#felix waltz

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Mortuarius - Chapter IV

The flame disappears before his eyes. Adler snaps his fingers quietly, the flame returning as soon as the movement is complete. The small void dances over his fingertip, devoid of the characteristic crackles of fire. He gets his other finger closer, and the flame smoothly passes on. Adler repeats that action time and time again, marveling at the feeling. It feels like silk gliding across skin. 

Or, at least, that's how he remembers the sensation. 

The important, yet dull monologues of his colleagues fall deaf on his ears. Divisions, emplacements, mine fields, assault groups… discoveries of the recent, so-called "war games" rouse the younger commanders, dressed in clean, pressed, black uniforms. Despite their positions, they seldom wear armor. He sighs at this image. Some of his fellows, as time-worn as him, call this the collapse. The collapse of tradition, the collapse of old morality. Even of the old world. Although he would disagree with this nihilistic perspective, the reality doesn't elude him. 

Old guard. Those words resonate within his soul ever since he first heard them. That's what the new bones call him and his peers. No longer do they look at him as a shining example, the main display of Umbra's military prowess. Now, they see him as a rather dated decoration, an old yet charming vase. He's still seen as a source of general knowledge, but he's not perceived as the leader he was before. Not anymore. 

Adler sighs. Where did he go wrong? Is it even his fault, or rather - the inevitable advance of warfare? 

"Lord General?" 

The voice brings him back to reality. He swiftly extinguishes the flame, and looks back at the table. Almost every skeleton is looking at him, their eyes flickering with excitement and expectation. The officer that asked the question, whose name Adler couldn't remember to save his unlife, is pointing at a set of intricate wooden carvings of Legionaries and Rankmen, placed over a bridge. 

"Lord General…?" The man asks him again, fully snapping him back. 

"Yes." Adler clears his throat. "I see your point, and I can get behind it."

The commandant, seemingly satisfied with the answer, turns back to the table. 

Although he can very well grasp and understand the idea of artillery and gunpowder weapons, he can't comprehend the change these two brought. Suddenly, large regiments of melee troops were "undesirable", "risky". Heavy cavalry, so favored by Adler, was labeled as "pointless" and "too expensive to remain effective". Seemingly overnight his entire concept of warfare has been flipped on its head. 

He still doesn't see anything wrong with a good shock cavalry charge. The roar of a hundred hooves, the clouds of dust brought up behind the terrifying echelon of bone, armor and pointed lances… Yes! He still remembers it vividly from his time commanding the troops in the War of Vengeance. There's no amount of divine help that can save a man impaled halfway on a three meter lance.

Adler smiles and the black flame on his fingertips shakes as memories of violence come back to him. He remembers his formation tearing into the line of armored infantry during the battle for the capital, lances punching through shields and the men wielding them as if they were nothing but paper. He recalls discarding his weapon and drawing the axe, cracking helmets and skulls from the top of his undead mount. 

The sounds of screams, the sight of bodies crushed underneath the stampede of skeletal horses and the enemies routing in panic fill his mind. Too immersed in thought, Adler pays no attention to either the officers slowly leaving the room, nor the servant cleaning the table. His running thoughts are interrupted when a familiar figure sits on the opposite side of the table. He raises his head to meet Watcher's gaze. The other undead smirks. 

"Reminiscing old times, are you?" The liche crosses his arms over his robed ribcage. 

"Hm." Adler hums in response, putting out the black flame with a flick of his wrist. "There's nothing wrong with going back to the better days."

"That's all you have been doing recently, hasn't it?" 

The general scoffs. Watcher glances at his watch, and quickly straightens his gowns. 

"At least try to look presentable. They should be here any second now." 

Adler fondles his armor piece by piece, making sure everything is properly attached. The proper meeting was about to begin - it was in his best interest to show himself from the best angle, especially due to the caliber of individuals that would attend the meeting. 

And, of course, only a fool would look sloppy in front of any of the Death Knights. Let alone three of them. 

Right as the door opened, both skeletons jumped to their feet, their ornate chair scraping the floor loudly as they stood up. 

Three figures emerged from behind the wooden barrier. Adler didn't have to see to recognise the first character - the stench of rotting flesh and decay was so strong that it transcended mortal senses, making his very soul shiver in disgust. Plague came in with his more formal attire - out of all of his fellow Death Knights he was the one that favored variety of the wardrobe the most. Instead of his armor, a black frock coat covered his figure, featuring golden buttons with intricate carvings on them. Despite tightly fitting his fairly unimpressive frame, the clothing lay on him as if there was actual flesh underneath. His skull was practically indistinguishable underneath the combination of a black top hat with a wide rim, and the white leather crow mask, contrasting fashionably with the rest of his outfit. His hands, clad in white leather gloves, rested on a hardwood gentleman's staff. As he entered, he tipped his hat slightly in a gesture of greeting. If not for the oppressive stench, Adler would find him quite unimposing. 

Suddenly, the now serious voice of Watcher sounds out in his mind. 

"Don't look at Sibtu. This is one case where ignorance will do you good, Adler."

His eyes immediately dart to the floor. As much as Watcher likes annoying him, he never threw around warnings haphazardly. Listening to his words of advice, especially spoken in such a stern tone, would do him only good. The only sight of Fear his eyes register are the ornate boots, dated in style even by his standards, decorated with square, iron buckles. 

Adler looks up at the last newcomer. The first thing that catches his attention - as it always does - is the uniform Adaru wears. It is a somber ensemble, tailored from a deep, lustrous black fabric that seems to absorb both light and attention from everything that surrounds him. The coat, adorned with intricate silver embellishments, hangs sharply on his frame, giving him an imposing silhouette. Despite his fairly narrow stature, Adaru stands at an unnatural height, casting an imposing shadow on those before him. The angular lapels and precise stitching hints at meticulous craftsmanship, while the black gloves, tight and sleek, add to the oppressive air of formality. As customary for the members of the Commission, Adaru's face was wrapped carefully in pristine, white bandages. His hat was not unlike that of the newer generation of officers, and of course - black. 

Black, black, black. Why is everything they want to wear black? Is this, perhaps, another characteristic of the new era? In his time, black was the color of commoners, not one suiting the top of the hierarchy. Nowadays it seems to be the cornerstone of order and elegance, but he just couldn't shake the association with grime and soot. Despite multiple offers and suggestions to do otherwise, he never ditched his old heraldry. In his opinion, most of his colleagues could use some color. 

His thoughts were suddenly halted when Adaru turned to him, stretching out his arm for a handshake. Carefully, the skeleton took it, cautious so as to match the strength of his superior.

"General Aldehan Adler. It is always a pleasure to see you." Even if his eyes were covered, Adler was sure they were focused somewhere else. He relaxed slightly, comfortable in the notion that he was too uninteresting for the Knight. Having his attention was never a good thing. 

Adler nodded, forcing a friendly note into his voice. "The pleasure is all mine, Lord Bearer."

Without another word, Adaru moved to stand at the head of the table, with Sunqu to his right and Sibtu to his left. Adler was seated on the other end of the table, with Watcher to his left. 

"Gentlemen!" The Bearer of Pain spoke, his voice smooth and fairly modest in tone. "I am pleased to see you here in full attendance. The meeting will now come to order."

With that signal, everyone took their seats. 

"It has recently come to my attention that the soul transplant procedure, at last, yielded results." The glance at Plague is enough of a suggestion, promoting him to reply. 

"Indeed. Thanks to some improvements in the process, methodology and, of course, the appropriate host - for which the credit goes to Sibtu - I have managed to keep the subject stable and alive." Sunqu turns to the former humans. "I have placed him in the care of two of my most trusted associates."

"It is our honor, Lord Adaru." Watcher responds, placing his hand over his chest. "We appreciate the trust placed in us."

"I applaud your selection of assistants, brother. General Adler is a fine choice when it comes to martial matters." Pain smiles at the skeleton in question, before dropping his voice slightly, gaze pointed directly at him. "Even if the means and strategies change as the ages go by, his mind remains sharp and his constitution noble. And so does his sense of fashion."

Adler feels his long-gone heart drop. The feeling of three pairs of eyes burning into his very soul freezes his vessel, rendering him speechless. With a considerable amount of effort, Adler makes the motion to clear his throat.

"Thank you, Lord Adaru. I serve the Great One with all my strength."

Adaru smiles, slightly clearing the air. Gazes drift away from Adler. "Anyhow. I have yet to see the results in person. Would you be so kind as to share any information regarding the subject? How can we be sure he is fit to survive?"

"I have found this human to be very resilient, very resilient indeed." A dry voice echoes from where Fear sits. It is dull, but constant. Every vowel is spoken with a different layer of the same, mechanical tone, varying in pitch and volume. "His grip on life is impressive, and his resistance to Necro is beyond anything we have encountered before."

“I see, and I trust your judgment. Now, we need to pose ourselves the question of what to do with our new acquisition. Has any Bearer voiced a particular interest in him?” 

“Sakurai Denki is yet uncontested.” Sunqu chimes in. “He is still an unsure investment. He appears to be stable, but his capabilities are still being tested.”

Adaru nods. “General? How is the subject’s performance during training? Are your perspectives positive regarding his future in the military?”

A trick question. Should his views be too optimistic, he might be considered a fool, but if he is too negative, his reputation as an objective authority will take a significant blow. He needs to find a middle ground. “The Sakurai is in good physical condition, but the Necro inside of him is quite unstable. It seems to fluctuate, although I can see no pattern in these changes-” 

“Denki is still unstable, as fresh undead tend to be.” Watcher interrupts, his eyes focusing on Adaru who listens on with interest. “But the changes have yet to cause any damage. I believe that with our assistance  - and Lord Sunqu will second me in this opinion - he will stabilize soon.” 

“... Even if he makes mistakes quite frequently, he does not suffer a shortage of determination within him.” Adler continues, throwing a bitter glance at his predecessor. “I have yet to see him yield, even under my most… invasive methods. In my opinion, Lord Adaru, Denki has potential with a strong base to build upon.”

“Thank you, General.” Adaru straightens up, and puts his hand to his chin. He remains quiet for a moment, immersed in thought. ”I will admit this, gentlemen - the Adarian State Commission suffers a shortage of reliable field agents. If Sakurai is indeed as promising as you make him out to be, then I could find use for him, provided that he isn’t needed elsewhere.”

“Ah, I see what kind of a use you have in mind. But that depends. An individual of unchallenged loyalty and unshaken resolve is needed here. I can assure the former, but does our subject have the latter?” Sunqu moves his hand, subtly signaling at Adler. 

The undead thinks for a moment, making sure to do so in images rather than words to make his considerations harder to read. Isn’t it too early? Denki is young to be a soldier, perhaps too young. And certainly he shouldn’t be made to…

“General?” Sunqu speaks again, his tone lacking malice, but the sting of his gaze is quite a telling signal. 

Adler stops himself, and speaks out without much hesitation. “I will do as you ask, but I am not willing to take responsibility for the results. Your proposition can influence him in significant ways, all of which may make his training… harder to complete.”

“Have some trust in my handiwork, General. But very well, I will humor you - the responsibility for this test will fall on me personally. On one, single condition.” Sunqu smiles, his polished teeth reflecting the light cast from the chandelier above. “You will test his mettle tonight. I want to see if this venture is worth my time.”

Adler looks down at his gloved hands, and sighs in quiet annoyance. 

“I shall do as you command, Lord Sunqu.”

—

Waltz eyes his guest as he uses the silver pincers to lift the blue crystal to his jaw. He promptly crushes it between his teeth and lets the shards fall through his mouth and down into the ornamental bowl below. The juicy, sweet taste of a cold strawberry (or rather the memory of it) pulses pleasantly from his core and throughout the rest of his skeletal body. 

What spoils the delightful taste in his soul, however, is the crude sight of Denki’s whole hand clenched around the fork’s handle as he shyly picks at the Coq au Vin on his plate, wielding the cutlery as if it was a dagger. Not even the rich, opulent decor of the private lounge he rented can distract him enough from the sorry sight in front. 

Waltz clears his throat, making sure to keep a steady expression against the odds. His right hand grips his wine glass, the other straightening out his collar. 

“I take it, Denki Sakurai, that you are not from here.” He starts out, and Denki looks up. Waltz’s white pinprick eyes meet the gray pupils of the human. “Your name is reason enough for a particular speculation, but it is not appropriate to make assumptions.”

