The Truth Hurts. (One-shot)

[Triton Augustus]

Arising from the ground after the great pain, though his bottom still upon it, Triton looked about him. “What wizardry curses me?” he uttered. Oceanus was by his side, gazing upon his master with concern. “Worry not, little creature,” the islander assured, petting his friend. “For peace is with me.”

He sat by the entrance to his abode, for he was about to take his leave. The pain had halted him, however, and pulled him to the earth.

“If peace is truly with you, arise!” a voice declared, startling Triton.

The islander, as the voice spoke, twisted with haste to gaze upon the one who spoke. Before him stood a mainlander, his stature matching that of Triton’s. The eyes that met the islander’s were of a shining amber, like that of a certain coral, crystallized by his Creator. His skin had known much of the sun’s light, but the dead of night could not achieve the darkness that consumed each short strand of his hair. His dress was simple; his chest was veiled by leather armor but his arms of might akin to Triton’s left bare. Leather was wrapped around his legs as well, and served as his footwear, though with greater thickness. Braces of the same element guarded his wrists. Curiously, upon his hands were gauntlets of the same likeness as those Triton wore currently; the gloves with the power of mighty storms.

“Arise, I said!” the mainlander further commanded.

Triton did as he was so told, though not out of submission, but rather courtesy. “Who are you that you command me so?”

“Do you not perceive the visage or body before you? Do your ears not hear the voice uttered by your own lungs?” the figure challenged, his words paired with movements of his armored hands.

“Do not deceive me, stranger. Your voice comes from the lungs within your own chest, not mine. Now make known to me your name.”

“I am you.” The intruder’s untruths persisted as his arms crossed.

“Surely not! Your bones are adorned with haired skin and mine of ocean scales. Your eyes are of amber and mine of-”

“Tell me, Triton! Was there not a time when you too had skin of white? What color was held in those eyes when you looked to a mirror?”

Triton was silenced at his name being spoken by the stranger, and furthermore by his insight to the islander’s time as a child. Could it be that this man was given a gift of knowledge for the past and future of those he makes acquaintance?

“I do not know this by magic nor gift, nor one that knew you as a child. I know this only because I am you. I am the mainlander within you.”

Belief had yet to enter Triton’s mind, and his visage made this known to the man he faced.

“Your claim is that I deceive, but be brought to your senses! Are the bodies we possess not the same? Is your hair blacker than mine? Listen to my speech. Tell me of a mainlander whose words have the likeness of our own. Truly, all that separates us is the hue of eyes and skin. However, you can recall a time where your own eyes and skin were painted the same. So tell me, Triton. How would a stranger, of your very body and visage, should Poseidon have never gifted you, hold knowledge of your past, if that stranger was not a part of you? The pain that struck you was a foretelling of my arrival. For separation of self is a trial that brings with it pain of the body and of the mind. Truly, I say to you, no magic of this land could achieve all of this.”

At the ceasing of his words, Triton nodded. “I have not a quarrel, then. However, answer me this: How does such separation happen? Is this a work of my Father?”

“It is not for me to say.”

“I have but one query more, then. Why do I speak with my own self?”

“It is time that you leave your devotion to the sea. It is your home, yes, but the mainlanders need you. They war with each other; peace knows them not as friend. She is spat on and tossed to the side so that they may carry out their own selfish wishes. Though she wishes to befriend them, she does not submit to the commands of mortals. Instead, you must fight alongside them as a warrior. See to it, however, that the blood you spill knows no innocence. Deliver strikes with your right while holding justice in your left, and hold justice in your right while you deliver a strike with your left. Fight with the great strength we have been given. For a time may come where they war with the very sea itself, and you must choose who has your fist. I pray that you will find the mainlander within you, for I stand before you now.”

Within the sea of Triton's mind swam schools of thoughts, chaotic and frenzied.  “Shall I leave the waters forevermore?”

Though belief was surely with the islander, the laugh that the spirit poured forth following the inquiry was another quality equal to Triton’s. “I assure you friend, you may continue to submerge yourself. You need only understand that the mainlanders should not only be our friends, but our brothers and sisters; a people not to fight against, but to fight and be a warrior for.”

Triton nodded. “So be it. The mainlanders shall have me as their sword, and they shall be my commander. Should war arrive I will defend them and war against those who threaten them.”

“Very well. Then I shall be off.”

Confusion befell Triton. “Is there no message else to tell?”

The man smiled. “There is much your own mind can not reveal to you. You must speak to the one who knows from where you came.”

The scaled one stepped closer slowly. “Of what origins do you speak? And what man would know them?”

“I speak of your birth, and who else shall know such truths than he that walks with your blood running through his veins?”

"How.. How can this be.. I-" Triton began to further question the figure, but before the words could be formed, a great light coming from the windows behind the man flashed before Triton. It was then that the man to whom he spoke had vanished.

[Word count: 1083]

[Bailey Oleander]

The bright light and stab of pain was poorly time for Bailey, Joy in her arms as she sat on the bed and grit her teeth against the cry of pain that stuck in her throat. She clutched the newborn close with a hiss, blinking and tensing in dread at the sight of another version of herself standing before her with Pride in her arms. A dark-haired Bailey, black pits for eyes and cracks along her graying skin as if a monster was just below if she peeled the flesh away. She'd never seen herself like this before, even if she recognized the pattern on the skin. But it couldn't be the chaos – that didn't come with light so much as waves of destructive energy. Still, it felt distinctly like a part of her.

