т о с к а ✽ [ private, dnp ]

[User 33251061]

{ dersprout | sirius majoris | milchaotic }

✽xx✽xx✽


{ the outlaw | the royal | the hunter }

{ tsar-era | fantasy | literate }


✽xx✽xx✽


❝ He stepped down, trying not to look long at her,
as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun,
even without looking. ❞

Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina


“And from the sacrifice of one, a bounty of life springs forward.
Or as the lamb is laid in the soil,
the flesh may rot but the soul nurtures the crop.”

Bee and Puppycat

[User 33251061]

▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆ ✽ ▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆

“Just think! This whole world of ours is only a speck of mildew sprung up on a tiny planet, yet
we think we can have something great - thoughts, actions! They are all but grains of sand.”

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ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA ; Earth year 1860.

It is the age of tsars and emperors, and the Khabarov dynasty is in full power. A time of relative peace for Russia, but the political scandals and corruption behind the scenes of the monarchy are boiling quickly.

The old Tsar Nikolau has passed away, leaving Prince Makariy's father to ascend the throne. Interested only in keeping the family blood on the throne, Tsar Aleksandr intends to marry the Prince off as soon as possible and have him bear heirs. The Prince, however, has interest in other matters. The Russians of the mid eighteen hundreds are a superstitious people, and his appointed bodyguard, the heir to a long line of demon hunters, is more than just a simple bodyguard to him.

There are rumors of assassination. Officials are found guilty of bribery every week. The age of tsars is ending slowly and agonizingly.

On the other hand, matters outside of Earth are boiling up as well. Unknown to humans, the Fifth Intergalactic war is reaching its climax and the edges of the battlefield are mere lightyears away from the tiny blue planet. The Wesparians, a race of white haired humanoid beings known for their prowess in science and battle alike, are on the losing side of the battle. One of their eight motherships was destroyed in a suicide mission, leaving their forces nearest the Earth stranded and helpless.

Amidst the war, the lord of a intergalactic smuggling business cruises through space, right into the midst of the gunfire. Business is business, even if people are dying all around.

In an ambush, nearly all the ships in that area were destroyed, save for one particular smuggler king, who survived by crashing landing on Earth. Lost in the middle of barren Russia, the outlaw hopes he can reach civilization before his remaining supplies run out.

Unfortunately, there are other things besides lost aliens and ice in the middle of the Russian wilderness.



▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆ ✽ ▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆

“Just think! This whole world of ours is only a speck of mildew sprung up on a tiny planet, yet
we think we can have something great - thoughts, actions! They are all but grains of sand.”

▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆ ✽ ▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆

[DerSprout]

▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆ ▆▆▆▆o☆ ▆▆▆▆ ▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆..
ＭＹ ＢＯＮＥＳ ＷＩＬＬ ＢＬＥＡＣＨ ＭＹ ＦＬＥＳＨ ＷＩＬＬ ＦＬＥＥ..
ＳＯ ＨＥＬＰ ＭＹ ＬＩＦＥＬＥＳＳ ＦＲＡＭＥ ＴＯ ＢＲＥＡＴＨＥ..
ＩＴ ＤＲＯＷＮＳ ＴＨＥ ＬＯＶＥ Ｉ ＴＨＯＵＧＨＴ Ｉ ＫＮＥＷ..
AND GOD KNOWS I'M NOT DYING BUT I BLEED NOW..
AND GOD KNOWS I'M NOT DYING BUT I BLEED NOW..
AND GOD KNOWS I'M NOT DYING BUT I BLEED NOW..


Afanasiy liked to think he had good luck, but recent events seemed to show otherwise.

His smuggling empire had fallen in a matter of days. One little rat, one little hole and it had all crumbled on top of itself. He'd since... dealt with the tattletale, but the damage was already done. He'd lost everything--all his contacts had shut their doors to him, all his smugglers had left, even his partner had abandoned him to flee the fallout. Now there was no one else to blame, no one else to pin his crimes on but himself, and the Galactic Police were chasing after him with all the power they could spare.

His only hope had been to flee the galaxy, escape to Andromeda, but there was no one willing to smuggle the smuggler inside. I'm going to kill them all, he swore, slamming his hand on the dashboard. How many favors had he done them? What happened to 'honor among thieves'? He'd always run his business as an honorable man (well, honorable where it counted)! Where else in the whole godforsaken universe would you find an employer who would personally see to it that your medical bills were payed? Where else would you find an employer that would personally pick out a house for a homeless employee? Where else would you find an employer who would personally kill the assassins hot on your tail? Where else?

He felt the betrayal like a hot knife in the gut. He'd been generous, kind. He'd provided a necessary service in the galaxy. And now, in his desperate hour, all those he'd stood behind weren't there to stand behind him, perfectly willing to let him take the fall to avoid any consequences themselves. Selfish bastards, he thought, gritting his teeth.

There was a blink on the screen, and a white box appeared in the corner. "Sir, our fuel reserves are low." a computerized voice spoke. Her name was ALI, and she had a bad habit of pointing out the obvious.

"For ******** sake, ALI, you think I don't know?" he growled. The only thing that had kept the Galactic Police from catching him so far had been the incredible speed of his ship, but of course, she needed fuel just like any other ship. The problem was, there wasn't a fuel station anywhere in the galaxy he could stop without getting caught. With the bounty on his head, there wasn't a soul who wouldn't turn him in on sight. Worst part was, they didn't care the condition he was caught in. That little rat had had more than enough proof of his crimes. If he was caught, he wasn't going to see trial. He probably wouldn't see the light of day again, either.

His best bet now was to disappear on some planet in the middle of nowhere and pretend not to exist for a few years. They'd forget about him by then. After all, he wasn't a mass murderer, he was a smuggler. He'd only drawn so much attention to himself because he was so good at his job.

"Sir, we are critically low on fuel." ALI said. He just shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please locate a source of fuel."

"Can't, ALI. They'll kill me if we stop." he answered.

"Processing... I'm sorry Afanasiy, we do not have anything on board to use as fuel. Please locate a safe landing spot."

"What part of 'they'll kill me if we stop' doesn't make sense in your coding?" he said.

"Processing... changing course." ALI said.

"Um, what the ******** are you doing? Don't change course, we're making a break for it. Initiate override--"

"Sorry, sir. I have deemed your current ability to make judgements below acceptable levels."

"Bullshit. You just think I'm wrong,"

"You are wrong, sir. Prepare for crash landing."

"Query: is there a way to kill an AI?"

"Fortunately not sir. Prepare for crash landing. Crash landing in T minus 18 minutes..."

Afanasiy knew not to get into an argument with an AI. Especially not this AI. He'd thought she'd be a great choice for his ship, being able to make judgement calls! How wrong he was. He left the navigation deck muttering to himself, and he was still muttering to himself when he locked himself in an impact pod.



☆xxx☆xxx☆


These humans were absurdly easy to manipulate.

In one month, he'd acquired a name for himself in a place called Russia, on a dinky, underdeveloped planet called Earth. He hated to admit it, but ALI was right to change course here. There was no way they'd look for him here. They'd assume he would make a break for it for Andromeda, which he would have, if it weren't for ALI. Better yet, humans looked almost identical to his species--the only difference was in hair and eye colors. It was a bit scary, honestly. He wondered if this was the truth birthplace of his species, the one they spoke of in storybooks, but he didn't really care enough to. Well. Care.

What he did care about was the absolutely fantastic nightlife this species had. He'd never been to so many extravagant parties!

This one, however, was the most extravagant by far. He'd made sure to obtain an invitation immediately after he'd heard of it. After all... he would be there.

His cheeks flushed, and he shook his head slightly, stepping through the door.

"Now arriving, Baron Afanasiy Fedorovich Balashov!" a man by the door said. He smiled, bowing to greet the other guests. A few eyes were on him, but all that mattered was whether or not he was looking at him...

Afanasiy looked in around in a sweeping search, and then he saw him: Makariy Aleksandrovich Khabarov. Afanasiy was still unfamiliar with human terms for royalty, but he still understood that Makariy was at the very top of the ladder. There was no one above him in power, wealth... or looks... or personality...

