#but it is shown that sorcerers see the spark of cursed energy much the same way gojo does

[jgnico]

please nico i beg you to explain the sukuna 4 eyes being a copy of six eyes theory 🙏 it sounds really interesting

I was going to make a joke about you triggering my trap card, but yes, I would love to explain the Eyes Theory.

First, I wanna lay down some groundwork before I get into why I believe that Sukuna having four eyes functions as a nerfed version of the Six Eyes technique.

Thanks to statements from Todo and Mechamaru during the Goodwill event, we know that normal sorcerers can see cursed energy and follow its flow/behavior. With Todo, he's able to see the flow of Yuuji's cursed energy and how it lags behind, which leads to him teaching Yuuji the basics of cursed energy manipulation. Later in this same arc Mechamaru is able to see one of Panda's cores by looking at where his cursed energy is concentrated within his body.

So we know that sorcerers can see the cursed energy of other sorcerers and curses even without Six Eyes, but to drive this point home...

We get a panel of Sukuna looking at the cursed energy of the people within the city around him in the very first chapter. This lets us know that not only can he see cursed energy, but that he can see the limited cursed energy within non-sorcerers.

Where Six Eyes possibly differs in this aspect of its use is the precision with which it sees cursed energy. In the top panel here we're able to see Gojo's view of Toji's movement thanks to The Worm he's carrying, which isn't only brighter/clearer, but the traces between Toji's movements can be seen despite Toji's speed making him basically invisible to the naked eye.

It's thanks to this view of cursed energy that Gojo is able to do things like discern a person's technique or see if someone is a sorcerer to begin with. [ch. 69, 70] But, I'd like to point out that Sukuna has done something similar, for both of the previously listed feats. Not only is he able to figure out Megumi's technique during their fight, similar to how Gojo figures out the curse users technique in his respective fight, but we've repeatedly been told by The Angel that Sukuna only needs to see someone do something once in order to replicate it himself.

This isn't only how he was able to turn himself into a cursed object, despite other ancient sorcerers being unable to do so, but also how he's able to understand how Gojo was "healing" his cursed technique and do it himself afterwards. Likewise, this is also the foundation of why he wanted to use Mahoraga against Gojo after seeing how the shiikigami operated in Shibuya: to get a blueprint of how to get past Limitless. Despite multiple guesses from multiple characters about how Mahoraga adaption works (namely of which was Gojo), Sukuna is the only character that's seen it adapt multiple times, and therefore, knew that its adaptation process differed with each use.

So if we know that Sukuna can see and interpret Cursed Energy at a level on par with Gojo --save for some clarity through how the Six Eyes takes in information vs the eyes of other Sorcerers -- what about the other benefit that Gojo gets from his eyes: high amounts of Cursed Energy Efficiency?

Well, we get the answer to that from the person -- outside of Gojo and Sukuna or even Kenjaku -- that would know the most about Cursed Energy Manipulation. Keep in mind that Kashimo, regardless of his death, was someone who kept his place among the strongest by only using his CE reserves. By right of his skillset, he's no slouch when it comes to the topic, and per his assessment, Sukuna's efficiency would be better than Gojo's if he didn't have the Six Eyes to replenish his CE in the way that it does.

This is the only real substantial difference between the two, that Gojo's Six Eyes gives him more cursed energy, which allows him to burn ridiculous amounts of it, even without perfect efficiency. To balance it out and keep them somewhat equal, Sukuna has a tighter hold on his efficiency rate and a lot more cursed energy to compensate for what he uses up.

But why do I think that Sukuna having extra eyes is his own version of Six Eyes specifically, rather than a visual buff alone?

Well, we told explicitly that Sukuna's extra limbs and organs make his body perfect for sorcery. None of these modifications to his body are purely aesthetic. Extra hands for signing, an extra mouth for chanting --both of which greatly increase the potency of your attacks-- an extra heart and lungs to make sure it all keeps running smoothly.

The only feature that isn't mentioned is his extra pair of eyes, which is odd given the fact that they're arguably his most noticeable and present feature. Even outside of his true form, his eyes are manifested on his vessel while his extra mouth and arms aren't. Even when he's not in control of his vessel --as with Yuuji's case-- his eyes still remain on his face, only closed.

If all of his extra limbs and organs have a purpose that makes his body perfect for sorcery, then why would his eyes be different? And what better eyes to immulate than the ones that are highly valued within the jujutsu world for the advantages they give in terms of sorcery and have also been around in some way for as long as Sukuna has?

While I won't argue that they're better or even the same, I will say that they are at least (arguably) equal in two of the three main benefits that the Six Eyes grant their users; perception and interpretation of cursed energy.

That's the theory, at least.

