Chapter Text
“Blade,” Kafka said, laying a gloved hand on the man’s shoulder. “The kid’s here.”
Scarlet eyes flickered up briefly, behind a curtain of shaggy, blue-black hair, barely glancing at the kid in question. “Mn.”
Kafka gave one of her sultry little laughs. “What he means is, it’s nice to see you again, Caelus.”
“Likewise,” Caelus said drily.
“So, you actually showed up,” Silverwolf remarked, as she eyed him up and down. She was slouched in a chair with her arms crossed and her feet up on the table, like she couldn’t go a single second without reminding everyone how rebellious she was, or she’d cease to function. “Looks like I lost the bet.”
“It was in the script. Never bet against the script,” Kafka chided, in a sing-song tone.
“Hey, what’s it like to have a Stellaron in your chest? Can you feel it?”
“Yeah, I can,” Caelus nodded, widening his bright-gold eyes so he looked deranged. “It talks to me, too. Tells me to do things. Huh? What’s that, Stellaron? Beat her up and take her wallet? Well, that’s not very nice.”
“You’re the third least funny person in this room,” Silverwolf glowered.
“There are only…four people in here.”
“Kafka only makes mom jokes and Blade’s nonverbal. It’s a low bar.”
Caelus happened to glance toward Blade and got a jump-scare, finding those scarlet shark-eyes already fixed on him. He had to admit, the whole silent psychopath thing was really working for the guy. Though, it might be less intimidating if he weren’t sitting there hugging a huge sword. Then again, maybe not. Caelus doubted he needed the sword to kill people.
Silverwolf blew a bubble with her gum and popped it loudly. “Well, welcome to the freakshow, Nameless. You’re in good company.”
“I’m sure you’d like to get settled in,” Kafka’s lilting voice said, suddenly near his ear. “Bladie, why don’t you show our guest where he’ll be staying.”
Caelus looked straight at the man, this time, defiantly meeting his flat, emotionless gaze. Without a word, Blade unfurled his long, leanly muscled body from the chair…and walked straight past him. He didn’t even pause before he vanished out the door. Getting nothing but an apologetic shrug from Kafka, Caelus shook his head and went after him.
And that was how he found himself walking down a narrow hall in a strange ship, orbiting a planet he’d never been to (not that he’d been to all that many), following a man who called himself Blade without a hint of irony, like he was a bellhop and not a maniac with a murder-fixation on one quarter of Caelus’ exactly four friends.
They’d only walked a short distance, when Blade stopped—so abruptly Caelus almost ran into his back—and waved his hand across a biometric scanner. The door slid open.
“Here.”
That was the first word Blade spoke directly to Caelus, in that husky growl of a voice, that suffused anything he said with low-key menace. He stepped aside, to let Caelus pass through, then followed him into the room.
Caelus stopped short, confused. He’d expected standard, generically furnished, sterile-looking guest quarters, like on the space station or other non-luxury ships. This room was furnished to someone’s specific taste, with recognizable Xianzhou style furniture and artwork, including a wide, low-framed futon bed, on the opposite wall. There were even coats hanging on the rack, by the door. It was clearly occupied.
“Uh, Mr. Blade? Is this the right room?”
Blade had stepped over to the window, from which one could see the actual infinity of space, and was standing with his back to him. “I sleep very little. Feel free to take the bed.”
Caelus opened his mouth and closed it again. “This is your room? Wh—why would I be staying in your room?”
Blade ignored him and stared out the window.
Alright, calm down. This is no big deal, Caelus told himself. The ship isn’t very big, and the other crew members are women, so it’s probably the only option, for sleeping arrangements. But seriously? Blade, of all people? Was he really supposed to be roomies with the scariest man in the known universe?
He cast his eyes apprehensively around, at the sparse personal possessions, then at the broad shoulders and long, blue-black and blood-red hair, of the man who had definitely tried to cut Dan Heng in half, in front of his face.
