MSPA Fanfiction VII: End of Thread 6 Flash

[ArcFour]

Okay, here is one I did by request; enjoy, all!

Guide of Dreams

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What would it take for things to be Quiet?

What would you have to do?

You are the Guide of Dreams, and you don’t have the answer.

You yearn for a Silence in sleep that has eluded you for a very long time. You had it, once. You’ve tried to describe it to your friends, but metaphors only serve to cheapen the memory, to filter the pureness of the feeling into something that only pales in comparison to the true thing.

But you try.

The Stillness of the night in repose. The Quiet of the snow, softly falling. The Calmness of a breath, held gently in preparation.

Faulty metaphors, but beautiful and descriptive in their own way.

Your Sleep was once something like that, something still and quiet and calm, filled with an immense, soft nothing that you took for granted in your younger years.

But the Game took that from you (as it would, years later, take everything else from you and your friends).

The Dreams came, and stole the Silence away.

Dreams of amethyst labyrinths and black shell, wicked teeth and shaded looks. Dreams of golden towers and ivory hands, gentle eyes and respectful bows. Dreams of flight, through purple and gold and an infinite black, and through it all the ever present Shine of something Infinite (a blue and white sun, a sphere of Potential, a prize to be won).

And through it all, the ever present Warnings.

Warnings that came from Darkness, Warnings that came from the Light. Warnings that wHiSpErEd from the writhing chaos, and Warnings that Shined from the drifting clouds.

You had been Chosen. To Prepare, and in Preparing, Lead your friends on the Path. That is your Quest.

You just wanted the Quiet back.

But you tried. You did what you could, even if your friends didn’t believe you (and they wouldn’t, not until the Game stole everything from them as it had from you), you tried. And for all that it seemed pointless, it helped; as soon as the Game was underway, they understood, and with a speed that shocked you (despite the whispers and visions telling you that it would happen exactly this way) they snapped into action.

Every desperate thing you tried to tell them was suddenly remembered, and they looked to you to Guide them (with remorse in their eyes, as they understood that they should have listened before, but you always understood; how could they have believed you?).

And you Guide them. In waking and in sleep, through Planets and across the Medium and through your Dreamselves that fly through Amethyst and Amber, you Lead, to the best of your ability.

Until one day, your Dream lives are stolen from you (by an agent of black, by a treacherous plot, by the machinations of an Archagent).

You lose them, and in losing them, for a brief moment, you almost hope that you might have found the Silence once more.

You should have known better. And in time, in the writhing, formless chaos that lay Furthest from Skaia, in the eldritch arms of beings of a scope beyond anything you’d ever known before, you begin to learn.

Your Dreams bring you to something akin to Hell, now, but you still learn.

Because that is your Quest.

And these things, these horrors from beyond time and space, they know things. Things you need to know, so that you can continue to Lead.

But it hurts. And every day you feel like breaking down. Every night you feel like letting go, and you wonder if the endless ocean of Insanity is preferable to this.

You wonder if Madness is quiet.

But you are needed, and it keeps you from the edges of insanity.

Because your suffering is for a purpose.

And in time, through the efforts of your friends, and the knowledge you have obtained, and trials you have overcome, you find the end of the Path.

The Ultimate Alchemy.

A new world.

You enter it, and Guide your friends into their new home.

And when you sleep, all you feel is the blessed, wonderful Quiet.

You are the Guide of Dreams.

And you have found your Silence once more.

There we go! I thought the Title sounded pretty interesting, so I decided to try it out. Others will be written soon.

[eruditeColossus]

Chapter 13 of Frontierstuck: Death.

No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold
Nothing satisfies me but your soul.

O Death

Why you make me feel sad.

E: Good chapter though

[ArcFour]

Okay, Aldaris, here it is; the Heir of Embers!

Extra Class: The Heir of Embers

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I am the Heir.

And Life has taught me a Truth.

The Game was nothing new to me. Betrayal, loss, and death? I had experienced all long before the Game even made itself known to me (and in the end, the Game was far less cruel than Life’s constant pain).

The betrayal of those I thought were friends (but instead were simply playing a simple orange blooded girl for a fool, using her and throwing her to the wolves).

The loss of everything I loved (through flame and ash, the burning smell of feathers and meat and the panicked cries of her lusus trying to reach her but falling to ash and dust in the end, as everything burned around her).

And the death that claimed me through fire (but they thought it would keep her, they thought that Death would stay her revenge, but even the darkness of What Came After couldn’t hold her for long).

They thought that Death would stay my hand, but I have always been a creature of the Flame (and from the embers and ashes of her death she would rise, and her incorporeal hand would lead to an Inferno that would leave all of her enemies as nothing but ash).

When the Game arrived, it stole everything from those who knew me (and though they were not her friends, they were not her enemies, either; the fires of her enmity were not for them).

But it took nothing from me (for everything had already been taken from her. Betrayal, loss, and death were all she had left).

Not at first, at least.

