Oedipus Complex (Castlevania SotN)Disclaimer: The setting and Alucard do not belong to me, and no money was made from the writing of this fic.Oedipus Complex (Castlevania SotN) by Weiila
The castle was ancient.
In many places the walls seemed to remain standing, holding up the ceiling by the power of some dark entity's will alone. Tattered carpets laid strewn across the floors, cowering from their own tears and the dark stains splattered across them. The paintings just barely remained on their walls, while the tapestries silently fell to the floor in dusty drips of cloth.
Piece by piece, everything crumbled. Everything bore the weight of centuries, a heavy burden in itself. But the rooms also had to bear the footsteps of undead, of sharp talons and slithering shadows. Malice flowed through the corridors like blood through a vein. It had been that way for as long as anyone could remember.
The castle was alive.
It was not a surprise, for it was nothing new. Alucard had no idea when he had learnt about it. Perhaps he had alw
Not so Blind (DQVIII, King Trode)Disclaimer: All characters and places are the property of SquareEnix. No money was made, was intended to be made, or will ever be made from this work of fanfiction.Not so Blind (DQVIII, King Trode) by Weiila
Not so Blind
He was not blind.
It would have required a lack of two eyes to miss out on what was going on – possibly also a loss of hearing. And still, it was just about the only thing which king Trode did not raise a comment or vehement protest against. He simply watched and thought about it, pretending not to.
It had started long before the journey started, he realized that. Yet, he had not noticed it before they arrived in Farebury. Until then, perhaps, he had been blind – simply grateful of his retainer's loyalty.
Despite being told to rest at the inn, the youngster had come back out with a piece of grilled meat and a bunch of carrots. At that time, king Trode had been so angry at the townspeople for their attack that he had simply torn into his meal – well, "tearing into" as much as dignity a
Diplomacy - Chapter oneChapter one, Hands held outDiplomacy - Chapter one by Weiila
Although the sun shone down in full force upon Durotar, the salt-scented wind on top of the butte could be pretty sharp. It pushed at Jaina's blue cloak, not so much that it fluttered but gently pressed against her. Thrall spotted her long before his zeppelin came close to the cliff formation rising from the landscape – a white and blue dot against the orange of the land. Standing there, watching the dirigible move nearer and nearer.
A rare feeling for him, that somebody waited for him to arrive – normally people came to him and not vice versa.
Seeing her from such a distance did beg the question, however, how long she had been waiting and why. Normally when they met, he saw nothing on top of the butte until coming much closer. After all their "secret" conferences through the years, Jaina knew well how long it took for him to make it to the meeting point. If she teleported there so much more earlier than she had to, there must be some pressing su
Diplomacy (what-if Thrall/Jaina) - PrologueAuthor's note: Alright, a few things to get the setting straight (author rambles, feel free to skip. I have done my best to make these things apparent in the story, but I mention them straight out to avoid confusion):Diplomacy (what-if Thrall/Jaina) - Prologue by Weiila
1. This is a "what if" type of story, set about a year after the opening of the Dark Portal. Enough time for settlements to be built, but no bosses have been downed yet so to speak. Note: This was written before the Warcraft comic had stated that Varian Wrynn kills Onyxia. I have chosen not to edit this afterwards, as the story is already heavily "what if" as it is and the Horde having killed Onyxia to help Theramore makes things a little easier for Thrall and Jaina to make their case.
2. Some quests in WoW will be mentioned, but their timeline in the story may not match their level. That means, a low-level quest chain can appear to have taken place almost at the same time as a hi
Author's note: Unfinished beginning of a story I never intend to finish. Ideas up for grabs, see description.
Despite that the sun still painted the sky with yellow and red, fireworks exploded into the evening breeze. Flags and storms of confetti struggled to keep up with the colorful rain of sparkles, the cheers of the relived people near enough overpowering the bangs.
