Divine Guidance Alpha Division

Authority on Absolutely Nothing

[gauntystudios]

My buddies and I all really like this idea: that Steven will first meet Yellow Diamond through his dream-projection ability. I think @radioactivesupersonic first postulated it? I remember they had a theory that he’d already spoken to Yellow Diamond in a dream and didn’t know that it was her. At any rate. Someone, somewhere, suggested that Steven would meet Yellow Diamond in his dreams and we all like the theory. XD

Please consider:

Tiny, unkillable Steven-Ghost invisible to all but Yellow Diamond, following her around, being Steven. Making her question her sanity but also ingratiating himself to her.

Steven spending his REM-sleep cycles in Yellow Diamond’s control room with her. Asking umpteen questions. “What’s that do? Ohhhh, that’s a cool planet; what’s on it? Who was that gem that you just talked to? What do they do? Are they your friend? Some of my friends help out when we go on missions. Oh, man it’d be so cool if I could bring them next time.”

“Please. Don’t.”

Is he real or is he her imagination? Why does he seem familiar? Why is he so ANNOYING and can’t he see that she’s trying to work? Well, if she can’t get rid of him she has at least discovered that he’ll MOSTLY be quiet if she says “please.”

Steven arrives in her control room fresh from a bad dream. She is puzzled about why her insanity-projection is leaking from its optical orbs. She spends a huge chunk of time that session trying to get him to stop making that AWFUL wailing sound.

Yellow Diamond venting to Steven because, hey, why not? He’s a figment of her imagination/overworked psyche. Her Pearl is out on an errand. No one will ever hear it, not really. And he’s such a good listener.

Yellow Diamond actually taking some of his advice.

His advice works. 

Yellow Diamond becoming so numb to the fact that all her responsibilities have driven her insane that she just gives up and accepts it…then begins to enjoy his company.

Then…one day….

He stops appearing.

And then her REAL worry begins. >=3

[directorhachi]

And one day, he pops up holding his ukulele, an enormous grin on his face. And YD learns of the horrifying Earth tradition known as……the musical episode.

[faythdream-blog]

the secret origin of how shun and yuto met

[sonocomics]

Shulk: “I KNEW she was your type.”

[divineguidancealpha]

Adolere

Welcome to the Altar. It is time to be Reborn.

Username: D3S_In4nis

Password: *********

Server: OMEGA

Domain: Verdant

...Welcome. Logging you in...

This was a long-awaited day for the gaming community. No other MMO’s official opening events had been this anticipated. Even though the company announced there would only be three servers, they had adamantly stated that would be enough to support every player, even if the whole world populace somehow managed to get a copy. For the ten thousand beta testers a server, it had been more than true. Each “Domain,” or world, within the servers was as large as a real planet, with as much life and foliage. You could build a fortress out there, and many people had during the beta testing period. However, everything they’d done was razed for the opening day. Only their gear and characters would be surviving that reset. Some didn’t even survive that, as people wanted to use a fresh character going into the full release.

As the servers were opened to the public, every beta tester was certain there would be a crash. They were dead wrong. Regardless, each Domain was swarmed, as people headed for their arena of choice. The past week had seen every Domain as a battleground to complete each dungeon, Sunday holding a tournament, where the last man standing at the end of the day as the Tyrant of that Domain. They would not only gain Administrative rights for the area, they’d get to redesign it as they saw fit, within reason. However, from the dungeons and war zones and portals full of traps and monsters the testers had faced, “within reason” was quite reasonable.

By now, most of the Domains and their dungeons had been cleared, and the “challengers” for the tournaments that followed had been chosen.

