#getting RETRIBUTION on Hollow Ground... fucks hard man

[oldsoul--newmachine]

heeeyyyy new Revelations demo rocks, even more than the first one I'm just saying. Hype is real <3 spoilers in tags

#getting RETRIBUTION on Hollow Ground... fucks hard man #this is all I wanted #seriously reconsidering my main MC crash + stuck path #but I have to see the innocent ranch version of that first #fallen hero retribution #fhr #fallen hero #fallen hero rebirth #fallen hero revelations #malin ryden

[dorkyungsoowrites]

Fatal Ties: The Ending

As promised, here's the plot bullet-points for the rest of this story so no one is left to wonder. When we left off, the Boss had just been shot at and was going to try figuring out who the mole was, who the perps were, and how to stop them while still going through with the wedding. I hadn't plotted out anything in detail, but here's the things I knew I wanted to put in. Oh, and a flashback that would reveal how the Boss became the Boss.

Message gets to the Boss to meet with mysterious people who shot at them. The fact there's no demands is fishy, but they go.

They have Kyungsoo hidden away ready to shoot if the meeting goes south. The person who shows up? The Boss' sister. *queue flashback*

(In the edits I was doing the pov changed and the bakery was instead a greenhouse cause I liked the idea that deep down this mafia boss just wanted a quiet life with their plants. So just to avoid confusion this is told from 3rd person pov, and it is indeed showing the day the Boss used a coup against their own father, but it was actually their sister who killed him, and they sent her away under the guise of protection. In truth the Boss pinned the murder on the sister and took over the business.)

They were standing in a vast, gleaming greenhouse awash with sunlight. Two rows of various plants and flowers grew on tables, leaves dancing in their warm glow. Two people stood in the center as they spoke alone. One of them carried an overwhelming sense of authority and sharpness. Wearing a pressed black suit and severe eyes. The other, with broad shoulders, looked right at home beside them.

There was something odd about the image, however. The emotions of the moment eclipsed details; softening and flooding out the edges with blotted blurs. The surroundings bent toward the two figures slightly, revolving around them, existing by extension.

A bright and fierce feeling consumed them. It beckoned they straighten their back. It filled them with elation and confidence.

The breeze sung, warmth and sweetness tickling their nose with a few wisps of hair. Distant concussions rang in their ears. That of hand-made rhythms and automatic syncopation like a crackling symphony. Fingers flinched by their hip, joints aching to grasp long awaited vindication.

A smile slid into place on the one with broad shoulders. Something older and deeper than amusement. It had the appearance of affection, but it was dangerous; too sunken and tight. "This is my kingdom," he said. "None of this would exist without me. Some delusional little girl won't change that."

"A kingdom is more than one person," they remarked, a sneer curling their upper lip. "You're not thinking."

"Am I now?" he marveled, teeth flashing. "You've spent your whole life trying to make me proud. Now you're going to give everything up for some petty cash?"

"Someone is."

"We could do that," he replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Or you could stay here while I go clean up the mess inside, and every time you lay down in the bed I bought, under the roof I earned, you'll rest peacefully, remembering when you chose to walk away."

"Just like some mindless, obedient bitch, right? Why would I go back to that?"

"Some paths are less traveled for a reason."

The air stretched, a tethered tension consuming the room. It seeped into their chest. The words agonized and twisted their thoughts into turmoil, but more than that, it galvanized their wounds. Defenses dissolved into truth. Their face went eerily blank, poised for one direction or the other. Weighing the words against their knowledge. On the cusp of their vision, a shape came with the wind that made the leaves tremble.

Clasping metal, their hand raised, and a gunshot shattered the air. Three heartbeats, then a dull thud and a crack. The sound resonated throughout the new space created; striking the emptiness from their gaze. As they looked down at the man collapsed on the concrete their eyes blazed. Watching him attempt in vain to put pressure over the hole in his chest, mouth gaping open and shut with no utterance. The bullet had hit just under his clavicle.

