The Horse with No Name
Chapter Forty-Four
Sustenance of War
The Estate, the Realm of the Almighty
Golden eyes flutter open.
He dreamed of the Almighty again.
The honeyed whispering, the way his breath is stolen despite not needing to breathe, the gold, the light; the infinity. It's tantalizing, addictive like chocolate. Mori always wants to speak with the Almighty yetthe creator so rarely talks to any of them. However, recently, more and more, there is that seductive pull in his dreams in which he hears of the Almighty's desires.
Revelation is asked for.
Mori wants to deliver it, whatever it is.
From his latest conversation, his limbs are still aspic. He's still giddy.
Mori spreads in the meadow. The grass grazes his fingers, strands swaying in the breeze delicately beneath congregating cloud. No sun smiles today. Grey mist is dour and speckles of rain threaten against Mori's eyelashes.
When it downpours he doesn't move. It's refreshing, warm; a summer storm.
He savours the swell of lingering heat, and the intoxicating smells of the forest too; sweet and green and very soothing. Breathing it in feels like stealing. Mori tastes all. Life feels full. The Almighty's faith fills in with warmth.
It chose him; Mori. Mori is the promised deliverer.
Revelation. Revelation. Revelation…
Thunder growls distantly, perhaps a flash follows. If it did it was only fleeting.
"You are so very queer."
The delicious rain has deserted him. Instead, it pelts the shield above, sliding down and around a magical force field held upright by the person above. Mori tries not to look perturbed at the disruption.
"For appreciating the rain?" Mori asks, light. "You know I have always enjoyed it, brother."
"From indoors, usually, as I am aware," Quell says. "Perhaps from behind one of your books and opposite that raging hearth of yours. Not out basking in its shower like a commoner."
Mori smirks. He stretches out like a cat, enjoying himself. His mood is still good. "Do I confuse you?"
"Naturally. Now get up before you make yourself unwell. That is something I am more familiar with."
"Water is fluid, freeing. Its company is quite liberating. You should try it."
"Mori, do not be difficult."
The patch revealed when Mori sits up is dry. It's all the more tempting lie back down upon it, if not only to trigger Quell's entertaining frustration. His brother is fun to play with, to tease just a little. He's so uptight. Rewarded for his mischief, Quell actually hauls Mori up for the crime of dallying. The hand is harsh against Mori's chin, twisting and turning and admiring the damage done by the very dreadful rain.
"You are sodden," Quell huffs, "Your hair—"
"Oh. Should I cut it all off? Rixas did—"
There's a forceful tap against his chin for his play. "Do not dare. I still have not forgiven him, and your hair is much nicer. Well, not right now of course. You look bedraggled, peaky even. By the Almighty, Mori, if you have made yourself sick again—"
Mori slicks back his long, wet strands, scoffing. "I am fine."
As luck so has it, Mori is not a man suited to the peace of a summer afternoon. Rixas emerges from the density of the forest, as though saying his name one too many times might have summoned him. Of course, he has that goliath sword strapped to his back, looking so utterly ridiculous that Mori can't help but feel fond staring at him.
"What are you both doing here?" Rixas asks, about as drenched as Mori and earning no such lecture about it. "You guys having a mother's meeting? Did I miss anything?"
Mori suddenly feels snooty. Why is Rixas allowed to saunter about in the rain without grief. "Oh, no. Quell and I converse frequently when you are not present. We're in fact going to do it right now."
"Aren't you cute?" Rixas shoves at him, smirking. "Yo. Quell, are you busy?"
Mori folds his soggy arms, leaning forward, smiling his best. "That entirely depends on the context of what you are about to bother him with, I suppose."
"Don't twist your panties. I'll return him to you in one piece."
Quell is enjoying himself. "If you are both going to bicker can it be indoors? We own a roof there and a very nice one at that, mind."
Before Mori can follow Rixas, Quell snags at his arm. "Really. You are looking pale. Should I contact Jivel?"
"Who?"
"The new family doctor. Do you not remember? Doctor Morvis succumb to his sickness."
Oh, yes.
"Of course. I remember." He hums. "His dying of sickness proved his inadequacies, clearly. Perhaps this new doctor might be better, though no less warranted. As for Morvis, I cannot say I'll attend the funeral, but I do intend on sending a letter saying I approve of it."
"He was firm but professional. Do not be like that," Quell chides, though he's smiling. "Come. Let us hurry inside before I really do have to contact Doctor Jivel."
The coddling is admittedly annoying. He isn't an incubator for plague, only for the undying patience of this vastly unwanted pampering. At least whilst Rixas is annoying he at least treats Mori as an adult. Famis doesn't treat him as anything and even that is preferable to this. In fact, Famis is sicklier than he is. He so often needs rest after his ventures that he may as well not leave his wing at all.
Mori doesn't have ventures.
He has Quell.
The pattering of rain against the shield feels louder all of a sudden. Thunder rips the sky in two. And you have the Almighty, he feels the universe is trying to tell him. Yes. He'll always have that. Mori is chosen after all. Ever since he was a boy the Almighty has been most fond of him. Mori would feel the glow in his chest. He'd mumble his anxieties and ambitions to it, he'd feed the life inside him all his experiences. It's a part of him.
The Almighty has his soul; it is his soul.
Quell – a person unfit for the luxury – mustn't know. He wouldn't understand and would try and dissuade Mori from any and all his ambitions as he always has. Fear sails Quell through life, his love an anchor to a ship in the middle of the ocean, leaving him desolate to make any real waves. He wasn't chosen like Mori was. So little, perhaps the most little out of all of them, does he feel for the Almighty and its plight.
It's horrible.
Mori hates that about him. How can one person be so unholy? It's his birth right to lead Revelation. Quell is undeserving of his mantle as the first brother. It should belong to someone who values the Almighty's ways.
Still, Mori doesn't detest him.
As Quell leads them into the estate and through the foyer and up into his wing, he talks on and on about his latest meeting on Geo. He's not bragging like one would think. He relays his tales. He complains. He insists Mori join him for a drink, and Mori does. They talk and joke and discuss their favourite books.
Mori adores Quell. He's his favourite person.
Yet, he breathes for the Almighty.
And, truly, they're so different. Quell makes Mori feel frustrated and jealous and red with anger at his lack of motivation for Revelation, but still, Mori so desperately wants his approval. He's aware of it; this weakness. He wants Quell to tell him how well he's doing, and he wants to see that smile and laugh – the one spared for his brothers – so much so that Mori overlooks Quell's disdain for the Almighty, for Revelation. How Quell sings a different song when confronted. But Mori knows. Quell doesn't really want Revelation. He wants the mundane.
