#rocktoberchallenge

His fingers catch on the edge of the strings. Eddie grunts a little, more irritated than anything else. He draws his hand back to eye the calloused over skin. Years of work, hard labor and handling instruments means he’s an old hat at playing guitar at least. Some of the old skin had broken, but wasn’t bleeding.

Even then, occasionally, Clementine catches him by surprise.

“C’mon, Clem, gimme a break.” He laughs lowly, he rubs the finger against his shirt absently. He picks back up at the strings, playing a song that was slowly becoming familiar.

The cheers from Ironheade only solidified why he needed to keep going on. Even with the occasional surprise.

“It’s simple, isn’t it?” His voice dripped with honey, a cloying sweetness that set Ophelia’s teeth on edge. He circled around her, his hooves clattering against old stone. The thick fog moving across couldn’t hide the wretched form of Doviculus from her sight. He stuck out, something disgusting in a peaceful weary place. The doom lands were being tainted by his presence alone. “You and I have a common goal, my dear.”

“How do I know you won’t betray me?” Ophelia questions, warily watching the demon emperor. She sharpened the tears at her fingertips. Ready to strike.

“You don’t.” He says simply, “But, what is his death worth to you? How badly do you want to see that whelp dead?”

“I’m going to kill him.” She says plainly. No hesitation in stating the obvious. She tore apart the damn landscape to find Eddie Riggs.

“My goal is the same. Why not let me assist you? I certainly won’t, get in the middle of your battle plans.” He continues, wiggling his fingers vaguely at the word plans. Disinterest clear on what her actual plans were. Ophelia wasn’t sure if she was insulted or relieved. The less he knew the better. “I can help corral the little thing and his army for you. Guide him directly into that maw of yours. You snap the trap and crush him.”

“What are you getting out of this? I want the final blow, I want his body and soul as mine.” She wouldn’t relent on that. She had a casket built for him. Ophelia intended to display him.

“I want that little half demon gone. He’s done enough to disrupt all of our lives. I’d like to go back to my own schedule. Not chase after a hatchling like him.” He extends a hand to hers, an offer. “So, do we have a deal?”

Ophelia isn’t a fool. She knows what this is. He would gladly kill her the first chance he had. She tips her head to the side, before offering a hand in kind.

It isn’t like he could kill her in a way that would matter.

He raises her hand to his lips, aged leather and tusks bump against her knuckles. Disgust settles low in her gut. Sweet true lies had their places. This was one of those places.

“I look forward to working with you.” He smiles, the leather squeaks. Ophelia gives a curtsy, her eyes trained on him. The sea burbled sharpened once again, ready to lash out if he came at her. He was in her territory, she could kill him so easily…

“Enjoy it while you can, demon.” She answers. Doviculus chuckled lowly, unfurling his wings. Without another words he flew into the sky, disappearing into the fog. A disgusting smear of sludge in her skyline.

The crackle of static over the radio earns an exhausted breath from Eddie. He pinches the bridge of his nose, forcing himself to actually sit up. His whole body protests at the motion. He isn’t as spry as he used to be. He isn’t the spry thirty year old who swept in to save humanity from demons. He was pushing closer to sixty and his body wasn’t quite able to recover from this kind of thing.

“Fuck-“ He breathes out. He blinks rapidly, shaking his head. “Okay, I-“ He swallows thickly. He lets his head thunk back against the head rest of his car’s seat.

The sky is already starting to shift colors overhead. Dawn threatening to break.

Ophelia had to be worried at this point. He left in a hurry last night. She probably rallied the kids by now to try and find him.

He stares at the sky, avoidant, just for a bit longer before he glances down at his hands. His nails had started to turn naturally black, taking on an edge. He ran his tongue along his teeth, able to feel the sharpened edge that had come to fruition. He remembered the white fraying edge that had started to seep into his hair. His body had been changing again. Shifting with the time and age he had taken on.

His demonic heritage was becoming more obvious now. There was no way to spin the changes happening to anyone who saw him. The demon venom excuse was pitiful, but they had clung to it for this long.