“I’m Inazuman, sir.” Before he can elaborate, Waltz cuts in.

“I see! That explains your… unfamiliarity… with the cutlery. Allow me.”

Without hesitation, Waltz jumps up from his chair. The screech of the wood against the floor stings Denki’s ears. The skeleton starts moving over with decisive steps, circling around the long table. His heart drops as the realization hits it and with that, time seems to slow around him. 

Mistake. Mistake. He made a mistake. He made a mistake and there will be consequences.  

Denki’s heart is picking up the pace, and so is his breathing. Not yet. His hands adjust around the hilts of the silverware, his mind darting from memory to memory, searching for any reference. Every step Waltz takes feels like a painful eternity. 

He was told, wasn’t he? He was taught how to use these, but he forgot, and he knows what that means. Punishment, forgetting means punishment. He disappointed Waltz and forced him to waste his precious time to correct him. 

His thoughts overwhelm him like a river’s current. His eyes turn azure, setting loose memories. Instincts. Lessons from the past years and what followed, dealt by hands of the teachers. Waltz’s skeletal visage twists into a pale face wrapped in bandages before Denki’s eyes, his Vision twisting into a glimmering Delusion. 

Not yet. Not yet. The footsteps draw closer. Denki can still taste the blood on his gums from today’s earlier mistake, his jaw still aches dully, he can’t take one more.  It was going so well. He explained things to him, gave him food, treated him well, and this is how he repays Waltz?

There’s no time. Nothing comes to his mind. He wants to beg, plead for just a moment longer, promise that he will do better, but is unable to. Fear turns into terror, constricting his throat and silencing his voice. Desperation. But Denki knows better than to cry and be pathetic. Nothing will save him now. He lowers the cutlery with shaking hands and latches them to the table, seeking any comfort.

Waltz says something, but Denki can’t make it out. He stiffens, gaze obediently fixed on the plate before him, away from Waltz. The footsteps stop, and in a split second the man’s mind is flooded with their toolkit. Open palm. Fist. Kick. Whip. Cane. Baton. His body tenses in preparation for whatever torture is about to come. He knows better than to resist, it will only make things worse. 

Denki sees hands coming towards him. Too much. Too soon. He lets out a quiet gasp and it turns into a cry of pain as he feels something cutting the skin on his back. 

Suddenly, silence. No new pain, no slur, no laughter. 

Denki opens his eyes, preparing for a disciplinary blow. Instead of his teacher, however, he sees Waltz, frozen in his tracks with his arms still outstretched. Through the mist of his tears Denki can read an aura of concern emanating from the undead.  

There's a moment of silence. The skeleton lowers his arm, letting it drop limply against his side. The narrow points in the undead’s eyes shrink further, not larger than grains of sand. Waltz narrows his non-existent brows, and slowly moves closer to Denki, placing a skeletal hand on his shoulder.

“Are you unwell? Should I call a medic?” He asks with a stern, yet worried voice. Denki takes a deep, shaky breath and wipes his face with his sleeve.

A sense of shame overcomes him, the sort of shame that encourages him to scratch out his very eyes and flee to die in a dark corner. 

Denki swallows the embarrassment and tries to speak. “I’m sorry-”

“No-no. It's alright.” In response, the skeleton softly pats Denki on his shoulder, looking him straight in the eyes with a sense of camaraderie and understanding. “The fault is all mine. With what I know about you, I should have been more careful. Now, Denki Sakurai, would you mind if I showed you how to use these?” He points to the tableware. 

Denki nods. With slow movements and a steady tone, the general showcases the proper method of handling the tableware and, before long, Denki operates them with more confidence, allowing Waltz to return to his seat. 

“Although I am unfamiliar with the exact details, I do know that your passing has been, shall I say, less than ideal.” He gestures towards Denki. “When you were startled, your eyes turned blue. May I know what that means?”

The young man remains silent for a moment, pondering the question. His thoughts are interrupted when the searing pain on his back catches his attention. He slides his hand behind his collar and traces his fingers down where the pain originates from. Suddenly, he feels the familiar warmth of blood and a large, fresh gash on his back. After retracting his arm and confirming his suspicions, Denki answers. 

“I’m not sure, sir.” The blood on his fingers is a deep crimson, contrasting with his nearly snow-white skin. “I wasn’t aware of it until now.”

Waltz nods. “It seems pointing it out to The Watcher might be a good idea. Anyhow, please, help yourself to the food. It won’t taste as delightful when cold.”

After discreetly using his sleeve to wipe the blood clean, Denki tastes the meat doused in brownish sauce and is immediately hit with a rich, intense and slightly alcoholic flavor unlike any he had experienced before. He closes his eyes, letting it dissipate pleasantly on his tongue. 

Waltz smirks at his companion's reaction. He chews another piece of candy, this time the taste of a freshly baked, buttered bun. His hand instinctively reaches for the wineglass, finding it filled to the brim with fine Clochette Terrestre, the memory of which has been meticulously formed into a dense, red mist. As he lifts the vessel to his jaw and tilts it upwards, the substance pours down his bones, latching onto the copper wires lining his spine, flowing down into his core and dissipating. Waltz revels in the rich, deep flavor of someone's finest memory of the drink. 

His eyes find their way back to Denki, who is picking the meal apart with his fork. 

“Is everything to your liking, Denki Sakurai?”

The man seems startled by the question as he freezes, but promptly clears his throat and relaxes. 

“Yes, general. It's a bit different, more intense than anything I had in the past. That's all. Also, if I may…” Waltz gestures encouragingly with his hand, and Denki continues. “In Inazuma, the family name is usually said before the first name.”

Waltz's irises flicker and he frowns. What a fool he made of himself! His mind scrambles for an explanation. He didn't know! Right, yes. 

“Forgive my ignorance, Sakurai Denki. My home nation, Fontaine, is everything but close to yours, and so is Umbra, in which I spent the last fifty three years, meaning my lack of knowledge is a somewhat natural result of my situation.”

Waltz sends Denki a courteous smile. His foot starts tapping on the marble tiles below with impatience. 

“It's no problem.”

Waltz deflates, the façade of his smile turning into a genuine expression of satisfaction. Crisis averted. 

“Speaking of, your lineage must be truly worthy of respect. After all, who else is there to honor for raising such a well-mannered young man?” 

The other shifts in his chair. He hesitantly tastes the next portion.

“Thank you. My parents made multiple contributions towards the safety of Inazuma, but they never received recognition from the public. Their occupation was a lot less flashy than that of other nobles.”

Waltz can't help the smile. “Ah! So you're of high birth… That would explain your eloquent speech and predispositions. I see why the Great One chose you.” Denki doesn't seem to think much of the praise. Instead, his face remains blank, but the wrinkles of exhaustion seemed to deepen. The undead clears his throat. “Although the way you speak of them encourages a certain conclusion. My condolences.”

A slight, dismissive nod comes as a reply. Denki chews quietly for some time, causing an awkward silence to envelop the table. Waltz lets out a nigh inaudible sigh as he takes another sip of his wine, waiting for an answer. 

“Forgive my bluntness, Sakurai Denki, but it seems that being a good conversation partner is not your forte.” Waltz leans forward in his chair, a note of annoyed disappointment in his voice. “Which is unusual considering your origin.”

Denki's eyes flicker with a purple tint. “General, I’m sorry that you find me uninteresting. My social skills might not be on a high level as I didn’t have the opportunity to learn everything. I… didn’t have enough time.” “Oh. Forgive me for my insensitivity. How old were you when you passed, if I may know?”

For a moment, the human tries to recall the last time he called Narukami Island his home. The memories are blurry, with many undated gaps between his departure and revival. “I think I was around seventeen, sir.”

Waltz takes a sip of his wine and nods. “I see. You are a proper young man it seems, but your intelligence is quite beyond your age. I’m sure you had an easy time making friends in your earlier years?”

A small smile starts to turn Denki’s lips as the first pleasant words in his recent memory warm his soul. He shakes his head slightly. “To be truthful with you, I wasn’t the type to enjoy outings or parties, neither formal nor informal. I spent most of my days with a book in my hands.” “That’s commendable, Sakurai Denki. Especially seeing as youth tends to dismiss education these days, no matter where they are in Teyvat. What I had seen in Fontaine seems to apply to Umbra as well.” The general’s skeletal head turns with interest. “Speaking of Umbra, what are your impressions?” “It’s very cold here. Whenever I look out the window of my room or train, it always seems to be snowing or raining. Inazuma isn’t a warm nation, and I had some…” Denki pauses, searching for the right words. “... experiences in Snezhnaya, but still I cannot see the climate as anything but… sorry.”

In response, Waltz lets out an echoing chuckle. “Then it seems our opinions are alike. I also miss the temperate weather of the continent. I miss the hot summers, the brightness of nature awoken by spring - I even long for a winter. It has been too long since I’ve seen clean, white snow instead of the brownish slog covering the city now and then.” After seeing his glass is empty, the general raises his hand. A living attendant comes shortly, dressed in a proper three piece suit, and refills Waltz’s cup. “I have always wondered why the only season here seems to be autumn.” “Maybe it’s the wind?” The same waiter comes to take Denki’s plate. When the man asks if he wants dessert, Denki shakes his head and places a hand on his heart in a universal gesture of gratitude, prompting him to leave. “I have read that, in some parts of Teyvat, Anemo is strong enough to form currents that can push and pull clouds over thousands of miles. Maybe Umbra is near one of them.” Waltz nods. “It’s plausible. The people here, however, seem to have their own theories.” “What do they believe?”

Denki stops himself from lifting his cup of green tea right before it touches his lips. He lowers it and looks inside. The tea is comfortably ordinary with nothing unexpected inside. Relieved, he takes a sip.  

“You see, Sakurai Denki, they believe it is a curse. A punishment from the Gods, to be precise. It is said that when the Cataclysm took place, a group of desperate survivors prayed for salvation to death itself, hoping to avoid punishment for their sins against the heavens. The Great One took pity on them and came to their aid, taking them in His care. With His power he tore out a piece of the ocean’s floor, carving out what is known as Umbra to this day as a safe haven for them. In return, they accepted Him as their leader and god, serving him both during their lives and beyond. However, Celestia loathed The Great One for harboring the unworthy. For his rejection of their rule, the Gods doomed Umbrians to life in this eternal, cold, hellish mudscape you see around you.”

Silence falls as Denki takes in the story. A question suddenly shines in his mind. “Why didn’t the Gods punish The Great One directly?” Waltz shrugs. “I don’t know. Perhaps for an immortal god, seeing their people suffer over a span of centuries is punishment enough?”

“Maybe you’re right, sir. At the end of the day, we might never know for certain. It is the gods we are talking about, after all. We aren’t in a position to understand them.”

“They are higher beings indeed. Even if we have transcended our mortality, our souls and minds are human still, and will likely remain so.”

Suddenly, a series of knocks on the wooden door sounds out. Both of the men turn their heads towards the noise. Waltz frowns. “Who goes there…” He whispers the phrase through his grit teeth, and changes his tone into a louder one. “Come in!”

The waiter opens the door and two skeletons, dressed in uniforms of similar fashion as Waltz’s enter the room. One stands near the door as the other marches up to the general. He leans in and whispers words into where the general’s ear once was. Although Denki can’t tell apart the words that are being spoken, their sounds suggest they are in Umbrian. Waltz listens intently, leaning towards the envoy with a pensive expression. 

After relaying his message, the skeleton steps back. Waltz turns back to Denki, and raises up. 

“I apologize, Sakurai Denki, but duty seems to call - in the most frustrating of moments, as usual. I’m afraid we will have to postpone our conversation until our next meeting.”

Denki stands up slowly. “I understand.”

He watches as Waltz draws a small block of white paper strips. Pulling out a black fountain pen with a golden tip, he makes several writings on the topmost one with just a few flicks of his wrist. Waltz tears it off and hands it to the waiter. 

The skeleton’s eyes find their way back to the human. Waltz stretches out his hand, flashing Denki a smile. The man approaches him and takes the gloved hand in his, shaking it gently. 

“Thank you, sir. The food was outstanding and it was an honor to be in your company.” As he speaks, Denki bows out of habit. Waltz doesn’t seem to mind, the feeling of a smile never escaping Denki’s mind. 

