Chapter Text
There is nothing quite like the feeling of being dropped in the middle of a story. Sometimes it’s overwhelming and confusing, but other times it’s exhilarating. Right in the middle of the action without needless exposition filling your head. Other times the author or creator of the narrative expects you to have the story already figured out, like you can read their mind.
WingDings has experienced each of these in a manner of speaking. Literally dropped in the middle of other people's lives, left to either fend for himself or get swooped up in the events around him. This time is no exception, but the maturing child cannot tell at a glance which of these circumstances he’s been dropped in the middle of.
For one thing, it’s night, making it difficult to see even with the blazing torches bolted to stone and clay structures. The buildings look something like houses and manors of an ancient era. Hugging close to one of these stone structures, WingDings searches the passing humans pensively. Despite the late hour there are several humans milling about, mostly whispering in a conspiratorial manner or sneaking along the many shadows. While there aren’t many of them, there are enough for WingDings to realize the lack of monsters and the lack of modern clothing.
Discreetly pulling out his loot box, WingDings retrieves a long cloak and covers himself, wrapping some old cloth around his eyes and nasal cavity along with some gloves. Thanks to his more human lips, he can pass as a human, in so long as he remains covered. This does impede his ability to see somewhat, but thanks to having eyes made of light he can see better than the average person who has normal eyeballs. Slinking deeper between the nice homes, WingDings snaps his loot box onto his ribs and locks it into place. He won’t have a repeat of what happened the last time.
When WingDings turns down a muddy back street, he studies the structures, trying to figure out what kind of place he’s found himself. He’s tempted to pull out his phone’s encyclopedia and search for architecture that features columned, veranda’s, and tiled roofs when he hears a struggle and a man screams out into the once silent night.
Plastering himself against the wall of someone's back courtyard, two men race past him, not even seeing him. WingDings doesn’t move, lifting the cloth to see the men more clearly. He notes the men’s covered faces and the small money sack clutched tightly in one of their hands. When WingDings is about to stop the men, tripping them with a bone, the man who was attacked appears at the other end of the alley, limping, but going as fast as he can.
“You!” the man instantly points at WingDings. “Give me my money pouch!” As he comes closer, reaching for the boy, WingDings notices the man's bloody hand and side, soaking his tunic. The man grabs WingDings uncovered wrist and he hopes the man doesn’t notice the bones beneath his fingers.
“You’re hurt sir,” WingDings says, more alarmed by the man’s injuries than the accusation just thrown at him. Being called a thief has little effect on him these days.
When the man comes closer and notices just how small WingDings is, the victim concludes that this boy isn’t the person who just roughly tossed him to the ground, stabbed him, and made off with his money. “Out of the way,” the man shoves him aside, determined to catch the thugs, but his limp becomes worse.
“Sir, you aren’t well!” WingDings reaches after him as the man stumbles and collapses to the filthy ground.
“What in Hades?” the man curses, reaching down and pulling at the cloth of his tunic to reveal a partially healed gash that has reopened. In disbelief, the man curses again and WingDings kneels beside him. “Why is it still bleeding? Why?” The man begins to ramble in hysteria, cursing as he clutches the wound.
WingDings has no idea what the man is going on about and the man’s cursing between every other word certainly doesn’t help. Ripping off a portion of his cloak, WingDings presses it into the man’s side, lifting his hand only long enough to put the cloth in place, before forcing the man to clutch it again. “Press on the wound and don’t move,” WingDings says. “I’ll get help.”
“No one will come,” the man calls after him, but WingDings still leaves.
“Help! Help, someone has been stabbed!” WingDings yells into the nearly deserted streets. “Someone has been stabbed! Get a doctor!”
“Shut up kid!” a woman calls down from her window. “Some of us are trying to enjoy ourselves!”
“But there’s a man bleeding in the alley,” WingDings cries up to her.
“Get out of here kid!” another man says from his porch. “Keep the peace.”
“But there’s a man bleeding to death!” WingDings tries again. What is wrong with these people? How can they be so cruel?
“Nonsense!” the woman shouts. “No one has bled out and died in over two years!”
The absurdity of that statement is enough to shock WingDings out of his hellbent drive to get help for the bleeding man.
“Hadrian, what’s with the noise?” another neighbor stumbles out from his gated home.
“This kid claims a man’s bleeding to death, as if that’s possible,” Hadrien scoffs.
“By the god’s kid where have you been the last two years?” the short man who’s decided to join the conversation asks.