Though, a few days after that, they’d had a weirdly cordial interaction, when Blade had a mara episode and Kafka sought Caelus’ help. Not that Caelus had been entirely not terrified of him, then, it was just that he seemed so…subdued, at that moment.
Right now, all his hackles were up. Maybe being forced to share his private living space with an ostensible teenager was making him grouchy. He was old, like Mr. Yang, who didn’t like anyone to come into his room, at all, let alone sleep in there with him.
Caelus had tried. He was patiently informed (by a shirtless, glasses-less, and sleepily gruff-voiced Mr. Yang, who’d been in bed for hours already) that adult humans don’t share beds with underaged people, because of the untoward implications.
Caelus argued that he wasn’t actually an underaged person, not being human at all, but Mr. Yang wasn’t having any of it. Thus rebuffed, Caelus went to Dan Heng’s room and snuggled up to him, instead, grumbling about how Mr. Yang was way too sexy to be such a prude. Dan Heng wisely pretended to be asleep.
“Don’t worry about the mara,” Blade’s gravel road of a voice said, jolting Caelus out of his thoughts. “If a fit comes on, they’ll lock me in the hold, till it passes.”
“That’s not even what I was thinking about. People think about stuff other than you, you know,” Caelus retorted. “Wait, what do you mean, lock you in the hold?”
“Kafka usually takes care of it, before I lose control, but sometimes I must be physically restrained. It’s for everyone’s safety.”
Caelus swallowed a pang of sympathy. “Does it really get that bad?”
Blade cast a wry glance over his shoulder, by way of an answer.
“Well. Still,” Caelus maintained, unaccountably indignant on this near-stranger’s behalf. “It can’t be right for them to just chain you up, like you’re some kind of wild animal, when you’re already suffering. That’s cruel.”
Blade made a sound halfway between a snarl and a bitter laugh. “Cruel. You don’t know what cruel is. You are a child, in a dark room, unaware it is talking to the monster under the bed.”
“I’m not scared of you,” Caelus declared, drawing himself up as tall as he could. “Kafka already told me you won’t hurt me.”
“I am not threatening you, I am warning you,” Blade rasped, wheeling around to fix him with that dead-eyed gaze. “When the mara is on me, I become something else. Don’t entertain any naïve ideas about treating me humanely, because you think I’m in there, somewhere, and you can get through to me. I will tear you apart, with no hesitation, and you will die without an intact corpse.”
Caelus swallowed hard, his mouth going dry as Blade stepped into his personal space, looming nearly a head over him, so close he could almost feel his breath on his cheek. He got a distinct impression that the man was struggling to restrain himself. Like he wanted to do or say something, but was forcing himself not to.
After a breathless beat, Blade turned away and walked toward the door. “Get some rest, while you can.”
“Where are you going?” Caelus asked lamely, not knowing how to ask him to stay, or even why he suddenly wanted him to.
“As I said, I sleep little. I will wake you in three hours, for the pre-mission briefing.”
With that, Blade was gone. Caelus didn’t really have much else to do, so he took off his boots and laid down, in the bed. He was exhausted, but way too overstimulated to fall asleep, so he got out his phone to play this game he’d downloaded, recently, where you collect character cards to make a deck, and then fight RPG-style battles against NPC baddies.
Caelus had assembled a full team of hot men with beautiful hair and ridiculous weapons, and was eager to try them out, but he was distracted. He was in Blade’s bed, his mind kept shouting, in alarm. Or at least, some kind of agitation that made his thoughts ping around and go in dizzy circles, till he was hopelessly confused.
Also, Blade’s pillows smelled like Blade, and the scent was saturating the air and starting to make him feel sick. Was sick the right word, for your stomach flipping and your heart pounding, and your head feeling all hot and fuzzy? He’d never been sick, himself, but it seemed right, based on how people had described sickness to him.
Whatever it was, it made him unable to focus on his team of sexy digital warriors, and he kept making bad moves. After two losses in a row, he closed the app in disgust.
