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cloudbattrolls · 2 months

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Shattered

This is the beginning of the plot More to Lose, and followed by Picking Up The Pieces.

What’s happened has already happened. There is no changing it.

You know how Ullane Wistim is. She will martyr herself on her own spear every time.

Considering what she did, perhaps she deserves it.

–

Here lies the city of Block 136: Crown Clinic’s second home, after the first facility was destroyed during a conflict with a gang.

Crown Clinic itself was once owned by QPIN, that galaxy-spanning corporate entity that is run and maintained by trolls with very large guns in very nice suits.

Ullane Wistim once worked for them, after being approached and recruited at the age of nine sweeps, right before conscription would have struck. She took the offer, for QPIN does not discriminate by caste; she could be a full medic there, and expand her knowledge of biotechnology.

She rose in their ranks, going from maintaining their helms and fixing their wounds to returning to Alternia for two purposes.

Assigned to monitoring and maintaining her employers’ interests, in return she was finally able to fulfill her dream of opening a clinic specifically catered toward handling lowblood medical needs at reasonable costs.

Of course, she was also expected to quietly develop and research weapons for employers, using the clinic’s legitimate medical services as a cover.

QPIN has as few friends in the criminal world as they do among the empire; those who deal with them usually only do so out of necessity.

Their enemies are numerous, several bearing the ravages of having their bodies warped and blistered by the things miss Wistim and her employees have made.

Though the clinic has become fully legitimate and ceased its weapons development, owned instead by Chimer Latrai for the better part of a sweep now, those hurt in the past have not forgotten what was done to them.

Revenge, they say, is a dish best served cold.

–

SOME TIME PRIOR

Many nights at Crown Clinic are, if not the same, then similar in their frantic bursts of activity followed by quiet and intent concentration; patients come in, patients leave, medicullers decide who to cull and who to save - though only the very worst off are given the former fate.

The staff all avoid the strange mannequins that populate the place and warn patients to do the same.

A maroon drags a blueblood in, the latter unconscious and near death.

Help is dispatched. Friday Lovely is called for assistance.

She is the creator of the clinic’s nanotech, a specialized tool based from the extremely efficient repair capabilities of her own cells; for Friday’s psiionics allow her to view and control part of the electromagnetic spectrum, including radioactivity.

Her body has adjusted so that her own powers do not kill her. She has utilized this capability to synthesize nanites that target the DNA itself to repair nearly damage possible to a troll’s body.

She also cannot be everywhere, all the time. There are other patients that night, as there always are, on a planet so full of injury and the myriad illnesses of all troll castes.

So it is left with the nurses on duty to administer the nanites, to tend to Calcit Interg, as the blueblood is called.

Roughly half an hour later, Calcit is dead.

Dead, it seems, from the very nanites that were supposed to save his life.

Ripped apart from the inside, his organs and even bones shredded, his life amounting to a blue stain on his hospital bed, dripping slowly onto the floor.

Phone calls are made. Paperwork is filed. It is not the first time the clinic has lost a patient, of course.

But it is the only known case of its nanotech killing a troll it was supposed to save.

Though the killing weapon is Friday Lovely’s invention, it is the clinic’s tool as a whole.

Ullane Wistim, of course, shields her employee and assumes full responsibility.

She begins to investigate amidst suspicion and strife.

For she knows, as surely as she knows her own caste, that if she cannot figure out why this happened and prove it was not the clinic’s doing, she will die. Culled as punishment for supposed irresponsibility.

Even if by some miracle she lives, she will never be allowed to practice medicine again, after a highblood died in her own hospital.

Crown Clinic will slip from her grasp, no matter what happens.

All she can do is try to hunt down the truth.

–

Has she not had enough taken from her? You might ask.

Her old friends. Her quadrants. Her own purity of mind, after being possessed by a horrorterror.

I can’t say. I am not an arbiter.

I am a witness.

#more to lose #ullane wistim #priori poster #cloud writes #and with that Ullane is officially unavailable until the plot ends!#both ic and ooc. she is not answering asks. priori is tho #finally the beginning of what I've collabed on with Lard since. August lmfao #I still have to finish it even but we're close.

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oddsconvert · 1 year

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Shattered Shadow - Chapter 2

Shattered Shadow Masterlist | Shattered Masterlist | Shadow By My Fireplace Masterlist

This is a long-in-the-making AU collab with the amazing @quietly-by-myself! Including my 'Shattered' boys and Vamp!Cyril and Bloodbag!Sacha AU from 'Shadow By My Fireplace'.

