The Killing Curse does not leave a mark. Ever. It forces the soul out of the body without touching it at all. What happens, then, when something takes possession of the empty husk?
Thomas Dorian Potter could barely contain his excitement. He was finally going to Hogwarts! His parents had told him so many stories of their years there- most of his father’s involving pranks, much to Lily’s fond exasperation- that Thomas didn’t even want to wait for the Hogwarts Express. He had begged his parents to just let him Floo straight over, or Apparate him there, but his mother put her foot down.
“It’s tradition, Thomas. You’re getting on that train.” And that was the end of that. So, here he was, at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, staring in awe at the steel beast in front of him. The Express was much more impressive than he expected, shining red and spewing steam.
Thomas was excitedly chatting with Ronald Weasely and Neville Longbottom, his two yearmates and best friends. Molly Weasely was giving the twins, Fred and George, a stern talking-to, while Arthur just chuckled about their latest prank. Percy looked about ready to join his mother in scolding his younger brothers, but she didn’t pause long enough for him to slip in his own comments. So, he simply glared at them, arms crossed, Prefect badge glinting on the breast of his robes. Ginevra hid behind her mother’s leg, staring at Thomas longingly, not that he noticed. James, Sirius, and Remus were joking around, with occasional input from Ted Tonks, who was also here with his wife, Andromeda. Their daughter, and Thomas’ cousin, Nymphadora, had already gotten on the Express, along with Cedric Diggory, the Weasley’ neighbor.
Suddenly, Thomas was dragged into a crushing hug by Lily, who sighed sadly. “Oh, my baby’s growing up so fast!” she cried, much to Thomas’ embarrassment.
“Mum!” he hissed, “Not in front of my friends!”
She swatted him on the back of the head, not releasing him. “Hush, you! I’ll hug my son if I want to! It’s going to be so quiet without you running around the house,” she said, already overcome with nostalgia.
“Mum!” Thomas whined, squirming in her grip. The snickers of his friends made him turn bright red.
“Fine,” Lily drawled, letting him go, but not before planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek. “You three get on the Express now- don’t wanna miss it, do you?”
“Bye, Mrs. Potter,” Ron and Neville chirped, dragging Thomas on board, then proceeding to take the mickey out of him.
“Oh, shut up!” Thomas snapped. “Don’t act like I didn’t see your mum wipe the dirt off your nose, Ron!” He grinned victoriously when the youngest Weasley son went as red as his hair. The three boys broke down into chuckles, lightheartedly shoving each other as they went to find a compartment, dragging their trunks along with them. They found an empty one towards the back of the train, loading their trunks up on the racks and plopping down on the comfortable seats, stretching out a bit.
“So, which class are you blokes most excited for?” Neville asked.
“Defense Against the Dark Arts!” Thomas said instantly. “I’ve already defeated a Dark Lord, so it’s obviously gonna be my best class!” he boasted, making his friends smile.
“I dunno, I’m kinda looking forward to Flying,” Ron said, a wide grin on his face. “Have I told you guys about that time I-”
“Hit a Muggle hang glider with Charlie’s old broom? Only about a million times,” Neville teased, making Ron cross his arms with a faux-pout. “I’m gonna enjoy Herbology. Mum doesn’t have much time to work in the greenhouses with me, what with being an Auror and all.”
“Speaking of being an Auror,” Thomas said, rising to his feet and pulling out his wand- ten inches, dogwood, dragon heartstring core- “Dad finally showed me a spell that he said is essential for all Aurors.” He spun his wand in a circular movement, and cried “Prot-!”
The compartment door slammed open, startling the three boys. Thomas dropped his wand from the shock.
“Hello, I’m Hermione Granger,” a bushy-haired girl with large front teeth introduced herself. “Would it be alright if I sat with you three? The people in the other compartments are horribly rude,” she rattled off. Hermione’s eye caught sight of Thomas’ wand as he picked it up, and placed her hands on her hips. “Were you about to do magic? Well, let’s see it. I’ve already cast a few of the spells in the Charms textbook, and they worked perfectly.”
The boys shared confused glances, before Ron shrugged, not seeing the harm in letting her sit with them. Thomas repeated his wand movement, shouting “Protego!”
“Er, mate… Was something supposed to happen?” Ron asked, barely holding in his chortles. Thomas frowned.
“Yeah. Dad said it was a Shield Charm.”
“Looks more like a prank,” Neville said, making Ron lose control and begin howling with laughter. Thomas stomped his foot in frustration.
“It worked when Dad did it, I swear!”
“Protego?” Hermione piped up. “That’s not in the First Year curriculum. I would know- I’ve already read all the books. It probably didn’t work because it’s too advanced for you.”
Thomas bristled at the slight to his abilities, but Ron came to his defense, stopping his cackling. “Hey, he’s the Boy-Who-Lived! He defeated the Dark Lord when he was a year old- nothing’s too advanced for him!”
“You’re Thomas Potter?” Hermione asked, latching on to the new piece of information. “I’ve read all about you! Is it true that you rode a dragon to Russia to help the Kremlin against a goblin invasion?”
“Uh… What?”
“Oh! Did you broker a peace treaty with the Canadian Prime Minister after you saved his daughter’s life?”
“Who?”
“Ooh! What about that time-!”
“Wait!” Thomas yelled, holding his hands. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about all your adventures in the books, of course!”
“Books?” Thomas asked, looking at his two friends. “What books?”
Realization dawned in Ron’s eyes. “Oh, I know what she’s talking about! A buncha people have written all these crazy things about you- Ginny’s obsessed with ‘em, despite how absolutely barmy they are.”
“Books are not barmy!” Hermione cried, offended. “They wouldn’t have been published if they weren’t true!”
“I hate to break it to you, Hermione, but Thomas hasn’t done any of that stuff,” Neville said gently. The girl looked to be on the verge of hyperventilating.
“But, but, books don’t lie!” she shrieked, bushy hair fluffing out even more. The three boys were starting to panic; none of them knew how to deal with a crying girl! They were saved by the compartment door slamming open once more. A platinum-blond boy, with his hair slicked back by copious amounts of gel, stood there with a superior smirk on his face. Flanking him were two goons, one tall and one fat, neither very intelligent judging by how dull their eyes were.
“I heard Thomas Potter was starting Hogwarts this year.”
“Malfoy,” Thomas growled, right hand tightening around his wand.
“Looks like it’s true- I was wondering if you might be denied entry for being too stupid. Anyways, I’m here to extend a hand of friendship. Now that you aren’t being led around by the nose by your blood-traitor father, maybe you’ll have the good sense to accept it. After all, the Malfoys are one of the most prominent Pureblood families in all of Britain. You would be wise to fall in line, Potter.”
“Are you even listening to the crap coming out of your mouth, Malfoy?” Neville snarled, as he and Ron stood, pulling out their wands- nevermind the fact that none of them knew any spells that would do anything worthwhile.
“Bugger off, ya slimy little git! Nobody’s joining your stupid Junior Death Eater club!” Ron snapped.
“Longbottom,” Malfoy greeted imperiously. “And look at that, another Weasel. How many does that make now, fifty? Hogwarts really needs to do something about this infestation in its halls. I suppose Potter would count amongst you idiots, what with his hair. What’s up with that, anyway, Potter? Did you dye it to look like a cheap knock-off? Or did your whore mudblood mother get a little too frisky with Weasley Senior?”
Thomas hauled off and made to slug Malfoy in his fat mouth, when a hand came out of nowhere and latched onto the boy’s wrist with an iron grip. The First Years all made various noises of surprise when a tall boy with disheveled black hair stepped into view, wearing dark gray sweatpants and a forest green hoodie. He dropped Thomas’ arm, then stooped down so he was face-to-face with Malfoy, emerald eyes glowing fiercely.
“Leave.”
Surprisingly, the three Death Eater wannabes obeyed, scurrying back up the train.
“Harry!” Thomas cried excitedly. His next cry was one filled with pain, however, as the young man slapped him upside the head. “Ow! What-?”
“Sit down. Shut up.” A livid glare stifled any protests, and all four First Years did as he said, despite three of them not being the target. “You idiots woke me up with all your yelling.” The dark bags under his eyes, which looked more like bruises, attested to how much he actually needed his sleep.
“S-Sorry,” Thomas stuttered. The older boy stared at him for a long moment, that seemed to stretch infinitely, before turning away, allowing the redheaded boy to finally breathe.
“Don’t let it happen again,” he rumbled, sliding the compartment door closed behind him. For a long while, silence reigned between the four eleven-year-olds, the rumbling of the train a dull roar in the background.
“Who… Who was that?” Hermione asked Thomas weakly.
“My older brother, Harry.”
---
Thomas was positively shaking with nerves. They were about to be Sorted, and his parents had refused to tell him how. Ron was convinced they had to fight a troll, though it was the twins who told him that, so all four agreed it was probably just a joke. Neville said it might depend on their heritage, but that didn’t quite sit right with Thomas. After all, despite the Potters traditionally being Gryffindors, Harry wasn’t (then again, Harry wasn’t exactly normal by Potter standards). Hermione theorized they might have to take some sort of test that determined their personality, which was apparently a Muggle thing. Thomas didn’t really get it.
Finally, however, Professor McGonagall ushered them into the Great Hall. The starry ceiling was absolutely gorgeous, and the archaic architecture of the Hall was a lot different than the Potter home in Godric’s Hollow. In the middle of the Hall was a hat, sitting on a stool. One of the wrinkled flaps opened up, and then-
“Oh, you may not think I’m pretty…”
It started singing! Thomas didn’t particularly pay attention to the song, too amazed by the fact that a hat was singing. Even in the Wizarding World, that wasn’t something one saw often. Eventually, McGonagall started calling people up in alphabetical order. Each student sat on the stool and wore the Sorting Hat, which screamed out a house name after a few moments. Hermione and Neville both ended up in Gryffindor, making Thomas cheer loudly, though moreso for the latter. Then, it was his turn. Thomas sat down on the stool, and the brim of the Sorting Hat dropped over his eyes, blocking out the Great Hall.
“Let’s see, let’s see…” a voice echoed in his head. Despite being somewhat prepared for it, he still jolted a bit. “Headstrong, you are. You don’t think much before jumping into things, and you have no problems with confrontation. A bit of an aversion to reading, so Ravenclaw’s out, and you tend to not do things you don’t like, so Hufflepuff is as well.”
“Don’t put me in Slytherin!” Thomas thought loudly, hoping the Hat could somehow hear him.
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, lad. Better be GRYFFINDOR!” The House name was shouted out loud, and the Great Hall erupted into cheers. The loudest were the Weasely twins, who stood up on the table and yelled, “We got Potter! We got Potter!” With a wide grin, Thomas did a few deep bows, shooting a smug smirk at Draco Malfoy, and going to join his housemates. There were many congratulatory pats on the back, and people introduced themselves to the Boy-Who-Lived in droves, which made it a little hard to keep track of all the new faces.
Thomas had a feeling Hogwarts was going to be fun.
---
Hogwarts was not fun. Classes were boring. The teachers lectured for the majority of the period, leaving hardly any time for the practical lesson, and they always assigned feet of homework to people who didn’t do the spell correctly in class, such as Thomas. His hand ended up aching by the time he went to bed, every day, without fail. And then came Friday, when Gryffindor had double Potions.
The Boy-Who-Lived sat down next to Ron in the classroom in the dungeon. The youngest Weasley son was shooting suspicious glares at the Slytherins on the other half of the room.
“I don’t like sharing classes with all these slimy snakes,” Ron whispered, looking at Malfoy pointedly.
“Yeah? Well, my Dad said Snape’s the worst of them,” Thomas muttered back. It was at that moment that the classroom door slammed open, and in strode a tall man, with greasy hair, a hooked nose, and dressed in billowing black robes.
“You are here,” Severus Snape began, soft voice echoing through the room, “To learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper in death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.” The man began roll call afterwards, not even glancing up when a student answered to their name. At least, until he called on Thomas.
“Potter.”
“Here.”
Snape paused, staring at Thomas for a long moment. “Ah, yes… Our resident celebrity,” he drawled. The Professor finished roll, and then turned back to Thomas. “Tell me, Mr. Potter, what would be the result of adding powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”
Thomas gaped, too shocked at being singled out to make a sound. Meanwhile, at the next table over, Hermione’s hand shot into the air like a rocket. However, Snape stayed focused on the Boy-Who-Lived.
“No answer? Well, let us try again. Where, Mr. Potter, would you look if I asked you to locate a bezoar?”
“I… I don’t know, Sir,” Thomas answered reluctantly. Once again, Hermione’s hand was waving in the air, and once again, Snape ignored her.
“Then, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”
Thomas remained silent, red rising to his face as he fumed.
“Pity,” Snape muttered. “Clearly, fame isn’t everything, is it, Mr. Potter?”
“Dad was right- you really are just a big git,” Thomas whispered under his breath. Unfortunately for him, the entire classroom was silent, so Snape heard him easily enough if the thunderous expression on his face was any clue.
“Out, Potter.”
“Wh-What?”
“I want you out of my classroom. I will not tolerate such insolence, such disrespect! Go to the Headmaster’s office, and you can expect at least a month of detention.”
“You can’t-!”
“Two months.”
“But!”
“Would you like to make it the rest of the year?” Thomas fell quiet, and Snape smirked smugly. “I thought not. Pack your belongings, and get out- now.”
Filled with anger, Thomas did as he was ordered, shoving his quills and papers into his bag haphazardly. He was a bit more careful with his inkwell, making sure to cap it, but that was all. He kicked his stool back under the table, and shot Snape the filthiest glare he could as he passed by the greasy bastard.
“Oh, and… Fifty points from Gryffindor.”
---
Everything pretty much went downhill from there. Much to Snape’s chagrin, he’d only been able to assign two weeks of detention, but that was far more than Thomas deserved, in his own opinion; two hours of scrubbing cauldrons by hand, or writing lines until his wrist cramped (and then continuing to write while his muscles spasmed painfully) every evening after dinner cut into much of his freetime. Thomas had to choose between hanging out with his friends or doing his homework, since he didn’t have time to do both, and the choice was obvious. After all, homework didn’t talk about Quidditch.