But later, it found a way to hurt me (to burn her, to give her life once more, to make her rise from the ashes as a Goddess, but to take from her those who in the fires of Sgrub became her friends).

We had almost won, but the Game stole that from us (and in doing so, Life took one more thing from her. Betrayal, loss, and death were, once more, all she had).

Now I drift, alone, alive, and Doomed (but there is a path to be taken, a goal to be reached, a Darkness beyond the Medium through which she can leave and enter other worlds, other universes).

I have a Path to take, and so I have made a decision (a decision forged by flame and ash, a decision formed by the pains and tortures of Life, a decision made in the Inferno).

I am the Heir of Embers (the Phoenix risen from the ashes of defeat, the Goddess who would inflict the Inferno upon all who do not understand, the Herald of the Flames that will come from the endless Embers of her power).

And I have learned a Truth (a Truth to be shared through flame, a Truth to be understood only in the ashes of the end, a Truth that was taught to her by the hellfire of Life).

Listen well, observers (listen closely, all who observe, and heed her words, for they will soon become more relevant than you could possibly imagine).

And understand the Truth.

In the end…



EVERYTHING BURNS.

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I had that last line on my head ALL DAY. Seriously, the moment that line came to me, the whole thing just came together in a snap. I decided, rather than trying to use Singe (which is a hard word to use seriously!) to go with Embers, because it is very metaphorical to me (it's what is left after the flame, but it is dangerous in its own right, able to start a brand new fire if left unchecked).

In other news, I once had this idea for a long fic, detailing four separate sessions, each dealing with a different set of four children from a different race (Humans, Trolls, Bahts, and Lurkers, the last two obviously being made up by me). Each of the sets of kids had an Heir; the Heir of Pulse, the Heir of Flow, the Heir of Beats, and the Heir of Embers, and due to major glitches in each session, the four sessions were very intertwined in strange ways.

The idea quickly became unworkable, but I haven't completely put aside the idea of applying my own headcanon ideas of how the Game works to an actual narrative, and I still like the ideas I had for the Bahts and Lurkers, so I may well resurrect that idea in the future.

Really, though, the best part of it all was that Problem Sleuth was going to be a character; the Prospitian Spymaster, the counterpart to the Archagent.

And later on, I will elaborate on a theory I have about the Archagent, and how he relates to the Game's strange trait of White always losing.

[mutecebu]

The Note Which Desolation Plays

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GT: these are my neighbors, who live in a lot of same looking houses as mine.
GT: i never see them. i think they're all really busy people with a lot of serious business to attend to.

They did it. Finally. After copying Kanaya’s genetic code, they reconstructed their own universe, exactly like it was. The last foes vanquished, the last challenges completed, the four step through the door, together. As the light dims they find themselves blinking John’s house. The building is clean and fully intact, the imps’ work undone. Alone, without their guardians, and feeling years older, the friends step out into the sun, and for the first time, really look.

The same simple, geometrical houses, all alike, repeat as far as the eye can see. Like an entire city of lego homes, or perhaps a computer-generated mockery of one.

Every single building was empty.

Wind skims the voids keeping neighbors apart, as if grazing the hollow of a cut reed, or say, a plundered mailbox. A familiar note is produced. It's the one Desolation plays to keep its instrument in tune.

A/N

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Why do I do this? I don't even know.
I even had this idea before John and Vriska's "dream-date"

[Domoz]

And here I go getting back into the swing of things and starting up a new fic without finishing my last one first.

When the Sun Goes Down

It's one of those deals where the hemospectrum is flipped, as a warning.

[SkaianRedeemer]

And here I go getting back into the swing of things and starting up a new fic without finishing my last one first.

Well that's just irresponsiREAD TROLL BATMAN


That was an great closing line, but your paragraphs are still such a mess.

[Rimbaum]

It keeps happening!

Cataclysm Children: Chapter 3 Warning: Dave/Rose

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As always, purple prose and UST is over on AO3

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I think this thing is going to be coming close to an end here pretty soon! I'd say not too much more than a small handful of chapters, if that.

[Domoz]

And here I go getting back into the swing of things and starting up a new fic without finishing my last one first.

Well that's just irresponsiREAD TROLL BATMAN


That was an great closing line, but your paragraphs are still such a mess.

Does flips and ollies out.
It's not my fault this time I swear! Google docs and my un-updated firefox seem to be miffed with each other so copy-pasting has to be done in this ridiculous double reacharoud fashion and it kind of really ridiculous and screws up a lot of formatting! It should be fixed now, though.

[SkaianRedeemer]

I would still prefer full paragraphs, myself, but that IS better.

[Shinji Shazaki]

Hahaha! I finally couldn't beat out having to go to work! This has technically been up on AO3 all day, but now I've got the DA version up as well!

Chapter 14 of Frontierstuck: Reasons to Go on Living.

In which lives continue on through chaos.

Enjoy.

ETA: I made a Frontierstuck blog. For asks and funsies.

