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wing-ed-thing · 6 months

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Mutilated (Sasori x UndergroundDoc!Reader) Part I

Synopsis: Sasori get gravely injured in the early days of his and Deidara's partnership. Luckily, the Akatsuki have a roster of resources to help in case of emergencies. During his stay at your underground clinic, Sasori gets a bit more invested than he intended.

Word Count: 5.6k

Tags/Warnings: Underground Doctor Reader, No Reader Pronouns, Younger!Sasori, Timeline Liberties, Canon-Typical Body Horror, Fake Medical Talk, Kinda Fake Engineering Talk, Prosthetics, Minor Original Characters

Notes: Sometimes, I like to think about if the Akatsuki were treated like One Piece villains. When they're not in the main plot they just go off and became small-town heroes somewhere.

Deidara knelt away from the airstream, holding Sasori’s unconscious form on his back. His blond hair whipped around his face as the wind rushed in his ears, keeping his scope trained on the city below for a place to land. The buildings were packed together. The clouds were thick, and while they provided excellent cover for Deidara’s clay, winged beast, the absence of a moon only proved to impede his landing strategy.

The giant bird descended, flying quietly among the tall fixtures of the village. Without proper light, the obstructions only became visible as Deidara grew near. Deidara’s bird managed to maneuver them all, artfully dodging tall buildings, statues, and poles with limber aerial acrobatics.

When it finally grew as close as possible to the ground, Deidara dropped between the buildings with Sasori on his shoulders, landing in a kneeling position as the winged creation swooped back up and out of sight.

Sasori groaned, causing Deidara to tilt his head to look over his shoulder. Sasori’s eyes were still closed, the slightest bit of tension collected on his furrowed brow. Deidara clutched a small paper between his fingers, holding it up to his face as he tried to reread it in the dimness. He brushed the pad of his finger over it, hoping to get an idea of the writing from the deep pen indentation.

And in one last moment of deliberation, Deidara hooked his arms around Sasori’s legs and ran off into the night in search of a doctor to help his injured partner.

The streets were empty, and the night would have been still if it weren’t for the wandering searchlights that periodically swept across the roads. Deidara ducked around a corner, squatting by a dumpster as the bright circle of light paced across the road before disappearing at the other end of the street.

Deidara dashed across, scurrying through the maze of alleyways between buildings with the note clutched in his hand. He kept his eyes on the hanging signs above his head. He rushed past a few circular ones, perhaps a few rectangles, as they wavered in the slight breeze of the night. Those businesses had closed hours before the sun had set.

He took a turn, ducking down next to a compilation of scrapped palette boards as another beam of light flickered across the ground. Lost in the darkness, Deidara had no idea how he managed to stumble upon the oddly shaped sign that hung over a dip in the alley. He could barely distinguish the shape of a snake, the head and the tail hanging by two thick chains connected to a metal rod.

Deidara looked again at the paper, but it was too dark to read. But as the searchlights flashed overhead, Deidara took the leap, descending the steep stairs into the ground where the darkness only deepened.

A solid mass smacked him in the forehead, his grunt of pain all that seemed to exist in the void. He leaned forward, unhooking an arm from Sasori’s leg to grope around in the shadows. It was a door, a wooden one, and with a few more taps, he managed to find a wobbly doorknob. Deidara turned it, only to smack into the unmoving door again as the knob spun, rattling in the socket with little resistance. Sasori began to slip. Deidara smushed his cheek against the solid wood of the door, fidgeting as he tried to adjust his partner.

“For being splinters and string, you sure are fuckin’ heavy,” Deidara muttered as he tried again at the knob. Pushing the handle inward seemed to do the trick as he stumbled forward, barely catching himself before the door creaked shut behind him.

The room was pitch black, even darker than the moonless night outside. Deidara heaved a steady breath, eyes scanning his surroundings for a hint of anything. He fiddled with his scope; sure enough, the green night vision revealed a long hallway before him. Deidara blew a few strands of hair away from his face. They settled back where they had just been.

“Okay,” he muttered, adjusting Sasori again on his back. “We’re gonna find someone to put you back together again, hm, Humpty Dumpty? Then you owe me big time for makin’ us have to come to a place like this.”

He started down the hall, and the sound of water rushing through pipes resounded all around, reverberating off the cement walls. He could hear his footsteps and labored breathing as he traveled deeper into the abyss. The single pathway turned into a stairwell, the rusting metal clambering under his step as he nearly tumbled down the two flights.

Deidara traveled through the cement labyrinth for what felt like hours with nothing to go off of other than the sound of trickling water. His scope showed half battery in the corner of his vision as he took random turns, each hall almost identical to the last. It was cold cement in front and an incomprehensive abyss of darkness behind him.

Deidara pressed on, running down the halls quicker, turning the corners more sharply as he ran deeper and deeper into the underground network. He had gone too far to turn back now.

His efforts seemed to pay off. Just as the battery of his scope lost another bar of health, he found himself standing in front of another wooden door. The same snake sign hung above this one, the same thick chains connected to the head and tail like the talons of a hawk lifting it into the sky. Deidara adjusted Sasori on his back once more, and with frustration-fueled determination, he kicked down the door.

The wood flew forward, knocking against a metal railing before tumbling halfway down a set of steel steps. Light flooded into Deidara’s scope, causing him to recoil and move swiftly to turn it off. He looked back into the large room, his eyes adjusting to the warm lantern light. Harsh shadows swiped across his face as he moved to the top of the staircase, the startled people below looking up at him warily. A mother collected her sick child in her arms, already backing toward the opposite exit.

“Yo!” he exclaimed, kicking his foot onto the lower railing. His brow was furrowed with tension, and his clenched jaw betrayed his cocky smile. “We need the Doc!” Deidara bit the length of torn cloth that hung from Sasori’s shoulder, proudly displaying the red clouds of the Akatsuki organization from his lips.

You had scrambled from your makeshift office on the ground, staring up at the sight as your breath hitched in your throat.

“Mercenaries,” you mumbled to yourself. “I should have known.”

“A little help over here!” Deidara called, and you stormed out from under the balcony to make your approach.

“Second room to your right!” you called, and someone threw your medical bag toward you. You caught it without having to look. Deidara turned to his left, despite the railing in his way and lack of platform. “Your other right! And you better have brought quite the sum of cash if you’re bargaining in here and breaking things in my clinic!”

Deidara found the room as you reached the top of the steps. He left a trail of blood in his wake. You made wordless eye contact with a member of your community who had been leaning against the railing just outside the exam room. As a doctor caring for the underprivileged people in your city, they held you in high regard.

“Go into the Warren and make sure this idiot didn’t leave a trail straight here.”

She nodded, departing past a few people already working on fixing the broken-in door.

“Don’t worry, Doc, Kakuzu will shell out for anything your little heart desires.” Deidara laid Sasori down on the table as you entered.

“I’m sure he would be thrilled to hear you say that,” you scoffed, washing your hands.

You pushed a few trays of supplies forward. Deidara had no idea what any of them did but considered them to look more like torture tools than medical devices. He tore away Sasori’s robe, balling the blood-soaked fabric in his hands and throwing it into the corner of the room.

But you didn’t have time to scold him for dirtying your sterile exam room. If you were less composed, your hand might have shot to your mouth in disgust and horror at the sight of Sasori’s shirtless form. You had seen many things during your time in the medical field: stab wounds, projectile wounds, amputations, and raging infections. And yet…

“What the hell happened to him?” Your voice nearly cracked as you immediately put on a pair of gloves.

“Sword to the liver?” Deidara shrugged, his nonchalant attitude making you stop in your tracks. All of your disbelief manifested in one slow blink.

“Are you fucking kidding me—?” You shooed him toward the door as you hurried about your little room, pulling all the supplies you’d need for a no doubt lengthy procedure. Even with your complex knowledge of medical ninjutsu, liver damage wasn’t anything to stick your nose up at. “And what about the rest of him?” You adjusted the mask on your face with your shoulder.

“Eh?” Deidara sounded rudely, cheek scrunched against the lower part of his eye as his nose wrinkled.

Your eyes darted across Sasori’s body, holding a surgical towel over his side wound as it bubbled with blood.

The man didn’t have any limbs.

At least not true limbs, nor any prosthetic you had ever seen. All of them appeared to be wooden. The left had been damaged, leaving everything below the elbow missing. You had seen prosthetics before. Hell, you had a good friend who made them for your patients, but these were not prosthetics.

The joints where the wood met the body were covered with flesh, perfectly soldered to the torso. You could see the intricate network of veins through his pale skin; all inflamed in a mutilated mess of blood, flesh, and wood. His condition was critical, although his partner didn’t seem to understand that.

“So, can you fix him or not?” Deidara asked from behind you. His footsteps grew nearer.

“Out!” You turned, pointing toward the door. He tried to protest. “Out!”

With all further distractions out of the way, you began your work.

***

Sasori awoke about a day later after the exhaustion of a good chunk of your chakra and a few hours of your labor. The ambient noise from the large room rattled around in his pounding skull, his muscles aching as he sat himself up on the cot under him.

He had been moved from the makeshift exam room upstairs to a cot in the open on the main level, not that he remembered. Two different colored curtains on rusty wheels provided flimsy walls around him. Sasori glanced up at the cement ceiling, making accidental eye contact with various loitering patients staring down from the metal balcony above. He twisted his neck to the side, allowing an audible crack to pop from his joints. Only when he moved to brush over the thick bandages on his torso did he notice the bundle of splinters his forearm had been reduced to.

“That’s not a kekkei genkai.” You appeared in front of Sasori’s cot, hands tucked in the pockets of your white coat. You didn’t bother hiding your blatant staring as you studied his wooden limbs. Sasori collapsed from his palm to his elbow, fighting back the flinch that scrunched the skin around his eyes. You looked him up and down from where you stood. “What the hell did you do to yourself?”

“Fuck off.”

“That’s no way to talk to someone who just saved your sorry ass.” With three long strides, you moved to the side of Sasori’s cot, placing a palm between his collarbones and pushing him back down against the pillow. Sasori couldn’t help the grunt that escaped his chest as the wound on his side suddenly stretched.

“Arhg!” Sasori glared at you from behind, squinted eyes, groaning and cursing from behind clenched teeth. You stared at him from above with disdain. You frowned, letting the choice insults roll off your indifferent demeanor.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Sasori struggled against you for a moment before he sank into the white sheets in exhaustion. Color drained from his face, leaving him even paler than his complexion usually was.

“Deidara!” Sasori barked with a snarl. His voice rang out, bouncing across the high ceiling. He moved to sit up again, only to be slammed back down once more.

“Your partner is busy. Lay back down, or I’ll knock you out myself. I’m not here to catch an attitude.” Sasori huffed, breathing shallowly as his head began to spin. “You need your bandages changed. Or if you insist on being difficult, I can throw you out into the Warren. I’m sure the rats will appreciate eating you from the inside out starting here.”

You pressed down on a section of his bandages, causing a guttural howl to escape his throat. Sasori didn’t acknowledge your threats, dizziness warping his vision. You snapped your fingers in front of his face, but he didn’t appear to respond. You fiddled with something under his cot to Sasori’s left, causing the upper section to decline slightly back. He didn’t fight you as you worked methodically at his bandages, not that he probably could.

His vision had turned to static, the prickling sensation extending down his numb face to his shoulders. The nerves that connected his flesh to his wood parts tingled and popped, leaving him sore around the circumference of his artificial limbs.

Your hands were cold as they worked across his torso. He could feel his muscle tissue being stitched together with chakra, leaving an itching sensation in its wake.

You had him cleaned up and rewrapped just as the dizziness began to fade. Appearing over him, a blue aura radiated from the palm you held over his forehead.

“That feels much better, doesn’t it?” Sasori blinked as you withdrew. His breathing had returned to normal, and as you popped the cot back to standard elevation, he hardly felt a tugging at his wound. His muscles were sore, but the pain had faded. “I have never seen prosthetics like these before.” You traced the seam where the wood met skin. Sasori shivered. “Were you injured in one of the bombings?”

“They aren’t prosthetics,” Sasori said, brushing you off. He held his right arm up, watching the wooden joints as he flexed his knuckles. “They’re my art. I didn’t lose anything anywhere.” He peered at you from between his fingers.

“You did this to yourself?”

Sasori propped up on his elbow with a deep frown. Unlike last time, you didn’t try to stop him.

“I detest what you’re insinuating,” he sneered. Sasori managed to support himself on his palm before he collapsed against the pillow at his back. He could just barely get himself into a sitting position. You didn’t bother to help. “Like a medic who lives in a cave has any right to criticize my craft.”

“Doctor,” you corrected, receiving a scoff in return. “I would have thought that with your level of medical ninjutsu, you could have done the patchwork yourself.” You trailed off, distracted as Deidara ran across the other side of the room with a restocking of sterile bandages. Sasori squinted from his bed, wondering if he had seen his partner correctly. “Overall, I’d say it was good that the kid brought you here. No matter your skill, self-operation would have been quite the undertaking.”

Deidara appeared on the upper balcony with a rag in one hand and a bottle of cleaning spray in the other. He wiped down the railings.

“He’s working harder than he ever has in the Akatsuki, that’s for sure,” Sasori muttered. He shifted to take the strain off of his tender wound. “Maybe you should keep him.” You let out a shallow chuckle, holding up your hand with a shake of your head.

“Oh, no, you Akatsuki boys can keep to your own. We already have enough dogs sniffing around this city without you all making a ruckus.” You sat at the foot of the bed, the both of you lost in watching Deidara clean upstairs. You hummed to yourself, turning to glance at Sasori. “You’re sure recruiting them young, huh?”

“I didn’t recruit him at all.”

“Ah, so that’s why you’re trying to pawn him off.” You sighed, and with a slight heave, you stood. With a roll of your shoulders, you stretched, surveying the room. “You should get him out of here quickly once you feel better.” You turned to face him with hands in your pockets. “People don’t take kindly to bombers around here. I’ll check on you sometime tomorrow.”

***

Sasori took the day to mend his arm with a rare disregard for time. He dislodged the ball socket from his bicep before opening one of his scrolls for spare parts. A white puff of smoke materialized over the marking labeled “left arm,” and with a bit of tinkering, he managed to isolate just the hand and the forearm. The extra bicep was sealed back into the scroll.

The new forearm and hand were lighter in color compared to the battle-worn part they were replacing, but the replacement limb clicked into place without fuss. Sasori was still tightening the joint when two new patients entered the clinic. He could hear you speaking to them from your office, which consisted of little more than a cluttered desk and a few thin metal panels.

“You just missed him. Shig left yesterday for Rain country,” you said. Your voice was muffled, but Sasori could just make out your words from across the room.

“Is there anything you could do for her? She can’t even walk. Her legs are giving out on her,” another voice pleaded earnestly through the thin walls.

“I’m sorry; I wish there was something I could do to help, but that’s just not my field of expertise. The best I can do is let you know when Shig is back.”

“Doctor, please. If she lost her legs again, I—” The second voice’s breath hitched. Light shuffling sounded from your office before Sasori heard a sniffle. —“With everything going on, I just… She can’t make it down the evacuation route. Please, Doctor, they’ve already taken so much from us.”

Sasori perked up as the second voice grew softer. He slowly rose from his bed, crossing the large room on bare feet as he listened closer.

“Believe me, I understand what the stakes are. My heart goes out to you, and if I could help, I would, but that doesn’t change the fact that I simply don’t know how to fix this. If you’d like to pack some things from the surface, you’re welcome to stay in the Warren until Shig’s return.”

Sasori stopped in front of your office, paying no mind to the other patients in beds despite their gruesome burn scars. He stared at the door, listening to the conversation behind it.

A metallic click sounded to Sasori’s left, and instinctively, he pivoted into a battle stance, fingertips already spinning chakra threads as he heard a soft thump. But no enemy was to be found. Instead, a young girl cowered on the floor.

Her legs consisted of a dark wood supported by small metal pieces. Or her legs would have been supported by small metal pieces if they weren’t hanging loosely from her knee joints. One appeared worse than the other, as if someone tried to fix them but only served to break the parts further.

Her eyes widened at the very sight of Sasori, eyes glued to the seam where his torso met his arms. A little gasp escaped her as she tried to stand, but her legs gave out. Sasori frowned; he could see the problem. She scooted back, no doubt at Sasori’s deep scowl and grotesque appearance.

“You should really know how to fix those things yourself,” he spat, eyes glued to the busted parts of the hastily made joints. If he had to give this Shig character credit for anything, it was the creativity of the build. A union of metal and wood, the girl’s two legs looked more akin to two artisan clocks than a simple and functional prosthetic. The designs were hardly symmetrical, likely because the materials looked like they were dug out of a scrap bin. That was the first issue.

He sighed, squatting down only for the little girl to scoot back. Sasori’s expression sunk in vexation, and the girl’s nervous gulp went unnoticed.

“You call this art? They’re pitiful.” With a grunt of effort, Sasori sat down on the cold cement floor. The child eyed him skeptically, paralyzed with hesitancy like a groveling deer.

“Are you Mr. Shig?”

“Hell no.” Sasori’s fingers pressed a few points on his bicep, and the girl watched in disbelief as a panel of Sasori’s wooden skin rose and moved to the side, allowing him to pluck out a small, slender box. Her mouth shut quickly as Sasori’s attention returned to her. He continued to frown, gesturing her toward him as he plucked up a few long tools in his slender fingers. “Do you want your legs fixed or not?”

She approached him warily until she sat with her feet adjacent to Sasori’s waist and her hips next to his knees. Her gaze was glued to Sasori’s own wooden limbs. She paid little mind as Sasori reoriented her legs to face forward, but the broken socket continued to spin.

He studied the engineering up close. It was unique, nothing like he had ever seen, and most definitely nothing like the standard shinobi-grade prosthetics he had seen in the past, but he could still follow the design. Sasori sat in silence, studying the craftsmanship, and he did not doubt that these makeshift limbs, while they could likely get the job done, were made with thrown-together materials at best.

“You don’t know how to fix them, do you?” A tiny voice broke Sasori from his deep thinking, much to his disdain. The girl sat up straight at the sight of Sasori’s seething expression.

