JJ Doe

◈ 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐒 | Κάθαρσις ◈

Jay’s Catharsis

@silver21 @Stanifly @Auragreedia @DaftJive @spiral origin @Object 452k @BaronOBeefDip @CyclingTortoise
(Not sure which group Jay would be in, so tagged people who post in the IC)

Hand raised high, Jay said, “I heard this is the place to come when you got—”

Their avatar froze. The environment froze with it—a clean, simple dark gray room with yellow and white accents, decorated here and there with advertisements for things like meditation apps and MMO expansions—and the other avatars sitting in the circle stuttered and snapped, their forms jerking backward to positions they had already vacated, limbs repeating in staccato, the whole scene desynchronizing in that way that made you aware, suddenly, that none of this existed anywhere but on servers. Or a dream.

Damn internet.

“—g̸͚̀o̴͓̎ṯ̶͝ ̵͎̅g̷̩͠ö̶͜t̸̥͛ ̷͙̈́g̶̯͑o̸̐͜t̷̖̑ ̷̠̓t̸̔ͅo̵̩͝ ̶̭͗g̵͚͒e̴̦͒-̴̰̋ḡ̴̟ë̵̯́ṫ̵͍ s̷̗̊o̵͎͂m̵̟̊e̸̜̿t̶͉̍h̷̬͆ĩ̷̜ṉ̶͒ġ̷̝ ̵̟͆o̷͉͛f̵̞̈́f̷̱̀ ̴̠́ỵ̸͛o̸͎͆ư̷͍r̵͕͝ ̷̰̄c̷͖͐h̷̦̑e̴̢͂s̷̫͝t̴̪̚?”

A few more seconds passed, seconds that felt like ten minutes, before things started running at something tolerably normal.

“Is it okay if it’s not like…” Jay paused. “Life or death?”

◈ 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐒 | Κάθαρσις ◈

If you need someone, I'd like to throw my hat in the ring.

Avalia

Time: P.M.
Location: A holding cell somewhere
Equipment: Confiscated

✠✠✠✠✠

Time blurred. Vasco drifted in and out, the rag draped over his eyes. Sometimes a sound dragged him back. Footsteps echoing, a door slamming, some poor sap being hauled from another cell. Other times he came to for no damn reason, just long enough to register the drip of water and the damp cold seeping through the planks, before sleep pulled him under again.

Then the shakes started.

Hands trembled first, then jaw. The headache that had been sitting dull at the base of his skull sharpened into something mean, creeping down from his temples to his neck. His gut rolled.

Pushing himself up took effort, and the room spun the second he moved. Had to grip the edge of the planks until it passed. Got his feet under him eventually, but every muscle felt wrong, tight and loose at the same time.

The wall’s cold stone helped when he pressed his forehead against it. Lasted maybe ten seconds before the pressure built again, like his skull was trying to crack itself open. He turned, let the back of his head take over, teeth clenched.

Fists curled, released, curled again. Three steps to the bars. Three steps back. The pacing kept the worst of it at bay, kept his brain from crawling into that white-hot space behind his eyes. When the headache spiked, he planted both palms against the stone and pressed until his arms shook.

Didn’t fix anything. But it was something.

Took him a minute to straighten up. Chest heaving, a shape caught his eye in the far corner. The kid. Right. Vasco had damn near forgotten he wasn’t alone.

“How’d you end up in here, anyway?” The words came out rough, slurring slightly at the edges.

A mumble.

“Speak up.” He leaned against the bars. Didn’t trust his legs not to give out.

“I was kidnapped.” The kid’s voice was quieter than before, flatter. “I got away from them—thought I did, anyway. It didn’t… It didn’t take long for them to t-track me down. They threw me in here and that’s that.”

Vasco blinked, tried to make the kid’s shape hold still. Kidnapped. Escaped. Caught again? Damn. This resistance’s shot to hell if they kept losing the ones under their wing.

He slid down to sit, back against the bars. The tremor hadn’t quit. The headache sat there, patient, waiting.

Didn’t look at the kid again. Just closed his eyes and counted the drips.

Avalia

Time: P.M.
Location: A holding cell somewhere
Equipment: Confiscated

✠✠✠✠✠

Darkness came and went. A lantern somewhere. Shadows. Voices. Boots on stone. Metal against metal. Vasco floated through it.

Then Josephine was there.

Not real. But he felt her—a cool and damp towel pressed on his busted face. Worked quiet, like always when he'd come home with blood on him. She whispered his name once, twice. He tried to answer but the dream folded in on itself and she was gone.

When his eyes opened, a young face hovered above him. Wire-rimmed specs catching the dim light in this hole. Lips moving.

Nothing.

Cold panic hit him. Maybe the pipe scrambled his brains for good. But then he caught the steady drip of water from the murk, each drop hitting stone clear and sharp. Not completely deaf yet. Kid was just talking under his breath.

“Can’t hear ya, bud,” came out graveled.

The kid’s eyes went wide behind the lenses. He jerked back, glanced away, as if he’d catch one for looking. His fingers fumbled at his sides. Second try, his voice had some volume to it, though it still shook. “I... I asked h-how are you.” A breath. “How are you feeling?”

“For taking a sap to the head?” Vasco’s mouth tried something like a grin. “Jake.” He pushed himself up.

“Wait, I don’t think—”

The joint tilted. Everything went swimmy and the nausea rolled up from his gut. The kid’s hands steadied his shoulders, guiding him back down flat. Wooden planks under him. Not even a bed. Hay thrown on top, damp. The whole thing suspended by chains he could hear creaking with his weight.

Reaching for a wooden bowl on the floor, the kid wrung out a rag and laid it over Vasco’s eyes.
The cold helped dull the throb in his skull. After a minute his head cleared some. Place stank of rot but he didn’t give a damn. Lay there listening to water echo off stone.