“Ah, nonsense! I should be the one thanking you for your time. Someone of such a reputation and unique situation as yourself surely measures his time in Ether.” Their hands part, and Waltz places his hand on Denki’s shoulder. “Besides, you must have trained hard today. You are surely exhausted.”

Their eyes meet, and Denki’s heart warms at the sympathy he finds in Waltz’s irises.

“I wish you a restful night, Sakurai Denki.”

-

But there was no rest to be had that night. 

Around midnight, when the pale light of the moon was the most prominent, Denki was shaken awake. Without a moment to question or even understand his situation, he was forced to spring out of bed and dress up amidst shouted orders. The skeletons that came for him wasted no time, shoving him out of his room and practically dragging him through multiple corridors and staircases. 

As he marched through the fortress, he could finally collect his thoughts. The most instinctual part of his mind raises alarms - it wasn’t the first time in his life when his privacy and rest was violated. But this time, it is the undead that ripped him out of the bed. What would surely scare the majority of people, however, brings him a sense of comfort in separating the memories from the present. 

He sneaks glances at the soldiers that are escorting him. Their weapons are absent from their sheaths, but the rest of their equipment is in place. Black, matte plates lined with similarly dark padding underneath effectively hide every bit of bone from the onlooker. The padding stretches from their heavy boots, over their rib cages and up to a high collar, tucked into their tight-fitting helmet on their skulls. In the front, the metal visage of an expressionless man covers their features, but Denki can still spot their glowing, white eyes within. He has seen their kind of armor before - he wore it during his training, learning how to put it on and getting comfortable with its weight. Without a doubt, they are Legionaries, the same that Denki saw Adler around many times before. 

Despite the exhaustion imprinted on his face, Denki smiles. Will he become one of them?

They lead him towards a side door that the human assumes to be, based on the lack of any windows, several layers beneath the ground level. Without knocking the soldiers push the door open, and motion for Denki to go inside. In the room stand two more Legionaries in full uniform, a skeleton in a flowing black robe and Adler himself.

The commander approaches Denki right away. 

“Ready?” He asks with a demanding voice. 

Denki nods, but his voice comes out slightly mumbled. “Yes, sir.”

Adler frowns, and turns his gaze left, where a large, open barrel stands. Several cloths are partially submerged in the water within, likely used in cleaning the soldiers’ equipment. Adler submerges his hand into the vessel, gathering water into his glove. Promptly, he turns back to Denki and splashes it across his face without warning. Denki recoils and gasps as the icy fluid instantly brings his senses back to working order. He coughs out the water that got into his mouth, and Adler crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Feeling awake yet? More confidence! You’re a man, not a teenage girl, Denki.”

“Yes sir!”

“Better.” He points to a rack with a complete set of equipment, polished and ready. “Get your armor on, pronto. Everybody is waiting for you.”

Denki wastes no time and rushes over. He starts with the leather jacket, draping it over his shirt and quickly buttoning it up. Despite being designed primarily for undead, the cotton reinforcement was left exposed from the inside, giving the wearer surprising comfort, along with plenty of warmth. Adler watches closely as Denki puts on the lower part of the fit, replacing his nightgown bottom with a thick, protective layer of dark leather and sliding heavy boots with studded soles on his feet. The armor plates are next - the most difficult part of the process. He quickly throws the top plate over his chest and starts clumsily buckling the straps, securing it tightly to his muscular chest. What comes after is easier - the greaves, braces and other limb protection doesn’t prove as challenging to fit. Soon his equipment is finished up with three belts - one for his waist, fitted with small pouches and two for his sides, with that for his right thigh holding a sizable knife, and the other an empty holster, with a secure strap on the top. Denki adds the helmet, tailor-made for his flesh-covered head, and reaches for the mask.

“You aren’t a skeleton, are you now? You don’t need that.” Adler says, and motions for Denki to come over.

The man obeys. Adler reaches down with his left hand, unbuckling his holster and drawing the weapon inside. He turns it so that the handle is pointed towards Denki, and the human takes it in his hand. 

The gun is unlike anything Denki ever saw in his life. A flintlock pistol from Fontaine is the closest item that it could be compared to, but it would still do no justice to how different the contraption was. Instead of wood, most of it was constructed from metal, this weapon’s being painted a dull gray with accordance to the nighttime camouflage pattern he was wearing. Instead of the multitude of parts one could see in a musket, this armament’s jaw was made up of a single element - a hammer-shaped piece of metal that would strike the unusual, box shaped part located right next to it when the trigger was pulled. It was shorter, yet heavier than a flintlock pistol. In spite of how often his mentor made Denki handle such a gun, he was still unsure every time he took it in his hands. The occasional tournaments in Inazuma were almost impossible to attend due to the noise, and firing such a device was all the more difficult than watching it in the hands of someone else. 

Still, he needed to swallow his worries. He won’t become what he is meant to be by being fearful.

“Reza Model 22. Rules.” Adler eyes Denki with expectation. The latter takes a deep breath, and begins reciting what he was made to remember.

“I keep the safety on until the mission begins. I only use it in an emergency. I never aim it at my teammates. I keep my finger off the… the…” His heart skips a beat as he sees the skeleton’s aura darken. “T-trigger.”

Adler nods. “Good. Now load it.” 

Denki takes the small cartridge box from Adler’s hand and cracks it open. The bullets within are as unique as the weapon itself. The outer layers of each are made exclusively out of brass, with the shell hiding what he was told to be the gunpowder, with the bullet, mounted at the tip and shaped like a dull spike of sorts being the only exposed part of the whole cartridge. 

He picks out five of them. Cocking a small lever on the side lets the barrel be moved. Denki carefully slides each round into a chamber, taking care not to use any force this time. His arms still ached from holding himself up as punishment for when his recklessness caused him to damage the barrel of his training pistol. After filling the chamber, he puts it back into place. 

“I need to put the safety on.” He says before Adler has a chance to instruct him again, a glimmer of approval shining in his eyes.

Denki uses his thumb to slide a small, wooden cap to the side. It shifts to rest between the hammer and the cylinder, preventing an accidental firing. He then slides it into place on the back of his left thigh. 

“Well done. It seems that you can follow simple commands.” Adler chuckles, turning around to face the rest of the skeletons. 

They stand near the undead in the robe, their backpacks on and crossbows in their hands. Denki slides on his gauntlets, made of thick, dark brown leather with small armor plates on the outside parts. They are painted, just like the rest of the metal - to prevent light from reflecting off of them and giving the wearer’s position away. Snatching the rectangular shield and his shortsword from the rack, Denki focuses his mind on the weapons, and soon enough, they glow a bright yellow. He marvels at them as they fall apart into small, shining dust before completely fading away. Despite their dematerialisation, he can still feel they are nearby. He flicks his hands as if attacking something with the sword, just like Adler taught him, and surely enough the sword reappears in his grip. Denki dismisses the weapon and eyes the final weapon on the rack - a heavy crossbow. He takes it in his hold, and at last he joins the rest of the group. 

The lich raises up from the floor, uncovering the complex chalk drawing on the tiles. Copper wires line every part of the symbol, connecting at the small red crystals placed on overlapping points of the icon. 

There’s a moment of silence. Adler talks to the mysterious skeleton in Umbrian, Denki being able to recognise just a select few of the words spoken. His shoulders are quite close to the heads of the skeletons around him. 

Was he this tall before? Suddenly, a violent screech fills the room, making Denki almost drop the crossbow. He looks up at the source of the noise, one hand over his ear, and sees… nothing. Where the wall was just moments before, there’s a tear - just as if someone outlined the area and painted it black. However, no light was reflected by as much as an inch of the surface. 

“Let’s move.” Adler says, and the skeletons step forward. 

Without hesitation, they just walk into the rift, their frames vanishing into the void beyond. Denki approaches from the side as his last comrade walks through. He finds that it is not, in fact, a crack in the wall, but rather a space floating in the air, directly above the chalk circle. As he moves his head to view it from the side, he finds it to be… invisible? He looks back at the front, and the black gash reappears. And yet, when he views it from behind, he can see only an impatient Adler-

Denki’s eyes widen, and he springs back to the front. He waits for a verbal correction, but none comes. 

“Fascinating, right? I wasn’t believing my eyes the first time I saw a portal, just as you are.” He walks towards the rift and places his heavy arm on Denki’s back. “I can tell you more about them, but later. For now, get a move on.”

A slight push forces Denki to step closer to the passage. No sound, wind or smell comes from within. He tightens his fingers around the stock of the crossbow in his hands, and runs into the rift.

For a brief moment, his vision goes completely dark. Then, a barrage of colors, some of them he would be unable to even name. They twist like worms, flowing into various, repeating patterns with spike-like protrusions. Overwhelmed, he feels his knees give out and he falls forward, plummeting face first into the ground. 

Denki's head throbs. Unable to see with fractal patterns dancing before his eyes, he feels the ground with his hands. 

Mud. Slick grass. He takes a breath. The air is cold, humid, but not frigid. Sounds of rain surround him. He feels the droplets sink into his clothing. 

Finally daring to open his eyes, he sees what he has nearly forgotten. Grass. Fresh, lush, slightly bluish in the moonlight. He drags his fingers over its blades, unable to feel it through his glove. Slowly, he raises up, snatching his crossbow from the ground. 

Rain pours down from the black sky above as he examines the area around him. Grasslands, barely visible in the dark, stretch in every direction, sprinkled with birch and oak trees here and there. The terrain houses many bushes, fallen trees and rocky irregularities, but remains mostly flat. 

His team is barely visible to him, but squinting his eyes reveals their silhouettes, even darker than the backdrop of the rocks they crouch behind. Denki wastes no time and scurries to a lone stone, hoping his small stumble didn't earn him a punishment. 

Adler stands several meters away from his position, looking around. Denki cannot help his curiosity, and looks behind the rock he is resting against and in the same direction Adler's gaze stopped on. 

Despite the fog raised by the rain, the city is clearly visible as the lights within pierce through the obstruction. It's walled and positioned on a small rock isle, a stone bridge lined with lanterns being its only connection to the mainland. On top of the towers, several, multi armed windmills draw his attention, completely still in the hostile weather. 

He sits back down. How did the opening carry them from Umbra up to here, a thousand kilometers away?

The commander raises his hand. A skeleton approaches him, and after a brief exchange takes off to the side. 

Minutes pass. Denki's shirt is soaked, the rain pouring through every opening in his armor without pause. He lets loose an involuntary shiver, his breath turning to fog in the night's cool. 

At last, Adler speaks, breaking the monotonous rustle of the rain. 

“On me.”

As one, the skeletons raise up and jog up to their commander, with Denki following suit. His boots sink into the muddy road, but he presses on, splashing it around with every hastened step he takes. Before Denki can even fully warm up, their units stop abruptly. His comrades part, letting Denki see Adler motioning for him to come closer. He complies. 

“Over there.” Adler points, Denki's eyes following his clue. Right away, he notices the warm, orange light of a campfire some distance away, accompanied by several rugged tents. “Hilichurls.”

Although it takes a moment, Denki notices a handful of lean figures through the rain. “Are they who we are looking for?”

“Well, in a sense, yes. Our target practice.”

Denki furrows his wet brows. He knew what they came here for, but hearing Adler's words, acknowledging their meaning and consequences makes him uneasy. 

Hilichurls are monsters, yes - just like slime, like Vishaps or Whooperflowers. But there's something exceptionally human about them that sets them apart from the rest. The way they can build, light fire, speak and form groups always seemed eerie for Denki. 

He grips his crossbow tighter, the weapon of fast approaching murder. 

It's just Hilichurls. Monsters. They are dangerous, he thinks. They need to be removed, else somebody might get hurt. He knows this, and yet, the idea doesn't spark excitement in him. 

“We're going to go to the right, over there. See?” The skeleton points again. “Near those bushes. We’ll get a clear shot.”

Just a few seconds are enough for the unit to change their position. Adler kneels down, Denki joining him before the undead’s armor could touch the ground. Denki knows what to do. 

“Five in the camp in total, three asleep. I don't see any noteworthy weapons in the tents.” He whispers, eyes darting from figure to figure. Despite how barbaric he knows them to be, they seem harmless. Peaceful even. 

“Very well. I want you to take out the one sitting on the log to the right. It should be an easy shot for you to take.” Adler switches his language, tone remaining firm but quiet. “Load.”

