CARPE OMNIA.

There was a pit of relief in her stomach when he said that would be enough, a ‘thank god’ that was over with and she would take great pleasure in seeing his backside head out the door. Tamping down the eyeroll that constantly threated her, she was almost proud of herself for how she kept herself in check. With Adelaide’s infamous anger, it was quite a feat before his next words trail out and all she sees in red. Never enjoying any dig at her ego. “Excuse the fuck out of me? I’m a Vidalis witch, sit your ass down, I’m not just any witch.” She begins ringing the items through, clear aggression and annoyance in her actions. She has half a mind to pull sway and call Daphne her girlfriend in a way to lord power over him, but the idea of that actually getting back to the water genasi was mortifying. “Daphne is with her father.” They are visiting her mothers grave.

.

Vidalis was a name that he knew, but the genasi was not easily impressed by. He had known many witches that had a birthright that was meant to be impressive— but these legacies were housed in mortal bodies, they had bled the same as anyone else. Still, he did not tamper aggression with his own, Saint wore an expression of indifference when he looked back over at the woman behind the counter, as that was the most truthful: he was indifferent to whatever it was that she thought herself to be because of her surname. “Ah, Daphne. I forgot,” he responded idly, reaching into his pocket to pay for the items that he had selected. “That she is nothing more than a child.” As was this one, but he bit his tongue before noting such, passing the money over.

     Toni had grown up in a horror house, so maybe moving into another horror house had been a really bad idea. He figured living with another genasi could benefit them both, but at the moment, Saint was mostly just annoying him. Exhaling a deep breath, he told himself to be the bigger person and just ignore it. Toni arched his brows and folded his arms over his chest. “If you want me to move out, I will. I don’t have to stay here if you want to replace me with a fucking shadow.”

.

Saint waved off the shadow figure who walked out of the hallways and into one of the rooms with the blinds open, where it promptly fell apart under the brightness of the sun. A smile hitched as it dissolved, before he canted his head, giving Toni another curious look. “Either way, I don’t care too much.” That was the truth, after all— he had hoped to learn more from the other genasi, but it appeared that their ideals did not match up in the slightest. As he had always been, and as he was now, Saint was content with being alone. “Leave if you want, stay if you want, frankly Antonin, I do not give a shit.”

@saintcorvin​

The bar was closed during the day, in the bowels of Hel’s Deep Dreki sat on the bleachers and watched as grunts scrubbed at the bloodstained concrete floor. It would be a simple task for him to dispose of it himself, but he’d come to enjoy having others do things for him. Power was power, and Nidhogg had it in spades. The approach of the genasi was not one that he would have missed, the man’s power was dark - corrupted by Death - it came as no surprise that Saint had survived his ritual. “You’ve changed.” Dreki remarked as he studied the genasi as he approached, his soul was marked. Etched differently, twisted and bent. Undoubtedly the process had been painful, but anything worth obtaining carried a risk of sacrifice. “He gave it to you then?” Dreki remarked simply, his considerable arms folded across his chest as his feet still rested on the seat ahead of him. “The secret to effective immortality?” 

.

The ritual had come with no small amount of pain— to achieve a rune on one’s heart required the sort of searing pain that he was sure felt not dissimilar to a branding, the lines were nothing short of perfect and he had felt the way that the magic had infused with his spirit, weaving together a promise that had been gifted to him from a God. He would live forever, and Saint moved gleefully from his place in the basement of his home into the town, eager to show off what he had done. Dreki would make for a rapt audience, after all, he was one of the few that had been privy to his plans and intentions, a twisted wire smile curved on his features as he found his way down the stairs, hardly minding the people who scrubbed at the floor as he made his way to the wyvern who sat among it like a king. “He gave it to me,” he responded, not bothering to hide his glee. “The first of my kind, his original creation.” He found a seat next to the rift, stretching out similarly. Dissatisfaction was one of his crowning traits, and Saint let out a breath. “Immortality feels just the same as anything else, I need something else to aspire towards.”

