Blade Eater
Please mind the tags. The hurt is non-explicit torture and unethical experimentation. Typical Amalthus stuff.
Also I take liberties with canon but like,,, not making new canon, just being hand-wavey about IS canon. Yay. And yes, poor use of tenses.
All mistakes are mine; please point out any you spot. Thanks.
And as always, enjoy.
I forgot to give this to you with chapter 1??? But yeah, a lot of your musings and headcanons helped inspire both chapters + helped me iron out a lot of the stuff that was giving me trouble with this one. Thanks :)
The only warning I can think to give is that, as the summary states, Mikhail is struggling with a sense of inadequacy? It isn't pretty, but it's not explicit and it's not drawn out. This isn't really a whumpfic, so... *shrugs*
With that out of the way, I hope you enjoy :)
Chapter 01: Waking Dream [2023-09-25]
Chapter 02: Spar [2024-11-16]
[no summary]
Blades don't need much sleep. Humans need way more. It's the awkward combination of human and blade that keeps Mikhail in a limbo, not quite awake and not quite asleep either, when he lays in bed.
Like being awake in a dream. Except the dream is a nightmare and the nightmare is memories perfectly preserved by his core crystal. The Indoline Monks standing over him, their robes stained with blood. The screams, decreasing steadily until he was the only one left, throat too parched to make a sound. There'd be new ones when he next came too. Rinse and repeat.
'The Praetor's Favourite'. Being Amalthus's favourite was not a thing of favour. More resources being channeled into keeping him alive meant his suffering being prolonged. Amalthus would run most of the tests himself, with his smile angelic and his hands steady and cruel and never once slipping. The only way out would be when Amalthus wanted him dead, but he only ever wanted Mikhail at the brink of death.
It was the Praetor's face Mikhail saw when they finally put the core crystal into his chest and his vision darkened. Maybe this would finally be it. The end. The thought is less scary than he thought it would be. A major relief.
It was the Praetor's face Mikhail saw when he came too. 'The Praetor's Success'. And Amalthus celebrated by slowly outlining every new experiment he'd be personally overseeing, smile brightening as he described his personal favourites; finding Mikhail's new pain threshold and regeneration factor. Mikhail couldn't find it in him to scream anymore.
'Blade eater'. Used affectionately--or at least what passed as affectionate for Amalthus. Always with a smile. As if he were his pride and joy. His pet. Mikhail would have thrown up if his core crystal hadn't made it so hard for him to actually do so; if he didn't feel like a husk; almost unfeeling and laid out for Amalthus to do as he pleased.
But it's all a blur--a blur he remembers perfectly--until one day, he's under the sun again. He doesn't know how long it's been since he's felt it on his skin, but that isn't true. His core crystal has the answer down to the millisecond--an answer he ignores.
And then it's back into the bright and clean hallways of the Praetorium. Monks prodding him along with their spears just because they can. An audience with Amalthus. Except there's something different about Amalthus. Something familiar, like a soft breeze.
Mikhail feels his stomach sink as a figure enters the room from the door left of Amalthus's throne. Hadn't she died like the rest of them? Mikhail feels sick.
'Half gone', his core crystal whispers, 'but all here.'
It's obvious Amalthus is savouring this from the way every word rolls off his tongue. "You've yet to meet the Goddess of Indol, Fan La--"
"Mik."
He knows that voice. Raspy and pitchy. Obrona. Slowly, slower than usual, his eyes focus on her in the darkness.
"You're messing up the ether," she says with a pout, "I can't get anything done like this." Obrona's lower lip is trembling ever so slightly; it always does when she sees him like this. Her thumbs find his face, left cheek then right, wiping away the tears Mikhail didn't know we're falling from his eyes.
Mikhail isn't sure whether to feel seen or exposed. He doesn't know how much the Ether tells Obrona, and Obrona never tells when asked. Exposed, then.
