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For a planet that was supposedly Aha’s domain, it looked so...glum. Unless, the joke was that he arrived expecting to be greeted by a paradise, and that Aeon was looking down at him laughing THEMSELVES to death. Regardless, La Mancha did not find the punchline to be funny.
The real joke here was the Interastral Peace Corporation. Back in the old days, this "Planarcadia" was known to La Mancha and the galaxy as Beizaitengoku. Tales spread far and wide of it being a most beautiful society, populated by finely crafted artisan works with a vibrant yet coherent color palette. Now, it was a dump. A complete, absolute dump. What could he expect from the same corporation that put the faces of his kids on wanted posters?
His shoes kicked aside the rubble as he walked upon the dilapidated sidewalk. To think that this place used to be a bustling and beautiful city full of joy and glee; now it was overrun by doom and gloom. The stagnant air was occasionally disturbed by the shifting of the stacks of rubble. Perhaps he and Narrator were not alone, but the two of them had yet to spot even the slightest clue of life in the vicinity.
Where was he to go? Street signs were of no help, as poles were bent over and pointing upwards towards roads that no longer existed. It was hard to believe that these so-called Phantasmoon Games were held on this very planet. Perhaps the rumors were wild or the travel brochures were outdated? Regardless of the reasoning, La Mancha had to stay on the low. This place could either be crawling with IPC cockroaches or desolate to the point where even the apex predators were struggling for survival.
Some "buildings" still stood, though they were merely serving as reminders as the past that once was. Narrator and La Mancha looked up at these toppled structures, unable to make piece together any useful info from the signs that still remained.
"Perhaps we should pick a direction and just head in it," La Mancha suggested.
"A brilliant idea. Especially since we have no idea where we are currently,” Narrator said.
La Mancha crossed his arms. "We’re sitting ducks on these streets. Prime targets for whatever still lives out here to track us down, IPC or otherwise." He pointed his finger in the direction of where the toppled buildings were the densest. "Seeking out the heart of the city and working from there will be our best bet."
"And walking right into the domain of the city’s biggest monsters as if we belong here. Impeccable thinking, as always."
"Do you have any better ideas?"
"Something that doesn’t involve us becoming bait, potentially."
"I... you...come on, let’s just get going," La Mancha said, walking forth.
Narrator sat behind for a few moments, watching the Ranger march onwards through the rubble. Realizing that it was a battle that he was not going to win, Narrator caught up, walking not too far behind.
La Mancha scanned his surroundings as he stepped over chunks of stone and pushed aside remnants of collapsed structures. It was most evidently a bustling society at one point in time. Cars were still lined up in a somewhat orderly fashion along the road, though they were no better than heaps of rust slowly being eroded to dust by the wind. Stores down the streets, though long since ransacked, were left with doors open as if they were still welcoming visitors. Ruins of conflict were something La Mancha was all too familiar with, and he knew it was futile to stick his head inside to gaze upon what remained. Out of an unfortunate habit, his eyes briefly locked onto the windows of the buildings, but he carried on as there was no use stopping for a closer look when he knew what he would see.
Just because he had held the bodies of the Rangers he had failed, doesn’t mean that he had interest in going out of his way to gaze upon bone dry corpses.
Along the way, a bus stop still stood. La Mancha stopped at it, though not expecting a ride to appear for him any time soon. Discerning his current location from the map that remained was impossible, as the majority of the illustration had been worn away. Not even the city name could be read at the top; all that was present were a few winding roads and what was presumable notable attractions marked with symbols. As for the map key to read the symbols in question? Now why would fortune favor him for that to remain legible too?
La Mancha pressed the tip of his finger on a building that was more distinct from the rest.
"There’s a police station, that much I can tell. If we want to figure out where and how to get out of here, that’s probably our best bet."
Narrator looked up at him. "And where is this police station in question?"
"I have no idea."
He looked around for anything that could even remotely resemble a police station or directions towards one. Nothing of use, unsurprisingly. Any text was almost completely unreadable, and any signs were bent out of shape. La Mancha kneeled down and extended out his arm to Narrator. The slumbernana monkey scampered up his arm and sat upon his head, scouting out the area around.
"Do you see anything?" La Mancha asked. "Community center, police station, anything?"
"Hmmm. Perhaps that building in the distance very faintly marked 'Police Department' is what you’re looking for."
"W-where?"
Narrator bent over, appearing upside down in La Mancha’s vision. He pointed forth into the rubble, not exactly the easiest terrain to navigate, but La Mancha had faith in his guidance as he followed where he pointed. He pushed aside rubble and wiped dust out of his eyes as the hellscape before him felt as if it had infinite generation. After climbing over one pile and pushing through the next, finally before him stood the remains of what was once a grand police department. The sign that was once above the building had mostly weathered away leaving the words "Police Department" legible, but not a single clue as to the identity of the city remained.
The front gate was shut, but most of the metal bars were pried apart or otherwise completely broken off. An emblem initialed F.P.D. held the gate shut with a most futile seal.
La Mancha looked down at Narrator. "I do not believe it is wise for us to enter,” he whispered. “Whoever was here before us either wanted to keep something in, or they wanted to keep us out."
"Whatever it was, it’s probably long gone anyways by the looks of things," Narrator said. "Not to mention, these gates don’t look very effective at keeping anything from crossing."
With an uncertain and almost indifferent shrug, La Mancha stuck his hand through a gap in the bars and unhooked it from the other side. It took a bit of working through the rust, but eventually, he was able to undo the latch and push the gate open. The weathered metal screeched as it opened, and Narrator pulled his ears down in response. With the gates apart welcoming them in, the building looked awfully intimidating for something that was, in theory, abandoned.
"Shall we?" La Mancha said.
Narrator shook off his headache. "After you."
The front courtyard had been reduced to tumbleweed, and the formerly neatly inlaid stone had become cracked and shattered. What caught the attention of La Mancha, however, were massive claw marks up the stairs and around the door.
Whatever made these marks could’ve easily been well over two to three times his size.
The doors were most heavy, requiring La Mancha to use the entirety of his body weight to force them to open along their worn hinges. The two of them were greeted with the sight of a ransacked lobby. It appeared to have been a work of art in itself, once upon a time. All sense of color was drained leaving muddied traces of its former vibrancy. Elaborate tapestries were shredded or otherwise disintegrated to where the needlework was unrecognizable. Up a flight of stairs, the statue of a woman would have been looking over all who walk through, innocent or guilty, but she had no head to look with as it had been broken clean off.
Ahead of them, the reception desk appeared to be left in fairly good shape, relative to their surroundings. La Mancha and Narrator looked at each other and nodded their heads, silently agreeing to make checking through it their first order of business. The papers both on and in the desk that La Mancha shifted through were proving to be of minimal help. Visitor logs and idle scribbles were all that remained legible. The ink had otherwise faded, and it was reasonable to conclude that anything that could have been of use either blew away or was stolen.
"Dammit, how hard can it be to find out where you are?" La Mancha complained.
"It is usually not that difficult, provided that the cell phone bill is paid on time," Narrator said, his paws tapping away at a typewriter.
"Argh..."
Before La Mancha could utter a retribution, his attention was piqued by the sound of creaking wood from somewhere deeper within the station. The two of them went silent, down to their breaths becoming hardly audible. One who didn’t know better may presume that they were dead.
"...What was that?" La Mancha whispered.
A few long moments of silence passed.
"I am sure that it is simply the old structure faltering," Narrator said.
"If you say so."
It was not an unreasonable conjecture to make. The building was struggling to hold up, even with the stone supports that remained. The structure was bound to crumble and shift from the weight over time, and perhaps the opening of the doors had set off a chain reaction disturbing something somewhere. The only reason they would have to worry is if the creeks were consistently moving...which they weren’t.
"Well then," La Mancha said, tightening his fist around a useless sheet of paper, "we won’t be making any progress here, so shall we be off now?"
"To where?" Narrator asked, paw still on the typewriter.
La Mancha walked over to one of the side passages which had been locked down tightly by shutters. Electricity had long been gone from the building, so flipping the switch upwards and instantaneously opening the path forward was out of the question. Nonetheless, he flipped the switch and hardly spared a reaction when nothing happened. La Mancha stood there and stared at the door for a few moments, crossing his arms in thought. Narrator hopped down from the top of the desk and sat down near him to join in taking in the sights of the shutters.
"Staring at it isn’t going to get it to magically open," Narrator pointed out.
"But of course, which is why I have a little friend up my arm."
La Mancha slid one of the nails out of his wrist. Manifesting from his arm was a long tentacle-like shadow with a gaping maw at its end. A sight that was most terrifying...if Narrator was not already accustomed to it. The shadow of the Voracity slipped itself beneath the shutters, protruding its jaws from the ground. Its teeth snapped shut on the shutters tightly, then forced itself upwards. The metal was bent as it was forced upwards, and a large chunk was swallowed by the shadow. Almost like a proud dog, the fanged tentacle turned towards La Mancha and presented the path it had opened for the two of them.
"...After you," Narrator said.
The shadow was quickly withdrawn to La Mancha’s arm, having served its purpose for the time being. He quickly redid the nails to reseal the beast, then patted his wrist. He peered his head around the corner and noticed that the side hallway before him was rather dark, though beams of sunlight slipped through from where the building had been decimated. Message boards were on the wall, with remnants of missing persons and old newspaper clippings pinned into them. La Mancha stopped in front of one for a moment, kicking aside some of the rubble so that he could stabilize his footing.
The news clippings were illegible, with only faint headlines and photographs discernible. The lost persons posters were faded, and only the word "MISSING" printed in bold stood the test of time. La Mancha solemnly looked at these posters, though not even bothering to squint at their details through what tiny amount of light filtered through.
"...I wonder if they were ever found," La Mancha thought aloud.
"Most likely not. If they didn’t die from the passage of time, then whatever tragedy that befell this city would’ve."
"You’re right," La Mancha said, forcing himself to turn away and continue through the hallway without another word.
Though he was supposed to be sniffing out clues to anything regarding his current location, La Mancha found himself lamenting the state of the place more than actually looking. In all fairness, there wasn’t much present for him to look at. Anything of use was gone, and what remained hardly functioned if at all. Torn seals flimsily held a door shut, all peeled off with ease to lead into a domain where computers no longer powered on and sunlight weaseled in through cracks between the boards on the windows. All that accompanied them in the building were lockers pried open waving at them with their doors and cracks in the floor to give the tip of La Mancha’s shoes a little hug.
And the distant sounds of the ruins shifting from movement within.
Narrator pressed his paws upon one of the keyboards, the key coughing up dust in between clicks. La Mancha shifted through what was left, but all he found were a few pots without plants and some office supplies that have been neglected by pillagers. Not even paperwork with a trace of a clue — apparently even back then, mundane government documents proved to be more valuable than the necessities.
La Mancha picked up a hat and shook off the accumulated debris. He held the hat up closer to his face and squinted, reading the insignia embellished with "F.P.D." They didn’t even bother spelling out the entire damn name. The consequences of minimalism striking even on a post-apocalyptic planet...La Mancha could not figure out where he was, and also it looked horribly cheap and lazy.
He put the hat back on the wall hook, swatting away the dust that it kicked up. "I don’t think we're going to find anything here."
The hook fell off, taking pieces of the wall with it.
"There’s really nothing to find," Narrator said, still pawing away at the keyboard as if he were expecting it to do something.
"There’s still an entire half of the building remaining, not to mention what we have yet to cover on this side," La Mancha said, walking over to the door and putting his hand on the handle. "I’ll be damned if all we get out of this is the F out of the F.P.D."
Narrator hopped down to sit beside La Mancha. "You’re awfully confident as every 'lead' you’ve found only baited you."
La Mancha turned the knob and pushed the door open. "Logically speaking, there has to b-"
Upon opening the door, he was greeted by a massive creature staring him down with two yellow eyes. It resembled a cat scaled up numerous times in size, except that it had two massive tails flickering behind it instead of one. He and Narrator both stared at the massive cat for a few moments, before La Mancha closed the door back as if pressing rewind on his actions.
Almost immediately after the door was shut in its face, it started clawing away at the wood, and La Mancha pressed his back against it in an attempt to hold it off. Narrator ran up his leg and sought out safety perched upon his shoulder.
"I don’t think this place is as abandoned as we thought," La Mancha said from in between his fangs.
"Then what do you suppose we do now, great detective?"
The beast’s claws pierced through the door, just barely missing La Mancha’s neck.
"Run. We run."
Run to where? The office space was practically a dead end. With his face on wanted posters that were scattered across rural walls and IPC message boards alike, the infamous leader of the Galaxy Rangers was no stranger to making a swift escape. He ran to the back of the office, freeing the door from resistance and allowing the creature to break through, taking some of the wall with it. In the center of the room were a few cubicles, and La Mancha stood his ground near the back waiting to see what side it was going to approach from. It went left, so he bolted in the opposite direction to slip behind the beast and out the door down the hallway. La Mancha kept running straight down the hall, kicking up and tripping over rocks and rubble as Narrator was securely perched atop him.
The shutters that had previously cut off that section of the building no longer served a practical purpose, as the Voracity had bitten through a significant chunk of them. Not to mention, they were severely bended and folded as a result of being forced upwards. The logical decision would have been to bolt out the front door in the time he still had to spare, but with half of the building left unexplored, La Mancha went straight for the shutters on the opposite side.
"Can’t you just consume the beast itself?" Narrator asked.
"Do you want me to eat the whole damn place?" La Mancha snarled as he worked the nails off of his wrist.
As the shadow worked the shutters up, the massive feline beast stepped into the light from the hallway opposite. It charged across, and La Mancha ducked his head under the shutters as they were halfway lifted and dashed down the opposing hallway. Off to his side, he noticed a door, and praying that it was left unlocked, he forced his body through it. Of course, it just had to be one of the less securely shut doors, and so he toppled onto the ground, and dropped his cane a fair distance away, Narrator leaped off of his shoulder and closed the door in his steed. He retrieved La Mancha’s cane and handed it back to him, and the two of them watched as the feline trotted past the window.
Exhausted, La Mancha slid himself towards the wall and leaned against it, sighing heavily. Narrator sat in front of him, giving him his usual googily-eyed stare.
"What the hell is a nekomata doing in a place like this?" La Mancha huffed in between breaths.
"I think the question that we should be asking is, what the hell are we doing in a place like this," Narrator said.
"Y-you pointed us in the direction of the police station! How was I supposed to know there was a giant cat on the prowl!?" La Mancha sighed and slumped further back against the wall. "Doesn’t matter now, anyways. We still don’t have a clue as to where we’re at, other than it being some kind of city."
"That much is obvious to anyone with working eyes."
Narrator untangled a ribbon that had gotten tangled in his leg from him sitting atop it. From what little light still shone through, La Mancha could tell that it was of a faded blue color, though it had mostly turned to sand and dust. Looking up, he saw that the office was adorned with remnants of streamers. A huge banner acted as the centerpiece, though one side had fallen and become tangled amongst the central desks. Welcome...he couldn’t read the name.
"Whoever they were, seems like they had a hell of a first day," La Mancha remarked.
"And that first day was most certainly their last."
La Mancha didn’t want to think about it. His mind was already plagued enough by the thoughts of those he could not save. Though the destruction of this city had to have happened many years ago, it mattered not to him if he were five minutes too late or five years. A deep regret still filled him looking at the state of the place around. Whoever was here before him seemed to have passed on that welcome to him.
He would’ve settled for a welcome without the giant nekomata staring at him through the door window, though.
...The what?
Their heads turned up immediately. Though they were sitting against the wall below, it did not take long for the beast to circle back around and peer into the windows. La Mancha and Narrator froze, though it was far too late as it had very much noticed them. The three of them stared each other down, locked in a stalemate awaiting the other’s course of action. Just as quickly as La Mancha propelled himself onto his legs with his cane, the nekomata busted the door off of the hingers with a quick swipe of the paws. He ducked beneath its paw, just barely missing it as strands of his hair were sliced off of the top of his head. Grabbing onto Narrator’s arm and swiping him onto his back, he made for the door located on the opposite end of the office.
True to the nature of a cat, the beast managed to slip its large body through the opening. With both routes left and right blocked by its massive body, La Mancha’s only hope was that the door didn’t lead into a dead end. He burst through: hallway to his left, hallway to his right. Good enough for him. He turned his head left, right, left, before shooting forth. With just barely missing running into the wall, he made a sharp turn, and before he knew it, he circled around and was stopped by a big shadow in front of him. La Mancha leaned back as the two tails just barely missed his face as they idly flickered.
The nekomata kept walking forward away from the duo, so he figured that if he were quick and snappy about it, he could slip out unharmed. Regrettably, La Mancha forgot about two things. One, nekomata had above average hearing. Two, as demonstrated previously, the nekomata had the ability to squeeze though tight spaces. Both of these traits were on prime display as its ears angled back and it turned around in the tight hallway to face La Mancha and Narrator.