“Who are you?” The other Bailey giggled and shook her head as she tsked.

“You know who I am, silly.” She shifted her position to address Bailey more openly. “Or should I say, you know who I am, coward.” Bailey stiffened, her blood turning to ice as Pride slept on, oblivious to who or what this was.

“I want you to leave.”

“Of course you do. You want to run. You always run.” A mocking smile and bitter tone. “Poor widdle Bailey bails. Leaving everyone and everything you love. What you want. What you believe in.” Bailey's cheeks paled as she took a step back, feeling the mattress push against her knees with no escape.

“See? Even running from yourself. It's disgusting.” She frowned and shook her head. “You can't run, Blondie. How many experiments did you run to help, then drop them when the next discover came along. Run from Cabal. Run from your partner. Run from helping your people. Run from fighting. Run from the people who disapprove. Run from pain and disappointing others. But who's the biggest disappointment really – you, or what you could have been?”

Trying to ignore the twist in her chest with every addition to the list, Bailey lay her daughter in her bassinet and turned to face her darker self, chin raised.

“I'm not that person anymore.”

“Damn right you're not! You think I'd let you keep that shit up after all this? You think Blake would stand by your side if you did, or your home? How about Cabal? Would you have run from diplomat duties. Hell, you think Mathew would have let you just run from your training? Your damn lucky he had other priorities.” She wagged a finger at Bailey with a smile on her face.

“But you can't run anymore, you know? You married a king. You agreed to help a god. You have people to rule and kids to watch over. You're going to have to prioritize. No one will follow a weak-willed queen who acts like a headless chicken.” Pride was put to bed as well as the other Bailey planted her hands on her hips.

“And you want to do more? You think you can actually do that? You're one person. You claim what you want to sound legit, but we both know you cry about tit. You worry and just back yourself into a corner. I can't work like this, Bailey!” Her shout made the walls rattle as Bailey flinched and recoiled, but refused to move further away.

“No warrior is going to listen to you. No one takes you seriously. If they do, it's because of Blake.” Her inner self took a step towards her. “And what happens when he's gone? You worried about him not coming back? What would you do if the Conqueror attacked while he was away? Or dead? How long are you going to rely on him to do what you should be doing as a pair. A unit. He was your partner before, and now? Now he's more than just that, right? But what do you have to show for that? What have you even learned?”

“Plenty,” Bailey snapped, ire rising as she also stepped forward. Her body ached and was out of sorts. Her mind felt just as fuddled, but she felt it somewhere inside her beneath the uncertainty.

“I've died and come back for the people here. For this land. I left to learn so I could help when I came back. Yes, I've messed up. I've let things slide. I can't do everything, I know that. But my choices helped bring me here, and I can't change the past. I can only move forward.” She sqaured her shoulders, looking this version of her up and down.

“So you can learn to take your place in line and let me know what's up, or you can go back to the shadows and stay there. I'm done hating myself for my mistakes and feeling like a failure before I even start! I'm tired of feeling like everything I do will just make things work and I'm tired of worrying someone else is going to have to clean up my mess! So if you can't help with that, then you better figure out another reason to be here, because I have them to worry about now, too.” She pointed a finger at the children, who were now fussing. Her inner self blinked, silent, and Bailey pressed on.

“I dont' want them to face what I did. To know what hunger feels like and to have to pick between feeding myself and risking someone else starving who could be of more use. I don't want them to have to feel indecision, or hold themselves back. And I definitely don't want them to live in shame of me. I don't want to let my husband or family down, or the people of Aurora. This land is our hope, and if I can't give them that, then it doesn't matter what I think because both of us will have failed.”

More silence, hanging in the air like a heavy blanket or fog. It was difficult to breathe, but she held her ground, cheeks flushed with the rush of emotion as the dark-haired Bailey gave a slow clap.

“Bravo, Bails. Don't disappoint me though, or we could really have problems.” The light filled her vision more and the pain eased, leaving her with the sound of her crying children as she approached them, laying a hand on each bassinet.

“It will be better for you,” she promised them softly. “All of you. I will be.”

(Word Count: 1095)

[Jericho]

Jericho stood atop a several story building, looking over the small town it towered over. The town had mostly been abandoned, but a certain character roaming the streets was one that he searched for. He just had to locate him.

Suddenly a light flashed and Jericho nearly fell off the roof from the pain. He just barely managed to keep himself from it, but the second he hit the ground his teeth gritted and bones shot out of his knuckles. When it had subsided he arose as quickly as possible to find the source and attack with the claws he now had.

It was then that he saw the image of himself; a shapeshifter. It wore all the same wraps and garb, though his mask was removed, unlike Jericho’s was currently. The police captain rushed to attack and the enemy, who formed bone protrusions from his forearms for defense, quickly blocked the blow.

“Jericho. Stop,” the opponent commanded as the bones were locked together in battle.

Despite the mental note of the shapeshifter having the ability to even match voices, Jericho ignored the stranger and disengaged only to continue in a flurry of attacks. The double, however, matched Jericho's speed perfectly, deflecting each strike.

It seemed attack was illogical at this moment, and the adversary was only defending. It had even said words earlier, which was evidence of a desire for democracy. Thus, the police captain finally gave in, only to allow time for a new attack strategy and combat the enemy through words.

Jericho jumped back, in a stance that showed he was still ready to fight. “Who are you,” his loud but dull words demanded.

“Veritas.”

Jericho stood silent, his mind analyzing the character and his words.

