#oc writings

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“There is no greater tragedy than to fall in love.”

Like all tales, it began with a king.

He likens himself to Zeus. It was his right, descendant of his many many offspring, who had inherited the throne of the Grecians on this land that flourished with bountiful olive trees tributes of Athena, rivers of vines of Dionysus own favorite grapes pressed into rich wines and even Zeus must have favored Timon for he made many sacrifices in honor of his great great grandfather. It is so by divine right of his blood, by his own practices, Timon had laid claim to a beautiful witch that hid herself from all the other dwellers of land. Beyond the shores of his land, there sat a lonely island that held a witch. Where beasts roamed it's tall grass, leopards stalked its trees, and it was filled with life and precious herbs. If one was desperate for a cure, they must make their way to her island, and hopefully survive the encounters of its living inhabitants. Stories of her beauty filled his dreams, hair dark as the reddest wines, her golden eyes rich as the ichor of Apollo's own sun, and skin so pale that Artemis had mistaken her for the moon itself.

Timon had sent messengers to bring her to his palace, he promised her the usual common things, gold, jewelry, power and of course above all himself. His tokens of marriage were returned scorched with messengers shaking in fear of the Earth Bound Caleb, who threw them from the island with his gods given power. 

“Sire! You mustn't seek her again, her protector would kill you if you dared try again.” One of them had begged,” There are other princesses who would be glad to sire your children!” The brave and crew who ventured to the island agreed in a weary chorus, unable to rise from their beds.

“Off to the dungeon's with you,” Timon dismissed them,”Useless!”

Like all kings, like all gods, Timon desired what he cannot touch.

She did not come as easily as the others. Timon knew of that, his own men had returned thinned out by her own hand and by her lover who sent many returned with threats. But Timon knew little of fear and was as brave as the wild boars that roamed the land. Demigods, or blessed warriors must answer to their gods at some point and that too included her lover; once he was called away; Timon struck.

Hailing down on her, chasing her until they brought her back to his castle, where he proclaimed he was to wed her. It would take time, but she will learn to love him and his other glittering desires, Timon was assured of that. He was so sure he found his Hera, that unfounded belief was soon shaken by a swift claw. 

“Augggh!” Timon retched. His own screams frightened him, he never knew he could make such a noise until now.

Through the hollow rich halls, from the gilded room, the emperor's screams echo as he clutches his eye. His dark eye hangs loosely between the spaces of his thick jeweled fingers, where thick blood dribbles to the ground, gazes around lost. Mangled! She crippled him! Timon's handsome face slashed by her  ornamented nails, dipped with poison of the most venomous snake in the land. Pitifully , she had lost one nail to his eye, the precious thing lodging in his pupil.

“You whore!” He bellows, his face red,” You ungrateful witch! Where are you!”

Watching him, his captive laughs at him, the serpentine witch mocks his pain as she lays dying on the mosaic tiles. "I told you," she rasps her smile stained red," I curse you! I curse you until the end of  Tartarus, you will never see the morning's dawn." With every word, her hatred bled into every breath she spat at him, if she was to die, then she would make sure he would never get to live another sunrise. “I curse your blood! I curse your name! I curse your legacy that you will never be remembered for all eternity!”

"Damn you! Damn you!" Timon bellows at her, his face red as his eye bleeds.

She passed between his cries for his servants, her spirit slipping away carried by nymphs of the underworld, her only regret was she hadn't been the one to land the killing blow. "Wretched thing!" Timon stomps at her corpse blindly, spitting," You shouldn't have been obedient! I was in my right! “

Here, our story had begun with a king who stole away the love of a hero, and like many tales before him it will end with the death of a tyrant. Upon every wrathful stomp he laid upon his dead Hera, Timon became deaf to his surroundings. He heard no cry that came from his servants, no shouts of mercy from his guards, and he did not become aware of the silence that penetrated the air from his once lively palace. The world held its breath as death flew up his grand staircase, and threw open his doors. It’s when his foot became stuck in the mouth of the wretched beast, was Timon finally aware of the ragged breathing of death.

