The Queen is held hostage and talks her way out of it.
The Queen is held hostage and talks her way out of it.
Out of all of his children he was surprised it was James who finally decided to kill him.
Though so many of them had tried Fenrir and his band of rebels, Shylock nearly ending his Empire in one swoop. He was so shocked it was James, that he first thought he saw his namesake across from him. But his eldest was dead, tore apart by the demon that had supposedly come from his loins.
He looked like shit. his shirt wasn’t ironed and the trousers had ink stains smudged down them. Harold raised an eyebrow, flexing against the chaffing rope around his wrists that tied him to the solid oak chair. He’d give his son this: he wasn’t stupid. The walls were stone and the furniture of the office was wooden, there was no metal he could feel anywhere.
James gave no answer to his father’s unasked question and leant against the wooden desk in front of Harold. Only then did Harold realise where he was.
“Did you drag me into the school?” he said looking round at the headmaster’s office. James still didn’t speak, folding his arms, scowling down at Harold as if he was still a pupil. He could almost imagine he was being lectured by his headmaster for his and Saki’s antics. Though usual he wasn’t tied up.
“Shadower helped.” James finally said.
“Shadower? Haven’t heard about her in years.”
Harold rolled his eyes. Fenrir was as cold and harsh as ice, James was metal almost as cold and more stubborn and unforgiving. Immortal borns and their elements. Harold hated to resemble anything close to the metal he controlled.
“Shylock been telling me interesting stories what you did to him.”
Exactly like being lectured by his headmaster. Shylock was quiet and gentle like his mother, but that was only when Harold didn’t make him scream with broken bones.
“Oh but dear boy, you already knew about all of that. what does it change when you hear it from the horse’s mouth?”
He watched James chew his tongue.
“I’ve been ignoring everything, with Shylock, with Ali’. With mother.”
He closed his eyes. The bitch that stabbed Saki. Laughing as he did so they had told him.
“Enough is enough.”
“Finally here to kill me then.”
He looked directly into his own black eyes.
“Go on then, I hope you savour every moment, at least that will annoy Fenrir when you tell him how I begged for mercy.”
He laughed again wondering if he was capable of that after so much pain.
“No.” That surprised Harold just as much as James standing in front of him.
“I won’t savour it, I won’t take pleasure in this.”
Then the hand wrapped around his neck. as it pressed down he wondered if his son would be foolish to turn to metal to crush the metalcaller’s throat. Sadly only warm flesh choked the life from him. His face turned blue and his eyes watered and bulged. He looked up and smiled as best he could as the light of the world faded. James’ eyes looked down with hungry and his father took pride as he was the power James felt in his eyes and was glad, for once, he was a part of his son’s life.
So I’ve been learning to drive…I’m shit, it’s shit. Let’s just say I’m not having fun AND HERE’S WHY:
In conclusion, driving’s bad, I’m bad, good night.
When I first see her, I don’t want to touch her. she looks like she’ll break under the finest touches. so when she’s placed in my arms, (I wince at how the nurse holds her), I try to make my arms as soft as possible. then I’m still. she’s sleeping and wrapped tightly in cloth and I’m terrified. I need to keep her head up but can’t hold or press on it too hard. I can’t shuffle lest wake her, yet I don’t want her to be uncomfortable or she’ll wake up regardless. the nurse is giving me little instructions and I nod despite hearing them through cotton. I focus and try my best. then I’m still again. I’m terrified and she continues to sleep and after a while I realise how warm she is and soft and new and it stops being so scary. when my wife wants to feed her, she has to wrestle our daughter out of my arms. I can’t wait to hold her again.
Darius was different. For one he could speak English, something none of the other slaves that had passed through could do. He also carried himself differently, like despite the chains and dirt he was better than Luc’.
Luc’ was ten and had a crush on Darius. Her father had kept him instead of selling him on and Luc’ liked to watch him to his orders and giggle and run away when Darius spotted her.
Luc’ was eleven when she tripped. It was Darius’ fault she liked to tell him afterwards but never told her father, mother or brother. It was an accident and Darius didn’t need to be punished and it wasn’t like she got hurt. But she should have, falling hand first into a fire and coming back unscathed was wrong. Even Darius looked scared of her.
