Young biologist Augustine and his sisters are already having a hard time getting funding for their projects without some... strange people getting involved.
Like the strangely charming Lysandre, who's supposed to be their point of contact, but who, despite his flashy princely appearance, seems completely out of his mind and has decided to jump into the sea and talk to them from there, from amidst the waves.
Are you guys completely sure joining the Aether Labs is the right choice?
Discover this and much more in the hilarious new chapter of "Fish Don't Cry." Don't miss it!
LEAF: So I've been doing some research into this Rodericke Steele individual.
LEAF: We have GOT to find Max a new sponsor.
LEAF: No child of Karrakis deserves this.
VORTEX: That bad?
LEAF: This man has all of the cruelty of Harrison Armory and none of the restraint.
>//...[UPLOAD::WhatIsHeWearing.omi]
PYCHOPOMP: ohhhhhh...i dont like that.
WARL0CK: ... I suddenly have the urge to punch this man really hard in the middle of his face.
VORTEX: Is that a smoking jacket over a turtleneck? Did he piss off his sartorial aides?
PSYCHOPOMP: ...I'm a scientist but uh, I dont think this is fashionable? I dont know. my brain is trying to eat itself looking at this
LEAF: I can't help but feel in some way responsible for Max's plight. So I'm going to try and set things right.
LEAF: That Taraxacum that Lord Castor-Eyros gave me - I'm going to give it to him. Not an ideal frame but it's better than having to beg and grovel before... THAT.
VORTEX: A little help goes a long way. It's also just the right thing to do.
And thus, the Lunar Falcons had convened in the Stables - minus Delamar, who was currently listed as "Intentionally Unreachable; Do Not Contact" on every single status feed. He'd apparently wanted to see all of Throne Karakiz' attractions, without being recognised as a noble of the House of Sand, and so was going incognito. Atreyu wondered how ahead on his studies the man must've been to afford an entire weekend doing the tourist circuit, but it was his scholarship to waste, they supposed.
In any case, they only needed a majority of the Lunar Falcons to transfer the frame to Max, but all four of them had turned up in solidarity.
"You have no idea how much this means to me," Max repeated breathlessly, having said it about six or seven times at this point. Finally, the license transfer sequence finished, and he began tapping his slate. "Okay, okay. Let's get this thing open and see what we're working with..."
There was a brief pause as the cockpit ramp lowered. Atreyu looked away for a moment, just in time to catch Tuera's shield turning from blue to red to white around her shoulder. Then they heard the gunshot. Turning back, they saw three hooded figures bursting from the darkness inside the mech. One had a knife, the second a pistol, and the third was aiming down the sights of a suppressed rifle, its barrel still smoking.
Soundtrack: Michael McCann - Neon Arterial - Ending the Family Presence
Tuera hit the floor - it seemed like her shield had absorbed the brunt of the blow, but from the way her shoulder was hanging, there'd still been enough force to dislocate it entirely. Immediately, without hesitation, Atreyu's revolver was in their hand and their shield was on. They threw themselves between the rifleman and Tuera, squeezing off four quick shots, not really aiming so much as trying to keep the sharpshooter's head down.
Caelan was a blur of white fur, bearing down on the assassin with the pistol with his knives drawn. Without the benefit of range, the assailant struggled to fend off the wolf's flurry of quick strikes. Bullets careened off the floor and nearby machinery as he fired blindly, until Caelan stepped under his desperate thrashing and sank a blade straight into the man's wrist. The pistol clattered to the floor, but the man didn't so much as blink - simply pulling out a knife of his own with his one good hand.
Over the other side of the bay, Persephone and Max cowered behind a crate as the knife-wielder advanced on them. Persephone was struggling to get her submachine gun unslung, and Max was desperately trying to fiddle with a fuel cell.
There was a snap of air and a pain like being struck with a baton, right in the chest. Atreyu felt their ribs creak under the strain, and looked down briefly at the angry red of their shield as a bullet fell to the floor in front of them. The rifleman was clearly unconcerned with how many people they had to kill to get to their target, and was already lining up another shot. Atreyu could feel the thrumbing of the air around them fall out of rhythm, becoming disjointed and staccato - their shield wouldn't survive another hard impact.
Atreyu could see the beast rising over the edge of the cliff they'd left it beneath, face bloodied, screeching in anger. In his mind's eye, the Wolf itself rose with hungry jaws.
They steadied one arm on another, and squinted, looking for a gap in their adversary's armour. They'd spent four bullets - two left. They took a deep breath. Time seemed to slow down as they let it out, seeking their target.
There.