He takes a deep breath. He could say something quippy, but that wouldn't make anything about this better. Still, it could be worse. The stiffness with which Obrona cards her fingers through his hair is better than Patroka's bluntness or Akhos's awkwardness; better than the feelings that rise through his chest at the thought of Jin and Malos doing this for him again after all these years.
Mikhail exhales. "Thanks," he says quietly. Obrona's hand stills. It always does. But this time, not as long.
When she responds, it's so quiet Mikhail feels he imagined it. "Don't mention it."
In which Mikhail explores missing someone and [some of] his feelings of inadequacy.
***
Mikhail watches as Perdido and Patroka spar. He's already gone a round with each of them, but it seems like he's the only one who needs to catch his breath. There's something captivating about the glee on both their face's as they exchange blows. It's no wonder they chose each other.
Mikhail turns to watch Cressidus cheer from the sideline. He loves Cressidus; loves the way he brings joy with him wherever he goes. But... he sighs.
"Hey," says a voice behind him.
It's a voice Mikhail would recognise anywhere, no effort needed. He leans back and looks up into its owner's face face. Obrona. She looks tall standing over him.
"Hey yourself," he responds, an easy smile sliding onto his face.
She snorts and waves her arm. "No need."
The smile drops from Mikhail's face as she seats next to him. It's pointless pretending before her. Still, habits are hard to break.
"What's got you down?"
"Same old," Mikhail says, being intentionally vague.
Maybe it's the fact that the Monoceros passed the decaying corpse of Estham and he felt nothing but emptiness. Maybe it's Lora's frozen body, which he recently spent more than a day staring at. Maybe it's the smallest crush he has on Akhos. Maybe it's the perfectly preserved and impossible to repress memories of his time as Amalthus' favourite lab rat. Who knows?
Obrona shrugs. "Eh."
Mikhail appreciates that she doesn't ask for more. He turns his attention back to the match in time to see Patroka push past Perdido's spread fire and knock his ether canon out of his hands. Perdido quickly switches to his shield hammer, blocking a thrust from Patroka and retaliating with a hefty swing that pushes her back a good distance.
Patroka doesn't smile, but her face brightens as she twirls her bardiche. "Forfeiting already?"
Perdido's eyes narrow. "Your contempt for the shield hammer will be your undoing." There's something about his tone that makes it seem as if the words hold more meaning than Mikhail can purse.
Now there's a grin on Patroka's face. "Cressidus!"
Wordlessly, Cressidus tosses her his gauntlets. She throws her bardiche aside and puts them on. She gestures for Perdido to make the first move.
Perdido sighs and points the head of his shield hammer at Patroka. "En garde!"
"Woah!" Obrona shouts gleefully when Patroka and Perdido exchange their first blows.
'Woah' indeed. Perdido makes the shield hammer look more like an offensive weapon than a weapon made for taking hits. Patroka makes wielding Cressidus' gauntlets look like the easiest thing ever. Cressidus watches in silence. It's obvious from the way he leans forward that he's mesmerised. Amazed. Enraptured.
Mikhail feels his stomach squeeze. He tries his best to ignore the way it feels to watch someone else handle Cressidus' gauntlets so effortlessly when he can't, but his core crystal is quick to put a name to what he's feeling.
'Envy.'
"Thanks," Mikhail thinks bitterly. He isn't sure whether or not to be grateful that he gets no response.
Painful as it is to admit, he envies. Envies Jin and Malos, for the way they effortlessly take turns wielding the Nodachi, or Malos' Monado on the rare occasions he summons it, and for how little time it took to incorporate Sever into their battle style. Envies Akhos, for how effortlessly he switches between wielding his blade as both scythe and bow. Envies Perdido, for being jack-of-all-blades, master of one. And in this moment, envies Patroka and the way she throws punch after punch with Cressidus's gauntlets.
But acknowledging his envy always means being faced with memories he wishes he could forget. Memories of how long it took for him to draw out his own blade. Memories of shaky affinity links and his fans dematerialising in Jin's and Malos' hands. Sleeping a week straight after performing his first blade special. The fact that it's taken him years to reach certain simple milestones with Cressidus--milestones it took months at most to achieve with his own fans.