Snape continued being a snide arse in Potions, so whenever the Boy-Who-Lived talked back, the bat of the dungeon gleefully tacked on yet another few days of punishment. It eventually totalled up to the two months Snape had promised, and Thomas became more and more agitated as the weeks went by.
Hermione did her best to coerce them into finishing assignments, but eleven-year-old boys had a notorious lack of common sense, so it was an exercise in futility for the bushy-haired girl. More often than not, she ended up storming off with a huff, while the boys laughed at her indignance, then went back to whatever they were doing.
It all came to a head on Halloween. The First Year Gryffindors were in Charms, with Professor Flitwick standing on his stack of books to lecture them on the Levitation Charm.
“One of a wizard’s most rudimentary skills is levitation. Or, the ability to make objects float. Now, don’t forget the nice wrist movement we’ve been practicing. A swish and flick! Everyone?” The class repeated the movements together. “Good. And, don’t forget to enunciate! The incantation for the Levitation Charm is Wingardium Leviosa. Give it a try, all of you.”
A chorus of prepubescent voices filled the room as each student practiced the charm. One of the more notable attempts was by Ronald Weasely, who chanted the incantation, then flailed his wand up and down like a mace.
“Stop, stop, stop,” Hermione said, holding a hand up. “You’re going to take somebody’s eye out, Ronald. Besides, you’re saying it wrong. It’s Levi-o-sa, not Levio-saaa.”
The redhead rolled his eyes. “You do it then, if you’re so bloody smart,” he said, grinning smugly as he got ready to watch her fail. “Go on! Go on!” Hermione shrugged.
“Wingardium Levi-o-sa!” With a swish and a flick, the feather floated into the air, guided halfway towards the ceiling by Hermione’s wand. Ron stared at it in shock, and the rest of the room grew silent.
“Well done, Ms. Granger! Truly spectacular! Five points to Gryffindor, for being the first one to learn today’s spell!”
Ron fell into a sulk, not even noticing when Seamus Finnegan somehow managed to blow up his feather. After class, the youngest Weasley male jammed his supplies into his bag and stormed out of the room, followed by Thomas and Neville.
“It’s Levi-o-sa, not Levio-saa,” he mocked, pitching his voice higher to mimic a girl’s voice. “She’s a nightmare, honestly- it’s no wonder she hasn’t got any friends!”
A moment later, Hermione stormed past Ron, shoving him aside and scurrying down the hall. An awkward silence fell among the three boys.
“I think she heard you,” Thomas finally said.
---
That stench… It was unfamiliar. Not one he’d smelled in these halls before. There were many other strange ones, as there was at the start of every year, but this one was noxious, overpowering… Predatory instincts roused, his bones contorted and he dropped to four legs, ready to begin the search.
It was time to hunt.
---
“That stupid, rotten Ronald Weasley,” Hermione Granger whispered to herself, sobbing quietly. She didn’t know how long she’d been here, curled up in this stall in the second floor bathroom. It must’ve been a few hours, at least. However long it was, though, she still felt raw.
She’d come to Hogwarts hoping to find people like herself. People she could fit in with, people she could be friends with. That hadn’t been possible in the Muggle world, what with the bouts of Accidental Magic that became more frequent the more she was bullied. However, this school was supposed to have people like her; people who could bend the rules of reality. And, she’d hoped, people who had the same love for learning as her. After all, how could they not want to learn everything they could about magic? It was, by far, the most interesting subject she’d ever come across, and the fact that she could actually replicate the things she read in her books with nothing more than a few words and a wave of her wand made her feel powerful. Like she was more than the daughter of two dentists, more than a bushy-haired bookworm with too-big teeth and an even bigger attitude.
All she found in this castle was disappointment.
The Savior of the Wizarding World was just a typical eleven-year-old boy- not even a particularly pleasant one! The students were the same jealous cretins she’d grown up around, unable to handle that someone was smarter than them, able to do things they couldn’t, and they sought to tear her down to make themselves feel better. One of the most revered wizards in the country, her own headmaster, seemed like nothing but a barmy old man. It didn’t help that he hired rude people like Professor Snape, or incompetent people like Professor Quirrel.
It all added up to a very unhappy Hermione Granger, one who was starting to wish she’d never accepted her invitation to this stupid school. Then, the bathroom door exploded.
---
It was close. The second floor was where the scent was the strongest, and the monstrous bellows, like cannon blasts to his sensitive ears, let him know he was in the right place. The smell was almost unbearable, but he blocked it out, instead following the loud crashing, as whatever he hunted destroyed the room it was in.
He pushed himself faster.
---
A troll. A mountain troll, judging by its gray skin, incredible height, and the absolutely horrid smell, Hermione’s quick mind analyzed. However, while her thoughts were racing with panic, her body was frozen in terror. She’d exited the stall to see what all the noise was about, and immediately regretted it when the wall blew inwards. She was nearly brained with a piece of marble, only avoiding it because she fell on her rump with a shrill shriek. The troll roared once more, waving its club wildly, and Hermione answered with a scream of pure fear.
She scrambled backwards until she hit the far wall of the bathroom. Unable to stand, she simply curled up in the fetal position, covering her head with her arms, waiting for her demise. The troll advanced towards her slowly, swinging its cudgel around and demolishing each stall it passed, the steel crumpling under the thick wood like it was aluminum.
The only warning the mountain troll had was a low, bestial growl that reverberated off the tiles, before something slammed into its back, sending the massive monster flopping to the floor hard enough to crack the slick tiles. Razor-sharp teeth dug into the back of the troll’s neck, and it had just enough time to grunt in confusion, before its spinal cord was severed. Its ugly, misshapen head dropped to the ground, bouncing against the ceramic.
Silence reigned. Hermione, who had fully expected to be dead by now, cautiously peered past her arms, and came face-to-face with a large cat with insanely long fangs. A sabre-toothed tiger (Smilodon, her academically-inclined brain automatically corrected). It had to be over five feet tall, dwarfing Hermione’s modest height (modest for her age and gender, that is). It had thick, midnight-black fur that shone lusciously in the magical light. Its most noticeable feature, however, were the bright, emerald eyes that stared at her passively.
The smilodon hopped down off the troll’s back and stalked over to the trembling girl. There was intelligence in its eyes, though, and Hermione had a feeling the feline wasn’t going to kill her, despite the purposeful manner in which it moved, and the crimson blood dripping from its fangs. She pushed herself upright, standing on shaky legs, back pressed against the cold marble wall. Then, right in front of her, the smilodon began to change. Its long body became more compact, and it became a few inches taller. Its teeth shrunk, snout flattening, hair shortening, and before her stood Thomas’ older brother, Harry Potter. Even as a human, he cut an imposing figure, with his glowing eyes- amplified by the lenses of his glasses- apathetic stare, and the blood smeared across his lips. His tongue darted out, licking up the red liquid, only for him to turn his head and spit it out a moment later, a grimace on his face.
“Troll blood,” he murmured distastefully, turning his attention back on Hermione. “Shouldn’t you be at the feast?” His rumbling voice shook her out of her daze.
“Um, I…” She was too embarrassed to admit that she’d been in here, bawling her eyes out. So, she did something she much preferred; she rushed forward and circled her arms around his waist, burying her face in his solid stomach. “Thankyousomuch!” she forced out. Tears were sliding down her cheeks once more, but this time, it was in relief that she was still alive.
Hermione chanced a glance up when she noticed that her saviour was rather silent, and was unnerved by his flat expression. “Move,” he grunted, plucking her off the ground by the back of her robes. The First Year made a noise in the back of her throat, choking when her collar pulled against her neck uncomfortably. Harry unceremoniously deposited her outside the bathroom, not even bothering to make sure her feet were steady. She stumbled back against the wall, nearly falling. When she straightened up, she went stock-still with terror, unable to force her body to move away from the grisly scene in front of her.
So much blood...
---
It was a few minutes before the Professors arrived. Minerva, Severus, and Filius all skidded around the corner, Quirrel following after a few seconds.
“Ms. Granger!” Minerva shouted, “What are you doing here!?” The girl didn’t respond, and it was only then that she noticed her staring, horrified, at a gaping hole in the wall. Minerva pulled out her wand, ready to hex to bits anything that popped out, while herding her Lion a few steps away. Severus and Filius slowly approached, peering into the shattered bathroom, and the half-goblin squeaked.
“Mr. Potter!?”
“Potter, what do you think you’re doing!?” Severus barked, pointing his wand at the boy. Quirrel looked about ready to faint again. Curious, Minerva crept closer, and gasped, unable to comprehend what she saw. Standing ankle-deep in the guts of a troll corpse was Fourth Year Ravenclaw, Harry Potter. He was positively drenched in crimson- it dripped from the bottom of his blue-trimmed robes, was smeared over the lenses of his glasses, and nearly covered the entirety of his face. The only reason he was recognizable was because of the trademark Potter hair, which looked like a localized tornado had swept across his scalp.
Potter swiped a sleeve across his glasses- the motion drawing Minerva’s attention to the wicked, curved silver knife in his right hand- in an attempt to see who was talking to him, not that it did much good.
“I’ll be done in a moment,” the boy grunted. His knife melted into a metal baton- a wand?- and he waved it, Conjuring multiple cylindrical glass tanks. Another wave, and the troll organs, lined up on a tarp on the bathroom floor, were each guided into one tank. The last three were filled completely with dark red blood. The glass jars were all wrapped up in one burlap sack, while another bag was Conjured and filled with solid body parts, such as teeth, bones, nails, and the skull. A few Charms cleaned all the grime off Harry, and he stepped down from the ripped-up corpse, gesturing with his wand for the two floating sacks to follow after him.
“Can I help you, Professors?” Potter asked, his tone indicating it was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment.
“You can start by explaining what this is, Potter,” Severus drawled, looking pointedly at the disastrous scene behind the Fourth Year.
“I believe it’s rather obvious, Sir,” Potter replied dryly. Severus rolled his eyes, but didn’t comment further.
“Why weren’t you at the Halloween Feast, Mr. Potter?” the Deputy Headmistress asked.
“Personal reasons,” he deflected quickly, and Minerva grimaced. Of course he wouldn’t care to celebrate on this night.
“Yes, my apologies,” she said. “Ms. Granger? What about you?” she asked the girl who was standing a few paces away. The girl flushed, seemingly embarrassed.
“I… Came her because… Some of the other students were teasing me. I swear, I didn’t mean to skip the feast! I just lost track of the time!” she cried, tears prickling the corner of her eyes. Minerva felt righteous rage burning in her breast.
“Who?” she asked, ready to slap every single one of them with detention for the rest of the year. Bullying the poor girl enough to make her cry in the bathroom for hours was horrible on its own, but for it to result in her nearly dying to a troll attack!? They were lucky Minerva wasn’t contemplating expulsion! It was only the fact that this sort of incident was nearly impossible to plan, especially for a student, that kept her anger in check. Granger looked panicked, as if she didn’t want to reveal their identity and let them be punished- a kind sentiment, but utterly misplaced, in Minerva’s opinion- when Potter opened his mouth.
“Weasley Number Six, hm?”
Granger’s jaw dropped. “H-How…?” she asked, unable to formulate full sentences. Potter snorted.
“That little fool has been putting his foot in his mouth for as long as I’ve had the displeasure of knowing him. I doubt the vaunted Boy-Who-Lived is completely innocent, either.”
Minerva’s nostrils flared. “Is that so?” She turned to Granger. “Is Mr. Potter correct, Ms. Granger?” Shame-faced, the girl nodded, and Minerva’s heart went out to her little Lion. She swept forward, engulfing her charge in a tight hug. That was all it took for Granger to break down into sobs.
“I just- wanted to h-help him perf-form the Levitation Charm!” Granger wailed. Minerva squeezed her tighter, glancing at Filius for confirmation. The Charms Professor nodded, scowling furiously.
“Mr. Weasley was sitting next to Ms. Granger during class, and he didn’t seem to be having much success. I remember deciding to leave him be and help a few other students, because I saw Ms. Granger explaining the spell to him, and figured he was in good hands.”
Minerva was positively quaking with fury. “Mr. Potter, would you be so kind as to escort Ms. Granger to the Hospital Wing? I believe a Calming Draught would not be remiss at the moment. I have students to discipline.”-
Potter sighed, and looked to Severus, who flicked his wand at the troll remains, taking control of them. “I will bring them down to my office. Collect them before breakfast.”
“The livers are off-limits; I actually need those for a project.” Minerva quirked an eyebrow at the interaction, but didn’t comment. Potter came forward and scooped Granger up in a princess-style carry, causing the girl to squeak.
“I hardly think that’s appropriate, Mr. Potter,” Minerva said, lips thin with disapproval.
“Have you seen how short her legs are? I’d like to get to the Infirmary today, thank you.” Minerva snorted quietly, noting how Granger buried her face in the crook of Potter’s neck, face flaming. She smiled slightly.
“Well, since Ms. Granger seems so comfortable, I’ll allow it this time.”
“Professor!” Granger cried, sounding scandalized, though she made no move to change her position. The old Scot chuckled.
“Off with you two. Filius, Severus, I suggest you two head down to your own Common Rooms and inform the students that the situation has been taken care of.”
The other Professors nodded, before Severus said, “Fifty points to Ravenclaw, Potter, for saving a fellow student’s life.” The Potions Master stalked off down the hallway, robes billowing dramatically behind him. Filius exclaimed his agreement, and scampered away to Ravenclaw Tower, while Minerva strode gracefully to the Lion’s Den, ready to raise hell.
Tonight’s verbal arse-whooping would be legendary.
---
“Sit there, Mr. Potter. I must check you over.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you fought a bloody troll, that’s why!” Madame Pomfrey shrieked.
Harry scowled. “I didn’t fight it, I killed it. There’s a difference.”
“Don’t get smart with me, lad! If you think I won’t put you over my knee-”
Hermione giggled, watching as the Mediwitch stood toe-to-toe with the raven-haired boy, attempting to glare him into submission despite him being nearly half a head taller. The elderly woman was standing in front of the door of the Hospital Wing, blocking Harry’s attempt to leave after dropping Hermione off. The First Year felt a bit hurt, but decided that, since he’d already saved her life, he wasn’t obligated to spend more time around her. She was, however, secretly pleased when he stepped back into the Infirmary, sitting on the bed next to hers with a huff.