#this took forever im so sorry #i couldn't figure out how to word it #since i've never fully written out a jjk theory before #and while im not completely happy with it #hopefully my meaning got across #there's a detail i left out for the sake of not over explaining a minute point #but it is shown that sorcerers see the spark of cursed energy much the same way gojo does #at least visually #its just that gojo gets more information from that spark than everyone else (save possibly sukuna) #jujutsu kaisen #jjk spoilers #jjk meta #ryomen sukuna #gojo satoru #answers #anon #the eyes theory

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 46

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You try to find your way back.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Angst, anxiety, mild body horror

AO3

You woke up coughing and gagging, pulling your jacket out from under your head to wrap it around your face. For there to be so much dust in the air, another dust storm must have kicked up outside.

Just as predicted, when you looked out one of the air holes of the cave system, you saw the wall of dust that cut off all sight after a few feet.

You sighed and sat back in the deepest part of the cave, making sure to keep the jacket wrapped around your head. It was much different being here as a physical entity instead of just living in someone’s head. You knew which one you preferred.

Still coughing frequently, you picked up a stone tool, no bigger than a piece of chalk, and added another tick to the rows of marks Bucky had started. Tenth day in the demon realm, with no sign of rescue.

It had been sheer luck that you’d woken up in a place with landmarks you actually recognized. You weren’t far from Bucky’s old territory, and after hours of walking barefoot through the sand, socks stuffed into your pockets, you made it to the cave system he’d used as a home base.

Seeing the same walls, the edible fungus, the dried “bamboo” strips as bedding, even the old journal Bucky had left behind, it had been the most relieving and the most painful thing you’d felt in a while. That was saying a lot, considering you’d been murdered just a few hours prior.

Your shelter and source of food and water secured, you’d done nothing but decompress, going over everything that had happened.

Bucky falling into Zemo’s trap. Forced to be a weapon once more and ordered to kill Rogers. He probably would have if you hadn’t managed to pull on the thin thread that had remained of your bond.

The irony wasn’t lost on you. The bond you’d both wanted to get rid of had been the thing to save Bucky’s life. The cursed book had been right; the only thing that could break your bond was Bucky’s death… or yours. It hadn’t said the death would result in you being banished to the demon realm, but it wasn’t like the damn book had been trying to be helpful to begin with.

No, if anything, the ancient sorcerer whose words it had quoted had been more insightful. Especially the part where he’d witnessed a human slave die in his master’s place, and his body had burned to ashes.

Is that what had happened to you? Had Bucky been forced to watch as you’d crumpled to dust in his hands? God, you hoped not.

At least it explained how you ended up here and that corpse you’d seen through Bucky’s eyes. A human with a demon sigil, it could only mean one thing. This was where all human slaves ended up, eventually.

You just hoped you wouldn’t meet the same fate.

Thoughts turned back to Bucky as they usually were, you couldn’t begin to imagine how Bucky was dealing with your death. All you could hope was that he realized it hadn’t been permanent, and that he would find a way to the demon realm without dying himself. Knowing him, Bucky would take that route if he had to.

But here it was, day ten, and you were beginning to have doubts. You knew time flowed differently here and you would have to be patient, but it was impossibly difficult. You just prayed you wouldn’t have to wait another fifty years. Unlike Bucky, you doubted you would remain ageless in this place.

Day ten became day eleven. And then twelve. And then you’d been in the demon realm for two weeks with no sign of Bucky or the wizards.

At day fifteen, you decided it was time to stop waiting, and time to start being proactive. If your rescuers couldn’t come to you, perhaps you could bring yourselves to them. You’d glimpsed the truth in Bucky’s memories after him coming through the portal. Your younger self had practically bragged about opening a portal, and you’d been ten years old.

Surely you could still do it, even if you didn’t remember how… and even though you’d never shown a spark of magic while training under Wong.

But what else was there to do? It wasn’t as if there was anyone else around to embarrass yourself in front of.

Only… that turned out not to be the case.

You had managed to create a spark in the air. It was orange and sputtered after a few seconds, but it was the most you’d ever accomplished before. After a few more hours, you got a glowing circle the size of a hula-hoop.

But it was the wrong color, orange and not blue, and the image you could see through it was just more red sand. You didn’t need to travel across the planet; you needed to get away from it.

Frustrated, you weren’t as aware of your surroundings as you should have been, and that was when the demon attacked. Drooling and growling, it charged at you from over the sands and chased you into the cave system. You recognized it from before; a large beast that looked like it was part-bear, part-bull, and it was pissed.

Terrified and without thought, you made a jerky circular motion just as the demon launched itself at you.

The portal fizzled to life and vanished just as quickly, and the bottom half of a demon body landed on top of you. It was still smoking from where the portal had sliced through it like a hot blade.

It was the first and last time you tried to make a portal.

The days continued to crawl by until a month had passed, or at least, the best you could guess as days and months when the sunlight never changed or faded.

Until it finally did. And that’s when things truly started to take a turn for the worst.

You’d managed to keep your spirits up by reading the journal Bucky had left behind, reliving the time you’d spent together in a weird, symbiotic partnership, but when the rare night came and shrouded everything in cold darkness, you didn’t even have Bucky’s words to comfort you. The jacket was no longer a breathing mask and went back on your shoulders, barely keeping the chill at bay.