The bullet struck the monster square in the hip, right where the ballistic plates had to be jointed for the sake of mobility, and suddenly he was just a man again - just a man, with all the vulnerabilities and weaknesses of a man. The oversized bullet rent flesh, sundered muscle, severed tendons, smashed bone apart. The assassin dropped to one knee like a puppet with half its strings cut, letting out a grunt of agony.
He hefted his rifle again, but suddenly Tuera leapt from behind Atreyu, her cavalry saber drawn in her off-hand, and faster than the wounded man could react, she had brought it down on the barrel, tearing the weapon from his shaking hands.
There was a cry of pain from Atreyu's left as an assassin's knife found Persephone's arm, but without any fanfare, Delamar was just there. He took the would-be-murderer's wrist and with surprisingly little effort snapped his arm back against itself with a sickening crunch. The knife fell to the floor, but its wielder didn't even blink.
Atreyu turned as a body hit the floor - Caelan's knives had made short work of the gunslinger - he still drew breath, but he was out of the fight. Tuera was busy beating the rifleman into unconsciousness. The third and final assassin turned tail and made as if to flee, but suddenly, the voice of ELIGOS, the College's NHP, filled the room.
"I think not. You'll stay right here, worm."
The Taraxacum moved on its own, seizing the masked man in both its manipulators. He struggled a little, clearly attempting to bite down on something, but restrained as he was, he couldn't stop Delamar from ripping his mask off and stuffing it in his mouth.
ELIGOS sighed theatrically. "Remain where you are. I have already summoned security. Oh, some of you are injured? Very well, I suppose I must also dispatch a medical team. Yet one more drop in an ocean of distractions."
Soundtrack: Sound of Syndrome - Wondrous Places
The next few hours were a blur. Everyone had insisted that they were fine and that the medics should tend to the others first, and the medics had insisted that no, they all needed to be treated. There had been a rush of well-wishing visitors - Ladies Elsa and Kiriona, Lord Tomas, Rawan, Marquess Fonatgue - but Atreyu couldn't help but obsess over who hadn't checked in on them.
Delamar had demanded to interview the assassins personally, only to be soundly rebuffed by College security - which meant Persephone had to hack into the mainframe and download the files herself.
What they learnt only raised more questions. The assassins were from the Dusk Wardens, house company of House Helsing - the minor house that had adopted Persephone in order to sponsor her at the College.
"Venthrax," Tuera spat. "My progenitor. He's always been angry that I chose to be a woman, and this isn't the first time he's tried to have me bumped off. But I'm too popular with the Raven Guard, our own house company, for him to do it openly - so using House helsing as cat's paws? He'd get me out of the way, and have a perfect casus belli to seize another house's holdings."
"They do not simply have you poisoned at breakfast? Or knife-fight your much older cousin, perhaps," Delamar enquired. "Fillicide via proxy fratricide is a time-honored tradition in House Leonasius."
"My family doesn't assassinate unwanted children," Caelan remarked, pulling a loose strand of fur. "They just make sure your survival pack is missing one or two vital things when they leave you out on the glacier for your rite of passage. Persephone, how did your family deal with its problematic scions?"
Persephone stared at Caelan like he had two heads. Atreyu said nothing, still lost in thought over who hadn't visited.
Aww...that last scene of the story chapter was sweet...
SO WHEN WILL THEY KISS!?
*Byakuya keeps a tight hold of her, as they carefully fly to safety.
Are you alright?
Thanks for saying all that to me...I feel better now...Gotta say, I was expecting you to give me some...tougher love.
That's not what you need right now. Are you still planning on quitting the Future Foundation?
I...think I need a bit of time to think about it...I still don't know if I'm the best choice for this position but...I'm starting to think Kyoko chose me for some other reason than personal bias.
...Good to hear. I'll respect whatever decision you make, of course, but you should trust Kyoko's mind. It's usually right.
Yeah, I know...
...But...hey...Can I ask you a kind of...strange...super weird...probably not worth it question?
Go ahead.
I've been thinking a bit about what happened back when you went off to fight Tsuchiya, and everything that's happened between us for a long time now...So...
...Would it...Um...ruin the moment...if...if we kissed right now?
...I'm sorry?
Uh!?
N-Never mind! Forget you heard that! AHAHA! The-The smoke is making me a little delirious HAHAHAHAHAHAAAAH!
You certainly sound delirious...But...
...No...I don't think so, at least...
!!?
Th-Then...
Are you sure? M-Me of all people...?
...I-I'm sure...
...
...~
...~
*As Hina gazes up into his eyes, her heart thumps in her chest. Byakuya cups her face softly in his hands, and with that, they both lean in and lock lips, gently and tenderly.
...
...