Drip.
Drip.
Drip.

“Where the hell am I?”

The kid hesitated. “I’m not really sure, but I think we’re in one of the holding cells for huma—” He stopped. Started again. “For people-trafficking.”

Vasco lifted the towel enough to expose one eye. Got a good look at the half-breed. Chink blood in there somewhere. Average height. No scales, no fur, no wings. And underneath the messy brown mop, round ears.

Avalia

Black Maw Syndicate

Watching Rowan collapse, Aurora sprawled beside him on the warehouse floor, Whiskers grinned. Perfect. Time to end this—

“COME HERE!”

Barrock’s thunderous roar shook dust from the rafters and rattled Whiskers’ bones. He whipped around to witness Grimjaw’s head rolling across blood-soaked planks with a wet, meaty sound, trailing crimson like a broken wine cask. The metallic stench of fresh blood hit his nostrils as the body crumpled.

Blood drained from Whiskers’ face faster than it had from Grimjaw’s neck. His ears flattened against his skull.

Fuck. This was going sideways fast.

His beady eyes found Ironboot first—the dwarf’s mouth hung open in shock. Then he caught Kelvara’s gaze as she dodged another of Barrock’s swings. Across the carnage, years together needed no words.

Time to cut their losses.

Ironboot hauled the limp human effortlessly over his shoulder and headed for the rear door. Whiskers followed the dwarf’s path.

At the threshold, the demihuman spun around and hurled his poisoned blade at the fallen elves—a parting gift. Before it even landed, he was through the door.

---

The dark elf felt the violent energy radiating from Barrock in forge-hot waves. The other orc’s eyes were completely bloodshot now, lost to the berserker fury that made his kind so feared. Every swing of his blade could cleave her in half, every step shook the warehouse floor.

Grimjaw never stood a chance against this. Poor kid. The young orc had been eager to prove himself, always volunteered for the dangerous jobs. Now his blood painted abstract patterns across the wooden planks while his killer stalked her with murder in his eyes.

All she had to do was buy time. Hold his focus until the others got away.

“What’s wrong, big boy?” she taunted, slipped between two support beams while steel splintered wood where her head had been a heartbeat before. “Getting tired already?”

Dancing backward, Kelvara deflected what strikes she could with her curved blade. Bone-jarring impacts from blows that could shatter stone. Her muscles burned, arms screamed from the effort.

One particularly vicious swing nearly caught her. The blade grazed her ribs, parted leather and flesh alike. Hot pain exploded through her torso, crimson soaking her shirt.

Barrock loomed over her, longsword raised for the kill. His face was a mask of primal fury, beyond reason or mercy.

This was it. All those jobs, all those close calls, just to die in some warehouse.

A sharp hiss, then gray smoke billowed through the warehouse.

“Kelvara!” Whiskers’ voice rang through the haze from somewhere near the exit.

She didn’t hesitate. Rolling to her left, she found Steelchain stumbling blindly through the smoke, his remaining hand outstretched and searched for direction. Kelvara grabbed his metal fingers and pulled, led the damaged warforged toward the sound of Whiskers’ voice.

They disappeared into the winding alleys of River Port, leaving behind a warehouse full of bodies and one very angry orc.

Avalia

Black Maw Syndicate

Kelvara twisted away from Barrock’s overhead strike, the heavy blade embedding itself in the wooden planks beside her boots. Rolling sideways, she came up in a crouch and pressed her assault relentlessly. Her smaller frame proved advantageous—darting between his defenses, using crates and support beams as cover while her curved steel sought gaps in his armor.

Then suddenly, Grimjaw erupted from behind as Kelvara engaged Barrock’s attention. Powerful arms hooked under the orc's armpits, wrenching both limbs backward. Barrock’s sword pulled away from any defensive position while Grimjaw locked the other orc’s shoulders in an agonizing hold, ignoring the fire in his wounded knee.

Perfect. Kelvara seized the moment instantly. With Barrock’s arms restrained and defenses completely open, she reversed her grip and lunged. The weapon sliced through dust-filled air, death riding its edge as it closed the final inches...

---

Ironboot sat up groggily, blinking at the throwing knife protruding from his heavy shoulder padding. The dwarf plucked out the blade and examined it with curiosity. He noted the green coating along its edge before giving it a cautious taste, then spat with disgust and wiped his beard. Decades of his wife’s cooking had built up an impressive tolerance to poison.

He hefted his war hammer, then hurled the poisoned knife at Rowan. The knife sailed past the elf, and Whiskers charged forward, snatching the thrown blade from the air with ease.

Their coordinated attack struck swiftly. The dwarf’s war hammer crashed into Rowan’s legs, staggering the elf under the weight of his unconscious burdens. As Rowan fought to maintain his balance, Whiskers sprang up and snatched Aurora from his faltering grip, while Ironboot rolled and wrapped his thick arm around Vasco’s neck.

Both attackers retreated immediately, dragging their prizes to opposite sides of the warehouse. The dwarf’s muscular forearm pressed against Vasco’s windpipe—a chokehold that could crush the human’s throat with little effort. Meanwhile, Whiskers held the poisoned knife to Aurora’s pale neck.

“Drop whatever fancy moves you’re planning, pretty boy,” the rabbit demihuman called out, his voice carrying a manic edge. “One twitch from any of you and these two get to meet their maker real quick-like!”

Avalia

Black Maw Syndicate

Kelvara snarled as she watched Steelchain crumple, metal arm dangling uselessly. The warforged’s agonized mechanical whirring filled the warehouse as it stumbled blindly into a stack of crates. Another crew down—this was turning into a massacre.