“Fine. Just get this over with. I’ve things to do,” Harry said impatiently. Madame Pomfrey swatted him on the head.
“I will finish when I do, and not a second sooner!” Harry muttered something about crazy old hags, earning yet another thump. Madame Pomfrey began waving her wand and whispering incantations. Lights appeared in front of Harry, and Madame Pomfrey finally cut off the flow of diagnostic spells, nodding in satisfaction. “Well, it seems you were telling the truth, Mr. Potter.” The boy growled and made to leave, only for the nurse to stop him. “However, you’ll be staying here until Professor McGonagall arrives. She Floo-messaged me, and wishes you to keep Ms. Granger company.”
A rumbling noise echoed from his chest, and the Fourth Year looked enraged. However, Madame Pomfrey just whipped out a bar of chocolate from the pocket of her robes and shoved it into his hands. The boy reluctantly quieted down, tearing open the wrapper and nibbling on the corner. Madame Pomfrey rolled her eyes.
“Like a toddler,” she muttered, a fond smirk on her lips. Harry stuck his tongue out, moving to sit in the chair next to Hermione’s bed. He tapped a finger to the inside of his right wrist, and a leather-covered book with no visible title appeared, startling Hermione something bad.
“How did you do that?” Hermione asked, eyes sparkling at the thought of more arcane knowledge. Harry just cracked open the book, leaned back in his chair, and began reading. Hermione considered pouting- it worked on her parents, sometimes, when she was younger- but decided against it. He wasn’t even looking at her in the first place. They sat quietly for a while, but the silence was starting to drive Hermione mad. She didn’t even have a book to occupy herself! “So, what year are you in?”
“Fourth.”
“And you’re in Ravenclaw, judging by your robes.”
“Mm.”
“Fifth Year is when students do their OWLs, yes?”
“Mm.”
“Are you prepared for them?”
“No.”
“What? Don’t you know they’re the most important exams in your life, alongside the NEWTs? Your grades on those exams can very well determine the course of your life, such as which classes you’ll be allowed to take from Sixth Year on, and after Hogwarts, which jobs you’ll be qualified for! You must prepare properly for them- your very livelihood depends on it!”
Harry flipped the page in his book.
“Are you listening to me!?” Hermione shrieked, making the Fourth Year glance up, looking very annoyed.
“Yes. I simply chose to ignore you.”
Hermione huffed. “How rude!”
“It’s more rude of you to assume I knew none of that, despite me being in this school for longer than you,” Harry droned, returning to his reading. His eyes were flitting across the words at incredible speeds- speeds that Hermione knew she couldn’t match.
“Are you even reading, or just skimming the pages?” she asked snidely.
Harry snapped his book shut, making the First Year flinch. “Is there a reason you’re trying to piss me off?” he hissed, glaring at her menacingly. His emerald eyes glowed with a fierce light, cowing Hermione. She tried drawing upon her Gryffindor courage, but to no avail. A shiver racked her spine.
“I-I wasn’t trying to make you angry. I’m simply trying to impress upon you the importance of your exams,” Hermione explained weakly. Harry rolled his eyes.
“I don’t need you telling me that.”
“You said you weren’t prepared for your OWLs, even though they’re next year!”
“Why would I bother with that when I’ve already done them?”
“...What does that even mean?”
“It means, I did my OWLs in Second Year,” Harry said slowly, condescendingly. Hermione ignored his tone.
“What!? How!? Would I be able to do that as well!?”
“That is a matter to take up with you Head of House, Ms. Granger,” Professor McGonagall interrupted, striding out of Madame Pomfrey’s office, where she Flooed in. “And, since I am here, I am forbidding it. You will take your OWLs in your Fifth Year, along with the rest of your classmates.”
“But, Professor McGonagall, Harry-”
“Mr. Potter is a special case, Ms. Granger.” That was when the Deputy Headmistress noticed the bar of chocolate the Fourth Year was nibbling on. “I see Poppy had to bribe you once more,” she commented, beyond amused. Harry glared impotently, the effect ruined by the eagerness with which he bit into the treat.
“‘S not my fault,” he grumbled around a mouthful of gooey goodness. “The smell of potions is too strong in here.”
“Well, then I suppose I shan’t ask you to suffer it any longer. You may return to your dorm for the night, Mr. Potter.” The young man positively rocketed out of the Infirmary, making the Iron Lady of Hogwarts chuckle fondly, shaking her head. “That boy…” She occupied the chair he had been sitting in, turning her attention to her little Lion.
“How are you, my dear?”
“I’ve… Been better,” Hermione hedged. “The Calming Draught seems to have worked, at the very least.”
“Yes, Madame Pomphrey’s skill in potion brewing is only outclassed by Severus, a Potions Master. She does good work.”
“Um, Professor…” Hermione trailed off, unsure how to say what she wanted to. She fiddled with the loose fabric of her robes.
“Yes, Ms. Granger? If you have a question, you need but ask.”
“What’s going to happen with Ronald and Thomas?”
McGonagall’s face darkened like a black thundercloud. “They, along with Mr. Longbottom, will be serving three months of detention, and have been deducted fifty House Points each. Given how Mr. Potter- the younger, that is- has already lost fifty points for insulting Professor Snape during class, I’m afraid this might put Gryffindor out of the running for the House Cup.”
Tears sprung to Hermione’s eyes, despite the Calming Draught. The first term wasn’t even done, and all her hard work had already been undone? She had gained the most points among the Gryffindor First Years through her diligent, if somewhat excessive, work, and it resulted in nothing? McGonagall seemed to be able to follow her train of thoughts, because she stood and put a comforting arm around the girl’s shoulders.
“I’m sorry, my dear, but bullying will not be tolerated in any capacity. Hopefully having the rest of the House being quite cross with them will set those boys straight. At any rate, I have paperwork to do. Will you be fine on your own?” Hermione nodded, and Professor McGonagall strode out of the Hospital Wing, leaving the bushy-haired girl alone with her thoughts.
The White Lady glanced at the Pale King. She was a bit surprised that he would leave his palace, deigning to walk all the way out to her garden, where she spent most of her time these days. He felt her sparkling gaze on him, but didn’t react visibly, simply basking in her presence- he so rarely got the chance to do so these days, too consumed with formulating and scrapping plan after plan to hold back the Infection.
The King’s mind was warping under the stress, leading him down a dangerous path, enticing him with horrible, vile ideas.
The Radiance was a being of light. What would be more effective at muffling that light than it’s antithesis? What would be able to blot out the Sun, other than the Void?
“Is there something troubling you, my dear?” Root asked her husband. The Wyrm finally turned his head to look at her, black eyes filled with adoration and dismay.
“Many things, Root. Many things.”
The White Lady wrapped a shining tendril of plant fiber around his shoulders, pulling him closer to her stationary body in her version of a hug. “I know that much,” she chided, silently scolding him for dancing around the subject. “I’m asking what, specifically, at this moment, is causing you to feel so conflicted?”
For a long while, the Pale King simply leaned against his wife’s taller body, reveling in the physical contact. Eventually though, he sighed, standing straight. She wouldn’t wait forever- sooner or later, the White Lady would become impatient enough to wriggle a few tentacles under his robes, tickling him mercilessly. The last time it happened, the Great Knight Dryya had come to investigate, and found her King shrieking with laughter, tears pouring out his mask’s eye holes. She left without a word, but for months afterwards, the Pale King couldn’t shake the feeling she was laughing at him whenever they spoke.
“I’ve a new idea to seal away the Radiance,” he began heavily.
Root tilted her head at him. “Is that so? And what makes this idea so different from the others, that you would seek my counsel?”
“I seek your cooperation, my love, for without you, it would surely fail. Even now, as I ponder upon it, I know not if this scheme is viable.”
“If you need my assistance, Dear Wyrm, you need only but ask. I will do whatever I can.”
“...Anything?” the Pale King asked quietly, traces of hesitant hope tinging his words.
“So long as it is within my power, of course,” she replied. “After all, there is no cost too great to protect our Kingdom of Hallownest.”
Wyrm stared at her, his stoic mask not betraying the hive of activity in his mind as he turned his beloved wife’s words over in his head.
No cost too great.
---
“What are we going to do with them?” Root had asked her dear Wyrm, catching him as he departed to the lower levels of the White Palace to gauge the success of their first attempt at sacrificing an egg to the Void. “With the impure ones, I mean? Those… That are not perfect.”
The Pale King had no answer. He had not even considered such a thing, too obsessed with his tinkering, trying as hard as he could so that there wasn’t an Impure Vessel.
Root sighed sadly, deeming his silence an answer. “We will have to dispose of them, won’t we? Made of Void as they are, letting them out into Hallownest might be just as dangerous as the Infection.”
Wyrm still said nothing, merely turning with a swish of his pristine robes and continuing on his way.
---
The Abyss. How the King feared and hated this place in turn. The inky darkness leaking past the seal leached at his Pale Light, sapping his strength. He dreaded to think of what would happen to him if he stayed too long.
Still, it was necessary for him to be here. The Kingsmoulds he sent down to monitor the eggs had returned, as they were ordered to do when the first grubs began to wiggle out of their birthplace. He waited a few days for their carapaces to harden, then delved into the depths beneath his White Palace. The Kings Brand on the door sealing away the Void glowed, resonating with the same symbol magically embedded into his chest, and the barrier slid into the ground.
The entrance into the Abyss loomed before the Pale King like a gaping maw, oppressive darkness eager to devour him with savage abandon. He shivered, then steeled himself. It would not do for the ascending Vessels to see weakness in their sire.
Already, he could hear the grubs jumping up the platforms, trampling the broken masks of their predecessors, clambering and climbing over even their living siblings as they reached for his Pale Light. He remained where he was, ignoring the curiosity to peer over the edge of the metal bridge before him to assess their progress. Either the Vessels would make it to him, or they would not- there was no room for failure.
Minutes passed, the sound of climbing grubs becoming louder and louder, until the first of this batch finally leaped up to stand on equal ground with him. The Pale King’s dark eye sockets locked gazes with the newborn Vessel’s empty eye sockets, and he floated a tendril of magic towards them. He sensed the wisps of slight curiosity, focused on the tall figure in front of it- another failure, then. With a final command, he withdrew his magic into himself.
The Pale King raised his head, eyes trained on the emptiness above the Vessel’s head now. The White Lady had asked what he would do with the Vessels he found lacking; this was his answer.
Without a second glance, the Impure Vessel pitched itself off the side of the bridge, falling back into the Void it was birthed from. The sound of its shell breaking never reached the Pale King’s ears.
An idea for a BNHA x Dark Souls/Bloodborne crossover.
---
Midoriya Izuku has a voice in his head.
At first, Midoriya thinks it is a Quirk. Sentient ones aren't unheard of, after all, though they are a tad bit rarer than most other types. However, after years of the voice only saying "Go West," he start to wonder. Inko takes him to a series of doctors, and genetic profiling shows a lack of markers present in all people with Quirks.
Midoriya is Quirkless.
From there, it's a trip to a psychiatrist, who is also puzzled. Schizophrenia tends to be more pronounced in its effect on the person, and Multiple Personality Disorder is much more distinct. Medical doctors have concluded that there are no abnormalities in Midoriya's physical brain, and it isn't a Quirk, meaning the voice is purely a mental construct.
Nobody is quite sure what to make of it. For now, the best that the psychiatrist can do is prescribe some sort of medication that should quite the Voice, as it's been gradually getting louder as the weeks go by, to the point of giving Midoriya headaches.
The Voice doesn't like that. It begins screaming inside his head- a loud, guttural, desperate type of screaming, and Midoriya's only 4, halfway to 5, so he starts freaking out as well. Very concerned, Inko and the psychiatrist do their best to restrain Midoriya, even going as far as sedating him with a anesthesia kept for situations like this.
But then, there is fire.
The psychiatric hospital burns down. Several people die. Inko is one of them.
Midoriya Izuku's corpse is not found.
Go West.
Dazed and half-mad with grief, barely comprehending what he'd just done, the fact that he murdered his own mother, Midoriya complies.
---
Midoriya is six now, halfway through China. He stowed away on a boat from Japan heading to the Asian mainland, and has slowly been working his way across the country on his tiny legs.
Food is hard to come by. He has to beg for scraps. Sometimes he has to steal. It's not what a Hero would do.
It keeps him alive, though.
He continues West.
---
India, Pakistan, Iran, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Jordan, Israel.
Midoriya is ten, and the fire in his veins is burning hotter and hotter. It's difficult to hold it back; it wants to devour everything around him to fuel itself. He knows, though, that if he loses control, he won't get it back. Not until the inferno has had its fill.
He finally arrives in Egypt, and something inside him shifts. He knows he's close, now. He walks barefooted through the desert- his shoes wore out years ago- but the relentless heat of the sun barely bothers him.
Midoriya reaches the Great Pryamid of Giza, and the Voice finally says something other than Go West.
Burn, it commands.
He does.
---
Midoriya wakes up to a changed world. The sand he marched across is now glass, as far as his eye can see. The crescent moon hangs in the sky, unmoving, smiling a demented grin. The sky is black, not a single star in sight. and there, crackling on top of the Great Pyramid, is the most brilliant fire he's ever seen. A vivid orange, brighter than the sun. A comforting warmth washes over him.
The First Flame, the Voice whispers reverently. The Age of Dark has been pushed back. For now.
---
Around the world, people are losing their Quirks by the millions.
Tidal waves and tsunamis stir the ocean, as those dwelling in the depths rise to the surface.
Earthquakes shatter mountains, releasing ancient evils from stone coffins.
Dreams are warped into horrendous nightmares, as the last safe haven, sleep, becomes a realm of torment.
A story I made up for a creative writing assignment in my astronomy course lmao
---
Thursday morning. Marcel sat at the kitchen table, enjoying his hazelnut coffee. His roommate, Faris, walked in, making a bee-line for the fridge. The dark-haired twenty-two- year-old yanked open the door hard enough to make the entire thing totter back and forth, pulled out a block of cheese, and then slammed it shut with the same amount of force.
Marcel sighed, setting his cup on the table. “Do you have to do that every time?” the blond twenty-four-year-old asked pointedly. Faris just shrugged, irritating Marcel.
“Gotta enjoy being this strong while I can. The Change is tomorrow.” Faris bit into the cheese.