Makariy was looking his way. Afanasiy smiled at him, nodding his head in the man's direction, and making a beeline for him. Then he stopped dead in his tracks.

Oh my god, he realized. I-I'm in love?

The realization hit him harder than a ton of bricks. Afanasiy, the great smuggler king of the Milky Way Galaxy, the most notorious outlaw in all of the Kingdom of Haal, was in love? With some primitive, rich, adorable, sweet, kind, oblivious...

Afanasiy felt a hand on his shoulder. For a second, he hoped it was Makariy's. N-no! Forget about him! They don't even allow same-sex relationships on this shithole of a planet! He spun around, meeting the eyes of a man a head shorter than himself.

"Baron Balashov! Would you mind speaking with me for a moment?" the man said.

"Um, forgive me, I'm rather--" he was going to say he was busy, or on his way to see a friend, but when he looked in his friend's direction, he was already gone. He sighed. "...I am not currently engaged in other matters, actually. What do you wish to discuss?"

The man smiled, clasping his hands in front of him. "Wonderful! It is a matter of your... business. Shall we discuss this outside?"

How the hell did this little rat know about his operations?

"Y-yes, of course!" he said nervously, following the man as he led them through the crowd of nobles.



A-AS YOU STEAL MY SOUL ☆ A-AS YOU STEAL MY SOUL
A-AS YOU STEAL MY SOUL ☆ A-AS YOU STEAL MY SOUL
A-AS YOU STEAL MY SOUL ☆ A-AS YOU STEAL MY SOUL

[User 33251061]

xxILYA ARTEMYRIS RYURIKOVxx
xxILYA ARTEMYRIS RYURIKOVxx
xxILYA ARTEMYRIS RYURIKOVxx


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-----------------------------------------------------------------------
xI will not bow ;; I will not break ;; I will not bow ;; I will not break
xI will shut the world away ; ; ; ; ; ; ; ; ; I will shut the world away
xI will not fall ; ; I will not fade ; ; ; ; I will not fall ; ; I will not fade
xI will take your breath away ; ; ; ; ; ; ; ; I will shut the world away
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|| WATCH THE END THROUGH DYING EYES
|| NOW THE DARK IS TAKING OVER
|| SHOW ME WHERE FOREVER DIES
|| TAKE THE FALL AND RUN TO HEAVEN





Afanasiy Fedorovich Balashov. Ilya didn't know when the baron had started showing up to social events, at first drifting at the edges of the parties, then somehow worming his way deeper and deeper with that stupidly charming smile. The way he looked at Makariy raised his hackles and caused pulses of hot anger to run down his spine. He ran a gloved hand through his hair and rolled his eyes. Baron Balashov was not his business, unless he got closer to the Prince. Then he was very much his business. And Ilya would be more than happy to resolve that kind of business with a fist.

To his dismay, when he glanced at his liege, Makariy was staring right back at Balashov. "My Prince," Ilya murmured quietly, leaning over to place his lips next to his ear. For a moment, he thought about what took place between them behind the closed doors of the prince's chambers, his eyes narrowing as they trailed down the pale neck to the embroidered collar, and Ilya jerked slightly, surprised at his own desire. Not now.

"Count Mihalovich wishes to speak with you, my Prince," he said, more than happy to offer a distraction from the baron, and Ilya continued his survey of the room. The beautifully furnished ballroom was packed with nobles from Russia and Europe alike, each dressed in silks and finery. Vultures wearing the feathers of peacocks. That minister was cheating on his mistress and wife with one of the palace maids, which was why he made excuses to visit the Tsar so often. That couple over there was into rather... questionable interests. The politician by the piano with a glass of one of Petersburg's best wines had taken a third wife, after his first wife had mysteriously died and left him her entire fortune and his second wife found dead by the side of a highway. As one of the men closest to the Prince, Ilya had much freedom to prowl around and listen in to conversations presumed secret.

His jaw tightened when his eyes fell on Baron Balashov. Though the man was from one of the oldest aristocratic families, Ilya had heard next to no rumors about him. He was attractive, yes. Ilya wouldn't deny that. Attractive but mysterious. The most dangerous kind of man. Ilya watched he started talking to a shorter man, probably a lesser noble that the hunter had never bothered to even notice, and his attention began to drift. His fingers tapped on the handle of the sword, and he ignored the pointed glances of some of the younger females.

Suddenly, Balashov's face changed, his expression becoming uneasy, and Ilya's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Never, in all the times he had seen the man, had he ever seen this expression contort the fae-like features. That expression almost always led to desperation. And desperate men did desperate things. Desperate men were not allowed to associate with the Prince.

"Prince Makariy. Excuse me for a moment. I will return at once." He began to make his way towards Balashov's and the other man's retreating figures, the crowd parting for him with occasional glances of annoyance. Being tall was one part of the intimidation factor. The almost perpetual scowl and the hand on the scarlet saber at his waist were two more.

Someone grabbed him by the arm, and he shook them off instantly before turning to face them. It wasn't someone he knew specifically, but he wore the armor of the Tsar's Guard, as well as the tassels that marked him an officer. Technically, Ilya was only a honorary officer, so whoever this -- he glanced down at the ranks -- lieutenant was, he outranked him. Not that he gave a damn.

"Ryurikov, you are not to leave the Prince's side," came the quiet growl. "His Imperial Majesty appointed you the Prince's bodyguard, and that mea--"

"I serve the Prince. Not his Imperial Majesty."

I'm going to pay for that later, Ilya thought, pulling away and continuing his pursuit. The two had already disappeared through the doorway and were headed in the direction of the gardens. Apart from a few nobles strolling the gardens for a breath of crisp winter air, no one else was in the maze of hedges and roses. By the time Ilya had made his way down the steps, the two were gone.

"s**t," he hissed, breath materializing in front of his face. Where did they go? A whoosh of a coattail behind a dark green hedge-- There! He rushed forward, reaching around the corner and grabbed a shoulder--

That didn't belong to either Balashov or his strange companion. The scared faces of a noble and the woman hanging on his arm peered up into his, and Ilya passed a hand over his face in exasperation.

"Oh! Er, Officer Ryurikov?" Ilya hated that title. "I-Is there a problem?"

"No. It's nothing. Continue with your affairs."

Where the hell could they have gone? Ilya wondered, pushing past the couple and heading deeper into the maze. There. Sounds from that direction. He fell silent, holding his breath to listen closely, then started off again, boots clicking on the marble floor. He stopped suddenly and ducked behind a hedge, peering around the clipped leaves.

What are they doing...? He wondered, squinting his eyes. What the...?








NOW THE DARK BEGINS TO RISE || I DON'T WANT TO CHANGE THE WORLD
SAVE YOUR BREATH, IT'S FAR FROM OVER || I JUST WANNA LEAVE IT COLDER
LEAVE THE LOST AND DEAD BEHIND || LIGHT THE FUSE AND BURN IT UP
NOW'S YOUR CHANCE TO RUN FOR COVER || TAKE THE PATH THAT LEADS TO NOWHERE

[DerSprout]

▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆ ▆▆▆▆o☼ ▆▆▆▆ ▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆...
ＴＨＥ ＳＥＣＲＥＴ ＳＩＤＥ ＯＦ ＭＥ Ｉ ＮＥＶＥＲ ＬＥＴ ＹＯＵ ＳＥＥ...
Ｉ ＫＥＥＰ ＩＴ ＣＡＧＥＤ ＢＵＴ Ｉ ＣＡＮ'Ｔ ＣＯＮＴＲＯＬ ＩＴ...
ＳＯ ＳＴＡＹ ＡＷＡＹ ＦＲＯＭ ＭＥ ＴＨＥ ＢＥＡＳＴ ＩＳ ＵＧＬＹ...
WHY WON'T SOMEBODY COME AND SAVE ME FROM THIS...
WHY WON'T SOMEBODY COME AND SAVE ME FROM THIS...
WHY WON'T SOMEBODY COME AND SAVE ME FROM THIS...


Afanasiy's brows knit together. What the hell was wrong with this guy? He'd said he wished to take them outside--but apparently 'outside' meant '50 yards away from the palace, deep into the gardens'.

