An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Surprise! I decided to use another Pov for this chapter. Hubert Galeforce. He will play a major role in this fic.
Of course, it comes with the usual warnings to watch out for and new ones in the tags; Graphic Description Of Corpses, Desecration Of Corpses, Brutal Murders, Implied Deaths of Children, Graphic Description Of Violence & The Aftermath
Please as always, tell me if I'm missing any
Once the clock hits two am, Hubert found himself with a fierce headache. The pain at first started behind his eyes then gradually it got worse like someone was splitting his skull in half to root inside. It hadn't helped too well either the day he had was long and tedious, that he's also running on fumes to boot.
Right now he should be asleep but with the amount of work on his desk piling up it's far from the end. So tensely he flipped through a dozen folders scattered messily across the surface. All of them he'd already seen many times, got uncomfortably familiarized with and felt utterly lost in.
Hubert regretted staying up late for this but pushes past the exhaustion and plucked out from the pile, a particular file; a nearly year old case. Despite being considered as one of the 'younger' case, it did get pushed aside by more cases that continued piling in. Now as his hand grazes the folder, he's half tempted to ignore it, knowing full on well there's not a single thing he can do to help. Once he did try only to have it blow up in his face.
While everyone else moved on, he lets the remorse and guilt devour him alive from the inside out.
A fool was he to think such an ostentatious plan would ever work? That the Toppats wouldn't retaliate.
Hell! He gifted them a new chief, by total accident mind you, so hellbent on ensuring anyone affiliated in the military lives totally unbearable. It hadn't helped that the thief is influential, known worldwide to be cleverly conniving with this sort of unnatural luck on his side.
People understandably blame Hubert for the horrible mess they're in. Whether they say it directly to him or behind his back, his reputation never really bounced back. As so the position of General he vied for no doubt flushed down the drain. Nearly costing him his current role because of the massive fuck up.
Thankfully they choose otherwise, giving a scrap of mercy, pathetic as it was to receive and clearly it was conditional. It didn't stop them from treating him like a joke that fell flat afterward, Hubert pinched at the bridge of his nose rather hard, and exhales shakily once then twice before he reluctantly opens up the folder with a flick in the wrist.
Set in front of him are graphically detailed snapshots of a targeted attack, there was no need. The clan struck down a military plane passing the jungle, delivering shipments to people afflicted by the conflict. Although it wasn't the worst attack they've observed so far since this conflict started, Hubert can't stop the pained wince from appearing on his face.
When they found the burnt remnants of the plane two weeks later, tangled by the jungle tree's thick, miles long vines in mid motion, using them as a makeshift safety net. But it hadn't spared the aircraft entirely from the harsh decent, tearing off a wing, crumpling the other and clogged the engines up with an unknown sticky material.
So Hubert shuffled the photo of the plane behind another, a dozen in total involving the untimely deaths. Two bodies seared to a charred crisp. One gotten grossly fused into their seat it'd proved incapable of letting go. Their skin melted down to taut muscle and brittle bones. Carefully they had to remove the entire chair with the body still in it, and as they managed to strip off the uniform to saw the gold star medallions etched deeply in the blood red muscle.
Whereas the second victim, the soldier they assigned for extra protection, they assumed to be standing when the incident occurred, is found laying near the cockpit. Their body twisted in an unnatural angle, limbs broken and bones poking out split flesh. A crudely taken close up reveals the concave head as half the skull brutishly shoved in.
People were taken aback, couldn't stop from puking at the atrocity and Hubert's relieved to have an iron will to stomach it. He knew both of the deceased in varying depths and their names are written somewhere in the files, returning them back to the folder.
Then his mood sours at the images on the cockpit. At the minimal damage. The thin layer of a soapy foam substance coating the walls and control board. What's more is the missing third victim, the pilot nowhere to be seen yet people are quick in assuming he must've been flung out the front windows, his body seemingly lost to the jungle.
However for Hubert, nothing made sense to him and demanded desperately that they at least do a through search. They did give it a day, not even a full one, just for the sake of closing the case quicker. Since everyone bar him settled on the likely idea that the native wildlife probably discovered the third body way before they received news on the crash and arrived on the isolated island.
What a sick thought.
Last thing Hubert wants is to imagine the pilot's soft cherub face contorted in horror, watching helplessly as animals devour him. As sharp claws hungrily slashing him open, then pull out vulnerable organs, pulsating in huge paws. Teeth bigger then a humans, nibbling on and sucking out bone marrow while its prickly tongue greedily slurped up blood. Torn from limb to limb, body pieces scattered over the land, a needle in the hay pile.
A choked hiss escapes the old man. Clammy hands grasps at his chest, nails embedded in the shirt, heart pounding rhythmically like a hurricane underneath his ribcage. Every single time he tried to close his eyes, flashes of blood and guts awaits him. Screams filled his ears along with the crackling of fire and roars of cannibalistic hunger.
