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The attempted assassination of the Dessendre family - including the Head of the Painter's Council, Aline Dessendre, was the last straw before Paris devolved into all-out war.
Any families who could flee the war between the Writers and the Painters had done so, leaving the city empty of those who knew the true nature of the conflict.
Landmarks became Battlefields as the Painters and Writers descended upon them, ink and chroma used to destroy and reform structures until their true nature was twisted and corrupted into mere remnants of what it had been before.
Any of age were drafted into the fighting, and ordered to wage war without mercy.
The Writers outnumbered the Painters, but the Painters, if given the chance to wield their chroma, could devastate a dozen writers with a single blow.
Bodies were scattered among the streets of Paris as the war became the festering underground of the city, bleeding her dry and sucking the life from her as the viciousness only grew, both sides trying to force the other to break, to put an end to the conflict at last.
"After him!" Penelope Écrivain shouted.
Gustave had been ordered to protect their exit as the other Writers charged into the sewer where Verso Dessendre had been seen attempting to escape to. They had been chasing him, attempting to kill him for months now, as he was the only remaining Dessendre besides his parents in the city. His older sister had been lost, fallen to a trap from the Writer's Council, and his younger had been sent away from the fighting, too young to join the ranks of the Painters. If they could capture Verso, and even kill him, it might be enough for Aline Dessendre to be forced to end the war.
The sound of the Writers charging down the sewer faded and Gustave hunkered down on the steps, panting hard, shivering as he kept his pen clutched in his fist.
"M-merde..."
Gustave's head snapped up at the softly hissed curse, looking to the shadowed corner of the stairs that led down to the sewers. He held his pen out and carefully descended the stairs, turning the corner with ink already gathering at the tip of the pen, only to come face to face with the man who they had been chasing. A face that he had not realized until this precise moment, was achingly, agonizingly familiar.
Gustave took a stutter step forward, only to find himself facing a paintbrush with chroma gathered at the tip of it. The hand holding it wasn't steady, but it was lethal if he moved wrong. A glance at Verso's chest showed a patch of blood and ink growing on his chest that was likely lethal, or very close to it. If it hadn't been, Verso would have tried to get past him and escape already.
"H-hurry up and kill me already," Verso hissed.
Gustave swallowed hard and lowered the pen, glancing at the sound of voices approaching the exit again. He remembered what those gray eyes looked like when they smiled, when they were dark in passion, when he'd forced them to beg, to plead, to want more than he'd ever imagined, and shook himself. He should obey the instruction. Suffocate Verso on a single swipe of ink, and bring his body to drop on the doorstep of the Painter's Council. But... But he remembered how this man had talked about his sister, his dog, his music, how he'd bragged about it, had been so proud and so excited to play as part of an orchestra, had wanted to travel and see the world with his music.
"Putain de merde," Gustave cursed, and pointed the nub of the pen at Verso. "Stay here," he growled. "Don't move."
Gustave stepped away from the shadows Verso had hidden himself in and quickly wrote a shadowed figure of Verso's height and build into existence. "Quick!" He shouted, raising his voice, drawing the attention of the others. "He's doubled back, he's hnngh!" Another quick swipe of his pen and his shirt was torn, blood and fake chroma staining his chest. He slumped back against the wall and watched the parade of Writers charge forward through the sewers, and catch sight of the shadow construct that turned and ran.
"Go, go!" Gustave gestured them on. "I'm fine, he just snuck up on me!" He ignored the derisive snort from two of the Writers as they charged up and past him and Gustave waited another precious minute to make sure they were gone before he made his way back over to where Verso was breathing roughly. He knelt down beside Verso and met his eyes that were hazy with pain. "You have ink poisoning. I have to draw it out of you or you're going to die from it."
"Why are you-"
"I can waste the precious time you have answering inane questions, or I can save you," Gustave challenged, and lifted his prosthetic over the wound on Verso's chest. He breathed in deeply and shivered, pulling at the ink he could feel clawing its way deeper into Verso. It took time, time they didn't have, but he finally managed to pull the last of it out of the wound and met his eyes. There was still no sound of the returning Writers and Gustave checked his pocket watch. They didn't have much time before one of them came back for him and his supposed injury.
"You need to get that treated-" the sound of an explosion, not far from them had his head jolting up. Even from down in the sewer, he could see the orange glow. Another direct confrontation was happening. "Bordel!"
"You have to, fuck, go," Verso panted. "The, the Painter's Council is desperate, they're planning to swallow half the city in chroma. You have to get away."