If you do not want to be tagged in this (or would like to be but are not), send either of us an ask or message!

CW: Whumpee turned caretaker, wounded caretaker, vampire caretakers, human caretaker, multiple caretakers, bloodbag whumpee, multiple whumpees, references to previous abuse, brief allusion to noncon, wound cleaning, attempted murder

Cyril allows himself a moment of relief. They’ll be safe, at least for now. One night is not a lot of time, but it’s more time than he had before he met the pureblood. Hopefully, Cyril can get his bearings together enough to find them somewhere safer to go after the pureblood kicks them out.

“Thank you,” Cyril says with a deep bow that makes him wince, before motioning for Shadow to follow him. “I’m Cyril. The human… he hasn’t told me his name yet. I’m calling him Shadow.”

Cyril stumbled into the house, still grasping his side. Shadow is hardly standing with tiredness. “Is there somewhere he can sleep? I’ll treat him in the morning.”

Despite his hatred for the pureblood, Cyril is relieved that he passed the pureblood’s test. The pureblood is as arrogant as he remembers them being, but he is thankful nonetheless. It doesn’t stop him from showing his thinly veiled hostility, though.

“Shadow can rest in my bedroom for the night, he can settle into bed whilst I attend to your injury”, August suggests, he really doesn’t mind. The pair needed the rest more than he ever would. He watches Shadow sway slightly from exhaustion, the dark bags underlining Cyrils’ eyes. His bedroom would be the only free bed in the house now, with Declan occupying and recovering in the spare room, and it would be unfair to kick Lucas out of his own bed in exchange for the sofa.

“Would you rather I show you the way or give you direction?” August offers genuinely, although hoping his guest would choose the former over the latter so he could keep a watchful eye over the pair.

Sacha freezes when he hears the room “bedroom.” Suddenly, the whole conversation comes into focus. That was the price of getting care here, wasn’t it? He’d have to give himself up to the pureblood. Tears were forming in Sacha’s eyes, but he had to be strong. He needed to help Cyril. Cyril who’d saved his life when the attacker came. Cyril who’d saved him from Master. Cyril who was now his Master. It was his duty to serve.

“Just the direction, please.” Sacha hears Cyril say. He knows he won’t have to service someone as long as Cyril’s there - they’d had that conversation - but doesn’t know if that’s what the pureblood wants.

“Top of the stairs. First door on the right. If… if you wouldn’t mind making your way up quietly? I have a uhm…similar situation-” August awkwardly fumbles, gesturing to Shadow before quickly pulling his hand back, “there’s an ill and terrified human upstairs that I pray is fast asleep by now. I’d hate for him to wake.”

Cyril nods. “Do you have all that, Shadow?” Shadows nods, so Cyril nods in return and motions for him to go up the stairs. “I don’t think I can help you up.” He gives Shadow a reassuring glance that tells him everything is going to be alright. Shadow’s look tells Cyril that he doesn’t believe him, not one little bit.

Sacha hopes that Cyril knows what’s going to happen, that he’ll save him before the pureblood has a chance. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. It’s always an ill omen for a human to be invited into a vampire’s bedroom and Sacha is surprised that Cyril doesn’t realise what the pureblood is asking by not asking.

Once Shadow is clearly out of sight and in the bedroom, Cyril glares at the pureblood. “So, you have a similar situation, eh?”

His hostility is thinly veiled now, even more so than before.

“From what I can gather, if I can trust your word - Shadow does not appear a prisoner of yours. I’m correct in assuming that you care for the boy?” August queries, a nauseous feeling twisting in his gut dreading the response. Expecting the fellow vampire to scoff in his face, drop the limp and go grab his blood bag from his warm bed.

“You could say he is dear to me in many ways, yes.” Cyril tries to keep it vague and nonchalant. He hopes that he still comes across as caring, but not in the self-sacrificial, desperate way he really does.

Slowly but surely, August is getting the answers he wants. “The human I mentioned; Declan - he was knocking at death’s door when I found him.”

That’s putting it lightly. Declan seemed one last breath away from fading away forever. And even with helping him back to awareness, the journey is far from over.

“It’s my intention to nurse him back to health and return him home to human territory when he’s recovered. I - I hope you can see I have no ill will. No harm will come to you or Shadow, I will help as best I can.”

“Shadow was a minute away from septic shock,” Cyril says bluntly, before he remembers the story he’s telling. “As I said, my Maker is not kind, but it is not something I can expect a pureblood to understand.” There’s some sort of anger in Cyril’s eyes when he says that - something he’s letting out just a little.