Not that Blade’s scent was unpleasant, or anything. It was clean and aromatic, like cedar and snow, along with something indefinably primal and masculine. But it also had that bitter, herbal tang of the mara, in it, that no one seemed to be able to smell, but Caelus. March 7th said he was imagining it, and when he kept insisting it was real, Mr. Yang wanted him to get a medical evaluation, so he stopped talking about it.
But him shutting up didn’t mean he was admitting they were right. He could absolutely smell it, whenever the mara-struck were nearby. It was the scent of tea leaves and wet grass, lush overgrowth, burgeoning swamps, humid, spore-choked air. The scent of life, spreading its greedy, grasping tendrils, into every empty space. The scent of abundance.
And scent was definitely the right word, too, because it scintillated in his nostrils and went racing right into the middle of his chest, to be burned up in that blazing core of molten gold. The thing inside awakened and opened its jaws, wide enough to swallow the heavens. Opened his jaws, for Caelus and the thing were one in the same.
Together, they would baptize them all in holy fire. These vile, crawling, writhing masses of sickness and suffering. This disease called life. They would consume it all. Purify the universe in the crucible of Destruction. Then the Void would be clean, once more.
When Caelus emerged from these fiery and chaotic dreams, the first thing he saw was Blade’s scarlet eyes, staring down at him, glowing like embers in the dark. He wasn’t startled, though. He felt like he’d expected to see him. Like he’d known the man was there, already.
The lights came on dimly, as he sat up. Apparently they’d registered his presence, but not Blade’s. He must’ve been standing too still. But for how long? The motion-sensor in his own room on the Express only shut the lights off after sensing no movement for an hour. What a weirdo.
Caelus was extraordinarily resilient, and the short rest he’d taken had recharged him like a battery. With the return of his full energy, his temporary fear of Blade, and accompanying respect for social boundaries, was properly quelled, and his penchant for mischief was firmly back at the helm, where it belonged.
“Morning, honey,” he grinned, at the armed, unhinged terrorist, with whom he was alone in a room, on a spaceship full of said terrorist’s associates. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Wash up. Briefing in ten,” Blade replied flatly.
Caelus rolled his eyes and pulled on his boots, before he went into the bathroom, to wash his face and rinse his mouth out. He looked in the mirror, to make sure he wasn’t a total wreck. He wasn’t, of course. He never was.
His tousled, silver-grey hair looked exactly like it always did, and this face didn’t get puffy or have dark circles from lack of sleep. He’d never had a blemish of any kind, either, which March 7th was at pains to explain was a highly unfair favor from the heavens, and he could go right ahead and fuck himself.
He couldn’t do anything about Blade’s scent having soaked into his clothing, but he’d probably get used to it pretty quickly and not notice it, anymore. They were sharing a room, now, after all. The total absurdity of the situation struck him, and he laughed to himself, as he exited the bathroom.
Blade was waiting, still hugging that sword, like it was a teddy bear. This was obviously the behavior of a man who needed to be messed with.
Caelus looked up at him, with his big, almond-shaped eyes, all earnest innocence. “Wow, your sword is huge. Can I try holding it?”
There was a pause, in which the Blade-processor parsed the little smart-mouth’s suspicious inquiry. Surprisingly, he seemed to have arrived at the correct conclusion. With a curl of his lip, he dismissed the sword, into shimmering, gold particles, and stalked out the door.
“You’re pretty sharp, Blade,” Caelus said, as he hurried after him, earning a low growl. “Oh, come on, that was funny.”
Blade refused to speak to him, the rest of the way to the briefing room, but he did look annoyed, which was enough to thoroughly encourage the poltergeist that had attached itself to him. Caelus vowed internally to pester him with blade puns, at every opportunity, from then on.
“Don’t you look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” Kafka said, in her flirtatious drawl. “Sleep well?”
“Not really,” Caelus sighed, putting on a doleful expression. “Blade’s a cuddler. Plus, he snores like he’s sawing logs.”
Blade took the seat beside Caelus, at the black-glass table, and stared straight ahead, with his arms crossed, like he hadn’t heard a word.