Turning his only eye behind him, did Timon finally understand what all common men must find.

A name was whispered, it was not his. Timon would later regal his tale with how brave he was to stand up to injustice to any poor soul who sat next to him on Charon’s boat. However, that was not the case. Timon died, screaming for mercy as Caleb brought down his sword, hacking away at every limb he had, one by one until he was but a stump of a man twitching on his once grand floor. The demigod raised his sword once more, from his one good eye the last thing Timon saw was the name engraved on this monster’s sword.

She killed him again.

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Through the thick fog, Melinoe could spot the over hanging branches of pink tamarisk floating along the cool salted sea winds. From behind the pink florals, grew strong pines with strong bodies twisted up lording over the shores with sharp spears grown from their thick limbs. Her boat digs into the soft sands of the beach, uphill where the scent of sweet grass and full bloomed cups of narcissus swayed, hidden far behind the overgrown gardens of oleanders and asphodels, was the lair of the witch. Rather, home of the late witch who died decades beforehand to a legacy of Zeus. However it was not the witch Melinoe had come to find, but rather it was the soul who haunted the island, a demigod who had refused to leave for the gods. The serene island was silent of nymphs, not one soul stirs aside from his and Melinoe.

Beneath her burning feet, the dried grass gives way to a dirt pathway. Scattered along its old trail were scattered remains of armor, once polished and shiny, laid rusted along the path. Melinoe noted with a keen gaze, several were damaged beyond repair, bronze shells cracked like simple egg shells, shafts of lances lodged between dull helm some found homes in the bark of nearby trees

Stepping over the fallen skeleton of a mortal, Melinoe felt it. It would be foolish not to notice it. The island had become silent. The birds have fallen silent, scattering away to the nearby islands, the prey hid beneath the dirt, and the whole family of boars she had spotted did not make a single snort. The only sign of life was the spotted skin of a leopard, the elusive beast disappeared from sight. The princess heard no wind, the only sound she could hear was her own breathing. Before Melinoe could turn, a sharp blade peeked at the skin of her neck.

“Wait!” It was all the princess could say as the blade swung down. It would take another run, until she made it back on that island, no less wary than before.

The tale of the Witch and the Earth Bound Hero Caleb, a demigod of unknown legacy blessed by the god Ares and Aphrodite, was nothing short of a tragic Grecian tale. By the low smoldering hearth, Caleb regaled Melinoe  of this tragic tale, his low voice haunting the glimmering walls, echoing into the darkness of the empty home. His staff pokes the ever warm embers of the last pyre that burned there. The light of the dim fire illuminated the smooth stone walls, where the painted mural of a pale statuesque woman stood, her dress of emerald cloth with a belt of large azuli stones hanging from a gold twined belt. Her dark hair fans around her, in her hand she held a bright torch, in the other a coiled serpent.

Melinoë however was drawn to the matching green clothes that shielded the Witch of the Isles eyes, kept in place by a circlet, over her forehead sat a large stone of amethyst with one bright glittering pupil.

“She's beautiful,” Melinoë sighs, her hand pressed against the cold stone,” This must have been her home.”

“Our home,” Caleb said,” It was a reward for a task I was sent out by Aphrodite. I wanted my sister to be safe away from everyone, where no one could harm her. So I took her here, made the land to be filled with what her heart desires.”

“A noble cause,” Melinoë said warmly,” You loved her dearly.”

Her words however had an effect on the deceased man. The shade's eyes hood, hidden beneath those thick lashes. The moonlight touched his bare feet, its rays slipping through his body.

His eyes drawn tight as he grieves," Never have I regret anything more, than leaving her.”

