Hello! I have a request for a continuation for the Shadow milk stalks Pure Vanillas child series (idk what to call it 😭)
So, Chocolate Bark and Silverbell have been guarding the child for a while and it’s been going well, Shadow Milk hasn’t appeared yet since his last encounter with CBC. But one day the child is just.. Missing? No trace of them anywhere. Shadow Milk lures them away, and ‘offers’ for them to live with him, forever, and ever.
☆ Prison of Azure — Shadow Milk & Child!Reader ☆
Genre: Angst || They/them pronouns for reader || TW/CW for child abduction and manipulative Shadow Milk
A/N: WOOOO NEW PART. The previous and first parts are available for those that need context!
──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────
To say the Vanilla King had a lot on his mind would be an understatement. With balancing your safety, check-ups from your new guardians, and the constant paranoia of things just beyond his notice, his nerves were absolutely fried. Chocolate Bark and Silverbell had been glad to tell Pure Vanilla to rest, that he should really catch up on sleep, but he seldom listened. This was one of the first things he'd blame. The late hour, the stress, and himself. Because before he could pull himself back together, Silverbell had bursted into his study with a frenzied flutter of wings and a look of pure fear.
Missing. That word sent a chilled jolt to Pure Vanilla's very core, sending him flying up from his seat. He grabbed his staff, running as fast as he could with the silver faerie trailing behind. The halls flew by in a blur until he came upon your room. The door was ajar, Chocolate Bark hunched over at the front of it. His eyes bore a sickeningly familiar blue hue that faded as Pure Vanilla got closer. "I don't- know what happened" The guard gasped, breaths staggered. Pure Vanilla kneeled down, putting a sympathetic hand on his armor "Chocolate Bark Cookie. Where is my child?"
"Right here, I-" Chocolate Bark began, before turning to the open door. His face fell. Lined across every shadow on the walls, stretching up to the high ceiling, the cheery wallpaper had been covered with black shadows. Blue eyes dances across them all, blinking down at the lingering Cookies. You were nowhere to be found
About a mile or two away by now, you sat on Black Sapphire's floating staff. You kicked your legs gently, enjoying the stroll you were taking. "Are we gonna go home soon?" You asked, and Shadow Milk paused at the head of the group. His mask of cheery friendliness slid back into place, and he spun on his heel to float up next to you. He sat cross-legged in the air, face pressed into his hand "Oh no, little sheep! You'll be staying with me for a while, remember?"
"Really?!" You asked, almost falling off the staff with excitement. Black Sapphire caught your sleeve, pulling you back upright before you could topple to the ground. You frowned after thinking about it. "But papa says I have to ask before I have a sleepover" You said, looking at Shadow Milk sadly. He leaned back, hands going behind his head "Pffft! Of course he would have a silly rule like that. But don't worry your doughy little head, I took care of everything"
"You did?" You asked, feeling doubtful "I thought papa didn't talk to you". Shadow Milk hovered behind you, circling around to pat your shoulder "Isn't it tiring doing what that stuffy old King asks all the time?". "I guess so" You mumbled "It's been scary with those new Cookies around. I can't go anywhere without them anymore!". Shadow Milk felt his face twitch as annoyance threatened to show. Pure Vanilla really was an idiot if he thought that fool King could outsmart a master trickster! He forced himself to stuff it down for now, landing back on the ground on the other side of the staff, leaning his arm on it
"Well, of course! Who wants to be locked up all the time? You're a free kid, you don't need all that!" Shadow Milk went on, Black Sapphire smiling proudly as his master's plan kept unfolding. You'd hadn't seen him before, but he was Shadow Milk's friend, so it couldn't be all bad, right? Noticing your puzzled look, Shadow Milk stood up straight and spread his arms out "Don't worry, we're just going to my Spire! It's a place with no rules and no Kings, just you and me and all the freedom we could ask for!"
"...Are there more friends there?" You asked. Shadow Milk nodded "Of course! They've all been waiting juuust for you! But if you wanna go back..." He began, pretending to turn away. "Wait!" You called out, and Shadow Milk grinned to himself before turning back around. It was all too easy to reach Pure Vanilla's weakness, he must not have cared that much if his guards were so quick to lose their composure. Maybe his friends sent out weak ones, dooming him to failure. Whatever the reason, Shadow Milk kept a mask of patience as he waited for you to decide
"I guess it won't be so bad" You said, a hopeful look on your face. To you, the wide smile you received from the jester was welcoming and happy. To Black Sapphire, it was malicious and prideful. Too easy indeed. "Well then we can't waste any more time!" Shadow Milk said, opening a portal a few feet ahead. It swirled with black magic, the inside looking like a void with blue eye symbols looking out at the three. You hopped off the staff carefully, and Shadow Milk bowed deeply "After you, star guest!"