“Of course I can fix them,” he snarled, and the child almost jumped. Sasori tugged one of his legs in, tugging one of the girl’s broken ones outward to form a right angle. “You see this? That’s called a nut.” He jiggled one of the loosest parts with his finger. The girl nodded, which, according to Sasori, apparently wasn’t an adequate response. “I want you to say it out loud. This is called a nut.”

“This is called a nut,” she repeated. Sasori hummed in approval, spinning the nut off the bolt before removing the bolt altogether. The girl instinctively lurched forward as a section of her leg weakened.

“This is a bolt.” Sasori tapped the bolt, and with another pointed glare, the girl quickly repeated the word. He didn’t acknowledge her acute panic. Unsure of herself, she repeated his words for the second time.

“That is a bolt.”

Sasori paid little mind, plucking a few items from his little box. He compared them to the size of the existing bolt, placing a few metal pieces back before holding three round items between his thumb and pointer finger.

“What’s this one?” He gestured to the thicker of the pieces.

“That’s, uh, that one is a nut.”

“Good. This one—” Sasori offered the girl the thinner rings. She held it in her hands, brushing over the smooth surfaces with the pads of her fingers. —“Those are washers.”

“This one’s a washer,” she repeated with a determined nod. Sasori held his hand out again, and she dropped the washer into his wooden palm.

“Now, Shig used a bolt that was too big for this joint. Show me the bolt—” The girl pointed at the bolt and received a slight nod. —“And a nut that’s too small. And because this section is made of wood, we’re going to use a washer.” The girl pointed at the washer. Sasori blinked slowly, almost having to collect himself for a second. “Yes, good.”

He placed the washer on the bolt, slotting it back into place. His other hand secured the loose parts of her leg. He held up a second washer and a nut, waving it in front of the girl's face before placing both on the end of the bolt. Sasori gave them a few twirls as they worked down the thread length. The washer dropped to the very end. He gestured toward the half-secured nut, maneuvering his arms out of the way to allow the girl access to the section of leg he was still keeping secured in place.

“You try.” The girl reached down, winding it down until the small nut was secured against the flat wood. “The washer is going to prevent the head of the bolt from digging into the wood. Twist it tight, as tight as you can go.” Sasori reached back into his box to retrieve a small wrench.

“Now repeat after me—” Sasori tightened the bolt. —“‘Only an idiot can’t use a fuckin’ nut and bolt.’”

“My mom doesn’t let me curse.”

Sasori looked up from his work with a roll of his eyes. He sighed with a heave of his shoulders. She stared into his honey-colored irises.

“I’m letting you.” He blew a few strands of hair away from his face, nodding with certainty before tinkering again at the inside of the joint. The girl puffed up, gathering courage in her breath as Sasori continued the more intricate repairs. She swiveled her head.

“Only an idiot can’t use uh— can’t use a f— can’t use a fucking nut and bolt!” she stammered with red cheeks. Sasori didn’t even look up as he offered his hand, and she slammed her hand down across his fingers in victory.

When you and the girl’s mother exited your office, she was already standing. The two of you stopped in your doorway, exchanging glances as she raved. You tuned it all out, standing at just the angle to make eye contact with Sasori as he sat on his cot. He averted his eyes with a grimace.

“And Mom! They don’t even squeak anymore! They’re all fixed because only an idiot can’t use a fucking nut and bolt!”

“Reiko!”

***

He thought you’d approach him after the pair left, and Sasori always had a strong intuition.

“Assassins are teaching little kids curse words nowadays?” you mused, a hint of a laugh lacing your voice. Sasori’s closed eyes fluttered open to look at you before closing again. He shifted on his bed, hands nestled behind his head. You were staring up at the door, thumbs looped in the pockets of your jacket. “Is that why you got stuck with the blond kid?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Sasori refused to look at you, instead tinkering away at something under his artificial skin. Several panels rose from his arm, alternating up and down like waves before settling back into his shoulder. He thought that if he ignored you, you would leave, but you stood at the edge of his parallel curtains, simply watching him as he worked.

Sasori spared a few glances toward you, careful not to meet your gaze. He observed you from his peripheral like an animal, withdrawn and cautious. You didn’t seem to share his tension as you loitered, not even hiding your interest as you watched Sasori tinker. The silence passed for a moment. A low rumble of footsteps and mutterings bounced off the high ceiling.

“Can I help you?”

“You did a nice thing.”

Sasori made the mistake of looking up.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he repeated. His eyes flickered back up to your face, his expression drooping at your indifferent demeanor. Sasori huffed, shifting to let one leg hang over the side of his bed. “Are you here to heal me or stare at me all day like some circus freak?”

“Have you ever considered making prosthetics?”

“Tch, you’re annoying.” Before you could retort, Sasori stood up on his cot, the crosssections under the thin sheets popping as chakra threads manifested at his fingertips. They wrapped around the upper railing, and you gaped, stepping forward as he shot up to land expertly on the balcony.

“You better not reopen anything!” You instinctively stepped forward. The catwalk creaked, clamoring metallically as Sasori strode toward the back exit. You backed up a few steps.

“It’s a good thing there’s a doctor in the room.”

He had just settled into a corner against the wall when you appeared at the top of the stairs. Sasori heaved a deep sigh, taking his time standing as you rushed up to him.

“Are you always this awkward when you do good things?”

“Jeez, you ask a lot of questions.” Sasori walked briskly down the length of the balcony, and you followed.

“I’m a doctor. I’d say having an inquisitive nature is a positive.”

“Is that what you call it?” Sasori stopped short, realizing suddenly that the metal walkway didn’t wrap around the room. Instead, one stairwell connected a balcony to the front entrance, and another connected a separate balcony to the back entrance. He pretended not to notice, leaning on the railing and observing the room from above.

Sasori could see all the patients in their makeshift rooms, all in much worse condition than he was. Some milled around the lower floor, hobbling on makeshift crutches and wrapped in bandages. An overwhelming amount of patients had one thing in common.

“What happened to them?” he asked. His eyes darted from person to person, counting how many lost arms, legs, and eyes before turning to you suddenly.

“We’ve had a serial bomber in the city for quite some time.” Your voice was soft and somber as you stood next to him. You almost melted, shoulders slumping as your chest rose steadily. You leaned forward, gazing out over the room, and Sasori watched, mesmerized by your body language as you tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear. “A lot of these people are poor and underprivileged. When they get caught up in the blasts, there’s no one to take care of them, so they come here.”

You shrugged, nodding at him a few times. Sasori frowned.

“Why?”

You looked at him in confusion as he studied your face. You watched his eyes dart over your features, taking in every fold, tick, and pore.

“Why do they come here?” you questioned, glancing to your left and right before meeting Sasori’s eye. Were you missing something? Sasori’s expression didn’t change one bit. He simply stared, searching. You took a breath, choosing your words with a hum. “They don’t get adequate care in this sector—”

“Why do they come here?” Sasori leaned forward, his eyes unyielding. Judging. You drummed your fingers on the railing, looking back down at your room full of patients. You let out another sigh.

“You’re passing through. I highly doubt you’re all that interested in the politics of a country that barely makes it on the map.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Sasori interjected harshly, evident impatience adding force to his tone. You shook your head slowly in defeat. You had given him the disclaimer.

“Well, it’s very simple; people hate the poor…!” You almost laughed, the truth sounding silly in the way it fell from your lips. Your smile faded into a bitter look, and you shook your head again. “For a very long time, you had to make a certain amount of income to vote. It took a lot of fighting for the Senate to balance out like it has, but some members of the old party have resorted to underhanded preventative measures to keep this sector from the polls. I guess that’s the skinny of it.”

“The girl and her mother?” You turned to gauge Sasori’s reaction again, but he had none. He stared blankly at the patients who rested and milled around on the lower floor.

“They weren’t even trying to vote. Just… wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I see…” Sasori mumbled but said nothing more. He looked bored, and it made you wonder why he bothered to ask, given his clear indifference.

“Look—” You began again, turning to him with your hand splayed across your chest. —“I know it might not matter much to you, but I believe that everyone has a right to make decisions about the country they’re living in and have access to healthcare. Especially when their government is bombing them left and right; that’s why they come here. That’s why I’m a doctor.”

Sasori remained silent, thinking to himself for a moment. He turned toward you, shoulders somewhat squared with a huff. Sasori took a half step toward you with one hand on the railing as he cocked his head toward you.

“Heal me the rest of the way. I want to get out of here tonight.”

He brushed past you, heading toward the stairs.

“I have other places to be, you know. You can’t just make demands—” You stopped short at the sight of Sasori’s severe scowl and menacing expression. You clenched your teeth, the tip of your nose wrinkling. —“Fine. Whatever. I have other patients, and I’ll charge your organization double for your treatment.”

You stormed forward and down to the lower level as Sasori watched you carefully.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: I will say, writing the Sasori and Deidara partnership during a timeline where Deidara is 14 and Sasori hasn't completed his puppet body is a guilty pleasure of mine. Maybe someday I'll finish that Sasori x Witch!Reader series.

#Sasori x reader #Sasori akasuna x reader #naruto x reader #sasori #Sasori akasuna #akatsuki x reader #deidara x reader #naruto #naruto x y/n #naruto x you #reader insert #x you #x reader #naruto fanfic #naruto fanfiction #naruto oneshot

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friesian · 2 months

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ockiss 4: lost

REDRAW OF SOMETHING I DREW ALMOST A YEAR AGO!! IT LOOKS SO MUCH BETTER NOW!! also now with writing from @kamiporterbridges. enjoy the outlaws first kiss. ----

As he walked, unafraid, through the Valley of Death, the lone wanderer took in his surroundings with the vague curiosity of a man who's lost, yet not in any hurry to be found. Shadows passed him by in a rush, as he scrunched the dress shirt he was wearing (dirty, green-ish red? Did he even like the color red? such information was dangling just outside his reach; tantalizing in its mystery, but a futile effort all the same).

Did it itch? Did it ache? Was there even a difference at this point?

Bright yellow and green eyes scanned the empty terrain, where other beings scurried around without a semblance of purpose. Just like him, they were lost. But unlike him, they resented such a position.

The wanderer could feel it, too. A submarine restlessness, agitating the placid lake of his emotions. But something else, more powerful (a supreme tiredness, vast like the ocean itself) weighed him down, keeping him in the utmost complacency.

He needed to be... somewhere. But that was before. Now, he was here, and he had to walk.

Suddenly, however, a bright light made him squint; the wanderer stopped, shielding his eyes as he surveyed the scene; somehow, such light seemed forbidden in a place such as this.

The light was a little wisp, dancing around like fireflies in the summer Krytan fields. But he didn't know what fireflies were anymore, or where Kryta was.

He had to...

"...Be somewhere else."

The wanderer stopped, looking up at the wisp - eyebrows shooting slightly up. How could that little ball of light echo his thoughts in such a perfect way? His voice was desperate, and it echoed in the cavernous, empty well of his emotions, making ripples like a rock on the water.

"Hey," he called, blinking. Then, he tipped his hat. "Howdy."

It felt natural to greet someone that way. The wisp seemed to think so too, stopping its aerial dance to turn, somehow, towards the wanderer.

Despite having no eyes to speak of, the wanderer knew it was looking straight at him.

"Howdy!" the wisp replied, floating closer, making the wanderer squint and step backwards. "Ah— sorry! I'm just—"

"Lost," the wanderer replied, frowning ever so slightly. "You got somewhere to be. So do I."

Briefly, the wisp lit up harder.

"Do ya?!" it exclaimed, echoing in the quiet in an unnatural way that made the wanderer's ears fold backwards. Loud. "Godsdamn, been lookin' for someone to help me outta here! I gotta be somewhere else, I lost... somethin'. And I gotta get it back!"

Once again, his urgency was contagious. The wanderer looked for fire and a cigarette, realizing he didn't have any, and that he didn't remember how to smoke, or how soothing tobacco felt down his throat.

"Motherfucker," he grumbled, looking up at the wisp once more. "You remember what you lost at all, kiddo?"

"No..." this time, the light dimmed. The wanderer scowled; why did that little wisp's grief felt like a stab through his heart? "But maybe we can help each other! Ya said you were lost too, right? You also gotta be somewhere else!"

"Eyup," the wanderer replied, nodding once.

"Then maybe we can look together!" The wanderer could feel the smile on the wisp's lips, despite it not having any. It was a strange feeling. "I help you, you help me. Sounds 'bout right?"

"Yer sure you wanna partner up with me?" the wanderer asked, arms crossed. "I know 'bout the same you do."

"Man, you're the only one I've seen so far who wants to do... well, anythin'!" the wisp danced and twirled in the air, and the wanderer felt the impulse, quickly repressed, to playfully grab at it. "So yeah, you're my partner now!"

For reasons unknown to him, the wanderer chuffed - a smile curving his lips up.

"Then let's go, partner."

—

The lights came down on two figures; one, sitting alone above a tree, perched on a branch with a turret by its side; long, tattered jacket hanging loose along with long, powerful legs and a bramble of green, vegetable hair. The wanderer observed the turret beside him with a squint, clenching and relaxing his fists. His hand ached for... something. Something he wasn't quite sure what it was.

The other figure, sitting against a wooden wall, trembled and shrunk - tarnished and dented armor clinking softly as he moved, shrugging and gasping every so often, golden hair falling over his obscured face. The wanderer tilted his head as the wisp hung in the air, expecting. An air of unmistakable sorrow draped over the scene like curtains before a show.

The figure against the wall waved a paper around - a paper that the wanderer eyed with curiosity. It was a letter; or at least, it was shaped like one. The words were garbled and the letters made no sense, like a half-remembered image of a notice looked at from afar.

The figure above, smoking up a storm, squinted as well, and the wanderer found himself touching his own face, his own brow. There was something familiar about that face. About those gestures. About that sorrow in his eyes.

The figure huffed like an angry bull, shaking his head as if scolding himself for what he was about to do, before leaning down, looming over that tiny blonde man with a scowl.

"Hey," he called - that low, bassy tone catching the wanderer's breath in his throat. "You good down there?"

Equally as shocked, the blonde figure below jumped - snapping at the man perched on the tree. And once again the wanderer found his breath caught in his throat; a deeply seated pain aching in the depths of his chest. A sorrow so deep it clawed its way back to him from the shores of oblivion.

"The hell you want?" the kid -because it was a kid, that much the wanderer knew- grumbled, hostile like a tiny feral kitten who has forgotten the taste of milk and the warmth of a lap to lay on.

Their back and forth was a strange dance; two steps ahead and one back, each time the blonde man regarded the one on the tree with hostility. But bemusement, and badly concealed worry, was all the man on the tree had to offer to the more and more disconcerted blonde.

Finally, a truce was made - the man of the turret offered a blunt, and the man with the letter accepted it, albeit begrudgingly. And finally the man in the tree was no more, as he jumped down and dropped, heavy as he was, in front of the blonde.

"Here you go," he offered, handing a rolled joint towards the blonde. "Name's—"

"There they are again!" the wisp suddenly alerted him, and the wanderer whipped around, wrench at the ready.

A shadowy figure jumped from the brambles, leaping over them to hold onto the figures, stretching out towards each other, offering and taking. And it ripped something crucial, it seemed; the image dissolved into the ether.

"Hey!" the wanderer yelled out, leaping into action as the wisp followed. "Give that back!"

He didn't quite know what that was. But the wanderer knew he needed it back - desperately so.

Scenes passed by the two of them as they pursued the shadowy figure - the blonde man and the man with the turret slowly growing closer, eating together, fighting together, laughing together. The twang of a banjo made the wanderer's ears twitch as they ran by, as did the sound of the blonde man's tears. His sorrow felt like his own, in a way. And the impulse of reaching out, of squeezing him close, of shushing his fears and drying his tears, felt only natural.

"Here!" the wisp suddenly leapt forward, igniting in light, and making the shadowy figure recoil. And the wanderer finally brought down the wrench over it, tearing into its shape, unmaking it rather than destroying it.

The figure vanished, yet its shadow yielded an object that the wanderer contemplated, dumbfounded. An old, mistreated red bandana rested on the floor, unremarkable in its simplicity, but transcendental for reasons unknown.

The wanderer reached over, gloved fingers gingerly touching its rough embroidery, picked at it by the years. And then, as he stowed his weapon -Matilda, his wrench was called Matilda. He knew so now-, he grasped at it, picking it up, contemplating it like the treasure it was, despite having lost all meaning.

"Excuse me!" a voice called - a small, frail-looking woman observed him, the petals composing her hair puffing upon being noticed. "Yes, you! I'm sorry, but the patient cannot be visited at the time - he seems to be... unstable, and dangerous."

The wanderer blurted out the words, like an actor ready to read their lines on a well loved play.

"Name's Marwyd," he said - and the words rang true in his lips. "Priory engineer. I gotta see him."

The woman - a Pact medic, now he knew, seemed to recoil in sadness.

"Oh," she murmured, looking down. "He has been calling out for you. Even in dreams..."

Marwyd, the wanderer, felt that sorrow in his chest again. The Pact medic, however, interrupted his musings with a sigh.

"You have five minutes," she murmured, parting the tent flap as she glanced around. "Good luck, soldier."

Clumsily, still clinging to the bandana on his hand, Marwyd stepped forth. And there he was - the blonde man, laying on the bed, sleeping.

He remembered now. His name tasted sweet on his tongue.

"Johnny," he named the blonde man, who stirred at his voice, looking for him like a flowing looking for the sun.

"Mar?" he weakly, weepily called. And his stirring became frantic, covering himself from invisible monsters clawing at him from the shadows.

He remembered. Of course he remembered. The heat, the burning feeling on his hand as he reached out, holding him down, holding him close.

"S'alright, Johnny, s'alright," he swore, despite now knowing it wasn't alright. It would never be alright again. "I'm here now."

"It killed him, Mar!" Johnny cried out, incandescent tears flowing down his cheeks. "He's dead. Nick's dead."

"M'sorry," he murmured, gently caressing the golden thread of his locks. "M'so sorry, Johnny. If there's anythin' I can do fer you..."

Johnny suddenly held his hands, clenching at the bandana as well. And Marwyd understood its purpose and its function like never before. The tether that binded them.

