Character(s): The Regifter (Charli), Somnys, npc character
About: Charli finds himself in a strange position: a familiar place with unfamiliar events. Vague memories of laughter, but heavier memories of loss. When a god of dreams contacts him, he learns he's meant to serve a greater purpose with a newfound power.
CW: implied deaths
Word Count: 1,573
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I couldn’t give you what you lost.
The ceiling was dark with hints of dust at the edges, threatening future cobweb tenants. A small vent was screwed into the wall just under it and filled the room with a dull, rattling hum. A dim glow from a blue-screen computer filled the small room, flickering slightly enough to be distracting. It revealed the smiles of animal characters in matte hanging on the walls. Each face was either crowned or throned by words of encouragement, or commands to have fun, to party, to laugh, to eat. Charli groaned and looked abruptly away from the haunting characters, so familiar to him that they burned the back of his mind.
But I hope that this is enough.
Charli grunted as he pushed himself to a sitting position. He clutched his head as the room begun to spin, keeping his head down to stave off the dizziness. Even in a dim place such as this, everything felt too bright and overwhelming. What had happened?
Children. He remembered children. A small group of them, and someone else. They were scared. They didn’t know. He had to preserve them, them and their dreams.
Out of the corner of his vision he caught sight of a crumpled black lump on the ground. A frightened scream tore out of him. Blood of an unidentifiable colour stained its clothes and splat on the floor around it. The head was propped up by a flat halo of horns, eyes open and staring right past him. But there was no mistaking it: that paling corpse had his face. Charli scooted himself back as far as he could go to get distance between him and the uncanny mirror.
“Who are you?!” The question tore from his throat in a near agonized scream. “What’s going on?”
A pink mist began to fill the room, full of starlight and swirls. Charli could scarcely make out a shape in the mist of something inhuman. Draconic, perhaps. The eyes of the figure glowed in a harsh white light. Charli reached around him blindly for something to defend himself, finally managing to stand and settling with a swivelling office chair as his mode of attack. The figure in the mist tilted its head as if studying Charli, seeming unfazed by the laughable threat.
Don’t you remember? You gave your life to protect them. You had so much love for their dreams, and wishes that they would put into their toys, and the characters that dance on the stage.
Charli blinked. “I’m dead?” His eyes landed on the corpse once again.
Yes, but not anymore. You return with a body made of dreams and hope. And now you can give it, and protect it, like you sought to have done. There are those who are in love with dreams, but I’ve never met a love like yours.
“You’re making no sense,” Charli whimpered.
The bear. Grab it.
Charli looked to his left where a small teddy-bear with bulging plush eyes and rosy cheeks sat on a neglected shelf. He shakily took the toy in his hands.
Do you recognize it?
He was surprised to find that he did. This bear was custom made from this building’s workshop. He could feel the small stone heart inside weighing down the bear in his hands. It was customary of anyone who made a plush here to recite their hopes and dreams onto this stone before putting it in the stuffing and sealing the plush up. The child who held this bear had wished to live beyond what the doctors predicted for him. He brought the toy to his chest as his eyes began to well with tears.
They did not make it. I regret to inform you that your sacrifice was in vain. But when doors close, there are others that can be opened. You feel them, don’t you?
Small floating lights could barely be made through the mist. Charli nodded his head, his face now blotchy and puffy. These were the children he could not save. He reached out to one of the floating lights as if coaxing a scared animal. One of the lights shuddered, then floated gracefully to his fingertips. He bit back a sob in his throat.
In dreams, all souls can be touched and connected, but the only thing they are ever tethered to is their bodies. That is why we wake in the same body every day, with fuzzy memories of our adventures from a sleeping world. But when we die, there is nothing to be tethered to. Many become lost, unable to leave the realm of dreams. But, there is a way to bring them back. They only need a tether in the waking, living world.
“It’s so small,” Charli cried. “This isn’t fair. Can I not bring it back to its body?”
Yes, if you want the child to be Undead, and hunted down by those who seek money or a break from their own curses. They would not think twice about an embodiment of a child’s love, however.
Though there were no pupils to mark the direction of the entity’s stare, Charli could feel them urging him to look at the teddy bear. Its soft fur had become dampened in some parts from the tears that dripped off his chin. The small light waved and flickered, as if it recognized the toy.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered to the light. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.”
But you can fix it now.
Horrified, he was reluctant to listen, but as the urging became stronger he willed the soul to enter the plush. His breath was shaky, but he was overcome with strange relief. The intensity of love and hope, the wishful thinking of a tomorrow that would never come. The regifting of life, through some bizarre unnatural cycle, manifesting from two worlds that Charli was both a part of and so far removed from.
The light in his hand faded and the limbs of the beloved bear began to twitch. Before long the bear sat up in his arms, looked up at him with a tilt of its head. Quiet. Mute. But there was a strange uncanny air to this plush. The child had a new home. Charli could feel the very same love the child had first put into this bear back when it had been made, as if it served as the blood – stuffing, rather– of the body. He wanted to weep. How could life be born anew on wishes alone?
“How is this even possible?”
You are made from me, an extension of my light. I revived your soul, and though you have not a body you have a gift. To rehouse dreams. To resurrect life. To give them new perspectives. You would treat them well, these fragile hopes; I have seen a powerful love inside of you that promises it.
“I’m dead, and I can make others… not dead?” Charli shook his head. He could not look at the bear now. He could not look at his corpse. He could not look at the figure in the mist. He closed his eyes, refusing to look at anything or anyone. “I didn’t ask for this.”
A gift is often never asked for.
“What, do you want me to just travel the world and put every ghost I see into a stupid plush toy?” He regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth. The bear was not stupid. The bear was a sign of hope, and now housed the soul of the child that had loved it so dearly. He lowered his voice, mumbling, “I’m sorry.”
In time you will begin to understand it. But for now, let no living thing look at you, lest they be burned by a light they cannot fathom. I will take your physical body, and I will put it into the sky to honor your deeds. Mortals will soon find a new constellation to admire. Good night.
The pink mist began to fade, and so too did the figure standing in it. When it was cleared, his own corpse was nowhere in sight, and instead what was left in its place was a strange white object. The teddy bear in his hands wiggled free and marched towards the mask, picking it up in its soft paws, and waddled back to Charli. It presented the mask to him, and he could see it more clearly. It was a strange, uncanny face; a wide smile that stretched to both rosy red cheeks, and upturned eyes that cried purple tears. Was he really not allowed to show his face?
With a distressed sigh he accepted the mask from the bear and secured it to his head. The weight felt awkward, though the mask fit perfectly. Was this to be his new identity? A masked conduit of wakefulness and sleep? Of life and death? He held the bear to him, who did not seem to mind the embrace.
Gifts are supposed to make people happy. Maybe life was a gift that could be given again and again and again. Maybe he could turn suffering into joy. Maybe pain would be trivial, someday. Silver eyes met plush ones, and there was a strange unspoken understanding between the two new friends.
