"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
we all carry these things that no one else can see they hold us down like anchors; they drown us out at sea
He had gone to the field in the search of purpose, but he had not found it there. All of them had been polite, kind even, but ghosts stirred in his belly, and he found himself going elsewhere. It was those ghosts that led him now to the Gates, his dark eyes haunted as he watched the land fold open before him. It was still beautiful—it always would be—but he could see the signs of smoke in the air. He could see the signs of devastation. The Gates was wounded, and he felt that like a spear straight to the gut.
So this is where his ghosts asked for him to be.
Sighing, Magnus made his way past the border and into the belly of the kingdom, his face breaking into a frown as despair flooded through his veins. He should have been here. He should have helped to protect the Gates from whatever tragedy had struck here. Instead, he was as he always seemed to be—too late to do the good he wanted to. One second behind. One step away from accomplishing the necessary.
Coming to a stop near what had once been the Gate’s grand tree, although that was past his time, he lowers his head in reverence. The kingdom needed all of the good people it could take. Unfortunately, he was not a good man—but he was a strong one. Perhaps they could use a warrior to join their ranks. Perhaps they, like their predecessors, could forgive him his sin and welcome him into their fold.
If not all of them, perhaps his son would at least give him the chance to repair his wrongdoings.
Lifting his head, Magnus scanned the area for Ledger before letting loose a low, throaty cry for whatever monarch or diplomat was in the quiet of the scene. Surely, they must be meeting to discuss their next steps. If he was lucky, he would have gotten here in enough time to aid in the recovery process.
It was not enough, but at least it would be something.
The Gates had burned and instead of defending it as he should have done (as Magnus would have done) he was kept in a cell below the earth and tortured at the hands of a dark cruel master. The wounds on his body were beginning to heal, the brand on his flank scabbing and hairless. The claw marks on his neck blistered and raw but stitching itself closed. It was the socket of his missing eye that was having the most trouble, it didn’t seem to get better. The wound oozed with infection and he found himself in a state of heated fever. Keeping away from the others, ashamed after what had happened with Ilka and Kronk, he found himself spending more and more time with the burned and blackened remains of the Mother Tree. It’s poisoned body mirrored his own and the only comfort he found was in his own guilt, that he was responsible for everything that had happened. He’s a danger to everyone here now and he knows he should leave but where else can he go? So he stands next to the tree, refusing to sleep, the pain making him angry and in his fever induced state he shifts from bear to horse over and over again. Unable to control the magic Carnage had left in his blood.
A call rings though the kingdom and he visibly tenses. It’s a voice he recognizes but fills him with horror and shame. With guilt and sorrow. And unhappily, a little anger. Slowly he turns his mangled face in the direction from where it came and it doesn’t surprise him to see the buckskin stallion with his one good eye in the distance. What holds him back is the fear. Was this real or was this another nightmare? He can’t be sure if the life he has been living since he fled the cave is one that Carnage has designed or if this is now his reality. If that is really Magnus and he didn’t kill him after all like he had in the nightmare.
Reluctant step after reluctant step brings the broken man closer to his father. His skin is stretched over bones that jut out like jagged rocks on the beach. He doesn’t eat anymore, the pain gives him little appetite. He doesn’t sleep but that wasn’t unusual, he had rarely slept before. He knows he is sick and he knows he is dying but he can’t find a reason within himself to try and fight what is coming. What good is he now? A one eyed stallion who shifts into a living predator, the creature that shares space with Chernobyl in his worst dreams. ”Have you come to punish me? The words are hoarse and scratchy, his throat still raw from screaming and the ever lingering smoke in the Gates that fills their lungs. The one gold flecked eye filled with confusion and little hope that this wasn’t another one of the Dark God’s tricks.
we all carry these things that no one else can see they hold us down like anchors; they drown us out at sea
Of all of the things to blame himself for, not being there to save his son from whatever horror has befallen him would top the list. Magnus felt his gut wrench painfully when he saw the flaxen stallion approach him and although his instinct was to jump forward and ask questions, he felt himself stilled with the shock, his gold-flecked eyes washing over the scars and the missing eye. But, as painful as it was to look at the disfigured half of his face, it was the confusion and the bitterness in his voice that cut the deepest.