Ehehe...Never in a million years would I have seen this coming...I can't even imagine what past me would think if she ever found out...
That I would fall for a jerk like you...
Hmhm...You'll hear no denial on my part...But it's funny to think about how much you don't realize you want something until you finally have it...
*Byakuya holds Hina's hand and they interlock fingers.
Hina...I love you. Will you be my woman?
Yeah...! I love you too...!
*They kiss again, more passionately this time, and they stay like that for a while, embraced in one another's arms.
*Natsumi looks up at the ceiling above, currently lying down on Hajime's bed, surrounded by all types of pictures from his youth, and a stuffed 4ft teddy bear on the left side of the pillow. She curiously looks at the teddy bear, and then proceeds to grab the teddy bear and inspect it closely *
I never thought Hinata would actually have something as weird and childish as a teddy bear. He seems like the last person to actually have something as weird as this shit!.
CREAK!
!?
*Suddenly, the door starts to slightly creak open. Natsumi, sensing immediate danger, starts to move back and puts her right hand into her pocket to retrieve something. However, once she starts to look at who's coming in, she starts to retrieve her hand out of her pocket and calms down, as a familiar face walks inside and shuts the door behind him...*
SLAM!
...
Tch! Took you long enough! What the hell took you so long?
What do you think I was doing? I was talking to my parents!. And can you please explain to me why you're lying down on my bed?
We-Well, it was comfy! Excuse me for actually trying to get some rest after you almost killed both of us!
How many times do I need to say it was an accident!? And it's not like your taxi driver was that good of a driver either!
Chaffuer, bitch! Get it right in your braindead head of yours or are you just bulit like that!
It's still the same thing! And at the very least, I'm not an utterly, annoying asshole that whines about the littlest of things!!
*takes out a pocket knife from her right pocket* SAY THAT AGAIN!! Say that comment again, motherfucker!! Say it again, and I'll shove this knife right down your fucking throat!! You want that, do you? DO YOU!?
!!
*Both of them stand completely still as if time has completely stopped. Natsumi is currently holding the knife a quarter inch away from Hajime's throat with a death glare towards him, nearly piercing his flesh!. Hajime is currently standing motionless, aside from the absolutely panicked expression on his face, unsure of what to do or say in this moment...*
... *puts the knife back in her pocket* Sorry, I just don't appreciate it when people say shit to me like that. It gets fucking annoying real quick.
Yo-You were holding the knife at MY THROAT!! What does that say about you then if you're so willing to casually threaten anyone who disagrees with you!? Are you insane!?
Look, I don't have time for this shit! It's late and I wanna go to bed, alright? And stop whining like a fucking baby! I wasn't actually going to kill you, ya know?
Well, that still doesn't excuse you for putting that knife at my throat!. What if that knife actually penetrated my lungs? What would've you done then, huh? What would your response be?
...
I understand that you might have felt threatened by my response, and I completely apologize for that! But that doesn't give you the excuse to vocally threaten people with a weapon when they openly disagree with you or your opinions! That's not how the world works! And you need to learn from this! A lot actually!
When Firestar was a kit, still safe in his bed with his housefolk, his father would come by and tell him about his journeys. With expressive ears and waving tails, Jake would go on and on about the various cats and creatures he’d met on his adventures. Firestar remembered sitting up while his father told him about the cats of the forest who lived blood-bound to a strange and strict code, remembered tales of him meeting field dogs and calming them enough to have proper conversations from, remembered what he’d thought were surely exaggerated stories of sleeping with real wild hares. His father had claimed to be a house cat but anyone who talked to him knew he was a loner, a wanderer.
His father had been so impressive and as Rusty, all he could think was that he wanted to be just like him some day. Jake could befriend even the scariest clan cats and even speak dog. So when he’d met Graypaw, he’d ignored Smudge’s warnings about the clans’ reputation. Didn’t listen to Old Henry’s remarks about their unfriendly habits and most importantly he realized now grimly, he didn’t listen to a cat named Pine who’d claimed to be from the forest himself. Everywhere he’d turned there was another warning, and he hadn’t listened.
Now he here he was, heart in his chest thinking about his daughter and the fate of his grandkits.
Fury burns through his veins, burns through him as strongly as it had the first time he’d realized what had happened to Yellowfang. The same fury that bubbled within him when he realized what happened to Bluestar.
Here they were again, the damn stars above causing pain to cats who were only doing what they were told. Cats who dedicated their entire lives to obeying the stars and attempting to live their lives according to their word. All the joy in their lives hinged on a bunch of dead cats who’d forgotten the difference between living and surviving.