They together must preserve the dreams of those who are lost.
I am in water, on my back, and it is dark except for the soft glows of boxes. People in white are looking at me.
It unnerves me. I do not know where I am, nor of my name, but I am thinking of a face with large teeth and green eyes. My mouth opens, and I scream an ugly sound. It pleases the strange men around me.
But that face is not me. That is not who I am.
I place my webbed hands on the surface in front of me. It does not give when I push. The men make their awkward choppy sounds and scratch their sticks on a flat plank in their hands. I see them frowning, and I begin to think that I had awoken as a failure. Because I am not the face in my mind, I am not him. His mouth is not on his stomach. He does not glow. He's much more impressive in size than I am. I am a mistake.
But mistake or not, I am still hungry...
I push again on the invisible wall and a crack forms. I can smell the air. The water leaks. I push again and I am free, and the strange men scattered shouting things I do not recognize. I look to the closest one to me.
Character(s): Rutaci Faurux, mentions of Marran Faurux (@contrastparadoxx), mentions of Lepori Bugsie (contrastparadoxx), mentions of Omnius Dioxal
About: Rutaci finds an ouppy on his way home from work.
Word Count: 1,099
The night was calmer than it could have been. When Rutaci wasn’t choking up over his son showing him mercy and compassion, it was off to work tending to the animals and stocking shelves. As wary as Rutaci was to glance over his shoulder to find a familiar haunting on the store’s doorstep, that moment never came. Marran had kept his word, and Lepori would wink at Rutaci from time to time with a smile as if she was in on some secret he wouldn’t understand. There was safety in it, at least; he wouldn’t come into work fearing for his life.
It was leaving work that was the most dangerous. His nemesis could be out there, anywhere, ready to strike. Rutaci was ready to strike back, of course, though it’s much easier when there isn’t a metaphorical blindfold over his eyes. Tonight, Rutaci was closing shop again, and as Marran and Lepori had long since clocked out and left the store, Rutaci was quickly refamiliarized with his fears and paranoia. The sound of the lock clicking was too loud for his liking. What if he could hear it, too?
The sidewalks were barren at this time of day, which offered only a little comfort to the giant. Since Marran learned who Yarrow really was, Rutaci’s shifts started to take to discrete hours– hours where he could safely travel between work and home. It provided less of a chance for anyone to recognize him through his ill-kept disguise, hoping for the Superman effect to work its magic. It was also one of the rare times anymore where he was grateful for the dull glow of the rising sun. The sky was not yet harsh enough to burn, but the sun’s lingering threat provided enough privacy. It was nowhere near safe to be out, but the day was, in its own way, a shelter Rutaci was used to exploiting.
Rutaci’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud noise from an alleyway. Rutaci froze; it was likely a hiveless Troll rooting through last night’s garbage. His heart twisted in his chest. He had been there, once upon a time; now, he resided in his kismesis’ hive with slightly more to his name than what he had last. He remembered though how both days and nights were brutal out here, the will to live was cutthroat. Any kindness that was spared could change a life; or, inversely, end it. Rutaci thumbed his wallet that lied cradled in his pocket, hesitating as he pondered his unique role of privilege. Maybe it would make Marran proud of him if he went down being a selfless man over the monster Marran had thought of him to be. So, with this thought tumbling in his head, Rutaci slowly stepped into the alley, greeting its musty brick walls covered in gum and graffiti. He passed by an image of a rainbow otter floating in an ambiguous sky.
“Hello?” His voice rang with an echo that reached to the furthest shadows. There was no answer, and nothing that could vaguely look like a disheveled body looking for food. The only face he found was his own staring back at him, print smudged and yellowed from age; a version of himself from back in his prime as a seat of government. Slim with thinner, sharper features, and eyes full of faux confidence that masked the desperate plea for help. Rutaci rose a hand to the scars on his face, tracing the shape of the plates that had once been there before, as so revealed by the picture. Every ridge and raise and bump felt ugly to him now, and the handsome guy in the picture was worth a hefty sum, too; a literal price to pay to betray his once blissful ignorance. With a disdained huff, Rutaci tore his past from the wall and balled it up, throwing it towards the sorriest-looking dumpster on this side of Alternia. It bounced and rolled behind it.
Then, as Rutaci turned to leave, the wad of paper tumbled back into view, and a low shifting noise followed. Rats, Rutaci thought, which would have made him bee-line back to the streets– Alternian rats are no joke– if it weren’t for how different the muzzle looked that poked out from behind the wall. He watched as slowly a sleek red dog emerged and sniffed curiously at the ball. Its ribs were clear as day, its protruding hips sharp enough to cut diamonds. Its hollow face turned to Rutaci, and despite the miserable state of its flea-bitten fur and the paw it obviously favored, the dog’s tail began to wag.
Something about this made Rutaci tear up. Even through the pain,, the dog treated strangers with a smile. With hope.
“What’cha playin’ at?” Rutaci’s voice dropped in a similar manner to the way he would speak to his kid at home: playful and warm. The dog’s tail picked up speed with a tilt of its head. The troll lowered to his knees, prompting the dog to excitedly approach him with a limp that tugged at Rutaci’s heart. “Any owners? Chipped?” But a quick search and feel-over did not give him any answers.
Now, Rutaci was faced with a choice. He could leave the dog where he found it; this would avoid the risk of an angry Troll chasing after him for messing with their dog, and thus possibly alerting Omnius’ eyes. On the other hand, Rutaci knew the pain, and he couldn’t leave something innocent out here to rot. He did that once already.
“Cyclus will be so pissed if I bring you in and ya muddy up his carpets,” Rutaci sighed, but not without the faintest trace of laughter in his voice, “so dirty it all up, will ya? As much as you want. At least until I can find your owner. If a little rat like you even has one.”
Scooping up the crumpled wanted sign, he used it to play with the dog and lure it out of the alley. With what spare money he had he went into a local shop and bought a can of dog food, of which the dog ate too eagerly but paced itself better after a few pats to the head. Between the yips and dances it did at the prospect of food, the canine was already starting to grow on him. It was a strange but heartwarming sight, to see a large troubled man playing and skipping and laughing with a smaller companion the entire walk home, momentarily forgetting of the looming threat of past ghosts.
About: After a battle has left Casitt worse for wear, Hyanna finds help from a stranger in the woods.
Word Count: 1,176
Two giant hyena puppies padded their way through a thick forest, but only one of them seated two Trolls of different statures. One was the Purpleblood Hyanna with sweat beading on her brows and exhaustion weighing heavy around her eyes. In either hand she held the reigns of both dogs, steering one while leading the other. Tied to her and the puppy was the Limeblood Casitt, who was worse for wear and barely conscious. Despite Hyanna’s warnings, run-ins with hostile Trolls and drones were finally getting the better of him; now, an infection ran deep through his leg and there were too many cuts and gashes on his body to count.
