Chapter Text
PATROL LOG 300725:
It has been a month since the colliseum was closed down. Several trolls have been found and given a home thanks to Embassador Tarron's kindness.
Most have been safeguarded at the abandoned museum, which, to my surprise, was a plan that had been in the making since he took office.
He's...kinder than most of his akiridians, or at least the ones I've faced in the rink.
Selfish patrons, wanting to buy me as a guard-dog, inspecting me like merchandise. I halted them a hundred times, but I doubt the others did...except...weirdly enough, the one I found today at the waterways.
The laberynth, the catacombs of this city remain untouched and unused, or at least, that's what most think. After the rink closed, some others ran, scared of being caught again, or, perhaps, to recover the freedom Trollmarket brought before Morgana tore it down.
The tunnels, now dry and lonely, are nothing like the crystal covered caverns of the old market, but at least, there, they can live hidden from the glowing eyes of those who have taken the world hostage.
I would be one of them, if not for Krel...
Anyway, today, during my patrol, I reached the nexus of the waterways, a point where, as far as I remember, was filled with water, dirty more often than not. The smell lives in the walls, humid and putrid, but fading with the passage of the years, leaving behind a faint trace of it.
As I walked into the giant cement circle, the sound of my hooves echoed in each wall, in each pillar and hall. Letting anyone who might be near where to find me, but the open space, so big, wasn't just a target on me, it was a scenario for anyone willing to attack me due to the light above. A hole which might've been closed by a sewer lid at some point, now was illumination on an unhabited space.
The trolls hidden in the dark explained to me why they pull away from this spot. Even if a camp could've been built there, now, as I looked at it, made sense. They would be exposed to anyone who may find this peephole on the streets. Scavangers would know they are there, and the cycle would begin anew.
Thus, the emptiness of the place, and why I may had been unaware of my surroundings.
No one was supposed to be there, but still, the clicking of claws was subtle, it approached in all fours behind me.
When I looked back, a winged sillouhette jumped at me. For a second, I could've sworn it was Stricklander. Same smell of fresh blood on a stone, but some details differed:
The way to ambush, the horns and, overall, those yellow scleras and blue eyes. It couldn't be him.
As it flew my way, I managed to block it's claws. With a swift turn and his grasp stuck on my gauntlet, the intruder was pinned down.
Finally, my sight could observe my attacker: Moss Green Skin, Ivory horns and claws, a long spiked tail and dragon wings armoured in salvaged bones. His frame was smaller, more humanoid than one of any other troll, and that smell which, many years ago, would've made my innards twitch in disgust.
It was a changeling, now stuck in it's troll form, and a young one at that.
-Let go of me, Traitor!- an agressive growl echoed in the chamber, coming from the youngling underneath me.
-Traitor?- even if I hate to admit it, the title came as a surprise which made my tail whip around and my ears perk up.
-Yes! You betrayed the Pale Lady! You deserve to die!- he squirmed and writhed below me, while my claws firmly kept him on the floor.
As of then, it made sense, Morgana, or the Janus Order had spun the tale to make it seem as if I had served the Witch and left her, when that couldn't be further from the truth. No surprise though, given everyone knows she became the heroine of the story instead of the one who began it all.
Gunmar The Black was there long before she was a thought. The only thing she did, was trick him into submission.
But, beyond my anger at Pendragon's lies, my tale had been told, though incorrectly, to this changeling, which meant I was a threat big enough to be taught about by the cult. A lesson which proved to be useful...
-If you know so much about me, then you know squirming around won't do you any good...- Low, threatening, the frantic buzzing inside him turning frightful as he stood still, my reputation making the gears inside his head turn.
-And believe me, the Witch would've loved to have me leashed, she begged me for it.- not my most humble moment, but one I needed to get out of my chest. I wasn't lying either.
From the moment she arrived at the keep, my suspicions began, sparking gossip amongst the King's troops. Morgana knew the only way to keep them all in line would be to throw me to the curve or make me obey.
Her diplomatic façade came in first, the one I saw through inmediately and which almost ended up with her body mangled and bloodied before Gunmar, but he stopped us, sending me off, letting me escape before she tried to submit me by force.