“Round 1 for Tyranny of the Verdant Domain of the Omega Server shall begin with one of our favorite beta testers, Des Infernis!” The Behemoth that walked out into the arena caused some of the crowd to fall into stunned silence; the newcomers. Great horns curled back over his golden mane of hair. He was rather short for a Behemoth, maybe a human’s average of 5’8”. Still, his body was built like a tank, his fists easily as big as the average frying pan, the knightly armor he wore with it gleaming a silvery black, a shocking contrast to the brilliant white and blue blade he was wielding. Those who were familiar with his exploits cheered him on, his slow walk punctuated by the sound of his bastard sword’s tip dragging in the dirt, no line being left behind. “Opposing him, another beta tester of considerable fame: Sorrel Seawolf!” The applause for this hero was somewhat less, but it was still enough to fill the arena. He was a Draconian of “human” origin, looking more human than dragon. His body was slight, but fit. Black hair was tied behind his head, the “tail” only about a hand’s width.

Des smirked a bit as he brandished his bastard sword one-handed, tossing it up and down like a casual rogue would a knife, flipping it end over end. Still he caught it by the handle every time, the rotations identical and precise. With the ImmerTech connection to the game, it was purely his own movements, his mind feeling like this body was his own, down to imagining he could feel pain. Some turned this feature off, but Des’ player, DJ, had desired this kind of immersion in games since he’d first played one as a kid. Pictures of Des and Sorrel appeared up on the big scoreboard, along with their HP and MP stats. Des entered a ready stance at that moment, catching the blade a final time and flourishing it into his ready posture. Across from him, Sorrel and his twin blades were also in a ready position. “Should’ve chosen elsewhere, Sorrel,” Des called. The Draconian flushed slightly, brandishing his blades and almost rushing the Behemoth. He saw the look in Des’ eye and immediately knew better, however.

“Sixteen Domains per server, Des. Even if I fail against you, by the end of the day, there will be plenty of Tyrants to topple.” Des laughed, taking a step forward, making Sorrel flinch.

“Y’know, I’d believe you could be a Tyrant...if you weren’t a total coward.” He took another step, and swung his blade. A wave of pure energy flew forth, only to be cleaved in twain by Sorrel’s twin sabers. “Fine, just remember that you were warned. Twice.”

Sorrel’s next words were cut off as a flat, broad surface met his chest and plowed him flat into the wall of the arena. Des’ sword had disappeared, to be replaced with a massive sledge axe. His armor was slowly changing, his choice of armor with the weapon going for a more gladiatorial armor. It allowed more range of movement, which he demonstrated by twirling his weapon like a baton, the saber on the end flashing in the forest light.

“...I hate you,” Sorrel growled, leaping forward and sliding under Des’ swipe, slashing at the Behemoth’s side. It seemed to slip right off the armor, so Sorrel sprung upwards as Des swung again, using the man’s shoulder as a springboard and going straight into the air. “You’re so broken! Who uses so many weapons, anyway?!” Des smirked, his weapon shifting again. This time, two katana seemed to have a black void for blades, the edges glowing a red like burning blood. He curled his legs in, and shot straight up, slashing with both as Sorrel mimicked the gesture, the four edges meeting and sparking with raw energy. The blowback sent Sorrel tumbling, while Des landed steadfast and charging. Sorrel rolled onto his feet and barely dodged. “And what’s more, you’re so unrefined. You just rush into everything.”

“That’s because I can take whatever you can throw at me, and then some. You’re definitely not strong enough to be a threat,” Des countered, rushing in as Sorrel went on the defensive again, dodging and ducking the massive slashes that would put his already-halved life further into the red.

He locked blades with the man, leaning in close. “That might be true...but I know you a bit better than you think...DJ.”

Des-and DJ outside the game-adopted a look akin to baffled outrage. His body went rigid, his blades fell from his hands, and Sorrel took this opportunity to start striking.

With the first blow, Des was thinking, ‘How?’ He was in the air for a moment before Sorrel continued his combo. The next blow extended that thought to ‘How does he know?’ as he spun and the ground met his face for a moment. The third blow saw the armor, which he’d forgotten to swap in the heat of the moment, seemingly destroyed; Sorrel took no notice of this strange happening, and continued to follow through, while Des wondered, ‘How does this little fuck know who I am?’ He hit the ground again, and his hands were already coated in the silvery links of metal that made up his Special Weapon. Sorrel didn’t see it, too focused on dealing damage with his now electrified blades. Behemoths didn’t have an advantage against lightning element, but they weren’t weak to it, either. Des, in particular, had put up his resistances in every element by training his defenses. Sorrel knew none of this, and Des was now thinking, ‘I’m going to kill him. He must die. I will not stand for being threatened.’ The chains had wrapped around his arms up to the shoulders, as well as over his knees on the ones that had formed on his legs. Sorrel’s twin blades slashed in a cross over Des’ chest...only for the weapons to clang harmlessly off of the chains that had been rapidly spreading since his anger began.

