seoc shall take over your duties in the capacity of serving the King’s personal needs as well as my own while you handle those affairs. In the meantime,” Now I turned to Damjan. “Word of the King’s condition should remain within these walls. Only individuals who absolutely need to know will be informed. I want the guard doubled, I want reconnaissance and intel efforts increased, in case this was somehow intentional. I will not have us caught unawares.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.” Damjan bowed his head as well, seemingly pleased with my orders.

“Then go. Bring a report as soon as you have it.” I dismissed them, and watched as the Healer and his apprentice left. The former assuring they would be back soon to check on the King. The other three lingered. I steeled myself, reaching out one hand to the back of the couch as casually as I could. Pretending I didn’t need it to keep myself standing. “Is there more?”

The King’s Secretary hesitated, and he glanced over to Damjan for reassurance. The General stepped forward, jerking his chin at me.

“There is a matter of state that requires your attention, Your Highness.” He told me.

I clenched the back of the couch to prevent my hand from shaking. Looking off towards the King’s bed chambers again. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to be here. I wanted to be gone. To run, perhaps. To run until I couldn’t breathe. To find some dark hollow place and crawl into it. I wanted to be alone, but feared that as much as I feared letting anyone see the crash of emotions inside me. I couldn’t access my head through the cloud engulfing me. I couldn’t handle the pulse beneath my skin. I couldn’t handle the throb in my chest or the aching numbness there. It was only a lifetime of practice that kept my feet beneath me and my mouth returning formal and practiced answers.

“Go on then, General.”

“The King has no heir.” He told me curtly, and my eyes jerked to him. “We need to be sure we are prepared-”

“The King lies ill-” I interrupted him sharply, my voice flat but heavy with denial “-No more than a few feet from where you stand. And you would speak of successors as if he already rests on his deathbed.”

I nearly choked on the word. But Damjan’s heavy brow furrowed, and I heard Hibik sniffle sadly, shaking his head. My lips pursed as the apprehension settled like an iron shroud. Dragging us all down towards the ground. Seoc shifted, his own face bleak and morose. I couldn’t settle my gaze on any of them for the pain of their expressions, plainly evident on their features, and so stared at some distant point beyond them.

“... The King requested this himself.” Damjan finally said, his voice thin, his face hard. He seemed to be trying as hard as me not to let his emotions overwhelm him. But he didn’t have my practice.

“Requested what, exactly?” I demanded, pleased that my voice didn’t reflect any of the storm inside me.

The General didn’t answer. Instead, Hibik tentatively stepped forward. Pulling a rolled parchment from under his arm. Holding it out to me gingerly. I took it as carefully as if it might explode at any second. I glanced around at them warily, then slowly unrolled the parchment. My eyes skimmed across it, hardly reading at all. Certainly not comprehending the majority.

Ice cracked through my veins as I realized what I held in my hands, and my whole body finally went completely numb. I blinked at it stupidly a few times, staring at the King’s signature at the bottom. Re-reading the final line several times over...

“...With their mutual consent, and in the presence of Witnesses, are entered and joined into lawful and holy wedlock...”

“... A-a marriage license?” I stammered before I could catch myself. Unable to hide the disbelief.

Hibik nodded slowly. “His Majesty had me compose it this morning after he spoke with the Healer, and signed immediately thereafter before he…” He swallowed loudly. “I-it was his wish that you sign it as well. That you might be named his-”

“That is preposterous.” I raised a hand, silencing him before he could finish his thought. “Dowager Queen Morag still lives. Certainly she-”

“The Dowager Queen was forced to step down from the throne when the King was 19 due to her waning health.” Now it was Damjan’s turn to interrupt me. He took a long step forward, standing beside Hibik and pulling my attention to him. “I can assure you, Your Highness, it has not improved in the last decade to warrant her a viable heir.”

I stared at him, then shook my head slightly. “I am human, I cannot-”

“You are the only one who can lead us.” The General snapped, his voice raising with each word. “If you do not sign this contract, and the King dies-” A shudder went down my spine at the word “-the Kingdom will be thrown into a bloody civil war while various factions fight for the throne.” He took another step forward, looking more and more desperate. I craned my head back to look up at him. “The noble houses will tear each other to shreds, and the economy will fall into ruin. And your Peace Treaty will become null and void. Leaving the human Kingdom vulnerable to attack.” He reached out as if to grab my wrist, his face contorting into a pained snarl. “If you refuse to sign, you will be condemning both Kingdoms to chaos and-”

I smacked his hand away soundly, my stance instantly becoming guarded. I held the parchment out to the side, as if to keep him from reaching it. My eyes flashed hot and angry.

“Grier is NOT dying.” I told him, and couldn’t help the sharp edge to my voice. He searched back and forth across my face, and I pursed my lips. “... I will not sign.”

With that, I turned, dropping the contract on the nearest end table. As if it were a hot coal searing into the tender flesh of my fingertips. I heard a bustle of activity behind me, as the goblins all began to speak at the same time.

“You are dismissed.” I said coldly, ignoring their sputtering, pausing briefly at the door to the bedchambers. “All of you.”

I didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t leave room for one in my command. I simply shouldered open the door and pushed it closed quietly behind me. For a moment, I leaned against it, working hard to compose myself. From across the room, I could hear Grier’s labored breathing, and each breath stabbed like a knife into my chest. I took my own shuddering attempt at it, felt my knees wobble beneath me. I choked on the air I tried to force into my lungs, and shook my head stubbornly. By the time my skull did clear a little, there were no sounds beyond the door behind me. I let a heavy hiss of air pass through me, but it crackled audibly as it fell from my mouth.

As quietly as possible, I made my way over to the bed. Stumbling as the numbness in my chest reached my legs. An armchair had been pulled to his bedside, and I slowly lowered myself into it. Then dropped my face into my hands.

Why was this happening? What had I done wrong? I raked my brain over and over again. Going over every minute detail of the previous two days. Had it been our time in the village? Or had the sickness already spread to the castle by the time we had arrived? Perhaps Lord Tipp had been a carrier. Grier had never told me how he got rid of the irritating noble. A great hook jabbed into my heart as a flash of memory reminded me of the little girl in the lower city who had hugged me. Then later that same day, Grier had also…

I rubbed at my face, then ran my hands over the back of my neck. It didn’t matter how anymore, I told myself. And there was no way to know for sure. I tried to push it aside, sneaking a glance at the goblin out the corner of my eye. He shifted slightly, as if sensing my gaze. Though I knew the draught the Healer had given him would keep him in a deep sleep for some time yet. I swallowed my anxiousness, sitting up and reaching over to pluck a washcloth from beside the basin set on the bedside table. Needing to do something to stave off the helplessness that threatened to overwhelm me. As soon as I leaned over him, I could feel the heat pouring from his body. It set the ache back into my chest, but I gritted my teeth and pushed his hair back out of his face. Gently, I dabbed at the sweat lining his brow. He sighed in his sleep, turning slightly, but otherwise laying still. I watched the shape of his eyes move beneath his lids, and wondered what he was dreaming about. If he was dreaming at all.

I stroked the cloth down the side of his face, tracing the edge of his jaw distractedly then down his damp neck. They had dressed him sparingly, with only linen trousers, and had laid him on top of his heavy blankets. A thin sheet covered him to keep off any drafts, but the soft fire that snapped in the small fireplace at the edge of the room kept his chambers warm. Bathing them in a dim orange glow. The enchantment on my eyes struggled with the shifting lights, playing games with the shadows at the edges of my vision. I paused, lingering with the cloth poised by his cheek again. My thumb came out, and I brushed the pad gently across his hot skin. My heart lurched in my chest, and I swallowed a painful lump.

I stood suddenly, dropping the cloth onto the edge of the basin. Unable to sit and watch him struggle to breathe. I blinked rapidly, then strode off. Only to halt a few paces away. Unwilling to leave him there alone. I hesitated, looking back over my shoulder. Torn in half by the two pains; one of seeing him in this state, the other of not being able to see him at all.

I stared at the ground blankly for a few minutes before my eyes actually saw the crumpled shirt there. Slowly, without thinking, I bent down and picked it up. The spicy sweet scent of him wafted off the cloth, and I had to resist the urge to bring it to my nose. Instead, I folded it, carefully and delicately. Then looked around. A small basket of washing seemed to be by the door… I paced over to it slowly and placed the shirt inside. Another glance found a pair of trousers just shy of the basket. I took those up and folded them as well. Then another shirt. Then… a jacket, I supposed, though it was hard to distinguish based upon what seemed to be an extra sleeve.

Soon I found myself organizing and sorting the other various items in the room once the clothes had all been piled in the basket. I ran my hands over each, imagining what Grier might have to say about it. Wondering how he had come upon it, or what significance it had to him. I fabricated a few stories to entertain myself as I worked my way around the room. There was certainly no small supply of things to resituate and reorganize. I found some semblance of order amid not only the chaos of his personal belongings, but also the chaos swirling in my head. I let my mind wander, thinking hard and deeply for a long, long time as I worked. Returning to the bed every little while to reach out and reassure myself I was not imagining the strangled breathing, and that Grier was still there…

...

“Did I ever tell you about the first time I saw you?” Came the weak voice from the bed.

I spun, nearly dropping the small chest I was holding. Beady red eyes peered at me from amid the billowous blankets. My breath skittered from my throat, and I was hard pressed to draw in a new one with how tightly it constricted behind the first.

“You should be resting…” I told him, placing the chest quietly back on the table. It was the first time he had opened those scarlet eyes of his all day, and I couldn’t help but move to the bedside despite my words. “I-I’m sorry if I woke you.”

He gave me a small, feeble smile. “Did I?”

Slowly, I sat in the chair beside him, leaning over my knees to better make out his quiet voice. “... Did you what?”

“Ever tell you?” He pressed.

His voice was thin and breathy, as if each word took the entirety of his lung capacity to speak. I shook my head carefully, glancing down at my hands in my lap.

“... You mean in the throne room? When I came-”

Now it was his turn to shake his head, and he did so sluggishly. “No. That was the second time.” My eyebrows raised, and he grinned a little more, still half the strength of even his smallest usual smile. “The first time… must have been almost three years ago.”

“... Wh-what do you mean?” I stammered. “W-we… It’s only been maybe a month-”

He hummed softly, and his eyes drifted closed. But his hand moved, reaching out from beneath the covers until the fingertips brushed my knee near the side of the mattress. I glanced down at them, and my heart skipped. At first, I thought perhaps he had fallen back asleep. Then his soft voice petered from between his thin lips again.

“I had been told there was a Prince at the frontlines. Though the messenger couldn’t say for sure which Prince… I assumed not the Crown Prince. He rarely left the castle…” The corners of his mouth twitched into a tiny smirk, and he mumbled around its shape. “We didn’t know much about the human Royals then. Only that the King had three children. Two of them Princes… it had never been anything we cared to know more about.” His eyes cracked back open, and he rolled them to look up at me. “I insisted on going to see. No one could talk me out of it.” His teeth flashed beneath his lips briefly. “... I can be very stubborn.”

The goblin moved his fingers again, grazing against the folds of fabric on my pant leg. I noticed beads of sweat beginning to drip down his brow again. Noticed his wild hair was nearly plastered flat to his scalp. I turned, plucking the cloth from the water basin on the end table. I squeezed it out, then gently dabbed at his forehead. He sighed tiredly as the cool cloth touched his skin, and his eyes drooped closed again. I rolled the cloth over the back of his neck, and pushed his hair out of his face. I could feel the heat still pouring off him, and it set the ache in my chest throbbing once more. Though that hadn’t let up since that first morning a few days prior.

“Damjan and his lieutenant escorted me,” He continued, and I almost started at the sound of his voice, I had been so lost in my thoughts, “To the crest of a hill, right at the disputed boundary. They cast so many defensive spells and charms on me, the air felt electric… Still, they had me keep low, out of sight, and we were… a few hundred yards away?”

“Shhhh.” I told him, refreshing the water on the cloth and wringing out the excess again. “...Save your strength.”

He ‘hurmphed’ softly, his only acknowledgement of my words before he promptly ignored them. “There was… a thin line of trees lining a trail that ran parallel to us… They looked like... like twigs… it was autumn, so there were no leaves, and everything was grey and bland and…” His voice faded weakly. I could hear the dryness, and returned the cloth to the basin.

“Here.” I told him, scooping my arm gently beneath his shoulders and propping him up as I brought a goblet of warm, watered-down broth to his lips. He sucked at it greedily, but only managed half before he fell back against my arm. I slowly lowered him to the pillows as he licked at his lips.

“... I had never seen so many humans in one place before. They all looked… broken. Worn and battered. Covered in mud.” He continued, and his eyes sought mine as I settled back into my seat. “Most were limping… I could almost smell the blood on the air.” He blinked slowly, and his gaze became distant as he fell into the memory. “I remember thinking… that they looked like they were behind bars… because of the trees and shadows… And they trudged single file down this muddy stretch. Those that could, anyway. All but indistinguishable from one another.”

I was surprised by the vibrancy of the scene he described, and more surprised to find it a familiar one. I had a pretty good idea of the time he was talking about; and my heart dropped at the memory. It had been a long trek back from the front. Defeated, discouraged. Injured and weak. I wracked my brain to try and think of the particular day, as they all blended together. I had been so lost in my sorrow then... Goosebumps shot across my skin to think there had been an audience during that solemn trudge. My brow furrowed as I recalled it, and I glanced at him sidelong. Wondering where this was going.

“...I was told we had missed the Prince. We’d have to move further up the line if I wanted to see him… because there was no way he would be with the injured men below. Damjan was positive we wouldn’t see him at all.” He sighed weakly, his head lightly tossing to and fro. “There was no glory. No fanfare or bright banners. Just blood, and filth, and mud, and…. Nothing for a Prince, he had said.” He sighed again, his breath even thinner. “Damjan sent his lieutenant to scout ahead. To try and find out if the Prince was further up. But I stayed to watch… I was… horrified by what I saw. I don’t think…” His eyes closed briefly. “I don’t think I had ever really… understood what the war meant. Until that moment.”

“...Grier…” I started to protest, readying an argument for him to save his strength again.

“Then, one of them fell.” He persisted, still ignoring me, his face scrunched. “There was a lot of shouting… we couldn’t make it out from where we were… chaos and noise and...” Suddenly his eyes came back, and he looked over at me, a small light in their scarlet depths. “And then… then you were there… You came up from somewhere near the back of the line. I didn’t realize who you were at first. Damjan had to point you out… I saw the men fall silent and part like water to let you through. No bowing, no fanfare. Just… quiet respect.” I flushed, starting to shake my head. His hand came out, and I glanced at it as it lingered next to my knee again. When I checked his face, his eyes were closed. As if to see the moment more clearly. “You were nearly as muddy as they were, but I think you were wearing a different color than them. I couldn’t see your face though. You had your back to us…” His voice petered out again, and he gave a breathy sigh.

As the silence stretched for a breath too long, I reached out. Tentatively brushing my fingers against his wrist. As if to assure myself he was still there. His breathing was shallow and ragged, and I struggled to keep myself from being overwhelmed by the pang of sadness that sight brought. His hand slowly closed around my fingers, and I ached at the weakness of them.

“Within moments, you had organized the chaos… You sent someone for… a healer, I’m guessing. But you crouched down next to the fallen man. Called for water… wiped the mud from his face with your sleeve…” I slowly turned my hand in his, listening quietly to his words. I couldn’t remember the day he was talking about. Not specifically… there had been many such moments. I tried to remember the trees, and the hills. I started to shake my head again. He gave my fingers a feeble squeeze, stilling me. “And then…” He drew in a sharp breath, and a smile split his lips slowly, his eyes opening. “And then you turned… and… And I swear it was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds…”

“Grier…” I mumbled again, uncertain what else to say, my ears hot.

“I decided it.” He declared softly. “Right then and there… I decided to end the war… I saw your face and…”

“Y-you should get some rest.” I stammered, and carefully began to untangle his fingers from mine. “... You’re not making any sense.” I shook my head a final time. “You act as though you were looking for me.”