“I'm not a shapeshifter, Jericho. I am a part of you.” the man said, clearly relaxed and not meaning to intimidate or attack.

“That can not be true-”

“Why not? Don't you feel a part of you is missing? Doesn't it feel easier to leave the emotion out of it and deny the truth? Yet it still strangely hurts.”

Jericho remained silent for another brief moment. “A telepath as well.”

“I'm not a psychic. I just know what you're feeling, because I am that feeling.” The character chuckled, and seeing the smile that came from it on himself was a sharper attack than anything Jericho could fashion with bone. “What a concept. Feeling. Before I showed myself to you in that dream a few nights ago, you hadn't thought about me in a long time.”

“What do you want,” the police captain demanded once again.

“Why do you want to get rid of me so fast?”

“I am currently hunting down a criminal, and you attacked me while doing so. I need to know your intentions so that I may plan accordingly. There will be a punishment for your light attack, but I do not think killing will be necessary.”

“I see. But why do you really want me to leave?”

Jericho did not understand.

“It hurts to talk to me. Doesn’t it? It hurts to be reminded of what you had before him.”

“If you continue I will consider this psychological warfare, in which case I will proceed with physical warfare and killing you will be necessary.”

“You’ve told yourself dying and giving up and letting him control your life is letting him win. But isn’t killing your emotion the same thing? Isn't that letting him take something from you?”

“Stop.” Jericho commanded, his fists tightening.

"Listen to yourself! Stop lying to yourself that emotion is senseless. You need it Jericho and denying it is letting him continue to hurt you and take something from you!"

"I will not command you again."

The being sighed and gazed off to nothing in particular at distance far away from his right side as he began again. “I know you're going to keep shoving me down inside," he paused as his gaze fixed back on Jericho. "But one day you’ll break. One day you’ll let me in. And it’ll hurt far more than that flash of ligh-”

The double’s words stopped as a blade was driven through his chest. Jericho stood with his fist against the body, the bone blade extruding from the otherside.

“Very well..” the figure uttered, his voice shaking from pain and breathing difficulty. He fell to his knees, and Jericho’s arm adjusted accordingly. “I just wish the first thing you felt was joy, and not grief.”

“Why would I feel grief?” Jericho asked, looking into his own eyes. “He’s not dead. He will come back.”

"Donec iterum conveniant, mi amice," his weak voice softly spoke as a breath was exhaled for the last time. 

"Why would I feel grief!" Jericho shouted. 

The double’s eyes became empty as a tear formed and began rolling down his cheek.

“He’ll come back!” Jericho’s voice raised as he shook the corpse. The tear from the lifeless face fell, hitting the ground alongside a second tear that fell from the living face.

“He’s not dead!” his voice rose even louder as he shook the defeated opponent again.

A sudden scream sounded throughout the town, echoing between buildings, followed by the sound of bone slicing through flesh, and a head falling to the ground.


[Word count: 880]

[Cillian McWolfe]

Ardan was sitting in his wagon looking in the mirror he had in his dress stand as he carefully applied his makeup for the upcoming show that the Circus had in the village. He was still excited about it, every show still set his heart fluttering. So much so that this time it started to hurt a little bit. But it was fleeting and it passed. Or so he thought.

Looking back up into the mirror he saw himself, but not dressed for the show as he was, not wearing makeup or with his hair bright and vibrant. No, he was dressed for court, dignified, refined and unsurprisingly not at all amused or please. Ardan squinted as he leaned into the mirror to look closer. His reflection matching his movements, but his sour expression never faltered.

"How curious."

Ardan mused to himself aloud, his words seemed to snap something in his reflection though because he recoiled as if slapped.

"By the Lord, you even sound like me. I had hoped that this was just some oddly specific nightmare, but you really did it didn't you? You really ran away from home to do... this?"

His reflection swirled his wrist in dismissal at Ardan, his attire, his makeup, and the wagon that was now his home. Clicking his tongue he took a deep breath before straightening up.

"I suppose it's up to me to talk some sense into you. That must be why the Sages have seen fit to let us meet this way." His reflection began. " You are better than this, you have a responsibility back home that you are neglecting while you pursue this flight of fancy, or whatever it is you want to call this. Wandering around picking up strays."

"They're not strays, they are people with hopes and dreams. And this is my choice, I want to lift the burden of misery that has sunk into the bones of these lands and her people. Beyond our walls lay a sea of hopelessness and despair. I could hardly look at myself in the mirror if I ignored that." Ardan said with a wry grin.

"Quite." His reflection was less amused. "Helping people in need is noble and it is the right thing to do, we agree on this. What we disagree on are the methods. You are forsaking your own people for strangers, you are forsaking your duty to your home, your family, and your future. "

"Our people have protection and security, they do not need me t-"

He was cut off by his reflection slamming his palms onto the nightstand in the mirror. Hard enough that his real nightstand shook with the impact.

"YOU SWORE AND OATH!" His reflection roared. What was once disdain was anger and he could almost feel the heat coming from his reflections gaze. "You swore an oath and now you are turning your back on it. Are you truly no better than an Oathbreaker? Does your word mean so little to you that you can turn your back on it? You are throwing your life away to be a Jester and you selfishly think that you alone will pay the price for that?" He shook his head at Ardan, his voice softening. "No. We both know that's not true. Oaths are bound in blood, and blood will pay the price for your arrogance. You go play the part of the fool, extract the chuckles and guffaws from the peasants and the vagabonds joining your merry little band. But I want to make sure that you can not escape what you are doing, and I hope you see yourself for what you really are. Coward. Oathbreaker. Deserter."