"Kill that damn dragon," Johnny growled through clenched teeth. "Kill it fuckin' dead!"

And as he let go of his bandana, of his name and self, Marwyd nodded. For he didn't need it anymore.

"I promise."

The image vanished - not dissolved in the ether, but gently fading as Johnny's expression softened. And the yearning grew in Marwyd's heart.

He had somewhere to be. Someone to find.

"Let's keep goin'," he said, turning backwards towards the wisp.

But its sudden stillness, its quiet contemplation, gave him pause. He tilted his head.

"You good?" he asked, squinting ever so slightly. The wisp jumped in place.

"Whah— yeah! M'good." It didn't sound convinced. And something in his voice made Marwyd's ears perk up in attention. Something in those whiny, saddened tones. "Let's go!"

Marwyd held his gaze on it for a moment, before nodding once. He figured they'd find whatever it was looking for eventually.

–

The road continued on down memories untold, through a darkened forest of bad omens. Marwyd and his incorporeal partner walked down treacherous slopes, finally leaving the Pact behind. Memories dropped gently like leaves sometimes, then suddenly like a cold winter shower. And Marwyd kept grabbing at his dress shirt, feeling the sting of loss, and something else entirely.

Under the canopy of naked branches they stopped once more. The scene lit up with the unbearable white of the sun glistening over the snow, and Marwyd inhaled sharply, scowling once again. He remembered that scene.

And he didn’t like it.

As if waiting for him to realize, the words reached his ears with painful clarity, folding backwards as if trying to escape it.

“You killed him!” Johnny was in hysterics - looking down at the man who didn’t deserve to be called his father.

“He ain't dead,” Marwyd assured him through clenched teeth. And not for lack of tryin’.

“Dad?! Dad!” he wasn't listening, hurrying to kneel beside that awful man, looking for a pulse with trembling hands.

Marwyd didn’t know if he was trembling because of the image of his father knocked out on the floor, or because of the cane he had gotten directly to the head, courtesy of the same man.

Despite knowing how it ended, Marwyd knew he was powerless to stop it. Johnny screamed, not listening, not even wanting to do so. Terrified of his own loneliness, he retreated deep within it, far away from where Marwyd could reach him.

“Get the fuck outta here!” Johnny yelled, and through the echoes of time Marwyd felt the impact of one of those delicate porcelain figurines - bruising the back of his head and shattering against the floor.

It hurt. It still hurt. And not because of the bruise.

He glared over his shoulder, seeing that known face twisted by rage and tears.

“Don't ever talk to me again,” he said - sealing the fate of their solitude.

“Wait!” Johnny called suddenly. “Please, don't– M'sorry, I didn't want to–”

Marwyd stopped on his tracks, eyes wide. That wasn't how it went at all.

He turned on his heels, hoping to find Johnny's tenderness. But the memory was long gone, and only the wisp remained, floating in the air with confused urgency that echoed his own.

And once again, Marwyd named him. His name, despite everything, still sweet on his lips.

“Johnny?” he called.

The light became unbearable under the darkened sky. Marwyd shielded himself from it, but quickly forced himself to see. The light took shape, molding itself into a figure he knew all too well. A figure he would never be able to forget - not even in the Valley of Death.

More corporeal than the ghosts around him, Johnny's boots touched the ground, as he examined his body with shock and confusion.

“Johnny!” called Marwyd again.

“Mar!” Johnny called in turn, breaking into a sprint.

He clashed into Marwyd’s arms with the force of the ocean, or his impetuous temper. Whatever could hit the hardest - Marwyd wasn't sure he could tell the difference anymore.

He buried his hooked nose in those golden curls, enveloping Johnny in a devastating embrace, squeezing him against his chest. He who held the secret of his name, who reached through time and space, over and over again, no matter how far he was. Through the pain, through the years, through their own, miserable fears and grudges.

“M'sorry, Mar, M'so fuckin’ sorry!” Johnny cried in his chest, clinging to him as fiercely as Marwyd clung to him.

“Hey there, kid,” he murmured - lips brushing against the top of his head, desperate to touch him. To know he was real. To know that, once again, he had come looking for him. “S'alright.”

Despite their circumstances, he had to admit to himself, quietly and secretly, that he was happy they were together. Even in their final adventure.

“Kiddo, are you–” he murmured. Johnny leaned backwards, looking up at him.

“I ain’t sure,” he replied, wide eyes filled to the brim with tears he hurried to wipe away. “Guess that's a good sign. You…?”

Marwyd huffed tiredly.

“Don't think I made it, Firefly.”

Johnny drew in a shaky breath. And his panicked stare turned resolute.

“Well I don’t give no fucks,” he said, hands gripping at Marwyd's arms. “I told ya if ya got yourself killed I'd be right here to drag your ass back. Well, here I am! Now let's get draggin’!”

Biting down a smile, Marwyd chuffed. How in Torment did he always manage to make him believe in the impossible? Killing a dragon with a cannon? Hunting down an impostor mursaat? Killing a god?

The road behind him suddenly lit up in flames. Both of them looked over Marwyd’s shoulder - the fire dancing in their eyes.

“We gotta keep goin’,” he said - reluctantly letting go of Johnny. He nodded, resolute.

“Right behind ya.”

The road ascended in war and flames - up and up into the moonless sky. Quietly, Marwyd’s hand sought for Johnny's, finding eager fingers locking with his own.

–

The years of war they had waged against the rogue god of war Balthazar scarred even the Domain of the Lost, flames hurrying them up the ruins of a semblance of an ancient tower. Fighting the heralds, finding Marwyd’s father again, finding Johnny's brother, Nick, trapped inside an armor wielded shut. There was still much left to do. The people of Elona still needed to be free.

But at the top of the tower they found Balthazar, or its shadow in Marwyd’s memories. He had struck Johnny down - and only now Marwyd realized he was still alive, even if just barely. The Johnny beside him contemplated himself with saddened, yet curious eyes, rubbing his arm where a burnt bruise was still visible on his inert body.

“It is fitting, then,” Balthazar said, and Marwyd looked up at him in defiance. “You came all the way back to die in your home. Goodbye, outlaw.”

A flash of unbearable heat and light made Marwyd stumble, flinching, clutching at his chest where a sword went through him; cut and boiling from his shoulder to his hip. The incandescent pain made him hiss through clenched teeth. And then, nothing.

The fire faded, and the valley was quiet once again.

When Marwyd looked down at Johnny, he found him staring back up at him.

“Firefly–”

“There's gotta be a way,” Johnny interrupted, fists clenched. “You promised. You promised!”

His words echoed inside his heart. A hollow pain taking over, worse than the pain of death.

“I know,” Marwyd said with a nod. “I promised I'd come back. And that's what I outta do.”

“Ah, so there you are.”

Both on alert, Marwyd and Johnny whipped around, weapons at the ready as the shadows gathered at the top of the tower. Slowly but surely a shape emerged from the shadows themselves; solid like Johnny, imposing like a mountain at night. Their face, under a black, hooded cloak, was a bone-white mask of death; a bovine creature whose semblance had long since been lost.

Marwyd had never been devoted to all of the human gods - his expertise lay in the mysteries of the cult of Balthazar. But even he could recognize the grim visage of one of the servants of the God of Death.

“Grenth?” Johnny murmured, stepping slightly in front of Marwyd. The figure scoffed, both amused and, apparently, annoyed.

“Hardly,” they said, contemplating them like an especially interesting piece of a puzzle. “But I am His will through His absence. I am the Judge, and you two have dodged me for long enough.”

Marwyd scowled. He had already been killed by a god. He could definitely take on one of their advisors.

“We ain’t dodgin’ no one, you Judge fella,” he said, arms crossed.

“We on our way out,” Johnny added, similarly scowling.

The Judge, once again, seemed amused by their defiance.

“I hope you two are aware of the place you are in,” they said - one ample gesture enveloping the whole valley. Shadows shambled on the plains, looking for their names, looking for their memories, or delivering themselves to despair.

Johnny scoffed in turn.

“Lemme tell ya somethin’ mister Judge,” he said, stepping up, out of Marwyd’s reach as he tried to stop him. “We ain’t from ‘round these parts. We got places to be, gods to kill, if ya catch my drift. Not yours, though. Other god.”

A green flame lit up the Judge’s eyes from within the depths of their mask.

“You hang at the edge of life and death,” they said, pointing an armored finger towards Johnny before regarding Marwyd in a similar manner. “And you succumbed to the rogue god’s power already. What hope do you have of beating him, as he grows more powerful and bold?”

Marwyd scowled, huffing like an angry bull.

“We don’t need no hope,” he said, weighing his trusty Matilda, on his hands. “Only thing we need’s a shot. And to kill the motherfucker before he does us.”

The Judge hummed, staring down at both, measuring their resolution.

“Your death might be long, agonizing,” they warned - their skeletal face lighting up from within once again. Marwyd could feel the burn cutting through him once more, but refused to do anything beyond glaring at the Judge, stalwart. “And your destiny might be too horrible to speak of.”

He gestured towards Johnny, who blinked once before looking up at Marwyd. Their eyes met briefly - a wordless dialogue.

“Well let the motherfucker try,” Johnny finally said, arms crossed.

“Fool me once, n’all that crap,” Marwyd added, hands gripping at Matilda with renewed vigor.

At the end of all things, they would even walk through the Valley of Death together. There was nothing that could stand in their way. Marwyd had to believe it to be so.

The Judge’s eyes lit up once more, hand still raised towards Johnny.

“Be it foolishness, or be it bravery; Balthazar must be stopped.” Their cadaveric face turned to face Johnny. “But the land of the dead is no place for the living.”

Johnny blinked once again, as Marwyd could feel a wave of relief washing over him. He was alive. He was alright.

“The hell does that mean?” Johnny questioned, stepping forward.

“You were stubborn enough to follow your friend down here,” the Judge explained, fingers weaving some sort of magic that made Marwyd’s spines stand on end. “But you must return to where you belong. Your time is not yet spent, son of Kryta.”

Eyes wide and breath hitching up, Johnny held onto Marwyd’s arm, squeezing.

“I ain’t leavin’ him here!” he protested, looking up at Marwyd, pleading.

Marwyd glanced down at him, stern as ever, but with a glint in his eye. He turned, releasing his arm from Johnny’s desperate grip to hold his shoulders, examining that face he had grown to know as well as his own. Those soft features, those big, sad eyes of golden lashes, those soft lips, pouting, with a question itching to blurt out of them like a torrent.

“He’s right, Firefly,” he finally said. Johnny’s eyes grew wide once more.

“What?!” he blurted up, stepping backwards. Marwyd sighed, hands slowly dropping to his sides.

“You helped me out a bunch here, but you gotta go back out there,” he insisted. “Whatever happens next, you gotta keep goin’. Fer Nick. And fer me.”

Shaking his head, eyes welling with tears, Johnny refused with a “nuh-uh” that grew in urgency.

“I ain’t goin’ back without you!” he insisted, tears finally rolling down his cheeks.

It was strange. To be dead. To have been murdered by the god he had been taught to worship. And to be at peace with it, if it meant Johnny could go back. If it meant he would live.

In the end, his death had meant something. There was still so much left to do. But Johnny was alive, and that was all that mattered.

So he dried Johnny’s tears one last time, gaze soft when it washed over that face.

“Be right behind you,” he said, finally taking a step backwards. “I promise.”

“No, Mar–!”

As he tried to reach him once more, Johnny’s figure dissolved in light, shrinking in on itself like the wisp it had been until it vanished. Marwyd closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath before turning towards the Judge.

“You heard it,” he said, glaring in defiance. “I’m goin’ back even if I gotta blow the damn gate wide open.”

The Judge chuckled, finally lowering their hand as their attention turned towards Marwyd once more.

“Your body lacks the vital spark to return like your companion did,” they said, solemnly glancing down at him. “Even if I feel inclined to, I can’t open the path for you.”

Marwyd huffed.

“I made a promise to blondie,” he said, reaching for Matilda. “So you better scram or I’m takin’ the key or whatever from yer corpse.”

One last time, the Judge’s eyes lit up in a green flame.

“It is not me who holds the key to your freedom,” they said. “So I’m afraid you’ll be taking it from something else’s corpse.”

Marwyd squinted, standing up straight.

“The hell you mean by that,” he grumbled, gripping at Matilda still.

“Would you do me a favor before departing?” the Judge said, undeterred.

After a brief pause, Marwyd huffed once more. He didn’t like to owe to gods nor men. But working for it… it was certainly a different beast altogether.

“I’m listenin’.”

–

With a wheeze and an unbearable cough, Johnny found himself feeling the evening cold creeping inside his bones, as well as the sharp pain of a battle he had lost. He rolled on his side, unable to hold himself up, arms trembling before dropping on his face once more. Fresh cuts bled freely in the wind, and insects began their dusk chanting up to indifferent skies.

Groaning and crying out, Johnny gave himself a moment to catch his breath, feeling the loose dirt blowing up into his nose as he fought a broken rib to breathe.

The day ending, with the soothing night crawling over a sky that, slowly, became dotted with stars, felt like a cruel joke. And Johnny shrunk into himself, grabbing fistfuls of dirt as he curled up in on himself - unwelcome tears clearing paths through the soot and dust on his cheeks.

He didn't dare to open his eyes. To realize that what he feared was no dream, but his horrifying present.

But he had to face it. He owed it to Marwyd. At the very least, he owed him that much.

Sobbing and heaving, he sat up, trembling and squeezing his eyes shut one last time before glancing up through the tangled, bloody mess of his unraveled curls. And sure enough Marwyd was still there, like waiting for him to wake him up.

Desperate, gasping breaths ravaged him as he dragged himself closer, unable to ignite the rage magic that kept his legs working. At a glance, it seemed like Marwyd was sleeping - his face relaxed, free from its permanent scowl, from the rage and the pain. As Johnny cradled him up, holding his limp head over his lap, he noticed a drying bloodstain, dripping down from his parted lips to his chin. Johnny scrunched his face, feeling another wave of tears wreck him down, before sobbing a desperate breath and wiping the blood off with his finger.

He ignored the smoking, open gash splitting Marwyd from shoulder to hip, body barely held together by scraps of burnt, dark green flesh. He merely combed Marwyd's hair off his face, his hand softly cupping his cheek, caressing it with his thumb.

"Mar, I—" he drew a shaky breath, teardrops pooling on Marwyd's face as they fell, freely, from Johnny's eyes. "M'sorry. I tried... I— I failed. I miss you. I miss you so much. And I never told you—"

He had never told him. That every second apart was agony. That missing him was a malady that only finding him once more could ease. That he was diseased, bewitched, enthralled by days spent riding together, by evenings spent jamming the night away.

Feeling the sting of broken bones and pained muscle, Johnny hugged Marwyd's remains as if they could save him from oblivion. As if the long road ahead would be less lonely because he carried dark green bloodstains with him.

Marwyd had told him he would never leave him alone. But just like Nick, there was no returning from the Mists. And some promises would be left unfulfilled, no matter how hard they tried to keep them.

"I swear I'm gonna get that son of a bitch!" Johnny muttered, clinging to Marwyd's jacket with abandon. "I fuckin' swear it! I swear it, I swear it..."

Devolving into sobs once more, Johnny weeped on Marwyd's chest, hoping those clawed hands would hold him one last time for the road.

As the sun died down, however, a glint of green caught Johnny's eyes. He shrunk in on himself, vaguely remembering somber paths between life and death, and glowing, fiery eyes behind a skeletal mask. He blinked his eyes open, softly dropping Marwyd back down and staring at him, wiping his tears away despite knowing it was an absurd task.

In the growing darkness, it was hard to distinguish much of anything.

Until a soft, pained cough shook Marwyd's body on the ground.

Johnny's eyes widened in shock, as Marwyd's cough grew to a wheeze, and he rolled to his side, holding his shoulder. After spitting blood beside him, he finally glanced over his shoulder, catching Johnny's teary stare.

"You hurt?" he murmured - voice strained, cavernous like death itself.

Johnny blinked once, then twice, as his face scrunched once again; tears pooling in his eyes. A sob wrecked him, and he weeped like a child, openly and unashamed.

"I thought—! You—!" He gasped for air, unable to get a hold on himself, squeezing his arms in a tight, desperate hug. "You were dead, Mar! You were—"

"Shh, here," dragging himself closer, Marwyd stretched Johnny into a hug. "Judge cut me a deal. Got rid of a problem fer'em. And they used that energy to shove me back. S'alright, Firefly... told ya I ain't goin' nowhere."

"I thought you were gonna leave me alone," Johnny cried, nuzzling into Marwyd's bloody chest, minding little about the pungent smell of burning aloe impregnating it all. "I can't lose you Mar. I can't. I ain't strong enough. I don't wanna be alone... I don't wanna be without you!"

Each word squeezed at Marwyd's chest, echoing the feeling with an all-encompassing roar. He wasn't good with feelings - he didn't know what it all meant. But he did know one thing and one thing only: he didn't want to be alone anymore either.

He refused to be without Johnny.

They parted merely to look into each other's eyes - Johnny's still watery and bloodshot, making that deep blue even deeper in contrast. Marwyd had always thought one could get lost in those eyes. Like a wanderer in the desert. And maybe he'd like to wander in them, after being so close to lose it all.

In a flash, he realized he had been a fool. All the answers to his questions were right within his grasp all along, swimming in those eyes of blue. His hands climbed up Johnny's anatomy to reach his face, caressing his cheeks, framing those eyes.

All he had to do was reach out to grab those answers. The answer to his yearning, to his neverending sorrow. And perhaps death had, finally, made him braver than he had ever been.

As he leaned in, eyes lidded staring down at Johnny's lips to be sure not to mess it all up, he could feel Johnny's gaze going from crushing sadness to intrigued curiosity, and finally to open surprise. Yet he didn't move, softly parting his lips in a question he didn't get to formulate, as all the answers came to him in a rush.

Marwyd had never kissed anybody before. He didn't quite know what to expect - people always seemed to make a big deal out of things he couldn't hope to understand. But as he felt Johnny's soft, pouty lips finally touching his, suddenly everything made perfect sense. His painful upbringing, his eternal solitude. His roaming in the desert and his service in the Pact. That brief moment of compassion he had for a sad child soldier, all those years back. And his untimely death, begging for it to be enough to keep Johnny safe.