“I was.” He breathed, nodding groggily. “I wanted to see you.”

I frowned down at him, but his eyes were struggling to stay open. I pushed his hair back out of his face one more time and tucked his hand against his body. My lips burned with questions. Instead, I sat back in my chair, watching him quietly for a moment as he fought with the fever that dragged at his consciousness.

“Sleep.” I told him. “... W-We can… we can talk more when you’re better.”

He scoffed groggily at that. Then his eyes fluttered shut. And I was left alone with just my thoughts and his ragged breaths to fill the silence.

....

“Your Highness,” Came Hibik’s soft voice, “The Princess is here to see you.”

I nodded dumbly, rubbing a hand across my face and moving to stand with as much care as if each of my joints were made of glass. I glanced back over at Grier as the smaller goblin came deeper into the room.

“I will stay with him, Your Highness,” Hibik assured me gently, “You can see your sister. And get a real night’s sleep.”

I said nothing for a moment, simply watching Grier without moving. But the King was still sleeping, despite the voices around him. It had almost been two days since the last time he had woken… Finally assured that was still the case, I turned back to Hibik.

“... I’ll be back after I speak with Morgana.” I told him.

“Your Highness, you need to rest too-”

I shook my head. “You need not concern yourself, Lord Hibik.” I assured him. “I am fine.”

Hibik looked me up and down. “... Your Highness, you have been at his side since he first… I-it’s been days. You have barely eaten-”

I waved him into silence. “Keep an eye on him. I will return shortly.”

Morgana bounced excitedly to see me again, but quickly remembered where she was and became more solemn. Hibik had lit the candles and fireplace of the King’s foyer, and there was plenty of space to sit now that I had begun to properly clear it all. I had even sorted through the huge armchair of discarded clothes and sent everything off to be carefully washed. Apparently he had a large closet off his bedroom, though one would’ve been hard pressed to tell based upon the state of his wardrobe scattered across the rest of his rooms. My sister skipped over and gave me a hug, which I returned distractedly. My eyes lingering on a familiar piece of parchment, still where I had left it on the end table after Hibik had given it to me to read...

“I brought you some uyapik,” she told me, pulling a wadded up handkerchief from her pocket, spotted with grease, “And a story to read.”

I turned back to her and ran a hand over the top of her head. “Thank you, chickadee. You are very sweet.”

She led us over to the armchair facing away from the bedroom door and sat me down. Then stood with her hands on his hips until I had eaten both uyapik to her satisfaction, before carefully climbing onto my lap. I wrapped my arms gently around her, and she pulled out the book as she rested her head in the crook of my neck.

“Is Grier getting better?” She asked me softly as I flipped through the pages to the spot she had bookmarked for us.

I stiffened slightly at her words, then swallowed a lump in my throat. “... He hasn’t gotten worse, at least, chickadee.” I replied honestly, my voice thin. I pushed her hair back out of her face. “... How is Safa? Is she taking good care of you?”

I heard the smile in her voice as she responded. “She’s very silly. She tells me all kinds of fun stories, and we’ve been all over the castle.” She said. “But she insists on wearing these big poofy dresses, and she can’t move very quickly. And she always wants to play with my hair. She says it’s very thick and soft and pretty. I told her only you can do my hair. I don’t like when anyone else does it.”

“She sounds nice though.”

“... Can you come out with us, Niko?” She asked softly. “... Maybe Grier can come too. Safa says fresh air can be good for sick people. Maybe it’ll help.”

I gave her a weak squeeze. “I-I… I don’t so, chickadee… He’s needs his rest...”

“Oh…” She sounded so sad, I felt my eyes grow damp. It was too close an echo of my own sorrow.

“Perhaps you can bring him some flowers instead,” I suggested, trying to distract myself as well as her, “That would help, I am certain. Bringing a bit of the outside in.”

Morgana bounced a little, reaching up to ring her arms around my neck. “I can do that. I’ll get him the biggest, smelliest, most colorful flowers I can find.”

I buried my nose in her hair. “That sounds wonderful, chickadee.”

“And I’ll bring you lilies, Niko,” She told me, “If goblins have lilies. That way you can feel better too.”

I choked back the tears again, and nodded. Letting her take the book from my hand in her usual impatience and flip through the last few pages to reach her bookmark. I listened quietly to her while she babbled, alternating between reading the passage and adding in her own flourishes. I even managed to close my eyes, leaning my cheek against the top of her head. I could almost forget when I was with her. Could almost pretend everything was still right in the world. Could pretend I didn’t constantly worry about what the future might have in store. For both of us now, I remembered with a stab of guilt, since I had brought her here with me. And I could almost remember that strange but lovely warm feeling I had been starting to enjoy before…

I almost missed the soft click click click on the stone floor marking someone’s approach.

“Well now, is this the Onsakin I have been hearing so much about? Pah!” Came the thin, wiry voice. “She looks just like you, mo shiba.”

I turned in surprise to see the Dowager Queen standing a few feet away, cane in hand. Quickly, I moved to stand, gathering up Morgana in my arms as I went. For her part, my sister looked curious, tilting her head to the side. I saw her taking in Morag’s voluminous skirts and dozens of jewelry bits and bobbles. She clutched the book to her chest as I slowly lowered her to the ground.

“Welcome back, Your Grace-” I greeted her respectfully, bowing as I placed Morgana back on her feet.

“Ina Morag, mo shibaba. I have told you this many times.” She tapped her cane on the floor to emphasize her point.

Morgana tugged on my tunic, glancing up at me and then back at Morag. The question lingering in her curious eyes.

“Ina Morag, may I present my sister, Princess Morgana Delarosa Marie of Geriveria.” I intoned, hoping my voice didn’t sound too heavy with my exhaustion. I rested a gentle hand on the top of Morgana’s soft hair. “Chickadee, this is Dowager Queen Morag.”

“Pah!” Scoffed Morag. “You shiba have such long names. I do not have the breath for all this!”

Morgana tugged on my tunic again. Shyly waving me down so she could whisper in my ear. “What does ‘dowager’ mean?”

I slowly straightened. “‘Dowager’ means she was married to the old King,” I explained, “This is Grier’s mother.” I pretended like I didn’t almost choke on his name.

“You’re Grier’s mother?” Morgana said a little louder, sounding fascinated, her eyes going wide.

Morag nodded. “Yes, Onsakin, I am his ina.” She cocked her head to the side, her jewelry jangling as she did. “I have been wanting to meet you since you arrived.” She tapped her cane on the floor angrily. “But this abhama has not brought you to me yet!”

“What does Onsakin mean?” My sister asked, swaying from foot to foot as her excitement began to build. Her little mouth moved over the strange word tentatively, forming each syllable with great care.

“Ah, it means, ‘Little Princess’, I believe.” I told her.

Morgana put her hands on her hips. “I am not little!” She scoffed, then stood a little straighter. “I’m taller than you!”

“Morgana!” I scolded, but it lacked any strength behind it.

“PAH!” Laughed Morag, tapping her cane again. “I like this one! She is like you, she has spirit! Mian’we boshta!“ I felt the corners of my lips twitch, longing to smile, but feeling far too heavy to manage. The Dowager Queen considered this, and her scarlet eyes flickered to the bedroom door. “... How is mo apawi?”

“... No better, Your Grace.” I murmured softly, dropping my eyes.

She let my slip go by unaddressed, giving a soft ‘hmm’ instead. It sounded so much like Grier’s, I had to ball my fists to keep the quiver from my hands. I still could not bear to meet her eyes. I felt Morgana’s hand wiggle between my clenched fingers, and she gave my hand a gentle squeeze. I returned it gratefully, but had not the strength for more than that. I felt the tickling edges of shame that my emotions and thoughts were apparently so plain to read, and swallowed nervously.

“He is strong, mo shibaba,” She assured me gently, then nodded herself, “He is young. He will pull through.” Her confidence seemed to wave momentarily, but then I felt her cane come out to tap the tip of my boot. “... He has a good reason to.”

“If you are Grier’s mother,” Morgana chimed in, “How come you are so small? Why is Grier so much taller than all the other goblins? Did you use magic to make him bigger?”

“PAH!” Morag laughed again. “Perhaps someone did put a charm on the boy. You should have seen that abhama when he was born, Onsakin. He was so tiny, you could fit him in your pocket.”

Her eyes lit up. “Really? Are all goblins that small?” She glanced up at me. “I thought maybe Grier’s mother might be an orc, like Damjan’s.” Her attention turned back to the Queen. “Was his father tall? Or did you really use magic?” I noticed her eyes narrow. “... You’re not an orc, right?”

Again, another melodic laugh. But in spite of its jovial ring, its familiarity stung. “PAH! No, Onsakin. I would be a very small orc indeed. They would have left me out in the cold as a child.” She rubbed her hands over her top of her cane. “His father was tall. Not so tall as your brother. But tall for a goblin.” She gave a toothy smile, sounding distant in memories for a moment. “And very handsome.”

“Apologies, Your Grace,” I interrupted before my sister could launch any more questions, “I am certain you came to see your son again. We will not keep you longer; I know you get tired easily-.”

“PAH!” She smacked my leg with her cane, just hard enough for me to jerk in surprise. Morgana giggled. “Do not tell me what I am to do, mo shibaba. I came to see you.”

“You came to see Niko?” My sister asked, bouncing on her toes a little.

One slender eyebrow raised at her nickname for me. But then she gave a small nod. “Yes.” She tilted her head back to the side. “He does not sleep. He does not eat. That blasted fool Damjan is worried, as is Hibik. As is Seoc, and Paye. And all the other lives you have touched since you first came here. They whisper of you in the halls.” She nodded again. “It has reached my ears.”

I stiffened again, feeling a slight flush at my collar at her implications. “I can assure you, Your Grace, I-”

I jumped onto one leg with a soft shout as her cane came out to whack me again. “Ina Morag, abhama! PAH! I have told you this.” Her scarlet eyes became hard. “You need to sleep, apawi shiba mo. To eat. You cannot wither here.”

“You can come with me, Niko,” Morgana put in, tugging on my hand lightly, “We can go to the gardens, then you can take a nap in the sun, and Safa and I can make you a picnic. It will make you feel much better!”

I glanced at both of them. Then over their heads at the door to Grier’s bedchambers. It felt like it loomed. A hollow shadow, and staring at it made the edges of my eyes tingle. I swore it shifted and warped as I watched, and I adjusted my tongue in my mouth. I realized belatedly that the two were talking still, and blinked stupidly at them. Trying to sort through what they were saying. It seemed to be some sort of plan for me; getting a bath, some fresh clothes. A shave. Morgana insisted I would sleep better out in the gardens, but was persuaded by Morag that could be saved for another day. Their banter was light hearted and quick; a stark contrast to the slow thrum of my own mind. I heard their words distantly, my mind wandering back to the dark room beyond the door...

“... I’m fine where I am, though I thank you both for your concern.”

The pair fell silent at my flat and formal words, spoken in the middle of some exchange I hadn’t fully comprehended nor bothered to register. I felt Morgana tug at my hand again, and looked down at her belatedly. Realizing she had done so more than once already. Her hazel eyes were wide, and her little bottom lip quivered. She stomped her foot softly.

“You’re my brother, Niko! I’m tired of sharing you!”

Had I been able to feel any part of my body at that moment, rather than feeling like a head detached and floating around, I might have winced at her words. Instead, I managed to find some command of my palm, bringing it up to cup her cheek gently. I tried a dozen words in my mind, tossing each aside almost as soon as they occurred to me. I thought to tell her that I wanted nothing more than to go to the gardens with her. Or have her tell me another story. To do anything and everything to make her happy... I thought to try to explain that the thought of leaving his room for more than a few minutes made me feel like I was falling apart. And had I been given the choice, I would’ve traded places with Grier in an instant. He would have managed all this much better than I…

“Pah!” Exclaimed the Dowager Queen, tapping her cane against the floor. “We’d best leave this one be, mo Onsakin.” She told her, and my sister glanced over her shoulder at the Queen, her pout still in place. “Sometimes it is better to wear away at stone slowly when you want to polish it...” Her scarlet eyes darted to my face. “Elsewise it might just shatter instead.”

I didn’t want to meet Morag’s eyes, as grateful as I was for her understanding. I was too afraid of the soft familiarity of them sending my heart into a deep ache again. Instead, I pushed Morgana’s hair out of her face, pulling her attention back to me.

“Why don’t you go with ina Morag for a little while?” I told her, then felt my gaze drop to the side sadly. “I-I think she’d be much better company than me right now.”

Morgana tugged on my hand again, her face starting to scrunch up. “No! I want to play with you, Niko!”

Again, when I found myself at a loss for words, uncertain how to calm my sister’s growing agitation, it was Queen Morag who came to my rescue.

“Tch, child!” She scoffed, and Morgana looked over her shoulder at her again, her nose all pinched. “The boy is sick too, can’t you tell?” She tilted her head to the side, making her many glittering bobbles jingle and clink. “Don’t you think if he could, your brother would like nothing more than to be with you?”

That gave Morgana pause, and she looked me over almost curiously. “You’re sick too, Niko??”

I started to shake my head, but made a soft exclamation of surprise instead as Morag’s cane smacked my calf. My sister’s face twitched out of her irritation slightly at the sound.

“Of course, Onsakin!” She declared. “Your ibu is sante’fet. He cannot be anything else while his manwe is unwell.”

Morgana considered her, taking in the strange words she spoke with a thoughtful ear. “... He can’t?” She hesitated, then looked sidelong up at me. “... What does all that mean? Is that some weird grownup thing?”

“Your Grace, I-”

“INA MORAG, suit abhama!” She snapped at me, as did her cane, and I yelped again. This made Morgana giggle once more. The former Queen turned to my sister, nodding her head conspiratorially. “Come, Onsakin. I will tell you more. I know a great many secrets, you know.” She gave me a very similar sidelong look as my sister’s, and my brows shot up slightly at the sight. “More than this abhama, I am certain.”

I saw the curiosity in my sister’s matching hazel eyes and she squeezed my hand indecisively as the Queen started to make her way out of the foyer. At the main door, the old goblin paused, looking back before giving a jerk of her head to further entice Morgana.

“... Ok Niko… Maybe we can play later…” She told me after a moment. She tugged my hand, and I obediently dropped down to her so she could give me a hug. “... Feel better soon. I’ll come back to check on you and I’ll bring you those flowers.”

“Thank you, Chickadee.” I replied softly, returning her hug gently.

It was all I could manage. Not even a proper goodbye, or gratitude to the Dowager Queen for soothing my sister and entertaining her when I couldn’t even manage any semblance of a smile. I lingered where they had left me, having accidentally gotten trapped in the red glimmer of Morag’s eyes as she left. And feeling as if my heart was ripped from my chest at the almost familiar sight.

Slowly, I straightened, making my way sluggishly back to the King’s bedchambers. I dismissed Hibik distractedly. He said something to me, but I didn’t hear it. Didn’t hear anything but the sound of something in my chest cracking as I settled back into the armchair beside the bed.

I stared at the ground between my feet for a long time. When I had finally built enough courage to look over at the sleeping goblin in the bed beside me, I instantly found it shattered back to pieces as soon as I laid eyes on his quivering, sweaty form. Half buried amid oversized and overstuffed blankets and pillows. Shuddering and shivering with each breath. My eyes burned, but I stubbornly pushed that aside. Desperate to return to a statue, and feeling like I was trying to stick each piece of my walls together with sand.

The memory of his mouth came unbidden to my mind as I stared, my eyes drifting around his face. I remember the last time I had felt his against mine… A sloppy morning kiss, almost three days ago now… I felt a heavy weight inside me as I suddenly feared that was the last kiss we would ever share… Not even a proper kiss. One I had been too shy to return...

That anguish heavy on my heart, I stood, stubbornly, then bent over the bed. Reaching out with faltering fingers to skim along his jaw. I pushed back his damp hair, saw his eyes flicker beneath his lids as I leaned down...