“Punish you?” he asked in disbelief, shaking his head vigorously. “Why would I do that, Ledger?” His smoky voice is low and threaded with the same hurt that he felt, that same hurt and the slow burning anger at whoever had done this to his son. It was a curdling feeling, the way that it simmered in his veins and spread—violent and vicious and bruising. It was not the righteous anger of justice, he knew that. It was something darker, something crueler. It was the instincts of his family rearing their ugly head.
It was the exact reason he always knew he wasn’t good enough for Heaven.
“Who hurt you?” he finally managed to ask, taking a step forward, cautious to break the space between himself and the other. He felt the rage searing against the back of his throat, but he managed to tamper it down—for now at least. Magnus knew that somewhere within him there would always be a beast that was too eager to pick up the sword, too eager to jump into the heat of battle, but that did not mean that he needed to actively feed it. So, he forced himself to stay still, not trusting himself to say anything more.
He hesitates, unsure of what to believe. His father looks upset and angry but he can tell that this time the anger isn’t focused on him. For a second his good eye is laced with bewilderment and confusion and he stammers slightly as he tries to get a grip on the world that’s spinning before him. ”You said I was worthless and that you wish I had never been born. That I was the reason why you and Joelle separated.” And as the memory of what had happened in the nightmare (it had been a nightmare right?) replays itself, anguish twists the already disfigured lines of his face. ”I killed you. You’re dead. This isn’t real.” He pauses, closing his good eye as a fresh wave of pain washes over him and the predator inside him begins to stir.
”You’re a ghost. I deserve to be haunted. You were right, I’ve never done anything but hurt those around me.” Another pause as Magnus steps forward and he visibly flinches, alarm widening the good eye and making the empty socket throb with an exploding pain. The bear inside him starts to claw it’s way out. Gritting his teeth, he tries desperately to keep it locked inside the cage although he is well aware that the bear always wins. The cage is too brittle and he is too weak. Turning his body slightly towards his father so he can see the brand that was carved into his flank, Ursa Major… A mockery of the constellation dotting his hide forever. ”He called himself a Dark God. He is Carnage.” He mumbles softly, not sure why he was even telling this to a ghost who could do nothing.
we all carry these things that no one else can see they hold us down like anchors; they drown us out at sea
His words are brutal and Magnus flinches visibly.
“I never said that, Ledger,” he says quietly, the gold in his eyes burning with intensity. He would never say that. For all of his flaws, Magnus was not cruel. Violent, stubborn, a tad bloodthirsty—yes. But not outright cruel. So why did his son think that he would ever say such things to him? Why blame him for something that was so clearly Magnus' own fault? Magnus shuddered at the mentioning of Joelle and felt his heart constrict painfully in his chest, but he did not take another step, not missing the fear so clearly defined in the other’s eyes. It would take a long time for him to forget that he son looked at him like that.
He does move, does not speak until Ledger is done, and then it makes perfect sense. Anger flashes in his stomach again, but so does understanding. “Whatever happened,” his voice is throaty and thick with emotion, “it isn’t real.” His jaw clenches as he concentrates on his son before him, seeing the ghosts that now seem to haunt his lineage. “None of it was real—I promise.” Magnus had heard of Carnage’s vision of enjoyment; he knew that the dark god rather loved pulling the strings of reality around mere mortals.
Magnus would focus later on retribution.
“It was a sick, cruel dream, Ledger. It wasn’t real.” Another pause. “This is real. I’m real.”
10-04-2015, 02:51 PM (This post was last modified: 10-04-2015, 02:56 PM by Ledger.)
I can see for miles, miles, miles
He sees the pain in his father’s eyes and it makes him sick to his stomach, sees the way he flinches from him but Ledger can’t blame him. He is a disgusting thing to look at these days. Disfigured and mutilated. If he was unworthy of love before who would ever think to love him now? The ghost of his father is telling him that this is not real, that he is flesh and what happened was just a mean trick. ”I don’t know what is real anymore.” He whispers and it’s the truth, all the lines are blurred. ”The Gates burned and I don’t know if it’s because of me or if it’s another game.” Desperation in his eye as he looks at the stallion who is whole and good and everything he had always wanted to be. Something he can never achieve now.
The bear is pulling apart the bars of it’s cage and Ledger groans softly, lowering his head as his resolve weakens. It wants Magnus to see it, wants to expose the chestnut stallion for what he really is now.