Just when Afanasiy thought he must be planning to walk him halfway across the planet, he stopped and turned around.

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Nikon." the man said. No title? No surname? What a ******** weirdo. Afanasiy thought. "Of course, I already know you, Baron Balashov. It'd be impossible not to, with your meteoric rise to fame!" Nikon paused, giving him a sly smile. "It is rather strange though. One minute you didn't exist, and the next, you're everywhere. It's almost as if you fell out of the sky!"

Afanasiy's eyes narrowed, and he stepped in closer. "Who the [********] are you, little man? If you know where I came from, you damned well better know not to play any ******** mind games with me--"

He held up his hands defensively. "Oh no, quite the opposite, really! See, you've caused many, many problems for me. More than you could ever possibly know."

"Just get to the ******** point," he said. He reached for his gun, but suddenly he froze. It wasn't as if he wanted to stop. He just... couldn't move. What the hell?

"But getting to the point wouldn't be any fun! Where do you think the kid that ratted you out got all that information? Why do you think he risked pissing off you?" Nikon asked.

Afanasiy's eyes widened, and he tried to speak, to ask again who this man really was, but he was still frozen in place. Magic? No way, he can't know magic! Can he? There was no reason he couldn't know magic. But magic users were an incredibly rare breed, and very secluded--what had he done to anger one, and why would they go to such incredible lengths just to argue with him?

He knew why. He wasn't just there to argue with him, he had other plans.

The man snapped his fingers, and in the blink of an eye, he was taller (and so much more attractive). His black hair turned as white as the snow surrounding them, and his eyes were such a vivid red they practically glowed in the dark. His clothes were absurdly extravagant, furs and silks all studded in the rarest metals in the galaxy. Afanasiy was almost intimidated until he realized the man was taller because he was wearing absurdly tall boots.

Unfortunately, Afanasiy still didn't have a clue who this man was.

"Me, of course! I thought spending the rest of your life in prison would be enough, but no, you evaded the authorities, and now you're living it up in primitive party central. Since the authorities are so useless, I've been forced to come and deal with you myself." Nikon said. Stop your ******** gloating, Afanasiy wanted to scream. "But, I suppose you did ask me to get on with it. Who am I to deny a dead man his last wish?"

Great, he's gonna kill me, he thought. There were worse ways to die. He could see the palace, a glittering beacon of light and gold in the darkness of the night. He could have died in a Futha prison, next to a Slime Ball. That certainly would have been worse.

"Just joking, of course! I'm not going to kill you right now. I'm going to make you suffer first." Nikon said, smiling. He certainly has a knack for drama, Afanasiy thought, groaning.

Nikon lifted up his hand, and a ball of fire formed in it. He plunged his hand into Afanasiy's chest. He grunted, but he still couldn't move. When Nikon pulled his hand out, there wasn't any hole or blood.

But he didn't realize that. All he could think about was the fire inside him, spreading through his limbs and eating away at his flesh. He screamed louder than he ever had before. Nikon released his hold on him, and Afanasiy fell to the ground. Even now, he still couldn't move. The pain was too much. His skin burned away, his bones hardened in the heat, and there was nothing left in his chest but the fire. What was left changed, turning to stone and falling apart. He tried to scream again, but all that came out was a groaning sound with the sound of rocks hitting against one another behind it.

Suddenly, the pain just stopped. Afanasiy tried to stand up, but he just fell on his hands again. Of course they weren't hands, he realized. They were more like rocky paws, complete with sharp claws at the end. He took a hesitant step, testing this body. He felt so strange. It wasn't just the new form, it was being living rock. It was having a fire raging inside him. It was having his limbs held together with magic, moving with magic, being a creature of magic.

The snow burned more than the fire had, and all he wanted was to find somewhere hotter, somewhere he could escape the freezing, burning cold. But more than that, he remembered, he wanted to kill the b*****d that had done this to him.

He looked up with eyes of fire, growling. Again, the sound of clicking rocks accompanied his voice.

"Oh? You turned out... cuter than I meant," the sorcerer said, smiling.

Afanasiy rammed into his legs, toppling him easily (probably thanks to those stupid boots). He raked his claws against the man's face, and growled again. But this time, when he growled, part of the flames inside him left him, scorching the sorcerer's skin.



I-I FEEL LIKE A MONSTER ☼ I-I FEEL LIKE A MONSTER
I-I FEEL LIKE A MONSTER ☼ I-I FEEL LIKE A MONSTER
I-I FEEL LIKE A MONSTER ☼ I-I FEEL LIKE A MONSTER

[User 33251061]

xxILYA ARTEMYRIS RYURIKOVxx
xxILYA ARTEMYRIS RYURIKOVxx
xxILYA ARTEMYRIS RYURIKOVxx


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-----------------------------------------------------------------------
xI will not bow ;; I will not break ;; I will not bow ;; I will not break
xI will shut the world away ; ; ; ; ; ; ; ; ; I will shut the world away
xI will not fall ; ; I will not fade ; ; ; ; I will not fall ; ; I will not fade
xI will take your breath away ; ; ; ; ; ; ; ; I will shut the world away
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
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|| WATCH THE END THROUGH DYING EYES
|| NOW THE DARK IS TAKING OVER
|| SHOW ME WHERE FOREVER DIES
|| TAKE THE FALL AND RUN TO HEAVEN




Ilya squinted hard, trying to read lips. The unknown noble's back was to him, but he could see Baron Balashov's face relatively clearly. His eyes were dilated and his face twisted into anger and confusion as he spat back at the shorter male. What the hell is going on...? Ilya wondered, peering further around the hedge to get a better look. Eavesdropping so blatantly was uncomfortable, even for someone who was used to listening behind bookshelves and through locked doors. If it's just a stupid spat, then I really should be getting back to Makariy--

And then Balashov just... froze. It wasn't shock or fear or anything, it was more like he... lost the ability to move altogether. A shiver went up Ilya's spine. Something wasn't right. His stillness was unnatural. It didn't even look like he was breathing. A couple seconds ticked by, and Balashov still didn't move a muscle. Even if Ilya didn't like the man himself, it would still be a problem if a baron lost his life on the palace grounds. The cylinder of the revolver slid out with a quiet click and the hunter reached for his bullets.

The snap was loud in the near silence, and Ilya had to rub his eyes to make sure it wasn't a trick of the lamplight. White hair? He had black hair just a moment ago. And that strange garment? How could this...? ... He's a sorcerer. A magic user. More importantly, a threat. Ilya fed the bullets into the gun and slid it shut. Now it was his business.

The white haired man was practically yelling now, and there was a hint of glee in his voice that made Ilya feel uneasy. That's the tone of a madman, he thought, lifting the gun and pointing it right between the man's shoulders. On second thought, maybe I shouldn't kill him. The barrel dropped to the man's leg. For a moment, Ilya doubted his actions. After all, he'd just seen proof that the man could do magic. He could disguise himself, transform, even freeze other people in place. What could a bullet do to someone like that? What could eight bullets do to someone like that? Probably kill them. If that doesn't work, I can just use my sword. Alright. If he moves towards Balashov, I'll... is that fire?

The orange flames licked at the man's fingers and Ilya drew in his breath audibly when he plunged his hand into Afanasiy, disappearing up to the wrist. Then the hand was removed almost as quickly as it had entered, and Ilya fell backwards in surprise and a touch of terror when the screaming began.

That is the sound of a man getting his soul torn out, Ilya thought, instantly bringing his hands over his ears to stifle the sound pouring out of Afanasiy. He barely dared to look, and when he took a peek, he wished he hadn't. He wished he hadn't seen skin melting off of bones like water on a hot stone, bones charring grey in the heat that lit the body from within. Balashov convulsed on the ground, flames wrapping around his body, and even Ilya couldn't tear his eyes away from the horrible sight long enough to pull the trigger.

When the flames had died down, something new stood in the ashes. "A demon...?" Ilya breathed, eyes widening. He'd never seen anything like the creature that the baron had transformed into. For one, he looked nothing like the normal demons that Ilya had dealt with before. This... thing had no skin, no fur, no scales, nothing. If it weren't for the glow and the fact that it was snarling and moving, it could've been mistaken for a pile of rocks. In fact, that's exactly what it looked like -- an assortment of rocks, just held together by fire.