It was like kissing stone, and as soon as I lightly pressed our lips together I regretted it. Regretted that this was now the memory etched into me. Not his warmth. Not the taste of his smile. Just something clammy and still... I fell into the armchair, dropping my face into my palms. It was too much… I couldn’t… I shivered, then swallowed hard. Trying to steady myself. Trying to push away the fear that maybe… maybe he wouldn’t get better after all… and the fear of realizing exactly why that thought hurt me quite as much as it did...

....

I stirred at some point, dragging from the listlessness of sleep. Pulling my head out of the realm of dreams and floating back down to my corporeal form sitting in the armchair like a feather falling onto the still surface of a pond. For a long moment, I forgot where I was. I didn’t remember falling asleep. Perhaps at some point the numbness had simply dragged me from my consciousness, but I didn’t know when that had been. My eyes blinked, adjusting magically to the dark of the room. I wasn’t sure how I could tell; perhaps it was the strange heaviness of the air. Or some quality of its stillness. But I knew it was late.

The ragged breath of the King sent a shiver down my spine, and I looked over at him in the bed beside my chair. I sighed quietly, rubbing a hand at my face. My limbs were weighed down by unseen lead chains, and struggled to pull air into my lungs. When my hand finally dropped, I started slightly as I found a pair of bright red eyes now watching me. I recovered, straightening myself.

Y-you’re awake...” My voice barely above a whisper as if to preserve the stillness blanketing us. Depending on what day it was now, it had nearly three days now since he had last opened his eyes. “... How are you feeling?”

“Sore.” He mumbled, then blinked a few times sluggishly. “Heavy… Waterlogged.” A soft, petering sigh, then his eyes flicked back to me. “... Have you been there this whole time? How long has it been?”

I cleared my throat quietly, shifting. Casting my gaze away from him. “I-I just… I wanted... ” I swallowed hard, thumbing my palm. “I-I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

“... Nikostratus,” He breathed my name like the first lungful of cold air after a warm cabin, and I jerked at the sound, “... I need you to promise me something.”

I was already shaking my head before he finished. “No.”

“Nikost-”

“Don’t.” I snapped, a little harsher perhaps then I intended. My eyes jumped to his, and I shook my head again before dropping them away once more. “I-if you start trying to… t-to…” I pressed my thumb into my palm until it stung. “... Don’t start talking like… like you’re not going to get better.”

He drew in a deep, wheezing breath. “...I might not-”

“Don’t.” I said, a little louder now.

“I don’t want to ask this of you.” His voice sounded pained, and not just from the effort it took for him to draw in each breath. “Gods know… you’ve had enough weight dropped on your shoulders… but I need to… I need to think of my Kingdom too…”

I shook my head once more. “I-I’m not a goblin… I’m not a King-”

“You are the most honorable and trustworthy man I know.” He wheezed, and his hand came out towards me. “...But in the end it’s your decision. I won’t demand it of you…I won’t even ask it of you... just promise me you’ll make sure my people… our people, are taken care of.”

“I’ll promise you nothing.” I almost growled, my voice harsh. “Because then everything would be settled and taken care of and-” I stopped short, my words choking me. “And you…. Y-you…”

“My young Prince,” He murmured weakly, both hands reaching for me now, “My sweet Prince… come here… please… I don’t have the strength to charm you into my arms,” a small, wry grin flicked at the corners of his lips, “So I suppose I’ll just have to swallow my pride and beg.”

I didn’t have the will to deny his request, nor did any small part of me even want to try. I crumpled forward, dropping heavily out of the chair to my knees beside the bed. His hands cupped my face, tracing along it weakly. I shivered beneath his touch, squeezing my eyes shut. With the feeblest of tugs, he pulled at me and I obediently sank down to him, letting him wrap his arms around my neck. Letting him bury me in his chest as I bent over him. Drawing in the scent of his sweat slicked body and feeling his ragged breath on the top of my head. I brought one hand up, hooking on his arm as if to free myself. But it fluttered and lingered there instead.

“Y-you can’t do this to me…” I gasped against him suddenly, feeling my eyes start to burn as a sharp heat bubbled in my chest, “You can’t… you can’t leave me now… I can’t…”

“... You’ll be alright.” He told me softly. “You’re clever, and strong-”

“I don’t want to be strong!” I snapped. “I’m tired of being strong!” My hands grabbed at his shoulders roughly, tugging him a little closer. My grip faltered and fluttered as I remembered the state of him, and I gave a shuddering breath. Burying myself deeper into his embrace. “I-I… I can’t… I can’t do this again…”

His arms tightened around me, and I heard his breath shudder against my ear. His hand came to the back of my head, and I felt him stroking it weakly. So softly I thought I might shatter. My heart threatened to do the same.

“I… I have so much left I want to tell you… but … there’s one thing I need to tell you… one you deserve to know.” He murmured softly. “... I need to tell you how… how I found you…”

I would have drawn back to look at him, but suddenly felt as weak as he was. So I laid limply in his arms. Listening to the ragged air pass through his lungs.

“A few years back... There was a young man… barely in his twenties if even that…” He explained in his thin and wheezing voice, “... He was badly wounded when we found him at the border… delirious… Half-dead already… The soldiers there did what they could for him, but he was… he was saying something they thought might be of import.” He took a deep, steadying breath. “They sent him to me.”

“... What was he saying?”

“He told us…” I felt his hesitation, and a strange weightless dread spreading through me at his reluctance. “He told us… he had loved a Prince…” I stiffened sharply, every muscle in my body becoming steel. “...And that for that crime… he had paid with his life.”

I jerked away from him, sitting up on my knees. My heart racing, my head pounding. I stared down at Grier, slack jawed and dumbstruck.

“... I should have told you sooner. But I… I don’t know who he was to you. I-if he was anyone...” He stammered feebly. “And for the longest time, we thought he was just… just delirious. He never said his name, or anything else for that matter. Nor did we know what Prince he was talking about… We didn’t know where he was from… or how he had gotten there…”

I was lost in my memories for a long moment. Lost in dark hair and bright eyes. Soft skin and a wiry frame. And pain. So much pain I thought I might shatter from it. My walls started to raise, my shoulders stiffened. Seeking to defend my heart from that fate. I fought through the numbness that nearly overwhelmed me. Something about what he said was nagging me though. Snapping at the edges of my mind. Poking holes in the walls I tried to build. I blinked a few times, trying to steady myself. Trying to sort through my emotions and come back to just the words. I wondered if the click was as audible as it felt when the pieces fell into place.

“... Half-dead?” I breathed. “Y-you said he was wounded? Half-dead?” I shook my head. “N-no, that can’t be right… It couldn’t have been him… It wasn’t him… You found someone else.”

“Nikostratus… I-I’m so sorry-”

“He died?” I cut him off abruptly, my voice thin as it pressed through the tiny opening that was left of my throat. “... Did… Did he suffer?”

Grier’s hand came to mine on the bed, and he shook his head weakly. “We couldn’t save him… but he didn’t suffer. We made sure of that.”

Just like that, the walls I had been trying to build imploded. Crumbling into hundreds of pieces around my heart. Without their protection, the emotions slammed into me. I stared down at our hands numbly for a long time. My heart ached, my head throbbed. There was an extended silence, while I tried to process everything suddenly hitting me full force. While I tried to pull the knife from my chest just enough to pull in a breath. It was too heavy. All of it. I couldn’t hold it... I felt my lips working to release the pressure; tasted the sound of my words even though I had not willed them forth.

“... I thought I was...” I told him, my voice whisperingly soft, “I-I thought… H-he was… He was my second… on the frontline…” I shifted, still kneeling beside the bed and staring at his hand on mine. “H-he… he was k-kind… and sweet… and s-soft…” My voice broke and I started to shake. “He… W-we drank too much… we forgot where… w-where we were… just for one night... it was just one night… and… and I… I-I forgot… I forgot who I was…”

“... Nikostratus…”

I squeezed his hand, then clamped my eyes so tightly shut I was seeing sparks behind my lids. “I-I thought I had… I th-thought he would… but… b-but he came back again…” I choked on a sad laugh. “He tried to come back w-when he knew we could… wh-when he thought we could be alone again… b-but… but…” I took a shuddering breath, unable to stop my confession. “They... th-they thought he was trying to… to leave... T-to desert… they-they caught him in the larder… they brought him to me ‘red handed’... t-to pass judgement...” I pulled my hand back, despite his attempt to catch it as I fled. He was too weak to pin me there, and his touch burned my shame deeper into me. But I met his eyes, my own rimmed with a redness to match his irises. “Th-the punishment for desertion i-is… is death-” I choked again, and shook my head fervently.

“... What happened?”

“I-I… I couldn’t... “ My lips were shaking so hard, the words refused to form properly on them. “I-I couldn’t tell… I couldn’t t-tell them… I let… so I let them…” I shook my head again. “Bread, Grier! H-he was just getting extra bread for us… f-for me… He was sweet… He was … so naïve… so hopeful… he… h-he was… and… a-and they wanted me to… t-to… to… they expected me to...” I closed my eyes again, and felt the tears drip down the corners. “I-I was t-too… too ashamed… I was t-too weak to… to tell them… to explain…”

“It’s alright,” He murmured, and reached to pull me down again, “It’s not your fault.”

I jerked away from his touch. “I-I couldn’t… I had to… I should have… I know I… b-but… I couldn’t… I-I… I was... afraid… I was… I was s-so… I was so afraid...” I looked away from him, resting my elbows on the mattress and burying my face in my palms. “B-but… but I couldn’t let them… let them...“

“What happened next?” He pressed softly.

“I-I… I made a Royal Decree…” I gushed, “R-right then and there… I-I looked at him… I met his eyes… and… a-and I pretended I didn’t… I-I didn’t…” Again I choked, but shook my head, forcing the words out. “... I-I changed the law… and I banished him… o-on penalty of death, should he ever return… The fate for all deserters… f-from that day on…”

“... You saved him.”

“I betrayed him!” I gasped. “I-I looked him right in the eye, and… and when he needed me most… I pretended h-he was… he was n-nothing to me…” I dropped my head to the mattress, squeezing the back of my head with my hands. “The King was fur-furious that I had changed the law… and Gareth…” The name hitched in my throat. “... He knew… I could see it… in-in his eyes… He knew the truth…” I turned my head, so that I could look at him, even though my eyes were still damp and my throat still burned. “A-and now... And now you want me to… t-to…”

Grier’s hand came out, and he cupped it weakly against my jaw. “It’s not your fault-”

“H-how is it not?” I cut him off again, my words slurred and broken. “He had a family, He… He cared about me… he trusted me and I… and I-I…” I dropped a hand on top of his at my cheek. “And now you… y-you’re sick because of me… you’re sick because you tried to do something nice for me… A-and because… Because I let myself be... B-because I started to believe…”

“It’s not your fault.” He wheezed, and his fingers curled feebly around my jaw. Catching behind my ear. “Whatever happens, it’s not your fault. You deserve to be happy, Nikostratus.”

His hand tugged at me gently. I quivered, but let him pull me into his arms again. His palm slowly stroked at the back of my head. I slipped my own hands up, gripping his shoulders. I trembled beneath his touch, the feel of his hot fingers weakly tracing along the curve of my skull. The irony was not lost on me; that a man who may very well be on his deathbed was comforting me. It should be the other way around. I should not be pitching him my sorrow. I should be making this easier for him. I should be caring for him; I had spent my life putting others before myself, why couldn’t I now? Why was this time so different? So hard? I laid my cheek against his bare chest, feeling his damp skin against my face. My eyes pinched shut as they filled, burning as my throat closed up. A dark shadow loomed over me, enveloping my body in a hollow, unrequited misery. I felt his arms slowly wind further around me as the first tears dribbled down my cheeks and pooled on his chest. I tried to hold still, tried not to let my shoulders quake with the weight of my grief and guilt… I failed. And sobbed quietly against him.

“It’s alright… You’re safe here… It’ll be ok…” He murmured, and I buried my face deeper into his chest. Shaking my head. He stilled me with a soft ‘shhhh’. “I love you, Nikostratus. Nothing else matters but that.”

“Loving me is a curse.” I tried to pull back, but relented as his arms tightened, even weak as they were. “I should never have… I-I can’t…”

“If loving you is a curse, then it is one I will happily bear.” He breathed against the top of my head. “If loving you is a poison, I will drink every last drop, and writhe in agony for weeks. For years. Just to know this feeling for an hour.” He ran his thumb against my ear, and a shiver ran down my spine. “If your love is a dagger, I will plunge it deep into my chest until I can feel it in my heart. I don’t care what loving you is. Because it is mine. You are mine.”

“I-I’m not… Y-you can’t…”

“It’s worth it, Nikostratus. It’s worth every second. Having you here, with me…” His hot palm cupped my jaw. Running his thumb across the damp trail on my cheek. “Loving you… it is the best part of my life.”

I let him run his hands over my face and shoulders for a time. Feeling myself beginning to still once more. I felt empty, and hollow. A shell of my former self. I ran my own hand slowly over his shoulder. Numbly feeling the heat wafting off him and trying to push away what that meant.

“Y-you… I c-can’t… I can’t say… I won’t...” I tried to steady myself, breathing quietly for a time. “… I never got to say goodbye to him…” I murmured after a long while. “I-I always hoped he was… alive somewhere… happy, maybe…”

“... What was his name?”

I choked on my tears, shuddering slightly. “... Josep. His name was Josep Wolod… He was… he was 19…”

“And you?”

“... Maybe 22? I-I… I don’t remember.”

“You were both young.” His arms flexed weakly around me. “... You’re still young. They should never have…” I felt his swallow move through his throat and chest beneath my ear. “That you should be asked to condemn a boy to death...”

“I couldn’t do it… I never could…” I shivered again. “I-I banished him, b-but he was unharmed when… when…” My eyes widened even more, and the blood rushed from my face. I didn’t answer for several long, uneasy breaths.

“When what?” He coaxed.

“When… when I had Gareth escort him to the border…”

I felt him draw in as deep a breath as he was able, and his arms wrapped as far around me as they would go. “If I ever see that man again, I will kill him.”

The hate in his voice was unfamiliar to me, and felt as foreign as the raspiness in his chest. I stayed still for a long moment, letting the tears trickle down my cheeks. Forgotten trails of my sorrow for memories I had tried to bury. For a grief I had never let myself feel. I blinked slowly, giving a soft sniffle. Then gently pulled myself free.

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t.” He rasped, fumbling for my hand. “Don’t apologize. Please, my young Prince... It’s not your fault.”

I wondered how much he would have to say that for me to ever have a hope of believing it. My chest ached dully at his words, and I closed my eyes for a moment to steady myself. Feeling raw and unnerved.

“I-I... I’ve kept you up too long… you need your rest.”

“I need only you.”

“Grier…”

“...Lay with me awhile?” He murmured, his eyes starting to blink languidly.

I was already shaking my head. “I-I shouldn’t… you need to sleep.”

“I sleep better… when you’re with me…” He replied, but let me gently lift his hand to place on his chest once more. I watched his scarlet eyes slowly work their way sluggishly up my body as I stood, until they met my gaze. “... You see it right? You understand it now?”

“... Get some rest.”

“No.” He grumbled, then slowly started to slide up onto his elbows. Weakly trying to prop himself up.

“Wh-what are you-”

“Lay with me.” He gasped, even as his arms shook beneath him. “I… I want to…” A pained look filled his eyes. “... I need to be near you...” I lurched forward, catching him before he collapsed from exhaustion. “I… I want to know you’re safe… I can’t sleep if...”

Slowly, I lowered him back into the pillows, my arms gently tucked around him. His long fingered hand came up, and he weakly skimmed it along my jaw. Wiping away the tear stains lingering there. My brow was tight, and I felt a powerful, painful throb in my chest at his touch. I caught his hand in mine, hesitating briefly. Then I pressed it against my cheek with the strength he lacked. I saw him smile, one so fragile I thought my breath might shatter it. I squeezed my eyes shut to dam the fresh pain that welled in them. I turned into his palm, even daring to place a gentle kiss in its center.

