[ at the beginning, the whole world goes dark. the demons know where to hit, how to scatter them, how to pull the rug out from under them and make sure they never get back up. organization takes a long time, especially with they fact humanity can no longer deny that magic exists, and the magic community can no longer keep to the edges and the shadows. they're too busy fighting themselves to keep any kind of real resistance going. that's how he'd lost his sight.
the world had been changing, they'd known that. strange phenomena, erratic weather. the earth, the pulse of it he'd felt through his magic, had just been wrong. they'd been in far north canada, staying with a tribe of Inuit, when news came in the form of a mob. the town not far had always joked about the natives being strange mystics, but hadn't considered it seriously until hell and heaven collapsed inward on the world, and things they'd only taken for campfire stories and good cinema became their reality. when the consequences of twisted magic tore the world asunder, they came for them, and in the resulting massacre, dominic and his mother escaped with their lives, thanks to the elder shaman's defense, but not undamaged. his sight wouldn't return for another year, and after intensive, desperate training to keep himself and his mother alive.
it's the second year - running, fighting, and running again - when word reaches of a group formed in the ruins of LA. Magic users and normal soldiers keeping safe in a walled camp, living inside an IKEA, led by a group of four witches from a school in Alaska, and Dom wonders if he should regret not taking the chance for that magic school thing when he could have.
no. he wouldn't trade the life he had for the world. not that there was much left of it - the world.
at least there's no more seaworlds, he thinks grimly, as he's making his way through LA streets, scouting and collecting supplies for his mother and the group they'd picked up along the way here. the both of them, no matter how infuriating the person is, are incapable of leaving someone in need behind. maybe it's not the smart thing, and they've definitely been taken advantage of here and there, but what's the point of morality if you drop it and run when things get hard? for dominic, surviving on this planet alone has never been enough. you have to be worth it. he does, at least. whatever anyone else's personal standards are isn't his business, so long as no one's getting hurt. though, it does surprisingly inspire faith in people. hence the group they'd ended up with.
however, since he's the only witch in the group here, that leaves him alone doing these trips. after training blind for a year, expanding his magic beyond just the realm of the sea, he's been about to hone it, concentrate, hear and feel footfalls on the earth a mile away, disruptions in the air, read a history in the trees and grass. being inner city does make it a bit harder, concrete and metal not the easiest to read but doable. yet, there are times he's caught off guard, before he can take cover or get to a strategic place.
like now.
they descend from broken out windows on the buildings from either side of him, too many, more than he usually sees, but they are so close to the camp they'd been trying to get to. it makes sense the area around would be crawling with demons, angels, monsters and everything in between. thankfully, they're mostly run of the mill monsters, and that, he can deal with. more than he'd like to, but running would likely just attract more. his eyes squeeze shut, a remnant from the year he'd done blind, finding his senses sharper and his reactions quicker, and the earth comes alive beneath his feet. concrete cracks, as spires shoot up from it, skewering some. walls rise, slamming monster into buildings or launching them far off, sectioning them off so he can deal with fewer at a time. the air surges throwing them one way and another, a metallic screeching sounds as rails from a nearby metro track peel upwards to spear through some of the creatures. they keep coming, as much distance as he tries to make, and even with all that he can take out, a few still make it to them.
that's where the fire comes in.
the staff he walks with (of course it'd be a fucking staff, this goddamn hippy) flares up, flame all along the length of it, scorching with each hit he scores on the creatures. he's backed up, tired, worn, down to the last creature, but losing energy fast, and that's when lightning comes striking down from the sky, leaving a crater where the monster once was. surprised, out of breathe, dominic stumbles back a couple paces and falls, eyes blinked open wide as he stares at the charred ground. that wasn't him. he doesn't do electricity, and he doesn't do weather.
it's like he can taste him on the air, feel him in the crisp scent of ozone and dispersing energy, before his eyes finally fall on him. older, more rough and worn, sitting astride a motorcycle, but him all the same. ] Kon?
[ a breathless moment, unsure if he can believe his eyes, and then Dom's up and running, abandoning the pack of supplies and the staff on the ground. ] Konstantin!
[ arms thrown around his shoulders, he practically climbs him and body slams him all in the same moment. ] I tried to call before the cell towers went out, I thought-- [ he'd thought he was gone. he'd hoped he wasn't, he'd prayed he wasn't, but he'd dreaded it. ]
[ The war kills his father and so it kills gentle Konstantin.
-
When it begins, Ash tells him: You can't afford to be picky anymore. He knows what it means and he doesn't like it. He knows that it means and he says "fuck it."
Because this is what nature intended, isn't it?