The four of them had been traveling to the coastal region this side of Alternia, but had found nothing of the sort yet-- lost and no thanks to maps with faded translations. Now, they were wandering the forest, recovering from their last fight with a couple of miners they had tried to rob. It surprisingly wasn’t an easy fight; Casitt had gotten the brunt of it and the battle was only won when Hyanna fell asleep mid-fight, activating her voodoos and brutally killing them. They had gotten their prize and more, but at a heavy cost.
On the bright side, the pups-- Barnum and Bailey-- picked up on the scent of other Trolls. It was a risk, but whatever bunch of Trolls were around might be able to help Casitt. Hyanna hoped so, anyway; they didn’t have the best track record for running into friendly locals. Not that they were entirely friendly, either.
Eventually the forest began to thin out a bit and reveal in the distance a rather large hive. Hyanna’s eyes widened at the sight; rarely having seen something so large and full of splendor. The closest she’s come to experience has been the arena-church she grew up in, where it became sparse for her to explore its intricate structures in great detail. She wondered about what kind of Troll may be living there, if there were many or only one. It had to be a Highblood, no other caste could afford such a thing.
This made chances of finding help slim. Highbloods were more often than not pretentious, and if they saw Casitt’s true color then they could both of their lives right then and there. But did they have a choice? Casitt could die either way; it was up to Hyanna to pick the lesser of two evils, and the lesser evil was to hope that someone was kind enough to spare him over letting him suffer in misery.
“There’s a hive up ahead,” Hyanna murmured to the unconscious Limeblood. “You’ll be okay, buddy.”
Suddenly Bailey’s ears perked and he paused, and quickly after his brother mirrored. Hyanna frowned, running her hand through Barnum’s mane, “What is it, boy? What do you hear?”
Bailey barked, and with a wagging tail dashed off into the wilderness, and Barnum, ever so excited to mirror Bailey’s lead, followed. Hyanna lurched forward when Barnum began to run, kicking her heals in and pulling on the harness, her heart falling to her stomach in shock and panic. “Hey boy! Hey easy! Listen, stupid!” She tried reaching back and holding onto Casitt, fearing that he would fall from the two hyenas’ racing. She saw something slip from his pocket, but from the stress of the dogs and the sick boy she paid it little mind.
The pups dashed into a heavily wooded part of the forest, where the trees were denser and grasses turned into jungles of ferns, wild flowers, and varied herbs beyond Hyanna’s understanding. Thankfully, the two pups began to slow and sniff around the ground. Hyanna still wrestled with Barnum’s harness, but Bailey was a further ways a head and seemed to soon be occupied with something. Something that could giggle and talk back to it.
Hyanna finally managed to get Barnum under control and calmed. She squinted in Bailey’s direction, then whistled for him to come back. Whistling was a bit of a difficult task for her, what with her teeth being as large and packed as they are, but with a few attempts Bailey understood and bounded towards his charges.
When Bailey had moved out of the way, Hyanna finally could see what it was the two puppies had been chasing after. A very skinny Troll was sitting on the ground with her wrists supporting her; no doubt Bailey had knocked her over. She had wild, feathery hair with a strange shine to it that nested two curved horns, and her eyes matched the coat she was wearing: a brilliant shining red. She looked up Hyanna and Casitt and the two young but giant hyenas with a kind and amused smile on her face. Hyanna wondered why Barnum and Bailey had been drawn to her, but still she dipped her head and offered a quick apology.
“I’m sorry, they’re still learning. Are you okay?”
“Oh, don’t worry about me. It was a friendly surprise, is all.” The red Troll’s eyes lingered on Hyanna for a moment, then to the other troll bound to her. Her brows furrowed, and Hyanna took this as an opportunity.
“Yeah, um, can you help us? My friend is sick and hurt, he’s not doing too well.”
The other Troll pushed herself to her feet and paced towards them. Barnum’s tail began to wag quickly, but Hyanna pulled on Barnum’s harness trying to keep him from becoming too excited to sit still. The woman in red approached Casitt, placing her hand on his forehead to check his temperature and immediately pulling back with a cringe. She looked over him, noticed the bandaged injuries stained in bright green, and her eyes widened in recognition. She nodded firmly, “Yes, we can help. My moirail and matesprit lives in the hive up there. My moirail will give you shelter and my matesprit is a doctor, and I and my pack will do our best, too.”
Hyanna brightened at the news, “Oh! Oh thank you.” She settled herself and Casitt so that there was more room on the saddle. “Get on, we can ride there.”
The other Troll seemed hesitant to climb aboard the canine, but a quick glance at Casitt as a reminder spurred her on. She wrapped herself around Casitt, helping to keep him onto the beast more securely. Hyanna did a motion with the leash, and was able to successfully pull Barnum into the lead once again with Bailey trying to get another sniff at the stranger close behind them.
“Cute lusii. What are their names?”
“Barnum and Bailey,” Hyanna answered, tugging at Barnum to prompt him to slip into a run.
“Yours?” Asked the stranger, raising her voice over the heavy pattering of paw steps and excited puppy panting.
Hyanna hesitated, then called over her shoulder, “Hyanna. That right there is Casitt.” The stranger nodded and said nothing in return, which made Hyanna yell back, “So who are you?”
About: Ribrel offers Avonis a way to a new life...
Word Count: 1,961
Author’s Note: The last chapter of Telltale is still in the works and is not officially out yet. However, I want Avonis out, so I’m posting this early. The final chapter will come out at a later time, or be mentioned as flash backs in asks and future drabbles.
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Avonis sat on the edge of his bed, heavy eyes staring directly at the wall in front of him. It's been weeks since the incident, weeks since he lost both of his sons, weeks since he had lost Mehrri. And though he should be relieved that it's over, that the cavern has once again opened its doors and no one else would die, he couldn't help but feel bitter about it. The gods truly were cruel, he surmised, and had cultivated within him a sense of dread and stillness. It was hard for him to move most days now, and harder than before to allow himself to eat. Kairos and the inspector had already left; there was no one to spur him to action and feel the joys and spite he had when Kairos was present.
Living seemed just as pointless as it ever was.
There came a knock at his door, and it opened to reveal the Overseer of the caverns. Ribrel Masino was another victim of the incident, though luckily her condition had been only temporary. Ribrel looked upon her childhood friend for a moment or two too long before inviting herself inside and sitting beside him. They shared an awkwardly comfortable silence, listening to the bustle of cavern life outside the bedroom. When he still didn't acknowledge her presence, she cleared her throat and slid onto his lap a yellow envelope.
This broke his intimate concentration on the wall, and he looked down at the envelope with intrigue quivering his brow, ”What is this?“
”A promise,“ Ribrel answered, her usual distant and firm tone now soft and patient. ”Open it.“
Avonis obeyed and picked the envelope up with weak hands. Undoing the fastening he reached inside tentatively, and pulled out sheets of paper detailing some records. With an encouraged gesture from Ribrel he read the documents over.