”If you are real then you should run.” He gasps right before the beast pulls him apart. His skin quivers and rips as he morphs into the beast, howling with pain as he does so. Chestnut turns to long silky strands of white and the one eye of the polar bear fixes on the buckskin stallion before him. It roars with it’s pain, a thick grumbling sound that rolls like thunder. ”This is what I’ve become.” Ledger doesn’t try to walk, he still hasn’t become accustomed to the bears paws and claws and it’s only awkward movements that he makes as his snout lowers to that of the stallion before him. ”He cursed me. Forever.” It is only with much resolve that he can keep the predator in check, keeps it from attacking his father. A soft moan escapes the bears lips and finally, reluctantly, it retreats back inside and the chestnut stallion stands before him once more. ”I can’t control it. I’m a danger to everyone here.” He is panting, a slick sheen of sweat on his beaten coat and tears line the edge of his eye. Shaking violently, he looks to Magnus with utter despair. ”If you are real you should kill me. I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore.”
we all carry these things that no one else can see they hold us down like anchors; they drown us out at sea
“No.”
The words are final, clipped, Magnus finally getting a grip on the heady appeal of his emotions. He would let himself fall into the turbulent rivers of his emotions later; he would indulge in the fury when he was by himself. But his son needed him now, and Magnus needed to be a father. For once, he needed to be there for Ledger. “I won’t do that, Ledger.” He takes a step forward, unafraid of both the bear and the stallion. If he was to be attacked, he could hold his own; if he was hurt, it would be nothing he didn’t deserve.
Magnus presses his cheek against his son’s neck. “We’re going to get through this—together. I promise.” He felt the sweat and the exertion—but more than that, Magnus felt the other’s fear and it was one he knew well. He knew what it meant to be afraid of yourself, afraid of what you could accomplish. He would not make the other stallion navigate through those trying waters all by himself.
“Your grandfather is a shifter,” he thought of the scarred black warrior in the Chamber and the skill that the older warmonger had exerted over his ability throughout the decades. “You can master the skill too.” His gold-flecked eyes are steady. “If you want, we can go find him together.” Not that Magnus had a great deal of confidence in Atrox’s patience in training another, but he also knew that Atrox had a soft spot for the children of Twinge (as soft a spot as Atrox could have, at least). Perhaps the panther would indulge him.
He has no faith in himself to ever master the bear inside him. Still unable to think of him and the bear as one living thing, entwined together forever. Magnus is real and he can breathe in his musky scent, still mingled with saltwater and seaweed, and feel his heat from his skin. Can feel the steadiness of his heartbeat in his pulse as he presses back against him. For a moment he forgets about the throbbing of his eye socket and the overwhelming urge of the beast inside him. ”Ok.” He finally manages, a defeated tone in his voice. What other choice did he have anyways? At least he would be away from Ilka and the others until he could control the bear, they would be safe from him for now.
Years ago, he would have been thrilled at the prospect of going anywhere and doing anything with his father. The joy is shadowed by the fear of what is to come, shadowed by the pain in his body, shadowed by the experience of time spent in the underground lair. ”Where can we find him?” He shivers violently despite the warm spring day. The fever taking control of his already terror induced mind.
you and I both know that the house is haunted and you and I both know that the ghost is me
The guilt feels like a physical weight lodged in his throat as he looks at the despair in his own son’s eyes—at the cruel way the world had treated him. It seemed so unfair that Ledger had constantly been given such a bad hand, time and time again fighting an uphill battle. Magnus exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a second before gathering himself—reminding himself that he needed to be strong for Ledger.
“Where you will always find him,” Magnus’ smile is bitter and sharp on the edges. “The Chamber.” He knew his father better than most, having been around when Atrox was still vaguely interested in having a family with Twinge. He had lived in the jungle that the panther-stallion had visited often and then served in his father’s Kingdom but had never been able to claim it as his own. It just didn’t ring to him.
Nudging his son gently in the neck, he helped support him. “We have quite the journey ahead of us, so we should start soon,” his voice is husky and low, Magnus thanking the heavens that he had begun to regain the majority of his strength. It would be a backbreaking journey to support Ledger the entire way to the Chamber without it. Forcing a smile, Magnus began to step forward. “Have I ever told you stories of your grandfather, son?” He laughs lightly, trying to lighten the mood and distract his son. “I have quite a few.”
And, together, they make their way to the source of the panther’s heartbeat.
![[Image: gqYjsHr.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/KjqNDKxc/gqYjsHr.png)