"Aaaaaaawooooo!??"
The snap of its jaws just barely missing him, La Mancha turned around himself and took off running. The pursuit circled around the entire half of the building at least once more before they ran back into the lobby. Running through the doors and making his exit from the place had become an appealing idea in theory but the doors were too old and heavy, and he would be stopped in his place.
He ran through to the other hallway where the nekomata and La Mancha exchanged their first greetings. There was no point in taking shelter in the room as it had already been broken down before. Rather than loop around once again, he turned down the hallway in the direction of the back of the building, which was mostly open to the sky. He climbed up the rubble, Narrator hanging on for dear life La Mancha fumbled through the crumbling stone guided by his cane. Once he reached the top of the mountain, quickly he scouted out the outdoors around him, taking note of a staircase that appeared to lead deeper underground. From where he could tell alone, it was most certainly narrow enough that the nekomata would be unable to follow him, so he leaped off of the side of the building and made for the staircase. Down he ran, practically sliding down from his quick footsteps, until he landed at an underground parking garage.
The parking garage was littered with cars. They had long since rusted out, so they would have been no good for trying to drive off even if he could find a key. At the very least, the garage wasn’t sealed shut, and the road ahead lead towards the open sky. With the exception of dust particles floating around his ears, it was dead quiet around. Seeing that freedom was well within reach, La Mancha and Narrator leaned up against the wall, taking a few moments to catch their breath.
"At least there won’t be any giant cats down here to chase us," La Mancha said.
"Don’t jinx it," Narrator said.
"Oh come on, what’s it going to do, follow us through the walls? Besides, there’s nothing but foundation making up these walls. I’m sure they’ll hold up for at least one more afternoon.”
Giving La Mancha an "are you sure about that" look, Narrator turned his head away.
"To think after all of that, we still never found out what this place was called," La Mancha said. “The fact that figuring out one’s location had become a difficult task is most curious."
He looked around while his primate companion stood idly by. Somehow, it was as if time stood still, yet all too many years had passed all the same. Cars had collided with each other and doors were left wide open, likely a result of panicked escape attempts. Anything of use, ranging from fire extinguishers to personal toolkits kept in cars, had long since been swiped.
Though it was quiet and safer than the building above, it was a most eerie setting. Ruins of not just of a past society, but also of a great struggle were prominent. File down a few layers of rust, and La Mancha would’ve felt as if he was living in a freeze frame of the action itself. The image plagued his every thought. He did not want to stick around any longer than he had to.
"Let’s go," La Mancha said.
Narrator was a tad bit perplexed at his command, wondering what happened to the initial idea of taking a breather. Nonetheless, he was in no position to contest. The old wolf had a clear exhausted limp to his step as he pushed himself forth with his cane, but he paid no mind to his condition as his eyes were fixated on the daylight ahead. He was focused so much so, that his guard was completely let down.
It was the perfect opportunity for one to break through the walls of the garage and strike its unsuspecting victim.
"Watch out!"
By the time La Macha turned around, the nekomata's claws were a mere breath away from clasping around his face.
In between her fingers, she held many white seals inscribed with red ink. Right ahead, a giant black nekomata was leaping for a gentleman that somehow must have gotten lost within the city. With a skillful throw, the seals flew across the underground lot and stuck to the fur of the beast. For being little scraps of paper, they knocked the nekomata back with such force that it crashed through the wall into the room on the other side. The wolf and the little monkey looked over to see that the once fearsome creature that pursued them was being held down with little stickers before its existence faded amongst the rubble.
"Are you alright?"
A woman dressed in all black approached the duo from across the garage. La Mancha looked at her up and down. At first glance, she possessed a stunning beauty to her soft gray hair and her green and orange eyes, and he couldn’t help but be instantly captivated by her appearance. Though she was clearly concerned for his well-being, she possessed a fierce glare in her eyes that made it most evident that she was not a woman to be toyed with.
It was at that moment that this wolf was grateful to not have a tail. As smitten as La Mancha was with his savior, it all felt a little too suspicious. The only trace of human life in the vicinity…no, she couldn’t be. There was no way that a human being just happened to be in the ruins at the same time as him.
A sense of logic and reasoning finally returning to his mind, La Mancha took a step back and raised his cane.
"...Vixen!" he shouted.
The woman tilted her head and looked at him confused, suspiciously like that of a fox.
"Vixen?" she asked. "Did some of the rubble hit your head?"
La Mancha took an offensive stance. "Your concern is cute, but this old wolf’s nose cannot be fooled by the likes of you.”
The woman sighed and reached for his arm. "Listen, we can figure out what’s happening later. Right now, you need to get out of here, and fast.”
La Mancha pulled himself back immediately. “Silence! I am not falling for the dastardly sweet invitation of a kitsune!”
"A…kitsune?"
"It’s the only possible explanation as to why a woman of your bewitching beauty can be found all the way out here in these ruins. And it is awfully suspicious that you just happened to be there to save me right as my neck was on the line, no?”
"You truly think of me to be an imaginae? Ha, I’m almost flattered," she said, twirling handcuffs around her fingers. She pointed towards the pile of rubble where the nekomata had crashed into, though only paper and remnants of wall remained. "Do you really think that if I were an imaginae, I would’ve been able to throw those seals with my own fingers?"
Seeing as how quickly the nekomata was knocked aside, it really felt like a no-brainer once La Mancha had put a little more thought into it. Not to mention, the beast had quickly dissipated, and the woman likely would have herself upon contact with those seals. So maybe his deduction had missed the mark by a long shot. This time, it was for the better (or worse) as his spiritual tail began wagging once more.
"I... suppose not," La Mancha said, scratching the back of his head.
"With all talk of imaginae hopefully behind us now, do tell me. Why are you here?" she asked, crossing her arms.
"Well you see miss, I am..."
Quick, he had to think of some kind of excuse. Something less embarrassing than, “I just got here and I am completely lost.”
"...a detective."
She hardly seemed convinced as she looked at him up and down.
"A detective? I don’t recognize you around these parts," she said, reaching out to flick the dog on the forehead. "And where’s your hat too?"
"I lost it while running from the nekomata."
"Never thought I’d see a detective clumsy enough to lose his most treasured hat."
"Likewise, my lady, I never thought I would see a kitsune forgo her fluffy tail."
“A real charmer you are,” she said with a hint of a giggle to her voice. “I don’t believe I’ve caught your name.”
Looking at her, handcuffs and all, she was very clearly a cop. It was a miracle that she did not recognize the face of a man who was plastered all over the galaxy. Or maybe the news hadn’t made it to Planarcadia yet, which was highly unlikely given the tight grip the IPC held over the planet. Giving her his real name would be most unwise, so in the split second he had before things became too awkward, he had to come up with something new and something unrecognizable.
Through the veil of ash that settled around them, the gaze of the woman pierced his soul. She was expecting a response in the next few milliseconds before she became suspicious, so-
"Ashveil."
For the briefest of moments, her eyes narrowed as if she didn’t believe him. Whatever questions were raised in her mind, she did not speak them. She merely extended out her hand.
"Kuchiba," she said.
"Ashveil" accepted her handshake, though it didn’t last long before she pulled away.
"We’ve wasted enough time with idle chatter," Kuchiba said, turning to walk deeper into the parking garage. "It’s not safe here, nekomata or not."
Kuchiba’s heels echoed throughout the underground as she approached a group of cars parked in the back. Apparently, Ashveil’s initial impression of the garage being nothing more than a graveyard of rust was incorrect. He caught up to Kuchiba, who lead him to a car parked as neatly amongst the ruins as she could possibly manage. It was no weathered machinery either; it was about as well taken care of as a car driven through crime scenes could possibly me. She opened up the driver’s side and looked over at Ashveil before sliding in.
"Hop in. And take your pet with you."
He looked down at Narrator. The two of them blinked at each other, unable to come to a silent conclusion on whether or not they should accept her invitation. Ashveil put his hand on the handle of the back door, but he did not pull it open quite yet.
"To think that just moments ago, you claimed this woman to be a kitsune and were insistent on not falling for her tricks," Narrator said, "but clearly, it doesn’t take nine tails for a lady to convince you to follow her orders.”
"I-you-come on! Do you have any better ideas of getting around?"
"One that preferably doesn’t involve getting into the car of a cop we just ‘happened to run into.’"
Against better judgement, Ashveil pulled open the back door and slid into the seat. Kuchiba glanced upwards and met his gaze through the rear-view mirror.
"Come up front," she said. "Your pet can stay in the back."
"...Pet?" Narrator said.
"Pet?" Ashveil said as he sat back down. "That is not a pet. He’s my assistant...Mister N."
The only time he had been brought into this conversation, all to be called a pet. Was it really worth it sitting through the back and forth between an old wolf on the run from the law and a fox just waiting for the right moment to ensnare him in cuffs? Probably not. But he had nowhere else to go. Not to mention, La Ma-Ashveil still owed him quite a few bananas.
Skillfully, Kuchiba maneuvered through the remnants of the garage and exited the ramp into the sunlight. Though most of the road lay in ruins, she drove through the city like she owned the place, not stopping even for a moment to rethink the direction in which she was taking them. Ashveil watched as the ruins passed by outside his window, but Kuchiba kept her eyes on the road as if she were merely driving through her second home.
"Here I was convinced that there was no life here outside of those imaginae," Ashveil said. "What could a place like this possibly have that interests you?”
"Despite its appearance, the ruins of the city are most significant topic amongst the Department of Aberration Defense. A cult once called this city their home, and we’ve been investigating its birthplace for clues left behind as to who, or what, its mastermind may have been."
A cult, Ashveil thought. They did all of this?
“Which in turn,” Kuchiba continued, “makes me wonder why you’re here yourself.”
"You see, I uh...took a wrong turn and ended up here."
"So much for being a detective,” she snickered. “Don’t you have a GPS on your phone?"
Truly, it was the worst possible moment for the leader of the Galaxy Rangers to be a broke bum.
"Yeah well...I have no money to pay the phone bill."
Mr. N could physically feel his tiny furry body writhe from the embarrassment.
"In any case, regardless of how you ended up here, you picked a most awful place to find yourself in. Compared to the rest of Planarcadia, it’s been more akin to the planet’s slums ever since the Herald of Death incident years ago.”
"The what?" Ashveil whipped his head around to look at Kuchiba.
"The Herald of Death murders are a big deal, even to this day. It is an insanely sensitive topic amongst citizens and law enforcement alike, and I still find myself cleaning up traces of him. I can tell you must be new here, considering you have never heard of him."
Ashveil pouted, his cheeks turning a light pink as he huffed and turned away. Rather than pull the wolf’s tail for his ignorance, Kuchiba smiled as she kept her hand on the wheel and eyes on the road.
"In any case,” Kuchiba continued, “life is still abundant on Planarcadia. Almost too abundant at times, I must confess. I’ll catch you up on things once we arrive at the station, detective."
Detective. It seemed as if that was going to be the identity of La Mancha for the time being. As they drove further away from the city, the roads became less rugged, and the sight of the ruins of grand skyscrapers were replaced with abandoned civilian homes on the outskirts. Many burning questions still remained, but only one was important to him for the time being.
"So, where are you taking me exactly?" Ashveil inquired.
"To Duomension City. The station is located there, and you’ll find that Planarcadia is not as dead as you initially thought.”
They drove past a large sign. Ashveil turned around quickly to catch a glimpse of what it read before it faded into the horizon behind.
Written for the Golden Threads of Time volume of the HSR RNG ran by @bycmykae.
Before the wandering hero even set eyes upon Okhema for the first time, another grand hero had ascended to the stars. The King of the Amphoreus chessboard sought more than just checkmate. She wanted to extend her influence beyond the borders of the playing field.
Cerydra kept her staff held high and her ambitions even higher. Beyond that sky, she knew that something had to be found: something that was worth seeking out. Unbound by natural order, it was what was past those stars that she wanted to claim as her own, whatever it may be. Not bound by the limit of even the tallest throne that could be offered to her, Cerydra walked up the steps towards the sky, bringing herself closer and closer to breaking through that cerulean blue.
The King’s march forth could not be stopped, until her advance strayed far too close to the sun.
The bejeweled stairs beneath her collapsed, just when the ceiling of the sky was within her reach. Cerydra could almost reach out her hand and peel back the clouds to catch a glimpse of what lay beyond. She failed to catch one in the palm of her hand, leaving her fist empty as she fell backwards and the sky grew more and more distant. The fallen King crash landed on her back, golden blood spilling from her wounds and pooling into the ocean that embraced her corpse.
Cerydra's story had been spread around as a cautionary tale. Within the established societies of the Amphoreus system, it circulated with the intent to advise one to not bite off more than they could chew, or similarly for one to know their own limits. Eyewitnesses outside the bounds of the system used this to their advantage, and it acted as a most effective means for keeping threats to the recurrence under control.
The outcomes of such cautionary tales were not enough of a deterrent for the Deliverer. In fact, he instead believed that he would be the one to change the course of his own fate. Rather than heed the warnings, he took this "caution" as a challenge. In order to reach the sun as that king had once attempted, he conjured up a plan seemingly so simple, yet so brilliant in his eyes.
"One pair of wings, please!"
The woman with long, silver-snow hair "stared" at him, for lack of a better term as her eyes were covered by a black blindfold.
"...You do know how to craft those, right?" Phainon asked.
"Yes," Jingliu said, coldly, "and why do you ask?"
"So that I can touch the sky, what else for?" he said, extending his arms up and wide like a falcon’s wings.
"Touch the sky. How naive."
"The birds can do it. So why can’t I? All I need are a pair of wings on my back!"
Phainon slammed his palms down on the counter.
"So, will you do it?"
Phainon looked at Jingliu with a wide, enthusiastic smile on his face. Jingliu on the other hand maintained an unwavering and cold expression. The standoff between them was quite awkward as the silence settled thick around them. Only was it disturbed by the occasional chatter of birds flying overhead.
While it was quiet around her, Jingliu’s mind was loud with the thoughts of her thinking through the encounter before her. That boy really thought that he could just up and fly anywhere in the world whenever he pleased armed with nothing more than a simple pair of wings upon his back. Not only that, but who was he to think that he had the right to touch the sky? He had to be no older than his early twenties, and he still reeked of countryside innocence.
Rather than turn him away and potentially deal with this persistent pest nipping at her side, Jingliu considered this to be a prime opportunity to teach him a lesson about playing hero. So, the answer was yes, she could do it. Yes, she could shape and mold him a pair of wings. She held out the palm of her hand, but before she could ask for monetary compensation, Phainon placed a satchel of gold down.
"Great!" he said. "And make them big!"
"Ambitious," Jingliu noted.
Phainon pulled back the sleeve of his shirt and flexed his arm. "Ambition? More like barely enough to weigh me down!"
She didn’t press him further for payment. The satisfaction from knowing that he was due to learn his lesson was payment enough. Without further word, Jingliu went into the back of the workshop.
Now, how was one to craft wings that could lift a human? Feathers were the most obvious choice. A single feather was not enough; not even two harbored the strength to lift a man into the air. A plethora of feathers bound together securely should suffice.
How one was to go about securing them together was the next debate.
Binding them together with string and rope was one option. That however, may prove to be too flimsy for her purposes. Feathers would slip out prematurely, causing him to doubt the integrity of her craftsmanship before he even took to the skies.
Wax. A very malleable substance. She could heat it and mend it into the shape of a wing. The feathers could be inlaid and arranged like a proud bird’s, and once it hardens, it would be just flexible enough to bend with the breeze and light enough to carry him atop the winds. And Jingliu would hand these wings, sturdy and noble, over to Phainon. And he would take them happily in his hands, running off with great enthusiasm and his thanks just barely audible from a distance away. And he would fly high, reach out for the sky, only to personally experience for himself why the legends warn against reaching out for that beautiful blue.
Phainon simply thought that the story of Cerydra was nothing more than a big city myth. When he looked up at the sky in Aedes Elysiae, he could always spot birds big and small flying above him. None of them collapsed to the ground or burst into flames, so why would he be any different?
Jingliu, on the other hand, knew what would become of him. The story of Cerydra’s failed ascension was infamous for a reason, being spread far and wide between both the old and the young. It seemed as if the tale as old as time was slated to claim its next literal victim. As she watched him run off with the product of her craftsmanship in hands, she thought to herself, why spoil the boy’s fun? A small smile crept across her face as she turned away and returned to regular maintenance.
From the highest point in Okehema that his legs could carry him, Phainon stood at its edge, wings secured to his arms. Feet anchored into the ground, he flapped them gently to get a feel for them. They were light and easy enough for him to move, yet simultaneously produced a hefty force of wind trailing behind every flap. Phainon believed that there was no way that they were going to let him fall. The wings were strong and imposing enough to make an old fairy tale look like nothing more than a paranoid mother’s word of caution.