He poured over them, gleaning every spec of information he could with increasingly disbelieving eyes. His brows furrowed in confusion as he realized these documents were about him, giving an overly detailed overview of things that never happened. Then, he pulled the final document on top, and his breath caught in his throat. It was stamped with the Imperial insignia, and his name written in Ribrel's hand. ”This is to acknowledge the death of Avonis Jakkob Llabel,“ he read. ”Ribrel, you made me a death certificate?“
”It took longer for it to be processed than expected,“ she admitted, ”I'm sorry you could not leave with Kairos, but I hope this makes up for the wait.“
”I'm legally dead?”
“That is correct. You are no longer tied to these caverns. You may leave anytime without repercussion from cavern laws.“
Those words knocked the air out of his chest. After all this time, freedom was there at last at his fingertips, though he hadn't expected for it to be in the form of ink and paper. ”I didn't think it would actually happen,“ he breathed in painfully.
“Haven't I always kept my word?” Her tone held a hint of accusation, and Avonis had to remind himself that she was right. She never once, in all the sweeps he'd known her, gone back on her promises. The fact he wasn't hanging on a stake was proof of that, though his heart twisted when he thought about the family he had lost to the secrets and promises she kept. He looked down at the floor, collecting his thoughts, his shoulders sagging.
“What if I am caught?”
“You'd be caught nameless and signless, of course.”
“I'm on record. They could identify me. I'll be dead for certain, then.”
“Avonis, not to be rude, but you've never made it easy for anybody here. I doubt you'll suddenly fall to your knees if an officer sees you.” Amusement danced in Ribrel's bright green eyes as she placed a friendly hand on Avonis' shoulder, “Give them the entire thirteen Hells like you gave Aphida.” There was laughter in her voice.
He swallowed a lump in his throat, “But what—“
”Avonis,“ Ribrel's tone began to turn to her usual tone: firm, and authoritative. ”Too many lives have been lost as of late. At the very least, allow yourself to live after all of that! It would be saving a life.”
Avonis clutched the envelope to his chest. Anxiety plucked at his heartstrings; employed Jades weren't supposed to leave the caverns. The very concept of nothing being out there for them, that their purpose lies within else death was the punishment, had been drilled into many heads. Including his. If freedom was what he wanted all this time, why must fear root him in place? He hadn't realized he had been crying until a drop landed on his hand.
“Easy now, don't ruin the paperwork.”
“Y-yes, Ribrel.“ He sniffed, wiped at his eyes, then allowed himself to smile even if he didn't feel like doing it. ”How would I know you're not just getting rid of me so you can finally make heart-eyes at Phesos?“
”Oh please, I have better things to do with my time. Like running an entire brooding cavern, to be exact.”
Avonis quirked a brow, then leaned against Ribrel's arm. ”Can you let him take care of you, while I'm gone?”
Ribrel sniffed, “I don't need to be cared for, Llabel. I can handle myself, and I don't need a whore to satisfy me.”
“That's not what I meant. Can you share the workload with him fairly? Can you take breaks? Can you please look after yourself, and let him look after you? You made him second in command, at least let him do his job.”
She considered this for a moment, then gave a reluctant sigh of defeat, “I will try to be more open to the idea, for you.”
“Thank you.” Avonis closed his eyes, “I'm going to miss you. I don't know where I'd be without you.”
“Actually dead, for one thing,” Ribrel answered matter-of-factly, which made Avonis give a dry chuckle.
“Yes, yes I suppose you're right! I would have gotten that certificate much, much sooner.”
“And with none of the freedoms that come with it,” Ribrel smiled softly. “Come, I must show you something.” She gently hooked her fingers around Avonis' wrist and tugged him off the bed and out of the room. Avonis followed her quietly.
Luckily the corridors were not too crowded at this hour. What few faces he saw pass by never gave him a second glance, and a thought had occurred that, as improbable as it is, they were also a part of the secret. The notion made him inwardly giggle. The one thing the cavern had done for him was to see him dead.
A few twists and turns and Avonis could see where Ribrel was taking him. This was the direction of his work station, his now-old post where he would sit and record the names of children who would survive the cavern Trials. He remembered refusing the Auxiliator position, favoring a career as a Memorand simply because it allowed him to be alone— and to be as close to the outside as legally possible. Ribrel took him past his work desk, and closer still to one of the exits.
“That eager to flirt with Phesos without me around?“
Her ear flicked and she cast him a quick disapproving glance over his tease. ”Hush. Look outside.“
He shrugged and did what he was told, curiosity and excitement tickling his heart. He placed a shaky hand on the mouthway of the cave, and looked out into the dusky night. He could see two figures in the close and near distance, and once again he found it hard to keep his breath.
”Recognize them?” Ribrel prompted.
Of course he did. How many times must he hiss warnings and caution to Teagan as he invited him in to drink his blood? And how could he forget the beautiful librarian Shuska who would send secret letters to him in love and good faith? Once again, his eyes began to sting and the world began to blur with green.
“I've spoken with them already,” Ribrel murmured from behind him. “They were here for a surprise visit. If you were still working for the cavern, I would say you'd have a lot of explaining to do. Go with them. They seem to love you.“
”N-now?“
”Of course now! Send me a letter via worm when you find a place to live, and I will have Phesos bring you some of your belongings. I'm sure you can't live proper without all your journals.“
He turned to look at her then, an incredulous look on his face, soft and vulnerable. He couldn't hold back now, and he began to cling to Ribrel with sobs wracking his thin frame. Quietly, Ribrel stiffly reached up and patted him on the back, seeming quite uncomfortable with this interaction. ”Avonis, the longer you are here, the harder it is to fake your death.“
”Oh. Yes. Sorry.“ He let go of her and wiped tears off his face. Shame colored his cheeks. ”Would this be goodbye, then?“
”I'm afraid so.“
Such a bittersweet thought. To think that these two had grown up together and had once been matesprits. That Ribrel had always been unconditional and undying with her loyalty. That these two always had each others' backs, through thick and thin, despite the hurt and pain that their respective ancestors had given them. Despite the convoluted life being a cavern Jade was. The thought of leaving Ribrel felt as if he was going to be leaving a part of himself behind— but, perhaps, that was the point. He needed to leave everything, and everyone, behind. He needed to move on.
He needed to live.
He leaned in and gave Ribrel a soft kiss, reminiscent of old times sake. There may be no romantic love between these two any longer, but there certainly was a type of love still present between them. This was a thank you, this was grief and mourning, and this was both bravery and cowardice in the face of new adventures. He was surprised to see Ribrel feeling much the same way when he had pulled away, her own face dampened with small glittering emeralds.
