#dark!jordan

In the moment before the flash of light, in the moment he accepted, his mind cleared. No, he wasn’t trying to be a god. He didn’t mean for it to happen this way. He just needed, no, wanted the stones. Oh, how he had wanted them. Now as they shivered and hovered above his palms with an unfamiliar energy, he wanted nothing more than to be rid of them.

Trying to be a god, are you now?

Then came the flash of light. Sweeping outward from those small stones, catching everything in its glory. It was a stunning, brilliant light, a light that was so bright it blinded him, filling his eyes with a terrible darkness. He could see nothing, not the crumpled forms of Karl and Tom, not the stones in his hands, nothing.

Trying to be a god, are you now?

He could hear the god’s voice in his head, singing, taunting him. He was shivering, quaking uncontrollably. He couldn’t see, but oh god, could he feel. He felt every bit of the power that coursed through his veins and to his heart, so strong it threatened to crush the life out of him. Somehow, he knew that it could. How foolish he had been to think that he could handle the power of the stones. He was nothing more than a foolish, foolish mortal.

Use whatever means necessary.

Trying to be a god now, are you?

The voices of the two gods mingled, crashing over him. A deep misery flooded his mind. He had failed his goddess again, hadn’t he? And not just her, no, he had failed both of them. Ianite was weak, needed a stone, and he knew it. But he had selfishly kept it, hoarded it for himself. And Dianite, well, he had clearly broken their contract on all points.

He could feel rivulets of sweat running down his face, his neck, the small of his back. The shaking was slowing, but he could see nothing. And still, his veins burned with that overwhelming power. 

His hands closed unconsciously around the stones, tightening his hold, pulling them closer to himself. 

Had he really been wrong to take them? Had it been so greedy, so foolish of him to do so? He couldn’t forget the words, the glances, the touches from Ianite and Dianite that seemed to imply he was more than just a champion. No, they saw him as an equal, he was sure of it. He had proved himself worthy of the stones, hadn’t he? After all he had done for the gods, for the islands, didn’t he deserve them? Didn’t he deserve that power?

He had accepted the offer of godhood for a reason. Because he knew himself to be worthy. He knew himself to be capable of taking in new powers.

The acrid scent of smoke and rose filled his senses yet again. With it came a clarity, a clarity of purpose. He was worthy of becoming a god. It wouldn’t destroy him, no, he was too strong for that. If anyone could master the power of the stones, it was him.

He felt his muscles still, strengthen. His skin cooled, shivered with a soothing chill that swept over him. His ears seemed to capture every little sound around him, faintly pounding hearts, the soft creaks and whispers of the building, a distant crashing that had to be the ocean against the shore. Through his hands he could sense the overwhelming power of the ocean, the soft yet steady strength of the winds, the comforting presence of the earth, and the crackling spiritedness of the fire contained within the lanterns.

The dark haze remained in his vision, but it was a small price to pay for godhood. A smile cracked the still skin of his face, his muscles almost sore - he hadn’t smiled in so long. But he was a god now. He would restore balance, how it was meant to be.

With a purposeful step, he turned for the door, allowing his instinct to guide him. He took one step, then another, then another, then collapsed.

~

His skull was splitting open, strong blows of a blade slowly shattering skin and bone. Then it was his lungs. They were filling up, suffocating him, inundated with a burning liquid that scorched the tissues and made every breath a tortuous gasp. Then it was his heart, beating with a strength that threatened to burst from his chest. 

A haze surrounded him, darker than the black of night, darker than the emptiness of the void, a haze made up of scratching clawing hands that tried to keep hold of him, keep him still in their grasp. But he couldn’t, no he couldn’t keep still. He had to shake them off, kicking and convulsing as he tried to fight off the hands, fight off the pain, just breathe and take a breath. If he could only free his hands, unpin them from his sides where the traitorous limbs hung heavy and unresponsive. The shadowy claws were almost tearing into him now, the sharp edges sinking deeper into his flesh, almost as though they were willing to take whatever they could from him - even if it were only a part of himself.

We’re waiting for you Captain.

He hated its voice, smooth and mellow as it was, the way it flowed like a gentle tide, filling his mind and his thoughts. It was trying to trap him, to take him for itself. He wouldn’t let it.

She'll be waiting for you in another place, Captain. And so will I.

A strong, deep voice. Familiar, comforting, bringing up a crushing feeling of nostalgia. All he wanted was to see them again, hear their voices, see their faces.

He had to fight it off, fight off the suffocation and the pain and the exhaustion, fight it off if only to keep his promise to his gods. To do things right this time, to not be too late. But gods, he was tired. And suddenly, it was all he could think of. The creeping exhaustion that flooded his limbs, clouded his already muddled mind, that promised his burning muscles relief, a rest. It would be so, so much easier to give in, to relax.

