𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖕.

𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙡'𝙨 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣.

[underworldxcorp]

ᴀ ʙ ᴏ ᴜ ᴛ - ᴍ ᴇ. ↳ 24. taurus. call me korra. anxiety ridden software dev, writer, bookworm cat mom, gamer, makeup addict & digital artist. you know the drill. don’t use my real name k pls & thx. <3

ᴘ ʟ ᴏ ᴛ ꜱ. ↳ west moore // the darkov experiments // hex street // underworld corp

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[underworldxcorp]

Marcel 01

Bash’s fondness for his captive was growing concerning, had Marcel been involved he would’ve executed their old man’s orders with cold, swift calculation. No time for hesitation. No time for second guessing. No room for growing soft.  

Marcel accepted that he would end up in a loveless marriage just as his father had; out of politics and convenience. In the game of life they played and with the hand he was dealt, there was no time for any distractions when you were busy running an empire. Marcel had learned that from an early age, given that his parents didn’t even have the patience for him.

You ruined me.

He could hear the blizzards of ice shards in her voice as it echoed through his head, preceding the impact of glass, shattering across his face. Red wine muddling with blood.  Marcel winced at the memory, only seventeen and eyes wide open to the cruelty of other humans. His fingers grazed over the scar that slashed its way through his eyebrow, dividing the body from the tail. Marcel would always be marred with the reminder from that day;  he ruined his mother.

Even if there wasn’t a drop of love in his own future, Marcel didn’t want to carry on the cycle of resentment and trauma. He didn’t want to keep playing who could inflict more damage on who.  

With a quick pivot of the heel, his fist connected with the mirror, barely scuffing the laminated glass. He glared at his reflection; he sported his father’s chiseled face but his eyes held the same fury of his mother’s dark conniving emerald. He leaned closer, almost nose to nose with his reflection. He tilted his square jaw back and forth, examining every inch of his face. Why did he have to look like a young mirror image of his father? But better looking.

Marcel had the opportunity to be with a bountiful of beautiful women; a harem if he really wished. His acute self control is what made many question his sexuality. A man of his caliber could have any woman, and yet temptation never seemed to phase him. All because in the emotional department, Marcel knew he couldn’t give a woman what she wanted, not to the extent that they expected from fairytales. He lived in a dark twisted underworld, hidden from the public eye. Dragging an unknowing girl into the mix was a recipe for catastrophe.

With a slow deliberate hand, Marcel undid the clasp to the Manila folder detailing Summer Flores’s life. He reached for the series of photographs out of the folder first; some were photos from her social media and others were of her unaware that she was even being watched. Through the trees as she walked on the streets; through the cracked glass of her bedroom window. Poor girl.

Still thumbing through the photos, he paused to scan a candid of her, face turned three quarters and laughing. Her brown eyes twinkling. Marcel ran his thumb over the photo, clearing off the settled dust. Summer wasn’t the most beautiful girl in the room, but she was still easy on the eyes in a soft delicate manner. Petals of beauty akin to the flowers that bloomed during her namesake. He couldn’t look away, afraid if he did the pretty little birdie would fly from reach.

As she should.

She couldn’t though, not while his brother had her sitting comfortably in a golden cage where a quick hand could snuff out the life from her at any given moment.

For a moment, he considered paying her a visit. Would she cry at the approach of the wrong brother? Would hot tears sting at the corner of her eyes?

Why did he want to find out?

[underworldxcorp]

The Fire (Part 1)

November 29, 1950 9:15 PM Ithaca, New York

Across the quiet hills, a duo were trekking in the late November snowfall toward their destination. Dressed in a wool peacoat, the man spoke in a hushed tone, “Are you sure this will work?” He had to stifle the bored yawn threatening to part his lips.

Crouched side by side, the woman narrowed her milky eyes at him. With a hand rummaging through her bag, her other struck the man across the face in one fluid slap. “You’re the one who didn’t want to be the bottom of the pecking order, Ransom.” She venomously spat his name before placing the jewel in his hand. “Make yourself useful.”  