You laughed a bit, walking carefully ahead. You stopped right before the opening. Shadow Milk was your friend, you could trust him! Still, you felt a bit sad imagining your dad wondering where you went. Shadow Milk always made sure you made it back on time before, which you used as motivation to bridge the remaining distance. Your form disappeared into the portal, and Shadow Milk laughed uproariously
His cackle echoed off of the trees, stretched across the land, all the way to the now panicked Vanilla castle. Pure Vanilla, Chocolate Bark, Silverbell, and a few castle attendants scrambled in every room, frantically checking every room for any signs of you. Pure Vanilla felt his heart break a little more with each dead end. "I'll tell Elder Faerie!" Silverbell offered "He can have an army here before dawn!". "Please see that you do" Pure Vanilla begged, twisting his staff in his hands. Chocolate Bark stepped up to the King's side. "You seem sick, your majesty" He said with a frown "Come sit a moment". Pure Vanilla shook his head. "I can't stop looking, not for a moment. But Deceit had tried to take your mind. You're the one in need of rest"
"I'll get some after telling Dark Cacao" Chocolate Bark insisted. Before Pure Vanilla could protest, the guard was already following after Silverbell. The Kingdom immediately announced a state of emergency. All the King could do was look out the window into the dark, hoping against hope that you were okay. Blue eyes stuck to trees beyond the garden looked back at him, upturned in cruel amusement. He stepped back, fearful of the presence he felt from them. They closed and vanished just as quickly. Even in the dim light, even so far away, he could feel the crawling discomfort all along his dough at the sight of them. He couldn't... right? Pure Vanilla was his enemy, not- not-....
The forest was now empty. The last slivers of a shadowy portal vanished, leaving empty air in its wake. Shadow Milk's move had been cast, waiting on the response from his enemy
POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to death, genocide, abduction, and sexual exploitation.
Real name: Hyzalderoum
Aliases: God of the Heavenly Expanse and Conquest, Cocoon of Venus, and Itzamná
Occupation: King of Venus and leader of the Invaders
Special skills: Terraforming, species identification, and knowledge of celestial bodies, planetary systems, warfare, anatomy, and mechanics
Abilities: He shares the exact same abilities as the Invader King from Metal Slug 6, and also possesses additional new ones. He shares the same echolocation capabilities, hearing, smell, and taste as all Invaders. He possesses the same abilities as Morph Changers with the exceptions of their electroreceptive system and bio-electric interfacing. Notably, he can also regurgitate centipede-like orangish-white maggots, similar to those produced by winged Invader Drones and Heaven Globule heralds.
He’s telepathically linked to the Invaders and can engage in telepathic communication with non-Invader individuals who are within his line of sight. With a mere swipe of his hand and unwavering concentration, he can summon meteors and comets to unleash devastating strikes upon his enemies and their territories. By tapping into planetary cores and clenching his fists in the direction of his targets, he unleashes intense radiation to incinerate his enemies or conjure cleansing flames that purify individuals, burning away all resistance to his vision and rule. With his control over gravity, he can pin his enemies in place, unleashing a crushing force that shatters bones, collapses lungs, and pulverises vital organs. With a piercing glare, he can shatter his enemies' morale and will to resist, instilling dehumanising thoughts that leave them feeling insignificant and meaningless.
He possesses the ability to reshape planetary substrata and rocky surfaces into a semi-organic landscape that suit his vision and the needs of the Invaders. He can perceive distortions in spacetime, granting him precognitive awareness of celestial anomalies and enemy attacks. He’s able to manipulate day and night cycles, light, and darkness, and mentally influence changes in the weather. He's remarkably resilient to large-scale explosions and steep falls, but will sustain minor bodily damage that gradually regenerates through the production of a luminous white gel, which efficiently heals injuries. Despite his massive size, he’s able to leap an astonishing 200 ft (6096 cm) into the air. Upon landing, he can generate an earth-shaking impact, creating a massive crater that rivals the monumental size of the Whitecourt crater.
According to him, he once had full reign over the heavens, celestial bodies, the weather, and the spiritual, physical, mental, and emotional forces that influence conquest. He has also boldly proclaimed that his strength surpasses that of the Super Devil, allowing him to destroy four larger planets at once and reduce them to nothing but space dust. He could even devour stars to gain world-changing revelations and create rifts in the space-time continuum to travel to other universes. However, the Avatar of Evil stripped him of those abilities once he crossed over to the current universe he resides in, significantly weakening him to the point where he's now considered a mockery among the deities. It's unknown whether he had any other deific abilities before he was stripped of them.
Hobbies: Spawning Invaders, counting how many stars and clouds he can see, and collecting the heads, bones, and internal organs of leaders from conquered planets
Likes: The comfort of his royal chamber in the Rlyathok, abducting females for reproductive purposes, and feeding frenzies
Dislikes: Rootmars and her people, the emotions and resiliency of humanity, and losing the shell around his face
Gender: Non-binary with he/him preferences
Design: He resembles the Invader King from Metal Slug 6, but with a few notable differences. He stands at 42 ft (1280.16 cm) and his glowing eyes change colours to reflect his current emotional state: purple (neutral/mixed emotions), crimson (fury/excitement), carrot orange (confidence/social), dandelion yellow (happiness/cheerfulness), sky blue (melancholy/calm), and lime green (disgust). His eyes are only black when he's sleeping or deceased. Similar to male Morph Changers, he has a bronze-speckled, sapphire-hued proboscis, adorned with microscopic spikes and resembling a tongue. This unique feature is primarily used to woo females by releasing sweet-smelling pheromones that trigger arousal.