Through the dim starlight that came through the overhead holes in the ceiling, you could see your breath fogging up before you. You huddled into a tighter ball, tried to keep your emotions in check, and eventually gave up. You turned your head and sobbed quietly into your arms, letting the despair and fear pour out of you like a flooded dam.

And still it grew colder. You couldn’t remember Bucky being this cold, but then again, he wasn’t fully human. Plus, even though you’d been an observer in his head, you’d been able to raise his body temperature and keep him warm.

Now, all you could do was shiver and stay huddled against the wall that still retained heat from the day. You didn’t want to think about what you’d do when it faded.

Somehow in the night, you’d managed to fall asleep, or maybe fall unconscious. When you stirred, something was… wrong. You shifted your arms and legs and your skin tingled oddly, goosebumps breaking out along your flesh as the sensations felt off, both muffled and heightened at the same time.

You opened your eyes and wished you hadn’t. Instead of the bare skin of your arms… they were covered with grey-blue fur. Smooth, short, and thick, like a cat’s.

The panicked sound you made wasn’t human, and that just made the panic worse. You scrambled across the cave floor and ran to the nearby underground stream. There would be enough light now that the sun had risen for you to see…

Horns.

The face staring back at you was barely your own. Thin fur covered your face entirely, your pupils were no longer round but narrowed into slits, and the horns. They curved from either side of your forehead, several inches in length and grey, like ashy bone.

That wasn’t the only oddity. You turned your head and gasped at the long, pointed ears sticking out from under your hair.

You looked like a strange mixture of part-human, part-demon, part-cat.

This can’t be real. I’m hallucinating. Exposed to the cold, this is just the effect of a dying mind.

Expect, it didn’t go away. Your shock continued to mount as you took stock of the rest of yourself. The same blue-grey fur covered every inch of you. When you flexed your fingers, sharp nails slide outward from the nailbed, strange but natural at the same time.

You weren’t completely cat-like. There were the horns, of course, but when you stretched and felt along the back of your neck, scaly ridges continued all the way down your spine to your—

You jumped when something moved inside your pant leg, and you earned yourself a flare of pain when you slapped it to discover it was a long, puffed up, furry tail.

You startled giggling. The giggling devolved into hysterical laughter, and when that faded, it turned into breathless crying.

Now you knew why you hadn’t frozen to death in the night.

Your curiosity as to what you had become waned along with the days. The anxiety and fear was gone too. Something important had slipped your mind, like a half-forgotten dream, but there was nothing to remember. You had your cave system, your food source, and your territory to defend. There was nothing else you could possibly want.

Even the scorching sunlight no longer bothered you and instead filled you with strength. Your fur protected you from the worse of the sandy wind, and a third eyelid, transparent and able to cover your eye, allowed you to see even in the worst of dust storms. And there was a power that seemed to sustain you, an energy from this place that kept you strong and brimming with a power you didn’t quite understand.

Your body was perfectly suited for this world, and after a while, you couldn’t remember a time when it’d been any different.

Sometimes, you had dreams. Confusing ones, because they were of both a man and a demon. You always woke from these with your chest aching and your vision blurred, but you blinked the moisture away and soon, those were also forgotten.

Most demons knew better than to encroach on your territory, and in turn, you left them to theirs. Any demons foolish enough to ignore your boundaries were easily chased away with your outstretched talons and ripping claws. Once, when a demon that stood twice your size and had the head of a skeletal horse (how did you know that word?) tried to push you out, you conjured a rope of fiery orange. Striking at the beast, you’d left a burn across its back, and it hadn’t returned since.

You were comfortable in your solitude. Barring the strange dreams and the moments when you would wake up, confused into believing something was missing, you were content.

Until the day when a new, strange demon encroached on your territory. Worse than that, he’d wandered into your cave system. You were grooming yourself, tongue licking across the fur on your forearm, when you heard the telltale sounds of feet moving against the stone floor.

You hid in the shadows, eyes narrowed into slits as you waited. It didn’t take long for the intruder to walk directly into your cave, and you were taken aback at its appearance.

It—no, he, the demon was definitely masculine, with broad shoulders and prominent facial features. He seemed human, but the rest of him was not, with a demonic arm, wings, horns, and a tail.

He raised his head and flared his nostrils, testing the air at the same moment you caught a whiff of his scent. It was almost overpowering, heady and male, and your fur puffed up in response. This demon would try to take your home from you, and you wouldn’t allow it. You’d defeated bigger threats than him.

When he turned toward your makeshift nest and bent down to open the journal you no longer took interest in, you crept from your hidden nook. The demon was still crouched, his tail lying flat against the ground, but the tip flicked back and forth.

You drew closer, closer still, completely silent and pointed teeth bared. Bunching your muscles into a tight coil you leapt, claws outstretched.

The demon turned just before you landed.

He grabbed you around the throat, spun in one fluid motion, and slammed you against the cave wall.