”Be safe out there,“ she told him, ”Be ruthless. Be kind. Love the unknown as you have for all these sweeps. Don't let anyone take this away from you. Never again.“
”I'll do my best.“
Her smile was filled with wistful pain, ”I love you.”
“I love you too, Ribs.”
“Go,” she urged, “Go to them, before I change my mind about losing one of my hardest workers.”
With a chuckle and a nod, Avonis gave Ribrel back his death certificate and turned to fully face the outside world. Trepidation trapped his breath in his chest as he slowly took a step out onto the other side. Then another. And another. The moonlight bathed everything in a haze of pink and green, illuminating the path before him and his two friends up ahead. Another step. One more. And then his slow walk began to turn into a jog, and then a sprint, and before long he was gliding along the ground, moving so fast he barely touched it.
Teagan and Shuska turned when they noticed him, faces bright with smiles and relief. Avonis couldn't slow himself in time and collided into the two, almost sending them to the ground. He wrapped his arms around them both, pulling them into a desperate hug and nearly cried once more when he felt them squeeze him in return. His ears rang with Shuska's laugh, and he basked in Teagan's smirk.
If this is what death is like, then Avonis is glad to be alive.
Character(s): Rutaci Faurux, Ammare, mentions of Ashoal McGee @askthehiddencaste and Viktor Serren @stuckstucktrolls
About: Rutaci spends some quality time with the new grub.
Word Count: 909
Rutaci looked down at the small bundle of life in his hands. Anxiety coursed through him, freezing him in place. A light Jade grub with horns that were a mix of everyone's, looking on with round curious eyes, fighting with itself whether it should sleep or cry. If it wasn't for the fear that gripped his throat closed, Rutaci would have chuckled; me too, kid, me too.
He stood there for quite some time as Ashoal rested and Viktor prepared little meals in the kitchen for their grub. It was a bit of an awkward sight; a large man staring down a small infant like a deer in the headlights, and still as a statue. Then, Ammare sneezed, which startled them enough to make them fuss and squirm. Rutaci tossed a wary glance to Ashoal's room, then back down to Ammare. He tried bouncing them subtly just as he'd seen Viktor and Ashoal do, though this only earned him a harsh screech.
"Hey hey, hey, heyyy now it's okay," nervousness leaked into his voice. He picked up a blanket and tried wrapping the grub in it, though they squirmed too much to keep it around them. He tried distracting them with a toy, which had been smacked away and sent to the ground. "Come on, kid, don't wake Ashoal up! He had one hell of a time bringing you out ya know!"
"Rutaci," Viktor's voice rang from the other room, "Do you want me to handle this?" It would have been a good idea; Viktor has experience with jade caverns, it would make sense for him to know what to do here. The very thought of failing his mates, however, bubbled deep inside of Rutaci.
"No, it's okay! Everything's fine. Everything is okiedok--ah!"
The grub had scratched at his arms and tried biting him. With a frown, Rutaci lifted the grub up higher where it then hissed at him.
"Hey kid I don't know what you're saying, but you gotta stop that." There was nothing but blabber in response, though the tone seemed angry. Almost sassy. Rutaci rose a brow, "What was that? Run that by me again?"
More incoherent babbling. Ammare wriggled their little legs as spit bubbled at their mouth.
"Oh no you didn't girlfriend, nuh uh."
"Sccreee!!!"
"I don't think I believe that one-- hey, hey what are you doing?"
Ammare was reaching towards the dangling triangles that hung from Rutaci's horns. He lowered the child from that height, but Ammare had successfully grabbed at least one of the strings and tugged, causing Rutaci's head to lower to Ammare's level. Ammare screeched again, clearly unhappy that the string wouldn't detach and go into their mouth. Rutaci sighed, clearly unhappy that he couldn't quell a child.
He hadn't planned to. He couldn't even keep an adult from getting kidnapped; what did he have that would help the safety of this kid? Someone more helpless? He never had to experience this kind of thing before; all of his descendants had grown up without him. This was an accident. This was an act of magic put on the trio that none of them had asked for. He was just a dead-beat dad; how could he help take care of a kid like this? With a tired look to his eye, Rutaci lowered his head and blew air out of his lips, causing a soft raspberry sound.
And to his surprise, the crying stopped. In fact, it had not only stopped, but Ammare had begun to laugh.
"Oh, you uh, you liked that?" A soft smile gradually made its way across Rutaci's lips. Ammare reached for his lips, babbling curiously, but Rutaci had pulled his head back and blew another light raspberry. Delighted, Ammare let out a softer screech of joy which gave Rutaci an idea. He nuzzled these raspberries against Ammare's cheek; the grub's eyes widened and began to squirm while laughter echoed throughout the room. To Rutaci's delight, Ammare soon began mimicking him.
Soon, the events had wholly evolved into a gentle giant and a baby blowing raspberries at each other and giggling. This lasted for several minutes, both Rutaci and Ammare unaware of a pair of Cerulean eyes watching them from the doorway with an amused smile.
Gradually Ammare had grown tired from the squirming and the laughing, and clawed at Rutaci's face until they were able to wriggle free and adjust themself so that they could settle between Rutaci's arms and belly-- possibly one of the warmest places on the pyrokinetic's body. Rutaci smiled and rocked the child until they fell asleep-- which didn't take long, surprisingly. "You're not bad, kid," Rutaci chuckled once Ammare began to snore.
There was a light pressure on Rutaci's shoulder; Ashoal was resting the side of his head on his mate, his sapphire eyes lovingly watching Ammare. Before long, Viktor finished his task in the kitchen and walked into the room; it seemed that they all held loving eyes and soft smiles. The Jadeblood drinker silently glided to Rutaci's other side, settling in so that an arm draped across both of his mates' backs.
"Is it silly to say," Rutaci began, "That I wish they'd wake up soon, so I could make them laugh again?" This had earned light chuckles and cheek kisses, but Rutaci had meant it. He looked down at the child with fear no longer creeping inside of him.
About: I really wanted to write a drabble about Arceel's love for the stars and what they mean to him. 100% inspired by @sunnetrolls new deity character The Stars
Word Count: 793
He remembered looking at the stars as he rode in the carriage to war. It was the only peace he felt that night, the night that led to his true death. Arceel had wanted to count this one last time, to watch the twinkles shine and recount the stories of each constellation. If he wanted to, he could take that twinkle for himself and form a cloud of stardust in his hands. It had always been an archaic form of amusement; to watch a smaller big bang happening in your very palms, to watch universes form at the size of marbles. He would always crush it afterwards, and send the dust back to the inky sky.
But tonight he shall play god by other means, and against gods who would do the same by their own means.
Perhaps it was fitting that the stars would also be the last thing that he saw before his soul woke up in the realm of the Dark Carnival, where the ancient Messiahs sat and dished him out his punishment. To be bound to stone, carved and chiseled, into a fool. He flinched and scowled at every scrape as he was sculpted and cursed to a meaningless task for eternity. But within the stone he was bound to, otherworldly by nature, he could sense the stardust within it. Its origins were not unlike his, and as the stardust conjured images in his soul of the night sky, he felt comforted as if by a friend.