The color was ripped from his face. As seconds passed his brows set into a hard line, glowering up at what must have been just shapes and bright lights. Slipping into shock and the blissful numbness.

And their veins were white hot. Seething scars lurked in the tremor of their hands. Their knees hit concrete, fingers twirling the barrel of the gun into their palm, and rammed the blunt end down onto his forehead.

A fissure opened in his flesh. Hazed hatred in hard eyes and harder hands, his bloodied fist cloyed upward. Treachery painted their neck, warm and slick, and their insides revolted.

They brought the corner of the grip down once more, grunting with the force of it. That time a wet crackle was heard, tissue and marrow and matter opening like a rift in the earth. His eyes dimmed and shut. Fingers fell limp. Then they brought the gun to his face again, and again, and again. Beating, breaking until all the scars were his and retribution stained their very self, pooling around their knees.

They were left with shivering leaves and limbs, metal clattering to concrete. For a few moments, they thought they could feel everything. Beneath, the ground itself breathed with them. The immeasurable magnitude of their actions soaked the air; acid in their lungs. Stinging, shallow flexes damming their thoughts. The image of his bloodied skull battered and branded into their memory; proof he would no longer torment.

"We have to go." A set of shoes stepped in to view. Welcomed into the washed-out greenhouse; making it sharper.

Their gun was picked up. Then a gentle hand rested on their arm. The light straightened and the emotions drained; a hollowness haunting their eyes.

"Come on," the voice urged softly. "I'll take you out of here for a bit. What's that place you always talk about going to? The one in the mountains. We'll lay low there for a bit, and when we come back everything will be like it should. They know what to do."

It was a trusted sound, the promise of better circumstances. It had to be, coming from the one who had been bound for so long; now unbound and free to bind. The vindication was theirs to share. So they swallowed the bile and butterflies, and took the hand on their arm. Bundled in familiar security, warm with such flattering certainty. There would be no leaving the stranger path.

This little exchange (starting with the sister speaking) during the reunion that would confirm what happened in the flashback:

"At least I killed him on purpose. You're a glorified accountant. Dad would've squashed your guts like an ant. If I'm appalled with what you've become, he's rolling over in his grave."

"As long as he stays there then I don't fucking care."

The meeting basically just confirms all the "who's" and "why's" but not the "how". Sister who wants the business for herself, therefore stopping the truce by getting revenge on the Boss is top on her list.

Some more reconnecting, tied together by a homophobic dad. Then this schpeel by the sister as well for more context.

"I was cursed from birth, just like you. The daughter of a mafioso. There's a mark on my head always. Police want to lock me up, criminals want to use me to prove themselves to their own shitbeat dads, regular people are scared shitless they'll be arrested just for talking to me. You weren't protecting me! You threw me to the wolves! My own sibling..."

"The world took everything from me! Don-"

"No! You did that! You took everything, killing anyone who didn't agree with your grand vision!"

Hadn't decided how the Boss would get out of the meeting, but basically the tension would build cause now you realize the Boss hasn't done much actual killing themselves. But the sister? She' killed her family before; what's stopping her from doing it again now?

More bonding with Baekhyun. Teaching him things. Maybe try and get him to kill someone to prove himself, but he can't go through with it.

Boss is in the greenhouse the morning of the wedding, but Baekhyun is also there, and with a gun to his head, kneeling. Boss of course then pulls their gun on the person threatening their fiancé which is the sister. Then maybe this interaction (starting with the sister speaking.)

"Look at you, so proud to kill me. About to be the big boss who saves the day. Protecting everyone with this fucking contract and this ridiculous fucking sham wedding. You think this'll make things right? Just like killing our fucking dad and throwing me out was right because you "saved" the business? Because you were "protecting" me? There's no redemption for someone like you. No happy, fairytale retirement ending. I'll just be another body you leave behind. Go on, finish me. Send my body to Junmyeon and scatter me to the wind, but it won't change what you are."