“That’s why I’m in such shock,” WingDings spins, on the fly trying not to look crazy while thinking he just might have lost his mind. Either that or everyone else has. Is he in another world like that wonderland he escaped last year? “Why else would I be screaming about a dying man unless it was true!”
Something in his logic convinces the man from the house closest to him. “If I go with you, will you shut up,” he asks.
“Yes,” WingDings promises, snatching the man's wrist and dragging him to the alley.
“Could be a trap, let me go with you,” the other man says, jogging up beside them.
WingDings doesn’t bother complaining over their mistrust and takes them to the dying man who has done what WingDings asked and has managed to stunt the bleeding.
“Flavian!” his neighbors shout, recognizing the man and kneeling beside him. Evidently this is no sham.
“Argus, get a healer,” Hadrian orders the other.
“What healer? When was the last time we needed one of those?” The other gets to his feet racing away despite his own advice and goes to search for a healer. WingDings stays with the men, not knowing what else to do and unable to leave the injured man like this.
By the time they get more help, the injured Flavian is looking worse. They carry him to his large home close by and WingDings is brought along with them, the neighbors vouching that he is trying to help. Encouraged to stay out of the way, WingDings is led by a servant girl to where they prepare food and hands him a small loaf of bread. As he eats, several people ask him what happened and he tells them about the thug who stabbed the man and how Flavian tried to make chase only to collapse from his wound.
It’s a simple story and no matter how many times the men in their silken toga’s and sashes ask him, his story will remain unchanged. WingDings is annoyed at first until he hears them whisper to one another about ‘death’s curse’. Since he doesn’t want to appear like the newcomer he is, WingDings doesn’t ask for clarification. Everything is happening so fast and he’s trying to take in as much information as he can, but he’s exhausted, the ebb of a headache pinching the inside of his skull.
WingDings falls asleep on a cushion in the hall at some point and is woken to wailing when Flavian is declared dead. There are men bustling in and out of the house, shocked at the news and going out to tell everyone who will listen. The man’s family mourns his death, but also mutters over how lucky he is and beg him to take them with him across the Styx’s. As the community is churned by the shocking news of one man's death, WingDings is easily forgotten.
He’s sad the man has died, but there is nothing to do for it now.
During the bustle, WingDings easily slips out the kitchen door and onto a side street. The entire neighborhood is awake and the boy can feel the cloud of horror and excitement as if he were a part of some dramatic play.
WingDings now knows without a doubt that he has definitely been dropped in the middle of something.
What that something is he doesn’t entirely understand.
As he travels the town criers, or messengers of some kind, proclaim the news of the death of the wealthy Flavian. No matter where he goes there is news of Flavian’s death and WingDings is forced to be reminded of how rotten his journey in this world is starting out. When WingDings finds the market, full of merchants selling their wares, he finds a merchant to trade his gold with and receives the nation's currency of Drachma.
Some of the coins have the face of a warrior on one side and an owl or a horse on the other. After buying some food, a water skin, and a long robe toga thing, he finds a secluded area to change and looks up old coins on his phone's encyclopedia. The coin is reminiscent of what was used in Athens during Ancient Greece, making this perhaps the furthest back in history he’s ever been.
When a company of horses travels quickly down the side street, WingDings has enough time to move aside before getting trampled. Coughing and sneezing, the boy looks down at his now dirty clothes and tries to dust himself off. “Rude,” he complains, continuing down the street and trying to locate the light feeling of familiarity and warmth from the wandering piece of his soul. He feels something, but it is faint.
“Guess I’ll be doing a lot of walking,” WingDings turns a corner and is struck by the sight of huddled forms that barely look alive. Putting the cloak to his mouth, WingDings tries not to breathe as the sting of putrid rot clings to his bones. With water stinging his eye sockets the boy walks as boldly as he dares through the grimy street of littered bodies.
At first WingDings assumes the thin and frail men and children clinging to the walls like mounds of dirt are dead, but when one’s gaze travels after him he realizes in discomfort that they are still alive. He’d almost prefer that these poor humans were dead.
This must be the ‘death curse’ Hadrian mentioned yesterday.
Figuring there is no harm in asking the starving men some questions, WingDings stops in front of an old man and clears his throat. “Elder, I’m sorry to bother you, but can you tell me what city this is?” he asks. “I’m a traveler.”
“You are in Thorikos,” the man wheezes, coughing as the dusty air clings to his windpipe.
WingDings looks down at the man with pity offering him some of his water. “Is that close to Athens?” he asks.