The reflection started to shimmer and fade away leaving Ardan looking at his normal reflection as his reflections last words drifted as a whisper through his wagon.

"Every time you look in the mirror..."

[Abram Dabra]

Abram was in his workshop, digging around inside the chest of his Golem, he needed to put some of the finishing touches on it. He wanted to make sure that it was constructed solidly, not just magically but physically. Where most mages could say a few words and wave their hands to form it how they want, he didn't have that luxury. He needed to do things the hard way, which in this case was rattling around inside of his Golem, smacking his elbows and chest on the sides and edge. When the pain hit he didn't even think anything of it, assuming he'd just hit his chest on a conductor inside.

"Need a hand?"

A familiar voice came from outside of the golem, but it was hard to pinpoint it as it echoed inside the chest cavity.

"Go away, this is my project," Abram responded, which was apparently the wrong answer. He felt a boot on his ass pushing him all the way into the golem before the chest cavity slammed shut. Abram pounded on the chest cavity's hatch, crammed in as he was he did his best to readjust himself. "What the crap is wrong with you? Afraid to fight me face to face? Pathetic worm, you stuck up magical worm" He spit his words out since he lacked spells to spit out instead.

In response, he'd hear a pounding on the golem from outside echoing through the metal shell.

"That's your damn problem. Do you want to do everything alone? You want to lash out and push people away? Fine, do it. But don't be so damn surprised when someone decides to push back. You love to talk about how unfair the world is and how people like you are held back from reaching your potential. But that's a load of spent crystals and you know it. You are a failure because you suck at magic."

The voice outside pounded on the Golem again.

"You have skills but instead of presenting it and collaborating you are fueling yourself with spite. And for what? To tear down the machine? Bring down the social order? And replace it with what? No one is following you? And why would they, you are acting like a petulant child throwing a fit because your ego can't handle that you didn't get into the Academy. You aren't stupid, use the gifts that you have to prove yourself. Not pull them down. Unless you want every mage with a semester in the Academy and a sense of superiority to see you as their personal enemy. But hey, maybe you do. Just keep in mind that you can't win a war without allies, and if you really want to wage it against the nobility and the elite it's going to take a lot more than you and your Golem. No matter how impressive or powerful you make it. Think on it, in the meantime, I'll let you figure your own way out of there since you clearly want to be left alone."

He'd hear the voice laugh outside before it was suddenly gone as the apparition vanished.

"Mana drunk asshole! He kicked at the hatch to try and open it, eventually denting it and breaking the latch to free himself as he scrambled out of his metal prison.

"If I ever find out who that guy was I'm going to punch him in his arrogant nose!" He vowed, clenching a fist and holding it up.

[Arthur Woodson]

Arthur gripped his chest in pain when it hit, his head spinning at the bright light that blinded him. Silently cursing himself for letting his guard down, nowhere was safe. Not even where he had set up camp, in a burned out husk of a ruined building from the war. He spun around, ready to confront whatever was attacking him. his eyes sweeping to find the threat before his brows lifted in confusion at what he saw before him. Even if that confusion was hidden behind his mask.

Before him stood a younger version of himself. Dressed in tattered clothing and lacking the mask. A black eye prominently on display and a split lip with dried blood. He was dirty and had his hands in his pockets. The way the child looked at him, however, infuriated him. This ragged child, this victim was looking at him with pity, like he felt sorry for him.

"You don't have to be like this you know. It isn't who you have to be, I know you think you are tough now, powerful, you are using stolen powers given to you by a mask. But that can be taken away. They are not really a part of you. And you are using these powers to hurt people. Why? You didn't use to like hurting people."

Arthur frowned behind his mask. The voice was the same as his too, back when he was younger. He didn't know what was going on, this had to be some kind of test. Or a trap.

"I decided that it was better to be the one hurting than the one that was hurt. You'll figure that out too, or die."

He didn't even know why he was playing along with this game. What he should do was pack up and leave, whatever this was that was happening it was clear that this building was no longer safe to stay the night. He would be expecting eyes to be watching him the whole time.

"Just because evil things were done to you doesn't mean you have to do evil. Just because you were given pain doesn't mean you have to inflict it. You can use these abilities for something better. You don't have to be a monster like those Qi users. You can rise above it. You can be better. Please, let's be better. I know you can, I believe in you Arthur. I believe in us."

The child held out his hand for Arthur who would stare at it. Considering it. The child wanted him to turn his back on his current path, to stop doing what he was doing. To abandon the course. He knew what he needed to do. And so Arthur took a step forward, black mist escaping through the holes in the mask as five powerful fists slammed into the kid. The kid went into the wall where Arthur quickly followed. His fists slamming into the child's face again and again.

"P-please... B-b-be.... b-b-b-b-better...."

Again and again, Arthur struck his younger self, his expressionless mask not reflecting the rage that he wore on his actual face. Instead, it reflected a joyous visage of Alex Malice, blood from his younger self splattered on the mask, dripping down slowly like tears as he stood up, looking at the battered and broken body of the young boy. His face completely caved in.

He had no room for doubt.

[Ashe]

Curled up in the abandoned manor she currently called home, Vielle didn't wake until the searing pain tore through her chest. She stared at the wall in front of her, unable to tell the difference between it and the hunger pains she'd felt earlier. Gritting her teeth with a groan, she rolled further to press a fist against her chest She assumed it would pass, and eventually she'd fall back asleep to the empty ache she was familiar with.