But the dark elf had survived worse odds. Her scarred face twisted into a vicious grin.

Kelvara feinted high with her curved blade, then dropped low, her steel biting deep into the back of Barrock’s leg. Dark blood flowed and his stance wavered. Meanwhile, Grimjaw—blood trickling from his mouth—brought his mace down hard, striking the already dented section of Barrock’s armor and driving the warforged’s earlier damage deeper into the metal.

Across the warehouse floor, Whiskers groaned and rolled onto his side, rabbit ears flattened against his skull. Battered and bloodied, his beady eyes were still tracking Rowan’s movements. The demihuman’s hand crept toward a concealed throwing knife at his belt.

“Not... finished…” Whiskers wheezed, muscles coiling despite his injuries. With a sudden burst of speed, he hurled the poisoned blade at Rowan’s back.

Ironboot had weathered the assault, his thick skull having absorbed the worst of Rowan’s kicks. At the last moment, the dwarf caught Rowan’s heel strike with both hands and redirected it. Ironboot’s meaty fist drove deep into Rowan’s gut. Blood streamed from his broken nose, but dwarven constitution was legendary for a reason. He rolled away and scrambled toward his war hammer.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Kali & Riona

_{Flashback (Sola 26-27, 1739 Time Skip)}
_______________

Kalliope moved with purpose through the servants' quarters, her stride confident and assured. She didn’t skulk or lower her head–acting as if you belonged was always the best way to avoid drawing unwanted attention in her book. She offered brief nods to passing maids and footmen, not stopping or lingering long enough to invite conversation. Most wouldn’t question her presence, anyway. Her history with Riona gave her enough familiarity with these halls to blend in seamlessly.

When she reached Riona’s door, she didn’t hesitate. Knocking twice, she pushed it open without waiting for an answer, stepping inside and shutting it firmly behind her. The air felt warmer here, softer, a haven away from the chaos outside. She glanced around, her green eyes quickly finding Riona. Relief washed over her at the sight of her sister, though it was brief, replaced by the weight pressing down on her chest.

“Ri, I need you,” Kalliope said, her voice cracking slightly before she pushed through. “And the preventative brew.” The words felt heavier than they should, her throat tightening as she spoke. She hesitated, as though admitting this made everything feel more real. "It’s… been a morning," she added, almost as an afterthought, her green eyes pleading for understanding without needing to explain more.

The knock came in its familiar pattern—one-two, pause—and the door opened. Riona grinned. Only Via did that. Then the grin died when she saw her sister’s face. Sh*t.

Without bothering with questions, she pulled her sister into a hug. Her sister’s breath hitched, just slightly, but enough for Riona to hear. Enough to know.

The warmth of Riona’s began to unravel the walls Kalliope has so carefully built up. She eventually resigned and hugged her sister back, taking in the comfort.

After a long moment, Riona stepped back. “And a wild night,” she said, keeping her voice light.

Kalliope let out a soft laugh, one that lacked its usual warmth. “If only it were that simple,” she said, running a hand through her hair, her fingers tangling briefly before dropping to her side. Her voice wavered between bitterness and exhaustion, and the faint smirk on her lips fell flat.

She headed for the shelves, where rows of bottles were neatly arranged. Her fingers skimmed past joint balms and stomach settlers until... ah. The preventative. If her dwindling stock were anything to go by, the castle servants and guards were having way more fun than she was. Good for them, honestly.

“So,” Riona drawled, plucking one of the last bottles, “Who’s the lucky person?” A smirk. “Or several someones?”

Kali’s green eyes darted away to study a spot on the floor. The silence stretched just long enough to be noticeable. Finally, she exhaled sharply through her nose, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her confession.

“Sjan-dehk,” she admitted quietly, her tone tinged with resignation. She raised her head to meet Riona’s gaze, her lips pressing into a thin line. “And no, before you ask, it wasn’t like that. Nothing about it was simple or planned or… or even intentional. We were drugged and…” She gestured vaguely, as though the explanation might make itself known if she just moved her hands enough. “Fucking hell, we don't even remember any of it Ri! We woke up completely naked and in each other's arms.” She let out an exasperated sigh as she plopped down onto Riona's bed.

Her sister knew better than anyone that Kalliope enjoyed having her fun, but she had rules. The most important rule? She NEVER slept with someone she had feelings for. It was too messy and just opened the door to heartbreak. Not to mention, Kalliope had promised herself she'd never fall for someone again…not after what happened in Alidasht.

Riona’s stomach plummeted, blood draining from her face only to come rushing back as rage ignited beneath her skin. She’d known something was wrong from the moment Via walked in, but this—this was beyond wrong. Someone had taken what should have been a tender moment of discovery between her sister and Sjan-dehk and turned it into... into…

Wait. Her mind caught up with her fears and yanked back on the reins. It might not be what she was imagining. She needed the full story first.

Three steps brought her across the room. “Hold still,” Riona ordered, tilting her sister’s chin up to check her pupils. Gods knew what lingering effects the drugs might have left behind. “I know this isn’t a conversation you want to have, but I need details. How in hells did both of you get drugged?” Her fingers moved to Via’s wrist, counting heartbeats. “Did someone do this?”

Kalliope didn’t resist as Riona tilted her chin, her green eyes weary but steady as her sister checked her pupils. She let Riona take her wrist, the familiar comfort of her fussing grounding her more than she cared to admit.

“Yes,” she murmured, her voice quieter now, yet no less tense. “Someone did this.” She swallowed hard before launching into the explanation.

“We were investigating a shipment for the queen. Something about it wasn’t right. While searching, we found a letter–a suspicious one, coded, definitely not meant for just anyone’s eyes.” She exhaled sharply, her hand pressing into the mattress as if to steady herself. “We were almost caught, but we thought we got away clean.”