Gustave's eyes widened when another explosion sounded above them and he cut the back of his right arm, mixing ink with blood, before quickly drawing a symbol on the ground, pressing his palm to it before it lit up gold and disappeared. He turned his attention back to Verso Dessendre and saw the exhausted resignation in his face. "You aren't going to be able to run with that wound, unless I seal it. You'll bleed out before we can get out of the city. Do you trust me enough to seal it?"
"Why are you helping me?" Verso spat. "Tell me why."
Gustave snarled and leaned in close, watching those beautiful grey eyes widen. "Because I fell a little in love with the musician who let me take him apart and who I made sing for me. You didn't kill me when you could have, and I returned the favor. Now either trust me enough to save you and get you out of Paris, or go and get yourself killed in the fighting!"
Verso swallowed and nodded once. "Seal it, please."
Cursing stubborn Painters and his even more stubborn heart, Gustave pressed his hands, both real and mechanical over the wound in Verso's chest and summoned ink to his fingertips, breathing out roughly as he wove a story of healing and perseverance, of hope for a better life, of escape from the fighting that consumed them. When he pulled his hands back, Verso took a full inhale, and Gustave stood, offering his hand.
Verso cursed and took the hand, standing and shedding his jacket, bringing his paintbrush to his fingertips once more. "We're going to have to fight our way out of the city." He could already hear the shouts and screams amidst the rising screech of concrete and steel warping to the command of ink and chroma.
"Yes, we are," Gustave agreed, squeezing Verso's hand, staring him down. "And you have my word, if you help me get out, I will get you to your sister, if she still lives."
Verso swallowed and let out a rough breath, steeling himself. "Let's hurry, then."
Gustave nodded and didn't let go of Verso's hand as they charged up the stairs that were the entrance to the sewers and into a city on fire. Orange fire dotted the landscape, and people were running, trying to get away from the worst of the fighting. He took his pen and flicked it quickly through the air, gold streaking a path forward, reaching for the ink that he shared with another. When the thread pulled taut, he nodded.
"That's our path," he told Verso. "Don't stop for anything, or anyone. Promise me." Those gray eyes were fierce and burning, making his breath catch.
"I swear it."
"Good. Move!" Gustave broke into a run, his pen and ink at the ready as they followed the thin golden thread that weaved through city streets as explosion after explosion continued to rock the city, scattering rubble and bodies no matter what path they took.
Verso stumbled, the pain from his wound making him woozy, but he kept his brush in his hands, and brought down crumbling buildings behind them to block those who caught sight of them and began to follow. They swung down another side street and Verso only caught the flicker of chroma at the last possible second. "Down!" He shouted, grabbing the lash of chroma-painted laceration of their legs to throw it back at the Painter who had attacked them with enough power to sever both of his, leaving the Painter screaming in agony. Verso pulled Gustave this time, out of the alley and nearly into another squadron of Painters.
"Verso!"
Verso cursed and swiped, broad and violently, chroma exploding from his brush, turning the cobblestones beneath the Painters to swampland, sending all of them off balance and scrambling. The scent of ink and electricity arced through the air, and the swamp was on fire moments later, and Gustave was staring at him, panting and horrified. "Run, keep going!" He ordered, galvanizing Gustave into moving again.
Gustave lost track of how long they ran for, or how many Writers and Painters fell in the path they carved across the city. The Writers and Painters were looking for them now as they hunkered in shadows of a partially destroyed building and tried desperately to catch their breath after the sprint across the city. "We're almost there," he promised Verso, feeling the urgent tugging from the other side of the golden thread they were following. "They're looking for us."
"For me," Verso corrected, his chest heaving, even though he pressed a hand to the stripe of ink across his chest. "They're looking for me." He swallowed and tightened his bloodied hand on his paintbrush. "We need to move, we can't stay here."
"Right," Gustave whispered, steeling himself. "We can make it. I know we can make it." The sound of approaching boots had him shuddering, and the blood on his hands and his pen would give him nightmares for the rest of his life.
Verso leaned in and tipped Gustave's head up so those exhausted brown eyes met his. "We are getting out," he growled, the words a promise, reverberating with the weight of chroma. "We, Gustave, are getting out. You hear me?" The roar of the fight was getting closer, but the two of them, here, pressed chest to chest, the moment stretched forever. "You hear me?"
Gustave swallowed and nodded. "I hear you, Verso. I hear you."
"Good," Verso growled, leaning in to press their lips together in a rough kiss. "Now come on."
Gustave tugged Verso out and along the golden thread that was leading him to Emma, keeping to the shadows and the rubble as much as possible, but crossing one of the broader boulevards where he could hear Painters and Writers fighting had him tensing, holding onto his pen as tight as possible. He slashed his pen through the air when one of his Cousins, one of the more vicious ones who liked making Painters scream as they bled chroma, slowly, turned and began to shout his name. Gustave had only an instant to react and he paused. He swiped his hand again, quick and violent, wrapping a noose of ink around his cousin's neck before snapping it in a quick swipe of his arms.
