Okay, I need to get this small scene out of my head. Inspired by this fic, but with a dose of the usual Nereid weirdness. Sanity is overrated. And I can only do so much angst. Contains Curze and Elver, we all know that means messed up and not safe for work.
Elver could feel his doom approaching as the Sheldroon began its descent to the dark, sunless world of Tsagualsa. The more Curze told him about his favorite son, Sevatar, the more certain Elver became that Sevatar was dead. A man like him would have been by his father’s side if he was able. And Elver wasn’t that lucky.
The scars stung, but Elver was used to pain. Curze had added to his scars over the last year, copying the ones Sevatar had. Half the time the Primarch was calling him Sevatar, the rest of the time strangling him and cursing him out for not being Sevatar.
He tried, he really did. But to his shame, he would inevitably mess up and dispel the illusion Curze clung to. And his tears of shame definitely didn’t help. Sevatar didn’t cry.
As they descended lower, Elver felt a cold chill like a ghost had walked over his grave.
Tsagualsa wasn’t empty. He could see a faint glow. Turning to Curze for a moment, Elver pointed it out to Curze, who seemed unusually tense, his expression wavering between despair and anticipation.
The monster immediately smacked Elver aside, like he was a mere insect and not someone who cared. He wasn’t Sevatar and thus all his efforts were for naught.
Taking the controls, a manic grin on his horrifyingly beautiful face, Curze seemed to be trying to crash the Sheldroon.
Leaving Elver in a battered heap, sticky and damp with his own bodily fluids, cursing the name Jago Sevatarion, Curze ran out of the Sheldroon like his nonexistent pants were on fire.
A towering Nostraman was sitting on the back of an eight legged horse, the picture of calm despite the horse trampling a screaming painted dandy of a man. Inclining his head in greeting, as elegantly as ever, First Captain Jago Sevatarion greeted his Primarch with a ghost of a smile.
“Welcome home, Father. I was just disposing of some garbage.”
“Where the fuck have you been, Sev? I believed you were dead! Also where is your armor? What is with the xenos horse?” Night Haunter screamed and raged. Spittle and filth flying as he gestured and flailed.
Indeed, of the two beings, only the horse was wearing armor. Midnight blue, with a batwing crest over the ears. Sevatar was dressed more like a lumberjack.
“Father, this is my brother Sleipnir. Sleipnir, this is my sire, Night Haunter.”
Sleipnir gave Konrad a judgemental look.Swishing his tail. Before making a surprisingly pleased noise.
“That’s what you choose for respond to?” Curze snarled. “Are you fucking with me?” He couldn’t even strangle Jago, the eight legged horse was too tall.
“Would I do that, sire?” Sevatar pet the horse. “Sleipnir and I share a father.”
“What.” Was all Konrad could say to that.
Behind them Elver had managed to limp out of the Sheldroon. “So that’s why. I’m not enough of a cryptic asshole to be Sevatar.”
Making a noise like a cat being strangled, Elver started hobbling away from Konrad’s fury, Sevatar’s laughter following him.
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