Paramythi III: Prometheus

“Tell me a story.”

An evening spent on Tentrail’s cliff was better spent with company. A twenty-year-old Kane Ruskin had asked the question into the warm breeze of the wind, laying upon his back as the colourful shades of blue, gold and purple swarmed the skies above.

“There are hundreds of stories out there, which one should I tell?” Twyla Tychi cooed, rolling onto their front. They began counting off their fingers, legs swaying through the air. “There’s the story of the Foolish Elf who condemned his people to a world of solitude? The Masked Maiden who told the stories of the world? The Prince of Amaltheia? The Lord of the Mountain? The Woman who turned all of her thoughts into reality? There’s so many to choose from!”

“What about the future?” Kane turned, running his fingers across the white dreadlocks hanging across Twyla’s shoulder. “Tell me my fortune.”

Twyla shifted away from the touch, rolling across the grass to fetch their card deck from the blanket spread across the cliff, nestled next to the basket of food and drinks they had brought. This had been what Twyla would consider their ‘first date.’ They had grown sorry for Kane after watching his multiple attempts at winning their heart – the basket full of food had been enough for Twyla to accept.

“What do you want to know, Ruskin?” Twyla rolled back to Kane’s side, bumping shoulders as they curled against him and shuffled through their deck. “I can tell you anything.”

“Are you in my future?” Kane murmured, pressing his forehead against Twyla’s temple. “Do we travel the world and make peace with the kingdoms of Galaxis?”

“Hmm,” Twyla mused over their cards and held one up, showing the image of a star split in half by the hand of Gods’ above. They used a mocking voice, waving the card in Kane’s face. “You would have to go back in time to achieve such a goal, for the Gods can get moody when mere mortals try and bend their hand.”

“You really shouldn’t mock the Gods.”

“Why not?” Twyla clicked their tongue and slipped the card back to its deck. “I get to hear everything they’re talking about, anyway. I can mock them while they’re mocking everyone else~!”

Kane’s jaw tightened. He wrapped his arms around the small of Twyla’s waist, pulling them closer as the sun went down across the sea. It was never a strategic plan of action to lay in your underwear up on Tentrail’s cliffs. Feasting on enough bread and wine to start feeling foggy and making love in the shadow of a crumbling empire on the outskirts of Capitol. Kane could have never imagined a better time to be alive.

“So, are you in my future?”

Twyla turned their head with a wide grin, flashing rows of razor-sharp teeth. “Why so keen? You’ve got me now!” They laughed, throwing their cards into the sky whilst long fingers reached to play with Kane’s matted hair. “Isn’t now enough?”

Kane cupped Twyla’s cheeks, rolling to lay on top of them as cards of destruction and love fell around their heads and the grass under their bodies. Twyla’s laugh had always been a sweet sound to Kane’ ears. Their milky eyes would always shine, and Kane could always see himself in the depths of those ghostly irises.

“How long is now?” As Kane spoke, aircrafts flew across the vast sea behind them. The scenery was perfect. Everything was perfect. “How long until I lose you again?”

Twyla tapped Kane’s nose. “You will never keep me in one place, Kane Ruskin.” They giggled. “Sometimes I’ll be with you, sometimes I won’t.”

How could he argue? Twyla was a force to be reckoned with. They were a creature of freedom and could not be tamed. Trying to keep them in one place was like expecting the earth to stop turning. Kane knew better than to expect them to commit, expect them to freeze.

“I will always be there for you.”

Kane blinked. His brain had to collect itself, mulling over the words Twyla had said. He was rewarded with a small kiss and Twyla giggled again, pulling him down for a tight hug.

“The great Kane Ruskin is speechless!” Twyla cheered. They allowed a moment to mull over, waiting until the sky had dimmed and the colours had died. It was getting colder. Twyla held Kane tighter. “It is true, though. I will always be there for you.”

Together forever? It was never a possibility. To be there for each other was all they could ever promise. Kane was a man with a plan, Twyla was a free spirit. They were inseparable and distant all at once. When they hated, the world would turn to ash. But when they loved, there was faith in a future worth fighting for.

A future which led them here; standing face-to-face in the centre of Capitol’s Colosseum. Snarls and sobs were all that whirled in the air as Kane and Twyla’s story ended. There could be no goodbyes because neither could say anything.

Kane had his gun fixated, aiming for the smooth, dark skin between Twyla’s white eyes. His mouth gaped open only to release a battle cry of sorts; a long groan of frustration which turned to a raging scream. His eyes turned down, staring at the ground when his head began to go fuzzy. He swayed and his finger loosened when Twyla continued forth.

Splatters of blood was strewn across the ground as Twyla’s arm bent back. Their chin raised, neck clicking as they bit back their own cry. Their eyes, filtered with inky black blood, were nothing short of sorrowful. Twyla was fighting their instinct, but the serum running through their veins would not allow it.

“Twyla…” Kane managed to wheeze, wincing. Bones snapped, blood poured. Curdling screeches never got easier to hear.

Twyla’s jaw hung slack, tongue dry against the heavy breaths they were taking. They reached out, fingers shaking, knuckles cracking. “Pleasssse…”

When Kane’s head came up, his tears fell. He could not withhold the look of despair – the look of anguish – possessing Twyla’s face. His stomach was tight, his head was thumping. The world turned upside-down when his knees buckled and he fell, pulling the trigger of his gun as Twyla pounced for him.

The stadium lights shut off in sync and Kane began sobbing over Twyla’s unmoving body. He rolled them over, staring down at their bloodied face and screamed against their chest, wailing through each tear and gurgled cry until he ran out of strength to do it all over again.

