Chapter Text
You're my number one
You're the one I wantAnd I've turned down every hand that has
beckoned me to come– "Geyser" by Mitski
Two months and twenty-two days before the Lacus Annexation
The sun was relentless.
Its light cast the world in a shadowless, vivifying haze. The human eye may squint, narrow its gaze at the starkness of it.
The Totem's eye only split the light into verdant glimmers.
A mound of marine stone rested in his palm. Lapis lazuli.
He figured it would add an aqueous contrast to the abundance of radiant gold already embedded into the mural.
Stepping back to examine the golden outlines of the beetle, the Totem felt a humble joy swell in his soul.
Channeling his focus into the gemstone's rich color, speckled with streaks of gold, a warmth began to shimmer in his other palm.
Soon enough, he had two mounds of lapis lazuli to work with.
Upon an accumulation of sandstone lay a weathered book, its pages held open by a crumble of brick. He oscillated between the makeshift lectern and his most recent architectural endeavor, studying detailed illustrations and the passages that accompanied them.
The Totem found solace in these books. The memoirs inked onto their pages served to give him peace of mind. Sprawling snapshots of civilizations past, represented a meager silver lining of their destruction, preserved in meticulous drawings.
Everything in these books had once existed. And, in a way, continued to exist by virtue of the Archivist.
It was a strange encounter, some-odd centuries ago, following a particularly bitter end to the reigning civilization of that time.
They appeared with a strike of lightning and subsequent clap of thunder, as if summoned. But this couldn't have been further from the case, given the Totem's indignant retreat into his desert dwelling.
The Archivist was an individual of few words. Dutiful and diligent, they rarely showed face in the Overworld, besides in the aftermath of a civilization's end to document its destruction.
They carried themselves with a wraithlike elegance, eyes of pure starlight examining the world as it lay, concealed by opaque spectacles.
Looking back now, it was clear that the Archivist's scrutiny was not limited to the civilizations built up by humanity, extending to observe their fellow members of the Court.
Of course, that included the Totem.
"Do you wish to learn?"
The Archivist had spoken first, their bold timbre echoing all through the desolate pyramid.
"She forbids it," the Totem had replied.
"She will not know. So long as you exercise caution."
Another crash of thunder echoed through the sky and left in the Archivist's place was a single leather-bound tome.
Ever since then, the Archivist made periodic visits to the Totem's temple. Wordlessly, the latter would exchange one thoroughly-read record for another. More often than not, the Archivist would depart after the exchange without a word.
Though, occasionally, they would make offhanded remarks.
"I quite enjoyed this one's sentiment for sea turtles."
"This one had a brilliant solution for their energy dilemma."
"The shrines this one built were truly marvelous."
The Totem did not understand the Archivist's comments. Why bother to recall such trivial details about these bygone societies?
For centuries, the Totem did not understand. For centuries, civilizations continued to rise and fall like a sinusoidal waveform. Crests and troughs. Life and death. Prosperity and destruction.
With the newfound compromise that each society would be memorialized in another sweeping record, protected by the Archivist's delicately bound spines and robust covers, the Totem grit his teeth and returned to his pastimes.
This most recently borrowed volume had proven itself particularly fascinating.
It detailed the activities and structures associated with a civilization that fell around two millennia ago. Its height nearly tripled that of the average archive, making it the largest that the Totem had the privilege of reading.
According to the Archivist's entries, this civilization went to great lengths in studying Death's Court.
As a matter of fact, its people seemed to have dedicated their monoliths and way of living to interpreting, mythologizing, and venerating.
What intrigued the Totem the most was the acceptance of their fate. What prompted him to recreate their imposing temples and bedazzled sculptures was their unyielding belief in a life beyond mortality.
For the first time since the Archivist began visiting his residence, he understood what their remarks meant.
He understood what it meant to memorialize. He understood the remorse that came with it.
As his gaze drifted over the illustrations included with the chapter entitled, "Symbols and Iconography", the sun's blazing light dimmed in a brief eclipse.
The Totem swiftly slammed the book shut and heaved it off the pile of sandstone, letting it fall onto the sand with a thud. As a gust of dry wind blew past, he slid a wide piece of tile over the book's worn cover.