You released a yowl and dug your claws into him, but they merely skidded off the shifting plates of his arm, leaving him unmarked.

Pinned with your back to the wall, you were trapped with his claws around your neck. The demon bared his teeth in his own impressive growl, inches from your face. His eyes were a cold sort of fury that made you doubt your chances of survival.

“Where is she!”

He spoke a language you somehow understood. The words had meaning, but you didn’t know what they were, so you remained silent.

When you didn’t answer he leaned forward, fangs sharp and ready to tear open your throat.

“You reek of her, and these are her clothes. Did you—did you kill her?”

You gave him nothing but a growl in your throat. When he squeezed tighter around your neck, you bared your teeth and snarled in hatred.

Just as quickly as it had arrived, his deadly glare vanished. He blinked rapidly, brows furrowed as if trying to put together a puzzle. And then his grip relaxed as something very different crossed over his face.

“No…”

He was distracted, his mind clearly elsewhere, and you wiggled out of his grip and tried to dart past him. The demon immediately seized you from behind, wrapping his arms tightly around you so you couldn’t escape.

You screamed and fought, your feet shoving against the ground for purchase, but with your arms pinned to your sides you couldn’t even conjure the fiery rope to defend yourself.

“Stop, stop, it’s me!” he cried. “It’s Bucky!”

His words were simply noise, and you swiveled your head to bite into his shoulder, this time making sure it was the fleshy one. But he still wouldn’t release you, even as the coppery taste of blood touched your tongue.

He gripped you tighter, and you let go of his shoulder and continued to struggle. He was much larger and stronger than you, and he didn’t move an inch. Instead, something soft touched your hair, and you realized it was one of his hands.

Gathering your strength for one last attempt, you twisted violently in his arms, pulled back your lips and sank your teeth into the junction between neck and shoulder, biting down. You were about to take out a chunk of his flesh when the concentrated aroma of his scent slammed into you.

You released him, licking the blood off your lips, and carefully sniffed higher up his neck. Something pulled at you, something familiar but lost, and you gave a curious lick just below his jawline.

Pine trees, earth, warm stone. He smelled like…

He smelled like…

Home.

You pulled back, staring in horror as blood continued to trickle down his neck.

You knew him. You knew him, how could you forget him, how could you forget—

You tried to say his name, but no words came out. You couldn’t speak. When had you lost the ability to talk?

When had you forgotten Bucky?

“Sweetheart?”

You whimpered at the cautious hope in his voice, at the pet name, at him being here.

Bucky wrapped his arms tighter around you, and you began to lick at the wound you’d caused, an apology and a way to prove he was real and you weren’t imagining this. To force yourself to remember everything you’d almost lost, even as the pain and grief grew worse every second.

Bucky had finally found you.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he apologized, voice choked with tears. “I came as soon as I could… I thought I was too late.”

But he was too late, wasn’t he?

You stopped mid-lick. Your tongue had done a decent job of cleaning his wound, because it wasn’t a human tongue anymore. It was dry and barbed, like a cat’s.

You buried your face into his shoulder, giving another miserable noise. How could you go back home now? You were a monster. A thing made of the demon realm. How could Bucky stand to even look at you, let alone touch you?

When you tried to pull away, he wouldn’t let you. Even his tail was stubbornly wound around your leg now.

“We’re going home,” he said, pulling back just enough to cup your face in his hands. You tried to jerk away, not wanting him to look at you, but he didn’t let you budge an inch. “We are going home.”

His image blurred as your eyes stung. How could he say that when you were… when you…

“It’s okay,” he said when the tears slipped down your furred cheeks. He brushed them away and pressed his lips against your forehead. You sighed and closed your eyes. “You’re okay. I’m not leaving you. This time, for good.”

You wanted to believe him, but how could you when you had the face of the very thing he hated about himself?

As if knowing your thoughts and afraid you would bolt, Bucky kept one arm firmly around your waist. He turned you toward the cave exit that would lead into the tunnels, but you resisted, pointing down to the nest when he looked at you.

Seeing what you were pointing at, a brief flash of fondness and pain crossed his face. He picked up the book, Bucky’s old journal that had documented his days and adventures with the “mysterious voice,” and you grabbed it and held it to your chest. You’d forgotten before, but now you remembered how this book had been your lifeline, and you couldn’t bear to leave it behind.

“Ready?” he asked, voice soft, eyes even softer.

You nodded, leaning into him when he tucked you against his side. Now that you remembered who he was, the thought of not touching him for even a second was unthinkable.

Bucky led you outside, and you spared a single glance backwards at the series of mounds, hills, and boulders that signified there was an underground cave system. It had saved your life, and before that, Bucky’s. It had been your temporary shelter, but it wasn’t where you belonged.

Spreading his wings, Bucky lifted you easily into his arms and leapt into the air. You curled protectively around the journal, but you felt safer now than you had since being captured by Zemo. As the hot, dry air ruffled your hair and fur, a deep rumbling came from inside your chest. It took you a moment to realize you were purring. Indicating he could hear it too, Bucky kissed the top of your head, making your purring even louder.