The way she tried to lure me in, though condescendant, was nothing more than a plea to have one more pawn on the board, maybe another tower to safeguard herself when push came to shove, but I didn't bend to her pathetic whims, nor to the tricks of her manipulative nature.
Centuries ago I would've said it was her human nature, but the Hunter showed me better. She was the rotten apple, as so many others, but not the tree.
Still, we were no more than means to an end, but most of those who followed her were fooled by her lies of freedom and dominion, like this youngling.
-Liar!- the changeling growled, frightened and offended.
-Don't believe me if you don't want to, but you can be sure what you've heard of me is nothing compared to the truth- one last threat, and then the aroma in the air shifted, no longer smelling like righteous bravado, but like fear, uncertainty.
-So, here's the deal.- I whispered, as if it was a secret, but it was no more than an offer for a honorable surrender.
-You can be set free, no harm done or, you can fight me and prove the tales told about me right.- my gaze, immovable; my voice, quiet, but threatening. I was piercing his soul with a lonely eye, making the acrid smell of fear permiate the air until everyone could sense it.
Glad I hadn't lost my touch.
The youngling's eyes darted around for a minute, probably thinking if he could take me in a fight, analizing his posibilities, only to grunt in the end, averting his gaze.
-Fine!- a growl, annoyed and defeated, left him.
-I won't fight just...let me go- with what almost seem like a pout in the end.
Being honest, I would've laughed if the moment had let it be. Though I wasn't at risk, he was, and mocking him would've been a trigger for a fight. Not that I was afraid to lose, but taking a life when I went there to protect hundreds would've proved to be a problem given my backstory with my own kind. So, I let it be, freeing from my spikes and claws, getting off of him, aware he would need space to feel in control again.
In a second, the changeling jumped to his feet, accelerated, probably thinking I wouldn't hold my end of the deal. Still, my stance remained immovable, mix matched eyes frozen on his: Golden scleras with lapis lazuli daggers staring in fear and caution.
Another sweet aroma, his confusion, hidden barely beneath his wanna-be rough stance. Not a scar, not a wrap, not a claw could disguise the truth, the scared youngling, lost in an everchanging world.
After a minute of silence, of his mind processing the change in dynamics, a question arose with a rough, cracking voice.
-How did you do that?!- scanning me, up and down. In utter disbelief.
-What?- a reply with a raised eyebrow, trying to understand his surprise.
-Pinning you down mid-air?-
-Yes!- with a yelp, which tried to burry inefficently a tinge of frustration.
-Did you hear me? Smelled me? How?-
Not a thought ran through my mind at his reaction. By how he was acting, anyone could've sworn I pulled some vanishing trick on him, like one of those action movies humans love so much, but I did not do such thing.
What I did, was merely use his clumsy attack against him.
At his incredulity, I exhaled a breathy laugh, same which put him on edge.
-The Janus Order didn't teach you to fight, did they?- the question was obvious, but my curiousity demanded to know, because if they had, they did so horribly; if they didn't, it would explain so much.
He stammered, offended by my laugh, but ashamed at the answer.
-Something like that...- averting his gaze, another pout adorning his face.
-The other changelings did...more or less...but....-
-They follow their own assassin's code. In which there is no honor in combat- Strickler's voice echoed in the back of my mind, as if he still lived inside these halls, like so many moons ago, when he taught the hunter how to lower himself to their level.
Back then, I watched from the shadows, learning why defeating them came so easy. They fought with no fear, bowing themselves to their cause, willing to die for it. Tricks, cheats, all was valid when facing an opponent.
Even Gunmar, before becoming a puppet, taught us better. Bular and I grew knowing we should never understimate the other, while I was leaner and smaller, I was faster, flexible and strong; even if he was bigger, he was slower, but hit harder. He knew my weaknesses, and I knew his.
Same with Angor, while both of us were similar when fighting, his frame was smaller, letting him slither in an out of trouble more efficently, but his human-like legs weren't as strong as mine, making me quicker, lighter on my feet.
This changeling is the same, has properties which could make him a great warrior...if guided correctly.
Those talons are sharp, alongside his wings, he could be a very good hunter, a bird of prey. The bones decorating his body are quite a sight, the sound could work in his favor, as an intimidating factor. All that clacking and rattling could make the unaware run without much effort. Four horns, not big enough to ram like Gunmar or Bular, but enough to deflect weapons. He's small for a troll, tall for a human, may help in stealth, but he would need to learn to control his movements.