Sighing inwardly, he turned in time to catch the Elder Seraph's crowlike wings rustle as he alighted onto the sifting desert.
The Totem lowered his gaze in a slight bow.
Cobalt eyes surveying the scene before them, the Elder Seraph tipped his hat against the sun's rays. A beady-eyed crow came to settle onto his shoulder, warbling and twisting its beak to attention.
"A message from Lady Death."
The Totem nodded.
"You are to send a torrential storm over the valley, beginning today and ending come twilight on the third day."
The Totem nodded once more. "Understood."
The Elder Seraph's gaze drifted to the ground, landing upon the mounds of lapis lazuli before darting over to regard the scarab mural.
Glancing up through his brow, furrowed, the Totem held his breath.
The Elder Seraph met his eyes with the ghost of a smile floating over his pinkish face.
"Should we be concerned about this?"
The Totem remained silent.
"When She calls upon you, will you adhere to your duty?"
His wings unfurled in a precise ripple. The crow mimicked the display.
"Or should we take this as forewarning of more foolish insubordination?"
The Totem lowered his gaze.
"It's only a hobby," he said.
The Elder Seraph hummed, the shadow of his wingspan obscuring the beetle's.
"Humans have hobbies," he mused. "You'd be truly foolish to disparage yourself so."
With a decisive flare of his wings, the Elder Seraph took flight and soared back towards the violet portal, standing tall over the horizon. With a harsh caw, the crow followed suit.
Breathing a deep sigh, the Totem got to work conjuring a mass of angry clouds, muffling the relentless sun and azure yonder with clusters of grey specters.
Performing this routine with fluid dexterity, the Totem bid his blustering storm a solemn farewell as it rolled over the ocean.
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The sun sunk lazily between the hills.
Its light cast the world in a tender, golden sheen.
Humanity may marvel at the sight of the setting sun.
The Angel opted to face south, observing the incoming tempest with mild intrigue.
Thunderclouds slowly swallowed the soft, placid sky. Grey mounds blemished the horizon like tumors. A murder soared through them like a dotted arrowhead, squawks echoing like rain.
Perched atop the tallest spire of the citadel, he returned his watchful eye to the shimmering lake, vexed to find all the tiny little boats drifting towards land like pitiful caterpillars.
Snickering to himself, the Angel stepped off the spire's milky stone and dove through the air.
The citadel's gleaming facade rushed past as dovelike wings unfurled to stall his descent.
The Angel flew past lofty marble skyscrapers and webs of steel wires, emerging over the docks to glide near the lake's surface, breathing in the sweet aroma of impending rain.
Gales of wind sent trembling ripples over the lake's surface. Trees and reeds alike bowed to the storm in spades. The city's monolithic facades sung in a pittering chorus as the clouds began to shower.
People scurried through the gridded roads to find shelter, crawling around the mountainous basin like puny ants in their colony.
Satisfied with his brief perusal of the storm's arrival, the Angel returned to the citadel, soaring over the courtyard and up along the cascading waterfalls. As the arched balcony came into view, he leaned backwards to catch a glimpse of runoff streaming down the roads before diving forth through the narrow pillars.
The storm became one long hiss in the background, echoing along the high ceilings.
"It seems the Totem intends for your precious lake to join his ocean."
With a fluttering snap of his wings, the Angel sent bullets of rainwater hurtling onto the pristine floors.
The Director gave a hearty laugh, sitting at the head of a round, glossy table.
"The first rain of spring promises lush pastures come summer," he said.
The Angel cackled.
"What makes you think you'll live to see the day?" Drifting listlessly between the chandeliers, his taunts scattered with stray droplets of rainwater. "That kind of arrogance only hastens your doom. You humans just don't learn, do you?"
"Don't mistake my confidence for arrogance, Angel of Death." The Director peered up with a warm smile.
"The drainage tunnels are holding up well," the Scholar spoke up from the round table's side, gaze trained on a glass monitor. "The lake's level should remain unaffected."
"As soon as it clears up over the hills, all the game'll come running right out for the slaughter," the Brute chimed eagerly from the opposite side, brandishing a violet-brushed sword. "The valley will feast for days!"
The Angel twisted himself upright, gaze narrowing down at the Founders with noiseless scorn.