Her fingers curled into the sheets, nails biting into fabric as she continued. “We went back to Elyna’s inn.” She flinched at the name, the ache of loss flashing across her face before she forced herself to move past it. “I asked for tea, like I always do. It was brought up, nothing seemed off. But someone must’ve slipped something into it.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, as if trying to will the memory into sharper focus. “I remember my thoughts slowing down. Everything felt warm, too warm, and then…gods, Ri, I felt so happy. Unnaturally so. And then… nothing. Not a damn thing. Not for me, not for him.” Her hands balled into fists in her lap now as she looked down for a moment. “We were so out of it that someone came in, stole the letter back, and even had the audacity to leave us a message.”

Her throat tightened, the weight of what had been done pressing down on her chest. She lifted her head to meet Riona’s gaze again, her expression unreadable but her voice quiet, edged with something dangerously close to grief.

“They killed Elyna,” she said, the words stark and hollow. “They left her head as part of the message.”

The queen? After the disaster at the Royal Curd, the Knight’s report stated Via was unfit for duty. She half expected her sister to be put on leave, if not outright dismissal. But instead, she’d gotten a direct assignment from the queen herself. With Captain Sjan-dehk, of all people.

Maybe this was meant as a chance to make up for the Royal Curd incident. If so, this mission going sideways wouldn’t help matters. Especially not with the Captain involved. Again. It only added fuel to the claims that Via was a liability.

Gods. What would she and Via do if the crown stripped Via of her position? … No, that can’t happen. They won’t let that happen. Not when Edin and Alibeth haven’t been destroyed yet.

While Via recounted the events, Riona continued her examination, checking for any lingering signs of the drug. Finding none, she settled onto the bed beside her sister and closed her fingers around Via’s clenched fists

After hearing about Elyna’s fate, Riona squeezed her hands. “I’m so sorry, Via.” The words felt inadequate against such horror, but she pressed on. “They will pay for this.”

“It doesn’t make sense though…” A frown creased her brow as she processed the full story. “Why leave you two alive at all? You and Sjan-dehk pose far more risk than Elyna ever did. Wouldn’t it be safer and more effective to kill you both and let her ‘deliver the message’?”

Kalliope exhaled sharply, her fists loosening slightly in Riona’s grasp as she let the question settle over her. She had asked herself the same thing a dozen times already, and the lack of an answer gnawed at her.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, frustration laced in her tone. “It would’ve been easy enough to kill us. We were drugged, defenseless, completely at their mercy.” She shook her head, her brows drawing together. “But they didn’t. They stole back the letter, they left a message, and they let us live.”

Her fingers twitched. “That means something, Ri. Maybe they wanted us to wake up and know they were watching. Maybe this was some kind of sick warning.” Her jaw clenched. “Or maybe… maybe they have something worse planned.”

She looked at her sister then, her green eyes dark with grim determination. “Either way, I’m going to find out.”

She hesitated, then added, “It could also have to do with who Sjan-dehk is. Killing him wouldn’t have gone unnoticed--not with two Viserjantan ships docked in our harbor. His people would likely tear the city apart looking for answers, and whoever did this knows that. His death would’ve brought hell down on them.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “And maybe that’s the only reason we’re still breathing. Guess it's one more thing I should be grateful to him for.”

Riona tightened her grip on Via’s hand. “It means they’re scared, Via. You two got too close to something they didn’t want uncovered, but they weren’t about to risk killing a crown’s agent. Or a captain with two ships full of Viserjantans that apparently can just burn this city to the ground if they really wanted to. So they went after the easiest target. Someone whose death wouldn’t bring the entire weight of the crown or the Viserjantan fleet down on their heads.”

She paused. “Hold on, what’s Sjan-dehk doing mixed up in this at all? The queen assigned this to you, didn’t she? Why’s he investigating shipments with you?”

Kalliope’s face heated instantly, and she broke eye contact, staring at a spot on the floor as if it might swallow her whole. She knew she had been sloppy, and admitting it aloud only made the shame settle deeper into her bones.

“I invited him,” she muttered, her fingers of her free hand tightening into fists. “I… I craved his company, and I let it cloud my judgment.” She shook her head, frustration simmering beneath her embarrassment. “I got careless, let myself be distracted, and I put myself and Sjan-dehk in danger while getting someone innocent killed.”

She exhaled sharply, forcing herself to push past the self-recrimination. “But it wasn’t completely without reason. The target’s name showed up in some documentation Sjan-dehk had seized from a pirate ship off the coast. He had a valid connection to the investigation. I just… let personal feelings get in the way of keeping my head clear.”

A cold weight settled in the pit of Riona's stomach, followed by a sickening wave of anxiety. Hells. The timing couldn’t be worse. Between the Royal Curd disaster and now this?

Part of her wanted to shake Via until her teeth rattled, but that wouldn’t help anything right now. Instead, she pinched the bridge of her nose, forcing her thoughts into some kind of order.

“Alright.” A slow breath. “If there’s still time, maybe you can adjust the narrative. Keep Sjan-dehk’s involvement quiet. … If not... at least let’s find something to show for all this.”

With the letter gone and Elyna... gone, they were working with nothing but memories. But maybe...

Quick steps carried her to the desk. Loose papers scattered as she yanked out a fresh sheet and her good pen. “Via, write down everything you remember from that letter. Every detail, no matter how small.”

Riona laid out the items for her sister. “And maybe—Gods, I can’t believe I’m saying this—we should talk to Quack? His people are everywhere. They might’ve noticed or heard something.”

Kalliope swallowed hard, nodding as she pulled the sheet toward her. “I remember most of it,” she admitted, though a frustrated crease formed between her brows. “Some parts are hazy, but I’ll piece together what I can.”