She was drifting off to sleep when she felt the gaze boring into her, the hairs on the back of her neck rising as she squinted in the darkness. At the sight of another person, she gasped and pointed with a thunderous, “YOU!” as she sat up. The other person did the same, an echo of the same voice tearing through the empty air as a younger version of herself appeared in the moonlight, half cast in shadow and not showing any signs of puberty. Vielle was maybe an in higher, her eye twitching at the realization.

“I'm dreaming,” she mumbled, huffing as she spoke louder and addressed the younger version of herself. “What do you want?”

“A bath would be nice.” The younger Vielle's arms crossed over her small chest, the dress she wore oversized, tattered and dirty. Her feet were bare and dirty as the rest of her as she stomped the floor with a huff. “And food. And for you to get your act together!”

What. Another eye twitch as she took a step forward.

“Why you – how dare you! Do you know who I am?”

“Yeah – you're the phony!” The girl pointed to the scrap of blanket that wasn't even enough to fully cover Vielle and shouted, “Bol etäg!” The words were a little familiar, but she didn't understand what was said. The blanket grew to cover the size of the couch, then the floor until it was partially a rug as well, though just as dirty. Vielle questioned her using it again after a few roaches skittered free and into the shadows.

“See? It's not that hard! But you couldn't even do that!” Sweet mana, was she this emotional all the time? Vielle swore the child's eyes were already watering, though there were no tears yet.

“You ruined everything, dummy!” The little girl came closer, each step almost stomping to the point she was glad they were on the ground floor. “We had it! After everything we did, we finally got somewhere. And you blew it!” Her tiny fist hit Vielle, who grabbed the thin wrist to keep it from hitting anything important or hurting herself. She remembered how she'd been at that age, and wasn't surprised to see the bruises on her wrist and peeking at the edge of the child's sleeve.

“I didn't do it on purpose!” Her cheeks heated as she struggled to find a way to reason with herself. Was there even a way to reason with kids? “I didn't leave - they kicked me out!”

“BECAUSE YOU'RE A DUMMY!” The wrist pulled away as the child huffed, tears spilling. “We could have done so much, be so much better. But no, you threw that away and say you're great. You're amazing, and people shouldn't mess with you. But what can you do? The last time you tried to make an apple grow, it exploded! Or that time when you managed to make a blanket mold instead of get warm.” Both girls' arms wrapped around themselves as Vielle looked away, her gaze on the floor and refusing to look at the disappointment that stood in front of her.

Silence filled the space between them. It lasted for seconds, maybe minutes. For all that she could tell, it could have been hours.

“Hey.” The child's voice was faint, almost hesitant. Waiting. Vielle forced herself to look at the girl she'd let down.

“Yeah?”

“What are we gonna do?”

“I don't know.”

“We can't go back, and this place stinks – literally!” She shifted. “I wanna go home.”

“You know we can't do that.” Vielle shook her head and sighed, looking for something she could use to start a fire. The hearth was as dark and cold as the sky. “Home doesn't exist anymore.”

“But we can't stay here! Maybe...maybe we can try to find a job? Or find a merchant? We could leave!” Her words came in a rush as the child tried to help, picking scraps of debris and adding them to the hearth. “Yeah, let's do it! Let's find someone who'll send us out to help trade or something. Then they dont't have to know about the academy and their stinky magic. We can be better than those jerks.”

Vielle smiled a little, grabbing a stub of a candle and lighting it, using the flame to catch the pile on fire before setting the candle in the girl's hands.

“We wanted to be one of those jerks, once.” More silence as the girl stared at the candle flame, then shook her head.

“But now we can be different. We just gotta find out how.”

“Yeah.” Vielle stared at the mantle, noting the thickening layer of dust that clung to it. She could do anything she wanted, so long as the rules allowed it. Those stupid rules. It wasn't like she'd messed up on purpose. Now she couldn't even do anything here. Anyone who asked would just laugh at her, wondering what why she wasn't in the academy or, even worse, what she had done to be expelled. Because that was worth than not having talent to begin with. But she'd show them.

A browning, withered apple appeared in front of her face as her double handed her what was supposed to be breakfast. For a moment, Vielle stared, then slowly took it, holding it between her hands as she crouched by the flames, not looking at the child again.

“You need to leave.”

“But I'm tired,” her double whined.

“Yeah, I know. We both are.” Her lips pressed into a tight line as her chin tucked. “I know what language that was. Your spell worked like it was supposed to. You don't have any room to talk.” She squeezed her eyes tight at the whimper.

“Please don't make me go.” The girl was full on crying now, hiccuping and sobbing.

“Leave me alone.” She stood, her limbs cold and heavy as she turned her back on the girl who never was. “You don't belong here.”

“Neither do you.”

The presence faded as she clutched the apple, shoulders shaking as she stood alone in the empty study. Rotted pieces of history and knowledge surrounded her, unused and forgotten. The gray of pre-dawn was creeping across the sky, the city starting to show signs of life as it began to wake.

“You're right.”

((Word Count: 1,166)

[Preston Salabim]

Preston was in his study going over his notes on Qi scars. The formation of them, theories about what continues to sustain them over the years preventing them from burning themselves out. He had his own Qi scar now, and while he had found a way to manage it, for the time being, siphoning off the energy to the Dark Dimension to feed the Dark Ones there. It was not a perfect solution. More than that there were Qi scars all over the continent, and one would assume the world. And yet so little was really known about them, or how to use and destroy them. Notes about the Sudeki Qi and soul were scattered on his desk along with half a dozen invitations to dinners, parties, and other functions. Both in and outside of the territory. To say nothing about his research into the Soul Stone that was embedded in his chest, the sentient magical gem that kept his people flying over the ocean.