Additionally, he has a segmented tail that is twice his size, resembling a human spinal cord. The tail is glossy black with a blue and purple metallic sheen, and is tipped with a silver-white arrowhead-shaped blade. He has peridot-hued bones coated in a protective layer of red-violet slime. Additionally, he’s a hermaphroditic being, possessing both male and female reproductive organs, similar to those found in Invader Drones. Unlike female Invader Drones, he produces oblong, fleshy eggs that quickly hatch after fertilisation, and the offspring rapidly mature into adults.
When he's in his true form, he's a 64 ft (1950.72 cm) hermaphroditic entity with a similar build to his disguised form, a gnarly, rippling musculature, and a slightly emaciated appearance. His physique is accentuated by a pronounced spine and ribcage, along with a sharp, angular collarbone. His pearlescent white skin glows luminously, adorned with gilded warts. His face, a window of the countless galaxies he has conquered, features lavender-rimmed black eyes that close sideways, like horizontal shutters, flashing with fiery lightning. His visage is partially obscured by writhing, spasming tendrils that extend to his partially rounded midsection. These tendrils shimmer with a kaleidoscope of colours reminiscent of space itself: galactic greens, blues, purples, pinks, cyans, reds, yellows, and oranges, all speckled with tiny black stars.
A large, inverted conical cavity envelops the base of his neck, extending up to just above his diaphragm. The interior of this unusual opening is eerily lined with a row of yellow-stained canine teeth. His neck is made up of his cervical spine, and the large opening reveals a crowd of metallic red arrows and emaciated, pallid heads with stitched eyes and mouths. His abdomen is ripped open, revealing a gaping cavity containing a large, saliva-covered aquamarine orb. Veined with delicate threads of peridot, the orb pulsates with purple Invader blood, eerily resembling a bloodshot eye. A tangled sapphire-hued mass of vine-like intestinal tentacles, adorned with gilded spikes, spills out from his abdominal cavity, obscuring his groin and cascading down to his knees.
He retains the same tail and digit count, and his arms, legs, and back are still encased in a rock-hard exoskeleton. However, in this form, the exoskeleton is solid, devoid of holes that expose his skin. It boasts a rich, burnished bronze sheen, and the joints are reinforced with a thick layer of gleaming flaxen horsehair. From the centre of his upper back, four slits in the exoskeleton plates give way to four iridescent dragonfly wings. These wings feature silver-white ribbing and sapphire-rimmed red-violet eyespots, each centred with a gold dot.
Character summary: He's a responsible, secretive, and intuitive king who prioritises the interests of Venus and his own species, while showing disregard and hostility towards other species. As a leader, his decision-making is guided solely by logic and strategy, prioritising the Invaders' survival and expansion above all else. He exercises totalitarian control, ruling with an iron fist and demanding unwavering loyalty and absolute obedience from his subjects. He’s a Machiavellian megalomaniac consumed by hubris, believing himself to be the pinnacle of existence and the rightful supreme ruler of the current universe he resides in. Despite possessing godly powers, he often restrains himself, indulging in a twisted sense of sportsmanship that allows others to challenge him. However, when provoked by fury or faced with the collapse of his meticulously crafted plans, he unleashes his full, devastating potential.
Despite being extremely self-centred and greedy, he's surprisingly open to forming alliances and friendships with other conquerors or individuals who share his ambitious drive. Moreover, he knows when to retreat from a fight, particularly when faced with situations that prevent him from utilising his abilities to their fullest potential. He has zero tolerance for disobedience and ineptitude among his own kind, dealing with such instances through severe punishment or, after careful consideration, reassigning them to a new purpose. Furthermore, he's utterly disgusted by those who slaughter Invaders and make his conquest of celestial bodies an unnecessarily arduous task.
His vision for the New World involves assimilating all life forms into the Invader race and exploiting the resources of each conquered planet to fuel his military expansion and technological advancements. He intends to ultimately establish totalitarian, monarchical rule over the entire universe to ensure the survival and dominance of his species. He aligns with the Invaders' ideology in every aspect, except for two crucial points: their reverence for him as the ultimate source of life and belief in a cosmic network where divine forces influence their fates and destinies. He displays a callous disregard for life, viewing species beyond the Invaders and those who oppose him as inherently inferior and expendable. His adherence to this ideology leads to emotional numbness towards the well-being of others and a ruthless demeanour when engaging with or confronting non-Invaders.
He enslaves a select few young females from other races, coercing them into reproductive servitude to further the Invader species, while also satisfying his depraved desires through appalling acts of sexual violence. He derives a twisted, carnal gratification from the chaos of feeding frenzies, particularly when targeting female victims. He takes sadistic pleasure in assimilating life forms into the Invader race and conquering planets, dwarf planets, and moons. He adheres to a strict conquest policy, refraining from dominating any planet, dwarf planet, or moon that hasn't reached its full evolutionary potential or possesses life forms with superior technology and military strength. Additionally, he shows little interest in claiming lifeless celestial bodies lacking advanced technology.