How long will that be a problem?
When will Mori have to accept his brother won't one day smile for him when he learns the truth?
Mori struggles to sleep because of it.
I do not want him to dislike me.
He is my… brother.
I love him dearly.
But, he needs power. There's a hunger for a strength not his. His own power is limited after all. Ki is powerful but without physicality then he can't achieve much. So he does what he can to be better. When he practices swordplay Quell is more than unimpressed. It stings even though he doesn't show it. Rixas tells him to ignore Quell, like he's just someone you can just ignore, as though Quell's punishing silence doesn't hurt more than his barbed words. His disappointment sinks hearts.
Now, Famis is someone he can ignore. He's unimportant and cold; completely so, he is disinterested in Mori.
Okay. With a touch of embarrassment, Mori will admit that he enjoys getting a rise from him when he can - but if only because that's only inch of acknowledgement he can bloody well get.
He wonders if the Almighty talks to Famis, doubting it very much. Famis is so wrapped up in his own thing – in Majin magic – that he won't even realize when Revelation strikes.
Whilst sword training with Rixas the next day, he wonders aloud if the Almighty talks with him.
"Does he talk with you?" Rixas returns, brows raised beneath blustered hair.
Mori is damp with perspiration. He has to try so much harder. Blonde sticks along his jaw. "Yes, often about the trivialities of the weather. We discussed smothering you deep in the snow until you choke on it."
"Sounds like a stand-up guy."
"Yes. A riot."
Sometimes, Mori believes Rixas might be downplaying it all, that he might be more enlightened than he lets on. So he tests it. One day, he touches on the subject of Revelation in a matter most subtle. It's over a shared breakfast in the garden. Seasonal fruits are spread between them in celebration of summer and Rixas looks content with life, as though he's full on it. It makes Mori jealous; the contentment. How can Rixas be so gratified when he is striving for nothing?
The moment Revelation comes up however Rixas sours. "Jeez. Don't wish death upon us, little brother."
Mori bites his apple, humming. The subject is dropped.
Luckily, there is someone who understands.
Haed's a disgusting deviation of a god.
He is a wretched man. He is unpleasant and carries the stench of something already dead, making Mori's nose crinkle at even the thought of him. Mori hates anything ugly and Haed is no exception. His company nauseates him yet there is an addictive quality to it. Mori finds himself returning over and over for the conversation. Haed doesn't treat him as a child without thoughts like Quell does.
They'd met by chance when Quell had brought him along to the sanctum on business. Mori had never seen anyone so openly disrespectful to his brother. Haed had been dismissive, rude. "How repugnant you are, Quell, with your uninspired desires in life." It'd been jarring as where Mori was supposed to feel resentment, he'd felt impressed. He'd sensed no lacking in ambition from Haed, a creature cursed from Revelation of past, and felt his curiosity burn like a candle in winter.
It'd been reciprocated.
One night, Mori had left the Realm of the Almighty and found himself outside the sanctum. When Haed had ushered him in he'd felt unable to refuse. He'd shown Mori all his horrors. Mortals screaming, souls bursting into grains, the lakes and ways of old; Mori had never seen anything like it. He'd become drunk on it. The macabre, grotesque place had been fascinating.
He couldn't stay away.
The relationship with Haed soon evolved into more. He wasn't just a nasty topic of conversation his brother slurred about after a bottle too many, he was the person Mori would confide in, he was someone who knew all the things about the Almighty Quell refused to share with him, he was, simply, just Mori's. How could he tell Quell, or anyone?
Mori learned so much. There's an infinite amount of subjects that Quell has tried to keep him from, yet Haed never babies him. He waters Mori's thirsty mind.
He also encourages Mori to talk to not just more people, but the right people. There's a push in the direction of Zamasu, a kai Haed says is different from the rest. He'd been right. Zamasu is certainly different. He's openly racist and sexist, hostile in the most terrible ways, quite possibly he might murder Mori if given the chance; still, Mori finds him amusing. A turbulent albeit fun alliance is soon born if only because Zamasu becomes interested in Revelation. It would be his pathway to control, Mori knows as much. This friendship – if it can be called that – is hardly on stable foundations. He doesn't stifle Mori in matters of ambition, though, and that goes appreciated. In fact, he encourages Mori to find a way to stand taller than his brothers.
"Having a friend in a god is not a bad thing," Zamasu once says over tea.
"Even if that god wants to stand in opposition of the establishment?"
"Then I think that makes us even more compatible." There's a dark smile. "You mentioned you wanted to control the mortal's use of ki. Tell me more about that…"
So Mori does and together they create the Zealites. They test their worth by having them capture the forgotten about relics. Mori's Z Sword is off-limits of course, though he has to occasionally return it to its resting place on the Kai's World when there is a conflict. Relic by relic, fight by fight, slowly, the Zealites start to build a name for themselves. Mori finally feels like he's made some ripples.
If only he could fight alongside them.
It's Haed who first mentions reincarnation.
"You have the power and the intellect to make it happen," he whispers to Mori. They're both standing atop the balcony overlooking the hollowed out Sinner's Lake. There's no reason to whisper. "Why should you deny yourself the ability to be more? The others do not follow the old ways, Mori. For your ambitions to be realized you should conquer your weaknesses first, you should snatch power for anywhere you can rip it from."
Mori watches the sand of the mortals trickle. The souls…
"Reincarnation is delicate. Should something go wrong then my soul may be lost. Do you want that? For your collection?"
That slimy palm of his presses against Mori's blonde, stroking through the locks. "I cannot deny wanting to see a divine soul splinter. It would be wonderful."
"That will not be me." He pulls away, turning. "And I have told you to stop touching me."
"But you are lovely." Mori doesn't hide his sneer and Haed laughs, all raspy. Even that's ugly. "Before my entrapment here I was also lovely, too," he says.
Mori doubts it. Not even a pretty face could save Haed.
"Perhaps, should you be born again, you will not be fortunate enough to once again gain such a delicate nose and sweet smile."
Foul.
Mori likes his baths. Yet, he loves them after dealing with a creature such as Haed, who makes him feel like soap will never be enough.
But the damage is done. Mori knows it as the idea of reincarnation stays with him for years. It's like root rot upon his flourishing thoughts, carrying along like the poison it is, casting over his thoughts, making him think things he shouldn't.