For the first time in years there was a feeling of being safe, and the people savored it greedily – prepared to take it from anybody who offered it, no matter who he was. And he did offer it now, gazing across the moving mass of men, women and children filling up the streets before the palace. They cheered his name, reaching their hands towards the floating podium upon which he stood.
They shouted his name with joy, surely for the first time. He would not deny that.
The power was his and had long since been, but this would be the first time that it was proven like this. In a way it felt strange, but he embraced it as were it something given – yet it was something that he would fight for. Yes, such things were already arranged, after all.
It was as if the city had gone mad, if you thought about it. An outside observer suddenly looking at it all would doubtlessly be astonished, at least until he too received the news that had riled up the people.
They had been saved.
The man in the center of all attention raised his hands and the cheering rose to a deafening scream before faltering enough for him to be heard. The voice booming from the speakers shook the air.
“Citizens of Haven City, the vile metal heads have received a mortal blow thanks to the strength and bravery of our soldiers.”
Claps and whistles joined the cheers. For the first time, the grim men wearing armor colored like blood found themselves under grateful gazes.
“Their leader is dead and those that made it inside our walls have been exterminated. For the time being, there is nothing for us to fear.”
There was no weight on the “time being”, but for a moment it seemed as if the cheers stumbled. He smiled to himself, throwing a glance at the man standing beside him. That one bowed his head slightly to hide his expression.
“There is great reason to thank many soldiers, foremost of course our commander.”
A hand motion at the one who straightened up, the smirk replaced with a pleasant smile. The cheers grew strong again. The speech halted for a short while, letting the praise wash over another man who deserved it.
“But there is another one who should be noticed at this very moment, a man who together with commander Erol struck the final blow upon the metal head leader.”
Hand swept around and a soldier stepped forwards on the platform, his own commander taking half a step aside to allow him passage. A new wave of cheers rolled over the streets as two hands reached up to remove the crimson helmet-
A flutter of red that did not fit in, a trembling speck dancing across metal until it found skin. The only eye that was left blinked and the man drew back, raising an arm in defense.
Gloved hands slammed into a massive chest and two men fell just as a shot went off, clipping a shower of concrete from the palace wall.
The crowd’s liveliness turned to screams of fear, chaos covering the figure who turned and started to run before anybody else. Guards began to mow their way through the hysterical people trying to catch up with the assassin.
Through it all, there was a hiss.
The helmet hit the platform’s floor, a static wheeze rising from the facemask. But it went unnoticed, drowning just like everything else in the roar.
Somebody looked around, and screamed.
Blonde hair flowed in the wind as the head was thrown back in a feral screech. As more and more people turned, the teeth exposed in the roar grew into fangs and the hair lost all color. Dark lightning bolts flared across the body even as the creature leapt from the platform, people trampling each other in desperate attempts to get out of the way.
It stormed right through as if there were no people at all, long claws tearing the clothes and skin of anybody getting in the way. For every leap forwards it lost more and more of its original form, horns sprouting from the hair while the skin took on a sickly paleness.
(insert brutality )
A shrill whistle ripped into the air and the demon froze, claws hovering above remains of a face.
The hand fell and the creature stood, turning towards the podium and the men standing there. Without making a sound it walked away from the half dead assassin, leaving him to the guards pushing their way into the open area.
The crowd stumbled, recoiled, anything to open up a path. They all went ignored, the black eyes turning neither left nor right as the demon returned to where he had hit the ground minutes earlier.
Heavy steps walked down the stair, and a hand reached out. Fingers buried in white hair, unconcerned with the horns. No reaction.
A shudder tore through the demon upon the single word, and with a gasp he recoiled from the touch. The chaos of hair fell down, taking on the softly blonde and green color while the natural weapons disappeared. Finally the skin deepened to a healthy tone and the man shook his head as if confused.