Strategies, training schemes, routines, all ran through my mind as he looked at me, confused, with furrowed brows. My gaze scanned him, up and down, not leaving a detail to chance.
Must admit I got way too lost in my thoughts, so, when his scoff pierced my focus, my head rattled for a second like one of those bubble-heads figurines. Still, didn't let it distract me from what I had concocted while on my train of thought.
-I have an offer for you...- stoic, as always. Circling him slowly, not in an attempt to intimidate him, but to keep observing his reactions.
-I'll teach you to fight, properly, using your whole potential and following the rules of civilized combat. In return, you'll keep the trolls hiding in this place safe-
-Thought that was your job...- his ears laying down, wary, unsure. Maybe uncertain if he could take on the role, perhaps not being very keen on the idea of being my right hand troll. One way or another, I felt he had more in him than he knew.
The hunter, once, was this unsure, and Blinkuos believed in him. As such, I shall do the same.
A smirk, subtle and relieving, left me without much thought.
-It mostly is, but sometimes I'm not able to come, that's why another couple of eyes and claws may prove useful- reassuring him as much as I could, hoping I can get through to him. My eyes gently meeting his, a gaze he quickly avoided, ashamed somehow, still with furrowed brows, not in anger, but in concern. His eyes darting across the floor, thinking about his options again.
-And if I refuse?- a reply, strangely soft considering from who it was coming from. A tinge of determination wanted to make the question more serious, but I could smell the uncertainty in his scent. A lemon-like aroma which cleansed my senses.
-No harm done, but I can't assure your safety if you go on your own.- no ill intempt, no threat, just a fact laid out over the table, but one he almost took as a promise of harm. So, I followed through, remaining as calm and amicable as possible.
-You were already captured once, nothing guarantees you won't be caught again.- his sudden shift to surprise made me smirk, if I must admit it.
I remember him from the rink, from one of those nights when an akiridian tried to buy me.
I had just put up a show, acting as a raging, rabbid beast, as if a demon had possesed me, making me lose all control. It worked, they left furious because I wasn't the calm and collected warrior they saw fight an hour before.
While Dictatious managed the situation with his client, hoping not to anger Daddy KRONOS. Another troll was dragged into the examination cell.
Not very tall, humanoid looking, long tail, winged, with four horns. Rebellious, young and very fouled mouthed, even when electrocuted. He fought, all the way to the room, and, from what I heard, he gave more or less the same spectacle I did.
Later, when I was freed and returned to let go of my people at the hands of the Embassador, that raspy voice welcomed me from one of the cells. When I approached it, cracking the electrified gate with my blade, a fist came flying my way. Jus as quickly, I avoided a punch to the face, but received a growly "Traitor" in turn.
Then, I didn't give much thought to it. But as I stood in front of the youngling in the abandoned waterways, I recalled the rascal which had caught my attention.
By how he recoiled at the comment, at my gaze fixing on his once again, he didn't expect I would actively remember him, but to his awe, I did so, vividly.
With a smirk, I halted my steps in front of him, spinning on my hooves to face him.
-Us trolls often stay in groups, in packs. Unless you have been exiled, you should not be on your own.- adjusting my brace and the old leathered bandage below it, taking enough time to let him think through it all.
Would he be able to roam on his own around Arcadia, barely knowing how to fight? Would he be able to defend against the Scavangers and their Crepper's sun's gas? Or would he rather have a community to care for, and who, in time, will care for him in return?
With a scoff, his reply was certain, though disguised with roughness.
-Fine...- growly, but full of hidden relief. Succumbing to a need he kept neglecting for long. A smell of home, burning wood and warm fabrics.
By it, I could tell there was more to him than he let on. Though he looked like a Punk Boneknapper, something within him was kinder, softer. It sparked my curiousity further.
So, with a green claw offered as a way to seal the deal, he responded in kind, as a mossy arm, slender and crowned with ivory claws grasped my thumb. Thus, creating a new dynamic between us, as Mentor and Student.
Seconds later, still holding hands. A sigh became the prologue to the question I wanted to hear.
-When do we start?- impacient, yet keeping his demeanour serene.