“Please?” He begged, his voice weak. “Lay with me?”

I couldn’t hide my wince at the fear in his voice. I kissed his palm again, then gently brushed his knuckles against my lips. Slowly, I opened my eyes, looking down at him. After another moment, I nodded, and his face flushed with relief.

“Only if you promise to sleep if I do.” I warned.

He agreed sluggishly, and I removed my boots and vest, then carefully crawled in behind him. The goblin quickly turned, tucking himself into my chest. It was like holding a small fire to myself, and I struggled not to flinch against him. I felt him sigh, felt him relax deeper into my chest. I hesitated before I dared wrap my arms around him. As carefully as if he might break into a thousand pieces. My heart thudded so loudly I worried it would keep him awake.

“... Do you see now?” He asked me groggily, his breath hot on the nape of my neck.

“Shhh.” I told him gently, bringing my hand to the back of his head. “You promised you’d sleep.”

A soft mumble of something incoherent escaped his thin lips. “... But-”

“Shhhhhh.” I hesitated, then carefully stroked my hand along his damp hair. “... I’m not going anywhere… Sleep now.”

.....

I woke to a quiet knock at the door, somehow having managed to fall into a sleep plagued with nightmares. I shifted, then looked down to find the goblin still tucked in my arms. His breathing was shallow and raspy, but rhythmic, and his eyes were closed. Another soft knock had me carefully slipping from his grip. Sliding to the edge of the bed to clamber quietly to my feet. His fever had retaken him, and he did not stir at my movement. I blinked away the last of my pain, wiping my face down with one heavy hand in case any lingered there. Gods, I felt so drained and tired...

I didn’t bother to don my boots or vest, adjusting my tunic and heading to the main door. Hibik and Seoc stood there, quiet sorrow listing in the corners of their eyes. I nodded to them, briefly wondering at what sight had greeted them in my own eyes, but feeling far too hollow to care.

“Your Highness,” Hibik dipped his head, “Apologies, but there is… a visitor. From the human court.”

I blinked at him stupidly, forgetting myself for a moment. “Who?”

They exchanged a glance. “... Sir Gareth, I believe is his name. He has asked to see you and the King.”

I must have looked… strange to them, based upon their reaction. It was as though he had heard us speaking of him… had heard my confession… Though I realized now I couldn’t even be sure how long it had been. Hours? Days? Logically, I knew the timing made sense. I could suspect his reasons for being here, nearly a week since we had left the castle I had grown up in. Yet I couldn’t help the anger that bit at me at the sound of his name. The goblins exchanged another look as I stiffened. Straightening my back. A small scowl formed on my lips, and I saw them latch onto that emotion amid the stone of the rest of my face.

“...Send him away.” I told them coldly. “I do not wish to speak to him.”

Another bow. “I would, of course, Your Highness,” Hibik murmured reverently, “But he insists he is here on official business.” He shifted nervously. “I can still have the guard escort him out, if that is your wish.”

I stared at him for a long moment. Trying to think amid the swirl of emotions that threatened to rip my chest open. After a long moment, I stepped back, pulling the door open and heading back to the bed chamber for my boots and vest.

“Your Highness,” Seoc bounded after me, and when I turned to face him, I found a fresh tunic, vest, and coat in his arms.

“Thank you, Seoc.” I told him appreciatively, though my voice tasted numb in my mouth.

I didn’t bother for modesty, hardly caring anymore, and stripped my old tunic before them to pull on the new. Seoc scurried for my brush as I did up the buttons on the vest and pulled on the coat. He quickly polished the toes of my boots as I scrubbed at my hair for a moment. I moved without thought, my actions those of someone else. As I passed the brush back to Seoc, my eyes lingered on the distant shape of the bed in the bedchambers beyond. My heart ached, and I felt the corners of my mask slip momentarily.

“... Stay with him.” I ordered Hibik. “Fetch me immediately if…” If anything changes. I finished silently, but didn’t dare to voice. If he wakes... Or makes a turn for the worse.

Hibik nodded solemnly, straightening slowly under the responsibility and trust I laid upon him. I turned and followed Seoc out into the hall. Down through the castle. To the main throne room.

I recognized it as soon as I entered, and looked about in a dreamlike daze. Had it really only been a month since the first time I had walked through those doors? I moved slowly over to the dais, standing at the foot of it. I stared at the pillows. The piles of gems and coins still strewn about. At the towering carved stone pillars. I remembered the first time I had stood there. Looking up at Grier, his face full of mischievous smiles and composed of a powerful air of command. I had been scared then, I knew now. He had terrified me. He had looked properly monstrous, the creature of nightmares we warned our children about. I remembered the room darker, more sinister. But now I saw the same braziers were lit as they had been then, and the entire hall was bathed in a warm glow. It was mostly stone, yes, but with the splashes of color the goblins were notorious for. And empty. There were no guards lining the chamber, though I knew they were likely just beyond the door. There were no attendants, no members of Court. I stood alone, returning to that seemingly ancient memory. I half expected to find cobwebs, the place felt so old to me. But it felt... familiar too. More comfortable than any room of my old castle...

There was a great creak as the main door opened, and I glanced over to watch Gareth be let into the chamber. A hot poker stabbed at the base of my spine, spewing its heat through my core. I squared my shoulders, waiting quietly as he approached. My mask already perfectly in place. Knowing the man I had once called ‘friend’ would not see more than a stone Prince before him.

He dipped into a bow, one tight with constraint. He looked older than I remembered. His face gaunt, his hair greying at the tips. There was an unkept scruff on his neck, and his shirt was ever so slightly askew. I eyed it disdainfully as he slowly raised.

“Your Highness,” He intoned, “Thank you for seeing me.” I watched his eyes dart about quickly before returning to me. “Shall we wait for His Majesty here, or are you to escort me to him?”

“Speak your business and be gone, Sir Gareth.” I told him coldly, ignoring his question.

Eyes flicked at that, and I saw his scowl at the edges of his lips. But he dipped his head respectfully none-the-less. “... I have come to fetch the Princess, Your Highness.”

Ice would have been warmer than the blood pulsing through me at that moment. “On whose authority?”

Another dip of his head. “By request of Crown Prince Valerianus.” He informed me. “He sends word. It is safe for her to return now. I am to bring her home.”

My jaw tightened, and I looked him over. My glare was biting, and I stared at him for so long in silence that he shifted. Moved weight from one wide foot to the other. I saw his hand rest instinctively on the hilt of his sword. My eyes narrowed. I knew this man. I knew this man better than he knew himself. I knew every twitch of his face, every short coming of his mask. I knew his mannerisms, his ticks. And now, I knew his thoughts, even as he sought to hide them from me.

“Do you think me a fool?” I asked him tonelessly.

His eyes flicked a little wider. “Y-Your Highness-”

“You are lying, Sir Gareth.” I neatly tucked my hands behind my back, squaring off with him. “Prince Valerianus would have sent word ahead. He would have sent a full royal escort for her. Not a single disheveled guard.”

“I can assure you,” He quickly returned, deciding to stick to his lie, “I am here on his Royal Highness’ authority.” I saw him work his jaw briefly before adding. “Would you incite a war? Keeping our Princess from us?”

“Take heed how you use your tongue, Sir Gareth,” I replied coldly, not taking his feeble attempt at bait, “Or I shall have it removed from your mouth.”

His eyes widened slightly at that, and he even fell back a step. But then he shook his head stubbornly. “I am here for-”

“You are here for yourself.” I interrupted, snapping back at him so sharply he recoiled from my words. “You were not sent by my brother. And if you were sent by the King I care naught.” I did not break my glare. “The Princess Morgana is staying with me.”

The color of his face began to shift as his anger boiled up in him. “You would deny a direct order from the King?? Your true King?”

“He has no authority here.” I replied. “And as he has disowned me as his son, he certainly has none over me.” I looked the old guard up and down. “If this was your feeble attempt to regain your favor with him, then you may return a continued failure and disappointment. Be gone from my sight, before I have you forcibly removed from it.”

Gareth changed tactics. “... Let me see her,” He said softly, “Let me see her, and tell her I miss her. Let me-”

“No.”

“Nikostratus, please-”

“You will not refer to me in such familiar terms,” My voice did not raise much in volume, but the authority in it made it sound as though it had, “I am Prince Nikostratus to you. And soon I will be King. You will afford me the respect due to my position and title. I will not warn you again.”

His eyes flashed red, and his scowl broke over his lips. “A King who lays beneath a King.” He spat disgustedly. “A lecherous pet for a foul beast.”

I barely kept my own anger from bubbling over, though my jaw clenched. “Get. Out.” I ordered through clenched teeth. “Now.”

“You were a good Prince!” He cried, his face still contorted in a mixture of rage and repulsion. “You were obedient, and respectable, you were-” He stopped himself, shaking his head. He returned the step he had lost, and took another closer. “These creatures have corrupted you,” He explained, his eyes bitter, “Please, Prince Nikostratus, if you ever cared for your Kingdom, if you ever once thought me a friend… we served together. We fought side by side-”

“Like Josep?” I snapped. His name felt like fire on my tongue.

Gareth froze, his eyes going wide before he could catch himself. I was nearly trembling with rage. My hands came to my sides, balled into fists so tight the knuckles were nearly white. I could see him thinking. Trying to ascertain what I knew. How I knew. I saw him glance about suspiciously, as if the answer lay in the shadows around us. The old guard slowly straightened, his features cold.

“... I did what I had to. To protect you.”

“To protect me from what, exactly??” I snarled, rage crackling through me. “Being myself? Being happy? Having any emotions at all??!” My voice was raising octave by octave now, and my brow furrowed heavily as heat coursed through my veins.

“Prince Nikostratus, you forget yourself,” He dared scold, “Remember your temper-”

“MY ANGER IS JUSTIFIED WHEN YOU MURDER A BOY IN COLD BLOOD JUST FOR BEING IN LOVE!” I roared, my voice thundering through the vast stone chamber. “And if you think that is a crime worthy of death, then you should have killed me too!”

I saw his hand move. I heard the snarl of his anger, saw the hate in his eyes. He stepped forward, and there was a SHIIIINK that echoed loudly around the chamber as he drew his sword. At the same time, I heard the slam of the wooden door as it was flung open and the guards charged in at the sound of my voice. But the rest was a blur. It was a blur as I stepped to the side. It was a blur as I dropped down, and drove my shoulder up. It was a blur as my hand swept out at the same time as my foot swept in. It was a blur as I twisted the lunging sword from his grasp and deftly spun it in my hand.

The next thing I knew, I was standing over him, the tip of his blade levied at his throat. His eyes were wide with fear and shock as he looked up at me from the ground where I had laid him low. The clanking of armor filled the room as the guard surrounded us, their own weapons drawn. Damjan was at my shoulder, his eyes dark with malice. Gareth’s own eyes darted about in a panic, a cold sweat breaking across his brow. His mouth fell open, and I saw him shake in fear.

“Y-Your Highness, please, I beg of you-”

“Gareth of Geriveria, for your crimes against King and Crown,” I saw him wince as I began, and pressed the blade in a little tighter, “... I banish you. On penalty of death, should you ever dare set foot in my Kingdom again... And should I ever have the misfortune of seeing you again,” I met his gaze with a steadfast rage and confidence, “I shall take your head myself.”

I tossed the sword to the side, and the guards swarmed in. Grabbing the old guard and hauling him to his feet. Beginning to drag him off at spear and sword point.

“Your Highness, please!” He cried over their shoulders, “Your father lies on his deathbed! He only wishes to see his child; the sickness has-”

“If that is true, then he has only his own stubborn pride to blame.” I shot back, unfazed, and did not budge from my spot until the man was dragged away.

Damjan shook his head at my shoulder, his face contorted in outrage. “Your Highness, if-”

“Make sure he is brought to the border unharmed, General,” I interrupted, and glanced over at him stiffly, “Escort him all the way to the capital if necessary. I would not have him made a martyr, or start another war for his sorry hide.”

That stopped whatever he had been about to say, and his brows shot up. Then he grinned eagerly, and bowed. “Once again, Your Highness, you prove wise beyond your years.” He replied reverently. “I shall be sure it is done.” He tilted his head to the side slightly as he rose. “Though I do hope the bastard is stupid enough to attempt to return.” He mused as he turned to march out after his guard. “I would like to put his ugly head on a pike myself.”

“...General,” I called after him, and the taller man paused, glancing back at me, “If what he said is true, about King Tibertius... I want to know.”

Damjan’s face grew stern, and he nodded. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

I felt my stamina quickly fading as Seoc bounded over, looking me over worriedly. I waved away his concern. “Bring me back to the King.” I told him. “And send word to my brother.” I continued as I followed him out the side door. “Let him know of the banishment. I have a feeling he shall issue one of his own in turn when he hears of the circumstances.”

A few moments later, my attendant bobbed and bowed. Wishing me a grateful farewell before darting off to do my bidding. I opened the main door, and at the sound, I heard Hibik raise from the seat in the chamber beyond. I met him in the foyer, already unbuttoning my jacket to slip it from my shoulders along with whatever of my strength remained.

“... How is he?” I asked softly, my previous rage draining from me so suddenly I felt light headed.

Hibik shook his head sadly. “I-I am afraid his fever seems to have returned in full force…” He glanced over his shoulder. “I can send for the Master Healer, but I am not sure-”

“There is no need.” I interrupted, slowly undoing the buttons on my sleeves to roll them up. “... I’ll take care of him.”

The goblin shifted from foot to foot, glancing over his shoulder again. “Your Highness, please, I beg of you to consider your own health and get some proper rest…”

I shook my head, then hesitated, looking off at some distant, unseen point beyond the floor at my feet. “... I thank you for your concern, Lord Hibik. But I will be fine. Though, I am most grateful to you for watching over him while I dealt with other matters.”

Hibik bowed deeply, murmuring his own soft platitudes, if hesitantly. Then turned to slowly take his leave. My eyes drifted to the end table, where the parchment still sat, a quill at its side. I sucked in a tight breath, and found myself moving as if through molasses, my feet carrying me over to it of their own accord.

“... Lord Hibik…”

I heard him pause at the door, saw him turn out the corner of my eye. But I was in a cloud of my own making as I slowly made my way over to the table. I couldn’t even feel the quill between my fingers. Couldn’t see the page even as I dipped the tip in ink and hovered it over the parchment. I hesitated, staring for a long, quiet moment. Then slowly… carefully… I signed my name beside Grier’s.

The goblin quietly came up beside me as I straightened. Gently taking the quill from my frozen hand, and easing the license delicately from the table. I watched numbly, then turned my gaze away. Unable to reconcile myself with what I had just done, and feeling a heavy weight on my heart for having done so.

“... It seems in poor taste to offer you congratulations, My Prince,” Hibik breathed softly, somberly, “But I will offer you my thanks… and my sincere hope that this remains only as an unneeded precaution…”

I nodded, still not looking at anything on this plane of existence in particular. I was already moving before he turned to make his way to the door, but heard it click closed behind him before I had made it into the bedchambers. I closed that door as well, slipping off my boots and lining them up neatly with the numerous other pairs of his where I had set them. I eased off my vest, folding that and tucking it neatly on the bureau, alongside his own vibrantly colored tops. I trailed my fingers over them as I untucked my tunic from my trousers, letting it flow long and loose. I made my way over to the bed, my feet heavy, my heart dragging behind me. Quietly, I climbed in, crawling up to his side and resting my back against the headboard. As if sensing me there, the King shifted, rolling sluggishly. I carefully lifted him, laying him across my stomach. His skin was so hot it was still uncomfortable to touch, but I let him slide his arms slowly around me anyways.

I reached for the cool cloth, dipping it in water and brushing it across his bare, sweaty back. He shivered against me, and a lung quaking cough erupted from him. I pulled his hair into a soft plait, carefully laying it over the pillows instead of his shoulders, pushing it out of his face. He sighed, settling against my torso. Still in the fits of his fever induced sleep. Slowly I stroked the cloth back and forth over his skin, my eyes burning.