Lots of twisted emotions, Boss on the verge of tears.

"...I miss my old sister."

"Of course you do," the Boss replied. "They were much more trusting and naive. Easier to kill."

"What happened to your ruthless energy? You used to have real ambition for this company. Now you want to play cottage lesbian with this dipshit?" A pause. "I'm tired of this bluff. Kyungsoo?"

Kyungsoo appears and restrains the Boss, taking their gun away and maybe holding a knife to their throat, voice in their ear.

"Be a good kitten and shut your mouth, huh? You had your chance." He turns to the sister. "Trade you for the dipshit."

Sister laughs. "He's all yours, love."

Kyungsoo was the mole. Twisty, yes? The irony being the Boss was worried Baekhyun was the honeypot, when Kyungsoo had been all along. Well, from when he actually started sleeping with them. He tried to get the Boss to change their ways, and when they didn't, the sister gave up and and gave in to vengeance.

As Kyungsoo trades, Baekhyun steals a gun from Kyungsoo's holster, presses it to his chest, and pulls the trigger. His first kill.

The Boss uses the distraction to kill their sister. Their final violent act. Both of them standing amidst the blood.

The truce is made, the Boss gets married, and both their souls are now corrupted and damned.

Hadn't totally decided, but if I were to lean toward a happier ending then the Boss would've raised up one of the others (probably Jongdae) to be the new boss, and they'd prove their sister wrong by retiring with Baekhyun to a small house with a garden. Well, they weren't totally happy after everything they'd been through, but they were content.

#exo #baekhyun #kyungsoo #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun fic #baekhyun ff #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic

[pestopascal]

the thread

retribution spoilers. hollow ground thinking, more springing off from my own stuff (and linking to some of my other fics). minor chargestep. spoilers. 1.5k

You barely get the call in time, linked from your main office, but you had a feeling something wasn’t quite right. All the reinforced steel in the world couldn’t seem to hide whatever was happening in the building. Concentrated noise, and even as you pull up cameras to check the halls, you don’t have to guess. 

“Yeah?”

“Logan is on her way to see you.”

I can see that, you think, flicking between the elevator and your floor. Tapping her foot erratically in on the metal. You can’t make out what’s in her hands. 

“Mr Ortega? Sir? She’s—she seemed a bit… off.”

“I’ll handle it.”

Out of your chair, through the door. Quickly, quickly. Had to make it to the elevator before Logan stepped off. Before anyone else got the message to appear. Telling yourself to move faster, faster. A small miracle you made it just as the elevator arrives with ding! and you know you should smile. Maybe school your face into something of mild indifference (especially after your last argument, which still makes you wince).

But Logan is waiting for you. That shouldn’t surprise you, with how she holds a file in her hand, brow raised, face impossibly unreadable. You can only think, this isn’t the person you know. And you have never been more thankful she can’t read your mind.

“Logan—”

“Your office.”

She leads the way, long strides ahead. You are exactly four behind her, and she only stops because you still have the key. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Inside.”

The door barely swings, and she’s fishing something from her jacket. If you had to assume anything, with how she waves it in the corners of the room, it’s to sweep for bugs. But the design is sleek, small. Almost unnoticeable had it not been for how she seems too focused on doing a double-check.

“Logan, stop already, it’s secure.”

File on your desk, device tucked away, before she sighs. Runs her hands through her hair. “Sorry, sorry. Where’s your board?”

“Can you please tell me what’s going on, first? Are you in trouble?” You try to cross the room, but she holds her hands up. Stay back.

“I have something to show you.”

The last time she had said something along those lines, it was a very private twenty-four hours tucked away in her apartment. You know this is nothing like that time, as she cracks her knuckles a little too much to be comfortable. 

“It’s over there.”

