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There are two absolute certainties in life: death, and taxes.
Artemis Kuznetsov doesn’t pay taxes, not that it matters, what with tax evasion being a tiny slip that exists somewhere in his rather extensive portfolio of committed crimes. What? The Navy do it. Merchants do it. Every assassin whose existence are technically considered illegal does it in one way or another, although that one was mostly circumstantial at best.
Artemis Kuznetsov, however, does know death, dances the intimate tango with it every waking day in his miserable existence. Knew death for certain as he first glimpsed it, brutal and unforgiving and so, so cruel in the way it pulled the life out of those that made up his world, tender and merciful amidst the raging, void black ocean. Knows death as it swoops its ugly scythe over his head, missing his neck by a hair’s breadth each time it lopped the head off the unfortunate hero he held a contract for, their final scream ringing in the back of his mind, a cacophony of anger and grief and hatred that demands justice for their untimely end, held back only by physical barriers.
Knew Death for the way it looms over his shoulder and those of people he loved, black cloak fluttering in the nauseatingly warm wind of the Bronze Sea, ghostly eyes trailing his brother, his friend, his rival, his sons, with unsatisfiable hunger, a thirst as it watches those who shattered the chains of fate, those with Poseidon’s destiny in their veins, waiting for the day it can reaped their soul down to Hades Below. He knew death as it breathes over his own shoulder, colder with every contract he took, every risky swing of the blade as it slices into flesh, as blood stained his knuckles, drips off his fingers and ran in trails down tanned skin.
Knew Death as he leans into its embrace, every bloodied inhale amidst rushing adrenaline begging him to stop, to dodge, lean in more, to fall harder-
Death noticed the child who traversed his domain with practiced ease each time he swung his blade, the child who wrapped himself in its cloak as a disguise, noticed the child whose sole eye narrowed in unbridled rage at anything wrong done to those he claimed as his. The child with white hair and a gaze as cold as the forest depths who looked him in the eyes as Death raised his scythe and said no with a voice from the abyss, and Death…
Death wants.
….
There was a lot of things Arezki would rather prefer to be doing that particular Saturday. Fishing, sparring, a light bit of murdering with selective close friends and acquaintances-
“DAMNIT ‘REZKI, DUCK UNDER! DO YOU WANT TO FALL OFF THE BOAT?”
Anything, really. Anything that doesn’t involved him, Artemis, and a whole fleet of Navy ketches out for the blood of an Assassin Overseer spotted around this patch of water as of late.
“FUCKIN- DOWN!”
Instinct had Arezki ducking from the first syllable, knees giving out mid-kick on order as he tucked into a roll on the slippery wooden deck. Rain pelted on his shoulder in fat, icy drops, soaking and cold, fabric rubbing uncomfortably against skin as he landed a kick on some poor Navy soldier’s ankle, narrowly saving him from the death swipe of claws that shreds through his comrades like fire through paper confetti in a shower of blood and gore.
The Navy didn’t last for long; Arezki kicked his knees in soon after.
…
“No, ‘Rezki, you are not going to travel to Cernunno to kill some low-time hero just because he “looked at me wrong.””
“But- Overseer Zephyr, this is important for my training!”
..
“OH FOR- ‘REZKI, LEFT!”
A rapier thrust that shifted a tad too close to fragile skin and Arezki threw himself to the right, left leg against slippery wooden planks as he throws himself into the air, missing the cutlass swing aimed where his head was a moment ago. The Navy who swung the cutlass reached too far and toppled forward into his comrade, both of which ended up impaled on a certain ornate-hilted sword.
..
“Agent Arezki, your combat training can progress without sailing through the Bronze Sea into… that forest to fight some third-rate do-gooder. Especially if the Navy are on the prowl.”
“With all due respect, Overseer Zephyr, I am unable to improve without real experiences. I believe this bounty would not be above my level!”
…
“FUCK!” Anger and panic swarmed his sense. The Navy soldiers cannot be considered strong, but they keep coming like moths to a flame, diving headfirst to their imminent demise just to get their targets a little more off-guard, a touch more tired. Arezki can confidently say the strategy works, but the trade-off seems unfairly large if the countless floating masses of disembodied limbs on the hungry ocean surface is anything to go by.
Thunder roared. Lightning cracked. Water felt cold as it trickles down his arms, a numbness that both soothe and exaggerate stinging cuts that trails red down his skin, splattered on blood-stained, once polished boots. Somewhere above the Peanut, Artemis cursed, loud and angry, increasing in volume and multitude with each human he cuts down.
“Mother- FUCKER!” He seems to shout. “FUCKING DIE ALREADY!”
…
“But… Artemis! I haven’t taken a bounty in so long! I’ve improved, I promised! Besides, he doesn’t look too strong, I can take him certainly- “
“’Rezki, the Navy has been on the hunt lately. The hero may not look strong, but they could be bait. You know Lord Fae? Yes, him, Penny’s father. You saw how he died?”
“Yes- But- “
“Lord Fae was one of our longest standing members. And he died, just like that. It’s not a joke out there. I know you are strong, but there is only so much strength could do in an ambush.”
…
The boat rocked, a violent, lurching thing that threw all living souls on board onto their knees. Gun powder sparks flashed from the cannons of the sunk Navy Ship.
“FUCK!” Artemis shouted, and there was water in his eye and blood on his face and a bullet hole on his shoulder, a rose of red on black shroud. “FUCK, THEY ARE SHOOTIN’ THE BOAT! ‘REZKI, JUMP- “
..
“But dad…” A pout. “I want to get stronger… To protect Zion!”
“’Rezki…”
“And if I get arrested Kier would bail me out! And-and Lord Fae was a high-end target, wasn’t he? They don’t know who I am! S-so, Dad, can I?”
“..”
..
There wasn’t time to finish the sentence. The boat rocked again, lurching to the left in a sudden tilt that slides all present on board into the churning ocean with its gaping mouth, waiting for its next victim. Artemis yelled, a hateful, angry thing in some language Arezki couldn’t understand, wouldn’t understand even if he tried because rainwater caught out under his feet and he was sliding, was sliding down into the waves-
One more loud boom, the sound nearly lost within roaring thunder. The Peanut splits in two, capsizing as it condemned all those on board to death in its watery prison. Arezki stomach dropped as he fell backwards, the smell of burnt gun powder still in the air, the sting of being sliced with a sword muted and amplified in his nerves. He was falling, then he wasn’t, hitting the ocean surface with a deafening splash. Cold water envelops his sense, his ears popping at the pressure and his lungs burned with ice and he was going to die, to drown in this frigid ocean, was-
Silence.
..
“Please…?”
“Fine.” A heavy sigh that echoed through the dingy walls of the Red Corner. “But I’m going with you.”
“I’ll take it!”
..
Strong arms wrapped around Arezki’s sinking body, drifted sounds of fuck, Rezki- muffled in the water, and Arezki was lost to the world.
…..
Artemis Kuznetsov woke up on the sandy banks of some god-forsaken island down South with sand in his hair, water in his eyes and the lingering memory of getting shot a ghost of pain over his shoulder.
And Arezki bodily shaking him with all his strength, tears trailing down salt-water-streaked face and violent sobs wracking his thin, tiny frame.
Of course, Artemis’ mildly shell-shocked brain reminded him. Arezki was with him on that absolute shit show of a boat trip, fighting in the storm with too many enemies and too little preparation, Arezki who was bruised and cold when Artemis heaved him up onto drifting, shattered wood remains of The Peanut’s hull as they held on for dear life with the ocean raging around them. Arezki, who better be unharmed, or Artemis will fist-fight Hades for the soul of those unfortunate fucks who died in the skirmish just to kill them again in some unfathomably agonising, fucked up ways.
Arezki, who shook him again, more forceful, tears streaming down his face in streaks. Artemis blinked himself out of whatever shock induced trance that came with being alive after the impromptu dip in a storming ocean, then blinked again to stop black dots from dancing in his vision. The world cleared. Somewhat. Sunlight angrily stabs at his sole eyeball.
“’Rezki,” His voice is rough, burned with the gallon or two of ocean water he probably swallowed. His throat felt raw, flesh parched uncomfortably dry. “’Rezki, stop.”
Arezki did not stop. He shook Artemis harder, in fact, twiggy arms trembling with effort, blunt nails digging into Artemis’ sore shoulder. He heaved a sob or two or three, eyes blurred as he clung harder onto the Overseer’s damp shawl. There’s crusted blood on the side of his head and a cut on his nose. His throat was mottled purple. He was still crying. Artemis felt the urgent need to stab someone.