"If you know what's good for you, you will show ample fear in the face of Death," he paused, a wry smirk splitting his face. "Take my word not as a threat, but a warning."
The Director rose from his seat to offer a low bow.
"The people of Lacus Valley thank you for your continued wisdom, Angel," he said through a smile. "Please, give my regards to the Court."
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An assortment of thin glass jars clunked together like hollow marbles, each burning with a small azure flame.
The storm had continued into the night. The sky crackled with thunder as dawn crept behind blanketing clouds.
Like a sapphire lantern drifting over the skyline, the Angel carried the bottles in a length of silk. He grasped the corners together in both hands as he traveled.
His sights set on the deep violet glow beyond the valley's head, the Angel sung into the night.
O, I am death, and none can tell
if I open the door to Heaven or Hell
From their shuttered windows, the restless among the valley civilization's residents spied through rain to steal cowering glimpses at the dreaded azure glow.
No wealth, no land, no silver, nor gold
Nothing satisfies me but your soul
As the Angel soared down the mountain trail, a group of travelers scrambled to snuff out their oil lamps.
Glass jars clattered with the thunder as he descended upon the busybodies.
"Where do you think you're going?"
The travelers shrunk beneath the azure light, collapsing to their knees.
"Angel of Death, have mercy on our souls," one muttered, rubbing his hands together like a praying mantis. "We're only on our way to a nearby village."
The Angel laughed.
"There are no villages. Only this insolent city." He took a handful of empty bottles from his belt. "You trespassers are acutely aware."
The others groveled in suit, crying, ""We beg of you, please, have mercy! Forgive us for our contempt!"
I'm death, I come to take the soul
Leave the body and leave it cold
The night's collection grew a handful heavier.
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A sea of molten ochre illuminated the foggy haze.
Embers and soot rose in fluttering specks through the air, more smoke than oxygen.
Swaths of crimson trees surrounded the violet gateway as far as the eye could see through the dense fog, ensembles of grunting pigmen sauntering in search of hogs to hunt.
Distant, howling cries rang through the skyless dimension. The odd screech echoed over the valleys and cliffs.
The Angel made a beeline straight across the lava lake, eyes searching the horizon for his landmark.
Before long, the towering silhouette of the Keeper's bastion appeared through the fog. Shrouded in darkness, specks of azure bloomed along its stone facade.
Humming, the Angel dove through a crumbling gash near the magma's surface, alighting onto the weathered blackstone floor.
The clattering glass served as alert of his arrival, the Keeper twisting in place with a sweet grin. She placed a pair of bottled azure flames onto a shelf, among dozens of the exact same.
"How do you do?"
Her batlike wings fluttered to bring her away from the stocked shelves.
"Fine," the Angel held out the silk bundle, glimmering brightly azure. "I found a couple of trespassers on the way, but tonight's collection was modest."
With a gracious nod, the Keeper took the offering in her own hands. As she hovered back towards the wall, she counted the bottles through quiet mumbles.
"Both of your nightly collections grow smaller, yet smaller…" She began to add the jarred flames onto the shelf. "At this rate, the scales will tip and someone will have to intervene."
"The Totem sent a storm earlier today," the Angel perched himself by the ledge, overlooking the infernal lake and forest.
"A storm?" the Keeper laughed. "Sharkboy's gonna have to cook up a typhoon to keep our numbers up. Soon enough," she paused, "the Crimson will sow seeds for its own harvest."
The Angel made a dispirited hum.
It was a delicate balancing act — the scales of life and death.
Human civilization, for the most part, tended to uphold the balance well enough on their own. Disease, crime, and conflict all played their part in ensuring a hefty amount of souls were collected by him and the Elder.
However, in a vacuum, a dominant civilization would eventually come to practice hindsight.
In a vacuum, a dominant civilization seldom repeated its wars and battles. Humanity would eventually build wisdom. Awareness to its pitfalls.
Knowledge would prevail over violence. Technologies would develop to bolster health. Surplus would build. Populations would rise. Disease alleviated, crime diminished, and conflict minimized.
Life would begin to prosper. The scales would begin to tip.
"The Director gives his regards," the Angel muttered.
"So courteous, that one."
"They're practically inviting Her to intervene… constantly inventing and circumventing to keep themselves well-off…"
"Perhaps they believe goodwill to be their salvation."