He sank his claws into the floor of his den and he felt his mind hazing over. He replayed the look on Leafpool’s face when she’d burst into his den, practically in hysterics. Firestar had leapt to his paws, panicked and alarmed.
“What happened?” he’d said, and it all spilled out.
Leafpool told him about Crowfeather, about sneaking away. She told him about Midnight - the reason they returned - and the kits being theirs. He licked between her ears like she was just three moons old again while she talked quietly about her and Squirrelflight’s plan. Most importantly she told him about Jaykit’s meeting with Spottedleaf, about his stubborn determination to be a warrior and the worry she felt when she saw his growing interest in seer work.
“And tonight I had a dream,” Leafpool whispered, looking up with dread on her face. “A holly bush that wilted under the moonlight. And in front of it, landed a jay.”
Firestar hadn’t been able to think of anything to say, fear building in his stomach at the implications.
“You can’t,” Leafpool burst out. “I can’t- I won’t- I can’t lose my daughter to this daddy please-”
Even if Firestar had been truly considering going through with the process of… of exiling his grandkit, this would’ve destroyed every ounce of his nerve at once
“I won’t,” he promised softly. “I won’t let them break us. I’ll come up with something. Just give me some time.”
She looked up at him, a relieved smile on her face like she was still just a kit and believed that her father would make everything okay. And Firestar vowed that he wouldn’t fail her.
---
In three sunrises, he had the beginnings of a plan. The first step had been the hardest - he’d brought Brambleclaw, Squirrelflight and Leafpool to meet in his den with Sandstorm. His daughters confessed the truth to their mother and to Brambleclaw.
At first the brown tabby had been furious - had snapped and snarled at them voicing his betrayal and fury.
“And if it had been Tawnypelt?” Squirrelfight had asked icily. “If it had been Tawnypelt frightened, pregnant and alone?”
Brambleclaw had deflated instantly. ShadowClan cat or not, Tawnypelt was his sister and he loved her so much.
“I-I’d take them,” he said. He’d traced his paw through the dirt and glanced back up at Squirrelflight, “I’m not… I can’t… you lied to me. And to them.”
“You’re right to be mad about that,” Squirrelflight had accepted instantly. “But I was protecting my sister and I won’t apologize for that.”
In the end they’d come to an understanding. Though it hurt, Squrrelflight acknowledged that lying to Brambleclaw about Hollypaw, Lionpaw and Jaypaw wasn’t good for their relationship - that mates should trust each other. In the end, they’d broken it off although Brambleclaw was open to staying friends.
Then came the next part - telling Squirrelflight, Sandstorm and Brambleclaw why this secret had to come out.
Squirrelflight’s legs had collapsed beneath her the second Leafpool had finished explaining and despite the argument they’d just had, Brambleclaw had pressed against her, simultaneous giving and seeking comfort.
“Hollypaw,” he’d rasped. “Firestar you can’t-”
“I won’t,” he confirmed. “I think I have an idea - one you need to think about and if you agree, you can help me plan the fine details.”
Firestar looked at the cats before him - his daughters, his mate and his son in all but blood. This was his family and he refused to let StarClan use their faith, their kindness and tear them down as if their seasons of service were worth nothing just because they had the audacity to live beyond the rules of a bunch of dead cats.
He took a deep breath and voiced a thought, an urge he’d felt as far back as when he was a new warrior. Looking beyond ThunderClan’s borders, feeling the same itch beneath his pelt that had driven him into ThunderClan’s paws once.
“We have to leave ThunderClan.”
---
The den hadn’t exploded into uproar like he’d braced himself for it to. There were no accusations of him being a soft-hearted kittypet looking for the first opportunity to run. A twang of guilt ran through him at the thought - here he was, a leader in the eyes of the stars, and he still didn’t - couldn’t - believe that any vague mention of a non-clan mindset would send him right back.
Back to being a scared little apprentice, alone and with hardly anyone on his side. Back to curling up in his nest - warriors, apprentices (leader’s) it never mattered to them and listening to hisses of skepticism about his devotion and how a kittypet like himself would never be worth anything. Firestar supposes the worst part of it was that none of them had ever apologized - not Mousefur and her stubborn harshness about clan life he supposes he was just supposed to know. Not Sandstorm for all her love for him or even Graystripe’s offhanded and well-meaning calling of him, “kittypet.”
He supposes that it’s something he might never get over. It was still a breath of relief he hated himself a little for taking but one he took all the same.
Squirrelflight had agreed quickly and Firestar hadn’t been able to suppress his smile - Squirrelflight had truly taken after him in regard to her wandering spirit. He’d noticed her eyes - much like his - gazing longingly towards the mountains, her paws trudging to a stop as she stared desperately towards the open and freeing spaces. She loved her family, so she stayed within the borders, but it was clear she preferred the wider areas of the world.