When Famis dies, it's Haed who brings up reincarnation once again. But it's bad timing. Mori is in mourning and weak, and he becomes distressed with the idea of anything that can't bring Famis home. The coliseum in Hell is destroyed in a fit of explosive temper. He doesn't return to the sanctum for a long time, mostly because Quell puts him under house arrest but also because he can't stand to look at Haed.
And for a long time, he's alone. Rixas deserts him for a better life. Mori feels himself growing bitter. Zamasu and he can only talk upon a rarity these days. His thoughts grow darker and he jealously watches Quell come and go from the estate. For a while, he distracts himself with Roarg, Rixas' latest in a string of captains, as he continues to have dreams of not only the Almighty, but a grand escape from it all.
He comes to hate the estate. The beautiful gardens become his prison. He learns of every rock and nook and cranny. The mountains remind him of far grander ones he saw with Rixas years ago. Even the purple skies fill him with irrational anger.
Everything makes him so angry.
And the dreams become nightmares. The Almighty is demanding now.
"But I cannot leave," Mori tries to reason with the Ivory Tree, "Quell will not see sense. He thinks I am in danger should I go anywhere outside of the realm."
"Then you know what you must do," the Tree says, "You must cut down a tree in order to make a bridge."
Mori would never.
He drinks more, too.
With a personality like his, addictions can be consuming.
So he looks for other entertainment, other diversions…
He finds such a distraction in Roarg, the captain. It's harmless at first. It's wrong and naughty and bad, but then, it starts slipping into something dangerous. His heart jams when he sees her reading by the courtyard, it pushes against his ribs when she laughs at his barbs. She's good. Golden even, in the sunlight casting over the estate; she shows Mori that there is more than godhood and his tiny, tiny world.
"Why are you staring at me?" She has the audacity to ask, wearing what she is. Never before has a dress looked so ethereal, bleeding out as white into the lake. She's just returned from an event on her home planet, one where they plait their hair and wear flowers like unashamed hippies. Mori wishes he could have seen it. "Oh. Do you like what you see?"
Mori lazily smirks, trying to look impressive as he leans against a tree. "More that I find it amusing you have gone out of your way to showcase your rarely adorned feminine attire." He brushes his hair back, suave. "How presumptuous of you to strut on over in it like some scarlet woman."
"You do not like my dress? What a shame." Her eyes smile. There's feigned coy, a tilt of the head. "Well, how about now?"
When the dress slinks away into the lake Mori doesn't hesitate. "You read too many romance novels," he manages, grinning.
Then, he joins her, kisses her and makes love.
She's too good for his world, for him. It's hard to be hard-edged around her. On one cool autumn evening she looks like she wants to say something especially distasteful. Fog crowds her mouth. The 'I love you' is swallowed, praise be the Almighty. But it's enough to scare him. Mori doesn't have space in his heart when it's already being squeezed by his brothers and the Almighty.
So he ends it with her.
"Too inconvenient for me, I understand. What about your brothers? You feel no guilt in lying to Rixas about me, only hatred for Quell these days, and so embarrassingly little for Famis' death."
Her words cut even if not entirely true. Famis' death changed everything. It ruined his life. Though, that's not what she meant and he knows it. Why should he care about Famis? He'd never cared about Mori. He'd always been cold. A person can only be ignored so many times before they become jaded. Mori had wanted to be more to Famis. It'd been Famis to push him away, to refuse to thaw even for his baby brother, for his blood. Famis had looked like an innocent, pretty doll even in death; his lips a lovely shade of purple. Mori had only seen the body briefly before it'd glistened away and ascended, but it stuck with him.
Sometimes, he thinks about drinking poison himself. He could ascend and be with the Almighty then. He wouldn't be lonely. He wouldn't be entombed by this fucking place. He wouldn't be Quell's prisoner.
In those fleeting conversations, Zamasu urges him to kill Quell many, many times. It's as if he and the dreams have collaborated in order to deliver Mori a fresh sort of hell. It's his only way out, they both say. Quell is oppressing him.
Mori spirals, still drinking, still sulking, still obsessing over what needs to be done; there's a point where he starts to hear the Almighty even when he's not sleeping. No longer is it crafted from silky whispers. Now, it cries. It makes his ears ache. His body jars. All feels wrong.
It comes to a head when Quell foolishly allows him to go along with him to visit Haed.
"Stay close to me," he says, touching Mori's shoulder with affection.
Mori wants to burn his cloak.
Fuck.
He is my brother.
I… love him. I will not…
Haed doesn't say anything incriminating whilst Quell is there but when they go to leave he doesn't hesitate in running his fingers through Mori's hair. The smile is heavy. "Zamasu is right," he breathes, disappearing into his sanctum and into the cloud of sand and souls.
His chest is being torn in every direction.
The decision becomes easier over time.
"You are to stop leaving the realm for the time being," Quell says upon being asked for leave once more. His tone is final. "There shall be no more escapades for research, no more trips without either Rixas or myself, no more leaving the estate alone. Do I make myself clear?"
It's the first time Mori argues with Quell, truly.
"He is a pretender," the Almighty tells him as he slumbers. "He is ailing in his service to the collective. That is no true brother."
Mori burns through his entire collection of hard liquor. He vomits some of it back up and that bothersome assistant of his has to call in one of the help to take him to bed.
Tensions begin to run high between him and Quell. For a while, Mori is honest in his quest for freedom. Quell is asked once or twice more but there is no leeway.
Through the computer and letters and magical ways, he finds himself in tighter contact with Zamasu. They talk, but mostly Mori gripes about his situation until, one day, he cements the idea himself.
"Don't ever ask this of me again,"Quell slowly whispers the next and final time they have an argument, "The only way you're leaving here without my permission is in a body bag…"
The tides change.
So, "I am going to make a bridge," Mori finally tells the Almighty.
Warm like those beloved summer showers, the Almighty basks him in approval, allowing Mori to sleep soundly for the first time in years, decades even.
The planning takes time. He learns as much as he can about the reincarnation process. With being the genius he is, it is not too difficult to formulate how he will go about it. The question is the repercussion of it. Perhaps something may go wrong. There is a chance he could lose himself entirely if just one calculation is off. Even geniuses have their missed moments.
And then he has to think about what species to reincarnate himself as. He dabbles for a while, stuck between two or three particularly robust species hailing from the South quadrant. The warriors are usually stouter from that region, known for the exact sort of physicality Mori wants to achieve. Yet…
Mori frowns, staring at the illustrations in his book.