Marcel furrowed his eyebrows. “I thought that was Saturday.”
“Nah, Saturday was last year. It’s Friday this time.”
“Oh, crap,” Marcel groaned, kneading his palm into his forehead.
“What?” Faris asked around a mouthful of cheddar, “Forget to clean out your room or something?”
“Yeah. I was hoping to spend the day with Kristie, too…”
“Dude, didn’t she cheat on you with Noel?”
“No, that was her sister, way back when.”
Faris snapped his fingers. “Right- I always get that mixed up. Why can’t you just hang with her tomorrow?” He shoved the last of the cheese in his mouth.
“It’s not the same, man. When we’re like this, it just feels so much more… Natural,” Marcel finished lamely. Faris shrugged.
“I guess, if you believe in those dumb legends.”
Marcel frowned. “The stories aren’t fake. I dunno why you can’t just accept that.”
Faris sent him a flat look. “Really? You think a god would curse the entire world because a few dudes got big heads? First of all, there’s no proof that gods are even real-”
“As far as you know,” Marcel cut in, making Faris roll his eyes.
“Sure, whatever, Mr. All-Knowing. And secondly, people do bad stuff all the time, but there’s no apocalyptic cataclysms every few days,” Faris finished. “Being human isn’t our natural form, no matter what you think.” He stood and grabbed a water bottle off the counter. “See ya, dude,” Faris said with a careless wave, walking out the kitchen. A few moments later, Marcel heard the door to their flat open and close.
Marcel sighed, and stood to wash out his empty mug. He needed to pack up his stuff for when the oxes moved in tomorrow. 2020, the year of the rat, would be ending soon.
---
Legend has it, a thousand years ago, we were once humans all the time. There was no Cycle to determine which animals would transform for that year; humans stayed as humans, and animals stayed as animals.
That changed when a few biologists tried to alter the human genetic sequence with certain traits from other animals. The strength of an ox, the speed of a horse, the prehensile fifth limb of a monkey, among other things.
The gods didn’t like that.
To change their ultimate creation was like spitting in their face, or biting the hand that fed you, or whatever saying you wanna use for disrespecting the ones that made you. The point is, they took it personally. And when all-powerful beings take something personally… It typically doesn’t end well.
The gods (nobody can agree on which ones, exactly. Some say multiple gods banded together to think of the idea, some say it was just the one, and some say it was the work of evil spirits) decided to grant those biologists’ desire, but in a twisted way. They wanted the traits of those animals? Then they would become those animals.
Humans the world over transformed into one of twelve other species; rats, oxen, tigers, rabbits, dragons, snakes, horses, goats, monkeys, roosters (or chickens depending on gender), dogs, and pigs.
The odd thing is, we kept our minds. Our intelligence, our knowledge, our memories- it was all there, just in a body different from the one we were born in. People did their best to live normally after that, but things changed again when February rolled around, and certain animals transformed back into humans.
That first year, it started with the rats. The next year, these people became rats again, while it was the oxen that turned human. Eventually, someone put the pieces together. Between the animals people changed into, and the order in which they transformed, someone figured out that we were living out something once called the Chinese Zodiac.
These days, it’s just called the Cycle. Every year, in late January or early February, the Change (once known as Chinese New Years) happens. Those currently humans transform into animals, and other animals transform into humans.
Of course, with the Cycle changing humanity on a fundamental level, other things had to change to keep up.
Special housing was constructed, depending on what species someone was. Rats had smaller houses, while oxen had much larger houses. Another sector of housing was made, for the people who were human that year. When the Change came around, those in the human houses moved back to their regular homes, while the new humans moved in.
Jobs changed, too. Some things were impossible for some animals to do. Like, pigs don’t have opposable thumbs, so they couldn’t do things that required fine motor skills. And, you wouldn’t really trust a goat to do maintenance on a nuclear reactor, so the demand for human and monkey workers skyrocketed. Surprisingly, rats were very useful, due to their nimble paws, as well as their ability to squeeze into tight spaces.
Racism shifted to speciesism. Goats and pigs were looked down on, since they were prey animals, more fit to be livestock for the predator animals. Rabbits and dogs were often kidnapped and sold as pets, because they were so cute. Rats tended to be snapped up by bigger animals as midday snacks, whenever other people weren’t looking. Snakes, especially those with bright-colored scales and venom, became outcasts. Nobody wanted to be near someone who could poison them at any time. Horses and oxen were stereotyped as field animals, and tended to be pushed towards manual labor, instead of being allowed to pursue a higher education.
Of course, tigers and dragons were revered. Tigers were apex predators which could kill almost any of the other zodiac animals, and dragons... They were mythical beasts. Creatures of legend. They didn’t even exist, until the day all of humanity became animals. Some of them could breathe fire. Some of them could fly. Some could do both. Either way, being a dragon was like an instant pass to the higher echelons of society. Nobody wanted to mess with a dragon.
Nobody wanted to mess with humans or monkeys, either, since they were the only ones who could use guns. Monkeys ended up becoming the dominant species for that reason, because they were able to use modern weaponry their entire life, while other species were only able to do so during their human year, which only came around every twelve years. Dragons were strong and all, but even they wouldn’t survive a tank round to the dome.
Sasuke was perplexed. No, scratch that, he was flat-out flabbergasted. Uzumaki had just snatched one of those bells without a second glance from their sensei, a fucking Jounin, then left. He left! Who does that!? It wasn’t like Kakashi had allowed it to happen, either; the man looked just as confused as Sasuke felt. Eventually, though, Kakashi just shook his head, apparently determined to put that little incident out of his head.
Sasuke decided now was the time to test the waters, when Kakashi was unbalanced due to Uzumaki’s stunt. He grabbed a handful of kunai and shuriken, then shifted on the branch he was hiding on. Breathing deeply, he focused himself, then threw all eight projectiles at once. They curved towards the Jounin, and much to his surprise, actually hit him. Then, in a puff of smoke, a log replaced Kakashi. A Kawarimi.
Sasuke swore, then took off running. There was no doubt Kakashi had traced the trajectory of the projectiles, so staying still wasn’t an option if he wanted to remain hidden. Bouncing through the trees as fast as he could, Sasuke wondered if he might actually make it to a new hiding spot, when the next branch he stepped on was sliced off the tree. He fell to the ground in a tumble, rolling to his feet, then whirling around, trying to spot Kakashi. The Jounin appeared right in front of him, thoroughly startling the boy, but Sasuke didn’t show his surprise. Instead, he pulled out two kunai and sunk into the Taijutsu stance of the Uchiha Interceptor Style, and waited for Kakashi to approach- it was called the Interceptor Style for a reason.
It was not often that an Uchiha took the initiative in battle. It might seem like a death sentence to other shinobi, but the purpose of the style was to conserve stamina and chakra. The Uchiha may tend to have slightly larger than average chakra reserves, but the Sharingan consumed most of that, so they had to be very frugal in combat. The Interceptor Style mainly focused on redirecting blows, using the enemy’s strength against them to unbalance them, then getting in quick, lethal attacks with a bladed weapon when the opportunity presented itself.
The standoff continued for nearly a minute, and a bead of sweat trickled down Sasuke’s forehead, right into his eye. He blinked to clear away the slight burning sensation, and when he opened his eyes, Kakashi was upon him. The Jounin was fast. Logically, Sasuke knew that he had to be, and had expected it, but actually dealing with this kind of speed was even more difficult than anticipated. He had a feeling the only reason he could even see a blur was because Kakashi was holding back significantly, and he had to beat down his pride and concentrate.
Sasuke managed to keep Kakashi’s fists away from certain parts of his body, such as the throat, face, and kidneys by holding his kunai in front of those areas, and relying on the fact that the Jounin likely wouldn’t punch a blade with nothing but cloth covering his knuckles. Still, the areas that he’d left unprotected were getting steadily more battered by the second. Staying on the defensive was not an option. He’d just end up as a giant bruise like that. Taking a risk, Sasuke swiped at Kakashi, only for the man to leap back several feet. The boy quickly threw his kunai at the man, then flashed through hand seals.
A stream of fire flowed from his lips, enveloping Kakashi in a ball of fire nearly three times larger than him. Sasuke held the jutsu for five seconds, before cutting the chakra flow. At his current level, he only had enough in him for maybe two more of those. When the flames dispersed, Sasuke saw nothing except the blackened ground. Either Kakashi had been burned to ashes, or the man had escaped, and he had a feeling it was the latter.
His hunch was only proven correct when hands burst up from ground, grabbing him by the ankles, and dragging him into the dirt.
Doton: Shinju Zanshu no Jutsu (Double Suicide Decapitation)!
A moment later, Kakashi crawled out of the earth, and crouched in front of him. The man flicked his hitai-ate with an aggravating ping!
“You’re about what I expected. Taijutsu’s decent, you were able to block a good number of my hits, despite my speed. You Uchiha have sharp eyes, even without the Sharingan. The katon jutsu was a bit of a surprise, but I guess it shouldn’t be. You’re Fugaku’s kid, after all. It’s a shame I had to cut things so short.” Kakashi pointed up at the sun, which was almost directly overhead. “Time’s a wastin’, though. Hope you can understand.” With that, he patted Sasuke on the head, then disappeared into the forest. Moments later, a bloodcurdling scream echoed through the trees. Looks like he’d gotten to Haruno.
Sasuke’s attempts to move his body were all met with failure, and he had no choice but to wait until the shrill beeping of the alarm clock reached his ears. Sasuke sighed- his father was not going to be pleased.
-----------------
“So, looks like your exam’s over!” Kakashi said cheerfully to his two Genin. Haruno was tied to one of the training logs, while Sasuke sat slumped against another. A combination of fatigue and shame made his shoulders heavy. “Now, normally, I’d tie you both up, but I figured I’d make an exception for Sasuke, because he at least tried. Watching as your comrades do all the work is hardly befitting of a kunoichi, Sakura,” he said sternly. The Jounin picked up the plastic bag he’d brought with him, and pulled out two convenience store bentos. He handed one to Sasuke.
“Anyways, both of you failed. You may as well eat that, since I bought it for you, but make sure you don’t give any to Sakura. She doesn’t deserve it. Hell, you can eat the second one, too, if you’re still hungry. Now, I’m gonna go find Naruto since he’s the only one that actually got a bell, and the brat thought it would be funny to leave with it like that… God, what a pain. You two have fun!” Kakashi said brightly, then walked off the training ground, leaving Sasuke alone with Haruno, something he very much did not appreciate.
With a sigh, he opened the bento and grabbed the pair of disposable chopsticks, quickly picking his way through the meal. If he was gonna be lectured for hours about being a disgrace, he would at least have a full stomach while doing it, dammit! A second later, Sasuke choked as Uzumaki poked his head out from behind the log Haruno was tied to.
“...You're not very good at this whole shinobi thing, are you?” he asked quietly. Sasuke was too busy trying to hack up the rice in his esophagus to answer, so Haruno screeched at the blond in his stead.
“Don’t act like you’re any better, Naruto! The only reason you got a bell is because you cheated! I bet you grabbed it before Sensei even said start!” the pink-haired girl spat.
Uzumaki tilted his head. “Does it matter how I got the bell?”
“Of course it does!” Haruno yelled. “You can’t cheat like that!”
Uzumaki’s eyes narrowed. “We’re shinobi. It’s what we do,” he said flatly, before puffing out a tiny sigh. “I guess that’s why you failed at something so simple,” he muttered, shaking his head.
Sasuke finally managed to catch his breath. He scowled at the blond. “What do you want us to do? He’s a Jounin. Even with all three of us, we wouldn’t have been able to take him on, and then you left.”
Uzumaki blinked at him. “You know, he only said you to get a bell. Not that you had to steal one from him.”
Sasuke scoffed. “So, what? We’re supposed to go buy one from the store?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“As if that would’ve worked, idiot!” Haruno shouted. “There’s no way Kakashi-sensei would’ve let us leave the training ground!”
“He let me leave pretty easy,” Uzumaki retorted calmly.
“Yeah, and because you left, we got picked apart,” Sasuke accused. He set aside his bento and stood up, noting to his satisfaction that he was taller than the blond by an inch. “Don’t stand there acting all superior just because you’ve got sticky fingers.”
“You’re really intent on blaming me, huh?” Uzumaki asked blandly. “Then, let me ask you; did you two even try to work together?”
Sasuke rolled his eyes. “As if. Haruno’s got no skills as a shinobi. She would’ve just gotten in the way.”
“Wha- Sasuke-kun!?”
“Maybe,” Uzumaki acquiesced with a shrug, “But you didn’t try, so you don’t know that for sure. At the very least, you could’ve used her as a distraction. I know I did.”
Sasuke’s eyes widened. “Wait, when-?”
“When Haruno was yelling at Inu-sensei? Yeah.” Sasuke turned to the tied up girl, an appraising glint in his eye. He pointedly ignored how she blushed under his gaze. Mind made up, Sasuke pulled out a kunai and cut her ropes.
“Sasuke-kun?” she asked hopefully. He just thrust the extra bento into her hands, and passed Naruto the remainder of his.
“Eat,” he commanded. “When Kakashi comes back, we’ll convince him to give us another try, and this time, we’ll do it together. Until then, though, you need to regain your strength.”
Uzumaki looked at the half-eaten bento, the barest trace of an amused smirk on his face. “What makes you think I’ll help you? I already passed.” Sasuke gritted his teeth at the reminder of his inadequacy. He forced his hands, which were clenched tightly, to relax.
“...We’re teammates,” Sasuke said with conviction. “We should be able to rely on each other. I won’t try to force you to work with us if you really don’t want to, but… I’m asking you. Will you help us?”
Uzumaki bared his teeth in the facsimile of a smile. “Sure. It might be fun.” He gave Sasuke the bento back, causing the boy to look at him questioningly. “I got ramen when I left. I’m pretty full.” Sasuke rolled his eyes, but finished off the boxed lunch quickly. By then, Sakura had also finished, and they stacked the empty containers next to the alarm clock Kakashi had left, and waited.
-----------------
“You disobeyed my orders.”
Sasuke couldn’t do anything but nod in the face of the Jounin’s rage.
“Tell me, what were you thinking when you decided to completely ignore what I said and free Sakura? Your answer won’t make your punishment any lighter, but I’m just curious.”