On the flip side, Brambleclaw had decided against going. He loved the lake and his paws weren’t interested in roaming - in possibly never finding another place to settle. Brambleclaw had never been comfortable travelling and on the journey to the sun-drown place, he’d never grown used to sleeping in different nests always under the same stars. He loved the friends he’d made along the way, but in the end, he preferred to be settled than to move about. When he confessed to this, Firestar had been ready to try another plan - to find a way to make StarClan work for them.
“No,” said Brambleclaw sternly. “I don’t want to go, but you can’t stay - StarClan chase you for the rest of your life. What if they send a sign to someone else? Someone willing to actually go through with it?”
“I- but I can’t,” Firestar had stammered.
Brambleclaw stepped forward and nuzzled under Firestar’s chin, purring softly. When Firestar looked down, he saw nothing but affection tinged with sadness in his eyes.
“You’ve been the best dad I’ve ever had,” said Brambleclaw, smiling. “Now you have to trust me to be okay without you.”
Firestar opened his mouth, then closed it again, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Take care of our family.”
When everyone recovered from Brambleclaw’s decision, it was to no surprise that Leafpool agreed on the spot. She loved healing and his daughter was truly one of the most talented seers to ever grace ThunderClan, but this was for Hollypaw. For her kits, she’d give up everything in the world.
Sandstorm had echoed this sentiment. ThunderClan had been her home for her entire life - she didn’t know a life outside ThunderClan - but she was always opinionated, and she wouldn’t let the beliefs of a bunch of dead cats drive her daughters away from her.
“Is there anyone else?” Firestar asked them. “Think hard - anyone you wouldn’t want to leave behind and would be open to this? I plan to speak to Graystripe and Cloudtail myself.”
Leafpool’s tail flicked, a pained look making its way to her face, “I know someone but… it’s Mothwing. She won’t leave RiverClan.”
Squirrelflight nudged her, a small smile on her face, “You can at least tell her you’re leaving.”
The apprentices took it worse than their parents, but that was to be expected. Still, he felt a twang of pride when Lionpaw and Jaypaw had quickly stepped between him and their sister, bristling sound her defensively. His kin - without even being told - understood one of the most fundamental house cat rules.
Kin first.
“It’s okay,” Firestar attempted so soothe.
“You can’t do this!” Jaypaw hissed. “I won’t be it! I won’t be a seer!”
“You’re not going to be,” Leafpool said determinedly.
“I won’t?” Jaypaw asked, slowly flattening his bristled fur. “But what about StarClan?”
“StarClan can lick rabbit dung,” Firestar said shocking them. “You’re my kin and Leafpool is my kin. I will not let them tear us apart.”
“I-I’m staying?” Hollypaw asked hopefully.
“No,” said Firestar shaking his head. “You’re still leaving. But we’re going with you.”
The three apprentices were silent, Lionpaw and Hollypaw staring at him with wide eyes trying to processes what he’d said.
“We can’t afford to hide the sign and have StarClan go around us,” said Firestar grimly. “I have loner friends who live just outside the territory. We’ll pretend to exile you and you’ll stay with them while we finish getting everything here set up.”
“I’ll be alone?” Hollypaw asked, her voice quavering.
“No, never,” said Firestar. “The loners will keep an eye on you. But we have to find another cat to replace Leafpool when we leave and come up with reasons for your brothers to meet up with you that won’t draw any suspicion.”
As Hollypaw nodded, letting her brothers’ pelts pressed against her soothe her. Brambleclaw cleared his throat softly and drew their attention to him.
“I have a replacement for Leafpool,” he announced.
“Really?” Firestar said with relief. “That’s great - one less thing to worry about.”
Brambleclaw took a deep breath, “I’ll replace Leafpool.”
Salem was angry. Cinder has just gone and disobeyed her after only just getting back into her good graces, and while she had the Relic of knowledge, Salem rather ironically, did not know how to activate it or if she was even able to use it.
Now, not only does she find that her relic is gone, but one of her subordinates have turned heel. They were particularly useful as well Emerald was, with her ability to manipulate people’s perceptions.
And she has caught Emerald escaping with Ozma along with a small party of huntsmen. She quickly takes Emerald by them neck and clutches her head close
“You really have been honing that semblance of yours”
Only to narrowly dodge gunfire and then facing the others. Taking a second to appraise them, she sees if any of the new visitors are worth her time.
She first sees a young women with a long flowing mane of blonde hair, with a metal arm and armed with some complex looking vambraces. Or maybe they are gauntlets, it’s hard to tell. Beyond that, she looks much like Raven Branwen colored differently.