Before he was about to step off the edge, Phaino had realized that he had never actually taken flight before. How exactly was he supposed to take off? Didn’t birds usually leap into the air and push themselves upward with a few beats of their wings? Or perhaps someone of his weight was going to need more of a running start?
The best way for Phainon to tackle this dilemma was to simply go for it. Taking a deep breath, he waved his arms back and forth to stretch his muscles, then he pushed himself off of the edge with a solid leap. Phainon flapped his arms with as much strength as he could muster. He felt the breeze blowing through his fingers and hair, but it was not working with him to lift him higher, no matter how fast he moved his arms.
The ground was rapidly getting closer. Perhaps it would have been wiser to attempt flight from somewhere not as far up so that failure would have far less devastating results. Counting on his death to be a rather swift one from the impact, he closed his eyes tightly and put the entire strength of his body into one final flap of his arms. Rather than his flesh be pierced by the rubble below, Phainon felt his body become weightless as the fall briefly ceased and he was lifted into the air. Instinctively, he repeated the motion: one hefty flap of the wings rather than the rapid beats he was attempting prior. And it lifted him again. And again. And again. After a few minutes of flapping his wings in such a fashion, Phainon slowly opened one of his eyes. He expected to see himself barely hovering above the ground, doomed to crash at the slightest slip of his rhythm.
The world looked so small from where he was suspended. He was actually flying. Not just hovering in one place, but flying. Okhema was growing continuously distant as he flew on.
Why were so many people warned against touching the skies? To him, it felt great! The breeze caressed his body and guided him through the air as the sun gently warmed against his back. And how could he be afraid when his presence was being so gently embraced?
With the winds holding him steady as all of the fear dissipated from his heart, Phainon’s cravings for the deep blue sky only grew. Confident, if not a little cocky, Phainon flapped his arms and pushed him further and further upwards. The air grew thin, but sheer willpower brought him closer and closer to the dusk that lie ahead.
The blazing sun continued to rise, and the warmth on his back only intensified. He felt as if Amphoreus’s sky had accepted him as one of its own, despite the claims from the legend of Cerydra. But as he ascended further and the setting sun grew warmer, he had failed to acknowledge Jingliu’s craft slowly faltering. Phainon had become so absorbed in proving himself against this fairy tale that he didn’t notice the wings slowly starting to lose their shape and that hot liquid wax was trailing along the contour of his arm muscles.
His flight began to feel amiss once he realized that his wings were no longer aiding in his ascent, but rather, he was being thrown around by them. In a panic, he looked at his arms to see that the shape of his wings were no longer recognizable. They had been thrown out of shape, feathers falling off as wax trailed down his body, and not even the strength of his forceful arms could keep him afloat.
At that point, Phainon knew he was going to go down for sure, so he tried to steady his body for as smooth of a descent as possible. The feathers that still remained wedged in the wax were unevenly distributed, throwing him off as he made the clumsy tumble out of the air. He dipped into Evernight, just shy of the sun. Phainon’s attempts to steady himself continued to falter, and his increasing panic only made the fall rougher.
Past the boundary separating Dawn and Evernight was Styxia the city of the deceased. A painful coincidence that Phainon’s final stop would be a city adorned with restless graves. In the middle of his feeble attempts to avoid the ruins, he collapsed downwards into the River of Souls, at high tide. Entangled by melted wax and worn feathers, Phainon was pulled down to the bottom of the river, swallowed by what lay below while he was reaching far too high.
Thus, that was one of many unfortunate fates of Phainon during the eternal recurrence. This was mighty perplexing to Khaslana, who had normally taken it upon himself to eliminate Phainon personally. Thanks to the young man being overly ambitious, the job had already been finished for him, and his memories handed to him on a silver platter.
Seeing what became of this unfortunate hero, Khaslana wondered, was he too ambitious himself to try and change the fate of the world? ...No, he wasn’t going to let himself fall under the bodies he had piled up, like Cerydea and the throne that had collapsed beneath her.
Because have you heard of Khaslana, the one who would not reach the dawn?
All around him, trophies of his past hunts were proudly on display. Within his quarters, the walls were adorned with fish from Inazuma that have set all sorts of records, from the most vibrant scales to the heftiest weight. Stuffed animals from Liyue all the way to Fontaine and everywhere in between kept Aether company.
His spoils extended far beyond just the decorations in his house. Thick saurian skin made up Aether’s gloves, and his body was kept warm by the hide of a snowboar. As many bragging rights as he earned with these garbs, they served practical uses too, as they were most necessary for him to hunt in Nod Krai’s climate. The bitter chill was unforgiving. Even the mildest of regions sank its fangs into unprotected skin. Still, Aether was far better equipped than when he first explored Dragonspine, for traversing its bitter chill with a casual’s jacket was not his brightest decision.
Aether observed the hunting rifle in his hands. It was a state-of-the-art Fontainian model, practically unmatched in terms of both power and reliability. Strong enough to penetrate the hide of a boar, stable enough to be used on the cracking ice. And Aether was going to push its craftsmanship to the max against the fauna of Nod Krai. Thick fur, thick hide, and a thick pile of rewards.
Rock crabs and squirrels were rather common throughout Hiisi Island, but his eye was locked onto the prize of a rimehorn deer. Its appearance was something out of a myth, even among all of the otherworldly creatures he had a run-in with during his time on Teyvat’s soil. Their antlers were like fragments of the moon atop their heads, and Aether had heard claims of those who manage to get close enough being healed by their aura.
One would make a most fine addition to his personal gallery. A stuffed rimehorn deer would be quite the conversation piece while bringing a piece of Nod Krai’s moonlight into his living room. He had even considered taking it a step further wiring lights though its skull and beneath its antlers, but he wasn’t going to get that ambitious with his first kill. Aether had decided to save something like that for his second trophy.
For a creature that appeared to be pulled out of a child’s fantasy novel, these deer were relatively common in Nod Krai. With so many opportunities being presented before him, Aether almost felt as if it was too good to be true, but rimehorn deer were no different from its chestnut counterparts elsewhere in Teyvat.
Looking at vast expanse of land before him, Aether pulled up his scarf over his nose. Temples dotted the land him, but at the present time they appeared uninhabited. Perhaps for this evening, at least, Hiisi island was his and his alone to prowl. Hunting rifle in hand, Aether made his way through the crunchy snow and up the annoyingly curved hills to secure a rather high vantage point. Positioned between two curves of the hill like upon the wall of a tower, Aether crouched down low and balanced the barrel in between.
Below him, Aether scouted out the rather large area of open land, practically serving pickings up to him on a silver platter. Not only was there a sizable herd of rimehorn deer wandering about, but puffins and other small game were up for the pickings. If he were lucky, he could score both a deer and another small creature, but he wasn’t about to push it, at least not this time.
His eyes focused on an individual that was staying rather still. The deer kicked and nudged at the snow, digging for some kind of food to eat. Aether watched it for a few moments through the scope as he lined up a shot. Oblivious to the hunter above, the deer kept its nose buried in the snow, shuffling around for even the smallest roots to consume as fuel.
Aether pulled the trigger.
The sound from the gunshot sent all animals in the vicinity scattering about in every direction. The deer that he aimed at sprang forth a few paces, but the strength quickly dissipated from its body and its legs began to give out. Red blood painted the snow around as it stumbled with every step and failed to keep its footing. It wouldn’t be able to bear its weight much longer, and Aether quickly left his position to close in on the deer.
Though there was no way it could escape at this point in time, Aether still had to make great haste. He had no interest in sharing his spoils with any potential predators. Suddenly, Aether stopped in his tracks, almost sliding down the hill as he hit the brakes on his feet. Another deer was approaching the final resting spot of the dying deer. As he was unsure how aggressive it would turn smelling the blood its fallen brethren, Aether ducked his small frame behind the nearest boulder, peeking out just barely enough to observe the scene.
Aether quietly prepared his gun on the chance that he could take advantage of this one’s curiosity. He looked at the massive deer through the scope, but upon getting a closer look, every muscle in his body froze. Its lower half certainly resembled a deer, but gazing further upward, he noticed that it had the top half of a human woman. The entity possessed brilliant horns and all, but no mere deer had hair that long.
She crouched down towards the bleeding rimehorn deer and ran her hand through its fur. It looked at her lifelessly as she pushed aside the thick fur to get a closer look at the wound in its neck. Aether froze his body amongst the ice, careful as to not incur the wrath of the strange deer woman and draw attention to himself. Out of nowhere, she raised a knife up into the air. A mercy killing, perhaps? To his dismay, she was more of a brute than her gentle mannerisms suggested.
The knife wasn’t plunged into the deer’s neck, however.
She dragged the blade down the palm of her hand and it started dripping with a silver substance. Then, she placed her silver-drenched palm upon the gushing gunshot wound. After a few tense moments, the deer once again rose to all four hooves. Perfectly unscathed. Not a single wound in sight.
Off into the wilderness his would be trophy trotted.
At this moment, however, Aether was no longer concerned with the rimehorn deer. The hybrid woman who appeared soon after the shots were fired had taken all of his attention. Most notably besides her distinctly beautiful yet intimidating appearance, her blood was a light silver and it healed the wound immediately. Not to mention, the way the deer briefly kneeled down before her was not something most animals do to just anyone…or anything.
That was no mere creature or woman. That was a goddess.
And this goddess was looking directly in his direction.
Aether quickly ducked behind the boulder. The two briefly made eye contact; there was no way she didn’t see him. Not to mention, his heart was pounding so loudly in his chest that the ground around him was quaking.
A shadow loomed over him. Aether looked up to see the deer woman directly staring down at him.
And thus concludes Aether’s journey in Teyvat.
...
When was she going to make her move? She just…hovered over him as he lay scrunched up in a pathetic little ball.
Aether stood up very slowly. He let the rifle collapse onto its side into the snow. Somehow, she was even more intimidating while he was standing on his own two feet.
Upon getting a better look, she did not seem angry, but rather, disappointed. She held her hands together, looking at Aether like a mother’s hesitant acceptance of her failure of a child. He opened his mouth with the intention to speak his defense, but the woman cut him off before he could.
"You are the one who fired that bullet, I presume?" she said, in a surprisingly gentle tone.
Dishonesty would lead to further enragement, but it was not something Aether was too keen on admitting.
"Maybe," his mind settled on blurting out.
She looked at him up and down. "And for what purposes would you need to do that?"
"...So that it could accompany me back in my quarters."
"You wanted to slay it for display and nothing more?"
"The meat doesn’t go to waste at least."
"…I have a feeling that food is not one of your major concerns," Lauma said, focusing upon his furry snowboar coat.
From the animal pelts he was adorned with to the Natlanese scales that comprised his gloves, it was evident that she had him figured out. He looked up at her horns in utter terror. The last trophy to go on display in his home would be Aether’s own body.
The radiant light from her body dimmed, and her lower deer half faded into the moonlight leaving a pair of human legs. In form of an elegant human goddess, the sadness in her eyes was even more evident.
So, that’s how she was planning to kill him. In the end, Aether’s fate was to be bought upon him by a most beautiful lady.
His hand instinctively hovered above the hilt of the blade he carried with him, though he had no intention of actually drawing it. Resistance was ultimately futile, as a Descender up against a goodness was still ultimately a no contest.
“There exists no reason for you to be killing the inhabitants of Nod Krai so…carelessly. The deer, like many others, are far more beautiful when they can live their life in tranquility with the fear of a gunshot never once crossing their minds. So tell me, why instill that panic into them now? Why must you kill?”
"Well, miss-"
"Lauma."
"Right. Lauma. Taking down big game is how I’ve made my living ever since I came to Teyvat.”
"You take the lives of many living creatures just for your own gain?"
"Hunters do on the norm, so I don’t see how this is any different."
Lauma sighed and though she shook her head gently, was clearly swinging against the weight of her horns. "Hunting for food is a part of the circle of life. Not even the most vicious of predators kill for fun, as Nod Krai’s landscape would decay to nothing if that were the case.”
This was Aether’s living that she was contesting. Despite the rather convincing arguments she was bringing up, he couldn’t simply throw it all away in an instant. Seeing the unconvinced terror in his eyes, Lauma reached forth and grabbed his arm.
"Come," she said, "for I shall show you."
It was a far superior play of events compared to having his body mauled to death by her antlers, so Aether did not resist as she dragged him off. He thought that she was going to tear his arm clean out of the socket, for a fair amount of strength was harbored within that elegant body of hers. Aether was nearly tripping over his feet while Lauma traveled with a gentle gallop to her stride.
"Where are you taking me?" he asked.
Lauma did not even acknowledge his question in any way. Without sparing him even a brief lance, she continued dragging Aether behind her through the snow.
Aether was sharply pulled off to the side behind cover, sparks practically being ignited in the snow. He completely lost footing, stumbling upon Lauma’s soft body. Quickly, he pushed himself up off of her, but Lauma grabbed Aether by the back of the jacket and pulled him back down. She silently instructed for him to remain low and raise his head above just barely enough to see over it. Over the patch of ice, Aether spotted a family of rimehorn deer, one of the individuals looking a little too familiar to him. The fawn waking by its mother’s legs could not have been older than a few months.
"Do you understand now?" Lauma said, "The moon’s creatures are far more beautiful outside of a huntsman’s cabinet, are they not?
Indeed, they did look more majestic up close, but Aether couldn’t stop thinking about how that very majesty would look in his room. Lauma glanced towards him, noticing his unconvinced expression.
"Their horns would not glisten as beautifully against the cabin fire as opposed to beneath the moonlight," she continued.
"...Why are you showing me this?" Aether asked, perplexed.
"Because...you harbor a deep love for Teyvat’s wildlife, but your way of going about it is simply misguided."
As Lauma’s appearance was not very inconspicuous, the little fawn noticed her poorly hidden horns and trotted up to her. On its wobbly little legs, it stood by her side and squeaked for attention. Lauma gently picked it up, and turned around to show Aether their tiny visitor. Admittedly, it was most adorable, and he did harbor an urge to rub its snout. He was hesitant to reach out, though, out of fear that Lauma would smite him should his hand get a little too close to the youngster.
"Go on," she said.
Still hesitant, Aether held the back of his hand up in front of the fawn. The little deer sniffed it, then flicked its ears curiously. Aether put his palm on top of its and rubbed its fuzzy coat with his thumb gently. His eyes met the fawn’s, and within the youngster’s gaze was a light shining that he hadn’t seen since he last crossed paths with Lumine. Seeing the two bond so quickly bought a smile to Lauma’s face.
He must have unintentionally stared at the fawn for too long, as it started squirming in her arms. Lauma kneeled down gently to allow for it to hop out safely and return to its parents. The mother and father looked back and forth between Aether and Lauma, ultimately blessing both with a respectful bow of their heads before trailing off.
"Now do you see?" Lauma asked.
For many reasons, Aether was still struck with silence. In awe. In surprise. And still in fear that those horns of hers were going to end up right through his torso.
"The animals of Nod Krai have familial relationships just as beautiful and tight-knit as a human’s," she continued. "From the way your eyes glisten, it appears such a feeling is a familiar sensation to you as well.”
“I suppose you could say that. Though they haven’t been hunted, they’ve still been taken away from me, probably forever if things continue to carry on as they have.”
"Hmm? Pray, tell me?"
"It’s… complicated."
Lauma nodded in understanding.
Aether glanced up at the sky. The phases of the moon were shifting, and he had already been out longer than he intended. He strayed too close to death for one evening, so he stood up and began to make the long trek back to his quarters. Lauma stayed put, much to his curiosity.
"You’re not coming back with me?" he asked, pausing his footsteps.
"I have no reason to,” Lauma said, the sadness in her eyes overshadowing her smile.
"…You trust me? You don’t believe me to discard everything we’ve talked about and once again return to my old ways?"
"You’re a caring and understanding soul. I wish there were more people like you," she said, averting her gaze.
"Likewise, I wish I could meet more goddesses as beautiful and merciful as you."
Their gazes locked for a few moments, the two of them quietly longing to spend just a little more time together. Neither of them were willing to admit it out loud, and thus Aether finally forced himself to look ahead towards the place he called home.
“I never quite caught your name,” Lauma said quietly, almost as if she didn’t want him to hear.
“Aether…It’s Aether.”
It wasn’t until partway back on the trek that he had realized he was missing something most crucial. His state-of-the-art Fontainian hunting rifle was left out in the wilderness half-buried in the snow Panic had set in for a brief moment before he realized…was he really going to need it any longer? It would only make every footstep from here on out carry a much greater weight.
From that night on, Aether could no longer feel as if he was traversing Nod Krai alone. Though, it was less like he was being stalked, but rather guarded by some heavenly prescience watching from afar. If he was quick and witty enough, he would be able to turn his head to catch the sight of an illuminated deer-woman watching him from afar. Before their gazes could even meet, she would bound off into the background, leaving behind not a single trace.
Aether never expected Mother Nature herself to be so shy.