There was so much to do, so much to juggle, every day new tasks were piled onto his workload, and while he delegated what he could, there were certain matters that only he could see to personally, whether due to his station or his specialization. He was still being pulled in far too many directions, never mind the social gatherings that he had to navigate in a way to not cause offense or show to much favor to any given faction or territory. He needed to be charming but not steal the spotlight, intelligent but not overly technical, and vibrant but not to animated.

When the pain in his chest came he thought it was the Soul-stone reacting to something, and honestly it still might be that. He didn't know, all that he knew was that he was face to face with a mirror version of himself. Both of them dressed the same, though his copy didn't seem to be alarmed by this, instead opting to pick up one of the papers from his desk.

"We should be focusing on the Sudeki Soul project.  The Castle of the Conqueror has fallen and Strike has sent in soldiers to lay siege.  We will need every weapon we can fashion to defeat him should we fail.  We still do not understand his power."  The clone said with a matter of fact tone. 

"Which is why instead we need to focus on learning what we can about the Conqueror.  If we can figure out his power we can counter it or negate it." A second clone pointed out as he moved to the window.  "Or copy it."  A third one chimed in.  

"I think you are underestimating the importance of understanding the magic that is currently coursing through our body.  What are we capable with the Soul of Ayatlan fused with our own?"  Said the clone poking around at his bookcase.  

"Perhaps Rozalin has a suggestion or knows something?  She had surprising knowledge with the mysterious egg." 

"You mean her Symbiote did.  Which we still need to understand better.  We have one attached to someone close to us.  We are doing a disservice to the future by not pressing harder on learning more about it."

"And what would you have us do?  Insult her?  Possibly kill her?  What do you think killing her would do to him?  To all of us?  Progress without Heart is how you get monsters." 

The two bickered in the corner while another one, sitting in the chair across from Preston's desk took it as his turn to speak up.  "We could always delve deeper into the Dark Dimension and it's Denizens.  I doubt the invaders will be prepared for otherworldly forces."

"If we are going to be prioritizing allies then we should focus on those invitations we have.  Unite the Great Magus Houses and the other civilized territories, strengthen the bonds of the accords." 

"The plan is to keep the conqueror guessing.  He likely knows as little or less than us about Qi scars.  If we can figure out how to manipulate, form, or disperse them we can keep him guessing and shape the battlefield.  Giving our side a sizable advantage.  We need to focus on that."  A final clone by the door to his office would say, his arms folded over his chest. 

Preston sat at his desk, listening to all of the versions bickering over what they needed to focus on, what was the proper path forward when it hit him.

"We need to prioritize this, whatever is happening so we can replicate it."

All of the clones looked at each other, with more than one Preston he could divide his attention between his options and get more done.  For the first time the clones would speak in unison. 

"AGREED!" 

[Krane Asiv]

Krane is returning from a solo mission to deal with some known Conqueror agents. He is hunched forward on his left slide and dragging his feet along the ground. His left arm is dangling and there is blood rolling down the right side of his face causing him to keep his right eye closed. His breathing is ragged and difficult as every wound screams at him from being mixed with sweat and dirt. He is so far from the jeep and the intelligence was off about how many would be there, exhaustion buckles his knee's as they fail him dropping down and catching himself with the one good arm he has use of right now.

He coughs a few times as blood and spit fly onto the ground, followed by heavy breathing and a few droplets of sweat from his nose and eye brow.

"You did it again huh?"

Krane turns his head and his eye shifts slowly to see a small boy sitting next to him. His green hair and basic clothing he knows well. The boy is looking at him, and he too is sporting a head wound. A large gash over his right eye still oozing blood, fresh and singed like a burn on the edges. Krane knew who it was, himself at ten years old, right after Zeus struck him with the bolt during training.

"You let them use you, someone else send you to a mission you weren't meant to come back from."

The boy spoke again as Krane's eye drifted back to the ground observing his blood and sweat.

"I did not."

Krane responds as he pushes himself up to his knee's looking to the sky and opening his air ways to take in a good breath. His mouth is dry, but he needs the oxygen to push forward. Raising a foot to plant onto the ground to use to prepare to stand up again.

"Then why'd you do it?"

The boy asks standing up and offering Krane assistance in getting up. Krane accepts and is on his wobbly legs in no time.

"If I didn't do it, I would of ordered someone else to do it..."

Krane responds knowing full well if he did.

"If you did that, you would be no better than me, right?"

The voice is deep, ten year old Krane cowers behind Krane as he turns to look at the blonde man before him. His golden armor and electric sparking gauntlets speak volumes enough.

"I am better than you, Zeus."

Krane spits as he drags his feet forward once more.

"I'm grounded... I fight for my own reasons now."

He rationalizes as he kicks a pebble through the dirt brushing it aside as he continues going forward.

"Oh? What is that then? Duty, friendship? Love? Since when has the Kraken known these things? They are just mortals, weak, short lived, boring. Name one that has kept your interest."

Krane grits his teeth as he continues forward, Zeus' does not cease his mocking as he stumbles forward. Ten year old Krane steps out from behind Krane and points a finger at Zeus.

"I am going to know these things! My future is my own!"

Krane looks down as he slows to a stop. A new pain fills his eyes as his eye brows arch up, turning his head to look at Ten year old him.

