[backdated to May 30th]

Cassiopeia had been long buried, overgrown in the time it had been forgotten. There was little in terms of gembound life, save for the remnants of some battle; broken chrysalises that once housed the injured or unborn. With the cave's tunnel now open, however, the stagnant magic of the room had begun to flow again, and from that grand reopening came new life from an old stone. A forgotten stone, some remnant of the past with no way to remember what it once might have been. What it would birth, however, would be anything but normal.

There was a tapping sound. Quiet, but persistent. Slow, at first, a sound like the clinking of glass cups. IT was twitching in its sleep. Its dreams had become more vibrant in the past few days, waking it sometimes, moments of sentience between visions of nothing and everything all at once. It dreamt of fuzzy renditions of the caves, of running, of killing, of being killed, of being trusted. It dreamt of being a soldier, and of being a dancer, and of being anything other than itself. It dreamt dreams it would not remember, soon, as the tapping grew more insistent. Hairline fractures were growing in their crystal womb, leaking fluid as the hours passed. Time mattered not to the sleeping gembound, nor did it matter to the insentient gem that encompassed them.

The caves had long awaited them. The Arbitrator, Seraph.

In one swift, sudden motion, as if commanded by some unseen force, cloven hooves shattered both silence and stone. Out stepped a gangly thing, maybe three feet tall and wrapped in the feathers and leather of their wings; a blanket against the chill of damp skin and mucus-coated feathers. Its eyes opened to greet the cave's dusty embrace, three void-black orbs in pools of blood. It was dark, here, just outside the entrance to the prison. Its stone had been covered by some of the overgrowth, a hiding place which it had quickly outgrown. Silence returned after the commotion, save for the slow, drawn-out scraping sound of hooves on stone as the beast tried to rid itself of its eponychium. It stretched out further with each dragging step, every movement followed by the pop and crack of vertebrae settling into place. It was here. It was alive. It was ready.

'I am here at last!' it seemed to announce, the click of clean hooves on stone causing the very earth to shake around them.

Perhaps the creature was not so long awaited after all, but rather long avoided, as Its call to the caves was rejected. Instantly, violently, the self-proclaimed arbitrator was swept off its feet by its own magic backfiring, sending it crashing down into the very growth that had kept it protected until this one fateful moment. Its hatching was a mistake, the cave seemed to say. It owed the caves for the very magic It was allowed to wield, they seemed to taunt, as vines tangled in blade-like horns and around thin limbs. Easy to break limbs, like the very twigs they pushed against to try and right themselves again. Thorns found purchase in hide many times over before It found freedom again, snorting.

I am cleansed. It thought with a soft smile, looking up at the few dim cave lights strung to the ceiling. The cave had humbled It, released it from its pride with the sharp sting of pain. Saviour, It called the caves. Forgive me. I know now what I must do.

@Bacchus

Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

gore

violence

torture

Cassiopeia had been lost, and now that it had been found, there were dwellers of the cave that were less than pleasant. This one particular dweller had been led to this cave with a gift of a garden from a wish. It sounded like a wondrously kind act without further details.

In truth, the wish had not been for a garden or a gift, not at all. It had been for a distraction, to keep the wisher safe from the all-consuming obsession of this being. It had worked in part, for this being cared more for the life of plants than he would ever care for a child of his own. And this particular garden... Well, it was no innocent grouping of flowers. Instead, it was a bouquet of varied death and distilled pain.

And causing pain was what Bacchus adored more than anything. So such a gift would have been perfect... if not for the unwanted inhabitant of the darkness that guarded the plants from being found. So as of late, Bacchus had been more than simply frustrated.

He had been gifted such a wondrous find, only for it to be yanked away from him. He was fury, except his wrath could not be exerted on the one responsible for his loss. Because for all that Bacchus was a multitude, he was weak.

At least, in some matters.

Right now, he hardly felt weak or furious, at least consciously. His current actions soothed his soul even though it would have ruffled many a feather. Not that he was dealing with feathers today, no. Though, wings appeared to be on the agenda, all the same.

Bacchus had killed a lesser mouse, then cut it with precision for it to bleed the scent of death into the air, proceeding to watch from a still and quiet distance. Eventually, one of the Flying Pitch Rats in a colony had taken notice of what seemed like easy food.