In an frenzied burst of energy and emotion, Hubert hauls himself off the chair, taking it nearly with him in the motion. Letting go is equally abrupt, dropping the chair onto the floor as he stumbles over to the counter. An old coffeemaker resides, empty, beckoning for a refill.
So he brews a new batch. Plain, bitter and black. Nothing special. It should be enough to make it through the day which remained a mystery as to how he stayed even remotely functional. Now with an empty cup in hand Hubert watches the clock tick by and it'll be morning soon.
In the back of an off-duty vehicle and right behind the passenger seat with two officers of much higher say rank up in front, Hubert stared at his watch on his left wrist, tapping the glass in anxious repetition. Finally after spending a good six hours from noon to five pm, they're just now returning to base from what's likely going to end up being the next polarizing thing.
It had involved an influential politician and his family. The man in question was alright although Hubert never met him, only heard of from through the grape vines. A shame it is as he was really young, in his mid thirties and barely stepped a toe into his career half a decade ago.
Kid could've gone to great places if it hadn't been for a small gaggle of Toppats accosted him in the dead of a Friday night. They held the young man at gunpoint and by excessive force made him empty his bank accounts or as much as this can be remotely fruitful for them. Then forced him into his car, drove to his house and held the entire family, his wife, mother, young children, hostage since late that Friday night until early on Sunday morning.
"God… Did you see what they did to those poor children?"
Suddenly and unwanted the wind beating against the windows stops as the car drives up to a light and the passenger in the front, his gravely voice cutting the tension like a knife.
"You're telling me" The driver mumbles in kind. "A whole family massacred"
This was a message that crossed the line yet made a point. No longer would the Toppats direct their wrath solely at the government anymore but towards civilians unwillingly thrown in the middle.
Dread washed over Hubert, causing him to unclench and clench his fists. Inevitably the news will get hold of this, asking questions that demanded answers to while airing out the unthinkable crime across the country's television screens.
Maybe they'll have tact to be respectful to the victims. Hubert can only hope. Nobody should have to die because of his mistakes.
Then the car picks up as it takes a right turn once the light turns green. Left ignored in the backseat, Hubert sits stiffly upright, his hands folded on his lap. Thoughts running a mile a minute while their voices fizzles to the background.
Seen this as a blessing in trauma inflicted disguise since his hearing had been on the steady decline for years. Better then to hear them openly discussing death on a Monday afternoon, normal as it can be.
The peace is disrupted by an obscenely loud cackling sound from the car's radio set only for the military.
"Toppat aircraft seen descending into the Earth's orbit"
Abruptly the conversation dies on the spot and Hubert immediately perks up, sliding the upper half of his body to better hear.
"Struck a military grade plane in passing, causing significant damage to the plane" The broadcaster's voice spoke in urgency, a mix of concern and confusion. A gasp from the passenger when the driver accidentally pressed his foot flat to the floor of the gas pedal, correcting it with the breaks, "The pod then proceeded to crash into an office building on a base stationed in the north east district"
The motion made his hands grip the seat of the passenger's leaning forward, not by his own choice, waiting for an explanation.
Hi can you make a little snippet from the Warlock Patron au where Dragon tries to run away from Mu and Imu punish him for it?
Closing his eyes doesn't help. Not when Dragon's already seen what's down here, what surrounds him.
(What brushes up against him.)
Things move. Things touch. Grasp and grab, scratching with fingers that are cold and bent wrong.
He breathes through his mouth, to lessen the stink. But that doesn't matter when he can literally taste the rot in the air.
The only one breathing in here is him, his shaky breathes echoing. Not louder than what moves around him. Things that don't need to breath. Not anymore.
A particularly hard yank at his shoulder. Involuntarily, his eyes fly open. Letting him see that he is surrounded by corpses. Moving corpses where the flesh literally falls off of bones from that movement, bones grinding against each other, blood coagulated into strange muck.
As he watches, the nearest corpse's dried up eyeball falls out its socket. While its head twists to look at him.
Dragon...loses himself. For a while.
"-through. The only way is through. The only way is through, come on, breath."
He sucks in air, shock driving him to the action. Shock from hearing an actual voice in his ear.
"Oh, oh! Are you with me? The only way is through, you can do this."
Pinpricks of claws into his neck, a small tail twitching on his shoulder, horns poking him in the ear as its owner moves to better talk into it.
Gast. It's Gast. Gast is here and trying to help him. Ground him.
Yes. He can do that. Focus.
"The only way is through, Dragon. You can do this."
Yes, Gast is right. Dragon can't get out of this mess, only he can do it withstand it. But the movement of dead, though still there, seems less now.
Dragon breathes. Breathes while an imp chatters in his ear.