His muscles were already relaxing, his frantic convulsing slowing, the pain that had arced through his nerves lessening. The hold of the hands seemed to grow gentle, as they crept across him, binding his arms tight to his side, holding him in a suffocating embrace.

His body was no longer his own.

~

A low groan escaped his dry, cracked lips. He felt soft sheets, the warmth of a furnace, the itchiness of unshaven days-old stubble starting to form. Silence surrounded him. It was strange, there was always someone hanging around, but there were no voices, no gentle hum from the villagers, not even the ever present crash of the ocean. It was cold, suffocating, lonely silence. 

His body was no longer alone.

The thought shot through his mind like a bolt of electricity, arcing through his sleep-disoriented mind. His thoughts were foggy, what did that mean? He couldn’t remember what he had dreamt, what he had seen or felt. An unsettling chill settled over him, despite the warm blanket he remained curled under. Grudgingly, he allowed his eyes to flicker open, despite wanting to snatch just a few more moments of rest. There was too much to be done for him to be lying about the entire morning. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust, blinking up at the ceiling. He waited nearly a minute. Everything was dark.

An almost panicked energy suddenly fueling him, he shoved the blankets from him, not even taking a moment to note how his previously wrinkled clothes were somehow clean and only a little mussed from his deep slumber. No, he was too distracted by the fact that he couldn’t see. He stood quickly, his legs trembling slightly as strength slowly returned to them. His hands were outstretched, reaching for something to grasp onto. He had to be dreaming, it was just a dream, nothing had happened that could make him lose his vision, there was too much to do, he needed to be able to see, it was too much -

He stumbled with his next step, tripping over an unseen chest, only saving himself at the last moment from bashing his head against the stone stairs. He steadied himself against the stairs, head down, chest heaving for air as he tried to calm his frenzied breathing. He couldn’t afford to be crashing around with no regard for where he was going, no, there had to be a perfectly logical reason for why he couldn’t see, something that had happened, and Tom or Karl would come to explain any minute now, how it was only temporary, and some sort of accident perhaps-

Everything seemed to pause around him, as his heart dropped. Because he knew, suddenly, why they wouldn’t come to him. He knew what had happened wasn’t an accident. What had happened had been because of him, because of his decisions. It was all dissolving, all crumbling around him, just because he had made a choice. All that was left was him, and the Darkness. 

And maybe, just maybe, he could work with that.

~

“Do as I say.” It was spoken sweetly, yet with an undertone that threatened to peel away every layer of autonomy he had should he refuse to accept.

The darkness that surrounded him was familiar already, though it had only been a day. It had only been a day, yet his newfound powers seemed muted. It had only been a day of blindly stumbling around his island, struggling for nearly an hour just to put on his armor with hands that trembled incessantly as they fumbled with the straps, trying to feed the livestock, stoke his furnaces. It had only been a day of bumping into things, bashing his knees and banging his toes against every single corner. It had been a long day.

While the darkness was familiar, its voice was even more so. He had heard it only a few times before, when questing in the upside down dimension. It had stuck with him, something that cruel wouldn’t fade quickly. But when it came back, it spoke… reasonably. What it said made sense, somehow. 

“Do as I say, and you’ll be more powerful.” The voice hummed in his ears as the arrow in his hands clattered to the ground yet again. He nearly spent two hours just trying to knock the arrow on his bow. It was frustrating, gods, painfully frustrating that the movement that had once been mechanical now took all of his attention, just because he couldn’t see. “I can help you bring balance to these islands.”

“Not exactly my priority right now.” Jordan snapped, breathing out in a deep huff as he fumbled blindly for the arrow on the ground. He had enough power, or whatever it was those stones did to him. What he needed to focus on was learning how to do basic tasks again.

The voice seemed amused. “Isn’t it?”

A snippish retort already forming on his tongue, he choked it down as a high-pitched whistle filled his ears. The arrow left his fingers again as he instinctively clasped his hands over his ears. But the sound only lasted a moment, and when it cleared, he could… hear. Not hear like he usually did, but he could hear everything. He could clearly hear the ocean, hear the villagers chatter, hear the shrieks of seagulls, the crackle of the fire in the lanterns. It was as it had been when he first accepted the power of the stones, before… before the darkness…

“Why’d you take my powers?” He knew he sounded a little pissed, okay, perhaps more than just a little. But he had good reason, didn’t he?