I sniffled softly, then cleared my throat. “... W-we’re married now, Grier…” I told him, my breaking voice barely above a whisper. “... I guess that makes this our wedding night…”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t even flinch at my voice. I closed my eyes, but was unable to dam the flow completely before one large fat tear rolled down my cheek.

...

UPDATE: Part Thirteen HERE

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spacebatisluvd · 4 years

Link

Content warning: More Sea Hawk. Some potential for secondhand embarrassment if you’re sensitive to things like that. Mild references to arousal. Strong references to anxiety and Hordak’s past in the cult.

Hordak looked up as a guard marched into his psuedo-office and dropped a parcel on his drafting table. Hordak eyed the box, noting first that it was addressed to him and sealed with Dryl’s sigil. Then he noticed that the wax seal was broken.

“This has been opened.”

The guard just shrugged, smirking. “Anything that comes through the port of Salineas is subject to inspection for contraband.” He turned to leave, pausing deliberately in the doorway to brush the dust from his boots and to spit on the stoop. Hordak said nothing. He’d seen the builders do the same thing early on. Strangely, fewer and fewer were holding to that habit. Perhaps they’d grown tired of such petty insults.

He set the box to the side, and Sea Hawk perked up. “Are you going to open it now?”

“No. I will open it later.” In private.

“But what if, hear me out, you were to open it now?”

Hordak looked up and sighed. Sea Hawk had draped himself over the top of the box, his eyes gone comically large. Hordak went back to his paperwork. “That does not work for Imp. It surely won’t work for you.”

“Imp?”

“My....” Hordak trailed off, realizing that he wasn’t sure how to refer to his relationship with Imp. ‘Little brother’ seemed the most fitting, yet he couldn’t bear to use such a designation. He exhaled slowly.

“Imp. He is just...Imp.”

“How delightfully nonspecific!” Hordak narrowed his eyes, searching Sea Hawk for any sign of mockery, but he seemed genuine enough. “But...this is from Entrapta, isn’t it?”

“That is her sigil.”

“You don’t want to look?”

He huffed. “My desires are unimportant. I need to finish this.”

“Not even a quick peek?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Just a teeny, tiny little peek?”

Hordak exhaled hard. “No.”

“...what if...I took a peek for you?”

He froze and glared at Sea Hawk, who was infuriatingly impervious. “I would advise against that. Strongly.”

Sea Hawk pushed the lid off the crate. “Oops! Well, since it’s already open....” He reached in, pulling out a small data chip. “Ooh! What’s this?”

Hordak lunged, snatching the chip from his hand. He growled, leaning close until he was eye-to-eye with the pirate. Sea Hawk held his hands up in surrender. “You really aren’t curious? Your beloved has sent you a gift! Perhaps in return for the gift you sent her!” Despite the intimidating glare and Hordak’s prior request not to be touched, Sea Hawk slung an arm over his shoulders and drew him close, using his free hand to frame an imaginary image before them. “Can’t you picture it? She is delighted, overcome with love, overwhelmed with feeling! In fact, she is so delighted that she has decided to reciprocate! And you don’t want to know what she sent?!” For the last question, he turned Hordak to face him, shaking him lightly.

Hordak shoved him off, still glaring. “Entrapta would not be overcome by anything,” he said dismissively. “Particularly not anything I did.” Excited? Perhaps. Elated? Enthused? Yes and yes. But overcome?

No. He could not imagine that.

In a last-ditch effort, Sea Hawk caught his hands and said, “Wouldn’t she want you to open it?”

His ears folded back, and he pulled his hands free. Nevertheless, the question gave him pause, and his words lacked their typical venom as he said, “Do not touch me.”

“Oh, right. But—you know she’d want you to open it right now, don’t you?”

“She knows that I prefer to keep my work and my personal life separate.” Still, he regarded the box uncertainly. He would not want to accidentally insult Entrapta. Was this a custom he was unaware of? Gift-giving was new to him.

Sea Hawk leaned very close, but thankfully did not touch him. “Let me tell you something I have learned about women—“

Hordak frowned. “My observations indicate that individual Etherians are too different from each other to confirm many broad generalizations. The exceptions being ‘requires oxygen’ or ‘must drink water regularly’.”

Sea Hawk blinked. “What?”

“I am questioning your expertise.”

Sea Hawk blinked again. He took a breath, and barreled on—“Women want to know that they are your highest priority. The very center of your universe. Your everything.”

Hordak’s ears folded back. “I killed my brother for her sake. I am certain she already knows that.”

Sea Hawk threw his hands up in the air. “Will you please just open the box?! I’m your wingman! How can I help you seduce your lady love if I don’t even know what she sent you?”

“That is simple—you do not. I am not seducing her. Therefore, I do not require your help.”

Sea Hawk wailed dramatically. “My friend, you are sabotaging your own happiness! You are allowing her to slip through your fingers if you ignore her overtures of—“

He continued to rave, and Hordak sighed, pressing his knuckle to his temple, where he could feel the beginnings of a headache forming. “If I open it, will you stop talking?”

“Oh, yes. Absolutely.”

“Fine.”

“Really?”

“Do not make me regret this.”

He studied the data chip Sea Hawk had snatched from the crate. It was a modern chip of Entrapta’s own design, made to interact with his data pad. He set his data pad on the table and attached the chip to the back. His screen flickered briefly, then a stable image resolved. “Play video,” he ordered, and the image began to move.

Entrapta waved at him, smiling. “Hi, Hordak! My research has revealed that it is customary to send a care package when someone you care about is far from home, particularly if they’re away for an extended period of time.” She looked down, blushing a little. “I’d been intending to do this anyway, but your gift reminded me that it was probably overdue.”

Sea Hawk made a strange sound, his eyes big and hands scrunched tight to his mouth. Hordak barely glanced at him, and held his hands behind his back at he watched the screen, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “There’s a jar in the crate—would you please retrieve it? It requires an explanation.”

Curious, he pulled the crate closer—swatting Sea Hawk away when he tried to search out the jar first. He pulled out the jar and returned his attention to the screen. Entrapta’s image waited a few seconds more, then she said, “I spoke to Perfuma, and she has designed a topical salve that should help ease muscle pain and tension.” Hordak stiffened briefly, glancing at Sea Hawk, but he didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. “Before applying it to a wider area, make sure to test it on a small patch of skin to make sure it doesn’t react poorly.”

Curious, he opened the jar, surprised by the scent of peppermint. He dabbed a small portion on his wrist, flexing his hand and cocking an ear when he felt a subtle tingling in that patch of skin. “I have also included some notes on my current project for your review. I would appreciate your input.” His ears perked, and she smiled coyly. “Not my secret project. You‘ll be allowed to tinker with that one after I have a working prototype.” He grunted, crossing his arms, though he couldn’t keep the fond smile from his face.

“She is taunting me,” he told Sea Hawk.

Sea Hawk smirked. “No, my friend, she is flirting with you.”

Hordak’s ears flexed, and he cleared his throat as he turned back to the screen, trying to ignore the heat spreading across his cheeks. “—send an annotated copy. Maybe when you send me your notes on my proposed procedure,” she said with a grin. Another glance at Sea Hawk reassured him that the man suspected nothing untoward, though Hordak readily recognized the suggestiveness in her gaze.

“Oh! You should know that this care package isn’t just from me.” He cocked his head. “I’ve asked the others to contribute as well, to show you how much they miss you.”

“Others?” Who could possibly miss him aside from Entrapta?

The video cut, then Kadroh appeared onscreen. “Hello, brother! I miss you and am eager for you to return. I’ve been working on my sketching—thank you for recommending I look for my data pad in the library! I found it behind one of the bookcases.” He held up the data pad, to show a sketch of some flowers. “Here’s what I’m currently working on. Oh! I think Imp was just a little jealous. I gave him a pad of paper and some markers, so he could draw too.” His ears drooped a little. “I haven’t done anything worth sending to you—“ The video feed paused briefly, and Entrapta spoke in voice-over.

“He’s being too modest. After we filmed this, we talked and I convinced him to include a printout of a piece he’s proud of.”

“—but I made sure to include Imp’s drawings. I thought you might enjoy them.” He smiled broadly, and Hordak peered inside the crate, noting a sheaf of papers, sandwiched between stiff cardboard to protect them. “We’re excited for your return and I hope you’re enjoying Salineas. I’ve never been to the ocean before; I hope you take the time to appreciate it!” Hordak blinked. He hadn’t even considered doing something like that.

The screen cut again. Crypto Castle’s Etherian servants appeared on the screen, waving timidly. Hordak’s ears folded back and he cocked his head. They definitely weren’t enthusiastic about being filmed, and he wondered if Entrapta had unintentionally threatened them again. “H-hi,” the cook said, wringing her hands. “Princess Entrapta said she was preparing a care package for you. I, um. I thought I’d send some tiny fruit tarts, but I didn’t think they’d survive the trip.” She winced. “So I-I made a premix of cocoa powder and sugar and-and a few spices. Just mix it with warm milk—um, about 60 degrees—“ She appeared to look off screen for confirmation from Entrapta. “—and you’ll have hot cocoa just like I make here.” She smiled hesitantly, her eyes just a touch too wide. “I, uh. I hope you like it.”

Again the image cut away, and Hordak was beginning to wonder how many people Entrapta had pressed into making this video. Then it focused on three former Horde soldiers. The lizardman—Rogelio—was standing behind the humans, Lonnie and Kyle. All of them seemed a touch nervous, but Kyle at least also seemed eager. The audio cut in mid-sentence. “—so much for letting us look after the little guy while you’re gone. I know Miss—“

Lonnie elbowed him. “Princess. Cripes, Kyle. Get it right.” Rogelio rumbled in agreement.

“Right! Princess! I mean, I know Princess Entrapta could totally look after him—“

Off-camera, Entrapta said, “Actually, it’s probably best that you guys take him. Imp’s pretty resourceful, but...um. I’m better with robots, you know. You don’t to remember to feed them every day.”

“Three times a day,” Lonnie said, looking a little alarmed.

“Yeah. That.”

Kyle cleared his throat. “Uh. Anyway. Just. Thanks. We really bonded while you were gone—“

Behind him, Rogelio signed, ‘Kyle has separation anxiety.’

“—and it just really means a lot—“

A few things happened at once. Lonnie jolted and Rogelio froze. The camera jostled, and Entrapta laughed, while Imp’s characteristic chatter echoed. The camera’s image was jumbled and unsteady as it toppled and, presumably, Imp ran off with it. Hordak covered his mouth, afraid to reveal his smile. Somebody called after Imp, but the camera just bounced and jostled, revealing flashes of metal and the tip of Imp’s wing, his small claws. A vent clanged open, and the screen was briefly plunged into darkness. A glowing pair of yellow eyes were the only things visible.

“[I miss him].” Entrapta’s voice echoed eerily in the vent.

Beside him, Sea Hawk cringed away from the screen. “What is that?!”

“Imp.”

Sea Hawk stared at him. “That is not an answer!”

Hordak offered a lopsided shrug. “It is difficult to define him. Imp is Imp.”

The eyes disappeared, and a moment later, they could hear the clanging of the vent. A new vent opened, and Imp glided down to the ground, setting the camera beside Emily. It was set at an odd angle, but all of Emily’s spherical body was visible. She stomped her legs and the upper part of her chassis spun—a kind of dance she often performed, though there was something mournful in her demeanor. She beeped sadly.

From behind the camera, Imp hopped onto Emily and laid down. He opened his mouth, and Kadroh’s voice said, “[—be back soon. soon. soon. soon.]

Sea Hawk blinked and leaned close. “That’s Imp?” Hordak nodded. “Oh. I can’t decide if he’s terrifying or adorable.”

“That is the typical reaction.”

The video cut, and Entrapta reappeared, giggling. “Kyle wanted to retake that last bit, but I thought you might appreciate it.” As always, she was correct. “Anyway, I hope you like your care package, and I hope to see you soon.” She waved, and the feed cut out.

He held his knuckles to his mouth, a subtle smile at the corner. When he was sure he was composed, he lowered his hand and reached for the crate, pulling the sheaf of papers from it. He unbound them, setting the stiff cardboard to the side. He leafed through the pages slowly, again holding his knuckles to his mouth. Imp’s drawings were little more than uncoordinated scribbles, yet he found himself touched to see them. He lingered over one picture in particular. Two tall stick figures, one with red eyes and one with sunny yellow eyes—himself and Kadroh?—and a short stick figure with long strands of purple hair. A green orb with four legs. And a very small, blue stick figure with sketchy wings and a tail.

Sea Hawk leaned close. “I didn’t realize you had a family.”

Instinct demanded he deny it, but instead he said, “It is...new.” He leafed through the rest of the pictures, lingering again on the last, which was clearly Kadroh’s work. Despite his brother’s obvious uncertainty, Hordak was impressed with his sketching—it was a rather good likeness of Emily, and he found himself admiring Kadroh’s sense of whimsy, present in the flowers he’d drawn to crown her.

His chest felt warm and oddly tight. He packed everything back into the crate with care, intending to look at it more closely later.

At his elbow, Sea Hawk was oddly quiet, almost pensive. Hordak was grateful for that. Later, when the tightness had eased from his chest, when he could trust himself to speak, he’d call Entrapta to thank her. For now, he set the crate aside and returned to work.

Later, in the privacy of his room, Hordak reviewed the research she’d sent him. He found himself pacing as he read, a small smile on his face. He scribbled a few notes in the margins, but he knew she didn’t really need his input—she would have eventually discovered the few bits he added on her own, but he was flattered she even asked.

At the end, he wrote, ‘I am awed by your brilliance.’

He saved the file, but hesitated to disconnect the disk. Entrapta had clearly said that he should send it with the annotated procedure she’d proposed for their Intimacy Log. Was she merely teasing—flirting?—with him? Surely it wasn’t a command. Entrapta, he reminded himself, did not issue orders. She made requests.

But if it would please her, could he consider it anything less than an order?

He stopped, clenching his hand. That...that was not true. Entrapta had reassured him every step of the way that this was as much his decision as hers. From her, he suspected that even an order should be considered a strongly-worded request.

So, really, this was his choice. Entirely.

He swallowed, hearts hammering. He recognized the anxiety that came with disobeying one of Prime’s orders—

(How many nights had he spent on Etheria, nearly doubled over with pain and panic, knowing that Prime would not approve of his actions but also knowing he had no other choice if he wanted to survive? How often had he pleaded with the memory of his maker for mercy, knowing the price of his disobedience was reconditioning or purification? How many heresies had he justified, though he knew Prime would not consider his life worth saving?)

—yet amidst the familiar anxiety, he felt something else stirring. A thread of excitement, knowing Entrapta would be pleased with him. There was spite, as well—a banked fury that came from knowing that Prime would disapprove, were he still alive to care. Hordak’s life was his own, and he was more than the sins that Prime would tally against him.

He exhaled slowly, and ignoring the tremble in the tips of his fingers, he brought up Entrapta’s proposal and set aside the data pad to prepare for bed. He paused after removing his armor, noting the strain across his shoulders. His neck ached and he reached back, squeezing the straining tendons alongside his cervical port. It did little to help. Then he remembered the salve Entrapta had sent. It had been nearly ten hours now, and there was no sign of a poor reaction at the spot he’d tested—no rash, no irritation, no itching. Perhaps he could test it further and apply some to his neck?

He dug into the crate, pulling out the jar of salve. The scent of peppermint was pleasant enough, and not too overpowering. He scooped a little on two finger and reached back, rubbing the salve into the skin at the base of his skull before dragging his fingers down the back of his neck—careful to keep it out of his port. He inhaled sharply as the skin began to tingle where he’d applied the salve, and a soft moan escaped him as the tingling sank deep into the muscle.

That worked better than anticipated. He studied the jar, wondering if Entrapta had run a chemical analysis on the salve. He’d be curious to know what was in it and if he could synthesize it himself. He wiped his fingers clean, realizing he probably should have used gloves when he felt the tingling along his cuticles and the thin skin under his claws.