“You’ll have eternity to figure it out.” Thanatos promised darkly, just as the God himself had had eons of practice. Of study, he was tired now. Always tired. Saint’s hunger for power was a story that the God had seen played out time and time again, Though this genasi was the first of his kind, the first to hold spirit as an element, Thanatos wondered how long it would be before Saint exhausted himself. How long until this one’s body broke under the weight of the power that he’d been given. “A life for a life,” the God countered, “seems only fair.” And forever would take the toll of many, many lives. “I will give you what you ask, but I am not Hel. Your vanity will be the price.” Thanatos offered as he approached the genasi and pressed a pair of fingers to the man’s chest. The knowledge for everything the genasi would need flooded from the God to Saint, “This spell will allow you to inscribe a rune upon your soul, and upon your death your life force will pass from you, to the nearest suitable vessel. A witch who will take your place in the Underworld.” With a small degree of force Thanatos pushed Saint backwards through the earth and back to the mortal realm, “Now be gone.” 

.

Eternity. It dangled before him, a promise on a string and he would have bat at it like a cat— but instead Saint watched as the god studied him, as though in his gaze he could measure and decide what it was that he was worth. He knew of his own potential, that he would swallow the earth whole and spit out the tallest trees from his mouth as though they were nothing more than toothpicks and as Thanatos grew near, he wondered if the god of peaceful death could feel the eager thunder of his heart in his chest. A single life? It was an easy thing to do, and he offered a smile with serrated teeth, like the edge of a saw: something sharp enough to cut. Knowledge was the power that he took up, and it settled under his skin and in his veins, something intrinsic and learned now. “I will see it done,” he promised, and the words had hardly left him as he fell backwards, slipping out of darkness and instead into a world that he recognized, until his feet were firmly back where he had begun. The blood of the witches that he had brought for the offering had congealed into something dark and thick. A waste. Saint wrapped his coat around his shoulders, caring little for whether or not the others had returned. He had a rune to create.

These genasi all embodied their elements wholly, characteristics duly imparted by their elements. Fire was so much more than destruction, but the God had no desire to explain these redundancies to the other. “The realm you reach for, the creatures that dwell within it, that power you now wield - it is all mine.” Thanatos offered, he’d said as much already. The Hektor to his Persephone, an original of a different kind. “And if I asked for everything?” Thanatos pressed, as if he did not already own every aspect of the genasi. His soul, his power. It all belonged to the God, as was demonstrated in how the God manipulated the five to bring them here into his realm. “The city, the islands, the sea. An ocean of blood to prolong your life. A hundred souls. A thousand, tens- what then?”

.

“Your realm, your magic,” Saint repeated, looking over at the god with appreciation. He had felt it in his veins, something newly forged out of ancient materials, and yet, it was a mystery to him. “Teach me how to use it then, there is so much that I don’t know yet.” And there was likely far more that he would never discover if his method of doing so was by performing experiments in the basement, or in the morgue: it felt like an insult to the god to not fully exercise his power to the best of his ability. And his ability was not easily bested, as he had found out, testing boundaries and limitations. The question made him curve closer, studying him like a cat with yellow eyes in the dark. “A strange request from the god of peaceful death, is it not?” Still, he lifted a shoulder. Morally, his stance had not changed. “One life, twenty, twenty thousand. Blood is blood, I care only for my own outlook and future.”

He lingers in the doorway, still intent on being able to just run if he has to, but he watches Saint with equal parts curiosity and suspicion. It doesn’t last, it seems like the moment Julian crosses the threshold into the room, the door slams shut behind him as if closed by a phantom gust of wind. The morgue is cold, it’s the nature of the place, and yet he’s grown accustomed to it, he’s spent so much time in it. No, the chill he feels has nothing to do with the temperature around him and is solely based on the man before him. And yet, he doesn’t care a single bit for the way that Saint seems to be regarding him like a cat who has just caught a mouse. “I think it’s the fact I don’t know what you could do to me that bothers me.” It could very well be sarcastic, but he keeps it matter of fact, feet practically glued to just inside the door.

.

Saint grinned, feeling very much like the cat that had cornered a mouse. He loved power, he was often sick on it, bloated like a tick while he roamed a world of his own making. Julian was insignificant, but useful as he was— a life was of great value to a genasi, as was the blood that flooded through their veins, rushed by a quick heart beat. He had never made an offering that didn’t include a slit throat, but that wasn’t his intentions tonight, not in the middle of the morgue. Instead, he narrowed his gaze, tipping his head, trying to decide, what did he want? Blood was easily come by, as were spirits. Trinkets came at Kore’s hand, but: he lifted a shoulder. “I need bones. Fresh, old, I don’t care. Preferably from beings with magic, I want them clean. Hands are good, if they’re intact. The local herb shop doesn’t seem to sell the powder that I need.” Animal would not do, it didn’t hold enough magic, there wasn’t enough soul bound to it. “I’m sure you can find the materials easily.”

