THE SYMPHONY OF HELL | shin ryujin.
— WARNINGS; greek mythology au, lazy writing towards the end bc I didn’t know what to put.
“deep in her hollow bones, the pleas of serenity blended with the devils bargain.
the angel on her shoulder was now tainted with immorality. she had stained it with the blood of a sinner; and the crimson replaced the pristinely white purity in an act of great foolishness, and petty intrusion.
a childish urge had bristled thorns into her heart, coaxing a pain that had gone numb with the neglect of feel.
she used her head now, hearts were fickle and thin; an Achilles heel common among every person.
she didn’t want to be Achilles. She wanted to be Medusa.
she wanted a stony gaze that anchored the burliest of men, and the smartest of goddesses. she wanted to settle into the grass, as silent as a cemetery, and sink her fangs into the neck of opportunity.
so, her mouth had now began hissing and spitting with the venomous teeth of a snake; her voice projecting a sweet and unsuspecting poison, that fizzed and burnt on the tongue.
her presence had shifted, from a blinding reflection of sun on the sea, to a shadow among unlit, unexplored, caves.
she’d live in the dark, watching, waiting, ready to pounce.
a chiselled stone piece, blended with the world she had wished to destroy; until it came time for her reckoning to begin.”
the book slammed to a close, pages flickering into a pile, as the hardback cover thudded neatly with the worn, coffee-coloured paper. the eyes of your professor gleamed with excitement, his lips drawn into a thin smile.
“that, my friends, was the story of Shin Ryujin. any hands to be raised for questions?” he spoke gruffly, the leather bound book clasped protectively in his grip still; despite the delicacy of his hold, it was evident that his fingers would tighten periodically. it seemed to be important to the man, not that you really cared.
your eyes slightly rolled, ears turning the inquiries of your classmates into white noise. a few people blabbed on to the man, waiting patiently as he hastily popped their bubbles of question. despite a hollow mind of thoughts, time seemed to be speeding past magically.
“y/n~”
you frowned, sneaking a glance toward the wildly gesturing professor. his body was positioned away from you, chatting animatedly with a girl whom you barely recalled the name of. with a small sigh, and a glance around the room, you soon shrugged off the whisper.
“y/n.” the fuzzed voice called again, a sweet whisper hung below your ear. Your skin felt warm, and thudded by heat every few seconds. your head snapped up hesitantly.
your eyebrows drew together, and your eyes slightly faltered as they darted around. Not a peep sounded, no whispers at the back of the class, no birds chirping their sweet lulls. not a sound.
the people surrounding you seemed frozen, hardened with concrete and glazed with sealant. not a muscle spasmed, not an eyelash fluttered.
“oh little duckling, why do you ignore me?” your body jolted, a jagged breath streaming from your lips.
from the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of tanned skin blooming from seemingly thin air.
“don’t be shy, my love, turn your head to look at me.” the voice spoke, clearer than it had been moments ago. it was sweet sounding, as if the letters falling from its lips were coated in honeycomb.
you heard a string of tuts, and a warm hand quickly cupped your chin.
a smile grew on your face, and you let the warmth guide your chin gently. it cupped your chin with great delicacy, like a butterflies wing feathering along your skin.
“you know I’m busy,” you hummed, fluttering your gaze to her with amusement blooming at the corner of your lips. studying the woman before you, your fingers raise to weave into her hair.
“yeah~” she drawled, melting into your touch. she huffed slightly, licking her frowning lips.
“yeah?” you teased, fiddling with the strands of her hair. her eyes rolled weakly, a transparent veil of faux annoyance within her motion.
“I missed you, I can’t wait anymore.” she whined, childishly flailing her limbs in a fast flurry. an eyebrow raised at the woman, and you looked to the clock on the wall.
“five minutes left, Ryu. five minutes, and I’d be back home to, well, probably cling to you the rest of the day, if I’m honest.” you slightly chuckled at your girlfriend, reminding her subtly of the instantaneous transportation home.
home was the underworld, by the way, as Ryujin had been named the goddess of the kingdom a few years after the setting of the story your professor had told. but that’s a story for another time, and it very much links to how you met her.
“fine. but I’m speeding up time. see you in a second, flower.” she relented, clicking her fingers together audibly, and letting the hands of the clock speedily move time forward. she surged forward for a quick kiss, and vanished as quickly as she appeared.
you fell back into your chair with a chuckle, and soon enough, the scraping of metal yanked you from your blank stare, pulling it instead to the clock hung against the cream wall. the hands had began moving normally again, clucking systematically. your gaze flickered around the room, noting the movement with amused eyes.
“ah, class dismissed.”
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I like the idea of Corvo executing not physical but psychological torture on his targets
Like for example in Flooded District when Corvo escapes he doesn’t make himself known right away, it’s as if he really vanished. No one suspects anything (mostly expecting him still being around Flooded District ready to reach Daud as expected).
It’s tense, yes, but no one is murdered, choked out or disappeared.
Corvo is a master of observation and blending in. Corvo observes, listens, and changes his mask and behavior. Corvo played a perfect whaler. Corvo blended in with them perfectly, he wormed his way into their circle.
In span of a day Corvo played a perfect whaler, uncovering himself when they all least expected it, and while he’s not aggressive or violent, just standing here peacefully, almost relaxed, with absolutely tired face, they feel he’s dangerous. One wrong word or move and he’ll murder without second thoughts.
So all Corvo does is nicely asks for a key to get out of Flooded District, and pretty much for them to disappear from face of Dunwall, because next time to catches at least one of them at periphery of his eyes he’s personally hunting every single of them.
Corvo doesn’t want more bloodshed for this city his Empress loved, he doesn’t want it to be consumed by plague any more as it is, but he’s just a human, he’s tired, he’s so, so tired and angry and it takes all his willpower to stare in eyes of a murderer and not to become one himself.
Corvo takes the key from Daud’s hand, sends him one last tired warning stare and leaves to save his daughter and a crumbling empire. Corvo’s hands are completely clean unlike Daud’s, and it takes everything not to paint his into same red.
But that doesn’t mean he can’t torture people with their own minds.
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