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darkdevasofdestruction · 1 year

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Chapter 3 ~ The Final Task

Once more, Kratos liberated the ship of the undead minions, yet before him lay people - Slaughtered like animals, the victims lay before him... A reminder of his own past. A past, from which he could never escape. His only solace was the sea, endlessly sailing from one harbour, to the next, in service to the Gods of Olympus. All his hopes rested within. For ten years, he was their martyr, their puppet, but the nightmares plaguing the Spartan were growing far more painful with each day, and he was swiftly losing patience.

"Athena!" the warrior cried out into the sky, exiting his cabin in the ship, to speak to the statue of Athena. "For ten years -- I have faithfully served the Gods for ten years! When will you relieve me of these nightmares?" he asked accusatory, angry that no matter his hard work, his reward was never given to him. "We request one final task of you, Kratos. Your greatest challenge awaits, in Athens, where even now, my brother, Ares, lays siege as we speak. Athens is on the verge of destruction - It is the will of Ares, my great city fall. Zeus has forbidden the Gods from waging war on each other - That is why it must be you, Kratos - Only a mortal trained by a God has a chance at defeating Ares." the statue of Athena spoke, laying down the task for her champion. "And if I am able to do this - To kill a God - Then, the visions... They will end?" his voice softened, having, for the first time in ages, a thread of hope dangling before his very eyes. "Complete this final task, and the past that consumes you will be forgiven. Have faith, Kratos. The Gods do not forget those who come to their aid." thus, leaving the rotting carcass of the Hydra behind, Kratos set sail once more. His greatest challenge, and freedom from his growing madness, lay before him, in the ancient city of Athens, battling many a foe on his way.

In great haste, Kratos ran up the stairs, on the Way to Athens, and as he reached the top, he noticed a familiar silhouette of a woman with red hair, so long that it almost reached the ground, with various coloured flowers braided into it, and her dress was of the most expensive linen, embroidered with gold and dyed a deep green, just like the forest. Though it was not sheer like Aphrodite's, the lineout of her attractive silhouette could be seen. Still, as the champion stepped next to her, he couldn't help but wonder - What was the Goddess of Nature doing in a place like this? If Ares was the God of War, Katrina might as well be the Goddess of Peace and all things nice. The battlefield was no place for the kind.

"I see you have arrived faster than I expected, Kratos. I pray your journey was not a tiresome one." her voice was sweet like honey, Kratos always thought so, yet now, more than ever, her sadness was obvious. While some revelled in war, she could not stand even the idea of it. "It was fine. What are you doing here? I did not call for you." for some, such a statement would sound hostile and aggressive - But not for her. Instead, she turned to face him, and met him with a small smile. "Must I be summoned, to see you, Kratos? If that would be the case, I would only be seeing you during tragedies, and we both know I am not quite fond of them." though she tried to jest, she was met with a grunt and nothing more. "I... Knew would be here. Because of Athena. I wanted to be here, to ask you, first of all, what had she promised you... And secondly... To give you my aid throughout your journey to defeat this mad man... Though I may not be a warmonger, I still have mine own skills that may be of help." her eyes held kindness and genuine care for him, he noticed, and as soon as she reached out to cup his face, her soft and delicate hands reminded him of a foreign feeling that somehow, could battle how good he felt even with Lysandra. "Athena promised that, should I succeed in defeating Ares, I will have my past forgiven." thought his vision was set and voice harsh, he couldn't help but lean into her warm touch as he spoke. "And do you believe her?" this question, however, put him on alert. "Athena said that Gods do not forget those who aided them during their times of need." he answered, yet he only saw her smile widen, but definitely not in a good way. "I ask again, Kratos - Do you believe her word?" his brows furrowed, as he gently put his hands over hers to remove them, and he stepped away, pondering over the question. Why would she ask something like this? Why would he question the validity of the words that the Goddess of Wisdom uttered? "I suppose it does not matter, whether you truly believe them, or you just have them as your last bit of hope. I must warn you, however, that Gods always have a way with words... Hence why I asked you such a question. She said your past will be forgiven, not that your visions will be erased. Bear that in mind... If it matters for you." Katrina pointed out, playfully stepping in the opposite direction, her golden sandals making soft noises in contact with the marble ground. "What are you implying?" realising what she meant, the Spartan immediately snapped his focus to her. "I am implying the same thing I have always warned you about - Never trust a God's word, for they are selfish and good for naught." she explained, stealing a look at him past her shoulder, only to hop again, and face him. "Even so, I shall be aiding you during your journey, though bare in mind - What you are trying to accomplish is no easy feat. You must seek the aid of the Oracle, should you wish to succeed." getting a better look at him, she couldn't help but smile. "I see that Poseidon has given you quite the handsome gift. Not to mention, the aid of my dear friend Aphrodite... Though ironic, considering Ares is her lover. They will aid you well." thus, the Goddess turned around and began to casually walk towards the east, where the Oracle's Temple lay. With lingering eyes, Kratos watched the red haired beauty disappear into the horizon, before getting one last good look at the gigantic Ares, who was destroying the city and massacring thousands of people, just because he could. A monster, he was. "God of War... I haven't forgotten you, for what you did that night. This city will be your grave." watching down for one last time the great army that was marching towards the city, the Spartan exited that place and went on his path, towards the Oracle. Though he lost sight of the Goddess, Kratos made his way towards the Town Square of the city, destroying everything that stood in his way, be that friend or foe, monster or human. For unknown reasons, a woman started screaming at him, telling him to stay away, all that while running from him, as if he cared enough about her existence as to end it on a whim. He was not merciless, and he did not kill the innocent - That was something he learnt, whilst he was the General of his Army - Though he couldn't deny, he did know very well how intimidating he could appear. "I know who you are! I know what you've done, monster!" though he tried to stop her from running away or jumping to weird conclusions, she was deaf to his words. "Stay back! Get away from me!" as he made his way up the stairs, he sighted the woman edging on the balcony rail, looking distraught. "Stay way, don't come near me! Keep away---" what a mindless woman, falling to her death - A meaningless death. She had all chances to survive this siege. Fool. Looking down over the railing, he noticed the red head crouching besides the woman and shaking her head. "Some people truly have the most ridiculous of deaths." he could hear her speaking, as she grabbed something from the corpse - It was a key, and using a liana to bring it up to the balcony. "It is the key used to unlock a trapdoor. I believe it will allow you access to the rooftops." she continued casually as he grabbed the key, and she began walking away, until she called out for him. "Before I forget - There are a lot of wraiths up there. They may prove to be a nuisance for you, so be very careful." and she disappeared, just as she appeared - Like a mysterious phantasm, yet even so, Kratos was grateful for the advice and little bits of aid she provided.

During his journey, he encountered a cowardly soldier who was desperately hanging on to the lever of a bridge that should have allowed him to pass - He was far too afraid of letting go, in fear of the monsters getting to him... Clearly, he was no Spartan. Spartans fight with no fear of death, even against awful enemies such as the cyclops and minotaur he faced. "Coward." Kratos spat as he turned around to look for another way of crossing the gap left by the retracted bridge. Through many temples and intricate mechanisms deducted, Kratos ended up before a vision of Zeus, who aided him by gifting him the ability of wielding lightning bolts. It was the perfect ranged weapon that would allow him to destroy that man who dared call himself soldier. A single charged bolt was enough to throw that man into the door, destroy it, and cremate him body altogether, allowing the bridge to stay back in place. Finally, no more irritation, nor detours, for the Spartan.

Now that he was finally above the Town Square, he could see the Oracle before him, only to be swept away by harpies - There must always be some problem that goes in the way of his goals, he grunted to himself, as he went on ahead. Once he reached the Temple's gardens, he saw a Grave Digger, all the way down into a hole that he was digging for... Someone. "Good, my boy, good. Athena has chosen wisely, I knew it was so." as Kratos asked the man of his identity, he was completely ignored. "So you have the blades, the skin as pale as the moon. You are the one indeed, perhaps Athens will survive at that - Hahahaha! But, be careful~! Don't want you dying before I'm done with this grave~!" "A grave?" Kratos asked, stepping towards the old lunatic man. "In the middle of a battle? Who will occupy it, old man?" though there was no sign of malice in his voice, the Spartan was truly curious by this madness. "You will, my son. Ohh, I've got a lot of digging to do, indeed. All will be revealed in good time, and when all appears to be lost Kratos, I will be there to help. Don't disturb me now, son! I've got my work to do, and you have yours! And precious little time left to do either!" the old man cackled, making the warrior walk away, his mind swimming with questions that may never be answered.

Running all the way to the top of the Temple of the Oracle, killing harpies and legionnaires, Kratos found his way in a large garden filled with intricate machinery, and up there, the woman was being held up in the sky by two flying monsters that let go of her, hoping she would plunge down to the ground, to her demise. But that was not her fate, for, as she promised, the Goddess of Kindness was there to aid Kratos in this task, and sitting on a beam, Katrina unleashed her vines to catch the Oracle, and summoning a spiraling slide, she landed safely, on the ground, followed by the red head who helped her stand.

"Katrina." Kratos acknowledged the Goddess's presence, as she simply offered a smile that knew much more than it let on. "Carry on with your prophecy, Kratos. Let us see if it shall be of any help" thus, the woman made way for the Oracle, who was able to catch her breath after such an exhilarating experience. "Kratos... As Athena herself has foretold... But you are late, perhaps too late to save Athens - Or is it Athens you have come to save?" the Oracle put his hands on his face, and instead of having his wish granted - His memory of his wrenching past erased - He was forced to recall everything that happened. When she looked into his soul, she saw a beast, as well as a man. Once a captain in the Spartan army, Kratos had begun his command with only fifty soldiers, but soon, his numbers grew to the thousands. His tactics were brutal, but effective. Drunk with power, he was feared by all, except one - His wife was the only one to brave his fury, who could see his limitless ambition, not for Sparta, but for himself. His desire for conquest knew no bounds, but that which he desired would ultimately consume him. "That is enough." Katrina grabbed the Oracle's hands and pried the woman away from the Spartan. "By the Gods! Why would Athena send one such as you?!" out of anger, the man pushed the Oracle away from him. "Choose your enemies wisely, Kratos. Your brute strength alone will not be enough to destroy Ares. Only one item in the world will allow you to defeat a God... Pandora's Box, which lies far beyond the walls of Athens, hidden by the Gods across the desert to the east. But be warned, Kratos, many have gone in search of Pandora's Box... None have returned." thus, the Oracle opened a door for the man. "Go through the Gates to the Desert, Kratos. There begins the path to Pandora's Box. It is the only way you will defeat Ares." the woman told him. Kartos then looked at the red head, as if to ask if she were to follow him, but by the looks of it, she was nervous. What did Gods have to fear, he wondered, yet his question was left forgotten into his own mind. "I will find you again when you will be in need of my aid, Kratos. Until then, may you have a safe journey. Hold onto this. Should you find yourself in any imminent danger, it will heal all of your wounds, no matter how grievous - But be warned, it is a one-time use item. Use it wisely... Though, I pray you will not find need of it." the woman created a beautiful red flower - An azalea, matching the shade of her crimson hair. "Very well." with a grunt, Kratos took the plant and stored it well, watching the Goddess leave the court. Before he left, however, he heard the Oracle speak once more. "One aids you out of guilt, not out of free will, Ghost of Sparta." she spoke clearly. "What does a Goddess have to be guilty of, when it comes to the life of a mortal?" Kratos asked, the lack of answers gnawing at his mental. "Rather than thinking of your interactions, find the answers from before you were born. All the answers you are seeking lie there, in your past - You must only seek them, and ask the right people, the right questions. Otherwise, you shall be eternally veiled by the unknown." with the Oracle gone, Kratos was left alone, to wander through the edge of the desert, only his plaguing questions being his companion. What grave mistake could the Goddess of Kindness have committed, that in made her feel guilty enough to aid him against the God of War himself? He remembers, back then, when he saved him from Ares, when he was nothing but a child... But what else could have happened?

No matter, he though. Such a question must be asked directly, and until now, many inquires have gathered, all addressed to the mysterious Goddess that warns him about the treachery of her kin, whilst she, herself, is being accused of a crime very much similar. Heeding Athena's warning about the desert, and her advice about Pandora's box, far across the Desert of Lost Souls. He must follow the song of the sirens and be guided to Kronos - Much to his dismay, Kratos was forced to learn that a titan lives - Commanded by Zeus himself to wander the desert endlessly, the temple of Pandora chained to his back, until the swirling sands rip the very flesh from his bones.

Guided by their melody, Kratos was able to destroy the desert sirens, and thus, the temple gate was opened - Once entered, he found a horn, in which he blew, and the sands split, creating a path for him to step on. On the other side, on a marble platform, awaited another horn - Once blown into, Kronos emerged from the Desert sands - On his back, Pandora's Temple awaited, massive and patient, ready to challenge all who went in search of it's guarded treasure. Once the titan reached him, Kratos jumped and latched onto one of the chains, and jumped on the temple - For three whole days, Kratos climbed the shear walls of the mountain. He knew he would either recover Pandora's Box, or perish inside the cursed temple, never to return to the world of man.

Once he reached the platform, Kratos crossed the wooden bridge, and aided by the Body Burner, who was once the first mortal to attempt to get Pandora's Box, the Spartan was able to step inside the glorious Temple. Inside, he found a book on a pedestal, on which it was written with blood.

“This Temple was erected in Honour of and at the command of the Mighty Lord Zeus. Only the bravest hero shall solve its puzzles and survive its dangers. One man will receive ultimate power. All others shall meet their doom. ... Pathos Verdes III, Chief Architect and Loyal Subject of the Gods."

Reading this did not scare Kratos, and he simply went on ahead, inside the Rings of Pandora. With great skill and wit, Kratos was able to brave the numerous traps hidden throughout the temple, earning even the power of Artemis, her own Blade, which she used to slay a Titan, and with its help, he won the challenge of Atlas, retrieving the two Shields, of Zeus and of Hades, needed to unlock the door towards the next challenge - Braving saws and spikes, enemies plenty and mechanisms of imminent death, only to reach a trap room that was guarded by sirens, so that no mortal could retrieve the Handle of Atlas, needed for guiding the Statue of Atlas to raise the globe he was holding up, so that Kratos could pull on the lever and make it throw the great stone globe, destroying the doors blocking his way to the outside grave of the Architect's Son.

"My Youngest Son will laugh no more. Death in the service of his father. Death in the service of the Gods. The building of this temple has claimed his life. May you be lucky enough that it not claim yours. ... Pathos Verdes III, Chief Architect and Loyal Subject of the Gods."

Though his soul ached at the idea of yet another father having to bury his own child, his heart was hardened and closed to the pain of others, and thus, he went to the coffin, pulling away the golden lid, and ripping away the skull of the young son. Once done, the coffin moved aside, revealing a tunnel and a ladder, down which the Spartan went, only to find himself amongst the wrecked bodies of those who had gone in search of Pandora's Box. At once, Kratos knew who was responsible, for this was not the first time he'd seen the ruin Ares and his minions had left in their wake. Kratos had experienced it first hand, years before...

The youngest and boldest Captain in the Spartan army, Kratos had inspired fierce loyalty in his men. It had always been enough to carry them through any battle, until this day. The Barbarians to the East numbered in the thousands, and descended on the Spartans, without mercy. The battle lasted mere hours. The discipline and training of the Spartans did little to step the tide of the merciless Barbarians. The soldiers faced a massacre, while their young captain faced the end of his brilliant career, and his life - But to Kratos, victory was worth any price... Even his soul. "Ares! Destroy my enemies, and my life is yours!" that desperate call for aid will come to haunt Kratos for all his days...

