[hr][hr][center][img]https://i.postimg.cc/SR52k84p/54b4e63d635603b22d80f72a4ba2be54.png[/img][hr][hr][@Achronum][@Blizz][@Forsythe][@Kirah][@PatientBean][@Trainerblue192][hr][h3][color=AC3EFF][b]The Tale of Ser Nemo[/b][/color][/h3][/center][hr][hider=Content Warnings]Torture, abuse, elder abuse, suicide, alcoholism[/hider] [b][center]Now - the Starlight Citadel[/center][/b] [i]Will you promise me something, Dorian? Live. No matter what may happen.[/i] Battered, broken, and defeated, Ser Nemo did not strain against the iron chains suspending him in his cell. His arms and legs were shackled, his neck collared, and his clothing left in wet, bloodied tatters. On his lips was the familiar golden stain of Blightswill, the poisonous liquid trailing down to his chin. The marks of lashes had kissed his scar-marked skin, and his fingers were more akin to bloodied stumps, the nailbeds having long since been peeled away. He did not hold his head high, instead allowing it to slump, his shoulders hunched, and his eyes closed. Would that he had more tears to shed. But Ser Nemo was alive and his heart, while shattered, remained beating. “You ought to have been more careful, lover.” Darius FleshShaper, second husband of Ser Nemo, stepped out of shadow. With a wave of his hand, a mortal attendant opened the iron cell door, permitting the fae to enter. He still looked exactly as he had the day he and Nemo first met, the day they had fought to save all of Otherworld. His dark skin and rich, purple hair did not know the passage of time. He was youthful, and forever would be - even as Nemo found himself caught in twilight. “I told you that the White Witch was watching. Do you not remember? The night of that silly little dance?” Ser Nemo did not raise his head. He did not open his eyes. He did not need to travel through time to know what would happen next - to know his beloved husband’s intentions. For thirty years, they had been wed. For thirty years, he had loved no other. And he would love no other ever again. His lady was not forgiving, and in her mercy, she left none unchanged. This was how it must happen. This is how it always would happen. A circle could never truly end. “No?” Darius chastised. “Perhaps you are having difficulty remembering. I am told this happens even to witchbreed mortals, that as your life begins to dim, so does your essence. However, as your loving husband, I have vowed to help you in all things, and so, I will aid you here.” He made no perceptible movement, nothing more than the tensing of muscles in his already weary body - but not even that could be hidden from his beloved’s watchful eyes. Ser Nemo knew the fae too well to be surprised. He knew that the torture had been nothing more than a game, a preamble to this. There was no need to demand answers, to promise an ease in suffering for cooperation. His lady held them all in chains - his were merely visible. And yet, it was one thing to choose this path, knowing its end, and another to experience it, to live through it. He did not need to see to know who stood a few paces behind his lover - to know that the Sevalithi had been summoned. It was what he would have done himself, after all. “Tell me that you are grateful, lover.” He would not, even as he felt the sear of the lash - as his husband left yet another mark upon his skin, the flesh tearing as fresh blood began to flow. “I said - [i]tell me that you are grateful, lover,[/i]” Darius hissed. Another lash, another kiss. Darius gripped his hair, yanking his head back - and with his other hand, he peeled Ser Nemo’s eyes open, forcing him to look - forcing him to obey, to submit. “Another tactic, then,” his eye twitched. “Perhaps I shall go pay your witchbreed friends a visit. Perhaps this time, Dorian Gray meets his end by my blade, and not his own. How does that sound, [i]Percy Novikov[/i]?” The name was a crueller touch than any instrument, any weapon - so enchanted by the magic of the fae, its application was like a flame, consuming him from the inside out. Someone was screaming in utter agony, a bloodcurdling cry that left Ser Nemo - that left Percy dazed and disoriented. He did not even recognize it as his own. [color=ed1c24]“I… I am grateful.”[/color] Darius grinned, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Oh, you are too kind, [i]Percy[/i]. Now! I believe you two are already acquainted. I wanted you to have the very best. Finley, love, would you come in here? My poor darling cannot seem to remember some events of import, and he is so eager and desperate to please. Will you not help him?” He did not need Finley’s help to remember. He did not need her to ride his blood for it all to come back - for his mind to drift to where this had all started, so many years ago… [center][b]Then - the Ruins of Genosha[/b][/center] [i]Sacrificing yourself isn’t heroic. It’s not beautiful. At best, you will devastate them; at worst, you’ll become a liability.