Denki understands the command and quickly lowers his crossbow. He slides the metal now underneath the sole of his shoe. After freeing the string, he pulls it upwards. Every muscle in his torso and arms tense as the heavy crossbow creaks quietly, but eventually he pushes the tip of the line into a dedicated slot. Opening a pouch on the back of his belt, he draws a short bolt and places it carefully on the track. 

“Aim.”

Denki raises the weapon, lining the tip of his bolt with the humanoid figure by the fire. His heart pounds. His right hand rests over the trigger, ready to push upwards in a split second. 

His arms wobble under both the weight of the weapon and the sinking feeling in his heart. Denki bites his lips and props his right elbow on his raised leg. His aim grows still. 

“Fire.”

Denki pushes the level upwards, setting the projectile loose. 

Simultaneously, five more bolts are released as the team fires with him. In a flash, Denki's arrow finds its mark. The missile sinks into the Hilichurl’s side with a full thud. It lets out a yelp and falls from the trunk. 

A second passes. Then the next. The only sounds are the droplets of rain plummeting from the sky. In the camp, there are no movements. The Hilichurls lie still on the mud and in their tents. Some of them never woke up. 

“Clear.” Adler says, raising his hand and waving it forward. “Let's go.”

The company moves as ordered, this time at a normal walking pace. As they approach the campsite, the fog clears enough for Denki to get a better look at the tents. Calling them makeshift would be an insult to all things provisional. The cloth is made up of various fabrics differing in color, stitched together with thick threads. The water weighs heavy on the covers, coming through the ever present holes in slow, steady streams. Despite that, as he enters the camp, he can tell the hay inside every single one is at least partially dry. 

“Search! Grab every valuable item you can find.” Adler orders, and the undead get to work. Denki picks out the shelter closest to him and goes in. 

There's no monster carcass inside. Instead, he finds it full of crooked pottery and rudimentary boxes with red paint chaotically splashed across them. Denki strikes the top with the butt of his crossbow. The lid proves tougher than he expected, but another more forceful blow shatters the shoddy construction. The man can't see its contents through the darkness. He reaches for the pouch on his belt and draws a crystal. He unwraps the wire, and right as it is untied it starts glowing a bright yellow light. Using the Electro crystal’s light, he examines the contents. Rotten fruit, bags of stolen grain and rusty weapons fill the box. 

Nothing interesting. But then again, what did he really expect from Hilichurls? 

He leaves the tent. The area is littered with broken planks, smashed pottery and various miscellaneous pieces of junk. Someone already stomped out the fire, leaving most of the site to be illuminated solely by the moon. A red glint in a nearby puddle catches his eye. 

Blood has long started pouring from the creature he killed, mixing with the rainwater on the ground. It lies on its side, facing away from him. Denki crouches down and gently turns it over, coming face to face with its white mask adorned with unintelligible symbols. Using his free hand, Denki tugs at the fur around its neck, but it doesn't budge.The hairs are wet and filthy, littered with mud and dried, yellowed remains of… something. Below the mask the mane is stained dark red with blood, prompting him to turn his attention to the bolt. Only the back end of it sticks out of the body, seemingly having either broken them or passed in-between, burying itself in the right lung of the creature. He trails down, noticing how, despite having a fragile appearance, muscles line its stomach. Its nails, placed on five fingered hands, are long and unkempt with dirt and blood underneath. There's a simple bracelet around its wrist, composed of sea shells and pieces of polished metals. 

“Admirable shot.” 

Denki jumps and nearly falls onto the body. He turns around and sees Adler, looking down on him with a smirk of approval. The man recovers and rises to his feet, wiping the mud off his thigh plates. 

“Have you found anything interesting?” 

Denki shakes his head. “No, sir.”

“Happens. Not every expedition yields income. Now come, we're done here. Let's not waste time.” Adler walks away, but Denki doesn't follow. Instead, he turns back to the Hilichurl. As if reading his mind, Adler speaks over his shoulder. “I’d advise you to leave the mask on. It's there for a purpose.”

His hand, already reaching for the wooden veil, stops, and he raises up to rejoin his comrades. 

Under the cover of darkness, they move southwards, away from the city. The rain faded, shortly giving way to the chirping of crickets. As the soil absorbs water, the terrain becomes more traversable. 

In a low voice, Adler breaks the silence.

“Remember, boy, that everything you can get your hands on that is on or near the enemy is yours to keep - that is the conqueror's right.”

“To the victor go the spoils.” Denki speaks out, and quickly adds: “Sir.”

His mentor nods. “Aside from Mora. Mora has much more use than a mere currency. Alchemy, forging, necromancy, sciences - any practical art you can name makes use of its power. Regardless, you can exchange it for Ether, ten to one.”

“I understand, sir.” 

The unit reaches a small clearing. Someone draws a pair of binoculars, and examines some areas invisible to Denki. The Legionnaire turns around and signals to Adler with a small nod. The general hums, putting an arm around Denki's shoulders. 

“Now, Denki, we'll see if you have what it takes to become a man. We'll find out what you are made of.” Aldehan Adler takes the binoculars from the scout and passes them on to Denki. He takes the wooden instrument in his hands, bringing them closer to his eyes and turning them in the direction pointed to by Adler. 

His eyes instantly pick up the light coming from a small crevice in the terrain. During daytime, the camp within, adorned with triangular, green cloth to stop the rain would be nigh impossible to spot. Now, however, it's easy prey-

Prey…? 

He shakes off the thought. 

Unlike the camp of the Hilichurls, this one is far more organized. Denki spots a tent over the rocky elevation, partially obscuring his view. It's completely gray, clearly designed with care - the shape is perfectly triangular, and the ropes stretch from the pegs and under the fabric to ensure the construction is stable. Behind the shelter there's a small, makeshift fence on which various clothes rest, their every thread thoroughly soaked. 

“We separate into groups of three. Two and four go with you from the left, and the rest of us jump down from the right. We jump down after you kill the wachmann, and start the massacre. They will be panicked, disoriented, easy to kill.” Adler speaks quickly, likely impatient. 

Denki wants to say something against the plan. Anything, even for a nonsensical reason. Whoever is in there likely doesn't have good intentions - why else would they choose to camp out in the open? Even if they are Treasure Hoarders, criminals, low lives, the very scum of the earth… No.

He couldn't do it. 

He hands the binoculars back to the scout. Denki turns to his master, but as soon as he opens his mouth to speak his words die right in his throat. 

What would Adler do if he said no? 

Weak. That would be what he would hear. Pathetic wimp. Waste of time and space. He would have to hold himself up for hours on end, run in ankle ties of sharp wire, crawl over sharp rocks and mud until he would beg at Adler’s feet for forgiveness. He would mumble and cry, again. 

And yet, he didn’t want to do it. 

He didn’t want to obey, but was there really an alternative? Adler took him under his wing, The Great One offered him a new life. He was given a home, a place of safety. He was never hungry. He was never cold. All he is asked in return is a choice. A choice between weakness and… strength. Grit. Stoicism. He can show them that he can move on, be strong again. Achieve, mature. Become someone worthy of what he has received, a man deserving of respect, both feared and adored by those around him. 

He has to do it. 

“I’m ready, sir.” 

Without delay, Adler waves for two of the Legionaries to come with him. “I like that attitude, Denki. Get going.”

His group turns around. Denki follows their lead, careful to maintain his balance on the uneven, partially sunken road. The leading soldier quickly locates a smoother descent and slides down to the level of the camp, the other two following suit. Keeping a borderline crouch position, they wade through the trees and approach the entry to the base as close as the greenery will allow them to stay out of view. Denki sees his teammates load their crossbows, and so does he. One of them turns to him. 

“Do you see the man in that lean-to? Shoot at him with me. Wait for my signal, and remember to aim at the chest. It will be easy to hit.”

Denki takes aim, his hand tucked securely away from the trigger mechanism. His gray eyes pick up a flash of purple light from the rocky platform above the campsite. Illuminated by the signal are the other members of the team, their shields and swords at the ready. 

His eyes wander back to the human at the other end of his weapon. 

They sleep clothed, covered with ragged blankets. There’s a flask and a knife by his side, the candle that once illuminated them long burnt to the end of the wick. 

“Fire.”

The tension in his body is released as the bolt flies loose. The bandit opens his eyes, but before he can even react the projectile pierces his stomach, with the other planting itself directly in the middle of his chest. He curls and falls to the ground with a choked grunt. Behind him, the rudimentary roof collapses under the weight of the three armored undead as they jump down into the camp. A woman raises up from the ground, but her life is taken before she can make a sound. An axe leaves her skull split in half, painting the wight’s armor red with fresh blood. To the right, Adler stabs a startled human through the stomach, pinning him to the ground. With violent glee he turns the blade in his flesh, making his victim wail.

“Charge!” The command falls from the skeleton on Denki’s right. 

He slings his crossbow over the shoulder and dashes out of their hiding spot. As he enters the camp, his melee weapons are already resting in his hands. A quick glance over his surroundings reveals most of the work has already been done. Bodies lie strewn around the ground, amongst packs and chests splattered with blood. With adrenaline pumping through his veins, Denki rips the front flaps of the tent to his left, revealing a lifeless body with a crossbow bolt lodged in its back, wrapped in bloody bed sheets. With his next breath, Denki takes in the nauseating scent of copper, causing him to back out and into fresh air. 

He lowers his weapons. It’s done. He turns to view the others. 

The subtle sound of a body being turned over escapes his ears.

In a flash, someone latches onto his back. Denki curls on reflex, making the assailant’s blade miss his throat by inches, sliding harmlessly off his armor. He struggles, trying to shake them off. The blade strikes again and again, each time meeting hard steel instead of vulnerable flesh. Fighting back, Denki dismisses his shield and uses his left elbow to strike at the attacker, causing them to let go. He darts around, coming face to face with a smaller figure clad in a brown cloak. 

She wastes no time and delivers a decisive kick to his knee, causing him to stumble. He raises his sword just in time to block her dagger arm, but his victory is short lived as he receives another kick, this time into his groin. He growls through the pain, and clumsily uses his whole weight to ram the bandit. They both fall through the tent, tripping over the dead body and plummeting to the ground. The woman pushes the disoriented Denki to the side, but he manages to get a fistful of her hood along with the hair. She yelps and kicks him in the face, using the initiative to flip around and stab at his eyes. Denki covers it with his iron-clad arm, rolling over to his stomach and tackling her again, sending both of them over to the edge. He pushes himself up to hover over her and grabs a hold on her neck. She attempts to retaliate with the knife pointed at his throat. Denki attempts to seize her wrist, yet is stopped by a knee right to his stomach. A glint of steel is all he sees before the very tip of the knife buries into his face and slices upward right through his left eye. 

He lets out a howl of pain, clutching his wound but never letting off the girl. She kicks and punches to get herself free but his body is too heavy. Grabbing a hold of his shoulders and flipping him over. Denki strikes at her chaotically, knocking both of them through the stick fence and down into the sandy ditch below. The woman yelps as his armored body crushes her hand with its weight, her only weapon falling out of her grip. She lands on the ground with her opponent rolling just past her. 

She tries to scramble to her feet, but her damaged hand proves unable to provide any support. Sobbing, she grabs a handful of wet sand and throws it at Denki who is rising up, using his sword as a booster. He stumbles over, knuckles growing white from his grip on the weapon and teeth clenched tightly, adrenaline pulsing through his body. 

The woman whines, raising her good hand defensively, but instead of mercy she is met with a crude horizontal slice across her chest. She screams and is promptly silenced when Denki points the sword at her stomach and rests on the handle with his full weight, pushing it through her like through a pillow. 

He pants heavily as he stares into her green eyes, wide with shock and agony. His remaining iris glows deep purple while blood continuously drips from his destroyed eyeball and onto her clothing. 

Denki watches as life slowly leaves her eyes. At first she struggles, attempting to push the sword out of her wound but soon grows weak, her gasping for air replaced with slight twitching.

Before long, her body grows completely still. 

With a groan of extension, Denki withdraws his sword and falls back. He doesn’t even have the strength to look up when clapping sounds out through the night. “Well done!” Adler congratulates Denki with several slow claps, a wide smile on his absent lips. “Sloppily, barely, but well done!”

Followed by the team, Adler steps through the collapsed fence and down into the ditch. He looks over at the body, and then back to Denki, who by that time managed to sit up, his blade still stuck to his hand. He looks up at Adler. 