The smirk drawn by my fangs became wider, assertive.
Having the opportunity to spar again, to train and teach someone what I've learnt, the good and the bad stuff, makes my core buzz each time.
-Right away- my answer, full of determination, threw him back a bit. Maybe the absent-minded smile seemed more threatening than intented. Still, his grasp remained firm.
As soon as our claws separated, a battle stand followed, one he imitated the best he could.
His balance was off, slightly, due to his talons not being properly planted on the ground. Fists curled up with his thumbs in, which is not only a detriment to your hit, but to the integrity of your finger. Each step seemed right, but it was fundementaly wrong.
He blocked with lazy arms, not positioned correctly. Hunched over, throwing off his balance. Idly jumping on his stance, like a videogame sprite.
A part of me was dying to test him out, prove to him how rough was his base, but a punch was thrown my way. Open, weak, one which made him recoil from the sting of his thumb, trapped inside his other claws. Blocking was no issue, but it took me by surprise.
-How about that, huh?!- confident, rebellious, arrogant almost.
-Not bad for a changeling, right?!- another punch, thrown to my direction.
Both had been with no malice, just a necessity for validation, but my instincts kicked in.
Blocked and kicked back, swiftly, efficently. The strength of it making the changeling stumble, brows raised in surprise. He had blocked with his arms, panting when hit, almost making him fall on his back. Though his bafflement made sense, it showed how unprepared for battle he really was.
-Your stance is unstable, your fists are wrongfully coiled in and that makes your hits weak, as well as your blocks.- my explanation was met with eyes which averted mine, exploring what I was pointing out, as if unaware of his own flaws. It was a certain naivity I hadn't found in millenia, since the younglings of Angor's and mine small rescue compound saw us fight for the first time. It was endearing, and there, in the waterways, the sensation remained.
Through his confusion, a sigh left me while gently as I walked up to him. With a couple nudges, I asked and was given permission to touch him, and there I was, holding his fists, placing them where they should've been.
-So...- trying to break the ice. -What are you called?-
He left himself be moved, though his eyes showed how hesitant he truly was. Still, my hooves shifted his talons, carefully. Though my claws are rough and my legs strong, they cause no harm on his as his stance was fixed.
-Slayer...- a whisper, confused and uncertain, not because he doubted his own name, but because his gaze was fixed on my movements, on how I changed his form, making him slowly feel more secure on it.
I can't deny a huff left me, even when I tried to muffle it, aware it could be taken as a mockery on him, but somehow, he didn't react. His focus was somewhere else.
-Pleasure.- stepping back, letting him feel the changes.
His talons were further apart, holding his weight properly. His tail, in response, moved as little as possible, helping him retain his balance. Spine straight, fists held at the level of his eyes, ready to punch and defend, and the latter, curled correctly, finally able to harness their strength properly.
His amazement was barely hidden, which spoke volumes. Despite it, something was still trapped within my chest.
-I'm Neala, but I believe you already knew that...- the edge on my comment was inevitable.
From his nickname to me, to how harshly he had judged me, my instincts were screaming to hold him down, show him who he was dealing with. Gunmar ingraned that behaviour in me, and Bular reaffirmed it, but something in Slayer made me step back, calm down and think with a cold head.
Unlike my "brother", he didn't double down on his arrogance, humility took the wheel and showed him he needed guidance, more than the Janus Order had provided.
Still, the young recklessness of his words stung me, and my inner self, the hellhound still wired to attack and kill at the minor sign of trouble, was rattling its cage, wild and lusting for blood.
But...adding to what I had witnessed, he had the dignity to look somewhat ashamed, though subtely, as if trying to keep some of his façade from vanishing.
-I...didn't- hesitation, as his eyes locked on his fists, coiling them and opening them, time and time again, learning how to make them properly.
The soft hint of doubt made me jolt. The Janus Order hadn't had the basic respect to adress me with my name. It shouldn't had surprise me, but still did. The immaturity of their teaching was unfolding in front of me, feeding into the everlasting anger I hold towards the witch.
-They...used to call you "The Hellhound"- throwing a punch to the air, still doing it wrong, but one step closer towards the right path. The movement was open, strength focused on his arm instead of summoning it from his whole body, letting the inertia make the job.