Logan is nothing if not efficient in how she pulls it out from behind your desk, and waves you out of the way. Safest place was to sit at your desk, and watch her fiddle. And try not to stare at what was in her file while she situated the board front and centre.

You watch, with a frown, as she places one photo in the middle. Smooths her fingers over the edges, until the blutack was nice and flat, before stepping back. Logan blocked your view, and you had to get up from behind your desk to see what it was she had done.

Time slows down. Strange, you think, as you watch her snap the cap off the marker, looping letters over the photo. Easy, as if second nature. Right over where you had swiped off the name only a week earlier, frustrated, dead end.

H O L L O W G R O U N D

Big. Loud. Right over a photo of Logan. And you know it’s Logan, because you remember every little curve and freckle. Wrapping of scars around her temple. Except. Except. This photo was remarkably unblemished compared to the woman before you. 

Same frightening stare, that went on for years. Same mark, just to the left on her chin. Black eyes, darker hair. Scars did not mark the skin in the way they did for Logan, but the resemblance was uncanny.

You don’t understand.

Logan continues to pop, reseal, pop, the cap of the marker. Up down up down. Clicks filling the empty space, as you try to work out what she was showing you. What it meant. There’s nothing really, no threads that connect her, and… Hollow Ground. That was almost unthinkable (so much so, a small part of you considers that it was in front of you, the entire time).

“How… what?”

“I told you about the Farm.”

“Yeah, but that’s—I don’t—” splutter over your words. Farm. Government. Re-gene. A flurry of information that you thought you had known, understood, until Logan had ripped out the rug from underneath you.

And then you realise, Logan wasn’t talking to you. More photos, more threads. Arrows pointing left, right, up. You don’t recognise any of these people, but you watch as Logan circles faces, explains.

“Handler, had a daughter. She got ‘sick’,” emphasis there, making it obvious, giving you another question, “and he was part of a military ops program. Specialised training, y’know.” Hard red line, dragged down to the face once again.

“Farm, right, gave him a bargaining chip. They’d save her life, he had to do a bit of work for her.” 

Another woman, whose face means nothing to you. Nor does the sheet attached with numbers, code. But you have to keep up, you do. You asked for Logan’s help, and you didn’t mean to push so hard until she snapped. 

Had barked at you, even, about leaving her out of it. Until today, when she slapped a folder on your desk, and started pulling all this information out.

“Except they played him, because he’s a dickhead and easy to manipulate — trust me. Shoved his daughter in a tube and started pulling stuff from her, because they’re also dickheads.”

Slap. A photo of what you would consider the ‘tube’. But it was bigger than anything you could’ve imagined. Cords sticking out of it, trailing off somewhere unseen. Blue hue. Body, hanging in the middle. You can’t see much, but your imagination filled out the rest. 

A scribbled name over the top read Walsh, Billie. “Now, she had a pretty good life up until that point. Except for her mum being bumped off, took the hero pill as a teen, estranged from her father. Convenient for her to go missing, because her dad is off the grid, no other known relatives.”

Circle again. Big line back up to the girl’s father. “And he of course starts getting suspicious, because he hasn’t seen his daughter in years.” A pause, and Logan finally looks at you. “Keeping up?”

“Yeah, I think so.” 

Quick nod. “So he wants out, right. Fulfilled five years of his contract. So they up it. Start cloning her.” Another line is drawn far left, and she sticks another photo up. “This guy, Evan, claims to be a doctor or something, gets involved.

“Fucks around a lot. Makes a bunch of failed clones. Good for experiments.” Logan lets those words hang, and you’ve heard her mention it before. Even Chen had seemed mildly put off by how she insisted experiment, not mistake. 

“So, Billie, she’s pretty damn handy with her brain. Telepathy, yeah? Wanted to hear. So of course,” Logan emphasises this, like you should know and be agreeing entirely, “she’s been listening in to all of this. For years. Years.”