She let her mind drift back to the letter, to the way certain letters had slanted unnaturally, how others had been unnecessarily bolded. It had looked mundane at first glance—just standard shipment details—but there was a pattern, a hidden message buried beneath the surface. She began writing, her strokes precise but tense, frustration creeping in where the drugging had blurred her memory.

At Riona’s next suggestion, Kalliope hesitated, her grip tightening on the pen. “Quack could help,” she admitted, her voice reluctant. “His people hear things no one else does. But…” She exhaled sharply, looking up at her sister with unease. “We should hold off. At least until I can figure out more. If someone in his network is involved, this could put you in danger, and I’m not taking that risk.”

“If someone in his network is involved, then I’m not in any less or more risk than I already am since I’m not part of Quack’s group. Use what you can use, Via. The faster we deal with this the better.”

She set the pen down, rubbing at her temple. “I already have things in motion to keep people from sniffing around about Elyna. That’s handled—I’m not worried about that.” Her voice was firm, but the exhaustion behind it was undeniable.

Then, almost reluctantly, she added, “I… also promised I’d go back to Sada Kurau for the day.” She leaned back, pressing her lips together. “Sjan-dehk is worried about my safety, and I—” She hesitated, fingers flexing against the table before she finally admitted, “I don’t know how to face him.”

She swallowed, forcing out the truth she barely wanted to acknowledge. “You know better than anyone that I shouldn’t be falling for someone right now. It’s dangerous. Every mistake I’ve made lately has been because of these damned feelings.” She shook her head, looking down at the letter she’d half-finished copying. “And if I don’t put a stop to it now, I don’t know how many more I’ll make.” Yet at the same time, putting a stop to the feelings made her heart ache more than she wanted to admit. She wasn't sure if she could put a stop to them and that's what scared her the most.

But it wasn’t that easy was it? To just stop feeling. No matter how much you knew it you’d be better off without them. “Then stop,” Riona said, leaning against the desk. “Don’t go see him. Push him away when he shows up.” She gestured dramatically with one hand. “Be a colossal b*tch to him so he hates you and everything that reminds him of you.”

Pausing, she leveled a steady gaze at Via, “It’ll break both of your hearts, but he’ll be at a safe distance from you, and you won’t make any more mistakes.” Riona folded her arms across her chest, one eyebrow arched, “Right?”

Kalliope let out a bitter laugh, though there was no real amusement in it. “Just stop,” she echoed, shaking her head. “Like it’s that simple.” She ran a hand through her hair, fingers tangling for a moment before she let it drop back to the table. “Gods, Riona, I’ve spent my whole life training myself to be in control. Of my actions, my emotions—everything. And yet, one man comes along, and suddenly, I’m unraveling.”

She exhaled sharply, picking up the quilt again only to twirl it between her fingers, as if that might help her focus. “You’re right. I should push him away. I should be cruel, make him despise me so he never comes near me again.” Her grip tightened. “But the idea of doing that makes me feel sick. Because I—” She cut herself off, frustration flickering in her eyes. “I don’t think I can.”

Softly, Riona asked, “Via, what do you really want?”

Her gaze flickered up to meet Riona’s, vulnerability now warring with that frustration. “What do I want?” she repeated, voice quieter now. “I want to stop feeling like this. I want to stop second-guessing everything I do because of him. I want to stop caring, stop hoping, stop—” Her breath hitched, and for a second, she pressed her lips together, willing herself not to let it show.

Then, finally, with quiet resignation, she admitted, “But I can’t. Because above all else I want him, Riona. And that’s the problem.”

Riona placed a hand on her sister’s back, the gentle circles she drew there a wordless comfort. “It isn’t,” she said. “Wanting someone isn’t the problem at all. It just means your priorities changed. Your heart found room for something more.” Via’s posture shifted slightly—surprise, resistance to this idea.

Light caught in her sister’s hair, picking out strands of copper among the auburn red. Riona had memorized every shade, every line of Via’s face over the years of their shared grief. But now she was witnessing something new taking shape.

“You have a reason to live,” she continued, her voice gathering certainty. “Something to look forward to in the future, past revenge.” Riona smiled, a mix of warmth and bittersweetness. “I’m happy you found someone who makes you feel this way. And I think—no, I know—you deserve to be with the person who matters this much to you.”

A sudden haze blurred Riona’s vision, a stinging she couldn’t blink away.

It was joy for her sister—relief that Via now had an anchor, something worth living for no matter what came next. And it was a quiet loneliness too. Once Riona was gone, Via would be fine. Because the Captain would be there… She didn’t need her sister anymore.

She doesn’t need Riona.

It hurt a little—more than a little. But that was okay.

Everything would be alright.
As it should be.
As Riona wanted it to be.

Her hand slid down to the paper on the desk, fingers brushing the edge of Via’s neat script. “Got everything down?”

At the answering nod, Riona retrieved the small bottle set aside earlier. “Take this in the morning and at night for the next seven days,” she instructed, pressing the bottle into her sister’s palm. “Every day, no exceptions. Understand?”

With gentle pressure, she coaxed her toward the door. When Via’s gaze darted back to the paper on the desk, Riona squeezed her arm. “I got it,” she assured. It would be one more thing she’ll have to investigate, but she’d help her sister in any way she could. “You go back to Sada Kurau. Tell the Captain what he means to you.”

A breath caught in her throat as she added, “And if... if you ever decide to sail away with him into the horizon—just know there’s nothing to be worried about here.” Riona met Via’s gaze, steady and unwavering. “We will have our revenge.”

“I’ve got this,” she repeated, the conviction in her voice stronger this time. “I promise.”