“’Rezki,” Artemis pulled himself up into a sitting position with jellied arms and tried not to wince as more wet sand stuck to his skin. Arezki stopped the hysterical sobbing momentarily in shock, blurry eyes wide in equal parts relief and panic, before dissolving into louder wails. Artemis pulled the small child- Hades blessed, Arezki is so small, tiny and fragile in Artemis' hold- closer, and Arezki burrowed his face onto the overseer’s soaked shirt with a muffled sniffle.
“’Rezki, it’s ok.” The child, bless him, sobbed harder, clutching at Artemis’ shirt like he might shatter away like red and black glass, smoke drifting away at any moment. A twinge of warmth bloomed in Artemis’ cold, water-logged heart.
“YOU ‘EREN’T BRE’HING!” Arezki cried, breaking voice muffled as he pressed himself closer to Artemis. “Y’U ‘EREN’T BREA’HIN’ AND BLUE A-AND I THOUGHT- I THOUGHT YOU W-WERE- “
Artemis rubbed circles on the boy’s back as his cries dissolved into something unintelligible of grief and relief, soft wails and sharp hiccups. The bandage on his arm tugged, but doesn’t pull apart, and Artemis twirled a strand of silver-white hair around his finger as his mind tried to catch up.
He wasn’t in pain, though, so that would be good.
Hold on.
He wasn’t in pain.
He has a hole in his shoulder, a knife stabbed somewhere near his arm, his body a canvas, painted in multitudes of colourful cut and bruises. And he wasn’t in pain.
Something wasn’t right here.
“’Rezki,” he lifted the boy’s patchy, red-splotched face away from his chest with some newfound form of urgency that doesn’t at all relate to the demonic screams ringing in the back of his skull; “’Rezki, where’s my bag?”
Arezki looked mildly confused at being pulled away from his crying spot, but sniffled slightly and pointed somewhere to the left, where a brown satchel lay on sand, torn and obviously ruffled though, its content spilled for the world to see. Knife, metal, canned food in tin boxes stewing in the glaring sun. The med-kit laid open next to it, tins and tubes of salves and medicine with neat, Calum-listic labels lay around in messy piles. Empty bottles were thrown around. Some were missing.
“’Rezki.” Artemis held Arezki up by his shoulder, gently, because he isn’t an ass. “Did you give me anything from the med kit?”
Arezki sniffled again, his eyes puffy from crying, voice trembling as he replied.
“T-The purple t-tin. I can’t read what it was,” Cursed cursive writing. “But you were shaking a-and screaming a-and you looked like you are in pain s-so I assume… D-did I get it wrong?? Are you go-going to d-die??”
Arezki handed him the bottle. There was almost nothing left in the small, purple tinted glass jar, but Artemis still smelt the sickly sour mushroom dust that lingered in shimmering purple clouds.
Cursed shrooms. Fuck- Why did past him kept cursed shroom powder in the med kit again? Oh, right, Calum. Calum and his stupid experimental freak ass that needs Artemis to test this out on some unfortunate victim yesterday- Yes, need, Zephyr, this is going to be absolutely glorious- no, just trust me, ok? Keep it in your med-kit- why? What, do you want Arezki to find that? Gods, Overseer Zephyr, that is a child-
Next to him, Arezki dissolved back into soft wails.
…
Arezki wasn’t convinced that Artemis won’t just keel over and descends down to Hades at any moment now. Artemis himself isn’t very convinced he won’t just keel over and descend down to Hades at any moment now. But he wasn’t actively bleeding to death, and life doesn’t seem to swerve hard left any time soon, and everything was surprisingly OK if you ignore the copious amounts of purple dust occupying his lungs right now, so Artemis is going to take a slight guess and assumed Death doesn’t want his soul quite yet, which is inevitably going to be proved wrong eventually, but it’s not right now, so life is…
Good is an overstatement. Decent, maybe. As it was, Not Actively Bleeding to Death and Arezki Is Doing Well seems to be fine enough.
Arezki was still in mild hysteria, up to his eyeballs in shock and relief. Artemis pulled him up gently by the arms and walked the both of them under a shaded rock cavern to cross heat stroke from their potential death list like some sort of fucked-up bingo. 5 in a row means No Chance of Immediate Death. Blackout means a functioning raft that can conceivably sail them through the frigid, shark infested ocean. They are never getting that black-out, but bingo is horrible in its concept and whoever gets black-out is usually cheating, so-
Point is, no heat stroke. Arezki looked at his pseudo-father figure sitting cross-legged on the cool sand underneath cavern shade as he has the mandatory shroom-enhanced mental crisis and despaired.
“Fuck…” It probably wasn’t’ fair to blame the child. Arezki was 14, barely avoided death by local marine ecosystem, with his mentor, his protector, his practical father shaking and screaming with blue lips and cold, clammy, less-than-optimal pale skin. He was bound to panic. Not preferable, of course, but logical. Still…
“Fuck all Hades, why did I listen to Calum??”
Arezki started his mantra of apologies again, and Artemis pulled him back to the hug with little to no resistance and let the tiny child sobbed into his practically ruined shirt, a mess of I’m sorry’s and please don’t die’s, which, fair, he can have the reassurance as many times as he needs. It makes Artemis feels surer in his own survivability too, sometimes, and there can never be too much of that.
They sat like that, with Arezki sobbing slowly reclining into occasional sniffle then soft, slightly hitched breaths, arms wrapping around Artemis’ shoulder. There was no measure of time on an abandoned island with sunlight harsh enough to cook metal, but the vibrant rays of scarlet purple sun eventually spilled across golden sand in generous swathes, luminescent light barely missing the cove in which the assassins reside. The air smelt of the South; dusty burnt sugar and overripe fruits.
Artemis drifted off to sour dust lingering on his tongue and a child dozing peacefully in his lap.
…
The first day on their impromptu vacation at Sandfall entailed a half-formed attempt at building a raft, which was a hilarious place to start considering Arezki was a child with a tendency for violence and attachment trauma and Artemis exists in place as an Overseer with mild-hallucinogen torture drugs in his veins and a brain that conveniently purged all boat-building related information the very moment he woke up on an abandoned island.
This, predictably, went… in a direction.
…
“…’Rezki, do you have any idea what you are doing to that poor chunk of wood?”
“I assumed I’m building a boat, Dad. What’s the problem?”
“…Never mind, then. We aren’t exactly short on palm trunks, I suppose.”
“Dad- what does that mean? Dad??? Artemis?? OVERSEER ZEPHYR??”
…
“Dad- Dad. Artemis. Overseer Zephyr.”
The prized halberd of a once-famed Ravennian general slammed into a palm tree with a solid thunk. Dust and sand flew up to the air in fast-falling clouds and Artemis coughed, dry and strained as it left a dull ache at the bottom of his chest. “Yes, ‘Rezki?”
“…Well…”
“What is it?”
“I…might’ve cut it a touch too short…”
“A touch? Well, surely it couldn’t- never mind. ‘Rezki, would you be ok with cutting down the tree trunks for me?”
…
“Cut it- no, not kick it with your fully imbued leg, ‘Rezki, ‘Rezki no- “
The wooden failure collapsed headfirst into the sandy banks with a crunch. Humid Southern wind whooshed hollowly in its absence.
“…”
“I’m sorry Dad…”
“It’s ok, ‘Rezki. Can you just…tie the trunks together? Try to skimp on the ropes, there’s a limited supply of that.”
…
They untied the first misshapen abomination that offended nature in its shape and melted it in puddles of glowing acid and burning ash. Smoke drifted up in greasy columns into the glowing night sky, a strip of ink-black strewn through with stars, blurring the luminescent moon into something hazy and soft. Arezki laughed as he retells the day’s horrific attempt at built-a-boat 101, his voice a pleasant blend in the cracking campfire, and Artemis chuckled something low and hoarse as he studiously ignores the gradual pain twitching in his chest in hopes it will go away if rejected hard enough.
….
The pain did not, in fact, go away. Unsurprisingly.
There was no real measure of time on a glorified sand pile anchored in the ocean. The sun rises whenever it wants and sets whenever it wants, dragging raging ocean tides down to subdued laps of water or angrily raised walls of tidal rage ready to drag everything in its path down to the cold depths below. Birds chirps in the morning and squawks at life, and if you ignore the very real possibility of heatstroke life can somewhat be considered peaceful.
(Because peaceful was Arezki laughing, peaceful was grabbing the chance to get off this island, peaceful is knowing his child is safe and alive and happy enough to laugh without worrying about his brother, his future, the weight of the world resting on his shoulder, malevolently agitated, waiting to rip into tender flesh and traumatised mind at the slightest provocation.