He isn't a vain person but… still…
His fingers trace across the bulbous pot belly of the Narjian. The other one is worse. Mori doesn't bother even counting the pus-filled sacks.
"…"
All right.
Admittedly, he is a little vain. Mori enjoys his appearance and his nice clothes and fancy shoes. His hair is soft, his skin is nice; he has not a single pus sack – and doesn't want any should the truth be told.
Mori thinks the gods, in creating some of these species, somewhat overestimated their ability. Some of these species are not easy to look at…
Luckily, in the North quadrant he finally finds his alternative.
"Oh. Saiyan…"
Why… yes.
Mori wouldn't mind a tail. Some saiyans are quite handsome, too. Many years ago Mori had bedded one and the experience had been pleasant enough. He'd not been the brightest but Mori isn't worried about losing his intellect. His calculations are good. And whilst Planet Vegeta isn't the most hospitable place, again, he should be fine should he keep his memories. Yes. The idea grows fonder. Mori envisions himself taller than he already is, broad too with muscles rivalling Rixas'. The species might not do favours for Mori's already tight temper but—
Oh.
Oh, wait… Didn't Frieza…?
Mori takes a deep breath.
"Damn it," he says on the release. "Fuck."
He's so frustrated by the realization that he simply goes to bed, books spread akimbo across his desk. And that's where they stay for weeks. Mori's unable to look at them. He even mentions it to Zamasu; his annoyance. For some strange reason beyond him, he'd really married the idea of reincarnating into a saiyan, especially after having come across the Super Saiyan God transformation. It'd felt like fate.
And now, perfection has been cruelly ripped away.
Or so he thought.
Days later, Zamasu contacts him to say that he has spoken to the angel, Whis, about surviving saiyans. His hope is tempted. He jostles in his chair, nearly dropping the whisky. The news isn't great. There are very few full-blooded saiyans left, with zero of them being female.
If he's reincarnated into a saiyan, he'll be half at best.
"Is it worth the risk?" Zamasu asks. "Will you be able to attain the transformation as a hybrid?"
Mori's eyes cannot look away from the transformation literature. This is power.
"I shall put the risk in the hands of the Almighty," Mori replies.
Zamasu sniggers. "Fate?"
Mori smirks, head to hand. "I am devout, am I not?"
"And if the saiyans do not breed?"
"I suspect you will do something about it should they be… unwilling."
"You think I will be watching over you, that I care that much?"
"I am your key to success so yes."
Zamasu truly laughs. "How refreshing not to hide it."
"Now, a new dilemma…" Mori turns to the camera, ultimately serious. "As such, my new primary concern is to whether or not the saiyan will choose a nice-looking race to breed with. I do not want to walk around as a poorly bred monstrosity with limbs out of place."
"Oh, honestly. I am sure you will be most charming."
Mori bats his eyes. "Admirably expressed but you will have to do more than that to seduce me, Zamasu."
"Tsk. You're a sordid creature, my lord."
Mori laughs.
Things progress with haste after that and strangely enough, where Mori supposed it might become difficult to plan Quell's death it actually proves easy. Quell is bordering on cruel. He forbids visitors once again. He locks up the armoury. He has Myra – the penurious wench – report to him as though Mori is a schoolboy. As such, hatred festers in a way unimaginable.
And the Almighty spits into his ear.
"The Almighty is halted by a heretic who wants nothing more but to limit you, a truly devoted."
"Why do you suffer Quell when you could be free and achieving greatness?"
"You are the change so be the change."
Whisper. Cruelty. Whisper. Cruelty. Whisper…
How quickly love can cartwheel around and around.
Mori comes to learn that the opposite of love is not hate, but indifference. So he wears indifference just to hurt the bastard. He'll pretend not to care about any of this. It's easy. He can swallow the bile and the frustration. Mori is good at playing it cool. He's always played it cool.
Lazily, he blinks as Quell rejects Mori's pleas once more.
"The Zealites are aggressive as of recent," he dismisses. "I do not want you to leave the estate today, not even to the neighbouring hamlet."
"Of course, brother."
Quell spares a look, and then leaves through the estate doors, stealing the sunlight, stealing summer.
A shadow casts over him.
That night, he writes his note.
'Quell's watching from the Winter Pavilion. It's only time.'
Pen scratching over the parchment, Mori doesn't feel a thing.
What he does feel – later in the year – is anxiety when it's the moment for everything to come together. Zamasu talks to him through the computer a final time, wishing him luck, spurring him on in his detached fashion. The plan has long since been crafted. All is going as it should. Tonight, Mori of Revelation shall die and be reborn anew.
Quell will pay for Mori's life with his own. That should make the bastard happy, Mori relents, because at least their deaths will be connected. Quell's obsession with his brother will be his legacy. His downfall will be that he loved so deeply that it ruined both of them. Their anchor will sink them and Rixas will be the undeserved victim of it all, the cost of his desertion of Mori here at the estate.
Mori grasps at the poison.
This is it.
The Almighty never leaves him alone. Even now.
"The time for Revelation is upon us. Do this, be reborn new as the God of Death, find true power and become the stallion beyond Conquer. Breathe renewed, my child."
Mori's hand wobbles. He forces himself to recall the evil of his imprisonment, the threats, the hatred, the need to achieve Revelation; the everything he'll need for the strength to do this.
And then…
And then he swallows the pill dry.
"Let's see you control me now, brother."
For that…
For Rev..lati…
For… the Al...m...y
I'm…
…scared.
And then, the lull of the heaviest possible sleep takes him.
…Brother…
From that moment on, Mori disappears… for seventeen Earth years, at least.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Gohan's memories are still a blanket of patchwork, of stitching threaded, of fabric frayed. It's not complete. It'll never be complete.
He'll never be who he was.
But he can be who he should be.
"It is time to be the change."
Six dragon balls miss their sibling.
Gohan trails his fingers across each of them, circling their spherical nature, tickling orange, and lingering on the four-star before coming to rest against the polished wood of the table. His knuckles knock nosily. He stares.
"Only one more," Zamasu says. "All is going well."
No. It's not, not well enough at least.