He did not pounce immediately, as it descended and hurriedly began to feast. It's joy was palpable, for all that it was a lesser. Many a fool thought that lessers existed as simply food, but in their own way, lessers could think. They shared so many similarities with greaters.

Yes, so many similarities.

Bacchus had pounced, and the bat was pinned by a wing. It shrieked alarm, and its distress was all the better knowing it had received a height of joy before this moment. One free wing flapped frantically. If one did not know Bacchus had methodically planned this, one might have thought he was responded to the way the wing whacked his muzzle.

Truth be told, Bacchus did not care a whit about that. No, this had always been the plan, as his free paw with sharp claws descended alongside his mouth and began to slowly tear. The shriek of alarm turned into a scream. Yes, lessers and greaters were not so dissimilar.

After all, they both screamed.

The pain was exquisite to witness, and the sounds were a symphony to the leopard's ears. But Bacchus took things carefully slow. He did not want this creature to simply die this moment, not at all. Every time he tore slightly at the free (yet not free at all), struggling wing, he paused to apply significant pressure to the site of the bleeding.

It was a lesson Bacchus had learned, to avoid letting his toys bleed out before he let them go. When he was just about done with his art, that was when the odd not-calf stumbled upon the sight of him. Bacchus noticed immediately, of course. He was not overly bothered.

For he never intentionally hid what he was. He told the truth always, and if it was twisted in ways that prevented understanding his nature, that was hardly his fault, was it?

So, this intrusion was not unwelcome. Perhaps it was even welcome, for he had begun to grow lonesome. Company was always appreciated, so long as it was polite.

The bat could weakly wheezed, only to revert to shrill screaming as Bacchus tore once more. He applied pressure yet again with his paw, but the wing was torn halfway off, exactly as he had intended. He was ever so curious if the creature could fly once he released it.

But he did not release it yet, for if he released it now, it would bleed out. Instead, he gazed up at the child from where he had been lounging while pinning the helpless creature as he worked.

"I wonder..." Bacchus murmured, loud enough to audible. "Child, I am curious. If you are inclined, I would appreciate your answering my question, based on the premise of our reality. This bat may never fly properly again if I let it go once its bleeding is stymied. If I release it now, however, it will die, bleeding out. Which reality is preferable, in your opinion?"

@Arbitrator

The scent of blood is what called for Its attention, causing the beast, of which there was no other descriptor, to wander upon the scene. Why? Was its first thought, its only thought, as it stared. A strange feeling, like worms surfacing during the rain, built in its stomach as the creature cut, alternating with firm pressure between each slow tear. It thought the action was accidental, at first, but the creature continued, relentless, unfeeling. Gembound. The word seemed fitting, almost, but It was a gembound and if It was a gembound, surely this creature could not be one. They acted as if They were the caves, as if it had control over other living things. But if It did not, They did not, and so surely this thing was not a gembound. Unclean. It decided, a silent and still judge as Bacchus continued despite the audience. Shameless. Wrathful. It continued, rage beginning to boil and bubble within its throat. The lesser screamed and writhed, and in some way, It found beauty in such a thing: the writhing. The bat moved like It had when the caves had cleansed It, and yet it was wrong, so terribly wrong.

Bile rose in Its throat the longer It watched, threatening to burst forth at any moment. It took conscious effort to fight the urge. All the beauty of the cave, all the life, all the magic... and this is what it was birthed to witness? Blood sullying stone? "You've already killed it, one way or the other." It spoke finally, throat hoarse with disuse and gravely with a failing attempt to hold back vomit. It was true; a flightless bat would find its end on the cave floor, abandoned by the flock. "At least let it go peacefully. Well, as peacefully as it can..." It scowled, keeping a firm distance away from Them. "Let it bleed." It would be a kinder death. A mercy.

Dark eyes met bright ones, three meeting two in a stare that was nothing short of a challenge. Your death would be a mercy on the caves.

Long live the nasties! @Bacchus

There was an overarching sense of horror in the hoarse voice that spoke up. It seemed the child he had found had quite a sense of morality already, despite the hints of chrysalis fluid still drying upon it. But was there some hint of more in this fellow gembound's gaze as it gazed upon the struggling bat.