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"Not a god," his sword is drawn, its edge sliding across the grass, parting the wet earth; distracted Caleb spoke, resentment brooding beneath his mortal flesh," Not a paragon of heroics, just a man who loved a woman. That's what scares gods.”

Love can blind, love can be foolish, but the ever so diligent warrior is reminded of his cause at this moment. The whispers of smoke from the ever burning sticks of incense swept over them, carried by the scent of sun warmed hay mixed with the sweet perfume of the island's flowers. A pleasant scent to the princess of the Underworld, but to Caleb it was a reminder. Something tragic twists between Caleb's eyes, the corner of his lips pressed together as if to silence the whimper bobbing in his throat. Not from sorrow, but from a festering agony born from self hatred and guilt that cannot be hidden. It would force a man to the worst places.

Melinoë felt his pain as if it was her own. Like her, he lost his only family to the hand of another so viciously, their tale ended with death from all sides. In death, Caleb didn't follow the natural cycle of life, nor would he answer the gods demands, he stayed fixated on this island and here he will stay. ‘Unless..’ 

“Come with me,” She said suddenly, determination flared in her voice,” I promise you, as my honor as the daughter of House of Hades, you will be reunited with your sister.” If not I who could return to mine, then at least this one could. 

Compassion she held for a fellow kin. Caleb spares her a glance. “You mean that?” He rises from his spot, his broad body towering over Melinoe. His voice, once vulnerable, had cooled,” The last time a god promised me a favor, it ruined everything. What says you won’t do the same?”

“I won’t,” Melinoe said undeterred by his hostility,” I swear to you, aid us in our fight against Cronos and you will be reunited with your sister.”

She shouldn’t be making promises she may not be able to keep, but with the war, they needed someone like the fabled Earth Bound Caleb on their side. If Hercules had a rival, it would have been him who stood as an equal. Silence settled between them, Caleb made no noise, his eyes dark as he thought over her proposal. By the moonlight, Melinoe felt relief when he gave a sharp nod.

“Understood, I’ll follow for now, but be warned,” his voice frosts over,” the second you betray me, it will not end well for you.”

She did not doubt him.

“Deal, welcome to the Crossroads, Caleb.”

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"Oh," Melinoe sighs, she watched as the witch slipped into the bath, her gaze fixated on her dainty feet. The warm waters of the bath drawing out her words she's been holding in since she first set her gaze upon her. From that mural of her back on that island, to finding this shade hidden away down in the depths of the underworld, Melinoë was curious of the precious sister of the Earth Bound Hero was so obsessed with. "Your feet, they really are as precious as he says."

"Who said that?" The witch looks over her shoulder with a raised brow. "I don't recall ever showing my feet so casually to.....no. Of course, he would." At the corner of her lips, the edge of a smile lifts, softening the harshness from her lovely face. It truly is a beautiful sight, for a moment she is not just a fellow sister in magic, but a woman who is deeply loved by a man who holds her high above his own well being. Perched on a smooth stone, she rests her head back against the bed of flowers that grew near the bath. “He must have told you all sorts of things about me,” The shade laughs, a smoldering chuckle that was just as attractive as the rest of her,” If it's anything embarrassing, don't believe him, if it's anything good then you can.”

Melinoë giggles,”No! Well…maybe something he said perked my interest, but it's been nothing but praises from him.”

“That fool he is,” she sighs, but there was no heat in her words, only fondness in her words,” He’s been waiting for me.”

The travel through Ultima Thule had slowly claimed everyone. Whisps of wind created by a friend, a bridge of crystal made of her cousin. Not even the young Leveilleur twins had been spared, sacrificing themselves to become light. She'd approached the summit with only her brother, the other half of her at her side. She'd been determined; she would stop this tragedy and save the people left behind on Etheirys, and avenge her friends. Auberon at her back, the two of them were unstoppable.