⚰️ Arlecchino x Aether ⚰️ Qui n’avance pas, recule.
Aether glanced down at the coffin that was laid out before him. Signora was a rather short-lived comrade of his, as he was the newest member of the Fatui Harbingers. Their paths hardly crossed and they had only ever exchanged but a few words, hence Aether never being presented with an opportunity to grow closer. The indigo-colored Snezhnayan coat on his back weighed heavier than his grief, as he felt relatively unfazed by her passing.
He glanced around at the rest of the Harbingers that circled the coffin. No falling tears, no repressed sniffles, not a single trace of emotion to be found from anyone. In a way, it bought him comfort knowing that he was not the only one whose energy for mourning ran thin. At the same time, the lack of humanity present was eerie, worsened by the cold, dead body before them.
Aether maintained a cold, neutral expression on his face. He kept a grip on himself not just because of the atmosphere, but because of how close Arlecchino loomed beside him. Trying to not think too hard about that, Aether kept still and glanced around. Dottore appeared to be quickly growing impatient. Pantalone was seemingly nonchalant, with his eyes closed happily and a little smile on his face. Scaramouche was not afraid to let his attitude be known, pouting and crossing his arms, and as for the others, Aether couldn’t quite read their emotions. He didn’t bother to stare very long, as it must’ve been increasingly obvious that he was scanning his surroundings with some ounce of nerve. But he couldn’t care, long as he wasn’t making a scene.
The sound of Arlecchino’s voice perked him back up, but he dare not make his alarm be known by turning to face her. His body jolted, but he remained still, eyes focused on the coffin, ears focused elsewhere.
"We are gathered here today to mourn the loss of Signora," Arlecchino said, "a butterfly who burned brighter than the crimson flame, yet her wings seared to ash all too soon."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. A tragedy indeed. Can we get on with this? The gnosis won’t dilly-dally into our hands, you know," Dottore complained.
"Haha, someone is certainly eager to jump the gun!" Pantalone said.
"Dottore," Capitano growled, "keep your foul hands off of Lady Signora’s body. Have the bare minimum amount of respect for our fallen comrade. She was a human in life, and is a human in death, something not to be degraded to a mere experiment."
"Ehhhhh?! I didn’t say anything about experiments," Dottore said.
"But you were thinking it, no? Haha!" Pantalone said, clearly amused by Dottore’s antics.
Was Aether seriously concerned about acting normal in front of these people?
Arlecchino suddenly slammed her palm on the coffin, shocking the rowdy and intriguing the clever. Leaning over the coffin, her ponytail fell down to her side, gracefully brushing against Aether’s shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the glimpse of the most fearsome woman, going as far as to snarl at her own comrades. Her clawed hands within range of his tiny body served as a reminder that if he so much as misspoke, those could be piercing his throat in the span of an instant.
"Silence! You bark for respect, yet you show none yourselves?" Arlecchino shouted.
"Don’t lump me in. He started it," Scaramouche said, pointing to Dottore.
"I’m trying to be resourceful here!" he snapped back.
"Oh, Dottore, why can’t you be a good boy like my darling Aether? At least he knows when to keep his mouth shut."
Keeping his mouth shut seemed to be Aether’s best option for survival. It was a bit difficult to not wince, however, when she ran her fingers under his chin and affectionately nudged him closer to her. Arlecchino narrowed her eyes and bared her fangs with a smile, and Aether couldn’t tell if she was trying to be possessive or seriously strike fear into the hearts of the other Fatui.
Aether didn’t interrupt. Not only did he not want to be involved as it was, but he feared what those claws may do to him should he break his silence.
"Because I’m not your darling little good boy, or whatever," Dottore retaliated.
Pantalone took the wise way out and opted for silence similarly to Aether, though he was clearly stifling his laughter.
"Enough is enough," Pierro bellowed. "There is no need for such blatant disrespect from all of you. Dottore, stop provoking her. Arlecchino, save clawing up Aether for later. And as for the rest of you...just stick to your words being out of respect for Lady Signora to make this easier on all of us."
Arlecchino slid her nails off of Aether, savoring every fleeting moment of contact that she had with his face. A sideways glance from her told him that Arlecchino wasn’t quite done with her words of praise quite yet, but alas would have to wait until the conclusion of Signora’s sendoff.
This was the longest funeral that Aether had ever had the misfortune of attending. Pierro’s demanding voice shocked the Fatui into utter silence, to where Dottore did not dare to not crack another joke and the others kept their farewells to a silent prayer and nothing more. Granted, Aether wasn’t exactly part of many funerals prior, but it was going to be rather difficult to top one surrounded by infamous criminals, with a beautiful lady prying at him as if she couldn’t wait for the funeral to be over herself.
After the Harbingers were dismissed at long last, they seemed most eager to disperse in different directions, probably to refrain from further invoking the wrath of Pierro. Aether, however, lingered behind with Signora. Throughout the entirety of the funeral, Aether maintained a stoic expression in an attempt to not lead the other Fatui onto how he really felt. He knew what he was feeling, but he was unsure of how he was supposed to feel. He hardly knew Signora personally, but he considered her to be a teammate of his nonetheless, yet he still couldn’t be bothered to feel much of anything about her death.
As he walked around the perimeter of the coffin, Aether ran his hand along the edges, the surface still smooth and clean of dust. Spending a little extra time with her was the very least he could do, even if he was still conflicted on his feelings. Unfortunately, Aether’s moment of solitude with Signora was cut short by Arlecchino returning to the chambers, which was bound to happen after she took note of his absence. Worst come to worst, punishment by talons to the throat were in store for him in return for disobedience.
Aether took a deep breath, straightened out his expression, and stood still. Arlecchino did not seem angry, but rather, perplexed.
"Not too eager to return with your fellow comrades, hm?" she asked.
"I’m simply paying my respects to Lady Signora. In peace."
"No need to lie, dearest," she said, taking a seat on the coffin beside where Aether was standing. "They’re a little much for you to handle, aren’t they?"
"That’s not exactly it," he said, turning his head away.
"Then what ails you? You can tell me; these talons have no desire to tear into your flesh," she said, gently running her nails down the side of his coat.
Despite the thick coat between Arlecchino’s nails and Aether’s skin, he felt his heart rate spike from the grazing of her touch.
"I... don’t know."
"Hm?"
"How to feel about all of this, I mean. It’s a tragedy that she died, but I never really had the opportunity to get to know Signora, much less work with her.”
"Oh, dear, we're all in a tough spot right now. We've sent her off with kind words, and there’s no use dwelling in the past. Business must continue as usual, for both me and you alike."
"My idea of ‘usual business’ is a bit different than yours, it seems."
"For now it is, at least. Perhaps we should take our discussion of business somewhere a bit more… appropriate."
That was one thing that Aether did not hesitate to agree with, especially with the way that she was caressing his torso.
"Right, right. Don’t want to overstay my welcome here."
"Indeed, my darling, especially since she would prefer to relish in her eternal slumber undisturbed."
Nudging Aether’s back, Arlecchino stood up from the coffin. His pace lagged behind hers as Aether still felt as if his separation from Signora was far too soon. He looked back, but was unable to stand still for long as Arlecchino guided him forward at a steady pace.
The walk back from Signora’s tomb was deathly silent. No words were shared between them for quite some time, with the only sounds present being the clicking of Aether’s coat adornments and Arlecchino’s heels. He kept his head held low as he marched forward, Arlecchino’s arm kept around his torso guiding him. Her concerns about his silence ever-growing, Arlecchino prodded Aether to speak.
"I suppose the passing of Lady Signora still weighs heavily on your mind," she said.
Forcing a scowl, Aether did not acknowledge Arlecchino and continued walking, still keeping his thoughts to himself. Truthfully, he could care less about the passing of someone he hardly knew. What bothered him most at the current moment was the feeling of her nails grazing upon his torso. If anything, he was still unsure of how to respond to her statement without treading upon the path of losing favor with the entirety of the Fatui.
Aether shook his head no, but his chin was caught on one of Arlecchino’s sharp talons. She nudged his head upwards and forced him to make eye contact.
"Now, do you really think that you can slip anything by me? Do you recall how attempting to suppress you desire for me went?"
A bead of sweat rolled down the side of Aether’s face. He attempted to continue walking as normal to no avail, as the grip on his waist tightened and stopped him in his tracks, her claws practically piercing through his coat. She looked at him with a soft yet hungry gaze, cupping his chin and stroking the side of his face with her finger. It wasn’t a glare that he had the mental fortitude to contest, not if he wanted to retain a favorable position within the Fatui, and certainly not if he wanted to retain her affection.
Aether opened his mouth to speak, but Arlecchino’s words quickly shushed him.
"You already know how you feel, don’t you? It’s not that you don’t know how you feel, but rather, you don’t feel anything for her at all."
Caught red handed.
"I... apologize," Aether coughed out.
"Don’t waste your breath, darling. I could read you clearly back during the funeral. You shed not a single tear, yet kept your mask of sorrow stiff and firm."
"Is that grounds for distrust?"
“Hardly, hardly. I couldn’t bear to turn on my darling like such," Arlecchino said, gently running her fingers through his hair. "I would say, you handled the funeral better than all of those other loons."
Aether kept silent.
"Clinging onto the past does not seem to be a prominent weakness of yours. You’re already on track to becoming an excellent Fatui Harbinger, saving your few and far in between words for me and me alone.”
Every scratch of her nails, every soft blink of her devilish eyes, sent shivers of anticipation through Aether, hidden only by his heavy coat. Behind that apparent loving smile of hers had to be some form of malicious intent. Aether, however, failed to believe that she would bear any form of ill will against him, despite his lingering fears claiming otherwise.
"Silence is a gift, for if any secrets of the House were to slip into the public gaze, the consequences would be dire. And the same holds true for the Fatui as well."
Ultimately, silence and secrecy were Aether’s most valuable weapons for maintaining his privileges. He uttered not a word of protest to prevent planting any potential seeds of grudge.
"That was the agreement upon my acceptance as a Harbinger," Aether confirmed.
"It pleases me greatly to see you’ve remained so well behaved. You will make a fine leader of the House of the Hearth when the time comes to retire my title and pass it onto you."
"The House too?” Aether asked, rather surprised. “But, what about Lyney?"
"A good parent wouldn’t leave their children behind to bear such a heavy weight on their shoulders, I trust?"
"Is this just your indirect way of calling me their Mother?"
Arlecchino laughed a little. "I suppose when you put it that way, it does make it seem like such."
"Becoming their ‘Mother’ isn’t exactly something that I want to think about, at least, not right now,” Aether said with a heavy sigh.
It was an unfortunate truth that always lingered in the back of his mind. Aether knew that he was destined to outlive Arlecchino, one way or another. If not her Delusion burning away her soul to a crisp, then the passing of time would catch up to her, when the star still had many years left to burn brightly. Even Arlecchino acknowledged it. As relentless and cunning of a woman she was, even she wasn’t too enthralled with the prospect of death prying the two of them apart.
"It is a future we must consider, but mustn’t dwell on,” Arlecchino said, crossing her arms. “If we try to live too far into the future, then we will miss the precious moments that the present has to offer us.”
Aether nodded his head in agreement.
Arlecchino looked around the barren, silent hallway. "As you can see, the halls are devoid of life, with the exception of our presence. Opportunity presents itself, so why not indulge in the present?" she said, reaching down to cock his head slightly.
"You’re not concerned that there could be someone, or something, waiting for us in the shadows?"
"Those that linger in the dark answer to me.”
He heard nothing, saw nothing, and trusted Arlecchino’s instincts that the seemingly barren hallway was theirs and theirs alone. Arlecchino made her authority over the shadows clear to Aether as she held on tightly to his waist, allotting not a single inch of freedom. He was in no position to argue her authority, despite standing on almost equal ground amongst the ranks of the Fatui Harbingers. Even if he had the leverage to debate her, he had no objections to being held in her web of deceit anyways.
The golden strands of hair that had fallen in front of Aether’s face were brushed away gently by the back of her hand. Despite the immense amount of care Arlecchino had used, Aether was still lightly scratched by her deathly sharp claws.
"Consider this little reward as a form of thanks for your compliance," she said, nudging his head up further.
Arlecchino was not willing to bend down very far, and so she practically pulled Aether onto the tips of his toes for a kiss. For a savage woman, her touch felt all too tender and caring. All of his fears about the other Fatui Harbinger’s perception of him were gone in an instant.
Those very fears were embracing him safely in her arms.
The creatures were all undeniably very cute. The problem was that they were cat cakes. Sunday might as well be a walking rotisserie chicken to them. Even though they sat mostly motionless atop the cat tree aside from the sway of their gelatinous bodies, their wide eyes instilled a sense of fear into him.
Dying to a train being railed through his body or the universe being severed in half were different kinds of pain compared to being mauled to death by hungry little kitties. They stared off blankly into space, deprived of any thought, though that did not make Sunday any less terrified. Could cat cakes smell fear, actually? Sunday hoped not as he wiped away the sweat on his forehead with his wing.
At least Yao Guang seemed to be getting along with them quite well. Or perhaps, this was all part of their plan to get a taste of that sweet, sweet peacock. With the way she was squishing one between her hands like a stress toy, though, Sunday felt as if he didn’t have to worry about her. If she had to, Yao Guang could bounce a clan of rogue cat cakes off of the Astral Express’s walls.
Sunday looked back at the ones before him on the tower. A cat cake was staring at him with wide eyes, but it felt like he was looking into a window of a vacant home. No lights on, no signs of life to be found. He then glanced down at his arm. Since joining the Astral Express, he had gained a few pounds thanks to Welt and Himeko, as well as the trio dragging him to food stalls at every given opportunity. His muscle development was another story, however, and he didn’t want to find out the hard way if he was physically capable of fighting off a swarm of squishy, ravenous predators.
"Making friends over there, little Sunsun?" Yao Guang said.
Sunday turned back around to face her. In her hands, she held a light green cat cake, its appearance reminiscent of the General herself. Its diamond pupils were just as thoughtless the others as it was being squished by her arms.
"...I’m not sure if I would classify it as a friend," Sunday said, side eyeing the beast on the tower.
Sunday jumped out of his skin. The cat that had been staring him down stretched its body upwards and towards him, as if it were attempting to inconspicuously sneak a bite. Its body rebounded back in place, swaying from the elastic motion.
"Aw, come on! I think it likes you!~"
"Likes the taste of chicken, maybe."
Sunday was unaware of the gentle swaying of his wings on the side of his head. The feathers were simply too tempting for the brainless cake creature, and so it once again stretched itself outwards as far as its body would allow it.
Monch.
The cat cake sprang back, feather in mouth. Sunday’s head was pulled to the side along with it. It chewed on his feathers; though it hadn’t quite reached his flesh, it was still a great nuisance. He slid his wing out of the creature’s mouth, then held it in close ahead as to not make himself easy pickings once again.
Oblivious to Sunday nearly becoming prey, Yao Guang continued lovingly squishing the jade green cat cake in her hands. She was most enamored by the creature, which donned a jade green shell adored with peacock feather designs and a pale white filling, mirroring her own appearance. Yao Guang turned it around so that its light purple eyes were blankly gazing at him, and she practically shoved the creature into his face. Instinctively, Sunday took a step back, the creature jiggling a mere few inches away from his face.
[Munya munya?]
"Give him a little squish," Yao Guang invited.
Hesitantly, Sunday reached his palm out. He pushed down on top of the shell, watching the creature’s body wiggle and wave like a gelatinous dessert. He took another step back, expecting the creature to stretch forth for the kill, but it merely blinked at him.
Maybe he was lucky Yao Guang’s nails had a firm grip on its shell.
"See? Aren’t they most adorable, darling?" she said, beaming with a smile as she squished the cat cake.
Adorable, as in absolutely terrifying. The cat cake’s soulless eyes stared into Sunday, with his whole body a prime target standing out in the open.
"Yes, they...they are," he said, breaking eye contact with the General’s beast.
Yao Guang stashed the creature under her arm. "But this one is even cuter. It looks just like you!"
Sunday looked to the tree beside him. A blue and white cat cake with little wings on its gold-adorned shell had been staring at him. In its mouth, a little gray feather hung.
Ah. The gluttonous culprit.
Sunday looked back at Yao Guang, fear lingering in his eyes. On the contrary, she was most delighted at the similarities between the two.
[...Munyua?]
"Uh..."
They shared a rather pathetic glint in their golden eyes. Both of them were adorned with thorns and feathers, and their color schemes were practically the same. But Sunday wasn’t quite sure how to feel about being called similar to a predator out for his chicken wings.
"I almost can’t tell the difference!" she said.
Yao Guang narrowed her eyes for a moment.
"And an adventurous fortune awaits the both of you in the near and far future.”
"Miss Yao...though our appearances may be strikingly similar, I do not harbor the same craving for Halovian flesh," Sunday said, trying to pull his wings in even closer.