Compared to the rest of Torna, Mikhail makes progress painfully slow.
The rest of Torna.
Perdido does something that has Cressidus shouting in awe, but it sounds distant; feels like Mikhail isn't right there, watching the battle happen. He squeezes his eyes shut.
And that's the crux of the problem, isn't it? Him against the rest. The only people he can measure his growth against might be similar to him, but they aren't similar enough. Blade-eater against Human-eater. In as much as they're both part human and part blade, they aren't the same. Mikhail was human first; still is. The rest weren't; aren't.
'You're making incredible progress for a human,' his Core Crystal informs him.
Mikhail doesn't respond.
'There are few you can fairly compare yourself to.'
"Like who?"
'...The Praetor--' Mikhail winces. They both do. '--or perhaps his blade.'
"Now what? Want me to go to Uraya and--"
Mikhail's eyes fly open when a hand closes over his. Obrona. She doesn't say anything, for which Mikhail is grateful.
'And her?'
"Obrona?" Mikhail asks.
It's true that she was clumsy blades when Mikhail first awakened her. It had taken years of exchanging blades and training together for them to get any better. Jin had them on vegetable duty for the longest time, something about "Learning finesse". Mikhail is still skeptical about Jin's reasons, but the memory always brings a smile to his face.
"We have come far." And then the smile drops.
'But...?'
But then Jin and Malos basically adopted a new set of kids. A new set of perfect kids. It had only made sense to have Obrona and her specific ether skill set paired with Akhos and his brilliant brain. Perdido and Patroka gravitated towards each other. And then Mikhail and Cressidus... they were the only ones left.
'You miss her.'
Mikhail sighs. There's no use lying to his Core Crystal; not when they both have full access to the same brain and the same emotions.
"C'mon Mik," Obrona says. She gets up and pulls Mikhail to his feet.
Mikhail stares at their hands as he lets her drag him along. "Huh?"
"It's our turn," Obrona says, not to him, but to Patroka and Perdido.
Ah. Mikhail didn't catch the end of their match. Judging from the way they're gesturing at each other's blade of choice as they talk, it must have been a draw.
"Back for more?" Patroka asks him.
Mikhail looks at Obrona. Her face and posture say nothing except that she's really eager for this. He winks at Patroka. "Whatever the lady wants--"
Patroka rolls her eyes. "Ugh. Rules?"
***
It takes about five minutes to agree on the rules of the match. Only one blade or set of blades at a time; no set driver or blade, but there must always be one of each on each side; no specials, but blade arts, driver arts, and affinity skills are allowed; and winner only called when their opponent is convincingly disarmed. "Convincingly," Cressidus says emphatically. He doesn't clarify what that means, simply stating that he'd know when to call match.
'Fickle but fair,' his Core Crystal observes.
That's true. Mikhail says nothing in response.
They take position a few paces from each other. "At your leisure," Perdido calls, lazily swinging Patroka's bardiche. Patroka gives Mikhail and Obrona a thumbs up from behind Perdido.
Mikhail turns to Obrona. "Plan?" She's the one who wanted this after all.
"None!" The happiness in her tone doesn't reflect their situation. No plan means they're doomed to lose this. She gestures for Mikhail to hand her his fans. She giggles when an experimental flap leaves Patroka's hair a dusty mess.
Mikhail can't help smiling at the way Patroka glares their way. The smile melts into something more genuine when she clicks her tongue and shakes her head. He gets into stance behind Obrona. He might as well have fun.
"Ready," Obrona calls.
They receive their cue--a loud clap from Cressidus--and the match begins.
Obrona and Mikhail barely have time to react as Perdido quickly closes the distance between them. Obrona jumps back, positioning herself beside Mikhail. It's a wonder he has the presence of mind to throw up an affinity barrier in time to block Perdido's first strike.
"A little warning next time," Mikhail tells Obrona through gritted teeth. This is his least favourite way to be reminded just how strong Perdido's arms are.
"Eh," says Obrona.