“Why didn’t you… help me?” His voice is hoarse from exhaustion and screaming. He feels as if someone had poured acid down his throat. 

Adler crouches down to meet the man on eye level. “Because I don’t want losers, dead weight, wimps. I want men. Men who can fight for their life and win. Those that can help themselves first. And it seems that you, Sakurai Denki, are one of them.”

Denki tries to stand up, but his knees feel weak. Adler grabs his arm and hoists him up against the nearest tree, allowing him a stable support to grab. 

“A-am I…?”

Nodding, Adler seems to smile even wider. “Yes! Your strength, the sharpness of your mind, the pure desperation for survival… And the lack of hesitation. My boy, you aren’t just a natural survivor, oh no. You’re a born killer.”

Adler’s words distort in Denki’s mind. His eye feels heavy. Adrenaline rapidly leaves his system, the pain in his eye growing to an agonizing level. He fails to support himself and slides down to the ground. 

He closes his eye. 

The rain picks up again. 

Thank you so much for reading!

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact au #genshin impact necro au #necro au #nau #genshin necro au #necro au sakurai denki #necro au aldehan adler #necro au felix waltz #necro au sunqu #necro au adaru #necro au sibtu #necro au the watcher #sakurai denki #aldehan adler #felix waltz #sibtu #sunqu #adaru

[allloudontheeasternfront]

Me watching anything with my favourite actors in it.

#albrecht schuch #all quiet on the western front #felix kammerer #stanislaus katczinsky #paul baumer #august diehl #christoph waltz #daniel brühl #inglorious basterds #the alienist #loveinthoughts #parolechicago #german actors #babies

[geekcavepodcast]

Guillermo del Toro's "Frankenstein" Adds to Cast

Jacob Elordi, Christoph Waltz, Felix Kammerer, Lars Mikkelsen, David Bradley, and Christian Convery have joined Oscar Isaac and Mia Goth in Guillermo del Toro's adaptation of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein.

Frankenstein tells of a scientist whose experiments bring a creature to life.

(Image of Boris Karloff as Frankenstein's monster in 1935's Bride of Frankenstein)

#frankenstein #guillermo del toro #jacob elordi #christoph waltz #felix kammerer #lars mikkelsen #david bradley #christian convery #oscar isaac #mia goth #mark shelley #netflix #TGCLiz

[alles--oder-nichts]

#someone make me famous so that Porsche will invite mento a race #antonio felix da costa #christoph waltz #Formula e #Fe

[1five1two]

'The Waltz'. Felix Vallotton. 1893.

#art #felix vallotton #The Waltz #dance #Figures

[gamerwoo]

y’all yesterday sadie told me i could pull bang chan and that’s all i’ve been thinking about since. i’m walking around w the biggest god complex lmfao

#she also said felix and han which also only boosts my ego which i don't need #i get a god complex when im drunk i dont need it sober #......i have also been drinking so it's only getting worse #welcome to my extreme delulu era <3 #but like anyone could say that to me but i believe sadie because sadie would never sugar coat it yknow #she'll always be straight w me #so im like SHE SAID IT THAT MEANS ITS TRUE #as if christopher is going to like waltz around my tiny ass town and run into me and instantly fall in love lmfao

[terrovaniadorm]

Mercie!

Would any of your RSA beans interact/possible ship with Cary?

I am a lil late but tehehe, RSA content baby!!!

Wilbur

He's generally the friendliest out of my RSA ocs! Loves making friends, i think he'd love to listen to Cary's music, even finds random things to show him if he'd like to collect them!

Arielle

A royalty and a girl of high standing, i think they'd get along? Arielle would find him cute too, if he needs help with anything on land she'd accompany him.

Felix

Again i think these two would hit it off with music, Felix plays cello, he might like Cary's music. Felix is kind of a quiet guy so i think they might have a little awkward, Cary has to do most of the talking... If Felix talks he'd just get into historical stuff-

Altair

Would Cary like to watch the stars? Once he can get over how bossy Altair can be i think they could spent time together, he might live on land but he hasn't traveled to far so they could learn together!

#IM SO LATE #I FORGOR 💀💀💀 #But heheh here are candidates #Thanks for the ask! #Twst oc #Other characters #Cary Holger #Felix de honore #Arielle waltz #Altair regis #Wilbur Papp #Answered

[nabaath-areng]

I intended to do this months ago but I finally figured it out... honorary shoutout to Rei/Sailor Mars and Ashe (FFXII)

(I cheated with the corner but sssshhh)

#originally on twitter but yknow what puts it here too #michiru/neptune is the most iamus/ieehas azem of these #waltz is ONLY fashion wise #amble for her temper and magical talents #lightning for the temper too. lol. #.... same with felix. it is a coincidence that he's ieehas voiceclaim. #oswald and gwendolyn for temper and inner turmoil #sort of #i mean the story of that game is meh but im still weak #im spamming a lot lately just a lot of thoughts!!!!! #ieeha #ieeha de verral

[mandoreviews]

📽 No Time to Die (2021)

Here’s something shocking: I watched this with my grandma, and her only comment was “Well, Pierce Brosnan is the best-looking James Bond.” Well, Grandma, I beg to differ. In my humble opinion, Daniel Craig is the best James Bond in pretty much every way. And, yes, I have seen the others. I really liked this final Daniel Craig movie. I know some die-hard James Bond fans were extremely disappointed in the ending, my dad included. But here’s the thing. We knew this was Daniel Craig’s last movie. Every new James Bond starts over with a new story line. I’m not offended or outraged in the least at the ending, even if nothing like it has happened to James Bond before. It was emotional, yes; but it didn’t make me mad like it did some other people. I think this movie perfectly wrapped up Daniel Craig’s saga. It maybe wasn’t the ending anyone wanted, but I think we can look forward to good things from the next James Bond. Especially if that James Bond is Tom Hiddleston 😉

Sex/nudity: 3/10 (some non-explicit sex scenes, a lot of female skin but no actual male or female nudity, some sexual comments)

Language: 3/10 (IMDb says two f-words but I only remember one, some other milder language)

Violence: 7/10 (just a lot, if you’re watching James Bond you know what you’re getting into)

Overall rating: 8/10

#review #movie #movie review #no time to die #action #adventure #thriller #drama #romance #daniel craig #james bond #bond james bond #shaken not stirred #lea seydoux #rami malek #lyutsifer safin #lashana lynch #ralph fiennes #ben whishaw #james bond 007 #007 #naomie harris #eve moneypenny #rory kinnear #jeffrey wright #felix leiter #billy magnussen #christoph waltz #david dencik #ana de armas

[darkmovies]

#news #cinéma #actualité #acteurs #filmmaking #casting #Christian Convery #Christoph Waltz #David Bradley #Felix Kammerer #film #Frankenstein #Guillermo del Toro #Jacob Elordi #Lars Mikkelsen #Mia Goth #netflix

[charmercharm3r]

YOU WILL WRITE THIS

SO IMAGING ABT how your a 9th skz member (who always wears baggy street wear or just the really cutsie member who does aegyo and isnt rlly sexual and lit has never showed any skin )and you all go boxing for fun - you decide to wear a baggy white shirt and a white bra under it and once you arrive to the gym your acc really good at boxing like your sweatiinggg and its showing your skin and clinging onto u - thowing jabs at minho like your life DEPENDS ON IT!! the members admire you from the side of the ring with a good view; after that tiring session you or your member dump water on you to quench your thirst but end up dumping wayy more than intended which causes you all to laugh but iykyk white clothes + water = see through jit going thru your shirt and kinda your bra so the members are just staring at your bare boobs (you can also write the baddie moment where you take off your shirt bc your agitated at it clinging onto ur skin)

i’m such a sucker for 9th member fics

Masterlist

warning: gn!reader, 9th member, suggestive

next: two

☆ﾟ

“That’s it, Y/N’ie! Now I can actually feel your punches. Put a little more weight behind it.”

Minho had you dancing around the elevated boxing ring like it was rehearsed. Your couldn’t feel your hands or arms anymore from how long you’d been chasing him in circles to hit the padded target he always held just a little out of reach. Honestly, sports weren’t really your thing, dancing was the only thing you truly tried to do well in front of and behind the cameras. You had no idea what possessed you to tag along with Minho to his boxing session.

The news of your outing traveled fast within the group and before you knew it, everyone was piling into the two cars together. Minho and Chan had been giving you pointers the whole car ride and even tried to show you how to wrap the bandage around your wrist for support until you shooed them away and told them to stop hovering.

Felix was giggling watching the whole preparation take place, only when he said your full name did you realize he was narrating with a mini vlogging camera pointed your way.

Maybe promotions and practices and life in general were starting to take an emotional toll on you, every ounce of your frustrations from the week you took it out on Minho.

You couldn’t feel your feet now, too. The numbness let you move a little faster, only able to feel the sweat dripping down your temple and chest. As you picked up the pace and threw your punches harder, Minho stumbled slightly from the sudden burst of energy. You couldn’t hear the other members whooping and cheering your name, all focus pinpointed on the black target.

Harder, quicker, more than enough weight behind the punches that forced Minho to misstep and trip into the rope. The others rushed to hold their hands out in case he slipped through them, while also torn between being in awe or laughing at the older boy literally falling for you.

You tried to catch your breath and aggravatedly unwrapped the boxing glove from your hand as Minho stood and looked at you with surprise.

“Was that enough weight?!” You huffed, throwing the glove at him with almost no power now that you expended most of it trying to hit the target.

Giggling from the side of the ring made your head snap in its direction, “you want some, too, Kim Seungmin? I’ll come down there and—“

Just as you were about to throw the other glove at him, Changbin stepped into the ring and stole it from you, physically picking you up and waltzing you backwards with your rubbery limbs not putting up much of a fight. “You can beat him up later. Drink water first, you sweat like a fucking fountain.”

“Y/N’ie!” Felix and Hyunjin ran around to help you out of the ring, water bottles at the ready. You let Hyunjin tip your chin up and place the open bottle to your lips, it was gone in under a minute. “Slow down, you’ll drown,” he chuckled.

“Lix, you’re staring again,” Changbin threw his hand over his eyes until he realized what the younger was ogling.

The baggy white shirt you’d worn was completely soaked and sticking to your body like a second skin, showing through the sports bra that kept you safe. You were never one to show much skin at all, but right now, you didn’t have the energy to care. In fact, it was suddenly feeling suffocating. When you started to strip away the drenched shirt was when the rest of the members made their way over to you, all with mouths dropped slightly at the view of their adorable member suddenly shining in a new light.

“Hyung, maybe you should get Y/N’ie mad more often,” Jeongin whispered to Minho, who had a stupidly smug smirk on his face.

“I’ll take—“ huff, “—every one—“ puff, “of you fuc—“

“Hey now! No swearing in my vlog!” Felix rushed to stop you mid sentence.

“But they’re cute when they’re mad! Look,” Jisung pinched your cheek lightly and you frowned, raising your fist, “oh, so scary!” He feigned fright and stepped back with his hands up in surrender.

“You looked really cool, though. Who knew you could actually do physical activity!” Seungmin patted you on the back a little too harshly and you slumped forward with a wince.

“I hate all of you.”

“You love us!” Chan rung out your wet shirt and all of you stopped to watch how much of it was squeezed onto the floor. “That’s disgusting.”

Felix laughed menacingly and turned the camera towards himself, “I think Y/N’ie needs a shower.”

The eight of them made eye contact and smiled deviously. You spotted the bottles of water they each had and moved a second too late. Minho grabbed you by the waist before you could run, and suddenly you were being blinded by water running down your face and getting covered from head to toe. Minho was nice enough to wipe your strayed hair from your eyes so you could see the glee in your member’s eyes as if they’d accomplished an important task.

“Are you cooled off now?” Minho asked, peaking over your shoulder and brushing more hair from your cheek.

“Ice cold.”

“Oh, they’re definitely mad at us!” Felix kept laughing along with Hyunjin and Jisung.

“You all owe me one meal each. Dessert included.”

“I’ll even throw in a dry towel.” Chan handed you a itty bitty hand towel that you snatched away.

You patted down your exposed skin starting with your arms, your face, and when you got to your neck and chest was when you realized they’d all gone quiet. “Have none of you seen a chest before?! Virgins, all of you.”

None of them moved, unabashedly and unashamed that they were still staring.

“It’s just—“ Hyunjin said softly and pointed at your chest again. You looked down to see your nipples hard, and you lost any patience you had left.