He finds it peculiar how humans worship him, particularly the South Pacific P’isqu Runakuna, given his profound disdain for humanity. Despite his contempt, he doesn't bother to intervene, instead basking in the recognition and the relatively positive image it projects. However, he's embarrassed to admit that he's seen by the South Pacific P’isqu Runakuna as their revered deity, Itzamná, and that he has played a role in shaping their culture. To him, humanity's emotions and resilience represent a dual problem to his ambitions. Their emotional nature signifies weakness, while their capacity for resilience poses an obstacle to his plans for subjugating Earth.
He serves as the arch-nemesis of Rootmars, driven by an unwavering commitment to eradicate her and the Martians, whom he perceives as the ultimate obstacle to his quest for universal domination. This vendetta stems from a deep-seated betrayal because he once mentored Rootmars to become a formidable alien ruler, intending for her to join his ranks. He saw her expertise in necromancy, bioengineering, and advanced technology, combined with the Pipovulaj, as invaluable assets that would significantly bolster the Invaders' power. Although his disdain and anger towards Rootmars prevail, a begrudging respect for her protective instincts and leadership abilities lingers. Beneath the surface, he harbours faint romantic feelings for Rootmars, drawn to her intellectual brilliance, yet acknowledges the impossibility of reconciling their irreparably strained relationship.
Backstory: Shrouded in mystery, the origins of Hyzalderoum remain obscure, blurring the lines between fact and fiction. He didn't originate from the universe where he is now, but rather from a completely different one, confirming the existence of multiple universes. Originally, he lived in a smaller universe devoid of humanity, instead populated by bizarre wildlife and various extraterrestrial species. Born from the primordial union of the life-giving mist, the dark waters of the abyss, and the heated core of his birth planet, he had known only two things for certain: his own name, and the secrets of the heavens. Yet, from the very beginning, an insatiable hunger for power burned within him, fueling visions of grand conquests and an unyielding desire to build an empire that would last eternity.
To satiate his conquest-driven ambitions, he forged his own empire, founded on the pillars of terraforming and intergalactic domination. Within the confines of his royal chamber, he birthed a new, superior alien species, dubbed the Hyzuldians—a nod to his own birth name. However, the universe would come to know them by a different title: the Invaders, a moniker that he personally detested. Yet, he would eventually become synonymous with the alias Invader King, a label he initially despised but ultimately came to wear with pride.
The Invaders achieved monumental success, swiftly conquering the entire universe through assimilation of diverse life forms and technologies, exploitation of planetary resources, and terraforming celestial bodies to ensure their eternal dominance. Their vast empire flourished on a planet similar to Venus, which he dubbed Hyzuldi, a world with an eerily organic landscape that was home to numerous thriving Invader colonies. However, this era of peace was short-lived. The Avatar of Evil, driven by boredom and disdain for the homogenised universe, brought destruction upon the cosmos. Their wrath was fueled by Hyzalderoum's selfish conquests, which had eradicated diversity and freedom. Forced to flee, he escaped with the remnants of his technology and species, seeking refuge in a neighbouring universe.
From the confines of the Rlyathok, he spent years scouring the cosmos for new territories to conquer and rebuild his empire. He and the Invaders were on the hunt for a multiplanetary system teeming with life and a planet that resembled Hyzuldi or had similar characteristics, one that they could call home. As he explored, he began to notice a pattern: this universe seemed vast and largely barren, and most celestial bodies were either devoid of life or bearing the scars of long-lost civilizations.
With no other option, Hyzalderoum initiated a campaign to claim lifeless planets, dwarf planets, and moons, terraforming them to accommodate his own needs and the demands of the Invaders. During this campaign, he encountered a few planets, dwarf planets, and moons teeming with life. However, these worlds were home to either pristine wilderness or struggling extraterrestrial civilizations fighting for survival. He expanded his empire across numerous multiplanetary systems within the constellations of Cygnus, Hydrus, Lyra, and Ursa Major.
In the constellation of Lyra, the Invaders were terraforming Kepler-62f when a strange aircraft appeared in orbit around the planet, ultimately landing at a distant site. Viewing this as a potential threat, his subjects swiftly launched a pursuit to track down the intruders. Meanwhile, Hyzalderoum dispatched a lone female Morph Changer to investigate the UFO, assess the situation, and report back. The Morph Changer infiltrated the large UFO, known as the Rugname, and conducted a stealthy reconnaissance. Her findings revealed the Pipomarzu's lack of military strength, limited alien technology, and small population. Additionally, she discovered a project of uncertain purpose, potentially a weapon, being developed by the Pipomarzu. With this intelligence gathered, the Morph Changer withdrew and returned to the underground nest on Kepler-62f to report her findings to Hyzalderoum.
Upon receiving the news, he approached the Rugname and halted his army's planned attack. It was on this day that he met Pepozrumisha and the Pipomarzu, and he assumed the role of her mentor, leveraging her expertise and potential to further his conquest ambitions. With her assistance, he conquered Eridanus, Vulpecula, and Monoceros, terraforming each planet and moon into organic husks for the Invaders to colonise and inhabit. However, their alliance was short-lived because Pepozrumisha soon discovered his manipulation and the Invaders' horrific practice of using Pipomarzu infants as sustenance. Enraged by her defiance, he vowed vengeance and declared the Pipomarzu as the natural prey and sworn enemies of the Invaders.