Artemis refused to let that happened. His children, Arezki, Zion, his husband. The world can try to drown them beneath its unrelenting waves, could try to silence cries underneath apathy, and Artemis would take that freezing dive downwards any time and pull them out, pick them up and bring them home to warmth and safety and care and rest in peace himself knowing full well they would all do the same when given the chance.)
Would’ve stayed peaceful, at least until the third morning when Artemis woke up at the crack of dawn with blurry eyes and pain, explosive and demanding that had him expelling blood from his- fuck, his lungs? – with several violent coughs.
That’s not good, he thought dazedly, looking with delayed panic at the viscous red on his palm in shiny trickles, droplets of sparkling rubies hitting the sandy ground in pretty splatter blooms. Maybe it’s the residue fantigue, the way it clouds his brain with cotton and blurred the distance into a badly stained window, the way his heart spasmed erratically or his breath coming in short and inconsistent or the way something burned across his chest like cracked glass vials filled with liquid fire-
Artemis doesn’t think fantigue causes muscle burns, but he has to double check with Calum later. Just like he needs to check with Calum to what in the world had he put into that damned shroom powder, because the blood is tinted cursed mushroom purple, damnit, and of course it’s Calum’s experiment and he will add something a little extra, and while that would be incredibly clever the timing really couldn’t be anymore inconvenient.
What a pain.
Artemis isn’t stupid. His little escapade into the freezing ocean and the subsequent consumption in gallons of salty water then enhanced hallucinogen-induced painkillers had fucked up something within his body, something important that involved his lungs, and that’s very bad because he need those to breathe, really. He ought to panic, now, would panic and sacrifice a soul or ten in hope Poseidon in hope of salvation if he was anymore weak-willed or religious. As it stands, he is neither, and Arezki is next to him and really-
He coughs some more, quietly into the crook of his elbow because Arezki is right there, sleeping soundly with half-shut eyes, and it is frankly adorable, and Artemis will be damned if he wakes his child up and cause even more unnecessary panic to the situation. Blood stained wine-red fabric in blackened scarlet splotches, and Artemis ignored the way fragile organs burn in his ribcage in favour of heaving himself up and outside to continue the riveting endeavour that is tying tree trunks together, keep companied with the thought of stabbing Calum the moment he gets back.
Except he can’t stab Calum, not even affectionately, lest he want to be banished to the couch again.
Ugh.
…
Blood spots and pain and semi-periodical coughing fits became another pseudo time-measuring method, up there with the stubborn southern sun which is only reliable when it isn’t summer and southern, and amiable conversations made in atmosphere bending heat with Arezki amidst various attempt at raft building, the metallic tang of blood a constant alongside burnt sugar and overripe cactus pears. Metallic and sweet and hazy all together in a nauseating blend.
Artemis doesn’t think cursed shroom highs are meant to last this long, but this is Calum and Hades knows Calum could’ve put opium to prolong the torturous effect for all that mattered. Except it does matter, now, when purple flame dances across his skin in taunting flickers and voices screamed at the back of his head with crystal intensity and blood clots his throats with each gasping inhale, when breaks are made behind the cliffs to retch up blood that glimmered sparkling purple in the sunlight, mingling in foaming waves.
Arezki asked if he’s ok. Artemis nodded and teased his child until the ghostly fingers of death stops curling around his heart, if only for a moment.
…
Blood. More blood.
Pain. Dripping. Gleaming in moonlight, sticky as it clotted in the glaring sun, against the stark red on tanned skin. Dotting blurred vision and permeating stale air, blotted fabrics and cut lungs and mushroom, bitter and sour and cloyingly sweet of rotting flesh.
Death watches. Death waits.
Everything will be fine. Arezki will be fine. He has to be.
Artemis… can’t be sure about himself.
Not anymore.
More blood.
…
“Dad, are you ok?”
Sleep came as a gamble each night, a roulette in which the house stacked the odds against to the point unwilling players could do nothing except spins the cold, uncaring wheels and hope just for a moment Lady Luck shone through the wispy smoke clouds of long-festered dread and blessed their miserable life for just a single, glorious moment. More often than not, she never showed. Definitely didn’t show tonight.
The ocean sings, a low, soft crashing hum that hung in the air in sweet, lingering notes as foamy waves lapped against dark sand, glimmering in hazy moonlight, strips of pearl smokes against the strip of india ink that floats above, a yawning gap stretched open, torn through the fabric of space. Wet sand crumbled beneath calloused fingers, sticky with salt water and pear juice. The air tasted of syrup, a sweetness that burned with each raspy inhale.
Artemis, sat as he was, crossed his legs atop the stone coves of Sandfall Isle, hummed something non-committal and flipped the dagger in his hand, polished steel cold against the night air as it danced between nimble fingers. Arezki sat next to him, knees tucked close to his body, eyes staring unblinkingly into the dark distance. The child pulled at the faded red blouse draped on his shoulder and sighed, a shuddering thing, long and tired.
“I’m fine, ‘Rezki. Why ask?” Most medical professionals would argue that Artemis is not fine, but most medical professional flees in the sight of Overseer Zephyr and his boyfriend whose portfolio is littered with medical atrocities, and fine is a subjective statement at best, so really.
Arezki shrugged as he slumps further into himself, eyes hooded as it gazed at then inky black sky; Artemis tilted his head and tracked his child’s depressive shrug with a frown, snatching the knife as it fell mid-air, cold steel against semi-feverish warmth. Arezki sinks further into himself.
“Come on, ‘Rezki,” Arezki flinched, ever so slightly, at the nickname, curling even further in on himself as he tried to disappear from Artemis’ field of vision. “You can tell me, if you want. What’s the problem?”
Arezki shrugged again; Artemis mirrored the movement and went back to flipping his knife. It was a delicate thing, more dart than knife, thin hilted handle and ornate silver blade polished to a shine. Too pretty, too delicate for the brutal close-fighting rush that Artemis unleashed upon his victims, more suited for Calum’s self-titled freestyle acupuncture, but it would be helpful in a bind, and it fits reasonably well with his hair, a curtain of gleaming silver loose from its usual bun, and well, it is quite pretty, and Artemis always had a weakness for pretty things, he supposed.
Arezki breathed in, breathe out; opened his mouth, closed it again. He closed his eyes for a moment, hunched even further into a ball, silent and still, fingers winding around tangled strands of cyan hair. When he spoke, his voice was soft, whispery, drifting in the gentle wind.
“I’m sorry, dad.”
Artemis frowned harder, raising the eyebrow on his not-quite-working eye. “Why are you sorry, ‘Rezki?”
Arezki turned around, swept his eyes around the barren, no longer palm tree overgrown island and sighed with the weight of the world hanging from his shoulder, shrinking back into the cloak as if the faded red fabric can shield him from life itself. He looked older, all eyebags and lanky limbs and ashen anxiety, nothing like the child he should be. Something ached in Artemis’ heart, not entirely physical.
“I- “His voice faltered. “I got- I got you into this. I shouldn’t have asked to go. Not when the- Navy, was on the prowl, lately. I’m- I’m sorry- “
A hitched breath. Arezki buried his head between his knees, small frame trembled with shivers, wracked with silent sobs too tired to be kept hidden. He tucked further into himself, small enough the oversized cloak slips off his shoulder, pooling behind curled back, faded and dusty. Cold wind blows against bare skin. He shivered even harder.
Artemis pulled the cloak back on, draping it over Arezki’s shoulder with a gentleness rarely seen, reserved but willing. Arezki pulled himself further into the coat, drawing what he can from leftover warmth. Thin, scarred fingers trembled slightly as they clenched into fists.
Artemis sighed. “’Rezki, can I hug you?”
Another shrug, although Arezki lifted his head and looked at Artemis with some semblance of hope in muddled eyes. Artemis pulled his child close, gentle as Arezki leaned into the touch, unfurling just a little to press his head against Artemis’ chest, slender fingers with blunt-bitten nails drumming the steady beats above his own heart. His hands were cold.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered. His eyes were gleamed with tears.
“Not your fault, ‘Rezki.” Artemis threaded his hand through faded cyan hair, fingers carding through soft, tangled locks. Arezki mumbled another apology.
“The circumstances weren’t in your control,” another murmur of doubt, soft and muted. “Sure, we could’ve gone at another time, and the Navy could happen to randomly patrol that exact patch of sea at that exact moment. It’s mostly luck, see. The Navy can’t make up a steady patrol schedule for their lives, or maybe their soldiers are just bad at following it. Can’t be surprised, at this point.”