Sasuke inhaled deeply. “I was thinking that you might allow us to try again.”
Kakashi’s visible brow raised. “And why would I do that, when you’ve already proved how inadequate you are? It’d just be a waste of my time.”
“Because this time will be different. This time, we’re gonna work together to take you down.”
Kakashi’s eye narrowed. “Together?” he asked, voice dangerously soft. “As a team?”
Sasuke took a shuddering breath, before nodding shakily. “As a team.”
The Jounin loomed over the three children, staring down at them menacingly. “Then… You pass!”
“Alright everybody, listen up!” Umino Iruka called, cutting through the chatter of his students. “First things first, congratulations to all of you for passing the final exam!” The majority of the students cheered. Iruka gave them a moment to bask in their success, smiling gently, before he raised a hand to quiet them down. “Today, I’ll be announcing team assignments! Please listen carefully!”
Uchiha Sasuke scowled. He did not want to be here, and he most definitely did not want to be put on a team with any of these incompetents. He steepled his hands in front of his chin, fingers covering the intense frown the tugged on his lips. Those two fools Yamanaka and Haruno were quietly fighting over who would get to sit on his right side, since on his left was the window. Iruka might not have noticed them, but Sasuke had no choice but to listen to these idiots. Inuzuka’s mutt was yipping excitedly, Nara yawned loudly every five seconds, and Akimichi was crunching on chips at the speed of light, the plastic packaging crinkling between his sausage fingers. All of it served to put Sasuke in an even worse mood than he was usually in.
“Team Seven will consist of Uchiha Sasuke,” Sasuke eyes flicked to the Chunin upon hearing his name, “Haruno Sakura,” cue the screeching and bickering, “And Uzumaki Naruto.” Suddenly, the classroom fell silent. “Your Jounin sensei will be Hatake Kakashi.” Yamanaka was the one to ask the question on everyone’s mind.
“Sensei, who’s Uzumaki Naruto?” she asked. Surprisingly, it was Inuzuka who answered.
“Wait, wasn’t he that annoying bastard who wore orange back in the first year of the Academy? What the hell happened to him?”
Iruka’s smile was a little strained. “Don’t worry about it,” he said simply, then continued what he was doing. “Team Eight will be…”
--------------------------
Two hours. That’s how long Sasuke waited in that room with that damned banshee Haruno, who kept endlessly asking him on dates and trying to talk to him. He completely ignored her, his furious gaze burning a hole into the chalkboard at the front of the room, yet she would not take the hint! If he remained silent for a solid 120 minutes, why did she think he would agree to go on a date with her after the two hour mark? This was supposed to be the smartest kunoichi in their class? Pathetic.
Sasuke was saved from his personal hell when the door opened, and a tall man walked in. He had spiky white hair, his hitai-ate covered his left eye, and a mask covered the rest of his face, save for his right eye. He had an orange book open in one hand, and was dressed in the usual uniform of a Konoha Jounin. The man only glanced up from his book once, eye flickering over him and Haruno at lightning speeds, so fast Sasuke wasn’t sure if he’d actually seen it.
“I’m your sensei, Hatake Kakashi,” the man droned. “Hmm… My first impression of you is… You’re boring. Meet me on the roof.” The man vanished in a blur, an instant before Haruno began yelling at him. Sasuke’s scowl deepened to the point where his facial muscles started to hurt, and he got up out of his seat.
“Sasuke-kun, I don’t think you’re boring,” Haruno said reassuringly, batting her eyelashes in a failed attempt to look pretty. The only reason Sasuke paid her any attention was because she was standing in his way.
“Move,” he commanded, then shoved past her before she could even comprehend his words. He had no patience for her. After these last few hours, spent in only her company, he doubted he ever would. He completely ignored her gasp as she rubbed at the shoulder he’d bumped into, a wide grin on her face. He had more important things to worry about.
--------------------------
There was a boy sitting on the bench when Sasuke and Haruno finally arrived at the roof. He was dressed in beige cargo pants and a gray t-shirt with Konoha’s leaf symbol. He had blond hair, and whisker-like marks on his cheeks. Sasuke scoffed; was this kid a civilian? He didn’t even have a shuriken pouch! Looks like he was in for a rough ride. Hopefully, he’d be promoted to Chunin soon, and be able to leave behind these worthless tools. He plopped himself down across from the blond.
“Um, are you Uzumaki Naruto?” Haruno asked hesitantly, sitting right next to Sasuke, much to chagrin. The boy stared at them with big blue eyes for a moment, before nodding. “Well, I’m Haruno Sakura! We’re gonna be on a team together, so I hope we can become friends!” she said brightly. Uzumaki just stared, as if he didn’t understand what she was saying. Thankfully, before the kunoichi could go on a rampage about him being rude, their Jounin sensei appeared, sitting right in the middle of his students.
“You two sure took your time,” Kakashi said to Sasuke and Haruno. It might’ve been a reprimand, but his bland tone made it sound like he didn’t even care. Sasuke bristled; this man had no right to talk, not after showing up two hours late. Of course, he wouldn’t say anything. Respect for his superiors had been drilled into Sasuke’s head by his father.
Haruno had no such inhibitions. “Us!?” she bellowed, standing up and raising a clenched fist. “You’re the one that’s two hours late!”
Kakashi just waved her off. “I guess the four of us are going to be a team, so we may as well introduce ourselves. Pinkie, you can go first.”
Haruno tilted her head. “What information should I include?” she asked, which was a dumb question. Information was valuable; you only parted with things that were inconsequential, and not even that, if you could help it.
“Oh, you know, your name, what you like, what you dislike, your dream. Simple stuff like that.” Haruno hesitated, and Sasuke wanted to rip his hair out. What part of this was so difficult!?
“Do you think you could go first, Sensei? I’d like an example.”
Kakashi heaved a put-upon sigh, and Sasuke could totally relate. “I suppose. I’m Hatake Kakashi. I like… Things that you aren’t old enough to understand yet. My dislikes… There are a few of those. My hobbies… You kids are still too young for that. My dream… Hm. Anyways, your turn, Pinkie.”
“That hardly told us anything at all!” Haruno screeched. When all three males silently stared at her for a solid five seconds, she deflated. “My name is Haruno Sakura! I like…” She glanced at Sasuke. “My hobbies are…” She glanced at Sasuke. “And my dream is…” This time, she stared at him for a few moments, stars in her eyes and a blush on her cheeks. Sasuke actually wanted to vomit, and had to force himself not to inch away from the pink-haired girl- there just wasn’t enough bench for him to scoot onto. “Oh! And I dislike Ino-pig!” she roared.
A judgmental silence fell upon the group, before Kakashi turned to Sasuke. “Well, I suppose it’s your turn.” Sasuke nodded.
“My name is Uchiha Sasuke.” That was common knowledge, so it was safe to divulge. There wasn’t even a point in trying to keep it secret in this village. “I dislike a lot of things, and I don’t particularly like anything.” Lie. He liked tomatoes, and enjoyed spending time with his mother. “My hobby is training.” A safe answer, one which was common amongst shinobi, and wouldn’t be seen as anything out of the ordinary. It also had the advantage of being true. “My dream…” Sasuke trailed off. There was no point telling these people. His so-called teammates had no right to that knowledge.
Kakashi nodded, and turned to Uzumaki. “Your turn.”
“Uzumaki Naruto. My hobby is training. I like ramen, and I don’t really dislike anything. My dream is to become a skilled shinobi.”
Kakashi nodded. “Right, good talk. Tomorrow, I want you three to meet me on Training Ground Three… Around eight should be good. We’ll be doing a little survival exercise, but I plan on putting you through your paces, so if you don’t wanna throw up, you probably shouldn’t eat breakfast. See you tomorrow!” With a cheerful wave, the Jounin disappeared in a blur of motion, and the three newly-appointed Genin were left alone.
Actually, make that two. Uzumaki had vanished as well.
--------------------------
0800 sharp. Sasuke ambled onto Training Ground Three, which was pretty standard for a Konoha training ground. A clearing with some log posts, surrounded by a forest. Sasuke took a seat at the base of one of the posts, wondering if his sensei would be late today, as well. Perhaps he’d only done that yesterday as a sort of test, to see just how patient his new students could be. After all, infiltration and stealth missions often required laying in wait, sometimes for hours on end, not moving a muscle or even breathing too loudly. Or so Sasuke had been told. A leaf fluttered by on the gentle wind, and Sasuke snatched it out of the air. Might as well occupy himself somehow. He placed the leaf on the back of his hand, using his chakra to make it stick. This was the chakra control exercise he’d learned in the Academy.
For five minutes, Sasuke entertained himself by making the leaf flow across his skin in intricate patterns, until a call shattered his concentration.
“Sasuke-kun~!”
Great.
“Looks like it’s just the two of us, Sasuke-kun,” Haruno said in an attempt to be seductive. “Hey, after this survival exercise is over, do you wanna go on a date-?” And that was when he stopped listening.
--------------------------
Two hours. Again. Sasuke really hoped this wasn’t a habit. Kakashi wandered towards his two students with the speed of a snail, orange book in one hand, and a plastic bag in the other. When he finally came to a stop in front of him and Haruno, the man only glanced up for the barest of moments before returning to his reading.
“Where’s Naruto?” he asked.
“He’s right behind you, Sensei,” Haruno answered, pointing behind the Jounin. Single eye narrowed, the Jounin whirled around, and true to word, there was Uzumaki. He stared up at Kakashi blankly. The blond was wearing clothes similar to yesterday, only with different colors. His shirt was a forest green, and his shorts navy blue. Again, he didn’t have any equipment pouches, or even his hitai-ate.
Kakashi took a step back, looking at the boy warily. “O-kay then,” he muttered. “Well, now that we’re all here, I’ll explain what’s going to happen. Today, you three are going to be taking your Genin Exam!”
Thankfully, Shisui had warned him, and Sasuke knew this was coming, though his cousin had been rather tight-lipped on what he’d be doing for this secondary test. Uzumaki remained silent as ever, but there was no surprise on his face. Someone must’ve tipped him off as well. Obviously, Haruno hadn’t gotten the memo.
“What!? But, we already passed the Academy Exam!” she wailed, trembling at the thought of an exam she hadn’t studied for rigorously.
“Exactly,” Kakashi agreed genially, “The Academy Exam. That was only to prove you weren’t completely worthless. The Genin Exam is different; it’s to determine whether or not you’re ready for the real world. Fail, and you’ll be going back to the Academy for another year. If you fail your second Genin Exam after that, then you’ll be blacklisted, unable to ever become a shinobi within the bounds of Konohagakure. Get it?” Stunned, Haruno could only nod. “Wonderful! So, for your exam, you three will have to get one of these bells.” The man pulled a pair of silver bells from his pouch, jangling them lightly. “You’ll have until noon to do it.” He pulled out an alarm clock now, setting it on top of a rock behind the log posts. He placed his plastic bag down next to it.
“But, Sensei, there’s only two bells, and three of us!” Haruno cried.
“Well spotted, Sakura!” Kakashi complimented. “And the reason for that is simple; only two of you can pass!”
Sasuke narrowed his eyes. This was another part Shisui hadn’t told him about. Sasuke had only ever seen Genin teams with three members, not counting their Jounin sensei. Then again, it wasn’t like he’d seen every single Genin team in Konoha, so he couldn’t say for certain whether Kakashi was lying or not. Actually, Sasuke kinda hoped he wasn’t; at least that way, he’d be sure to be rid of Haruno.
“Ah, maybe I should be a bit more clear,” Kakashi said, seemingly giving hope to the despairing Haruno. “You can only pass if you get a bell. Which means, if none of you get a bell, then none of you pass. If one of you gets a bell, then only they pass. It’s just that only a maximum of two of you can pass. Got it?”
“But, that’s not fair, Kakashi-sensei!” Haruno yelled. “We already graduated from the Academy! Why should we have to do another test!?” Kakashi blinked, as if astounded by her stupidity, before raising an eyebrow.
“It’s not fair?” he asked softly, his tone setting off alarm bells in Sasuke’s head. Haruno, completely oblivious to the rising danger, nodded emphatically.
“Right, it’s not!”
Kakashi closed his orange book, tucking it away. “So, is it fair when the Hokage orders a suicide mission?”
“What?”
He took a step forward, closing half the distance between him and Haruno. “Is it fair when the client gives bad intel, and you find yourself surrounded by A-rank nuke-nin when you were only supposed to take out some lowly bandits?”
“Uh-”
He took another step, looming over the diminutive girl, a menacing aura surrounding him. “Is it fair, when your teammate, the person you thought you could trust with your life, stabs you in the back and leaves you for dead?”
“N-no…” Haruno whispered, thoroughly cowed. The tension blanketing the clearing dispersed, and Kakashi was right back where he was a moment ago, book back in his hand as if nothing had happened.
“I wonder if I should just fail you three right now?” he asked nobody in particular, making Sasuke tense up. If he failed because Haruno was a naive idiot… “Unfortunately for me, I have to follow protocol, or I’ll get written up for sabotaging your careers. How troublesome.”
“Shikaku-san won’t appreciate you using his line,” Uzumaki muttered, the first words he’d ever spoken in Sasuke’s presence. His voice was incredibly soft, so much so that Sasuke nearly had to strain to hear it. Kakashi held up his free hand in half of the traditional pleading gesture.
“Aha, let’s just keep that between us, shall we?” he asked with a nervous chuckle. Uzumaki didn’t respond. “Anyways, I think I’ve wasted enough of your time. Remember, you have ‘till noon- no bell, no pass, and if you don’t come at me with the intent to kill, you will fail. Ready? Start!”
Sasuke rushed into the forest to find a hiding spot, not paying any attention to what his teammates did. They were on their own.
--------------------------
On the one hand, Kakashi just wanted this over with. He didn’t want to be saddled with some stupid, fresh out the Academy Genin. He was actually quite proud of how he’d managed to avoid being stuck as a Jounin sensei for so many years. The Nidaime’s Bell Test was ingenious, since most of these kids were too arrogant, too assured in their skills to even think about working together. The fact that they honestly thought they could take on a Jounin by themself was laughable, and Kakashi always felt a sort of dark glee when he sent those cocky little clowns back to the Academy.
On the other hand, the Sandaime had declared it was time for Naruto to be put on a Genin team with shinobi his age, and so here he was. Speaking of Naruto...