'Eh,' Mikhail's Core Crystal repeats mockingly. It sometimes surprises him how much personality his Core Crystal has. He would laugh if he weren't too busy fighting for his life.
Meanwhile, Obrona seemingly remembers the fans in her hand and uses them to blow Perdido back a considerable distance. It's a relief to finally drop the--
"Mik!"
Mikhail barely dodges Patroka's attempt to split him down the middle with the blade of her bardiche. She quickly jumps back before Obrona can hit her with a gust of wind. When did she...?
Something must show on Mikhail's face, cause Patroka snorts. "Head in the game, Mik."
That must have been a warning strike; a wake up call. Patroka wouldn't have failed to exploit his lapse in attention. Mikhail grins. "Awww, you do care."
Patroka tosses the blade back to Perdido as he takes position beside her. The glare she sends Mikhail's way says a million words, all of them some promise of pain. Perdido attaches the blade to the staff in his hands and the widens his stance.
"Keep up or fall before us." Perdido's version of a warning. And then he's swinging again.
This time Mikhail and Obrona get into a better rhythm, Obrona taking advantage of her own speed and Mikhail's specific brand of blade arts to dodge Perdido's blows. Patroka doesn't make it easy, especially not with the way her support combined with Perdido's sheer strength break through Mikhail's barriers like they're nothing.
By some stroke of luck, Obrona lands the first blow--a shallow cut to Perdido's side. Unfortunately, she overextends and is in too close a range to dodge the retaliatory strike. Obrona holds up the fans just in time to block Perdido's swing; a swing that shatters the barrier Mikhail had barely managed to throw up to protect her.
Perdido hums approvingly. He draws the weapon back and readies a jab.
"Mik!" Obrona calls.
"Uhh--" is Mikhail's response as she darts back and sheathes the fans. It's a wonder that he manages to catch the twin blades she throws his way without losing a finger. They both roll out of the way of Perdido's strike, but that leaves them on either side of the man.
Perdido's eyes shine with glee. "Good--"
Patroka cuts him off. "My turn," she says, drawing the cannon and taking a shot at Mikhail.
Mikhail cuts through one energy blast and then another. The blasts throw up a cloud of smoke around him, and only a warning shout and a quickly thrown up affinity barrier from Obrona help him deflect a swing from Patroka, who backs out of his range before his retaliatory slash can connect.
The fight continues like that for a bit, with Mikhail barely holding his own as Patroka switches between ranged and melee attacks. She laughs as he misses another slash; gives Perdido a high five when another burst of their affinity link sends a double volley Mikhail's way. At least someone's having fun.
"Mik!" Obrona shouts.
Finally. "All warmed up?" Mikhail asks as he rolls out of the way of the projectiles and hands off his fans.
She twirls the fans and shrugs as she readies herself. "Eh."
'Eh,' his Core Crystal repeats.
"Shut up or be useful," thinks Mikhail fiercely.
'Cross your slashes more. Get in closer; you're better at melee--'
Mikhail throws up a barrier to block another round from Patroka. "Okay okay."
A fierce gust blows Patroka back. "Are you?" Asks Obrona.
"Huh?" Mikhail isn't sure he remembers what the question is.
''Are you all warmed up?'' whispers his Core Crystal.
He sends a silent thanks his Core Crystal's way. "Definitely."
Obrona squeals excitedly. "Let's do this!"
As she swings, Mikhail reaches into himself and gives the fans a burst of power. Though it isn't the most pleasant of sensations, it's worth the surprise on Patroka's face as their projectiles get blown back their way. The floor shakes as they explode against Perdido's barrier. "Nice!"
When the smoke clears, Mikhail and Obrona get treated to the view of a very dangerous grin on Patroka's face. As she charges them once more and performs a last minute switch with Perdido, and Obrona demands more ether for their affinity barrier, Mikhail wonders what will get written on his tombstone.
***
Mikhail and Obrona get flattened.
That's no surprise; very few people can stand up to the crushing force that is a motivated Patroka and Perdido, especially in matters of raw strength.