Blood was beginning to stop flowing to the wound, the tearing along the wing's lining from bottom up, rather than the other way around. "Every being can die, small or great," he informed the child, agreeable and with a friendly attitude in a way that combined with the scene was likely more than a bit unsettling. Yet, he meant his friendliness. For all this child was staring at him with horror, he was not offended.

Whatever the leopard was, he was. A leopard could not change his spots, as the saying went. Bacchus should be a contradiction, friendly and polite yet... This.

"Yet, it might still fly. Its wing is only partly torn. Would you wish to deprive it of its chance to try to live? Do you truly believe that kinder?" Bacchus's voice was a rumbling purr of a tone, full of warm satisfaction. It sounded pleasant in a way that was discordant with his actions. "Does every being not deserve a moment to try in the light of these caves before their end?" It could have been a sentence from a speech on bettering oneself, except, the phrase was given by a being that only worsened lives.

He was not an unthinking monster in his cruelty. It made him all the more horrifying, in all likelihood.

"I believe I perhaps worded my question in a way that prevented understanding," Bacchus acknowledged next. It had been worded that way on purpose, however, so there were no apologies. "I should have been clearer." The leopard blinked placid, calm eyes at the child.

"In life, there are never only two options. Some may try to tell you so, but part of the beauty of life is that the options are what you decide they are- Within reason and the realm of possibility, at least," the leopard informed the child, tone as warm and insightful as a true teacher might have been.

The bat lay weak from its own struggles, worn out by the torture inflicted upon it. Every once and a while it would let out a plaintive squeak, as if calling for its colony which it had set off the alarm to chase away long ago.

"I am curious, as I mentioned. I want to know what future you would choose. It does not have to be any option I listed, but it must be in the realm of the possible, please," Bacchus requested, words polite.

@Arbitrator

"Yes." It agreed, the simplicity of the statement settling their stomach, if only a little. Death was a fact of life, something even a newborn could understand. Their interaction had lasted only a few minutes at most, and yet every second felt like an eternity as It tried to process the events unfolding before It. They were senseless, and in the events' senselessness, It would find no reason; only darkness.

Its discomfort was not hidden in its stiffness, but something else was there, too; wonder. Questions. It did not run. It watched. It judged. Eyes drifted from the bat to the leopard, studying for a long while before It spoke again, testing Their patience. "No." It decided, voice flat as It met Their eyes again. "Not every being." It was like every question they could ever ask was answered there, all at once ideas of right and wrong, of judgment and punishment, flooded Its senses. Not you.

The bat was not deserving. It had been deserving. It had been prideful, if only for a moment, before it was corrected. That moment had been enough, still, and yet here the leopard was; dark, deluded, and... unpunished. They were deserving. There was no question of it, no need to test, no doubt. Just a full body feeling of certainty, of... righteousness. A role to fill, a task to complete. They must repent. It must help them repent.

More meaningless words, more questions, followed. The Arbitrator paid them little mind, alrighty decided. It would be a stubborn thing. "The Arbitrator." It declared, firm. It was not stiff with nerves, now, but standing Its ground. It waited for the leopard to understand; it was not its job to explain its answers. It was who they were, and what they would be; a name and title, all in one, as far as the leopard would know. Arbitrator: an impartial party, a judge of two tales. Only, Seraph was more than that. Seraph would also become executioner. "And what would It call you? What is your... future?" They would not have one.

Well, that wasn't true. Not entirely, at least, as The Arbitrator would see no fault in Bacchus if They righted their wrongs. If they repented. But Bacchus was too far gone, whether It knew that or not, and They would not stop for anything short of their own death. Something It would later discover, should the two meet again. It would look for Them, when it was worthy of Its title. When it could make good on Its thoughts.

@Bacchus

The flat words might have been an answer for the bat he still held captive, yet there was a spark in the child's eyes. It reminded Bacchus of himself, a fact that he had no intention of enlightening the child to.

For that spark was the same one as when Bacchus was consumed by his own madness. Like recognized like... Except when the counterpart was too consumed in morals to realize.