There was almost no force behind your fists slamming into his chest, but Hyunjin cowered away and pretended to be hurt just for sympathy’s sake. Minho cheered you on while Chan was pulling out a spare shirt from his gym bag, sneakily slipping it onto you as your adrenaline drained back down to zero.

“Two. Meals. Each. And I’ll be keeping track.” You breathed heavily, finally giving up on being upset.

“Dessert included,” they repeated back.

When you’d finally calmed down, Felix threw his arm over your shoulder and pulled you in close, “how was your first time boxing with Minho hyung? Care to share with sunshine vlog?”

“Next time, it’ll be you and me in that ring, Lixie.” You cheerfully threaded with a tap of your finger to the tip of his nose and smiled.

The seven of them trailed behind you as you leaned on Felix for some support. Not even an ounce of annoyance left in you, the sleep was wanting to take over before you could make it to the car. You climbed into the back seat and made yourself comfortable before the rest of them could file in, careful not to raise their voices too loud. You could tell it was Changbin next to you just by the smell of his cologne, still strongly lasting after a decent work out.

Entirely passed out, you didn’t get to hear Felix end his vlog with, “look how cute they are, already asleep. Stay, shhh, don’t tell Y/N’ie that Minho hyung only tripped cus his shoe was untied. See you next time!”

-

tags: @sensitiveandhungry @babebatter @changbinluvr @epiphanynaffit @fawnpeaks @linovely @dumplinbokkieracha @finnydraws @naturules @djeniryuu @skzhomiehopper @yesv01 @hyunjinsamdl @dazzlingligth @lvrhyuka @alexis-reads-fics @linaliskz @0002linoskitten @chillichillicrabcrab23 @zerefdragn33l @straycrescent @binnies-donuts @soldierstangirl-blog @bakedlilgoonie @levanterlily @shelbyyy44 @yeetmehome @in2heartz @astroodledream @the-sweetest-rose @goblinracha @lilbugs-things @viviennenstan @staurdvst @alex--awesome--22 @imzenning @jeyelleohe @kaitchan @iadorethemskz @skyvastbunny @mamabymychem @katsukis1wife @woozarts @noellllslut

#stray kids #stray kids fluff #stray kids ot8 #skz #skz fluff #skz ot8 #stray kids 9th member #skz 9th member #stray kids smut #stray kids angst #skz smut #skz angst #stray kids fanfic #stray kids head cannon #stray kids imagine #stray kids imagines #skz headcannons #skz imagine #skz imagines #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids x yn #stray kids x you #skz x yn #skz x you #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids x gender neutral reader #skz x gn reader

[contentloadingandstuff]

Mortuarius - Chapter III

"Move! Move!" 

Denki feels a strong arm slam his back, propelling him forward. He nearly collapses on the stone pavement, but manages to regain balance quickly, retaining the merciless running pace. His whole body is screaming, muscles crying out with ripping pain. It's the ninth lap, and his knees are about to give out. Yet he pushes on, determined to meet his trainer's quotas. He straightens himself out, sweat drenching his tank top, and jogs forward. 

And to think he was expecting to be cold in his outfit. 

After Watcher led him to his new "mentor", there wasn't much time for him to rest and get his bearings. The very next day marked the start of his training programme. Both of the undead said that, if he wants to become worthy of joining The Legion, he must be up to par with their capabilities, or bring something unique to the table. Since the human never trained or fought much before, he was clueless as to what he could offer. Aldehan Adler, his new assigned supervisor, stated that the only way to find out more about his talents would be bringing them out by training. Worry sparked in his chest, for what mercy could he expect from someone like him? 

He stumbled on a small crevice between the stones, dragging the attention to himself once again. It was hard to not be the most interesting part of the session when he was the only one training. Adler screamed out to him, and though his voice was deep and echoing, the human could sense a certain fierceness and anger lining the words.

"So far, you're proving to be more of a potential liability than an asset. Get. A. Grip." Adler hisses through his teeth, making Denki groan and push onwards through the pain. 

Adler's irises twitch in satisfaction. Although the fresh meat was weak, it could listen to orders. He crossed his arms, watching as Denki moved on to the last segment of the loop. The exhaustion is clear to see in his every movement. The clumsiness of his steps, the slow pace, the limpness of his arms. And yet, despite all that, Denki keeps moving. 

When Watcher first brought the human to his chambers, Adler only laughed. Denki looked pale, disoriented and weak. He wasn't anywhere near fit to be a soldier, let alone in his formation. Membership required skill, devotion and determination, and at first Adler saw in him only faults and flaws. His human-like condition aside, it quickly came to light that Denki couldn't even complete the warm up of ten running laps. After the sixth he fell, knees buckling and breathing heavily, hands scraped to blood on the flooring. Adler genuinely expected him to curl up and cry, like some of the mortal militia he takes on sometimes. Just as the undead was about to mock the mortal, Denki stood up. With much pain he dragged himself upward, and waded on. Of course, Adler didn't want to interrupt him - he only had to step in when, at the ninth lap, Denki nearly coughed his lungs out. 

It would be safe to say that, despite the ending flop, Adler was pleased with him. If nothing else, Denki had the determination to complete his training. 

As the first few days passed by, the general would come to learn more about his trainee. Except for the resolve, the young Sakurai had an unusual pain resistance as well. Despite the intense cardio and hours long training, he never complained or whined about exhaustion. To test this, Adler ordered him to drop down and do push ups, presenting the action to be purely for his own amusement. The hatred for him, pulsing and throbbing through Denki's entire body, was extremely obvious. But among the racing images of violently killing his mentor, Adler sensed no regret. 

Even when Denki was allowed to stop after thirty seven push ups, far beyond his endurance of that time, he still walked to his quarters by himself and came back tomorrow, fresh and ready to improve. The muscle gain was also noticeable, or more precisely - it's unnatural speed. 

But that would be nothing unusual for The Fly Lord's work. As much as the thought of Sunqu made Adler's non-existing stomach turn, he couldn't refute his superior designs' perfection. 

Agonizingly, the human dragged his body towards the finish line, his jog a laughable parody of the word "run". When he arrived at the destination, Denki fell to his knees, panting heavily. Adler nodded. 

“Decent performance. Catch your breath, and we’ll move to the next exercise." 

Relieved and immensely thankful, Denki drops to the ground. His eyes, barely ajar after the strenuous cardio, lie idly on Adler's form as the undead speaks in his language. In comparison to all the other undead he met so far, Adler stood lower in posture, yet he was still bigger than Watcher. Despite his unremarkable stature, the general instilled a passive aura of command and competence. He spoke with confidence, loud and imperative in each word. Adler's equipment was more than fitting for a general. His golden, decorative armor was complimented by a thin wool cloak, covering his back down to his shins and extending into a full hood. Steel boots struck the ground with audible heaviness as he walked, so much so that every undead he passed could recognise him by his steps alone. His skeletal hands were covered by thick leather, concealing their true fragility. Denki never once saw him without his blade by his side, sheathed, but imposing nonetheless. Aside from the fairly modest, weathered crown on his hooded skull, the most eye-catching trinket of his was the handful of small, metal items attached to his belt. Some were thin and slightly damaged, others were thick and whole, every one of them maintained and polished to perfection. The sigil resembled a flame of sorts, not unlike the spread wings of a phoenix without its head or legs. When he moved, the baubles would clatter against his armor, announcing his arrival in tune with his thundering footsteps. The clasp to his cape was a black Vision, with a white eye symbol engraved within. The bronze casing consisted of two sharp, polished shards on the gemstone's top and bottom. 

With a groan of extortion, Denki lifted his exhausted body back to a standing position. His eyes landed on a wooden table Adler was pointing at. 

"Pick one." Adler said. 

With nothing else to do, Denki approached the wooden structure. On the worn out wood lies a selection of weapons. A sword, a katana, some sort of a curved sword he saw on pictures from Sumeru, a thin Fontaine rapier, and a heavy claymore. Every blade is painted matte black, but the frequent scratches of silver prove that the armaments are not newly forged. Denki reaches for the sword, just as his teacher suggested before. He stops, and turns back to look at Adler. 

"Who will I be facing, master?" Despite his best efforts, his voice doesn't sound firm and confident, coming out more as a fearful plea. 

Adler points behind him with his thumb. "A rankman. Standard issue equipment, standard training, average skill. He shouldn't be a challenge for you, if you were listening at all these past few days."

The words of Adler hold no comfort as Denki looks over at his opponent. The skeleton, clad in plate armor, stands taller than the general, nearly matching his own height. The skull, with the unmissable and ever piercing white irises in the eye sockets, is well maintained and whole. The helmet is a fairly standard steel cover with twisting horns of a ram mounted on the sides. Just as its superior, the Wight has full chest, arm and leg armor, coupled with leather gloves and high boots reinforced with steel plates. Its sword, still sheathed, was accompanied by a broad shield. 

The undead sends its mortal opponent a friendly nod, and Denki turns back to the table. The weapons were dulled, so the risk of cutting would be minimal. Not like cutting the skeleton would do anything, of course. And so wouldn't stabbing it. Despite the claymore being the sensible option in his mind, Denki looks towards the katana. This is definitely the weapon he is most acquainted with, or at least that is what he thinks. The sword looks familiar to him, and rests well in his hand. He is from Inazuma, so he most likely used it before. Even despite his hardest efforts, he can't seem to recall any specific memories. 

He picks up the blade, and turns to Adler. "I will take this. What are the rules?" 

Adler eyes Denki, his voice full of unmissable amusement. "Three hits for you and first blood for him. You'd want to get a shield for that."

Something creeps into his mind. Someone told him in the past that a shield is a weapon of cowards. Denki shakes his head politely, and slowly walks away from Adler, getting into stance. 

These words… Who shared them? His father, or his teacher? Maybe he read that somewhere? His mind holds no answers, just more questions. 

His eyes never leave his opponent. The skeleton walks up to its place slowly, plates quietly rattling against each other as he moves. Denki narrows his eyes. It doesn't seem too agile, with all of that armor weighing it down. If he manages to dodge attacks, he will surely win. He takes a deep breath. 

"I'm ready." He says, adjusting his grip. 

"Ready." The skeleton replies. 

Adler steps back. "Begin!" 

The skeleton moves first, stepping up to him and striking right away. Denki dodges to his side, catching the blow with the edge of his sword. He tries a quick riposte, but the skeleton takes the full force of the blow on his shield. Sparks fly into the air as the attack slides off of the steel surface. The human barely manages to stop a hew aimed at his side. Despite his fast reaction, he fails to dodge it completely - the tip of the blade grazes his Chest plate. He returns the attack right away, but once again it is blocked. Denki is able to block an overhead chop, striking the undead's blade right as it swings down. He tries to spin around to deliver a hit on the recovering enemy's side but he is struck with its armored shoulder, making him stumble back. He manages to whip his katana into position to just barely block an incoming strike, but the next attack comes too quickly to react. The heavy shield's edge is struck forward, landing right on his face. 

The sheer force of the sends him back. His foot, placed awkwardly and unable to stabilize him, bends and Denki tumbles to the ground. His skull slams on the stone bricks paving the training square, making his vision go dark. His hands tremble, desperately searching for his weapon. Just then does his adrenaline rush come down, and the throbbing, sharp pain in his jaw makes itself known. He screams out in pain and clutches his bleeding mouth, eyes squeezing shut. He rolls to his side and curls slightly, breath heaving and tears welling in his eyes. He feels blood pouring from his wound, and so he spits it out on the floor. As his vision slowly comes back, deep, mocking laughter fills his ears.

"I told you what to use, didn't I? But no, you wouldn't listen. Now look at you, squirming like a worm and crying like a baby." Adler crouches down to his level, and pries Denki's hands away, gripping his jaw painfully to examine the wound. "Ow, the toddler got his tooth knocked out and now he's throwing a tantrum! What a despicable excuse for a man you are, Sakurai Denki."

A slap falls on Denki's face, adding insult to injury. Adler lets go of him and stands up. A muffled sob escapes the human's lips as he rolls over and tries to stand up. After dragging himself up to his feet, pain and tears clouding his vision, he comes face to face with Adler. 

"Get out of my face, scum." Adler points towards the gate leading out of the training field. "Come back when you stop being a whiny maiden. I don't want the likes of you anywhere near the Legion."