He settled on the bed and arranged the pillows until he was comfortable. He leaned against the pillow at his back and surprised himself by thrumming softly. For the first time since leaving Dryl, he was very nearly content—the salve had done much to ease the pain that ran the length of his neck, and Entrapta’s care package left him feeling...well, cared for. Entrapta herself was the only thing missing. He reached for the data pad and his stylus; it was a poor substitute, but if he could not be with her, at least he could content himself with the knowledge that she desired to be with him too. Despite the anxiety coiled like a spring in the pit of his stomach, his scalp prickled with what could only be anticipation.

Swallowing, he skimmed the proposal, skipping past the parts he’d already read and the notes he’d made. Even so, the prickling along his hairline grew stronger. He swallowed and smoothed his hair back, regretting it immediately when that only caused the crest to rise. The tingling of his scalp seemed to blend into the prickling at the back of his neck, and he was glad he hadn’t applied any of the salve to his shoulders. Shaking his head to clear it, he reached the line he’d finished on last time:

*Ask subject how he feels about being bitten.*

His throat felt tight. He swallowed, free hand wrapping loosely around his neck. He tapped his stylus against his leg, wondering how to respond to that. Just thinking about it caused something within himself to clench. He swallowed again and wrote neatly, ‘Not yet. I feel being bitten would net a strong reaction, and I would like more information before experimenting with that.’

The coil of anxiety loosened, just a little, and he exhaled slowly. The next line read, *Explore pectoral muscles. Test sensitivity of nipples by—*

He blushed, looking away as embarrassment overcame him. His hairline felt sensitive, and he curled his fingers to resist the urge to smooth his hair back or to test his nipples’ sensitivity. He could barely bring himself to look at them, somewhat scandalized by her suggested means of examination. Swallowing stiffly, he wrote, ‘They are not sensitive. No testing is required.’ He hesitated. ‘I will indulge your curiosity, if you insist.’ His cheeks burned, and his ears drew back, the tips hot as his mind conjured the image of Entrapta nestled between his thighs, her hair binding his hands over his head as she bent forward to lave at—

A soft, distressed chirp escaped him, and he nearly leapt from the bed to begin pacing once more. His hair had risen to a soft peak, and the back of his neck now felt hot and sensitive. The coil of anxiety had somehow blended with his anticipation, making him feel like he was balanced rather precariously between the two. Not unpleasantly, he had to admit, even if he was no longer entirely comfortable. He took a few breaths, trying to compose himself. There were only a few lines left. Surely he could get through this without completely embarrassing himself. He bent over the data pad, crossing his legs as he continued to read—and ignoring the subtle squirming in his lower abdomen.

*Be sure to kiss the subject liberally—on the mouth and while exploring his body. Very light application of the fingernails may also be desired.*

He cocked his head, curious about that last statement. Careful of his claws, he ran the tips lightly over his inner arm. The sensation was pleasant enough, and he noted in the margins that he would be agreeable to that, thankful that it seemed like such a tame suggestion after everything else.

*If subject is comfortable with genital examination, this procedure may be expanded on.*

He froze, fingers curling. His gaze fell to his lap. The prickling along his scalp and the back of his neck suddenly didn’t feel quite so pleasant anymore. Swallowing hard, he sat up, resettling himself again. The spring in his lower abdomen had coiled tight, all hints of anticipation replaced by dread. He tapped the stylus against his thigh, trying to decide what to say.

Finally, he brought his stylus to the data pad and began to write.

A/N: As always, thank you for your comments! I love your feedback and I treasure each of your comments. I often go back and reread them if I need a little encouragement, so even if I don’t reply, know that I love hearing from you.

#intimacy log #entrapdak #entrapta #hordak #my work #my writing #work inappropriate content #cultic abuse #past abuse #anxiety #arousal #sea hawk

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sound-of-the-cosmos · 4 years

Text

The Rain Can Hide Anything (Connor x Reader) (6)

Warnings: Abusive speech, actions and ideology. Degrading speech, mentions of anxiety, gaslighting and violence

Summary: The time for the Interrogation has come, and your mother wants nothing more than to wring your neck. Connor begins to understand the degree of severity of how you were treated by your family.

“I don’t think humans are supposed to have these kinds of marks, Y/n.”

Masterlist can be found here

Request board can be found here

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Your heart raced faster with every step. You could hear her voice, and the insults she hurls at the officers trying to keep her contained. She comes around the corner, locking eyes with you. Immediately, you stop in your tracks, feeling the rate of your heart at least double its original pace.

She breaks away from the officers escorting her and makes a mad dash for you, but Connor steps in front of you, his arm out to shield you from any harm.. “Mrs. L/n, I must ask for you to return to the officers escorting you to the interrogation room. If you fail to cooperate, I’m afraid we may have to resort to a more direct approach.”

She grumbles something under her breath, before letting the man and woman bring her back into the hall leading to the room. Your anxiety grew as you followed, not wanting to be in the same vicinity as her any longer than you had to. Your shoulder throbs as a reminder of what had happened last time.

“Y/n, you do not have to be in the other room if you don’t wish to be.” Connor speaks softly, his voice catching you off guard for a moment. You take in a short breath, before shaking your head.

“I want to make sure she tells the truth. I’m scared, but this is more important.” Your voice started strong, but weakened with the last statement. Scared was an understatement; you were terrified. But you wanted to make sure these people actually knew what had happened.

Stepping into the room attached to the small interrogation cell, you look through a panel of glass while the officers walk back in and sit down, leaving your mother handcuffed to the table.

You take in a breath, before Hank places a hand on your back lightly. “I’m gonna try to talk to her. If I don’t get anything out of her, Connor will take a shot at it.” He scans his hand and opens the door, before heading into the sparse room with your mother.

He sits down, and looks at her, eyes narrowed. “So; you not only broke into my house, but shot your daughter in the shoulder. When she found my partner and I, she was too scared to talk to us properly. Why is that?” He stares directly at her, and she sighs, leaning further back into her chair.

“Yeah, I shot her. I didn’t break into your house, she left the door unlocked. She gave me the gun willingly, I just chose to do what she wanted me to.” She was smirking, and you bite the inside of your cheek. That isn’t what happened, but... you had left the door unlocked.

“Even if she left the door unlocked, it’s still considered trespassing. Why did you shoot her?” Hank glances at the window, and she scoffs.

“The bitch ran out on her father and I! I had to do something-”

“Then you report them to us. Unfortunately, even if she did, she’s over 18. Legally, you aren’t obligated to provide or house her.” His voice was firm, and she crosses her arms, leaning back. Hank asks a few more questions, before finally giving up.

He scans his hand, and Connor steps into the room in Hank’s place. You were biting your lip pretty hard, fears running through your thoughts like wildfire.

He looks at her a moment, before opening the case file. “3 attempts of arson, 8 files of illegal substances, 2 accounts of kiting checks and 12 declined requests for loans.” He names off a few of the things your mother has done, and she visibly pales.

“The first arson attempt was after your first husband left you for another woman. You retaliated by attempting to burn them both alive.” He begins to pace as he speaks. “ The second attempt was after your brother threatened to take your daughter, y/n, after witnessing and reporting abuse. Speaking of which, there’s over 17 charges of abuse against you.” Her mouth fell open, but she shut it quickly.

“People are rude to those they don’t like. As an android, you should understand.’ She tries, but Connor cuts her off.

“The third attempt was attempting to burn Y/n after she snuck out of the house to attempt to get away from you. Should I keep going, or will you confess?” He stops, and stares at your mother, who is now squirming in her seat. She stays quiet for a moment, before sighing.

“You know what? Fine. I hope she’s listening, because I’m not going to sugarcoat anything.” Your mother takes in a breath, before beginning. “Her birth was a mistake; she is a product of a broken condom. I couldn’t afford the off time of an abortion, and maternity leave is often well paid.” Smirking, she continues.

“I thought I could force myself to love her. My husband did, after all. Then he walked out on me, on us, for some cheap whore he’d met at a bar. I knew it was y/n’s fault, so I began to take things away. Punish her for things she knew she was doing. Did you know she tried to kill me? Twice?”

You let out a small squeak of shock at this. You never tried to kill her, let alone more than once..

“Once we got an android, he opened my eyes. She was nothing more than a burden, a nuisance. I didn’t have to pretend to love her, I could do as I pleased. If she didn’t listen, I would-” You stand up abruptly, and walk out, wrapping your arms around yourself tightly. You couldn’t listen to any more, not if you wanted to avoid flashbacks.

The things she did to you- you weren’t sure if you could ever fully heal from them.

You sit in the women’s room in the handicap stall, curled up on the floor. It was hard to breathe, and you weren’t sure what to do. You just prayed it would be over soon..

After the interrogation, one of the female officers came and got you, telling you she would be facing prison time of at least 30 years. You nodded, and she escorts you out, leading you to Hank’s desk. He turns, and his eyes have a new emotion in them. Pity.

Connor, on the other hand, immediately pulls you into a hug. You let out a soft cry in shock and pain, and he lets go once he realizes you’re hurting. “My apologies, y/n,” His voice is a lot softer than before.

You nod, wrapping your good arm around yourself. “So, you guys know everything, then, huh..?” Your voice was frail, and you wished you were stronger in that moment. You’d only just met these people a few days ago, and now they knew all of your darkest secrets.

Connor nods lightly, then speaks thoughtfully. “I don’t see you as a different person, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Your eyes shoot to his face, shocked. How did he know? “I see you as a strong individual who has overcome some extremely difficult scenarios and come out of them stronger than before.” He smiles lightly.

Your heart swells a little, and you carefully hug the android. Hank smiles slightly at the two of you, cheering Connor on internally. It was hard to miss (to him, at least) that Connor begun to show more deviant-like behavior once you’d shown up.

You bite your lip, before looking at the two of them. “So.. do you know where A/n (Android’s name) is..?” Hank shakes his head, and you nod a little, sitting down as exhaustion overtakes you. The nightmare was halfway over. But you’d have to come to terms with it all eventually.

// I’m not entirely happy with how this part panned out, but maybe the line above will make more sense in part 7...

#Connor #Bryan Dechart #Connor x reader #RK800 x reader #RK800 #Connor detroit become human #DBH connor #Hank #Hank anderson #DBH hank #Hank Detroit become human #DBH #Detroit Become Human #Angst #dbh angst #Series #This isn't the end

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whydidireadthis · 6 years

Text

Dark Reign...a brief look.

Events.

The word alone is enough to make a superhero comic reader fight their understandable gag reflex.

In the 80s, confronted with a capricious market, the genre powerhouses Marvel and DC experimented with “events” -- limited crossovers of numerous characters for a singular storyline. DC had been doing this annually as a tradition, typically between the Justice League and the Justice Society. However, their company crossovers were cranked up to eleven around the mid-80s, and Marvel decided to give it a try.

Both companies decided that events were the thing of the future. The main reason for this is because they could very easily make series seem to tie into the main crossover’s storyline and, thus, wring out a few more bucks from hapless readers who didn’t know any better. It’s also worthy of note that this same initial period is the period where the expression “red-sky crossover” comes from.

If you didn’t know what that meant, it means “a book advertised as being a part of an event that only includes some superficial aspect of it”, which specifically refers in its name to the many “crossovers” of Crisis on Infinite Earths. Many had nothing really to do with the main story, which was ridiculously dense and a massive clusterfuck that could have used decompression into other books; instead, the labeled “crossover” would feature something like the red sky from the main Crisis books and have someone comment on it, then the rest of the story continued on as normal.

Classy.

But after that little bit of setup, let me just segue into saying that Civil War was the event to end all events. And by that, I mean it was the absolute nadir for the superhero genre and unequivocally the worst “event” ever conceived, figuratively and literally destroying countless characters and making it impossible to repair the genre into what it should be: super-powered champions in iconic costumes fighting back against evil, villainy, and oppression.

Days of Future Crap

Civil War took an old, tired X-Men plot (which was probably why the X-Men were largely absent from it) and decided to rehash it one more time, except worse somehow. And as much as I hate the “Marvel cinematic universe”, I have to admit -- without it coming along to build some characters back up, they would have been completely and utterly unusable after Civil War made them into nasty little fascists...the exact thing most superheroes love to punch right in the face, for good reason.

But after Civil War tore the real Marvel Universe apart, alienated longtime readers in droves, and brought extremely short-lived sales boosts that petered off almost instantly, Marvel found themselves stuck for what to do. Eventually, they went with the sure bet of Skrull fuckery, because Skrulls could change shape. That worked, right? Sure! Even if it did completely ignore or contradict decades of established continuity in so doing, as with garbage -- which you would rightly clock as garbage from the title alone -- like Skrull Kill Krew.

And after the yawn that was Secret Invasion, which was basically just an excuse for more graphic violence and “shocking” twists, then came the brusque push into Dark Reign.

In many ways, Dark Reign kind of exemplifies the worst tendencies of the superhero genre since 2000, that period of over-the-top violence and flagrant disrespect for beloved characters and teams, but also tries to include some genuinely good ideas and concepts. There’s good stuff in there, which is far more than anyone could say about, for example, Civil War or Secret Invasion.

Unfortunately for Dark Reign, it also stuck around just short of for-fucking-ever, and it gave us remarkably little in return for our investment of time. And money, because over 200 issues, at a very reserved estimate, carried the Dark Reign tie-in label.

And that’s really its biggest problem: it was an idea that was conceived with no scope in mind. Marvel editorial wanted, they claimed, to get away from the concept of “events” as essentially limited series storylines with tie-ins, which came and went relatively quickly.

Well cry me a fucking river, since they started that shit in the mid-80s and rode it for over twenty years while readers complained every god damn time an “event” came along and derailed the story and characters to tell its comparatively stupid one.

Ahem. But I digress. The main problem was that Dark Reign was an event, without actually being an event. It’s a lot like my feelings about superhero stories that are totally superhero stories, they know they’re superhero stories, but they act like they’re too good to admit that and look down on superhero stories, constantly sniping at and avoiding genre staples out of contempt. Fuck you. Call a spade a spade. You’re not some amazing auteur because you wrote Superman without a costume.

And that’s really the big problem here: in trying to avoid making Dark Reign seem like the usual type of event, it’s a vague, nebulous mass of barely-related issues where the villains of the piece may only pop in at one point to twirl their moustaches, and nothing can actually be accomplished because, at the end of the day, it is an event and its plot will not advance until the event is resolving. It’s virtually impossible to figure out where the story starts, where it advances, and there’s no real order to it. Multiple would-be authorities on the subject have put forth their proposed reading orders, but it’s all conjecture at this point. The only order you have is when there is a limited series specifically tied in to the event (and there were several) or when an already-running series has tie-in issues that go in sequential order.

What makes it even more complicated and frustrating is when you have tie-ins only sometimes. For example, with the then-running series of War Machine, issues 1-5 and then 10-12 are the only ones considered part of Dark Reign. They’re the ones that directly pertain to the Dark Reign plot. But there are a lot of times in the various series where the issues with the Dark Reign label cut off before any real resolution...making it either poor organization or just poor planning. Some series, like War Machine, just abruptly end with the end of that tie-in, as if that was the only thing keeping them going. In War Machine’s case, that may have been true.

But it’s a huge mess. Even if you were to decide “oh hey, I’ll just grab the trade paperbacks, that’ll be easier to read them in order”...not really. Sure, it’s all collected, and in order. But not always a coherent order, and not always including all of the parts of the story that you need to have it actually make sense.

For example, one of the high points of Dark Reign is the X-Men leaving San Francisco and establishing an independent sovereign island nation of Utopia. However, for whatever reason, it’s ridiculously difficult to find any of those issues included in any collection. Maybe it’s Marvel’s stupid rights mismanagement with the X-Men and Fantastic Four, but it’s just as likely to be a really tremendous lack of organization with regards to the event.