Like Facing off Against C'Thulu, but it's Really Just your Fears. Part 3
Part one, Part two, Part four, AO3
Sorry about the wait, stress and life happened, and also this chapter is gonna be a bit different. Sorry if it doesn't follow the flow of the previous two, feel free to ignore this one if you didn't like it.
Dick felt himself crawling towards wakefulness, and the second he realized he was waking up his body forced him to be fully aware.
Painfully so.
The ache was vicious, his skin burned on the inside, and his stomach muscles wouldn’t stop twitching; the memory of being cut open making his own insides flinch.
It was a terrifying feeling, when each movement made his skin pull against the stitches holding him together.
But he recognized the lights above him, the smells around him. The chittering of bats and the gentle hum of electronics, the echoes of a cavern dark and deep enough to hide one of the world’s biggest secrets.
He was home. He was also very, very drugged.
His attempt to sit up instead resulted in one hand lazily swatting himself in his own face. Some kind soul delicately lifted his wayward hand and gently set it on his side.
Dr. Thompkins' relieved face was the first thing his bleary eyes made out.
“Welcome to the world of the waking, sleeping beauty,” she said, brushing his bangs out of his face.
Dick hummed, enjoying the feeling of a kind touch.
It helped to banish the ghosts of hands that were tracing his ribs.
Against his will, his eyes closed.
He was still very much awake, though.
“To prevent you from doing something monumentally stupid, yes, the boy was saved from his parents,” she continued, noticing his need for contact and leaving her hand where it was, “He is currently upstairs, still settling in. I believe Tim is showing him how to use the online high school they found.”
Dick knew that if he was not drugged up to his ears, the feeling of joy at the news that the kid would be able to continue his education would not have been as muted as it was.
“Bruce is fostering him right now, and it seems to be going well. Slow, but well.”
There was another set of steps walking into the room, but Dick couldn’t bring himself to turn his head away from the gentle hand laid on it.
“The boys…parents have been escorted to Arkham. Our only hope of them being there doing any good is if they turn on their fellow inmates during the next outbreak.”
Dick agreed, and also agreed with whoever had put their hand in his own. He squeezed it lightly, taking note of its size.
Damian!
The precise steps that walked in after Damian, along with the shuffling of the blankets being rearranged…
Alfred!
Two of his favorite people! This was so much better than being asleep.
“His name is Daniel, he goes by Danny; he’s a meta,” Damian’s voice cut through, steady for all that his hand in Dick’s was not, “He possesses super hearing and super strength at a minimum, so we felt it pertinent that he be made aware of our vigilante status before a miscommunication could drive him to an unsafe situation.”
That did make sense. Damian was so smart. Dick was so proud of his little brother.
“As for you; you’ve been in a small coma for around two weeks,” Leslie said, her hand removing itself from his forehead heedless of his pitiful whine, “Your body needs to heal, Dick. I’m sorry, but with physical therapy and how long we will need to wait until we can even begin to attempt that, you’re looking at being benched for a good seven to nine months.”
Well,
“Fuck.”
“Master Dick, language!”
~~~~~~
Sam hadn’t been there when she’d needed to be.
And she knew that even past her Dying Day, she would never forgive herself for that.
She’d been out sick when Danny had finally broken down, had been snippy with her mother and gotten her phone taken away when he’d reached out to her, and had been asleep when his shit parents had finally taken the hint that no one wanted them in Amity and fled.
And they’d taken Danny with them.
So she may have lost it.
Possibly.
The past few months had been full of interesting new experiences for her; Domestic Terrorism, starting riots, getting arrested, committing assault, getting arrested again, performing unauthorized demolition, almost getting arrested a third time by the GIW instead of the cops…
Just girl things, really.
Paulina had actually been with her every step of the way, and hey; they actually really got along when it came to burning down repressive regimes. Paulina knew how to make a fantastic molotov cocktail, and Sam had loads of unwanted clothing she needed to get rid of that could be used for scraps.
But after causing so much chaos, the entire town was now starting to get behind her. They didn’t give a shit about ghosts, but they wanted the GIW out of their home.
But they needed help to do that, and to get that help then that firewall and media blackout had to go.
Which was where Tucker had stepped in.
Tucker had locked himself in his house after the Fentons had run away, obsessed with finding Danny through any means necessary. He’d thrown himself into cyberspace, and had been essentially chucking himself at the firewalls the GIW had set up around all of Amity. Mostly it ended in excruciating headaches that Sam couldn’t do anything to help with, except to just be there for him while he recovered.
But it had finally gotten one result, the exact one they’d needed.
The firewall was hosted on one server.
Just one.
Stupid, but useful for them, and that was what mattered.
It had taken a week to plan the massive riot currently distracting the entire GIW-every single citizen that was willing was using their Liminal abilities out in the open for the sole purpose of being destructive.