You kept your eyes closed and pressed to Bucky’s tactical vest until he said, “There it is.”

You turned to look, eyes widening at the sight of a shimmering blue portal near the ground. It looked tiny from this distance, and your stomach churned with nerves.

“Hold on!”

Taking Bucky’s advice, you gripped onto him tightly as he dived. Just before he went through, you shut your eyes tight.

The difference between the demon realm and Earth was a lot more extreme than you remembered filtered through Bucky’s memories. You immediately started shivering, buffeted by the cold air, taking shallow breaths because each one felt like you were breathing ice water.

The colors assaulted your vision—bluebluegreenblue—leaving you whimpering into Bucky’s shoulder, painful after you’d seen nothing but red for so long.

And the smells. No longer diluted with dry air constantly in motion, the salty and perfumed scent of multiple humans, of mildew and stone and ozone that made the tip of your tongue tingle—

It was too much. As soon as Bucky slightly relaxed his hold, you dropped the journal and scrambled behind him, hiding between his wings as you buried your face in the back of his neck.

It was toomuchtoomuchtoomuch—

“Sergeant Barnes, is that… who I think it is?”

The smooth, commanding voice was familiar, but you couldn’t place it. Unlike your recognition of Bucky, everything else was a struggle to recall. You didn’t even know where you were, the domed room unfamiliar and intimidating.

“Yes,” Bucky responded in a low tone.

“Ah, well, that is… unfortunate.” The man who had originally spoken cleared his throat. “We will need to do a thorough examination—“

You had peeked over Bucky’s shoulder to get a better look at the others in the room—they were wizards, weren’t they?—but as soon as one of them drew forward, you gave a spitting snarl.

“Or not,” the man said, raising his hands. He had a goatee and a ridiculous red cape. Your ruffled fur went flat against your skin. Was that… Strange? And next to him, concerned but not without pity, your mentor, Wong.

How could you have forgotten so much? How long had you been gone?

You hid behind Bucky’s shoulder blades, misery forcing your ears to fold back and curl your tail between your legs.

“I’m taking her home,” Bucky said quietly.

“But—“

“No,” he said, more firmly this time. “I’ve been where she is and I know what she needs. She needs to feel safe, somewhere quiet and familiar.”

He waited a beat.

“Are you going to stop me?”

“No.” Strange’s tone was weary but surprisingly relenting. “I’m not. Just make sure you take your next doses with you.”

“I know,” Bucky muttered and then bent down to pick up the journal you’d dropped.

He did it slowly and carefully so as not to dislodge you, because you still half-clung to his back like a lost duckling. It would have been funny if you weren’t already knee-deep in the urge to bolt. Your fur was puffed again, as far as it would go, heart hammering in your chest, and all of your senses were in overdrive as you struggled and failed to adjust to your new environment.

When Bucky straightened up again, you retreated into the sanctum of his folded wings and refused to let go. You couldn’t bear to look around, not when you could sense the wizard’s peering at you, at the freakish thing you’d become. Just the thought of it provoked a whine from your throat.

“One of you mind making a portal?” Bucky said dryly. “The sun’s still up and we’re obviously not taking a cab.”

You heard footsteps shuffling against the stones, and you clung tighter to Bucky. He reached back and put a hand on your leg, reassuring you he wasn’t leaving. Your trembling subsided slightly, but every muscle of your body was still taut enough to snap.

When he stepped forward, you went with him, keeping your eyes shut until you felt the familiar but unsettling shift of space as you stepped through a portal. Only when it fizzled out behind you and you caught the comforting scent of Bucky’s penthouse did you open your eyes.

You thought by “home” he would take you back to your room at the Sanctum. Instead, you were standing in the middle of Bucky’s loft.

Before Bucky could say or do anything, you buried your face in his jacket and released everything you’d kept buried, your soft keening echoing inside the old clock tower.

Next Chapter

#branded #demon!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #demon!bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #my writing #my fanfiction #i'm sorry whoever i stole the gif from i couldnt find the source to share it

[theimmersivist]

EYE SPY WITH MY MAGNUS EYE =========================== The roiling storm at the center of the vortex roared with the deafening rumble of a score of dragons all belching their draconic Thu'um to reality-rending effect. Lightning and sparks arced and crackled from floor to ceiling, and the great Eye throbbed in the center of the atrium as the haughty and devious Altmer mage greedily siphoned secret and long-lost energies from within its core.

"You've come for me, have you?" he laughed wickedly. Akhara stopped mid-sprint as soon as her eyes fell upon Tolfdir who was pinned, in mid-air, against one of the stone pillars, held there at Ancano's destructive magickal whim. "You think I don't know what you're up to? You think I can't destroy you?" His golden eyes flickered and a strange shadow passed across his face, an umbra within the orc could just barely make out a twisted visage, something far more evil than a simple power-thirsting elf. Something dead. Or worse.