“May the gods bless you child,” the man accepts the drink, guzzling it down greedily. When he chokes he doesn’t stop and before WingDings can worry, he stops, taking a breath and smiling with yellow and black teeth. “Athens is to the North, traveler.”
“Can you tell me about . . . ‘Death’s Curse’?” WingDings asks, he feels everyone stare at him, their swollen cold eyes latching onto his hidden bones, like hooks.
“You must be from a far away young traveler, to not be affected by the curse,” the man returns the nearly empty water skin to WingDings, who accepts it graciously while telling himself he’ll clean it later. “For the last two years no one can die.”
“You’re immortal?” WingDings asks.
“You’d think we were gods!” the old man cracks, laughing and failing to breathe, but this hardly seems to matter to him. When he manages to take another breath he is able to speak again. “We are no gods. We are like the dead and yet we live. We cannot die, yes, but we can be hurt, we can starve, we can become sick and deceased and yet we cannot die from it. Sometimes we heal, sometimes we don’t. Women can’t bear children and those who were with children two years ago are still with child unless . . . unless they do something drastic.”
WingDings face becomes green and he puts a gloved hand to his mouth. This can’t be true? Could it? But the man has no reason to lie to him. “They what?”
“You heard me,” the man’s dry chuckle dies, all the pain and wariness slumping his form, living yet lacking the strength to really live. “And the young, no matter what their size, cannot die. It is unnatural. The only thing unaffected are animals and plants, which come and go in season as if the world weren’t cursed. It’s of the gods you see. Hades must be punishing us. Why else wouldn’t he let me find rest in his fields?”
The gods huh? They must be somewhere in this world, since WingDings can think of no other logical reason for this curse to exist just as the man has said. At least in his twelve year old mind this makes sense and he’s seen a lot of crazy things. Feeling great sorrow for the tortured man, WingDings reaches forward and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Then I have good news,” he tells the man. “A man passed on this morning. Perhaps the curse has been lifted.”
“Oh, that is wonderful news,” the man says with a weak smile before his harsh cough renews. Only this time when he is unable to breath, he reaches forward and clutches WingDings arms. The man looks up at the boy, some of the dark clouds of his sight clearing with some knowledge that remains a mystery to WingDings.
When the man stops breathing, he stares up at the boy, a tear trickling from his eye as he sags back, his vice grip nearly taking WingDings down with him.
Bracing himself, WingDings soul leaps up into his throat at the man's odd and scary behavior, but he manages to keep upright, forced to use his other hand to loosen the ancients’ hold on him. When the man crumbles completely to the muddy ground WingDings expects him to get back up, but instead he doesn’t move.
“Hey . . . you okay?” WingDings feels that pit of unease grow, shaking his bones and filling him with frigid dread. Leaning down WingDings look into the opened glazed eyes of the man. With a clattering hand, he reaches forward and checks for a pulse, but finds nothing there, no warmth of blood or the buzz of life from his soul.
The body is silent.
No longer does it house a soul, just an empty vessel.
When the death of this man slowly trickles through his soul, WingDings becomes astutely aware of the ragged forms still staring at him. With his senses heightening in answer to his growing unease, WingDings steps back as the sickly and diseased bodies slink towards him.
“He’s dead,” one of them says.
“It’s a miracle,” says another.
“We are saved,” echoes another, and a growing dirge steadily fills the alley as the living dead crawl towards the boy who can end their pain and agony.
Frightened, WingDings turns to run, but falls on his face when someone clutches his ankle. He feels their hands grab at him, dragging him back and tearing his clothing. Terrified, WingDings summon his magic hands and bones, shoving the bodies away. As soon as his magic touches them their movements cease allowing WingDings to run with all his might from the alley and race for the small city's border.
Not once does WingDings look back, not until he’s past the farms and up the tallest hill in the north. There is no reason for him to stop. To his amazement, he isn’t short of breath or sweating profusely from the effort, although he still has that headache.
But that isn’t what’s important right now.
What was that?!?
That was something out of a horror film, that’s what it was!
Is he in ancient Greece or a Zombie B-movie because that was by far one of the worst things he’s ever had to run from.
At least those people won’t have to suffer any more.
Wait, did he kill them?
Fearing that his level might have gone up from murdering innocent people, despite it being an accident, WingDings pulls down the collar of his cloak and toga to summon his soul and check his stats. When he is able to read his stats WingDings mind and body freeze.