Distraction firmly in place, she grabbed Valerie, grabbed Tucker and dragged him away from his hovel, and forced Vlad to comply.
Blackmail did wonders when dealing with rich megalomaniac assholes, although given his face when she’d mentioned Danny, there was a very real chance she hadn’t needed the blackmail at all. She knew he knew something, but she didn’t want to know. It was a feeling she had; if she was told, she would break, and at that moment, she could not afford any weakness.
Together, they’d broken into the Ghost Investigation Ward HQ in Amity and forced the tech blackout curtain to burn to the ground.
Every tweet, every Youtube video, every TikTok, every Paranormal Investigator that had ever been blocked had had their posts stored, apparently to be used in evidence as ‘treason against the state’.
A stupid oversight, but the GIW appeared to make it a habit to excel in physical violence without the brains to back it up.
It had only taken Tucker fifteen minutes to have every single Twitter account send out all of those blocked tweets at the same time, absolutely flooding the Justice League Official with notifications and getting nearly everyone suspended for suspected bot use.
Youtube was suddenly absolutely filled with videos of people interviewing ghosts, insights into ghost culture, amateur scientists who hadn’t been allowed to leave Amity clumsily recording their findings of Liminality in Mortals.
TikTok was filled with teenagers making memes with Ghosts, Ghosts themselves making memes with stolen phones, and clips of pure unadulterated violence from the GIW chasing them both down.
Sam took a moment to appreciate the comments and retweets, watching as the internet denizens collectively went from curious and puzzled to absolutely furious.
Good.
Why should she be the only one angry?
It was time the world knew.
Then her phone pinged, an alert coming through from outside of the Amity area.
Jazz could wait, they needed to ensure the flow of information was uninterrupted.
But it pinged again.
And again.
Then Tucker’s phone pinged.
Sighing at the intrusion, Sam pulled out the brick of a phone she insisted on keeping-and her mind screeched to a halt.
Danny.
He said he was in Gotham, that he was fine, that he was staying with a Foster family and was recovering. The texts dated back by two weeks, and the texts after that were Danny just…talking about normal family stuff. He was seeing a therapist, seeing an actual doctor for his physical needs, getting used to having siblings again, eating regular meals, not being chased every day of his life just for existing.
Learning to live again.
Sam didn’t realize she was crying until Vlad, coughing awkwardly, offered her a handkerchief.
He was okay.
Danny was safe.
~~~~~~
Bruce was watching on from the batcomputer as Danny and Dick reunited.
Danny had been unsure of himself at first, but Dick had beckoned him closer and worked his charm, citing that if he’d been able to sit up then he’d juggle for the traumatized teen.
Danny had, instead, juggled random medical supplies for Dick. They’d hit it off from there, and got on like a house on fire.
Tim was at work, Damian and Duke were at school, Steph and Cass had left citing that they “had to leave this testosterone-infested house and get some fresh air”, which meant they were probably working with Oracle on a case they were trying to hide from him.
He’d figure out what it was, of course, but if they wanted to handle it on their own he’d leave them to their own devices. Unless it was the fighting ring. No one was allowed to approach human traffickers alone, no matter how loudly Jason complained.
Bruce frowned and his hands hovered over the keyboard. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just take a quick peek-
His phone pinged.
A message from Tim.
Another ping, a different tone; one from Duke.
Tim again.
Duke again, four times in a row.
A message from Steph.
Damian eight times in a row.
Tim again.
Jason?
A whopping twenty-eight from Jason, all in a row.
What on earth was-?
A call, Barbara’s name on the screen.
He glanced over at Dick and Danny as he answered the call; Dick, still hopped up on pain meds, hadn’t noticed.
Danny had, though.
His head had turned enough to keep Bruce in his line of sight through the window.
“Yes? Is someone hurt?”
“Bruce, you need to check twitter. Danny’s hometown? The weird one I couldn’t get past the firewalls on? Yeah, someone on the inside took down the media blackout. It’s been a hotbed of Crimes against Humanity, violations of meta and Alien rights, violations of Basic Rights, and I don’t even know how many treaties with other dimensions this place has broken.”
Bruce hadn’t been aware he was standing until the faint conversation between Danny and Dick came to an abrupt halt.
“Human experimentation, alien experimentation, coverups, abuse of power; Bruce, this is bad. Amity is going to need League presence to protect the citizens while the government gets this sorted out. There’s already fighting in the streets, I wouldn’t be surprised if casualties have already started.”
“I’ll go to the tower as soon as I can.”
Bruce disconnected the call and made his way over to the medbay, opening the door to the mostly sound-proofed room.
He had to take care of something very important first.
“Danny,” he started, ridding his voice of the edge it had gained and deliberately softening it, “Someone took down the media blackout on Amity, and the internet is having a field day with it. I’d like you to stay off of social media, but I’m not going to order you not to go on it; just be aware that there are some pretty disturbing things out there right now.”