He knew the child would mask itself in righteousness, but was that not a madness of its own kind?

Bacchus had no delusions that this child was interested in the music he could make, the symphonies of pain. No, this child shared a different form of madness... Obsession.

It was delicious to the leopard, to realize he had helped to shape this being's obsession. In a way, he thought, everything this being did, good or bad, would be a culmination of his own legacy, so long as it followed its obsession.

And legacy was what truly mattered to Bacchus, more than pain or plants. It pleased him to think in this manner.

The child may be the Arbitrator, but Bacchus was the Sinner that had led it to be such. "Have you not already decided?" the leopard answered the question, giving no name. He was more than a name, in this moment, so it did not feel right. And his future... It was his own, but it amused him to play with this child.

It made him feel mighty. He, at last, picked up both his paws and walked past the being he had been toying with. The bat did not move for a moment, not daring to believe it could be free. Or perhaps hoping its torment would end. But Bacchus prowled away from it, in the opposite direction of the child, gaining some distance. There was no telling what powers this one might have, even if a child.

The bat gave a chirp that sounded shocked, then struggled to flap. For a moment, it seemed to almost managed it. Bacchus was visibly disappointed when it failed. "It seems while bats can fly with holes in their wings, a tear of this nature is too much to allow flight," he observed.

Anubis would call his tests an 'experiment', he thought fondly, raising his spirits from the disappointment that this one would die in time, sooner or later. But... Perhaps there was a way he could still cause some pain. Not physical, perhaps, but pain was all equally glorious to him.

The bat flailed and cried out, perhaps more pained now by the opportunity of freedom that it could not take. "Shall you arbitrate this one's future, Arbitrator?" he nodded towards the bat.

He was standing now, and he had made some distance. The only reason he did not walk away was the insistent desire to watch, to see what the child would think up close.

@Arbitrator

The Arbitrator knew not of what Bacchus thought, but what Bacchus thought was wholly correct. They were one and the same, two creatures of obsession, two beasts driven mad, one just much earlier than the other. Two monsters that were consumed, every fibre of their beings tied tightly to their madness. Indistinguishable, for if Bacchus were to witness repentance, They would see it no differently from their experiments. Bacchus created It, in some form or another, shaped It, and Seraph would be Their undoing. How poetic.

Sinner. It named Them. Devil. It thought. But Devil was too powerful a title, too strong of a name, and It did not want to give Them power. They took it still, inviting It to finish Their work. It almost wanted to refuse, to walk away, but It could not. It was not an observer. It was a judge, and arbitrator, not an interchangeable descriptor. Seraph would be Retribution.

It took up Their offer the only way It knew how; a swift, smoldering step. A loud crunch was followed by the sound and scent of burning flesh; mercy and repentance in one neat package, tied with both rosary and sinew. It bore the pain silently as their extremities crisped. A cleansing fire. It deserved the pain as much as the bat deserved the mercy-killing -- It still killed.

@Bacchus

The child exquisitely endured the pain of burning flesh for the sake of mercy. Oh, it made not a sound, no audible music for Bacchus to cling to, but that was neither here or there. The child thought itself deserving of pain, at least in this moment. The very thought made Bacchus hunger for more.

For all that his presence was formidable, Bacchus was a smaller creature than this fresh child. He was well aware of his own deficiencies in regards to might. Still, he was a formidable, sleek predator covered in muscles. He had seen the magic of this child, and he had no desire to taste that. Yet, there were more options than force in his repertoire.

"And does the Arbitrator turns its gaze upon itself?" the leopard wondered aloud, tone sounding akin to a stranger's innocent curiosity. Except there was nothing innocent about Bacchus, not from the moment he had hatched. His soul was born corrupted, a Sinner always.

"You have sinned, yourself, in claiming a life. Mercy does not change your actions to be pure, child. Does a life taken from the world seem equal your burns?" Bacchus inquired, prowling ever closer.

His tone was not accusing. Bacchus was merely stated facts, with a little emphasis here and there. "I could help you repent, child," he offered, a kindliness to him that seemed truly as if it should be unsuited to the spark of madness in his purple gaze, yet came off as oddly honest. "I can teach you the price of a life," the leopard gently stated.