After years of relentless conquests, the Invaders finally stumbled upon the Solar System, following their triumphant domination of Centaurus. Recognizing its striking similarity to the multiplanetary system of his birth, Hyzalderoum swiftly dispatched his subjects to conduct thorough investigations and report their findings back to him. He soon discovered a planet eerily similar to Hyzuldi, and without hesitation, made it the Invaders' new home. The familiar landscape brought him solace, reminiscent of his birth planet. Ironically, this new haven was none other than Venus. He set about terraforming the planet, transforming its hostile environment by removing the dense, toxic atmosphere, cooling its scorching temperatures, introducing water, and cultivating an organic ecosystem tailored to the Invaders' needs.
During his reign in the Solar System, he conquered Mercury, uncovering remnants of an underground-dwelling extraterrestrial civilization that possessed advanced technology for construction, medical, and military applications. The Invaders expanded their dominion by conquering Ceres, Haumea, Pluto and its natural satellites, and the moons of Jupiter and Saturn. In the process, they seized advanced alien technology and forcibly assimilated diverse, unknown extraterrestrial life forms into their army. They also successfully terraformed Neptune, assimilating its enigmatic, Gymnosomata-like species and their technology.
The Invaders' attempt to terraform Jupiter was thwarted by fierce resistance from the Monoeyes and Martians. This confrontation escalated into another war with the Martians, during which the Invaders managed to seize Peparhuvi. Ultimately, they lost the war due to the crucial support provided by the Monoeyes to the Pipovulaj.
Hyzalderoum had initially planned to conquer Earth sooner, drawn by its vibrant life compared to the barrenness of other planets, dwarf planets, and moons. However, he hesitated, recognizing that the Tuatha Dé Danann possessed superior technology and military might. Earth, still in its formative stages, had yet to reach its full potential, and humanity was only beginning its evolutionary journey. With nothing better to pursue, and having discovered that the other celestial bodies in the Solar System lacked life and valuable technology, Hyzalderoum decided to keep Earth under close surveillance, biding his time until the perfect moment to strike. During his observation, he witnessed phenomena similar to those seen by Pepozrumisha and the Martians, but he remained tight-lipped about these discoveries.
Later in Earth's history, the Invaders discreetly conducted investigations in uncolonised regions, simultaneously carrying out minor terraforming experiments. However, they carefully reversed these modifications to avoid arousing suspicion from the Martians, who they knew were monitoring Earth's development and how humanity treated their home planet closely. Intrigued by Earth's progress, Hyzalderoum decided to pay the planet a personal visit. He set down on an undiscovered South Pacific archipelago in his mothership, the Rlyathok. Accompanied by a select group of subjects, he emerged onto the islands, where they encountered the South Pacific P’isqu Runakuna ("bird people" in Quechua). The sudden arrival of these otherworldly beings left the indigenous people of this island awestruck and paralysed with fear.
The origins of the P’isqu Runakuna worship of Hyzalderoum as Itzamná remain unclear, but their connection to a Rosetta Stone depicting him in his true form sparked this association. This discovery led them to recognize Hyzalderoum as Itzamná, the celestial sovereign who ruled over heaven, day, and night, and to regard the Invaders as his divine messengers and guardians. he was astonished to discover that the Tuatha Dé Danann had secretly revered him, and that a Rosetta Stone depicting himself had somehow found its way into the hands of the P’isqu Runakuna. He suspected the Avatar of Evil might have orchestrated his introduction to the ancient civilization. Initially hesitant to embrace the role, he eventually accepted his newfound identity as Itzamná to these people. As their revered deity, he shared valuable knowledge, teaching agriculture, inventing writing and bookcraft, and imparting ancient wisdom and celestial insights.
Summary: The boys finally caught their rival gang's spy but something about him has their leader intervening in his punishment. Beta read by @alittlewhump!
CW: Late-19th century, explicit language, kidnapping/abduction, nudity (non-sexual), restraints, bruising from implied beating, whipping, scars, torture/interrogation, taunting of prisoner, multiple whumpers, dubious caretaker.
A high-pitched keening wound its way through the house.
Wyatt paused, pencil hovering over his place in the row of numbers. It was early evening. Sunlight entered the window at a low angle to cast long shadows through yellow-orange light. The boys would be winding down from the day which meant they were winding up for the night.
“Tommy?” He called for Frankie’s lad, the portrait of his ruddy-haired father in miniature. A child of about ten years who was always close at hand, ever-keen to make a farthing running errands. Especially if he could smugly tell younger boys later that he wasn’t at liberty to divulge the particulars. As though he was the rare child-confidant of the entire gang. He did have a fair pulse on what was going on, if a little slanted by the perspective of his youth.
Another cry, twisting all the way upstairs, most likely from the cellar two floors down. In the house—their house—not a thing could transpire unnoticed, such was the size and layout. Wyatt liked that. All was within reach and what one could hold in the palm of his hand, one could command.
Although, his appreciation and pride were diminishing by the second as the cries continued and grew more insistent. He leaned back in his chair with a sigh and almost ran his fingers through his hair before he remembered they were smudged with graphite from doing the books.
“Tommy!”
Finally, a clatter and then short, snappy strides as the child scrambled across the kitchen and up the stairs. “Yessir?”
“What is that fucking noise?”
Tommy swallowed, trying to catch his breath. “They found that man. The one ‘tipped off Keats.”