“I will not be perfectly obedient if that’s what you expect of me. But I will offer my services if you need them.”

August can’t help but be taken aback, his mouth blubbering open like a fish out of water - croaking as he scrambles for words.

“O-Obedient? Cyril, I would never -” August chokes, shaking his head, “I don’t know what, or who you think I am but, that’s not me. I may not understand or know the complexities of turned vampires and their makers but, I can sympathise. Whatever has happened to Shadow-” August’s eyes flash down to Cyril’s wound on his side, noticing how this whole time his posture has been crooked and nearly bent over in discomfort and pain, “Whatever has happened to you… It shouldn’t have. Let me help?”

There’s an awkward beat of silence, “Let me try, and if you decide you can’t stand my guts long enough to be in my presence then you’re more than welcome to leave. I’ll help find you and Shadow some shelter for the night.”

Cyril feels some strange emotion as the pureblood, whose name he didn’t even know, told him that everything that happened - all the memories that flash through his head in that moment - shouldn’t have happened. All the awful things that happened between his Maker and him - the one who’s dead now, at his hands.

“I have no choice but to stay. Anyway, Shadow should be fast asleep by this point. His body is still weak, as you can see.” Cyril groans as the pain radiates in an excruciating way. He doesn’t elaborate on why he needs to stay or what his situation is beyond that, but he is happy that at least, at the very least, the pureblood is sympathetic.

August nods in agreement, oddly relieved yet worried for Cyril with the way that he stresses over Shadow’s health as his own declines.

“My surgery is just in the next room over. If you’ll follow me, we can take a look at that gnarly wound and see what we can do?”

Cyril nods and takes a deep, painful breath, forced into his undead lungs, holding his side as he hobbles over to the next room. He sits himself down on the patient’s bed and begins to take off his shirt. The wound is from a wooden stake and there’s splinters everywhere in his skin. The wound begs questions, none of which Cyril was going to answer. The person who’d attacked him was intent on killing him.

With his back turned to him, Cyril can only hear the clattering of instruments, bottles and tools being picked up. August sloshes the alcohol onto a cloth and turns around with an apologetic expression.

“This is going to sting a little, I need to clean it up before I can take a proper look. Is that okay?”

“I was a doctor. I understand.” Cyril was a little annoyed that the pureblood didn’t seem to remember a thing he’d said, but he tried not to think about it. This was about Shadow, not him. “Just get it done quickly.”

The swab of alcohol swipes across the bloody, inflamed wound and August doesn’t miss the way Cyril slightly hisses through his teeth at contact. August works at cleaning away all the fresh and hardened blood caking the wound. But it doesn’t make sense - it’s as raw and brutal as the second it was inflicted. There isn’t a speck of evidence of any healing, or any sign of it beginning.

“This should be healing. If not healed by now. There’s dried and hard blood but the wound is still open? So, what’s going on with your healing factor?�� It shouldn’t sound accusatory, but there’s an edge to his tone and an element of curiosity.

Cyril shifts in discomfort. He doesn’t want to answer the question, but knows that it is expected of him. Regardless of the kind words the pureblood had said before, something in his tone now indicates that Cyril must respond.

Does he admit to not feeding? Or try to make a story about how his still-alive Maker made him starve? He’s not a good liar. He knows he isn't. But the pureblood seems easily fooled.

“Starvation,” he states simply, hoping it will be enough for the pureblood.

“By choice or force?” August quickly retorts, assessing how best to approach the situation.

Cyril looks at August suspiciously. “Why do you need to know? Starvation is starvation.”

August huffs out a sigh, taking a step back and staring down at Cyril like a frustrated parent of a toddler.

“I need to know, because if you need blood and want some blood - I have some bags stored in the fridge ready to go and before you even think it… willingly donated by a friend”, August chastises before Cyril can ever think about airing any judgement, “But if you don’t drink blood - I’ll see what else I can do. Asking for your benefit, not mine.”

“I would prefer not to drink it, then.” Cyril hopes that it doesn’t give too much about him away or that it would make August suspicious of his claim that Shadow was, in essence, his bloodbag. Why would he care if it was willingly donated or not? For all he knew, August was lying to gain his trust. That’s what this all seemed like, lies to gain his trust.

“No blood,” August holds his hands in the air surrender style, “I can work with that. It might take a bit more work but it’s doable.”

Cyril growls a bit. “Of course it’s doable. You’ve treated humans with worse wounds.” Underneath it all though, is a sense of hostility at the idea of drinking blood. He tries to hide it, but it leaks out like venom.