He stopped moving as an arm slung around his shoulders, yellow and dark cloth of a racing suit grinding against the crimson shoulder panzer fastened on his shoulder. A friendly gesture of a commander, to a soldier – as alien as the beast that had just torn its way through Haven’s people.
“You have nothing to fear.”
Baron Praxis’ voice boomed out once more, and he mentioned at the two men standing beside him.
“This is your second hero. I assure you that he is harmless to those who do not threaten the city.”
To summon a cheer this time was a lot to ask, but eventually the people managed to produce something – because Baron Praxis glared at them.
And empty blue eyes stared at the tattooed face shadowed by a metallic mask.
“Good boy, Jak,” he said.
Nobody else heard him, his words coaxing no reaction.
But in the trembling crowd, a young woman with teal hair pressed both her hands to her mouth, shaking from head to toe as she stared at the blonde man.
Trembling fingers hit the “Repeat last number” button on the phone, bloodless hands pressing it to an ear.
The woman held her breath, praying both for the dull voice of the answering machine and a living, real voice to break the empty beeps. She nearly swallowed her tongue when it came.
She had not known what she had expected. For him to be shaken? Pressured? Regretful?
Only when she heard the always professional tone of his voice she knew that much. She drew in a shaky breath, stumbling over her words.
“I-I’ve been t-trying to call y-you for an hour!”
Not a moment’s pause before he replied.
She tried to think of a reply, an explanation – but he was quicker, hissing a curse.
“Don’t tell me you saw that!”
The trembles stopped immediately. “That”? For the first time in ages, her face twisted in rage and she snarled.
“How couldn’t I?” she near screamed, “what the hell do you mean- you knew he- I asked you! What happened to him?!”
A pause. She heard him breathing, her hands clenching around the phone as new shivers shook her, a cold hand digging through her stomach.
Seconds seemed to stretch into eternity, until finally he spoke again.
“Shit. Shit, shit- Keira, listen. Meet me by the north side of the prison in five, okay? I’ll explain everything.”
She repeated it before thinking, herself hearing the doubt in her voice.
“… I promise,” he added.
She bit her lower lip.
“O-okay,” she finally managed, “I’ll… see you there.”
A click, and a dry beep stretched out before her. It seemed to be the only sound in the world as she closed her eyes, pressing hands and phone to her face.
She did not make it to the meeting until ten minutes later, but despite this he was waiting without a hint of impatience. It was easy to spot him in the thin crowd, red hair jarring against the duller colors of his suit. He watched her every motion as she slid off her zoomer, reaching out to give her support.
Keira met his gaze, unsure what she should do. He looked a lot calmer without the racing mask adorning his head, and yet it seemed to accentuate the dark tattoos covering his face.
“You shouldn’t be driving in that condition,” he said.
She jumped slightly.
The corner of his lip twitched. She narrowed her eyes at him, and he immediately sobered.
“You’re shaking,” he said.
With that, he kindly but resolutely took her hand and turned towards the hulking frame of the prison.
“Come on, let’s get this over with.”
He sighed, looking her in the eye.
“This isn’t going to be pretty, I’m afraid. Are you-”
“Erol, I have to see Jak.”
She snarled again, clenching her teeth as he squeezed her hand.
Minutes later, she stood without the support and stared. Memories of guards moving aside and a half dozen doors opening melted away, her lips parting in a broken sob.
Bars cut the white room in half, blank nothingness enveloping every single shadow and leaving nothing to hide behind. And in the far back corner on the other side of the thin metal pillars was a ghost.
Knees pulled up against a chest, draped in the plain clothes worn by the KGs beneath their armor. Hands lying limply beside the body propped up against the junction of walls, eyes staring straight ahead.
A hand on her shoulder.
“He showed up a few weeks ago and offered to help us fight the invasion.”
The voice became a drone in her head, words only making sense after a few seconds.
“I told him that you were looking for him, but he said that he had to stop the metal heads before he could do anything else.”
Slowly Keira’s brain began to work again, and from it all she could only pick one word that made the slightest bit of sense.