It barreled forward into the sorcerer, snarling and clawing, and Ilya burst out from behind the hedge, dashing forward and lifting the gun. Wha-which do I aim for? His barrel flashed between the two in confusion, and to make things even harder, the two were tangled together and rolling in the snow. s**t s**t s**t--

The revolver fired, and Ilya was temporarily blinded by the flash of light that came out of the muzzle. s**t... did I hit Balashov, or...? When his eyes adjusted, there was a hole trickling blood out of the sorcerer's shoulder and the monster was still ripping at his throat with its sharp teeth.

The sorcerer glanced at Ilya, and by this time, Ilya was getting awfully tired of the fear running up and down his spine. His eyes are ******** blood red, he thought, staggering back and lifting the gun again. In response, the man let out a roar-like growl, and he dropped something small. Ilya sunk to his knees, shielding his eyes painfully from the blast of pure white light that exploded from whatever the sorcerer had dropped, and when he opened his eyes again, the man was gone and he was alone with the beast.

"Baron Balashov..." he called out in a low voice, popping the cylinder of the revolver in and out. Six bullets. "If you can understand me, I'm just going to tell you that I have to kill you." The hair on the back of his neck rose in excitement, and he put his revolver away and slid the sword out of its sheath. "You're a threat to everyone right now."

In a flash of movement, he thrust himself forward and swung the blade, but Balashov was gone. "Wh-what?" He'd never missed before. "Did he disintegrate? s**t!" he cursed, looking around furiously. Without bothering to sheathe his sword, started to run back to the castle. His priority wasn't whatever the hell that man had turned into. His priority was to protect the prince. His heart thudded in his chest. I can't let that thing hurt Makariy. Even imagining what the beast could do to his beloved charge was sickening. With a creature like that running free on the grounds, he needed to get back to his side as soon as possible.

Panting slightly, Ilya's cheeks were flushed when he burst through the doors into the ballroom, his eyes scanning the room for a familiar face. There.

He pushed his way through the crowd, ignoring glares and cries, and latched onto Makariy's hand. "My Prince, we have to go," he murmured, dipping his head close so only he could hear. "There is a demon loose on the grounds, and I don't know where it is at the moment, but I have to get you to safety. Back to your quarters. I'll meet you there as soon as I kill it."








NOW THE DARK BEGINS TO RISE || I DON'T WANT TO CHANGE THE WORLD
SAVE YOUR BREATH, IT'S FAR FROM OVER || I JUST WANNA LEAVE IT COLDER
LEAVE THE LOST AND DEAD BEHIND || LIGHT THE FUSE AND BURN IT UP
NOW'S YOUR CHANCE TO RUN FOR COVER || TAKE THE PATH THAT LEADS TO NOWHERE

[sirius majoris]

FOLLOW ME TO THE UNKNOWN!
YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE ALONE!
YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE ALONE!
...(I will always be your home, I can show you where to go)


「 It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay!
「 It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay!
「 It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay!
「 It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay!
「 It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! 」


"Now arriving, Baron Afanasiy Fedorovich Balashov!" Makariy's heart flutters. Baron Afanasiy... he thinks. The name makes him smile, broadly, like an idiot. They'd only met once. That he should react in this manner, someone of his status, was absurd. Fortunately, Makariy has no recognition of how his actions appear. He chances a look to the baron, straightening his posture to make himself look proper, and catches his eyes for a moment.

Afanasiy smiles at him, and his heart does a flip.

If possible, his smile widens even more; Afanasiy nods his head to him and he does the same in turn. He was looking for me?! Makariy is nearly bouncing with excitement. He'd thought their first (and only) meeting had been a disaster! He'd been flustered and quiet through half the things he'd tried to say and stuttered the rest-- it didn't make for good company. Doubly so with Ilya suddenly insisting that Makariy's attention was needed elsewhere. Something it seemed he was going to do again.

"My prince," Ilya whispers in his ear. His voice startles him, and he turns his attention to his bodyguard. Ilya seems to hesitate, his lips far too close for such a public event, though Makariy doesn't mind. Finally, he speaks again, and his words cause the tsesarevich great displeasure. "Count Mihalovich wishes to speak with you, my Prince,"

Makariy groans audibly, pouting at his attendant. "If I must," he mutters. Compared to the other guests, Count Mihalovich wanting his attention was particularly unfortunate; the count, was, perhaps, even worse with his words than he was, and generally didn't notice when his victim was getting bored. Makariy has managed to avoid his company for a few weeks now, a feat achieved using skill and sheer luck. Luck that's run dry, he thinks sulkily.

The count approaches, and Makariy is forced to forget that the baron is making his way over. Makariy glances his way once more, face turning a pale shade of pink (he wants to talk to me!) before looking towards the count dejectedly. "Your imperial highness," he says with a bow. Makariy nearly rolls his eyes, but humors him with a conversation about local politics. He keeps looking towards Ilya, whose attention seems to be focused on someone else; he's tapping the handle of his sword, and Makariy thinks he must be getting restless. From all the attention, he thinks. He is his bodyguard; this many people around his charge was bound to make him nervous, wasn't it?

Makariy is nearly asleep from the count's words when Ilya talks to him again. His head jerks at the sound of his voice, praying that he's going to help him escape the conversation. "Prince Makariy. Excuse me for a moment. I will return at once." Ah, so that's how it is. He's abandoning me, he thinks dramatically, pouting once more at his bodyguard. But he doesn't doubt him-- whatever it is, Makariy is positive it will be dealt with.

And with that, he is forced to turn his attention to the count once more. But with Ilya away, he has a certain degree of freedom-- he will not be scolded for his actions if Ilya is not here to see them. He smiles towards the count, humoring him for several more minutes until an opportunity arises. "Have you met the baron?" he inquires. The count seems confused. "Baron Afanasiy Balashov," he specifies.

The count had met him. The count knew nothing about him, which he found rather unfortunate, but understandable from their difference in status. Count Mihalovich was always more interested in forming relationships with those outranking him and saw little use for those ranked below him except as pawns. Makariy found this lamentable-- there was far more to a person than their social status! Regardless, with nothing to learn Makariy tunes out of the rest of the conversation, responding as briefly as he can.

His salvation comes in the form of an emergency. Ilya rushes through the door, eyes locked on Makariy and sword in hand. His face is flushed, and Makariy wonders briefly if something happened outside. Maybe it's the cold, he thinks. Ilya makes his way towards him, grabbing Makariy's hand and leaning closely again. "My Prince, we have to go," he says. So something did happen. "There is a demon loose on the grounds, and I don't know where it is at the moment, but I have to get you to safety. Back to your quarters. I'll meet you there as soon as I kill it."

"A... demon?" he asks. What guest had done something so deplorable for Ilya to call them such a thing? And an "it!" If Ilya intends to kill them, then he can assume it had something to do with himself. An assassin? he wonders. He still doesn't doubt him-- Ilya has proven his judgement countless times in the past, and now would be no different. So Makariy follows his orders; he carefully maneuvers his way through the ballroom, trying to get to the doors on the other side. It was a little odd that Ilya was not staying by his side to assure his safety, so perhaps this wasn't very threatening?

He's quickly proven wrong. As he's nearly escaped, there's a commotion on the other side of the room. Chaos. He hears the doors open, and people begin screaming. Immediately, Makariy begins to shake, eyes widening as he tries to get through the crowd. He doesn't want to die -- he hasn't even spoken to the baron for a second time! -- and he doesn't want Ilya to get hurt. Will he be alright? he wonders. He wants to help him, but he's useless; he's never been good with weapons, often managing to hurt himself when he tries. This is what Ilya is for, he reminds himself.

Makariy finally finds a clear path to the doors, and once he's through, he runs. He doesn't stop until he's in his room, and in the safety of his quarters, he slides onto the floor and begins shuddering. Please be okay, he thinks.