"Y-yes, master. I'm sorry." Denki looks down in shame. 

"Out. I don't want to see you back here unless you decide to get a grip." Adler growls, his irises gaining a red hue. "OUT!"

Without further ado, Denki scurries back towards the gates. The skeleton guard looks at him emotionless as he passes by. His fingers, stained red with the running blood, rest on his face protectively. Not because of the pain, but due to shame. 

How could he? How could he not mind the words of his mentor, his guard, his teacher? He is meant to heed his advice, learn from him, trust his judgment and words. He wants the best for him, does he not? And yet he disregarded his words of wisdom and paid the price for his own stupidity. He deserved it, all of it. He is worthless, useless, whimsy and weak. Denki cries silent tears of embarrassment as he makes his way down the Citadel's corridors. His pathetic feet place unworthy steps on the dusty red carpet lining the passage. 

One thought rages through his mind as he knocks on a heavy, dark oak door. 

How could he be so ungrateful? 

"Come in." 

Denki pushes the door open, his eyes landing on a familiar figure. Sitting by the wooden desk is Watcher, a notebook in his hands. The pages are filled with an unknown scripture. The Liche turns to face the newcomer, and sighs. 

"With what do you come today?" 

Denki uncovers his mouth. "Tooth."

Watcher motions to a large adjustable surgical chair, and turns back to his writing. Denki slowly makes his way to the pointed seat, and lowers himself to rest on it. He always felt somewhat uneasy in his caretaker’s lab. Although he knew that the skeleton wouldn’t do harm, the familiarity of his tools was far from comforting. As he settles down, Watcher offers a clean piece of gauze in his gloved hand. 

“Bite down on this.” Denki does as instructed, wincing as pressure is placed on his wound. He looks over to his right, and sees the Liche cleaning the mouth spreader. Just the sight of the polished cage of small metal rods brings him back. 

“Iz that really nesheshary?” He speaks, bindings still soaking in excess blood. The guardian turns to him, his irises narrowing. 

“If you will restrain yourself from flinching and let me work, then no. If you do, then I’m going to put it on. Did I make myself clear?”

Denki nods, and much to his relief, the device is placed back on the counter. Watcher opens a drawer, replaces his gloves with thinner, rubber ones, and retracts a few surgical tools. He grabs a stool and places it next to the chair. The trainee gulps as the tools close in. 

Gently, the blood soaked gauze is removed, revealing Denki’s mouth. Watcher hums, and turns to a nearby tray. 

“The first front tooth on the left is broken in half. I will have to pull out the root, but don’t worry. You’ll get a new one right away.” The human’s eyes anxiously watch as his medic eyes a scalpel and a pair of pliers. Just the sight makes his hands clutch the armrests tightly.

Denki closes his eyes. Every muscle tenses as the cold metal touches his skin. Suddenly, the scalpel cuts into his gums, slashing the tissue like butter. Denki whines, and tears dribble down his cheeks. His grip becomes iron, mind focused on calming itself down. Blood wells in his mouth when the cut is made. Setting down the scalpel means no relief, as Watcher takes the pliers right away. The tool wanders around his mouth, probing the wound and looking for a suitable angle. His skin crawls as the sounds of steel hitting his tooth become audible. 

“Right here…”

Watcher’s voice is quiet when the pliers lock on their target. Denki braces himself, and the awful sensation of ripping floods his mind. He wants to scream, cry, escape, but he knows better than to misbehave. 

The pain is brief, but awful still. Watcher quickly presents Denki with the bloodied remnant of his tooth. He sighs heavily in relief, and closes his eyes. The sound of shuffling reaches him, and Denki looks in the direction curiously. Watcher drops the tooth into a cloth bag, setting it on the counter. His hand reaches a handle and tugs on it, revealing a cupboard full of teeth. The bones, of all shapes and sizes, are each placed on a piece of cotton and marked with symbols he isn’t familiar with. Watcher picks one and slides the rest back into storage. After a short cleaning and another change of gloves, he positions himself back on the stool. Wiping the blood, he places the tooth into Denki’s jaw. A firm twist is all it takes to fit the missing part into his jaw. Watcher taps the enamel a few times, ensuring its stability. He nods to himself.

“Fixed. Don’t drink anything too hot or cold for some time now. The nerve endings need time to fuse back together. Does the injury feel numb?” He asks, offering Denki a bundle of cotton. 

He takes it, and gently swabs it on the injury a few times. “Yes. It feels strange…”

“It’s normal. The feeling will be back in an hour or so. How are your hands?” He points a finger to Denki’s hands, still locked over the armrests. He takes a breath and presents them.

The pale skin on the insides is littered with purple and red cuts, some scabbed over, others still exposed, but not one bleeding. Watcher rubs his finger over the biggest ones, gauging his patient’s reaction. The human only hisses quietly. 

“They’re healing up nicely.” He chuckles, but Denki only frowns in response. “At least he taught you how to hold a sword proper, no?”

Denki looks away and remains silent. Watcher shakes his head, and pats the mortal’s cheek with his blood-smeared hand. Denki gets up. He turns for the door, but he hears his caretaker’s voice behind him. 

“Wipe those tears. At least try to look presentable.”

Denki shuts the door behind him with a loud thud, and turns on his heel. His head throbs as he marches towards his room. He doesn’t feel the pain anymore, a sensation of dullness resonating through his jaw. 

Exhaustion, anger and pain mix inside him, threatening to boil over at any point. Denki pushes his door open, and, with all his resolve, stops himself from slamming it shut. Desperately he pushes his thoughts away, focusing on unbuckling the armor and stripping down. 

He’s just tired, he thinks. That is why he is feeling angry. He needs to take a shower and rest his head for a while. Yes, rest will resolve everything, he figures while stepping into the rudimentary bathroom. Mistakes happened today, his mistakes. He was at fault here. It was he who disregarded the words of his teacher, insulting him. Adler had all the right to react as he did. Perhaps he should be grateful for being set straight. 

They care, for sure. Otherwise, why would they be so strict, if not wanting to keep him safe and alive in his future encounters?

He sighs as the hot water hits his white back, steam quickly building up, filling his lungs and nostrils with the comfortable, stuffy sensation. He can feel his body relax, and he gives into the feeling. 

One thought sticks in his mind, however. Should he? Should he indulge himself? Today, he made several big mistakes and was punished for it. Nevermind his missteps, this type of behavior will only get him used to comfort and safety, won’t it? A warrior’s life is never easy, and treating himself will only cause more pain when these distractions are taken away. 

He can’t do this. Adler was right. These types of pleasures are for whiny damsels, not for real men. Real men must suffer to succeed. He can’t weaken himself with luxuries, else he becomes what his mentor suggested - a pathetic excuse of a man. 

Denki growls and moves his aching arm to turn the valve of the shower, turning the pleasantly warm water frigid. He screams as the icy liquid pours on him, body trembling from the sudden change in temperature. 

This is the way. 

It’s for his own good.

He deserves this.

—

A wave of chill strikes him as he steps out from the Citadel. The scarf does its job, but the cold wind still bites his exposed face, reddening the porcelain skin. Denki’s breath is fogging. He looks up at the sky for the first time since… forever, he thinks. A sigh of disappointment leaves his lips when his vision is filled with thick, gray clouds. Not a single ray of sun pierces unimpeded through them, covering the city with gloom. He doesn’t fail to notice the unnatural purplish tint of the skies above him. 

His eyes fall lower, resting on the city in front of him. Only a handful of structures tower over the rough level of the capital, impressive in their stature. Below them the buildings are a blend of gray and black, with a few sprinkles of color here and there - sticking out like candy amongst ashes. Every chimney in the city pumps out smoke, warming the inhabitants within the homes below, and filling him with a certain sense of… coziness. He shudders as another gust of wind blows icy droplets of rain into his face. 

His underground dorm beneath the Citadel has little commodities, no doubt about that, but at least it is warm.

Although the downpour makes them hard to pick up, Denki can just faintly hear sounds of the hustle and bustle, unlike that of Inazuma City. His brow furrows at the thought of street vendors and passersby going about their business in such weather. Despite the noticeable scarcity of decorations, the black banners hang frequently from underneath roofs and overpasses. On the soaked, black material the eye symbol is intricately sewn, its gaze piercing and unrelenting on anyone who dares to look at them. Over the tall wall surrounding the Citadel, only a few spots catch his eye. He sees a few balconies hanging above the streets. Their whole construction has not an inch of wood, consisting of painted steel and stone instead. Warm, orange light pours from the windows and doorways behind them, painting the lush potted plant life in bright softer color. 

The rain doesn’t seem to let up. Unsurprisingly, the undead within the Citadel’s perimeter move about and patrol unphased, their armors slippery and shining with moisture. Wooden crates are being carried from a point outside his range of view, and placed on iron carts mounted on rails. The individual forges lining the sides of the barrier form a hermetic link over the left area, stopping only as the main exit route parts the two fragments on the courtyard. To his right, he hears the audible clash of weaponry. He looks over, noticing multiple pairs of knights, locked in individual duels. The fight with no boundaries - shoving, kicking, bashing with shields - Denki notices one undead using his fists, his sword laying far from him and his sparring partner. 

Suddenly, Denki feels a hand on his shoulder. He snaps around, pushing the stranger’s arm away. Much to his embarrassment, behind him stand two armored guards. Contrary to the trainees in the courtyard, they have matte-black chest plates and arm guards, their armors split in half by a leather strap holding their rifles firmly on their backs. Every one of the four irises is focused on him. 

“Forgive me for this interruption, sir.” The undead speaks, in a deep, dull tone. “I couldn’t help but notice you, standing here for a few minutes now. Do you need any help? Are you unwell?”

Denki pulls down his mouth cover and replies. “I… Yes. It’s my first time outside, to tell you the truth. Lord Watcher gave me permission to visit the city, but I am not sure where to go. He gave me some coins, but I can’t read the symbols on them.”

After fishing the small pouch from his coat’s pocket, he pulls the string and drops the silver coins on the palm of his hand. The second guard takes them into his hands, and examines them closely. 

“That’s three hundred Ether. Those two are hundreds, and those two are fifties. You can buy a lot with that, sir.” After pointing to the specific coins, the undead hands Denki the coins. 

“Thank you.” Denki looks back at the city behind him. “And where could I… spend them?”

After readjusting his weapon, he points right in front of him. “Leave through the main gate, and you’ll be at Imperius street. There are many stalls and restaurants not only there, but all over the city as well. I am sure you will find something to your liking, sir.” Denki can feel a smile in his voice as the skeleton delivers the final invitation. 

“I can suggest a few places to visit if you wish to hear me, Sakurai Denki.” 

All three turn towards the entry to the fortress from where the sound came. In a steady pace, a uniform-clad figure approaches them, arms slightly open in courteous invitation. The tall, waxed leather boots step quietly as the newcomer approaches. He stands a head lower than Denki, but his formal black cap extends farther above. The black outfit is perfectly clean and straight, the three polished medals on the right side of his chest placed in perfect symmetry to each other. As every undead, he wore gloves, but in contrast to the rest, his were thin and lined with golden thread at the sides and edges. Behind his formal trousers, with straight purple lines sewn on the outsides of his sleeves, waved a thin black cloak, further adding to his uniform’s impressive cut. On his left wrist a copper-clad Electro Vision shined, tied to his skeleton with a leather strap.

The guards straighten out, and place their hands across their chests with a loud thud, before putting them back along their body. “Glory to the Great One!”

As the black-clad undead stands next to Denki, he too places his arm over his chest. “Glory to the Great One. At ease, soldiers.”

The guards relax, and he turns towards Denki, extending his right arm. 

“I believe we have not met yet. My name is Felix Waltz, General Artilleris of The Legion. It is an honor to at last meet you in person.” Denki shakes his hand carefully and bows in reflex.

“It is my honor, general.”

“Oh, I believe it is all on my side.” He tilts his skull downwards. “Shall we take a stroll?”

Denki’s eyes focus on his irises, and he nods. 

Thank you for reading!

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact au #genshin au #au #genshin impact necro au #genshin necro au #necro au #necro au sakurai denki #sakurai denki #necro au watcher #the watcher #necro au aldehan adler #aldehan adler #necro au felix waltz #felix waltz

[crypticminx]

Getting high with Felix…..