“What?!” Sorrel demanded, stabbing forward with the blades...only for Des to catch both, snapping them calmly.

“...Your brother is going to have words for you when he visits tomorrow,” Des said simply, locking his stance and punching clean through Sorrel’s head; before the damage could actually register, his Special’s ability triggered, and a micro-singularity was created at the point of Des’ fist. The matter that had been all across the massive fist was slurped away, as well as the remains of the head on the stump of dragon neck; as he pulled his fist back, the singularity increased for an instant, ripping more of the falling corpse into itself; though the body exploded into data before it could hit the ground, the scene had gone in slow-motion on the big screen. The developers had gone for every bit of reality they could, from the damage dealt to the effects of things; the singularity had temporarily damaged the screen to make it replay the same scene with alternating speeds, the fist going through the head like a lightning bolt, the spray following behind and being consumed by the instant singularity at snail speeds.

Des swore he could hear people hurling as he leapt up into one of the trees, sitting and entering a meditative stance. “I will not leave this arena until I am defeated!” He shouted, and everyone went rather still. “You may have whatever fights you like, but if you hit me, it’ll be a three for all. And that’ll save me the trouble of beating you later.”

His eyes went up to the stands for a moment, to where there was a blue-cloaked young man laughing in his seat, clutching his stomach. Clearly, Evan found his best friend’s antics as amusing as ever. Near him, one of their newer friends, Azmyth, was watching intently. Des went into pause mode for a moment, as if to reorganize his inventory-which he actually did first, requipping his knight armor and bastard sword-before sending a short mail off.

“You two are way too close. We’re pretending to hate each other in-game, you know?”

One reply was immediate, as Evan’s specter got up and walked closer, disrupting a humanoid cat that had been sitting on the railing in front of him. The three had exchanged “Ghosts,” basically walking remote controlled cameras that looked like their personal avatar, so they were kept up on one another when not in their own matches. “Little late for that, isn’t it? I saw that conversation. Little brother Sorrel knows you’re Des.”

“He’s not a problem if handled quickly and properly. You’re going to handle that, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll handle him. Maybe I’ll convince him to go to Alpha, for his own good.”

Des wasn’t worried about Sorrel; Evan’s little brother was too morally good to be a threat, but with the right motivators, he’d be an excellent candidate for the Path of Might. Each of Evan, Des, and Azmyth had created their little story Paths based on their ideologies, but they planned on expanding them. Followers always had ideas. Good ones were kept, bad ones tossed. They believed in this method quite wholeheartedly.

Des snapped back to attention as he heard the next pair getting called out to fight. He yawned and leaned against the tree he was perched in, ready to watch this entertainment. He wanted to fight everyone in this tournament at once, but that might actually be too much for him. He knew most of the names on the tournament bracket, some more than others; he also knew that several of those names were signed up specifically to fight him. He liked that in potential candidates, a drive to beat him and get stronger.

Two with just such a drive were up next. They hadn’t predicted Des would just willingly sit down and tell people to come at him; as a Draconian in the beta, he did all the coming at, using all of his race skills to demoralize and decimate the opposition. As a Behemoth, he’d been fairly relaxed, not going for anyone but the opponents put in front of him. Still, as the fight he’d just given them attested, he was merciless as ever.

They met in the middle, looking between one another and the tree where Des was taking up residence. He had his eyes half-lidded, looking bored already, which fit his character perfectly; despite a bold statement that he’d wait patiently, he was already feeling impatient towards getting into some blood. He could easily see the looks they were giving him, even as they started talking in low voices.

