i think it'd be funny if someone transmigrated as xin mo. the goddamn evil sword. instead of taking it seriously, they just really fucked around with bingge. and, somehow, ended up having the opposite effect of what it's supposedly rumored to do.
picture this: bingge, on the quest for revenge and power, comes across the almighty xin mo. this demonic sword killed everyone that dared to even try wielding it. and, the few who were lucky enough to have it by their side, eventually succumbed to the swords' will.
it is said that the sword is unlike any other, that it etches into your head and eats away your brain, until eventually it consumes you whole. it whispers, speaking in lust, greed, and hatred. it slowly beckons the wielder into giving in to the worst part of themselves and feeds off of pure sin. but to him, it is no matter; luo bingge will surely tame it.
and then he gets to the sword.
demonic qi practically oozes from xin mo. the aura surrounding it makes every part of luo bingge scream, "run; get away, away from that monster." his gut prods at him, begging bingge that this is probably a really bad idea. it's a little terrifying, how even luo bingge, the determined, vengeful demon, is now getting second thoughts about wielding xin mo from just being in its presence alone.
but luo bingge is too, a monster. so he ignores the screams of plea; pushing every thought of doubt in the back of his head, and tightly grips onto the handle. the world around him seems to spin and shake, tumble and crack, from the amount of force bingge needs to use in order to pull the sword of sin out of its place.
when bingge finally has it perfectly fit into the palms of his calloused hands, he hears whispering. he knows that the sword has accepted him as its new host.
the sword's language crawls up to him, as if it were feeling around his body and mind. checking every nook and cranny for it to settle into bingge's form, truly becoming one with the embodiment of sin. the words flow through his brain like a tragically broken guqin, a melody that holds him in a frighteningly familiar trance - all while simultaneously eating away at his brain in the worst ways possible, akin to a child and their favorite snack. it seems to beckon something, but even with luo bingge's impressive hearing, he cannot make out any words from the tone-deaf musical notes xin mo sings.
and then, it is clear. the land around him settles, and everything is still. xin mo itself seems to be.. content. at least, that is what luo bingge believes.
the language of this wretched sword reflects the state around these two monsters.
luo bingge expects it to demand for bloodshed, for the erotic ecstasy of multiple women, for bingge to steal the last of the finest gems of these horrible, vast lands.
instead, he hears this:
"yoooo damn that shit was crazy. did you see what i did there? man, you know, it feels so fucking good to get out of the dirt. hey, do you know if people can like, feed their swords or something? i'm kinda craving something spicy. we never know, in this wack world! wait, don't hold me like that, buddy. it'll make things real awkward."
but luo bingge is determined to get his revenge, so he puts up with the swords' constant rambling about.. whatever the hell it's thinking.
"wait, dude, did you seriously fuck a dying girl? that's wild. yeah, like i know she was dying but it doesn't sound like you wanted it. yo, listen to me, consent is very sexy."
"HAHA hey, dude, sir, man. you wanna play some 'i spy'? we don't have anything else to do. no? too bad, we're playing it. i spy a loser who doesn't wanna play i spy. hint: he's holding me right now."
"okay i know i'm supposed to be this super evil sword and beg to be used - woah that sounded real wrong - but can you at least clean me when you're done killing shit? if you don't, i'm gonna refuse to respond to you and you'll look like a dumbass trying to wield me."
"i can't hear you lalalalalalala you're not being very it girl right now lallalalaalalalla-"
somehow, this is worse than if xin mo was actually eating away at his brain.
weirdly enough though, as luo bingge starts spending more time with this weird ass, seemingly possessed sword, it starts to become more of a.. comfort to have it by his side than pure annoyance. he finds himself responding to it more, like, actually having full on conversations with it. it puts him at ease, wielding xin mo. the hatred doesn't consume him, instead, it seems to soothe the burning rage (and, admittedly, just replace it with small irritation) that holds onto his darkened heart.
xin mo is actually quite kind and caring, for a sword that's supposed represent and be the literal embodiment of sin. sure, it is a hassle to have it cooperate with him sometimes, and it does just ramble on and on about the most random things ever, not giving a single shit if bingge was in the middle of sleeping with maidens and slaying those who get in his way. for the first time, bingge feels so comfortable around something.
it's.. odd. what was supposed to be the turning point in his life, a big step in his plan for revenge, is now something akin to an... acquaintance. not like mobei-jun, or any of the women he's come across, but an actual, dare he say, friend.
sometimes, he finds himself thinking all of this delusional. is this what people were driven mad by? perhaps they simply could not handle dealing with a talking sword. he understands that xin mo was undoubtedly unbearable to be around at the beginning of their alliance, but it has never actually beckoned for blood, power, and sex. if anything, it does the opposite.
maybe he's the delusional one. maybe this is xin mo's way of getting to him.
maybe, xin mo should be considered a thing. the thought feels terribly laughable, as if he were witnessing a person horribly explain themselves. it also makes his teeth grind together in pure agitation.
"hey, you know, you didn't deserve any of the things they did. it wasn't your fault, binghe. the fact that you're half heavenly demon doesn't make you a monster, or any of that wild stuff.. uh, i'm here for you, okay? i know you don't really like talking about all of this or opening up, but i just want you to know that you can.. talk about it. it's not like i can tell anyone else, anyways.
hey- shit i didn't mean to make you cry! wait, wait it's okay to cry! you need to let it out anyways, i promise it doesn't make you weak. there, there. i don't have any hands, so me patting you on the head with my handle will have to do. there, there.. everything will be alright, you'll be okay. i'll be here every step of the way, even if you want to get rid of me."
xin mo, the demonic sword, is more of a person - a good person - than anyone he'd ever come across.