     “Interesting take. I’ll consider it.” The truth was, Peirasmós didn’t care. The genasi didn’t interest them enough – he humored them, was a good distraction for now, but only until they found something else to busy themselves. “Voyeur sounds so negative. I have my hands in the game, they just never get splattered with blood,” they said simply, a wide grin on their lips. Head tilting to the side, they lifted their right brow. “What do you mean? I think we already established it’s very handsome.”

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Saint laughed, “Toss away voyeur then, you’re right it’s not elegant enough for a creature as fine as yourself.” He had never shied away from gore, his hands and nails had stained crimson and he felt no fear in being the one to hold the knife— he himself was a killing thing, whatever instrument that he held was only an extension of that ideal. “Handsome isn’t enough for one like you. No ulterior motive? Nothing outstanding?”

      Emily loved animals, sometimes even more than humans. It probably stemmed from the fact that her power as a witch had been animal manipulation. They had always been her friends, and she had always tried to help them. It did not matter how big or small or intelligent they were. So when he kicked the box, mice making panicked noises inside of it, Emily felt as if the ground opened up underneath her. If she had the capability to feel sick, she certainly would right now. “No,” she said quietly, and then more sternly, almost desperately, as she looked at him. “Don’t make me do that.”

.

Saint’s brow rose, watching as the ghost protested his command, squirming as though he was holding a magnifying glass to her on a hot summer’s day. “Do you defy me?” It was his turn now to flex his power, to show off his command over spirit as he narrowed sage coloured eyes, finding hers as they looked around the room. The rungs of her magic bindings tugged tighter, matching his demands as he willed her to move. Like shaping darkness into something else, it felt like pulling the strings above a marionette. “Lift the lid and take one out.”

“No,” Enzo admitted, though his travels and studies had given him information, this was something new. “I know of gods and goddesses that deal with shadows, but this is something else entirely.” The air genasi hummed, “Do they feel different than when you harness a reaper?” His questions would keep coming at this point, though he grinned in Saint’s direction, “So – a brand new element, all because…how? What did you do? What was your element before?”

.

“Something brand new,” Saint echoed, toying with shadow and forming it into figures and machinations that marches around their feet. “There’s fewer,” he gestured, considering the words and how it had felt the last time he had done so, “Limitations. I can manipulate them in the same way I do shadows, they have no substance that can’t be turned into something else. A spirit is bending and wily, but,” the genasi smiled wickedly. “In the end it answers when it is called.” He lifted a shoulder. “I asked the Valkyrie what it meant, and she said it was a result of timing. The veil fell during the ritual, instead of fire, I was given spirit.”

“Have you ever seen one bleed?” Dreki questioned, his hands dragged along the jean-covered skin of Saint’s thigh and gripped the genasi hard and firm. “Their blood is ichor that stains the earth,” hungry lips nipped at exposed skin as the wyvern hungered to return the man to his bed but opted instead to push him flat against the counter to bend across his frame. Dreki’s hand firmly planted across Saint’s chest, “and from it spring flowers that no God can uproot - a reminder of their shame.” His gaze was challenging and scoring as he bore down into sage-hues. Where such treasures could still be found if they still existed at all were beyond him, witches of old hunted them, plundered the world for regents of significance. With the absence of the Gods, so too did the things they left behind turn scarce. “Perhaps someday I will show you.”

.

He hadn’t— and he suspected that Dreki knew of such, but he liked the way that the other talked, even more so when it came with wandering hands that illustrated his points in measures that made Saint inhale sharply. Fingers gripped at the edge of the marbled top of the counter with one hand, and the other found the wyvern’s jaw, tracing the angle there as he lay pinned. His chin own chin lifted and his expression was unmistakable, power and hunger took twin seats in his gaze— now it met Dreki’s. He had read of such things, but they, like most ancient things had petered out into extinction. Wyverns had been thought to be gone as well, perhaps it was best that he stop relying on his texts and begin to focus on the world that was presented to him. His hips hitched forward, and his words curved in the shadows between them. “And when you bleed, what does the earth grow?”