Arezki giggled against his chest, cautious and melodic and oddly soft. “Kier said they have one,” he whispered, haltingly. “Just that- no one follows it. Higher ups don’t care.”
“My point exactly. Bad timing, bad placement. Bad weather. It isn’t your fault, ‘Rezki.”
“But…” and the frown was back, more tears in Arezki’s eyes. Artemis hugged him a little tighter.
“You wanted to get stronger. I understand. You didn’t get me into this. In fact, I should’ve checked with Noire or even Kier if the Navy was near Cernunno that day, so you can even argue it is my fault we are stuck here to begin with.”
“But- it’s not your fault, dad!”
“Then it’s not yours either, ‘Rezki.”
Arezki went quiet again, although he stopped frowning and pressed his face closer to Artemis’ chest. Artemis hummed something appropriately soothing. The breeze blows in soft whistles, the cool chill a welcoming change to the day’s melting mid-summer heat. The moon glowed, the waves gentle laps of foam amidst abyss blue ocean.
It was all in all a comfortable scene. Even his lungs weren’t dying at the rapid pace it was a minute ago.
The Gods must hate Artemis, of course they do, because blood started welling up somewhere down his torn throat again, bubbling violently as it leaked from shredded tissues and Artemis coughed into his elbow, loud and painful and entirely too coppery, metallic blood another muted patch of red against the ever-growing patchy do-it-yourself dye job. Pain blinded his sense for a moment, red dancing across his eyes in violent burst of flames.
Artemis blinked. Blinked again. Arezki stumbled upward from his father’s now hunched frame and shook his shoulder with all the strength of an anxious 14-years-old whose father’s lungs bled on the daily. Not that he knows that. Yet.
“-Arte? Artemis? Dad??? Dad, are you- are you ok, Dad? Ft?”
“I’m fine-, “Hades blessed, he does not sound fine. He sounds like Calum after 30 hours of research binge and two days of death-adjacent unconsciousness, filled with too much early morning regrets and not nearly enough coffee to shock his systems back to some semblance of life. Artemis cleared his throat and tried again, studiously ignoring the red now smeared across the back of his hand. “I’m fine, ‘Rezki- It’s fine.”
Arezki looked at Artemis like he’s a possessed man about to take a literal dive off the cliff. “It’s fine?” He asked, incredulous, hands gripped around Artemis’ still tender shoulder with astonishing strength, even as his voice trembles like a leaf in the wind. “It’s FINE? YOU ARE COUGHING UP BLOOD! IF CALUM WAS HERE, HE WOULD HAVE YOUR NECK, DAD, HE WOULD STRAP YOU TO A BLOODY GURNEY- YOU ARE FINE? WHAT IS THIS- NO- “
Artemis sighed, because Calum is the precise reason for this mess, as lovely as he is, and as good as the knowledge of Calum probably designing some form of antidote for every one of his creations is, it doesn’t help he needs to actually see Calum again to get it.
Oh gods, he might never see Calum again, never hear the man’s laugh, never wake up beside him in the morning, he can’t- Calum- Calum will cry and so will Achille and Achille will be sad- Oh gods, oh Hades, Artemis might never see them again, may die tomorrow for all his lungs burns and death breathing down his shoulder, slow and cold in unadulterated glee-
Achille will be sad and Calum and Arezki- Arezki will be sad but at least he won’t be dead- dead and-
…Abort, move on. Redirect. You can have your little breakdown later, preferably when you actually start dying. Focus on Arezki. Fuck. Ok. Diffusion. You are good at that. Sometimes. When you are not passively dying at an aggressive pace.
“Calum wouldn’t strap me to a gurney because he would prefer being strapped to said gurney himself.” He deadpanned and flashed a reassuringly shark-like smile when Arezki’s eyes widened in shock and he stepped hastily away from Artemis, face flushed red, scarred with the knowledge of his pseudo parental figure’s preferences in life. It would be hilarious if he wasn’t on the verge of crying a minute prior.
Awkward silence.
Painfully awkward silence. Artemis sits down again and rifled through his pockets for the spare bag of anything that might salvage this situation. Blood smears the insides of his pockets.
“…”
“…”
“…Peanuts?” Artemis offered, pulling the crumpled pouch out of some obscure snack corner in his multi-dimension pocket blouse that Calum once joked held the secret of the universe itself if you looked hard enough. He grabbed a handful of the salted snack and offered the rest to Arezki, who eyed him warily but gently picked the bag up by the tip of his fingers and sat down again, facing Artemis, eyes tracking his father even if he picked at the bag.
They ate crunchy peanuts under the moonlight on Sandfall Isle, and Artemis would’ve sang a whole song, as terrible as his voice was, about the blessed qualities of the snack if not for the fact that Arezki was still glaring at him with equal parts worry and fear and anger in his eyes and Artemis is quite sure that if he speaks right now, literal flames will burst out of his throat just for the burns he felt when salt forced its way down his gullet.
Crunch.
Blood, sweat, salt and tears. Fun combination.
He finished his handful and dusted the leftover salt off his fingers, ignoring the way confusion fills Arezki’s gaze, another terrible match in the emotion mash. Water would be nice, but water would also burn as it slides down his throat tinted with pink and there’s only so much agony Artemis is willing to suffer through in one night.
“So,’ he drawled. Arezki made a soft noise in the back of his throat. “Calum offered me his newest drug, as experiment. I put it in the med-kit. You thought it was painkillers. That is fine.”
Arezki started his apology mantra again, and Artemis leaned over and patted him on the head, eye softening even further if that’s possible. It is, surprisingly.
“Calum has an antidote for everything he made, ‘Rezki. I just need to see him again, and it’ll be alright, yea?”
“But dad...”
“It’ll be ok, I swear. Do you trust me?”
“Yea…I supposed so.”
Another hug. They sat under the moon in silence, listening to soft waves lapping at sandy shores in timid crashes. Arezki scrunched the peanut bag back up and stuffed it somewhere into the faded, blanket-repurposed blouse draped over his shoulder. Warmth flooded his chest, pleasant, safe, his father’s heartbeat a steady thing against his ear.
Life is- fine. Life is good. It’ll be ok. Artemis promised.
Artemis, meanwhile, hummed the soft lullaby Calum sang when he brews his poisons and ignores the pain spasming in his chest, that spreads through his veins like poisons his husband oh so loved and burned away his life with each steadfast thump of heartbeat.
…
“So, Dad, I’ve always meant to ask…”
“Hmm?”
“Why did you name your boat The Peanuts?”
“Well… I was eating peanuts. While driving.”
“…And so, you named her… Peanuts. Because you ate peanuts when you drive her.”
“Yes.”
“…Is that it- “
Artemis nodded. He felt like he was missing the point. Arezki groaned.
“I feel bad for Calum.”
….
Artemis Kuznetsov woke up on the seventh day after their skirmish with the ocean in the cold cavern of Sandfall isle with Navy ketches circling the water like starving sharks and the feeling of death hanging over his head, dread tightening around raw, swollen throat like a noose.
Arezki was still sleeping, curled up under a faded red cloak, small exhales gently blowing strands of fluffed, lime-coloured hair away from tired, half-shut eyes. His fists were loosely clenched, and Artemis looked at his son and smiled with all the tender love and care that fossil rock half-beating in his bruised, torn, bloodied chest could muster. Outside the shaded cove that shields them from harsh nature, cannon boomed.
The first round of exploding metal shells hit the fragile stone sandstone structure of Sandfall as they exploded in morning starlight, cliff-side rocks sent tumbling down to the sand with deafening crashes that that burned holes in the very depths of Artemis’ soul. Arezki stirred, breath hitching violently, eyes fluttering open in panic as sleep-muddled senses clashes sharply with the destruction of environment around him.
Hollered laughter rang in not-so-far distance. Marine’s ketches were built for intimidation, not discretion, wooden hulls splitting the calm surface of water with loud splashes as they glide closer, closer, closer. The sun glared from the sky; fiery red rays fierce as it forces the ocean into a hazy steam. That air smelt of stale plants, of burnt acid and sugar, of overripe pears that pops apart in their own juices and muted, coppery blood.
“’Rezki,” Arezki jolted awake and looked at Artemis with blurry eyes, mouth parted in confusion. Outside, another chunk of stone hit dried sand. Artemis shook Arezki again, harder, and the child blinked sleep from his eyes with questionable success. “’Rezki, wake up. Where’d you put the raft?”