...and then bingge and the xin mo transmigrator become besties or he falls for the damn sword. knowing him, he probably doesn't even know the difference between platonic and romantic attraction anyways. maybe bingge gets a plant body for xin mo using airplane's wack writing. idk i typed all of this down in one sitting.
(plot twist: it's not that the transmigrator xin mo had the opposite effect, it was literally just a placebo effect. luo bingge thought that, and thus it actually did help him lmao)
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Jason graduates from the Wolf House at 3, 4 years old. He trudges to Camp Jupiter in sneakers and thin clothes. The Mist handwaves off the strangeness of a toddler hitchhiking across plains and streets. Nobody bats an eye when he clambours onto buses with his tiny backpack and sunken gaze. He's alone, battling monsters that leave scratches and bite marks, rationing away his supply of nectar and ambrosia. Some nights he sleeps tucked under grass and leaves and thinks about the bleeding hand he's wrapped up in a piece of shirt he burnt off. But he just grips his staunched wound tight and ignores those thoughts. What if he needs the medicine more later?
In perilous battle, he cries for help, but it never comes. A few times he sees an eagle fly overhead when the fight is done and he's crusted in blood, breathing as hard as his little lungs will allow. It never comes back.
He stops crying.
Muddy and scabbed, he reaches camp. They throw him to the showers then straight into training. His tiny hands grow thick with callouses before the week is over. It hurts, but he doesn't cry. There is no one else his age around. Much like the Wolf House, everyone is bigger, older, and uninterested in the toddler racing to keep up.
It's barely three months and he gets thrown into his first quest. It's barely three months and there's a second one. A third. A fourth. Like clockwork they come and a woman walks across his frustrated dreams to remind him of who he is.
A soldier, a leader, the son of Jupiter, the pride of Rome, she says. Nothing less than that will suffice.
He is five, six, seven, eight, and the callouses on his hands are bleeding. He knows to burn his own wounds so he can attend to his injured teammates, saving the last bit of magical medicine for them. He knows how to fight with both hands tied behind his back, with a blindfold on, with his all senses dulled. His life is quests, training, war games. He naps on a spare mat in the back of the training grounds in between practice. Sometimes he forgets he has a bed.
He is nine years old and he does not remember how to cry. He has more completed quests than anyone his senior. He sits in on meetings. He prepares for the future laid out before him. He doesn't get it when his Cohort members try to lure him away from the training grounds, speaking of fun and games. He doesn't get it when they tell him to be a kid. When they squeeze his cheeks and remind him that he is still young. Is he? There's a child in the mirror he doesn't recognize. But the child doesn't look young. Just sad, and tired.
He is ten years old and Dakota asks him why he's such an old man already. He doesn't know how to answer. A woman hovers over him in his dreams, whispering that he is grown now. An adult. Time to lead. Time to take charge. In the morning, he is chosen leader of the Cohort. It is the only birthday present he ever gets and remembers.
He is twelve and Reyna asks him if he's happy. He lies. These days he lies a lot. It's in the mimicry of his voice, his actions, his subdued expressions. He learned young how to walk around the truth. He learned young how to fit in. He doesn't know what happiness feels like. He doesn't know what anything feels like. Except pain. He'll never forget pain.
He is fifteen and he does not remember pain. He does not feel it when monsters latch onto bare skin and bury their teeth in deep. He doesn't feel it when he punched in the stomach. No, the sensation is warm now, burning sometimes. But the pain is gone. It doesn't linger, it doesn't hit. Even when the battle is won and adrenaline cools him down. It's an ache, but it's not pain. Pain is worse than this.
This is just his baseline.
The medics at camp tell him his nerves are damaged, his body quaking from overuse. They warn him about going up against Krios alone. They tell him to rest for a few days. For a couple of weeks. As they feed him nectar and bandage his bruised and fractured ribs, he says nothing. Only stares ahead. Empty and quiet.
Don't they know he can't stop? He is a soldier, a leader, the son of Jupiter, the pride of Rome.
Nothing less than that will ever suffice.
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Pls enjoy the fact that I liked your 'chuuya had an ability that increased the power of other abilities' that I may of wiggled it slightly in my own chuuya stories.
Thank you for sharing you thoughts.
LIKE ACTUALLY
I honest to God love all of your series (I know I've said this before) but they always bring me so much joy when you update them. They are just so good and make my brain go brr in such a good way.
Found you via the goose stayed cause you have such cool ideas that I love seeing you add to.
Thank you for sharing your ideas with the world.
ouARGH I've been assailed with compliments!!!!
Honestly that's the dream, to have other people get inspired by my ideas/headcanons and run with them. What's better than other people giving you what you wish for instead of having to make it all yourself. Especially in this case, where it's very much based on the text and I'll argue until proven otherwise that it was 100% what Asagiri was implying.
I want to do more with that AU so bad but I need more ideas first for that... I need to spread my agenda that ADA Chuuya would get nerfed like an RPG enemy you recruit as one of the "good guys". He's still the backup in dire situations but in a fun new way.
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