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Wake up and fight. That was the destined life of Gillion Tidestrider.
There is no end, only time outs to regroup. A constant adrenaline pulses through his veins, a constant weight of a weapon heavy in his hand. Bloodlust is etched into his features, it sparks with his hair that flies in radiant glows, it surrounds his being in an aura of violence.
To his core he was violent and that could not be changed. It was molded alongside him, the clay having long since dried and sealed it in forever.
Blood dripped from his blade, puddling at his feet. A layer of red over the previously dried rainbow of victims. He never cleaned the blade after battle, the remnants reminded him of what he had to do.
A metallic scent filled his nose. It smelled like childhood.
He plunged his sword once more into the chest of his enemy. Blood speckled his grinning teeth. He always had a smile in battle.
He spun around, ripping the blade out with him and slashed at another attacker. In his mind they were all meaningless targets, potato sack puppets that he needed to get through. This was just another training activity in the ongoing session that was his life. It would only end when he reached the finish line, the moment the prophecy that beat with his heart would come to fruition. After that he supposed it didn’t matter what happened.
He felt a different blade, one he had not predicted, it cut through his chest.
He smiled wider.
It stung. It hurt. It soaked his black clothing blue. It was a challenge.
He spun around and with a crackling bolt of lightning cinematically forming around him he struck down. It burned his own flesh as it scorched them in intertwined billows of smoke.
It fucking burned. He knew it would hurt like hell for the both of them.
The fight was a dance that he had perfected the steps to. He tangoed with a dagger in his chest and kicked with a bloodied grace.
They crumpled in defeat beneath his might. Another victory.
He looked around for another one, still running high on adrenaline, but found no soul left standing.
There had to be something. He couldn’t just let this rush go to waste, he had to use it all. If he hadn’t passed out yet then there was still more to be fought.
He saw his crew-mates at each others sides, an orange glow enveloped Gryffon with Jay at his side. It spread like a sun rising onto Queens pale skin, joining them under its magic.
Gillion breathed heavily from across the way, waving a hand and sending sparks of his own teal onto Chip and Jay. If they said anything in response he didn’t process it, eyes still unfocused and heart rate still speeding. The fight wasn’t over.
They walked back to the ship. He cut through the underbrushes with his blood soaked sword. They made conversation but he couldn’t tell if he was contributing. The fight wasn’t over.
They raised the anchor and took off. Resigning to their beds for the night. Queens lullaby drifted peacefully through the air. The fight wasn’t over.
Chips loud snoring fought with Jays for dominance. Moonlight filtered down the stairs through the cracked open door. The fight wasn’t over.
He arose from his tub. Water sloshed in his absence, it wasn’t enough to stir the two captains. His sword had not left his hand; the blood tainted the water. Because the fight wasn’t over.
He walked above deck and watched the sea dance with unblinking eyes. The waves beckoned him with each collision. The constant clashing together felt familiar. He almost wanted to jump in and join.
The energy was still within him. Muscles still tensed in preparation for a blow, eyes still darting at every subtle movement, ears still alert, heart still beating at a rapid pace, his breaths still short and calculated. Everything he’d been taught. Perfect form.
He needed something. He desperately needed a relief. He dropped to his knees, back against the railings.
With no opponents he turned the blade on himself.
A release is what he’d been taught.
Use the fuel your body gives you, never let it go to waste.
It didn’t usually come to this, usually there were enough enemies to get out his bloodlust. Enough time to let it run its course and take him down crashing and burning with it. Today was one of the exceptions. One of the times where he’d gotten too worked up for a fight too small.
It burned. It hurt. It cut deep. It didn’t help.
His eyes burned, breath faltering in a hiccup. It wasn’t working, it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t find it in him to fight back, so what was the point?
Lightning crackled from above his head, rumbling within a small cloud that had been accumulating. His coral glowed like a lightning rod, attracting and welcoming what would come next.
Still battered from the previous encounter that he hadn’t bothered to recover from, he pushed his limits and let it land. He could hear the sizzling as the electricity ran through his damp skin; tracing the red scars left by the pearl.
The fight would never be over. Not until he won. Dying was not an option.
He cried but he did not wail. It was his destiny to bleed, he had no right to complain.
He cut deeper, the way his trainers had always done. Don’t let it go to waste.
His hands were suddenly being grappled, a calloused pair pulling the sword away by the hilt. Words were being exchanged, he didn’t recognize them. This was a fight he had not anticipated but he also wouldn’t pass up.
He bared his teeth, movements wobbly at best, unhinged at worse. He lunged at the attacker on all fours and knocked them over onto their back.
Lightning crackled once more, bearing down on both of them. They screamed. He raised the sword above his head ready to strike, but his hands were caught and he was pulled back. They ripped it from him, metal clattered somewhere off to the side.
He flipped off his back and jumped at the second figure. They caught his arms and wrestled to keep them behind his back. Claws that had not been sheathed dug into new skin and he growled. A deep guttural sound that belonged to a wounded creature.
Whoever had been beneath him had squirmed away and had placed their hands on his face, pushing his hair back and wiping the tears away. He thrashed, kicking at them desperately . They didn’t budge.
“Fight me.” He snarled, voice unfamiliar and almost primal. His chest rose and fell in an erratic way.
The gentle hands continued to smooth him over, repeating a mantra in an unknown tongue. For he did not speak the language of love, it had never been taught to him.
A broken noise escaped his throat. He choked it down, trying and failing to keep going. His grip was flimsy, claws barely even grazing.