“The- the, uh, Dad? Dad, what’s the issue?”
Pain bloomed in Artemis’ lungs. He paused to cough into the crook of his elbow and ignore the bright red blood that now trickled down his chin. “Doesn’t matter. ‘Rezki, I need you to tell me, ok? Where did you put the raft?”
Arezki pointed to something vaguely plank shaped propped up against the walls and yawned. Artemis followed the finger and swallowed as dread continues to expand in his stomach, clawing at the tender flesh of his insides as it travels upward, a writhing mass of nausea and congealed blood. The wood wasn’t tied together nearly right enough. If any of them attempted to get on it, everything would detach. It won’t hold a chance in the ocean.
The sound of ship hulls crashing against water grew louder, overwhelming, the splashes all-consuming to Artemis’ hypersensitive sense. Birds squawked and horrid laughter echoed too close for comfort. Something flashed before his eyes, of Arezki in chains, Arezki in chains and cuffs, screaming as they dragged him away into the dingy glorified cargo space of darkness, of Arezki sitting in the cold with no light in his eyes as he awaits his inherent execution, charged for crimes overdramatized for-
Artemis blinked. Blinked again. Took a deep breath in and ignore the way pain spasms across his sense. Arezki stared in confusion and shock.
“’Rezki,” Oh Hades Spite, his voice was wrecked. Hoarse and low, blood bleeding from torn cuts with each sound gasped from his throat. “’Rezki, I need you to focus on tying this raft together, you hear me?”
“But- “
“Arezki, my child, please.” Desperation coloured his voice, bleeds through thick and painful amidst another hold in cough.
“But dad!”
“Please.”
Arezki, blessed his child, doesn’t ask any further, nodding grimly as he grabbed the rope even if narrowed eyes lingered the slightest on bright copper as it dripped slowly down his father’s chin. Outside, ships crash against the sandbanks and Artemis graciously spared himself a second of all-consuming panic before stepping outside and allowed sunlight to wash over his skin like a cloak of imminent death.
…
“Well! Looks like the intel was correct, after all!”
The Navy commander’s voice was triumphant and buttery sweet all at once, and it grates on Artemis’ nerves like nothing before. They surrounded the island in circles of white and blue, fresh-faced cadets with enough potential who was promised to maybe, potentially face an Assassin Syndicate Overseer and claimed the glory of spilling his blood. Some of them fight for justice, for revenge. Perhaps Artemis had killed their father, their sons, their mother. Some fought for family. Some for friend. They all had dreams, has hope, had something that marks them special to the world.
Nothing important enough for their death to be anything more than numbers in some apathetic ledger.
“What intel?” Artemis replied. His face was blank; apathy and annoyance purposefully gleamed in one frozen eye. Daggers flipped ss they lazily fly in the air, metal blades glimmering alluringly in light as calloused fingers toss them in idle motion.
“Oh, don’t play dumb.” So they think he’s playing dumb? Artemis can work with that. “There are rumours of an assassin camping around on Sandfall Isle. Ravennan citizens were extremely concerned. It is only fair the Grand Navy went to check if this is true as we perform our duties, is it not?”
“And?”
“And it is correct, yes. You are…” A flourished unfurl of yellow parchment, and Artemis’ decade old mugshot stared him in the face with all the fucks given to dead flies. “Overseer Zephyr, yes? Interesting name, no? Overseer Osiris Zephyr of the Red Corner, The Thorned Rose, the hero known as Achille Kuznetsov?”
Hold on. “Achille Kuznetsov?” An image of Achille, happy and smiling with bronze in his hair and ice dancing at his fingertips floats to Artemis’ mind, conjured by the remnants of his tattered survival instinct. Artemis tried his best to ignore it.
“Oh, don’t pretend the Navy doesn’t know in detail about your double life.” Right, because Artemis Kuznetsov didn’t exist, as far as the world knows, a name in passing recorded on forgotten ledgers drowned under the abyss sea. Artemis could pass as Achille. Maybe. He could certainly try.
“What double life?”
“Hero by day, assassin by night- oh, don’t look like that. You are wearing assassin red! What, are you meant to tell me you stripped an assassin just for his cloak? What a joke!”
Right. He definitely forgot about the shirt. “Certainly, But I also saved all these people. Wouldn’t the good outweighs my… unsavoury activities, in this case?”
“Not particularly, my dear hero. Although if you grovel hard enough, perhaps they would let your case fall under my jurisdiction. Perhaps even allowing you to serve under me! Surely, that is a fate better than death?”
Never mind. “No.”
“Worth a try. Now, my good Overseer, I hereby declare you under arrest, witnessed by Lady Justice and the Grand Navy forces of the Bronze Sea. You are charged with murder, mass murder, destruction of properties, evasion of the law…”
Artemis let the buffoonian clusterfuck reads out his list of crime one by one, ending each sentence with a particular flourish. More time bought for ‘Rezki, he supposed.
The idiot. Kept. Reading.
This took a while.
Artemis counts the seagulls swarming overhead once, twice, and once more just for good measure. There are exactly 16 birds squawking above. Excellent intel. Can definitely be used.
Fuck.
“…Plundering of castaways, and slaying heroes as they tried to perform their duties. Did I miss anything, my good Overseer?”
Artemis raised an unimpressed eyebrow.
“Oh! And tax evasion!”
“The most heinous of crimes, I’m sure.” He interrupted, snatching daggers he flipped in the air and spanning them our between his fingers, hilt-up, as he lined the leather-wrapped cones at the Commander’s face. “As interesting as this may be, what did you clowns came here for? I’m sure Vice Admiral Joshua Vince wouldn’t appreciate the Navy hunting his business partners.”
“The Vice Admiral had been dishonourably discharged due to corruption and fraternization with the enemy’s forces.” The Commander replied, smoothly as you please, and as much as Artemis delighted how that creepy old hag had finally been toppled from his empire the timing was incredibly inconvenient, actually, fucker couldn’t hold on to his ill-gotten throne for another day or so until Artemis had gotten off this damn island. “I am in charge as acting vice captain, for now, and thus all the duties of the job. One of which, as you would guess, is hunting high priorities criminals. Such as you!”
Artemis knows. Artemis knows goddamn well very much, actually. The pseudo carrot threat failed. Now for the actual threat.
“Such as me, you say?” His assassin voice is rusty, slightly grindy from disuse, but the message was sent, if the way some Navy’s soldiers’ faces turn white with fear is an indication. He tilted his face just right in a direction that had the sun casting shade on his features, hooding his eyes, sharpening the mocking curve of his lips. His sole eye glanced at a cadet, who trembles cannot be mistaken as forest green eye stared into the very core of his soul. “Why, you. You, over there. Harold Glen. How’s the girlfriend? Still swell?”
Harold tried his darndest to not piss his pants. He failed.
“And you!” Artemis turned around. It’s hard to keep the hunter-intent from his voice now if he tries, and he’s not trying. “You, Elan Sean. Your wife waits at home for you with a child. Do you really want to leave them hanging? For them to see parts of you in a box, assembled like a puzzle with lost pieces? Your daughter is two, a child, a mere babe. Do you wish for her to grow up without a father?”
The Navy held their formation, even as fear spreads through their rank like oil, trickling into the crevices of their soul with each hitched whisper.
It’s so easy to light the flame.
“I have no problems with you all as soldiers,” He announced, against the voices that screams for vengeance in his soul, for justice against the horrors committed to one of their own and the child he left behind. That can of worm can be settled once Arezki wasn’t in the immediate vicinity, desperately tying their makeshift raft together in hopes of escaping this without much harm.
“I am merely here for a contract. My target is dead. Leave now, and I assure you your families will live to see another sunrise.”
The Navy soldiers buzzed which anxiety, heads turning as they debate the consequences of their options. The Commander, fuck him, still smiled, something disgusting sweet and slimy that climbs up Artemis’ back in all the wrong ways.
“A contract? I haven’t heard of anyone on Sandfall these past few months! Except you, of course. Reports of you and… another assassin, residing on this island.”
“Well, your reports are wrong.”
“Overseer Zephyr, this information is gathered by our trusted personnel.” That are easily bribed and often ended up in pieces down the ocean floor, but he digresses. “It can be assume- “
“Behold,” Artemis deadpanned. The words felt physically painful as they left his throat. “The field in which I grew my fucks. Gaze upon it with thine eyeballs and thou shalt see it is barren.”
The smile slipped off the Commander’s face like water. His eyes narrowed. It would be hilarious in any other circumstances. Pain ached in Artemis’ chest. If he bleeds, his blood would be tinted purple.