“Aren’t you going to hide?” he asked Naruto. The blond was still standing next to him. Rather than respond, Naruto just held up a red string, which was attached to…
“Eh?” Kakashi looked down at his waist, and found that only one bell was now tied to his hip. He glanced at the bell in Naruto’s hand, then back at his waist, then back at Naruto. “Eh!?”
“...I’m leaving,” Naruto said, turning around and walking off the training ground. Kakashi could only watch, stunned.
A short one-shot about leaving behind all you’ve ever known
------------------------
“I’ve never aligned with this city’s pulse, so that makes it easier to leave behind.”
-Castaway, by Grant (feat. Juneau)
------------------------
The absent father sucked. The drinking, fame-obsessed, depressed mother was worse. The monsters that occasionally attacked were really just the ugly cherries on top. But this… This was the last straw.
“Where is he!?”
“I- I had to! I’m so sorry, baby, please-!”
“I said, where’s Jason!?”
Her mother didn’t reply, sniffling pitifully. Thalia had to tamp down the urge to slap the woman. She knew that if she started now, she probably wouldn’t stop until she killed her own mother, which she wouldn’t do- no matter how much the crazy bitch deserved it. Instead, the seven-year-old, who felt far too old for her age, began meticulously searching for her lost brother.
Deep in her heart, though, Thalia knew she wouldn’t find him.
It took two hours for Beryl to pull herself together, at which point, she dragged Thalia into the car, ignoring how viciously the girl fought, and peeled out of the parking lot, speeding home. The instant they pulled onto the main road, all the energy seemed to drain out of Thalia’s small body, and she slumped back against her seat. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she made no noise, too emotionally exhausted to sob properly. The ride back was quiet.
When they pulled into the driveway, Beryl shut off the car and placed her forehead on the steering wheel. Meanwhile, Thalia stepped out the car, wandered in through their unlocked back door, and picked up the phone.
“Hello? Is this the police?”
“How could you do this!? To your own mother!?” Beryl shrieked the instant she entered the house. She’d just been released from custody, as the police weren’t able to build a case. They’d just chalked it up to the toddler vanishing on his own, and left it at that.
“How could you just get rid of Jason!?” Thalia snapped back, standing as tall as she could. Despite her short stature, though, the sparks curling around her were plenty intimidating.
“I raised you, and took care of you! I don’t deserve this!”
“You deserve worse!”
Beryl gasped in horror. “Thalia… Thalia, you don’t mean that, baby, please tell me you don’t mean that,” she weeped, tears springing to her eyes. She fell to her knees and shuffled over to her daughter, grabbing her by the shoulder, heedless of the way the static shocked her. “Please, sweetie, don’t say things you don’t mean,” she pleaded, giving the girl a watery smile, wrapping her in a big hug. “It’s fine now, Mommy’s not mad at you, I swear! We’ll get through this together!” Beryl rambled. She was cut off when Thalia squirmed out of her grip, scurrying back a few steps. She stared at her mother for a few tense moments, sky-blue eyes flashing.
“I’m leaving.”
“What!?”
It took all of five minutes for Thalia to empty her school bag and pack two boxes of cereal bars and a few water bottles into it. The entire time, Beryl hovered around her, wary of the lightning wreathing her daughter, trying to talk her down. She was doomed to fail from the start, however, since Thalia wasn’t even listening. The girl didn’t say anything as she walked out the house, leaving the front door hanging wide open behind her, like an invitation for Beryl to go after her. Instead, Beryl knelt on the floor, wailing incoherently, unable to muster up the strength to stand. She had no choice but to watch as Thalia walked out of her house- and out of her life.
It was the last time the mother and daughter saw each other.
------------------------
Luke knew the signs. After all this time, how could he not? The instant his mother’s cloudy eyes flashed green, he was rushing up the stairs and into his room. He didn’t bother closing the door behind him, instead making a beeline for the closet. None of the doors in this house had their locks anymore, except the front and back doors. Not even the bathroom. May had, in a particularly cruel fit of genius, realized that if Luke couldn’t lock the doors, he couldn’t hide from her. Not truly. So, she ripped out all the handles, leaving empty holes where a knob should go. Right now, Luke’s fingers were sticking through said hole, and he pulled the door shut with all his might.
The pounding of feet on the steps made him go rigid in fear, and his breath quickened as he tried desperately to keep quiet. Occasionally, May’s fits wouldn’t last long enough for her to check all of his possible hiding places. Please, let this be one of those times.
It wasn’t.
May’s shattered mind didn’t lend itself well to orderly thoughts. So, rather than entering the first room she saw when she reached the top of the stairs- the guest room- she instead went somewhere random each time. Today, it happened to be Luke’s room. Her wild eyes roved over the empty bedroom, and she ran out a moment later. The boy breathed a sigh of relief. A preemptive one, it would seem, because May barged back in, and instantly began attempting to open the closet. Luke pulled harder, but the woman began slamming her fists on his fingertips. He bore the pain as best he could, lasting a few seconds longer than usual, but like always, he had to give in, or risk having his digits broken irreparably. May didn’t waste a second ripping open the closet door. Luke didn’t even have time to scream before she was bearing down on him, grabbing his shoulders with a painfully-tight grip.
“No!” she shrieked, “Not my baby! He won’t do it! He won’t! This will not be his destiny!” The woman devolved into senseless screaming, shaking Luke like a twig in a hurricane. He just closed his eyes, grit his teeth, and tried to block it out, like always. Eventually, the fit ended, and May slumped to the floor, unconscious. Luke lay at her side, seizing in fear, gasping for air with unstable heaves and wheezes.
I can’t stay here.
Slowly, shakily, he rose to his feet, and set about grabbing a few things. Some snacks, water bottles, and a few medical supplies were all shoved into his backpack, along with a few changes of clothes. He glanced at his mother, still passed out on his floor, and had to fight back tears. Sympathy wouldn’t change his mind, though- not this time. He only allowed himself to give the woman a kiss on the forehead, before he crept down the stairs and slipped out the back door. When he was on the sidewalk, he glanced back at his home of nine years.
Bye, Mom.
------------------------
Annabeth didn’t understand it. Why did her dad refuse to believe her? The spiders were there! She wasn’t making it up! Monsters had attacked their house and everything- why wouldn’t he believe that there were spiders, of all things? Sure, the bites and cobwebs might disappear by the time she’d reached her bedroom door, but it happened.
Why didn’t he care?
Helen. It had to be because of Helen. Ever since that woman had shown up in their lives, it seemed like her father had conveniently forgotten about Annabeth, only acknowledging her when something went wrong, like the monsters (which wasn’t her fault, no matter what Helen said!). Then, when she got pregnant, that stupid woman took even more of her dad’s attention, as if Annabeth didn’t struggle for the scraps she was already barely getting.
Matthew and Bobby were born in the summer, and Annabeth hated them from the first time she saw them. They were gross, constantly pooping their diapers and vomiting whenever one of the adults tried to burp them. They cried for no reason- loud, obnoxious wails that didn’t stop. Sometimes, they woke up in the middle of the night for the sole purpose of crying, bringing Annabeth out of her exhausted daze and forcing her to focus on the arachnids still crawling over and under her blankets.
Most importantly, though, her dad actually paid attention to them.
Why not me!? Annabeth wanted to scream. Did you forget you have a third child!?
She’d always been smart. Her dad had said it a lot when she was younger, before they became so distant. Annabeth was able to piece things together. Eventually.
Her father never talked about her biological mother.
He jumped at the chance for a relationship with another woman.
He doted more on the children he had with that woman, as if he wanted to forget about his past relationship.
Frederick wanted nothing to do with the past. He just wanted to live in the moment; play with his stupid military toys, love his new wife and kids, and ignore the monsters that attacked them every now and then.
Annabeth took the hint. She wasn’t wanted. She was just a reminder of a time that Frederick didn’t care for in the slightest. He had a new life now- he didn’t need her. Didn’t even want her.
So, when she was seven, she left. Packed a bag, and walked out the door in the middle of the night, spider bites covering her skin like goosebumps (they’d be gone in the morning).
Tom Riddle (Voldemort) wanted to become the DADA Professor at Hogwarts for the purpose of recruiting students into his army of Dark Wizards. He was turned away, once by Headmaster Dippet, who said Tom was too young (right after Tom finished his Seventh Year), and a few years later by Headmaster Dumbledore, who knew what Tom was planning.
By the end of his Seventh Year, Tom had already created three Horcruxes. By the time he tried for the position again, he'd finished five. Dumbledore probably knew about this, considering he kept a close eye on Tom while he was still in Hogwarts, which was probably another contributing factor in his decision to refuse Tom's application.
Here's where creative license comes in. Let's say Tom actually wanted to teach, and didn't want to raise a dark army to put Muggles and Mudbloods in their places. And, maybe Tom didn't create any Horcruxes, so he didn't mutilate his own soul, which was reflected by his snake-like face. And finally, Dumbledore accepted Tom's application to become the DADA Professor ten years after Tom finished Hogwarts.
So now we have the two most powerful wizards in Magical Britain working/living in the same castle. Fast forward 70 or so years, and Harry Potter is born. Shit gets crazy now, because plot twist, Grindelwald made a Horcrux and survived being killed by Dumbledore (assume Dumbledore isn't a pacifist, and fought to kill during their infamous duel).
The Prophecy still hangs over Harry's head, but this time, it isn't about the Dark Lord Voldemort, it's about the Dark Lord Grindelwald. Grindelwald does what Tom does, attacking the Potters on Halloween night and getting vaporized, but the Potter family all survives intact. Harry doesn't become a Horcrux, but Grindelwald still has his (just the one, not seven like canon-Voldemort) so he can revive with the help of his followers, the Alliance.
Time skip 11 years, and now Harry Potter, still the Boy-Who-Lived, is off to Hogwarts, where he apprentices under both Tom Riddle and Albus Dumbledore. It's generally accepted among the fandom that Harry is a naturally powerful wizard, judging by his ingrained talent in Martial Magic (combat magic, both offensive and defensive). And that's just what he learned on his own, since canon-Dumbledore didn't want anyone training him. So, imagine what happens when the two most powerful wizards in the U.K take an active interest in his training? Then, we've got three powerhouses in the same castle, which leads to a much more action-packed war.
An interesting little plot point I wanted to add is, Dumbledore has his phoenix, Fawkes. Maybe Tom can get a Thunderbird, since he traveled quite far after Hogwarts. Who's to say he didn't go to America? I'm not really sure what legendary bird Harry gets. Phoenixes represent purity and good things. Thunderbirds represent power. (Tom edges out Dumbledore in pure power, while Dumbledore has more experience and skill). Not sure what kinda familiar Harry gets. Something that can match the other two, for sure, but I don't know what can.
Just an idea for a story. Takes much inspiration from the Webtoon Code Adam, drawn by Atterozen. (An interesting, and very relevant, piece of information is that, in real life, Code Adam is a protocol used to help locate and rescue missing children)
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It all began when Athena fell in love with a scientist. He, like most of her other fare, was an intelligent blond man, with forest-green eyes, and a voracious need to know. He sought knowledge from all sources, often times going on benders across the internet or through libraries, looking for information on whatever topic he was studying at the time. Most of it focused on human biology, as that is what he researched, but occasionally, it was the oddest thing, such as the mating habits of goats.
They met in a small, niche cafe. Whenever she was feeling particularly restless, Athena would teleport herself to quiet little places like this, seeking conversation and companionship. Her attention was drawn to a man in a corner booth, reading a rather hefty book. A cup of coffee was in his hand, and a plate of pie was pushed off to the side, untouched and unnoticed. The man's lovely green eyes were flicking down the page at an incredible rate, and he was mumbling under his breath so fast, it was a miracle he could even breathe in. His dark-blond hair was shaved close to his scalp in a buzzcut. A white lab coat was slung over the backrest of his bench.
So involved was he in his reading, that he didn't even notice when Athena sat down across from him and ordered a cup of tea from the waitress. For a while, the goddess amused herself with watching the man, but by the time her tea was half-gone, she was feeling a bit impatient.
"Hello," Athena said, startling the man something horrible. He jolted so hard his knee slammed into the underside of the table, and he hissed. He glared at Athena. Now that he was looking up, she could see the dark bags under his eyes, as if he hardly slept.
"Can I help you?" he asked, deep voice rumbling in his chest. Up close, he was a rather physically imposing man. His jaw was square, facial features hard as stone. His shoulders were broad under his solid black button-up, the sleeves rolled back to unveil his thick forearms.
"Yes, perhaps you can," Athena mused demurely. "You see, I am in desperate need of intelligent conversation, and I was hoping you might be able to provide."
His expression went from angry to flat. "Unfortunately, I am a bit busy at the moment," he said, tapping his book with a thick index finger. "So unless you can explain the intricacies of genetic coding, I'm going to have to ask you to try someone else."
"I happen to be quite knowledgeable about many things."
"Is that so?" he asked skeptically.
"It is. You may quiz me, if you feel it necessary."
The man took that as the invitation it was, and launched a slew of questions, all of which Athena answered without fail. Lacking regular duties to attend to, such as the attention her Father needed to pay to his domain of the sky, the Goddess of Wisdom found herself with quite a bit of free time, which she usually spent reading. As you can imagine, one can read a significant amount in three thousand or so years.
At some point, the man's lips had quirked upwards with a smile. He was enjoying this just as much as Athena. "Well, seems like you weren't joking. I'm Edward Bennett. It's nice to meet you, Miss...?"
"Astrid Graves," she replied, making up the name on the spot. They shook hands over the table, and Edward glanced at his watch as he drew his hand back.
"Looks like my lunch break is over. I suppose I'll see you around, Miss Graves?"
"Here, tomorrow?"
"I can work with that."
---
Lunch breaks became dinner dates became nights spent together in a loving embrace (in Athena's mindscape, of course. She was still one of the three Virgin Goddesses). A few months later, they were in the place where it all started, when Athena dropped the bomb on Edward.
"I'm pregnant."
Edward blinked. "Is that so?"
"Yes."
"...Huh."
His lack of reaction was a bit worrying. "Is that... Bad?" she asked nervously, a far cry from the immortal warrior she actually was.