With scoff, Ransom scowled down at her. “Thanks for the reminder.” He frowned, rolling his eyes in patient aggravation. “You better warn me this time before you–”

Roulette exhaled a soft sigh of relief as her brother halted mid sentence. His whole figure was paused in perfect place; the crystallized snowflakes were floating still in mid air. The entire night was stopped in this one frozen moment. She blinked a few times to let herself adjust to the gift of sight. Foresight.

With another blink, she was standing in the corner of the house’s bedroom. She took few languid steps, her footsteps barely audible against the carpeted floor. At the edge of the bed, she pulled her hood down as her gaze focused on her youngest brother. His skin was pale and slick with a cold sweat against his chalky skin.

“Oh, Riot,” Her tone dropped an octave. With time paused, he would never know of her brief concern. Her worry was short lived; a catalyst for her to continue with the spell and fix him.

Conjuring up water and a mug, Roulette placed the mug on the floor next to her as she knelt. With an opalescent soul gem tucked between her pointer and middle finger, she began chanting with her hand hovering from above. Her words were ancient and poetic and caused the water to swirl around like a liquid galaxy. With a rapid strike of the gem against the lip of the mug, she cracked the contents into the cup like an egg.  

Roulette watched as the dark inky contents transformed into a deep, bleeding red. Satisfaction curled her lips into a smirk as she stood and turned to her ill brother. With one hands clasped around the handle of the cold ceramic mug, she used her other hand to gently lift her brother's head up. She kept repeating the same verse over and over again as she placed the mug to his lips, tipping it slowly and letting a sip of the liquid drop into his mouth. Her eyes were replaced each by a black empty void, dark spectral magic emanating off of her hands as she lifted them, controlling the ebb and flow. The goopy tar had managed to wrap itself around her brother's body , as she yanked on the reins, pulling forth the demon half of him she knew he had chosen to ignore.

Roulette's words came out soft, and welcoming, "Come home, Valentine."  She giggled maniacally, before her knees buckled beneath her from the exertion of power. A strand of her raven colored hair was devoid of color, stained white. She lifted her head, shadowy emptiness in her eyes. She took a moment to gather her bearings, breathe in and exhale out in consolation that the deed was done.

She had saved him.

Had her and Ransom not interfered, Riot was running the risk of losing all contact with his familiar, Valentine. Though the blessing of immortality would always be bestowed upon him, he wouldn't be anymore useful than their father; vacant of magic.

Reconvening outside with Ransom, time resumed.

"—stop time again." Ransom said with his eyes focused on the house. Unbeknownst to him, that she had already frozen him in place. When he turned his gaze to meet hers, his brows furrowed at the sight of her white strand of her. Her natural dark color was starting to leak back into it.

"God dammit," He said. He clutched the jewel in his palm, it's surface was hot against the touch. "You know I hate when you do that."

"Shut up." She hissed in discomfort, "Move onto Phase II before it's too late." Her breathing was still staggered as she regained her energy. "Valentine won't stay in the forefront for long."

"'Make yourself useful, Ransom,'" He mocked as he sauntered toward the house, disappearing with the dark curtain of the night. Flattening against the wall, he pressed his palm with the jewel against the panels of the home. "'Move onto Phase II, Ransom.'"

"Ignitium impes," He said, breathing life into his words. The jewel in his hand dissolving and erupting into hungry, ravenous flames. Before long, the house would be consumed in full and Ransom wasn't going to stick around long enough to feel the searing heat against his skin. With both hands placed in the pockets of his coat, he walked away with lazy, nonchalant steps. Angry orange, and red flames casting a halo of light around his figure as he walked away.

Roulette leapt to her feet, gliding against the blanket of snow as she met her brother halfway. Her features illuminated by the unstable rage of flames, and her expressions lit up like a giddy child from the chaos. She grabbed Ransom's hand in her own, pausing time once more. "Will he know?" Ransom asked, looking at the still frame of the disaster they created.

"No," She narrowed her eyes at him for doubting her abilities. "That's the beauty of the butterfly effect."