Then she'd seen what Meteion had become. Had felt the despair emanating out from her, despair fed by millennia of solitude. She couldn't let her brother near this. She clutched Azem's soulstone to her chest and prayed, for if it could summon allies to her surely it could- just this once, keep someone away. If she was a shard of Azem and Azem had been anything like her, surely this would work. As if powered by the desperation of her wishing, wind blew around the two and the now-familiar circle of light appeared under Auberon's feet. His reaction was fast, and he was able to grab onto Amalthea's arm, his expression panicked and pleading.

"Thea, what are you doing?"

"Sending you back, keeping you safe," she gently touched his cheek with the hand he holding onto,

"I can't let you do this. This next part I have to do alone."

Auberon's eyes filled with tears, the two of them mirrors even in their pain,

"You promised before we left, we'd see this through until the end. That you wouldn't leave me behind again. You promised."

Amalthea could feel his grip on her wrist becoming fainter, not because he was letting go but because he was beginning to fade as the crystal's power transported him away. She swallowed several times before she was able to get out any words.

"I know."

They were pitiful, no where near encompassing the depth of the pain she felt, or the betrayal she knew he was feeling. They'd been through so much, side to side, back-to-back, twins who had been entwined with each other since before they were born. They'd faced despots, and devils, seen corners of their world others couldn't even dream of, and this was where it was ending. On a desolate piece of rock and the end of the universe.

"You could die."

The words brought fresh tears, tears Amalthea had long thought had been shed. Living past this had always been questionable, but she'd accepted that.

“Hail, my Lords! A new batch of souls is arriving!” A reaper clad in white curtsied to the seven giant thrones before her. “They will need to be re-sorted by your terms, but we’ve done our best to categorize most! Please accept these mortals we’ve brought unto you with open hands!”

“About time,” an arrogant voice boomed. 

“Hush now, you’re always so impatient!” Another chastised the first. “Thank you, dear reaper. We will see to it that this is done accordingly. You are dismissed.”

The reaper disappeared in a flurry of white feathers, allowing the room to be all theirs. The Seven Kings of the Veil departed their thrones, making their way towards the collection of souls put before them.

"There's much more than we expected," the King of Greed raised an eyebrow, "are they changing rules again?"

"Mother says they aren't sure what they want yet." The King of Wrath snarked. "They best not ask for them back." He put simply, shaking one of the sinners’ souls in his hand to listen to it scream. He chuckled at the sound.

"Oh, stop terrorizing them," the King of Lust sighed gently, "they're already damned. Don't be rude, Sathanas."

"Shall I terrorize you instead, Asmodeus?" Sathanas threatened.

"Screw off." Asmodeus hissed in return.

"Quiet!" Lucifer threw out his arm between them, shaking a finger. "You two are too loud. I'm trying to perfect my sinners' new forms! Shouldn't you two do the same?"

The siblings looked between one another, before huffing and turning away. Deciding he'd won, Lucifer beamed, "I'm making them in the image of angels, but with my own spin. Just to mock Him!"

"Brilliantly stealing ideas and claiming them intentional," Mammon rolled his eyes. "That's just like you indeed."

"Mammon!" Lucifer gasped. "To accuse me of such a thing! Who's to say yours are any better?!"

"They're original!" Mammon slammed his hands down. "My demons are going to highly surpass yours, just you wait!"

---

As the two brothers began to argue, one of their younger brothers was busy carving into the vessels of his own.

"What are you doing, Beelz?" Belphegor knelt down by his shorter brother. "That looks fun."

"I'm giving them more mouths. To eat more food!" Beelzebub responded cheerfully. "I know Gluttony isn't all food, but it makes them real scary! I want everyone to know they're mine!"

"Scary, huh? Hey, can I make mine scary too?"

"Oh sure!" Beelz nodded. "Ours can be friends!" 

Belphegor smiled, "I'd like that."

The end of even the worst lives began anew in the hands of these Seven beasts. Fearing death means you don't know what comes next, but someone has you. Someone is helping you along.