“I refuse to believe either of those things,” Silverwolf put in staunchly. “Don’t slander our perfect Bladie, Nameless.”
Kafka chuckled and went back to tapping at her phone screen. Caelus felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, and dug it out, at the same time that Silverwolf pulled out a second phone, without looking up from hers, and slid it across the table to Blade, like a hockey puck. The message was a file link from Kafka, containing the details of their mission. Caelus opened it and then made a face. It really was written in script form. What kind of weirdo was this Elio guy?
“It really is written in script form. What kind of weirdo is this Elio guy?” he asked, generally.
Silverwolf shrugged and snapped her gum. Blade ignored him and kept reading. Kafka looked amused. “You’ll find out for yourself, sooner or later. Just be patient and follow the script.”
Caelus turned his attention back to the file. He’d been expecting to be walking a very tricky moral tightrope, with the Stellaron Hunters, but it was just a mission to interfere with some IPC thugs, who were bullying civilians on Jarilo. Basically a thing Caelus and the Express Crew would’ve done, anyway.
“This mission looks suspiciously above-board, for you guys,” he scowled. “Why do I get the feeling we’ve got different scripts?”
“I’m sure we do,” Kafka answered, unperturbed. “Elio gives everyone their own version. We don’t need to know what’s in the others. The important thing is, it all works out how the director planned.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not in the cult, so excuse me for not being filled with confidence by your boilerplate non-answers. Someone better—”
“—better tell me what’s really going on, before I walk out of here, and report you to the nearest authorities,” Kafka read aloud, from her phone’s screen.
Caelus went a little green in the face. “What the fuck. How did—”
“How did your psycho boss know exactly what I was going to say?” Silverwolf read aloud from hers, giggling delightedly. “Wow, Nameless, he’s really got your number.”
“Nuh-uh he doesn’t!” Caelus protested. “Anyone in my position would have said basically that same thing! Also, why doesn’t mine have lines of dialogue, like yours? Blade, does yours have them?”
He tried to lean over and peer at Blade’s script, but Blade clicked the lock-screen and put his phone away.
“We’re not trying to fuck with you, this is just how we do things,” Silverwolf said, in as conciliatory a tone as she was probably capable of. “I know it’s weird, but you’re a walking bomb who lives with a dragon on a space-train, and you’re sitting in a room with a holographic projection, a dead woman, and a sentient sword. All things considered, having missions written out like scripts is pretty tame.”
Caelus appeared unconvinced. “If you’re a holographic projection, how did you have Blade’s phone on you?”
“Oh—did I? Oopsie, this is my real body,” Silverwolf laughed sheepishly. “I always forget which one I’m using. Anyway, you get the point.”
“Even if there is a morally grey objective in your mission, you did agree to come here, of your own free will, Caelus,” Kafka reminded him gently. “We haven’t hidden who we are. You knew what you might be getting into.”
“Yeah, well…you’re right,” Caelus said contritely. “Sorry for overreacting, everyone. In my defense, I’m only a year and a half old. Being around the self-appointed good guys, since I was born, has informed a lot of my mental framework.”
“It’s ok, Nameless, we’re your family, now,” Silverwolf consoled him. “Mama Kafka and Daddy Bladie will raise you right.”
Caelus looked at Blade with a bright smile. “Da—”
“No.”
“Boo, you’re no fun,” he pouted, turning back to Kafka and Silverwolf. “As I was saying, it’s just a knee-jerk reaction to object to illegal or dubiously moral things. If I stop to think about it, I don’t actually feel anything, one way or the other, about those issues. I’m not even sure who I am, yet. Do I want to keep risking my life to help people? Do I even care? That’s why I wanted to come work with you guys, for a while. I need time away from the Express crew, to have my own experiences, and form my own ideas. I need—”
“Perspective,” Blade’s rusty chainsaw cut in, finishing the thought.
Caelus’ eyes went wide. “Ah? Was all that in the script, too?! Wait, you’re not even looking at yours.”