She was twelve when her brother died. She hated herself for not crying at his funeral. She did cry, oh how she sobbed, but it was not for her brother. The Higher family had to have a male heir, even if that meant using dark magic and kicking a child’s head in to make them hold still. When Luc’ woke up her chest was burning and her eyes were fire. She strangled the maid in her room, she didn’t even get a chance to speak. It was the first person she murdered and that night she murdered ten more. Her father stopped her, a shot to the shoulder. Luc’ went down screaming and didn’t get back up. She instead waited and watched the fire from the corner of her eye. It glowed dim but steadily grew until the flames reached the ceiling, she could feel it calling to her. She was almost convinced her was the one doing it until her father screamed. He and Darius were ablaze and while Darius stood as tall as ever while her father flailed until he fell and didn’t get up. Darius picked her up, the floor crackling beneath his feet and her clothing burning away against his flesh. she fell asleep in his burning arms.
Ages thirteen and fourteen were of no mention but things changed gradually. Darius spent more time with Luc’, they talked more and while Luc’ was still a slave trader and Darius was a slave, they were closer. He could sing, and speak German, French, he swore in Romanian and whispered prays in French. Luc’ was sure Darius spoke with an American accent when Luc’ asked about his past. Luc’ became a Lord instead of a Lady and slowly became less angry about it. It was Luc’s duty, it was meant to be. At fifteen Luc’ realised how dangerous Darius was. Darius had attracted the attention of the Leader. He called him Harold. No one who knew the Leader on first name terms was going to live long. The Leader tried to make Luc’ sell him to him. Luc’ said no and surprisingly lived. He told Darius to go. To run. Somewhere. Anywhere. And he did. That surprised Luc’ most of all. Luc’ forgot his birthdays. There were rumours of a fire God, from the heavens to side with the rebel to punish humans. Luc’ didn’t believe it. He didn’t come from heaven. One evening Luc’ placed his hand in his hearth again. he could feel the heat but it was warm and comforting. It made him smile. His mansion had fires lit at every corner, burning day and night, even around his neck he hung a fire emblem. He made a habit of sitting naked in them and forgot often that sticking one’s hand into a fire was not the done thing in normal society. In Human society. He was twenty when he saw Darius again. it was by accident, the wrong place at the wrong time; he had decided to go horse riding alone, to clear his head. the bandits had come and though Luc’ had tried an Illusionist would never beat an Immortal-born. He awaited death, not fighting them as he was dragged along the floor, jeers surrounding him. Their fires roared with the deep yell. He was taller, much taller and strong like a giant, his face snarling at the rebels. Luc’ was dropped and watched him with the same awe that his people did. He looked like the Emperor he was meant to be. Luc’ was up and in his arms seconds later. They didn’t kiss, physical expressions were trivial to the fire that weaved around them, sinking into Luc’ skin and burning brightly from Darius’. It didn’t burn her because the Fire God loved her.
It’s hard to breathe, the water so murky. Pieces of pure fat float down, while other pieces I don’t think about. Fat fingers press the glass, they’re taunting me. They are keeping me trapped, above me is burning hell, the tortured souls of my blood. I’m waiting for my turn.
Who knew fish were weirdly poetic? I saw this photo in Year 9 science class about convection. It’s really cool how it works. ANYWAY, the prompt just kind of brought it back.
It was like the ocean. When you get pass the blue shore and beautiful coral and look over that edge into nothing. just darkness. Black doesn’t describe. something that empty doesn’t even have colour. it’s like you’re blind. It feels like it’s going to suck you in, even if that’s not possible, you still need to hold on to something.
I held on to something and it wasn’t enough. The portal to wherever we created, has swallow the whole team, perhaps even the entire planet. some part of me wishing it has, perhaps then I’ll be lucky enough to see something. there aren’t even stars here. I may have gone blind yet even when I close my eye it at least feels like something. not this drifting helpless, no surfaces to grip or to turn on. It feels of nothing and that’s the worst. perhaps it killed me. I wouldn’t know, all I know is that the scratching and tears at my own skin and plucking at my tendons is the only satisfaction I can find now in this torment. I hope this is leading me somewhere. that one day I’ll find the other dimension we wanted so hard.
Perhaps not, all I should truly wish for is death.
Blood was beating in his ears. Shylock was pretty sure it was coming out of his ears now but his body didn’t seem to matter anymore. He had no more use of it. the world was brighter, yet he couldn’t see anything. he could almost see his mother’s face, he couldn’t wait to stab her again. The world, or heaven, wherever he was now, seemed to loud, cluttering noises, noises happening around him and noises he had forgotten to register long ago. Time was meaningless. He was both dying on a prison floor and flying, hands over his shoulders. Cold, freezing hands.
Fenrir couldn’t be dead, he didn’t understand what this could possibly mean. He refused to believe he could be dead. he grabbed back at the hands.
“Fenrir!” he wanted to scream but it came out hoarse. The brightness settled and he was faced with the relieving sight of his very real, blue eyed brother, who was most certainly alive. If not he had no idea why they were in in the ‘Academy of Immortal-borns,’ healing ward.