“You’d think I was done with demon puberty by now, huh?” He questions the still air around him. “But, a guy can’t catch a break. If I grow horns next…”

Dark hair tumbled over her shoulders as she gazed out into the darkness. The sky was a bleak suggestion, something that only made the landscape blur together. The First Ones undulated over each others bodies. A writhing mass of flesh and loose pieces. The clatter of claws, clack of teeth and shrieks of life filled the darkness. The king of these beings was nearby, awake, watching. She could feel its eyes on her.

She tips her head to the side, a song pressing tight against her ribs, pushing its way up and out of her. Aetulia couldn’t stop the melody from leaving her body. She couldn’t help but close her eyes, falling sway to the song that left her very being.

A distant roar met her voice.

It met her voice.

It came to her.

The very sky was ripped open by something Aetulia could scarcely describe. A raw power that left her bare skin prickling.

Yet.

She couldn’t stop herself from singing. Grief at a loss she was about to cause sat raw and jagged in her chest, but…

What could she do?

All she could do was sing. Call out to a world that was bleak and hopeless as she felt. The splatter of mud, and the death cries that followed did little to ease her.

“Who handed Lita a microphone…” Muttered Kill Master under his breath as he reclined further back into the seat of his bike. The Fire Baron snorted in agreement. The two had parked next to one another in the loose crowd that was forming at the base of the stage.

Rima just cast both men a withering stare from her perch upon her metal beast. The woman could kill them with just that if she wanted.“She’s going to speak, silence.” Her voice brokered no argument.

Kill Master rolled his eyes under his sunglasses, tipping his hat back politely enough to seem like he was paying attention. The microphone peaked a few times, Lita grimaced at it, whilst Eddie gently corrected the issue without a word. He gave her an encouraging kind of smile alongside a thumbs up.

He cared about Ironheade plenty. Kill Master also knew Lita Halford gave the driest speeches known to humankind. Eddie usually did the speaking for a reason. The roadie could rev up a crowd with his excitement and smile alone. Lita was so harsh she tended to make people cower, or so awkward, no one knew what she was getting at. The healer figured that was why Eddie was standing behind Lita to some degree, ready to take over if she needed it.

He paid enough attention to the speech. Mostly focused on the subtle (not really) shift of Fire Baron’s hand finding his own. Callous fingers lace together with little effort. He can feel the calloused pad of the baron’s thumb moving across the side of his thumb. No one pays them much mind, just shuffling where they stand, trying to listen intently.

The two men quietly take soak in each others' presence as Lita talks about Ironheade’s future and alliances. She prattles on about allying themselves with old enemies. About grand future projects. The more technical things get taken over by Eddie after a bit. The crowd loosens up when he speaks.

Fire Baron steals glances at him from the side of his sunglasses, his lips curling into something of a genuine smile, if only for a moment.

She walks calmly along the surface of the water, watching the dark stillness ripple underfoot.

The sea burbled contentedly under her. She had taken the plunge into the sea at her lowest. Only to emerge a new person. A better person. Far better than anyone in Ironheade could possibly conceive. For all her trying, for all that desperation to be one of them- it never truly mattered.

This, this was far better. Ophelia felt more real than she ever had before. She felt born again. Every emotion felt new, bright, like stars bursting under her skin. Ophelia could feel everything so much more clearly now. She didn’t need to hinder herself to fit what they needed of her or expected. She wasn’t some sad little animal scrabbling at the edge of the crowd for scraps.

She was the queen now. She was the heart and mind of her people. The voice of the sea. Aetulia called to her and Ophelia answered.

Ophelia raised her arms over her head, swaying across the surface. Relief, jubilation and vindication poured through her. A laugh breaks through, jagged at the edges as Ophelia danced her way across the sea.

“Finally- finally!” She cried out. Her dark hair whipped around her face as she danced. Her feet graze the edge of land. Ophelia leapt forward, stretching her arms wide as she soaked in the power radiating around her. Every death, every bit of grief and despair lived here. All of it was hers to take.

“This is my time!”

She raises a fist high into the air, parting the sea cleanly down the middle. The undead stirred within, before heeding her call. Bodies lurched, dragged and shuffled their way to her. Each new soldier gave Ophelia a jolt of joy she couldn’t put into words. This was her army, her people. Her rebellion.