There’s another photo put up now. Not of a face, but a location. Hole blown out the side, and you don’t have to squint to see carnage. Your stomach drops, a little. “That’s—”

“Nevada, yeah. I’m not ‘born’ yet by this stage either, technically. Billie ends up escaping, and it’s fucking bedlam. Somehow they didn’t see this coming. Fuckers.” Last kick of a word, not aimed at you. At the faces.

You don’t want to ask the next question. “How… how does this relate to…?” and you motion, quickly. Middle photo. Logan’s face. Hollow Ground’s face. 

“They didn’t stop the program even though they lost their primary source. Got enough out of Billie to keep going for a long ass time. And they did.”

“So you’re…? And she’s…?”

“This guy,” a stab with the marker over the first man’s face. Ignoring you. “Gets stuck training us. I’m pretty sure he was being conditioned because honestly he seemed fine with it all. They did always have music playing in the labs and stuff.”

“Logan, wait, hang on—“ I’m trying to understand, and you push your way in front of her. “How did you know all this?” Where did you find all of this? You want to ask. Was it just laying about? Right in front of you this whole time, it seemed, and you want to kick yourself. 

She looks at you, and you realise just how carefully she was holding it together. Fragmented, like one false move and she would shatter. “Logan?” 

“Let me finish?”

The minute draws out as you stare. You want to hold her. Like an ache, deep in you, to just want—what? Fix things? Move forward? Look back? No, none of that, you know, batting away those thoughts. You just want to hold her, be there for her. That this didn’t change anything.

“Alright.”

But you step aside. Close, and she breathes a little slower, sticking up another photo as she went. Words not as rushed, as she explains. Lines are drawn, arrows pointing in. Circle, around her face, that woman’s face. It doesn’t change anything, you know.

#fallen hero #fallen hero rebirth #chargestep #ricardo ortega #sidestep #my fic #oc: logan walsh #spoilers

[smokeandjollyranchers]

@catsfeminismchocolate requested Yasha screaming to the Storm Lord and that is my whole ass aesthetic so here we go.

Yasha never loses faith. She’s seen terrible things in her life, she’s experienced many of them firsthand, she literally felt her flesh burn in Hell before she was finally saved. If there’s anything Yasha can attest to, its that she’s full of faith, no matter where he leads her.

Then she gets taken, then Jester and Fjord are taken along with her.

Yasha takes it for granted, her strength, her reflexes. She watches them, these slavers, as they manacle her friends and shove them in a cage, and then they turn on her as well. While they chain her, she finds the Sky above them clear, and she calls for help from her Master, though she receives no answer.

***

They’re not on the road long, Yasha’s rage bubbling just below the surface of her skin. It isn’t easy to remain this angry, but each time she feels herself farther, she only has to meet Jester’s swollen eye, or the white knuckles Fjord’s hands make against his chains and she can taste copper on her tongue once more. She’s waiting, patiently, as she always does, for her moment, for her chance. The Storm Lord never forgot her when she was in Hell, and he will not forget her now. He waits, and so does she, patiently, for retribution.

***

Around the second day of travel perhaps, time passes strangely underneath their magical barrier, light rarely breaking through, they can hear something. It sounds like a struggle around them, there’s sounds of combat, though it’s muffled and hard to break through. There’s a few seconds that come through, and the voice she hears is scared and familiar, and she knows in her heart that Molly is out there, he’s out there and he’s fighting to get her back. Yasha snarls through her gag, pulling at her restraints. They’re here! They’re here and if she can just, escape then they can all get away and—

A shiver trails down Yasha’s spine that nearly cools her rage away from her. She exhales, and watches her breath rise up from her face. Frost? Snow? Already? This isn’t....

She pulls at her restraints again, only to find they’ve been fortified by ice. Fucking magic users! She growls again, trying to smash the restraints against her cage, hoping to shatter them. She works on this for a few minutes before Fjord’s muffled voice starts trying to say her name. She pauses for a few moments, straining to hear around her. There’s some silence, she’s positive she hears Molly’s voice for a second, it’s fleeting, then she hears the voice of the man who took them, with the tattoos and the bald head. “Heh. Respect.”