"By the Gods... What have I become...?" he asked himself, his voice trembling with emotions, same as his heart. Though the man was a seasoned warrior, and had face many a painful memories, he couldn't help but feel immense guilt. He had done enough awful deeds for a thousand life times... And at once, he thought to himself - Who was he to blame the Goddess for ever wronging him, if, at all, provided he brought the destruction and suffering of so many, while he was only one man?

Sighing, he closed his eyes, and his heart, to the sight before him, and walked past the dead bodies, and back inside one of the primary rooms, from which he found the skull ornament in which he needed to insert the Architect's Son's skull, serving as a key for the activation of a rolling, spikey trap on which Kratos had to walk, to reach a ladder, that will bring him to the Challenge of Poseidon. Once outside, amids the sands swirling in the air, he found a small, yet peculiar dog. Kratos looked at it with great confusion, yet a bit of compassion also - He remembered how much Calliope loved the fox that the Goddess gifted her at her birth - In that instant, however, the puppy started mutating and it was engulfed in exploding flames, transforming into a vicious three-headed monsters. Many other such pups followed, but Kratos slaughtered them before they had the chance to grow, or maim him.

Inside the temple, he was forced to brave more spike-mechanism and climb more of the temple's wall, finding himself in yet another challenging abode - At the end of it, two cremation doors, sporting low fire, on each side of an inscripted table.

"What the Gods ask, I can not do, even for Pandora's Box. They are Monsters now, but they were once men. I know I am weak, but I can not be part of this... I have failed Athens..." was written on a piece of paper, stuck on a wall with the help of an arrow, next to a fallen body.

At first, Kratos wasn't entirely sure what he had to do to pass this challenge, nor did he quite get the mournful warning from the paper - Yet once returned at the back of the long room, and rotating a lever, a cage with a living man was put on the ground next to him - And at once, it dawned on him, that for him to carry on to the next challenge, he had to make a sacrifice. A human sacrifice. "Well, what are you waiting for?! Let me out, we can find our way back to Athens!" the man desperately tried to plead to the Spartan before him. "The Gods demand a sacrifice. From all of us." was the only response Kratos gave the man, before he went to his cage, kicking him off the ledge, and onto the floor. The man continued trying to break the cage, begging the Spartan to let him go - But the warrior was too busy killing the minions hindering his journey, to pay this man any mind.

Dragging the cage all the way up the slope, into the sacrifice chamber, Kratos placed the cage in the assigned square, pulling the lever for the door to approach, and amplify the fire's power - Once the deed was done, he could pass further, into a temple filled with water - There, the Trident of Poseidon awaited him, thus, giving him the ability of easily swimming and breathing underwater, where his challenge was to truly begin. Once more, Kratos had to endure countless battles against worthy opponents and intricate machinery, timed to kill, were you not swift and witty enough to avoid them. Smarting his way through the labyrinthine underwater temple, avoiding getting squashed like a meaningless bug, and even getting to swim around a naiad, Kratos was successful,

Almost out of the temple, Kratos reached a gorgeous, tall statue that depicted Amphitrite, Poseidon's faithful wife, which will forever watch over this cursed room - It is said that she alone knows the secret way out - But such a silly thing, as a secret way out, was nothing compared to Kratos's instinct, and he easily found the exit, which lead him, once again, by the Rings of Pandora, and thus, inside the new area, began the Challenge of Hades - Hopefully, last the, for his patience was running thin very quickly.

During this challenge, he couldn't help but think about the Goddess who claimed would be there to aid him, and without realising, he found himself stroking the red flower that she gifted him. Perhaps this journey was far too dangerous, even for a God, let alone one that is focused on peace. Or, like Athena said, there were certain boundaries to how much a God can help him, as to not cross the rule that Zeus himself implanted. No matter. He didn't need help making a blood sacrifice, from the many centaurs offered, nor the blood meter from inside the temple, or even creating light inside the darkest corridor inside the great statue of Hades's own mouth.

"Eight dead ends. One way out. Will you find it before the Flames of Hades consume you? ... Pathos Verdes III, Chief Architect and Loyal Subject of the Gods"

The corridor with falling boulders was, by far, one of the greatest nuisances that the Spartan ever had to endure, but he emerged victorious, as was expected - Still, he'd rather not have to go through any of that again, nor any of the high, beams on which he had to balance himself, only to have numerous other beams, adorned with saws on it - The danger of falling or being cut in half were great, but Kratos prevailed, and found himself back in the first room, where a huge, armoured minotaur broke the door and challenged the Spartan. Though strong, he ended up just like all the other foes that Kratos fought - Dead, impaled on the door from which it emerged, and its hoof created a gap in the wood, that served as entrance for the Spartan. Walking up the great spiralled stairs, he found himself in a chamber that hosted the tomb of the Architect's second son. "My second son, my last, has followed his brother to the Elysian Fields. In my heart, I know I must continue the work of the Gods, but they take so much and at last, my soul begins to doubt. ... Pathos Verdes III"

Not only did Kratos realise that the Architect stopped claiming his loyalty and devotion to the Gods, after his second child died, but the mention of Elysium served as a grim reminder that he will never be reunited with Calliope ever again, after being forced to abandon her, because of that dreadful Persephone. For a second time, Kratos ripped the skull of the second son and descended down the spiral stairs, returning to the minotaur room, only to receive the Souls of Hades, a power gifted to him but the Lord of the Underworld himself. Returning to the Rings of Pandora, down in the underground pool of the statue, Kratos inserted the skull that served as a key, which drained the water - And with his great strength, rotating the rings at his wheel, he was able to connect the two beaming lights, thus, making the statue emerge. In his head, he heard Athena congratulate, but also warn him, that once he ascends to the upper levels of the temple, he would not be able to return without the box.

As Kratos rose through the massive temple, constructed to guard Pandora's Box, he realised it was a monument, not only to the Gods of Olympus, but to the Madness of the Warned who designed it. He conquered the lower floors of the temple, but what lay in wait above would test even Kratos. Once the elevator stopped, he stepped on the Statue's hands, which led him to another bridge, where he encountered a satyr - Agile, swift and deadly, yet not a challenge for the Spartan. Killing the enemy offered free pass of the bridge towards the cave, until he encountered a harpy, ripping apart a man's dead body and eating from it. Kratos had been in service to the Gods long enough to know the harpy had been sent as a warning - A reminder from his former master of the decision that had cost Kratos everything. Had it been THAT long since he almost met his end at the hands of the Barbarians? That long, since he traded everything to save himself? He still remembers his own cry of Ares's name, and how the sky split apart, as the God of War stepped through. Descending from Olympus, he saw the makings of a God, in a mere mortal. Ares would save Kratos. He would turn him into the perfect warrior, his servant on Earth. Only a simple pledge of loyalty was required. "My life is yours, Ares. From this day, I shall carry forth your will." his vow haunts him still, to this day, and all those dreaded words which sealed his fate. As promised, Ares rescued his new disciple, bringing forth the power of a God, destroying those who would slaughter Kratos and his men.... As for Kratos, no mere sword and shield would befit the newest servant of the God of War. The Blades of Chaos, forged in the Foulest depths of Hades - Once attached, the chains remained so - Chained and seared to the flesh, a part of the barous bargain, a permanent reminder of Kratos's pledge... In return - Ultimate power. The rage of Ares exploded from within, but soon, he would learn the true cost of such power - A cost too high, even for Kratos to pay.

"Wretched beast! I know who it is you serve! Return to your master! Tell the God of War I am his no longer! Tell him he is not safe while I walk the Earth! I WILL find Pandora's Box! And I WILL use it to see him tremble and fall before me!" Kratos threatened the harpy, which hissed and flew away in a scurry.

Thus, the Spartan was able to approach the cliffs which he had to traverse, with another warning from the architect himself. "The Cliffs of Madness lie before you. In my grieving, I fear I may have designated a maze with no true way out. If I am right, may the cruel, uncaring Gods show you the way. ... Pathos Verdes III, ... Once loyal subject of the Gods."

So the Architect truly lost all his faith in the Gods, it seemed, and once more, his mind flew towards Katrina, and her warning - Never trust a God's words, for they are selfish. They never truly care for mortals, but for their own benefit only. It seems that the Architect found that out the hard way. Though the man claimed his grieving made him create an unsolvable maze, his craft spoke for itself - As Kratos founds the necklaces of Hera and Aphrodite, starting the mechanism of the two parallel moving bridges, he was glad he needn't figure out too many further challenges.

The path before Kratos was clear, but still, the memories came rushing back, as familiar and permanent as the blades chained to his wrists. Memories of what he'd done in the name of Ares. Memories of how he'd become a servant under the God of War. A beast, his humanity robbed and replaced only with the will to murder...

No one was safe - Entire armies fell before Kratos and his soldiers that followed him on his path for never ending conquest, all in the name of his master... Those who offered resistance of any kind were dealt with quickly. "They built this temple to offer prayers to Athena! This entire village stands as an affront to Lord Ares! Burn this village - Burn it to the ground!" he remembers himself ordering his people, as he threw a torch in the dry grass, which lit on fire that spread throughout the place. Emboldened by the God of War, Kratos's army was ruthless, feared throughout the world for their brutality. All that mattered was conquest in the name of Kratos, their great Leader, who had become near invincible. He feared nothing... But there was something about THIS temple.... Something... Forbidden. All his instincts told him that he should never cross its threshold, never step inside.

"Beware, Kratos, the dangers in the temple are greater than you know." the old woman that served as the oracle of the village warned the Spartan general. But the village oracle's warnings fell on deaf ears. His ambition would not be denied. All who opposed him would die. He remembers, however, a foreign memory, that seemed to have been lost in the midst of all the chaos that his mind was wrapped into. A sweet voice, calling out his name. An embrace from behind, the feeling of rope coiled around his wrists and ankles, trying to drag him away from the temple. Someone begging him to stop. All of them were forgotten, for none was able to hinder the disciple of Ares. Now, he recalls - The Goddess was there, and she tried to stop him from entering the temple. She tried to warn him, and with that little strength of hers, she tried to forcefully keep him away, but it was all in vain, for the man was stronger than her and her Godly powers.

She had not been there, just because he called out her name, once he escaped his trance - She had been there, trying to stop him from murdering his own family, yet she failed miserable... Just like everything else in his life was unable to stop his rage after being blinded by Ares. Katrina's powers could heal the living... But she could not revive the dead. In that instant, as his own blades became soaked in the blood of his wife and child, the glory he had reveled in, turned into horror - The image of his two final victims would stay with him for all his days. Falling to his knees and mourning, Kratos knew he could no longer serve his master - He had but one calling now, the death of Ares. He would murder the God of War. "You may have your revenge, Kratos... But nothing will bring them back in your arms." the Goddess held him tightly to her chest, mimicking the way she held him as a child, when Deimos was taken from him. He must have forced himself to forget some of the details from back then, the memories to painful to be fully remembered, and comfort only brought him even greater distress.

"Ares... You WILL die for what you did that night." Kratos found himself speaking out loud, a threat that will serve as motivation in the journey left to the Architect's Chambers, where he found a table and a dead man laying in a pool of his own blood on top of it, and the skeletal remains sitting in a chair opposite of it. As the Spartan read the not pinned with a dagger, he realised, this was the Architect himself.

"...Tried to stop me... She said the Gods were fools... That I was a fool... She may be right... But they came to ME... They believed in me... She had to be stopped... But now, they are gone... My entire family... I can not go on." the note was left unsigned. The Spartan searched for the sketches pinned on the walls, that displayed the many traps that filled Pandora's Temple. At the bottom of the papers, the name of Pathos Verdes III was inked. For the last skull key, Kratos ripped the head of the Architect's wife, which opened the last door towards a new area, and hopefully, the last one.

As so it was, and Kratos reached the room where Pandora's Box was laying, surrounded by three statues - One of Hades, one of Zeus, and one of Poseidon, as if they were guarding the globe that was protecting the mystical Box. As he touched the box, he felt pain and energy surging through his body, as Athena's spirit started speaking to him. "Kratos, your quest is at an end. You are the first mortal to ever reach Pandora's Box. There is still time to save Athens. You must bring the box back to my city and use it to kill Ares. Return to Athens, Kratos. Return and save my city!" and thus, she stopped speaking, but another began speaking into his head - A voice much sweeter, yet more concerned. "Kratos, you must be careful on your way back! Ares knows of your whereabouts and of your success! He intends to kill you before you open the box!" Katrina warned him in great haste, but once Kratos tried calling out her name, she did not answer. He dearly hoped she did not get in any trouble with Ares for aiding him. Still, with the elevator bringing him back to the main entrance of the temple, Kratos began dragging the heavy, mysterious box towards the outside.

After a thousand years, Pandora's Box was, at last, freed of its confines. Kratos had found the means to destroy the God of War. Far away in Athens, just as the Goddess of Kindness foretold, Ares knew Kratos had succeeded in his Quest. "So, little Spartan, you've recovered Zeus's precious box. But you will not live long enough to see it opened. I will see to that." Ares growled menacingly, picking up a sharp, broken pillar and throwing in the trajectory of Kratos's body. "Goodbye, Spartan. You will rot in the depths of Hates for all eternity." the sharp pillar impaled and tore apart the Spartan's whole torso, and was rendered incapacitated and pinned, on the wall behind. As life began to leave Kratos, his thoughts returned to that faithful night. Even in death, the memories... The visions... Would not end... For how could he forget, spilling the blood of his own family? A cruel trick orchestrated by the God of War. Once again, he remembered the feeling of having his whole body drenched in their warm blood, and the light body of his wife, as he held her in his arms. He remembers the tears that he felt, soaking his cheeks and falling onto her face - Image mirrored by the Goddess who was holding and mourning his own child... His dear Calliope...

And worse, he remembers the words of smug victory that Ares addressed him at that time - Getting rid of his family was the goal all along - With nothing to hold him back, he was supposed to become the perfect mindless puppet... But no more. Kratos was to be used by no one anymore. He was done doing the bidding of the Gods, for it brought him only misfortune. As the flames consumed the temple, and his own family's ashes were bound to his skin, he realised that his true enemy was the very God of War that saved his life - The same one that had taken everything away from him.

With that curse, all would know him for the beast he had become - His skin white with the ash of Lysandra and Calliope - The Ghost of Sparta had been born... In the end... In death... He had failed. As the minions of Ares claimed Pandora's Box, Kratos's life faded, and his cursed soul was cast into the viles of Hades... Or so he thought. As his mind was slipping away into unconsciousness, he instinctively reached out for the red azalea flower gifted to him, and held it tightly into his fist. He couldn't understand how it worked, but he began slowly feeling his strength returning to him, and though his vision was blurry, he was able to throw away the pillar impaling him, so that he could regenerate wholly. In his proximity, he saw something akin to a portal, and without any idea where it would lead, he trusted that it could be some of Katrina's, or any of her allies's aid, and thus, he stepped inside. On the other side, his vision grew clear - Looking around, he was on a small pedestal of what looked like the top of a bone, and much underneath him, a blood river was drowning the shrieking, falling people. He must be in the underworld, he thought - But he did not despair, for something was in front of him, and giving him hope.

The familiar liana, filled with colourful flowers, was dangling before his very eyes - And thus, he was blind and deaf to everything around him, but the thought that he had to climb out of there. He could feel the vine trembling in his hands as it tried to drag him upwards - He could only chuckle at the image that played in his hand, of the Goddess struggling to pull on the liana and get him out, how very comical.