Under knotted brows, Gohan inspects his line-up. Zamasu is engorged on his own satisfaction, his smile smarmy. Quell, too, looks pleased. At least Eyrelle has the decency not to appear like she's feeling anything at all. Glassy eyes look to him – through him – not in celebration but in expectation. She knows this is not the time for confidence. Equally passive, Byleath looks nowhere except for the inside of his eyelids. They are closed in rest as he leans against the wall opposite the table.
Everything pisses him off.
Gohan pulls his hand back and up and along his ear where his final, stolen dragon ball should be. It crushes air. How angry he is with himself, how foolish he's been – how foolish he still is for allowing his father and the others to continue acting against him. And he's not the only one acting recklessly. Quell gave the earthlings two days when he should have given them none. He'd cited that it'd been for him, for Gohan, and for Rixas too now that he's thrown his cards in with them.
"Impatience in unbefitting, Mori," Quell says. "You shall have your last ball soon enough. Should you push Rixas too hard then you will get nothing from him."
Gohan doesn't say anything because he refuses to cause a scene of familial drama in front of Zamasu. The leech would love it.
"We successfully pushed back a group of Kai fighters, mercenaries included," Eyrelle tells, soft but direct, "They attempted to infiltrate the realm during your absence but remained fruitless in their efforts."
Gohan nods. "And your reconnaissance, Byleath?"
"The Zealites and I found nothing of worth in the Sacred World of the Kai. The dragon ball is most definitely not hidden there."
"I told you as much," Zamasu says, snotty.
"It is on Earth," Quell concurs with Gohan's thoughts on the matter. "Goku Son is an arrogant man and would have it stored any place else."
"Then this is good news."
"Hardly," Gohan bites out, "You think this will be easy? Don't underestimate them. There has been nothing easy about going against my father and the others."
Quell waves a hand. "So dramatic. Fear stimulates the imagination, as it seems. You have not faced hardship against them other than your woeful conscience on the matter. As is decided, I'll be rid of Goku Son once and for all for the ease of it."
"Good. He is a bit of a pest," Zamasu agrees. "Though, is that enough? It's proven from the Majin Buu incident that he doesn't regard being dead as something to slow him down."
Gohan is allowing Quell to kill him, but the soul will remain intact despite whatever nasty plans Zamasu would love to concoct. "I will have the Zealites guard the entirety of Snake Way if I have to. Don't test me."
"Lord Mori, he has bested me," Byleath speaks up. "I cannot confidently hold my own against him any longer, guarding or not."
"Then I'll have Yemma strip him of his body," Gohan snaps, "This isn't up for debate."
Quell chuckles. "Do not rile yourself. Goku Son may be stronger than your average mortal but he won't last more than a few seconds against me."
"Don't be so sure of that."
The look spared is sharp like an edged blade. Gohan returns it, willing Quell to look past his arrogance for longer than five minutes. "You must take this seriously," he stresses, "I know what I witnessed back in the domain, my father holds a power only that achieved by gods. With Rixas by his side—"
"Have faith—"
"In you?" Gohan questions, and then jerks a head at Zamasu, "In him? Neither of you understand or appreciate mortal power. You both refuse to take it seriously, even now when what stands in our way is the influence of one single mortal."
"That's your own weakness," Quell retorts, "You have put too much emphasis on Goku S—"
"I know what I felt back there!" His father had kept up, had managed to hold his own, had matched Gohan's power despite having been so greatly defeated only weeks prior. Mortal or not, Goku Son is a brute his own. "Beerus has also sided with them! Rixas will not see sense! Is this a language you understand? One misstep – one miscalculation – is all it takes for Revelation to be stolen away, and I won't allow for it! Don't you realize the power posed against us?"
"Together, we are still stronger. Do not doubt it."
"Without Rixas?"
"Yes." Gohan scoffs but Quell beats him to a comeback. "What? Do you want to predict the worse and be hailed a prophet when your own negativity costs us Revelation?"
"We are but one dragon ball away," Zamasu adds. "Do not let your anxieties warp the path to victory. The mortals will drown in our might before they walk over our bodies. Their strength isn't parallel to ours."
"Your abstract concept of strength is still conflated with cruelty, I see. That arrogance makes you a determent so I'd stay away from the battlefield if I were you. Make no mistake of it, Zamasu. My father would wipe the floor with you."
Zamasu bites his lip, the crack of frustration a thick line protruding the forehead.
Gohan turns to Byleath and then to Eyrelle. They understand. Apprehension whirs beneath the surface; they know the weight of mortal involvement to be more than a child batting at a frustrated parent. Both would be defeated so cleanly by his father. Gohan, too, hadn't won his fight as easily as he'd have liked. What would have happened if there really was a transformation beyond Super Saiyan God? His father needs to be taken out the equation or Gohan needs more power. Two days… why the hell did Quell give them that? In just one his father had perfected the transformation! With two, they could possibly even triumph.
"How are you not more worried?" Gohan bites at Zamasu and Quell, his voice raised, "Planet Geo was a mess, Luxun's Domain was…" – horrible— "Ugh… What's next? The Kai will be becoming desperate, Rixas knows our ways, Beerus has Whis, and still, my father continues to grow stronger and STRONGER!" Gohan slams a hand down on the table. One of the dragon balls tumbles free. "Have some humility! Respect the enemy for God's sake! There isn't enough power between us to cleanly contain this!"
"Remember who you are talking to, brother."
"Maybe you should remember who you are talking to."
Quell's chair scrapes back. His gaze is hardened and level, and he stands for a long moment until making towards the door. The fact that it clicks gently as opposed to a slam makes Gohan feel all the angrier. Who does Quell think he is? Why can't the bastard move past his own arrogance?
Gohan turns and kicks his own chair over. It loudly clatters along the floor, stopping briefly in front of Eyrelle. "You," he hisses at her, "Instruct the guard to have the residents of the Realm of the Almighty under curfew."
"My lord, the people are already pushing—"
"I want patrolling forces, every night. This realm is to be closed off to all who do not reside here. I don't care if they are on business. I don't care if they are divine. We are closed. Do you understand?"
Eyrelle jerks her head, soft. "Yes."
"Byleath, how many stolen relics do you have left in your disposal?"
"Thirteen."
"It's time for them to be destroyed. I want you to have your men scour for other relics that might be used against us, even if that involves you returning to the World of the Kai."
"Of course… Though, if I may—"
"You may not. Go. We're done. We have less than two days until I leave for Earth and I want no less than twenty destroyed relics presented to me." There's a pause. Both Eyrelle and Byleath seem not to want to move. "Go."