[PingZing]

So I know it's been a while, but I think you guys are read for some...

Hot Blooded: Chapter 16

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Tarfus awoke.

Which was strange, because he didn’t recall falling asleep. His eyes shot open and darted around for an instant, before he remembered where he was.

Still in the Empress’ compound. Still in the same dirty recuperacoon, suffering from the same screaming pain in his left wrist. It was considerably less muffled pain now that whatever drugs Auva had been pumping into him had worn off. He groaned, and turned the thousand-pound weight attached to his neck that his head had apparently turned into to take stock of his injuries. All he could see lying down at this angle was his wrist, elevated by a sling suspended from a slender metal pole rising from the side of the recuperacoon. He attempted to lift his head up to get a better view of the rest of his body. His neck twitched gamely, and succeeded in raising his head an inch or two from the inclined surface of the recuperacoon before shuddering mightily and giving in. His head thumped back against the slimy surface beneath him, sending stars and throbbing pain racing through his cranial thinkpan case.

“Fuck,” He groaned. Getting out of this thing was going to be one hell of a job, he realized. No time like three seconds ago to get started on it.

He would just…rest a little. Marshal his strength. Maybe just close his ocular orbs for a moment…

He started awake some time later. He glanced at the window and cursed when he saw the shades were drawn and the room was aglow with diffuse sunlight. So much for resting his eyes. A thin dagger of sunlight pierced the gap between sunshade and window, and the floor it rested upon was steaming gently. Tarfus stared for a moment before shaking his head and slapping himself in the face.

Wake up, he thought. Middle of the day is perfect right now, no one else will be awake.

He groaned and drew his legs underneath him before standing up. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his right hand and reached to the recuperacoon’s edge with his left to steady himself. A sharp burst of pain rocketed up his wrist and he reflexively cringed and clutched his left arm to his chest. Hissing in pain, he looked down to see what was wrong with his hand.

Oh right, he thought. It’s gone.

A wave of vertigo washed over him and, having learned from his previous mistake, he grabbed the edge of the recuperacoon with his right hand this time.

Food, he thought as his digestive sac rumbled. I need food.

Grimacing at the motion, he turned around and sat down on the edge of the recuperacoon. He braced himself by holding on with his right hand and slowly swung his legs out of the ‘coon’s sleeping chamber. He clenched his eyes shut and ground his teeth together as his tortured muscles sang twin melodies of soreness and stiffness, but persevered until they were free. He let his legs drop to the floor and slid onto them, panting.

Now for the hard part; walking. He leaned his full weight onto his legs, and cursed as one gave out and sent him crashing to the floor. Reflexively, he tried to stop his fall with his hands, and jerked when agony coursed through his stump. The elbow on his good arm cracked into the floor, and he rolled onto his side, shivering.

Get it through your goddamn thinkpan, he thought savagely. You don’t have a left hand anymore.

He shook his head and got to his feet again. The slime coating his naked body had picked up all sorts of dirt from the floor. His wrist was throbbing fiercely and weeping a thin stream of blood. He curled his lip in disgust and tried to ignore the pain while looking about the room. Unless he was much mistaken, it was the same room he had awoken in earlier. The slime that had covered the floor after he’d drained the recuperacoon was suspiciously absent, but the layout was the same, and all his meager possessions were here. The uniform he’d worn earlier, already looking the worse for wear with sickle slashes and blood spatters covering it. He winced as he noticed the left sleeve was shorter than the right. The other uniform he’d taken from the laundry block was next to it, resting atop a clean towel. And on top of the fresh uniform, was a colorful disc of some kind.

He walked over to the table with his uniforms atop it and scowled when he realized the disc was one of his revolutionary insignias. He rifled through the pockets of the dirty uniform, and came up with the insignia he’d taken from Corvus. Auva must have left the other one. He shook his head, and toweled himself off before dressing. He snarled and cursed at the uniform’s buttons as he struggled to do them one-handed, and eventually succeeded. He picked up the two insignias he’d set aside and tossed them up and down in his hand thoughtfully for a moment before pocketing them both. Who knew, maybe he’d find some fanatical anti-Imperial sap here that he could recruit.

He chuckled darkly before crossing to the door. On the stool beside it were his boots and his (freshly-cleaned, he noted with some surprise) sickle. He shrugged, stuffed his feet into his boots and shoved his sickle through his belt. He refused to think about the implications of his sickle being returned in pristine condition after what he’d done. If he did, he’d be forced to confront the fact that he had twice now attempted to assault the Empress and wasn’t even imprisoned, much less being horribly tortured at the hands of the infilterrogators.

His current situation was certainly preferable. But it also confounding, probably unprecedented, and much, much better than simply being handed off to the subjuggalators. Tarfus shuddered. Those creepy, clowny bastards terrified him on some gut level he wasn’t able to entirely explain. He’d heard stories about what happened to their prisoners, and had precisely zero desire to learn the truth behind the rumors firsthand.