After a long climb, he finally reached the human realm - And he was back at in Athens, when he once met the grave digger. Panting, on the ground, was the red haired Goddess who looked absolutely exhausted. That could serve as a Greek Comedy with great success. "Ah, Kratos, and not a moment too soon. I only finished digging just a moment ago." the old man spoke smugly. "Who are you?" the Spartan asked, in complete bewilderment. "Ahhh, now that is an interesting question... But for now, you must hurry. Athens needs you." the old man instructed the warrior. "But how did you know I--" he easily got cut off, as the old man nodded his head towards the riding Goddess fixing her hair. "Athena isn't the only God keeping watch on you, Spartan. Complete your task, Kratos, and the Gods will forgive your sins!" though the old man vanished miraculously before his very eyes, Katrina, did not. "I went to Hestia and she was able to create that portal. Hestia is on great terms with everyone, so she was able to trick Hades into allowing the other end of the portal to bring you to the end of the underworld, where the grave digger made it possible to let out the liana to bring you up." the Goddess explained briefly, nodding for the man to follow her towards the Oracle's temple. "Your ways are mysterious and difficult to comprehend." Kratos spoke, following the woman. "Why would Hestia aid me?" "I did not say she aided YOU. I said she aided ME. That, in itself, is a huge difference, first and foremost. You truly must learn to understand the intricate ways in which Gods speak, otherwise, you may easily find yourself tricked by their faux promises. Again." the woman's warning only proved to be more confusing for the Spartan. "Who are you implying is trying to cheat me?" the man asked, stopping the woman in her tracks. "Everyone - And I mean it. Do not trust anyone that is a God, or close to that. Do not trust anyone. Your instinct is honed well - If you feel someone is truthful, so be it - But otherwise, do not trust anyone... They all have their own interest at heart, not yours. They are all selfish and want to profit off of you." her face was dead set and grave. "And do you count yourself in or out of that category?" the man asked, almost as a test of faith. "In, of course. The Gods want you to do their dirty work, Athena is using you to save her city, but she didn't promise you to erase your past, but only that it will be forgiven - That, in itself, will never make any difference for you. Ares robbed you of your free will and manipulated you with that orchestrated cheap trick. They are all the same. Me as well." she admitted, looking away, her face mellow. "I do not think my sin that grave, though others persecute me for it as if I am some kind of unforgivable criminal, when all I wanted was to spend some time with you. In my selfishness to achieve mine own happiness, I have destroyed another's - Not intentionally, of course - But the consequences are still the same, and I have greatly harmed the person I wanted to protect more than my own life." she admitted for the first time in her life, and for that, Kratos stepped back, his eyes wide from surprise. "The Oracle said you aid me out of guilt, not out of will." his hands found their way on her shoulders, bring her attention back to him. "The Oracle is both right and wrong. Do not take everything people say at heart's value - It is not the journey, but the end, that matters. I must live with the consequences of mine own actions, and those led to you having a life full of misfortune, and for that, I feel guilty. But do not think for one second that I am doing this for anyone else but you. It is because of my kin that so many have to suffer, and that angers me greatly - And it is because of my selfishness, that you have to suffer. It is bittersweet, staying around you, but it is my decision, from guilt AND from pleasure. Now, I advise you stop thinking so much about meaningless things, when a whole city is being destroyed by the man you seek revenge on." the red haired lady took away the hands from her shoulders and went on ahead, waiting for him to follow. "And when are you going to disclose what exactly did you do, that you feel so guilty of?" the question went on deaf ears for the whole way to the temple, until they found the Oracle, dead, on the bloody ground. "Live through this battle, and I will confess to you secrets and prophecies that you are not aware of. The cruelty of Gods knows no bounds, yet there are other, higher, primordial beings that toy around even with the revered and almighty ones. You have lived through so much - Do not get discouraged. This is your chance to get revenge on the man that wronged you so. Go ahead and show him who is the real God of War. Get the box and use and try to take the Blade of the Gods to defeat him." with one last warning that served as an encouragement also, Katrina offered him another healing flower, before sending him off to fight Ares.

Kratos had traversed the Desert of Lost Souls, bested the deadly traps of Pandora's Temple and escaped Hades himself - There was but one task left. "Zeus! Do you see now what your son can do?! You cast your favour on Athena, but her city lies in ruins before me! And now, even Pandora's Box is mine! Would you have me use it against Olympus itself?!" in that instant, Katrina called out Ares's name, which made him turn around to look down at her small form, next to the Spartan. "Ahh, Kratos? Returned even from the underworld. Lucky you had my lovesick sister to aid you." Ares turned away after the patronising comment, so that he could berate his father more. "Is this the best you can do, Father? You send a broken mortal and a flower girl to defeat ME?! THE God of War?!" in his infamy, Ares did not realise the spear that Katrina created from a blade of grass was sent towards the chains from which he was holding the Box - And once broken, the box fell on the ground, ready for Kratos to open.

After thousands of years, Pandora's Box was finally opened - The power of the Gods unleashed. Kratos grew in size, to much the God, and was ready to face him in a trial by combat. "You are STILL just a mortal. Every bit as weak as the day you begged me to save your life. That stupid sister of mine will not be able to protect you again, as when you were a child." Ares taunted the Spartan. "I am not the same man you found that day! The monster you've created has returned - To kill you." Kratos took out the Blades of Chaos, ready to fight the man with the mane of flames. "You have NO idea what a true monster is, Kratos!" Ares growled, as he grew some weird appendix from his back, making him look like a spider. "Your final lesson is at hand! Prepare to join your family, Spartan!" thus, the clash between the two greatest forces began. It was a valiant battle between two worthy opponents, but no matter how much the God of War wanted to claim to be the strongest, he was no match for the strength, tactics, wit and discipline that Kratos, the former Leader of the most feared Spartan Army, wielded against him.

Once he realised that he was losing, Ares retorted to a cheap trick - Opening a portal and sending Kratos away, to another place only he knew of. Katrina could only watch with confusion and terror - What could she do? How could she help the Spartan? She could not even feel the vitality of the flower she gifted him. "Do you see, sister? No matter how much you try to protect the ones you love, they will ALWAYS perish before your very eyes!" Ares mocked the Goddess with his laughed, as she could only lay down, in defeat. "I do not know what you have done to him, brother - But I assure you, Kratos WILL return, and he WILL end your pathetic life!" the woman cried out to him, allowing herself to grow in form to match him, and readying her weapon. "Father has forbidden the Gods from fighting one another - Do you dare go against his orders, little fox?" Ares was positively amused by the sight of the Goddess of Kindness, holding her weapon. "I do not fight for Athena, nor am I going to defeat you - Of that, I am sure - But if I can keep you from destroying the city and killing more mortals until Kratos returns, then I have fulfilled my duty as the patron Goddess that watched over the people we govern over." she spoke getting in a defensive stance, awaiting her brother's attack.

Kratos, on the other hand, could still hear Ares speaking inside of his head - He was going to destroy his spirit - Destroy HIM. He was thus sent in front of the cursed Temple, where he would try to make amends and undo the horrors he had done. The nightmares that have haunted Kratos for the past 10 years have now taken full amend substance. His past stood before him. Though his heart was aching, he got the strength to kick open the door, and before his very eyes, he could see his wife trying to protect his child, and the fox was before them, snarling, ready to attack. - They were terrified, yet upon seeing him, he could see a speck of relief.

"Kratos, what's happening?! Where are we?!" Lysandra asked her husband. "By the Gods... Can this be real?!" he was almost speechless, but as he uttered those words, small, dark portals opened, and from them, copies of his own body were unleashed, and they were all attempting to attack his family. Once he heard his dear Calliope call out to him 'Daddy!' in such a fearful voice, he took out his weapons and was ready to defend his family, as he should have, from the very beginning. "Ares! There is NOTHING you can put in my way to stop me! I WILL save my family!" he cried out, as he began to kill countless fake iterations of himself, only to occasionally embrace his family, hoping it would sooth their fears - He WILL protect them! The feeling of having his wife and child in his arms once again was a bliss, though it was short lasting.

Kratos had done the impossible - He had saved his family. "Kratos! Please, take us home!" Lysandra reached out her arm towards her husband, pleading to him. "Do you see, God of War?! You took them once, but you'll NEVER have them again!" Kratos shouted towards the skies, taunting Ares. "You cannot save them, Kratos. You gave them up in your quest for ultimate power. There is a price to pay for everything you gain." he could hear his arch nemesis speak to him. "Not that price. I did not want them to die." with great pain, Kratos closed his eyes and hung his head. He was in agony. "NO PRICE IS TOO HIGH FOR WHAT I OFFERED YOU!" Ares growled at the Spartan weakened by his emotions. "And you rejected me - A GOD!" the Blades began working on their own, suspending him painfully, digging into his flesh, drawing blood - “Now, you will have NO power, NO magic! ALL that is left for you, is DEATH!" Aries sneered, as the Blades left Kratos's flesh, and they slew his family once again, before his very eyes.

As Ares rose his fiery longsword up, Kratos appeared once again in the mortal world, kneeling on the ground and weaponless. It looked as though Ares was going to decapitate him, so just as he was ready to swing his sword of injustice, Katrina leapt between him and the mortal, and used her weapon to parry the attack. "FOOL! Who do you think you are, silly woman?! Fighting for a broken man, still lingering over his dead family! He will never have a place in his heart for you! You are fighting a losing battle!" he kept taunting the woman, but she did not budge. "It matters little to me whether Kratos loves me, as long as he is alive. I only wish for his well-being, and if I have to die to save him, then at least I know I pissed on the prophecy of those stupid Sisters of Fate!" she sneered back at him, getting dangerously close to his face. "What a stupid flower girl... No wonder Aphrodite is so fond of you - You would both forsake anything you have, for the sake of the one you love. Pathetic! You will never achieve any fame, nor greatness this way!" Ares could see he was easily overpowering his sister, and he continued to press on. "Conquest matters little to me. Don't blame me for having different ideals!" in that instant, Kratos opened his eyes - He could feel something going up his hand and emanating a warm, pulsating aura - Looking down, he noticed he was holding the red azalea, once again. Katrina managed to wake him up from his trance - And by the looks of it, she was struggling greatly to hold Ares from killing him. "By the... Gods..." the Spartan muttered, rolling away towards the great Blade of the Gods, just as she had instructed him previously. The battle was not over. Now, he could defeat the God of War. "I still have allies in Olympus, Ares - And now, you will see how strong I am." putting his hand on the woman's shoulder and gently pulling her behind him, Kratos was ready for the end battle, once and for all.

Ares's defeat came after a short time as Kratos bested him as his greatest skill - War fighting. "Remember, Kratos - It was I who saved you, in your time of greatest need!" he tried to bargain, to have his life saved. "I haven't forgotten, Ares. I remember how you saved me!" Kratos was seething with anger, as he approached the fallen God. "That night... I was trying to make you a great warrior...!" Ares pleaded, but it was for naught. "You succeeded." was the Spartan's only answer, as he drove the sword in the God's chest - And he fell pathetically in the water, and died, looking akin to a ragdoll.

Kratos had truly done the impossible - A mortal, defeating a God - Ares was no more, and with his death, a great explosion befell the ocean. The city had been saved and would thrive again. The same could not be said for Kratos, for as he sought to rebuild his soul with the help of the Gods - The truth was revealed to him. "Athena - Rid me of the memories that haunt me still." he pleaded - Begged, even, the statue of the Goddess, with pitiful hopelessness. "You have done well, Kratos. Though we mourn the death of our brother, the Gods are in debt to you. We promised your sins would be forgiven, and so they are - But we never promised to take away your nightmares. No man, no God, could ever forget the terrible deeds you have done." came Athena's cruel answer.

In the end, the truth was just as Katrina had warned him - His sins are forgiven, yes, but that helps him with naught. No Gods promised his nightmares would disappear, so he cannot accuse them of betrayal. Knowing the visions of his past would never leave him, Kratos made his way to the bluffs, overlooking the Aegean Sea. "The Gods of Olympus have abandoned me. Now... There is no hope..." and Kratos cast himself from the highest mountain in all of Greece. After ten years of suffering - Ten years of endless nightmares - It would finally come to an end.

Death would be his escape from madness...

The fate of Kratos was not as it seemed. The Gods had other plans. Broughten off like a feather, Kratos found himself risen from the sea and placed on solid earth, back from which he leapt. The vines that were tightly coiled around him were bringing him no discomfort, except for the notion that he was not yet dead, and the madness will never end. Back on the cliff, he was embraced tightly by the red haired Goddess who was trembling in his arms, while another spoke to him - That lying statue of Athena was haunting him even now, not allowing him his bittersweet end.

"You will not die this day, Kratos. The Gods cannot allow one who has performed such service to perish by his own hand. Ares's tactics were brutal. His path of destruction had to be stopped - But now, there is an empty throne in Olympus, and a new God of War is needed. Take these stairs, Kratos. They lead to your ultimate reward." Athena spoke to him once more. Sighing, realising there was no way to end this life, he put his hands on the Goddess's shoulders, and gently pushed her back, before raising her chin to look at him - And he realised, she had been crying. "What is it that ails you so?" he asked, noticing the quivering lip. "I simply cannot imagine a life without you. Ask no further. Let us proceed to your throne... Though it is not the reward you wished for..." taking his hand, the woman guided him up the stairs that lead to the peak of Mount Olympus, and inside, there awaited his Godly Throne - His rightful place upon it. Katrina smiled, looking at the frowning man sitting on the throne. "It suits you better than it did him, Kratos. Though it is not your desired end... I hope you will not go out of your way to seek your own demise again. I meant what I said earlier. I may hate seeing you suffer - But I am a God, and Gods are selfish, and before anything, I wish for you to live, and for me, to see you that way." she confessed to him in that honeyed voice of hers, and Kratos realised that even if he doesn't yet have all of his answers, with his new status and powers as a God, he can much easier seek them. "Fear no further, for I will not die any time soon, Katrina." reassuring her, he extended his arm towards her and grabbed ahold of her hand, and with a tug, he pulled her onto his lap. Caressing her flawless face with one hand, while the other found itself putting the azalea into her hair, he couldn't help but admire the gentle beauty before him. "You have aided me plenty all this time, Katrina. Now, aid your people and help them restore their life. I know it is what you want. Once you are done, come back to me, and you can tell me all there is about those prophecies from long ago." Kratos suggested, earning the most enchanting, lovely smile that he had ever seen from a woman. "Very well, Kratos. Wait for me - And for as long as you will have me, I will be by your side, guiding you, and lighting up the road for you." she comforted the man, who brought her into an embrace, and stole a sweet kiss from her. "I will be waiting for as long as you need." for the first time in so long, the new God of War found himself with a genuine smile on his face - Though he had other plans in his mind, and a lot of goals to achieve - For now, he was content, having the beautiful Goddess that could caress and sooth his soul so easily.

And from that point forward, throughout the rest of time, whenever men road forth to battle - For good cause, or evil - They did so under the watchful eye of the man who had defeated a God.

They were driven forward by Kratos, the mortal who had become the new God of War.