He would never forbid this child from being able to access social media; the day Bruce became like Danny’s parents in any way he’d sign over the custody of all his legal children to Clark. He couldn't forbid the boy from basic social interaction for his age group. He would never isolate him like that.
Danny had just started trusting them; he’d fallen asleep in front of Bruce for the first time yesterday, and had actually talked back to Jason when they’d been in one of their morbid debates, not an ounce of fear in his face.
He would hate for Danny to have come so far, only to have it all negated with one badly timed peek into TikTok.
Danny stared at him with wide eyes, his hand tightening around Dick’s.
“What media blackout?”
Oh.
He hadn’t…
No way.
“Didn’t you wonder why the League was never called to help out your hometown?”
Please, please, please-
“I mean, the government was there, and they were pretty-uh. Pretty…efficient, in finding abnormalities.” As he spoke, Danny’s face grew pale and his gaze dropped.
Damn it, damn them, and damn every person that had ever failed this boy.
Bruce pulled up a chair and sat down, silencing his phone and sliding it into his pocket.
“Danny, what do you know of meta rights?”
Danny’s confused look just grew.
“What’s a meta?”
Bruce closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and attempted to center himself. Danny didn’t know he was called a meta, and given the severity of what Oracle had just told him, had most likely been told that he deserved to be punished for existing.
It was difficult to ask for help when one didn’t even know there was help available.
“You, and I heavily suspect the majority of people in your hometown. You all fall under various laws designed to protect metas, to ensure that you are not abused or discriminated against.”
There was a shaky inhale, and Bruce opened his eyes to Dick rubbing circles with his thumb onto the back of Danny’s hand.
Danny was crying.
“So Sam and Tucker won’t be taken?”
Bruce knew those names, knew they were friends of his youngest charge. He hadn’t known they were metas, which begged the question; was Amity Park a city made up entirely of metas?
The concept was a bit too much for Bruce to consider, so he steered away from it and focused on the child in front of him.
“No. They have just as much right to security and safety as the next citizen. As do you.”
Danny shook his head, ignoring when Dick tried to gain his attention to reaffirm what Bruce had just said.
“But I’m not a meta; I’m only half human.”
Bruce took another deep breath, trying and failing to reign in his anger. He was not successful, and Dick took advantage of his silence to step in.
“Danny, you have abilities beyond being human; that makes you a meta by legal definition,” Dick explained quietly, anger hiding behind the sympathy in his voice, “So you deserve just as many protections as Duke.”
Danny’s eyes grew wide.
“So I can talk about Duke’s powers and he won’t be-he’ll be safe? He won’t get hurt?”
Bruce took out his phone and sent a text to Clark.
He would have to miss this particular mission, regardless of what he had told Barbara.
He had a previous victim of Amity Park right in front of him, and his priority was to ensure that Danny learned all the legal ways he was entitled to protection by the law.
Besides, as long as he stipulated that Diana be in charge, it would be fine. That was the beauty of being a part of a much larger team; the rare instance he was otherwise occupied, there were others to step in.
He would send over Red Robin though, just in case. And Orphan. Oracle was already overlooking the situation, she wouldn’t mind orchestrating rescue and containment, surely?
Instructions sent, he slipped his phone into his pocket and looked back to Dick and Danny.
“Do you want to go over the laws concerning metas, Danny?” He asked, leaning forward and resting a hand lightly on the boy’s shoulder.
Danny nodded.
Bruce nodded back, grabbed the tablet Dick had been using to entertain himself, pulled up documentaries about the history of meta rights, and began.
~~~~~~
The streets of Amity Park were filled with a rolling mass of people and ghosts, all fighting against government agents in pure white suits. If there had been order, it was no longer present.
Buildings were on fire, the few adults who still had their rationality were trying to either shepherd or shield the small children that had gotten caught in the crosshairs, corpses were lying on the street only to have the ghost of that person jump up and dive right back into the frenzy, and the few unlucky enough to get caught were being dragged screaming into vans.
The ghosts were clearly against the Guys in White, but also had no regard for the humans in their presence. The humans, likewise, were using weapons clearly meant for ghosts against the Guys in White, damaging their allies in the process.
The streets were one big free-for-all, and no one was coming out on top.
Even if the Justice League could round up the humans and give them proper orders, the ghosts were a risk as entities with unknown powers who were prone to severe emotional outbursts. Which, in turn, made the humans nervous, and more likely to keep anti-ghost weapons on them, which started the whole cycle over.
It was a mess.
Red Robin maneuvered the batplane over a football field, the only clear place of landing.
Orphan was behind Red Robin, across from Red Hood, and he could hear the leather creaking in her gloves with how hard she was gripping the armrests.