Ultimately, they do leave, both bowing before swiftly following in Quell's steps without so much as another word. Good. Gohan doesn't feel like suffering fools today. There is no time for it.
"Being too defensive will hurt the offensive," Zamasu says, now standing. He collects the fallen dragon ball and admires it. It's the four-star. On instinct, Gohan seizes it quickly, placing it with its brethren. "Tch… You wouldn't need to be defensive at all if you were to eliminate your problems more effectively, yet you are hard of taking my advice, Mori. You either still do not trust me or do not value my expertise on the manner. Should I be concerned about my role here?"
"If I wanted you dead then I would have done it in the Kai chamber," Gohan returns snappily. "Don't be over-sensitive."
"Quite ironic… You spared me for my guidance so I suggest you take it. Either move past your own insecurity or have Goku Son destroyed once and for all. I know you are in regular contact with Haed. He can make it happen."
Gohan tilts his head. "Are you watching me, Zamasu?"
The kai lingers, a flash of alert appears behind thin, beady eyes. "We are watching each other. Let us not pretend otherwise."
There's a hum. Gohan collects the balls together to be taken to their resting point beneath the estate. "I suppose that is true."
"And from what I can see by watching you, Mori, you are becoming too emotional on… certain matters. It will be a weakness to the cause should you let the mortal wound fester. I do not like what is becoming of you right now. Your grasp on control is—"
Gohan croons. "Here I thought we were friends. You wanted this. You supported the reincarnation."
"And I thought you would attain it without distorting yourself."
"I am just fine."
"You are too sentimental," Zamasu hisses, "You are embarrassing yourself by—"
He stops upon seeing the threat of smoke accumulating around Gohan's hand; the faint outline of the Z Sword.
"Now, now, friend… Do not forget what I said in the chamber. You cross me and your neck is mine. I'll have you wish I finished you back then." Zamasu's next words seem to wilt. There is no reply, Gohan fills the heavy silence. "Remember who follows who here."
"For you… even off a cliff."
Gohan spins on his heel, but Zamasu is already gone.
Brimstone, metal, smoky ash surfing the simmering heat… He breathes it in, savouring the blistering in his lungs.
Zamasu and Quell and everyone else can be pushed away here. This is his borrowed sanctum. In such a hideaway, sweat slips down the creases above his brows, he tastes the salt and then the metal of blood. Training here is hard. Yes, it's torture but it always feels right.
Dizzying currents of hotness breeze from behind, billowing against his robes. Screams fill the air and he allows himself to succumb to the white noise. He hears it over and over anyway, every other night when lying alone in bed trying to sleep.
Quell calls him a martyr, as though Gohan chooses to relive each and every fucking awful thing he's witnessed, like Gohan wants to be miserable, like he wants to feel depressed and anxious. Perhaps he does because at least he can use it to make a difference.
What is anyone else doing?
Nothing.
Gohan sighs. His throat is dry and so the noise that leaves him is gravelly.
He'll be the villain. He'll kill whoever he needs to. He'll do it because everyone else seems to be so content with doing nothing. Quell had laughed back at the estate. He finds it amusing. Gohan is amusing. This entire debacle is just that to him, isn't it?
Why won't Quell take any of this seriously? Why won't he listen?
Why is Gohan so alone?
Rixas, Goten, his father; they've turned their backs on him.
Even Piccolo doesn't want—
Gold flashes, his hands move without permission – lightning fast – and the neighbouring forum is destroyed. Smoke bolsters the already dark sky, more destruction adds to the feast. Gohan's ki carves deep into the sand and into the rockery leading into eternity. He pants. His knees are weak.
If this is how it feels to be the victor then he dares not wonder how it would be to lose.
He can't lose.
Power – Gohan needs power, the transformation; the augment of Saiyan divinity. That's why he's here in Hell. Haed had said he'd help. He's been useful thus far. There's that saying about making deals with devils, Gohan would laugh about if he had a semblance of a sense of humour left, but he hasn't the time. Gohan can feel his father's claws gripping from behind and soon enough, the clutch will ensnare him and all will be lost.
Goku Son never fails.
Never.
Quell tells him to have confidence in himself. Rixas would too if the backstabber was still with them. It's been Gohan's theme throughout his shit show existence, hasn't it? He's never been strong enough for his own strength – and now, after everything, even his strength won't be enough.
The whispering returns.
'Power'
Yes. He needs more power… for Revelation.
The Super Saiyan God transformation…
It'd been stolen from him. His father shouldn't have it. Gohan should; it's his right. His body throbs with the hunger to be better, to swell with divinity, to… to have so much power that it would deconstruct him from within. It's hot and red; this need… Revelation's need.
'Our duty is awaiting us. We must be the difference.'
Gohan knows that!
A sandstorm knifes him from all angles, and he shouts into it, willing his frustration death. His eyes sting, they're blown wide as they stare into the abyss of the storm. God. He's so angry. Why is he so fucking angry all of the time? Why—why?
He slaps a hand against his cheek, and then another, and then—
There's a cooing sound.
Gohan looks up, desperately wiping along his cheeks.
Haed approaches until the trail of ruined robes comes to a halt feet away. "Laughter and tears are both appropriate responses to frustration. I myself prefer to laugh." There's a look of admiration at the bout of destruction. "Subsequently, there is less cleaning up to do afterward. Why the expression of surprise, Mori? You are in my garden, after all."
Gohan lumbers to attention and the sandstorm immediately quiets. "You are supposed to be working."
Haed's grisly face splits into what could be regarded as smile. "Have you been waiting an eon for my attention?"
Feeling a little embarrassed, Gohan swallows the lump suffocating him and then drags his hair back. He dusts himself down. "No. I also came here to train because nobody disturbs me in your garden."
"Quell does not favour me, so you are free of unwanted visits."
"I'm sure the feeling is mutual."
"Quell of Revelation is not devout to the old ways despite how he acts and performs." Gohan agrees but doesn't say as much. "Still, he is forever a welcome guest here in the clutches of sand. How inhospitable I must appear." Greasy hair flails forward as he turns his attention to the sky. "Enough of that, however, tell me of Luxun's Domain. Did you see the charnel houses? The silica sand used in their construction came from my own collection."
"Do you really want to suffer the truth of it? Do you want to hear of the horrors? Do you want to know of your once friend?"
"Luxun," he rasps, "Was a thorny creature but he would not desire such obscurity that has befallen his domain."
"Yeah, well, the domain will be another port of call once Revelation is achieved. I shall end Luxun's warped will then."