"There is no such freedom... If there was, I would know the price so I could pay it."

Ten year old Krane's eye swells with water looking up at him now.

"B-but you said-"

"I was wrong!"

Krane snaps a bit at his younger self which backs away a bit. He looks away from his younger self to the path in front of him once more.

"I may have chose to go on this mission... But it was on the order of someone else... They likely knew I would never let any of my soldiers take on this mission. It's a different manipulation here. Zeus may be a manipulative and despicable piece of shit... But, he does it to your face."

Krane hesitates and the silence fills the area before he begins dragging himself forward again. Zeus fades into nothing and the ten year old him also fades in the back ground. Though it isn't long before another joins him on this journey. The golden spiked armor, the silent and stoic face, the half open eyes of dull interest...

"And now the dead rise."

Krane scoffs at the visage of The Kraken before him, who barely gives Krane any kind of recognition, except to follow him slowly. The silence is almost as bad as Zeus prattling on about the difference between himself and these people around him. He finally stops once more and turns towards The Kraken.

"Why plague me? Do you need orders, pet? You are dead and gone, I have moved on to become something else."

The Kraken sighs and looks to the side somehow appearing even more bored than before. Which causes Krane's jaw to clench in anger.

"Say something, toy."

Krane demands, before The Kraken finally responds.

"You are a useless tool following the orders of someone with no understanding of how to use you in the first place. So caught up on what you missed out on in life and burying your past that you forget to embrace what you could be. How strong you could be, and how to get back at Zeus."

Krane turns away now. He gave up the title, the name of the Kraken, but the years of training, killing, suppressing... It was who he was, it made him.

"I will not be The Kraken."

Krane said and the Kraken would nod.

"But you are The Kraken."

He'd look down at his feet. Slowly moving his feet forward again. This time the silence is long, painful... Lonely. Remembering the support of his family even during his intense training to be molded into the title the Gods wanted him to be... Karen, Dion... His brother and sister were there for him and he hadn't even been to visit them in months.

"You abandoned them to be selfish."

He stops and looks up at his perfect reflection. It was him as he is right now, bleeding, injured, tired, dehydrated...

"No, it's just."

"Don't make excuses, Krane. You want power to fulfill this goal you have set so bad that you have forgotten them."

The Krane's stare into each others eyes before Krane moves to brush past himself and continue on.

"I am not on some fools errand! I have not forgotten them, but who are they to me? Support? Friendship? After twenty-five years of mission after bloody unending mission I'm supposed to feel something for them now?"

The other Krane stands up and the area turns to ice as he stops and turns.

"Then what? You want to kill me? What will that prove? I still would know nothing of these feelings!"

"You are weak, your time is up, you have failed!"

The two Krane's were now ready to go to town when.

"Daddy?"

A small voice rings out behind him and he turns to see Marin there, holding her hands behind her back with a big grin.

"You know... You don't HAVE to go after Zeus. I need your help, we gotta go bat up the bad guys, remember?"


And like that Krane would be standing in front of the Jeep he had been looking for. Turning back to look at the path behind him for only a brief moment, before getting in the Jeep, closing the door and starting it up.

"I have to get dinner ready when I get home."

[John]

John was in the gym throwing a set of punches and kicks against a punching bag letting out grunts as he tensed his core with small yells from his gut. Increasing the strength of his strikes and precision. His focus unburdened by his mind as he emptied it, emptied himself and was only just man and punching bag.

"Ha! Fucking nerd!"

He found himself laughing a bit as he stumbled back a bit. Limping over to the bench as he grabbed his sweat towel. Then a chill ran down his spine and a throb ran through him, pain wrecking his form as he fell to his knee's holding onto the bench to keep him upright. Withdrawals from the Brimstone were still kicking him every now and then, he resisted it, and resisted calling on his flames. He had to conserve his energy and his power.

"Whats wrong? You know you got some good stuff in your gym bag."

John looked to the side and on the floor, with cardboard, trash, barefoot, and wearing dirty rags. It was him, a needle hanging out of his arm, and empty cans of brimstone laying around. The lazy John barely raised a finger to point at the gym bag. John looked at the bag and saw the glint of his inhaler. Some color drug sitting in it, waiting for him. His mouth suddenly felt dry, and he began to sweat hard. He wanted to reach for it.

A hand stopped him, planting firmly on his back. John turned himself around and flopped to his ass to look. It was also him, except this one was wearing a nice uniform, sword at his hip, hammer on his back. He had a sense of pride and importance.

"Come on man. You are fighting to move away from that life. You are trying to be better, why go back now?"

"It hurts... So much..."

John would say between waves of pain. Desperate for release from the torture.

"I know... I know it does. Push through it, call on the fire. Burn it off and get through this."

He looks to the side and hesitates, eyes welling up.

"He can't."

The hobo addict John would say grinning with rotten and weakened teeth.

"What? Why?"

The well off and healthy John would ask.

"The Brimstone... He kicked it, but it's cost him."

John would hold a hand out and the hammer would return to his hand from where he left it.

"I am a creator, not a creation. I am the hammer, not the anvil. I am the shaper, not the shaped."

John began a mantra for himself focusing on the hammer best he could.

"Look, call on the fire, it's the only way."

John would shake his head. Opening his eyes to look at himself from the floor.

"No... I have to save the fire."

"For what?"

Both the other John's ask.

"I know... My fire is going out. It's limited and the more I use it the weaker it gets. It drains me more and more to summon it... If I'm going to use it, I need a reason. Lann, Rhona... They are good people."