And Red Hood, who had snuck on board because there was no way in fuck he was letting his siblings into a warzone alone, calmly switched out his rubber bullets for real ones.
This was not the kind of situation where a minor ouchie would keep the baddies down.
This had to be permanent.
He’d try for nonlethal shots where he could, but he’d seen the lengths the Guys in White were willing to go through the windshield. He would have to work in the background and rely on the chaos to divert the League’s attention away from his existence, but it was doable.
“Stand up, Pretender; we have work to do.”
There was no way Bruce had known how bad it was, or he would never have sent anyone other than himself. Large bad guys? No problem. But this?
This was war, plain and simple.
How lucky for Red Hood, then, that his little Pretender was far more violent that Bruce would ever know. The piles of Ra’s soldier’s corpses were a testament to that. If there was anyone else better suited for a battleground, it was Robin, and the kid had a very important math test in twenty minutes.
Orphan joined him at the door, and after a few seconds Red Robin joined them.
He shoved all the spare, useless thoughts to the back of his head and made his way off the plane.
He stepped into …something. Something wet, that stuck to his shoes, and smelled like stagnant water and copper. The grass was overgrown and wet with a mix of green and red liquid, and just from his position alone he could see the corpses of at least twenty white suited agents.
Whoever had laid them out had done a damn good job, but Hood had a feeling that whoever had done it was probably no longer among the living.
He looked at Red Robin and nodded.
Red Robin lightly touched the communicator in his ear and started working with Oracle to find out where they would be needed the most.
Hood, meanwhile, was distracted.
For all that this place was drenched in terror and pain, it felt…homey. It felt like he was home, or close to it.
Like a piece of him that had been missing was nearby.
He felt, for the first time since his rebirth, almost complete.
The Lazarus pit was humming in the back of his mind, a constant presence of satisfaction pushing against what his humanity was telling him was very, very wrong. Why did this scene satisfy him? It was carnage, it wasn’t meant to generate this feeling of…of being pleased-
Orphan lightly tapped his arm, motioning with her head towards a large, fuckall knight.
The knight just in turn just stood there. Staring at them. Staring at him, specifically.
Hood quietly shifted so that he was in front of Red Robin; a bo staff would do fuckall to that metal armor, and Hood would have to provide the opening for RR’s other tricks to come into play.
The head tilted, the trio of Bats braced themselves, and-
“My Prince!”
What?
“Your father still sleeps, locked in eternal slumber, but if you give us an order we will gladly obey!”
The knight was clearly looking at Hood. Hood tilted his head minutely at RR, but the bird shrugged his shoulders.
“What makes you say I’m the Prince you’re looking for?”
Buy time; he had to buy time for either Red Robin to figure something out, Orphan to sneak up on the knight, or one of the Big Hitters from the League to arrive.
“You, and all who have been baptized in the blood of the King Himself and survived, have passed judgment and taken his bloodline unto yourselves.”
There was a whole hell of a lot that Hood did not understand about what had just been said, but he had a feeling it was something he didn’t want to know. This ghost seemed powerful, if not unhinged, so he could just send the guy away so he wouldn’t have to contaminate his ears with Shit He Did Not Need To Hear.
“Great; help defend against the Guys in White and tell the other ghosts to cooperate with the Justice League.”
The knight jackknifed up, and bowed.
“Your Will shall be done!”
And the knight…was gone. Just, poof! Disappeared.
Hood groaned and raised a hand to rub the bridge of his nose, only to hit himself in the helmet.
Fuck.
What was he supposed to do with that information?
“Well, Your Royal Liegely Highness Prince Red Hood Sir, Constantine says we need to get to the town square,” Red Robin gave an overly extravagant bow, pointing towards Orphan who was already almost out of the football field.
Hood ignored him and stalked towards Orphan.
He was never going to live this shit down.
“Also, My Royal Princley Liege, how the fuck are we going to explain you to the League?”
Fuck, he would have to be front and center to issue orders.
What a shit day.
Okay, so the idea behind this is that the Lazarus Pits, the mains ones the side ones the random ones-they're all Pariah Darks blood/ectoplasm. As he is King of the Infinite Realms, they're pretty powerful, so they can heal and, in certain cases, revive.
Provided you survive them.
If you survive them, you get a piece of Pariah Dark in you and a guarantee that you will become a ghost destined for the Zone. Every alive person and dead person who has been in the pits are viewed as legal Princes and Princesses by the Ghost Zone.
So by Ghost Zone standards, Ra's and Jason are related. Ra's and Damian are still grandfather and grandson, but both are Princes.
Danny Defeating Pariah did not count, as he had to use an external suit to do it and could not rely fully on his own power. What Danny did do is prove himself worthy to be Fright Knights Page and Successor.