"Verso Dessendre!"
Verso nearly froze at the shout from his mother, the words amplified with chroma, echoing across the rubble-strewn streets, and stumbled after Gustave. He saw her lift her brush, condemnation and fire in her eyes and behind her, all of it lighting her up, lighting gathering around her, arching from the chroma she had gathered. Screams were growing louder and Verso could see the silvery grey of chroma undulating around his mother. He tightened his hand on his brush and breathed out slowly, ordering himself to focus, to do as his mother had taught him and stand in the face of what was coming for him. A squeeze of his hand had him turning to look at Gustave, who had ink gathering around his prosthetic in waves.
"Together?" Gustave offered, holding up his pen.
Verso swallowed and lifted Gustave's hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. "Together."
The first two waves of chroma from his mother were desperate, heavy hits, lacking her usual finesse, a testament to how exhausted she must have been, and Verso managed to block them, keeping the chroma away from Gustave, even as he siphoned it off to join his own. Behind him though, he could hear more footsteps approaching, and Verso had to keep all of his attention on his mother in front of him. She was screaming now, chroma coating her hair and clothes as fire raged around her.
"You turn traitor with a Painter, Gustave?"
Gustave stared down his father, his hand clenched around his pen, ink gathering in thicker and thicker globs over his arm. "I've had enough of this war! What has it brought us other than death?"
"Death that you've been all too happy to wield yourself, Écrivain!"
The other Writer sneered out his name and Gustave spun, lashing out with his ink, throwing a torrent of it alight with electricity onto the Writer, watching them scream as they fell to the ground, still twitching as the lightning raced over their skin and Gustave's chest heaved as he watched his father. He tugged desperately at the golden thread, stepping together with Verso, both of them keeping their back to each other. Safe as they could manage.
"We'll kill you and that little whore of a Painter beside you!" Gustave's father spat. "You are a disgrace to your name! You and your sister could have turned the tide, and yet-"
"You will not talk about Emma!" Gustave snarled, cupping his hand in the air, sending another whip of ink and electricity straight at his father, wrapping it around him, trapping his arms around his sides, forcing him to drop his pen as he flung another stripe of ink over him, then another, and another. The Writers were staring at him in horror and Gustave raised his hand, his arm shaking. "You nearly killed her, nearly bled her ink dry, and for what?"
"She, we..."
Gustave screamed in fury and clenched his hand into a fist, the ink surrounding his father completely, then rapidly compressing, blood seeping out between the lashes of ink before the broken body wrapped in ink sank to the ground, the ink dissipating into a puddle. His chest heaved and he stared at the rest of the Writers.
"Monsters!" Renoir snarled, pointing his rapier at Gustave. "Kill him! Kill him now!"
Gustave's chest ached and his veins were on fire, but he turned to face the Painter about to send a spear of chroma into him, trembling, barely able to hold onto his pen. The thread would go slack, he'd already pulled all of the ink that he could without-
"No, I don't think you will," a soft voice interrupted.
Verso spun, his paintbrush at the ready, but his eyes widened as he realized that the golden thread they'd been following, it led to the chest of the woman who had just walked up next to Gustave. The gold aura around her was growing stronger and stronger and Verso watched everyone on the battlefield freeze.
"Emma," Gustave sobbed. "Emma, you cannot, you cannot..."
Emma reached out and cupped Gustave's face in her palm. "There never was any escaping the conflict for me, frérot. I am the conflict. It feeds me, just as it feeds you. But you have found your new tether." She leaned down and kissed his forehead, twining lines of gold onto his prosthetic arm, weaving the net with deft fingers. "Now take your tether and go. It is time for me to at last end this."
Verso's eyes darted between the two twins, the Écrivain twins that were rumored to be the only reason the Writers were still able to maintain the conflict at all. The battlefield around them was still and silent, everyone horrified and awed by the way ink and chroma seemed to be drawn to the golden aura around Emma.
"Emma," Gustave breathed, wrapping his arms around her, hugging her tight. "I will never forget you."
"Go, little brother," Emma whispered. "I will clear the path for you." She turned and reached out with her hand, wrapping golden tendrils of ink around Renoir Dessendre's throat, holding him up and in front of Aline, and with her other hand, reached out with the same tendrils for all of the Writers behind her. "This war will end tonight, mes amis."
Gustave snarled through his tears and grabbed Verso's hand and began to run back through the alleyway that Emma had come from. He didn't stop running, even when the screaming got louder and louder, or when the roar of power became nearly deafening as golden light flooded the streets behind him. Two more corners and dodging around collapsed buildings, they at last stumbled across the carriage that Emma had been waiting in, and Gustave managed to get them both in and give the order to drive, when the golden light that had been glowing in the city at last exploded, a flash as bright as the sun lighting up the sky.