“I don’t need a script to understand what you mean,” Blade said dourly. “I happen to agree with you, about gathering your own experiences and getting perspective. I just hope you find what you’re looking for. Not everyone does.”
“Oh. Uh…thank—thank you,” Caelus stammered. That was simultaneously the longest and kindest sentence he’d ever heard Blade speak, and he was a little flustered.
“We all have our missions, so we better get going,” Kafka announced, rising languidly from the table. “Good luck on Jarilo, you two. Bladie, stick close to the kid. And try to bring him back in one piece, huh?”
Blade said nothing, but he glanced sidelong at the silver-haired youth, from the shadow of his heavy bangs. As if any force in the universe could tear him away from this person, now. Elio gave him the script for the two of them, years ago. Every word was burned into Blade’s mind, recited thousands of times, like a litany.
…son of the Destruction…the doom of all things…he will lead you to your final death…
The prophesied author of doom, meanwhile, was screwing around with some fighting game on his phone, looking like anything but the incarnation of a malevolent deity who’d come to obliterate the universe and return all things to the Void. Just then, the phone burst into a cacophony of exuberant chimes. Apparently something had gone well, in the game. The boy hissed out a victorious ‘Yesss’, while doing a little fist-pump. Blade caught his own lips twitching upward and immediately put a stop to it.
“Caelus,” he said hoarsely, which was the only tenor his voice had.
The boy looked up from his phone and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “How do you know my name?”
Blade sighed. “Are you ready to go?”
“Locked and loaded,” Caelus replied, as he hopped to his feet, giving a jaunty salute. “Er—except my bat doesn’t take ammo. So, just locked? Is that a thing?”
Jarilo was fucking freezing. Blade hardly noticed. Caelus made a big fuss about it, but it seemed to be for the purpose of amusing himself. For all his dramatics, he didn’t take measures to procure warmer clothing, nor did he shiver or look uncomfortable, at all, even in a foot of snow with the wind driving ice-particles into their eyes and faces like tiny daggers
“Did I tell you, I’m a famous intergalactic baseballer?” Caelus was twirling his bat around, after he’d beaten several IPC agents senseless, with such casual and straightforward brutality, even Blade was a bit taken aback. With a single, lazy swing, he clocked another agent who came running up, actually cracking the ballistics-proof visor on the man’s helmet, and knocking him flat on his back. “I mean, I will be famous, once ‘skulls bashed’ is a stat they track for player ratings. It’s totally unfair that they don’t, already, but that’s club politics for you.”
Blade disregarded his nonsense and crouched down by one of the sprawled human forms, swiftly vanishing under the falling snow. “This one is dead.”
“Lucky him,” Caelus said, resting the bat across his shoulders. “The rest of them will probably freeze to death, before anyone from the IPC answers their distress beacon. Or wish they had, if they don’t. Oh, hey, we should go see Klara and Svarog, since we’re close by. Svarog’s one of those old war mechs, but he’s self-aware. He kind of reminds me of you, come to think of it.”
A typical winter storm prevented them leaving the planet’s surface. That meant they were stuck waiting till it cleared, which was projected to be in about sixteen hours. Blade’s wanted posters were on every electronic billboard in the settled systems, so they stayed in an Underworld rust-bucket called Boulder Town, at what was described by Caelus as a ‘crash pad’, belonging to a person by the preposterous name of Sampo Koski.
“Masked Fool,” Blade growled, at the blue-haired man before them, baring his teeth in a murderous grin.
“Stellaron Hunter,” the man replied, with a nervous laugh. “I haven’t seen you guys around, in a while. You got me all wrong, though. I took the mask off a long time ago. I’m just out here trying to make an honest—trying to make a living, like anyone else. In the interest of staying alive to do that, I’m gonna make myself scarce, now. Caelus, just lock up when you leave, ok?”
“Ok, bye! Thanks, Sampo!” Caelus called to him, as the door shut behind his swiftly retreating back. Then he looked up at Blade. “There’s only one bed, so we’ll have to share. You wanna be big spoon or little spoon?”