And I’m not giving them a free pass on this, either; the Utopia storyline suffers from terrible inconsistent characterization and oftentimes, just painfully bad writing, like Daken’s inexplicable voiced contempt for female fighters...which had not previously appeared and never popped up again afterwards. It had some great moments too, though, like Emma making a strong showing but still remembering that she had a heart and feelings, as well as being an excellent strategist and tactician. It was also nice to see that Sentry, for all his overblown bullshit, wasn’t a match for Namor and Rogue, on the rare occasion she’s written well, is able to hold her own against serious heavy hitters.

But I’ll come back to the Sentry later. Oh yes. He’s not getting out of this unscathed.

The Un-Crossovers for the Un-Event

The thing is, everything feels adrift in a sea of crossover labels. Oh, this book’s part of Dark Reign! Well that’s cool...too bad it doesn’t have much context beyond the basic premise of the event, and almost nothing in any story ever seems to have any consequences or repercussions beyond that individual story! It’s this feeling of futility that really makes it hard to enjoy Dark Reign, especially since it was conceived with no scope in mind. They really wanted it to feel less like an event, and more like just something happening in the world of the characters. And that’s cool and everything, but...

It doesn’t work.

The reason why events even work at all is because, love it or hate it, once it’s over, things are going to continue on without having to tie into it. People will be relieved, they’ll pick their series back up, and they won’t be constantly bothered with some extraneous story that doesn’t focus on the character or team they really care about. Plus, the company can compile the event into a couple of trade paperbacks and wring a little more profit from them, since that’s why they did the event in the first place anyway.

When you have an event so nebulous and yet so ubiquitous, it really shows the weakness of the event mindset. Stories function better when the villains, who are built up as being detestable -- you want to see the heroes get one up on them, you want to see the big bad guy punched in the gut and brought low -- are defeated before they become too much and it just becomes depressing and miserable.

When a story drags on for over a year, readers become used to it. It becomes a new normal, and that’s a depressing reality, especially when the villains are constantly being built up for readers to hate them. You have to give readers something, and that something increases in scope with every evil, detestable act the villains commit. You have to balance it out with victories, even small ones, so that hope can be maintained and it doesn’t become a drudgy slog.

And I’ll say this too: Alan Moore was right in the fundamental message of Watchmen. Which I will also say I hated as a story, I think it’s overrated miserable crap, and it’s fodder for the endlessly pretentious to harp on when they think they’re too good for superhero comics. Like I said before: fuck you. Call a spade a spade and be done with it.

But the fundamental message was this: it’s better for superheroes to fight supervillains than it is for there to be no superheroes or villains, because then all you’ve got are politicians and shitty regular humans constantly trying for a pathetic little bit of what they think is power over each other.

And fundamentally, we read superhero comics not to see bureaucracy, politics, or the inherent shittiness of people. We read them because they are a modern mythology, of heroes we vicariously identify with, whom we join on their adventures through the medium of comics. We see them at their high and low points. We join them in their moments of tragedy and triumph both, and we delight in those highs and understand those lows.

When we are enjoying superhero comics, we can fly above any unhappiness or inadequacy that our real lives give us, and in those moments, we are invincible. It is because of this that superhero fans are so passionate about their heroes.

There has always been some element of things like government and military shit in superhero comics. The fact that they really kindled as a genre during World War II is not lost on me. But since shortly after 2000, Marvel tried really hard to militarize superheroes and brought in a heavy governmental angle too. SHIELD was promoted and became more overblown than it was in the age of the superspy. Suddenly, everything had to revolve around one or the other, and it was not a wise or welcome turn.

So I will say this for Dark Reign: it illustrated very well, especially in tie-in storylines like Avengers: The Initiative, why militarized superheroes and government lies are not a good thing to have around. Sure, we shouldn’t need to have it spelled out for us, but it’s nice to have that precedent set that no, superheroes shouldn’t be government-controlled, no matter who is in power, because even if we have an administration that isn’t overtly malevolent, that won’t last. Inevitably, someone will get power that doesn’t deserve it, which is something especially painful to say in this day and age.

But having Norman Osborn be constantly, repeatedly built up to be even more of a piece of total shit than we already knew him to be...was a huge mistake. Because we knew that, despite everything, despite Marvel’s tendency for that 2000s “kill-’em-all” attitude and despite their unending contempt for readers, shown very well with Civil War alone...

We knew nothing was going to come of it.

We knew Norman Osborn was going to get the easy way out, survive the whole ordeal, and be locked away somewhere until someone wanted to bring him back as the Green Goblin or something.

And you can’t do that with this kind of storyline.

You can’t make it a shitty, real world-feeling storyline like this, mired in politics, bureaucracy, militaristic bullshit, and the bad guys winning, not to mention taking things way too far in tone with everything from rape to cannibalism, and not have the big bad guy die to resolve it.

You cannot, with the unlimited scope of superhero comics, leave someone like that alive. They have caused, directly or indirectly, horrific things to happen, and they committed crimes that are completely inexcusable; if you want them to stick around, if they’re the kind of “love to hate them” villain, then you have to do less to make them the kind of person that even the best and most heroic would say “yeah, nothing of value would be lost if you just offed that guy.”

Because it’s pretty fucking unsatisfying and pretty god damn smug when you try to have the good guys act like they’re the better people for not just ending evil -- and this is a fictional evil, so it’s absolutely, completely, and objectively evil -- but every reader of every age knows that doesn’t do anything at all to fix the things that person did. It doesn’t bring back people from the dead, it doesn’t undo their trauma, it doesn’t heal their injuries. It doesn’t repair the damage done to the world at large.

When you have someone who essentially steals a position of great power and influence, they must have absolute accountability. Which...is also pretty relevant to modern life, but painful to have to spell out.

The thing is, with Dark Avengers, they could have balanced this out a bit. The characters in that series (who were almost invariably as written completely different people in any other series) were pretty fucked-up, but they were often treated as more nuanced, three-dimensional people, with only a couple of exceptions. I’m looking at you, Sentry.

In Dark Avengers, even the team of villains and grey area antihero types didn’t know how to deal with Norman. Which was a bit stupid, since any one of them probably could have destroyed him effortlessly, but it made for a more psychological conflict. Unfortunately, the glue holding it together was the Sentry...one of Marvel’s worst characters and worst character ideas, who comes off as a bad idea somebody had while stoned, but who became a high-profile character anyway.

He’s not altogether the worst idea ever, but he’s up there. Conceptually, it’s pretty interesting to examine a high-powered superhero everyone somehow forgot about, but in actual execution, the Sentry is just a crazy twat. He’s impossible to like, he’s uninteresting because he’s overpowered, and nobody knows how to write him well, because his fundamental premise is one of not understanding his character. It’s obvious that whoever thought up the Sentry was someone who didn’t understand how to write Superman, didn’t know what made Superman great as a character, and thought it was ludicrous that such a character could exist in the Marvel Universe.

But it’s not. There are cosmic-level characters all over Marvel’s whole cosmos. And while superheroes are all about the action, that’s not all there is to them. How hard a character can punch something isn’t really what the character should be about, despite superheroics tending to revolve around resolving problems with fighting and powers. If you don’t have a context for those fights, it’s just meaningless, hollow visuals. If a character doesn’t have a motivation to do something that tells you something about that character, you probably won’t care about that character.

How hard does Superman punch? As hard as he needs to. How much can he lift? As much as he needs to. What can he do? As much as he needs to. That’s why Superman is an excellent character who has stood the test of time, and the Sentry is a terrible character who only pops up when people think they have something clever they can do with him.

His function in Dark Avengers, as in Dark Reign, is Norman’s imagined ace in the hole. He uses Sentry as a bully, to just casually destroy anyone or anything that gets in his way, and he constantly holds that threat over everyone...except when the story needs him not to do that, which it does often. Sentry is fairly easy to take out, but when it matters, he’s impossible to get rid of, and for no reason that really develops him as a character or makes him more interesting. He’s a schizophrenic idiot and contributes essentially nothing to the story. He is a placeholder until or unless he’s used as a deus ex machina, when he becomes insufferable because he’s nothing but a crutch for weak writing.

The worst and most glaring part of it is that Norman is batshit crazy, and it’s frankly unbelievable that he is somehow able to handle the Sentry, by using Sentry’s crazy against him. It’s just unbelievable, and it’s ridiculous that it goes on as long as it does -- a year, which in superhero comics is an eternity.

Sentry has no pathos and no real levels to him. All the depth he has is manufactured, artificial, and wholly “who cares” at every point. The one series that ever managed to make me care about him was the whimsical series The Age of the Sentry, done in a spirit of fun and real, palpable love for bygone eras of comics, and that was a series of stories told about the character and of dubious veracity.

In Dark Reign, he’s written like Superman when Superman is badly written: a crutch to quickly resolve stories the writer has no idea how to get himself out of, or alternatively the one that has to be taken out as soon as possible because the writer can’t write, usually because he wants to show that the person doing it is a serious threat. Either way, it doesn’t work.

Cul-de-Sac Reign

In a similarly dead-end sort of way, most of the tie-in stories are nothing but plot cul-de-sacs. They can’t actually advance the plot appreciably until editorial wants it to advance...so instead, they just end up being prolonged exercises in futility.

For the same reason I hated The X-Files, in which the protagonists were constantly prevented from accomplishing anything by increasingly ridiculous plot devices, I hate pointless stories. The Young Avengers miniseries is pointless, for introducing characters who all but came from nowhere and vanished back there, in a worthless plot where characters were inspired into complete inaction despite having a resolution to the entire event available. Similarly, the Elektra miniseries takes the widely-hated horrible joke of a character, makes her somehow more unlikable, and wastes everyone’s time with a story that goes nowhere and accomplishes nothing but character destruction, mainly of Elektra and Wolverine.

Who is, by the way, now absolutely complicit in multiple premeditated murders of people justifiably pissed off at Elektra being a complete piece of shit. Not that they bring this up with any of the gravity it should have -- just look at any time Rick Remender writes Wolverine or, for that matter, anyone in any series. Or don’t. No one should have to read Remender’s pretentious garbage.

Even the Punisher, whom I can’t stand, is dicked around by Dark Reign’s insistence to avoid having things happen. It’s pretty shitty when multiple issues of his title advertised him going after various members of the Dark Avengers to take them down, and he wasn’t even able to make any significant impact with anything he did. He couldn’t even take down Norman, who had no believable excuse for being able to escape mortal danger! You know, for all I give superhero comics shit for killing off characters needlessly, having the Punisher actually take out Norman -- or Sentry -- would have actually been shocking, and that could have led to so much more interesting conflicts and storylines about what this means, if it was right if the other heroes were thinking about it (and they were), and they could have had the Dark Avengers scrambling to try and hold onto their legitimacy and almost make it...but be defeated by the good guys, who prove their goodness and show the public what they bought into.

And can we just talk about the animal cruelty that popped up from time to time? It seemed really overt and conspicuous, and it’s absolutely not okay. Extreme violence is never okay, even in superhero comics (or maybe especially in superhero comics), but animal cruelty is really going a step past a step past too far.

Get your shit together, Marvel.

To say nothing of the inherent lameness of the Hood, probably the absolute worst character to be introduced and featured prominently in these past couple of decades of superhero disaster. It’s some lame whiner of a shit garbage character that dresses in everyday clothes but wears a red cloak over it and, of course, dual wields guns. Because that doesn’t look stupid or anything. And of course his background is basically the one thing I despise more than almost anything else in tired-ass writing cliches: straight people baby daddy issues. Please go fuck yourself. Nobody cares about the asshole who knocked up some bint who shit out a kid and became a by-the-numbers deadbeat dad. Because they’re lame.

The underlying basic concept, that of someone finding a magical cloak that gives them powers, is wondrous and fun. It’s just that the Hood himself is the exact opposite of wondrous and fun. He comes off, every time, like some asinine mary sue author insertion character you hate the moment they’re introduced. It’s cool when Doctor Doom shows that he’s not only a scientific genius, he’s also a skilled sorceror. It’s not so cool when some asshole dumbasses his way through magical power because of some cape he found randomly that anyone could have found.

It makes him seem even worse, and even more of a character almost metaplot levels of desperate to intimidate that he keeps trying to spook the people around him because they don’t take him seriously. Here’s an idea: create an imposing costume. If you can’t do that, you really can’t expect to be taken seriously. If you can’t even make imposing fashion choices or bring together an ensemble that will impact others, you have no business expecting them to just take you at face value because you’re wearing a red cape that you have matched with literally nothing else you’re wearing.

Plot, Unmoving

But none of it really adds anything to Dark Reign, and it really pisses me off to see stories where direct resolution was available, but heroes couldn’t actually do what they would logically or reasonably do...because editorial wanted to stretch out the event to make it seem like it wasn’t an event.

The whole concept of “Dark Avengers” is made even more stupid by the fact that they’re wearing obviously outdated costumes. As cool as Moonstone looks in Ms. Marvel’s old outfit, she also looks like she just stepped out of a disco. And while the different lineups of Avengers have sometimes been really strange and seemingly random over the years, you can’t expect me to believe that literally nobody noticed how awkward this one was, and how their costumes were almost all completely out of date and out of touch with the figures who are well-known public figures.

There’s also this weird aversion to the actual heroes confronting the people masquerading as them, because Norman’s good at PR spin. I’m sorry?! This just doesn’t make sense, and it keeps making less sense when some of the heroes are actually willing to strike out on their own to kill Norman, rather than to actually make it public that they are being impersonated...which makes it even more ridiculous when you consider that some of the people being impersonated have public identities.

The Dark X-Men team was actually was more plausible, in large part because much of the public didn’t know the X-Men well, and also because there actually was an actual X-Man in the group. Wouldn’t it have been more interesting to have Wolverine really in the Dark Avengers, and maybe have the X-Men or some other group have to work with his dangerous and unpredictable son Daken to get one over on him and take him out, thereby reducing the power level of the team significantly?

But no, they couldn’t have that. The X-Men had to have their own inane events, and Wolverine, despite being a dumpster fire of a character at this point, is somehow sacrosanct for vicarious dick-waggling of insecure writers who live through him just like the same pack of wankers do for Batman.

There’s also this bizarre insistence that somehow, despite people overtly getting plenty of proof that the “Dark Avengers” aren’t who they say they are, and some of them are committing pretty serious crimes in costume, in a day and age where everyone has a camera and a microphone and there’s recording everywhere...nobody gets any real dirt on them until they write it into Spider-Man for Peter Parker to do it.

I think it’s great Peter does it. But at the same time...how exactly is it that a top-level investigative journalist isn’t able to do it for a small eternity, and how exactly is it that it doesn’t have more serious repercussions in the public eye? It may just be the chaotic nature of the incoherent narrative, and I’m just not seeing it in any sort of cohesive order, but it sure seems like one of the many plot elements that doesn’t really matter until editorial decides it suddenly has any bearing on anything.

And I’ll just address the elephant in the room: the Dark Avengers lineup is not, to be totally honest, the most powerful or able he could have assembled. Most of them being mentally unstable doesn’t exactly help the plausibility. Given, the Marvel Universe tends towards more street power level and less cosmic, but there are plenty of real hard hitters that have been in the Avengers’ membership over the years, not to mention their foes that a villain supposedly so resourceful should have been able to recruit.

It’s basically just a sort of take on the Masters of Evil or the Sinister Six or something. And I have to say again that having an actual hero, or even a fallen hero desperate for redemption, would be a vast improvement. Instead, we only have elements like that in side stories or tie-ins that go nowhere and are easily missed by the central narrative.

Additionally, Norman Osborn is not the most believable as a long-term leader, even if he does use strongarm tactics, blackmail, and manipulation to get his way. He’s just not that smart, certainly not as much as he’d have to be in order to keep his team of people together and not killing him, and incidentally avoiding anyone else outside the team and thus his control similarly killing him. This is where I’ll bring Doctor Doom up again, since when he gathered a group of people together, he had a damn good reason and, as a reader, you could believe he could actually control them...or at the very least, keep them from posing a serious mortal threat to him.