Gustave muffled his scream into his sleeve as he felt the tether he had had to Emma his entire life disappear, the golden thread lingering his chest going limp, before it reached out for Verso, across from him, prodding at his hand. He slumped against the door, his eyes going dark as he watched Verso stroke the golden thread on his glove. He trembled and tried to breathe, tears streaking down his cheeks. The carriage was racing, carrying them as far out of the city as they could go, and into the countryside.
Verso cursed when Gustave, all of the sudden, went limp, his face pale and clammy. He shifted into the other seat, wrapping his arm around the man, pulling Gustave into his lap, wrapping the golden thread around his fist, holding onto it tightly as the carriage raced out of the city. Where, precisely, they were going, he didn't know. But they'd escaped the fighting, somehow, together.
~!~
The sound of waves crashing against a shoreline woke Gustave up, and he grunted, pressing a hand to his chest. He couldn't feel Emma any longer and tears gathered in his eyes, agony lacing through him at the realization that he had lost his twin. After trying for so long, and so desperately, they hadn't managed to escape together, just like Emma had always predicted for them.
"Verso!" A young woman shouted. "Verso, he's awake!"
More crashing, though this time it was through a door, and Gustave had to blink against the bright flash of light that hit his eyes, reaching out to cover them. He trembled, feeling too weak to do more than let his arm fall back to the bed when there was a familiar callused hand reaching for his. Gustave forced his eyes open and met the all-too-familiar gray of Verso Dessendre.
Verso smiled weakly and lifted Gustave's hand, kissing the back of it. "Hello, Gustave. Welcome back."
"How, how long?" Gustave breathed, accepting the cup of water that Verso immediately offered him a moment later, sipping at it slowly, relaxing at the cool liquid slipping down his parched throat. "How long ago were we in Paris?"
"Four days," Verso admitted softly. "We're in Portugal now. With my sister."
Portugal. Far away from Paris, and further away from France. Not far enough, but in the opposite direction that most would have gone looking for him to find him. Gustave sank back against the pillows, breathing deeply. They would have expected him to escape to the Germanic countries, or perhaps even to Italy. Portugal would not occur to them. "The war?"
"Over," Verso said, sighing. "Half the city is destroyed, based on the reports in the papers that I have been able to sneak glances at. But the remaining Writers and Painters, they have called for a permanent cease fire and truce."
Gustave's heart ached for Emma and he nodded weakly, offering the water back to Verso a moment later. "Is your sister all right?"
Verso laughed weakly. "Other than that she has become insolent and doesn't listen to a single thing I tell her? Yes. She is perfectly fine." He shifted and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to touch Gustave's hand. "My wound is still bound with ink," he offered up. "I think it's all right, but I also think it needs to perhaps heal on its own?"
"I'll be able to remove it tomorrow," Gustave said, shuddering as he struggled to focus on Verso. "And I'll..." he swallowed, knowing damn well that he had nowhere to go.
"You'll stay right here, with us," Verso said, his voice soft. "Alicia has been waiting to talk to you for days. And I've been waiting for you to wake up for days."
Gustave could see it, now, how tired Verso looked, and since the last thing he could remember was being awake in the carriage, Verso had gotten them all of the way safely here on his own. With a grunt of effort, he moved back on the bed and gave the blankets a pat. There was a trip over of the heart on the other end of his tether and Gustave looked up at Verso and gestured again. "Come on. Come here."
Verso swallowed and stretched out on the bed beside Gustave, reaching out to tuck some of Gustave's hair behind his ear. "Thank you," he whispered.
Gustave swallowed and leaned into the touch with a rough sigh. "Think we're even, since you got me here, safe." He reached out and pressed his hand to Verso's heart, feeling it beat underneath the thin white shirt he was wearing.
Verso hummed and started to comb through Gustave's curls, slowly, carefully. "I suppose so," he agreed, and kept up the gentle, teasing touches, humming softly as he did, watching Gustave relax back into the pillows, his eyes heavy and limbs relaxed. "You know," he added softly. "You aren't the only one who fell a little in love that night."
Gustave's breath caught and he pressed his hand a little tighter to Verso's chest, swallowing hard. "Maybe we could... could try that again?"
Verso leaned in to press their foreheads together. "I'd like that." He covered Gustave's hand with his and gave a small squeeze. "Together?"
The echo of that horrifying moment on the streets of Paris, choked in blood, ink, chroma, and tears made him shiver, but the weight of the promise lingered. "Together."