DON'T YOU FRET, MY DEAR,
IT'LL ALL BE OVER SOON.
(I'll be waiting here for you!)...

「 here for you . here for you . here for you . here for you . here for you 」....
here for you . here for you . here for you . here for you . here for you 」....
here for you . here for you . here for you . here for you . here for you 」....
here for you . here for you . here for you . here for you . here for you 」....
here for you . here for you . here for you . here for you . here for you 」....

[DerSprout]

▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆ ▆▆▆▆o☼ ▆▆▆▆ ▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆...
ＴＨＥ ＳＥＣＲＥＴ ＳＩＤＥ ＯＦ ＭＥ Ｉ ＮＥＶＥＲ ＬＥＴ ＹＯＵ ＳＥＥ...
Ｉ ＫＥＥＰ ＩＴ ＣＡＧＥＤ ＢＵＴ Ｉ ＣＡＮ'Ｔ ＣＯＮＴＲＯＬ ＩＴ...
ＳＯ ＳＴＡＹ ＡＷＡＹ ＦＲＯＭ ＭＥ ＴＨＥ ＢＥＡＳＴ ＩＳ ＵＧＬＹ...
WHY WON'T SOMEBODY COME AND SAVE ME FROM THIS...
WHY WON'T SOMEBODY COME AND SAVE ME FROM THIS...
WHY WON'T SOMEBODY COME AND SAVE ME FROM THIS...


Afanasiy dug his claws into Nikon's sides, frantically snapping at the man's neck. Somehow, the sorcerer managed to dodge each attack, which only angered Afanasiy more.

At some point, he felt something pass through his chest, and the fire inside him flickered. He only realized it was a bullet when he saw the hole in Nikon's shoulder. I... can't get shot? he thought. Without fear of injury, he raked his claws against Nikon's chest again.

Nikon had had enough, between his claws and the bullets, it seemed. Something appeared in his hand, and he threw it at the ground. A little white ball...? There was a bang, and light flashed. Afanasiy jumped back. He had expected an explosion but there wasn't one, or perhaps he was just immune to heat in this body--he didn't know.

What he did know was that Nikon had disappeared in the flash, and he was left alone with the one who had shot the sorcerer.

Afanasiy turned around, growling. He didn't know who to expect, but it wasn't him. What was his name? Afanasiy didn't care. It was Makariy's guard, the one that was always giving him dirty looks. Oh god, what if he tells Makariy? he thought, making a high-pitched squeaking sound.

"Baron Balashov... If you can understand me, I'm just going to tell you that I have to kill you." he said. Afanasiy made some noise, a jumble of different pitches and the rattling of stones against each other. He's going to kill me!? Didn't he just see everything? Doesn't he understand that I'm the victim here? ********] "You're a threat to everyone right now."

"I am not!" he said. Or at least, he tried to say. He wasn't sure why he bothered trying to speak, he already knew he couldn't. He didn't even have a tongue! Honestly, he was surprised he could make any noise at all.

He looked about him, his flaming heart beating in his chest. He needed to find a way out. Monster or not, he was terrified of death.

All he saw was an open door to the palace. Before he could think it through, he was running for it. Or rather, stumbling very quickly. He was most definitely not used to this body, and he was absolutely terrified. The pair resulted in quite a clumsy beast.

He crashed through the door, heart racing, paws slipping on the marble floors. How was he supposed to hold himself up on these perfectly clean rock floors when his body was made of rock, too? Fortunately, he was slipping in the right direction.

People around him screamed. Am I really so horrifying? he wondered, eyes darting to his paws. His claws were certainly menacing, but he had no idea what the rest of himself looked like. He let out a heavy breath and a little flame, but carried on in his awkward manner.

The braver guards were chasing after him. Someone threw a flower pot at him, and he went sliding again, into a corner. The guards came in closer, rifle barrels pointed at him. He growled at them. One gulped, but the other two didn't flinch. A moment later, they shot a round of bullets at him. The same as before, two of the bullets passed straight through him, only tickling the flame. One hit his leg, though. He yelped, feeling the rock twist out of place. The force caused a fissure in the stone. It stung worse than the pain of a broken bone.

Afanasiy shot past them, desperately seeking to escape. I need to get back to my ship, he thought, panting. He didn't know what he would do after, but the thought didn't even cross his mind. All he wanted was safety and warmth. He ran through door after door, trying to ignore the screams that followed him.

Finally, finally he reached the main entrance. He growled, and the attendant flung the door open, scrambling outside and shrieking at the top of his lungs. Afanasiy chased after him, barely managing to get through the door before it slammed shut. He barreled down the main road. When the main road reached a dead end, he kept running anyway, deep into the forest. The underbrush scraped against him. He felt it, but it didn't hurt like it did when he was himself. He tried to think of this as a bonus, that he was the winner, being so much stronger than he was before, but he couldn't.

He only stopped running when he came across a lake. The water was still, and the moon was full--it was perfect for seeing his reflection. Hesitantly, he peeked over the side.

He wished he hadn't looked.

No wonder they'd been screaming. Sharp rocks shards took the place of teeth in his mouth, and you could see the fire burning in him through his eyes, mouth and all the little holes between the stones that made up his body. Two stones like ears flattened against his head. He whimpered, slashing his injured paw across the surface, only to find the water burned more than the snow did. He shrieked again, stumbling backward.

His leg hurt so much, between the water and the bullet wound. He started limping for the cave where he left his ship, whimpering. What did I do to deserve this? he wondered.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

What if Makariy had seen him like this? His cries grew louder, and his head hung low. The spikes flattened across his back. He held his ruined paw up in the air. When he tripped over a branch, he considered not getting up again. He might not have if it weren't for the cold snow making everything hurt more than it already did.

He stumbled back to his feet, wincing when he made the mistake of putting weight on his injured paw. Head held heavy and his tail between his legs, he limped the rest of the way back to the cave.



I-I FEEL LIKE A MONSTER ☼ I-I FEEL LIKE A MONSTER
I-I FEEL LIKE A MONSTER ☼ I-I FEEL LIKE A MONSTER
I-I FEEL LIKE A MONSTER ☼ I-I FEEL LIKE A MONSTER

[User 33251061]

xxILYA ARTEMYRIS RYURIKOVxx
xxILYA ARTEMYRIS RYURIKOVxx
xxILYA ARTEMYRIS RYURIKOVxx


▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
xI will not bow ;; I will not break ;; I will not bow ;; I will not break
xI will shut the world away ; ; ; ; ; ; ; ; ; I will shut the world away
xI will not fall ; ; I will not fade ; ; ; ; I will not fall ; ; I will not fade
xI will take your breath away ; ; ; ; ; ; ; ; I will shut the world away
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆


|| WATCH THE END THROUGH DYING EYES
|| NOW THE DARK IS TAKING OVER
|| SHOW ME WHERE FOREVER DIES
|| TAKE THE FALL AND RUN TO HEAVEN




Ilya kept his eyes on Makariy's retreating figure, hand tightening on the blade of his sword as the prince pushed his way through the panicked crowd, a small group of guards following behind. The doors burst open, and Ilya saw the flash of fire amidst a jumble of grey emerge into the ballroom. The wave of people rushing in the opposite direction surged against, then around him as he fought to get closer.

The ballroom was emptying quickly, and some projectile came sailing through the air as the other guards attempted to corner the former baron. A flash of ignited gunpowder, a crack that echoed through the room, and Ilya heard a high pitched sound issue from the beast's maw. Pain? It sounded like a whipped dog, but... rougher. So it can be injured, he made a mental note. Ilya lifted his sword, shouting a curse when the monster leapt out from the ring of guards and passed so close to him that he felt the fiery heat sear his face.

He grunted, sinking to one knee and holding a gloved hand to his neck. It burned like someone had held a brand to his skin ad Ilya's eyes watered. Dammit. I'll take care of it later, but now... He watched as the beast dashed out the door, the paws scrabbling against the polished floor, and Ilya stumbled to his feet, gripping his sword as he forced himself after it. There was something... uneasy in his chest, and it grew more and more uncomfortable as he ran through the halls. He could still be a man inside that form... and even if I don't like him, I would never just... take a life like that. He hasn't hurt anyone yet, either. Well, aside from me, I suppose.