“Is that so?”
About a month ago, a beggar had shown up on their streets. He’d seen the man in question himself—more of a boy really, no more than twenty—huddled outside the door of the pub and shuffling around the streets covered in a ratty blanket.
Around the same time, a number of plans had been mislaid. At first, it had seemed only as though they’d mismatched their timing. Until one night, when they’d had a raid planned on a warehouse, expecting just a few guards and found its owner—one of their biggest rivals—Keats, had two dozen waiting instead.
It had nearly cost two boys their lives and one still had a bullet in his shoulder. They had pulled the usual threads, made sure to reassess the loyalties of certain parties. The beggar, on the other hand, was nowhere to be found. No one thought twice about an urchin disappearing. But then, a handful of days later, Jack’s sister had seen the very same accompanying none other than Keats himself.
A short ten days later, here he was, apparently paying for his trickery in the cellar, having finally been apprehended.
No one noticed Wyatt coming down the stairs. All backs were turned, including the one getting belted. Their captive was stark naked and covered in grime with patches of bruises darkening along his ribs. His wrists were tied together and hooked over his head so that he was forced onto the balls of his feet. From the looks of it, he’d managed to bear his due reward silently for a not-insignificant length of time. Raised welts crisscrossed from the back of his neck down to his calves. It was plain by the scars on his back that this was not his first beating. Not much of a distinguishing feature around these parts.
Alfred was winding up for what would no doubt be the first lash that drew blood. The rest of the group surveyed from a loose half-circle, some sitting on overturned crates and others leaning against the soot-blackened walls. Wyatt hadn’t been down here in ages, couldn’t say what was in half of the cobwebbed crates stacked in the corners. The air in the cramped space was beginning to smell pungent, cigarette smoke clinging to the ceiling in spite of the open street-level windows.
Wyatt put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall at the foot of the stairs. He waited until Alfred was about to strike. “What’d you find, lads?”
At least one of the men jumped, a few others sat up just a fraction straighter. Alfred let the swing fall short. Only the tail end of the belt met its target, who hissed as another welt rose on his pale flesh.
Wyatt wasn’t the oldest nor was he the longest-standing member. The group operated mostly by consensus but he was indisputably its leader. After all, he had been the one to rescue this house of cards from collapse before they had completely lost control. He’d recast the senior members into roles that didn’t require temperance and recruited younger men to fill the ranks instead. The younger the better, hungry to prove themselves and yet to develop the arrogance and pride that had prevented their predecessors from changing with the times.
They had swiftly replaced brute force and standoffs in broad daylight in favour of subtler methods, refocusing on activities with higher turnovers that required a fraction of the effort and didn’t put them atop wanted lists. Half the city was still under the impression the gang had in fact collapsed and retreated back to the slums.
Alfred turned, face as red as the skin he’d just been beating raw. Either from the strength he was putting behind his arm or from feeling caught. He wasn’t the type to come up with the first idea himself but was always the first to volunteer to carry another’s. “It’s Keats’ spy.”
“We finally caught up with him,” someone else chimed in, making a few others chuckle.
Frankie sauntered over to clap the accused-spy on the shoulder, making him tense. “Just having some fun.”
That earned a few laughs from the audience and the boy ducked his head as if to hide.
Wyatt cleared his throat. “Come on, let us have a look.”
As Frankie made the captive turn on his toes, Wyatt was struck by two things.
The first was the curious wound on the soft side of his hip, looking as though someone had inexplicably carved a piece of meat off him not long ago.
Secondly, and more notably, Wyatt was struck by the fact that this was altogether a different boy.
𓏲 * ( oliver jackson-cohen, cis man, he/him ) ⸺ pictures of DYLAN CHRISTOPHER KHOURI have been showing up all over my feed, and considering the last time they were #trending, it was due to a photograph of him looking attractively photogenic being rescued from a hostage situation going viral — i'm not likely to unfollow anytime soon. with their precisely coiffed hair, mixture of military clothing in the field and suits in the studio, i'm not surprised to hear that they are considered part of the NOUVEAU RICHES. after 35 years, they've managed to garner a reputation for being more brave than coarse, but their critics say that they're more haunted than gallant when they aren't too busy capitalising on the events that cause him to lose sleep every night ; cooking elaborate meals for himself alone ; photographing animals in the park. when they aren't occupied with their work as a journalist / former war correspondent, they've been sighted taking pottery classes. reputation.com has taken to calling them HERCULES in order to avoid a lawsuit ( again ). ──
GENERAL DETAILS.
full name: dylan christopher isaac khouri . nickname(s): d . dyl . age: thirty5 . date of birth: 4th of april , 1988 . place of birth: lismore , australia . current location: soho , new york city . ethnicity: jewish australian egyptian . gender: cis man . pronouns: he / him . sexual orientation: heterosexual . romantic orientation: heteroromantic . relationship status: single . religion: not religious . occupation: journalist / podcaster , former war correspondent . education: master of arts in journalism from murdoch university . accent: mild australian . spoken languages: english ( native ) , italian ( fluent ) , arabic ( fluent ) .