…and that was why he didn’t want to think about his situation. It got his thinkpan tied in knots, and he just wasn’t prepared to put up with that sort of shit before he’d gotten a hot meal inside himself.

Clamping down on his whirling thoughts with a snarl, he donned the rest of his clothing and stumped out of what he was beginning to think of as his block, and into the hallway. As he suspected, there was nobody about, and even with the curtains drawn on the thin, high-set windows, the light was nearly blinding. Squinting, he felt his way along the wall until he found the slightly-recessed rectangle that marked the entrance to the servants’ passages. He fumbled the door open clumsily and staggered inside, glad for the sudden, pervasive gloom. He shut the door behind him and as his eyes adjusted, found the stairways no less trafficked than normal. Clothes always needed washing, papers always needed fetching, and blocks always needed scouring after all.

Tarfus made his way down the stairs on a hunch, ignoring the strange looks he got, glaring at those who stopped and stared too long. He knew it was a stupid idea, and that rumors would spread of a one-handed madman with too-red eyes, but he didn’t care anymore. Maybe a little infamy would even be good for him.

He made his way to the floor he remembered finding the laundry block on, and decided to take a moment to read the signs posted at hallway intersections. He’d disdained them before out of impatience, but at the moment, he had no desire to walk any further than he absolutely had to.

After a moment’s consultation of the signs on the wall, he swung a right. His hunch had paid off, and the kitchens were in fact on this level. If he was lucky there’d even be some sort of servants’ nutrient consumption block. Failing that, he’d just beat the chefs until they relented and gave him food.

He followed the smell of cooking and burst through a pair of swinging doors, fully prepared to break some heads in order to get his hands—Hand, he corrected himself—on some food, when he stopped dead.

Well.

At least he’d found out why none of the servants he’d seen so far had had lusii accompanying them.

They were all in here, cooking.

It certainly wasn’t the strangest thing he’d ever seen. That time he and his squad had broken in on a brownblood and his kismesis…roleplaying…still held that dubious distinction. But this, this was still pretty strange. The monstrous menagerie bustling back and forth somehow managed to avoid getting snagged on the others’ various limbs, claws, wings or viscous acidic effluvia. The ease with which they avoided each other spoke of long practice doing so, and it baffled Tarfus. He’d never seen, much less imagined that lusii could work together in such a manner. If he’d known, the things he could’ve done with his squad’s lusii…

He shook his head. That was neither here nor there. He moved forward and reached forward to lift the lid off the nearest thing that smelled appetizing—or tried to. His hand was slapped aside by a giant scorpion-lusus’ tail. He glared at the lusus, bemused, as it jabbed a claw, pointing to Tarfus’ right. He saw a doorway leading to a small block, in which a few bleary-eyed servants were lined up, trays in hand. Tarfus blinked once, before shrugging and joining the back of the line. No sense arguing with the creature armed with giant claws for hands and a tail tipped with a venomous stinger.

After several minutes of shuffling forward and studiously ignoring any and all furtive glances directed his way, he somehow found himself with a tray of delicious-smelling slop. He made his way to a table, and dug in with gusto. After a spoonful or two, he stopped to taste the food he was eating, and frowned.

I should’ve been an imperial servant, he thought, This is way better than the shit they gave us grunts.

Somebody sat down across from Tarfus with a tray of their own. He ignored them, and kept his eyes down, intent on satisfying his ravenous hunger. He stubbornly refused to meet the other’s gaze until he had finished every probably-nonfatal bite of his meal. Once he had licked the bowl and spoon clean, he looked up.

“Look, if you’re not gonna eat that, you sh—” , he began before stopping abruptly. His glare intensified. “Madris. Th’ fuck are you doing here?”

Auva’s visage remained placid, as she took a dainty bite of the food on her tray, before making a face and putting her spoon back down. “The Empress requests your presence in one hour at front entrance to the compound.”

Tarfus sputtered. “What the fuck? Why?!”

Auva looked away. “I’m afraid I cannot say.”

Tarfus’ glared. “Can’t? Or won’t?”

Auva looked up and met his eyes. “Yes.”

She then stood up without a further word, turned, and left.

Tarfus’ glare slowly morphed into a pensive frown. Just what had he found himself entangled in?

Notes

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So this one took a while! Between having to deal with classes again, midterms, and (to a lesser degree) the ancestor updates a while back forcing me to rework my outline pretty significantly, I had a hard time finding motivation to work on this sucker. However, I finally finished this chapter up tonight, and while it's probably not obvious just yet, I am approaching a pivotal point! Stay tuned.

[SkaianRedeemer]

Both of you got guts releasing anything in the hemisphere-shading moon-shadow of the EOA, and the subsequent wave of reaction fics it foretells! I'm going to have to catch up later today, when the opportunity presents.

[PingZing]

Oh dear. I hadn't even considered that. Oh well, no biggie.

[SkaianRedeemer]

It's not so bad. In fact, I take it back. I just re-read the spoiler policy after some discussion in Image Manip, and it probably applies here, too. In fact, let's repeat that.