The Orsimer warchief approached cautiously, jade scimitar drawn in her main hand, a ward already shimmering and primed in her off-hand. There were about twenty or so feet between them now. A lot could transpire in twenty feet, particularly if it meant a powerful sorcerer and a dragonborn warlord clashed in the center of one of the most magickally volatile locations in Skyrim. Ancano tossed his head, his long, silvery bangs leaving his face. "The power to unmake the world at my fingertips, and you think YOU can do anything about it?"

"Spells h-have no effect!" cried Tolfdir, distracting the orc for a moment.

The Altmer threw back his head and laughed maniacally as more electricity and blue-purple light danced from the floating orb through the air and into his silken-gloved hands. "Of course they have no effect!" the mage roared disdainfully. "I am beyond your pathetic attempts at magic! You cannot touch me!"

Just then, Ugor and Ogol ran up behind. Ugor's jaw dropped and she shook her head in disbelief as she stared at the incredible visual before her as it unfolded. Ogol was more stout and headstrong in his approach, as he charged Ancano head on, only to be blown back several feet when his enormous, twin-bladed axe exploded against an invisible ward that shimmered around the sorcerer. Tolfdir's eyes went to Ugor and the Staff of Magnus she had been carrying on Akhara's behalf. His eyes widened in disbelief.

"Th...the Staff! Use it on the Eye!"

Akhara Shug immediately sprang into action, and Ugor didn't need to wait for a command. She tossed the staff through the air, and Akhara caught it nimbly with her spell hand, aimed it directly at the giant hovering sphere of ancient doom, and channeled her energy, spirit, and will through it, producing a much-larger-than-expected burst of brilliant green energy that leapt directly from the head of the staff and arced directly into the center of the Eye like an ancient, complex, Dwemer key fitting perfectly into the singular lock it was designed for.

For a moment, all of the sound in the chamber withered. Breath died in the lungs of all present. The only sound anyone could hear was the deafening pulsing of blood through eardrums. And then, as swiftly as the sound had dissipated, there was a great, ravaging surge which resulted in the immediate shattering of every single pane of glass in every window in the auditorium. Every single candle in the room blazed fiercely with blue instead of golden flame. The Eye howled and moaned, the ancient glyphs and sigils emblazed into its surface glowing ominously as metal began to bend, warp, distort and shift. Ebony metallic pane slid across pane and like a puzzle being disassembled in reverse order, the relic began to open from the outside in. This resulted in the chain of magicka connecting Ancano to the eye to sputter and wan in intensity. The Altmer's jaw tightened, his brows cross, and he shrieked vexatiously at the orc opposite him. "Enough! Still you persist?! Very well! Come then! See what I can do now!"

The Orsimer hurled the Staff back toward Ugor before pivoting and launching herself furiously toward the Altmer. Her steadfast ward absorbed the two fireballs the mage managed to hurl at her before it shattered, but by then the two were in melee range of each other. Akhara delivered what would certainly have been a death blow in normal combat, but her blade collided with Aetherius given form, a sorcerous, shimmering sword of spectral blue flame the Altmer had conjured without so much as uttering an arcane whisper. He smirked wryly, then released his concentration on Tolfdir causing the old man to crumple to the floor as he used his free hand to whip sparks, stone debris, ruined texts, and various fractured metalwork from the atrium into a sizeable storm elemental several feet behind him. Above, black-green stormclouds began to whirl around the ceiling, the glow of lightning shimmered, and it began to rain and sleet at once inside the room.

Akhara engaged Ancano in melee, but for a wizard, the tall, slender Altmer wizard proved quite a match with a spellbound sword. He seemed to parry and deflect most of the warchief's attacks with relative ease, and despite her superior musculature and strength, he didn't seem to tire. Instead, her desperate surges and bloodcurdling battle cries only seemed to bolster his confidence and resolve.

"Aaaaaahahahaha!" the Thalmor mage cackled. "Pathetic! Do you see how strong I have become?! Even the Dragonborn can't stop me! I am a match for her both in spells and arms!"

In that moment, Akhara Shug remembered at the very core of her being, what it meant to be Dragonborn. What made her different from virtually everyone else in Skyrim, and possibly Tamriel. She wasn't JUST a swordswoman. She wasn't JUST a spellchucker. She literally shared the blood of ancient, aedric demigods, titans of the Old World, the Children of Akatosh. Dragons. And beyond simply blood, both dragon and Dragonborn shared a tongue as well. A tongue that could either make or unmake the world, a choice that was as intrinsically necessary to her soul as breathing was to her lungs. With great power came great responsibility, and as Tamrielic history—particularly recent history—had shown, power corrupts, and absolutely power always corrupted the hearts of mer and men absolutely. But Akhara Shug was neither mer nor man. As half-Altmer,  half-Orsimer, she was both. But as one of the Dov, she was neither. Perhaps her use and channeling of power would not lead her toward the same end as those who came before her. Was the choice even truly hers to make?