Idk, weird idea, decided to roll with it, gonna need one more chapter to close this baby out
Odysseus lies awake in bed at night, thoughts filled with his encounter with Circe and his earlier encounter with Poseidon. He tries to close his eyes to get a good rest after over nine days of keeping himself awake so the windbag wouldn't be opened. He tries not to think of how he failed, his weary eyes too tired to open. He dreamt of seeing Penelope and Telemachus but never being able to reach them and hold them close to him.
But every time he closes his eyes, all he can hear are screams.
Screams of 'Captain!' as they get drowned by Poseidon or smashed by the Cyclops club. He watched as more of his men died under his command, while he was unable to do anything to stop it from happening. From six hundred men to forty-three men left in the span of a few months or years — he can't seem to remember how long they have been traveling on the seas. Polites was the one who kept track of the date, but they lost track of it when he passed away.
In his nightmares, he would be standing before Athena while five hundred fifty-seven of his men were behind the goddess of wisdom. Polites would be the more prominent one, standing beside Athena while holding the infant in his arms that Odysseus threw off the wall because of a prophecy Zeus had told him.
Athena would stare him down while never saying a word. Her eyes are blank of pupils but glowing brightly, like the other gods he has encountered. She is not in the form he sees when he just wants to spend time with her. He sees the goddess of wisdom with the same expression on her face when they argue while on Quick Thought. He doesn't see a friend, but a mentor, who was disappointed by the choices he made. He sees a goddess who is disappointed that he is not the warrior of the mind she made him to be.
His men would reach out to him, hands outstretched, while their expressions were full of sorrow and fury. They are the corpses of his men, their bodies dripping with blood. Some of the men have their bodies mangled and torn, their organs barely falling off their bodies. Others have their head crushed or part of it missing, exposing the brains, and missing body parts due to the Cyclops club. Bone sticking out of the skin, while the body part is twisted beyond imaginable. The drowned men were dripping wet, their bodies wrinkled and bloated. Their skin is in a sickly blueish-grey color, the veins more evident due to how pale the body is. Some of them are pierced with the wood from the ship.
Their screams would always reach his ears, and echo in his eardrums. They do nothing but scream at him, repeating 'Captain! Captain!' are unceasing. Sometimes they would say 'Why did you let the Cyclops kill us?' or 'Why didn't you kill the Cyclops, Captain? We could have gotten home if you did.' They say it with sorrow and fury, tears streaming down their face.
They would grab him by the arm and be dragged towards them. Their ghostly hands were all over his body and dragged him under and under until his body burned and burned. It burns him; it hurts him.
And this pain is excruciating.
It's more pain than he had ever felt in his entire life.
He drowns in this pain and he screams louder than he ever has, his throat hurting as he strains it.
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts—
His eyes fly open, a cut-off scream escaping his lips as he sits up from the bed while sweat drips on his forehead. He is breathing heavily while feeling his throat close up.
Odysseus looks around in a daze at an unfamiliar room, wondering where he is until remembers that Circe let him and his men stay at her palace for a day or two when she notices his haggard appearance and looks as though he is about to pass out at any moment. She had told him to rest even though he had protested he was fine. His protests did not work. Not when he almost fell to the floor after a step or two.
A sigh escapes from him while running a hand through his hair. He looks outside and presses his lips into a thin line when he notices it's still dark outside. Although he could already see the sun beginning to rise from a distance.
He knows he only got a few hours of sleep. It's not enough to recover the hours of sleep he lost while trying to keep the windbag closed, but he knows it's enough for him to not be dead on his feet when he and his crew visit the underworld to look for the prophet who can help them get back home.
He does not get off the bed to prepare yet. He is still too tired, too exhausted to get his body to move. His mind is too tired to think this early. His body still feels sluggish, slower than he'd like when he moves. It is unbecoming of him to be this slow when he fought in a war that lasted for a decade.
He looks down at his hands visibly shaking. He wonders whether it's from the lack of sleep he got or the nightmare he had. He shakily exhales while grabbing the blankets on top of him and moves them away. Odysseus moves slowly to the side, letting his feet touch the cold floor. His hands are now holding the mattress and he uses it to push himself up.
His body feels heavy, weighing in the exhaustion from everything that has happened so far. He fears he won't be able to come back home to his family if Poseidon continues to go after them and hopes the prophet will help him return home.
If the prophet won't be able to give him answers, he'll try harder to go back home. He'll do anything to go back home to see Penelope and Telemachus again.
Thinking about them gives him a small burst of energy, just barely enough to keep him going for the rest of the time before they set sail.
Odysseus starts preparing for the journey to the underworld, both mentally and physically. Seeing the ghosts of their previous crew will haunt his remaining crew and he needs to be the strong one for them to get through it all. He is the Captain and their King, after all.
He breathes deeply, a repeating motion of inhaling and exhaling to calm himself before leaving the room to meet up with Circe.