It was under the stars he charted a new life as a slave to the Messiahs’ humor: he would only be free if he could find the absolute meaning of life. Perhaps the stars would know, if they could speak. If they could see. If they could feel what he felt. It was pointless to think about it. What a lonely existence this was: the world would change around him, plants and animals and people would be born and die again and again while he remained the same. An imp would dance on his shoulders and mock him, but there was some comfort in knowing that he would age with the night endlessly. That he would always be alive to recount the stories of different constellations, and find his way home and across seas by their very light. If the stars could talk, what would they say? It felt a little less lonely with so many shining faces staring lovingly down at him. Maybe, too, his old friends would look down at him from the sky with the stars. He fell asleep comforted by this thought many times.
And now he had a child of his own to give the stars to. Well, an apprentice at least. A young energetic woman whose curiosity rivaled the size of the multiverse. He taught her how to read the stars, and what star to call upon for what spell, and the stories of the constellations both ancient and modern. She was a strong one, fated for something bigger than herself, perhaps bigger than the sky’s vastness. Wherever it is that she will end up, Arceel knew that in her absence they would still have each other if only they would look up under the same inky skies. Count the same twinkling stars. Rehearse each of their names in ancient tongues. Perhaps they would both find a belonging there, someday.
“I have never found a greater love,” Arceel told Retepa one night, after she had inquired about his past and if he ever held a quadrant, “than for those orbs of light above us.”
“That doesn’t answer my question though,” Retepa remarked.
“Then I reveal to you this: I have lived for millennias. Before the rise of civilization as you know it. Before the eras that history books color. So many people have come and gone with me, and I remain still; but the stars? I would kiss and hold like a lover. I would laugh and cry like a friend. I would scream and argue like a rival, for they would know me best. They are the pacifier, and I the grub that suckles upon it when plagued by bad dreams.”
“Nah, I think he just needs to get laid,” giggled Arceel’s jailer Watch’r, who had formed from the shadows behind him. “Sounds like a bunch of sappy hogwash.”
Arceel ignored him, and instead looked up to the stars above. It occurred to him then that perhaps he could not ever accurately summarize how much he suffered, or how much he yearned for a friend or lover, or how comforting the stars were to him. But perhaps he didn’t need to tell– they never changed, so how could he? Together and apart, for all eternity.
About: Liahne finally seizes her chance to end it all with Omnius, but things don't go exactly as planned.
CW: blood, graphic depictions of violence, character death
Word Count: 3,764
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It almost felt like a stroke of divine luck when Liahne had happened upon the billboard. For so long her enemy had been under her nose, hidden in plain sight. Frustration bit at her. His bright teal eyes mocked her, mocked everyone who walked by it on this busy street: an advertisement demanding attention, a charming smile that felt genuine and warm. He could fool anyone. He had fooled her once, long ago.
She closed her eyes and committed the bold letters of his firm to memory. It was not the only memory that echoed in her head; she remembered Omnius' warm embrace and the feel of his stubble tickling her cheek. She remembered laying her head on his chest and him kissing her horns or the top of her head. That aged cinnamon aftershave and the laugh marks at the corner of his eyes, his hair only beginning to pepper in white. Her heart twisted; those details had once brought her a feeling of safety, but the truth had long soiled it. It shouldn't have been Omnius' arms that held her. She had been blind; she believed a lie, and Rutaci had paid for it.
Liahne ducked herself into a quiet alley and away from the sounds of a bustling cityscape. She didn’t see the numbers dialed into her phone, and she could barely hear the line connecting when she brought the device to her ear. Every second was a slow heartbeat. Her palms began to sweat, causing her to idly wipe them on her jeans. It couldn’t be this easy, not after so long…
“Good evening. You’ve reached Triumph Law, Dioxal’s office– Mr. Amrida speaking. What can we do for you today?” The voice was soft yet strong, clear and cheerful. Liahne couldn’t imagine anyone sounding happy to work for Omnius.
That voice. It felt familiar, but… no, she was anticipating someone else. The only Amrida she knew would not be here in her enemy’s office, but off baking his heart out with a smile in a small town miles from here. “Is Mr. Dioxal in the office?” Liahne’s voice was low and barely above a whisper. It felt like superstition; say his name too loudly, and he will come with seven sweeps of bad luck. “I need to speak to him.”
“He is about to leave for lunch, but I can take a message. May I ask who’s calling?”
“Please,” her voice cracked. She cleared her throat, tried again, but didn’t feel as confident as she tried to be. “Please, it’s urgent.”
There was a moment of silence– hesitance. Liahne closed her eyes, trying to gather her nerves. She could hear the secretary shuffle on the other end, and then, “One moment, please.” It was the longest “one moment” of her life. Her hand began to shake, and her throat threatened to close as tears lurked behind her eyes. She found herself murmuring softly, too soft for the phone to pick up, little pleas that she was too late. That she would not be able to contact Omnius. That she never will– not without a knife in his gut.
A voice sounded on the other end, “Dioxal speaking.”
The world stood still, frozen in monochrome memories and acidic anxieties. Her breath shook like trees in the wind, and a concentrated headache was starting to take hold from her struggling effort to resist an audible cry. This had been the first she had heard his voice for several sweeps. Too many sweeps. She wanted to scream at him, ask him why, but fearful familiarity stunned her to silence. She listened to her killer’s probing hello’s trying to gauge if his client was still on the line. She would never give him that satisfaction, though not by her own choice. She had found him at last, with a plastic smile on a plastic sign in a blind city. Before long, the call was cut; he had hung up on her for wasting his time. She wiped the tears off her face and pocketed the phone.
It was at that moment that Liahne resolved this for herself; she couldn’t let Rutaci know about this. She owed it to him; she had ruined his life, and all he ever did was love her. Liahne swallowed a lump in her throat and bit back the tears that threatened to sting her eyes. She had let him go, and even now he continues to support her– from a distance, of course. He would never trust her again, not to that extent. They’re acquaintances, not friends, not lovers. She knew he was still hurting over her. No matter how many sweeps have passed, there will always be cracks in the canyon between them; a canyon void of water and natural beauty that once made it theirs to explore. Now, their exchanges were made through nothing more than vast empty space. The sun over the canyon was scorching them and burning them alive. At the very least, Liahne thought, she could allow herself to burn alone and keep him in the safety of the shadows.
Everyone else had gone home for the day, save for two. While the building was empty Omnius had thought to reward Kulsot for his work, and having no patience to get home the two stayed later than one might anticipate. The rush of heat and intimacy was a nice bonus, he thought, to the paycheck they had received that night. Everybody likes bonuses on their paydays.