Now Johnny was safe in his arms, and neither of them were going nowhere. Johnny's eyes slowly, sleepily closed as he made the kiss deeper, tilting his head to the side, showing Marwyd the ropes, the pathways of expressing love in a language they could both understand. And it took Marwyd a moment to realize he hadn't been struck by the rage of an uncaring god once more for feeling something that wasn't hate for another man.

All he felt was a jolt inside his chest, a blooming in his heart, a flutter in his head. Was that what love felt like?

They only parted to glance at each other briefly, both surprised by that apparent breach of the rules of friendship. But neither had ever been too keen on rules, anyway. And this time it was Johnny the one who jumped into his arms once more, kissing him with abandon, making Marwyd grunt in pain for death had left its mark on him, but it didn't matter.

Finally, their games of cat and mouse were at an end. And even if he couldn't name it -not yet, not now, not so soon-, Marwyd realized it was okay.

From now on, they'd be forever intertwined. And it was, indeed, okay.

#outlaws #marwyd #johnny #ockiss24 #oc kiss week #ockissweek #I'M SO PROUD OF THE REDRAW OF THIS. i might post a comparison later.

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tribbetherium · 1 year

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How can we imagine an wingle from Isla de Oof or a Temperocene hameleon?

Isla de Oof's most distinctive species is the greater oof: the largest species of the lemunkies and also the most aberrant, being a slow-moving, small-brained herbivore rather than its more intelligent and agile kin. But it is far from the only animal native to the isolated landmass: several other, smaller creatures have made their way to the island, and have settled there as well, scurrying about the greater oof's feet in the undergrowth.

Among these are wingles: tiny rattiles that have developed the capacity for flight with the aid of their modified scales that, over time, became gliding surfaces that eventually progressed to true flight. But like the pterodents and the ratbats before them, the wingles found themselves settling on islands with few or no dangers on the ground and empty niches to exploit: and thus, would abandon their greatest asset, their flight--but in a rather unusual way.

The fallen nephtile (Dystopteryx maximus) is the largest of the extant wingles, reaching lengths of about six feet including its tail. It far outclasses all other flying wingles, constrained in size by their more insect-like flight: having lost its flight, and with the adult bearing only vestigal stubs where its wings once were, it is freed to increase fiftyfold in size: taking on a role of omnivore feeding on a wide choice of diet, including fruit, leaves insects, small slow-moving prey and washed-up carrion on the coasts of the island.

But remarkably, they are not born this way: in their youth, the nephtiles are small and indeed flighted--resembling a far more typical wingle as a juvenile. One main constraint of the wingles' small size was being able to bear one young at a time, but as adult nephtiles are far larger, they can breed in bigger numbers--up to forty in a litter-- which stick close to the parent for some time until their wings grow in, at which point they disperse. This ability is kept only while they are small, as it allows them to evade predators such as pterodents and ratbats that might make an easy meal of them. However, as none of those predators are big enough to pose much threat to an adult nephtile, the juvenile eventually prioritizes size and bulk over flight. Eventually at about six months of age the youngster has grown too large to fly, and it is at this point that the wings, just modified hair, are finally shed, and here they live in the trees akin to most arboreal rattiles until they are large enough to be relatively safe to forage on the ground. Thus the nephtile fills three niches in the course of its life: aerial flier as a juvenile, arboreal climber as an adolescent, and ground-dwelling scavenger as an adult: allowing multiple generations of the same species to coexist with minimal competition.

#speculative evolution #speculative biology #spec evo #speculative zoology #hamster's paradise #ask

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pyrookami · 11 months

Text

Demon's Run 6

The fight goes on but what's it for

When a good man goes to war

Gru was having a good day. His territory was unopposed by any other males, his mate was with eggs guarding them at this very moment, and the tide had just gone out leaving plenty of edibles for him to gorge himself on and still bring his mate plenty. As a bonus, the red sun was beaming down warmly on his scaled back warming him nicely. He paused as a noise drew his attention, but where was that noise coming from? Not below the ground wasn’t vibrating so that also meant not from the beach. Warily gru scanned the slowly splashing waves but no sign of anything aside from them. That could only mean from above! There were few predators large enough to fear from above but that is what made looking up necessary. Moving slowly so his natural coloring could give him as much camouflage as possible gru cast a wary eye to the slowly darkening skies. Up above him wasn’t a predator he had ever seen before! Odd, not many predators would have such an easy to spot color. To gru it looked like a piece of the land was flying, like one of the many gods thought it would be fun to throw a piece of the ground lichen and all through the firmament. Then as he watched another predator seemed to materialize in the sky! This predator sent a small shiver down his body as its swept wings and light coloration mimicked his most feared predator, the winged and taloned kind. Yet this one moved differently than any of the normal predators, its wings never flapped and from its tail was light bright like the sun. both predators seemed to be doing an aerial mating dance weaving around each other in complex patterns so fast gru could barely keep up with his eye. The just as suddenly another appeared in the sky and the pattern grew even more complex and frenetic. It dawned on gru this was no dance or mating ritual; these creatures were struggling to survive.

The display went on for what felt like all day to gru but was mere moments before it ended with the shiny predator that reflected the ground like the water reflected the sky suddenly losing all its former grace and dropping from the sky. As it fell it left an inky darkness behind it, gru guessed it had been wounded somehow but besides the constant roars and multiple peels of thunder in the clear sky he had no idea what could have wounded it without touching it. The remaining predators circled until another thunderous boom was heard. With a mighty roar both disappeared back into the sky. Gru shook himself from his daze brought on by witnessing something literally not of his world, before he scurried off following the inky black trail in the sky, forgetting completely his original purpose for being on the beach right then.

The sun was significantly closer to the edge of the horizon by the time gru was within sight of the grounded flyer. Yet, he was not disappointed when he laid eyes on the silver craft jutting out of a long trench dug by its unwanted landing. Surprisingly the thing seemed to be mostly in one piece, and no matter how gru strained his sight he could not see blood of any kind from the multitude of injuries to the skin of the craft. Movement caught gru’s attention from the top of the creature. A smaller creature was moving around on the silvery skin of the predator. It seemed like a panicked worm freshly dug up and while it didn’t wriggle like one was most definitely distressed. Then another of the things was moving around the ground around the predator. Gru tilted his head both seemed so small here, but he was still many body lengths away. So, that must mean like the trees that grew as he came closer these would probably grow until the downed predator was larger than his largest known predator, the many teeth.

AS gru curiously observed the strange site of creatures climbing out of the downed predator they began moving about it with some sort of purpose. What that purpose was gru couldn’t understand but it seemed vital to the strange grey creatures. Another loud noise this time loud enough for gru to be blown off his clawed feet and slightly down the rock formation he had been perched on. Looking up from his landing point Gru couldn’t believe what he saw. In the air above the downed predator and its apparent parasites hung yet another flying creature, this one was blockier and less elegant than the first two, yet its presence sent the gray creatures into an even more panicked state. And upon its landing its shell cracked open revealing a dozen or so carapaced creatures dark green in color holding something in their paws. Gru sat frozen, this insect was large enough to have its own hive defenders? He saw no stings and yet the things the defenders held filled him with worry and dread.

Almost as one the defenders split into two groups and ran to angled flanking positions, each raised the narrow ends to point at the gray creatures and a cacophony of sound erupted and then was silent. Gru both blinked and licked each eye in succession to make sure he was seeing properly. All the gray creatures were down no longer moving and unlike their host they were leaving a blue substance gru guessed was blood. It wasn’t green like his or even the muted red of the fish he so loved to snack on. Their apparent job done, the defenders turned around and reentered the creature they had left in the same way, its shell closed as the last one entered, and it rose into the air once again. Oddly unlike its predecessor this creature moved to hover over the silver creature and a group of tendrils dropped from its belly all latching onto the downed creature. Gru realized they must have been a mated pair with the male hunting and the female using her hive defenders to deal with parasites before gathering their kill to eat. Still fascinated gru watched until the two creatures were no longer in sight.

#humans are deathworlders #hfy #writing practice #humans are space orcs

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horizonandstar · 2 years

Text

short borrower au oneshot because yeah. content warning for (minor?) blood and injury

At midnight, the lights stay on, harsh neon blaring across the 'plex. If not for the announcements hurrying families out the door, you would be hard-pressed to know the actual time.

At midnight, your only enemies are the staff bots and the free-roaming animatronics.

You scurry out from your hiding spots behind the arcade machine, one of the many hideouts you've found and carved for yourself. You stick to the walls as you run towards the doors. The staff bots had incredibly limited vision, as you've come to learn. Easy to notice, easy to dodge.

El Chip's glows neon above the open entrance to the restaurant, and you hop as you pass the doors into the place, unraveling one of the hooked ropes by your side.

With a running start and a twirl of the rope, you toss it with all your strength and watch as it digs into the chair. You tug it once, twice, and satisfied, climb up the rope at speeds you were once jealous of. Littler you, young and innocent, cried when it was your turn to join them in borrowing. Too afraid of the outside world, afraid to make your own decisions, afraid to fail.

You unhook the fish hook at the end of the rope from the chair, and twirl and toss it up at the table. Tug once, twice, then climb.

Half-eaten food sits abandoned on the table. You rewind the rope back onto your belt, and you waste no time grabbing it and shoving it into your mouth. You devour the food as fast as you, and once there's only crumbs left, you lick your hands to clean it of the grease as best as you can.

With a running start, you jump off of the table and roll to break the fall. With a flourish, you bounce up from the roll and bow to your imaginary audience.

A security bot walks past close to where you are, and you wave a hand at it before ducking under the chairs and walking along the walls.

In normal circumstances, you would be on the lookout for more food, but you weren't so hungry today. That, and you had a feeling today would be special, and you're determined to see what would happen, see where your feet carries you.

You shoot a withering glare at the vents. If not for those awful cymbal-crashing bots, you would be using those to get around quickly in the pizzaplex. Needless to say, you didn't need to be taught twice. The vents were their turf, and you were fine walking on the ground floor.

You run along the ground, weaving yourself between the flashlight gazes of the security bots, passing them without trouble.

Heavy footsteps thud nearby, getting closer. You dive into the nearby photobooth and crouch, making yourself smaller, and listening to the footsteps get further and further away. Judging by the gait, that was Chica you just avoided.

You leave the photobooth and make your way down the stairs, jumping down each step. Unlike the old house you grew up in, wooden, creaky and rotting, the stairs here were far smaller and easier to jump down. For the little ones and their little feet, if you had to wager a guess. Well, little to them, not so little to littler old you.

You skip as your feet takes you towards the cupcake bakery. It was laughably easy to avoid detection here. Even that awful floating moon animatronic couldn't get you, and it had the power of flight and aerial surveillance. It wasn't like back at the old house where you had to move around in the walls. Here, you can walk freely.

Guided by your nose, you scramble towards the scent of frosted sugar. Throw the hook, test its integrity, and climb.

On the table is your prize and a roach who's gotten here before you. You unhook your paperclip and point it towards the roach. The roach rears up, ready to defend the half-eaten cupcake. You throw your hands up, holding onto your poncho, to make yourself look bigger, and growl.

The roach backs down and scurries away. You hook your paperclip back onto the strap of your bag.

You walk towards the edge of the table, craning your neck to try and see where the roach went.

The lights go out, and the sound from it startles you. You stumble backwards and slip on a wrapper, tumbling off the edge and towards the ground.

You put your arms forwards in front of you, ready to break your fall into a roll.

There's barely a second when you feel your hand push down on something, and metal swinging from where it is locked and clamping down onto your tail and foot.

You bite down on your lip to stop yourself from screaming.

You thrash, but the unyielding metal stays locked where it is. Your foot twists painfully, and you freeze where you are, afraid to twist it further.

You lick your lips and taste iron. The easiest way to get out of the mousetrap you've found yourself in is to gnaw off your tail and your foot, but you're optimistic about your chances to free yourself without resorting to that.

Each breath you heave is a struggle in and of itself.

You twist your body as best as you can, and wince at the sight of blood. With your free remaining foot, you get up as best as you can.

You unhook your paperclip and ropes and pile it underneath the metal, hoping it budges. With as much strength as you can muster, you lift the metal bar up. Only your thin tail can get through the opening you've made, but your foot remains stuck. The best you can do is twist yourself around so you're sitting instead of lying face-first.

Your arms shake, and you set the metal bar down as gently as you can before letting go of it.

You grab your tail and bite down gently on the bleeding area.

You wail, muffled by your tail.

You cry, and cry, and cry. Like a broken dam, the tears won't stop.

You grab your poncho and wrap it around yourself, and curl smaller into yourself.

You were doing so well. Months living here and not once had you been caught, making you bolder, braver. Your mother would be shaking her head if she saw you like this. Exercise caution. Only fools become complacent.

A single mistake. That's it.

The mousetrap moves, and had you more energy, you would've looked up to see who or what was moving it. Probably some cleaning bot, ready to throw you away in the trash.

"Don't let anyone else know I exist," you mutter, head hung down, before closing your eyes.

You wake up to bright lights and music that you recognize as belonging to the daycare section of the pizzaplex. Not in the trash, then.

"Hello new friend! Are you—"

You screech and scramble backwards.

"Oh no no no don't do that! Your leg isn't finished healing!"

Big hands moves towards you, but before it can snatch you up, you lunge forward and bite down as hard as you can.

You let go and run away. You stop at the edge of the floor, high, high up. The ballpit is not going to be fun to navigate.

Before you can prepare to dive, you're scooped up from beneath your feet. The surprise and momentum has you falling down onto your tail, and you wince. Their other hand picks you up and settles you back down so you're sitting more comfortably.

You blink.

That's not a human.

The animatronic keeps talking but you pay attention to none of it. Its face looks familiar, but you can't place where from.

"Are you related to the moon animatronic?" you cut them off from whatever they were saying. "No, wait, where's my shoe? My ropes? My paperclip?"

"They're riiight here!" the animatronic crouches down. You peer over their hand to find your items on the thin blanket on the ground. "See?"

You wiggle free from their grasp and land on the blanket. You hook a rope and the paperclip back to their proper spots, but your hands stay firmly grasped on your shoe and remaining rope.

"Sooo, what's your name, new friend?" the animatronic asks.

"What's your name?" you shoot back.

"I've got a lot of names!" The animatronic's rays spin around in lazy circles, "Sunnydrop, Sundrop, Sunny, Sunbeam, Sunrise, whatever you want!"

"Uh… just Sun, then." That seemed to be the common denominator of every name he listed.

"So what are you, little friend?" Sun sits down criss-cross next to the blanket. "I play with a lot of the little ones, but I've never seen one as little as you."

Well! This seems to be the perfect moment to make your daring escape.

You run on all fours towards the open entrance, darting out of the way when Sun's hands try to cup and catch you. You fling yourself off the edge and brace for impact into the ballpit.

You sink down, down, down beneath the plastic balls. You scurry into the open spaces between each ball so as to not disturb them and give away your location, and find yourself at the wall of the ballpit. You curl down and make yourself as small as possible, listening for movement.

#borrower au #writing tag #ending is a lil vague because i didnt know how to end it already #youre free to imagine whatever else happens next cause i dont have a clue #i hope the alt text works im trying to put a line break in

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squadron-goals · 8 months

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In memory of Richthofen (by v. B.)

“Rittmeister Freiherr von Richthofen did not return.“ So reports the army report briefly and harshly. So it is! What no one dared to think of has come to pass; what every German feared with quiet dread when Richthofen's aerial victories reached the unfathomable height of eighty. The greatest fighter pilot of the war had died a hero´s death for Kaiser and fatherland. There is an unspeakable pain in the hearts of our people at the loss of this bravest of the brave. He rests in foreign soil where he has fallen. We were not able to send him three salvos of honour over the grave. Today, when the massive towers of the venerable monastery church of Wahlstatt appear, old, long-forgotten images pop up in my mind. We, Richthofen and I, wore the king's uniform at the same time and were cadets at Wahlstatt. I had just entered the corps, a cocky little guy of 10 years. Manfred Richthofen was a few grades above me, and usually a newbie like me would not have had any contact with him. But it did happen once - and in a rather rude way, but one that is a fond memory for me today. My eldest roommate was an intimate friend of Richthofen, and he often sat in our room in the evenings. But this friendship was disrupted by some reason, so that both had pax ex, as we called it. Everywhere my roommate now tried to annoy Richthofen. Carnival time was fast approaching and the parcels from home with the longed-for sweets had arrived. My roommate had had a toy jumping jack sent to him in the form of a life-sized negro, which aroused our greatest astonishment; because there were no carnival jokes or masquerades. But soon we guessed the situation. One of us was supposed to secretly hang the jumping jack on Richthofen's locker door. My blood was itching at the time, and I was looking for an opportunity to show off. The doll's bright red, grinning mouth, which reached from one ear to the other, was intended to irritate Richthofen - that was the main objective. Manfred Richthofen had namely a big, full lips, for which he was always teased by my roommate. We sat at vespers. So I snuck out of the dining room as fast as I could. With the doll he had fetched, he scurried across the company headquarters into the room where Richthofen stayed. Soon the snarling black figure was dangling from the closet door, with Richthofen's name tag hanging over his woolly head like a statement. But this was not to be without consequences. Richthofen guessed whose idea it was and then found out who did it. And in the evening, I can still see it today, the door opened. Richthofen is standing in the room, and his steel-blue eyes, which didn't mean anything good to me at the time, are looking around. Now he had discovered me. In the next moment he was standing in front of me - there was a slap on the left, there was a slap on the right - and calmly, as he had come, he left the room to the respectful silence of our comrades. It's a strange memory for me! - That was the hand that later held the steering so tight and sent eighty opponents into the depths!

#manfred von richhofen #Ein Heldenleben

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itsmaddienotmaddy · 2 years

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Road to WC 2023 bay-bee. Time is an illusion.

USWNT v Haiti

Casey Murphy - called upon, came up BEAUTIFULLY and also pleased the goal post gods. I’ll take that defensively all day.