Name: Aster
Titles: Flower of the Grave, Star of the Underworld, a god of death
Duty: Bringer of Death
Abilities: Immortality, Unlimited Power, Wealth, and Magic
Mission: Lord of the Dead (Temporary), Finding missing pieces of himself
Currently: Has a headache
As he reads the strange stats WingDings knees wobble and he falls to the green earth. Every tick of information tells him something he doesn’t necessarily want to know, although that last one makes him glare at the words as if the text is attempting to tell a joke. A very bad joke.
What would the Sans’ of the Diseased Sands say now if he knew WingDings was an actual god?
Too bad he can’t gloat about it.
Glancing up at the sky, WingDings notes the scattered clouds and the high noon sun. He’d like to travel to the next city, but if he starts now he’ll be caught out in the wilderness at night. Back in ancient days the cities and towns were designed to be the perfect distance apart to be traveled in a day, but that’s only if you started to travel in the morning.
Well apparently he has ‘unlimited power’ so he shouldn’t have to sleep unless he wants to right? Glad to be out of that city, WingDings finds the main road and travels for the city of Athens since the name is familiar and he doesn’t know where else to go. Perhaps his phone’s encyclopedia has a map of Ancient Greece.
Nothing happens as he walks, aside from a bewildered gang of bandits!
“Get him!” they cry and apparently it doesn’t matter that he is a child. The people in this world are such a mix. On the one hand he pity’s them on the other this curse really has turned some into the worst sorts of people.
Screaming as one grabs his ankle, WingDings falls hard to the dirt and automatically attempts to teleport away. Instead of teleporting, a rush of cold runs through him as he loses sight of his own hands.
“Where did he go!” one of the men shouts.
“He vanished! I swear I can still feel him!” the man holding his ankle says.
Realizing he has somehow gained the ability to turn invisible, WingDings hits the man as hard as he can in the head. The hit is so startling, the man that he lets go in fright, crying out as if he were hit harder than he actually was. WingDings doesn’t wait to see what happens next, rushing away as the man shouts at being hit by an invisible cold hand. Since the bandits already have one curse to deal with they let the child race away into the night without giving chase. Eventually WingDings slows down, feeling only a little winded as that annoying headache of his persists.
As WingDings had originally hypothesized, the ‘child god’ doesn’t have to sleep and arrives in the famous city of Athens before the sun has crested the highest hills. Despite it’s broken walls, the city is impressive, with a portion of the city atop an enormous rock, looking down on all the ancient world. Like Thorikos the majority of the structures are built with elegant pillars of stone and tiled roofs, painted in strips of blue and white. But the city of Athens shows its wealth with the numerous fountains and detailed statues depicting figures of their government and religion. Since WingDings is so young, he doesn’t have much trouble entering the city at the South gate, the guards merely taking a quick look at him and dismissing the boy.
Despite his mission to find a piece of his soul, WingDings curiosity takes precedence as he explores the city, traveling through a popular market and a large mansion that might have been a city hall of some kind. When he can, WingDings sneaks in a few pictures with his phone, before anyone can notice. The first thing WingDings wants to do is make the long journey up the rock in the center of the city which, come to find out, is called the Acropolis, with the lower portion being referred to as the Agora.
When the cloaked skeleton reaches the top of the giant rock, he finds the impressive temple dedicated to the patron god of the city, Athena. There is a statue of the Athenian deity, but something about the statue doesn’t seem right. Sure, it’s a very nice statue, but it doesn’t look like the Athena his encyclopedia displays. The statue in front of him shows a figure that doesn’t appear female or male, which is really weird since most of the statues on the way here were naked. Moreover, the Athena from his phone is most certainly female.
This alerts WingDings yet again that this world is not strictly ancient Greece, if the curse of the un-dead isn’t enough of a giveaway.
Gazing up at the large statue WingDings wonders if he’s possibly seen this person before, but the only thing that stands out is the figure's covered eyes. As he moves past ‘Athena’ with their hidden eyes, helmet, sword and owl, he travels towards the temple where a small group of people pay their respects to the god. He’d think there would be more people, but perhaps the temple of Hades is more popular these days with this curse plaguing them all.
After taking several pictures in the area, WingDings enjoys the calm and beauty of an ancient city that isn’t crumbling. WingDings sits at a fountain where he looks up on his phone where the temple of Hades is located. Perhaps if he goes there he’ll get some answers, since he rather doubts one of the gods will trouble themselves coming to the mortal realm from a place called ‘Mount Olympus’. WingDings never thought he’d ever have to learn anything about religion, but here he is researching it greedily as if it were the material of his next midterm exam.
Just how many consorts and relationships did Zeus have?