Ancano's storm elemental blasted Ogol backward through one of the shattered windows, and to all in the Hall of Elements, it looked as though he'd been blown to his death far below along the shores of the Sea of Ghosts. Akhara's eyes bulged, and she shouted over the cacophony to Ugor to see to their comrade. Furious, she turned her focus back to the Thalmor, and her irises began to glow the same brilliant blue-green that the Staff of Magnus itself had emitted.

"You don't know anything about power," the orc began to chuckle, projecting a ward that would not shattered despite Ancano pressing his beam of sparks with all his might. "You're like a child, fumbling around in the dark! What, because you think you had a little chat with the Augur of Dunlain that you're even remotely ready to wield power?! Power is a curse, Ancano, not a gift. And it is a curse that will be your undoing!"

The Aldmeri looked nervous, but unconvinced. He shouted several arcane litanies up into the stormy rafters, and six more bound swords appeared in a semi-circle behind him, and all six surged forward toward the warchief. Akhara deflected two of them with her glass blade, dodged a third, but was lacerated along her upper right thigh, ribcage, and left shoulder by the remaining three blades. This broke her concentration, and her ward shattered, allowing Ancano's spark beam to breach her defenses and explode in a loud crackle of energy, ragdolling the Orsimer spellsword across the floor, slamming her hard into one of the stone pillars.

"You see!" the Altmer roared again with renewed confidence. "There is nothing you can do to stop me! You are the child fumbling around in the darkness, Dragonborn, and I... I AM THAT DARKNESS in which you are enveloped."

Akhara wiped the blood from her lips and tusks and smirked. "You might be right," she breathed heavily as Ancano haughtily strode over to where she lay, confidently preparing to torture her with more magicka before electing to finally finish her off and turn his own name into a legend befitting of his newly acquired power. "You might be better than me at magick and swordplay... I mean... to be fair, you've been alive a few centuries longer than I have." At that Ancano frowned and shrugged, offering a little nod that seemed to imply 'Well, you have a point.' The orc continued, "But there's one thing I can still do better than you..."

The Altmer arched an eyebrow as a ball of flame began to charge between both his hands. "Oh? And that is, Dragonborn?"

Akhara's mouth curved into a devious sneer, and suddenly, she grabbed the Thalmor by the robes and pulled his head down to her level. "I can SHOUT," she whispered into his ear.

The very next words Ancano heard would not be a whisper, but they would be the last three words he'd ever hear.

#skyrim #the elder scrolls #TESV #bethesda #bethesda softworks #the immersivist #immersivist #litpost #storypost #roleplay #literature #novel #skyrim mods #orc #orc female #orsimer #akhara #akhara shug #thalmor #altmer #ancano #tolfdir #ugor #ogol #video games

[sasorikigai]

BLOOD ISLAND - Mirror Match Meta 

Scorpion: The fire is home now.  Hanzo: No. The fire is my heart beating. 

The fire is destructive, all-consuming, yet burning ever-bright and ever true. It’s pure energy unleashed in light and flames that are dyed every shade of yellow and orange that finally surrender into a deeper blue. It’s Hanzo Hasashi’s love manifested, that changes, but does not cease or wane, but ever higher the flames climb, and consume, it purifies; the heat so intense that sparks fly into the night like stars seeking his eyes and soul. Hanzo and Scorpion fight for his soul, as the volatile viciousness of Scorpion’s demon becomes raging fire, against the halcyon flames; terror for one, calming for another. 

Scorpion: Without hellfire, you’re just a depressed loner with a death wish. Why deny the inferno within?  Hanzo: I turned - memories of my family into weapons. 

Hardly, Scorpioni is the clinging to the last vestiges of a lost cause, as executing Hammurabi’s Code - an eye for an eye - is not enough for his clan. All Scorpion wishes to do is to burn the whole world, along with all the loved ones of the present, specifically Takeda Takahashi. It’s much easier and effortless to be consumed in abysmal darkness; pitiless and deep, as the stirred hornet’s nest of his mind would continually battle with the bitter taste of defeat and deprsssion, torment, trials and tribulations of his life, as the more Hanzo rages, he will simply be rendered into the shadow beneath the street lantern in the night of Scorpion’s mind, so he refuses to give into the unnecessary wrath and vengeance Scorpion continues to urge Hanzo to enact forth. 

By now, the Agents of Chaos - all the corrupted warriors of the Blood Code - and Havik would have been fighting Takeda, with Fujin’s gift bestowed upon Hanzo’s Shirai Ryu philosophy - a traditional mask of the Shirai Ryu, along with the serrated whip - as he would fight not for vengeance, but for justice. As Scorpion plunges a katana in Hanzo’s chest, the Demon demands that they do something to change the world, and this is where I have a huge beef with Hanzo’s characterization. 

Scorpion: I don’t need a heart that bleeds with survivor’s guilt anymore. Now we feel changes nothing, but ourselves.  Hanzo: I’ve worn guilt like a noose around my neck long enough. Time to let my actions speak for themselves. No guilt, no vengeance, only justice. 

