//PAHA RUMA MOOTTORIMUNA

She was gone.

His breath, all that remained, burnt his throat and rattled his brain. His being shook in the face of solitude— the first groan tore his chest and bubbled from his lips like blackened blood. Again.

There was no charity, nothing would save him.

A violent cough bled into another, jerking him from his self-induced stupor.

Mocking him, an apparition stood and walked past without acknowledgement.

Something came detached inside him; a tooth fell from his jaw and he cast it into the flame that comforted him no longer.

How easily he succumbed to sorrow.

He took to watching more and more.

Sturdy arm wrapped around a high railing, he hung from the side of the wrought iron spire, focused on a form in the distance.

It was tiny, a negligible insect from there, but he could see what it truly was.

A Knight.

Astoran, maybe. He couldn’t see the man’s face but he moved with bravery, a trait carried by many Astorans he had crossed paths with. Perpetual dusk painted his armour amber, flashing as he rolled fearlessly from a giant’s poleaxe.

His fascination was a sick, guilt-laced thing. Through his binoculars, he watched, breath hitching as the Knight barely avoided evisceration, when he stepped aside at a perfect moment and when he took hits heavier than anything he’d seen before. It was an angular, blocky, masculine shape he followed, yes. This detail was what caught him the hardest.

An itch for battle scratched at his ribs and he wet broken, bloodied lips with the tip of his tongue.

Silence burnt his ears.

He wanted to test the Knight’s strength himself, see how he stood up against a Carimian Knight, a halberdier, holy man, decorated official, pomp, pageantry, intrigue—

He swallowed hard when the Knight edged around a tight corner, obscured. Anticipation overwhelmed him.


Donovan waited for hours at his vigil, but the Knight did not reappear.

Khaterin, his phantom, gave him a strange look as he regaled his tale, hushed in the stony tomb’s glory-riddled silence. Concern and irritation crumpled her face in equal measures.

“What little mind you had left is rotting, Carim. Stop letting it consume you— you’ll Hollow. Stop it.”

He scowled, fingers fidgeting.

Easier said than done.

He was an observer and nothing more.

Little more than a phantom sentinel, aware of everyone around him and yet wholly unacknowledged by all but one. She stood by him, jaw squared, at the top of the Fortress.

“He has moved too soon. Watch.”

“No. He can make it.”


They were silent a moment as they waited to see who would be correct in their prediction. It was a Knight, or someone that bore the armour and tabard of a land long-forgotten. Perhaps it was salvage or maybe it had been hard-earned over years, through combat and ritual— it didn’t matter any more, Lordran cared little for titles and deeds. Donovan’s eyes darted about at the various hazards, at everything there possibly could be to hamper their subject; he was aware of everything, from the wind that howled at their traveller’s cloaks to the incline of the staircase, while Khaterin stood stern, locked on the Knight.

The Knight was bold and brave— “Astoran, must be,” muttered Donovan, to nobody but himself— and each firm step he took was with a surprising grace, a lightness earned through familiarity with his armour, with his movements. A scowl formed as Donovan’s eyebrows knitted, intense. The Knight duelled with skill, switching from straightsword to spear as he went, not missing a single beat. Fire bathed the plateaus and he charged through it, dove away and scrambled through the rat run presented.

When he dropped out of view, Khaterin looked to her companion with a sharp, snide smirk.

“Jealous, Carim?”

Donovan shook his head.

“No… Just…” he paused, pondering his words. “Hm. I know a warrior when I see one. He is more than worthy.”

“Since when were we the ones making the decisions? If it is deemed so, we’ll see them. if not, then best of luck to them.”

A demon in Donovan’s chest burned more than it should have.

“Carim is a nation built on intrigue.”

“Intrigue?” enquired the phantom, with a flick of inquisitive eyes.

A wan smile pushed lines into the Knight’s face, worn in over the years.

“They call it that,” he admitted, “As it is complex and pointless. Whoever’s knife finds another’s back soonest, they are the winner.”

The Phantom nodded, though she did not truly understand. She was a filthy swamp-dweller, a barbarian and a bandit; such tales were beyond her. The courtly man had a broken, fatigued voice— a weariness, a hopelessness.

A wish for death.

“… Do you miss it?”

He shook his head, matted blonde curls sticking to his face.

She didn’t need any more words.

They were so tiny that he could hold one in the palm of his hand— his fingers closed around the soft, new bodies of his sons and held them, protectively, to his chest.

Miyng-Yi scoffed.

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And it was done. They were there.

Beof looked  down at the pathetic, mewling demon-kits that his wife regarded with a detached, curled-lipped disdain.

“There,” she managed, panting, milky white scales tinged pink from the red flush of labour over her skin beneath them. “Are you happy now?”

//REVERENCE - Fiction

I love Darksiders so much. I cannot hold all these feels for this game and its upcoming second instalment; when I heard about a new series of novels, I emitted worrying high-pitched noises and flailed around in pure glee.

The backstory of the Horsemen just isn’t talked about, so I took a bit of creative license! The prospect of them being fleshed out more is so exciting and I hope I have imagined them right!

How can I write this sort of thing without having a little gush over Death? He’s going to be such fun to play as!

CONTENT: Darksiders fanfiction. General.
SUMMARY: Young and foolish, War observes his reason for being.
WORDS: 516

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//YOU ARE ALL : Original Fiction

ORIGINAL FICTION: re: FLESH CANNON
NOTES: The making of the rogue mutant, Palindrome. Gore. Vile implications.

“Son, I am able,” she said
“Though you scare me.” “Watch”
Said I. “Beloved,” I said
“Watch me scare you, though”
Said she, “Able am I, Son”

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SERIES: Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure
PROMPT: “Um, could you write Jotaro and Koichi doing some random bro things. Like lunch, shopping, etc. This is weird I know. u_u” — Stardust-Crusader
PAIRING: Gen, Jotaro and Koichi being bros.
NOTES: I’m finally getting time to write these wonderful prompts! This was a difficult one to write, but I like it a lot. I hope you enjoy it! The style here is, again, a little detached and uses a lot of short sentences, but I hope it communicates feelings well.

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