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#god of war imagine #god of war x reader #god of war #kratos imagine #kratos x reader #kratos #deicide #deicide chapter 3

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coolmomacchiato · 2 years

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Auroras, The Course of Empire, and a HUGE Tiger & Bunny 2 realization

Before I begin, let me start out with a brief art history lesson about a series of 5 paintings by English-American painter Thomas Cole of the Hudson River School movement (mid-1800's). The series depicts the growth and fall of an imaginary city, each taking place at a different time of day to reflect where in its lifecycle it is. The paintings are: "The Savage State" or "Commencement of Empire" (Dawn/sunrise)

The Arcadian/Pastoral State (morning)

The Consummation of Empire (Sun's zenith/Day)

Destruction (Waning day/twilight)

and finally, Desolation (Sunset)

Of course even beyond Cole, the different stages of the day/night cycle has widely been used to symbolize the circle of life: Morning/Sunrise being birth/rebirth, Day for "adulthood"/Consummation (completion), Sunset/Twilight for downfall/aging, and Night for death. The SECOND thing we need to establish is the way "Little Aurora" is constantly equated with " hope" - both literally (as in it says the words right there) and figuratively, since she represents hope for not just NEXT, but society as a whole:

Now - how does this relate to Tiger & Bunny 2, you may ask? If you recall, Sunsets were a visual metaphor in Cour 1, and referenced in the ED AIDA, as well as the OP.

In Cour 2's ED, we see Kotetsu and Barnaby - each alone - standing under a night sky filled with auroras, surrounded by a broken cityscape. As the sun begins to rise over the desolation, Tiger and Barnaby cross a liminal landscape to find each other again, to face a new day together. Indeed, the ED ends with a visual recall to Cour 1, but at dawn:

S2 ends with the destruction of the status quo. The last scene takes place at night: the hero system is no more, society is fractured between NEXT/non-NEXT, Kotetsu has lost his powers, and Kotetsu & Barnaby are no longer "Buddy heroes". Even the two symbols of "justice", Sternbild, and Tiger & Barnaby's partnership as a whole - Justice Tower and Mr. Legend's statue - are destroyed in the fray.

However, as the title of Episode 20 says, The darkest hour is always before dawn. In fact, Episode 25 ends with the hope of a new beginning. The title is "Today is Not Tomorrow's Yesterday", and includes an epilogue scene where we see a snow-flecked museum that looks disturbingly like a mausoleum. The memorial plaque says "The Legend of Buddy Hero", with the starting date of when the first episode of S1 took place - the beginning of their hero partnership - and ending on the day that S2E25 happens on. Underneath that, we see "NEXT". Though this might be the end of the era of Tiger & Bunny as we know it, NEXT is the beginning of a new one.

So what does this mean for the future of the series? I posit that S2 isn't a conclusion - it's a second act that precedes a 3rd act with a drastic change of status quo - and a new beginning.

Staff have repeatedly spoken about "change" around S2, and now I think I understand what they meant. Bringing back the times of day symbolism, we can imagine that the entire story of Tiger & Bunny could be divided into 3 acts (seasons), with 3 "intermissions"(movies). They are: Intermission 1: The Beginning Movie Season 1: Day (Consummation) (this is a recent visual from S2, but I've always found the choice to frame them against a bright day unusual, compared to the historical treatment of key art):

Intermission 2: The Rising Season 2: Sunset/Nightfall (Destruction & Desolation) If so, then perhaps during the live audience viewing of Episode 25, which will air on the infamous T&B day of Christmas Eve (Dec 24, 2022), we will get an announcement of the conclusion: Intermission 3: The Fall? Season 3: Sunrise/Dawn (Rebirth. "Tomorrow is not Yesterday's Today.") As many have noticed, there seemed to be several suspended story and character arcs from S2. Foreshadowed events (such as the dinner/drinks date") don't end up happening, and character journeys don't feel complete. I can go into detail on what specific story aspects feel set up for a 3rd arc, but that will be for another post. For now, I will leave you with this last Easter egg. Thank you for reading!

#tiger & bunny 2 #tiger & bunny season 2 #tiger & bunny #tiger and bunny #t&b #t&b2 #t&b2 spoilers #t&b spoilers #kotetsu t. kaburagi #wild tiger #barnaby brooks jr #tiger and bunny 2 #kotetsu kaburagi #theory #analysis #taibani #kotetsu x barnaby #barnaby x kotetsu

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cursedvibes · 21 days

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As a fan of Monster (by Naoki Urasawa), who do you think is a better antagonist in their own story, Johan or Sukuna? Why do you think that? At first I want to ask for comparison between Johan and Kenjaku. But then, I guess you'll answer Kenjaku, right?

Also, somehow, I don't think Kenjaku as an antagonist. Even Mahito is more of an antagonist for me. Sorry if I'm wrong, and if my ask is kinda random and silly.....

P.s

If Monster's characters somehow transported to JJK univese and they got cursed energies, who do you think will survive?

Thanks for the ask, it's really interesting!

First of all for the "Kenjaku as antagonist" part, I can see why you think this way because all major antagonists are there to oppose Yuuji and as things stand right now, Kenjaku doesn't do that. Kenjaku is absolutely an obstacle for Yuuji, pretty much since his birth, but he doesn't really deal with the (very personal and existential) challenge they pose to him. He just waits until the problem goes away by itself... That is why I also think Kenjaku is most accurately described as the "main antagonist" because Kenjaku is the antagonist of the story. Kenjaku is the one who actually brings conflict into the story. If it wasn't for Kenjaku, Sukuna would have died in the Heian era, Yuuji would probably be a pretty ordinary guy, there would be no reincarnated sorcerers and Mahito & Co would have been killed as soon as Gojo got his hands on them, since there is nobody with experience and resources protecting them. Kenjaku pushes the story forward, even after they died, and they are the one who shakes up the status quo and gives the protagonists the opportunity to grow and change both themselves and the world around them. At its base, that is what an antagonist is supposed to do and none of the challenges Sukuna and Mahito provide for Yuuji would be possible if Kenjaku didn't move the story forward in the background and push everyone protagonists and antagonists alike to evolve. Sukuna and Mahito cause chaos and destruction, but they aren't very focused and only very locally based. They only become really dangerous when paired with Kenjaku because Kenjaku can elevate their abilities to a larger scale that affects more than only the people in like a 5km radius.

As for Kenjaku's comparison to Johan, I think they are actually equal for me with maybe Johan slightly ahead because he's just better written. They are actually quite similar. Both are larger scale antagonist that operate internationally and mostly move behind-the-scenes, so getting hold of them is incredibly difficult. Both aren't all that strong on their own, they instead rely on allies and people indebted to them to protect them. Both are relatively unassuming at first glance and able to seamlessly integrate into society, making it hard to find them or pin down their current identity. And both have mommy issues.

Johan & Sukuna

This easily goes to Johan. In Sukuna's defence, we are also still missing a huge part of his story and character background that will probably soon be revealed to us, but at the moment we are missing most of what would give him more depth. It's there in hints, but if we only go with what we solidly know about him so far, he's not much more complex than your average big bad who destroys cities for fun and games with no real rhyme or reason to it and the only thing that really makes him dangerous is his immense strength. He is a very physical threat to overcome.

Johan on the other hand has the advantage of Monster already being completed. His story has been told, we got a deeper look at his motivations and what shaped him into becoming who he is, while not getting any clear-cut answers as to what really first caused him to spiral. Nature vs nurture and all that. I mean, there's still debate over who that titular "monster" is (personally I think it's not Johan), which I think hits just the right balance between remaining mystery that will make you want to reread the story and answer for why he acts the way he does.

Yuuji and Sukuna challenge each other's world views similar to Johan and Tenma, but I don't think it has quite the same weight. Again, I have to say, this is hard to judge because the real conflict between Sukuna & Yuuji hasn't started yet or is just in its early stages of falling into place. Although the key principle is very similar in both cases: how much is a human life worth?

Johan and Tenma are intentionally very binary. Tenma fundamentally believes in the worth of human life and that includes believing that someone like Johan deserves to live, despite the pain he caused. Johan believes no human has worth, including himself, and therefore killing others or yourself is of no consequence. Yuuji and Sukuna fundamentally believe in a similar concept, but with some exceptions. Yuuji believes everyone has a right to live...except himself because he is causing too much hurt for the people he cares about. Similarly, he also very quickly gave up on reasoning or even talking to Sukuna and accepted that Sukuna is such an evil person that he also has to die. Like, killing Sukuna doesn't rob him of any sleep or makes him question his morals, it's pretty clear that Sukuna deserves to die. Sukuna thinks humans are worthless, but he takes himself out of that equation. Like Johan he thinks of himself as a monster and non-human (to a degree), but unlike him, he places himself above others and thinks he and the ones who think like him or live by his standards are more worthy of living than others.

Tenma and Yuuji both live with the guilt of having helped someone survive who will continue to kill others and have to find an answer on how to deal with that dilemma. I would say as far as their respective antagonists are concerned, Yuuji's solution is much easier. Sukuna is cartoonishly evil, no redeeming qualities and unless you are a very principled person, nobody would cry over his death. Whereas Tenma was presented with a child that had been shot in the head and as a doctor he made the very logical decision to do his best to his best to help that child, not knowing he had just killed his adoptive parents. Even after he found out and the years he spend chasing Johan to maybe possibly kill him, he had a much harder choice on his hands because Johan is much more of a real human being. He got traumatized as a child and lives out that trauma on the people around him with violent consequences, but he also is a danger to himself due to his suicidality. It is pretty clear that he is severely mentally ill and at the end, it is always a possibility to put him in prison and give him therapy (it will be difficult to keep him in prison due to his connections, but with the right incentives not impossible). Putting Sukuna in prison and giving him therapy isn't possibly unless Yuuji eats him again.

So I think because the question of how to handle Johan is so much more complex for the protagonists, he ranks above Sukuna here as well. I think a detractor for Sukuna for me is also that Yuuji is much more of an existential challenge to Sukuna than Sukuna for Yuuji. Sukuna doesn't make Yuuji question his morals or his resolution, he is simply an obstacle he has to overcome to save the people he cares about. At this point Sukuna is much more affected by Yuuji than Yuuji by him. A lot of that has to do with Sukuna only really stepping up as an active antagonist after Mahito was gone and Mahito was the one who really challenged Yuuji. Sukuna killed all those people in Shibuya, but it was primarily Mahito who taught Yuuji what real cruelty looks like, he taught him to kill with his own hands, to question his convictions, his morals and how far he is willing to go, how much power he even has to go on. Sukuna only really comes into the picture after Yuuji has already grown from what Mahito put him through. This is less of a clear cut issue, but it's part of why I rank Mahito above Sukuna as far as jjk villains are concerned. It is also why I enjoy Mahito as a villain much more. And this lack of ideological challenge is also another reason for why I think Johan is a better antagonist than Sukuna and why I think the ranking will stay this way even when we get more insight into Sukuna's motivations and background. Sukuna is also just not very scary or threatening, especially not how he has been presented during the Shinjuku showdown. Despite Kenjaku being weaker, I was much more worried about everyone's lives and the future of the entire country than now that it's only Sukuna. He's just like a rampaging bull. There is no mystery or higher-level threat to him, he's just a bit difficult to handle. That makes it not even close between him and Johan.

Monster -> JJK

I think this is very difficult to answer because Monster and its characters are very deeply rooted in our real world and it not being supernatural is what actually makes it so interesting. But if we assumed they became sorcerers and all got transported to Japan (otherwise nothing would really change), I think Nina would survive. She is the only one of the cast who can competently fight while not being wildly suicidal. Roberto and Grimmer are strong with Grimmer's split personality "Steiner" supposedly further amplifying his cursed energy, but they are also fundamentally empty. They would be trained by Kinderheim 511 or Jujutsu Tech into super soldiers and then die young because they have no sense of self or strong will for survival which would get them killed very quickly in the world of jjk. Unlike with their actual stories, they would not be able to develop any coping mechanisms but instead be constantly exposed to their trauma, which will either get them killed Haibara-style or they kill themselves. So that only leaves Nina as the last survivor. Tenma can't fight and also can't kill people, so he's a goner. Johan...maybe he'd take up a similar place to Tengen? In that he organizes a group of influential sorcerers from the back, but he'd ultimately use it to try and kill himself. Maybe in a similar plot as Kenjaku's merger curse. He could create something that would wipe out Japan once and for all and realize his scenery of a doomsday. Nina can then cut his head off (he'd probably survive a bullet to the head again).

#asks #naoki urusawa's monster #ryomen sukuna

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alpaca-clouds · 8 months

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Castlevania and Themes

I experienced an epiphany yesterday, while discussing the series with a friend. And while I will still maintain that season 4 is very messy in many regards (especially writing), some choices make a lot more sense to me now.

The series is not really subtle about the base message. It is mostly really the "I know people who use subtext and they are all cowards" meme. With characters in every single season giving a big speach about the themes. You know, the entire thing about "building things" and "teaching people". But what I did not realize until yesterday is, that the series does not fall under the umbrella of progressivism, but radical progressivism. (Note that in the sense of the series this does not really maintain towards modern world interpretations of the words, but the original meaning.)

Let me explain. Within the series characters fall mostly into a spectrum of ideals. And those ideals fall into one of three categories:

Radical Progressivism: Building new things, sharing knowledge, teaching

Conservatism/Regressivism: Keeping things as they are, hoarding knowledge, upholding a sense of stability, undoing change

Destructive Nihilism: Destroying things, killing, not valueing life

Again, the show is not exactly subtle when it comes to the entire idea of making new things and teaching. We literally start out the series with Lisa lecturing Vlad about that topic. It is brought up through Sypha several times in season 2. In season 3 we have most obviously the Captain holding his monologue about the topic. And in season 4 we have both Isaac's and Trevor's respective monologues.

But watching the series under this aspect - specifically under the idea of contrasting conservatism with progressivism - certain things make a lot of change. Especially in regards of who ends up living and who ends up dying.

Also, under this perspective the Targoviste arc finally makes sense. As well, for that matter, where the entire thing with Taka and Sumi is going. Or why Lenore dies.

Let me explain: Adrian's decision at the end of season 2 is actually a wrong one. He decides to "protect the knowledge" in the castle. Which under the perspective of the moral good the series aims for being the sharing of knowledge is, in fact, a moral failing. He falls into the same battern as his father had before Lisa's arrival. Hoarding knowledge and not doing much with it. What the moral says he should be doing is, to go out and bring the knowledge to the people or outright advertise the castle as a place of learning. Hence, karma ends up kicking his ass.

Taka and Sumi meanwhile fall under the destructive nihilism thing. They want knowledge, but they only want that knowledge to destroy things. Hence, they are bad.

Same we see with Zamfir. She is a conservative. She wants to uphold the status quo. The fact that that status quo is a city literally in ruins basically exists to drive that point home. Which is also, why she ends up dying.

Carmilla starts out as a conservative, but then also runs into nihilism and she dies for it.

And while Lenore is not destructive, she is also not constructive or progressive. She just wants to maintain things as they are, and when change happens either way she resents that change - and hence she kills herself, because she does not accept the change and whatever new thing Isaac builds.

And it is also why Striga and Morana, who explicitly want to build a future together, get to live. And why Lisa and Dracula come back. Because Lisa is the serie's paragon. She is the one who wants to change and make new things and share the knowledge. And as long as she is around Dracula, who stands for the collected knowledge, actually can be a force for good. He comes back, because he embodies knowledge.

This moral is also, why Hector ends on the "I am going to write a book" thing. Because under this moral framework writing a book (meaning: sharing his knowledge) is one of the ultimative moral things to do.

To put it differently: From the very beginning of first watching the show, I could not shake the feeling that there was some blue-orange morals going on (aka: the moral framework the show works under is different from what you'd usually expect). But I could not quite put the finger on the moral set. Watching it under this perspective however and assuming the moral set involves "building/sharing knowledge" as the ultimate moral good and "destroying/hoarding knowledge" as the ultimate moral failing... the show actually deals out a ton of karmic justice.