The stench of sweat was almost overpowering at this point. Eddie couldn’t help but cover his mouth with his hand, grimacing behind it as he moved further down the hill towards the smell. His other hand tightened its grip on the basket in his grasp. He had been on too many tours to count at this point, and smelled some rancid buses, but this was a new level of stink.

These guys were fresh from the mines. Eddie wouldn’t be surprised if they hadn’t had a real bath in years. He could only guess the demons maybe hosed people off sparingly to keep the gyre hot. Human suffering wasn't something demons were concerned over. Nor the stink, apparently. Maybe demons had bad senses of smell?

His sneakers scuffed against grass and rock as he pushed further down the slope of the center of the rebellion’s, no, Ironheade’s base of operations. Eddie wasn’t sure how these open plains had one section that just corkscrewed downwards into a hot spring in the center of it, but he wasn’t complaining. It made getting their new troops clean up way easier than walking all of them to the beach. He had to draw his hand away from his mouth to steady himself on some rocks, wondering why Lars hadn't made this safer yet. Eddie filed the idea of safety rails away in the back of his mind for later. This place needed pick-me-ups, and Eddie could make that happen. He could hear voices further at the top of the camp, but he could make out words much more clearly now. The various headbangers were talking amongst themselves as they bathed, soaking in the hot water and trying to understand the mysteries of soap.

“I can’t believe this, man.”

“I know!”

“This is… almost like a new lot in life, bro.”

“I’m ready to fight these stupid stinky demons.” A splash followed, along with soap skipping across the surface of the water. Eddie could tell from the fumbling and surprised sounds.

“We will fight, and we will kick some ass!” Eddie couldn't help but smile at the excitement, managing to resist his urge to fist pump. He needed to act like he hadn't heard the whole conversation on his way down. Play it cool, be casual. He needed to impress these guys still. Not as much as Lars, but, still pretty important.

Eddie’s arrival seemed to stall the conversation. A cheer of his name went up as the roadie grinned back at the group, pretending they didn’t stink as he held up a basket. Beer bottles clanked together from his movement.

“When you finish up, beer on me!”

A cheer followed that. A few men jumped around, splashing hot water at each other. Eddie couldn’t help but laugh.

Her fingertips grazed over the surface of the water. Hesitant, gentle. The motion causes a ripple to spread across the surface. Ophelia finds herself unable to look away from her own reflection. Dark unfamiliar eyes stare back at her. Her face is what it should be. Death, for as short-lived as it was, hadn’t changed the slant of her mouth, the curve of her cheek, the droop of her lips.

Discomfort lodges in the back of her throat as she stares. Half expecting the smooth surface of the water to break as inky tendrils shoot out at her.

Instead, the basin of water remains still. Hot under her touch. The bath she had drawn for herself, not flowing and swaying with the call of some unknown god. It was just still water with scented flowers thrown into it.

In the stillness of her new tent at the fringes of Ironheade, she has the time to look at herself. To wonder.

Was that really me? The question lingers, nestled in the back of her mind, as she finishes stripping down. Ophelia tosses her clothes aside. She can pick those up later, for now, her bath will only get colder. Ophelia slides into the aged wooden basin, letting herself soak. Her arms settle at the side of the tub, fingers tapping at old wood absently. If she was in better standing with Ironheade, she would go to the main bathing area with everyone else.

Ophelia is very aware she’s not welcome yet. She can’t help but grimace at the thought, drawing her arms into the tub, crossing them over her chest. She tips her head backwards, staring at the fabric and pelt ceiling of her tent.

The brunette sinks backwards, scrunching herself as small as she can. She submerges herself completely into the water, closing her eyes tightly. Ophelia thinks of the sea. She dwells on the comfort of the water and grief that swallowed her whole.

The urgent need for air is what pushes her back up. She flounders in the water, sitting up as she sucks in a deep breath, then another. Wet hair clings to her face, her back and shoulders. Ophelia scrubs a hand across her face. She plucks some loose flower petals out of her hair with a long sigh.