Ignoring him, Yao Guang nudged him aside and placed the jade cake on top of Sunday’s gelatinous doppelganger. She then grabbed the little stack from the bottom and proudly held them in her hands. Either the cat cakes were lighter than he thought, or Madame Yao was incredibly strong: one conjecture he had no interest in risking finding out, and the other he was all too familiar with.
Though stacking was part of their normal behaviors, Sunday knew that Yao Guang was far too enamored by White Jade Green Dumping atop Sundae Angelica.
"They really are just like us!" she said with glee.
Sunday would be willing to agree. If their two little lookalikes were not currently eyeing him up.
"Oh, we have to get more of these for ourselves,” Yao Guang continued. “Perhaps Ruan Mei would be willing to bake a few more cakes for us.”
Despite the weight that her words carried, Yao Guang’s suggestion went in one ear and out the other. Sunday could not shake himself of the fear of the two cat cakes she held eyeing him up for some Penacony fried chicken. If they were not being held back by an Arbiter General’s grasp, they would not hesitate to stretch forth and sink their little teeth into his flesh.
🐱 Luuk Herssen x F!Rover 🐱 Officer of the Cat Distribution System
Clever foxes and cute cats aren’t particularly known for having a strong friendship. Well, that would be unusual to say, given how a cat was Luuk’s most valuable companion. Rover would lay upon his lap, stretching out her body like she owned the couch, and use her free time to weigh down his legs. He would slip a candy out of his pocket, and her golden eyes would widen as if a bird was within claw’s reach.
Actually owning a cat, however, was an entirely different story for Luuk. Previously, a feeble stray had wandered around Startorch Academy, and with the help of Rover and some food, the two of them lured it in and captured it. Initially, he had planned to keep the cat in his office to accompany him when Rover was not around. Talking to an animal was regarded as far more acceptable than expecting the books on the wall to talk back. The cat, unfortunately, was too free spirited to live in the confines of his office, and so it chose to live where the walls were a little less compact.
Thus, Luuk simply accepted that the bond between him and felines were simply not destined to be.
Copies of “The Minimalist Approach to Cat Psychology” had been piling up in his office for years. Out of sudden curiosity, he took one off the top of a stack and sat down at his desk to read it. It was full of more than just passages on the innerworkings of a cat’s mind; pictures of cats, which were to be expected, as well as toys and cat-orientated furniture. One article even highlighted how a woman turned her entire living space into a cat haven, citing her desire to foster her cats’ natural instincts, when Luuk could tell she was simply one of those “crazy cat lady” types. Nonetheless, her dedication was truly admirable.
He found himself engrossed in an article about the joys of cat ownership for both pet and human alike. Loyal companion always by your side. Rolling over onto its back for belly rubs. Up in your face purring loudly while waiting for pets. Something, something, everything but how the stray acted towards Luuk. Perhaps in the end, he simply was not a cat person. It was a shame to be rejected by a four-legged friend, but he did not force a friendship, as his unwanted advances only yielded worse results.
When he had lowered the magazine, he was greeted by the sight of two bright golden eyes staring right at him. The one cat that did tolerate his presence slipped into his office while he wasn’t paying attention.
"Still yearning for a little kitty cat?" Rover said.
"Haha, no need for one when I have you here, darling," Luuk said, reaching forth to run his fingers through her hair.
She leaned her head into his touch with an air of curiosity. "You didn’t notice me crouched down here for a good few minutes with your nose shoved into that magazine."
"It is a most excellent read, so I could not help myself."
"You want a cat so bad that you’re actually reading those dusty magazines that you have now."
"This one had arrived in my mail not too long ago, and so I decided simply to pass the time.”
Rover stood up and pointed to the side. In front of his bookshelf were considerably tall stacks of magazines, seemingly all the same publication.
"You’ve wanted one for a while, huh?" she concluded.
"Ah... that is simply... a subscription that keeps slipping my mind to cancel,” Luuk claimed. "Besides, I already know a lovely cat-like lady."
"A wife is no substitute for a pet."
"But of course. It is more like I am the pet anyways."
Rover instantly whipped her head around. Luuk smiled at her softly. Clever the fox was, though not enough to hide his desire for a small furry companion. Rover noticed the magazine he held in his hands was flipped over to an article about the joys of cat parenthood.
"Gimmie that," she said, reaching for the magazine.
Luuk did not contest her hold as she easily pulled it out of his hands. She skimmed through it… pictures of cat breeds, ads for food and furniture… it was the type of magazine you’d expect to see a middle-aged woman reading. Yet the one in possession of countless issues was a cat-less doctor.
"Luuk, be honest. How many times have the potted plants started talking back to you?"
"Not enough for you to be concerned about, dear," he said with a playful laugh.
Rover narrowed her eyes at him. Why couldn’t Luuk just be normal and admit that he struggled with loneliness? It would be a real shame if Rover just so happened to rescue another cat that would need a home…
Coincidentally outside of his office the next day, the sound of a gentle mewing broke the usual class period silence. Initially, Luuk thought that he was hallucinating and that the suppressed desire for a pet cat was getting to him. Then he heard it again. And again. And he couldn’t leave a cat to wander freely around the ward if there was one after all, so he opened his office door and looked down.
Unless it was a sign for him to retrieve his glasses, that was most certainly a cat responsible for the commotion. It was a little scruffy and thin but otherwise seemed to be quite friendly. Luuk noticed that it had a limp to its walk as it circled around him begging for attention. He couldn’t just leave it now. Perhaps it had known that it could find help at the ward and thus wandered in, but he had a sneaking suspicion that someone else was behind its appearance. Nevertheless, he reached down and picked it up.
Luuk held the cat up and observed it until he saw an injury caught his attention. On one of its front legs was a gash, presumably a few days old, that was clearly not healing properly.
Luuk was no expert in animal medicine, but a cut was an easy enough injury to treat.
With a little bit of sedative, he trimmed away the dead flesh and carefully stitched the wound shut before wrapping gauze around its leg. Once it came to, the cat purred as it rubbed its head into his palm, but it was still too weak to be freed in its condition. The other problem at hand was that nobody who could take in a cat on a whim was available.
For the second time, Luuk brought a cat into his office.
"You win, dear little furball," he said, rubbing its head.
Luuk knew that the peace with the cat would not last, for the only reason it had yet to wreak havoc upon the place was that it was still healing. It merely laid in his office, typically opting for the couch when the sunlight was favorable. It must’ve been a stray living amongst people and not completely feral, as it was quite comfortable with strange new visitors coming into his office. Students have inquired about his new companion out of curiosity, and many have even pet it themselves. Word quickly spread amongst staff and students alike of Luuk housing a cat in his office, and many would make excuses to come in simply to play with it.
Having the cat in his office was a net positive change, even if it did cost him a few moments of his time in maintenance. What was most unfortunate, however, was Luuk having to explain that his newfound companion was only being housed with him temporarily.
How long was "temporarily?" Well, just long enough for its injuries to fully heal. And a little longer for good measures, in the case of any adverse long-term side effects.
The sun beaming into his office was especially intense one afternoon, and so the cat had decided that the most convenient place to lay was upon his desk. With a feather wand toy Luuk had purchased for the students (himself) to play with, he waved it around above the cat. It reached its paws upwards and swatted, rolling around on its back, but was too comfortable on the medical documents to stand up. It was far more entertaining than paperwork, not like Luuk had much of a choice as it kept rolling in front of him.
"Seems like you’re getting along well with your new friend."
Luuk turned around, still waving the toy above the cat. Rover, the black cat herself, was standing inquisitively behind him.
"Haha, I’d feel bad for putting it up for adoption at this point," Luuk admitted.
"You’re still considering that? I was convinced that your office was the new home in question, as you claimed you’d find one after all of its injuries healed."
"Ah, I did say that. Unfortunately, time has not allowed for me to do so."
"But you clearly have enough time to play with it," she said, a sly grin forming on her face.
Luuk remained silent for a moment, before saying, “I do believe it is nearly time for your next class. Better make haste, lest you arrive late like a certain rebellious motorcyclist of ours.”
"Right…” she said as she slowly backed out of his office, keeping an eye on him with a smirk.
Luuk turned back around to look at the cat lazily rolling on his desk. It looked up at him with wide eyes, wondering why he had stopped swinging the feather wand around. His attention was diverted to the state of his office around him, cat toys strown about waiting for a careless victim. The bowls of food and water were placed upon a mat, and a cat bed was tucked away out of the general eye of visitors.
The cat’s fur appeared to him as a very faint yellow. Luuk had presumed that it was possibly an orange cat from what he could deduce from his eyesight alone. He had never bothered to inquire Rover about its exact coat, however, and he was starting to regret not bringing up the matter prior.
What he was missing now was a name for such a cat.
The arrival of the Grand Master, though a most profitable opportunity, struck fear into the hearts of tavern and winery owners alike. Varka would not leave until he was satisfied, whether that entailed a glass or two to get him buzzed or enough so that he was out cold on the floor. The latter was typically the case, and it was not unusual for the Favonius Knights to be called in to drag him out. Their stocks did not have the easiest time recovering either, but many notices of selling out were typically met with the understanding that "Ah, the Grand Master's been here."
Seeing Varka walk into Angel’s Share triggered an instinctive panic response in the staff. He held the door open and Nicole walked in, bringing in a collective sigh of relief as perhaps he wouldn’t drink himself unconscious in front of his lady.
Varka walked right up to the counter as if he owned the place, heavy footsteps shaking the floorboards. He leaned forth and rested his arm upon the counter. His imposing size towered even over the largest gruff men that frequented the place, and made the average Favonius knight look like a grade school trainee. If it weren’t for his familiar presence and friendly smile, fear would be struck into those around him, though the bartender still took a step back as a drop of sweat rolled down the side of his face.
"Two mugs of dandelion beer!" Varka ordered.
Perhaps they were in for a long night after all.
"...And what sizes will they be?" the man asked, delaying the inevitable.
"One of ‘em the largest you got," Varka said, before turning to Nicole.
[Hmm… I’ll have the same as him.] Nicole requested.
Even Varka was momentarily taken aback by her order. Either he would he carrying Nicole back over his shoulders before the first hour passes, or he was greatly underestimating her potential. The bartender, with a hesitant nod of his head, filled up two large mugs with beer and handed them to Varka. He took hold of both mugs in one hand, effortlessly wrapping his massive fingers around the handles. The bartender watched them walk to a table for a few seconds before deciding to pull out two more large mugs and place them by the barrel of dandelion beer ahead of time.
With his free hand, Varka pulled out a chair for Nicole before sitting down across from her. He placed the mugs on the table, one towards her and one in front of him. Nicole grabbed her mug and went for a sit, but paused upon seeing Varka raise his mug forth.
"To a successful operation in Nod Krai!" Varka said.
[And the silencing of a Sinner.]
"May Celestia refrain from smiting us."
And then Varka downed his entire serving of dandelion beer in one swift gesture.
He slammed his empty mug on the table, and looked ahead to see that Nicole was still chugging away at hers. She was going at a far slower pace than the Grand Master, but she did not show any signs of relenting. When her mug was finally emptied, Nicole placed it back on the table with utmost care, allowing not a singular drop to go to waste by rolling down the side of her cheek.
A most impressive display, Varka had to admit. But could she keep up with his pace in the long run?
"Well, Miss Nicole," Varka said, "I take it you’re ready for a second round?"
[Absolutely!] she said, face beaming with a smile.
Varka and Nicole raised their empty mugs up and tapped their nails upon the rim of the glasses. The bartender gazed over instinctively, eyes widening in fear upon noticing the couple asking for seconds. He grabbed out two more sets of empty mugs before filling the ones he had prepared beforehand to bring to their table. With a look of dread, the bartender swapped out their empty mugs with the two filled straight to the brim.
Once again, Varka chugged the entire mug with ease, drops of cider catching upon the hairs on his chin. Nicole continued to chug hers slowly and with elegance, and she once more rested the mug on the table appearing seemingly unfazed by the alcohol content of two large beers. Not even a gloss upon her eyes as she sat politely and awaited the third round. Varka wasn’t claiming to have never met a heavyweight woman before, but he was quite impressed that her body hadn’t even begun to sway yet.
"Another one for my dearest angel?" Varka offered.
[Oh, absolutely. I’ll keep going all night if you can last that long!]
That sounded less like a challenge and more like a threat. Who was Varka to back down from a fight when he had drunk with literal gods before? Wasting no time, he signaled for a third round to be delivered promptly.
Seeing as how their eyes still focused and they still sat tall, the bartender, ahead of time, prepped a fifth and sixth batch to rush over to their table. At the rate they were going, he might as well write up an order for another two or three kegs...
Three mugs down for the both of them, and neither of them were giving up so easily. Both of them cleared a fourth and a fifth mug with ease, and Varka did not start feeling signs of fatigue until his sixth. His focus was beginning to falter and the thoughts in his mind began to swirl together. Surely, Nichole was beginning to get tired herself.
When Varka put his empty mug down onto the table, he saw through somewhat foggy eyes that Nicole was sitting as prim and proper as ever. There was no way her tolerance was on par with that of an Archon. She had to be good at faking competence.
"Getting tired yet, lass?" Varka asked, barely managing to not trip over his words.
[Hmm? Why do you think that I would be getting tired? Is it already getting late? It kind of feels like we only just got here. Happens when you can hardly make a mug of beer last for longer than a sip.]
"...Not even feeling a little bit tired from all of that alcohol?"
Nicole scratched her chin. [Hmmm...I don’t feel any different, honestly.]
Was she being serious? Varka and his liver were in immense trouble if that were the case. He had made it this far; at this point, there was no backing down.
"Another one!" Varka called for.
[Oh? And I thought you were getting tired!] Nicole noted.
The eighth round of beer was placed in front of him. Or was it the ninth? Numbers were becoming an exceedingly difficult concept for Varka to comprehend.
"Not in the slightest," Varka declared with much confidence.
Soon...Nicole had to be reaching her limit soon. Even the great Mavuika would have long since started showing signs of fatigue; surely Nicole just had…really good acting skills. Varka was struggling to properly hold the mug in his hand, and so he propped it up with his other hand to avoid the tragedy of wasting precious alcohol. On the other hand, Nicole’s arms had yet to even get tired as she drank her mug of beer like a mere cup of tea.
The bartender was well beyond the point of fear, not from how many Varka has downed, but by the fact that Nicole has had just as many as him and needed not to prop her head up. He stood at their table frozen, holding the umpteenth pair of dry beer mugs.
[Hmm? Is something the matter?] Nicole asked, noticing the blank stare of horror upon the man’s face.
"N-nothing," he claimed as he snapped back to reality before quickly turning his back and speedwalking away.
By the end of the ninth (or tenth?) serving, Varka’s eyes were being weighed down heavily. The outcome looked horrible, but he wasn’t the type of warrior to give up, not even hindered by his last breath. One more...surely Nicole was bound to start crashing soon. Not even fall asleep, just close her eyes for a second longer. That alone would be enough of a victory for him.
But by the end of the eleventh, or fifteenth, or whatever at that point, which he had barely managed to finish halfway, Varka was losing the fight against the weight of his eyelids as his body began slumping against the table. As for Nicole: sitting proper like Mondstadt’s little angel, empty beer mug off to her side. She was, admittedly, a little bit disappointed, not exactly in Varka himself, but rather due to them stopping after having only a few (over 10) servings of beer.
Nicole reached across the table and poked him in the side of his face with her nail. Hardly a response; it was debatable if he was even still alive.
[Varka? Are you unwell?] Nicole said, pushing the side of his face with her finger.
She nudged upwards and saw that he wasn’t dead, but rather, sleeping. She couldn’t just leave him out cold at their table, not when they still owed money. She slid under the table and shuffled around Varka’s pants until her hand clasped around his pouch of Mora. Unaware of the onlooker who unfortunately caught a glimpse of the out-of-context scene, Nicole slid the pouch out of his pocket and began counting coins.
Ten....twenty...that should be enough to cover his tab. With the Mora owed in hand, Nicole crawled out from under the table and looked at Varka, thinking for a moment. She crouched back down beside his chair and slid his unconscious body over her shoulder. Mora in one hand and Grand Master held in the other, Nicole walked over to the counter with a most unbothered smile on her face.
The bartender was starting to wonder if he was the drunk one in the room. A beautiful woman had just outdrunk the Grand Master by over half a mug, and from the look on her face, she still had plenty room to spare. Not only that, but she was standing on her own two legs? Holding Varka over her shoulder? Just what was this woman made out of?
Nicole tossed the Mora onto the counter.
[That should be enough to cover his tab. If not, then well, its Varka. He’s pretty hard to miss should you have to chase him down. If you wanted to, you could say that he owes you still from the night before regardless of if I gave you enough. He won’t even remember anything after these past five drinks! Haha! But....don’t tell him I said that.]
And just like that, she walked out of the tavern, not sparing him a single glance more than necessary.