FOLKS. END-OF-ACT SPOILER POLICY ALMOST CERTAINLY APPLIES HERE, TOO.

I'm gonna PM Blueberry just to be sure, but NotASenator is being pretty universal with his few clarifications.

So sorry about the post about response fics. I didn't know at the time, but now it's pretty clear. At midnight, the mods have unleash their seasonally-themed army of attack pumpkins, and if you mention the content of the end of act, you will never see them coming.


So back on topic:

@PingZing: Caught up! I'm glad you're back.

[Red Pen]

Yet another chapter of that fanfic where Rose becomes Jack Noir's therapist. Not a lot of therapy happens in this thing anymore, does it? But there's really no time for that kind of thing when you're in the midst of the final battle! I expect this whole fic will wrap up in another chapter or two.

This story is also on AO3!

Previously, on Unhinged...
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

Unhinged - part 19

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Rose's eyes remained closed. Body still, breathing deeply as if she was still asleep, the girl listened to the distant sounds of LoLaR: the patter of rain and the wash of waves on white sand. There was movement nearby. One of the imps guarding her she assumed, and as still and quietly as she could, her fingers twitched and plucked the Thorns of Oglogoth from her sylladex.

One blast of magic should do the trick. A quick, low sweep to sever their heads, and she'd be free. Fists clenching, Rose took one last deep breath and jolted upright.

The crisply laundered sheets of her bed caught her arms on the way up, throwing off her aim, and a crackling sliver of fiery violet magic shot out from the tips of her wands in a crooked crescent. In a split second it had obliterated her totem lathe, slashed through her writing desk, and spiraled outward towards the bewildered form of John Egbert standing in her doorway, holding a silvery package of untoasted poptarts. With a sudden rush of wind that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, he jumped it, and the magic passed harmlessly under him and dissipated.

John landed, overbalanced, and wound up sitting down hard on the carpet just inside. "Haha, wow. That could have sucked!"

Rose recapatchalouged her wands and quickly disentangled herself from her cocoon of bedding. "Oh dear, John, I'm so sorry!"

He grinned at her and took her proffered hand, and she pulled him to his feet. "Yeah Rose, what's the deal? I'm kind of still planning on using these legs, don't try to chop them off like that. Dick move."

She opened her mouth for some scathing comeback, and was cut off as she found herself suddenly wrapped in John. Never before had a hug smelled so strongly of petroleum and stale birthday cake.

"This is one of those platonic, no psychoanalyzing allowed kind of hugs," he informed her, the frame of his glasses pressing awkwardly against the side of her face for a moment as he squeezed her warmly and pulled away again. "It's just really really good to see you awake right now, Rose."

A small smile flickered across her face. "Alright. No psychoanalyzing that one."

With a proud flourish, John bestowed upon her the packet of poptarts he'd been holding. "So, breakfast! My dad says it's the most important meal of the day, and you've been asleep for a while, so, y'know." His grin slipped a bit. "I was actually just coming to wake you up. We're waaaay out of time over here."

She nodded, and absentmindedly pulled open the silver wrapper. Apple Streudel, a flavor which she hated, but which her mother purchased because plain strawberry was far from good enough for her little Rose. She bit into a poptart, and for this one odd moment, it was delicious. "On my end as well. I assume you retrieved me from the imps that were guarding me earlier?"

"Yeah, I Rambo'd their asses."

"Rambo isn't a verb, John."

"Wait, yeah, Rambo doesn't even use a hammer."

Rose rolled her eyes. "I'd ask what's been going on, but I really don't have time. I need to get to Derse before Jack Noir finds and slaughters me." In this body at least she had game experience and powerful weapons, she could defend their dreamselves and give them a chance to escape. "Dave's..." Rose paused. "...Have you heard from Dave lately?"

John shrugged and fell into step beside her as she began walking swiftly through the house. "Davesprite and I had this fight, and we made up and all but I've kind of been avoiding him. Is Dave okay?"

"John, I think he's dead."

She met his suddenly wide eyes and quickly added, "I don't know for sure! But his dreamself is injured, so I suspect something drastic has happened to his real body. I don't have time to call in and check. As I said, I need to get to Derse now. If a dreamself is all he has left, I'm going to protect it."

"Holy crap."

"That seems like an appropriate reaction."

They started down the stairs into the main foyer of the Lalonde household, footsteps and voices muffled by expensive rugs and modern white furniture. "I'll get Davesprite on Pesterchum," said John, taking the stairs two at a time to keep up with Rose's hurried strides. "Man, that stupid fight! If I hadn't been an idiot and made him mad while you guys were in danger, I'd know about this already!" He activated his iGlasses, and Rose saw a series of questions begin scrolling across the screen in blue. She finished the last bite of her poptart and stepped through the front door, uncapatcholouging her wands again as the sand crunched against her feet.

"John, I'm leaving now."