Nervy day for typically v collected center backs. Becky with some wonky positioning leading to those dangerous plays. And Alana completely asleep on the play where Murphy had to come save the day. If they can get back to usual, this is the game I’d rather have that happen so… whatever. This certainly does not change my trust in either of them.

Miss Emily Fox, exiting the national team and soccer altogether to become a water bottle model. Okay but for real, aside from the PK, she had a good game. Making good passing connections with her side to create offensive pushes. But her and Kelley both were out of position more than usual because they would move centrally or up and then because the game was so slow, they were almost lollygagging back.

Kelley. My god I thought those studs went to her head. Not that visible cleat marks immediately is a good thing, but shit. Def a red though, that was dumb. Her cross to Alex was lovely and felt really 2019 and that is what we need.

Sofia. So good. Limited minutes, but does what does. There is no level drop, she’s so solid.

Andi. Bri Scurry is saying it as I type this. She just needs to work with the center backs and have them all get on the same page. She had a good physical game and put her body on the line a lot. But wasn’t able to make the connections like she should have.

Lindsey. That fuckin knee. To be fair, I felt like she was less apprehensive than in the last Colombia games. And to make it weirder, she played harder and more aggressive AFTER getting fouled and having that scary moment with the knee. I want more aerial presence from her like usual. She feels like this weird limbo, wanting to help out the 6, and playing more offensively.

Rose didn’t find her stride this game. She had to play defensively a lot which doesn’t let her open up. We kept going wide and weren’t finding spaces in the middle to utilize her. I’m okay keeping her fresh and not overdoing it off the bat.

Sanchez did well coming in with energy and was absolutely getting in the right spaces. Her little flicks and tricks weren’t going to the right spaces but I LOVE the attempts.

Kristie, finally giving us some long balls. Idk why she seems to be the only one who can do that. She was putting players on the ground and not taking any shit. And her cross to Miiiidgeeeee!!!

Sophia…. Whatever she has an injury with, her quad or hip flexor, whatever was wrapped…. BIG NO THANK YOU. It was affecting her play and she was not herself. At all.

Mal had an okay game. She had some really great runs with the ball but her final pass was failing her. But she felt solid and her assists to Alex was great.

Pinoe was fun to see and her offsides assist was fucking amazing. She plays with joy as she nears the end of her career and I’m soaking it all up.

Midge!!! You know WHAT? She was not great when she came in. And she did not mind. She grew into the half and she did awesome. She beat defenders, she started strong offensive plays, and you know, I’m gonna give her two goals because she scored twice in my book. I REALLY LOVE IT.

And ending with Alex, because WOOOOOOOO! All three goals (including the offsides one,) were fucking SICK. It felt familiar and wonderful and I’m all for her going off in this tournament.

I’ll take the W, on to the NEXT. (Okay but also I still feel a slight off vibe with the team and I would love if the gals got together, without coaches, and worked on that together.)

#uswnt #casey murphy #becky sauerbrunn #alana cook #Emily fox #kelley o'hara #sofia huerta #andi sullivan #Lindsey Horan #rose lavelle #Kristie mewis #ashley sanchez #Sophia smith #Mal pugh #alex morgan #megan rapinoe #midge purce

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the-gravestone-saga · 1 year

Text

Angel Fallen: The Chronicles of the Legion

Chapter 9: The Golden Cathedral - Part 2

Angel Fallen: The Chronicles of the Legion has been canned and will no longer be updated

First blood was drawn by Ofia, who had dove headfirst into the battle, her lance outstretched and poised to pierce whichever of Judgment’s soldiers were unlucky enough to get in her way. When she landed in the cathedral’s central courtyard, a Cherubim was lodged between her lance and the ground, his golden blood spilling onto the lush greenery.

All around her, the Legion and Judgment’s forces were enthralled in the siege, deep in the chaotic throes of battle. Above her, angels collided in the air as Legion and Judgment angels met each other's blades. Beside her, the Legion’s leading angels had followed her to ground level. Rudra, Joriel, Noir, and Skyla had landed amidst a large swath of Judgment’s soldiers, and swiftly cleared the enemy angels from the inside out, thinning their ranks in a matter of seconds.

Anita followed shortly after, having hitched a ride on Talon’s back before being thrown towards the cathedral’s battlements. Anita bore a mad grin on her face and brandished a bazooka-esque weapon when she landed, a hellacious grin on her face. “This is gonna be fun...”

Soon after Anita began unleashing unholy hell on the Judgment soldiers in the courtyard, Talon and Net had landed a few feet behind her, systematically taking out the smaller artillery units that the airship had failed to obliterate.

“Anita! Focus some of that fire on the barracks!” Talon shouted. “Shadiel’s weapons are in there!”

“Can I take some?”

“Yes! Just make sure the barracks are destroyed when you’re done!” Talon shouted. She and Net seized one of the artillery units a moment later and hurled it over the cathedral’s walls, where it splintered apart on impact with the ground. “Just make it quick!”

Anita’s face broke into a more frightening grin. She swiftly leapt down from the cathedral’s ramparts and sprinted to the other side of the courtyard, where she disappeared into the barracks.

“Are you sure that was a good idea?” Net asked, shoving another artillery unit over the cathedral’s walls.

“No idea! If she comes out with a nuke, it ain’t on me!”

***

The artillery units were soon taken care of, having all been hurled beyond the cathedral’s walls where they all laid in splintered heaps at the base of the fortress. With all threats of aerial attack gone, Styna could make her move. Darting through the sky with the precision of a wasp, she weaved in and out of the aerial battles between the Legion and Judgment’s army and dove towards the main palace of the cathedral. The roof was made up of a fine glass dome that ended in a golden point at its summit. Styna gauged that she could break through the glass and infiltrate the palace from above, then make her way down to the vaults below. With all of the stronghold’s guards distracted by the siege outside, it was unlikely she’d run into anyone still guarding the palace.

Landing on the glass roof, she unsheathed one of her daggers and slammed the pommel into one of the panels. The glass immediately buckled and shattered, granting her access to the upper echelons of the palace. When she slipped inside, the chaos of the siege became muffled and distant, with only the deep, resonant boom of the airship’s artillery fire reminding her of the battle raging outside.

“Alright, I’m in. Now I’ve just gotta find that vault…” Styna sheathed her dagger and began her search. Scurrying through the polished marble and granite halls of the palace, she quietly followed the wide corridors, her heels softly clacking against the granite floors as she searched for anything that might look like a clue to the whereabouts of the Great Beast egg.

However, after passing through numerous chambers that all appeared identical to her, it soon dawned on the Power that she wouldn’t be able to find the Great Beasts egg by trying to brute force it. Deciding she needed some help, she pulled out her Emitter Stone and contacted Larimar - he had Lucifer’s diagram for the cathedral, and even if the diagram was incomplete, it was better than running blind through the palace.

“Hey, Prince? You there?”

“I hear you loud and clear. What’s going on?”

“I need to borrow that brain of yours. I need to find my way to the vault, but I don’t know where to look! I need you to guide me there with that diagram you stole from Luci.”

“You called the right angel. Based on the blueprints I have, it looks like there’s a hidden passage somewhere in the West Wing of the palace. Where are you now?”

“Uh…a few rooms north of the central dome,” Styna replied, mentally mapping out where she had already been. “I’ll start heading to the West Wing now.”

“Be careful out there. The airship’s computer is picking up on some life forms inside the palace. Some of Shadiel’s goons must still be in there,” Larimar warned.

“Noted,” Styna replied. “Here’s hoping there are no traps ahead.”

“You and me both.”

Following Larimar’s instructions, Styna made her way through the winding halls of the palace and began heading towards the West Wing. Miraculously, the way was clear - there were no guards patrolling, no traps to be tripped, and no security systems to alert Judgment’s forces of Styna’s presence. It was eerily easy for Styna to find her way around the halls, and somehow that put her on edge more than any security system could.

Passing through a final series of halls and interconnected rooms, Styna entered the central chamber of the palace, where the North, South, East, and West Wings all linked up into a single atrium. The entrance to the West Wing was just to her left, but Styna found herself unable to continue her trek. She was instead captivated by a massive, imposing terminal in the center of the chamber - the palace’s central data hub. The supercomputer.

“Uh…Prince? I think I found that computer you warned us about,” Styna stammered, gaping at the colossal machine. Control panels were oriented in a ring around the central hub, and a holographic screen was projected from its center, hovering in midair as it wrapped itself around in a circle to be viewed from all sides.

“Wait. really!? Where are you right now!?”

“Some kind of foyer? All four wings of the palace are connected here. And this thing isn’t just some subtle computer terminal,” Styna winced, tentatively stepping towards it. “This looks like something out of a movie.”

“Let me see it.”

Styna complied and turned her Emitter Stone towards the supercomputer. A mortified gasp escaped Larimars lungs, nearly making Styna drop her Stone.

“Are you kidding me!? NOT AGAIN!” Larimar cried in exhaustion.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Styna bit, tightly gripping her Emitter Stone.

“I recognize that supercomputer! Shadiel had its blueprints all over his laboratory when he took over my position as the Head of Technology!”

“I need a bit more than that, Prince! What does this thing do?”

“Shadiel designed it to be a weapon. He didn’t make it to hack into other devices, or even to destabilize nations. He designed it to be powerful enough to affect the real world directly! It’s a metaphysical computer, capable of altering reality in ways you couldn’t even imagine!”

The color from Styna’s face drained, and she took in a sharp breath. “Uh…well, at least it's currently deactivated,” Styna stammered, trying to find some solace as her situation abruptly became significantly more dire.

“We better hope it stays that way. That thing is extremely dangerous, and we’d be stuck here if it was turned on.”

“Why don’t I just destroy it? Wouldn’t that remove it from the equation entirely?”

“You can’t just destroy it,” Larimar said. “That would activate its self-defense protocols. It’s one of the few times Shadiel has actually bothered to add self-defense protocols into any of his shitty inventions.”

“So do I just ignore it?” Styna inquired, her small wings fluttering with uncertainty.

“That’s all you can do. We’ll keep the soldiers occupied out here. Hopefully that’ll keep any of them from turning it on.”

Styna exhaled, some of the tension leaving her body. “Alright then. Back to the mission at hand…”

***

While Styna and Larimar navigated through the labyrinthian palace, the battle for the cathedral raged on outside. However, not every member of the Legion was performing well. While the rest of her fellow angels effortlessly slayed Judgment's soldiers and stained the ground gold with the ichor of their enemies, Skyla was not so lucky and found herself repeatedly failing to lay even a scratch on her enemies.

Instead, it was more common for her to charge, and then immediately be thrown into the nearest wall like a limp noodle.

Nowhere was this more paramount than when Skyla found herself staring down a heavily armored Judgment angel, noteworthy for an iron mask that concealed his face, and the two ivory spikes that jutted upward from his temples like the horns of a bull.

Skyla met this bullish angel in the cathedral’s courtyard, standing head and shoulders above the rest of his armored comrades. Holy fire spilled from his mask's mouthpiece, and dark smoke billowed around his head like black ribbons. Skyla, thinking more with her heart than with her mind, decided that this raging angel would be the perfect target for her newfound passion. When she landed amongst Judgment’s forces, she inadvisably caught his attention by hurling a fireball at his back, which only served to enrage the raging bull.

Spinning on his heel to face Skyla, the angel let out a deep, bellowing warcry and charged her without a second thought, lowering his head to skewer her with his glistening horns. Skyla sucked in breath from between her teeth and braced herself, tightening every muscle in her body as she stuck her hands out to stop the bullish angel in his tracks.

In what can only be described as a poorly executed game of chicken, the angel crashed into Skyla in a head-on collision that sent her flying into the air in a flurry of black feathers before she came crashing back down to the ground, wheezing as the wind was knocked out of her.

Skyla croaked and spat out grass and dirt, momentarily dazed from the impact. She fumbled for her lance and awkwardly rose to her feet, to which she was met with the bullish angel’s raucous laughter. Skyla’s wings flared at the angel’s guffawing, and her ichor boiled beneath her skin.

“What’s so funny!?” Skyla shouted in exasperation, dirt and grass still clinging to her flushed cheeks.

The bullish angel slowly turned back to Skyla, and she could practically see the wry grin beneath his iron mask. “What were you expecting to happen? That I would just roll over?” he cackled, his voice coming out in a resonant boom.

“That was the plan!” Skyla huffed, shaking her rustled wings. “Come on! Fight me! I’m not done with you!”

The bullish angel only laughed harder. “You!? A pipsqueak like you expects to fight me? Do you have any idea who I am!?”

“The Minotaur?” Skyla replied dryly.

Holy fire exploded from the bullish angel's mouth. “NO!” he roared, Skyla’s remark clearly having plucked a nerve. “I’m Claptrap! The first of the empowered angels-!”

“Your name is Claptrap!?” Skyla blurted, unable to stifle a boisterous cackle. “I really hope Daddy Dearest didn’t name you that! That’s just cruel - WOAH!” Skyla’s ill-advised taunting was swiftly interrupted when Claptrap charged her again. Skyla narrowly dodged his ivory horns and jumped clear over his hulking form with a few paltry wingbeats.

Landing on the other side, she wheeled around to face him for another headlong rush. Not having learned from her mistakes, Skyla tried to stop the raging angel in his tracks once more by standing her ground as Claptrap charged. When he inevitably rammed into her, he caught her between his horns, bludgeoned her to the ground, and dragged her across the courtyard, tearing up soil and grass as he went. When he finally stopped, Skyla took the brief opening as an opportunity to counterattack - an opportunity that didn’t last long as Skyla imprudently drew back her arm and struck Claptraps face, an action that quickly led to agitated screaming as her fist met Claptrap’s metal mask. This only provoked further inane laughter from the brutish angel as puffs of smoke leapt from his mouth.

As Skyla clutched her now-bruised hand, Claptrap seized her by one of her pauldrons and hurled her into the cathedral’s alabaster walls like she was a ragdoll. The sting of the impact detonated through her wings and back, and an equally painful blow damaged her ego.

From the moment she had landed among the Legion, she was raring to go, ready for anything that Judgment’s forces could throw at her. She was fiery, passionate - and also painfully bullheaded. She had been among the first to land, and yet she was still struggling against a single soldier.

Her frustration was swiftly growing, and her movements became sloppier and less refined as the battle raged on. Why was she performing so badly? She was doing everything that Rudra did! She watched Rudra swing her crackling blade with practiced ease, and she would mimic that movement with her lance. But while Rudra could disembowel or decapitate an angel with a single deft slice, Skyla could barely put a dent into Claptrap’s plated armor. While Rudra’s precision with her sword was deadly and true, Skyla’s lance would haphazardly bounce off her enemies, or she would miss her intended target entirely.

Trying to charge Claptrap had equally humiliating results. Whenever Skyla had enough leeway to rush down the hulking angel, she would take her chance and charge him head-on, just like Rudra. But, as seemed to be a recurring pattern, her attempt at brute force would be immediately thwarted, and she was sent back to square one.

She couldn’t understand it. She was doing everything Rudra did, and Rudra was busy tearing through enemy ranks like a hot knife through butter, all while Skyla felt like there were heavy irons shackled to her ankles.

Finally, her one-on-one struggle against Claptrap came to an abrupt end. As she was thrown to the ground for the last time, the strange angel from the Evo City radio tower saved her by skewering Claptrap’s neck with a silvery rapier, swiftly killing the massive angel.

The strange angel then turned and asked her, with a blank look and a blanker voice, “So. How’s the ground taste?”

Skyla groaned into the dirt before scrambling to her feet, grass stuck to her face and dress. “I had him!” She snapped, angrily scraping dirt off her face.

“Are you sure?” The pale angel inquired, the monotone never leaving his voice. “I’ve been watching you this whole battle, and I’ve only seen you fight this one soldier.”

“It’s nothing - I’m just trying to get the hang of things!” She said, huffing for breath. She turned and hobbled towards her lance, which was stuck in the ground a few meters away. “I’ve just gotta do what she does, and I’ll be fine!”

“Suit yourself. I’ll prepare some ice for your injuries.”

Skyla petulantly blew a raspberry before charging back into the chaotic battle once more - only to be immediately thrown right back into the cathedral’s wall by an enemy Seraph.

Skyla groaned and peeled herself away from the stone walls, brushing off dust and bits of brick from her armor. “...Ok, I might need a little help,” she grumbled, leaning on her lance for support.

The pale angel silently nodded, his blank expression never changing as he helped Skyla stand upright. “Stay on the move. Being light on your feet is the best thing you can do.”

Skyla heaved a sigh and nodded. “Alright, alright. But what about my lance? I need to charge with it to do anything.”

“Forget the lance. Here.” The pale angel removed a second scabbard from his hip and handed it to her. “It’s a shortsword. It’s much lighter than that lance. Try using it instead.”

Skyla seemed to hesitate. The sword would have been better, but she had grown attached to her ebony lance. It seemed wrong to just abandon her weapon in the middle of battle, but…

“Ok, maybe just this once.” Skyla dropped her lance to the ground and thankfully took the shortsword. When she did, she noticed that a cool breeze had begun to pick up. For the brief moment it was there, Skyla let the wind cool her off.

“I think it’d be better if you stuck by a more experienced angel,” the pale angel said. He directed Skyla’s attention skyward, where Ofia was locked in an aerial showdown with countless enemy soldiers.

The Ophan was like a dancer in flight, deftly controlling the rings of her body with effortless flair. Her rings achieved many feats, and Ofia could switch her battle style on the fly. Her rings could be used to batter soldiers out of the sky, they could latch onto and shackle multiple soldiers together and fling them around like a limp piñata, or - and this was Ofia’s favorite thing to do - she could enlarge the rings into colossal, sawblade-like bands of fire that spun endlessly in the air, trampling over anything and everything that got in their path. It was as beautiful as it was deadly.

“...Yeah, I think you might be right,” Skyla said, grimacing at the idea of being thrown around by enemy soldiers again.

The barest hint of a smile came across the pale angel’s face as he gave her a hearty pat on the back. “Then go. I’ve got some soldiers of my own to deal with.”