The following squelch nearly causes Yasha to vomit, and she desperately strains her ears to listen, to hear Molly snarking back at this asshole, to hear his light footsteps as he jumps up on a cart, but she hears nothing, she sees nothing, but in her chest there’s this violent, icy pain that wasn’t there before. Her vision goes red, but she can’t break from these shackles.

There’s a hollowness inside her that her faith can’t fill. Yasha rests her head against her bars as the caravan starts up again. She can feel the tears in her eyes and she hesitates to let them fall.

Not yet.

***

It’s maybe a month later, and Yasha walks from the slavers auction alone, blood dripping from her fingers. Outside, there’s snow on the ground, and a chill on the air that she isn’t quite able to feel yet. Above her, the sky is encompassed by a blanket of thick white clouds. She’s dazed, she can feel in the way her feet step like she’s drunk. She isn’t, she’s just been tortured and they attempted to break her, like they did to Fjord, like they did to Jester, but they couldn’t break Yasha. Not while she has such faith, not while she knew her purpose.

Yasha walks, bloodied footprints leading right to her, but no one comes. They lost Jester in a sale a few towns back. Fjord the town after her. She has a place to start looking for them, she has the freedom to go and find Molly now. The shard of ice in her heart stabs deeper, and tears that never fell start to fill her eyes once more

They’re gone, they’re all fucking gone

Yasha’s eyes go to the sky and she screams. She screams loud, choking on the blood from her rage. She bowls like an animal left for dead, like a child with no mother in a war zone. “You let them die! You could’ve let me help them! You could’ve let me out! Why weren’t you there?! Why couldn’t you help me! I’ve done all you’ve asked of! I’ve done all you ever wanted from me! I....I just needed you. They...they took them. They took Jester, they took Fjord, they killed Molly, my Molly! I...Ive seen hell, and I know pain, but this is nothing compared to that. Nothing! I...I’m alone, and I don’t know what to do!”

There’s no answer for her, as usual, but there is a crack of lightning across the pale sky, a disturbing omen, but she fells the tears fall down her cheeks, and Yasha finally starts sobbing, falling to her knees.

A voice whispers over the wind, barely caressing her hair. I’ve never left you alone. Lean into your pain and find your retribution. Save them. I’m with you.

“It hurts more than death did!”

My dear Fallen, death is relief, love is pain. But pain is retribution, rise now, don’t stop, keep going. Find them.

Yasha sobs again, but she pulls herself up, tears freezing on her face as she looks forward. She sniffs, and she thinks of Molly, she thinks of Jester, she thinks of Nott and Fjord and Caleb, and Beau. She gets to her feet and she screams, skeletal wings bursting from her shoulders as she does.

She’s coming for them. She coming for them all.

#critical role #yasha #the mighty nein #critical role spoilers #there are spoilers!!

[lilynibelung]

Unhealed Scars

The little girl ran as fast as her short legs would take her, her breath coming in sharp ragged gasps.  In her arms she carried a squirrel, the critter surprisingly allowing itself to be carried and not wriggling free of the small child's arms.  The pounding of her heart echoed in her eardrums as she ran, desperately seeking escape from her tormentors.  Shouts and jeering came from just behind her, growing louder despite her attempts to outrun them.  She glanced behind her frantically to see how close they were... a costly mistake that would slow her just long enough.

The first rock clipped her on the shoulder, jolting her with pain and spinning her to the ground.  She fell hard, shielding the animal in her arms protectively to prevent her body weight from crushing the animal.  She felt the sting of a second and third stone as they pelted painfully into her back.  A boy's laughter could be heard before another rose up, then another.  The girl looked up to see the faces of twenty-some older children looking at her.  Soon a chorus of mocking laughter assailed her from the assembled throng, singsong teasing soon following.