Time came to a stand-still. Kane was sure he passed out. His cheek pressed against Twyla’s chest, clutching the fabric of their shirt with his single hand. When his eyes opened, Twyla was cold, and those black veins and white eyes were flaccid.

When Kane finally moved, it was a heavy motion of limbs as he began rearranging Twyla’s corpse. He straightened their legs together, adjusted them onto their back and pulled their hands over their chest. His fingers shook when he slid Twyla’s eyelids shut. The tears began falling again and Kane sat on his knees, hunched over as the Colosseum soaked up blood and tragedy.

War waged on beyond the high walls, yet Kane’s had ended. He told himself whatever intention he had was gone. It was the sort of motivation he needed to reach out for his pistol and hold it to his temple. He shook, inhaling heavily through flared nostrils. All he could see was Twyla’s smile, hear their laugh and wish for their future. It was taken away with one gunshot and Kane did not hesitate to pull the trigger for the second time.

But Psykhe Trezla would not allow it. She appeared at the Colosseum’s entrance, snapping her fingers in time to wrench the gun from Kane’s hand as he pulled the trigger. The bullet flew and buried itself into a pillar, soon forgotten.

Kane’s expression had turned stone-like. His ear was ringing, his vision blurred. When Psykhe walked up to him, he could not move to face her and was compelled to lean further over Twyla’s body and curl beside them – fatigue washing over him once more.

Damara ran forward, leaving Selene in the Colosseum entrance. “Tychi.” The name was stuck in her throat as she joined Psykhe’s side, hands jumping to her chest. “Oh, Captain. I am so sorry.”

Psykhe would have offered her own condolences if not for the flicker of colour seeping from the opposite side of the Colosseum. She raised her glowing hands, prepared with a brewing spell and watched as a handful of figures crept into the scene.

“Helios!” Selene cried. She flew from her hiding spot and ran, darting past Psykhe and Kane, jumping across heaps of dust and debris, and practically threw herself into the awaiting arms of her cousin. “My dearest Helios!”

Helios cheered, twirling Selene in the air. “I’m so happy to see you! But you really shouldn’t be in the middle of all this destruction!” He lowered the young woman, strong arms unlacing from her waist. “Ah, man. You look so pretty!”

Selene threw her arms over Helios’ shoulders. “You worried me so.” Her tone was dramatic as ever, yet her eyes remained sincere. “Please, do not do anything that reckless again. Promise?”

Helios brushed back her strands of long, purple hair and leant down to place a kiss on Selene’s forehead. A silent promise to never leave her side again, followed by a heavy laugh and the beginnings of a rant; including everything he had been up to since their last farewell.

From behind the babbling Faeman, Riyo slunk out. Their eyes scanned the Colosseum, reading the scene and all that had unfolded before their entrance. They moved from Damara’s frowning face, to the corpse lying beside Kane Ruskin, then finally to Psykhe. That stupid mask was gone. Now she was her usual self, albeit a massive gash across her face.

They moved to greet her, gripping Sytry’s trident. They were nervous to face their partner, for real this time. A smile had even dared to break through, despite the heavy atmosphere that hung over Twyla’s body. It would have perhaps been a bittersweet reunion if not for the cackles of one Leto Dionysus booming through the Colosseum.

“My, my, my… it looks like Kane Ruskin has finally fallen. A shame.”

Riyo’s head turned towards the voice so quickly their neck could have snapped. Their eyes were wide, devoid of colour and they hissed. Instinct pulled them forward and they jumped, climbing the Colosseum and into the belly of the construction despite the heavy shouts of Helios and Psykhe calling them to stop.

Growls filled the close corridors as Riyo ran, dragging Sytry’s trident along the metallic floors as they ventured deeper, following the heavy sounds of heels clicking and the scent of obnoxious perfume.

Leto struggled to reach the door to her escape, throwing the metal framework open ahead. She stumbled into the large room, followed by the snarling growls of Riyo Midas. A wrong turn and her ankle clunked against her stiletto. She slid along the floor, cheek smacking upon contact. Her heavy breath left a line of condensation against the shiny floor tiles, yet she smiled once the solid door swayed shut behind her.

“Stupid creature.” Laughing, the woman pushed herself to sit and examine the swollen skin of her ankle.

The door creaked. Leto’s smile faded. She threw herself to the ground in time to avoid the heavy metal door flying through the air and wedge itself into the furthest wall. A heavy growl followed the sounds of metal running against metal as Riyo walked in, dragging Sytry’s trident along the walls to pierce Leto’s ears with a horrid sound.

“You’re quick.” Leto hissed, pushing herself up to stand. Her posture was uneven, and her hair fell past her face. She was sweating, panicking as her eyes darted in attempts to conduct an escape. “What’s the matter? You should be happy to be back with your precious Helios! In fact, your return has taken him out of my clutches for good.”

Riyo said nothing. They walked slowly, shoulders hunched, and wings spread. It was a dominant, threatening posture and when they lunged, Leto narrowly missed the sharp hilts of Riyo’s extended claws. Her cheek sustained a thin tear across her skin, and she cried out, falling back onto her knees.

Riyo whirled to swipe the trident across Leto’s chest when a second set of growls echoed, and a third figure appeared. They landed between Riyo and Leto, stopping the former from performing any violent act.

Leto took her escape, ducking back through the broken doorframe and left Riyo to fight off the hunched figure. They were tall; taller than Riyo remembered. Layers of blonde hair was stuck to their pale, black-veined face and they screeched with a tear of black lips and purple gums.

Riyo returned the screech, baring their own teeth and claws in the face-off against their parent, Zyki Cronos.