PHYSICAL APPEARANCE, ETC.
faceclaim: oliver jackson - cohen . hair colour and style: straight dirty blonde , a textured crew cut with low fade . eye colour: blueish green . height: 6 ft 3 . tattoos: none currently . none: none . clothing style: street style , jeans , neutral - toned tops , leather jackets . distinguishing features: various small scars across his body . including a recently healed gash from his hairline to just above his left eyebrow . signature scent: tom ford , oud wood .
HEALTH.
mental disorder(s): ptsd , anger management issues . physical disorder(s): a busted shoulder , permanent hearing damage ( 30% loss in left ear , 10% loss in right ear ) . allergies: none . sleeping habits: night owl , sleeps approx. 4 - 5 hours each night , has night terrors . eating habits: omnivore . sociability: extrovert . addictions: alcohol dependency . drug use: weed , party drugs such as mdma occasionally . alcohol use: daily , gets drunk twice a week minimum when not working .
PERSONALITY.
label(s): hercules . positive traits: brave , gallant , generous , sociable , protective . negative traits: haunted , selfish , coarse , noncommittal , stubborn . likes: working out , clubbing , photography , writing , hanging with the boys , flirting . dislikes: conferences , being fussed over , confronting his feelings , country music . fears: small spaces . goals and ambitions: to shed a light on the cruelties of war . astrology: aries ( sun ) , scorpio ( moon ) , leo ( rising ) . moral alignment: lawful neutral . element: fire . primary vice: pride . primary virtue: charity .
BIOGRAPHY.
dylan grew up in australia , with his mother grace and his father rowland isaac . most of their life revolved around rowland's job – a military man . they moved around often when dylan was young . his father was the person he admired most and he planned to follow in his footsteps . the signs of the horrors of war were there , but a young impressionable mind convinced itself that it was to be expected and that it was a badge of honour .
when his little sister was born , things settled a bit more . they stopped moving as often , allowing dylan to make friends while the family was slowly starting to crumble . rowland was struggling more and more with what he had seen in active duty , often having periods where he did not understand where he was or who was around him . more often , grace would leave the house for the night and leave dylan and gwyn alone with rowland . although dylan always empathised with his father for what he had gone through , his post traumatic stress was escalating into more than just night terrors . the violent outbursts became a regular occurrence and dylan often felt responsible for ensuring the safety of his little sister and himself .
approaching his high school graduation , dylan initially did not want to go to university . he considered finding a job locally , perhaps working for a gym , so he could stay home and keep an eye on the family . after much convincing from his both his parents , he ended up enrolling at the university of queensland for a bachelor in political science in brisbane .
the day before he left for university , his mother pulled him aside and dropped a bombshell on him . rowland was not his father . his father was a man by the name of haim khouri – an egyptian businessman she had met in italy in a whirlwind romance , when she and rowland had already been together for a while . grace made him swear he would not tell rowland , fearing for his mental state . so , dylan kept the secret from rowland and from his sister .
while at university he contacted with his biological father . he even flew out to tunisia , his current home , to meet him . dylan learnt arabic , craving to have a closer connection to his paternal side as he heard the struggles rowland continued to endure . after his bachelor in political science , he followed it up with a masters' in journalism at murdoch university in perth , unsure what he wanted in life . following graduation , he started work as a political journalist in brisbane , first written correspondence , then as a field reporter for a local news programme . he travelled all around australia and didn't get to visit home as often anymore . however , just after gwyn's 16th birthday , he travelled home only to find it in chaos and his little sister covered in blood and rowland dead on the floor .
a lot changed after that . the case was dropped and him , gwyn – now florence – and grace moved to the us . he continued his journalism career , actively pursuing a path towards war correspondence . he had seen how much war impacted those around him , and studying politics and international relations , he knew that he needed to report on it . not long after the move , he was off again , running around active warzones and photographing and reporting on them for cnn .
late march 2023 , dylan did not make his scheduled call . it took 48 more hours before he was reported as missing . the envoy he had been travelling in was stopped for what was initially thought to be a routine check . instead , he had found the barrel of a gun pressed to the back of his head and he was escorted away by a terror organisation . he was not alone . two fellow correspondents , one from the bb c, one independent reporter from germany , were also captured . the first few months , they were used as a pawn in negotiations with the reporters' respective home countries and countries of employment . he was kept in relatively comfortable conditions . his captors demanded supplies , then money , then weapons . the list never ended and demands became too outrageous . by the time august rolled around , it had been claimed that all three of them had been assassinated . the governments were only able to confirm the deaths of the english and german reporter due to footage appearing on the dark web . in reality , they kept him around and alive just for the fun of torturing him .
early october , months after the outcries for dylan's release had died down and the news had moved on , though contact had remained between the australian government , united states government and the terrorists under the radar , the home he'd been kept in was raided and he was released . on his way out , looking rather worse for wear , one of his colleagues from the cnn captured a photo of him . it went viral , not because he had been presumed dead , but because despite his injuries , despite his worsened physical and mental state , he looked attractive in the candid photo and the internet went wild .
since his reappearance , he has been involved in talk shows , podcasts & radio shows . he has yet to see a therapist , despite the horrors he now continues to relive nightly .
she did not expect him of all people at the door. when johanna first heard the sound of the knock, her heart nearly leaped out of her chest and she had to bite back a smile as she practically leaped up from the bed to answer it ( in case, it was one of the staff or one of the other girls, of course ). it was neither. and it wasn’t who she hoped it would be, even knowing how dangerous that would be for him to meet her here. practically in front of everyone at this heaven-forsaken school.
johanna is quick to move out of the way in time for mr. tallmadge to come barreling inside. the moment she saw him, her brows creased with the knowledge that something is wrong. hands are rigid at her sides.