“Lowly assassin scum- How dare you speak to me like that?” And Artemis burst out laughing couldn’t help it, because this idiot is all pride and justice and not an ounce of self-awareness seen in his oversized head. That angered the Commander even more, in turns making him laugh even harder because Hades Hells, this idiot, this absolute moron. Vince had been corrupted, dense, ugly and almost fully inbred, but he had some modicum of sense when it comes to his own survival. The same of which can’t be said about Commander Tomato Face over there.
Artemis shrugged. Oh dear, humans weren’t supposed to turn that red, were they?
“WE OUGHT TO ARREST YOU RIGHT NOW!” It’s practically confirmed, at least to Artemis, this idiot is a nepotism baby. You don’t climb the ladder rank that high without some serious common sense or someone powerful enough to let you spout the wrong things to the right people. “Scum, the lot of you!”
“Are you born out of wedlock via an illicit night of passion?” He had to ask. It was such an opportunity. Commander Tomato Face didn’t react much differently, his face burning an even brighter scarlet, knuckles white as he gripped the pommel of his sword with all the strength in that misshapen body. He didn’t deny it, and oh boy, Artemis did not expect that. “Wow, ok then, are your parents related?”
The asshat continued to ignore the question as he spouted purple prose justice and death to all criminals, especially Artemis. The Navy commander watched the one-sided verbal beatdown with disbelieving tension, their head swerving side to side as if they are watching a particularly interesting fetch game.
“WHY YOU- SOLDIERS, ARREST HIM! KILL HIM- CAPTURE HIM ALIVE! LET THIS SCOUNDREL GET A TASTE OF THE GRAND NAVY’S MIGHT”
In cheap stage-show fight scene cliché, all Navy personnel jerked in surprise at the sudden order before rushing forward in a tumbling mess of limbs and sharp swords that aimed straight for Artemis’ throat. Artemis doubts they realised the controversy in that statement. Nevertheless, he took a leap upward, flicked his hands downward, and unleashed the rain of knives that descends in a deadly shower of gleaming metal. They hit unsuspecting flesh with an angry hiss, and the screams of pain were a melody to the assassin’s ears.
A backflip mid-air and Artemis was standing on a sandy ledge, glaring down with a half-lidded eye as the Navy scurried to recover the loss of their comrades as they run around, headless chicken style. As amusing as this was, as much as he craved the feeling of their flesh on his fingers, there are better things to do.
Such as Arezki, who had probably finished tying the raft together, now. Artemis grabbed a bite from the nearby prickly pear and retreats back into their only slightly destroyed cove.
..
“F-FREEZE! DROP YOUR WEAPONS O-OR I’LL KILL H-HIM!”
The Navy soldier was fat, a stoutly thick thing with an equally thick skull. He trembled in his boots, his face white as a sheet, greasy blond hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. His muddy eyes were blown wide in fear. Grasped between his chubby finger was a knife, a knife pressed to the throat of a struggling child held tightly up by the crook of his trunk-like elbow. He was panting. Blood flowed from his twisted nose.
Artemis sees red.
The marine died with a pig-like howl as ornated daggers pin-cushioned around his skull, a mocking crown of blood. He fell backwards, body hit the sandy ground with a thump. Arezki squirmed himself from the dead man’s slimy grasp with a gasp of disgust. Artemis patted him on the head before zeroing onto the raft, with coconut trunks tie tight together and looks just about finished. That is ok. That is fine, actually. They can finish tying it when they hit the ocean away from the Navy who seems just dumb enough to circle Sandfall for 12 hours looking for assassins that are no longer there-
Arezki sucked in a breath next to him. Shadow casted over the cove’s entrance and Artemis’ heart sinks somewhere below his stomach at the distinct thought of being caught.
“Ooh, a child!” The Commander laughed, his voice so very, very punchable. Arezki did something that sounded like a bite behind him, and the Navy bastard laughs. “Come out, now. Overseer Zephyr, you never told me there’s a child present.”
Arezki’s shout of anger was cut off as a blood-speckled soldier twice his size grabbed him by the back of the shirt and dragged him out to the open sunlight. Artemis darted out after, teeth gritted, halberd in hand. The soldier was still holding Arezki up to be examined by his superior, who hummed and hared over the kicking 14-years-old, his squinty eyes sweeping over the child with a less-than-pleasant grin.
“Feisty, aren’t we? Such delicate features!” He cooed. Arezki kicked harder. Artemis lunged forward with all his strength and slammed the sharp side of his halberd on the soldier’s neck.
Blood squirted from the stump, red and glimmering like liquid ruby in the sunlight, and Arezki dropped to the ground with a thump. Artemis caught the severed head in his hand and chucked it at another shocked-still Navy.
“’REZKI!” He yelled, seconds before the wave of angry ants in blue-and-white polo shirts swarmed the pair. “GET THE FUCKING RAFT AND ACTIVATE YOUR FUCKING AURA!”
“BUT OVERSEER- “
Arezki protested. He still scrambled back into the cove and emerged a second later, weird mess of rope and plank in hand.
“NOW!” That isn’t Artemis’ voice, that is Overseer Zephyr’s and oh, how he loathes to use it on ‘Rezki of all people, but right now he needs his child to stop being stubborn, damnit, and activate his damn aura. A wave of Navy soldiers surged forward, magic charged, screaming and yelling, and Artemis swung his halberd in an arc, bisecting the crowd with a unison, vicious squelch.
Next to him, acid burns in the air, flowing over Arezki in a protective wave of neon green.
“GET ON THE RAFT!”
“BUT DAD- “
“ZHAO, THIS IS AN ORDER. GET. ON. THE. FUCKING. RAFT!”
Arezki flinched visibly, and Artemis felt a moment of regret before another Navy started firing plasma beams in his general direction. The Navy got an old sword to the face, and Artemis jumped back just as Arezki got onto the raft, face tinted with confusion that shifted to mild horror as Artemis picked him up by the raft he stood on and tilted backward.
“DAD? DAD- DAD NO- “
A loud woosh. Arezki weights not nearly enough for a kid his age, but that would be the advantage. His voice echoed into the distance as the raft flies over Sandfall and gradually reclined to a dot as it passes through the clear sky.
There was stunned silence.
“WELL? WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?” The Commander, David Wellwood, reacted first, yelling to his subordinates, scalding anger burning in his words. “GET A BOAT!”
A soldier ran for the shore, no doubt preparing a sailboat to chase after the child. He didn’t make it far. A dagger nailed the back of his head as he collapsed on the sandbanks, blood flowing from the more-than-minor cut in cracked skull and mingling with cold ocean salt, tinting the foamy white pink.
Soldiers stared at their Commander, who fumed in shocked silence, and back to the assassin with no warmth in flat, abyss green eye, hand still poised in throwing position.
Overseer Zephyr of the Assassin Syndicate grinned, and all hell breaks loose.
….
Artemis Kuznetsov fights with certainty, with power behind every stroke and neat, clean cuts not meant to draw blood and certainly not meant to harm. He darts back and forth on firm steps, swords poise up, back straight, a perfect image of fair play. He bantered as steel clashes and smiled as he pulled his opponents from the sparring floor and would later offer feedbacks in soft whispers as he bandaged the cuts with gentle, calloused fingers.
Overseer Zephyr fought like a wild beast from hell, with knives and claws and swords that glimmered in the burning light, rending flesh, exposing bloodied bones as he spins amidst the mass of writhing bodies, a lethal dance few knows the steps for, with low ducks and fluid twists and violent, jagged swings of sharpened steel. Blood ran down his hand, streaks across his face, spurts out in ruby sprays that coated all in warm, sticky red.
Violent, unforgiving. A true beast of nature, David Wellwood marvelled, as he watched his men getting cut down like shredded confetti, detached amusement in his swampy eyes. But there’s only so much strength available at once, expelled in large swathes of gore and death, only for soldiers to climb on their comrades’ dead bodies, scrambling for their chance to claim an Overseer’s head, blinded by glory, pride, money.
Simple, trivial things that held no importance in the grand scheme. Doesn’t matter. Those lowly soldiers should be delighted for this, for their pathetic sacrifices to mean something, should feel honoured forfeiting their meaningless lives as contribution to the greater cause, the very ideal of the Navy enacted in the Bronze Sea. Their families will be proud of them, at least, their children looking up at their papa and mama’s honourable plaques with fostering pride, inspirations, a new generation of young, prideful, eager to please soldiers for those like David to play with.