"Don't open the doors!" he yelled, throwing a hand out, but the palace doors were ajar by the time the words were out of his mouth. He reached the doors a moment too late: they'd clicked shut just as his hand touched on the heavy surface. He threw his weight against them, slipping through the crack, and came to a halt. The beast was just a moving orange dot amidst the vast expanse of snow, bright against the snaking black road.

He turned and smashed his fist into the wall, the sound muffled by the fabric of his gloves. The attendant approached out of the corner of his eye, and Ilya snarled at him, the feral noise coming from his throat not unlike that of a wild animal. He sheathed his sword, cradling the hand he'd punched the wall with. I wish I hadn't done that. It's probably bruising now, he thought, trying to flex the fingers and hissing in pain. What hurt more, though, was the fact that he distinctly remembered wanting to forget that what he was chasing could still be a man, that he wanted an excuse to send his blade slashing through its heart.

"It's my job," he muttered to himself as he made his way back down the halls. "My job is to protect the Prince." You enjoy murdering, sneered the small voice. How like your father. Ilya told it to shut the ******** up.

A guard rushed down the hall, slowing to a halt and saluting him. Ilya made a brushing gesture and looked at the man irritably. "What?"

The guard paled considerably, and Ilya sighed. He didn't mean to be such an a*****e, he just... it happened. He hadn't failed to chase something down in a long, long time, and the feeling was humiliating and frustrating.

"Apologies. Is there something you need?"

"Ah, um... did you catch it, sir?"

"The beast? No. It got away." The words stung, and Ilya bit down.

"O-oh, so will there be a hunt tomorrow?"

Ilya tilted his head. Good point. "I suppose so," he mused. Though I probably won't be allowed to leave Makariy's side for the next month after the way I spoke to that officer back there.

"If not tomorrow, then soon, I expect. Is that all?" The soldier nodded and saluted (Ilya's nose crinkled in annoyance), then rushed past Ilya, turning at the door to head to the barracks. I'd have gone after it tonight, but even I'm not stupid enough to venture out at night. There is evil out there.

Before long, he caught sight of the guards stationed outside Makariy's door. They parted for him, and he knocked before opening the door. "Sir?" Ilya paused and glanced at the man who'd spoken. "The crown prince, he's... upset, sir."

Ilya nodded in thanks, then entered. "Makariy?"

The lights were off and there was a quiet sniffling from somewhere near the edge of the room. Ilya approached the figure curled up on the ground, and he sat down next to him, leaning against the wall. A full hour had passed since Ilya had gone after the former baron and his stomach flipped when he thought about the prince sitting in his room. Alone. Afraid that people he cared about would die.

Hesitantly, he tucked a arm around the shaking shoulders. I was always s**t at comforting people, he thought, biting his lip. What do I do? Do I... do I hug him? Talk to him?

"Makariy... no one was hurt, if that's what you're worried about." As if to contradict his words, his neck twinged, and his free hand went up to cup the pink, shiny flesh. Oh. Right. He withdrew his arm and pulled off the glove, grimacing at the purplish hue of the bruises that were beginning to bloom across his fingers. One of his knuckles had split. "Ah. Never mind, I guess. It's only a scratch, don't worry."

The figure next to him was still shaking, and Ilya paused, utterly at a loss what to do. "Makariy, if there's anything I can do to make you feel better or safer... let me know."








NOW THE DARK BEGINS TO RISE || I DON'T WANT TO CHANGE THE WORLD
SAVE YOUR BREATH, IT'S FAR FROM OVER || I JUST WANNA LEAVE IT COLDER
LEAVE THE LOST AND DEAD BEHIND || LIGHT THE FUSE AND BURN IT UP
NOW'S YOUR CHANCE TO RUN FOR COVER || TAKE THE PATH THAT LEADS TO NOWHERE

[DerSprout]

▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆ ▆▆▆▆o☼ ▆▆▆▆ ▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆...
ＴＨＥ ＳＥＣＲＥＴ ＳＩＤＥ ＯＦ ＭＥ Ｉ ＮＥＶＥＲ ＬＥＴ ＹＯＵ ＳＥＥ...
Ｉ ＫＥＥＰ ＩＴ ＣＡＧＥＤ ＢＵＴ Ｉ ＣＡＮ'Ｔ ＣＯＮＴＲＯＬ ＩＴ...
ＳＯ ＳＴＡＹ ＡＷＡＹ ＦＲＯＭ ＭＥ ＴＨＥ ＢＥＡＳＴ ＩＳ ＵＧＬＹ...
WHY WON'T SOMEBODY COME AND SAVE ME FROM THIS...
WHY WON'T SOMEBODY COME AND SAVE ME FROM THIS...
WHY WON'T SOMEBODY COME AND SAVE ME FROM THIS...


Afanasiy felt... strange when he woke up. Stiff. Hot. He yawned, and tried to stand up. He fell immediately, and the sound of rocks clattering followed.

Right. He'd forgotten about being cursed.

I'm gonna kill that b*****d, he thought, gritting his teeth. He certainly meant it. If that a*****e showed his face again, Afanasiy would tear right through it as he had before.

Sunlight streamed into the cave. Afanasiy yawned again, considering making another attempt to get up. Maybe he'd just go back to sleep. It wasn't like he had any pressing matters to attend to. Even if he did, he couldn't attend to them in this form.

He just wished his stupid ship could recognize him as the pilot through all the magic so he could at least be lying on the floor of the deck. But no, only the pilot could get inside!

So instead, he was lying outside right next to his ship, turning every once in awhile to make sure ALI kept her cameras trained on him. If he changed back--Not if, I will. I definitely will...--he'd be able to add that as an alternate form of his to his pilot profile.

Unfortunately, it was impossible to do that without his normal shape.

Afanasiy had just decided to return to sleeping when he heard voices echoing through the cave. He perked his ears (how did rocks pick up sound? He was too scientifically minded to understand magic), listening carefully.

"It headed this way, didn't it?" a man said.

"We're getting close. I just saw some burnt branches not long ago." another man said.

Great. They're looking for me, he thought. He considered his options--he could stay there and just let them come to him. But then they'd find his ship, and since he had no intention of killing them, they'd probably come back and do something stupid like scratch it.

Afanasiy groaned, stumbling to his feet. He shook like a dog--bits of gravel were stuck on his back, god knows how that happened.

Unfortunately, his leg hadn't healed. He wondered if it ever would. It was just rock, after all. He wished it would at least stop hurting, but it still burned as badly as the night before.

The alien trotted out of the cave, doing his best not to leave a trail. Alas, that was impossible. Not only did his heavy form make it impossible not to leave tracks, the heat from his body melted the snow. He gave up on stealth immediately, and decided instead his best bet was to catch their attention at some other direction and lead them away from the cave before they realized that was where he'd come from originally.

Afanasiy went round a large group of trees, then headed for the voices. This is such a stupid idea, he thought, gritting his teeth. Unfortunately, they'd track him regardless of what he did. He didn't really have any other options than to try and lead them away or to sit and wait for them to find him. At least this way, it would be on his terms, and he wouldn't be cornered in a cave.

The voices grew steadily louder. Afanasiy stopped when he heard screaming. Wh-what? he wondered, beginning to tremble. He stepped in closer, peering out from behind a tree at the group.

There was another creature, just like him, tearing the men to shreds and eating their flesh. Ash and fire spewed from the creature's mouth, and smoke billowed out of its nostrils. He watched in horror as the creature killed every man, save for one, a young boy. He was obviously a new recruit, scared, even wet his pants. He fell to the ground.

The creature looked at him, but it was too busy snapping up the limb of a fallen soldier to bother with him. The boy scrambled to his feet, screaming as he fled the scene at speeds Afanasiy would have thought impossible for humans.

Smoke shrouded the creature, and in it, Afanasiy saw the silhouette of a many. No... he thought.

But it was.

"Wasn't that a wonderful show?" Nikon asked, smiling and clapping his hands together. "I rather thought it was."

Afanasiy lunged at him, teeth bared and claws extended. He froze in the air, midflight.