“Fenrir?” he said again, much more confident.
His brother smirked, “welcome back to the land of the living.”
“Is he alright?”
He flinched at the voice, searching round for its owner. James was standing some way away from Fenrir and him but he still snarled. James didn’t moved, which only angered Shylock more.
“Shylock easy, James is our brother.”
“He’s the Leader’s child.”
“Who is also our father.”
He pressed his lips together, “he’s human.”
Fenrir would have rolled his eyes, if that was a thing the proud royalty would do.
“James is the one who saved you. And alerted me.”
He ignored the first comment, “So you have been staying in touch with him?”
“He is very useful,” James shuffled, “and he is about to save you again.”
He glared at James, who took this as his cue to speak, “I’m allowing you safety within my school. Under a different name obviously. But you’ll be safe and with others like you.”
“And what about the Leader? I didn’t kill him, he’ll come looking for me.”
James smirked, “leave father to me.”
Shylock snarled again at James at the use of the familiar term.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Fenrir said, with as much emotion as he could muster, “but I must leave.”
Shylock felt like he had been punched. His brother who had left him to suffer for so long, was leaving once again. Despite the pain, aching joints he got up out of the bed. Fenrir didn’t look back.
“Shylock you need to rest,” James reasoned, placing a hand on Shylock, who pushed him away.
“Get out of the way human.”
He followed, much slower and limping behind Fenrir calling his name as he went. it wasn’t until they were outside the gates did Fenrir turn around shoving Shylock backwards.
“I do not trust the humans.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want,” he grabbed Fenrir’s arm, “to go with you.”
Fenrir looked at his brother’s shaking hands with cold eyes before shoving him away.
“No. you must stay here.”
“You cannot order me around! I am the oldest!”
“Yes brother but you are also weak. You are broken by the leader. War is not a place for you.”
“So you are just going to leave me?” His weak legs failed and his voice broke watching Fenrir leave him once more. He was shocked to find, frozen arms circling him, a hand pressing their foreheads together.
“I only do this to protect you. only ever you,” Fenrir whispered as a quiet confession. They stayed like that for a moment, and Shylock could almost believe the harden general and soon to be Emperor was his fifteen year old twin. The moment passed and Fenrir stood, as tall and as grand as ever.
“Go. Live and learn. heal. And one day I’ll see you again. Hopefully in our home, not on a battlefield.”
Fenrir left, even then he didn’t leave, he couldn’t move. Then, slowly, he moved and returned back through the school gates.
No one expected the boy, the human to win. No one ever expected much of Harold. Sakiah knew what he was capable of, still she gripped the handle of throne over looking the arena. Ess’ also seemed to be suffering from the same anxiety though she had not spoken to her brother in years.
“He shouldn’t be here,” she said stiffly. He should be dead, remained unsaid.
Sakiah watched the screen above her, it focused on Harold‘s face, it was fearless as ever despite how heavily he leaned on the metal spear he brought into the arena. It was laughable given the guns holstered on his opponent’s belt.
Everyone underestimated Harold. The battle was long, not because they were evenly matched but because it was not allowed to be over until one of them died. Harold didn’t let the stronger and taller man die quickly. He wouldn’t be Harold if he did. He had fallen to the floor when his spear went flying in front of him, his enemy shooting a storm of bullets his way. But the metal would not disobey its master. Sakiah watched stoically as she could, Darlinya whimpering for even the ill child could see what was truly happening as the crowd hissing and cried out, both in horror and amusement. Harold’s eyes casted up to the shaded box for the royal family and Sakiah raised her eyebrows. Harold took mercy.
The crowd was too shocked to cheer, but Harold didn’t care he had only come to have his demands heard as everyone who entered the arena did. You didn’t come here to fight unless the only option was death.
Harold struggled to stand, willing his spear to his side. Ess’ quickly stood, leaning over the edge to check on the damage to her estranged brother, Darius her ever doting son following.
Sakiah stood, “what is it that you demand of your emperor?” the word was spat out as it was something that could never truly represent Sakiah.
“I only ask for one thing. Britain.”
Sakiah furrowed her eyebrows.
“Help me take Britain. I will rule them as their leader. For you.”
He said it as if he was offering a box of chocolates to rekindle a long dead relationship.
Everyone underestimated Harold including Sakiah.
Sniffing. An off far howl.
But we’re protected.
Invisible barrier they dare not trespass.
The smell may come close,
but I’m marking against it.
They don’t dare to fight me.
Cross here, is to taunt death.