Blade wrapped his sword in his arms and sat stiffly down in a chair.
“I can’t believe you’d rather hug your sword than me,” Caelus pretended to pout. “That thing is sharp and dangerous. I, on the other hand, am warm and soft. And I smell super good, cause I stole Dan Heng’s shampoo. You’re missing out.”
A pleasant little interval passed, with no sound but the icy wind howling outside.
“Blade,” Caelus called, in a stage-whisper. “Blaaade.”
“What,” Blade said irritably, at normal speaking volume.
Caelus pulled a tragic face. “It’s super cold in here, and it’ll just keep getting colder, as the night goes on. I’m gonna freeze into a Caelus-cube.”
“Use the blankets.”
“I’m under all of them. I’m still freezing.”
“Turn on the heater.”
“It’s already on, that’s as high as that thing goes. Come lay down with me, so we can share body heat. That’s how all the survival books say to do it.”
“No.”
“But Blade! I’m f-f-freezing to death, before your very eyes!” Caelus persisted, chattering his teeth, in a highly exaggerated fashion. “You can s-s-save me, if you just lay down with me!”
Blade ignored him. Ten minutes slunk by.
“Blade. Blaaade.”
Blade continued to ignore him. Another five minutes trotted along.
“Blaaaaaade pleeeeease. I’m dyyyyying.”
With a snarl of frustration, Blade stood up, dismissed his sword, and stripped off his jacket, revealing his bare torso and arms. Not completely bare, since his chest and left arm were wrapped in bandages, but close enough to startle Caelus into shutting up.
“Move,” he said, to the wide-eyed youth, who scooted hastily over to make room. He laid down on his side, with his back to Caelus, and pulled the heavy blankets over them both. “No more talking. And don’t touch me.”
“Tch. Who wants to touch you, anyway, old man,” Caelus muttered, as he squirmed into as comfortable a position as he could, on the narrow bed. “Night, Blade. Sleep tight.”
Blade sighed, at which he could feel the mattress shaking with Caelus’ stifled laughter, behind him. He couldn’t even sleep by himself in his own room, let alone like this, so he laid awake, staring at the rivets in the weathered, scrap-iron wall, listening to the boy’s breathing become soft and regular, as he drifted off to sleep. At some point, Blade sank into fitful unconsciousness, himself.
When he woke, some hours later, diffuse, grey light was streaming in through the tiny porthole window, and the little demon he’d been saddled with was wrapped around his person, like a giant leech, with his grey head tucked blithely under Blade’s chin.
Ah. His hair really did smell good. Wait—no! This was absolutely unacceptable and the only reason Blade didn’t summon his sword and run this brat through, here and now, was the script. He couldn’t kill the kid, no matter how infuriating he was. He couldn’t even be too hostile, and risk alienating him. Too much depended on him.
The boy stirred, just then, and shifted his body against Blade’s. As he did, a certain, stiff part of his lower anatomy dug into Blade’s hip. Blade froze, staring at the ceiling in stunned disbelief.
While he was failing to load, Caelus lifted his head and yawned, blinking around drowsily. “Mm? Whose room is this?”
“Get. Off. Me.” Blade growled, through his clenched teeth.
“Ah? Blade?” Caelus yelped, scrambling backward and smacking his head on the wall behind him. “What are you—why are we…where’s your shirt?!”
Blade sat up on the edge of the bed and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “You claimed you were freezing to death and pestered me, until I laid down with you. Do you not remember?”
Caelus squinted doubtfully. “Mmm…that doesn’t sound like something I’d do. Are you sure you weren’t trying to take advantage of my youth and inexperience, and get fresh with me? I mean, you are the one who’s half naked.”
“I see. You do remember. You’re just being…the way you are.”
“Of course I remember,” Caelus laughed. “You’re way too easy, Mr. Blade.”
“It is just Blade. One word.” He went to the window and peered out, as he pulled his jacket on. “The storm has cleared. Let’s get moving.”