'You held your own,' says Mikhail's Core Crystal immediately he's disarmed--right before it even registers that the twin blades have been knocked out of his hands; that Cressidus has called match.
Held his own? It sure doesn't feel like it. As fun as the match had been, it feels like he got showed up. Mikhail stares at the blades on the ground.
'That's not true,' his Core Crystal tells him.
Thing is, Mikhail knows he's done really good. His reaction time has improved. He held out much longer than he ever has. His technique is even sharper than before. But knowing these things--having records of previous instances to compare to down to the millisecond, even beyond, if he bothered to ask his Core Crystal--doesn't change the ways he's still failing. The ways he's still making mistakes. The openings he gives when his stance drops. How hard it is sometimes to keep up the affinity barrier with everything else going on. The way his fans are second nature to Obrona, but her blades still don't feel quite right in his hands. All because--
"Wooh!" Shouts Obrona. She jumps onto his back, and Mikhail stumbles forward with a grunt.
"Jeez--" Mikhail stumbles again when Patroka shoves his shoulder. Hard. But not nearly as hard as he knows she could have. She's glaring at him, but there's no heat behind it.
"You've been holding out on us, Mik," she says accusingly.
Mikhail bats away the hand ruffling his hair. Can't he just... feel whatever he's feeling in peace? "What?" He asks, confused.
Perdido comes up beside Patroka. "It never came up that you had such finesse with paired blades." An observation. One that invites Mikhail's input.
Cressidus joins them, looking right into Mikhail's eyes. Presumably. His posture is... carefully neutral? It's hard to tell when he has his mask on. Point is, there's something there. Something Mikhail doesn't have time to place, because Patroka punches his arm.
"Not so hard," he groans, rubbing at the spot. "Uhhh... surprise?"
His proficiency with Obrona's blades hadn't been high on the list of things to catch the new members of Torna up on when they first joined. His Core Crystal had advised him to mention it--
'I did, didn't I?"
"Don't sass me."
--but had it really mattered? Did it matter, even now? Still, it's not like any of them are waiting for an answer. Perdido and Patroka are already planning new sparring matches, and readjusting their different rankings of the Torna members--the rankings only they know the criteria of--and giving Mikhail pointers, and... complimenting him. Huh. And Cressidus is still looking at him silently. And Obrona has gotten off Mikhail's back and is standing right beside him, smiling, and... and it's nice. How long has it been since they last spent time together like this?
'Ten years, nine--'
"Not literally." Something about the silence from his Core Crystal feels embarrassed. Sheepish. "Thanks," Mikhail adds.
The conversation winds down as they all put the Training Room in order. Once they're done, Perdido and Patroka leave first, discussing something quietly. Cressidus is stood still, staring right at one of the walls. Just as Mikhail is about to call out to him, Obrona pats his cheek.
"We're a bit rusty," she says.
"A bit?" Mikhail asks incredulously. He laughs purely to keep himself from listing all the ways in which 'A bit' is an understatement.
"Just a teensy bit." Obrona pinches her fingers together in demonstration and laughs.
Mikhail laughs again, but this time it's genuine.
Obrona's smile slides from teasing to something genuine as well. Something a bit shy. "You should come by more often."
Mikhail tilts his head, prompting her to continue.
"Akhos could always use a new muse."
Ah. 'She misses you too,' his Core Crystal tells him.
"I miss--" 'us', Mikhail wants to say, but that would be a bit too much honestly in a single day "--hanging out." More neutral. Better.
Obrona's smile brightens, because of course she understood what Mikhail wanted to say from what he actually said. She gives him a warm hug, squeezing so tight that Mikhail is sure he would bruise badly if he were still fully human ('You would', confirms his Core Crystal) before leaving without another word, humming quietly as she goes.
"Mikhail," says Cressidus from behind him. His voice is quiet. Well, relatively quiet. Not-booming. Which is... odd.
Mikhail turns around to face him. "Cressidus," he returns, matching his tone.
Cressidus stays silent for a moment before he continues. "Can we talk?"