Members of the Dark Avengers fight other teams and heroes, but rarely do they ever bother to clash en masse with any other group to any narrative end. There’s such a feeling of futility that pervades it all, that if you read any story supposedly tying into it, you start to expect it to go nowhere and accomplish nothing. Because even if it seems to actually make a difference, everything it does is either handwaved, ignored, or somehow doesn’t work into the next story you read under the Dark Reign banner.

Dark Reign is an event, make no mistake. It has a central storyline that we should be seeing unfold with every tie-in and every crossover. Instead, Marvel’s complete aversion to admitting what it is leaves us with a meandering, disjointed tale that promises something unique and superior and instead leaves us thinking of what it could have been, and probably should have been, instead.

#dark reign #marvel comics #writing critique #comic review #critique

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embhm · 7 years

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Chapter 197: The ENEMIES have been AMBUSHED

Note: Thank you Empress Nancy and Sae for the translation and editing of this chapter. Hope everyone had a good weekend, yes even the ones 12 hours or more ahead of us ;)

As a continued notice, please be advised that the “Addicted: The Novel” blog will always update the chapters earlier than here on Tumblr. Please visit https://addictedthenovel.wordpress.com for up to date postings on the translations.

Seriously though, there are no in-line comments yet on the blog but we can reply to each other’s comments there. The app for Wordpress is available on both iOS and Android. Just use the Reader tab and follow the website blog address. Sae’s translations for “Lawless Gangster” are on there too. <Alec>

NO SPOILERS PLEASE!!!, in the comments or anywhere on this account. We have not finished reading the novel. No copy/paste and all that other shenanigans either. Votes/likes/comments are highly appreciated.

While reading, if available, please read the footnotes at the end of the chapter for clarification.

Translator: Nancy Editors: Sae + Alec

As always, THANK YOU for reading and enjoying the journey with our MISCHIEVOUS boys:

GU HAI & BAI LUO YIN

《你丫上瘾了》

Chapter 197: The ENEMIES have been AMBUSHED

Since the day of the ambush, Gu Hai and Bai Luo Yin changed their phone numbers without delay yet again as to avoid any other unexpected surprises. Elsewhere, Bai Han Qi had also taken the initiative to purchase a new SIM card, used only for the purpose of getting in contact with his son. Over the week, the two were particularly sagacious in handling everything they did. Taking into consideration that their safety is paramount, they rarely ventured out unless an unusual situation arose. After meticulously mapping out their plan, the two were finally prepared to meet up with Gu Yang.

The three settled to meet in a private room at an exceptionally hidden restaurant to chat and dine.

“You should get a haircut.” Gu Yang said nonchalantly.

Gu Hai lifted his head and ran his hand through his hair, unconsciously measuring the length with his fingers before speaking in an uninterested tone.

“Really, huh? I think it’s still short!

“I’m talking about Bai Luo Yin.”

Hearing his name, Bai Luo Yin finally picked his head up and absent-mindedly said, ‘oh’.

Gu Yang’s ambiguous attentiveness to such a minute detail spawned a blitz of jealousy within the room. Letting his eyes rest on the person beside him, Gu Hai placed his hand on the back of Bai Luo Yin’s head. With a rather stoic aura aligning the contours of his face, he gently caressed Bai Luo Yin’s hair, letting the softness play out against his skin. Tilting his head slightly to the side, allowing it to nearly touch the other boy’s head, Gu Hai deliberately said some words just for Gu Yang to hear.

“I think this hairstyle is pretty good. It’s not too long or too short. There’s no need trim so neatly.”

Bai Luo Yin shot Gu Hai a glance but opted to not say anything.

“Where do you intend to go to after?” Gu Yang asked, seemingly unaffected.

Keeping his hand on the same spot, Gu Hai racked through his thoughts for a moment. “Probably Yúnnán[1], if not, we’ll head to Tibet. In short, the further from the city, the more isolated the place, the better.”

“When are you leaving?”

“After the New Year.” Gu Hai said matter-of-factly, “Winter in those places is hard to endure so we won’t be leaving anytime before the New Year. It’s best to stay in this place for the time being since it’s pretty nice. Unlike the severe and dry coldness of Beijing, it’s a lot more comfortable spending the winter here.”

Seemingly apathetic, Gu Yang cast Bai Luo Yin a glance. His voice was calm and collected as he spoke, “Are you guys planning on celebrating the New Year here?”

Scooting closer, Gu Hai snuggled his arm around Bai Luo Yin’s shoulder and cheerfully said, “Isn’t New Year the same no matter where you celebrate it? What’s important is who you spend it with. We missed the chance last year so it’s a given that we must make up for it this year.”

“Why did you miss the chance to last year?” Gu Yang asked intentionally as one of his brows slightly rose.

Bai Luo Yin and Gu Hai exchanged glances, both recalling the pain and suffering that took root in the previous year. With neither saying a word, the room deafened with silence.

Naturally, Gu Yang did not question any further.

After chatting for a while longer, Gu Hai suddenly said, “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Once the door closed after Gu Hai left, Bai Luo Yin and Gu Yang found themselves alone together. Bai Luo Yin placed his chopsticks down and looked straight at Gu Yang without saying anything.

Slightly turning his head to the side to catch the other person’s eyes, a tenuous unintentional smile that was somewhat laced with an unusually cold arrogance emerged from Gu Yang’s stern countenance.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Bai Luo Yin lightly parted his tinted lip and slightly narrowed his eyes questioningly, “My examination for direct entry into the university was somehow approved without trouble, were you the one that worked it out with the school?”

The corners of Gu Yang’s mouth pulled back and as he spoke his tone was nearly ice cold to the ears. “You’re such a narcissist.”

Bai Luo Yin countered with an even colder gaze, one that demanded the viewer to back down. “I do hope that is the case.”

“The hairstyle you have now really doesn’t suit you.” Gu Yang emphasized this observation once again.

“Whether suitable or not differs from person to person.”

Gu Yang scoffed, then without warning, his hand reached over towards the person in front of him. He turned it over and slid the back of his hand along the side of Bai Luo Yin’s face for a moment.

“Your facial features aren’t anything special, but the shape is perfect. If your standard of beauty always emulates that of Gu Hai, then this visage of yours can only remain at the level of every other average looking man on the street. I think that’s such a pity, wasteful if anything.”

Heeding none of those words, Bai Luo Yin immediately gripped Gu Yang’s hand and flung it away disinterestedly.

“Your standard of beauty is quite high. However, I really don’t know how to appreciate it.”

Gu Yang’s brows rose as he took a sip of the beer. Within seconds, a semblance of a smile, yet at the same time not a smile, appeared as he looked at Bai Luo Yin with interest. “It’s seems I’m really starting to like you a bit.”

“Then you can slowly develop a relationship by yourself.”

As the two continued chatting, the door of the private room suddenly burst open with a thunderous bang. In seconds, five to six bulky men, armed with weapons, barged into the room and surrounded Bai Luo Yin and Gu Yang.

“Don’t move!!”

The atmosphere instantly stiffened. Bai Luo Yin and Gu Yang exchanged a quick glance then simultaneously stared at the men before them.

“Where did you all come from?” Gu Yang asked coldly.

One of them opened his mouth, “Master Gu, you’ve taken General Gu’s trust for granted. In spite of knowing everything, you failed to escalate and report!”

“He trusted me?” Gu Yang laughed grimly, “Then what brings your squad here?”

Although the men looked at each other in consternation, they nonetheless gripped the rifles in their hands tightly.

“Master Gu, we don’t want to waste your time. If you’re wise, you should quickly surrender the person without delay. That way we can properly head back and report on this.”

Gu Yang narrowed his eyes and stared at each one of them with a judgmental gaze before faintly asking, “Who do you all want me to surrender?”

“Stop pretending!” A man with an explosive temper shouted angrily, “We saw him walk in here.”

“Really?” Gu Yang casually spread his arms out, “Then do tell me, where is he?”

Unaffected, the leader issued a command: “Go search immediately! If he’s not found, seize these two and take them back with us!”

At the tumultuous order, four to five men hastened their feet and dispersed throughout the private room. They searched every nook and cranny of the interior that could possibly conceal a person. One of the foolish men even took to ruthlessly kicking the floor just to see if there was a hidden path beneath or not.

Noting this act, Bai Luo Yin couldn’t help but to sneer mentally.

You think the passageway is the pit latrine,[2] huh?

After thoroughly searching throughout the place, only the washroom remained. Someone took to wringing the doorknob, but in seconds, he discovered that it refused to budge.

“Someone’s inside!!”

Hearing his stentorian voice reverberating from that side of the room, the remaining four men quickened their pace and uniformly ran over. Two of them kicked at the door, while the remaining three stood behind to cover. In less than a second, the door opened and just as those two men were about to charge in, they were suddenly rammed backwards by someone. Caught off guard, the duo crashed onto the three men that were maintaining their position behind them. As the five men stood their ground, they looked ahead, their eyes slightly widened in astonishment.

Inside the tight narrow space stood more than ten odd men, all bore a sinister expression as they stared at them.

Shit! We’ve been ambushed!

The stunned men wanted to retreat, but unfortunately it was too late. There were safety in numbers for the men they were facing now. Even more so, each and every one of them were all skilled individuals who knew their stuff; evident in the split second that it took them to subjugate the intruders. Not only were their rifles confiscated, their hands were also tied tightly behind their backs.

Unable to move, they all stared with discontent at Gu Yang and Bai Luo Yin.

“Master Gu, nothing good will come out of you openly provoking the General like this. The weak cannot contend with the strong. It can’t be that you don’t understand this saying?”

“Whether or not I understand it is none of your concern.” Gu Yang turned to those ten or more men and gave them a signal with a slight twitch at the corner of his eye. Then he instructed them, “Lock them all in the washroom and confiscate all their communication devices. I will find someone to assist you all with getting in contact with the General. You all should take a rest as well.”

Unsatisfied, the leader shouted with vigor, “Master Gu, as a person who behaves with integrity, you need to leave yourself an escape route!”

Gu Yang sneered bitterly, “I don’t know whether or not I have an escape route, but I know for sure you definitely don’t!”

“You’ve also underestimated us!” In just seconds, the leader’s disposition brandished the colour of someone ranked as an elite. “Today, Laozi[3] will let you experience what outflanking actually means!!”

Just as those vociferous words flew out, another group of men, comprised of roughly 20 or so, clamorously broke through the door. Fortunately, the private room Gu Yang booked was big enough or else this place would not fit so many people. Looking at these men now, each and every one of them were tall and bulky. To worsen the situation, they were all well-equipped with superior quality weapons.

This time around, it was not hard to imagine how tremendous Gu Wei Ting’s determination was in this endeavor. Just for the sake of one person, he even resorted to utilizing such significant amount of police force.

Just as these people charged in, the five men who were previously subjugated were instantly replenished with confidence.

“Master Gu, you can decide what to do now!” The leader spoke out again.

Gu Yang looked at the disposition of the force displayed before him as a thread of anxiety colored his face. “I really want to surrender him to you guys, but the point is, he’s not here!”

Hearing the sternness in Gu Yang’s words, the opposing men’s faces changed to several indiscernible expressions. From the looks of it, whether the opposing side confronted them or not, Gu Hai never once appeared during the entire ordeal.

“It’s fine that he’s not here. The two of you being here is more than enough. Tie them up first!” Shouted a loud and hoarse voice.

Four to five men simultaneously made their way towards Gu Yang and Bai Luo Yin’s sides. Surprisingly, even at a time like this, Gu Yang still had the impulse to banter around with Bai Luo Yin.

“Tell me, if 20 or more people were all locked up in the washroom, would they all fit?”

“That would be terrible,” said Bai Luo Yin as a mischievous smile played out across his face.

Just as the person was about to tie them up, his hands suddenly trembled.

Quick to notice the sudden change in his subordinate, the leader let out another roar, “What are you being stupefied about!? Move quickly! I’ll take the blame if they get hurt!”

Bang! A bullet flew past the leader’s ear and ferociously punctured the wall behind him.

This was a genuine bullet.

The leader’s facial expression changed in the wink of an eye!

In that exact moment, Gu Hai broke through the door, dragging a sniper in with him.

“Perfect! All the ‘terrorists’ have been captured!”

Once those words filtered into the room, ten rifles suddenly emerged from outside of the windows. Their muzzles swayed left and right, causing the reflection of light from the scopes to shine throughout the private room, making everyone shiver in fear. Since the sniper’s leg was hit by a bullet, all he could do with great difficulty was to lean against the wall.

The leader could no longer restrain his anger as he roared, “Risk it all and fight!!”

Gu Hai aimed the gun at the leader’s head, “There are twenty odd men here, none of you are using real bullets that would actually hurt anyone. However, I’d like to apologize in advance ‘bros’. I’m not that merciful or kind-hearted. The bullets I’m using are all real.”

Just as he finished saying that, another round was shot and the leader’s immediate reaction was to roll on the ground. Although no one was gunned down, the twenty odd soldiers’ hearts sank coldly. Killing any of them would be like stepping on an ant. However, if any of the three boys were to meet with a slight mishap, they would have to drag their families to the grave. One side can freely open fire without any qualms, while the other side had bullets but did not have the nerve to shoot them. How was it possible to fight?

Gu Hai stood in the center of the private room with a domineering air while carrying a mighty distinction, “All of you look carefully. Altogether, there are fifteen rifles aimed in here. I’ll give you all fifteen seconds. As long as you flee to the washroom within those fifteen seconds, you will be safe. Those that haven’t gone in, can taste a hail of bullets!”

Just as those words dropped to the floor, several of the washroom assistants conscientiously came out to vacate the room for the group of men.

If they were normal civilians, they would have bolted to the bathroom already and the space would probably be swamped. However, these twenty odd men were experienced combatants. They did not struggle or rush as they walked into the bathroom with gloomy expressions. As the room gradually lessened in the number of people, only the leader and his sniper did not budge, instead they took to glancing at the remaining few seconds. Bai Luo Yin suddenly hijacked the sniper’s rifle from his hand and shot him a few times.

He won’t die from these “bullets” anyways, might as well use this opportunity to take revenge for Gu Hai!

Once the pain consumed him, the sniper immediately fell to the ground and began to roll around in agony.

Who knew when the leader had begun to properly understand the situation that he was placed in? He suddenly stood up with bloodshot eyes and walked unwillingly into the washroom. Afterwards, the assistants pilfered all these men’s communication devices.

Gu Yang’s cold eyes swept past the stolen hardware before he finally spoke again, “Don’t worry, someone will contact the General in your place.”

The corner of Gu Hai’s lips curved into a smirk, “Don’t even think about going back home for New Years. It’s a much better atmosphere if we all celebrate it together!”

Bai Luo Yin faced those dozen or more men who were on his side and faintly said, “These people are in your hands now. Give them three meals a day and ask for some blankets for them in the evening. Don’t forget to treat them with great hospitality!”

“Don’t worry, none can escape.”

In the end, the three mischievous boys cheerfully took their leave.

Translator’s Note:

[1] Yúnnán (云南) - the most diverse province in all China, both in its extraordinary mix of peoples and in the splendour of its landscapes. That combination of superlative sights and many different ethnic groups has made Yúnnán the trendiest destination for China’s exploding domestic tourist industry.

More than half of the country’s minority groups reside here, providing a glimpse into China’s hugely varied mix of humanity. Then there’s the eye-catching contrasts of the land itself: dense jungle sliced by the Mekong River in the far south, soul-recharging glimpses of the sun over rice terraces in the southeastern regions, and snow-capped mountains as you edge towards Tibet.

With everything from laid-back villages and spa resorts to mountain treks and excellent cycling routes, Yúnnán appeals to all tastes. The roads are much better than they once were, so getting around is a breeze, but you’ll need time to see it all – whatever time you’ve set aside for Yúnnán, double it.

[Lonely Planet]

[2] pit latrine - An outhouse or pit toilet is primarily a hole dug into the ground, into which biological waste solids and liquids are introduced, similar to a cesspit. If sufficient moisture is available, natural bacteria within the waste materials begin fermentation.

[3] Laozi - means "I", although it's used in a very arrogant or jocular manner.

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