"Goodwill?"
The Keeper chuckled, bottles clinking as she glided through the shelves.
"They gave you your own little outpost in their citadel, didn't they? Let you loiter around there, monitor every project of theirs, every bit of progress they achieve." Ivory horns tilted to one side, silken hair draping towards the floor. "Isn't that unprecedented?"
The Angel scoffed. "There's nothing 'unprecedented' about this era. I would know."
The Keeper shrugged blithely. "If you insist."
He grumbled to himself, wings unfurling with a flutter. "What's that supposed to mean?"
The Keeper smiled in reply and said, "I'm just saying. You've been pretty scrupulous about overseeing this one."
There was a hollow pause as she floated through to the other end of the hall.
"Be careful," she sung sweetly. "Death always prevails in the end."
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The Angel lingered at the edge of an overhang that stretched over the vast molten sea, scanning the faint edge of the warped forest on the other side.
He kept a vague count of every half hour that passed in the back of his mind, a family of striders serving as his marker as they waddled across the lava.
Just as they made their way past a cascading stream of it, the Angel caught a silhouette moving through the teal haze.
He rose from the cliff side, wings unfurling to take flight over the lake.
Settling his gaze onto the moss-carpeted floor of the warped forest, the Angel hovered over the solitary, crouched form of a person.
"You're really toeing the line today, aren't you?" the Angel made a sardonic chuckle. "The lake counts, in case you weren't aware."
The Ambassador chuckled softly, raising his head to greet the other with a coy grin.
"It's not every day I get to see actual real life lava up close like this, y'know."
The Angel's brow furrowed. "Mind the time."
The human winked, raising a half-full bottle of honey-colored potion from his belt.
Tutting, the Angel perched himself in a drooping tree.
"I don't understand why you insist on spending so much time here."
Hands combing through the teal moss, the Ambassador shrugged.
"Why not? Beats the rain."
The Angel thought of what the Keeper had said. Admittedly, he did often find himself somewhat intrigued by the strange activities humans would occupy themselves with.
It was a simple, objective curiosity. A curiosity that, perhaps, the valley city's founders may have recognized by maintaining their open door policy.
He felt suddenly vexed. What exactly was that demon girl trying to imply? That he'd grown soft? At risk of insubordination?
"The second you step foot into the bastion's territory, I'll happily reap your soul," the Angel hissed, wings flaring.
The Ambassador plucked a cluster of fungi out of the moss, the magma's warm glow illuminating his bronze-colored skin as he studied it closely.
"No need to get feisty, bad boy."
"And show some respect! I carry out the eternal will of the Goddess of Death–" the Angel sputtered. "I could easily put an end to your meaningless life."
With a low growl, he hovered over the lone human. His tapered scythe materialized out of the smoke and embers, perfectly in his grasp.
The Ambassador stood up, stretching his limbs and exhaling.
"The Lacus Valley Administration is well within our rights," he began to tread down the land's edge. "Using the nexus portal, staying within our bounds. See?" He held up the mushroom with a smirk. "Harmless foraging."
The Angel huffed, drifting after him. "Humanity's grown awfully pompous these days. You ought to cower in the face of—"
"Look."
The guttural chirp of a stray strider made the Angel pause, hovering in place as he watched the other lean over the broiling magma.
He held out the warped fungus for the creature, who'd become captivated by the sight of it. Soon enough, the entire pack of waddling striders formed an appetized, chittering crowd to get a hold of the mushroom.
The Ambassador laughed breezily, raising the mushroom high over his head as he turned to the Angel.
"Now I have an army," he chuckled, dark eyes glimmering with mischief.
Before the Angel could say a word, the human twisted his upper body and pitched the mushroom straight between his eyes.
As he cried out and prepared to take flight, the Angel found himself swarmed and trampled by the family of chittering striders.
The Ambassador doubled over in effervescent laughter, evidently pleased with the chaotic scene.
Fizzling into a dry cough, he uncorked the potion bottle and downed the rest of it. With a quiet chuckle, he started towards he thicket of warped forest.
"Hey!" Batting away the impatient creatures, the Angel struggled to get his wings free of the hoard. "Get back here! You little—"
"It's been a pleasure, as always." Spinning on his heel, the human gave a theatrical bow with the empty bottle held to his chest. "Until next time, o Angel of Death."