Before Via could argue, Riona pulled her into a fierce hug—just in case. Just in case today was the day her sister chose a different path, a different horizon. Just in case this was goodbye.

“Live a long and happy life, Via,” she whispered against her sister’s hair. “With or without Sjan-dehk.” And without me.

Kalliope stood still, her body tense in Riona’s embrace. The words whispered into her hair settled over her like a weight she wasn’t ready to bear. Live a long and happy life. As if it were that simple. As if choosing something beyond revenge, beyond this path they’d carved from blood and grief, was as easy as turning away.

Her grip on Riona tightened.

"I appreciate this," she murmured, her voice quieter than usual but no less firm. "I do. But this isn’t a decision I can make right now."

She pulled back just enough to meet Riona’s gaze, searching for understanding, for space to breathe through the storm raging inside her.

Her fingers curled around the small bottle Riona had pressed into her hand, gripping it as if she could ground herself with the feeling.

"I’m not walking away from this," she continued, her voice steady despite the turmoil beneath it. "I can’t. Our revenge—our justice—it’s still mine, too. I’m not leaving it behind. Not for him. Not for anyone."

But the words felt hollow, even as she spoke them.

Because deep down, buried beneath the layers of resolve, she knew the truth. A part of her had already started to walk away.

”But you're right, I should probably get back to the ship so he doesn't send anyone out searching for me. I'll check back in with you as soon as my end of things is handled so you know I'm okay. I love you, Ri.”

“... I love you too.”

Kalliope hugged her sister tight once more, shoving away her warring emotions, before letting go and giving her a reassuring smile. Then, she turned to head out the door.

Avalia

Black Maw Syndicate

Bodies lay scattered on the warehouse floor, some groaning, others ominously still. The fox demihuman took one look at the carnage, at Barrock standing among the fallen, hand on his sword hilt, and bolted for the nearest window. An elf wasn’t far behind, crossbow in hand as he scrambled toward the door.

“Cowards!” spat Kelvara, the dark elf. Fury twisted her scarred face when she watched two of her crew flee into the streets. But five stayed. Five who’d rather die than explain this disaster to their boss.

She could see the tactical situation clear as daylight - the massive orc was a walking nightmare, but he was distracted. That pretty boy elf was trying to haul two unconscious bodies toward the back exit, slow and vulnerable.

“Grimjaw! Steelchain!” She barked orders at the young orc and the warforged. “That green bastard thinks he’s untouchable. Show him what happens when you corner the Black Maw!” The warforged’s glowing eyes flickered acknowledgment while the orc cracked his knuckles.

“Whiskers! Ironboot!” She pointed at the rabbit demihuman and dwarf. “Don’t let them reach that door!”

Three attackers converged on Barrock. Kelvara led the charge, her curved blade slicing through the air as Grimjaw flanked left bearing a heavy mace. The warforged Steelchain approached from the right, gleaming metal fists ready. Their coordination was flawless - a textbook pincer movement.

Meanwhile, Whiskers the rabbit demihuman bounded through debris at supernatural speed, reaching Rowan in heartbeats. Ironboot the dwarf rushed forward with his war hammer raised high, but tripped on scattered crates. He went sprawling, his weapon skittering along the floor.

The warehouse erupted into chaos once more, steel meeting steel.

✨Beyond The Veil✨

^{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

Location: Zach’s Apartment • Time: Night

^{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

“Don’t have names.” Zachariah pushed himself away from the refrigerator, the cold metal leaving his skin feeling oddly bereft. “Someone jumped me in an alley while I was investigating a potential vampire feeding ground.”

Someone jumped him? Okay. That could mean one of several things. One, he could be beaten all to hell and was barely holding himself together. Two, he was perfectly fine, but worried that he had been caught. Or three…No. She didn’t want to think of the third option. Especially not when it came to vampires.

He wandered across the apartment to where his black shoulder bag sat beside his desk, its leather worn smooth from years of fieldwork. The silver buckle bore a small dent from the time he'd used the bag to block a lycan's punch, metal taking the hit meant for his face.

“If you can find out who did this to me, feel free to ‘thank’ them.”

...who did this to me…

Those words nearly made her stumble over her own feet as she ran. No. No, this couldn’t be the third option. He sounded perfectly fine on the phone, maybe a little bit hesitant. He was injured. He needed a hospital. That’s all this was. Science could fix him. She could fix him. He would be completely fine in a day or two.

Zachariah opened the bag and rifled through its contents—notes, photos, and files from all those years of painstaking investigation. Dead ends that weren’t quite dead yet.

“While you’re at it, mind finishing up Elijah’s case too? I have everything I’ve gathered over the years in my black shoulder bag.” He paused. “Remember the one with the silver buckle?”

Hot tears pressed against her eyes as she raced towards the apartment building, now only half a block away. She could see the doors from where she was. ”No. Elijah is your case. Stop fucking talking to me like you’re fucking dying, damnit!” Sable couldn’t accept this. Wouldn’t accept this. Zach was all she had left. He was her family.

“That depends on what you do next, Sable.”

Her chest heaved as she finally arrived at the building. She had great stamina, but these emotions she was feeling? Absolutely foreign to her. Hurrying up to the elevator, she smashed the button several times before growling and giving up, instead opting for the stairs. ”I’m in the stairwell, open your damn door.”

Zachariah moved toward the door. The locks came undone in reverse order of how he’d secured them. First the reinforced bar, sliding free with a metallic scrape. Then the chain, its links rattling against the doorframe. Finally the deadbolt, turning with a solid click that seemed to echo through the apartment.

A crash echoed down the hall—metal against concrete. The stairwell door. Footsteps thundered up the hallway, fast and uneven, punctuated by harsh breathing and the occasional muttered curse.

Zachariah pulled it open just as her fist came forward, catching her mid-motion.