"It's just a stupid squirrel!" "'Beast Girl', 'Beast Girl', Hahaha!" "She even looks like one too!"

The little girl whimpered as they approached.  The first impact of a foot in her side caused her vision to blur as the breath was knocked out of her body. The child endured the beatings, her only focus on trying to keep her little charge safe.  Mercifully, the beatings would eventually stop as her tormentors grew bored and wandered off.  She groaned and stirred, red hot pain shooting through her leg.

Somehow, she knew that her leg was fractured, as though she had lived through this moment before.  The pain had been a small price to pay to keep her tiny animal companion safe.  The girl eased into a sitting position and opened her palms.  The lifeless eyes of the squirrel stared back at her, having been smothered in her grip as she was attacked.  A strangled sob escaped the girl as she cradled the little creature's body in her arms.  Unbidden, the darkness crept forward, choking out the light and leaving her in inky silence.

***

The nude Hyur knelt on an obsidian dais, hundreds of images revolving around her in an endless dance.  Like the facets of a gem, the images would fade in and out of focus, each one a different story.  One, a morbol bearing down upon the frightened little girl, threatening to devour her whole.  Terror gripped her heart as the creature opened wide its maw to consume her, but it never came.  Another image appeared, this time a lass with a bandana riding away leaving the heartbroken Hyur behind.  Each moment of pain bit into the woman, carving away a piece of her.

The Hyur wrung her hands as each image spun around her chaotically, each one taking its place to torment her.  Each vision was a single piece in a cacophony of stories.  Some she had experienced, some she had imagined, but all were cruel and painful.  Yet another image flashed into view.  This time, a pale-green-haired Lalafell woman was being beaten by a large Miqo'te with a savage axe while she watched helplessly.  The Hyur reached out a hand desperately towards the image, as though she could somehow alter the course of events with that gesture.

Unable to change anything as the Lalafell was brutalized and beaten near to death, she squeezed her eyes shut.  She jolted with the sound of each impact, felt each blow as they landed on the Lalafell as though each hit was striking her.  Sensibilities overwhelmed, she cried out for someone to help her, to bring her back... but only mocking laughter came back.

When she opened her eyes, the woman was on a dark forest path.  Around her, several indistinct figures closed in.  The dark forms loomed all around the woman, flitting just out of her vision.  Indistinct and devoid of detail, they shifted in and out of focus, ever on the edges of her field of view.  Voices darted in from every which way, the speaker always unseen.  The words were mostly incomprehensible, though bits and pieces were sometimes audible.  There could be no mistaking the tones though, filled with derision and scorn.

"Stupid bitch, look what you did!" "You failed him!  You did this to him!"

The Hyur sat on the bloodstained grass, hugging her knees.  A discarded lance lay nearby, as did the body of an animal - an antelope whose eyes were glazed over in death.  She rocked back and forth, tears streaming down her face unchecked.  Her cheeks were spattered with the blood of the beast, a macabre sight when paired with the whites of her frantic eyes.  The body of an Elezen boy laid nearby, drenched in blood and gored from several wounds.

"You can't do anything right!" "He was a fool to count on you!"

The blonde haired woman quivered on the brink of breaking as the voices closed in around her.  She let out a choked sob as her resolve deserted her. Collapsing to the ground, she curled into a fetal position mewling like a babe.

The silhouettes bore down upon her, arbiters of judgement.  "Please stop..." she pleaded in a whisper over and over again.  The relentless phantoms came as one, chaotic forms beginning to mingle together as each darted in to deliver a barb like a swarm of angry hornets.

The phantom of an emerald haired scholar scoffed: "I'm only your friend because you spread your legs when I ask." A miqo'te in a maid's uniform spat upon her prone form: "You worked me near to death - my illness is -YOUR- fault.” A giant of a Roegadyn bore down upon her, maelstrom armor clanking in the darkness: "You take advantage of how much I care about you - you disgust me!" A spirit veered in, this one with the tall black ears of a viera.  "I cannot fathom why I even had an interest in training you.  You are lackluster in every sense of the word.  You are a mistake.