And as I said: Lisa is a paragon from this moral point of view. So is Sypha. Heck, Sypha's character arc actually suddenly makes sense: She looses her way in season 3 as instead of returning to her people (whose entire thing is collecting, but also sharing knowledge and enabling an exchange of knowledge) she instead goes adventuring. Hence this entire thing bites her in the ass and she has to go to Targoviste to be reminded of her ideals.

An interesting bit about the entire thing is, that the framework also assumes that everyone can at any point become good and make up for anything they have done. Because if you start holding knowledge as the highest good, rather than something like human life... Yeah, it is actually pretty easy to rebuild that kinda stuff or make up for it.

Which is also why the show mostly deals with Dracula, Hector and Isaac and the entire genocide with "yeah, that was horrible - eh, whatever". Because it is not the moral framework that the show works under.

Also: St. Germain's moral failing is hence not his acceptance of death, but actually his misuse of knowledge with the firm goal to regress from it.

It suddenly all makes sense!

#castlevania #castlevania netflix #philosophy #analysis #media analysis #morality #ethics #blue orange morality

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the-apollyon-experiments · 3 months

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Pyrus's Hot Girl Breakdown

◇ ◇ ◇

The trio had been on the road in that old, sputtering RV. It was in decent shape and still function, but it likely could see better days.

The sun beamed on above, clouds speckling the blue. Many would say it was a lovely day.

Azrael Pyrus was one of three in this vehicle, his eyes glaring out the windows as he kept an eye out for the building he loved so much. It was there for him when he was homeless.. it was there for him when he had trouble getting a handle on his fire... it was how he started to believe. He owed that museum many favors.

They passed wonderful sceneries; woods, cities and towns, lined shops as they were searching for this place that the scientist wanted to find. Helio was bored, sitting at the table within the RV, his one eye glancing around curiously at everything. He was even messing with random items like cabinet handles, pressing buttons he saw... anything to occupy himself. Meanwhile, d

Dr. Toon had been busy driving.

The red haired doctor soon caught eye of the building he had found before joining the foundation. In place of it were only remains. The rubble of broken columns and statues. Pyrus shot up from where he was seated, swiftly pacing over to the driver's seat.

"STOP THE RV!! I JUST SAW IT!!!" He yelled desperately, his voice strained from the mere shock from what he just saw.

Abruptly, the other doctor slammed onto the breaks, sending Helio flying into the windshield in a rather cartoonish manner. It was rather humorous if not for the distress written upon Pyrus's face.

Toon shifted his gaze up toward Pyrus, clear confusion scattered as well. "I— where?? Where is it??" He questioned. The red haired man didn't give a proper answer however. He merely moved, rushing out of the vehicle and running across the long road to make it to the shattered building.

"Hey!!! Pyrus!!! Oh God dammit..." Toon groaned before just starting the RV back up so he could drive it over to the premise of the building. That way they wouldn't end up screwing themselves over.

By the time the other two doctors filed off the RV and made it to where Pyrus was, they found him standing in the middle of the rocks and collapsed pieces of roof.

The red haired man was quiet and broken up about all he found. The statues turned into dust and rocks, every little speck of cleaning he did for this old place was tone. Azrael bent down, placing a hand to the concrete flooring he once knew. He shut his eyes, silently paying his respects to the place.

Helio stared, his own gaze softening. He had heard many stories of Pyrus's about how he stayed at this building... the small fellow just floated himself over before gently placing a sleeve covered hand onto the man's back. "...I'm sorry this place is gone.." He murmured, soon after moving to give the saddened man a shallow hug.

Even Toon was speechless from the solemn tension filling the air.

Helio soon floated back over to the other doctor's side, still feeling a bit bad. He couldn't help but sympathize.

Minutes passed of the red haired man remaining still before he finally started to search through the destruction of this busted up museum. Pyrus felt his breath caught within his own throat once he found an old spartan sword within the rubble. Shockingly it wasn't bent or shattered at all. Just rusty. He felt a tugging at his own soul as he lifted the blade within his own two hands. With this, he chose to pay another amount of respect to this place.

Taking in a deep breath, he lifted the sword to his own neck with one hand and grasping his lengthy hair with the other. With a simple swing, he had cut it free from his root, leaving him with shoulder length red hair. He felt as if he was accomplished with this. Not only that, he even burned the cut off hair within his own hand. The second it became ash, he let it fly free. Those same ashes moving through the soft winds to coat the old building. Soon after, Pyrus slowly and gently set the sword back where he found it.

Of course, Helio and Toon had seen the whole, silent event. As Pyrus returned to the other two, the cloud haired odd one piped up. "So, uhhhhh, why'd you do a Mulan?? You're already a guy." Helio pointed out, entirely confused.

Meanwhile, Toon just couldn't help but point out a different thing he noticed. "Pyrus, you do realize that sword was likely incredibly rusted, right???"

Pyrus just rolled his eyes, letting a thin smile play across his lips. "I know.. and Helio, I did it to pay respects to the place that healed me." He spoke with a soft hum.

"Let's just head to the hotel and relax.. we've already gone to the one place I wanted to visit." The red haired man spoke, just striding ahead of the other two, headed toward the RV they had been traveling in. The other two exchanged glances before shrugging and going along as well.

And so, their vacation continued with other activities they shared.

#mod milo writes #the apolloera au

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qqueenofhades · 2 years

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Genuine question: Why do people think the Civil War was about state's rights and not slavery? Like have people just not read the Cornerstone speech? Alexander Stephens really said "our new government['s] foundations are laid, its cornerstone rests, upon the great truth that the negro is not equal to the white man; that slavery—subordination to the superior race—is his natural and normal condition." So are we just going to ignore the Vice President of the confederacy or...

Because they're racist, but they're dimly aware that outright saying that you're racist is usually regarded as a bad thing, plus they don't really think they are either racist or wrong to be racist if indeed they are (you can't prove it!), and have twisted themselves into rhetorical knots to come up with a more palatable-sounding reason. They ignore not just the actual texts and speeches and well-attested statements of the Confederate government and sympathizers themselves, but eagerly accept the subsequent 150 years of "Lost Cause" mythologizing that endlessly mourned the supposedly vicious "Yankee" destruction of the "gentle and gentlemanly" or "chivalric" white Southern way of life.

Nor have they ever gotten over it, moved on, accepted national or civic responsibility like the Germans with the Nazis post-WWII, or tried to develop a political strategy that doesn't involve punishing black people for not letting them just subjugate and murder them like the good old days. See the screaming over statues of Confederate generals getting torn down: it's attacking our history!!! Okay, but a) when have you ever cared about that, and b) I'm pretty sure that the "history" you guys actually mean is your glorious alternate-reality white-supremacist fantasy where the innocent South never did anything wrong and was just standing up for States' Rights (to practice slavery). Like freedom! Which is American as apple pie! WHY DO YOU HATE AMERICAN FREEDOM, JOYLESS COMMUNIST BASTARD?!?!

Anyway. Yet again, my salty ragesnark is getting away from me, and I should once more limit my use of the blue hellsite for the evening, but I've spent this so-called Independence Day in a nonstop fog of anger. When you have mass shootings at Fourth of July parades (please, Ted Cruz, tell me how the problem was that there weren't enough doors on an open-air street) since THAT is the new American norm, Proud Boys and Patriot Front marching in major cities, a theocratic fascist SCOTUS ruling that women aren't people, and all the other fucking bullshit happening in this country because white racists have been allowed to get away with their toxic shit since its founding, it's really hard to feel like this day genuinely means anything to anyone anymore, or that it will do so again in the foreseeable future. Ugh.

#anonymous #ask #history #american history #politics for ts

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genderqueeradrien · 11 months

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you're a long suffering citizen of ml!paris. you used to like it here, used to wake up a little early to grab a coffee on your walk to work. until sometime recently- a couple months ago, maybe? you can't quite remember- supervillains started appearing around the city at random every couple of days. the first one was terrifying. you had no idea what to do and all you could think about was your son at his first day of school. you needed to know he was alright. he was, but you didn't find out that day- that day, you were a rock statue, frozen in the warm late-summer air.

when you were released from your duties as a large rock a girl in a red suit with black polka dots was standing on the eiffel tower vowing to protect the city. you think that's a big challenge for such a young girl to take on. she can't be older than fifteen or sixteen, maybe younger, even. you'd try to help, somehow, but how? you're powerless against these black butterflies. against "hawk moth", whoever (whatever?) that is.

you're not going to leave. you've lived here for years, you've built a life here. you won't leave. you've made your peace with it all- with the crowds of people, with the cost of rent, with the supervillain, with the ladybuggirl and catboy who occasionally save the city from complete destruction. you just have to be more careful now.

you've made your peace with it, mostly.

it's an average tuesday when an akumatized supervillain in a purple-and-black suit is spotted running around paris. he's stealing people's voices, collecting them. it is no longer an average tuesday when ladybug's voice is stolen. you're not too clear on the mechanics of it all, but you know ladybug needs to be able to speak to cast her "miraculous ladybug" and turn everything back to normal. you don't know what happens now. you assume it's not good. you invite the people on the street outside to come inside the shop you work at and lock the doors.

ladybug's voice is stolen, the mayor's voice is stolen, all is lost, a vacuum falls from the sky and all returns to normal in a manner well suited for a 20-some minute episode of television. you keep your eyes glued on the tv in case something else happens. a sketchy music producer reveals his lies live on air and ladybug dips out, but not before telling the catboy, "see you soon, my kitty!"

as though he is not on national televison, the cat grins and rests his chin on his hands. he says, "i love when she calls me that." you wonder, does he know he's still on the air? is he aware he's on national television? he's still smiling into the distance, lovestruck. you wonder, how is it that your life is in the hands of a lovesick teenage catboy and the buggirl he kills himself in front of three times a week?

#text #ml #i typed way too many words . i really only meant to type that last paragraph . should this go in my writing tag #also sorry but i think about that line literally like 12 times a day Is he aware he is on national television ? ????? ??? ??????????

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davyjoneslockr · 2 years

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fugo w/ 7, 17, 31, 37, 38?

(For this ask game)

7: Travel

Since his family was rich, he did a lot of traveling as a kid. Mostly around Europe, but internationally, too. He's probably been to every continent, barring Antarctica, at least once. He didn't really get to experience much on these trips, though. Sure, he'd be in these places, but the trips were never so much for sightseeing as they were for his parents' business opportunities, going to really fancy places as a status symbol, and probably some networking for him, as his parents were very keen on "maximizing his potential" as a young genius and showing him off to fellow rich folk or higher-ups in academia. If anything, traveling was an isolating experience for him. There was never any warmth in the Fugo family, and the one person he truly loved and could've enjoyed having new experiences with, his grandmother, was never included.

So, as he gets older, he finds that he really enjoys trips that aren't so rigid. He likes having things planned in advance, certainly, but instead of seeing huge cities and staying in luxury resorts, he'd much rather go to small towns or rural areas, eat at local restaurants, buy little trinkets that his family would've ridiculed, and just. Have the opportunity to slow down and enjoy things. He couldn't give a single shit about seeing Paris or Tokyo or New York City, but if he's able to go on a road trip through the countryside and stop at a little farmer's market for some homemade jam, he'll be ecstatic.

17: Scars

His hands and wrists are heavily scarred from scratching at them - a bad, self-destructive habit the others have tried to get him out of, to no avail. He’s also got a lot of scarring on his face, shoulders, and back from acne. By the time he gets the scars on his cheeks/throat at the end of PHF, he’s too used to having scars to outwardly angst about them much. He claims he’s “never had a nice face, anyhow,” and is at least thankful he has an intact jaw after that.

Internally, though, he’s conflicted. He has some serious issues with self-worth, and, body image-wise, views himself as somewhat ugly at best, if not completely repulsive. The scars, at first, do not help.

Eventually, though, he starts working to reframe his mindset. The scars are proof that he’s bettering himself - while he may not be able to undo the damage he’s caused, there are things he can still fix. He isn’t as selfish, cowardly, or mean as he used to be. He’s starting to understand other people, and understand himself. The scars he sees when he looks in the mirror are proof.

Also, if I can plug the Fugio agenda for a moment. Most of his mental restructuring is done on his own, but it certainly helps to know that Giorno’s never been judgmental about his scars. Quite the opposite, in fact. Giorno kisses the PHF scars constantly, and likes tracing the acne spots on Fugo’s back (he always says cheesy stuff about them, like “they’re like little stars” or whatever. Fugo thinks it’s bullshit, but doesn’t complain).

31: Death

Despite his stand’s motif, he is deeply terrified of dying. Deep down, it was one of the main reasons he stayed behind. He finds comfort in understanding things, and knowing that he can understand anything in life, potentially. Even though he’s staunchly atheist, the fact that he can’t possibly understand or comprehend death scares him. Purple Haze’s, or his, ability to end lives so quickly and effortlessly, in a way, makes him scared of himself.

37: Vengeance

I like to think that he does see his family again, when he’s an adult. Not to reconcile, though. His father, or maybe one of his brothers, somehow gets tangled up in mafia business, and they arrange a meeting to ask Giorno for protection or money. Giorno’s ready to dismiss the offer, but Fugo asks to go with him, with his face obscured, to see if they’ve actually changed.

As it turns out, they haven’t. They’re still as pretentious and elitist as he remembers, walking over everyone who doesn’t meet their standards - of class, of wealth, of behavior. Giorno asks if they have another child, and they claim they don’t - Pannacotta has more or less been eliminated from the Fugo family tree, reduced to no more than a whisper at dinner parties, a rumor among the upper crust. He’s completely dead to them, and, perhaps, after kicking him to the streets without so much as a goodbye, they assumed he would be literally.

Giorno, of course, rejects their request. And, as a final blow, Fugo reveals himself. Flashes his and Giorno’s matching rings in his father’s face, sits with his feet up on the expensive coffee table, and describes, in detail, what’s happened to him since he was last at this mansion. It’s dramatic, and it’s not a huge act of revenge, in the grand scheme of things. But it’s cathartic to imagine his family living with the fact that their son’s a criminal, right at the top in Passione’s ranks, and the shitstorm that would ensue, should he choose to leak the information to the public. And, of course, knowing that he has a real family by his side - more of a real family than they would ever be.

38: Sympathy

If there is one opponent he comes to regret killing, it’s Angelica. While she may have been working for the narcotics team, she was really no different than him, or any of his friends - she was just a kid driven to extremes, and was only able to find solace among criminals. Most of what he learns about her, he learns after her death, and there’s times where he spirals, thinking about what he could have done differently, had he known what he does now. Could they have convinced her to leave the narcotics team? Gotten her treatment for her addiction? Used Gold Experience Requiem to help with her illness, somehow? What hurts most is that parts of her remind him of Narancia, and, occasionally, he wonders if they could’ve even been friends.

At the end of the day, he tells himself she was too far gone, and any thoughts of helping her are just ridiculous fantasies. Still, he hasn’t been able to fully convince himself.

#whoo sorry this took so long. i'm starting to work on all these so don't worry. they'll all get answered #also the fourth one may or may not be a fic idea i've considered writing before. idk if i will but. yeah #jjba #purple haze feedback #jjba headcanons #pannacotta fugo #fugio

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barbex · 2 years

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happy friday and happy dadwc!! could we see “Because I love you!” from the sappy prompts?

Ohhhh! Oh this prompt. This prompt caused the sappiest fill ever, 1400 words of super sappy fenders fic. One day, I will write a short fill. One day. But not today. For @dadrunkwriting, Fenris x Anders after the chantry boom.

---

Hawke let him live. He hadn't expected that.