She also sees a huntres- no a huntsman with a long black braid, and wielding what appears to be a pair of firearms with dual daggers attached to them. He has a stoic expression, and they almost look a bit gray. Not one for power, but likely finesse, like a rogue before the second rise of humanity. Not very important. Not like they will be breathing for much longer.
Then Salem turns to the last member of this little rescue party.
Well, he seems interesting. She can’t put her finger on it, but he seems, familiar almost. Perhaps it is the knight archetype he has going on. Possibly trained by Ozma? If so then she is going to save him for last, and make Ozma watch as she tears him apart.
Before analyzing any further, she fires he magic at the rogue, but the knight sidestepped in front of him and blocked it with his shield. She thought she saw a bit of gold on the shield, but that might just be residual light from her magic.
As the knight and the rogue are knocked back, the brawler leaps at her and lands a few rapid jabs at her chest, before dashing away. Before Salem can even turn towards the brawler, some small devices stuck to her torso combust and she is blow open, folded backwards in half.
Salem doesn’t even activate her aura. She has it unlocked, but why even activate it when every injury inflicted on her is simply undone in a matter of seconds unless she tries to suppress it. Physical pain is nothing to her, having felt fatal wounds over and over again, and the dark essence numbing what little she does feel.
Before Salem even finishes regenerating, she shoots out a black tendril from her left hand, and is now holding both Emerald and the Raven lookalike in each hand.
Then Ozma fires his own beam of magic at her. She flinches because while Ozma’s magic is not even a fraction of what it once was, his artifacts hurt more than most other things do. In retaliation, Salem throws the brawler at him, but fails to see the knight charging at her until the last second.
She lazy leans to her side to dodge. While wounds mean nothing to her she does know the disadvantage an opponent has while off balance. The knight still manages to cut her unoccupied arm off though, so as soon as she is behind the knight she uses her restraining glyphs to trip and hold him down, along with the rogue so they would not step in either. She aims her shoulder at the knight and-
Wait a second.
Her arm has not regrown yet?
How is this possible?
Even actively willing her arm to regrow she notice it regrowing at a snails pace. But that shouldn’t be possible. She looks to the knight and ponders how he managed to make a lasting wound. Only magic and weapons imbued with such could possibly do that, and not this much. The only weapon ever to wound her for this long was-
Salem’s eye narrow.
“Crocea mors.”
The knight lets out a gasp. It seems she was right about the blade, different as is may appear. She finally gets a good look at the white kite shield, with a crest in the center, of twin golden arcs.
Salem addresses the young knight, now seeing some resemblance. “That weapon belongs an old family, one who was supposed to stay out of this war. Possession of it either make you a thief,”
His eyes narrow in indignation and suspicion.
“Or an Arc. Would you explaining which you are so that I may return it to it’s rightful owners?”
“You stay the heck away from my family.” The Arc growls out.
“So an Arc then. How are Nicholas and Juniper? I have not heard from Ansel in quite some time.”
He looks at Salem in confusion, “how do you know my parents?”
“I forged that very blade you hold from my own blood, killing my self over and over until my remains had enough iron in them to make it. It was not capable of slaying me as I had hoped, but it was still a weapon worthy of a hero, one like Julius.”
“Great-great grandfather.” He muttered.
“Yes, after miraculously finding a distant descendant of one of my daughters about to go to war, I thought fit to improve their chances of survival. After giving him the gift of my own blood steel, and an enhancement to his aura, I watched over his family as he went to war. I used to visit the Arcs regularly, until... recent developments have made me advance my plans.”
She turned to Emerald again, pinning her to a wall with glyphs , “but enough of that. You will tell me where the relic is, or I will force it out of you.”
“I swear I don’t know.” Emerald began to cry. Hmm, perhaps. Perhaps not. Salem will have to check with her seers if they saw who took it.
Hazel then came walked in, but Salem didn’t pay him any mind. Even out numbered Hazel was a skilled combatant who only Tyrian with his aura bypassing semblance could defeat with anything remotely resembling ease. She continued to pressure Emerald, when suddenly Hazel of all people struck her sending her flying. He injected several dust crystals into himself and began to fight her off. His power was almost comparable to a maiden. He managed to get Salem in a hold and set them both on fire, as Ozma pointed his cane at her.
The last thing Salem saw was one of her descendants looking toward Ozma, and then a great flash of light.
Remember how I’ve been babbling about this chapter that I’m very excited about and want to post here once I finish it? I finished it, so here it is!
T/W: nothing serious, but there is a hunt scene where an animal is killed, and it’s briefly described. And repeated mentions of alcohol consumption.