-
Konstantin is no longer as lean as he used to be, and he wears every part of his mother's blood with pride now--teeth and scales, bright, jewel-like eyes, and a voice that is honed like a knife. He's just passing through Los Angeles when he hears the fight and the sound of a familiar voice under duress. The bike is loud, but the fight is already at a roar (and it's only going to get louder as he manipulates the pressure in one isolated area). He learns this trick from a beautiful woman in Andalusia after the world falls to shit. She keeps him for over a month and together they protect Spain's coastline with a series of curated storms as he learns his birthright day after day.
The storm, the lightning, they fit into the palm of his hand, they heat his fingertips, they crash along with the sound of his voice as he sees one of the group peeling away in a whirlwind of fire that flickers in and out like the tip of a flame on a matchstick. This won't do, Konstantin decides. It won't do because he recognizes the blonde hair, the build, the sound of his voice calling out. He would know it anywhere (even from the bottom of the sea).
The taste of his magic only makes him all the more certain. This is Dominic and he is on the edges of his energy.
The lightning strike that Konstantin summons could be considered overkill, but mermaids have always been known for being emotional creatures, and he is no different. The surge he feels wracking through his fingertips and along his spine is more than just the feeling of simple duty hardly owed to anyone. It's built on warm summers on a rocking boat and the face of Dominic's mother and the feel of her hands holding his cheeks when he was younger. It's swimming with fish of all colors and the incredulous look on his face when Dom always manages to show up riding a great whale like some kid from a movie. It's all stacked on sentiment so there's nothing left of the assailant but ash on the ground.
I missed you too.
He doesn't have time to react--Dom is already running towards him (if he hadn't known better, he'd have killed him too for running at him like that) and throwing arms around his neck, pressing his body up against him in all the ways an old friend and lover might. Konstantin doesn't hesitate, hands spanning Dom's back and letting him babble on in all the ways he shouldn't, not in an open area like this where Kon has just toasted some asshole. It's okay, he wants to say. It's okay, it's okay, we didn't see this coming, we didn't know this would happen. ]
I think I might, [ he breathes because Dominic's vice-like grip hasn't changed in his embrace and Konstantin can't help himself, even with the static clinging to his hair, to his clothing, still sparking off in tiny flyaways that catch in Dom's hair as well and snap a bit in the air.
It's like taking a breath of air when your lungs are ready to burst.
It hurts, but god... it feels so good all the same.
Konstantin presses his face against Dom's cheek gently, finds the familiar spot where his brow meets his cheekbone and stays there, breathing hard as the air hums with static. ]
Wasn't sure if I'd see you again, to be honest.
[ Not that Dom isn't capable, but the apocalypse takes. It doesn't give back. And Kon's been having some shit luck lately. He's going to hold fast to this one piece. ]
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the world had been changing, they'd known that. strange phenomena, erratic weather. the earth, the pulse of it he'd felt through his magic, had just been wrong. they'd been in far north canada, staying with a tribe of Inuit, when news came in the form of a mob. the town not far had always joked about the natives being strange mystics, but hadn't considered it seriously until hell and heaven collapsed inward on the world, and things they'd only taken for campfire stories and good cinema became their reality. when the consequences of twisted magic tore the world asunder, they came for them, and in the resulting massacre, dominic and his mother escaped with their lives, thanks to the elder shaman's defense, but not undamaged. his sight wouldn't return for another year, and after intensive, desperate training to keep himself and his mother alive.
it's the second year - running, fighting, and running again - when word reaches of a group formed in the ruins of LA. Magic users and normal soldiers keeping safe in a walled camp, living inside an IKEA, led by a group of four witches from a school in Alaska, and Dom wonders if he should regret not taking the chance for that magic school thing when he could have.
no. he wouldn't trade the life he had for the world. not that there was much left of it - the world.
at least there's no more seaworlds, he thinks grimly, as he's making his way through LA streets, scouting and collecting supplies for his mother and the group they'd picked up along the way here. the both of them, no matter how infuriating the person is, are incapable of leaving someone in need behind. maybe it's not the smart thing, and they've definitely been taken advantage of here and there, but what's the point of morality if you drop it and run when things get hard? for dominic, surviving on this planet alone has never been enough. you have to be worth it. he does, at least. whatever anyone else's personal standards are isn't his business, so long as no one's getting hurt. though, it does surprisingly inspire faith in people. hence the group they'd ended up with.
however, since he's the only witch in the group here, that leaves him alone doing these trips. after training blind for a year, expanding his magic beyond just the realm of the sea, he's been about to hone it, concentrate, hear and feel footfalls on the earth a mile away, disruptions in the air, read a history in the trees and grass. being inner city does make it a bit harder, concrete and metal not the easiest to read but doable. yet, there are times he's caught off guard, before he can take cover or get to a strategic place.
like now.