They were discussing an alliance to try and end the Behemoth threat before he could get any further in the tournament. Judging by the way they started smirking, they thought it could work, even as they plotted to kill one another afterwards. Moving as one, they acted.

Des cut the glaive thrown at him from the air before it even got into the shade of the tree, jumping down. “Okay, just don’t say you were not warned later.” The glaive reappeared in the human’s hand, as the Djinn beside him drew a pair of hand-cannons. “You’ve amused me,” he cooed at the two, the shots ringing out. Each bullet was cleaved clean in twain by the bastard sword, and then he was moving forward again. The glaive-user threw it again, but it seemed to just hit air, Des disappearing. “Too bad amusement only goes so far.”

The glaive never reappeared in the human’s hands; Des’ blade appeared from behind, ripping through the armor he wore like it was paper. He twisted the blade and slashed sideways at the other combatant, his first execution victim falling over and shattering to data.

It was at this moment that the Djinn thought he could get away with a victory, and started firing away at Des. The bullets didn’t even break through his armor, but they did draw his attention back to the other victim, his eyes glowing a brilliant red. “I’m sorry, this was supposed to be your fight, wasn’t it? Here, let me make it fair again.” He threw his bastard sword, sinking it through to the hilt in the man’s sternum before he could even as flinch. “There, now you’re both dead.” He walked over as the man started falling, catching his blade by the hilt. It slid out of him slowly, the blood dripping down its tip the whole time that the Djinn took to shatter.

“...I’m disturbingly reminded of your first girlfriend,” Evan commented.

“I swear,” Des replied as he whipped his blade clean of blood and climbed back up to his little spot, the crowd jeering at the two bloody stains on the ground. “Though she, at least, survived getting stabbed.”

“Repeatedly,” Evan joked.

Oh yeah, Des knew today was going to be an awesome day now. He was one round closer to winning, after all.

[divineguidancealpha]

Malcolm

Malcolm Vaetas was five years old the first time he was taken aside, into the private study, by his father, Lord Otis Vaetas. He was told in a plain, simple voice, “I am going to beat you, son.” Before the boy could utter a syllable of reply, his father struck him, first across one cheek, then the other. As he fell to the ground, his father’s foot connected with the boy’s head, rendering unconsciousness immediate. 

A kindness, Lord Otis would later call the times he would do this. It was a reward for good behavior. Bad behavior meant far more pain. The only thing the man wouldn’t do is break bone; he wanted his son in perfect physical condition.

***

Lady Tetra Vaetas died when her sons, Malcom and his twin brother, Orion, were twelve years old. The city had been struck by plague, but thanks to her efforts, it wasn’t as severe as it could have been. She died from a plague-stricken wretch stabbing her in the chest as she tried to feed another ill person, about to fade. She had been the only thing that made the home whole and worth living for. 

Lord Otis took to drinking. The “kindnesses” came less, and Malcolm had to learn to defend himself or risk actual damage. He never actually fought back, but he directed that power, that strength, into work. He never grew tall, but he grew extremely strong.

Still Malcolm willingly toiled for his father, obediently let himself be molded as a deadly weapon through his father’s underworld connections. He was becoming someone he didn’t know.

***

The first time he realized the monster his father had created was when he nearly killed his brother Orion at age seventeen. Orion had thrown the first punch, as Malcolm had been teasing him about the pretty maid. “If you don’t want her, I’ll take her,” he had whispered in his brother’s ear. Those words had been used by their father to collect every young slave maid he now owned.

The next thing Malcolm knew, Orion had punched him in the face, hard enough to spin him. As he came back around, however, he started seeing red, and his consciousness seemed to flicker. The next thing he realized, his brother’s throat was between his jaws, his claws about to rip his stomach out.

Malcolm let his brother live, and he was sickened with himself. However, he could live this way, even away from his brother, as long as Orion was safe.

***

The old man chose an extremely bad point in Karmic time to fuck up. Malcolm had come home early because Orion had been ill that week. He cared about his brother, and had checked on him every day. He was feeling better that morning, yet that meant he was with their father, discussing matters of import with the other lords and ladies of the city. Their lunch meeting had just let out, as they were all leaving as Malcolm was coming in.