A satisfied smirk stretched Omnius’ lips as he fastened his belt, and his bright teal eyes looked to his giggling matesprit with a level of love and compassion he had not felt for anyone else in a long, long time. He leaned in and kissed his secretary on the lips briefly.
“I’ll meet you in the car, my prince. Oh, and don’t worry about dinner today; I’ll take care of it while you shower.” His treat. Afterwards, the two would sit on the couch with their daughter to watch the morning programs until Soliel was tired enough for bed. Then Omnius would carry her to her room, check for monsters in her closet, and read her a story from her favorite book. His favorite part comes when he would kiss her forehead, and subtly whisper to the ghost of his childhood moirail, telling them both to sleep well and that he would drive his daughter to school in the dusk. It would be a perfect night, one he’s learned to embrace as softly as he had learned to embrace Kulsot.
The aforementioned Mutantblood slipped on his jacket with a smile on his face. After becoming fully dressed and checking himself over for any traces of the sins he and his matesprit had committed, he gathered his belongings and slipped out the door.
The building itself was rather large, hosting a number of legislacerators who either needed a company to work for or needed to rent an office to work in. Omnius was a special case; technically, he owned part of the firm, and in the cut-throat world of Alternia, his alter ego allowed him to keep the business safely and easily. He’d become a well established man, and the building reflected that with carpeted floors and milky walls reflecting marble pillars. Omnius did not design the building, but he did well in making sure it was presentable and comfortable for himself and his colleagues– and if it wasn’t for their pleasure, then it was for his diabetic rival.
Kulsot hummed as he took in the sights; for all that it was worth, he knew his matesprit to be passionate– it was a prideful feeling that resonated deep within him to see his matesprit’s hard work everywhere. It made him feel safe and secure, like nothing could touch them.
The elevator ride to the parking garage was thankfully short. The lot was nearly empty, save for a car or two including Omnius’. Though Kulsot walked this path many times before, he couldn’t help but be wary alone in places like this. The clicking of his heels against the cold pavement brought some comfort, enough to pacify him on his walk to the car. A glossy silver Coupe of the previous (but not too far) century, it was a brand that Kulsot recognized only because the rich and powerful liked to flaunt it. The specifics of its appeal were lost to him, but he could appreciate its aesthetic at least. He hooked a hand around the handle, but paused when he saw a reflection of a shadow flitting behind him. He twisted around, eyes wide, only to catch the sight and sound of the exit door clicking shut.
The shadow glided up a few flights of stairs, deliberate and quick. She quickly glanced down at the slip of paper in her hand noting the wing and office number that belonged to Omnius, then tucked it away in her back pocket. A wistful, anxious sigh, and blood roaring in her ears. So close. She was so close. Just a little further now, and it will all end. Liahne thumbed her knife hilt’s texture. A quick and easy kill, just as he had done to her.
Her ear flicked at the sound of the exit door opening and closing. Holding her breath, she ducked into a nook between the stairs and the wall which concealed her from view. “Hello,” she heard the voice echo through the stairwell. “Hello, is anyone here?” She heard the click-clicking of dress shoes on the stairs and cursed under her breath. She leaped forward and pushed herself into the landing’s door that led to the third floor, then side stepped and pressed herself against the wall right beside it. This had gained the secretary’s attention, and just as he rushed past the threshold he choked out in surprise when he was suddenly grabbed with a hand over his mouth and a knife to his throat. This was not without struggle, however; the Mutant was much stronger than he looked in ways very familiar to her.
“Stop it,” she hissed. “Stop! I don’t want to hurt you. Do you work for Dioxal?” Kulsot paused, glared at her, but then fell limp in surprise when recognition flooded his gaze. Liahne’s heart lurched into her throat. It couldn’t be… “Kulsot, you work for Omnius?” There was no masking the hurt in her voice, though it prompted a nod from the other.
“Kulsot are … you his matesprit?” She had read about it from somewhere, a tabloid, trying to juice this as a scandalous affair when there was none. She was met with another, though more hesitant, nod. Sympathy pierced through Liahne’s chest; the chances that Omnius was only using him were likely. She wondered briefly if Omnius had Kulsot working for him just to keep an eye on him, just like how he used to court her to keep her away from his secrets. “Then, I’m sorry. You’re not the one I have beef with.”
She relaxed her stance, only for Kulsot to push against her with an aggravated hiss and elongated fangs. Instinctively she returned the gesture; she hadn’t expected him to be a rainbow drinker– when did he die? Who killed him? Memories flashed before her, of the sweet little Kulsot in that sweet little bakery, laughing with his brother and her beloved Rutaci far before this; far before the Tealblooded snake made his name known.
This would make things harder. It broke her heart, but she knew what she had to do; she dropped into a combat stance, knife at the ready. But before she could act, Kulsot spoke, “Wait!”
Liahne wanted to move, to grab him, to silence him, but she found herself glued to where she stood. Frustration boiled within her; of course. This must be why Omnius kept him close: to have his own little bodyguard with a silver tongue. Did Rutaci know?
“What are you doing here?” She could see the confusion pooling in his unnervingly bright red eyes. She remembered making him special foods and drinks for his dietary needs. She remembered staying up late smiling and watching Kulsot and Rutaci talking, laughing, as if there could never be any trouble in the world that could tear them apart. She had made Kulsot and Wander gifts, little plush toys and flower arrangements for the bakery. He had been her friend just as much as he had been Rutaci’s. And now, here she was, where moments ago she had pressed a knife to his throat.
“He’s not who you think he is,” Liahne said, her voice almost pleading. Kulsot’s shoulders slumped as the puzzle pieces began to click into place. Of course; Rutaci knew Omnius, it would only make sense Liahne had known him, too.
“Oh, I know; that has never been an issue. But, you? This isn’t you.”
“I can’t afford to be me, not anymore,” she closed her eyes, remorse flooding through her. “You’ll understand, I’ll explain later. I need to see Omnius.”
Kulsot’s brows furrowed, “What for?” Liahne could not bring herself to answer that. Kulsot took several steps closer, his volume dropping, and worry hinting at the edges of his voice. “Liahne, when did you… Is Rutaci okay–”
He was abruptly silenced when her blade went into his abdomen, and her hand covered his mouth. His eyes went round and wide, shock and betrayal painting his features.
Liahne choked back her tears and kissed Kulsot’s forehead, “I’m so sorry; please forgive me, Kully.” With one quick, fluid movement, she brought the knife to his throat and pressed in, slicing deep.
To a mortal, this would surely kill them; but to a rainbow drinker, it would only incapacitate him for a few hours– or more. She bit her lip to keep herself from crying as she watched her friend crumple to the ground, holding his throat, gasping for air and throwing accusatory questions her way. …Why? Why? Why? Liquid emerald escaped down her cheeks; she hurriedly wiped them away and turned her back.
Omnius’ office was just down the hall on the left. Nerves left her hand trembling on the doorknob, her breaths nothing more than shaky hiccups. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was just supposed to be Omnius. “Get yourself together,” she hissed, “It’s now, or never at all.”