The man stood behind the table, jaw agape. Payment was among the least of his concerns for the time being, his eyes not even diverting from the tavern door. He wasn’t quite sure what he had witnessed, if it was even real at all.
Tangled Threads of Blasphemy and Prophecy 🌿 Aeipathy
Written for @anaxagoraszine.
Words of a prophecy were meaningless to a devout alchemist, even in defiance of his very own coreflame. The only words he worshiped were the inquiries and resolutions that had stemmed from the trial and error of his research. Nevertheless, the golden threads of a romantic tale wrapped around his throat and limbs and continuously tugged at him time and again. They had tried to pull him closer to the path of the prophecy, but all he did was laugh. Laugh hysterically as he stood firm with his logic as the treads of fate yanked at his throat.
Such stubbornness served as the catalyst for the rifts between Anaxagoras and those around him. For the Flame Chase, against the Flame Chase, somewhere in between, they were all arguments that he had heard time and again. What were a few measly words to stop him from defining his own fate? Some called him arrogant. Others called him foolish. But no scholar of the Grove could stand as his equal to compete and truly act as a thorn in his side. The one that pried at his nerves the most, however, was the puppeteer behind the threads that dug into his body.
Romance and Reason. Choice and fate. Two values contradicting each other at their very core, like gold leaf atop oxidized copper. That gold leaf in question, though, shone brightly in the eye of the professor. If only it were that easy for him to get his hands on even a slimmer of that divinity.
Anaxa stared at the concoction within the Erlenmeyer flask. This wasn’t one of his grandest experiments, per say, but it was enough to not align with the most familiar concept of ethics. It was based on a rather simple alchemical foundation: transmutation. Some simple, relatively low-level concepts hinged upon the transformation of one substance to another, from basic elements to more desirable substances. As such a foundation existed, Anaxa would, theoretically, be able to take this many steps forward. Why stop at iron and gold? Why not transmute the blighted to the light? Or even the mortal to the divine?
Hence, the recipe for his most recent and greatest study was conceived.
To his side rested the forearm of a Black Tide creature, fresh and still leaking blood, extracted at his personal request. It had long since perished, so if a misfire of the potion were to occur, the results would not be as devastating if living forces were at play.
Though her eyesight had grown poor as a result of years at the head of the Flame Chase journey, even Aglaea could see the dangers that lie within him tampering with the fundamental laws in which Amphoreus was built upon. Anaxa was stubborn in his pursuits; unfortunately, so was Aglaea.
The concoction was a rather murky and unpleasant shade of purple, bubbling with remnants of heat and dubious intent. If Anaxa were to use it now, then the results were sure to be contrary to his original intent. An already forsaken creature would be corrupted beyond even the comprehension of the most gifted blasphemer. To reverse its current potential outcome, the potion needed a certain touch of...divinity.
For better or for worse, he was acquainted with someone who possessed such power. But the individual in question was Aglaea, who was not too willing to cooperate with him for reasons beyond those defined in the prophecy. A simple request of such would be the final strike in splitting Reason from Romance and the rest of the coreflames. Such demise was not inherently the scholar’s intentions, but it was doomed to lead to such nonetheless.
Observing the incomplete potion, Anaxa continued to ponder his next course of action as that nuisance Goldweaver once more confronted him and his actions.
"Anaxa," Aglaea said as her eyes glazed over the murky, violet brew, "perhaps you should reconsider toying with such fundamentals."
"You haven’t the slightest idea what you’re on about, woman. And that’s Anaxagoras to you."
"My eyes may be failing me, but it does not take an observant one to notice what is unfolding. Before you, a vile concoction and the arm of a monster rest; what more is there for me to assume other than nefarious purposes?"
Anaxa picked up the flask and swirled it before Aglaea.
"Though it may be the color of sin, before you is potential in its truest form, not destruction."
"I do believe you mean the potential for destruction," Aglaea said with a slight giggle.
"Destructive or not, it would hardly matter as long as it remained within our possession. I am to believe that should be of no concern, assuming that our defenses remain impenetrable."
Aglaea narrowed her eyes with a tinge of distrust glimmering in her irises. As if she would allow her defenses to fall. Did Anaxa truly hold no faith in her? Or was it merely a jab at her capabilities as payback for not being so willing to trust the madness of the alchemist?
As Anaxa swirled the concoction around, he in return, shot Aglaea a glare. Dreary silence was laid thick upon the laboratory. Not a word needed to be exchanged between the two, as the look in their eyes spoke for themselves.
"Should?" she asked. "You speak as if the faith you hold in me is minimal."
"It is only fair," Anaxa said. "To you, my craft is nothing more than fraudulent."
"Beneath the watchful eyes of the Titans, it most certainly is. Every action of yours has only defiled the guidance they have laid out for us."
"And so you believe that blindly following them time and again is the solution?"
Anaxa placed the flask back down and traced the rim with the tip of his fingers. His flesh was no longer phased by the heat energy that had manifested as a result of his work. He had already lost an eye, his heart, even what remained of his sanity and morals, so what more was a few insignificant nerve endings? The scholar’s appearance was unfortunate, clashing with the beauty of the Goldweaver that stood before him.
Perhaps even more unfortunate was that they would never see eye to eye, not on account of blindness, but rather, contradictory beliefs.
"If we continue to mindlessly follow the path laid out before us,” Anaxa continued, “our actions would have long since been known by both friend and foe alike. Bend these rules and our oppressors won’t be given a chance to predict our plan of attack.”
"The Flame Chase journey follows a set path for a reason, Anaxa."
"Once again, it’s Anaxagoras," he jumped in to correct. "I do believe that we have strayed from the original topic at hand."
Aglaea narrowed her eyes at Anaxa, whose physical stance was just as firm as the beliefs he stood upon. His fingers traced around the mouth of the flask one final time before he lifted it up and once again presented it to her, gently swirling its contents.
"This appears to be nothing more than a mere potion to the poor of sight. It takes an enlightened mind to see it for what it truly is. Something that you certainly fail to comprehend.”
"Anaxa, I believe I comprehend it more than enough. Your potion, whatever your intentions may be, will lead to dire consequences costing both the Flame Chase journey and those unaffiliated with it,"
"Ha! Coming to a conclusion before I could even begin to explain. I expected nothing less of you, woman. Mark my words, one way or another, my latest advancements will prove useful to the both of us.”
Crossing her arms and giving him a look that quietly said, "I’m listening," Aglaea remained silent in the brief pause that Anaxa had allotted for her marvel in curiosity and awe at his accomplishments.
"Upon completion, the concoction within this flask will allow one to transform the dark into light, the black into white, the enemy into our ally."
Aglaea was not so easily convinced by his grand speech.
"Transforming our sworn enemy into a loyal ally with the application of one supposedly simple concoction? Professor, I cannot tell if your genius is beyond our goals or you have simply gone mad."
"I have yet to see for myself, for this creation of mine is missing a most vital ingredient."
He held up the flask to a light source within the lab and stared into the purple mixture with his one good eye.
"The essence of divinity."
"Divinity? Is the golden blood that flows through your veins not enough to quell your greed?"
"Ah, but that is something I have long considered. Regrettably, my blood is far too tainted for such purposes."
Anaxa pried his focus away from the flask and stared down Aglaea with a morbid hunger in his gaze. It did not take her long to figure out that this final ingredient he was seeking out was sourced from her. Her own body, her own powers, whatever it was, only Aglaea and Aglaea alone could provide him with what he seeked.
"So instead, you’re resorting to asking for my blood, if I am to assume correctly," Aglaea said, crossing her arms.
"That is where you are mistaken."
Anaxa held out his hand.
"Your golden threads," he said, "Give them to me.”
Aglaea held her hands close into her chest, narrowing her eyes and shaking her head.
"What ails you, woman? Do you not hold any faith in me?"
"...Knowing you, every grand experiment of yours serves as a gateway to something far more sinister.”
"And this so-called sinister power is crafted by my hands, to be used for my purposes, and my purposes alone. It only becomes sinister when it falls into the claws of our opposition, which I pray you have a hand in preventing. Now, hand me a sliver of thread. It will benefit both of us in the long run."
"...Professor, I am sorry, but I do not have the heart to trust you.”
The devious grin on Anaxa’s face fell into a displeased scowl.
"My research holds mutual benefits for both myself and the Flame Chase journey, yet you turn your nose up at it regardless? Woman, just how foolish can you be?"
"Anaxa, I believe you are the fool at fault. It is one matter to toy with divinity at an alchemical scale. But to pull the Flame Chase journey into your god defying plans using such dubious methods? I simply cannot allow myself to be associated with such."
"Hmph. Very well then," Anaxa said, withdrawing his hand and turning his back. "I suppose that here marks where our goals truly do part ways.”
"Anaxa..."
"Worry not, my dear Goldweaver. I can find the needed essence of divinity elsewhere. You and your Flame Chase journey won’t hold me back, involvement or not."
With a heavy, regretful sigh, Aglaea said, "A shame that we cannot have your hand in aiding our journey, but perhaps it was a longshot for all of us to agree."
"Hmph. At least, for the time being," Anaxa said, returning to his research.
Aglaea opened her mouth to speak, but with the blasphemer having turned his back and showing clear disinterest in further argument, she had decided to not press the issue further. Despite his final words lingering in her mind, she felt as if the only response she would get out of him would be some form of maniacal laughter, sprouting into an “I-told-you-so” attitude later on down the line. Though devout in following the prophecy, even she didn’t have the gift of knowing exactly what the future held, and so Aglaea decided to leave his words and any semblance of hope for his compliance be.
She turned away and left Anaxa to his thoughts, though through her fading vision, she couldn’t help but gaze back one final time and long for what his aid could have brought to the Flame Chase journey. There was no use in attempting to force him to comply, though, when her time was better invested elsewhere. Likewise, it was a real shame to Anaxa himself that the purest form of divinity under the eternally blazing sunlight remained just out of his reach. He would have to find what he needed elsewhere, but thankfully, resorting to the assistance of a fleet-footed trickster was not outside of his moral compass, or lack thereof.
Though the concoction within that very flask served as the final ingredient needed to push Aglaea and Anaxa on their own paths, this was but one of many occurrences out of many. In some tales, their views had aligned and the scholar and the Goldweaver both traversed the same fate. And in other records, they never once saw eye to eye, let alone each other.
Anaxa did say for the time being, did he not? Whether or not the rift would be mended in a miraculous perfect occurrence still had yet to be determined.
“You’ve worked the hardest out of us all. Surely, you deserve some downtime.”
“We can hold the front lines. Go recharge.”
“Choosing to swing a blade in your downtime doesn’t count as fun. Do something that’s actually distanced from your work.”
Jiyan shook off the echoing voices of his persistent comrades. He constantly emphasized the importance of rest, yet never bothered to accommodate such into his routine. A hypocrite, he was called, but he remained firm on his stance. He had a sworn duty to remain sharp and vigilant as general of the Midnight Rangers, as one single misstep could snowball into the next grand crisis recorded in what survived of the history books.
Overworking himself was a very real risk that he had neglected to consider for so long. With such steel-tempered stubbornness, it took longer than the soldiers would have liked to in order to finally convince him to take a damn break, even if it were for a mere evening. Finally, Jiyan gave in, with the date of the Moon-Chasing festival approaching fast. He would never admit it openly, but he had always wanted to visit it, even if it were for just one night in his lifetime.
This was the year he finally gave in and attended. Though it was a night of training lost to respite, it would at least bring some peace of mind to his soldiers that he was more than capable of taking a break.
Golden lanterns softly illuminated the walkways of Taoyuan Vale. Jiyan, naturally accustomed to being ready at a moment’s notice, had to keep telling himself to let loose. Relax…take in the sights… stroll through the festival…the city wasn’t going to fall just because he took a singular night off of training.
But what if something were to seize the opportunity to strike while defenses were weakened?
No, he had to free his mind of such thoughts and hold more faith in his soldiers.
His night of relaxation would be for naught if he marched through Taoyuan Vale as if he was on patrol. Jiyan slowed down his pace, taking in the sights of the festival stalls and decorations around him. Taoyuan Vale was covered from tree to building in eloquently painted lanterns and a wide variety of colorful papercrafts. Stalls were set up along the road, some shops selling arts and crafts, others serving as booths for games. The sights alone were so spectacular that Jiyan felt a tinge of guilt for not attending in the years prior.
There was no point in dwelling on it.
He took a deep breath to release the tension he had subconsciously built up and continued leisurely strolling through the festival streets. Many people turned a most curious eye to Jiyan’s presence, spreading whispers as to why the General would leave the front lines for a festival seemingly most frivolous. The nonsensical rumors regarding his appearance were one thing that he could do without, but keeping a low profile was rather impossible given his imposing size alone. What he didn’t realize, however, that at the core of these rumors was praise and relief that he allotted some time to himself to take a breather.
He stopped at a stall with most curiously shaped treats for sale. He was somewhat familiar with the concept, but he had never had the luxury of trying one for himself. He stared at them for a few moments, as if he was facing great internal turmoil over whether or not he should spare a few credits and have one.
"Fancy seeing you here, General!" the stall owner said. "Clear skies for the festival tonight, I am hoping?"
"I hope so," Jiyan said. "Having to fight back Tacet Discords on my one day off would be horribly ironic."
"You take days off? Never in a million years, would I think for that to be possible!” the stall owner said with a laugh. "Can I interest you in a mooncake?"
Jiyan fetched some Shell Credits and placed them on the table. "If you please," he said.
"You got it boss! Hot n' ready for ya!"
Jiyan took the pump mooncake in his hands and bit the stall owner a friendly farewell. He took a bite of it, pleasantly surprised by how sweet and soft it was. After an eternity of a carefully controlled diet, the sweetness hit him so hard, it practically knocked him off of his feet. It was a refreshing contrast to the foods he normally ate, and he would have devoured the rest in a single bite should he have been raised in a backwoods barn.
Jiyan was stopped in his tracks by a small stall adorned with numerous hand painted fans. Each of the fans on display were unique from one another, some depicting wonderous landscapes and others adorned with messages of prosperity and good fortune. He gently took one off of the stand to observe it for himself.
The golden paint shone beneath the glow of the lanterns. He was careful as to not puncture the delicate paper with the claws of his armor, yet he kept a firm enough hold on it so that it wouldn’t blow away in the gentle autumn breeze. The fan that he held depicted one of the mountainous landscapes of Huanglong, with a river running through it and a majestic duo of cranes flying overhead.
He wondered, was this how people perceived the world when their thoughts weren’t constantly consumed by the threat of war? Despite the well-known dangers of the TD’s always lingering, they had somehow managed to find beauty in the outside? It seemed as if the people he fought so hard to protect possessed a kind of strength than what he had, able to see a light in the abyss that weighed heavy.
A shy young lady was standing by the stall, quietly observing him as he was looking at the fan. She held her hands behind her back and didn’t speak a word, but kept looking up at him as if she were silently asking him for approval.
“Did you paint this yourself?” Jiyan softly asked.
The young lady nodded her head.
Jiyan smiled. “It’s gorgeous. The way you see the world is most lovely.”
She smiled, unable to formulate the words to respond to his compliment, but was thankful nonetheless. Jiyan wanted to pour his heart out about how he admired how she saw the world in such a beautiful fashion, but it was a rather inappropriate time to do so. Especially since he foresaw himself breaking into tears as he droned on about the fighting he had endured to protect people such as her. With a gentle nod of acknowledgement, he sat the fan down gently and continued on his way, making no waste of the festival evening.
Suddenly, he was stopped by the owner of a shooting game.
“Try your hand at a round of Moon Shooter, general!” the owner of the booth said.
Target practice was a common way for soldiers, gunners and swordsmen alike, to hone their skills for the frontlines. But as a recreational activity, Jiyan was not as familiar with such. And the fact that just any citizen could choose to walk up and take aim. For someone who had been honed in battle, he couldn’t quite imagine someone willingly picking up a gun and firing a few shots simply for the fun of it.
It wouldn’t hurt for him to try it once, at least to understand its appeal. He had picked up a gun and fired a few shots before, so perhaps this would hardly be any different. The first set of targets were laid out before him. Simple, unmoving structures they were. The general held his free arm behind his back and concentrated on steadying himself and lining up his shots.
First shot. Shattered the target.
Second shot. Annihilated the target.
Third shot. Decimated the target.
Bullseyes, he thought, though it hardly mattered as the festival targets were so frail that a shot at the edge could shatter one.
Stall owner and onlookers alike watched in awe as he handled the gun effortlessly. Though he was, indeed, the general of the Midnight Rangers, many people were familiar with him as being experienced with a broadblade, not a gun. Come the second round, the slight difficulty spike with moving targets made no difference to him. And before the third round could be called, Jiyan turned around and shot down all five targets with pristine accuracy. Without missing a beat, he handed the gun back to the stall owner, who said nothing as his mouth was down to the ground.