He saw his father grab his brother by the elbow, the same way he always had done to Malcolm. “We need to speak in private,” He wheezed; he was getting a bit on in years, and his nineteen year-old sons were the peak of fitness. Still, Orion had been their mother’s favorite, and Otis had never so much as struck the boy. Still, that grip on his son’s elbow was like iron as he led him back towards the private study. Malcolm followed silently, almost in a trance; this wasn’t right, but he honestly feared the old man. It had been beaten into him to fear Lord Otis Vaetas.

Otis stood in front of the fireplace for a moment, watching the flames grow and swirl, while Orion stood there awkwardly, looking around to try and find something to talk about. However, each time he did, his father would raise a finger, a single finger, and he’d fall silent. Malcolm, peeking through the study door-for the first time since he remembered, the old man had left it ajar-could see his father’s face; it was the same blank stare he’d had that first day so long ago.

“...I am going to beat you, son,” Lord Otis said as he turned to Orion, who just sort of stared at his father for a moment. Then he was struck across the face by a blow that was much stronger than it should have been; Wolverines were known for their ferocity, even in old age. As he reeled from the sudden blow, he was leapt upon by Lord Otis.

Quick as a flash, Malcolm was through the door. For the first time in his life, he was not afraid for his life. His claws raked his father’s side, throwing him across the room and into one book-covered wall. He fell to the floor, unconscious. Before Malcolm could finish the job, Orion grabbed his arm. He nearly turned his anger upon his brother, but instead, directed his anger at planning. His father’s associates had taught him a lot. They left the study together, but again went their usual separate ways, as was the way of the Vaetas clan.

***

Over the next few months, Otis was good to his sons, better than he’d been since they were five. Orion had been neglected and ignored, and Malcolm beaten and tortured. Now they ate breakfast together every day, saw to the affairs of the city, and went out for “activities.” These had included watching sports, beheadings, going out and drinking, and simply taking a carriage ride around town one uneventful day. This sudden desire to bond was just what Malcolm needed. 

One day, when Orion had gone off to the slave markets for their father, Malcolm suggested the two of them go fishing. Otis had loved fishing as a boy, it seemed, and he positively jumped at the idea. They packed a lunch “just in case,” prepared two rods, and took a carriage ride out to the countryside. They stopped just before leaving town to buy some bait. Out at the Country Estate’s lake, they hopped into a boat, and paddled out to the middle. Otis didn’t seem to notice Malcolm’s unusually cheerful demeanor matched his own, nor did he notice the lad throwing his line out with nothing on it, then claiming the fish had snagged it away again.

Finally, the lull had gotten the old man into a soporific state, and he dozed off. Malcolm had thought long and hard about how to do this. Cutting his throat would be easiest, but no. The lake was going to serve as the weapon, not the hiding place. As quickly as he could, he grabbed Otis by the throat, and swung his head into the side of the boat; he was disoriented before he even fully woke up. Then his whole upper body was shifted over the edge, and his head was being held under the water.

Malcolm hummed to himself, some tuneless beat of seven repeating notes. Each time he repeated it, he’d shake the old man a bit, maybe let him up to try and breathe, only to shove him under again. He kept track; it took sixty repetitions of his little melody for the bubbles to stop.

He buried the old man in the family cemetery right next to their mother, with no marker or headstone. No one questioned the old man’s sudden disappearance; he’d been going senile prematurely, his friends said, and his enemies wouldn’t try and deny it.

Malcolm and Orion agreed to take over their father’s roles in the city equally; Malcolm would continue to handle the dirty work and argue politics with the big boys, and Orion would help the people and manage the businesses they backed.

And so, they began their life trying to avoid the fate of their forefathers, the curse of the Vaetas clan. Somewhere along the way, Malcolm took up “hunting” women from other countries, bringing them home as trophies. None could meet his criteria for respect and proper obedience, so he would often beat them to the point of breaking. It was all he’d been taught, it was all he knew how to do.

He accepted his doom to be considered a sick monster for his habits. He just didn’t expect to find someone who could’ve been perfect.