Another soldier’s head hit the bleeding sand, and David leaned back on his heels and watched the gory massacre as one would a circus show, with smug amusement in his eyes and something wicked dancing on curved lips.
…
As any good show, the circus came to an end.
The idiots under his command were weak-willed and fragile-limbed, their unenhanced body snapping like twigs in a violent storm of shockwave thunder and ruby rain. Like ants they ran in tight, flammable formations that toppled with the slightest push, only for the next wave of fools to take their place, a never-ending storm of death and blood. But they did their job, if the bare minimal, their lives forfeited to bring down the beast of a man that is Overseer Zephyr.
Overseer Zephyr, who was panting in harsh, shuddering breath, with blood streaks in his hair and smeared on his face, eyes burning with cold death and red dripping down his chin, stuck in his throat as torn lungs burned with clouds of misty purple dust, as he stumbled in the ritual circle of death.
The remaining soldiers looked at the monster who caused the death of their brothers in arm with naught but violent fear in their eyes, absolute terror spreading in their veins, through trembling fingers and small whispers of mamas. David looked at the cluster of trembling fools through hooded eyes and twisted his lips in disdain.
“What are you buffoons waiting for?” He drawled. Sandfall is horrendous at this time of year, he decided, the pears ripened to bursting and too sweet as their sticky juice stained his fingers. The smell of blood was annoying on the best of days. The sun beats down relentlessly, the air twisting in hazy heat, and the moan of dying ants are growing stale. This spectacle needs to end and needs to end faster.
“Commander- “One of the few soldiers who remained standing stammered, stuck still through sheer terror. “I-I think- “
“Well, it’s good you aren’t being paid to do the thinking, is it?” David scoffed. Absolute morons. “And that is SIR Wellwood to you, soldier.”
“S-Sir Wellwood- “
“Soldier,” David interrupted. Boredom leaked from his voice. “What is your name?”
“W-Wester, Sir! Wester Ander!” Behind them, Zephyr glared at the Commander with absolute hatred in his eyes, each exhale of air pulsing blood from his lungs, knuckles whitened around the wrapped hilt of his halberd.
“Well, Cadet Ander,” Ander snapped up to attention, a glimpse of hope glittering in wide, terror-stricken eyes. “You have children, correct? A wife?”
The fool nodded, eager and willing. He thought that might instil some sympathy in David’s heart.
“Then let me make this simple for you,” David smiled. It was so entertaining to watch fresh hope drains from an unsuspecting, unassuming fly. “Cadet Ander. You will charge forward. You will represent the Grand Navy with all your might, and your name will be inscribed with honour, your body wrapped up and burned, your soul allowed to join former comrades in the Aether. Is that clear?”
“B-but- “
“And if you don’t,” His voice echoed across the island, bouncing on rock cliffs, loud and all-consuming. “Your children, Cadet. Your son is 5, correct? His sister 8. Treason is a multi-generational crime. Your parents will be executed, their names soiled in records for daring to produce a failure such as you. Your son and daughter will be in chains, their mother jailed for association. But, oh, they are mere children, are they not?”
“Perhaps, then, I will take them for myself. It is best to train them young, after all. Young and pliant, eager to please, no? They can never run from the fact their beloved papa was a filthy traitor, never amount to anything in life, their fate condemned to serving men in bejewelled chamber. Is that the fate you wished upon your children?”
The soldier face was sheet white, his eyes wide open in shock. His stocky frame shook slightly. David tipped his head up and smile.
“Charge, soldier.”
The slam of bloodied metal against flesh came, something brutally wet as bronze splits through skin and cartilage and bones, Ander’s head hitting the ground with a muffled thump, blood squirting from the stump on his neck. Overseer Zephyr flicks the blood of his weapon with a huff and looked up at David, ignoring the terrified screams of soldiers as they scrambled away from him.
“So, you are Wellwood?” His voice was hoarse, low, a ruined, wrecked thing that gurgled with blood. David glared back.
“Yes.”
“David Wellwood?”
“Commander David Wellwood, thank you. So, what if I am?”
Zephyr’s lips stretched into a grin, something nightmarish, of sharpened canines and blood that sent unpleasant shivers down David’s soul.
“There are things you need to pay for.”
…
Overseer Osiris Zephyr was an assassin, a murderer, a shadow of death with ghostly hair and forest eye and fingers dipped in blood of innocents and guilty alike, who promised death and delivers it in swiftness and brutality. Artemis Kuznetsov was a husband, a father, a man with sons and a lover who laughed in his face and poisoned his tea every morning in jest. Overseer Zephyr understood the importance of a vow, something laced with steaming blood. Artemis knows intimately the potential cost of love.
When Penny Fae returned to the Red Corner with puffy eyes and cold skin and no larger-than-life father figure trailing behind her, the Syndicate mourned.
Mourned for the loss of one of their Lords, one of their longest standing agents, for the acquaintance, the colleague, the friend Lord Fae may had been, never will be. They mourned for the child he left behind, a child who will grow up with tears frozen in her eyes and her father’s screams ringing in the back of her head, blood dripping from her fingers as she falls deeper into Death’s domain, alone and forgotten.
Artemis Kuznetsov personally oversaw Penny Fae’s transition to a life in anonymity, a life safe enough for a hunted, traumatised assassin child against people who had sought her father’s head. Overseer Osiris Zephyr made a vow, a vow of blood and ash and snow forever perpetuating the whitened peaks of their Summit, a vow to revel in destruction of the filth who dare used a child to subdue their father, to spilt blood for blood, eye for eye, to avenge Fae’s spirit as he rests with Hades Down Below on a throne of ash shifting in cold, northern wind.
No one dared move as he stalked forward, frozen in place with nothing but the primal fear of facing a prowling predator encompassing their senses. Bloodied boots grinds against steaming earth with each heavy step, bloodied bronze dragging scratched lines against the bleeding sand. Pain spasms across his screaming senses as they lit on fire, again, and again, sour dust coating torn throat and scratched up lungs, mingling in rushing blood. Artemis ignored it.
David Wellwood still glared down from his ledge, cross-legged and nigh untouchable on the high edge with vague annoyance in hooded, swampy eyes. Sweat dotted his forehead. Pear juice ran down short, bejewelled fingers. He looked down at the bleeding beast dressed in blood and sneered.
“What are you fools waiting for? Get him!”
There are only so many ways to get up what amounts to a high, smooth rock. Osiris Zephyr isn’t going to physically start climbing up, is he?
The Navy soldier dare not move, not even blink, still in blinding, absolute horror as the Overseer, the monster, the assassin crouched down and, in a tremendous cloud of sand and dust, leaped up in the burning air with enough force that smoke hissed at the edge of his coat. He twirled forward mid-air, twisting the halberd in one fluid motion – the halberd he dragged along in that superhuman show of strength – and slammed it down on stone with added momentum, steel-tipped boots touching ground moments later, controlled and light as a cat’s.
David Wellwood stared, his fried mind trying and failing to comprehend the height this bloodied beast had just leaped with what some may call relative ease, body tipping backwards as he scrambles away on pure instinct, desperate to put distance between him and the malevolent force of death out for spilt blood. It’s futile, in the end. There’s only so much room on a rock ledge.
The violent crash of bronze that ripped through skin and flash and cracked bones came, a familiar wet squelch and the not-so-familiar feel of humid, burning sand-wind against the tender, exposed flesh vomiting blood from the stump where an arm once hang from, the mass of flesh landing on sandy stone. Overseer Zephyr glanced down, sunlight illuminating ghostly white hair like a shroud of ghost, cold eye burned homes in the ripped skin at the end of David’s once elbow.
His screams echoed the island, bouncing from cavern to stone cove, terrified and raw and so, so desperately human. David scrambled backwards again, again, legs kicking and arm trying to staunch the violent bleeding as tears willing up in squinty eyes and streams down sweaty face in clear, sticky stream. Osiris Zephyr tilted his head and stretched a violent grin, blood staining his canines red.
“YOU MONSTER!” David screamed. Terror burned in his voice.
“Back at you, scum.” Hoarse, dry, utterly horrific. The rasp of a dying monster intending to take with it the world. “That was for Lord Fae, may he find peace below with this tribute. And this- “
The blade shifted. Pain burned, all consuming, empowering, choking the very blood in Artemis’ veins with each movement, clogging his air ways then blood then heart. Something gave out. When he breathes, when he speaks, blood oozed from his very words, tinted purple and burned with sour acid. He raised the halberd up with borrowed strength in adrenaline and steadied his swimming vision, ignoring the way blood rushed around his body and he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe-
“This is for his child.”