-A whisper between the changelings, a myth in the shadows, a betrayal still, but one none could avenge without dying- and so, he continued his punches and kicks, feeling more confident, stronger, but to my eyes, flaws were still visible.
After a second or two, I stopped him and, silently, taught him how to throw a hit correctly. Moving his torso to support the action, a chain reaction which made the strike harder, more certain. As he processed the newly given information, he shared some I never expected to hear.
-You were hated, and feared. A traitor, but not less of a danger because of it.- resigned, matter of factly, no filters. It was the truth of my legend, at least told by one side of the story, the one I had ditched in favor of my redemption. Morgana lied, but in her lies, a hint of her frustration and admiration shone through, the same awe of the day at the Throne Room.
She had given me her respect, maybe because I was the only one to call her out on her bluff. I knew she really wanted me on her side, perhaps that would've made the troops fall in line without asking, but after the Decimaar blade became the nexus of her strings, I couldn't remain there and act as if she wasn't a manipulative wretch.
Still, even after running away, after fighting her advances for centuries, despite sending her champion to a long sleep, her words, though twisted, painted me as an unstoppable force. My actions only validated her point further, as I continued to battle each threat she posed.
But, she wasn't the only one telling my tale, and I had almost forgotten about it.
As I taught Slayer how to properly kick, compacting his talons into a spearhead, another bard came to his mind, another narrator to my story.
In a huffed laugh, snarky and meant to mock the subject, my brother's name was said in full volume after years of his demise.
-Bular came in, time and time again, angry at how he had lost a piece of the bridge to you, only for Axel to find it later...- It is no secret, at least now, that I helped the Hunter from the shadows, becoming an ally to a common cause once I saw he was nothing like what I had known before.
Humanity for me, until that point, was rotten. Selfish beasts who have no regard for the world they tread.
Their arrogance and ignorance sickened me for ages, pushing me to fight them with every ounce of strength I own. Maybe, traits of my kind shone through each time, as I later discovered the Feldspars were known to scare off or finish off any intruders who came upon their domain, thus, why finding our geodes took humans so long. Or it might been the strict raising methods of the Black One, who left nothing to chance.
One way or another, humans weren't even edible for me, that's how disgusting they were. That was, until the Hunter appeared. His heart, as far as I could see, was noble, brave and kind. No matter the species, he was there.
How he faced threats, even without knowing how, was admirable, and it proved he had what was needed to get the job done, the only thing he was lacking, was time.
Thus, why I hunted the pieces of the Bridge down, stalling it's construction as much as I could and, more often than not, making me face the Janus Order or Bular, my so called brother.
Our confrontations were wild, since we both fought for a box a tenth of our size, we were at each other's throats, but we also had to keep in mind where the price may be, so to speak.
Taking into account Bular was bigger and less aware of his surroundings than me, I often took the box, which hay have prompted the tantrums I hear of due to Slayer. Still, the goal wasn't keeping the pieces, thus, why it makes sense someone took them so easily.
By stealing each piece, I gave the hunter a week or two more to prepare. To get acquainted with our world and it's problems.
By stealing the pieces back, the cycle restarted.
But, if each new chase brought Bular shame, it made it all worth it, unfortunately, only the truth of it is known to me.
-You weren't very good at hiding them, huh?- snarky, now mocking me in turn, proud to give the thief credit for something I allowed to happen. So, keeping my insticts in check, I defended my stance.
-It wasn't the point, it was just to buy the Hunter some time...- calm, collected, keeping my buried savage instincts from opening its cage in a slash. Being defied was a trigger, one I have learned to muffle, but one which still exists and makes me damn the day Gunmar conditioned me to it.
-Ha! Sure!- his arrogance and pride still coming in strong, as if he was the burglar. Such attitude silenced my inner self, letting me think for a moment.
I hadn't seen Slayer as open until his name came about. Maybe...I could get through to him by using it as a key.
-Still, thanks for giving me the thief's name. Axel, was it?- faking misremembering. Aware correcting me, while I was teaching him, would spark a light.
By then, I was repeating offensive and defensive patterns, so his body could memorize them and use them when needed. May have been a basic strategy, but given what we were working with, it was needed.
And, as I expected. The trigger was pulled.