Note: Again, not a native English speaker. If you think something sounds strange, please, tell me! This is the first draft, so there’s a chance some details might change, but hardly anything serious. Also this is about 1,900 words - not very long, but you might want to find a comfortable place and maybe get some tea.
Chapter 3. Never cry Villain
Where a sad and lonely person becomes perpetually more sad.
Pitiful. Rukard, The Prince of the Dark Woods, the Wild Hunter, the Nightmare in Green could not describe his current state more accurately than pitiful.
He was staring at the ceiling, wondering if there was any reason to get out of bed today. He wasn't needed for anything. He did not have any obligations. He was supposed to wait, and he doesn’t need to get out of bed for that. Come to think of it, did he ever have a reason? He closed his eyes and tried to find a pleasant memory, but they all seemed to shrink, fade away, hide in the far corners of his mind. However, one memory, one that he did not want to recall at all, let alone now, was nudging him again and again.
- That idiot! - Rukard couldn’t help but growl, - Running off all on his own!
“Wait for me here,” he said. “It’s too dangerous,” he said. “Someone has to feed the snake-lions,” he said. Feed the snake-lions! Any servant could do that! It was just insulting, leaving him like that, like some fair maiden waiting for the knight to return with a dragon's head. Does he expect him to make tapestries?
Well, someone does have to feed the snake-lions. Rukard tossed and turned some more before finally getting out of bed. He looked around the room, wondering if he could find some clean clothes. His choice was quite limited: most of the things he owned were, at their core, fancy armor. Armor that looks wonderful when its wearer is on a horse, wielding a sword and a whip, ready to kill and awe. Armor that isn’t anything but uncomfortable clunking metal and stuffy leather when you’re trying to cook breakfast.
Oh. Oh no. He shuffled through the messy piles on the floor, again and again, unable to detect anything he could even consider putting on without disgust. There really were no clean clothes left.
He could think of two options. One, he could go about his day in his nightgown until he finds someone and makes them wash his clothes. Two… he hated option number two. He hated that he even thought of it. He hated that he kept thinking of it.
He reluctantly made his way over to an old, abandoned chamber.
Everything was just like when he was here for the first time as if he didn't leave at all. How long ago was that? Five years? Six? Seven? It didn’t matter here. Here, only dust and spiderwebs acknowledged that time still worked.
But enough about that. He wasn't here for nostalgia. Rukard wandered around the room, looking for something. Ah, here it is. A small closet was wedged between two bookshelves, a pile of hay in front of it giving off a strong scent of wild animals and serpents. Of course. In Heshi's room, it's only natural that all space would be given to books and snake-lions, leaving only the bare minimum for its owner. Rukard carefully moved the odorous pile of hay and opened the closet. The good news was that the moths didn’t get to the clothes, probably repelled by the smell of snake-lions. The bad news: these were, in fact, Heshi’s clothes. His "casual" clothes. His “tremble before this Dark Lord, as he brings doom and despair upon the world” clothes. Oh well. Still better than a nightgown.
He put on the least extravagant attire he could find; a garnet-red shirt and a pair of black pants that could be considered normal if you would ignore the skull incrustations. His old shoes were still wearable, but the light-brown hunting boots clashed so much with the rest that he decided to take a pair of batwing boots to match the outfit.
Now, having something to wear, he could carry on with his day. He carefully examined the pantry. Of course, plenty of dried meat for the snake-lions. Various groats and grains he could hardly tell apart, let alone cook. Salt, spices, oil. Vegetables were kept in a special section, deeper underground for cold storage. Heshi really made sure that Rukard would have everything he could need for a long time. But how long, exactly? How much longer?
Rukard shut the pantry’s door. To Aaa’s way with breakfast. He has to kill somebody, and while that idiot is running around, trying to save the world, he can’t risk crossing water, which would be necessary to get to any living (i.e. killable) people. Hunting it is, then.
Half-way to the main entrance, Rukard stopped in his tracks. Equipment. Hunting equipment. He needed that. The weapons he had with him - a sword and a whip, his usual arsenal, would not do. But this wasn’t his castle, where he had anything and everything needed for his favorite pastime. Was there any equipment here at all?
A memory flashed through his mind. There has to be a bow here somewhere. He searched every dim, dusty room until he finally found it. In terrible need of care and maintenance, a simple maple recurve bow. His old bow.
It was unstrung, the bowstring loosely tangling from the top limb. The quiver was lying nearby, a few arrows still in it, gathering dust with their fletchings. He didn't expect to leave it for this long.
No. No flashbacks, no nostalgia. He is going to string this bow, go out, kill somebody, and feel better. And then maybe raid the wine cellar.