The corner of his lip twisted downward. "Hard to say. I'm not really fit to be a father, and I can't afford to cut back on my time in the lab, or I'll lose out on... A good 90% of my grants. Sorry, Astrid, but until I can stabilize my position, you'll have to take care of the kid mostly on your own for now."
Athena nibbled on her lip, wondering how best to break the news to him. Edward was a sharp man, though, and quickly picked up on her unease.
"Not gonna work, huh?" he asked, taking a sip of his coffee. He sighed. "Well, we can always hire a nanny or something. Unless you have family who'd be willing to help out a bit?"
Athena shook her head. "That's not the problem. I... Once the child is delivered, I will be forced to leave."
Edward raised a brow. "Forced? You're a grown woman, Astrid. Your parents can't legally make you do anything. They can't tell you not to have a child." It was a bit baffling to him, that such an independent woman was worried about something like this.
"That's not it." She breathed in deeply. "I won't be able to stay, because of the Ancient Laws."
Edward's confusion became more profound. "Ancient? What, like from the Paleozoic Era? he asked with a little chuckle. "C'mon, I've never heard of any law that says a woman has to leave just because she had a child out of wedlock. If you're that worried about it, then let's get married. Doesn't have to be a big ceremony- we can just hold a little celebration down at one of those halls, invite a few people, and call it a night."
Athena sighed. It was never easy to admit that she wasn't mortal to her lovers, because it marked the beginning of the end of their relationship. She'd found, over the years, that the best way to do it was to just rip the bandage off. "We can't get married, either, because I am a goddess."
Edward stared at Athena for a long, silent moment, before he blinked. "Is this- listen, Astrid, it's fine if you're one of those LARPers, or whatever, but if you're gonna do it, at least don't joke about being pregnant." He sounded a bit annoyed, and Athena frowned. The Goddess of Wisdom looked him straight in the eye and, using her divine powers, instilled the fact that what she was saying was the truth directly into his mind. Edward's head jerked back, shocked by the sudden intrusion, before he rubbed his temples. "Oh. Okay. Wow."
"Wow, indeed. As the Greek Goddess Athena, the Ancient Laws dictate that I, and the other gods, cannot stay with mortals for long periods of time, and we cannot, under any circumstances, interfere in the lives of our demigod children. The Heroes must be left to grow on their own."
"And, all these other Olympian gods, they just, what- go around, hooking up with people, and then leaving them with the children?"
"Not all. Artemis and Hestia have sworn to remain virgins, while Hera will never couple with a mortal. My Father, Zeus, and his brothers, Poseidon and Hades, have also sworn to no longer have demigod children."
Edward stared at her wide-eyed, astounded that she could possibly say something so insane with a straight face. "So, that's it? Here's a kid, have fun? I legitimately cannot take care of a child right now. Are you sure you can't stay for at least a few years, at least until I can get a stable job?"
Athena deflated. "I'm afraid I cannot. Should I linger more than a few days after the child's birth, the consequences will be most severe. Since I am a goddess, they will fall directly on our child."
Edward's gaze was boring a hole into the table. "Fine. Whatever. When's the kid due?"
"Next week. Pregnancy for a goddess is much quicker than a mortal woman." She also refrained from mentioning that the child would be popping out of her head. That was just a bit too much for the poor man.
Edward's glare hardened. "That's barely any time at all," he seethed, "What am I supposed to do about my job?"
"You're a smart man. I'm sure you'll figure something out," Athena said encouragingly. Unfortunately for her, it sounded rather patronizing to the man.
"Right," Edward hissed, standing abruptly. He pulled out his wallet and slapped a few bills on the table, barely bothering to count the amount. "I need time to think." With that, the man stormed out the cafe, leaving the pensive goddess to her own thoughts.
---
This is impossible. I need this job- I don't have time to take care of a friggin' kid! Crazy damned woman. How many other guys has she trapped like this? How many other people have the rest of her family trapped? So many people, raising a kid they can't take care of, just because some god or goddess wanted to mess around with one of us puny mortals. What a fucking mess...
Wait.
That bastard, Martin, said that as long as you can show something worthwhile, it doesn't matter how long you're in the lab. And, if you manage to start a project that generates enough interest from the higher-ups, you can pretty much retire and live off the royalties, even if you're a beginner. Would explain why I haven't seen him around since he invented a goddamn element.
Basically NG+, except the Hoonter is super confused.
This… Transformation, was not what he had expected. He’d been hoping for the Dream to end, to see the sun rise upon the gothic city of Yharnam. Instead, he became the very thing he swore to destroy.
“Are you cold?”
The Plain Doll approached, picking up his odd, worm-like body. She held him gently in her grasp, cradling him like a child- which, he supposed, he now was. An infant Great One, he knew instinctively. The arcane power of the Cosmos lay just beneath his skin. Out of reach, for the moment, but its very existence was telling. The consumption of the umbilical cords, grotesque as it was, had irrevocably changed him. For better or worse, only time would tell.
“Oh, Good Hunter,” the Doll crooned, her soft voice calming to the newborn Great One. Some rest would not be amiss, he decided. The fight with the Moon Presence had taken the last of his energy. Releasing his tenuous hold on consciousness, the Good Hunter drifted off to sleep, the hummed lullaby of the Plain Doll soothing something deep within his soul.
It’s been a long night.
----
He awoke to the ramblings of a wheelchair-bound man, who wore a large-brimmed hat that covered the top half of his face, while a greasy beard covered the bottom half.
“Oh, yes… Paleblood. Well, you’ve come to the right place. Yharnam is the home of blood ministration. You need only unravel its mystery. But… Where’s an outsider like you to begin? Easy; with a bit of Yharnam blood of your own.” The man tilted his head up, allowing a view of his eyes. Except, there were no eyes under the hat- merely a mass of scarred flesh. It would have been repulsive, if he wasn’t used to much more grisly sights. It triggered something, though. A sense of deja-vu, as if he’d seen this before…
“But first, you’ll need a contract.”
----
“Good. All signed and sealed.”
Awareness came back slowly. He didn’t remember falling asleep once more. Had he blacked out? He couldn’t remember signing anything, so what was this man talking about?
“Now, let’s begin the transfusion. Oh, don’t you worry. Whatever happens, you may think it all merely a bad dream.” The elderly man began laughing, and his vision blurred. Darkness took over.
----
He woke slowly, groggily. His head was spinning, and he allowed it to flop to the left. It was dark, but even with the lack of light, he could see the crimson pooling on the floor, a puddle of blood that was gradually growing. The wolf-like visage of a Scourge Beast stared at him, eyes glowing in the blackness as it emerged from the ichor. It took two steps forward, gnarled feet splashing loudly, and slowly reaching over with a clawed hand. Then, moments before its serrated digit could tear out his throat, it was suddenly set on fire.
Flailing wildly, the Scourge Beast roared in agony, before falling to the ground, dead. Its corpse disappeared right before his eyes- whether it turned to ash, or returned to whatever hellish pit it came from, he did not know. His attention was stolen by the tiny, deformed, humanoid creatures that pulled themselves over the side of his gurney. First one, on the left, and a second on the right, then a third at his feet. They crawled along his body, pulling themselves toward his head, which was once more getting foggy. He allowed his head to fall back, gaze on the ceiling, and found more of the little creatures hovering over his face. What were the Messengers doing here? His eyelids slid shut, and moments before he once more surrendered to unconsciousness, he heard a voice. A very familiar voice, which sent a thrill of serenity through his perplexed mind.
“Ahh, you’ve found yourself a Hunter.”
----
He woke again. This time, there was nothing waiting for him; no demented man in a wheelchair, no Beasts, no Messengers. Just a dark room, one he remembered quite well. After all, it was the very place where the Nightmare began.
Iosefka’s Clinic.
What was he doing here, though? He should have been in the Dream, under the care of the Plain Doll as he grew into his eldritch powers as a Great One. Unless… Did the Hunter’s Dream collapse? It wouldn’t be very surprising, considering he killed both the caretaker and the progenitor of the little subspace.
He forced himself into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the side of his bed. He took a moment to just breathe, as blood rushed to his head, making him dizzy for a moment. He pushed on, standing up and swaying on his feet for a moment, then walked over to one of the two doors. He attempted to push it open, but it would not budge. Odd. He thought he’d opened all the doors in the Clinic.
Ignoring the oddity, he walked over to the other door, which was easily pushed open. A quick trip down the flight of stairs, and he was in a fairly empty room. A slam changed his course, and he went back the way he came, only to find that the door he came through was now locked. He grabbed the handles, rattling the hinges, but to no avail. Then, a voice on the other side of the barrier began to speak.
“Are you… Out on the Hunt?” She sounded familiar. “Then, I’m very sorry, but… I cannot open this door.” The feeling of deja-vu was getting stronger. “I am Iosefka.” His eyes widened, and he ignored the rest of her words. This was not possible.
Iosefka was dead.
An impostor? No, that didn’t sound right. Besides, what were the odds of there being another? He’d already killed the first poser, who’d been responsible for the death of the actual Iosefka. So, who was this woman that claimed to be the nurse?
“This is all I can offer you.” A vial was slipped through a hole in the glass. It carried a yellow-tinged liquid, and he knew instantly what it was; one of Iosefka’s refined blood vials. He gingerly took the glass in his gloved hand. This was all the proof he needed, that this was the real Iosefka. The impostor had never been able to reproduce the quality of blood required. Hadn’t even bothered, since she was too busy turning patients into monstrosities. And yet, if this was truly Iosefka…
How?
As far as he knew, she was not a Hunter of the Dream. Death was the end for the nurse, not another torturous beginning. Beyond confused, he stumbled back down the stairs, and then down another flight, staring at the yellow liquid the entire time.
How?
It was only the reflexes beaten into him by dozens of lifetimes in the Hunt that allowed him to avoid getting his head torn off. Instinct forced him to throw himself backwards, narrowly dodging the razor-sharp claws of a Scourge Beast. With a deft hand, he pocketed the vial, then grabbed the Rakuyo strapped to his hip. With a violent heave, he ripped the blade from its sheath, decapitating the lunging Beast in one swift move, before sliding it back in its scabbard. He released the breath he was holding, relaxing his muscles. The exchange hadn’t taken more than a few seconds, but the concentration required was immense. Every time he used this weapon, he was reminded how his victory over Lady Maria definitely had nothing to do with skill. Luck had carried him surprisingly far, its usefulness only surpassed by his refusal to stay dead (or inability, but he tried not to dwell on that too much, for the sake of his waning sanity).
With a sigh, he exited the bloody room, walked up a flight of stairs, and stepped out into the Clinic’s courtyard. A quick glance confirmed that the gate to the graveyard was locked, despite the trouble he’d gone through to open it. Almost as if something had reset all his progress…
It was a thought for another time, when he was back in the Dream.
Pushing open the larger gate, he walked out onto the cobbled streets of Yharnam. Up a slight incline, he turned left, quickly sidestepping the addled Huntsman hiding behind a carriage, who slammed an axe into the stone at his feet. His Rakuyo flashed, and the man’s hat slid off his head, revealing the inside of his skull. Flicking the blood off his blade, he sheathed it, then hurried over to a lever. Pulling it, a metal ladder dropped down, and he quickly ascended. There, in front of him, was his goal: a lamp. Clicking his fingers, the lamp ignited with an eerie glow, and Messengers sprouted from the ground, waving their hands lethargically. He paid them no mind, instead kneeling and focusing on the Hunter’s Mark, engraved within his mind. Mist encroached upon his vision, and he entered the Dreamlands.
----
A blink. That was all the time it took for him to cross between dimensions, and he was now standing in the place he viewed as a home. Or as a safe place to rest, at the very least. The house was no longer up in flames, and the mist was not oppressively heavy, weighing down on his very soul. The Plain Doll sat upon her perch, head bobbing up and down as she dozed. Seeing the subtle movement calmed some of his inner turmoil. He wasn’t sure he would be able to handle it if she, the one who supported him through the entirety of his hellish journey, was no longer around. Perhaps it was a bit strange to be so attached to a mere doll, but he could feel it, deep within his veins; she was much more than a construct of wood. More than what Gehrman made her.
Speaking of which...
He stalked up the steps, steeling himself. However, even his incredible strength of will, forged through countless experiences with the unholy Great Ones, could not stop the shock that jolted through him. Sitting there in his wheelchair, looking as nonchalant as ever, was the First Hunter.
“Ah-hah… You must be the new Hunter. Welcome, to the Hunter’s Dream. Or should I say, welcome back?”
Inspiration: Tales from the White Palace Chapter 5
Hornet does co-schooling in Deepnest and Hallownest. However, the snobbish noble children in Hallownest continually snub her. Eventually, she gets fed up with it, and demands to know what it’ll take for them to respect her. One kid floats the idea of visiting Kingdom’s Edge, a taboo place which is rumored to have a giant monster living there. A test of courage type of deal.
They were skipping class in the first place to have this conversation, and Ghost runs across them in the Queen’s Gardens. Curious, but understanding (he’d never subject himself to the torture of lessons, no matter how much the Pale King insists), he decides to leave them be. However, he overhears the conversation, and decides maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to go scold them for playing hooky, hoping to cow Hornet and discourage her from such a foolhardy trip without outright saying it.
It doesn’t work, obviously.
In the middle of the night, she sneaks out to meet with her classmates. She takes a stag from the Palace Grounds to King’s Station, then meets them at the entrance to the Royal Waterways (since the stasis hasn’t happened, maintenance is regular, so they aren’t gonna be wading in shit to get past where Ogrim was). From there, they navigate the Waterways until they reach Kingdom’s Edge, eventually making it to the Cast-Off Shell.
Once in sight of the supposed monster, while the rest of her classmates are trembling, Hornet realizes that its just a corpse. Emboldened, they dare each other to venture into the gaping maw. Then, of course, they all gang up on Hornet to go, saying that she’ll never prove herself as a royal of Hallownest if she doesn’t do it. Angry, she intends to do just that. She isn’t expecting Ghost to melt out of her shadow (Shade Lord).
He’d only heard that the children intended to go to Kingdom’s Edge, not that they were going to seek out the Wyrm’s corpse (they’d lowered their voices for that part of the conversation, even though nobody was around). As stated earlier, Ghost hoped Hornet wouldn’t try to sneak out, but decided to hide away in her shadow in case she did. And it turns out he was right to do so.