Oh and apparently there is a temple dedicated to Hades in a place called the Nekromanteion located . . . on the other side of Greece.
On second thought he’ll just keep searching for the piece of his soul and if he happens to get some answers to help these poor suffering people along the way, great! While he feels bad for these people, he doesn’t know how to help them short of touching them and that didn’t go over so well last time.
WingDings tries to suppress a shiver and move back down the rock. He heads towards the market place to find some food and a sturdy pack to hold it all, something that will help him blend in. He meets several vendors, trading the drachma for what he needs, and doing his best not to touch anyone. Along the way he also passes a public bath house, but he decides against it despite how disgusting he feels. One look at the skeleton monster and everyone would surely freak out.
As he’s walking along, trying to sense what direction the tiny piece of his soul might be, he accidentally trips over a beggar, lacking full peripheral vision with the cloth wrapped tightly around his head. When he turns to apologize, WingDings words die just as swiftly as the man he’s tripped over.
Quickly swiveling his head around, he spies several people looking at him suspiciously, so before anyone can ask questions, WingDings scrambles to his feet and without really meaning to vanish from their sight. There is a shout of surprise from a merchant as the boy turns invisible, but WingDings doesn’t stick around. Rushing towards the west gate, Dipylon, the Sacred Gate. WingDings makes haste to leave the lavish city, but this gate proves to be a poor choice.
The Dipylon gate is the most popular gate in the city, with the academy of the most learned minds built in the area. It is nearly impossible for him to get through without touching anyone so WingDings is forced to hide in an alley as word travels of the dead man found in the marketplace.
And this day was going so well.
Hanging his head and sliding down the wall, WingDings rubs his aching head, trying to ease some of the tension from it.
“Young man, are you all right?” a man calls to him from one end of the alley.
Unable to stop himself from flinching, WingDings glances up just far enough to see past the hood of his cloak. The man is tall and muscular, with beautiful golden hair that lightly flickers in the wind. This fine specimen is by far the most handsome and healthiest man WingDings has seen to date, but this isn’t a good enough reason to run away.
“Yes, I’m fine sir,” WingDings answers, putting his face down, but leaning forward and moving onto the flat part of his feet so he can make a quick getaway if he needs to. Without even looking at the man, WingDings is emitting a ‘get away from me, leave me alone,’ vibe, or at least this is what he’s going for.
“You don’t look well,” the golden man doesn’t seem to take the hint, even when WingDings body and shoulders tense.
“I’m as fine as everyone else in this city,” WingDings claims, coming to stand on his feet and walk away. There is a pang of guilt in him as he walks away from the kind man, but there is too much going on and he doesn’t want to cause another scene. While the man looks healthy enough, WingDings doesn’t want to risk curing another man to walk into death's welcomed embrace.
“I’m a healer, I can cure disease,” the man reaches forward and snatches the boy’s hood, causing it to fall from WingDings head.
Swiftly turning, WingDings reaches back and yanks the cloth back over his skull, but not before the beautiful man has seen his bald head and spine.
The man has a shocked look in his golden eyes.
Before the man can say anything, WingDings vanishes from sight and races away, leaving only his dusty footsteps behind.
“Wait, come back!” the man shouts, giving chase. “Please, who are you!”
As if WingDings is going to tell him who he is! Not after that look of shock he just received from the man. Turning a corner, WingDings jumps up onto a short wall and moves as quickly as he can manage along it, grateful for the thick stones and mortar. The man actually manages to follow him, turning his head this way and that to listen for the rustle of cloth and patter of WingDings feet.
When WingDings comes to a wider street, he lets himself down onto a bush. The man nearly manages to grab at him blindly, but the boy darts away, sliding between people and into another alley, making it impossible for anyone to follow.
But not before accidentally, running into two people and falling to the ground.
The two women aren’t diseased, but they are surprised when they are bowled over by the invisible boy. Acting the gentlemen, the golden haired man, helps the ladies up, giving WingDings a clear shot to escape for good. The boy ends up hiding behind a statue of some naked person and watches as the pretty man gets lost in the crowd.
When the determined man is far enough away, WingDings carefully creeps out, only reappearing when the sun dips low in the sky.
WingDings waits till it’s late to leave out the west gate, worried that something else might go wrong if he stays another minute in the popular city. It really is a beautiful city and he’d like nothing more than to explore it, but he’d be better off in a less populated area. With one more look over the city, WingDings wishes it well and slips out into the night, hoping he won’t have any more troubles to weigh heavy on his soul and mind.