Bloodied bronze slammed down again.
….
Shimmering purple burned, trails of fire as they spread around his lung, emboldened with the brutal fight.
Blurred black danced at the edge of his vision, fiery licks of blessed darkness twisting outside of his reach.
Sour dust coated his tongue; the tangy, bitter aftertaste of bile and mushroom. His throat felt swollen, scratched bloody and raw. He tried to speak. Nothing came out except blood.
Blood. All consuming. Everywhere at once. On his hair, in his eye, sticky as it stained his shirt, violently warm as it pooled on his open palm and trailed down his bruised chin, some sick imitation of a warmth that once spreads at his beck and call, danced around his fingers with ease in easier times, something lost and gone, taken from him without care. Parents, brother, life-
Artemis Kuznetsov watched himself vomited purple blood on his knees with drowning apathy and the muted fire of acceptance, gurgled hacking drowned in the wailing screams of David Wellwood as he bled from his elbow and near-severed ankle, eyes wide and blood shot, spit wetting his face.
“YOU IMBECILE!” He moaned in angered pain, stumbling up on one foot and stumped elbow, eyes alight with pain and murderous intents. He picked up the cut-off arm and chucked it at Artemis. The ringed finger sliced a line of red across his nose.
“YOU PATHETIC ASSASSIN!” The voice was shrill and loud and scared, and that was completely hilarious to Artemis’ oxygen-lacking brain for some reason because he barked out a laugh, bloodied and painful and mocking, more blood dribbling down his chin, metallic and purple that dripped down the ground and bloomed like some fucked up flowers. He sprawled over and laugh, laugh, keeps laughing even as a bloodied, magic-reinforced stump slammed against the tender flesh of his torso and sent him tumbling down the cliff ledge like a ragdoll with cut string.
Unenhanced body crashed down bloodied, now-cold sand with the universal sound of bones cracking on impact, violent and all-echoing, all burning muscles and pulped flesh. The pain returns, twofold, tenfold, with such vengeance it had Artemis doubled over, curled in on himself in absolute agony as he coughed, and coughed, and blood ran down his face and hand and death loomed over, cold breath against the feverishly warm skin of his shoulder, waiting with barely concealed excitement for the soul of Poseidon’s chosen in his chest.
“HOW PATHETIC YOU ARE!” David Wellwood yelled from his ledge, leaning against prickly cactus as pain leaked from the stumps on his body. Magic had sealed the bloodied flesh, although his face was drawn pale and his eyes bloodshot, scrunched in shock with tear tracks glittering down his face. “AN OVERSEER, DYING LIKE A COMMON DOG!”
With all the strength he could mustered, Artemis raised a limp arm and flipped his middle finger in the general direction of that hissing bastard. The sound akin to a boiling tea kettle warmed Artemis down to the frozen pits of his dying soul.
“MEN!” There wasn’t triumph in that voice anymore, nor boredom nor amusement, but pure anger, thick enough to choke on. David Wellwood pointed at the dying Overseer and shouted to his trembling, weak-willed puppets who looked a breeze from death, demanding the capture of a dying man. “CAPTURE HIM! I WANT HIM ALIVE!”
No one dared approach Artemis, as wounded as he was, light dancing in waves across his eyes and ribcage broken, crushed, lungs burning apart into fine ashes that spreads in the wind with each rattling cough. His hearing blurred, sound amplified than muted, a spinning wheel of deafening chaos and nausea.
“I- KEEP HIM ALIVE!” The shrill voice shouted again. It was loud and annoying, and it should- shut up, really, he would make it shut up if he has the means, could be bothered to drag the last knife holding his hair into some semblance of neatness out and threw it at the general source of noise. “KEEP HIM ALIVE! I WANT TO SEE HIM SUFFER!”
That’s funny. Artemis doesn’t quite like suffering.
“-WILL RIP THE FLESH FROM YOUR BONES! I WILL WHIP YOU BLOODY, WILL TEAR THE SKIN FROM YOUR FLESH AS YOU SCREAM. SCREAM, LITTLE ASSASSIN, SCREAM YOUR WORTHLESS LIFE AWAY. I WILL POUR ACID DOWN YOUR THROAT AND- “
Calum would love the acid idea, but Calum isn’t here right now. Calum is doing his own things, is waiting for Artemis and oh, he had promised, hadn’t he? Oh well, surely Arezki can apologize in his stead.
“I WILL BURN YOU ALIVE, FILTH! I WILL MAKE YOU SUFFER; MAKE YOU BEG FOR DEATH AGAIN AND AGAIN- “
Artemis would never beg, never has to. Death loomed over him, waiting for the chance to swoop its ugly scythe of his neck, for the chance to grab at him with cold, skeletal hands and drag him down to Hades below, a soul tainted with blood and violence, beautiful in its myriad of twisted ways. He doesn’t need to beg.
Come on, child, Death whispered. Come to me, now.
The movement was automatic; trembling arm that shifted the sharp hairpin out, allowing waves of red streaked silver to curtain over tanned shoulder. The metal was warm against his calloused finger. Blood lingered on his tongue. He would do it with the claws, the sharp mesh of poison tipped talons that would shred his throat apart, but Artemis doubt Calum would enjoy his gift being used for such a purpose.
Everything burns, burns, burns, from the sun to the blood to the screaming of Navy soldiers, the angered yelling of one distinctive asshole as blood bubbled over the neat, gaping line now resting on Artemis’ throat, violet-tinted ruby spilling down the hollow of his broken, bruised chest, and for the last few moments of his life, Artemis Kuznetsov, the Thorned Rose, Overseer Osiris Zephyr of the Assassin Syndicate laughed, laughed in gurgling barks of purple blood that overpowered the terrorful screams that restarted soon after.
And he descends. Down, down below, with cold steps and frozen breath, Artemis descends to the dark domain of Hades and All Those He Rules, with leftover tears in his eyes and forever unspoken apologies stuck against torn throat.
(On the bloodied isle amidst the land of the living, an angry Commander descends down screaming, without an arm and a leg and no Overseer brought to justice to show for it. Blood pulled in one remaining hand, slick and warm, mad laughter ringing in the pits of his soul, a smile, bloodied and frozen in death, plaguing him for weeks and months after, something of an omen, a sign that signifies his own brutal demise.)
….
On a raft, floating above the calm ocean, Arezki Zhao sat with shock in his eyes and adrenaline pumping through his body, a red shawl draped over his shoulder, acid bursting in bubbles as it forms a protective shell around prone body.
Blood splattered on his face, flaky and dry, bile in the back of his throat. The feeling of someone’s arm, thick and hairy, holding him up. The feeling of metal on his neck, burning and cold as it slices through soft skin. Arezki rubbed the slight sting on his neck. His palm came away smeared with a thin line of blood.
Blood. Roses.
Steel. Bronze.
The Navy. Artemis.
Artemis, his mentor, his protector, his father in all but name, who ruffled his hair and sparred and comforted him through nightmares. Who listens and comforts, a steady pillar with no cracks. Overseer Zephyr, Artemis Kuznetsov, with blood on his face and fear lingering in his eye, wide as he threw the raft- his son- his life along with it. Artemis, gone. Maybe dead.
Probably dead.
(Arezki wasn’t stupid; he notices the coughs and the blood and the way Artemis’ face tightened with each hitching breath, the way his voice deepened, his fingers trembling ever so slightly. He didn’t say anything, had preferred to pretend Artemis is still a steady pillar, uncracked, unbroken, too scared to even consider otherwise. Maybe he should have.)
But Artemis couldn’t- and he promised- and Zion would miss him, and Calum would cry, would scream and cry and descends back to misery if Arezki told him, and Achille would look sad for the first time, tears bleeding down with their apathetic façade and Arezki would be alone again, floundering in the world, just him and Zion and Artemis couldn’t be dead-
He couldn’t- no- Arezki could not, would not accept it. Never could, never will. Because accepting means resignation, resignation to the burning hole in his heart that will never heal, never scars, perpetually bleeding until all ran dry and love cracked up with dust, fire burning to ashes then white cinders that fossilized over cold dead flesh and-
Oh.
Artemis is probably dead.
Artemis is probably dead.
The wind felt cold against Arezki’s face. Crystals ran down from the corner of his eyes, salty and bitter, small splotches hitting the wooden raft. The oversized coat shuffled around his shoulders, billowing in the wind, and something slipped out of its faded pockets.
Arezki Zhao pulled a pouch of salted peanuts stuffed in his pockets, fumbled the strings open on numb, frozen fingers. and cried.