@Arbitrator

The silent seconds that followed the bat's dying squeak were filled with unvoiced exchanges. The tables were turning, a ballet of the mind as Bacchus gazed upon It. They became the Observer, and then the judge.

'And does the Arbitrator turn its gaze upon itself?'

In all its newness, its hours-old thoughts, It had not once considered balance. It knew that there was give and take. It knew that there was the necessary cleaning of the unclean. What It did not know, however, was what Bacchus offered it. The price of a life. The greatest sin. It did not know what it took to clean the growing pool of blood off the stone floor.

'Does a life taken from the world seem equal to your burns?'

It did not move. The leopard stalked ever closer.

It did not know how They knew its thoughts. Bacchus had wormed his way into their brain much like maggots would soon eat threw the corpse at Its feet. It wanted to run, a distant thought as paws slowly closed the distance. It wanted to know. It needed to know, to prove itself; to learn its place in the caves. Bacchus' actions up until this one fateful moment did not matter, for They had offered It the one thing it was born knowing: Repentance. Salvation. Cleansing.

'I could help you repent, child. I can teach you the price of a life.'

It opened its mouth to speak -- a silent plea it lacked the words to voice -- but closed its mouth again, bowing Its head instead. They were right. In this one thing, They were right. It must repent.

@Bacchus

graphic themes

Bacchus knew how to charm, a skill that came naturally to him. His talent with easily conversing no matter the circumstances and a perceptive gaze made him able to see. This one was especially easy to observe, with how it was consumed in obsession like a warped reflection of himself.

The child thought him he warped one, no doubt. Yet, nothing of him was faked or deluded. He was not unaware of his own toxic traits, he simply accepted himself as he was and he thrived. He could see clearly, for he knew himself well enough to deduce what would appeal to this child.

Some might call this skill charisma. Yet, he would lead no armies to victory with an inspiring speech, as the charismatic did. No, his was the voice of temptation. He found the chinks in the armor of his targets.

While the unaware were easy to toy with, like the bat, Bacchus found infinitely more delight in those who were aware. Never before, though, had one of his chosen been convinced they deserved it, until now. He was the Sinner, and this was the Arbitrator. Neither would forget the other any time soon.

The head bowed in acceptance, and the leopard leaned in. For a second, he simply nuzzled the throat of this calf led to slaughter. For he did so very appreciate the opportunity this child had given him, and it was only right to show gratitude.

It would hardly be a comfort for the child. For indeed, as the nuzzle finished, Bacchus opened his jaw full of feline teeth and he grabbed and he tore. Ripping out the throat of this child for its own willing penitence.

The child would chrysalize, of course. Only after it bled out from what should have been a mortal wound to any lesser being than a greater gembound. It would live, eventually.

But for now, it would die. "The only price for a life... Is life," he informed kindly as he licked the blood from his mouth.

It was doubtful the child could talk with its throat torn, yet it might try instinctively, and gurgle on blood further. "Shhh..." he gently hushed. "It is only fair," he murmured, loud enough for the child to hear. "Balance... is important, yes?"

He would lay down as the calf fell in time from the blood loss. He curled close to child, licking its snout. The scene might have been the mirror of a parental leopard tending to the leopard's own cub, if not for the neck bleeding out. For it was a soothing motion, a gentle warmth.

Yet it was no kindness, for all it showed the image of such. It made a mockery of kindness, the way the leopard showed himself thankful for this opportunity.

Only when the child truly began to chrysalize would the leopard back off, leaving space for the child to return and be born anew. And when it emerged, it would be a creature that had been shaped by Bacchus.

For a moment, Bacchus truly understood the desire to be a parent. It was more than a legacy, it was shaping a being that would leave an impact on the world. And... It was glorious.

His own first child given life had left him.

In this moment, as he gazed upon this being, he felt an awe. Bacchus may not have given stone or magic to this child... Yet, it was his child all the same, in a way.

It was his child, and he loved it, in the only way that Bacchus could love. That being, painfully. For the recipient of the love, of course, not Bacchus himself.

No, as for Bacchus, for the first time since his garden was stolen away...

Bacchus felt peace.

[Exit Bacchus?]

@Arbitrator