“I didn’t take anything, my lord.” A faint wave of revulsion swept Jordan. He hated to hear those words from that… thing. He didn’t need, and definitely didn’t want, any titles. Especially not that one. That was reserved for one god alone, at least, in his opinion. “I’m just helping you… adjust.”

Jordan only rolled his eyes a little at the being’s words, as he picked up the arrow from the cold stones yet again. As he carefully raised the bow, his sharpened hearing could make out a soft scraping as the arrow settled into its usual position, knocked and ready to be released. “I don’t want your help.”

“A deal, then? I know you like to make those.” He fell quiet, as he lowered the bow to his side, allowing the bowstring to fall slack. There couldn’t be any real harm in hearing the thing out, right?

The voice seemed pleased, almost, as it quickly continued. “You’ve been trying to bring balance to these islands, yet the godlings are always interfering with your work, mm? We can fix that. When Angrec and I made the godlings, we bestowed too much power upon them, far too early. Their arrogance prevents them from acting maturely, responsibly, as they should. All you have to do is take their power down a notch.” It paused, allowing just a moment for Jordan to process what it was saying. “You want to bring balance to the islands, I want to see the godlings in their proper place. It’s a win-win.

Its voice was so smooth. Not in a gentle way like Ianite’s, nor warm like Dianite’s. No, it was smooth and slick, slick enough that the wrong step would send Jordan tumbling down a path that he couldn’t see the end of. Something small inside of him was telling, no, screaming at him desperately to turn back, to refuse, to just go back to his gods, ask their help, to be safe and smart about it. But the rest of him heard the darkness, remembered his exhaustion from trying to manage it all, and saw the value of the deal.

“Will it hurt them?” His voice was low, oh so low, painfully low. He didn’t want to ask the question, yet his fears pushed it up from his chest and out his mouth. He had to know, desperately waited for an answer.

There was silence for a moment, no longer. “A little. But you must remember, they are gods. They aren’t mortals, they feel pain differently than you ever had. To them, it is nothing more than a slap on the hand.”

Nothing more than a slap on the hand. The words hummed incessantly in his ears. Nothing more than a slap on the hand.

“What do I need to do?”

 Nothing more than a slap on the hand.

“Just do as I say, my lord.”

~

Silence filled his ears, cold, unforgiving silence. A chill swept across his skin, through his mouth and nose, filling his lungs like a blast of icy water. He was floating, immobile, awash in nothingness. Not like the void, no, none of the warm static that clung to him there, it was instead pure darkness.

Then he felt himself falling, tumbling through it, moving faster and faster towards something. Then impact, but it wasn’t painful, no, he felt himself come into being again. Though it only took a split second, the time it took for his hearing and scent of smell to return to him felt painfully long. He allowed himself the space of a moment to take in his surroundings.He could hear rustling clothes, panting breaths, distant voices. He picked up faint scents of brimstone, smoke, rotting flesh, fresh air, a hint of lavender, a wisp of incense, polished wood, smoking lanterns. The courthouse, they had to be in the courthouse, and the others were definitely there. Just as the darkness had said.

It took another moment of intent listening to place them all, the mortals and the priest were to his left, and the gods in a line before him. Without a second thought, his hand dropped to the blade at his side, pulling it in one swift moment from its sheath. 

“Jordan!” Tom’s voice, angry, a little confused. Instinctively, Jordan swiveled his head towards him, though the darkness that filled his vision prevented him from actually seeing the zombie. “Why- no, how- no, what is happening?”

“Hey zombie boy.” Jordan replied instead, the faintest impression of a smile creeping over his face. He had to admit, he was a little glad to hear Tom’s voice. He had worried, just the smallest bit, that he had gone a little too far to get that stone, that he had… killed his friends. But he couldn’t be getting distracted, he chided himself as his hand tightened around the hilt of the sword. He didn’t doubt that Karl and Tom would be on top of him as soon as he started to carry out the darkness’ plan, so he had to act as quickly as possible. And that meant starting now, with Mianite.

He turned his head towards where the row of gods knelt, ignoring the jumbled words coming from Karl, Tom, and the Priest. He couldn't waste any time listening to them. A small step placed him before the first god, the heavy scent of thunder and fresh spring air telling him immediately who it was.

“Mianite.” He greeted the god with a level tone.

“You’re making a mistake, Captain.” The god’s voice matched his for steadiness, but there was almost something… pleading in it? That didn’t stop the arc of the sword Jordan held, didn’t stop the deadly weapon from coming down and across the god’s torso, didn’t stop the poorly muffled cry of pain. He heard a soft thud, undoubtedly the god had slumped to the ground. That didn’t stop him from turning, and taking a step to his right. 

Nothing more than a slap on the hand.