Those words accompanied by the way Cressidus is acting make Mikhail's gut squeeze. Still, he gives Cressidus what he hopes is his easygoing charming smile. "Sure. What about?"
He gets a head shake in response. "Not now."
"Oh."
"Yes. Maybe Gormott."
Mikhail can feel his already-fake smile growing more and more plastic. That's about a week away if everything goes smoothly. A week in which Mikhail can spend all his time imagining exactly what it is Cressidus wants to talk to him about. Fun.
"A week?" Asks Mikhail, just to confirm.
Cressidus nods.
Mikhail takes a quiet breath and speaks on his exhale. "A week then."
***
"...So," starts Cressidus.
"So," says Mikhail.
'So,' says Mikhail's Core Crystal.
Mikhail chooses to ignore it and continues staring at Cressidus instead, whose eyes seem to be somewhere on the horizon, past the Gormotti plains. Cressidus is never this quiet; is never as quiet as he has been the past week. It's getting uncomfortable.
'And concerning.'
"That too." Maybe he should tell Jin and--
"So," says Cressidus again. This time, he continues. "You and Obrona fighting together was..."
He trails off, like he's trying to find the word but can't. Judging from his tone, whatever's missing was going to be a compliment.
"Thanks," says Mikhail.
"Yeah, ummm..." Cressidus turns to face him. He rubs at the back of his head awkwardly. "We don't have that."
Oh. Oh.
There's a lie at the tip of Mikhail's tongue, a "what we have is different" just waiting to be said, but that would leave him feeling slimy.
'Honesty for honesty,' says his Core Crystal, 'it's only fair.'
"...Yeah, you're right," answers Mikhail.
"Hmmm."
When Cressidus says nothing else beyond the hum, Mikhail continues. "We've known each other longer, y'know?"
"Not that." A dismissal, though not an unkind one.
"No?" Asks Mikhail, slightly confused.
"No." Cressidus sighs. "You use the twin blades like--" he makes a motion with his hand; one that looks like the top of the cloud sea rolling "--and your battle arts they--" he snaps both his fingers loudly "--and with me..." he shrugs.
"Honesty for honesty, right?"
Mikhail's Core Crystal responds with... a nod? Or the equivalent of it--a small buzzing sensation that he's come to associate with a nod.
"Well," starts Mikhail, "Obrona's twin blades are pretty similar to my fans. It's just... easier. Lighter weapons are easier."
And that's true. Jin's nodachi had been easier than Malos's Monado--a fact that would probably hold true even now, if they were to let Mikhail handle them again. Chroma Katanas are a better fit in Mikhail's hand than Shield Hammers are, and Twin Rings always felt best--they're what Mikhail and Obrona modelled their driver arts after, after all. Still, there's more to give.
"And I haven't had time to get a proper feel for the gauntlets." Mikhail pauses a moment, feeling his heart squeeze a bit at the way Cressidus's shoulders slump, before adding: "...but I'd love to."
Cressidus perks up instantly. "Really?!"
"Yeah." And Mikhail finds he means it; finds that he would genuinely like to get to know Cressidus and learn to fight alongside him.
Cressidus places his hands on Mikhail's shoulders and turns him so that they're facing each other. He brings his face level with Mikhail's. "When?"
Considering Jin wanted to deal with the Ardainian cargo ships quietly this time, Cressidus and Mikhail have quite a bit of time on their hands. Potentially, that is--quiet doesn't always translate to slow with Jin.
"How about right now?"
***
I know I marked this as a three-chaptered thing, but my drafts say two extra ones might be a thing.
Not too angsty I think. "What is it like being a part-blade human amongst part-human blades?" was the guiding question. Also I absolutely love Mikhail's Core Crystal.
As always,
Love,
John.
Mikhail has been running around my mind for the past forever, and I just needed to do... something. This was something.
There might be more chapters of this. Not too sure what 'this' is yet. Let's see where we go. The fic and chapter title will probably change as I go along, so just be ready for that. And yeah.
As always,
Love,
John.