"Oh please, I only let you at me last night to convince that guard you were a threat. Shame he shot me, I could have made it look like you'd kill me and... ah well, it's all in the past now." The sorcerer shrugged. "I'll be seeing you!"

The sorcerer blinked out of existence. With him, the magic holding Afanasiy up disappeared, and he fell to the ground. His bones scattered with the impact. Fortunately, the magic holding him together pulled him back together again immediately.

"I swear to all your gods and mine, I'll kill that ******** and avenge you!" he promised the corpses, spewing fire in his rage.



I-I FEEL LIKE A MONSTER ☼ I-I FEEL LIKE A MONSTER
I-I FEEL LIKE A MONSTER ☼ I-I FEEL LIKE A MONSTER
I-I FEEL LIKE A MONSTER ☼ I-I FEEL LIKE A MONSTER

[sirius majoris]

FOLLOW ME TO THE UNKNOWN!
YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE ALONE!
YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE ALONE!
...(I will always be your home, I can show you where to go)


「 It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay!
「 It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay!
「 It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay!
「 It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay!
「 It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! . It'll be okay! 」


The guards chose to come in just as Makariy's fear was getting the best of him. They'd followed him through the ballroom, he'd realized, and he supposes they mean to protect him now as well. They had knocked on the door, announced their purpose, and entered to find the tsesarevich sniveling in the corner. "Y-Your Imperial Highness," one officer says, the only one bothering with formalities at the sight they've discovered. "Are you, er... you'll be..." He stumbles over his words a few more times before managing to sputter out: "You will be safe, sir!"

Makariy raises his head, tears welling in his eyes which startles them. "What about Ilya, and the other guards," he whimpers. "Who's protecting them?!" He lowers his head back onto his knees, thinking of all the horrible things that may have happened during his absence. Ilya had called this threat a demon, were they a murderer?! Had someone died already, had it been brutal?

A different officer takes a step forward with an air of bravery. "If you don't mind me saying, sir, the risk is part of their duties." He has no right to say such things, he thinks.

Makariy glances up only to glare at the officer. He won't reprimand him-- he's doing his best to calm him, something Makariy finds no fault in even if it meant speaking out of turn. "But what if they fail, do they deserve to die then? What if they can't handle the threat themselves?" Makariy's eyes are wide, searching the guards for answers to his questions. They say nothing. He knows there's nothing to protect them if they fail-- they are the protection. But sending so many upstairs with the tsesarevich when the threat remains downstairs seems absurd, a pointless waste of resources. "Go to them," he says.

"Tsesarevich Makariy, we cannot--"

He cuts them short. "You can and you will," he says. They do nothing once again, and he begins to sniffle again. "That's an order!" he demands. For a second, the guards do not move and he fears he'll have to repeat his wishes, but a moment later they quickly shuffle out of the room. Good, he thinks. It isn't much -- only six guards -- but Ilya will use their assistance to the best of his abilities.

With the guards gone, Makariy continues to wallow in his bedroom, lamenting his lack of skill with weapons and fearing for the worst until there's another knock on the door. This time there is hushed speaking outside, and Makariy realizes the guards had only remained stationed by the door rather than follow his orders. He's still too upset to be angry -- they're doing their best. Shortly after, the door opens and he hears Ilya's voice. "Makariy?" He's... okay? Ilya is alright? Makariy starts sniveling again, this time out of relief. Nothing happened to him! Ilya approaches, sitting down to lean against the wall beside him before gently putting his arm around Makariy's shoulder. "Makariy... no one was hurt, if that's what you're worried about." He looks over to Ilya, eyes drying for a moment. Everyone was safe, not just Ilya. That meant that none of the guards or the guests -- including the baron! he realized -- were in danger any longer. Thank god, he thinks, watching Ilya. He pulls off his glove, examining what is clearly some sort of injury to his hand. "Ah. Never mind, I guess. It's only a scratch, don't worry," he says immediately, knowing precisely what Makariy was going to say. "Makariy, if there's anything I can do to make you feel better or safer... let me know."

Makariy shakes his head, furrowing his brows as he reached for Ilya's hands. He gasped-- one hand was bruised, one finger even bloody. "You are injured!" he whispers. He stands, taking Ilya with him, and tells the guards at the door to call for a servant. Within a minute, a pair of maids is standing before him. "Bring a washcloth and bandages, please," he asks. They leave, and he stares at Ilya's hand again. "Don't run off without me," he whispers. "What am I supposed to do when you get hurt?" But he sighs, looking up to Ilya's eyes. "I know... I know you can't actually do that," he says, thinking back to the guard-- it's his job. "So please... try and warn me earlier," he says. "Give me time to prepare." It won't make him feel better, not really, but when there is an emergency, Ilya's thoughts should be on that, not Makariy. If Ilya wants to be able to make him more comfortable during a crisis, then he will give him something to fulfill that desire so it stops being a concern.

The maids return with the desired supplies; he sends them away immediately and makes Ilya take a seat before kneeling in front of him. "You should take better care of yourself," he says. He wipes the blood off of Ilya's hand, holding his hands still for a moment. Makariy is still shaking; the fear from before has yet to fade, especially now that he's seeing Ilya's injuries for himself. With the blood gone, he begins wrapping the bandage around his hand and sighs once more. "I would feel better if you were more careful."



DON'T YOU FRET, MY DEAR,
IT'LL ALL BE OVER SOON.
(I'll be waiting here for you!)...

「 here for you . here for you . here for you . here for you . here for you 」....
here for you . here for you . here for you . here for you . here for you 」....
here for you . here for you . here for you . here for you . here for you 」....
here for you . here for you . here for you . here for you . here for you 」....
here for you . here for you . here for you . here for you . here for you 」....

[User 33251061]

xxILYA ARTEMYRIS RYURIKOVxx
xxILYA ARTEMYRIS RYURIKOVxx
xxILYA ARTEMYRIS RYURIKOVxx


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xI will not bow ;; I will not break ;; I will not bow ;; I will not break
xI will shut the world away ; ; ; ; ; ; ; ; ; I will shut the world away
xI will not fall ; ; I will not fade ; ; ; ; I will not fall ; ; I will not fade
xI will take your breath away ; ; ; ; ; ; ; ; I will shut the world away
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|| WATCH THE END THROUGH DYING EYES
|| NOW THE DARK IS TAKING OVER
|| SHOW ME WHERE FOREVER DIES
|| TAKE THE FALL AND RUN TO HEAVEN




Ilya twitched when he felt the warm hands slip under his, glancing away in guilt before Makariy even opened his mouth to scold him. I shouldn't have taken off my gloves. "You are injured!" And now I've made him worry. Some bodyguard I am, Ilya thought. He followed Makariy obediently, conscious of the slender fingers wrapped around his wrist. My hand doesn't even hurt anymore, he thought, looking disinterestedly at the discoloration.

As soon as the door closes behind the retreating figures of the maids, Ilya spoke up softly. "Makariy, there really is no need for all this concern. I--" "Don't run off without me," came the quiet whisper and Ilya fell silent immediately, staring down at the ruffled brown hair. "What am I supposed to do when you get hurt?" Ilya ground his teeth together in frustration. How... how do you expect me to answer that? You know it's my job to protect you. To be injured in your stead. To die for you, if need be. I would die a hundred times if it meant your safety. A jolt ran through his body when Makariy's gentle, clear eyes peered up into his, but he couldn't tear his gaze away.

"I know... I know you can't actually do that," and Makariy has gone back to examining his hand. Ilya closed his eyes, taking a slow breath, suddenly aware that his heart feels like it's trying to escape his chest by beating a hole in his ribcage. "So please... try and warn me earlier... give me time to prepare."

We both know that's not entirely possible, Ilya thought, but it would probably be better to just tell him... His hand tucked hesitantly under Makariy's chin, tilting his gaze upward, and Ilya nodded slightly. "Unless there is an emergency, I swear I won't leave your side." His eyes flickered downwards, lingering for a split second on lips that were slightly ajar, then dropped his hand and stepped away when the knock sounded on the door.