Static, lavender, and thyme. “My captain, please.” Her voice was nearly cracking as she spoke, misery creeping along the edge of her words. Yet Jordan got the sense that she wasn’t scared of her own fate, no, she was mourning for him. Just as powerfully as he had mourned her other selves, when he was too late, when he hadn’t been able to help her. Her voice seemed to force the memories from his heart, force them into his mind, force him to remember, to see, to feel.“This isn’t right, this won’t help the balance, please-”

He couldn’t listen any more. The blade moved without him needing to put any force behind it, as though hands other than his own were guiding it. Down, across the goddess before him, cutting short her words. Down, down the young goddess went, down beside her brother. Another small turn, another short step, and he was before the final god.

Nothing more than a slap on the hand.

“We were still waiting for you, Captain. I still am.” Brimstone, wood smoke, warm and comforting drifted up, filling his senses, forcing him back to those early days, the first time he heard that voice, smelled that scent. Forcing him back to a promise made, forcing him to feel those rough hands against his own, feel his heart fill with a loyalty that he had for so long deemed traitorous, for so long not been able to realize he could be loyal to both, accept both. The pain he had felt before recognizing it, the comfort and peace he had felt after.

The blade was moving on its own, he couldn’t hold back the arcing swipe that cut across the god before him, cut him down like a leaf in a storm. His hands were not his own.

Nothing more than a slap on the hand.

“Why?” Anguish, pure, pure anguish filled Karl’s voice. Jordan’s attention snapped to the others. He had forgotten them, somehow, in the speed and the emotion of the moment. Why hadn’t they stopped him? Why had they just sat back and watched? He had just… just tuned them out. Now all he could hear were their voices, demanding, begging for an answer. But he hadn’t… he hadn’t done anything wrong. The gods were still fine, weren’t they? It was nothing more than a slap on the hand, right?

“You’ve stripped them of their immortality, Captain. That sword…” Dec’s voice was almost grating, its accusatory tones hanging over Jordan’s head as he tuned out the rest of what he was saying.

No, no. He had only taken a little of their power, put them in their proper places. He was restoring balance to everything, he was fixing it. It didn’t really hurt them, they had to be fine. The darkness had said so itself, the darkness had… the darkness had taken over his body, taken his senses from him. The darkness had blinded him. The darkness had lied to him.

He had failed his gods again.

They had been waiting for him.

He had failed them.

Anger swept him. His skin was burning, every inch of it alive with a roaring fury that simmered the blood pumping furiously through his veins, his heart beating harder and harder with an energy that wanted to burst it from his chest. The blade in his hands dropped to the floor with a clattering crash, but he couldn’t hear it, couldn’t pay any attention to it. He had been lied to. He had hurt his gods. And it was all because of the darkness. His anger was roaring, bubbling over. He couldn’t hold it in anymore, he couldn’t hide it anymore. He was so tired of holding things back, holding it all to himself. He needed to let it escape him, let it destroy that darkness, let it be free. His heart felt as though it were about to explode from his chest. Was he still standing? Was he on the floor? He couldn’t tell. He only had one thought.

He couldn’t fail again.

Something seemed to explode out from him, a rush of power blasting from his hands, crashing out and into the world, turning everything upside down, filling his senses with a roar, until he blacked out.

And there was silence.

~

A ringing in his ears, that was what made him come to. It was sharp, incessant. He blinked, once, twice. Bright light seemed to fill his eyes, slowly fading to normal. He could see, just barely, through his eyes that were slightly cracked open. The ringing didn’t stop. There was cold stone under his head, he was lying on his back. Blue sky opened up above him, blue with no clouds. The ringing didn’t stop. Groaning, he turned his aching skull to one side. Rubble surrounded him, he was covered in a fine layer of dust. Smoke and ash filled the air. Charred piles of wood smoldered in the corners of his vision. The courthouse was destroyed, not a wall left standing.

The ringing didn’t stop.

To his left, he saw three crumpled forms, partially obscured by the layers of stone and wood that covered them. Tom, Karl, Dec - all motionless. He coughed, weakly, the cloying ash making it difficult to breath. He didn’t want to look in front of him, he didn’t want to sit up, he didn’t want to see what he had done.

But he had to. His burning muscles practically screaming in protest, he forced himself to sit up, his hands holding his weak form up. One, two, and three, still, huddled forms. He was nearly choking on the dust and ash in the air. His head was dizzy now, brain spinning from the lack of oxygen. He felt himself fall back again, head thumping painfully against the cracked stone. He had been too late. Distantly, as his vision fuzzed over, he saw a greenish wisp of something crawl over a mound of rubble, scurrying away quickly.

His vision went dark again.