“Thank you for the opportunity,” Jiyan said with a smile. “It was a most enjoyable experience.”
The stall owner, still deprived of words, handed Jiyan his Shell Credit reward. As the general walked off, he awkwardly raised his hand in some sort of a half-effort wave. It was one thing to hear of the general’s triumphs through word of mouth, but to actually experience a fraction of his might firsthand? And with a weapon he was unfamiliar with, nonetheless? The owner of the Moon Shooter booth silently regretted to himself that he didn’t at least ask for an autograph…
Not bothering to pay his newfound fanboy a single glance more, Jiyan made the trek up the numerous flights of stairs to where he found even more quaint stalls set up. These stalls, unlike the others, did not appear set up with the intention of scoring a profit. One of them, he noticed, was full of paper, strings, and ink, but he was unsure of its exact purpose.
“Here to make a wish, general?” Chixia said, startling him out of his thoughts.
“…A wish?” he asked, most curious.
“If you write your wish down on one of these pieces of paper and hang it on that big tree up the steps, it is said to come true!” Chixia said, handing him a piece of paper and an inkbrush from the table. “Try it!”
Jiyan wasn’t too keen on the concept of wishes personally. Working towards his goals through hard work and dedication was more his style. And if there was such a thing as a wish come true, then all of this baseless fighting would’ve been over with years ago, or perhaps had never even happened. Even if they could come true, what would he even wish for?
“Wish for what, exactly?” Jiyan asked, at a loss for ideas.
“Whatever you want!”
That raises the question: what did he want, exactly? The one thing that Jiyan had been working tirelessly towards his entire life was the safety of his people in honor of those who have fallen. It wasn’t something that could simply be granted overnight through a few strokes of the brush. He thought about it long and hard, with an enthusiastic Chixia practically breathing down his neck the entire time. Eventually, after much deliberation, he lifted the inkbrush to the paper and started writing.
“I wish for those who have passed to know that their sacrifices will never be forgotten, and that I am eternally grateful for their service.”
“That’s so unlike you, General!” she said as she playfully nudged his shoulder. “Well, what are you waiting for? Hang it up!”
Jiyan did as he was advised and tied up the paper that his wish was inscribed upon onto a lone branch of the tree. He wasn’t expecting it to come true in the slightest, and he wondered if it was too selfish to bother those who were peacefully slumbering to show a mere hint of attention for the sole purpose of boosting his ego. Jiyan desired nothing of great proportions, as even a new bud opening towards the moonlight would suffice. He had long since suppressed these worries, but secretly, he was longing for a way to know that the dead had felt properly honored.
He solemnly looked at the folded paper that was tied to the end of the branch, dangling in the gentle breeze. Chixia seemed to not grasp his internal turmoil, standing with as smile as if she was confident that his wish was going to come true. It was a simple yet noble wish, impossible to discern any tinge of malicious intent. And yet Jiyan wondered; despite not directly wishing for something for his own personal gain, was he being too selfish?
His wish dangled and twirled in the tree weightlessly, unbothered by the weight of the words scrawled onto it.
Xiangli Yao quietly observed as Chixia and Jiyan strolled away from the tree. Normally, it mattered not the specifics of who came to wish and why, but his interest was piqued by the General’s sudden decision to participate in such a tradition. That man took no reward handed to him without effort; to see him make a wish was most curious. Not to mention, he was an incredibly selfless man, so what could he possibly desire to resort to such effortless measures?
He thought for a moment, then turned to Xiang-LEE and asked, “May you retrieve the contents of General Jiyan’s wish?”
In the event that it would be difficult to fulfill, a head start would allow for a larger window for Xiangli Yao to fulfill it in a timely manner. That is, if it were even within his human and robotic power to do so. Something like “stop war” or “bring my dead friends back” would be impossible to achieve even under the gaze of a Sentinel. Jiyan, however, was a logical man. Surely, he was aware that such would be impossible, despite the most good-natured wishes of all.
His robotic companion levitated in silence as it shuffled through the wishes that hung from the tree. After a short moment of searching, it spat out, “I wish for those who have passed to know that their sacrifices will never be forgotten, and that I am eternally grateful for their service.”
“Hmm. Most unsurprising coming from him,” Xiangli Yao said, tapping his finger against his forehead. “But how could I go about accomplishing such an act of borderline necromancy within the night, I wonder?”
Xiangli Yao looked up at the night sky in the direction of the fortified capital. He had recalled remarks made in passing by the General about the existence of a flower field that was very dear to him. Every time a soldier passed, an Emortia flower would be planted in their memory. Now, it was far from guaranteed that he would make a stop at the field during the span of the Moon Chasing Festival, but something in his instincts told him that the Emortia flowers were the key to solving this conundrum.
“I think I might have an idea. But, you will have to act fast.”
After the glorious display of fireworks and lanterns had concluded, Jiyan had decided to bid farewell to this year’s festival and began making his way back to Camp Overwatch. As much as he would have liked to stay and indulge in the festivities for just a little while longer, his responsibilities as general unfortunately waited for no one. As the night was still young, Jiyan had made a slight detour from his original route, passing through the final resting place of his comrades that he had lost to the treacherous fury of war. Though it was a night meant for joyous celebration, he felt it to be most disrespectful to exclude his allies who would never see the brilliant lanterns ever again.
As a gift and to share the festivities, Jiyan planted a stake into the ground and hung a lantern. It shone with immense brightness, illuminating the entirety of the field of resting, closed-up buds. Though the souls of the soldiers lay resting in the blanket of the earth, the lantern would ensure that they, too, would be able to experience the brightness of the festival sky at least one last time. Jiyan debated sharing some words, but ultimately kept silent in fear of disturbing them any more than he had already. With a silent tear in his eye illuminated golden by the glow of the lantern, Jiyan paid his final silent respects before leaving.
As he was walking out of the field, he noticed a most peculiar sight by the bottom of his shoe. He crouched down to get a closer look as he observed what appeared to be a Emortia flower in full bloom in the middle of the night.
Strange, he thought. All of the other flowers are closed up peacefully for the night. What stirs this one, I wonder?
Then, Jiyan had remembered his wish that he had hung upon the tree earlier. A small sign from his comrades. That was all that he wanted, just so that he had known that he hadn’t forsaken them in his duty.
Perhaps there was an air of truth to the great tree’s magic.
He held the petals gently in his hand and leaned in closer to smell its gentle fragrance.
“You thank me for my service, but I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. You are the real heroes of Huanglong, and on my honor as general, I swear that your sacrifices were not in vain. And if fate shall prove me wrong, then so be it, but I refuse to die so as long as you are watching from beyond,” he whispered.
We are finally pleased to announce the launch of the Aeipathy Zine on this very special day celebrating the release of our dear Professor #Anaxagoras! It is our pleasure that you, our dear scholars, get to view the fruition of our team’s hardwork!
Check out our zine using the link below! As always, The Sages of the Grove of Epiphany welcomes your presence.
AEIPATHY — A Digital Free Genshin Impact Anaxagoras Zine
Ashveil pushed up on the lid of the chest freezer, slowly opening his icy coffin. His eyes were still heavy as they adjusted to his poorly lit office, and the rest of his body was just as slow to wake up. Through his clouded vision, he had noticed that his view of the decrepit ceiling was obstructed. Narrator was leaning over the edge of the freezer, staring down at the detective’s body with great big googly eyes.
"...How badly did I oversleep?" Ashveil mumbled.
Narrator didn’t say anything. He reached his hand down over the edge and practically shoved the phone screen into Ashveil’s face. It appeared to be displaying some form of news article. As his vision was still blurry, Ashveil took the phone from Narrator’s hand and squinted to read the headline.
"...Am I reading this right? What use could someone possibly have for that much candy?" Ashveil asked, bewildered.
"I don’t know," Narrator said, "hence why I am asking your intentions behind this."
"I-you-me!?" Ashveil stammered, his body shooting up out of the freezer. "You think I’m the one responsible for stealing all of those snacks?"
"Where were you last night?"
"Asleep in my freezer! Where else?"
Though his face was hardly capable of showing any emotion, Ashveil nonetheless felt Narrator squint at him with the way he looked up at him. He handed the phone back down to his primate companion.
"And where would I store any of it in the first place? Just look around! This place hardly suffices as a kennel for a bum-ass dog!"
"That’s what I would like to know."
"Ugh, never mind," Ashveil snarled, prodding around for his own phone. "I suppose now I have to clear my name, don’t I?"
"Nobody is accusing you of anything, but while you’re at it, save some of the reward money to be put towards my bananas."
"The hell you mean nobody is accusing me? You just...forget it."
A runaway snack truck was among the least of Ashveil’s concerns when peoples’ brains were being nailed from right under everyone’s noses. The nature of the crime in question wasn’t what he was on the trail of; it was that reward money that he needed to keep the lights on for at least another month. Not to mention, the way Narrator kept his googly eyes focused on Ashveil... did he seriously think he was the mastermind behind the heist? As he proceeded to make a phone call, his assistant kept staring at him blankly to the point it was becoming a little unsettling.
Ashveil turned his back to Narrator, but he still felt his looming presence staring him down. He leaned against the freezer and tapped his claws against the rim as he called the phone of the police station. Or, to be more specific, the cell phone of a certain someone who worked at the station.
Kuchiba was walking along the streets when her phone started to ring in her pocket. Her march remained uninterrupted as she picked up the call.
"Ashveil? You’re up early," she said.
"Yeah yeah, I know. Did you see the big story?"
"About the stolen truck full of chocolate? I’ve been on it all morning. Why do you ask; has the culprit decided to call me on his way back to the scene of the crime?"
"Th-that’s the second time someone...you...never mind..."
Narrator's blank expression only grew more wary towards Ashveil.
"A-Anyways, I’m wondering if you have any leads on this peculiar case," he continued, "because Narrator is convinced that this scruffy wolf can haul twelve tons of chocolate bars around undiscovered..."
"That’s the thing. I have nothing. Not even a sign of a struggle in and around the area the truck was first reported stolen. I’m beginning to think that this was done from inside the company, as no driver has personally come forth and reported their truck as stolen.”
"Well, if you’re struggling to find any leads on your own, perhaps you are in need of a detective to sniff out clues for you?"
"Proving your innocence or just a little too happy to see me?"
"Hey, I need money to feed Mister N and keep the lights on! Well, of course I’m happy to see you, but-"
"I’m just messing with you, Ashy," Kuchiba said with a giggle. "I’ll send you the coordinates and we can rendezvous there.”
"R-right, my lady."
Ashveil hung up his phone and shoved it into his pocket. With haste, he grabbed his hat and reached for his cane as he opened the door.
"Mister N, hold down the fort for me," he said, adjusting his hat. "I’m going to get to the bottom of this sugary snake."
"I’ll keep watch while you’re on your little date."
"You-ugh!"
Without further protest, Ashveil closed the door behind him.
☆ 🔍︎ ˚｡𓃦｡˚ 🔎︎ ☆
"So, this is the scene of the crime," Ashveil said, looking around. "Either my eyes are going or nothing looks out of place."
"That’s the problem here," Kuchiba said. "The scene appears to be virtually undisturbed."
Ashveil closed his eyes and thought for a moment, tapping his claws against his forehead. Then, he was struck with a sudden revelation.
"That means there could only be one possible answer. An imagenae has to be the culprit!"
"Or, the culprit is a worker inside the company, and used that to their advantage to make their escape virtually unnoticed."
"…That was going to be my next thought!"
Kuchiba sighed. "We aren’t going to make any progress just standing around turning over the same rocks that have been here since five weeks ago.”
"Then come on my lady!" Ashveil said, walking off along the road. "The further we delay, the further they will get away!"
"Do you truly believe that we’re capable of catching a rogue delivery truck on foot?"
"No, but we can certainly begin narrowing our search. Take this gentleman, for example!"
Ashveil reached out his cane behind the back of a human passerby. He nudged him off his feet and herded him towards Ashveil, stumbling as he was being pushed along. With the top of the handle adorned with a wolf’s head, he nudged the man’s chin upward, forcing their gazes to meet.
Ashveil glared down at the man with the eyes of a wolf about to sink his fangs into the throat of a helpless lamb, but he simply inquired, "My good sir, have you any recollection of a rogue delivery truck passing by in the general vicinity?"
A drop of sweat rolled down the side of the man’s face. "N-no, I haven’t seen anything like it. S-sorry."
Narrowing his eyes as he observed his clearly panicked and unfortunately innocent expression, Ashveil freed the man’s chin and nudged him forward with the handle of his cane. "Very well. Carry on, now."
"Ashveil,” Kuchiba said, putting her hand on his shoulder, “we can’t just interrogate every person on the block. It’s impossible to expect someone to keep track of every truck that passes through their field of vision."
"Surely, if we keep pawing at them, we’re bound to dig something up.”
"By the time we interrogate every person and imagenae on the streets, they would have enough time to drive that thing to Furbo City.”
"As if it’s not a possibility that they’re already a good few hours away from here. Did they even bother to check the truck’s GPS before whining for your aid?"
Kuchiba shook her head. "Already asked them that. Unfortunately, our suspect is too intelligent for their own good and thought to cut off the GPS signal.”
"Dammit," Ashveil huffed. "Are we supposed to just wait for the truck to show up in a back alley one day? Or for a convenience store to suspiciously gets a sizable stock of chocolate bars in?"
"Hmm, you might be onto something."
"I am? I mean- of course I am!"
"Once they end up in the wild, we could trace the chocolate bars back to the stores that stocked them, and even further back to their supplier. That, however, relies on the willingness of the people to cooperate with us.”
"Tch. Good luck with getting the population of a half-lobotomized city to participate in a police investigation.”
Kuchiba slid out her phone from her pocket and scrolled silently for a few seconds. Then, she beckoned for Ashveil to come closer, in which he obliged and looked down over her shoulder at her screen.
"See?" she said, angling her screen towards him, "The story is already spreading like wildfire. People can’t help but be morbidly curious about such an absurd story. We can weaponize their curiosity to aid in tracking down the culprit.”
"And how do you expect them to do that?" Ashveil asked, tilting his head. "Make everyone take their candy bars to the police station?"
"We can easily figure out which truck they lost contact with. They can also narrow down the batches of chocolate that were shipped on that very truck. By exploiting that very curiosity to steer them into documenting the batch numbers of candy bars that they possess, we can trace any matches back to the stores they were bought from..."
"And even further back to this 'supplier...'"
"Bingo. I’ll bring this plan to the higher ups. See where we can take it from there.”
"So...wait, hang on. Does that mean you don’t need my assistance after all?" Ashveil asked, the soul leaving his body.
Kuchiba reached up and petted the tuffs of hair on the sides of Ashveil’s head. "Nonsense. I’ll still need your nose on the trail of their scent once the time comes,”
Reassuring, but that meant no payment for the day.
He flung open the door to his office and was greeted by Narrator sitting atop the chest freezer.
"I take it the date with the lady did not go as planned?" Narrator asked.
"It wasn’t a date. It was an investigation," Ashveil clarified. "And no, the culprit left not a trace, and the people around have not a single recollection. It’s an impressive crime to the point where it’s annoying."
Ashveil sat down in the chair at his desk. He kicked his computer on with the tip of his boot and waited as the fossil booted up. As soon as what little RAM he had allowed him to, he immediately got to work...browsing the internet. Narrator gazed over his shoulder from the freezer he sat upon.
"Detective hard at work already," Narrator commented.
"Shh. Kuchiba said that utilizing the assistance of the ordinary citizen was the best approach to take. So yes, I am hard at work following the officer’s instructions."
"Like the good dog you are."
"I-hey!" Ashveil swung around in his chair to face Narrator. "Of course I listen to the cops!"
"And listen to Kuchiba, you do very well."
"This isn’t even about me right now! Twelve tons of chocolate are at stake!"
Ashveil furiously swung his chair back around and resumed scrolling with a pout. Narrator wasn’t going to let him off so easily and he scampered down from the freezer and climbed up the back of the chair.
"Must be desperate times for you to be scrolling through a feed of dog videos."
"Listen! Infiltrating the general public is serious business! Just watch, something is bound to show up about it soon since it’s currently occupying everyone’s little goldfish brains.”
Ashveil scrolled through some posts. And then through a few more unrelated posts. Surely, one was going to turn up soon. Finally, after some furious scrolling, Ashveil settled on a post mentioning the crime in passing.
"It’s making quite the buzz among the general public and its sheer absurdity will only cause it to spread even further in due time! I’m telling you, Kuchiba herself said that this was the best way to go about things!"
Narrator didn’t say anything.
“…I promise you, I’m working on getting you the money for your bananas.”
He stood on the back of the chair and blankly stared at Ashveil before scampering down the back of the chair and allowing him to return to business without another word.