For a heartbeat, they stood frozen—him looking down at her flushed face, her staring up at him with eyes that searched for injuries that weren’t there.

Not the kind she could see, anyway.

Sable forgot about her fist in his hand as her eyes darted over his face. All she cared about in that moment was trying to prove to herself that he was only merely injured. Nothing else could be wrong with him. And then, there it was- the realization. He was perfect. Too perfect.

Her body froze as her entire world was instantly destroyed.

Moving slowly, carefully, he reached down to where her other hand still clutched the phone. His fingers covered hers as he pressed the end call button, the soft beep breaking the silence.

“Are you gonna put me down?”

He wasn’t dying. He was already dead.

He was one of them.

A loud humming filled her ears, dulling her senses. Everything was too loud and too quiet all at once. If he had been anyone else, she wouldn’t have hesitated. He would be on the ground, her runeblade already plunged deep into his chest. But- this was Zach. Her family. The only piece of normalcy securing her to the rest of the world. And now he was what she despised most.

She could feel the tears burning against the back of her eyes. Eyes that were zeroed in on his glowing emerald ones. Ones that screamed monster. He wasn’t her Zach anymore. Never would be, again.

She was going to get sick. Bile pressed at her throat before realizing he still held her hands. Pushing back away from him, she barely noticed when her phone hit the ground. Sable knew what she had to do. With the angry tears of anguish and betrayal hitting the tops of her cheeks, she brought her shaky left hand up to her throat where her amulet lay. Where her Ghostfire dust hid inside. She had a job to do.

His chest tightened as he watched the realization hit her—watched hope die in her eyes and something harder take its place. This was his fault. Didn’t matter that he’d had no choice… she was crying because of him.

Careful to keep his movements slow and unthreatening, Zachariah crouched to retrieve her phone from where it had clattered to the floor. When he straightened, he gestured toward his apartment. “Come on, whatever you decide to do, it shouldn’t be in the hallway.”

Her eyes followed every single movement he made. Sable’s body buzzed with something she wasn’t quite familiar with. She didn’t know if she wanted to get sick, cry, scream. All of the above? All she knew for sure was that she wanted to obliterate the vampire who did this to her guy. And for what she was going to do about Zach? She couldn’t just leave him as he was. She had never before allowed a vampire who crossed her path to survive.

Leaving the door open so she could walk inside on her own terms—or leave entirely if that’s what she chose—Zachariah returned to his apartment. He set her phone down next to the landline and switched off the dial tone that had been buzzing since they’d ended the call.

“I’ve been organizing my things,” he said, his voice carrying easily to where she stood in the doorway. “I have a bag for you too, so don’t forget to take it when you leave, okay?”

Taking a slow breath in, she flicked open the amulet and inhaled a quick line of dust. Her eyes closed for just a moment as she felt the drug ignite every single nerve ending in her body. Sable couldn’t focus on what he was saying. She knew, the minute she took out her butcher’s blade, he would put things together. He would know who she truly was.

It didn’t matter anymore. He wouldn’t survive to tell anyone else her secret.

She reached down to her ankle and unsheathed her dagger, holding it firm in her right hand. With her left, she reached behind her and slid her runeblade from the holster at her back. Sable stepped into his apartment and kicked the door shut behind her. Couldn’t let one of the mundane witness what she was about to do. She kept her eyes focused solely on him as the dust made her body jerk with the need to move.

His heightened senses caught the shift in the atmosphere. Every muscle in his body coiled instinctively, ready for violence. Then he exhaled slowly, forcing himself to relax.

At least he’d been right about one thing. She wasn’t listening to a word he said anymore.

Would she even notice the bag he’d packed for her? Probably not. Her focus had narrowed to a single, lethal point. But the phone—her phone—she’d need that eventually. If she had to pick up the bag to get it...

Zachariah retrieved her phone from where he’d set it down and crossed to the duffel bag on the couch. The device slipped easily into the front pocket, hidden among the other things he’d gathered for her.

The family photo on the shelf caught his attention: five faces frozen in a moment of genuine happiness. His hand moved toward it.

If he was going to die—and the outcome seemed increasingly certain—then this was what he wanted to see last. Not the walls of his apartment or the hate in Sable’s expression. Just them. All of them together, the way they used to be.

His thumb traced across his twin brother’s face in the glass. “Sorry EJ,” he whispered to the image. He’d hoped enough of himself remained to finish what he started, to find the bastards responsible and return the favor. But if Sable looked at him and saw only another monster that needed killing... well. Maybe she was right.

Footsteps drew closer behind him, deliberate and certain. Zachariah didn’t turn around. Better this way—easier for her if she didn’t have to see his face when she did what needed doing.

“I’m sorry, Sable.”

Thanks to the dust, all of her senses were in overdrive. She watched his body tense and it caused a growl to escape her throat. Her grip on the blades tightened. If he was going to fight her back, she would be ready. And she would win. She took one small step towards him before she noticed him relaxing. The thought of him not even wanting to fight for his life surprisingly angered her more. And for him to keep his back to her, not even willing to look her in the eye? Coward.

Her attention darted over to the couch, where he placed her phone into a bag. She had to remember that for later. Looking back to the vampire in front of her, she bent her knees slightly in preparation to launch herself at him. She held her blades at the ready before his apology crossed her ears. It caused her to nearly stumble as she blinked.

Vampires were never sorry. They certainly didn’t have any feelings. And this wasn’t a monster speaking- it was Zach. Her best friend. The only person she had ever started to let in. The hold on her blades lessened as her body slumped. How in the hell was she going to kill him? She couldn’t live without the guy. Hanging her head, she squeezed her eyes shut and let hot tears hit the ground below her.