When Makariy told him to sit down, Ilya complied instantly. Arguing with the prince has never gotten him anywhere, but when he knelt down in front of him, reaching for his hands, Ilya started to protest. "Makariy, wait, you should--" I shouldn't be sitting if he's kneeling-- h-hold on-- "Makariy--" "You should take better care of yourself," and Ilya sighed, settling back down into the chair. He couldn't deny that, but when you were protecting someone with your life, your own safety and health really wasn't a priority. Especially if it's someone you... you... you lo... love. The very thought made him blush, and he was suddenly very glad the room was dark and that Makariy was preoccupied with his hand.

The hands holding his were trembling slightly, and Ilya gently took took the roll of bandages from them, finishing up the job. "I would feel better if you were more careful," Makariy whispered, following up with yet another sigh. Ilya brought the hand up to his face, tore off the excess bandage with his teeth, and tucked the jagged end into another fold. "Then I will be more careful," Ilya said gently, touching Makariy's cheek with the knuckles of his bandaged hand, and gave him a rare smile. "Anything for you, my prince."


+ + + + +


A while later, when Makariy seemed to be sleeping soundly in his bed, Ilya paced over to the window and lifted himself onto the windowsill, staring out past the frosted glass over the castle grounds. I can't believe I said that. Or did that. Any of that. Hmph. Love, he scoffed, comparing the gloved and bandaged hands, turning them and watching the way the moonlight cast shadows onto the floor. It makes even the most rational people do the most foolish things.

He sighed and leaned his head back against the stone, closing his eyes. I'm such a fool. Makariy only has eyes for that baron, and I... I'm a hunter aiming for stars I cannot reach. I'm thankful for everything he gives me, but, he looked over at the slumbering figure on the bed, I can't help want more.


+ + + + +


The next morning, when Ilya and Makariy were eating breakfast in the dining hall, a panicked screaming came from the hallway. Ilya stood up instantly, remembered his promise to the prince, and sat back down slowly. Right. I won't leave his side. It's okay. The news will come to us. There's no rush. He looked over at Makariy worriedly.

An officer entered the room, closing the door behind him and approached them from the other side of the table. "Your Imperial Highness? Royal Protector? Er..."

Ilya glared up at the officer. "Well? What is it?" he asked impatiently.

"The hunting party has returned..." the officer began hesitantly. His neck bobbed nervously when he swallowed. "What was left of it, at least." The screaming and crying from the hall started up again, and the officer lowered his voice. "Only one man came back, your Imperial Highness. He says that the rest of the party was killed." Ilya stared back at the man in disbelief. I had friends sent out with that party... "Are you sure? Those were twelve of our best soldiers. And they were just..." He glanced over at Makariy and cleared his throat, reluctant to say more in his presence.

"With your permission, my Prince, I'll speak to this soldier personally." Ilya said, folding his napkin and laying it on the plate neatly. "I expect it'll take me only a few minutes." As if on cue, another knock sounded on the door and the royal tutor peeked in. "Your Imperial Highness? If you're ready, we can begin our lessons in my study." Ilya stood up from the table and bowed before walking to the door, the officer trailing behind. s**t. So the baron's killed already, Ilya thought, clenching his fist when they were out of sight. I can't forgive him anymore, not after this.


+ + + + +


Despite his upbringing, pure bloodline, and education, Ilya was not really a gentleman, and the interrogation was one of the few times when he wished he was. Because if he was, the soldier sitting opposite him and clutching the cup of coffee like a lifeline would have probably been able to answer his questions in less than ten minutes. Ilya checked his watch. It had been more than twenty, and he was growing impatient. He glanced up when the soldier started to sob something again, something about blood and friends, but then he mentioned two of the monsters, and Ilya stood up.

"Ah, yes, Private..."

"Private Kasparov, sir."

"Yes. Private Kasparov. Thank you for your observations. I recommend that you return your barracks for some well deserved rest. I'll notify your superiors that you are not required for duty for the next week." Ilya stood up from his chair and turned to the door, heading directly for the stables. A hand caught his shoulder just as he was about to step into the building, and he looked into the eyes of the captain of the Tsar's Guard. Even Ilya wasn't dumb enough to shake off this man. He stopped, stepped back, and saluted.

"Sir."

The captain waved him down with a crisp "as you were" and proceeded to stare at the younger man. "I heard about the incident you had with one of the Guard last night, Ryurikov." Ilya swallowed. "It is not my place to say where you should go, but if you are to leave the Prince's side, it should be for a good reason. That being said, this monster killed three of my best men. Avenge them, demon hunter." The last two words, usually spat at Ilya in arrogance, made him swell up a little in pride. The officer clapped a hand to the other's shoulder, and walked away, leaving the latter to make his way into the stable alone.

The boy sitting in a pile of hay jumped to his feet and ran for Ilya's grey stallion, leading the beautiful beast out, depositing the reins in Ilya's hands, and running for the saddle. In less than ten minutes, Ilya was galloping out into the castle grounds and past the gates, heading out across the snow. His hands tightened over the reins when he remembered his promise to Makariy. It hasn't even been a hour, and I've already broken my promise, he thought, gritting his teeth against the chill. Some bodyguard I am.

He spotted the bloodstains in the snow long before he reached the bodies. None of them were recognizable. The stench of burnt and rotting flesh nearly made him gag, and he dismounted, studying the tracks in the melted and trampled snow. Continuing through ice dusted brambles and trees and into the mountain, the tracks seemed to disappear into the depths of the forest. I have to find him. I have to kill him. For Makariy. For all those who lost their lives here, Ilya told himself, curling his gloved hand into a fist and feeling the bandages that the prince had wrapped around his hands the night before.

Leaping back onto his horse, he clicked his tongue and moved deeper between the trees, following the puddles of melted snow that had refrozen in the Russian cold. An hour later, still following the trail of footsteps and singed branches, Ilya pulled his mount to a halt. There's no way I'm going to find him today, Ilya thought, glancing at his watch. It was less than an hour from one o'clock, when he and Makariy were supposed to have lunch. If he headed back now, he'd be able to make it to the castle just in time, but...

He looked at the branches again, remembering the charred remains of the men in the clearing, the look of terror on the survivor's face, the way Makariy had cried with worry, and turned his horse around. "Soon," he vowed out loud, his voice startlingly loud in the silence. "I swear that I will eliminate this threat. On my honor. On my life."


+ + + + +


The rest of the day was boring and muted, almost like any other day at the castle. Ilya had lunch with the prince, then they followed their usual schedule -- swordfighting and archery in the afternoon, before Makariy headed off to study more politics and languages. To Ilya's surprise and irritation, there was yet another party that night, as though the events of the previous evening had not happened at all. He stood in the hallway of the fourth floor, watching the nobles file through the vast entrance hall, up the stairs, and into the ballroom, the usual chatter of scandals and gossip going in through one ear and leaving through the other.

Is this really happening? Ilya wondered. It's almost as if those men hadn't died. The only acknowledgment of the death of the squad that had been sent out was that a team of soldiers and a priest had been sent out to put the men to rest, and that fact irked Ilya to no end. Those men deserved better. They deserve recognition. Honor. Revenge. When Makariy emerged in formal wear, Ilya followed him to the ballroom, resigned to another night of warding noblemen and women who drew too close to his prince.

"This is so boring," he muttered to himself at one point after turning away the third noble, a protective arm around Makariy's shoulder. It didn't matter that his touch earned him raised eyebrows and frenzied whispers. He couldn't give less of a damn. Ilya continued his sweeping stare across the ballroom, scanning the faces and clothing of the attendees. Then Ilya stopped. He stopped blinking, stopped breathing, stopped moving when his eyes landed on one figure.

"No... it can't be..."







NOW THE DARK BEGINS TO RISE || I DON'T WANT TO CHANGE THE WORLD
SAVE YOUR BREATH, IT'S FAR FROM OVER || I JUST WANNA LEAVE IT COLDER
LEAVE THE LOST AND DEAD BEHIND || LIGHT THE FUSE AND BURN IT UP
NOW'S YOUR CHANCE TO RUN FOR COVER || TAKE THE PATH THAT LEADS TO NOWHERE