It’s all August can do to bite his tongue, disregard the iciness and get to work on the task at hand. If he gave it another second thought, he might feel the rage bubble inside him but he can’t let himself do that.

“Let’s just get this over and done with” August grumbles, brushing his fingers just around the wound and eyeing up all the splinters punctured within. A wooden stake, August guesses. Someone had made an attempt on his life.

“Care to elaborate on this?” August picks up a pair of tweezers, pinching them and pointing them at the wound, “Who did this to you? You’re very lucky to be here right now.”

Cyril glares a little, but he knows better than to piss off the person that’s treating him. “It’s an old spat. Nothing that should concern anyone.”

It isn’t entirely a lie. However, it isn’t entirely the truth, either. The spat is hardly a spat and it isn’t old by any means. He’s truthful, though. The vampires coming after him would not harm August or anyone in his household. They only had their eyes on two people: Cyril and Sacha.

“I truly hope you’re not bringing trouble to my doorstep. I made a vow that I’d protect the two humans residing in my home, and I won’t hesitate to kick you out for their safety”, August stresses, almost as though he can read Cyril’s thoughts.

Cyril thinks about how to answer the pureblood a little. “Those are bold questions and statements from someone who’s name I don’t even know. You’re no faerie. Vampire names aren’t sacred.” He goes quiet for a little while longer. “I promise you, there is no trouble coming to you. It’s a personal feud.”

“You done?” August raises his brows and scoffs a cheap laugh, “Got that off your chest?”

The tweezers dig inside and pluck each splinter of wood out, Cyril continues to wince and groan but seemingly puts up with it for the end result.

“August. My name is August. I apologise for not introducing myself sooner but to be honest… I didn’t imagine you’d actually be sitting here in my surgery tonight. I thought I’d send you packing.”

Cyril waves his hand a bit. “It’s not a problem.” He takes a moment of silence. “Thank you, truly.”

The gesture is sincere and without hostility. He knows it comes off poorly for the first kind thing he says to be after August helps him, but he really is thankful. Not many would treat someone who came in after an attempt on their life.

A genuine smile erupts on August’s face. For the first time tonight, he feels he can actually see the man sitting before him. Facade melting away.

“You’re welcome. I admit I may have judged too quickly this evening.” Way too quickly. The creature he thought he’d opened the door to and the troubled man sat before him now are worlds apart. He can feel the care and concern exuding from him, “You’re very courageous, it’s very admirable how much you care for Shadow.”

Cyril nods a bit, looking down at his wound. It makes him a little sad, to look at it and remember what he has put Shadow through. He quickly shakes the thought away. Whatever he puts Shadow through would not be worse than what Emery was doing to him. Even just thinking of Emery’s name makes Cyril’s blood boil. He cannot believe that such an evil vampire was his Maker.

“Thank you. It’s appreciated,” is all Cyril can say, sitting there quietly, pensively, lost in horrible memories of times he’d rather forget. It occurs to him that August, though a pureblood, might have a similar story. “I may have been the same.”

With August’s treatment finished for the time being, he leads Cyril towards the sofa to turn in for the night, chucking pillows and blankets to him. It’s not much, it’s all he can offer - but Cyril is grateful nonetheless. He’s quick to pass out into troubled sleep, between the effects of starvation and blood loss.

Shattered Tags:

@octopus-reactivated, @whatwasmyprevioususername, @ramadiiiisme @darkthingshappen @whumpsday @thecyrulik @t0rture-me, @redwhump, @the-crypid-magpie, @snowstuffscuff, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @wolfeyedwitch, @interdimensional-chaos, @termsnconditions-apply, @whump-blog, @leyswhumpdump, @not-a-space-alien, @onlybadendings @darlingwhump @sparrowsage @flynnswhumpprompts @whumpcereal @wolves-and-winters @ashh-ed @idkmansomeusername @whuarri @33-sdtr-45 @pigeonwhumps @canislycaon24 @the-whumpers-grimm, @damienxozmoze, @predacon-skydrift @morning-star-whump @neverthelass @espresso-depresso-system @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are

Shadow By My Fireplace Tags (not already tagged above):

@i-can-even-burn-salad @pumpkin-spice-whump @maracujatangerine @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @flowersarefreetherapy @quietshae @inkkswhumpandstuff @whumpycries @whumpkinz @roblingoblin285

#Shattered Shadow #Collab #Vampire AU #Whumpee turned caretaker #multiple caretakers #multiple whumpees #vampire caretaker #references to previous abuse #whump #whump writing #whump community #whump blog #whump fic #bloodbag whumpee #Shattered #August Crinamorte OC

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