Searching for Hanzo Hasashi’s proverbial nature means that he would continue to live in between the flowers that are alive and the flowers that are alive; empty glasses of his mind and soul will remain unfilled, and a mountain of hope stacked like an immeasurable mountaintops will become withered like an illusion. The devils will grow like forests and make the clumped hellfire of his sin, the most deepest regrets to drown in the lake of infernal everburning flames, as he would cut down Scorpion with his ‘Stop Ahead’ fatality.  

While Hanzo would own what he has done, as he would fully accept your accountability for his actions and all of their consequences in order to begin the process of forgiving himself, he would self-reflect on the events that have happened, as he would even re-experience them over and over again through his nightmares. However, knowing that given the frame of reference, Hanzo was doing what was necessary at the time. All he could do is to find more constructive ways to fill the same needs for not only his present that involves saving Takeda and preventing Havik from collecting Shinnok’s Amulet, but to build his future, which means he would reerect the Shirai Ryu for the third time. 

He may learn from his mistakes, and mindfully consider the event and its repercussions, to reflect and think upon what he did, what he learned, as all those lessons in his life would improve his life and change him as a person to make amends and atone, but he would never, ever live with no guilt and no vengeance. Hanzo Hasashi’s PTSD, watching his despined skull gaze frozen Harumi and Satoshi with his own hollow, dead eyes, and seeing all the sanguine spectacle of the slaughtered clan members and watching the village being engulfed in flames would never become something that he will get away with. He will find ways to make other people’s lives better, and he will suffer from traumas, nightmares, and even panic attacks because his suffering and agony is so great. His atonement will become reparative and productive, and as the Grandmaster of the Shirai Ryu, he will apply lessons learned to practice mindfulness, in order to not fall back into the mistakes of his past. 

And most importantly, Hanzo Hasashi will eventually forgive himself in the long run; he will forgive himself for the mistakes he has made, and he would allow himself to move forward in living as his best possible self.

Just before Havik takes entertaining pleasure in Takeda’s prolonged painful, agonizing death, Hanzo unexpectedly and abruptly makes his entrance to surprise the Cleric of Chaos, before ripping Havik’s head apart from his body, to disappear to the Netherrealm, leaving Takeda to plea for his Grandmaster, as Havik’s body, along with blood-trailed rivulets are left. Back in the Netherrealm, Hanzo shows up to meet Moloch and Drahmin hovering for carrion at the Gates of Hell, and tosses Havik’s head towards them. 

Moloch: Hold on, Scorpion. We haven’t forgotten how you betrayed Quan Chi. You serve Earthrealm now...  Hanzo: I serve me, and I didn’t come down here for a fight. But if you insist... 

While he continues to solidify himself as a true neutral; as people like Hanzo as of current are concerned primarily with their own well-being and that of the group or organization which aids them. They may behave in a good manner to those that they consider friends and allies, but will only act maliciously against those who have tried to injure them in some way. For the rest, he does not care. He does not wish ill on those he doesn’t know, but they also do not care when they hear of evil befalling them. Better for others to suffer the evil than the true neutral and his allies. If an ally is in need, he will aid him, out of genuine love or because he may be able to count on that ally a little more in the future. A "hell-fire and brimstone" lawful good priest is just as offensive as a neutral evil racial supremacist in his eyes, although this fact may be only exacerbated with the MKX story mode, where such exemplification is shown when Hanzo infiltrates the Special Forces Base with his ninjas, wanting to serve vindictive justice upon Quan Chi, now a withered sorcerer. 

A true neutral like him may take up the cause of his nation, not because he necessarily feels obligated to do so, but because it just makes sense to support the group that protects his way of life. Hanzo being a true natural with a highly philosophical outlook, he may hold that law, chaos, good, and evil are all necessary forces in the universe. But all are of equal import, and none should be allowed to take precedence over another, unless an imbalance should be perceived - in which case corrective steps must be taken until the balance is righted once again. Hence, the motives of a highly philosophical true neutral character are perhaps the most difficult for any other alignment to fathom, for such a true neutral being will usually act first to preserve the balance, second if he deems it his business, and third if it is in his own best interests. 

The Netherrealm’s existence is an absolute must when it comes to Hanzo Hasashi’s existence; for the blueprint of his being is now bound to its power, because he truly is the quintessential manifestation of such duality, the opposite, as the nature of fire dwells within him. The curse of destructive, annihilative hellfire, along with the magnanimous helios that dwell and bask towards those that need his protection, as this attitude of balance will ordinarily be reflected in Hanzo’s choice of companions and should thus be demonstrated with reasonable consistency. And this, I believe, would mark the beginnings of Hanzo’s journey of further character development, making him a strong individualist marked by a streak of kindness and benevolence, believing in all the virtues of goodness and right. 

#✗ obsessive cathartic (headcanon) #✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion) #✗ seeking reconciliation with his own humanity (iii)