-Hell yeah it is!- the name of the Wizard made him giddy, happy, confident in a very positive way. It had opened up the walls of the changeling which, until then, only had let some cracks show the youngling hidden inside.
Imitating while excited, also gave each hit a boost, a spark of enthusiasm which was missing from the whole ordeal.
-He's the best wizard to have ever lived- Not as far as I was aware, but then again, I've never been a big fan of Magyks.
Merlin was a stuck-up snob; Morgana was a self-serving brat; Hisirdoux, though the best of the old trio, was arrogant with a hunger for the spectacle; the only one with a gram of humility and humanity, without a doubt, was Lady Nuñez, who fought Morgana's advances until the end.
But maybe, given I was looking at it through my own point of view, my perspective may have been missing what he would qualify as "best".
-Really?- my question, incredulous, a raised eyebrow accentuating it.
-Really!- a yelp, excited and secure. My criteria was off, given I had changed sides and my eyes now looked through the glasses of the good side, partially at least.
Still, there was context missing, information I didn't need, but wanted to have, as it seemed important. Also, if it helped me get through him, help him trust me and our cause, it would be ideal.
Following his energy, my steps took me to face him in order to sparr. The challenge was accepted with a confident smile. Of course, I had no plan on going hard on him like before, it was merely a way to practice what he had learned.
Without a doubt, he stood his ground, and so did I. Both waiting for our foe to make their first move. Circles, slow and tentative, walked sideways, as our gazes locked in place. Tails slithering over stone, hooves and talons clicking slowly, barely making a sound.
Like looking into a mirror, into a past which never happened, or ocurred quite differently.
When taken in, I was way too young to recall how it all began, how I learned what I know. As the years rolled by, my memories become more vivid, but only become crystal clear when my title as Commander was given. Maybe then my mind, puzzled in doubts, became determined towards a misguided cause. Perhaps, all questions were repressed under the orders of The Black King, under my conditioned loyalty.
Was I once this young? This naïve and exciteable over learning? Or did Gunmar stripped me from that innocence as well? Those answers faded in the wind, lost to time with his death.
Nevertheless, seeing it on Slayer, a sparkling light hidden beneath spikes and bones, healed a part of me I wasn't aware was hurt. Even as his first punch, swift and well thrown, came at me.
Blocked, quickly, but receiving the true strength of it. The clacking sound of stone hitting stone echoing sharply through the tunnels, making my ears perk up, satisfied.
A grunt fueled my push back, impatiently waiting for another hit. Fiercely, it came as the other recoiled. Same sweet sound, proving my teachings right.
The last one recoiled as well, blocking perfectly. Blue daggers looking defiantly behind closed fists and guarding arms. Two blows quickly arose from within me, both blocked without making his stance waver.
It was thrilling. Kicks followed, high and precise, taken and given in between smirks and huffed chuckles.
His arrogance coming up to play as the hidden potential finally bloomed into kinetic power. He repeated each movement taught, rapidly adapting it, using it to his favor
To my delight, he was having fun, even if he got hit a couple of times for overstimating himself. Still, joyful grunts and laughs remarked his pride, and mine as well.
It went on for a while. Deya knows how long.
Only thing I know is we both were heaving, panting, our cores buzzing until our limbs shivered, making us unable to continue. In mutual agreement, we moved to the side, resting upon the entrance of one of the tunnels.
Sitting, recuperating strength and calming our bodies, my congratulation came in, softly, acknowledging his progress. Though he was already proud, the insentive was welcomed with a bashful expression he quickly hid. It was subtle, but noticeable.
That giddy side, the young spark in him had me intrigued. It seemed as if, somehow, the Janus Order almost took those years of blissful naivity from him too, but it wasn't quite like my own. He wasn't forged into an unconditional soldier, but a loyal martyr. Ready to die for Morgana if it was needed.
Still, the cover up for his childish excitement seemed off, not imposed by someone else, but perhaps, by himself?
I had no way of properly knowing, just guesses here and there. Asking directly seemed rude, it had a chance of closing him off and, given how far we had gotten, it wasn't a risk I was willing to take.
Perhaps, I thought, by talking about the thief from before I could open up a way into something more...personal. It was a safe shot, and just like that, the trigger was pulled.