“Wait, don’t you-” When Skyla turned back to the pale angel, he was already gone. Skyla blinked at where he’d been standing, then sighed. “That relic did a number on him…”

With her new shortsword in hand, Skyla resigned herself to a slightly different tactic: if she couldn’t fight exactly like Rudra, she could at least do something comparable. Using a similar weapon was a good place to start. It pained her to abandon the chance to prove herself to Rudra, but the pain of being tossed around like a ragdoll hurt all the more. So Skyla spread her dark wings and took to the skies after Ofia.

***

Ofia, however, was blind to Skyla’s approach. Instead, the verdant Ophan busied herself with tearing apart the onslaught of soldiers that swarmed around her and filled the air with thousands of wingbeats that sounded like thunder.

But even a thousand enemies couldn’t stand in her way. Commanding her rings like a skilled general, Ofia cleaved through the oncoming swarm, slicing her enemies apart and leaving them to drop out of the sky like flies. She poured herself into her rings, infusing them with so much of her power that they became unstoppable wheels of destruction. Her anger fueled the fire that spurted from them, her sorrow forced them to spin ever faster, and her adrenaline drove them on, never letting the rings falter as they spun through the air and crashed into her enemies. It was exhilarating for Ofia, and she couldn’t help but break out into a fiendish grin as she reduced her enemies to bits of bone and ichor.

In fact, she was so caught up in her onslaught that she hardly even noticed Skyla coming up behind her, and she nearly jumped out of her skin when she spun around and almost crushed Skyla’s face with one of her rings.

“What - SKYLA!?” Ofia squawked, several of her golden feathers popping off in shock. “Where did you come from!?”

“That pale angel sent me up here!” Skyla squawked, flinching away from Ofia.

“Wh - that Ascended guy?”

“Is that his name?”

“Last I heard,” Ofia replied. She spun around and continued her onslaught, never breaking conversation with Skyla as the two swiftly began fighting back-to-back. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you aren’t doing too hot down there, huh?”

Skyla growled, plunging her shortsword through the exposed neck of an oncoming soldier. “I’m just rusty, that’s all!”

“Rusty!?” Ofia threw back her head and laughed. “You were getting your ass handed to you down there!”

“Alright, so I can’t exactly replicate Rudra’s results! So what? I can do something similar!” Skyla hissed, conjuring a wall of fire to protect herself from an oncoming soldier.

“Skyla, just accept it! You can’t fight like her!” Ofia shouted, raising her voice over the scream of her flaming rings. “I was willing to back you up on this before, but you’re really starting to worry me!”

“Ugh, you sound like Jori!” Skyla groaned. “And Talon!”

Ofia swung one of her rings about and caved in another soldier’s skull, dropping him out of the sky. “Well maybe you should listen to them! Talon knows what she’s talking about!”

“Or maybe I’m just not trying hard enough!” Skyla retorted with all the tired stubbornness of a mule. “Also, and I know this probably isn’t a good time to ask, but where is Talon? I haven’t seen her since we landed!”

Ofia deftly caught a ring as it spun back to her hand. “What do you mean? She and Net are on the battlements-” Ofia craned her neck down to the glimmering walls of the Golden Cathedral, and her words abruptly caught in her throat. “GAH! Where the hell did they go!?”

Much to Ofia’s surprise, the two metallic angels were nowhere to be seen. Where previously they had been dealing with the remaining artillery units on the Golden Cathedral’s battlements, Talon and Net were now out of sight. A pit swiftly formed in Ofia’s stomach as she frantically began scanning the battlefield, a shot of adrenaline cracking through her body with startling speed.

“Shit shit shit - WHERE ARE THEY!?” Ofia squawked, her rings sporadically spinning around her in an uncoordinated and confused dance, clumsily smacking into enemy angels with all the grace of a whale on roller skates.

In an instant, Ofia’s tight focus on the enemy had broken and her mind was sent spiraling into a mire of dread. Where had they gone? She had kept a close eye on them the whole fight! Surely they couldn’t have gone far, she thought. They must have moved on from the battlements. Or maybe they’d been ambushed! The battle for the Cathedral was frenzied and brutal; it would be all too easy for an enemy to rush in and overwhelm an angel caught off-guard! If Net and Talon had been too preoccupied with the battlements, then they could have been attacked, or worse! This was all wrong, she was supposed to protect them-!

“There they are!” Skyla abruptly shouted, locating Talon and Net atop one of the Cathedral’s watchtowers.

Ofia managed to tear herself away from her increasingly paranoid thoughts and let out a relieved sigh. “Ok, ok, they’re ok-” she wheezed, still wide-eyed from the rush of adrenaline. She braced a hand over her chest and took a shaky breath, her heart still beating like mad as she silently tried to assure herself; Talon and Net were perfectly fine. No, even better than fine. They were sending a cascade of arrows and bolts upon the courtyard below, raining holy hell on the enemy and sending them running for cover. They were fine, Ofia thought. Now you just need to calm down…

“Come and get some!” Net whooped, firing arrows of light from the built-in bow on her arm. A toothy grin was plastered on her synthetic face and her unearthly cackling filled with air, which contrasted nicely with Talon’s cold, terrifying silence.

“Yep, that’s them alright,” Ofia sighed, mustering a smile. Her sisters were safe and were currently out of harm's way. Good. As long as they stayed where they were, Ofia could keep an eye on them and focus on tearing through Shadiel’s soldiers. Everything was ok. Everything was gonna be ok. “Ok, they're fine, I’m fine, everything’s fine,” Ofia huffed, brushing one of her braids from her face. She clenched her fists around her rings and took a sharp breath in, pumping herself up to get back into the action.

“How are you holding up!?” Skyla asked with some effort, having never let up her elemental onslaught after Ofia’s moment of panic.

“I’m fine!” Ofia bit, gritting her teeth. “Just got thrown off my game, but I’m good!”

“Are you sure about that? You completely froze!”

Ofia hissed through her teeth and threw her rings out once more, watching as they burst to life and whizzed through the air like miniature stars. “I can take care of myself! I was just worried about my sisters!”

Skyla looked back at Ofia, a glimmer of doubt in her scarlet eyes. Ofia’s hands were trembling, and there was the briefest glimmer of doubt and fear on her face. In fact, her entire body was quaking even as the Ophan tried to hide it. She wasn’t just worried about her sisters. The mere thought that they could have been in danger was enough to send Ofia into a blind panic - to make her abandon her onslaught in search of them. The dread in Ofia’s face, the fear, the guilt…it had all been there, regardless of how she tried to hide it beneath her verdant helm. Skyla chewed her lip in apprehension as she absentmindedly hurled a fireball at an approaching soldier. Her gaze steadily fell solemnly upon the shortsword in her hand and the dents in her armor. She had taken a heavy beating on the battlefield, but…maybe she should be worrying less about herself and more about the Ophan beside her, because there was more rattling around in Ofia’s mind than what she had said on the airship. An internal conflict that Skyla couldn’t begin to understand.

Skyla couldn’t ponder Ofia’s worrisome behavior for long, however. A deep, droning whine came from below and the Golden Cathedral began to tremble. Ofia and Skyla swiftly turned their attention to the cathedral’s glistening walls. Beyond the battlements, the verdant valley between the Alpine mountains split open like a gaping maw, revealing the desolate vaults that had been built beneath it. From these vaults came three fearsome jets, each one armed to the teeth. Their engines roared furiously, and nightmarish amaranthine flames spurted from their thrusters. The jets rumbled and hissed, pivoting in the air to face the Golden Cathedral, leering at the Legion’s forces like a predator to prey.

“Ah, fuck,” Ofia hissed, recalling her rings. “This fight just got a bit more troublesome.”

“How the hell do we take those things down!?” Skyla squawked incredulously, her wings flaring. “I only have a sword!”

Ofia cracked her neck and focused down on the fast approaching jets, a cocksure grin coming on. “Just leave it to me.” Spreading out her hands, Ofia threw out two of her rings and coated them in brilliant fire, preparing to launch them straight at the jets. This was almost too easy, she thought.

“Net! Come on! We gotta stop those things before they reach us!” Talon’s clear voice split through Ofia’s thoughts, breaking her focus. Turning back to the watchtower, Ofia’s heart dropped as Talon and Net swiftly fled the safety of their perch and flew towards the oncoming jets, fearlessly directing their cascade of arrows onto their new targets.

A swell of panic rose in Ofia’s throat, and an indescribable sense of urgency was enough to send her racing forward, her golden wings beating on their own, even as a bewildered Skyla shouted after her. Ofia didn’t care at that moment. All she could think about is getting Net and Talon out of harm's way.

Was it sensible? Was it logical? Was it even a good idea to blindly rush into danger like Ofia was doing? An angel in her right mind would have thought so. An angel who could remember that Talon and Net were unnaturally durable thanks to the Cloud Steel in their bodies would understand that the two sisters were arguably the best candidates to run headfirst into the hull of these jets. They were like living bullets, after all, and they would be perfectly fine. But Ofia wasn’t in her right mind. Her thoughts were a mire of blind terror and obstinant self-sacrifice, and all she could think about was getting the two of them out of danger at any cost.

Throwing caution to the wind, Ofia dashed forward with incredible speed, her breath coming out in strained, heaving gasps. Her heart was pounding out of her chest and she could hardly keep her hands steady as she raised her rings skyward, focusing on her sisters. With a deep breath, Ofia hurled two of her rings forward, willing them to rapidly increase in size. The rings barreled towards Talon and Net and latched onto their waists, abruptly stopping them in their tracks. Net and Talon let out startled cries, the force of the rings suddenly yanking them back having knocked the wind out of them. The two metallic sisters flailed for a moment before their attention snapped to the rings locked around their waists, holding them in midair.

“Wha - What IS this!?” Net shouted, an irate hiss in her voice. She braced her hands around the enlarged ring and tried to tear it from her waist, but it was no use - the ring was firmly locked around her.

Talon stared at the ring in shock, disbelief brewing in her inky eyes. Upon hearing approaching wingbeats, Talon snapped her neck back and gasped. “Ofia? What are you doing!?” she cried.

“Trying to keep you two safe!” Ofia retorted. “You would have been turned into paste!”

“What are you talking about? We’d tear right through the hull!” Net bit back, her visor blinking furiously.

“It doesn’t matter! I’m not risking you getting hurt! I’ll handle it instead!” Ofia snapped. She pulled the rings back and returned Net and Talon to the watchtower before turning her attention back to the jets.

“Ofia! Don’t do this!” Talon screamed, desperately twisting and kicking against the ring that kept her bound. “Don’t you realize the danger you’re putting yourself in!?”

“I’VE GOT THIS!” Ofia roared indignantly. Summoning all her strength, Ofia called forth a swarm of rings from her body, her valiant spirit igniting them with holy fire.

The roar of their engines was deafening, and the air cracked around them like lightning. The jets were so close now that Ofia could smell the acrid stench of the engine’s fuel - bitter and pungent, it reminded her of the noxious smell of napalm. Even without their weapons, the jets posed a lethal threat; moving fast enough to obliterate an angel on impact, they could effortlessly cleave through the Legion’s ranks and leave nothing but a wave of bone and ichor in their wake.

In spite of the desperate screaming and pleading from her sisters, Ofia remained steadfast in her decision. She didn’t care about the danger to herself. All sense of self-preservation had been thrown out the window, leaving nothing behind but a grotesque willingness to immolate herself to the chaos of battle in an effort to protect the family she had failed to protect before.

With her heart determined and her mind settled, Ofia threw her flaming rings forward and willed them to rapidly grow in size as they hurtled towards the jets in a head-on collision.

A direct hit! The rings slammed into the jets and exploded on impact, reducing their hulls to splintered metal and charred shrapnel in a spectacular display. The sky was filled with a massive plume of choking black smoke that clung to the remains of the jets as they hurtled back down to Earth, their pilots undoubtedly having been reduced to ash.

Unfortunately, Ofia didn’t have time to celebrate. While she had been successful in destroying two of the jets, one still remained. Roaring like a furious beast, the last jet rocketed through the smoke and fire with blinding speed like a sailfish through water. A strangled cry escaped Ofia’s lips - a spark of terror and intense dismay sliced through her thoughts in an instant, punctuated by the unimaginable pain that detonated throughout her body as the jet crashed into her.

Her ears were filled with the indescribable roar of the jet's thrusters, and the appalling stench of fuel and napalm overwhelmed her lungs. She could feel her chestplate crunch and buckle under the force of the impact, quickly followed by the searing heat of the jet's smoke-covered wings. Her last thought before fading into oblivion was a heartbreaking plea to her sisters - a wordless apology fueled by guilt and sorrow.

And then…she was abruptly silenced. The force of the impact violently hurled her to the ground in a flailing mass of feathers and rings. Ofia crashed into the courtyard at breakneck speed, skidding across the greensward and kicking up dust and debris as she went. She must have traveled 30 paces before finally coming to a halt.

Talon, Net, and Skyla could only look on in helpless, stunned horror, their disbelieving eyes glued to the once glorious Ophan as the dust finally dissipated to reveal what was left of Ofia. She was laying in a limp heap, her limbs and wings twisted in painful directions. The wind had been ripped from her chest, and pieces of her chestplate had been scattered everywhere. Her rings were strewn all around her, their eyes glazed over as they blankly stared into the distance.

“OFIA!” Talon screamed, her desperation cleaving the air like a hot knife. Gritting her teeth and fueled by white hot rage, the Throne braced her claws against the ring around her waist and tore it away from her in one deft move. With her wings free, she leapt from the watchtower without a second's hesitation and sprinted towards her fallen sister. The battle that raged on around her meant nothing anymore - she just needed to get to her sister now.

Net swiftly followed suit. Shattering the ring around her with her bare hands, Net flew down to the courtyard with a panicking Skyla in tow. The three angels quickly surrounded Ofia and an air of tension soon settled over them. With silvery tears welling up in her dark eyes and her heart firmly lodged in her throat, Talon managed to roll Ofia onto her back with some difficulty.

The extent of the damage was shocking. Ofia’s chestplate had been completely smashed to pieces, revealing the soot-covered gambeson underneath. Her wings were splintered and frayed, and feathers were scattered about at random. The brilliant golden light that had once emanated from her wings had dimmed to a faint, weary glimmer. Her white underdress was tattered and torn, charred and stained black from the fiery debris that had coated the jet. Her dark mahogany hair was singed and strewn about her head like a pool of blood. Her trusty lance was nowhere to be found, having been lost to the battle for the cathedral. Worst of all, however, was her helm. Her helmet had been severely damaged, and a massive crack had split it open along the right side of her head, partially revealing her scarred face beneath its viridescent hue.

Her eyes were shut, and a thin line of shimmering ichor ran from her temples and down her cheek. Talon held back a sob, watching as the ichor slowly trickled to the ground, staining the grass gold. Talon’s face screwed up into an anguished grimace, and she covered her head with her claws in despair. The heartbeat on Net’s visor rapidly sped up and she hung her head low, her silicon locs falling in front of her face like vines. Sharing in her sister’s grief, Net grasped one of Ofia’s hands and quietly sobbed into the back of her hand.

Skyla, for her part, couldn’t even begin to believe what she’d just witnessed. Ofia, a glorious Ophan of incredible power and indomitable will - had she really been brought to heel? Had she finally been bested in battle? Had she truly lost to a mindless machine?

No. No, not a mindless machine, Skyla thought. That hellacious jet had a pilot. Skyla’s jaw clenched, and her fingers wrapped tightly around the hilt of her sword until her knuckles turned white. Impudent rage bubbled inside Skyla, and her ichor boiled beneath her skin. The pilot did this. That pilot is the one who did this to Ofia. Whoever they were, Skyla would make them pay for what they’d done.

Scanning the blue sky, Skyla located the jet as it banked around to head back to the cathedral, soot and ash still clinging to its hull. Skyla steadily spread her ebony wings and prepared to take flight, but the slightest movement from Ofia managed to stop her in her tracks.

Snapping her attention back to the ground, Skyla was astonished to see Ofia begin to stir. First it was a simple twitch of her hand or the rustling of a feather, then it was quiet mumbling from within her chest. A soft murmur between Ofia’s lips was Talon and Net’s deliverance from their anguish. The two sisters pulled back from Ofia, awash with astonishment and indescribable relief as Ofia miraculously came to. Talon and Net wordlessly pulled the still dazed Ofia into a hearty embrace, joyful tears still streaming down their faces.

“Ofia!” Net cried, squeezing her sister in a bone-crushing hug. “You’re alive! YOU’RE ALIVE!”

“Oh my Mom, we were so scared you didn’t make it!” Talon whined, her voice still breaking under the weight of her dismay. “How badly are you hurt? Can you stand? Do you have a concussion?”

Ofia’s partially revealed eye lazily flicked between Talon and Net. The force of the impact had left her in a confused stupor and a haze had settled over her mind like a fog over water, clouding her perception. The amber pools that were her eyes refused to focus on anything, instead they sluggishly meandered around from one point to the next.

“I - wha’ happun’?” Ofia slurred as a line of ichor dripped from her mouth. “Talon? Net? Are ya safe?”

“Yes, we’re fine,” Talon replied softly, squeezing Ofia’s shoulder. “But you aren’t. You’re badly injured. You can’t fight in this state! We need to get you to safety.” Talon promptly jumped to her feet and pulled Ofia up, slinging an arm around her shoulder to help Ofia stand, even as the Ophan was dead weight against her.

“Wha? No, no, I can still fight-” Ofia wheezed, laboring for breath. She gasped and heaved, spitting up worrying amounts of ichor.

“No, you can’t! Look at you, you can barely stand!” Net retorted harshly, the heartbeat on her visor flashing red. “We can’t risk your life out here!”

“You can leave the fight to the rest of us,” Skyla assured, firmly squeezing Ofia’s arm. “Starting with that damn jet!”

“That thing must be part of the cathedral’s aerial defense system,” Net deduced. “We need to get it out of the sky before it does anymore damage!”

“Leave it to me!” Skyla boldly announced. “I’ll take care of it!”

“Wh - ARE YOU CRAZY!?” Talon squawked, the metal spines on her head standing on end.

“Did you not see what that thing just did to Ofia!?” Net snapped, clenching her jaw.

“I’m still standing, aren’t I?” Ofia wheezed, a few drops of ichor falling from her lips.

“You just barely survived!” Net scolded.