[/i] He had long since run out of tears to shed. It was sunny. The leaves moved gently with the breeze, filling the air with a soft, patient rustle. The native fauna of the island went about their daily business, snakes slithering through the undergrowth, birds chirping out calls to summon their brethren, predators stalking their prey. The waves lapped at the shore, renewing the sand, erasing the footprints of those who had come before - of the two inhabitants of the once great mutant nation of Genosha. The temperature was not harsh, the glare of the sun not punishing - there was no tropical storm to ruin the lovely scene, no oncoming danger, just peace, silence, and tranquility. He dug his hands into the ground, dirt filling in underneath his fingernails as he scooped a portion together and tossed it aside. He could have used a tool - could have made this process faster. He could have abandoned these efforts, as before long, there would be no one to know - no one to tell what had happened here. But he did not know what he would do when this task was done, did not know who he would become. The familiar words offered him no comfort, even as he whispered them, over and over again - begging for any respite from this pain, but clinging to it all the same. It was all he had left. [color=ed1c24]“Baruch dayan ha'emet,”[/color] he murmured. His hands shook, as he plunged them into the funeral ground once more - as he excavated a final resting place for his beloved. The corpse was not yet cold. He knew the traditions, knew the rites. He needed to be buried. It was the last thing that could be done for him, the last chance he had to do right by his other half. He had failed him. He hadn’t been enough. He had not been worth living for. [color=ed1c24]“Baruch dayan ha'emet.”[/color] The grave was dug on the same slope as the others. They had carved their names into stone together - had stolen their ashes, bringing them here. Leah, April, Sabine, Danni, Vicky, Marlena, Andy, Millie, Chase, Ben, Gideon. They were all here. He shut his eyes for a moment, remembering that night - remembering the dizzying lights, the music, the joy - and how quickly it had become a smoking crater, how quickly he and his beloved had become the last ones alive, the survivors of a massacre not by skill or fate, but by luck. He choked back a pained cry, as he rose to his feet - choked back a scream, choked back his anger, his grief. Mechanically, he stumbled forwards to where he had left him - to the small blanket the two of them shared, now serving as his shroud. He knelt, his heart breaking as he felt the heat lingering in his beloved, as he lifted him from the ground, his arms falling limply to his side - as he held him for the last time. [color=ed1c24]“Baruch dayan ha'emet.”[/color] He had failed him. He had not been strong enough to fix this - his powers had not been enough. He had not been enough. And now, even if he were to go back - even if he were to regain an hour, to regain two, it would not change his beloved’s fate. This had not been the act of a monster, of an invader - there was no villain here to thwart, no foe to best. His love had chosen this - had chosen that this life was not enough, that it was better to slip away and become a memory. Percy lowered Dorian into his grave. [color=ed1c24]“Baruch dayan ha'emet,”[/color] he prayed, as he removed his coat. He held the sleeve of it with both hands, knowing what was to be done - that he was to rip it and accept the end, accept that Dorian was dead and gone. Severing its threads would represent severing the cord between them. But he could not do it. He was not strong enough. He staggered to his knees, leaning forward as he rested his forehead against the soil, and he screamed. He screamed until he thought his throat would bleed, screamed until he became deaf to his own voice, screamed until he found that he did, in fact, still have tears to shed. [color=ed1c24]“Why did you leave me?!”[/color] he cried. His chest shuddered, as he struggled to breathe - as he struggled to find a way to continue living, when all the world was dark. [color=ed1c24]“Why was I not enough for you?”[/color] he sobbed. He punched the ground - punched the dirt. [color=ed1c24]“What could I have done?”[/color] he begged, he pleaded. He forced himself to his feet, forced himself to look in the open grave - forced himself to see those eyes, forever closed. [color=ed1c24]“Why couldn’t you have lived?”[/color] [color=ed1c24]“I would do anything for you. I would carve the sun out of the sky and present it to you if you asked. I would leave a trail of blood across this entire world just to satisfy you. I would have killed the Emperor myself, no matter the cost. I would have died for you, Dorian. Why couldn’t you have lived for me? Why?!”