"Yes. It is time for the rotten fruit of that Revelation to be discarded, and perhaps for my manacles to it to be shattered."
"Mmm…" Gohan doesn't want to beat around the bush any longer, and this topic is best left not broached. "I'll be honest, Haed… There is another reason I'm encroaching in your sanctum, beyond the need for privacy and idle chatter."
"Of course there is, child. Do not be meek now. Tell me of what you pursue."
'Power.'
Power.
His tongue ties a knot so suddenly. How can he articulate what he wants exactly when he does not understand it? There is no Room of Spirit and Time here, there is no one powerful enough to bolster his power; no roads to power lead from Hell. He came here to train and to… to what? To talk to this foul being about a lack of agency to do what needs to be done? To admit mortal weakness? To beg for help?
Gohan is not a prideful person but even this stings - especially when he dislikes the man so.
"I have been your ally since long before your rebirth."
"So you say."
"You still do not trust me."
"I do not trust Zamasu either, nevertheless I understand his usefulness. It'll come to a point where I'm sure I'll have to kill him before he tries me."
"Most unsettling…" The smirk is wicked however. "Regrettably, with me, you do not have such a luxury. Our history is entwined in a web of complicities, and attempted murder shall make it all the more byzantine. So do not quest for conflict. We share a far deeper connection than you do with Zamasu, courtesy of the misdeeds bequeathed by the Gods of Revelation before you. One could say that we are… family. We are linked by the Almighty, victim and perpetrator, forever connected."
Gohan breathes a derisive laugh. "That is a terrible foundation of trust. You expect me to open up after that?"
Haed silkily manoeuvres closer. "Perhaps your candidness will be rewarded with something great. I gifted you the dragon ball, did I not?" Cold spreads from Gohan's core, shame creeps along the ice. "That is more than what any of your brothers have given to you."
Gohan's sigh is involuntary.
"I can offer assistance if you part with your uncertainties."
"…"
"Mori."
"Fine," he says, quiet, "I… I am lost."
There's a stilt in the air. Not even the screams fill it.
"Good boy." Haed's witchy fingers soon sprawl across Gohan's shoulder. "Consequently, I am aware of your needs. Last we spoke I felt I should offer more than just condolences for a might stolen. I am a benevolent man."
Gold flickers up.
"Like every creature of divinity, your appetite famines for ever more power. How the Almighty tortures you. He truly has made a beacon of you, has he not?" The resting claw then crawls down Gohan's arm and along to the hand. Something firm presses into the palm. "Feast upon this."
Steadily, Gohan unfurls his hand to find a moderately sized rock. It's unassuming. Rough texture is coloured a dark yellow with glittering specks in its crevices.
"Sandstone," Haed says when Gohan is unable to put the pieces together. "Try concentrating upon it. Shed your gloves."
Begrudgingly, Gohan does, and there's an instant intake of breath when he holds the sandstone in bare hands. His fingers pulsate. He nearly drops the thing.
"I-I…"
Haed closes Gohan's fingers around it. "Yes. You must feel the connection vividly."
This time, Gohan does drop it. The rock whittles into the sand. Gohan's shaking as he fumbles his gloves back on. "Th-That thing – you…" All at once, he realizes what it is, what is must be. He's nearly sick from the horror. "By the Almighty… I—"
"Mori…" The sandstone floats back upwards like a reanimated corpse back into Haed's hold. "After losing the first gift, will you reject the second? Containing such troublesome souls in a woefully short amount of time had almost been a… challenge. Your grandfather in particular—"
"Stop it. Stop."
"I thought you were beyond such sentimental connections?"
Gohan's lungs are empty. The air is thick. "You… turned… I'd never even met them."
That's not true. Gohan met his uncle, a nasty man by the name of Raditz, years ago. The faint familiarity of his unpleasant ki is like sniffing something unpleasant. His crackles from within the rock, along with others Gohan has never felt before. Yet, they feel familiar too, like… like his father… like…
"Your grandparents, your great-grandparents on the paternal side and, of course, your uncle; these are the perished Saiyan souls with the closest familial connection to you, and the souls which would best nourish the Super Saiyan God transformation." Haed brandishes the decrepit rock once more, his yellow smile curling. "For your Revelation, Mori."
The sandstone watches up dully as Gohan feels little except for his heart beating. His chest rattles, his throat tightens. Still, his hand moves by its own volition, shakily taking the stone as though it's not him at all in charge. It's the morbid curiosity, he tells himself.
"I… This…"
In his hand is something weightier than just the sandstone.
"You need no consent of their will," Haed tells him, "Remember, as already said, they are people no more. They are manna, and would have met this doom eventually, as such is the fate of being in the Underworld. So, consume their essence, and allow for destiny to take charge, Mori. Let their detriment not be in vain."
Gohan's grandparents, his great-grandparents; he knows nothing of them, he's never so much as seen them, and now, he's going to—?
"You destroyed them," he whispers, horrified.
"Your sacrifice for Revelation."
"I didn't want this."
For a long time, Gohan stares down at the rock made from his relatives – at the sands of time compressed together - and slowly starts to feel the shock ease into emptiness.
"With this, you can perform the Super Saiyan God ritual and attain the greatness – the power – you so desire to bring Revelation into reality."
Gohan closes his eyes and envisions it.
"I could… right now?"
"This very second."
He clenches the rock, golden eyes still pressed closed, and he breathes in the sandy breeze of the desert. This is what evil looks like. He is not a blind man but he is a desperate one. These are the repurposed souls of his ancestors, moulded into something wicked for consumption, for Gohan. What would his father say if he knew that Gohan is the reason for his parents' obliteration?
It's wrong.
It's so, so wrong.
Gohan feels his mouth turn tarry, and he rests his head against the coarse stubble of the stone. The whirring of blurred ki makes him want to be sick.
Expectant, Haed stands opposite, robes flustering in the wind.
"Mori, what will you do?"
The estate's door pushes open.
It's tomorrow already, the evening no less. As such, the warm lights illuminating the entryway are already on, several cleaners are finishing up, clattering down the marble halls with their respective mops and brushes. There's something rudimentary and faraway about the thought of their work. Gohan's spoken with them all now, he knows them by name, has seen them often enough, yet he barely registers them these days. He so forgets their existence and logs it as trivial, unimportant.