Liahne pushed herself into the office. It was small and cozy; Kulsot’s desk sat at the far side of the room, papers neatly stacked, and even the sticky notes and pencils were well organized. Liahne trailed a finger along the neat wooden desk, her heart dropping when she saw a framed picture of Kulsot with Omnius and some kid. She picked it up, studying their faces; Kulsot had made a life for himself. Omnius had made a life for himself. But that can’t be true… Omnius would never….
“Oh, hello, I’m sorry to inform you but the office is–” Liahne whirled around, heart racing. In front of her in the doorway was the man she had been hunting down all these sweeps. He looked much older than she remembered him; laugh marks made his eyes crinkle, and his head held a lot more silver hairs. She could see him calculating while his eyes were locked on her. He hadn’t expected to ever see her again, not after he had left her for dead. “--closed,” he finished slowly. It was satisfying, almost, to see him like a deer in the headlights of a car.
“Hello, Omnius.”
“Liahne.” His gaze flickered over her form, her clothes, and the bright red blood that was splattered on her. “Where’s Kulsot?”
“I’m not here for him.”
“I know you’re not bloody here for him; where is he?”
“He’ll be okay.”
“What did you do?” Panic. She hadn’t expected to hear panic in his voice so quickly. Had he actually cared for him? For Kulsot? For the pretty boy with powerful controlling psionics Omnius could exploit and manipulate? No. Not Omnius. Omnius didn’t have a heart for that. He’s a monster who would never know love. Instead of answering him, she held her dagger firmly in her hands, and lunged.
The two collided against the wall, grappling with each other; Omnius held Liahne’s wrists, trying to keep her from digging that blade deep into his heart. Though even as the point of the knife demanding the most attention in the room, he couldn’t stop thinking about Kulsot. What did Liahne do? How badly hurt was he? Omnius felt weak at all the possibilities; he had to survive this. He had to find Kulsot. He had to help him. He pushed against Liahne, headbutting her head and knocking her back onto Kulsot’s desk.
Stepping forward to grab Liahne, she quickly recovered and lashed out, cutting his arm. She kept up her flurry, lurching forward to slice at his arms and sides, but Omnius picked up a heavy porcelain figure from a display table and hit her across the head. Liahne stumbled backward, but was not deterred. When he went to smash her again, she kicked him in the stomach, knocking the breath from his body and giving her an opening to act further.
She grappled the lawyer and shoved her knife deep into his stomach, unconsciously mirroring the wound he had dealt her long ago. In, out, in, out; she stabbed him as many times as she could, and Omnius cried out at every single strike. Teal blood soaked through his clothes and splattered to the floor leaving dark stains on the carpet.
“This is for Stygia,” she twisted the knife in his gut. “This is for her kid,” she kneed him in his bloodied abdomen. “This is for me, and most of all, this is for Rutaci!” One final push, and she shoved him to the floor.
Omnius gasped, choking, coughing out blood and bile before falling limp. Still. Silent. Liahne glared down at him, then proceeded to kick him in the ribs. When he didn’t react, she felt satisfied with her work and the knife dropped to the floor. She wiped the little bit of blood from her cut lip and spat at the ground next to Omnius. “Rot in hell, honey.”
Easy. Pathetic. Hard, mind-blistering work for all these sweeps, and this was the end? So many nights stewing in the pain of past traumas, and all it took was this? Liahne was surprised to find disappointment pooling where relief should be, but it didn’t matter. She did her job. She avenged Rutaci. Everyone would be safe. Liahne turned to leave without a backward glance– that is, but a familiar ghost appeared with wide eyes and a frazzled expression.
“Stygia? Stygia, we did it–”
“Liahne, look out!!”
Hot pain shot through the back of her ankle, and she found herself collapsing to the floor. Rolling over onto her back, her eyes widened as Omnius loomed over her, eyes tinted red. With the hilt of her knife, he clobbered the side of her head. A loud ringing echoed in her ears as she tried to fight back against him, though this soon proved fruitless; he delivered another blow, this time to her jaw. There was a loud crack upon impact, and Liahne groaned. Another hit, and she realized suddenly she couldn’t see.
“S-Stygia!”
“Shut up!” Omnius’ voice was nothing but a monstrous growl, sounding nothing remotely Trollian. He coughed, blood landing on Liahne’s face. “Shut up! Oh, I should have made sure you stayed dead you wretched bitch!” His hands wrapped around Liahne’s throat and began to squeeze as much as he could. “What did you do to Kulsot?!” Of course, she could not answer. He smacked her face, and began to bash her head against the carpet, which was thin and did not entirely soften the hard floor beneath it. “If he’s fucking dead, IF HE’S FUCKING DEAD.”
“N-No–”
“SHUT UP!”
She clawed at his arms, cried for breath, cried for Stygia, but her voice held no power. Grabbing her knife once again, Omnius let go of her throat and lifted it high above his head. It went in too easy, like a hot knife to butter; a rageful blade to the heart. He twisted it far and deep, her hot blood washing over his hands. He was shaking, snarling, no more than a beast as Liahne choked out her final breaths. He felt her heartbeats slow quickly, letting out a triumphant groan when he finally felt it pull to a stop. This, he knew, would stop her entirely. Nothing can live without a heart.
Exhausted, he pulled himself up and leaned heavily against the wall, smearing Jade and Teal blood all over the expensive wallpaper. He clutched his side as he tried to regain his breath and bearings. He limped around Liahne’s body and nearly fell onto the door that led out into the hallway. He leaned on it, letting the swing of the hinges guide him out into the hallway. “Kulsot!” His voice was weak and cracked, pained, “Kulsot, where are you?!” His gaze landed on a black, white, and red body at the far side of the hall. Whimpers escaped his throat as he lost his strength and fell on his knees, dragging himself to Kulsot’s body. “No no no, not again, not again, please…” He picked Kulsot’s body up in his arms, noticing the slit throat. Ice cold panic flooded his veins; Omnius put his ear to Kulsot’s chest, listening for …
He pulled out his cell phone and made some quick dials, “...Quirky? Yes… yes I need your… assistance,” his breathing became more labeled as he spoke. “A Teal and a Red. Triumph Law Firm. Third floor. East wing corner. H-Hurry, o-or I’ll have your head and more.” Another day in the life of the Initiate. How sad. How boring. The same life-threatening adventures Omnius grew weary of. Omnius was confident, at least, that his connections will come– they always do– and he and Kulsot will get the help they need.
After shoving the phone back in his pocket, he ripped part of his dress shirt to wrap Kulsot’s wound. Then, he pulled the unconscious Mutant tighter to him and rested his head on the other’s shoulder as the world began to fade around him. His last thought before the darkness took him over, was that he hoped Soliel would not be cross with him for not picking her up from school on time….