[/color] He took another agonizing breath. [color=ed1c24]“I love you,”[/color] his voice broke. [color=ed1c24]“I love you more than anything.”[/color] His knuckles were white, his hands shaking from the tension. His eyes fell on the graves. [color=ed1c24]“I will fix this. I will bring you people worth living for,”[/color] he vowed, even though he didn’t know how - even though he knew that the White Witch would be on his heels, that any change he tried to make to the past would just as soon be undone. He would find a way. He would give Dorian a life worth living for. Even if it meant that he would not be in it. [b][center]Later - the Margaret Carter Institute[/center][/b] He had not touched a bottle in nearly sixty years. He remembered the taste as if it had been yesterday. It scorched his throat as it went down, a fiery coating that clung to his lips with an intensity that matched the gnawing pit in his stomach. His limbs and joints still ached from the way he had concealed himself, compacting into a corner of the training room, a simple glamor cloak perfecting the illusion. He had watched the entire time, had been present as Arcade gleefully attempted to murder his friends - as Andy’s body had been dragged away - had gagged himself with his own clothing to stop the screams, the cries. His angle had allowed him to look at the monitors, to see the games his old friends struggled through - a front row seat to tragedy. Reliving it all, being present but powerless to change it, powerless to act unless he was prepared to whisk them all away, to teach them to hide from the White Witch and her minions - the Captain, the priestesses, the TVA. It wasn’t their best chance - that had yet to come. But if his meddling had altered things enough… if Arcade was one bit quicker on his code, Andy one second slower to revive… So he had watched. He had seen them through. He had placed the alert with the Avengers, summoning them the moment he could - the moment the tables had turned on Arcade. And then he had left, the space around him rippling and distorting as he vanished - as he felt the Scarlet Witch’s eyes pause on where he had hid. He flickered, reappearing first at a liquor store, and then finally in a park he hadn’t been to since he was a boy - since he had been Percy Novikov. It had been his safe space, then. A place where he could let his imagination run wild, where heroes fought valiantly against legendary creatures and were blessed by the gods for their efforts. He’d played with wooden swords and foam shields, skinned his knees more times than he could count, and jumped off the swings without fear. Anything had been possible. He sank to his knees, the damp wood chips smushing beneath him. It had taken every ounce of self control left to him to not intervene, to not stop Arcade before he could lay a hand on any of them. He had none left to stop himself from resorting to his own worst instincts, from swallowing the poison in hopes it would quiet the storm within him. It wasn’t enough, though. It was never enough. Drinking would not rid him of the White Witch’s gaze - would not help him to save these children, just these children. It did not numb his pain either, only serving to feed it as he sobbed, as he cursed his patron, cursed the world and every person in it. None of this was fair. None of it had been right. They were children. Just children. Inconsequential in the greater scheme, just a blip in the timeline, a rounding error in a spreadsheet. But they deserved to live - all of them deserved whatever chance he could give them, whatever he could create for them. He would do whatever it took, pay any price, battle any foe - all for them, so that they could live. He would burn his life to make a sunrise he will never see. [hider=Translations]Baruch dayan ha'emet = Blessed is the true judge.[/hider] [hider=The following lore changes are now in effect][list][*]April Flynn is now April Kingston-Gray, adopted after a natural disaster at age 8 by Max Gray and James Kingston. [*]Percy Novikov is now the son and only child of Dominika Novikova and Naomi Levy. Dominika never married a SHIELD agent from the Secret Warriors team. [*]Casper Kingston and Ben Gray are now foster brothers, having been in the same home as teenagers. This home was abusive, as the parents wanted powerful mutant children to exploit. Ben’s biological parents are now immigrants to the United States, and Casper’s biological father is now unknown. Casper has no biological siblings. [*]Sunshine’s backstory has been simplified to restore the original con artist father concept. She is not the child of Jack Theriot. [*]Matt Moss did not get married to a fellow SHIELD agent. [*]Bonnie Chase and Niah Bautista are married and have been a couple since the end of the Secret Warriors team of SHIELD. [*]Avery Spellman was never romantically interested in Carolina Reed.[/list][/hider]