As one, the phantoms began to chant together, the sound growing until it was a roar despite the Hyur's efforts to cover her ears.

"The sentence is death." "The sentence is death." "The sentence is death."

She heard the hollow sound of metal scraping as swords were removed from their scabbards.  The voices began to crescendo, a chorus of a mob demanding retribution.  As one their chants grew in strength, the volume increasing until the woman could not think, could not breathe.

"Death.  Death.  Death.  Death.  Death."

A skeletal wood wailer grabbed her chin, forcing her to gaze upon her executioner.  Her father.

"Pathetic, useless excuse for a daughter.  I know what you do."  She could feel the scorn in her father's voice as he spat his words at her.

"You spend your time at a whorehouse, fucking anybody that will pay attention to you.  Useless whore, you shame our name.  You're better off to me dead." he sneered.  The man took hold of the colossal claymore at his side, hefting it easily.  The weapon was raised up in an overhead arc before rapidly descending.  She struggled to move, but her body would not obey her.  She could only watch the blade's descent towards her exposed neck.

"NO!  AHHHHH!"

Lily's desperate scream rent the tranquil night's silence.  She bolted upright, panic in her eyes.  Her body was drenched in sweat as were her bedsheets.  She struggled for several long minutes, trying to control her panicked breathing.  Her sunken eyes and the fatigue lines upon her face made the Hyur look absolutely ragged.  Large bags had formed under her eyes accentuating her look and the normally beautiful woman looked quite frail indeed in that moment.

Another night, another nightmare.  It had been several days since she had slept without one disrupting her sleep.  Tears poured down her face as she clutched at the blanket on her bed.  She huddled there, afraid to close her eyes lest the same dream come again to torment her.  She shivered involuntarily, longing for the comfort of touch that would not come.  Her mind wandered back to the events earlier in the evening when she had gone to the Whispered Wish.  Exhausted and seeking comfort in the company of her friends, she had managed to make an absolute mess of things.  Lily thought of Zozola and how terrible she had likely made her feel that evening.  The last thing she had wanted to do was cause pain to her friend, but she had managed to do just that with her callousness.

She found it hard to think, the fog of fatigue and the wild emotions from torturous dreams running rampant through her head.  She looked to her linkpearl, wondering if she should apologize but she quickly decided against it.  Zozola likely didn't want to hear her stupid little voice anyway, was likely regretting her friendship with her even as she sat there in her bed miserable.  Lily collapsed back into her bed shaking.  She -deserved- this, she realized.  This was recompense for a lifetime of failure and disappointments to those that were close to her.  She would find no respite this night, nor the next as she lay there staring unblinking at the ceiling to her chamber.

***

The shadowy creature couldn't help but smirk.  All the pieces were falling into place, and she so loved when a plan came together.  There wasn't much she could do in this accursed prison, but with the Amdaporian magic holding her gaol together finally waning, she was able to send little slivers of her will out.  It was just -so- easy to manipulate the mind of this one, as insecure as she was.  A subtle thought at just the right time, and the woman became a blubbering mess.  She couldn't believe her luck when the little fool had wandered nearby a few days ago.  Possessed of a large quantity of aether but a weak will, it was easy to mark her and keep in contact with her.

And so, the creature had started sending the nightmares - ensuring the woman wouldn't get a full rest's sleep for many days.  As she felt the girl's fatigue begin to set in, she sent a subtle suggestion to her, one that was not easily ignored.  Every day that passed would cause the wretch to slip a little bit further into her delusions, and she wouldn't even be aware.  Her call would not be denied and would ensure that the girl would find her way to her... and when she did, she would be waiting to devour this morsel whole...