“I wouldn’t have a job if all death was peaceful, would I?” Thanatos put his chin in his hand, looking at his creation. The first of his kind and he chalked it down as an element of bad timing? Thanatos truly was not paid enough to deal with the insult of such a thought. “More like opportune timing. With the veil thin enough, I was able to do more than usual. But why immortality? Isn’t a bit of my own abilities enough for you? The first of your kind. My original creation. The Hektor to my Persephone. Amazing, isn’t it?” Though his tone held a hint of sarcasm, it remained mostly monotone. It was difficult to tell if the god was falling asleep or simply bored. “i’ve used the genasi to my benefit only once before. I absorbed the power made from that knife of the Dire Wolf shifter’s bones that the gorgon fastened to create what we have now. What do you want with immortality? Whose life would you be willing to give in exchange for it?”

.

“Fire once suited me,” Saint said conversationally, walking around as he studied the differences in this realm. This was a shadow, and he felt quite comfortable in the darkest parts of creation, and he turned his attention back to Thanatos. “But it is spirit that embodies what my magic has true use for. There is more power in it, more possibility. What does fire know how to do beyond burn?” He offered a smile, “It is a gift, one that I do not take for granted. The Valkyrie is wise, I will not insult her— but I doubt she knows of your true intentions.” The first of your kind. My original creation. Saint gleamed, looking at the god. “I was told by another that it is your own gift that I carry.” The question made him lift a shoulder. “All of this power, all of this magic— only to fizzle out in a few years? A husk of what I once was, shy of ever doing more beyond the span of a mortal life.” It was, he though, an insult to the Thanatos’ gift, but he would let him come to such a conclusion himself. A laugh sparked from the genasi. “Whose life do you want? There are none that I would be shy to hold a blade to if you so wish it.”

The souls of the two witches that Saint had sacrificed glimmered into appearance. “What does peaceful death mean to you?” The words were held with little emotion, even as Thanatos waved his fingers and the souls were shepherded off to the afterlife. It was rhetorical, anyway, he cared little for an answer to it at the moment. Death was death, sacrifice was sacrifice. “Vincent – just like his mother. A woman cursed by Persephone.” Thanatos stayed where he was, though his gaze was unrelenting and unreadable. Neither was a bold response, though they’d all had that same sort of desperation about them. This one, though, this one was his punishment. Or did Saint even know that? “Wisdom. Such a weapon, isn’t it. Maybe if you ask the correct questions, you’ll have an answer. But that all depends on you. Do you even know why you exist?”

.

Saint looked at the still faces of the witches that lay beyond them, uncreased and pale in the glow of the moon that hung above them. “In the end,” he said wryly, “Is not all death peaceful?” Their blood had pooled thickly around them, and it stained at their clothing— so dark that it almost appeared black. The god called him Vincent and he wanted to wince: it was a name that he had not answered to in years, despite the fact that his mother had given it to him to bear like a brand. Her own mark of Cain, a show that she owned him, and it was a name that he would reject upon later years. The genasi looked over at the god, whose expression was both unreadable and unknowable and he was unable to draw if he had his favour or not. “I want immortality,” it was a plain enough desire, and he didn’t care to toy with words with someone who would ultimately sharpen them and use them as a blade against his throat. “The Valkyrie said that I received my element as a result of bad timing.” A smile curved on his lips, as wicked and sharp as a fish hook. “There is nothing written of it, as far as I know, I am one of the first. Perhaps you could tell me.”

closed starter for: Dante, Daphne, Saint, Maven, Enzo, and Freya

Thanatos’ realm was peaceful, and quiet. As death should be. An inverse of the land of the living, this place was empty and shrouded darkness marred by hard light. Every surface blurred at the edges, granular and fuzzy when focused upon for too long. It was here in the dark mockery of the Temple of Apollo that the God of Death observed his genasi and their little undertaking. He’d been aware of their intentions for some time and looked upon their individual offerings with only vague interest. They each threw out their ardent prayers and beckoned him forth, it was amusing, but Thanatos had long tired of the land of the living: it was too loud, too sharp, and too full of life that would inevitably pass through his realm. 

Their call might have gone unanswered but it had been over a thousand years since any genasi had managed to cooperate long enough to successfully call to him here, he was their patron and through them he had the power to heed their request - but he was not a dog that came at the toll of a bell. Through them Thanatos reached across the veil, manipulating their magic to pull them through into his realm. Separate from the passing of time as humans understood it, he was death, ancient and primordial. Thanatos had been present at the world’s first breath and would be bound here until its last, such was his place in the hierarchy of the Gods. 