"Wait!" He looked up from his conversation and grabbed her sleeve. "We don't have time!"

"I know, but if I don't try-"

"No, I mean we REALLY don't have time," John said in a rush. "Do you know how long it takes to get to Derse?" Rose shook her head, and John continued, "I've only been out as far as the Veil, and it took me like half an hour to get back from there on the fastest rocketboard alchemy can buy. And that's the halfway point, so I figure it's about an hour, tops?"

Rose frowned slightly, as her mind did the mathematics and she realized that days could have passed on Derse by the time she arrived.

"Plus you're just using magic, which has gotta be way slower than actual rockets, and Jade's timer has five minutes."

Rose shrugged his hand off, slightly angered by the stupid futility of it all. "Why should that matter?"

"Because in five minutes either Jack gets prototyped again, or Jade dies! That's why I was gonna wake you up just now. To warn you that he was about to get a lot more powerful. And none of us can go with you to help fight him, 'cause I've got to get Jade into the Medium and Dave's... down for the count, I guess." He bit his lip. "'And, uh... remember Bec?"

"Oh John, you didn't."

"I didn't have to! He just jumped in by himself! Whoa, hold on." A line of orange had flashed across his glasses, and John immediately turned his attention to it.

"Really, John, Bec?"

"Yeah, I know, I messed up, lemme just hear from Davesprite, okay?"

"Bec?"

"Apparently a house fell on Dave," John announced rather loudly. When it looked as though Rose's cold look wasn't going to stop boring into him any time soon he added, a little apologetically. "And Davesprite says hi. And then he cussed you out for getting kidnapped."

"Do return the sentiment," Rose said icily. "How's our Dave?" For all her insistence that she was in a hurry, she really did desperately want to know.

"Don't call him that, Rose, it hurts orange Dave's feelings."

"John."

"Right, well, he's not dead yet." There was an hopeful tone about that "yet" that released some of the tightness in Rose's chest. "Davesprite's doing his sprite healing thing, but..." Another line of text, and he added, "He says we gotta keep Dave's dreamself alive. If this doesn't work that's pretty much his extra life."

"I suspected." She gave John a hopeless look. "If I had the skill to use Dave's time equipment safely, or some method of warping through space... But I suppose I just have to leave now, hope I get there before anyone finds where Dave and I are hiding, and plan on fighting a fully prototyped Jack?"

Surprisingly, John's face lit up at that. "No way! I think I know what to do." He grabbed her sleeve again, and Rose had a split second to wonder if John even understood the concept of personal space before she was being dragged through the house again, up the stairs and down the hall toward the observatory and the door to the roof.

"Just because you don't have time to fly there with magic doesn't mean we can't get you there in time! I know a transporti-thingy near here that goes straight to the Veil. And from there we just need to get all the fastest stuff we can think of and alchemize you something awesome."

"John Egbert, let go of my sleeve. I sincerely doubt that randomly alchemizing 'fast' objects together, with no time to experiment and no margin for error, will give us anything remotely close to-"

"We're the good guys, Rose. It has to!"

Posed over Rose's alchemiter like the most theatrical of mad scientists, John fired up the machine. Rose at last gave a resigned sigh. "Alright, fearless leader, we've got less than five minutes. Let's alchemize."

- - - - - - - - - -

One of the children was bleeding.

Jack Noir followed the trail as if in a fog, the edges of the world shifting dizzily around him, his eyes fixed on those spattered drops of red spotting the tile. Probably the boy. Hope it's the girl.

He swayed, tried to catch himself with a phantom limb, and his shoulder struck the wall heavily. Damn it. Damn her. Damn everything. Pretty women with their sickly sweet words and their promises they never kept. Should have killed her when Draconian brought her in, cut out that sharp tongue, blinded those level, judging eyes, wrapped his fingers around the coal-black chitin of her neck until it cracked, wait, no, damn it.

Jack pushed himself upright again with his other arm, rubbed the heel of his hand against his aching eyes, and kept walking.

The sparse drops of blood were turning into streaks, smears, clear footprints winding away into the corridors of the palace. The Sovereign Slayer walked dazedly past a pawn trying to scrub it up, and idly severed its arms with his sword.

Should have known she'd turn on him. They'd all been plotting against him, the whole kingdom, ever since he killed their queen. They could have their traitor's reward.

The trail ended at the door to Rose's old cell. Stupid girl, he thought, and tried the handle only to find that it was locked. She gets away and goes running right back to her prison. He could break the door down, but... But as he stood there in the doorway again, the same place where he'd first met her in person, some of the bloodlust drained from him. He was so tired. He just wanted to kill her and be done.

"All that and you just end up where you started," he called out hoarsely, leaning his arm against the door and pressing his forehead to the smooth wood. "Open the door, Lalonde."

There was no answer from inside.

"Open it, girl," Jack hissed, clenching his hand into a fist around the hilt of his sword, feeling the ring burn against his palm, his brain burn against the back of his eyes. "I kept my end of the bargain, now you can damn well die and keep yours."