-So, you're a big fan of this...Axel, aren't you?- a question breaking the silence, low so just us could hear, but the walls around us still echoed, though faintly, remarking my curiousity.
The moment he heard the name, his eyes lit up, even if tired from the sparring. Bringing back the spark from before.
-How could I not? He was amazing. Smart, cunning, a protégé of the Pale Lady. Everything a changeling could ask for.- proud, as if talking about someone close. Still, he adressed them more as a fanatic to a celebrity. Worshipping the floor they step in.
Maybe, if it was someone else, or rather, related to someone else, I could understand. Then once again, I wasn't seeing the bigger picture.
Empathy was needed, even if it made my skin crawl.
-Didn't know Morgana had an apprentice...- couldn't help the growl which gave an edge to that statement. Even after her death, talking about her lights a rage inside me.
It's dormant, most of the time, but it's easily triggered.
Despite it, I did my best to keep my composure.
-Are you kidding? He was her greatest accomplishment! Her successor!- stating facts, or at least, what he knew for certain. He was more than honest, I could smell it. Hs truly believed this Axel was the best thing the Witch could've done. What could've guaranteed such an undoubtable trust on her? Maybe the hope on her lies, like Angor once told me...
-Doubt that...- the scoff which left me was absent minded, the slightest sign of anger my body could manage, still, I felt Slayer's gaze on me, surprised at my dismisal, somewhat offended by it.
With a sigh, I tried to salvage it all, explain to him like I did so many moons ago to the one who became her champion.
-Morgana cared for no one but herself, if she taught him, was no more than to create a weapon to ensure her cause...- Gunmar, Angor, the changelings, even the Hunter's allies. No one was safe from her greed. Apparently, not even her own kind.
Still, Slayer tried to defend them, this Axel he talked so passionately about. Huffing and puffing, he rebuffed growling.
-Agh! He was much more than that!- desperate rather than angry, offended on their behalf. This person meant more to the changeling than Morgana's cause, which wasn't a first, but it certainly was unusual.
A raised eyebrow met him, a smirk, and mix matched eyes, incredulous to his words.
-How so?- tantalizing, testing if I could push further without getting on his nerves. Analizing each parameter in seeming calmness.
He wasn't on edge, just exhalted. My comment just made him race to counterattack, but didn't hit him hard enough to trigger an attack or flight response. Which gave me the upper hand.
Slowly, his calm returned to his body, as his back leaned over the concrete pilar behind him, eyes lost in the light sorce above, reminiscing...Something I know too well...
-When I met him at the Order, everyone gushed over him. He was a carbon copy of Morgana, and it showed. Everything he did, was excelent, perfect, calculated.- if those tasciturn eyes weren't enough, or the softness of his voice, the shift on smell would tell you all.
-So you fell for him...- my whisper broke his trance for a moment, a slight blush covering his cheeks. Funny how, even though we are not organic, our bodies still hold some semblance of life with a pulse.
Our cores overheat, creating certain reactions which are more human in nature. Blushing is one of those.
To his reaction, I pulled Angor's eye from my satchel. The crystal sphere still polished, as the day I got it. Small scratches let it's story show, how it fell to the bridge, how it received hits from the mercenaries, how it almost got lost at the claws of the Omens and, lastly, how it was taken by a puppet of a Cybernetic God. Trials, tribulations, and still, it's in my claws, and mine alone.
Slayer's reaction at it was expected, amazement, after sudden realization of who the eye belonged to. It appears his legend lived, in tale and in person, even if it was for a while. Angor Rot, Morgana's Champion and Trollhunter Killer. To the Janus Order, he was a twisted mesiah. To me, he was my companion...
Perhaps, for the youngling, Axel was the same.
-Angor was my confidant, my support, my sanctuary...- My gaze stuck on the eye, like so many times before, as if I expected the owner to hear my words, to validate them.
-For him, I may have been the same. A kindred creature with the same goal. I'll never know...- shrugging, dismissing, yet, accepting the fact. Nevertheless, the memory of the exact expression Slayer had before made my mind tickle, as a smile was drawn on me, more honest, kinder than before.
-But I do recall those eyes, lost in awe at what we had accomplished, and sometimes, lost on me....- I never knew what he admired of me, what he looked at as much when we were celebrating, or when we checked the refugees. All I knew is that gaze often meant his amazement had been peaked, and his mind had gone blank because of it. I never understood it until he died at Morgana's hands, over the Arcadia Bridge.