“You’re either incredibly desperate, or incredibly stupid to risk summoning me.” Any sane person ran from death, not towards it. “So which are you, desperate or stupid?”

.

He had scarcely finished wiping the blood from his palm when Thanatos appeared, curving towards him in a form that was not familiar, but distinctly human. Curiosity, as it always did, sparked in Saint’s chest as he studied Thanatos, wondering what it was that made a god choose how they appeared to their patrons. Handsome— Saint noted idly, with dark hair and and pale eyes, if he was to hand out peaceful deaths, he supposed he wouldn’t protest too much from his life being throttled out by those hands. “Neither,” he volleyed back, standing at full height. Shadows lingered by his feet, twisting around his ankles like an affectionate cat and he offered a smile. The genasi avoided charm, he had never grasped how to properly utilize it and to most his ill attempts simply came off as arrogance. “We’re resourceful, and each with our own reasons for calling you forth.” His eyes, verdant and sharp, lifted with his chin. “We are your patrons, and I’ve long awaited someone who had the power to answer the questions that I have. There are none greater than a god, so it is your wisdom that I seek.”

“You’re going to have to give me more than that, sir.” There’s just the faintest hint of sarcasm to the honorific. Julian’s eyes narrow, nose scrunches at the sight of the cigarette indoors and he can’t help but think it’s a dick move when he does a lot of the cleaning around the whole place. It’s with great hesitation that he follows after Saint, his logic is that he is behind him, he can cut and run at any time. He knows the building, he’s spent many a day cleaning the place top to bottom, he knows every nook and cranny if he needs to get out quick or hide. Saint still has magic, something he doesn’t entirely know a lot about, he doesn’t know it’s limits. “I have no problem helping out, but I need to know what I’m walking into.” Implying he knows this is suspicious.

.

“I’m going to have to?” Saint echoed the words in amusement, not bothering to look over his shoulder as he continued to make his way down the steps to the morgue. There was a chill there, but more importantly— a darkness that seeped in every corner, beckoning towards him as if greeting an old friend. The genasi’s shoes, expensive and Italian-made, clicked against the tiled floor of the room below them, this was where autopsies were done, and Julian had been correct in saying that he had cleaned up: it was spotless. He turned, fixing a tired expression upon the shifter’s and his gaze rose over his shoulder, to the door behind the pink-haired man, where he willed the reach of a hand made of shadow to slam it shut before dissipating like smoke. He didn’t flinch at the noise, but instead, canted his head. “You seem nervous,” Saint pointed out, leering openly. “What do you think I’ll do to you?”

“A new one. A better one. Free of the Gods.” They were weak now, Ragnarok was not the end of the world but the beginning of a new one. “The Aesir are weak, faded memories of a time that no longer exists. Those who still reveal them are fools clinging to a past that had no love for mortals to start with.” Saint’s interest was obvious and while Dreki’s ego was boosted by this he’d reveal only as much as he desired, there were a number of things that needed to be set in motion first. “One thing at a time, first, a God must die. Odin’s son, no less.” Baldur was supposed to be one of the prettier ones, not that Dreki had ever met the boy god. The wyvern was far older and was cast below when Odin’s father still sat upon the throne of the gods. “A world where the weak are under foot, and only the strong survive.”  Dreki offered, so much of humanity was soft, he’d see this purged from the world entirely. 

.

Free of the gods. Saint gleamed at the idea; what he knew of Ragnarok was of destruction, but there was so much fervour in Dreki’s voice that he wished to believe in it too: his was not a mythology that encompassed that of the Norse beliefs, what he knew he only had picked up from his studies, read about in black and white. But here he was, with his hot skin and calloused touch, a story come to life. Saint’s hand rest upon his shoulder, and he idly drew his thumb along the muscles there, leaning back against the counter. “I’d like to see it,” he said, and hunger bled into his words, like the slow drip of venom. “The death of a god.” Did they bleed, as mortals did? He imagined rivulets of ichor, pooling from wounds inflicted by the wyvern himself— and Saint pressed a lazy kiss to the side of the other man’s temple, so that his words fell by the shell of his ear. “And let us be the strong ones, for I refuse to be trod upon and I reject that I would not survive even the end days.”