“Skyla, you can’t take that thing down,” Talon explained, trying to keep her voice steady. “You’re inexperienced, and you were barely able to take out a single enemy soldier! What makes you think you can take out that jet?”

Skyla grimaced in response. “You saw that?”

“Everyone saw that,” Net replied coldly. “You stay down here. Let us deal with it-”

A cacophonous clap of thunder unexpectedly cut Net off. The angels all turned their attention skyward and were amazed to see Rudra in flight, leaving a crackling trail of lightning in her wake as sparks flew from her pearly wings. Her blazing sword was drawn and ready, and she appeared to be flying straight for the fast-approaching jet.

“...Or Rudra can handle it. That works too,” Net finished, a series of exclamation points appearing on her visor. “Alright, we need to get Ofia to safety. We can’t be out in the open like this.”

“Agreed,” Talon nodded, adjusting her grip on Ofia’s arm. “Skyla, try to keep your head down out here. We don’t know what else the aerial defense system can do-” Talon craned her head back at the dark angel, but her words quickly fell into silence when she realized that Skyla was gone. “What - where’d she go!?”

“Uh…Talon?” Net tapped her sister’s shoulder and directed her attention to the sky. Talon craned her neck up, and her jaw quickly dropped.

“What the fuck is she doing!?” Talon squawked. Skyla had foolishly taken flight after Rudra, shocking Talon and Net with her sheer, unbridled recklessness.

“She’s gonna get herself killed,” Net said with a disapproving wince.

“If Rudra doesn’t kill her first,” Talon replied dryly.

***

After seeing Ofia so brutally blasted out of the sky, Rudra had been quick to turn her rage onto the jet that had done it. Spreading her massive wings, Rudra coated herself in lightning and launched herself into the sky in a ball of electricity, the force of her takeoff filling the air with a thunderous boom. Rudra had directed her headlong rush directly at the jet, and it took but a second for her to rip through the side of the dark hull and land inside its cramped cargo bay. Colliding with the jet head-on was a no go - she was strong, but not strong enough to withstand an impact like that. So instead, she had opted to tear through the side of the jet instead and make her way to the cockpit.

Unfortunately, Rudra didn’t get far before Skyla gave her a scare. With a riotous scream, Skyla somehow managed to latch onto the opening Rudra had left in the jet's side and frantically haul herself inside, much to Rudra’s bewilderment.

“Skyla? What the hell are you doing!?” Rudra cried, baffled by Skyla’s ungainly entrance.

Skyla huffed and scrambled to her feet, brushing her dress off as she went. “I’m here to help!”

“Help? Skyla, you barely made it in here!” Rudra chastised. “You should be on the ground with the rest of the Legion!”

“But I’m not, am I?” Skyla replied with a clumsy grin, which soon faded upon seeing Rudra’s irate expression.

“Skyla, do you have any idea what this thing even is?” Rudra inquired, raising her voice over the wind as the jet continued racing towards the cathedral.

“Uh…” Skyla stammered, her hands fumbling through her hair to keep it straight as the wind blew it about. “A part of the cathedral’s aerial defense system?”

An annoyed sigh was the response. “This isn’t a jet, and this certainly isn’t just part of the cathedral’s aerial defense system. This thing is a Hunter Class Battleship! These things are designed to hunt down their targets and take them out in seconds! You saw what it did to Ofia when it crashed into her! She’s lucky she managed to take out two of these things, and even luckier to still be breathing!”

“Wh - how do you know this?” Skyla gaped, the severity of the situation becoming clear to her.

“Because I used to pilot one when I still served Judgment,” Rudra hissed through gritted teeth. “I’m too familiar with what these things can do, and we need to get this thing out of the sky before it can do anything else!”

The air around the two angels popped, and the hole Rudra had made in the battleship's hull was sealed over by an emergency blockade. Rudra scowled - she hated dealing with these battleships. They were hard to escape and even harder to destroy. Hunter Class Battleships could rapidly self-heal, as Rudra and Skyla had just seen. To destroy one for good, it would take more than just tearing through the hull or blowing off a wing. They needed to be completely obliterated in a single move, or their pilot had to be killed. With that in mind…it came as a shock to Rudra that Ofia had successfully destroyed two of them with just her rings. The amount of power and precision Ofia would have needed to blow one up was astounding, but two at once was unheard of. Either the Ophan had a sharper eye than Rudra thought, or she had gotten unfathomably lucky.

In either case, it didn’t negate what the remaining battleship had done. Rudra had seen the whole thing, and it made her skin crawl. Her stomach churned at the thought of the agony Ofia must have experienced in the seconds she had still been conscious. The shock of the initial impact; the searing pain as the battleship effortlessly sliced through her armor; the blistering sting of flames; the appalling and acrid stench of superheated fuel searing her lungs. It made Rudra nauseous just thinking about it. She could have lost one of her closest friends in a matter of moments, and Ofia wasn’t out of the woods yet. Her life still hung in the balance, and her survival hinged on the Legion’s victory.

That’s why she was here now. Fueled by passion and rage, Rudra not only sought to destroy the battleship, but to make sure the cathedral’s aerial defense system would stay down. For the sake of the battle, for the sake of the Legion, and for the sake of Ofia. Especially Ofia. She would avenge her, no matter what it took.

“Alright, what’s the plan?” Skyla asked, yanking Rudra from her thoughts.

“I’ll locate the core and overload it. That’s the only reliable way to destroy a Hunter Class Battleship,” Rudra replied. “And you need to get out of here!”

“What? Why!?” Skyla complained. “You could need my help!”

“I appreciate the thought, but you won’t be able to survive the blast when this thing blows up. I can!”

“What if I get in and out fast enough? Or what if I take out the pilot? Or I could-”

“I said no!” Rudra snapped, the exasperated coldness in her voice startling Skyla into silence. “For Mom’s sake, Skyla! Your stubbornness is going to get you killed one day! You’ve been acting like this all day! You’ve been reckless, impulsive, and obstinate your whole life, but this is the first time I’ve seen you be so careless in battle!”

“You saw what happened with Claptrap too-”

“EVERYONE saw what happened with that angel!” Rudra retorted, an icy fury building in her eyes. “You were sloppy, clumsy, and your attempts to kill him were haphazard at best! You weren’t even the one to land the killing blow! You fared better once you were with Ofia, but you were still careless and inattentive of your surroundings. And now you’ve just boarded a battleship with no plan of how to take it down, thereby putting yourself in incredible danger because…WHY!? Why are you even up here? Do you have any idea what’ll happen to you if this thing blows up with you in it!? Do you have even the slightest understanding of how dangerous this all is!? You may be impulsive, but you are not this shortsighted! Why are you acting like this!?”

Skyla recoiled from Rudra, her sharp words finally piercing her thick skull. Skyla’s scarlet eyes pensively darted around the cargo bay, trying to look at anything that wasn’t Rudra’s piercing eyes. Under the Seraph’s gaze, Skyla felt exposed. Her cockiness was sapped from her in an instant, allowing her to finally have a moment of self-reflection. She recalled the conversation she had with Ofia in the airship before the battle had started and the promise they made to each other. Ofia’s sacrificial oath to protect her sisters at all costs…and Skyla’s selfish vow to be like Rudra.

“I…wanted to be like you,” Skyla whispered under her breath, grimacing at how the words fell from her mouth. She hadn’t realized just how egotistical that promise had been up to that moment, but it was so obvious on reflection. It was painfully obvious.

Rudra was stunned for a moment after hearing Skyla’s feeble confession. Did Skyla really say…?

The Seraphim didn’t have time to contemplate. The battleship around her began to howl and tremble. She could hear its weapons systems firing beyond the ship's hull and the roar of battle outside.

“Shit! I’ll deal with you later. You need to leave, NOW!” Rudra seized Skyla by the collar and tore open the battleship’s emergency blockade, ripping through the hull in the exact same spot she’d entered from. With some effort, Rudra hurled Skyla out of the battleship.

With Skyla safely hurtling back to Earth, Rudra turned her attention to the ceiling of the cargo bay and blasted through it with a fireball, creating a path to the primary cabin. Rudra leapt through the opening and arrived in the center of the battleship. Behind her sat the masked pilot, and in front of her was the battleship’s glowing core; a crimson crystal suspended in the engine’s center. Taking no heed to the muffled screams of the pilot, Rudra approached the engine and drove her sword into it without a second thought.

The effects were immediate. The crystal shattered on impact and the engine immediately lost power. With a droning whine, the entire battleship went into a freefall. The engine hissed and squealed, beeping incessantly as it repeatedly tried to reboot itself without a core to power it. It would overload in a matter of seconds, and Rudra would be ready to ride the explosion out of the battleship.

The pilot had a different plan. Abandoning the battleship's controls, the masked pilot jumped Rudra from behind and attempted to drive a wedge-shaped knife into her neck. Thankfully, Rudra was fast enough to avoid the blade’s edge. Reaching back, she grasped the pilot’s forearm and hurled him over her shoulder, flinging him into the overloading engine. The pilot collapsed with a wheeze, and his mask fell from his head to reveal long, white hair and the sharp, cruel face underneath.

“Shadiel!?” Rudra gasped, a dart of rage stabbing through her heart. “You! YOU’RE THE ONE WHO TRIED TO KILL OFIA!”

“Surprised?” Shadiel coughed, ichor trickling from his lip as he flashed Rudra a wry grin. “I should’ve aimed for the head, but a crushed lung will do just as well.”

“You just can’t fucking help yourself, can you?” Rudra hissed, brands of hellfire spilling from her hands. “First Talon and Net, and now you go after Ofia for sick kicks!?”

Shadiel steadily rose to his feet, leaning on the squealing engine for support. A series of wicked giggles fell from his mouth, as did more ichor. “Oh, you know I don’t like unfinished business, Rood.”

“Then you can take it to your grave!” Rudra furiously seized Shadiel by the neck and rammed his skull into the engine where the core had previously been. An unholy scream tore through Shadiel’s throat, and the rancid stench of burning flesh and hair quickly filled the cabin.

With the engine reaching critical mass, Rudra released her grip on Shadiel and sprinted towards the cockpit and leapt into the glass canopy with her wings spread wide.

And not a moment too soon. The engine violently exploded as soon as she reached the canopy, and the blast was enough to launch her forward at blazing speed, safely carrying her far from the exploding battleship with nothing but a few singed feathers as recompense. Pivoting in the air, Rudra turned and watched as the battleship spiraled out of control and went down in a ball of fire, falling beyond the cathedral’s walls and landing in the green valley below. Surely, Rudra thought, not even Shadiel could survive that.

***

Deep in the bowels of the Golden Cathedral, Styna had managed to find a passageway into the tunnels beneath the chapel. The tunnels were a dark, winding maze of hallways and small interconnected rooms. The only light was a thin strip of neon light that was suspended in the tunnel walls and ran throughout the maze.

Styna shivered as she took her first tentative steps into the desolate maze. A puff of mist escaped her lips and hovered in the air like a cloud. It was freezing, and Styna could only wonder why Shadiel would keep his testing grounds so cold. After a moment to warm her hands, Styna took out her Transmitter Stone and called Larimar once again.

“Hey, Prince? You still there?”

“Still here. Have you found the labs yet?”

“Not yet, but I think I’m on the right track,” Styna said, carefully trekking through the dark hallways. She could faintly hear the sounds of battle raging outside, but the only sound that filled these foreboding halls was the soft clicking of her heels on the polished floor.

But the silence did not last. After taking a few strides down the halls, an explosion rocked the cathedral to its core. Styna yelped and fell forward, grabbing onto the wall to keep herself upright.

“What the hell was that!?” Styna gasped, steadying herself as the tunnels around her continued to rumble and groan.

“Uh…looks like Rudra just blew up a Hunter Class Battleship,” Larimar replied curtly. “And a good thing, too. That thing was putting a dent in our forces. It nearly killed Ofia!”

“Wait, what happened!?” Styna gasped, the news of Ofia stunning her.

“The cathedral’s aerial defense system kicked in and three Hunter Class Battleships were deployed. Ofia took out two of them, but the third did a number on her. We’re not sure if she’ll make it.”

“Mother of Mom…”

“Rudra just took down the third, and she’s given me orders to shut down the defense system before anymore battleships can be deployed. The problem is that I can’t access the cathedral’s network from here. I need your help.”

“By doing what?”

“Find a control panel and hook your Emitter Stone up to it. I can remotely access the cathedral’s mainframe that way.”

“Where the hell am I gonna find a control panel down here - oh, nevermind,” Styna said, pursing her lips as she rounded a corner, where she found an operational panel mounted to the wall. Approaching it, Styna held her Emitter Stone up to the screen and watched as the gem in the Emitter Stone began flashing red.

“Alright, let’s see what Shadiel’s done here…”

“Are you connected?” Styna queried, watching Larimar move about on the hologram.

“Yep. I just need a few seconds to see what I’m dealing with. If Shadiel’s cybersecurity is anything like his actual security, this should be a breeze.”

“And O.R.I.G.I.N?” Styna asked, watching as Larimar hacked into the cathedrals systems.

“What about it?”

“I mean, you made a pretty big deal out of it before the siege, but we haven’t had to worry about it for the entire battle. It’s nerve wracking - like I’m just waiting for a bomb to go off or something.”

There was a pause. “...yeah, that is suspicious. Lucifer’s plans were plastered with warnings about O.R.I.G.I.N. You’d think Shadiel would have used it by now.”

Styna bit her lip. “It doesn’t feel right…how’s everyone on the surface?”

“You already know about Ofia,” Larimar said with a wince. “But I think we’re fine. Except…”

“Except?”

“Anita. I don’t know where she is. She disappeared into the cathedral’s barracks earlier, but now I can’t find her-”

Styna felt another explosion rock the cathedral, and a loud gasp came from Larimar. “Nevermind! She just blew up the rest of their barracks!”

“By herself?” Styna asked, taken aback.

“Yep! And it looks like she stole one of their jetpacks too. Mother of Mom, this woman is insane.”

“At least that buys us some time. What’s your status on shutting down the cathedral’s aerial defense system?”

“Just shut it down!” Larimar announced triumphantly. “That should take care of the battleships. How are you doing with the Great Beast egg?”

Styna gave Larimar a defeated sigh. “No dice. I haven’t found anything yet. This place is like a maze. I-”

A deafening drone filled the underground halls of the cathedral, cutting Styna off. The dim neon lights in halls abruptly shut off soon after, plunging Styna into near complete darkness with only the light from her Emitter Stone to guide her. The young angel jumped, and her tiny wings stood on end as a creeping sense of dread crawled up her back.

“Uh…Larimar?” Styna whispered, clutching her Transmitter Stone. “What the hell just happened?”

“I don’t know,” Larimar sputtered, staring blankly at his screen. “I was just kicked out of the cathedral’s systems. It’s like the entire system just rebooted itself.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Depends. Hang on, let me try to get back in…”

Aside from her own breathing, a few keyboard strokes from Larimar were all Styna heard for the next few minutes. She could faintly hear the roar of battle above the underground cathedral. It sounded like things were getting dicey up there, Styna thought.

A strangled gasp from Larimar soon drew Styna’s attention back to the inoperable panel in front of her. “What? What’s wrong?”

“My god…Styna, you said that the cathedral’s supercomputer was shut off, right?”

“It was when I saw it. Why?”

“Because it just turned on. And O.R.I.G.I.N. has just been activated,” Larimar gulped, his voice quivering at his own words. Styna blanched in response, all the color draining from her rosy face.

“Oh shit…”

“Styna, you need to find that Great Beast egg while you still can! NOW! HURRY!” Larimar screamed, the force of his voice shaking the Transmitter Stone. Styna jumped in shock and clumsily pocketed the Transmitter Stone before booking it down the halls without another word. She didn’t have time to ask questions - the urgency in Larimar’s voice was enough to push her on!

Thankfully, the panic and adrenaline coursing through Styna was all the encouragement she needed to run through the cathedral’s vault in record time. Sprinting through hallway after hallway, the young Power finally crashed into a pair of double doors deep within the confines of the Golden Cathedral. When she regained her footing, she found herself standing in the middle of a lab of some sort. It vaguely reminded her of Anita’s lab back at HECU HQ, but…there was something decidedly sinister about this lab. Or maybe Styna had watched too many human movies.

Briskly scanning the room, Styna’s one good eye landed on her target. The Great Beast egg, suspended in a large glass tube at the center of the room. The tube was connected to a large machine that was built into the foundation of the lab. Several sensors had been attached to the shell and a PDA appeared to be recording the vitals of the Great Beast contained within. Shadiel was clearly planning on using the Great Beast against the Legion, so Styna thanked her lucky stars that she’d found it just in time.

She wordlessly shut off the PDA and deactivated the sensors, which released the glass tube from the machine and allowed Styna to safely remove the egg. The egg was heavier than she’d expected and the glass tube it was contained in was awkward to hold, but Styna had to make due.

With the Great Beast egg safely in hand, Styna breathlessly booked it out of the lab and back the way she came. If O.R.I.G.I.N was as bad as Larimar made it sound, she really didn’t want to be around for whatever was going to happen next.

***

When Styna reached the surface, she fled the cathedral and fled into the courtyard. No sooner had her foot touched the ichor-stained grass did her Transmitter Stone go off once more.

“Larimar, talk to me! What the hell is going on?” she squawked. Although Styna couldn’t pinpoint it, something in the air felt extremely off-putting and it made her stomach inexplicably churn.

“It’s O.R.I.G.I.N! Shadiel’s remotely activated it!”

“And what exactly does it do!? You didn’t exactly debrief us on everything!” Styna bit.

“How could I? Lucifer’s notes barely mentioned what O.R.I.G.I.N is or what it does!” Larimar retorted. “Do you see anything out of the ordinary down there?”

“Uh-”

Styna gritted her teeth as a second deafening drone filled the air, much louder this time. The battle around her came to a screeching halt, as if the drone had paralyzed the warring angels with fear. Then, like clockwork, everyone turned their gaze to the Golden Cathedral itself, and the onlookers could only watch as the glass dome atop the cathedral split open like a blossoming flower. From within the cathedral, a large crystal rose, glowing menacingly against the clear blue sky. The incessant droning was coming from the crystal itself. The air shimmered and hissed around the crystal, as though it were hot to the touch.