⋆˙⟡♡✧˖° ⋆˙⟡♡✧˖° ⋆˙⟡♡✧˖°

The two of you sitting on his bed, the soft melody of what you can only presume to be jazz plays through the old speakers of his record player.

He’s dressed in nothing but his boxers and an undone dress shirt, his toned abs on full display for your eyes only. You lay for a bit, tilting your head on a pillow, while your bare skin pushes into the silk sheets, not caring if you’ve just moved the rolling tray.

Any excess cannabis would be used for another day it seemed.

The two of you nearly finished the poorly rolled joint, coughing all the way in between foolish laughs that resulted in both of you taking turns spitting into an empty wine glass.

Like his mother once said, nothing phases them, so she shouldn’t be too upset at the powerful scent of pot lingering through the unsealed level of his bedroom door, right?

A foul smell to some, but the two of you were too dazed to care.

A huge smile on your face appears when Felix slowly waltzes around his room, beginning to dance as if there was no tomorrow. You feel your dry mouth start to salivate. Perhaps it was the tiny pang of hunger sprouting from within, but you didn’t want to interrupt the moment. Finding Felix far too gone and quite adorable when he wasn’t in his usual state of mind.

“Oh Felix,” you purr, trying not to grin like a maniac, but you slowly started to lose grip on your once caring conscious, “you’re a fool.”

He walks closer to his bed frame, seeing you sprawled out like some sort of renaissance painting makes him thirst with adoration. However, he shoves those thoughts aside for later and graciously tosses his hand to yours. “Dance with me, my fair lady?”

You chuckle, pushing yourself up from your cozy abundance and taking his hand with glee.

“Who would I be if I said no to that.”

#I quit smoking pot two years ago LOL so I forget how it works #anyways :3 #saltburn #felix catton #felix catton x you #felix catton x reader #felix catton x y/n #jacob elordi #saltburn 2023 #felix catton fanfic

[nonranghaes]

"one, two, three... one, two, three..."

minho guides you around the mostly empty studio, hand clutching your own. he continues to quietly count each beat, leading you effortlessly. even when you step on his toes, he doesn't chastise you for it. he just stops with you for a moment, flexing his fingers to regain his hold on your hand, and asks if you're ready to try again. he knows you well enough to know that you'd beat yourself up otherwise.

"you're a lot nicer with them, you know," hyunjin's sitting off to the side, water bottle in hand. felix is tucked by his side, holding his phone up where both he and hyunjin could see it with ease. the two are the only members of minho's dance squad that showed up early enough to sit in on this private lesson with you (and they're honestly the only two you'd be okay with letting in).

minho stops with you again, looking over. "they're learning. we aren't."

"nah," felix smiles, "it's different. you're hard on us because you want us to improve, but it's not mean." his gaze flickers over to you for a moment. "you're... softer with them."

and maybe he is. and maybe he always will be, too, but you don't mind. not when it leads to minho's hand in yours as he begins to keep count again, gentle as can be as he teaches you a basic waltz.

#nonranghaes.thoughts #nonranghaes.skz #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids imagine #skz imagine #stray kids x you #skz x you #lee know fluff #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #lee minho fluff

[remuslovebot]

thinking about elsbeth hosting a fancy ball at saltburn and you and felix dance all night long to classical music and waltz.

drinking champagne and looking at all the decadent clothing everyone is wearing.

felix would waltz you aside and kiss you in the large velvet curtains separating the ballroom from the rest of the castle.

lmk if you want a full fic of this idea xx

#felix catton x reader #felix catton x reader fluff #felix catton fic #jacob elordi #saltburn #felix catton x fem! reader #felix catton fluff

[skybluewritings]

Last Summer Part 2, Felix Catton x Fem!reader

word count: 2K

Masterlist

She would be staying with the Cattons for a month then return home a couple days before her flight to finish packing and give her tearful goodbyes. She paused the track on her iPod when she saw him pulling up to the station. Felix had insisted on coming himself to collect her despite her insistence that she was happy order a taxi.

The car came to a stop, she picked up the handle of her suitcase and walk down the steps of the station. Felix got out of his car, despite having seen each other only a week ago she couldn’t contain the rush of joy that seeing him brought. Her suitcase was momentarily discarded, she squealed as she flung her arms around his neck. His arms wound around her waist, he laughed as he lifted her a little. The wood and spice smell of his aftershave was intoxicating.

Once he had set her down she unwrapped her arms from his neck, grinning up at him. She glanced down noticing his arms were still around her waist, his palms resting on the small of her back. He also noticed this and immediately pulled away from her.

He cleared his throat. “Sorry about that.”

Heat spread through her stomach. “No it’s uh quite alright.”

Neither spoke for a moment, Felix clapped his hands together. “Right, shall we?”

“Yes, yeah, let’s go!”

She went to pick up her suitcase but he had beat her to it.

“I’ll be taking that.” He told her.

She scoffed. “I think I’m more than capable of carrying a suitcase.”

He shrugged. “Nope don���t care."

“You vex me.” She sighed, opening the car door and dropping into the seat.

“You love me really!” He sang, taking the suitcase and opening the car boot.

He was closer to the truth than he would ever know.

*

The car sped through the countryside, it was a bright and blazing day. The roof the convertible was down, the wind making her hair dance all around her. The upbeat tempo of music vibrated through the vehicle. She rested her arm against the window ledge, choosing to subtly gaze at Felix through her cat eye sunglasses. It was unfair how good he looked in his ray-ban sunglasses, her eyes traced the sharp curve of his jawline.

“I can feel you staring.” He said.

“I was very much not!” She replied defensively, looking away from and at the rode ahead.

“I’m not blind.” She couldn’t see him but she knew he was smirking.

“You flatter yourself too much.” She teased.

“I don’t think I flatter myself enough.” He replied, she playfully smacked his arm knowing he was joking. It may have seemed like a narcissistic thing to say but when it came down to it there wasn’t much about Felix that was self obsessed. He was not unaware of his own attractiveness but he didn’t carry himself in the way most vain men would.

“So how much further?” She asked.

“Another couple minutes I reckon.”

“Is there anything you haven’t told me that I should know? Like that your family is actually a coven of aristocratic vampires.”

“Just my mum!” He told her, before shaking his head. “No, there isn’t much that you don’t know already. My family can be somewhat traditional but pretty welcoming overall.”

“Will I be presented to your mum in the fashion of a debutante at court?”

He laughed. “Yes then you’ll be forced to dance a waltz with my dad.”

This made her laugh. “Sounds sexy.”

“Thank you for agreeing to come I really do appreciate it.” He told her taking her hand and giving it a warm squeeze.

She squeezed it back. “You’re welcome, I’m always here for you.”

“You too.” He said finally letting go of her hand.

Her pulse was far too fast and so was her spiralling mind. How was she going to manage a month with him?

*

They finally drove through the gates of Saltburn, as cliche as it sounded her mouth nearly fell open in sheer shock. It was the most elegant home she had ever seen. She knew he came from a lot of money but was still taken aback by the extravagance of it all. The car drive came to a stop inside a large garage full of a variety of old expensive cars.

 

Felix came round to her side opening the car door for her, in a gesture she thought only happened in old films.

 

“Thank you.” She told him with a smile.

 

He smiled back. “My mum would never forgive me if I didn’t.”

 

“I would have thought someone else parked your car for you?” She pointed out.

 

“Sometimes I like to do things for myself.” He explained matter of fact.

 

She supposed that was a fair answer, truthfully, she had no clue how the rules of anything of this worked. This was an extreme version wealth which she had never encountered before.

 

He opened the boot of the car, and she took out her suitcase pulling it behind her as they left the garage.

 

They reached the main foyer of the house, it had wide cavernous ceilings with various patterns carved into it. An older man in a suit dipped his head at them politely.

 

“(Name) this is Duncan the head Butler.”

 

Head Butler?! She thought. Was she in Pride and Prejudice?

 

Duncan gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Pleasure to meet you.”

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.” She replied trying to mimic his formal tone.

 

“I will have your luggage taken to your room.” Duncan told her.

 

(Name) waved her hands. “Oh no really it’s okay I can take it.”

 

Duncan’s face became more pinched. “No please I insist.”

Yeah she was not going to try argue with him.

 

“Well thank you then.” She said awkwardly.

 

She looked on helplessly as Duncan commanded another butler to take the suitcase.

 

Felix clearly sensing her discomfort pat her on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s go to the conservatory my mum will be dying to meet you.”

 *

 

There were three women in the conservatory, they were all sat on ornate chairs that faced opened glass doors. Two of the women were engrossed in a story the blonde woman was telling them. She stopped speaking when she noticed her friends had stopped paying attention to her and to instead the new arrivals. The blonde woman turned to see what they were staring at, her whole face lit up.

 

“My goodness darling you do know how to pick them don't you.” The blonde woman (who she had worked out was his mother) said to Felix.

 

She elegantly stood from her chair and practically sauntered toward them.

 

“This is my mum, Elspeth.” He told her.

 

“Lovely to meet y-“ Her words were cut off when Elspeth grabbed both sides of her face tilting it to one side then the other. (Name) winced at having her face manhandled.

 

“Mum stop that!” Her best friend scolded, gently swatting his Mother’s prying hands away.

 

Elspeth bought her hands to her chest. “I do apologise it’s just that I’m trying to figure out what it is about your beauty that draws my son in. I think it might be your eyes they’re rather lovely.”

 

It was a strange compliment, but still a compliment she supposed. “Oh thank you.” She said with a nervous smile. “However I’m pretty sure my physical appearance doesn’t really play a part in my friendship with Felix!”

 

Elspeth furrowed her brow. “Friendship?” She looked to her son. “Felix I thought she was your girlfriend.”

 

Girlfriend?!

 

He sighed. “Mum, I explicitly told you I had a friend coming to stay.”

 

“But the way you so lovingly spoke about her-“

 

“Anyway,” Felix said slightly too loud. “I am sure (Name) will want to get settled into her bedroom, we’ll see you for dinner.”

 

“But really it is wonderful to have you stay dear.” Elspeth told her kindly.

 

She found herself smiling genuinely. “Thank you.”

 

Felix led her out the conservatory with the same speed she led him out of the party.

*

Felix fell back onto the bed in the guest bedroom. He covered his face with both hands groaning into them. “Oh god I’m sorry, that was so embarrassing.”

 

She perched on the bed next to him. “I-I mean it wasn’t too bad. Your mum seems to at least like me!”

 

“Yeah I guess.” He removed his hands from his face. “But how could she imply that you and I-as if I am not capable of just having female friends.”

 

“You seemed to be pretty good friends with a lot of the girls at Oxford.” She snickered, pretending it didn’t hurt to know that.

 

He rolled his eyes. “How do you know?”

 

She flopped down next to him and playfully elbowed him. “I mean you weren’t exactly subtle in hiding it everyone kind of knew.”

 

 “Is that really how you see me?”

 

She turned to lie on her side. “No of course not-sorry I was only teasing.”

 

He didn’t look at her, instead picking at the buttons of his shirt. “I don’t like the idea that a bunch of people can just decide something about me, like they know me. I always made it clear I never wanted anything more from the people I was with. I’m not some heartless fuck boy. It makes me feel uncomfortable that some people might have that view of me...”

 

“Well I don’t.” She said softly. “No one’s perfect but you aren’t a bad guy, people know that even if they see your exploits differently to how you did.”

 

He now looked at her. “What do you think of me?”

 

Where should she start? “I think you’re just one of the kindest people I’ve ever met and that well-I can’t believe I’m existing in the same room as you.”

 

Maybe the last part was too much, but she couldn’t help it if she meant it. His lips parted at her words, he seemed at a momentary loss for words as he stared at her stunned. His full lips looked so inviting parted like that, it wouldn’t have taken her much to lean forward and find out. She chose to sit back up this was becoming too dangerous for her.

 

She cleared her throat. “Do with that what you will.”

 

He seemed to snap back to reality gradually sitting up next to her. “I’m sorry it took me a minute, it’s just- no one’s ever really said anything like that to me before.” He swallowed hard.

 

“Maybe it’s time that someone should.” She admitted.

He gave her a grateful smile that made everything inside her melt away. The moment passed when he stood up from the bed and offered out his hand to her which she gladly took as he pulled her to her feet. “Come on I’ll show you where the bathroom is.”

Tag list: @emitaylorsverson

#felix catton x fem!reader #felix catton #saltburn #friends to lovers #jacob elordi