Still there was nothing but silence from beyond the door. Angrily, Jack pounded his fist against it. "We had a deal! You do what I say and I keep you alive! I gave you everything, made you my archagent! I trusted you over my own damn crew, let you worm into my head like a pretty little parasite, and you can't even keep that one goddamn promise!! I gave you everything!"

His ring sparked with light, and he punched the door, furiously. "I gave you EVERYTHING, woman!! Listened to everything you said and believed it! Wore your colors, spread your goddamn propaganda, believed all your bullshit promises, well GO TO HELL, YOUR HIGHNESS! Your word ain't worth SHIT!!"

In a blast of red light the door flew off its hinges and went smashing through the barricade of furniture beyond. The armchair that had be leaned up against it hit the floor with a loud crash, and Jack stepped inside the reading room, face twisting into a livid scowl.

"Queen's word ain't worth shit," he murmured as he stepped over the toppled chair, the splintered door still flickering with tongues of orange flame. "Always making promises she didn't intend to keep." No, not the queen's word, Lalonde's word. The queen was long since dead. Wake up, Jack, they'll kill you if your head's like this.

Blood was smeared across the other armchair, fresh and wet and red against the royal violet, but there was no one here. They hadn't escaped through the door; there was no trail of blood leading away again. The Sovereign Slayer's eyes darted quickly around the room and landed on the armchair standing against the far wall. In one quick, savage motion, he lunged forward with a tentacle and shoved it aside to reveal the crouching form of Dave Strider, a sleeping Rose Lalonde slung piggyback across his shoulders.

Chalk white, drenched in icy sweat and hemorrhaging blood from some gaping wound under his shirt, Dave looked up stoically and met the Dersite's eyes. "H-hey. Little privacy?"

"Die," Jack snarled, and raised his sword.

"You first," Dave answered, and he leapt forward and with a flash of white, buried a gleaming Regisword up to the hilt in Jack's chest.

The Knight's hands released the hilt almost disbelievingly, and he left the sword where he'd stabbed it and stumbled out of the room.

Jack Noir's black seppuku sword clattered to the ground, and he stood there for a moment, gaping, arm still raised. When seconds had passed and there was no pain, he seized the haft of the sword and yanked it viciously out. "Already a hole there you little brat!"

He picked up his own sword and shoved it back into his chest. Tectrix still in hand, and sprinted after the two children. Dave had already carried Rose a ways down the hallway, panting loudly and painfully with every step he took. His head whipped around just in time to see Jack chasing after him, and with a shouted explicative he ducked. An arc of power lanced through the air above his head and left a stench of charcoal and ozone in its wake.

Stupid kids, betrayers, liars. Poisoning his food, poisoning his head, he'd kill them both and end it. Kill them both, and everyone else who was plotting against him, and god damn it he was tired, but once all the traitors were dead he could sleep...

The ring was on fire against Jack's hand, but he gritted his teeth and ignored it. Kings didn't feel pain. "I said die!" he screamed, and another blast of light danced from the ring, feeling as though it was ripping the Slayer's nerve-endings out along with it. Dave, too weak and weighed down to get away in time, seized Rose and threw her from his back, out of harm's way. The rope of red light punched straight through the middle of his chest.

The boy looked down, expressionless, at the hole burnt cleanly through his pajamas, skin, muscle, bone, organs, and most of the wall and floor behind him.

Behind his sunglasses his eyes moved to Rose, who was still sleeping soundly sprawled out across the floor, and back to the Dersite stalking toward him with the boy's own Prospitian blade in his hand. This was good. This was being in control again. This was being a king.

"You're dead," said Jack, a cruel, short-lived smile crossing his face. He reached out and gave the Knight a gentle shove, and Dave toppled and lay sprawled on his back, sunglasses askew. His wide eyes flickered around in a panic: the spasms of a brain that hadn't realized its body was dead. Jack leaned over him.

"How does that feel, knowing you lost? Can't stop me, can't protect her, you're dead." He shifted the sword in his hand. "I'm going to kill her slowly. With your sword. One cut for every manipulative word, one cut for every lie, and so many of those were about you."

"Don't-" Dave gasped. "Don't... wake her up yet. She can't wake up yet... Not 'til she gets here... don't..."

The Sovereign Slayer kicked him. "Shut up."

He wrapped a tentacle around the waist of the still-sleeping Rose and hoisted her into the air, until her feet dangled a few inches above the floor. Dave made some weak noise of protest, but by then, Jack was already walking away.

He dragged Rose through the hallways of the palace, unsure of where he was going save for the fact that it had to be important. Ritualistic. The throne room, maybe; he would execute her with dignity, somewhere public where everyone would see and know and fear. The fuzziness of sleep deprivation was swimming in the corners of his vision, and his ring was burning hotter and sharper as time went on. It left him with a racing heart and an uneasy disorientation, like the edge of a fever or the end of a fall, that split second of adrenaline before hitting the ground. But maybe that was the exhaustion as well.