The hobo John would laugh to the point of falling over, knocking cans everywhere as he thrashed about.

"Good people? You still trying to be a hero?"

John would stand up through the pain and point his hammer at the hobo him. Eye's glowing as he viewed the flammable particles in the air.

"I AM a hero... Watch me..."

Fire exploded from his form flames licking out of him, as his energy raged. He stared at hobo him and grit his teeth.

"There is no more room for you! I will move past reliance and use the drugs as what they are! Tools for me to protect and save others."

The hobo John was laughing harder now rolling around as John summoned his Qi blade slamming his hammer into it as the flames turned pink, his God Right turning on as he approached. A huge fireball appearing above him as he slammed all his power down on the drug addicted version of himself, turning the whole area to ash almost instantly.

"Watch me... No matter what... Someone will recognize me for what I am."

John would look at the empty gym room before tossing his hammer to the side and going back to the punching back, going back to his work out, the gym was fine like nothing happened at all.

"Someone."

[Sir Galahad]

Consequences/Rewards:

Everyone that suffered injuries now have new scars! Congrats!

+5 Exp for Everyone!

Characters that were killed by their inner selves must go into their bio and REDACT a part of their personality or an important memory. Your inner self has claimed that part of you for themselves and have taken it with them when they left.

Characters that survived the interactions with their inner selves must now ADD a personality trait from their Inner Self! This will be a permanent addition to your bio!

Most participants can now, once a thread, Shift into their inner selves. This inner self has +10 in all stats for 4 posts (The inner self has the same personality it had when your character met them and must be played as such! For characters that died your inner self now has the lost trait that your character used to have!) 

Specialty Rewards:

Elias: Mark of the Sword or Mark of the Armored

Rose: After meeting her inner self, Rose has gotten a little more insane in the membrane! Like Alice, Rose has fallen deeper into the rabbit hole! (When Rose switches to her inner self she gets a +15 to all stats) (Roses bloodline ability is ready to grow! DM a GM to start your next Bloodline Thread) Mark of the Lover or Mark of the Monster

Ali: Mark of the Princess or Mark of the Fierce

Mathew: Mark of the Dragon or Mark of the Betrayed

Spike: When Spike switches to his inner self, Sage, he is able to use all of his Qi abilities for free for 4 posts and they have NO negative repercussions to his body! Mark of the Prince or Mark of the Avenger

Rhona: Mark of the Daughter or Mark of the Legend

Qi: Mark of the Lover or Mark of the Betrayer

Katsu: Mark of the Black Mist or Mark of the Sword

Roz: Mark of the Mercenary or Mark of the Pillar

Marin: Mark of the Daughter or Mark of the Guardian

Valerian: Mark of the Leader or Mark of the Rebel

Cecilia: Mark of the Princess or Mark of the Slave

Daniel: Mark of the Hitman or Mark of the Specialist

Lann: Instead of swapping with his inner selves, Lann can now Completely turn his mind over to any personality he has absorbed. (I.E. He can mentally become John Summers) He can swap between any of his personalities at will, it has a cool down of 4 post between swaps. When he swaps with the personalty he doesn't get a stat boost, but rather that personalities Qi becomes stronger (+20% too all Qi abilities for that personalities abilities) However they lose access to the other Qi abilities in Lann's arsenal. (PM me if you need/would like a better explanation for this ability) Mark of the Pillar or Mark of the Collector

Oni: Mark of the Prey or Mark of the Queen

Faye: Mark of the Rebel or Mark of the Follower

Dime: Mark of the Follower or Mark of the Avenger

Soni: Mark of the Promise or Mark of the Hero

Eve: Eve's inner self can not die! If Eve suffers a death blow while she is in her inner self mode, she would be resurrected with half of her Qi uses and heath returned! Mark of the Daughter or Mark of the Monster

Avice: Instead of Swapping with her inner self Avice can become a Full Grown Tri-Tails for 4 post (+10 to all stats) Mark of the Betrayer or Mark of the Hunter

Cael: Mark of the Hero or Mark of the Slave

Lucky: Mark of the Specialist or Mark of the Promise

Sessha: Mark of the Seeker or Mark of the Soothe Sayer

Tina: Mark of the Rebel or Mark of the Collector

Nova: Mark of the Specialist or Mark of the Gangsta (Gangster)

Kyla: Mark of the Spear or Mark of The Merciful

Ben: Instead of Swapping with his inner self, for 4 posts Ben can become the Lord of Flies. A Giant rat creature that is nothing but grotesque filth anyone that the Lord of Flies touches Loses 50% perception for 4 post. +20 to Spd and Per. Mark of the Black Mist or Mark of the Father

Drake: Mark of the Arrow or Mark of the Promise

Blake: Mark of the King or Mark of the Betrayed

Triton: Triton's Inner self can have 5 abilities that aren't the same as Triton's! Mark of the Follower or Mark of the Legend

Bailey: Mark of the Betrayer or Mark of the Mother

Jericho: Mark of the Follower or Mark of the Pillar

Ardan: Mark of the Jester or Mark of the Hero

Abram: Mark of the Specialist or Mark of the Soothe Sayer

Arthur: Mark of the Adjudicator or Mark of the Fierce

Veille: Mark of the Slave or Mark of the Prey

Preston: Mark of the Collector or Mark of the Arbiter

Krane: Mark of the Father or Mark of the Captain

John: Mark of the Gangster or Mark of the Leader