And then they had to fight for their lives, of course, just to get to the harbour. The sea is unusually quiet tonight, the ship Isabela "acquired" floating gently across to the island of the Gallows.

Anders looks at his silent companions in the boat with him. Merrill's hair is longer, she's wearing it in a loose braid. Aveline's is shorter. Hawke's hair still sticks out in every direction, but she has a new set of armor, with a red dragon painted on the breastplate. He hasn't seen them all in quite some time.

He avoids looking at Fenris. Fenris... is still as beautiful as ever. Looking at him hurts.

Justice never approved of their relationship. If you could call it that. Their almost relationship. There were touches, sex, and holding each other at night. For a while, it had been wonderful. But he removed himself from Fenris too. He had to keep away from all of them, to protect them. None of them should be connected to the destruction. Especially not Fenris.

The boat goes ashore. It's not the official harbour of the Gallows, but a sandy beach on the side of the island. When they disembark, Isabela's manoeuvre pays off well, the templars guarding the harbour have to run to reach them. Anders throws up barriers and heals everyone, but he hesitates to use offensive spells. He shouldn't be fighting here with them all, he should be back in the city and he should be dead.

"Anders." Impossibly green eyes look at him, until Anders turns away, looking over the leaden surface of the sea.

"Fenris, I..." He almost apologises. But he shouldn't. No more compromise, no more apologies. He gave everything up for this, for changing the world, he will not apologise for it. He glances once more at Fenris and then walks, following Hawke.

The Gallows are in chaos, dead templars and dead mages lie everywhere, pools of blood spreading underneath them. Anders stumbles, his breath stuck in his throat when he sees the dead mages. The very people he meant to free and protect now lie dead in the dust. Anders feels Fenris' gaze on him, knowing that the elf hates him now, again. He will never understand.

Orsino tries to reason with Meredith, Hawke tries to reason, even fucking Cullen Rutherford tries to reason with the Knight-Commander, but she repeats her orders. Kill every single mage. Even some templars shake their heads at that order, stepping back from her.

The fight turns into a blur. So many mages die, despite all the healing Anders throws around, until he falls to his knees in exhaustion.

"Mage." Fenris holds out his hand to help him up. "Anders," he says when Anders hesitates to take his hand.

"I'm fine."

Fenris crouches down to be closer. "Anders, why —"

"Don't ask me that." Anders ignores his hand and stands up, brushing dust from his knees to hide how they shake and hurt. "You shouldn't even be here. This has nothing to do with you."

Fenris stares at him, frowning, but whatever he wants to say gets cut off by the sheer insanity unfolding at the centre of the courtyard. In a turn nobody expected, Knight-Commander Meredith reveals the damn red lyrium idol they brought up from the Deep Roads. It's now a sword, glowing red and giving off a strange sound that rings inside Anders' head.

Everything swims in front of his eyes. Meredith glows red from inside, massive statues activate and fight, and it's all getting too much. The song from the red lyrium grates in Anders' head, he loses his footing as he stumbles away from the shadow of a statue.

Someone runs into him, pushing him aside and he feels Fenris' lyrium brush against him. He always knows when Fenris is near. He can feel him.

"Careful," Fenris says. He looks at Anders with raised eyebrows. "Can you give me ice?"

Anders nods and traps the foot of the nearest statue in ice. Fenris swings his sword and shatters the leg. The statue falls down, nearly crushing Anders, and Fenris jumps on the back of the crumbled heap and cuts off the head.

That ice spell took the last of Anders' strength and he sits down, leaning his back against the crumbled statue.

He feels Fenris approaching. "Anders, are you alright?"

A hysterical laugh bubbles out of Anders' mouth. "I've never been alright in my life. I'm a mage, cursed by the Maker."

At the centre of the Gallow's courtyard, the thing that used to be Meredith, screams for the Maker and then burns up from the inside, until all that is left is the shape of her, encased in stone and metal. For a moment, it looks like the remaining templars want to close in on Hawke and her companions, and the mages who survived this far. But then Cullen lowers his sword, and just like that, the fight is over.

"The mages are coming with me," Hawke says, turning and walking out of the Gallows without another look. The boat can barely hold them all, but they're not leaving any of the mages behind.

"We'll stay out of Kirkwall for now." Hawke leads them to one of the caves they've cleared of slavers a while back. "Merrill and I will make a supply run to Kirkwall and we'll check if it's safe for you to return, Varric, alright?"

"Sounds like a plan." Varric gathers the mages at the side of the cave and begins to tell stories, distracting the scared circle mages, who never had this much nature around in their lives.

Anders lights a fire for them, and when it looks like everyone is safe, he takes his staff and disappears into the shadows. He walks quickly, if he hurries, he can make it to the other side of the Sundermount by nightfall. That should be far enough to take a rest.

A small stream crosses his path, and he stops to drink and fill his waterskin.

"Anders." Fenris' voice.

Anders nearly falls into the stream. "Maker's ass, how can you be so silent? Did you fadestep here?"

Fenris steps closer. He doesn't look amused. "Where are you going?"

"Away." Anders stoppers the waterskin and stands up. "Just away."

"You..." Fenris closes his mouth again, searching for words. "You shouldn't go alone."

"And you shouldn't follow me." Anders takes a deep breath. "I'm hunted now. I'm a danger to everyone."

Fenris frowns. "Didn't you expect that?"

"I didn't expect to live."

Fenris suddenly grabs his arm and pulls him closer. "Did you really think I would let Hawke kill you?"

Oh, it hurts to look at Fenris. It hurts so much. To see his anger, his pain. Anders wants to fall into Fenris' arms and just forget everything. But he can't. He can't let this happen. He can't ruin Fenris' life along with his own. "I pushed you away. I pushed you all away to protect you. Just leave me alone now, and you'll be fine."

"I can't do that." Fenris' voice rumbles all the way into Anders' chest.

"Why not?" Anders' body feels like a stone. He should sink into the ground until dirt covers him and elfroot grows over him.

Fenris grabs Anders' shoulders. "Because I love you!"

The words wash over him like sunlight. Stupid hope rises in him, hope Anders has to crush before it can grow. "No, you can't. You can't love someone like me."

Fenris' hand strokes over his cheek, brushing away tears Anders has not even noticed. "I can."

"No," Anders whispers, his convictions crumbling. "You're free, you have a life..."

Fenris presses a kiss against Anders' cheek. "I'm a free man and I can love a mage." He leans back, looking into Anders' eyes. "And I love you."

"Fenris," Anders sobs, breaking down. He falls to his knees, wrapping his arms around Fenris' waist. "I love you, madly, and that's why I can't do this to you..."

Untangling Anders' arms from his hips, Fenris sinks to his knees and takes Anders' head in his hands, pressing their foreheads together. "No mage will decide for me, ever again, not even you." He smiles, a tear leaving a wet streak on his cheek. "Don't push me away."

"Fenris, love." Anders presses a kiss on the three white dots on Fenris' forehead. "One day, you'll regret this."

"No, I will not." Fenris looks at him, the smile on his face a fragile thing. "We all live with the decisions we make. I will not regret choosing to spend my life with you because I know it is right, no matter what happens."

"You just know?" Anders stares at him, feeling his heart beat in his throat. "Just like that?"

"Just like that. " Fenris smiles gently, with an age of acceptance settling in the lines around his eyes. "Will you let me love you?"

A sob breaks out of Anders' chest. "Yes. I... I love you, and I'm yours."

"As am I, mage." He presses a kiss to Anders' lips. "I am yours."

#fenders #fenders fic #Fenris x Anders #dragon age #Fenris #Anders #dragon age fanfiction #my writing #dadrunkwriting #I already changed the ending #that's something I do #I never stop fiddling

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ufonaut · 2 years

Note

Obsessed with gl: bmp Hal just straight up shooting a man, not wearing any clothes under the ring, and somehow maintaining the feral parallax energy WITH the fear bug retcon. Truly surreal.

IT'S THE BEST SUPERHERO MOVIE I'VE EVER SEEN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE. IT'S THE PARALLAX MOVIE I'VE ALWAYS DREAMED OF. IT'S EVERYTHING.

i'm not even joking, i just sincerely don't understand any of the complaints about green lantern: beware my power -- i don't just think it's fun or surreal or camp (though it is, in fact, every single one of those things) but i legitimately think it's a well-written, utterly fantastic movie. first off, it's probably the best animation we've ever gotten out of a dcau movie and it certainly stands out in the current landscape of animated movies as a whole, it's just gorgeous to look at and the fluidity of movement kept making me point at the screen and scream. secondly, it's quite frankly an impeccable adaptation of the intertwined storylines it's playing with.

while i'm definitely a stickler for canon, i also understand dc's animated universe to be something of an elseworlds and i consider the true measure of a good adaptation to be the ability to capture the heart of the story being told -- and beware my power does that like nothing i've ever seen before! the rann-thanagar war plays out exactly as it should, and i did get a little insane about adam strange's comic-accurate scar, and it oddly becomes the perfect setting for this particular version of parallax: it allows hal's motive to stay the same, it's still destruction and senseless loss of life and disillusionment with the green lantern corps' ability to do good that lead him to the conclusion that he could set it all right if given enough power to do so.

my issue with the fear bug retcon has always been the fact that it absolves hal of blame, whereas here he's very obviously in control of his actions and aware of what he's doing, the bug stays merely a trigger in coast city's absence and that suits me just fine (especially when we get the single most homoerotic scene i've ever had the pleasure of witnessing in an animated movie). in effect, hal stays himself. he's intelligent and ruthless yet frantic like the parallax of the 90s had been, he's the greatest of the green lanterns and written in a way that finally makes explicit the subtext that has always been there -- there's only one path after reaching that status and seeing through the guardians' lies, and it's the path sinestro had taken back when he'd been the greatest of the lanterns.

one complaint i keep seeing is something along the lines of this movie having made parallax a 'story about genocide' but that's what parallax has always been, the rann-thanagar war takes coast city's place but it doesn't change a thing about the story beats and hal & sinestro's massacre of the glc (more impactful now that they're together, i'd argue) is no more of a necessary evil that it had ever been before. beware my power is intimately familiar with the story its telling, even if the setting has been changed.

i also think the characterisation for everyone involved - oliver queen and shayera particularly -- was fantastic, and i enjoyed john quite a lot as a protagonist. there's the usual issues, of course, but it's neither here nor there that he'd been made a marine instead of an architect over twenty years ago in geoff johns' retcons. i also don't think they're using kyle's story as much as people claim they are, there's certainly similarities but it's a wholly original thing.

it's genuinely my absolute favourite green lantern movie of any sort, and without a doubt one of the best hal jordans i've ever seen! i'm sorry to have turned this into a mini-review but i CANNOT recommend the movie enough to anybody who might be seeing this. if you like 90s hal, you're gonna love it!!!!!!!!

#asks #anon #green lantern beware my power #green lantern: beware my power #hal jordan

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books-of-the-great-leviathan · 2 years

Text

Chapter 38- Alois

***

A hundred times he'd dreamed of returning to Pavaloir triumphant, onboard a warship, with an armada on his heels. His fleet's flanks, in this elaborate fantasy, bristled with alchemic bolts, enough to render Pavaloir Tower a smoking ruin.

This is what you wanted, Father.

He'd herald his return with spellfire: a single bolt fired into the stars to burst, brilliant blue, and rain embers down over his father's head. He'd entertained the notion of his own fleet of chained, trained sea-orks, gnashing and rearing their tusked heads with bloodlust, ready to devour anyone unlucky enough to be tipped into their waiting maws.

Now am I a true son of Estara?

He'd dreamed of a quieter homecoming, too, standing at the foot of his father's throne, Daval watching him approach. Waiting, tense, and finally: folding against him as Daval Belmont gripped him in a tight embrace and, at last, forgave him.

Lost years and apologies. War and bloodshed and a rain of destruction. Never chains, never pushed through the halls of Pavaloir Tower in fetters, crusted in blood and sweat and the grime of days in a brig. Never at the side of Isabella Valere, who was just as filthy, her blonde hair tangled and lank around her shoulders.

Alois glimpsed a flash of hard blue Estaran sky before they were taken deep beneath Pavaloir Tower, deep into the holding cells tunneled into the dark bedrock beneath the fortress. The sight of his homeland on the horizon had shaken tears from him: the long ruddy coastline, cliffs carved by vivid blue waves, peaks reaching toward a cloudless sky. Pavaloir, too, heat-shimmer rising like a sapsilk veil above the city's towers, the reek and roil of the harbors, ships clustering at quay. Smoke and street grids and glittering herring hauls and the madcap crowds of the markets, the agoras open to the sun, the statues of old kings gutting the sky with upraised blades. Even the cathedral with its twin spires was a sweet familiar sight, casting its long shadow over all. He drank it in. It would be, he knew, the last time he'd ever see it. This time his father would kill him.

He would never leave Pavaloir Tower alive.

"Aren't we going to the king?" he asked as the guards pushed them down a long, subterranean corridor, cells to either side. Most were full, and eyes followed them, glittering, as Alois stumbled past. He'd not come down here much. The air was close, the light blue-white, casting a weird glow across the walls. "We were told-"

"His Majesty knows you're here," the guard said. "You'll see him when he calls for you." Behind the helmet Alois couldn't tell if he knew him, if he'd trained with him, laughed and drank and clasped arms with him in brotherhood.

It wouldn't matter if he had. Loyalties were broken at Daval's word.

"Please," Alois said. "Let me see him now. I have information that might save his life. It's about Enzo Acier- he works for my father, he's a spy, he's Lapidaean, and he's a traitor to Estara. I swear to you, I'm not lying. I'm-"

"We know who you are," the guard said, and shoved him into a waiting cell. "That's all we need to know. Now shut up."

The door clanged shut. Isabella and Elias went into the cell across the hall, where Isabella stood, silent, head hanging. A five-count bruise darkened her cheek. She watched the guards go, following them with her eyes like some great predator in a cage. Elias curled up in a corner, muttering again to himself far from the reach of the light.

Was Marin somewhere in the Tower? Did he know Alois was here? Alois pressed his hands over his eyes. He wanted to crush his curse out of him. He wanted to rip his eyes from his skull.

He folded to his knees before the bars and rested his forehead against the cold steel. Tears stung in the cuts on his face. Here he was, a true son of Lapide, kneeling and sobbing in a cell. Home at last, Alois.

"We'll make him listen," Isabella said.

"What?" He raised his head. His vision swam: shadow and blue-white light and Isabella's dirty golden hair. "Are you mad? He'll never listen. I was a fool to ever think he would. He's right, you know. I am nothing. Not fit to rule. Not fit to hold the title of prince. Not even fit to be Estaran-"

"All hells take Estara," Isabella snarled. "And all hells take you, too, if you think you can curl up and make yourself nothing. It was my judgment that brought us here. My punishments to bear if that's what your father decides. But until the axe falls or the rope cracks necks I won't see my allies on their knees, weeping defeat. Not when there's a new bloody way to live. Did you mean none of what you said on Bellana's Arm?"

Alois stared as she spoke, at the fervor in her body. No, not fervor- steel, spellforged steel. She was goading him, he knew, trying to get a rise from him. "You don't know my father."

"And you seemed confident enough he would listen." She leaned forward, holding the bars. "You said your mother was strong. You said she did what she wanted, when she wanted, despite all. She's a part of you as much as he is. Would she be proud to see her only son lain low? Would she be proud to watch you lose hope?"

His heart ached, his eyes stung. The world seemed crushed on all sides, an unbearable weight looming overhead. He wanted to protest he was nothing like her, nothing like his mother, bright and bold. He wanted to protest all his mother had won for her ways was an early death. He couldn't find the words.