Lady Nuñez gave that same gaze to the Hunter, as both laughed, celebrating their victory. Then, my mind finally put a name to the feeling which has never left me, not even when he left, not even when I imprisoned him, and still hasn't fainted: Love, born in battle and reinforced by reason, never admitted, but ever present.
Then, it all made sense, and now, I can see it, somewhat, in my acolyte's eyes. The yearning, the sadness. I knew it all too well, those feelings I've carried for way too long, and still, some of the ache weights on my chest.
And it seemed I was not alone.
-He wasn't always the Witch's Killing Machine, nor Strickler's Slave. Once he was a guardian, a just and skilled protector, and I aided his cause. He died like he once lived, and those eyes made me aware the troll I knew was back, ready to leave on his own terms.- lost in the eye, before looking up at the changeling, who observed it all baffled, amazed, incredulous of what was said. The blush still tainting his face, as his eyes darted for a moment.
My tale had ringed a bell inside him. Was it good? Bad? Only asking would answer my doubts.
-I suppose Axel was someone like this to you...- soft, seeing as I had finally clicked with him. After all, we were both under the Witch's acolyte's spell.
He stuttered and stammered, trying to find the words with which their story could be told. Only to then come in chunks, bound together by feelings which still were rampant, alive and raging inside him.
-I just...had to get close to him.- letting the bashfulness return, his gaze lowered to the floor, as he got his mind and core to coincide in how to phrase the rest.
-But, when mission assignments came, he was posted in Arcadia with another witch.- with a scowl, clearly annoyed of the choice, but unable to fight back without humiliating himself. Momentary anger then turned to resignation, shrugging with aloofness.
-So, my only option became to get close to the witch, hoping it could give me a chance to be with him...but...- and so, resignation turned to sadness, yearning, draining all color from his once blushing cheeks.
A sigh was all I needed to see the ache, the pain of an illusion broken by reality.
-But?- carefully, trying my best to sound as gentle as I could. His eyes, in a flash, looked at me in shame, dissapointed with the truth.
-I wasn't what he wanted. I was just another nerdy kid.- softly, sadly, frustrated with himself for being not what the other could desire.
-So, I changed, hoping he could notice me.- eyes shifted to his arms, to those spiky bracelets guarding his wrists which stole atention from the faint lines below.
Scars, not from combat like those on his face, but from desperation towards a non requited love.
I had seen those tally marks before, each an attempt on ending with the pain of a mortal life. A false door, which solves nothing by opening it with blood, but such are the falasies of loneliness, of despair and longing. All feelings reflected in his eyes.
He was hurting from the rejection, guilt over not being what Axel wanted. Wounding the human instinct of belonging and love still alive inside him.
The burden of youth, of humanity and mortality.
Crossing his arms, hiding the reminders of an imaginary possibility, his gaze returned to the floor, ashamed still.
-I thought...if I was more like him, I had a higher chance to woo him. That's why I'm...-
-Angsty?- harsh, but not cruel, a dumb attempt at lightening the mood. His head sprung to life, as we saw eye to eye. Surprise replacing the sadness from before, yet, not hiding it entirely. Still, he seemed to be less melancholic, more aware of the change he went through.
A sigh of reluctant acceptance followed.
-Yeah...- a certain tranquility building inside him, less painful than his broken heart. Somehow, I was aiding him on a process fairly new to me, so, I kept going.
-Rude?- the same could be said about me, pricking him was quite fitting of the word, even if the intention of it was not to anger him, just to serve as a distraction. Which, fortunately, it was.
-Maybe...- huffed, bashful once more, not willing to admit his own flaws.
The chuckle which sprung from my chest was quickly followed by him, though his being more quiet, but nevertheless lively.
Making fun of the self-imposed shift was not only an effective manner of letting him open up to me, but make him refocus in something else other than the pain the choice could cause.
Strickler once told me dealing with both natures, even if separate, was draining, since they often overlapped. Human needs were not troll needs and viceversa, but a mind can't fully tear each one apart. Thus, creating what he called "The Hidden Identity" paradox.
A human requires community, a sense of belonging which b