Rose shifted slightly in her sleep.

"Hey scarface, let go of my sort-of-vaguely-semi-sister!"

It was Dave Strider's voice. Jack spun around to see the boy standing in the hallway behind him. His glasses were hanging wildly from one ear, and through the massive hole in his chest the Dersite could see all the way to the far end of the hallway. But Dave was smirking triumphantly.

"You're dead," Jack stated blankly.

"I'm in pretty good shape for a zombie, then," Dave stated casually. "Gonna have to beat the undead ladies off with a stick. Hell, it's like Twilight up in here." He nonchalantly adjusted his sunglasses and gestured to the hole in his chest "But yeah, it's like you said earlier. Already a hole there. All you did was cauterize it. In fact you probably saved my life man, thanks a lot."

The ring buzzed powerfully and sent a wave of pain up and down Jack's arm.

"Then I'l kill you again. I'll kill you until you stay dead!"

"Jack, stop."

It took him a moment to realize that it was Rose who had spoken. Both Jack and Dave turned to stare at her, but the girl was still out like a light, only murmuring softly to herself as she dreamed.

"You shut up too," he muttered, and shook her rather roughly. Rose curled her fingers around the gripping tentacle with a tiny smile.

"Checkmate," she whispered drowsily.

And the world exploded in a grimdark nova of purple and black.

Posting this so soon after the release of the EoA flash was probably a bad idea. I doubt anyone will be sitting still and reading fic for quite a while.

[SkaianRedeemer]

@Red Pen: Nice. I'm curious how many of the end of fic ideas were in your head when you first started this in thread 1, really. On the weaker side: I can't quite I think Freudian slips are always a bit sloppy as far as character development goes, though. Hah! It's funny because I just wrote one of my own in the fic over here. But anyway, good luck not getting swamped by the EOA, same as for PingZing and Shinji.

No sign of spoilers in the Fanart thread, and no word from Blueberry. Maybe we are free to act in here Hrm.

[Red Pen]

@Red Pen: Nice. I'm curious how many of the end of fic ideas were in your head when you first started this in thread 1, really. On the weaker side: I can't quite I think Freudian slips are always a bit sloppy as far as character development goes, though. Hah! It's funny because I just wrote one of my own in the fic over here. But anyway, good luck not getting swamped by the EOA, same as for PingZing and Shinji.

No sign of spoilers in the Fanart thread, and no word from Blueberry. Maybe we are free to act in here Hrm.

Heh, going for less Freudian slip and more "fast approaching the point where he can legitimately no longer tell the difference," but I get where you're coming from. The ending's always been the same in my head, really, it's just that more and more stuff starts happening in the middle. I guess that's what happens when you write stories for a canon in constant flux.

I think everyone's all a bit too dazed to write anything coherent for a while after seeing that! After my first viewing of the flash, everything I typed for an hour was some variation of "AAAAAAAAAAA"

[SkaianRedeemer]

Heh, going for less Freudian slip and more "fast approaching the point where he can legitimately no longer tell the difference," but I get where you're coming from.

Yeah, that's fair. It's just a pet peeve I suppose.

The ending's always been the same in my head, really, it's just that more and more stuff starts happening in the middle. I guess that's what happens when you write stories for a canon in constant flux.

Tell me about it.

EDIT: Hahahaha, I just saw your post in the Reaction Video thread. Awesome.

[Blueberry]

oh sorry, i forgot i didn't get back to you!! it's been kinda crazy.

the blanket ban on spoilers applies to the entire forum.

That was totally a lie, I just looked at fanart.

Spoilers are fine as long as they are clearly labelled.

[Rimbaum]

OMG thank you SkaianRedeemer for pointing out a flub that was entirely overlooked earlier!

Cataclysm Children: Chapters 4, 5, and 6 Warnings for Dave/Rose, UST, and purple prose

show spoiler

hide spoiler

If you've been following, start here!

[SkaianRedeemer]

No problem!

[Zarth]

Wow those are awesome.

[SkaianRedeemer]

Hussie is threatening a brief Intermission 2 on his Tumblr. If he posts a Squiddles Intermission, I will FLIP OUT.

New aHiHH chapter on... ohhhh... Saturday. This is a big one, folks. Not the big one I wanted, but big.

[haphazardVagrant]

edited to work on it

[SkaianRedeemer]

Whoa, more Dave/Rose. All in like a week's span, too.

There are a few of your sentences that really trip over themselves, haphazardVagrant. Say...

"That he was fated- not willed- fated to live his eternity with a girl whom he barely had the relationship with to call a mutual friendship" (I'm still not sure what that one means) and "Or was the girl who Dave cried into the arms to gone?" and "Nil was his desire to ever return to that."

I get the impression you did revise this, but some of the ones you missed were especially jarring.

But all around good. I get a certain sense of deja vu to Raequiem's PTSD, one of my favourites.