The air carried something unfamiliar. Salt and something sharper underneath. Tears. Zachariah blinked, startled by the realization that he could actually smell them. Another unwelcome addition to his expanding catalog of monstrous abilities.

He kept his gaze fixed on the photograph. For both their sakes, he wouldn’t turn around to confirm what his nose already told him.

“Whatever you decide to do, it’s the right answer.” His voice stayed steady, matter-of-fact. “And if you ever doubt what you did, just know that I’ll never hold it against you. I appreciate you, Sable.”

She cringed every time her name left the man’s mouth. This was too personal for her. Her kills were supposed to be simple, leaving her with such a rush that made her blood sing. Why did it have to be him? Why did the monsters have to take everything from her once again? What the hell had she ever done to deserve to be alone?

A dry chuckle escaped him. “You know, you were always like the second annoying little sister I never asked for. Getting into trouble, making more work for me, stealing my booze and couch.” He touched the glass over Elijah’s face one more time. “But I really did enjoy our time together.”

And there it was. The connection she couldn’t name- he was her brother. The pain stoked the fire burning within her chest.

The words came easier now, softer. “I’m going to miss you, Sable.”

Squeezing her eyes tighter, she knew what she had to do. The breath slowly left her as she dropped her runeblade to the floor. Unlike her butcher’s dagger, it was the only thing that could end his existence. The grip tightened on the dagger still in her hand as she spoke to him, her voice choppy and broken. Low, but she knew he’d be able to hear her. ”I’m a monster, too.”

The metallic clatter against the floor made his head jerk slightly, but he caught himself before he could turn around.

Did she... just abandon a weapon?

He frowned. In all the years he’d known Sable, she’d never willingly disarmed herself when exterminating a target. Not once.

Why—

“I’m a monster, too.”

The frown carved deeper lines between his eyebrows. “What?”

Now that he was no longer human—with senses he’d never possessed before—he knew with absolute certainty that Sable was human. Completely, thoroughly human.

So what the hell did she mean by that?

Her chest heaved as she tried to hold in the rest of her sobs. There was a secret she had been keeping from him. One that would change his entire viewpoint of her. He would know in an instant that she was not just a Warden who killed because it was her duty. No- he would know that she completely mutilated them. Under the Butcher’s hand, the supernatural were left tortured, shredded, dismembered. She took absolute pleasure in hearing their screams.

And for whatever reason, she couldn’t walk out of here without him knowing. What did that make her? Holding firmly onto the dagger, she ground her teeth before lifting her head to look at his back. Sable took in a quick breath and yelled out, putting all her power into a thrust that caused her butcher’s dagger to fly towards his right shoulder blade.

Fire exploded through his shoulder blade as the dagger punched through muscle and sinew, the blade’s edge scraping against bone. White-hot agony lanced down his arm and up his neck, stealing his breath.

And with it came the beast.

The Sanguine Curse clawed its way toward the surface, every vampiric instinct screaming for retaliation. But the Warden in him slammed down like an iron fist. He seized the Curse by the throat, wrestling it back down while his vision tunneled red at the edges.

Zachariah bit down hard on his lip, fangs piercing the soft flesh until he tasted his own blood. The family photograph cracked in his white-knuckled grip, then shattered completely. Glass fragments bit into his palm, sharp edges slicing skin as his fingers closed around the jagged pieces.

His breath came in ragged gasps. Every muscle trembled with the effort of containing himself, of not spinning around and putting his fist through Sable’s chest. Not snapping her neck like kindling. Not tearing her heart from her ribcage and bathing in the warmth that would spill forth.

Knees buckled, and he collapsed forward, pressing his forehead and bloodied hands to the cool floor. A strangled sound escaped his throat as he pounded his fists against the ground, then his own skull, anything to drive back the monster.

Pain. Focus on the pain. Glass in his skin. The burning ache in his shoulder where her blade still rested.

And he waited for Sable to deliver the killing blow.

But it didn’t come.

Through uneven breaths, he managed to force out: “You missed.”

Her entire body tensed as she watched him go to war with himself. She expected him to turn and unleash himself on her, like every other vampire before him had done. As he finally fell to the ground, she knelt down and picked up the runeblade she had let fall to the floor. Sliding it back into its sleeve behind her, Sable silently stalked her way behind him.

She clenched her jaw as she stared down at his hunched back. A small breath left her. ”I never miss.”

Renewed tears, this time out of anger, bubbled up in her eyes. She gave a small shake of her head as a sob managed to break free of her throat. ”Goodbye, brother. I-” She stopped herself from saying the words. The three words that would shatter her into tiny pieces if she said them out loud. Words that didn’t mean anything anymore. She shook her head to rid herself of the emotions threatening to take over once more.

Sable reached over to the couch and looped her left arm through the duffel bag before sliding it into the crook of her elbow. She returned her attention to his back, her dagger sticking straight out. A snarl curled along her lip as she leaned over, her fingers wrapping around the hilt of the blade. ”The Butcher sends her regards.”

With one sharp tug, the blade was free from his back and she was out the door, the dust in her system making sure she was long gone.

Zachariah stayed on the floor until his breathing evened out and the urge was driven deep, deep down. Once it settled into manageable background noise, he got to his feet and went through the motions of locking the front door. The familiar ritual of securing his apartment helped calm his nerves.

He retrieved one blood pack from the refrigerator and drained it standing in his kitchen, treating it like medication rather than a meal. The crimson liquid soothed his throat, cleared his head.

“The Butcher sends her regards.”

Zachariah set the empty pack on the counter, processing what he’d missed in the moment.

Sable was the Butcher. The “monster” who carved crescent moon scars into her supernatural victims that never healed, no matter their regenerative abilities.

A stunned laugh escaped him.