“Said?” she whispered, confused.
Nothing made sense. It couldn’t be him, there.
But though there was age, longer hair, a goatee disrupting his features – she knew. She recognized him, even when she wanted to scream that it wasn’t true.
“Yes. He knew it could go wrong.”
“We killed the metal head leader but… the bastard threw him into a pool of dark eco before dying. He was like that when we pulled him out.”
Another hand, and she let him drag her into an embrace. Boneless, sprawling against his chest, shaking her head.
Afterwards she could not remember leaving the room, the prison, the way home. Only that in the end, Erol helped her stumbling steps out of a Hellcat cruiser – maybe he had said something about not wanting her to drive her zoomer. Again.
She staggered towards the door to her garage, wanting desperately to be alone but he was still one step behind her even as she fumbled with her keys.
She turned around, unable to speak a reply.
A streetlamp shone behind him, obscuring his face from her sight.
“We’re trying to help him,” he said.
No reply. He sighed, looked away. His profile became pitch black in the eerie illumination.
“I hoped that he would react if he saw you. Maybe in a while…”
He rubbed his chin and looked back at her.
“There’s one thing.”
Finally she managed to speak, though her voice almost broke. Erol assembled her hands in his, holding them tightly as if trying to support her again.
“Sometimes he mutters a name,” he said, “’Daxter’. It seems important to him.”
Silence. He bowed his head slightly, looking at her from the shadow of a mask that wasn’t there.
“Do you know what it means?” he asked, “we want to help him, if at all possible.”
Keira shook her head, closing her eyes. Trying to think.
“Daxter is… a childhood friend of ours,” she finally said, “I don’t know where he is.”
“What does he look like?”
She crouched, head dropping as she shook it again. One of his hands went to her arms.
“Oh no… no. I understand.”
His voice was soothing all of a sudden, other hand nimbly picking the clattering key chain from her fingers and unlocking the door for her. Keira backed towards it, taking the keys back as she left his grip.
“I shouldn’t press you. Give me a call if you want to talk, okay?”
But he didn’t say sorry.
She managed to straighten up enough to look at him, trying to force even a tiny smile onto her lips.
“I-I will. Thanks.”
He might have smiled as he tipped an imaginary hat and turned around, boots clacking against the ground as he returned to the Hellcat. She might have pulled the door closed a little too forcefully, but she never saw him glance over his shoulder at the sharp sound.
The garage was a death trap in the darkness, gears, parts and equipment lining the floor – and still she took no time to turn the light on, finding the door on the other end of the room from memory alone. She hurried up the stair to her apartment, turning the light on in the first room. Never stopping she rushed on into the bedroom, but left the light off.
Shrouded by the dark she peeked out the window, making sure that the cruiser had left.
Only when she was sure of that she turned and blindly tore open a drawer beside her bed, rummaging through the varied inside. Clattering and bouncing sounds erupted around her hands, but she did not stop until her fingers curled around a strangely shaped object. She pulled it out quickly and fumbled across it, kneeling on the floor so that the bed would shield the window.
A soft beep, and the communicator folded itself up.
Trembling fingers pushed a number she had refused, yet still remembered.
After only a moment a small, fuzzy face appeared on the small screen. Bloodshot eyes stared at her from the warm orange of the little creature’s fur, and he opened his mouth.
She spoke before him.
“I saw him, Daxter!”
This time, her voice broke. Tears streamed from her eyes as she choked, sobbing to the display in her lap.
“I’m so sorry, so sorry I didn’t beli-lieve-”
He should have said so much more. He should have made a joke, something to make it better. Anything. But he only spoke two words, then hunched, clutching his head.
“That assassin wasn’t one of our guys, Keira,” he said, “they staged it. They wanted to show him off.”
She shuddered, trying to wipe her face with the back of her hand. But new tears kept streaming.
“Th-they b-broke him…”