With that - after stringing the bow, of course, which was trickier than he remembered because he was out of practice - he stomped his way over to the main entrance, threw the door open, and started to make his way edge of the forest, staring right at the tips of his boots, determined not to look at anything that could trigger…
- Hello! Beautiful day today, isn’t it? - a cheerful voice made Rukard flinch and frantically look around
A grey, cloaked figure was sitting cross-legged on the grass, only a few steps away from the main entrance, waving at him, so wrapped up in grey cloth that only its eyes and the tips of its fingers could be seen. There was a book on their crossed legs. They were holding a pencil in the hand that wasn’t occupied by waving.
- Why are you here, mortal? - Rukard asked, slipping into his usual demon-of-the-forest act, mostly out of habit. The figure scratched its head
- I am looking for something.
- What? - Rukard asked sharply, his hand searching for the whip’s handle. If they were here to rob Heshiktow’s old house, then deer-wolfs and birds aren’t going to be the only ones dying today.
- I do not remember - the cloth on the figure’s face moved, indicating that it must have smiled
- Then go look someplace else! Any place is good enough if you don’t know what you’re looking for
- Of course! If I’m bothering you, I’ll leave. Just let me finish drawing, okay?
Rukard studied the stranger’s book more closely. On the open pages, he could see a few sketches of the castle. But not only that. Almost half of the page was full of snake-lions. No sane person would be willing to approach those beasts if they didn’t bond since childhood - to anyone but their owner, snake-lions could be aggressive and extremely dangerous. The only person he knew willing to approach wild, abandoned, or lost snake-lions, or simply snake-lions belonging to others, was Heshi. And apparently, this quaint creature.
Seeing that Rukard was looking at its book, the cloaked figure raised it above its head so that Rukard could see it better.
- Do you like my drawings? - the figure asked in a slightly worried tone. Rukard didn’t quite know what to answer. The drawings were good, but he wasn’t in the mood for giving compliments.
- Why did you draw them? - he asked, instead
- Because they’re beautiful, of course!
Rukard had no idea how to continue this conversation, as it has gone badly off the usual intimidation script. The figure didn’t seem to pose much of a threat, so instead of continuing this strange and tiresome endeavor, Rukard recomposed himself, scoffed, and headed off into the forest. Kill someone, raid the wine cellar, feel better. He had a plan, and chatting with deranged strangers that like to doodle wasn’t part of it.
First, he worked with the arrows. Some were fine, but some, probably those that had contact with the sunlight, warped and lost their balance. He heated them on a fire he started and carefully straightened them out. He practiced with the arrows that seemed fine from the start and then with those that warped after they cooled down. If there was a difference, it wasn’t as blatant as it was before.
He practiced some more for the muscle memory to kick in until he was happy both with his tools and his reflexes, then began the tracking. It was the summer’s peak, the worst time for tracking - the fresh, boisterous vegetation covered any tracks that were more than a few minutes old. Still, from broken twigs and bald patches on the ground that indicated common animal routes, he found a place where he could wait and listen. Listening was the best part.
A few birds stopped singing, waiting for someone to pass by. A small squirrel-hare rushed away, causing some grass and saplings to rustle. The forest was his friend. The forest was willing to tell him where and how to find anyone inside it if only he would be willing to listen. And he was.
After the forest showed him where the deer-wolf was, catching it was hardly a problem. It wasn’t used to people. When it was shot, a look of innocent surprise crossed its muzzle, which quickly got distorted by pain before finally freezing in a peaceful, meaningless expression. Rukard felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He didn’t really need the meat. He just wanted to distract himself. But leaving the animal now would make its death even more meaningless, so Rukard went to the stables, took a soiled carrier-sled, and dragged the body back.
Originally he wanted to cook and eat what he’d catch, but he still remembered the deep surprise in the now-glass eyes of the deer-wolf. Some of those grains Heshi left would do. And wine. The strongest wine he’d find in the cellar, and as much of it as possible. He may be able to eat that meat later.
- Pull yourself together, you slob - he scolded himself while dragging the body - this isn’t your first kill. This isn’t even your tenth! You can’t start regretting these things now! Come on, you did this to cheer yourself up! Be cheerful, damnit!
When he returned, he felt that something was missing. He studied the castle and yard, again and again, trying to understand what it was. The castle was quiet. The edge of the forest was black in the twilight. The snake-lions were hissing and roaring in their paddocks.
The cloaked figure was gone. But that can't be it, can it? After all, he told them to leave. He wanted them to leave. He shouldn't feel this empty.
Rukard stared mindlessly at the deer-wolf's frozen expression. In a way, the beast had it better than him.