"That's it," Isabella murmured.

Her eyes pinned him, gray as storm clouds, holding him from despair. Maybe there was something to the legends of witch-blood running through the house of Valere. Even filthy and bloodied, in torn Estaran uniform, she looked like a queen.

Alois dozed, slipping beneath the surface of his exhaustion. Time had no foothold here, nothing to mark hours save patrols, the distant ring of boots on stone, the clash and clatter of weapons filtering down from some training hall above. Blood dreams pulsed under his skin: ship graveyards and flames on the horizon, the distant cries of great birds circling overhead. The shrine, again, this time not lit with candlelight but dark, shadows and eider moth nests gusting like ghosts. The charms were gone, the spring dry. A layer of dust hazed the three-faced goddess. Whatever holy thing had lived there was gone, now, gone and gone forever.

He jolted awake at the screech of hinges, but it was only a prison matron pushing food through a slot in the cell door. She glanced at him, a bare assessing flash of dark eyes, then moved on, the folds of her long wimple fluttering behind her.

"Thank you," Alois called, and pulled the tray toward him: dense spiced meal shaped into cakes, a twist of orkmeat dried tough as leather, a tin cup of water to wet it soft enough to chew. Alois ripped into it with both hands, savoring the familiar spices. Lapidaean food was all strange, rich crustaceans and fish bathed in fruit glazes. He'd missed the simplicity of Estaran spice cakes. Marin only ate these things with honey, slathered on so thick it turned Alois's stomach to watch him stuff down cake after cake.

Marin. His heart hurt, full and sick. Was his little brother sleeping, now? Was he somewhere in a sunlit courtyard above, learning to shoot, learning to kill? Had he already begun to dream of war, not of his books and sweets and fox kits?

He wanted to be a fisherman, Alois remembered. A prince, dreaming of fish.

You will hear me, Father.

If not for his mother, then for Marin. If not for another, then for himself, for all the crimes his father had lain upon him for living. For all their people, and the country they deserved to live in, the country his homeland could strive to be.

For Estara, he thought. At least those were words his father would understand.

***

The guards came for them after the long night.

No words were exchanged. Alois scrambled to his feet before they could pull him upright. He'd face them on his feet. Isabella held her head high, her eyes still hard, not acknowledging the guards even as they snapped fetters around her wrists again. They left Elias where he was, still curled like an animal in the corner of the cell. Alois spared a look back and saw him staring, eyes wide and bright, clutching the bars as he watched them go.

They wound upward through the Tower, through dark-stone hallways and up vast sweeps of stairways, guarded by armored statues, spearpoints honed sharp. More men joined them, Tower guard in red and steel, fellfoxes snarling across sashes, none of them meeting his eyes. Alois's hands shook in their fetters, and he felt the familiar bite of steel into the half-healed scabs on his wrists. How many times had he tasted chain these past months?

Through the upper halls of the Tower, grand fortress bastions and fanning echoes, heat pouring through narrow slit windows. The sun was high and already searing, flags flying proud across Pavaloir's blue sky. Through the King's Hall, with its sagas carved in rock for generations to revere. King Ardain and the Sundered Empire, his legions of soldiers cutting their way through his traitorous brother's ranks. The chandeliers above were darkened, the rusty marble of the floor a deep blood-black, pools of sunlight gilding the tangle of carved figures.

Would his father carve a second King's Hall for his coming campaign, once it was done? It seemed the sort of thing he'd do to cement his place in the annals of Estaran history, and it was an impressive enough tale: the Sundered Empire made whole again, Daval its emperor, glorious and triumphant. Would Alois take the place of Ardain's traitorous brother, Daval poised to slice off his head while he knelt in the blood and the dust?

Let him, he thought, with an unfamiliar burst of ferocity. And let the truth be known. All of this rests on me and my obedience, Father. You still have yet to thank me for it.

They advanced up the stair, to the throne room. His shudder worsened at the sight of the arched doorway; one door stood open, and a spill of many-colored light pooled across the steps. The throne room was full of it, rendered magnificent by it. Echoes fanned across the throne, across the stained-glass windows, the goddess's power rendered in glass and iron: lightning, sea-beasts hewn, swords ablaze.

The throne was empty, the room empty save for a pair of maids sweeping its corners.

Alois's pulse hammered as he searched the throne room. His father was nowhere in sight. The guards pushed them ahead, past the throne, through the stained glass light.

"Where is he?" Alois slowed down, chains jangling. "Where's-"

His guard gave him a shove. "Keep walking."

The maids lowered their heads as they were led by, averting their eyes, knuckles white on their broom handles.

They passed through a second set of doors, through a colonnade looking down to the crashing waves far, far below, and into a grand room: hexagonal, built inside one of the fortress towers, overlooking the sea. Alois had seen this place little enough. His father had rarely allowed him access to his solar, his inner sanctum, the rooms where he played architect to the war.

The room was full of light, making the most of its southerly placement on the Tower. Metal tables held documents, stacks of hidebound books and scattered pens, current-spanned maps of Bellana's Arm. Daval's war table stood under the weight of countless figurines, models of ships showing the ebb and flow of his navy across the Arm. The outer wall was all arches, each set with a window of thick rivet-studded glass crusted in salt spray. Several stood open, filling the room with sea-breeze and sun.

Bellana's mercy, Alois thought.

Through the windows, in the bay, all of Pavaloir behind it, was a warship. No ordinary warship. Mastless, armored, immense, it shadowed the waves to the color of night, its flanks sheer cliffs of spellforged steel: a vast hammerheaded monstrosity, the fellfox emblazoned proud on its bow. It was not a pulse he'd heard before, but the thunder of its engines. The sound was louder here, a vibration in his bones, shaking the floor beneath his feet.

Alois's mouth was dry. He turned back toward the room, dazed. Swords stood in racks, and lumps of dull gray metal were scattered over workbenches. Star iron, Alois recognized. A small forge smoldered in a corner, and the king stood at it, working the bellows, a piece of white-hot metal gripped in a pair of tongs.

"On their knees," Daval said, without looking back.

"Father-" Alois started.

A kick from a guard put him on the ground. Alois fell, teeth snapping together. He winced, palms flat on the marble of the floor. He saw his hazy reflection in it, saw the bright panic in his eyes. No. He won't understand. Don't let him see your fear.

But it was there, like it was always there, never stronger than when he faced down his father. He heard the king approach, heard the hiss of the hot metal gripped in the tongs, felt it hover over the back of his neck.

He braced for pain, but it didn't come.

"Alois," his father said. "You've looked better. Don't you think so, Acier?"

Alois raised his head and looked straight into Enzo Acier's face. He leaned against the far wall, in a slant of shadow, his arms crossed. His eyes flicked over Alois, then turned to Isabella, who knelt, rigid, staring back.

"Whatever you say, my king," Acier said.

"Traitor," Isabella snarled.

"He knows where his loyalties lie," Daval said. He turned from Alois and shoved the tongs back into the forge. "Unlike you, it seems. Betrayal, Alois? Didn't I teach you better?"

"He's lying," Alois choked. "Please, Father, he's here to kill you- he's not your spy, he's witchborn, I saw him summon ghosts-"

"Ghosts?" Daval let out a bark of a laugh. "You hear this, Acier? Go on, then. Summon a ghost. Summon King Ardain himself if that's what you want."

"That's beyond my power, I'm afraid," Acier said, still smiling.

"You would say anything to save yourself now," Daval said. He turned back toward Alois and Isabella. "That's who you are, Alois. That's who you've always been. Your mother poisoned you. You're no more a son of Estara than you are a son of mine."

He reached for his belt and drew the whaleglass knife. Isabella tensed. "Did you fancy you'd come and put this in my heart as some kind of retribution?"

The dagger glistened as he turned it to and fro. "Have you examined this, Acier? A curiosity. My father brought it back from the Sunken Ruins of Rashavir on one of his expeditions. Thousands of years old. Some sort of instrument of their fell rituals."

He held it up. The light shone through its translucent blade, casting prisms across his face. "Beautiful, but...terrible, too. I prefer it where I can see it."

"Like we do all dangerous things," Acier said.

"Listen to me," Alois begged. "Father, he's here to destroy you, to destroy Estara. He's your brother-"

"I have no brothers."

"Grandfather and Alezia Valere-"

"Quiet," Daval snarled, and Alois saw the rage in his dark eyes, the barely-contained fire. Daval's hand tightened on the whaleglass knife.

Let him use it, Alois thought. Let him strike me to the ground where all can see.

"I've had enough of quiet," he said. He made himself hold his father's gaze. By his side, he heard Isabella shift her weight. "I've had enough of bowing to you, Father. You've hated me for so long, silenced me for longer. You can stand to listen to me this once."

"And why is that?"

"I think your attempt on my life should pay for a moment of your time," Alois said. "You claim complete devotion to Estara, but do I see you dying for it? No. You'll order a thousand of our people to sacrifice themselves for your cause before you would even begin to consider it for yourself. You'd see the sister isles made wastelands before it came to that."

Daval's face twisted. "I won't hear your mockery, your blasphemy, your venom. Did you think I'd give up Estara's pride? Did you think I'd forget years of war, countless Estaran dead at Lapide's hand? Do you see that?"

He pointed to the warship. "There are five more like it. Five more dreadnoughts, each with enough firepower to level Valeris. This is Estara's hope, not you. You've coiled in my midst for too long, Alois. You, and your whore of a mother."

"Don't you dare talk about my mother like that," Alois snarled. "You hated her, hated that you couldn't control her. And you never could. Not how she lived, and not how she died. She won in the end. She died, but she won because she was free of you."

"You think I wanted to control her?"

"What else do you ever want, Father?"

"I wanted to give her everything," Daval said. He slammed his fist into a tabletop. "Everything, Alois. When I saw her for the first time I thought I'd been blessed by Bellana herself. I never strayed from her. I never betrayed her. Saints, I loved her. And she repaid my love with hatred."

"She was right to hate you," Alois said. "I don't care if you thought you loved her. When she wouldn't bow, you broke her. You thought you could break me, too."

Anger flared through his nerves. "The Witchhunter was there when she died, you know. When you refused to come. He hid my face from her. He loved me so much more than you ever did."

"Good," Daval said, his voice bitter. "A father should love his son."

Alois blinked up at Daval. With effort he found his voice. "What?"

"You don't know, do you," Daval said.

Alois had never heard his father sound that way: not triumphant, not deadly, not burning with pride, but weary. There was such exhaustion there, such sorrow. His grief seemed unending- for a friend who'd betrayed him, a wife who'd hated him. Grief for a country eaten alive by plague, such that the only way to quell its howl was to feed it with Lapidaean blood.

"You never knew." Daval closed his eyes, opened them, looked down at Alois. "You're not my son. You never were. You never wondered why the Witchhunter coddled you, protected you? You never suspected why your mother tried to hide you from me? Fool."

He whispered the last word, and it was full of shame. Did he mean Alois, or himself? Alois couldn't look away. He knelt, paralyzed, all sensation too bright, too strong: the heat of the sun on the back of his neck, his palms slick against the floor. Bruise ache, and hammering heart. Shame, and above all, relief.

He wasn't a Belmont.

He wasn't Daval's son.

"Captain Azare," he whispered. His mouth was dry. He's my..."

"He was my greatest friend, my companion, my brother in arms, weathering alongside me all my terrors," Daval said. "And he betrayed me. Shamed me. Mocked me. They thought I didn't notice their glances, their smiles. Azare stood at my right hand, and all the while he was planting his bastard in my wife."

Gently, he brushed Alois's curls with a fingertip. Tears slid down Alois' face, warm as rain.

"I wasn't...wasn't sure at first," Daval said. "I wanted so badly to be wrong. But then you were born, and I knew as you grew up that you were nothing of mine. But I couldn't kill them. I couldn't kill him. Because he was still my friend."

He lifted the whaleglass knife.

"But I've learned," he said. The look in his eyes brightened: no longer despair, no longer shame, but fire, rage to turn the seas of Bellana's Arm red. Alois' father was gone, and the warlord had come to do his bloody work.

Alois's heart hammered. He struggled to rise, but the guards held him down, ground his knees to the flagstones. His father drew his thumb along the knife's flat with a soft silk hiss, sunstruck whaleglass blinding. Alois couldn't look away from it, couldn't tear his eyes from its point.

"I've learned so much," Daval murmured. "How love makes you weak. How it slips inside you and chains you. How to kill it, when the weight of chains grows too heavy. I meant for you to die in Lapide, Alois, and you failed me in that, along with all the rest of your failures. I should have smothered you in your crib."

He lifted the knife, point poised over Alois's pounding, burning heart. "But it's never too late, Alois," he said. "Never too late to make things right."

A shot split the air.

Heat spattered Alois's face. Two more shots followed, a pair of concussions. The knife jabbed forward, into Alois's sternum; he jolted back, but it went no further. Over him, Daval blinked. His hand opened, like all the strength had gone from it. The knife clattered to the floor.

Red blossomed across the front of his shirt. Three wounds glistened, a trio of perfect target shots straight to his heart.

"Father?" Alois whispered. He tasted salt on his lips: his father's blood. Daval swayed, eyes wide, and collapsed, grabbing at a table. Not enough. He slumped to the side, eyes still open. Blood spread beneath him, red as the fellfox banners.

Behind him, Enzo Acier lowered the gun.

"No," he said. "I suppose it isn't too late."

"Bring him down! Now!"

The guards' command rang through the solar. They were already lunging: a half-dozen Tower guard, red and flashing steel, flinging aside Alois and Isabella's chains.

"Don't-" Alois cried.

All too late.

Cold swept through the room, cold and silver light. Alois looked back as Acier raised his arms, as ghosts tore from nothingness and roiled into substance, silver smoke bright as blades. Howls filled the air, eldritch cries like whalesong and echoes of war. Pressure shifted, sudden as a swelling wave; windows shattered, sprays of broken glass flashing silver in the ghostlight. Talons lashed- a man fell, jaw dangling, holding in his guts with both hands. Another spasmed, held by the wrists and throat while a clot of ghosts crushed the life from him.

"Father." Alois scrambled to Daval's side. The wound pulsed blood; his father's hands were warm as he gripped them. Daval stared into nothing. "Father-"

"Alois." Isabella was there, a soldier's dropped sword in hand. She grabbed Alois by the shoulder. "He's gone. We need to get to the door."

"I can't-"

"Now!" Isabella roared. Ghosts swept toward them, a billowing, twisting mass of teeth and hair and grasping hands. Fingers scraped Alois's face as he spun to his feet. Isabella slashed away the reaching hands and lunged toward the doors, where sunlight spilled in, where it was only a leap to the waves below.

Guards stepped from the ghost-fog, blocking their way. Corpses, the lot of them, eyes silver, bodies a ruinous mangle of flesh. Guts spilled, glistening pink-gray ropes. A jaw dangled by a thread of sinew, open throat glistening with fresh gore. Their breastplates had been rent aside as if the spellforged steel was no stronger than paper.

They raised rifles as one. Isabella lifted her sword in answer, her eyes wide in terrible realization.

No way out but death.

Her gaze flashed to the open windows. Alois looked, too. Panic rose, a sweep of it hot as the nailing sunlight. There was no hope of a clean arc to the waves, not through there. Rocks waited below, jagged and bone-breaking.

No way out, Alois thought again, but death.

He pulled her back, toward the windows. The ghost-ridden soldiers advanced with them. The backs of Alois's knees hit the windowsills; wind sucked at his hair and expelled it, ruffling his curls around his head. The waves spun, the seabirds spun. Isabella shook in his grip, the wrist of her crystal arm cold at his skin.