❝ mr. tallmadge, ❞ she mumbles as he sits, ❝ i do not think it is appropriate . . . ❞ though, she says it as if she hasn’t been in the unoccupied company of a single man before. the rules at the school are strict. not as strict as the rules enforced under the judge’s so-called care, but they are restricting enough to bring out a flame of silent rebellion in johanna. very much including the guest she let in through the window every few nights.
she does not want to be here. letters back to the tallmadge’s ( and, of course, extra long ones addressed to gabe ) detail the boring and restrictive life she leads. johanna has to bring herself to be thankful. she always knew reverend tallmadge would grow tired of her and perhaps even hate her. she brought this upon herself doing whatever it was to make her so unlikable. she never expresses gratitude for being here, but never admits she resents it. the only person she has ever admitted that to is the young man that comes to her window later in the evening.
❝ been informed? mr. tallmadge, they don’t tell me anything here. i wouldn’t know . . . ❞ johanna stops at his next words. despite hating this school, despite knowing that the poor reverend lost his seemingly endless amount of patience with her, she cares about the man. she doesn’t want him to be gone. without a note. without any sign. without any witness.
fingers weave through her curls the way they do when she is upset. no, no, no. he is not here. he is not here to interrupt the little moments of happiness she has found here. no. and if he were to find out about anthony . . . he would kill him. the same way johanna is certain he intends on killing mr. tallmadge the moment he gets too close.
❝ you are not . . . you are not serious, sir. ❞ she cannot bare to speak. ❝ why would he come here just to torment you? why would he attempt to get his revenge on you stealing his ward and wounding him? ❞ he would, is the simple answer. he is. she knows him better. ❝ you are certain there are no other possibilities? ❞ johanna begins to pace about the room. ❝ if there aren’t, i must come back with you. ❞ her trunk is already packed with her belongings because of her plans of elopement with . . . anthony. ❝ i have to . . . inform someone of my leaving. perhaps, you should meet him. ’ she has lost control of all thought, of all meaning. ❝ he will be good to come with us. if we have to leave, he can sail us there. ❞
Diamond leaned against the door frame, tugged fruitlessly at the anti-casting collar around his neck, and tried to decide whether the person strapped to a table in the next room was breathing.
They were hooked to something that looked remarkably like a crude apheresis or dialysis machine, aside from the glaring absence of a return line. The attendant vampire had apparently been peckish and impatient, because they were drinking directly from their prisoner as well, leaned over the prone figure on the side opposite the machine. Diamond was lucky they were occupied, or he would have been noticed already.
Diamond could handle one vampire. It was how he’d escaped his own imprisonment. The damned collar certainly prevented him from casting any spells, swallowing down any active magic and delivering a blinding shock of pain besides: enough to completely wreck his focus and leave him dazed and confused for several long seconds. But his telepathy...
His telepathy was right on the border between magic and physiology. There were parts of it Diamond genuinely could not turn off, and that seemed to confuse the thing and keep it from fully engaging even when he did use active telepathy. It had been unpleasant in the extreme, but he’d been able to control one of his captors for long enough to get them to unlock his cell door, enter the cell in his stead, and go to sleep.
He could do something similar here.
(...it would be foolish, and Diamond knew it. The person on the table was too pale, too still; even if they were still alive, and even if he did intervene, they likely weren’t in any shape to survive much longer.)
(And yet… a chance. There was a chance.)
Diamond gathered his strength, reached for the vamp’s mind, and threw his entire will behind forcing the blood drinker to sleep. A vicious buzz ripped through his body from the collar. He gagged and hunched over, sliding to his knees, but clung to his focus on the vampire’s mind with stubborn tenacity.
The collar muffled both his perception and his influence; the best Diamond could manage with it on seemed to be a powerful compulsion, not the outright control he was used to having against untrained minds. There now, turn the damned machine off, doesn’t the floor look inviting, you can take a break…
The vampire blinked and drew back from their victim, giving their head a woozy shake.
It felt like it took a fucking eternity. But eventually the vampire palmed a control on the machine and sank to the floor, curling up to sleep. As soon as their thoughts grew muddled with unconsciousness, Diamond dropped the compulsion with a shuddering gasp.
It was harder to catch his breath than it had been the first time. Still, there were bigger things to worry about. Like whether all that effort was for an actual person or a corpse. (Or a soon-to-be corpse, because Diamond sure as hell didn’t have the resources to deal with decompensated shock right now.)
Diamond swallowed, hauled himself to his feet, and…
…and the victim already looked less like death and more like death warmed over, a bit of color returning to their complexion and their eyelids stirring. Diamond slid into the room and pressed himself against the wall out of easy view of the hallway, but didn’t approach any more closely. He wasn’t sure what was going on, here.
“...hey,” he said softly, not wanting to disturb the sleeping vampire. “Anyone home?”