“-eath. Breath.” It was unsteady. Loud. Afraid. It was weak. This was the voice of weakness and Gillion could not give in to that. He couldn’t. He needed to fight. He had to.
“Gillion.” The hands, ran through his hair once more, falling until they reached his heart. “Breath!”
He tried for a bolt but nothing came up except for heavy breathing. He was too exhausted to summon any more magic. The tiredness took the form of an anchor wrapped around his ankles. It was dragging him under the water, away from the rough and restless waves and into the calm depths beneath.
When he hit the sandy floor all the other background noises faded away. There was only blues as far as he could see, his eyes fluttered shut. He took a deep breath, letting the water rush into his lungs like he’d always done. With it the noises returned.
He opened his eyes once more and found the imperfectly familiar face of Chip reformed in the oceans place. His eyes were blown wide and fearful, hands shaking as they soothed the wild animal. “Breath Gillion!”
Gillion took another deep breath and slowly let it go, dropping the tension in his body alongside it. He’d done what he needed to do after all, he’d let out the pent up energy. This was okay.
Chips face lit up at the response. “Gil, you with us?”
Gillions restraints were dropped cautiously and he brought his hands out of the uncomfortable tangle and laid them down in front of him. His nails were now painted red to match his weapon. He nodded solemnly.
Jay scooted around to be besides Chip in front of him. He could see deep scratches up and down her wrists and hands. His heart squeezed.
“Mind telling us whats going on?” Jay was a lot better at acting calm. Chip was practically vibrating with anxiety while her voice was even and her body language relaxed. Gillion didn’t buy it.
“I was training.” He wasn’t lying.
“No! You were hurting yourself!” Chip shouted. His eyes were not on his face but on his torn up lower half. Guilt burned Gillions stomach like he’d swallowed hot coals.
Jay put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it, “Chip.”
Gillion straightened up, feeling the need to be defensive. “I was only using the adrenaline to my advantage. It is important to test resilience.”
Jay made a face like she might be sick.
“No.” Chip gestured to his sides, deep splashes lined it in a brutal display. “That’s not fucking training.”
“It is to me.” He stood up abruptly, eyes darkening. “Go back to bed. I’m sorry I woke you.”
“No you don’t get to do that.” Jay stood up then, catching his wrist. Her voice had lost its calm. Light orange crept from her fingertips and the cuts began to slowly stitch blue skin together.
“What! Do what!” He shrugged her off and the magic faltered, leaving a few to continue spilling navy ink.
“Did they make you?” Chip stood up too, and caught his other wrist, both hands wrapping around it to leave no room for an escape. “The elders. Did they make you do that in the undersea?”
Gillions fin flicked, he couldn’t answer. He couldn’t answer because he couldn’t lie.
He knew how it sounded. He knew how it looked. But they didn’t understand, they’d never understand just how important this was. He was the fucking chosen one. He didn’t get to choose.
“Gil..” Jay breathed. Chips tattoos glowed dimly in the nights shadows, heating up alongside his emotions.
“I am the chosen one, these things are necessary.”
“Yeah well you were also a child.” She put a hand on his shoulder and coaxed him to sit down. He obeyed with a deep frown.
It didn’t matter much, most of it was going in one stubborn ear and right back out the other side. He didn’t have any room left for persuasion, it was a part of him and always would be.
“Do you do that every night?” Chip was almost afraid to ask, thinking back to the hundreds of times Gillion had stayed up late in the night training. He wasn’t sure he even knew what training was anymore.
“No. Only sometimes.” He admitted.
“Why tonight?” Jay asked. She tried to think about something- anything that could’ve set this off. Nothing came to mind. It had been an average day. That was the scariest part.
“The battle. It wasn’t.. enough.” He muttered. Fins drooping, shame written along his face. It sounded so stupid out loud.
“Oh I get it.” Chip lifted Gillions hand and rubbed circles into his palm. “I really, really do. But there are better ways to handle a high like that.”
Jay stayed silent with a knowing look, allowing Chip to do the talking. With Gillion distracted she carefully resumed her healing magic.
“Whatever fucking bullshit you were taught is wrong, so just forget about all that. I’ll teach you a better way.” He promised.
“But I..” Gillion chewed his bottom lip. “I don’t think anything else would work. I need to feel it myself, Chip. Or else I don’t feel good about myself.”
Chip looked at him sadly, he lifted his nightshirt ever so slightly to show a cluster of scarred neat lines. “I know.”
Gillion looked away, an indescribable feeling twisting his stomach. He was relieved, he was furious, he wanted to cry, he was ashamed, he was afraid. He didn’t know which he hated more and he didn’t know what to do. He felt like a helpless child all over again, the same wounds on his small frame.
“Let me help you so you don’t have to do it alone like I did.”
“I’ll try.” He said after a moment of bated breath.
Chip smiled and delicately thumbed Gillions face clean. He hadn’t even realized he’d been crying, so used to doing so silently that sometimes he himself forgot.
Jay tiredly slumped against his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his stomach. He rested his own head atop hers. Chip nestled his way into the hug and hummed softly. Gillion smiled faintly, remembering how he’d once told Chip that vibrations calmed him down.
He thought about when he’d been a guppy. Bandaged and sniffling in Edyns arms. She would wrap him up in a blanket and hold him close, rocking with the waves and humming softly. He’d always feel the vibrations from where his head would be pressed against her chest.
But he’d learned his lesson. He knew know that it was only temporary. They would never understand that it could never be over. Not for him. He was born bloody and he would live and die in the same way.
The fight wasn’t over.