A/N: not related to the fanfic at all, but my glasses broke while i was pre-writing this—
anyways sdjfj here is my entry for whumptober 2024 day 26! i struggled writing this because i debated whether this should take place when odyseeus is already reunited with penelope and telemachus or before The Underworld song, but i realized i didn't know how to write penelope so i chose the second one.
to any EPIC: The Musical fans reading this, hi!! this is my second time writing for this fandom and i would appreciate if you also read my previous whumptober 2024 entry (day 25) since it's also an EPIC: The Musical fanfic. that one however takes place when odysseus is still stuck at calypso's island. it's kinda dark so be warned and read the beginning notes to check the warnings that contain in the fic before continuing reading it.
this is unfortunately my last whumptober entry that is pre-written before october. i'll still try my best to write all whumptober 2024 entries, but no promises! btw, sorry this took a while to come out. i was working on writing a theoretical framework for my research proposal and i also had to take physical therapy lmao
Prompt: "I can see the danger, it's written there in your eyes."
Whumptober masterlist
Summary: Sometimes Beidou worries about the jobs you go on as an agent of the Tianquan.
Warnings: death and corpses
Life as one of the Tianquan’s agents was never easy.
You knew this when you accepted the position.
Your lover Beidou also knew this.
When Ningguang offered you the job, you and the pirate had a discussion about what it would mean for the two of you.
Considering Beidou also works closely with Ningguang, you decided it would be fine. Ningguang agreed to make as many of your assignments place you wherever Beidou would be, while Yelan handled the other jobs.
It worked out great- You and Beidou got to stay together and work together for Liyue’s most powerful figure, and you both got great pay, plus you got to keep the best job you’ve ever had.
However, despite often working jobs that Beidou could help with, being a secret operative for the Tinquan would always have its risks.
Occasionally, you’d receive a confidential mission from Ningguang. Ones you can’t tell Beidou about.
Beidou knows this, and she’s usually fine with letting you go for a few weeks to handle whatever needs to be handled.
Unless the job poses considerable concern for your wellbeing. Which was almost all of them.
After a few too many missions resulting with new scars adorning your body, Beidou started insisting she came with you to complete your missions.
You know she can’t go with you. She knows too.
But she can’t stand the days waiting for your return, wondering if you’ll come back at all, not even knowing where to search for your corpse should it come to it.
She knows she can’t go with you, but every time she asks all the same.
Now, you’ve resorted to not telling her about missions.
It hurts, and you feel guilty, but it’s the only way to fulfil your mission on time without Beidou relentlessly asking to go with you.
That brings us to now…
You had been given what you would call your most dangerous mission yet.
You were preparing to leave immediately, leaving a note for Beidou informing her of your departure and an estimated time for your return.
You didn’t manage to get very far before your lover in question stopped you.
"Leaving for another mission just like that darling? Not even a goodbye?"
You stay facing away from her.
"Is it dangerous?"
You don't answer her.
"Is it more dangerous than others?"
You don't answer again.
A silence that seems to stretch on for hours fills the air.
She grabs you and turns you around to face her, looking you in the eyes.
"I can see the danger, it's written there in your eyes."
Before you can open your mouth to speak, she continues
"There's something different about this mission isn't there? It's going to be even more perilous than the last. Please love, you have to let me go with you."
Her eyes plead with you as her grip on your shoulders tighten.
"Beidou... you know you can't. Ningguang can't this information to be known-."
"I don't give a damn!"
You mouth falls agape. You had never heard Beidou even remotely disagree with Ningguang.
"I couldn't care less if Ningguang sends an army to kill me, I'll do anything to protect the person I love dammit!"
You think you see tears forming in the corner of Beidou's eye, but you look away before you see them fall.
".. I'm sorry Beidou."
You walk out the door, ignoring Beidou's calls.
"Please!" You she ran to you and grabbed your elbow, pulling her into you.
You could feel her desperation seeping into your bones.
"Even if you go I'll follow you!"
You let out a dry chuckle at that. You both know damn well she wouldn't be able to.
You were a trained agent who's skill set was designed for stealth opperations. She wouldn't be able to follow you.
She's just trying to comfort herself.
And maybe you too.
"Again... I'm sorry Beidou.. I love you."
You shake her off and this time she doesn't go after you.
By the time she's out of her melancholic gaze, you're too far away to hear her whisper.
"I love you too..."
You'll never get to know how much she regrets not telling you when you could hear.
She carried that regret with her for months...
She kept telling herself she'll tell you the second she sees you again.
Even after 7 months...
8 months...
12 months....
it was 15 months before Beidou saw you again.
"I love you."
You never got to hear her say it.
But hey, at least your remains did...
note: I didn't mean for that ending to be so macabre... sorry guys</3