“Uh, Styna?” Larimar asked quaveringly, watching the whole ordeal from the safety of The Angel of Vengeance. “Talk to me; what the hell am I looking at!?”

Styna swallowed hard, but didn’t say anything. She could only watch as the crystal glowed brighter and brighter. The light was blinding and its shimmering rays were deathly cold. Then, with a shrill shriek that could put a banshee to shame, the rays of light solidified and were jettisoned out of the crystal like rockets. It was like shooting stars had taken form from the malicious light and were now rocketing back down to earth. These cold stars weren’t a bombardment or a bombing run of any kind. They weren’t aiming for the Legion. Instead, these stars were rocketing towards Shadiel’s soldiers, deliberately picking them out of the mayhem of battle. And when those stars collided with their targets…well, it was hard to describe what happened next.

The light became infused with the enemy soldiers, empowering them beyond what their rank normally allowed. Their halos glowed brighter, their wings glistened like the sun, and their wounds were healed in an instant. It was as though a divine hand had come down and reinforced Shadiel’s forces when they were at their lowest, and the tide of battle was about to take a turn for the worst.

“It…” Styna stammered, horror filling her heart as the enemy forces rallied around the light, stronger than ever before. “That light…it empowered them! That’s what O.R.I.G.I.N does! It empowers angels and makes them stronger than before!”

Styna could practically hear Larimar’s heart stop. “Oh my Mom, that’s what it means…‘Omniarch Radiancy Inheritance Grid for Ideality and New beginnings.’ That’s what the acronym means!”

Styna blanched, Larimar’s moment of clarity lost on her. “What does what mean?”

“That light that came from the crystal! That wasn’t just any light! That’s divine light! The kind of light Judgment and Mom have power over! That’s what ‘Omniarch Radiency’ means! ‘Inherentince Grid’ must be referring to the power being infused with the angels via the supercomputer - a grid! And ‘Ideality and New beginnings…’ that’s the empowerment process itself! Literally giving angels a new beginning and molding them into their ideal selves!”

“What the hell are you trying to say!? That Dad’s using his power to make his angels stronger!?” Styna squawked.

“Pretty much! He’s just using a supercomputer to do it remotely!”

“Ah fuck, I’m starting to see why Lucifer was so worried about it!” Styna yelped and clutched the Great Beast egg to her chest as the ground began to quake beneath her. “What the - Larimar, I thought you said you deactivated the aerial defense system!”

“I did! That wasn’t the defense system!”

“Then what-” Styna’s voice caught in her throat and a scream tore through instead. With barely a moment to think, Styna furiously beat her tiny wings and took to the air as an empowered angel charged her, the force of his stampede making the very ground quake. “Mom Almighty!” Styna squawked. “We can’t fight them like this!” Styna cried, watching helplessly as the Legion was swiftly pushed back by Shadiel’s newly empowered soldiers.

“Forget the fighting!” Larimar shouted. “Just get the Great Beast egg back to the airship! It’s the one thing we can’t let Shadiel have!”

“On it!” Tucking the egg under her arm, Styna bolted skyward toward the airship as it idled overhead. Lumina’s shield still held around it, but the barrier was weakening and wouldn’t last much longer.

In her panicked flight, Styna suddenly became the target for Shadiel’s airborne troops. It was like all at once, they knew she was making off with the egg and they wouldn’t let her flee so easily.

Halfway to the airship, a swarm of Shadiel’s soldiers swooped down on Styna in a frenzied horde of blades and teeth, like a whirlwind of fury. Acting quickly, Styna used her tiny wings to pivot mid-flight and dive back towards the cathedral as the horde of enemy angels relentlessly ran her aground. Landing in the cathedral’s courtyard, Styna ran for cover to avoid the onslaught of angels above and around her. Gritting her teeth, she swore under her breath and retrieved her Transmitter Stone.

“Larimar, I’ve got a problem! I can’t get to the airship like this!” Styna hissed, watching in bewilderment as the newly empowered angels swarmed the air like an angry hive of wasps.

“I see it! Just hang tight, I’m gonna give you guys some breathing room!” Larimar shouted.

Taking the helm controls, Larimar pivoted the airship in the sky until its starboard bow faced the cathedral. The airship creaked and rumbled as several cannons opened up along the airship's hull. Larimar took aim at the empowered angels and began shelling the battlefield with Hellfire. His aim was impeccable, and several angels were blown out of the sky and sent careening back to earth in balls of fire.

“That should give you some time! Now get up here! I have a feeling those angels aren’t gonna stay down for long!”

Styna set her jaw and nodded. Putting away her Transmitter Stone for the last time, she spread her tiny wings and got a running start into the courtyard. She barely made it five paces before an empowered angel tackled her to the ground, knocking the Great Beast egg from her hands.

A strangled gasp escaped from her throat. “NO!” she cried, her arms flailing in the direction of the egg.

Blindly reaching around her back, she deftly unsheathed her sparkling dagger and stabbed wildly at her assailant, hoping to find soft flesh. Her aim was clumsy, but true, and the dagger’s serrated blade found its mark in the angel's eye. The angel howled in pain and released his grip on her, allowing her to scramble to her feet and run for the Great Beast egg as it rolled about in the grass. Her assailant hissed furiously and tore the knife from his eye and tossed it aside.

Leaping back to his feet and spitting mad, the angel lunged for Styna again and seized her by the ankle, yanking her back. Styna fell forward and slammed face-first into the ground. With a groan, she wiped away grass and ichor from her face before suddenly finding herself upside down, hanging by her ankle. The soldier lifted her into the air, an iron grip around her leg that was unnaturally strong, even for an angel. Styna hissed through her teeth and kicked against the angel's arm with her free leg, desperately trying to free herself.

She must have hit something vulnerable. She smashed her heel against something soft, and a warm gush of ichor began running up her leg. The angel released his grip on her, and Styna dropped to the ground in a heap.

“I need help down here!” Styna shouted, hoping to draw the attention of a nearby Legion soldier to her plight. Thankfully, she did. Skyla had been in earshot. Although the dark angel was still reeling from Rudra’s reprimand minutes prior, she still had enough mind about her to come to Styna’s aid.

Once again wielding her discarded lance, Skyla charged the empowered angel and drove the lance’s tip into his side. Although her previous attempts at using the lance had been met with failure, this time, she managed to find her mark. The lance pierced the angels glimmering armor and broke through layers of flesh and bone before coming out the other side, drenched in ichor. The angel squealed in agony. Clutching his side, he staggered back and fell to the ground in a heap. Retrieving her lance, Skyla helped Styna back to her feet.

“How’re you holding up?” Skyla asked.

“A little bruised, but I’ll be fine,” Styna winced. She staggered towards the egg and scooped it up into her arms. “I need to get this egg back to the airship. Once the egg is secured, Rudra will give the order to launch a final assault and take the cathedral!”

Skyla frowned at Styna’s words and glanced back at the hordes of empowered angels currently swarming the courtyard. “That was the plan before Shadiel turned that damn machine on. Look, sis, I’ve already fought one of these things! When we first landed, there was this big bull-looking guy named Claptrap. Said something about being one of the first empowered angels when we fought. He was really strong, but I didn’t think anything of it at first!”

Styna recoiled in surprise. “Wait, there were already empowered angels here before O.R.I.G.I.N was activated?”

“Apparently. And they’re no joke - I don’t know if we’ll be able to take the cathedral at this rate!” Skyla and Styna instinctively ducked as Larimar fired another Hellfire shell at the sky in an attempt to disperse the swarming angels.

Styna swore under her breath, clutching the egg close to her chest. “This egg is too important to give up now. We can come back for the cathedral later! All that’s important right now is getting this egg out of here!”

Skyla stared at her sister with wide, disbelieving eyes. “What!?” she sputtered, unsure if she’d heard her sister correctly.

“You heard me! I have my orders; get the Great Beast egg and return it to the airship! This thing is the ultimate weapon against us. Getting it away from Shadiel should be our top priority!”

“That was before we knew what O.R.I.G.I.N was!” Skyla squawked, reeling. “That’s the most dangerous weapon against us right now! We need to shut it down before things get worse, and we can only do that by taking the cathedral! We can’t just retreat now!”

“We can’t take the cathedral like this! We’ve already taken too much of a beating!” Styna retorted. “We can always come back to the cathedral, but not before we regroup!”

“That’s not your call to make!” Skyla snapped. “Rudra has to give that order!”

“Then we need to tell her! You’ve already fought one of these things head-on, you already know what an empowered angel is capable of on their own. There’s no telling what they’ll do to us if they’re all empowered!”

“Which is why we need to shut O.R.I.G.I.N down!” Skyla argued, her black feathers starting to flare up. “You can take the egg to the airship - those are your orders! But until Rudra says otherwise, I’ll be staying down here!”

“Do you have a death wish!?” Styna gasped. “We can’t just keep fighting! We have to get out of here before-”

“GET DOWN!”

With barely a second to react, Ofia came charging at Skyla and Styna and tackled them both to the ground. Unbeknownst to the two bickering sisters, the empowered angels had started sending a barrage of holy flames onto the battlefield below in a rain of fire. Ofia, who had been resting by the cathedral’s walls under Net and Talon’s supervision, had seen the onslaught coming. When she had seen Skyla and Styna in the direct line of fire and oblivious to the danger, she knew she had to do something. So, still bleeding heavily from her wounds, she’d leapt away from Net and Talon and charged down the two sisters, using her wings to push her forward.

She’d narrowly saved them from certain death. The three angels were all sprawled on the ground, varying degrees of shaken from the impact. Ofia, through gritted teeth, picked Styna and Skyla up.

“Are you two ok?” She breathlessly asked.

“Yeah,” Styna said shakily, the acrid stench of fire all around her now. “Where did that come from!?”

“It’s a bombardment! We have to get to cover!” Ofia shouted, panic rising in her voice.

Grabbing Styna and Skyla by their pauldrons, Ofia shoved them towards the cathedral’s walls, where the battlements provided some overhang that they could hide under. Without another word, Styna and Skyla began their sprint for cover while their enemy razed the battlefield in sacred flames. The searing heat was unbearable - even just running past the flames was enough to sear Styna’s skin and singe her dress. She’d forgotten just how deadly holy fire could be, and it was a nightmare to be on the receiving end of those golden flames while carrying a giant egg.

KRAKA-BOOM!

That was all Styna could hear in the split second before she was sent hurtling to the ground. A brilliant ball of sacred fire exploded a mere meter behind her, and the blast was enough to throw her clear off her feet and into the ground, charing her white dress and singing her pink hair. When she landed, she lost her grip on the egg and could only watch as it careened into the holy fire. A strangled gasp escaped her throat and she lunged for the egg, but it was no use. Just like that, the egg was lost to the flames and Styna could do nothing but stare helplessly into the crackling inferno before being hauled off towards the battlements by Ofia.

When they reached the safety of the battlements, Ofia dropped Styna to the ground to be tended to, and the young Power could only stare blankly at the flames beyond the walls. The Legion was still putting up one hell of a fight, but the O.R.I.G.I.N program had given Shadiel’s forces an insurmountable boost to power and morale. Their assault on the battlefield was relentless. Even under heavy fire from Larimar, the bombardment of holy fire seemed borderline endless. It all happened so quickly. One moment, the Legion was on the verge of claiming the cathedral for themselves. The next, the entire tide of battle had dramatically shifted in Shadiel’s favor. Styna had never seen a battle turn so quickly, and it made her stomach churn.

“Styna! Are you ok?” Ofia asked briskly, squeezing Styna’s shoulder to get her attention.

“I lost the egg,” Styna said blankly, her mind still reeling. She turned her gaze to her hands, mystified. “I had it in my grasp. I had it. And I dropped it. We lost the egg.”

Ofia blanched and leaned against the wall, clutching her stomach as ichor continued to spill from between the cracks in her armor. “Shit,” she swore. “Well, that’s one mission failed.”

“This is bad,” Skyla swallowed, frantically running a hand through her dark hair. “Why did we have to argue in the middle of a BOMBARDMENT!?”

“Just calm down!” Ofia assured, planting a firm hand on Skyla and Styna’s shoulders. “Look, Skyla, me and you haven’t been our best during this fight. We got our asses beat and we just lost the thing we were after in the first place. But now is not a good time to start freaking out about it!”

“This entire siege has been a disaster,” Styna gulped, recoiling as a ball of holy fire slammed into the battlements above her, sending down a waterfall of stone and debris.

“We need to regroup!” Talon barked. She came around Ofia and helped Styna back to her feet, being mindful of her wounds. “We’ve sustained too many casualties, Lumina’s shield won’t hold much longer, and we are severely outgunned! We need to think of another plan! Where’s Rudra? We need our leader for this!”

Larimar provided all the air support he could from the airship, Talon and Ofia tried to keep the angels under the battlements calm, Anita rained bullets down upon the enemy ranks, and Noir and Joriel were still holding their own against the horde of empowered angels. But even with their combined strength, the O.R.I.G.I.N program had proven to be an unexpected tipping point - a card that Shadiel had slyly kept up his sleeve as he waited for the right moment to deploy it.

However, even as panic among the Legion began to grow in the face of a newly rallied enemy, their leader would not let them fall so easily to fear and dismay. Rudra would remind the Legion of the promise they made and of her commitment to them, and she signaled her promise with a mighty crack of thunder.

The sky grew dark around Shadiel’s angels, and the last thing they saw was a blinding streak of lightning descending from the heavens. Without so much as a warning, Shadiel’s forces were struck out of the sky by a web of divine lightning that cast the Golden Cathedral in an ethereal blue light. The air crackled and hissed, still bristling with energy even as the lightning faded as quickly as it came. The Legion watched as their enemies fell from the sky like flies, dead before they ever hit the ground. And as the sky was cleared of Shadiel’s soldiers, the Legion looked upon their leader in mid-flight, hovering above the battlefield still cloaked in electricity. Her sword was raised heavenward, as though to pierce the sky.

Just like that, Rudra had smited Shadiel’s aerial troops in one fell swoop.

“Hear me, Legion!” Rudra roared, her powerful voice resonating throughout the valley. “Fall back and regroup! Those of you still on the ground, take the cathedral! Those in the air, return to the airship and await my commands! This battle is far from over!”

Like clockwork, the Legion did as Rudra commanded. Withdrawing from the battle, the Legion forces in the air retreated and fled to the safety of the airship, where Lumina’s shield was still holding. Those on the ground gathered their wounded and charged their way towards the cathedral’s entrance. Without anyone guarding the inside of the cathedral, the Legion was easily able to push their way through and make their way into the central palace, even as Shadiel’s forces tried to stop their endeavors. As the last one in, Rudra dropped out of the sky like a stone and swooped over the enemy soldiers, pelting them with hellfire before bolting through the cathedral’s massive double doors, just in time to make it into the palace before the Legion closed them off.

Rudra closed her glistening wings and skidded to a halt, her greaves scraping across the smooth tile flooring of the palace. Her breath came in short gasps, and a line of sweat dotted her brow. She didn’t remain like that for long though. In one swift movement, Rudra immediately straightened up and composed herself, stiffening her posture. That had been too close, she thought. But she couldn’t let the Legion see her exhaustion.

Indeed, the last half of the battle had been hell on everyone. Rudra could never have expected O.R.I.G.I.N to be capable of such a thing. Remotely empowering angels with Judgment’s divine strength? It was crazy to think about and Rudra barely had enough time to wrap her head around it before she was thrown into a frenzied fight for her life. She’d never fought angels like that before, and it tested her composure. Falling back was the only thing she could think of. Regroup and plan a counterattack. Minimize casualties and maximize her chances for success. And maybe deal with Skyla’s foolishness and Ofia’s concerning recklessness.

Rudra took a breath and nonchalantly brushed some dust off her armor when Noir came up to her. Noir had sustained relatively moderate injuries, thank goodness. A few scratches and scuffs lingered on her cheeks and her shades were broken, but Rudra’s eyes were immediately drawn to her side. Noir was clutching her ribs and was bent awkwardly to the side. Whatever had hit her, it had clearly left one hell of a bruise.

“Are you alright?” Rudra asked in a soft voice, touching Noir’s arm. Noir coughed and shot Rudra a smile, though she was clearly in pain.

“Yep, all good,” she managed, wiping some blood from her mouth. “Things were getting pretty dicey out there. How’re you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” Rudra replied, wiping sweat from her brow. She lifted her head and scanned the Legion around her. They had all made it safely inside, and the strongest were holding the cathedral’s doors shut. Rudra winced at the sight; she could hear Shadiel’s soldiers banging down the doors. The Legion would be safe, but not for long. With a grimace, Rudra pulled Noir aside and out of earshot from the Legion.

“Talk to me, what’s the plan here?” Noir asked weakly, leaning against Rudra for support.

“I’m not sure yet. I need to speak to Larimar. He’s our only lifeline right now.”

Noir chuckled and removed her glasses, frowning when they snapped in half. “Uh…not sure if this is a good time to mention it, but we lost the Great Beast egg.”

Rudra snapped her eyes toward Noir in disbelief. “What?” she spluttered.

“Yeah. I saw it all go down. Styna had it, and then she didn’t. Those damn angels started bombarding the place and the egg got lost in the flames,” Noir explained.

Rudra swore under her breath, then sighed. “A mission failed, but at least the egg can’t be used by Shadiel now. Our priority now is shutting O.R.I.G.I.N down.”

“Agreed,” Noir nodded.

Rudra set her jaw and produced her Transmitter Stone, contacting Larimar. She needed a plan to win the battle and take the cathedral, and fast. Larimar was her best bet. The two of them had always found their way out of trouble, and she was certain they could pull victory out of this mess as well. She just hoped they could figure something out before the cathedral doors caved. O.R.I.G.I.N loomed over the Legion like a preening dragon, and she needed something to smite it. For the Legion, for herself, for Noir.

#team fortress 2 #tf2 #angel fallen: the chronicles of the legion #freak fortress #freak fortress 2 #tf2 freaks #rudra seraph #lady noir #larimar prince #ofia #skyla #styna #joriel #madame talon #net #shadiel #anita james #my writing

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