When Gohan had come here years ago, he enjoyed their company when he could savour it. He'd steal conversations from them when Quell was away, he'd lament about food with the cooks, discuss flowers with the gardeners. It'd been a simpler time. They'd been kind to him. These days, he glides past them and not one bring up the strange circumstances of his association with them.
Two cleaners bow as they pass him.
Everything seems so far away.
Gohan takes a step at a time, slow, sliding his hand along the bannister. He savours the creaking of the stairs. He's never noticed some of the paintings on the walls despite passing them nearly every day. They're beautiful.
His feet come to a stop before the piece of a majestic set of horses atop a hilly plane. There are four, of course. There is one white, one red, one black and of course, one that is an ugly tint of grey. Unbridled energy befits the white and red as they clamber as high as the painting possibly allows as, meanwhile, the black and grey sit beneath, in the backdrop, with heads lowered.
It's an awful piece.
Gohan stares.
Languidly, his finger teases the glass of the frame, pinpointing over the grey horse. He wants to touch the canvas. So desperately, he wants to feel the fabric of it cinder.
"Mori."
He doesn't turn.
Quell's boots rap ever closer along the stairs. "Tsk, you've tracked in... is this sand? What the—? Damn it. Were you in Hell again? Mori! …Mori?"
"I don't like this painting."
There's a huff when Quell comes to a stop beside him. "Well, that is hardly news to me. You always would complain about it when given the chance."
"Understandable."
"This painting predates our generation and has as much a right to be here as we do." Gohan's finger pushes against the frame until bright pink. There's a crack. "What are you doing?! Mori—!"
The glass shatters in an explosion. It rains down, trickling like rain water along the stairs.
Gohan touches his sad, little horse. And then he sets it alight.
"Mori!"
Quell shoves him but it's too late. The canvas catches and the flames swallow up the painting before anything can be done. Fire crackles and spits, hissing a quick death when Quell sends a guest of air across it.
"What the hell has gotten into you?"
"You shouldn't have given the earthlings two days," Gohan says, staring at the charred remains. "You had the perfect opportunity to take the ball."
Quell snatches at Gohan's tattered robe, spinning him. "And you shouldn't be associating with that wretched bastard," he snarls, "It does no man any favours by letting him into your head. By the Almighty, what is with that look? Are you inebriated?"
"I am working alongside Haed because you're too stubborn to realize the dangers of our position."
"We have six dragon balls and tomorrow we shall have the final one, as you wanted, you ungrateful brat. Do not lecture me about being stubborn, especially so when you share whispers with Haed of all people." Quell throws him against the bannister. "And what did you say to Zamasu after I left? He is acting most uncooperative."
Gohan stands to attention, taller because of the stairs. "He needed reminding who is in charge."
"And you think that is you?" Quell sneers, stepping higher. "Is that why you found it acceptable to publically call me out in front of the others today? You are becoming daring."
"Your arrogance will be our downfall if you continue to doubt Goku Son."
"No," he hisses, "Any downfall will be born from your lack of faith in the collective."
"What collective?" Gohan gestures to blackened painting. "One is dead, the other a traitor. It is just us up against those who would betray us in a heartbeat, Beerus and my father—"
"Who is just a mortal, a mortal you have beaten several times!"
"By margins not wide enough."
"Do not make me laugh."
"I tried to tell you but your ever-inflated ego makes you deaf, if not stupid."
"Mori. I don't know if it is that senseless mortal presence in that head of—"
"One slip-up and we can lose this. Here I thought you cared enough about Famis' memory for you to take Revelation more seriously but I suppose I was wrong…"
"Don't you dare!" Gold fire flashes, the stares shake from the pressure. "This is too far!"
Gohan jerks his head. "Your petty jealousy and arrogance will cost us Revelation if I allow you to continue as you are. Goku Son is not to be underestimated."
His brother is astonished by his own outrage. He stutters at first, gesturing wildly. "Why are you so afraid of him, Mori? I do not understand you! What makes you put him on a pedestal despite your poorly hidden harboured resentment? What is so special about Goku Son?! Why… Why do you believe him to be better than me, Mori?!"
Gohan watches his brother grasp at the bannister, chest heaving and angry.
"What more can I do to make you see otherwise, to have faith in me?"
How pathetic.
Gohan's head shakes. "I don't want faith, Quell, I want power, and not yours. What's your use if you refuse to take any of this seriously?" When Quell reaches out for him, Gohan takes another step backwards. "I don't need any of you."
"Like hell you don't," his brother snarls, "I'll stop Revelation in an instance, the Almighty so help me. It is doing something to you in which I do not like, Mori. It is warping you. That ridiculous stint of mortality ruined you. It has made you obsessive and married you to all sorts of insufferable plights. I'd rather have you attempt assassination on me every night in the place of you doing it to your own character!"
"Stop Revelation?" Gohan leans down. "You truly do think you have been leading this. Brother, I am the one holding the cards. The others follow me, not you. Do not think yourself the leading horse when the most you have contributed is the bare minimum in not betraying me."
Quell manages to snag him this time, bringing him close. "Do you really mean that? Am I worth so little?"
Gohan stares into the familiar heat of gold, his royal family.
"I don't care about my ties anymore," he whispers, harsh, "They've all left me, and you'll be no different. I'm not subscribing to loyalty anymore when the inevitable will result in me being forsaken. For Revelation, I have chosen to stand on the backs of those in my way, even if that is yours. Revelation needs to happen, Quell. I will die upon this sword if I have to, alone and in agony but gleefully pleased to have achieved what I set out to do."
"You… You've gone mad with it."
Gohan pushes his head against his brother's. "Tomorrow, I will fix your mistake of having let my father and Rixas breathe, but no matter, I'll defeat who I need to and I will call the dragon. Then I will make my wish.
"Who is by my side is irrelevant. In the end, so long as Revelation is achieved, nothing else matters."
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Holy heck. Do I spy a Mori POV? It's the first time we get a non-biased view at him and it's a pleasure to show him more than the villain or a romanticized memory. He'd had his own relationships and quirks, and was (in my mind) the most grey out of all the characters. Still, we're seeing of his darkness bleed into Gohan more and more, as well as the instability born from questionable sources.
Oh, but truly, it sure was hunkydory to do a Gohan chapter after so long.
As usual, thanks so much for your feedback! I can't reply to the guest revieiwers or those with private accounts so, uh, thanks! And also thanks to KagariAsuha for her beta-ing!
C45 is in the works but I'm not exactly sure on the next update. Stay tuned. Please drop a review~