This time, he scolds her properly, and Hornet obviously gets mad. She starts screaming shit like I’m the King’s daughter, I have a right to know these things! And I’m old enough to make my own decisions!
“You fancy yourself grown…?”
“Yes! I’ve already molted twice! I’ve trained with the Weavers of Deepnest and Hive Queen Vespa! I’m the daughter of Herrah the Beast and the Pale King! I can take care of myself! Return to the Palace, Ghost- this has nothing to do with you!”
Wordlessly, Ghost drew his Tainted Greatnail, holding it limply, the point digging into the layer of decomposing ash covering the ground. A sense of terror gripped Hornet, like a hand squeezing her heart. She and her classmates- who were watching the confrontation with poorly-disguised glee (anxious to see the stuck-up spider princess get punished or something, so they could spread gossip)- all skittered back instinctively, flight response rearing its head in the face of insurmountable danger.
“G-Ghost?” Hornet stammered. She was paralyzed by fear, unable to even reach for her weapon.
“It seems… Words will not be enough to dissuade you from going further. You will learn. Draw your Needle!” the Vessel barked.
“Wha- no… I- I can’t fight you! That’s not fair!” Hornet cried.
“Really? And why is that?” Ghost drawled, lazily stepping forward. His long legs covered a good chunk of the distance between the half-siblings. “Have we not sparred before, when I taught you how to wield your Needle?” He took another step, and the spiderling scuttled back.
“That’s- different! That was training! I can’t- you’re a God!”
“Excuses,” Ghost scoffed. “I had already killed my first God when I was smaller than you are now. Come, oh brave one,” he jeered, “Prove your might. Or is all your training under me, the Weavers, and the Hive, just for show?”
Tears were starting to well up under her mask, borne of a mix of frustration and fear. “I… Look, I’ll go back to the Palace! That’s what you want, right!? And I promise I’ll never return here!”
“Draw. Your. Needle.”
“That is enough, children.”
Everyone in the clearing turned to stare at the interloper. The Pale King himself stood off to the side, head tilted up to stare blankly at his son. “There is no need for the dramatics. A simple warning would have sufficed, I think.”
Kids taken back to Hallownest, PK and Ghost talking on a balcony.
“I suppose I should thank you for warning me about Hornet’s plans. You have my gratitude,” the Pale King said with a slight bow.
“You were late,” Ghost growled.
“Perhaps. But I knew you would be able to stop her before she did anything too dangerous.”
“Then why did you show up at all, if you knew I could handle it?”
“I came to stop you.”
“...What?”
“In one of the futures I Saw, you permanently ruined your relationship with Hornet by challenging her to a duel in front of her classmates. You knocked her around with ease- you even broke her Needle by accident. The other children talked, and Hornet was so ashamed to be seen as weak, no matter your reputation as the most powerful warrior in the Kingdom, that she begged Herrah to never send her back to Hallownest… And Herrah agreed. Hornet would have never forgiven you, had you gone any further.”
Ghost became more and more tense the longer the Pale King spoke. He released a shuddering breath. “Is… Is it too late to apologize?”
The Pale King was silent for a long while, each passing second ratcheting up Ghost’s anxiety. “I do not believe so. She will either forgive you now, or sometime soon. You seem to have the highest chance of success if you wait about two days. Don’t wait too long, though, or she’ll think you uncaring.”
Ghost tilted his head. “Did you… Use your Foresight?”
The Pale King merely nodded.
“...Thank you.”
“Just remember, Ghost; you and Hornet have had vastly different upbringings. What makes sense to you will not make sense to her.”
Ghost stared at his father. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he finally said, then strode back into the White Palace. He needed to find something to occupy him for the next two days or so.
Inspiration: Tales from the White Palace Chapter 8
White Lady, Hollow, Ghost, Hornet go to see a play. Songstress Marissa sings, and Hollow is captivated. The Queen gets them backstage, because she wants to speak to the Songstress (as a very popular singer, she knows people in very high places).
Hollow gushes about how good she was. Marissa offers to give the Royal Palace a private showing, but Hollow regretfully declines.
“No, I’d rather not force you if you didn’t want to. I’ve heard of snobbish children of nobility and such who become infatuated with bugs of lower class, only to end up driving them away with relentless pursuit, or by monopolising their time. I’m sure a bug as beautiful as you must have dealt with many such suitors, and I’d be loathe to add to the list.” After a moment of mentally reviewing what he’d just said, he backpedaled. “Not that there’s anything wrong with being lower class!” he assured hastily, “You’re a queen among bugs, but the class difference does still exist, is all I mean.” *Accidental smoothness* Doesn’t deny that he’s totally into her
“It would be no trouble at all, my Prince,” Marissa replies smoothly, a hint of a genuine smile gracing her lips. Her pink, gleaming wings spread ever so slightly, reflecting the hanging spotlights so they washed over her like a halo, her blond hair positively glowing. The sight makes Hollow’s heart of Root skip a beat.
He opens his mouth to say something, anything to keep the conversation going, but was only able to produce incoherent sounds. “Ah, um…If- If you’re sure-”
A moment later, he was sent crashing face first into the wooden floor by a slap to the back of the head. The planks creaked from the force of impact, but thankfully remained intact. Gasps of disbelief and startled shrieks echoed around the room. Only one bug had both the gall and the power to do such a thing;
“Ghost!” Hollow cried, somewhat disoriented. He propped his prone body up on one elbow, the other arm reaching back to feel for any cracks in his mask. To his concern, there was a hairline fracture.
“Do control yourself, Dear Brother,” Ghost purred sublimely. “Your stammering is troubling the Lady Marissa.”
“Control myself!?” Hollow barked indignantly, climbing to a kneel. He stopped himself from rising and further, vision starting to spin. Did he have a concussion? It would be just his luck.
“My Prince, are you all right?” Songstress Marissa’s soothing voice filtered into his ears. Looking up (or rather, down, considering his enormous height), he saw that the female bug had knelt in front of him, cautiously reaching a hand out to prod at his wound.
“I… I will be,” he choked out, throat suddenly dry. He closed his eyes, Focusing on his reserves of Soul. With a rush of air and a flurry of white particles, his mask sealed up, as if nothing had ever happened.
“Amazing...” the Songstress breathed. When Hollow opened his eyes, he saw that she was very close, examining his now-pristine shell. Unconsciously, she gently placed a hand on his snout, pressing his face down to get a better look, and he instinctively complied. “So this is the power of Soul. I’d heard many things, but so very few bugs are actually able to use it.”
“Healing is just one of many uses,” Hollow explained, the words falling out before he could even consider what he was saying. “Although, most of the spells I’ve learned are oriented to combat, the spiders of Deepnest use it to form silk, and Father’s knowledge of Soulcraft is vast.”
“Indeed? I’d like to see that, if possible. I’ve always dreamed of being able to do magic when I was a little girl,” the Songstress confided in a quiet voice, giggling musically.
“Father destests it when people call Soulcraft magic.” This, too, was said automatically, and Hollow instantly wished he could take it back when he saw how the blonde bug tensed ever-so-slightly, thinking she’d offended the Prince. Desperately, he thought of what he could do to fix it. “Although, between you and I,” he began, lowering his voice into a stage whisper, “I’ve always thought it was rather magical, too.” (At least, he did after he could think for himself)
The gentle smile he received nearly struck Hollow down then and there.
*Hollow goes on to court Marissa, even going so far as to become an actor, devoting himself entirely to the craft. Fuck being a prince. The two become an actor/singer duo, always starring in the same plays, perfectly in sync. The End*
The Pale King was not an explorer. He never set out into the wilderness with nothing but the clothes on his shell and what provisions he could fit in his bag, camping out in the uncivilised tunnels of Hallownest. He may have memorised the official maps of his kingdom, but reclusive as he was, he’d never actually gone out and seen most of the sights for himself. He’d left his adventurous days behind him, along with the decaying corpse of his original Wyrm form, and secluded himself in his Pale Palace, rarely leaving.
As such, there were many things the Pale King did not know of his land. Tunnels and passages that were not recorded on any maps, dens and nests of vicious creatures that killed all who trespassed, such that there were none alive who knew of their presence. The lair of Nosk, the treacherous mimic of Deepnest, was hidden from his light. The vile experiments of the Soul Sanctum were unknown to the one praised as all-knowing. The surface town of Dirtmouth had never occupied his thoughts in anything more than passing wonderance. And at the crown of Hallownest, far above Crystal Peak, was the statue of the Old Light, which the Pale King would surely have blown to smithereens- if only he knew it existed.
The Pale King, nowhere near as omniscient as his subjects believed, also did not know that there was more than one way to escape the Abyss.
---
The Vessel could not get the burning pale light out of its mind. So painful to those eyes born in darkness, yet so entrancing, enticing, calling it to ascend from the pit, heedless of the hundreds of its siblings that fell to their death around it. The dozens it itself sent tumbling back into the pitch black, thinking only of removing any obstacle in its climb. Others had similarly tried to bring it down, but this Vessel was stronger, battering them off the nearest ledge and continuing on its way.
Strong though it might have been, it was not the strongest. Not the fastest. By the time it had reached that metal bridge, hanging desperately onto the edge, so close to the pale light it could almost reach out and touch it, another Vessel was already there. Before it stood the embodiment of the pale light, and it heard the words of the Pale King.
“You shall seal the blinding Light that plagues their dreams. You are the Vessel. You are the Hollow Knight.”
The Pale King turned and left, followed by the Hollow Knight, who glanced back at the struggling Vessel. For a moment, their dark eyes met, and though it was designed to be without emotion, the Hollow Knight felt some measure of pity for its struggling sibling- not that it knew what the slight pain in its empty heart meant. However, the Hollow Knight was more compelled to follow the pale light of its sire, which was getting further and further away the longer it dallied, so it turned its back on its sibling. The first of its kind to ever escape the Abyss.
It would not be the last.
The great doors slammed shut, sealed by the King’s Brand, forever locked, and the Vessel fell down, down, down, back into the place of its birth, the graveyard of its less fortunate siblings. Resigned to its fate, the Vessel went limp, understanding without understanding that only death remained. It simply waited for the moment when its shell cracked open on the corpse-covered ground, to become yet another in a sea of broken masks. It was not expecting to be caught on the way down.
Hundreds of eggs, thousands of grubs had been sacrificed to the Void by the Pale King in his now-finished search for the Hollow Knight. He thought them truly empty, unable to feel emotion, to think for themselves, little more than automatons. Not alive, just the reanimated corpses of his children, puppeted by Void.
What a fool he was. The Vessels were the progeny of the Pale King and White Lady, beings of Mind and Life. Powerful though the Void was, even it could not devour the godlings without their eggs being dropped directly into the Void Sea. Instead, by exposing the eggs to the miasma of the Abyss, the darkness had seeped into them, mixing with- not consuming- what was inside, creating a unique species.
Shells of hardened Void, masks of solidified Soul, organs of twisted Root, and brains of shaped Mind; the Vessels were an amalgamation of the four mystic elements. They were alive, they could feel and think, even if they did not know what emotions or thought were. Young as they were, the Vessels were driven purely by instinct. And that instinct told them to follow the pale light, for it would lead them to their father, who would pull them free of the darkness. Instead, they were cast down to their deaths, by their siblings or by their own missteps.
Root and Soul gave physical form. Mind gave mental form. The Void, alongside physical form, also gave the Vessels spiritual form. From the thousands of broken masks rose a legion of Shades, pitch black ghosts with Soul-white eyes.
The Shades would not let the last living Vessel in the Abyss join their ranks. Hundreds of them flew together, melding into a floating blob of Void, and the final Vessel dropped into the undulating mass. It bounced once, then lay there, dazed.
The combined Shades lowered the Vessel onto the shell-covered floor, dispersing back into their singular forms and crowding around it. They nuzzled against the sole living creature, ghostly black masks somehow making contact. The Vessel was jostled upright, standing on stubby legs. It stared blankly at its dead siblings, mind far gone, still entranced by the glimpse of the Pale King.
It had to get to him. There had to be another way out of the Abyss, another way to reach that pale light, even if it would not reach for them.
---
Time meant nothing in the Void. The Vessel searched and searched, enlisting the help of the Shades, and would have kept looking for eternity if it had to. Along the way, they found many strange things.
Through a tunnel, there was a towering structure, which bathed the Void Sea in yellow light, quelling the bottomless depths. A corpse lay in the top, of a creature unlike any of the siblings. It didn’t do anything other than lay there, obviously, so the siblings quickly lost interest in it.
Halfway up the pit was a dais with a glowing blue rock in it- a locking mechanism for the door beyond it, most likely. It couldn’t be opened, just like the door sealed by the King’s Brand. The siblings moved on.
Far beyond the lighthouse, across the Void Sea and through a stretching tunnel, was a fountain of overflowing Void. The Vessel, curious, jumped in, and attained the ability to warp into a Shade for a moment, passing through all obstacles before reverting back to its original form. It thoroughly startled both the Vessel and its siblings the first time it happened.
On the opposite side of the Abyss was a chamber filled with stone faces, mouths wide open, as if they were screaming. Overcome by an otherworldly voice, an Abyssal Shriek ripped out of the Vessel’s throat, sending a cacophony of Soul and Void into the air, shaped like the wailing visages surrounding it. It shouldn’t have been possible- the Vessels did not have vocal chords. They were not designed to have them. But, such was the arcane nature of Soul (or magic, as many ignorant bugs would call it).
It was in that same room that the Vessel found what it had been looking for. The force of the Abyssal Shriek shook the stone chamber, making dust fall from the ceiling in a heavy cloud. After it cleared, the Vessel noticed a portion of the wall was littered in cracks. Another Abyssal Shriek (and subsequent dust tornado), this time closer, completely shattered the weakened section of fossil stone, revealing a tunnel behind it.
Excited, the Vessel rushed in headfirst. Currently, there were only two Shades with the living Vessel, the others scattered about the rest of the Abyss, searching for alternative avenues of escape. The two ghostly siblings glanced at each other, coming to a decision. One followed the Vessel down the tunnel, while the second returned to the Abyss proper, to inform their siblings of their new discovery.
How unfortunate, then, that not soon after, the weakened foundations of the room collapsed, once more sealing the Abyss off from the rest of the world.
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