With one last puckish grin, he disappeared into the teal brush.
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A dryness hung in the air, the walls gleaming with torchlight. Piles of paraphernalia cast flickering shadows.
The Totem glanced up from the archival tome every few pages, emerald eyes darting between mounds of precious minerals and stacks of tawny brick.
Nights were quiet like this. The messengers too occupied with their nightly soul collecting to bother him with orders or directives from the Goddess.
At least, that's what he could typically expect.
A sudden draft sweeping in through the temple's inner sanctum served as confirmation that this would not be a typical night.
The Totem sighed deeply at the sardonic chuckle that echoed along the walls.
"Neat little art project you've got out there, Foolish."
Squaring his shoulders, he returned to the book and continued to study a salient sketch of a black-coated wolf.
"Don't you have a job to be doing?" he muttered in hopes that the Angel wouldn't linger. "And stop calling me that."
"Look who's talking," he snickered back, a small leather pouch rattling from his belt. "I'm all done for the night. Numbers are dwindling, and the rodents have all burrowed into their dens, hiding away from your little downpour."
"Numbers are dwindling? This soon?" The Totem turned to arch an incredulous brow at the other.
The Angel shrugged, swimming overhead as if reclining on an invisible cloud.
The Totem turned the page with a thin flutter. He felt the Angel's eyes on him, boring into his skull. Or, maybe, burning a hole into the parchment.
"You really think She won't find out about this secret library affair you two've got going?"
The Totem snapped to glare daggers at his sycophantic, leering presence and sneered, "Yes, I do. Because if She does, She'll also find out about your little Netherworld play dates with that air-headed ambassador."
Muted green eyes widened with a jolt as the Angel charged towards him, returning his glare with equal ferocity.
"How on earth—"
"Spare me," the Totem interrupted with a curt huff. "The Keeper told me all about it."
The Angel retreated, letting out an exasperated groan and ascending with an abrupt flap of his wings.
"That little… I ought to– who does she think she is?! Just because she oversees that infernal egg…" Grumbling, the Angel made restless circles near the temple's slanted ceilings.
"Wonderful," the Totem exhaled, flipping over another page. "Let's all just agree to mind our own business, then, shall we?"
The Angel returned an irritable snarl.
"Know your place, Totem. You're nothing but a tool," he spat. "If I'd committed such a foolish act as to help an entire village of vermin, Death would have me banished to oblivion for the rest of eternity. Show some humility, why don't you?"
"You say that to demean me, but what would become of you without me?" He leafed through the archive. "…This civilization believed in life after death. To them, dying was simply stepping stone to the next stage of an eternal life."
"That weak-willed bookworm is just putting fanciful ideas in your head, aren't they?"
The Totem ignored the snide remark. "Humanity once honored and revered life just as highly as Death…" He paused, glancing over his shoulder to meet the Angel's inquisitive stare. "You're right. Death couldn't possibly banish me. I'm the only one capable of upholding the duty ordained to me," he smirked. "Without me to restore your souls, you'd all be reduced to mere mortals."
Silence fell over the two and the night breeze drafted through the sandstone walls.
The Totem made a haughty chuckle and said, "Perhaps it's you who should know your place, Angel."
The Angel's mouth curled into a smile. Then, under his breath, he laughed. Laughing still, he soared up and circled the emerald beacon in an ascending spiral.
"You've got a knack for this architecture thing, Foolish," he called out, waiting for him to peer up before untying the leather pouch from his belt. It sunk in a blink, free-falling.
Reacting swiftly, the Totem caught it in his hands with a muted clatter. Puzzled, he opened it and shimmied its contents into his palm.
"Thought you could make use of that."
Dovelike wings rippled to bring the Angel into the moonlight, shining through an opening in the temple's apex.
"The valley city's made entirely of that quartz. It looks radiant in the sun."
The Totem studied the chunks of crystal, cloudy yet equally brilliant. It was unlike any quartz he'd refined in the Overworld. Much too pristine and much too pearly in color. He couldn't help but be enchanted by its iridescent sheen.
As he turned back to question the Angel, he caught only a glimpse of his feathery silhouette as it disappeared into the star-studded sky.