they descend from broken out windows on the buildings from either side of him, too many, more than he usually sees, but they are so close to the camp they'd been trying to get to. it makes sense the area around would be crawling with demons, angels, monsters and everything in between. thankfully, they're mostly run of the mill monsters, and that, he can deal with. more than he'd like to, but running would likely just attract more. his eyes squeeze shut, a remnant from the year he'd done blind, finding his senses sharper and his reactions quicker, and the earth comes alive beneath his feet. concrete cracks, as spires shoot up from it, skewering some. walls rise, slamming monster into buildings or launching them far off, sectioning them off so he can deal with fewer at a time. the air surges throwing them one way and another, a metallic screeching sounds as rails from a nearby metro track peel upwards to spear through some of the creatures. they keep coming, as much distance as he tries to make, and even with all that he can take out, a few still make it to them.
that's where the fire comes in.
the staff he walks with (of course it'd be a fucking staff, this goddamn hippy) flares up, flame all along the length of it, scorching with each hit he scores on the creatures. he's backed up, tired, worn, down to the last creature, but losing energy fast, and that's when lightning comes striking down from the sky, leaving a crater where the monster once was. surprised, out of breathe, dominic stumbles back a couple paces and falls, eyes blinked open wide as he stares at the charred ground. that wasn't him. he doesn't do electricity, and he doesn't do weather.
it's like he can taste him on the air, feel him in the crisp scent of ozone and dispersing energy, before his eyes finally fall on him. older, more rough and worn, sitting astride a motorcycle, but him all the same. ] Kon?
[ a breathless moment, unsure if he can believe his eyes, and then Dom's up and running, abandoning the pack of supplies and the staff on the ground. ] Konstantin!
[ arms thrown around his shoulders, he practically climbs him and body slams him all in the same moment. ] I tried to call before the cell towers went out, I thought-- [ he'd thought he was gone. he'd hoped he wasn't, he'd prayed he wasn't, but he'd dreaded it. ]
Fuck, you have no idea how happy I am to see you.
AND NOW I'M DONE
-
When it begins, Ash tells him: You can't afford to be picky anymore. He knows what it means and he doesn't like it. He knows that it means and he says "fuck it."
Because this is what nature intended, isn't it?
-
Konstantin is no longer as lean as he used to be, and he wears every part of his mother's blood with pride now--teeth and scales, bright, jewel-like eyes, and a voice that is honed like a knife. He's just passing through Los Angeles when he hears the fight and the sound of a familiar voice under duress. The bike is loud, but the fight is already at a roar (and it's only going to get louder as he manipulates the pressure in one isolated area). He learns this trick from a beautiful woman in Andalusia after the world falls to shit. She keeps him for over a month and together they protect Spain's coastline with a series of curated storms as he learns his birthright day after day.
The storm, the lightning, they fit into the palm of his hand, they heat his fingertips, they crash along with the sound of his voice as he sees one of the group peeling away in a whirlwind of fire that flickers in and out like the tip of a flame on a matchstick. This won't do, Konstantin decides. It won't do because he recognizes the blonde hair, the build, the sound of his voice calling out. He would know it anywhere (even from the bottom of the sea).
The taste of his magic only makes him all the more certain. This is Dominic and he is on the edges of his energy.
The lightning strike that Konstantin summons could be considered overkill, but mermaids have always been known for being emotional creatures, and he is no different. The surge he feels wracking through his fingertips and along his spine is more than just the feeling of simple duty hardly owed to anyone. It's built on warm summers on a rocking boat and the face of Dominic's mother and the feel of her hands holding his cheeks when he was younger. It's swimming with fish of all colors and the incredulous look on his face when Dom always manages to show up riding a great whale like some kid from a movie. It's all stacked on sentiment so there's nothing left of the assailant but ash on the ground.
I missed you too.
He doesn't have time to react--Dom is already running towards him (if he hadn't known better, he'd have killed him too for running at him like that) and throwing arms around his neck, pressing his body up against him in all the ways an old friend and lover might. Konstantin doesn't hesitate, hands spanning Dom's back and letting him babble on in all the ways he shouldn't, not in an open area like this where Kon has just toasted some asshole. It's okay, he wants to say. It's okay, it's okay, we didn't see this coming, we didn't know this would happen. ]
I think I might, [ he breathes because Dominic's vice-like grip hasn't changed in his embrace and Konstantin can't help himself, even with the static clinging to his hair, to his clothing, still sparking off in tiny flyaways that catch in Dom's hair as well and snap a bit in the air.
It's like taking a breath of air when your lungs are ready to burst.
It hurts, but god... it feels so good all the same.
Konstantin presses his face against Dom's cheek gently, finds the familiar spot where his brow meets his cheekbone and stays there, breathing hard as the air hums with static. ]
Wasn't sure if I'd see you again, to be honest.
[ Not that Dom isn't capable, but the apocalypse takes. It doesn't give back. And Kon's been having some shit luck lately. He's going to hold fast to this one piece. ]
In all this, I couldn't be sure...