"Isabella," called Acier. "Don't."

The ghosts parted, and he stood in their midst: tall, lean, his resemblance to Daval clearer now that he stood over his corpse. His brother's corpse, Alois registered. His brother, the king, the dead king. Silver twined under Acier's skin, but his hands were lowered. In one of them he held the whaleglass knife.

"Isabella," he said again.

Isabella jerked back. Alois sucked in a gasp, but she held the sill in one manacled hand, keeping them both from going over. The room was rank with gore. The dead were smeared over the walls, gut-glisten and rusty swathes of blood, the mass of ghosts swollen and churning as the freshly-dead guards joined their ranks. Their cries fluted and howled, but they stayed at bay as Acier advanced on them.

"Come on, Bell, this isn't what I want," he called.

"I don't care what you want," Isabella snarled. "Another step, and I'll take us both over."

"And leave Lapide to me?"

"Give you everything you ever dreamed of in the dark," Isabella said. "Isn't that right, Enzo? Or should I say King Enzo Belmont of Estara?"

"You said this didn't have to end in violence," Acier said. His eyes glimmered silver in the light, bright with- what? Tears? Strain? Alois didn't know. He looked down to where Daval lay sprawled. "It still doesn't, not for you. You've seen what I've seen, I know you have. There's nothing for us here anymore, nothing left of Lapide, nothing left of Estara. Come with me, Isabella."

Silver light danced in her eyes. Her lips trembled, but her gaze was steady on his.

"Stay with me," Acier said. He touched her cheek, his knuckles white. Tears streaked his face, blinding silver in the ghostlight. "There's nothing left to save. It's done, it's over. No need to fight, no need for all this...all this pain. Let it go. Please, Bell, let it go."

"No," Alois whispered.

Acier's eyes snapped to him. By his side he felt Isabella's ragged breathing, her tension shaking him, too. The sea boomed against the rocks. They'd shear him in half. He'd smash, all of him spread on the rocks, food for the gulls.

Or maybe he'd fall. The water might catch him. Hope, as always, struggling foolishly to the surface. What good had it done him? None, and yet it remained, strong as spell-steel. He'd stay a hopeful fool, even if it meant his death.

"No," he whispered again. "There's always something more to save."

And he pitched himself backward, pulling Isabella with him, over the edge of the window and into empty air.

For a moment, he hung. Sunlight, gulls: all was sharp, all was clear. Red cliffs and blue sea, and then the sea seemed to catch him, and the sky rolled, and he fell.

The world turned to wind, to relentless gravity, like a god's hand wrenching him away from the window and into weightless nothingness. Wind screamed in his ears; he wanted to close his eyes, to look away from the death coming fast, but he couldn't move, he couldn't think-

Force hooked his wrists, his ankles, jerking him to a bone-jarring halt. Hands. Silver hands, immaterial, so cold they burned. Whispers filled his head, fingers clutching his hair, running over his face. Isabella hung by his side, cradled in a web of ghostlight, her hair lashing round her shoulders in the wind. Acier's ghosts pulled them both back through the window and flung them across the solar floor, through a litter of blood and broken window glass.

Alois lay, curled, shaking. He wanted to reach out, to take Isabella's hand. To die holding fast to an ally, a friend. But as he reached for her, a shadow fell across him. Pressure crushed into his wrist, trapping his hand.

Acier stared down at him, holding the whaleglass knife, boot poised over his wrist.

"Going to use that?" Isabella managed. "Going to curse me, too?"

"This?" He lifted the knife. "I have no use for this." He turned and he flung it through the broken window. It flashed in the sunlight, spun once, and was gone.

"Enzo," Isabella said. Her voice was dry, a ghost of itself. Alois heard realization there, and horror. "Triune, please-"

Acier didn't stop. He drew a deep, shaky breath; his eyes slid shut, his body tense with strain, a muscle in his jaw fluttering as if in agony. He lifted his arm, hand splayed, palm facing the broken window and the bay beyond. Ghosts rose around them, a veil of whispers and silver light, power thrumming through the stones of Pavaloir Tower. Over open water, Alois heard the changing timbre of the dreadnought's engines, the high scream of machinery.

Silver flickered in the dreadnought's windows, on its deck. Soldiers. Ghost soldiers, taking their positions, taking aim: not ahead at Bellana's Arm, but back across the bay.

Toward the city.

"No-" Alois choked.

Enzo clenched his fist.

Alois's cry was trapped inside him. All he could do was kneel and watch as the dreadnought's bolt cannons blazed, and with the crackling shriek of loosed bolts and spellfire igniting, it fired its first shot on Pavaloir.

#togl #tales of the great leviathan #fantasy fiction #original fiction #serial novel #chapter 38

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meiakrp · 2 years

Photo

DAY ONE : PART TWO

The screeching siren of an incoming missile has everyone in the cargobob on full alert. Maylin’s voice comes through the coms before any connection to the outside is cut off.

“Hold on! This is going to be rough!” Sol shouts into the headset as he jerks the control of the cargobob. It doesn’t turn quickly, but he does get it to drop in height.

Time seems to slow as the missile is seen from the front windows. Sol throws off his headset, and belt keeping him in his seat. The co-pilot copying him.

They both dive to the back. Sol points to Harlequin and Helios and the senior agent nods. Their shield enhancement would allow them to keep someone else safe. It would be a challenge to get two safe but in moments like this enhancements need to be tested.

Sol drops next to Epsilon and Khiana.

The missile hits its target.

Fire fills the sky as the cargobob and everything it was carrying is destroyed–or so it is assumed. Amidst the chaos and destruction a few figures are shot down into the city.

GROUP ONE

A crater rests in the center of a parking structure. Makeshift stairs are built along the side of the crater via rocks, boxes, and other debris from the bottom.

“Careful–the stone on top is wobbly.” Khiana says to Epsilon as the other agent clears the top of the crater. The medic shoots her an annoyed look then pushes himself up.

“Thanks, I never noticed.” The sarcasm is thick Epsilon's voice which makes Khiana chuckle.

Sol is the last to push up from the crater. He’s covered in small scraps and cuts and looks a little on the wobbly side but he stands nevertheless.

“Status?” He questions. Neither agent with him appears to be injured and they both respond confirming that. Of course he knows they might not be telling the truth. Senior agents are bad about hiding injuries especially in the field.

But for now he would let it slide. No time to scold when they are exposed like this.

“My coms are down, do either of you have a connection?” Sol continues, guiding them out from the open and into a more closed off space. At least they can’t be spotted from above.

“Negative, mine’s been fried.” Khiana responds, crouching just at the entrance of their new hideout.

“Epsilon?”

“I have a signal but it’s not very clear.” Epsilon responds.

“ come in - - - lips- - - requ—- nates— - - come i - - “ The faint transmission comes from a familiar voice but none of them are able to pick up what is being said.

“Let me see, I learned a thing or two from Alistair.” Sol says, and tinkers with Epsilon’s coms device for a moment. The transmission gets a bit more clear and they are able to tell its from agent Helios.

“uH…” Khiana’s voice draws their attention. She’s looking out the entryway which causes Epsilon to shift over to her side. “We might have a problem.”

The crash, to no one’s surprise, drew demons from the surrounding area to investigate the noise. The number of demons is far more than the three of them could handle–even with a head agent here.

“If we don’t act soon our way out is going to be a path to death.” She continues, not taking her eyes off the growing number of demons. It’s only a matter of time before they spot the group.

“There’s a way back here, I don't know what the other side looks like but it’s our best bet right now.” Sol says, handing back Epsilon’s coms device.

“Helios?” Epsilon calls into the device as the trio begins to make their way through the crumbling building. “Helios, do you copy?”

The coms on the other end is crackling with noise but no one has been responding yet. He can tell they are connected but the lack of response is worrisome. There is no telling what is happening where they ended up.

“Seoyun–” The medic’s attention snaps forward at Khiana’s voice. She’s right in front of him, worry pinching her brows together. “You good? We will find them.” She says quietly.

“Shut up, I know we will.” He pushes past her, angry, embarrassed and worried at all once. but he can’t show that. His normal expression falls onto his face as he focuses on their current situation. The coms device is still humming in one ear.

“You never change.” Khiana’s amused voice sounds right behind him but Seoyun doesn’t respond.

The building they are in seems to be an old pharmacy. A counter with glass around it sits to the right of them, and mostly empty shelves sit to the right. Seoyun pauses to grab some of the still closed gauze and bandages. Sterile and good size.

Khiana snickers, earning a side eye from Seoyun.

“Can you take anything seriously?”

“Can you ever have fun?” She fires back then smirks.

Sol, who had been watching them, shakes his head and steps ahead.

“Come on you both, we need to get to the other side and hopefully we can find the other three.” He says, pushing the door to the main area of the pharmacy and making his way through the store.

Seoyun is quick to follow, not making sure Khiana is behind him. He picks up the sound of footsteps which let him know she is.

The sound of cracking glass makes the trio pause, eyes flying in the direction of the noise. Seoyun crouches and leans forward to see around the shelf he’s by.

“Oh…” Khiana lets out a surprised breath, but before Seoyun can see what she has seen, the girl is crouching in front of him.

“Hey.”

“...?” He eyes her as she greets him as if they were passing in the cafeteria.

Khiana grins.

“You really need to work on your people skills, hotshot.”

“You–”

“Shhhh.” Khiana covers his mouth with her hand, she glances around the shelf once more before looking at him again. “You need to get Sol out of here. Kaiser has a plan and this was part of it.”

Seoyun’s expression gets angrier which makes Khiana’s smile turn a bit sad. She drops her hand and nods. “I was originally here to complete a mission for him. Not by choice–whatever your head medic did, it broke me from that.”

“I knew there was something off about you.”

Khiana laughs under her breath. “So you were suspicious of me.”

“Explain.”

“I wish I had the time for that…”

“What do you—”

The sound of demon growling reaches their ears. Seoyun tenses, going for his gun but Khiana shakes her head. “There’s no point–just go with Sol. Getting out if priority, getting back to your brother.”

Seoyun grabs her arm. “I’m not leaving you behind, I still need answers.”

Khiana smiles. “Maybe you’ll find them in Tacetel.”

The girl leans forward quickly, her lips pressing against Seoyun’s. It’s not a soft kiss, not one of affection. It’s hard, desperate, and full of regret. She feels his hand loosen on her arm in surprise and she takes the chance to push him at Sol who is just as surprised. Even a little confused.

“Go!” She whispers urgently. Sol sees something in her eyes that makes the head agent nod. He doesn’t hesitate to grab hold of Seoyun and drag the senior out.

Khiana watches them leave, her eyes on Seoyun.

“I wonder… if we had met sooner.”

The sound of demon growls makes her turn around. More than 20 are lumbering into the shop from a back room. The first few finally spot her and a roar echos through the building.

The sound can be heard outside as Sol and Seoyun run.

“Fucking idiot.” Seoyun says as he glances back one more time. There is no heat in his voice.

GROUP TWO

Agent Helios releases his hold on Agent Harlequin as the dust around them settles. He checks the younger agent over for any injuries before turning to the other senior agent with them. The senior appears okay, just exhausted from using his enhancement.

“Do we have eyes on Sol, Epsilon, or Khiana?” He questions, falling into mission mode.

Harlequin is stiff and it doesn’t take Helios long to find the problem. A sprained ankle and bruised up knee, probably from impact.

“Try contacting Epsilon or Sol, okay?” Helios says as he kneels beside Harlequin and starts wrapping his ankle.

The younger agent is quick to respond. He’s obviously shaken but Helios can tell he is trying to keep it together. A good agent. Helios works swiftly in tending to the younger. The coms device is barely getting through, so once he’s sure Harlequin will be alright, he starts calling on his own.

“Come in Epsilon, Sol, this is agent Helios. Requesting your location. Come in.” He calls into the device.

“Helios, I got through to Maylin.” Harlequin gets his attention.

“Good work, kid.” He replies, taking hold of Harlequin’s device and attempting to get a similar message through.

“This is agent helios, we are down but unharmed. Unable to contact Sol. Continue forward.” He catches the confused look on the younger agent's face.

“Shouldn’t they come back for us?”

“It’s too dangerous for that. The civilians would never make it.” He explains.

“Couldn’t they send a team?”

“An risk leaving the rest of them outnumbered?”

Harlequin frowns but doesn’t continue questioning.

“Best we can do right now is find the rest of our group and move forward.”

A voice does manage to get through to them–Helios specifically.

Daesu please respond. Let me know youre alive.

Agent Luna and her ability to speak into minds reaches out for Helios who lets out a sigh. The newly married couple spend a moment talking to each other in their minds. Helios letting her know their current situation and plan.

Once they break off he tries once more to contact Sol or Seoyun. Nothing.

“We need to get higher ground.”

On that command the three agents begin to slowly make their way through the area. They got lucky with very few demon sightings, and soon enough found their way to the higher level of a building. The wall surrounding the stairs had been broken down and allowed them to climb easily.

“I’ll look south, Harlequin take west.” Helios says, each of them looking in a different direction for their comrades.

The time passes slowly, but also quickly. Demons lumbering around, crumbling noises of buildings giving up–it’s a whole other world out here than the agency grounds. Soon enough Harlequin is calling out to the seniors.

“There, just beyond the billboard.”

Sure enough two figures can be seen ducking under the fallen billboard. They spot the MEIA symbol on the sleeve of Sol’s arm, bright and clear. Helios holds up an arm and waves them over. The trio began to descend the steps again to meet them halfway.

“Good to see the three of you are alive.” Sol greets. There is something about his tone that is off, but Epsilon doesn’t react to it so Helios pushes it off as paranoia.

“Sir, Epsilon, good to see you.” Helios glances around but before he can voice his question someone else speaks.

“She stayed behind.” Epsilon says, voice tense. Angry, annoyed, frustrated. All things Helios has seen from the other before. He figures out what happened from those emotions alone. He nods, taking a moment to send his thanks to Khiana for protecting Helios.

Sol once more leads the group to a more protected area. Nothing here is truly safe but less open air means easier to spot attacks. He pulls out his coms device and tells the others to get theirs out. Each device is laid out, and the senior agent reveals he was from the Tech team before leaving. They watch as he fiddles away with the devices.

A few seconds pass, then they all ding in unison.

“We’re getting a message.” The senior agent explains, and a holographic message appears. A video opening moments after.

“Hey guys!” A grinning Mist is seen through the screen. “I found you~ You know everyone is freaking out right now.” The five agents let out breaths when they get a proper connection.

“Our devices were harmed in the fall and–” Sol starts but Mist interrupts him.

“I know! I hacked in with Remy’s help and we managed to triangulate your devices with a few here. A couple of additions and twists.” She rambles in a tech voice that only one of them keeps up with for a moment. At the blank looks she stops. “Basically you’re running off of Maylin’s device.”

Sol nods. “Does she have orders for our next action?”

Mist nods.

“I’m going to guide you through the city. She said we should reach out first destination in 5 hours and that she will give you two days to make it through the city and meet us there.” As Mist talks, a map appears before them. They see their position and they see the troops' position. A red line begins to form leading them forward.

“Just follow this.” Mist continues. “There is no telling what the demonic activity is like but this should get you through stable ground.”

“Should?” Helios questions his cousin.

“Will.” She affirms. “Don’t worry! You got me to guide you.”

Helios and Epsilon trade a look.

“That’s reassuring.” Harlequin replies, making Mist laugh.

“Better get moving!”

#mialoreevent2 #mialore #epsilonmia #miahelios #miahyunwoo #lunaxmia #miagaeul

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