Ashveil looked at his cell phone laying on his desk amongst the strown about papers and pills. He turned the screen on. Nothing, except for overdue bill reminders. She was busy, but he wanted to ask her just how things were coming along, even if it had only been a short time since their parting. Even a simple text would suffice, so that she could respond st her convenience. Ashveil resisted the urge, sighing and shaking his head as he simply returned to scrolling.
The evidence he had accumulated was few and far in between, but breadcrumbs were better than nothing. People were talking about the incident, people were amused by it, and he hoped that discussion would hold for long enough for public interest to be retained.
After two or ten hours, the exact amount he didn’t keep track of, his phone buzzed on the desk. His eyes briefly glossed over the screen, expecting another collection call. The caller ID read "Kuchiba," however, and so he snapped out of his half-asleep state and picked it up almost immediately once the realization sank in.
"Kuchiba? Have you picked up on our sweet-toothed friend’s trail?" he asked.
"Not yet," she said, "as I’ve been in and out of meetings all day. The Department of Aberration Defense managed to get the go-ahead to develop a tool to help.”
"Really?" Ashveil asked, eyes lighting up.
"An online tracker where people can put in the batch number of their individual candy bars to see if they’re a lucky owner of evidence in a million-credit robbery. If anything turns up from the stolen stock, we can trace it back to the store they purchased it from and hopefully even further back to their supplier. Not to mention, the code shouldn’t take them very long to write given the overall simplicity of the concept.”
"You managed to talk an entire corporation into developing a code for a gag?"
"An investigation disguised as a gag, yes. Satisfies their curiosity-"
"While giving us thousands of eyes on the field to patrol alongside us.”
"You catch on quick, little pup."
"Ahaha, moving on, but what if nothing turns up? Do you plan to investigate every single chocolate bar in the wild by hand?"
"Essentially."
"All of this and I won’t get to buy one because I don’t have the money," Ashveil said, drooping like a kicked hound dog.
"Ashveil,” Kuchiba said with a sigh, “I’ll get you one if you really want."
He immediately perked up.
"I made it clear to them that I wanted my partner in this operation to be on board too," she continued, "so you’ll have access to the entire backend by the time it’s up and running.”
"And how long will that be?"
"You know how these companies move. Dangle the credits in their faces and we could have it up as soon as tomorrow evening."
A smile crept across Ashveil’s face. "Good. I will be on standby eagerly awaiting its completion."
"In the meantime, send me whatever good dog videos you come across during your 'research.'"
"I-hey!"
☆ 🔍︎ ˚｡𓃦｡˚ 🔎︎ ☆
It turns out that by dropping the right buzzwords, one can manipulate big corporations into doing anything. Publicity stunt. Profit margins. Kuchiba knew how to use that silver tongue of hers well. Within a little over a day, that little gimmick site of hers was running and open to the public.
Disguised as a clever little trick to fuel curiosity, the spreadsheet was already filling up from negative results from people testing what they had from sheer curiosity. Many of these bars would have been produced weeks or even months ago. But the people still wanted to help! Lending a hand was the right thing to do; it’s what the happiest patients of the Research Society would do! Might as well bring a few smiles and see if you’re one of the lucky owners of a black market chocolate bar - oh, don’t forget to give us the location where you purchased said chocolate bar!
Did it feel scummy? Perhaps a little bit, but there were far worse ways to approach the investigation. Plus, it was working, and people seemed to be having some fun with it from what Ashveil could tell online, so he was going to let it slide. Hopefully soon, someone would have a match and he could make some real progress instead of rotting in his office. Every time Ashveil checked the sheet, the numbers being recorded fluctuated closer and further away. Occasionally, Kuchiba would “meet” up with him on the sheet as well. Seemed as if she was just an anxious as he was for their progress. And every time, their little profile icons would display in the upper corner next to each other. Cute.
How long until he had to start turning over every bar by hand? Kuchiba didn’t suggest a date, but he figured that this hypothetical deadline was fast approaching. And if it that didn’t pass first, it was going to be the impeding deadline of rent and bananas.
Some mindless scrolling during a very unexciting evening later, a post came across Ashveil’s feed causing him to stop in his tracks. Over twenty-six thousand likes. A claim to have acquired a bar that was previously part of the stolen stock. He had almost never grabbed his phone so fast, it practically slipping out of his hands as the shadow chewed at his keyboard to unlock it. Surely enough, conveniently highlighted in an unsightly green, was a match reported just shortly before the post was made.
The claimed location was not a far-out corner store like he initially feared. Though he recognized it as being nothing more than an average storefront on Dovebrook Avenue, its lack of notability made it all the more a prime suspect for Ashveil to investigate. Quickly, he threw on his jacket and grabbed his cane, almost forgetting his signature hat as he bolted out the door.
"Guess duty finally calls," Narrator said to himself, not bothering to budge from atop the freezer.
Struggling to properly balance his hat atop his head, Ashveil ran down the steps and almost stumbled upon the sidewalk. A few paces down the main street and a diversion down a back alley lead to the very convenience store mentioned on the report. The next course of action: infiltrating the scene of the crime. And infiltration simply meant Ashveil making his grand entrance through the front door during business hours. He lucked out; it just so happened to be open for another five...hours.
He pressed his palm against the door as if he were to open it, but quickly retracted his hand. The real first order of business: calling Kuchiba, which was something that he really should have done from the start.
The phone rang and rang, but his call went straight to voicemail. Was she sleeping? No, even if she was, she would’ve rolled out of bed and answered him, albeit groggily. Ashveil wasn’t too keen on giving up so soon, so he attempted to contact her a second time.
"Kuchiba...Kuchiba!" Ashveil stammered as he watched the calling screen.
"I’m right here."
The detective’s head jolted upwards, hat sliding backwards. Sure enough, Kuchiba was standing right in front of him as he was hunched over his phone. He held his finger on the screen to put an end to the call.
"I-I knew you were coming!" he said, straightening his posture and readjusting his hat. He pushed open the door and gestured for Kuchiba to proceed, doorbells chiming above his head. "After you, my lady."
The inside of the convenience store looked just as one would expect from the outside: crammed, disorganized, and sketchy. The wolf kept his fangs bared as he held his arm around Kuchiba's waist; though she was more than capable with her own two hands, Ashveil felt more at ease keeping her close in such an environment.
Shoved on one of the shelves in a red cardboard box with its top cut off was the potential evidence in question. It was a box of chocolate bars, not completely full as a few had already been purchased. Ashveil took one from the box and flipped up the flap, showing it to Kuchiba who had her phone ready to test its numbers against their data.
It was a match.
Ashveil grabbed another bar from the pack and held it up to Kuchiba. Another match.
Another bar. Another match.
And another.
"I’ll be damned," Kuchiba said, "that’s a whole box of em'."
"And chances are these boxes too, came off of that very truck,” Ashveil said, picking up the sealed boxes and rotating them in his hand.
The two looked at each other and nodded, and thus approached the store owner tucked away near the back wall. At the checkout desk stood a canvas peacock, looking, if one could call it that, at the duo. Wasting no time, Ashveil leaned forward and slammed his arm on the table, his hat sliding down to obstruct one of his eyes.
"Scuse me, but we would like a moment of your time to answer a few questions," Ashveil said.
"These chocolate bars," Kuchiba said, holding out the few that her and Ashveil had recorded, "from where did you aquire your latest restock?"
The peacock stood still, tail brushes drooping and dripping paint on the floor behind it. It moved its hand-head back and forth between Kuchiba and Ashveil, addressing the situation. With a panther’s piercing gaze and a wolf smiling with hunger, it ultimately decided that any attempts at resistance would only result in tragedy.
“☝️”
With its beak…or fingers… the canvas peacock began typing away at a computer that made Ashveil’s look like a luxury. Kuchiba waited with her arms crossed and Ashveil’s snarl relaxed as they waited for the canvas peacock to finishing typing one handed.
“🫴”
It gestured for the two to lean over the counter and take a look. On the monitor a fairly normal warehouse storefront was displayed. The canvas peacock pointed first to the price of the chocolate bars in bulk, then to the prices of other candy around it.
"So, you seized the opportunity to restock while the prices were much lower?" Kuchiba observed.
“👍”
"And how were they delivered to your store, if you can recall?”
It typed furiously into the search engine then navigated to the image results. It clicked on an image that although appeared artificial to the eyes of Kuchiba and Ashveil, it was enough for the canvas peacock to convey the message.
"Flaunting the company logo and everything on the side of the truck to hide in plain sight. Those sly bastards," Ashveil snarled.
"Somehow, that both narrows our search down and doesn’t help one bit," Kuchiba said.
"We’re gonna be takin' these boxes of chocolates in," Ashveil said, walking back to the shelf to pile his arms full. "All of this is valuable evidence of a serious crime. We thank you for your cooperation, by the way.”
“🫳”
Kuchiba sighed. "Don’t mind him, we'll properly compensate you for the loss."
“👍”
Arms piled full of chocolate, Ashveil nudged the shop door open with his shoulder, holding it open for Kuchiba with the tip of his foot. He balanced the boxes leaning against his chest in one arm while his other hand was needed to hold his cane.
"I hope you weren’t planning to take those back with you," Kuchiba said. “Even in our possession, by all technicalities, it is still police evidence."
"N-no, of course not." Ashveil said.
"As evident by you holding those boxes as close as possible with the entire willpower of your claws. A sweet crime for a sweet wolf," she said, reaching to pat his hair.
"Agh, dammit!" Ashveil stammered, struggling to balance the boxes that were sliding out of his hold.
Kuchiba reached her hand up into the open box of chocolates on the top of the stack and grabbed a bar out. She shoved it into one of Ashveil’s coat pockets, nudging it down so that it wouldn’t tumble out.
"Here, because I know how you are with food."
☆ 🔍︎ ˚｡𓃦｡˚ 🔎︎ ☆
Ashveil rotated the empty wrapper in his fingers. The office was silent with the exception of the desktop computer buzzing and Narrator chewing on the chocolate bar. On his desk in front of him sat his phone, the words “MATCH FOUND” illuminating his face. He had his leads. The little pieces of the puzzle were all coming together. He felt as if the culprit was just within reach, yet they could be anywhere within the borders of Duomension City and beyond.
Dropping off an order of candy knowing damn well the cops are on the lookout for a rogue company truck, he thought as he continued to fidget with the wrapper. That takes guts. I have to give them that.
Where was he to find a big red truck carrying thousands of stolen goods? Certainly not freely cruising around the streets, that’s for sure. A more probable answer was that the culprit had decided to set up camp in a sketchy back alley, away from the eye of anyone respectable.
And if entire boxes already making the rounds in local stores, it was probable that headquarters was not too far away, all things considered. A longer travel distance meant more opportunities to be stopped and questioned along the road. Better to play it safe and keep things local. Ashveil had no definitive proof of anything. But he felt as if for the past few days, the criminal had been camping out under their noses the entire time.
Hours passed, and even Narrator had turned in for the night. Exhaustion could not overtake Ashveil as his instincts were clawing away at him. Unable to ignore the call of curiosity, Ashveil quietly slipped out of his office, careful as to not disturb Narrator. A furbo staying after hours looked up from his computer, taking note of what great haste he was walking with, but prodding the detective with questions was not worth a pay deduction. The ignorance was mutual, as Ashveil paid no mind to the worker as he walked out of the building and started sniffing through the back alleys of Duomension City.
A lot of the alleyways were easy to rule out, as they were far too narrow for a truck of that size to squeeze through. But even if they were just barely wide enough, albeit with the sacrifice of a mirror, he walked down them. The sights of every shady alley were virtually identical: trash strown about, emoti crying in boxes or performing questionable acts, and Research Society rejects infesting every turn. It was not an ideal section of the neighborhood to be strolling through at the hour, even for the La Mancha.
Many people whose neural functions were hanging on by a thread walked up him and begged him for money. Why should he oblige? Even if he spared them a coin, their delirious smiles in return were all fake. No matter how desperate they were, even if they hooked onto his clothing, he simply shook them on and never spared a second glance.
He kept his tired body propped up with his cane as he scoured around. Exhaustion was beginning to creep upon him and turning back was an awfully tempting course of action, but Ashveil felt as if answers were hidden behind just a few more peeks around the corners. Lots of laundry left out on clotheslines under the moon, but no runaway truck. Emoti begging for a passerby with a heart, but no displaced boxes of chocolate. On a dusty road with hardly any remnants of the concrete sidewalk remaining, considerably wide tire tracks lead deep into the heart of the shadows. Without hesitation, Ashveil picked up the pace and followed them down the alley, pushing aside the trash in his way with his arm.
Near the dead end of the alleyway, Ashveil was greeted with the sight of a red delivery truck impressively parked between two dumpsters. It wasn’t a company owned parking spot, that much was obvious. And, the truck matched the appearance of the one reported by the store owner, without the machine generated flaws. Only one step remained to confirm the true nature of Ashveil’s discovery. He got closer to the back doors and was greeted by a hastily fastened chain standing between him and the goods. One little snap from the jaws in his arm and the metal links draped onto the ground. Ashveil untangled the chain from the handles, and opened up the doors to reveal a treasure trove before him.
With the tip of his claw, Ashveil sliced one of the boxes open and grabbed a candy bar. With his shoddy mobile connection, he flipped up the flap and inputted the imprinted code.
Match found.
"Jackpot," the hungry hunter said to himself.
The sound of metal squeaking behind him quickly diverted his attention. The doors behind him were slowly closing, and a figure was just barely visible outside under the ambient light. Ashveil tossed his cane, wedging it in between the doors so that they could not close fully. He bolted up and forced himself out from the opening he had spared himself, sliding his cane out before it fell back and was closed in. Illuminated by the moon and the dim light seeping through the windows was an ordinary man.
An ordinary man with an extraordinary smile. An empty grin Ashveil recognized as a trademark of a Research Society patient.
"My treasure! What do you think you’re doing prying through my treasure?" the man yelled, with a smile that didn’t quite fit the emotion behind his words.
"...Your treasure?" Ashveil inquired, spinning his cane back upright and resting his hand upon the top. "What kind of happiness could an unfathomable amount of chocolate bring to the likes of you?"
"Smiles! I exchange them for smiles! And their smiles in return give me even more smiles!”
Ashveil scanned the man up and down. His dirty clothes were fraying at the ends and filled with holes. Beneath the thin cloth, the outlines of his bones were most prominent. Despite his debilitated condition, he was smiling ear to ear, feigning ignorance to the state of his body. Ultimately, he had been reduced to another sad case that Ashveil has already seen all too much of, even during his investigation down the alleyways.
The Research Society had stripped this man of money and emotion alike. He just happened to retain enough of a mind to pull off such a peculiar feat.
And Ashveil knew that he was, nonetheless, beyond the point of salvation.
"You look like you could spare me some smiles!" the man continued. "H-here! I have all of the smiles that you could ask for! I’ll even offer you a discount!"
He pulled one of the doors back open to present Ashveil with his stolen treasure trove. It was, admittedly, quite an impressive display for a low-class criminal’s doing. All of these chocolate bars presented for the taking, yet Ashveil did not hunger for such sweet indulgence. The nails on his wrist quivered as he narrowed his eyes and his gaze shifted to the scrawny man.
Beneath his coat, the eyes of the Voracity opened and locked their gazes upon their prey.
"W-what are you doing?" the man asked, backing up further and further until he collapsed against a heap of trash.
His coat fluttered outwards from behind him, lifting up like a pair of wings. Ashveil’s eyes shone an intense violet, piercing though the man’s empty soul. Only more distracting than the presence of this fallen angel, however, were the shadows creeping up behind him obstructing even the brightest lights of the restless city. Thick tentacles reached out and gaping maws dripping with shadows manifested at the tips. These beasts locked onto the man with deathly focus, despite not being in possession of eyes.
With one hand still resting on his cane, Ashveil raised a single finger up to his lips.
"Good night," he whispered from in between his fangs.
☆ 🔍︎ ˚｡𓃦｡˚ 🔎︎ ☆
Kuchiba lazily rolled over in her bed. Perhaps she had spent a little too long investigating during the night prior and should’ve opted for early rest, as she was being lead nowhere but back a few steps and in circles. Eyes still heavy, she sleepily reached her hand onto the nightstand beside her to grab her phone. Instead, she tried to turn on and unlock…a chocolate bar.
Strange…Kuchiba didn’t recall taking any chocolate home with her. Was she so far gone that she became hungry for the evidence? Taking a closer look at it, she had noticed that the flap had been flipped upwards prior, yet still remained sealed. She reached over once again for her phone and opened up the spreadsheet to see if she had recorded the entry during the night prior.
There it was, during the wee hours of the night, a match was found with that precise entry. Kuchiba was confident that she wasn’t awake at the time of entry, though. Did she somehow record it in her sleep? Looking closer at the line, though, it became evident that its mere existence wasn’t the most curious aspect of this specific candy bar. The location recorded was not a place, but seemingly a note directed towards her.
Concern yourself no longer with this chocolate crusader, my dear lady, for the issue has been resolved.
