(no subject)
I don't know why you're always complaining. It's not like you can go back and fix anything. Just move on, Nick. Acheron certainly has.
Once again, his fate changed on a throwaway comment.
He knew Artemis hadn't been serious. More likely she was tired of listening to him bitch and said it to shut him up. She didn't handle it well when the subject wasn't her. That hadn't changed in thousands of years and wasn't about to change in the thousands of years to come.
Throwaway comment or not, though, it started him thinking.
What if there was a way to undo it all? What if the answers weren't in corralling Ambrose but making sure he never awakened at all?
What if he could go back into his own past and unlock his powers early rather than lie in wait for the shitstorm to find him? Tell his younger self the things he needed to know - like staying away from really cute girls named Simi who liked barbecue sauce a lot; like not trusting tall assholes who never took off their sunglasses; like moving his mother the hell out of New Orleans when it was clear the place was about as safe as juggling old dynamite.
What if he didn't have to be responsible for ending the world?
Could he do it?
It wasn't like interdimensional travel was new to him; he'd been shifting between realms since the moment of his rebirth as a Dark Hunter. But this wasn't a trip to Artemis in her temple, or checking in with Stryker in Katoteros. Even Azmodea was an easier trip.
This was the past. As far as he knew, only the Weres could trip through time. Dark Hunters were banned from it.
He was the Malachai, though. That had made him different from the other Hunters from day one; did that difference extend to time travel?
Could he do it?
He felt the pull a nanosecond before the bar disappeared. When he opened his eyes, he was on a beach. He flashed his Oakleys on before his light-sensitive eyes could start another screaming headache and groaned out loud. "Savitar. You asshole, I hate it when you do that. Can't you fucking call first or something? You could have at least let me finish my beer."
Silence was his only answer. That was strange. The Chthonian wasn't one to let an insult go, even if his only response was to snark back.
Something was really wrong; the place didn't feel right. Didn't look right, either. His gaze drifted from the beach out over the horizon, watching as the soft waves rolled gently towards the shore. Definitely not Savitar's realm. He'd never tolerate such crappy surfing.
He wondered who was fucking with him this time, but wasn't interested enough to wait around for them to show up. He was going home.
He closed his eyes and flashed out...or tried to. When he opened his eyes again, he was in the same place.
"What the actual fuck?"
He tried again. The same shitload of nothing. He was still standing on the same beach as before.
His brain caught up. Beach. Sun. He was standing in real sunlight.
Next breath he was under cover of a small grove of trees, checking his arms and face for burns.
Again, nothing. No red welts, no smell of singed flesh. Not so much as a tan line. Not even the Malachai's red and black mottling that came out sometimes when he was under stress or pain.
This was just getting weirder by the moment. And with the life he'd lead, that was saying something.
"I think I need a drink."
[OOC: Find him just off the beach under cover of trees, he's wearing sunglasses and will be leery of walking in sunlight. Traditional...let's just see what happens. Closed to new top levels - ping if you have any ?? about Nick]
Once again, his fate changed on a throwaway comment.
He knew Artemis hadn't been serious. More likely she was tired of listening to him bitch and said it to shut him up. She didn't handle it well when the subject wasn't her. That hadn't changed in thousands of years and wasn't about to change in the thousands of years to come.
Throwaway comment or not, though, it started him thinking.
What if there was a way to undo it all? What if the answers weren't in corralling Ambrose but making sure he never awakened at all?
What if he could go back into his own past and unlock his powers early rather than lie in wait for the shitstorm to find him? Tell his younger self the things he needed to know - like staying away from really cute girls named Simi who liked barbecue sauce a lot; like not trusting tall assholes who never took off their sunglasses; like moving his mother the hell out of New Orleans when it was clear the place was about as safe as juggling old dynamite.
What if he didn't have to be responsible for ending the world?
Could he do it?
It wasn't like interdimensional travel was new to him; he'd been shifting between realms since the moment of his rebirth as a Dark Hunter. But this wasn't a trip to Artemis in her temple, or checking in with Stryker in Katoteros. Even Azmodea was an easier trip.
This was the past. As far as he knew, only the Weres could trip through time. Dark Hunters were banned from it.
He was the Malachai, though. That had made him different from the other Hunters from day one; did that difference extend to time travel?
Could he do it?
He felt the pull a nanosecond before the bar disappeared. When he opened his eyes, he was on a beach. He flashed his Oakleys on before his light-sensitive eyes could start another screaming headache and groaned out loud. "Savitar. You asshole, I hate it when you do that. Can't you fucking call first or something? You could have at least let me finish my beer."
Silence was his only answer. That was strange. The Chthonian wasn't one to let an insult go, even if his only response was to snark back.
Something was really wrong; the place didn't feel right. Didn't look right, either. His gaze drifted from the beach out over the horizon, watching as the soft waves rolled gently towards the shore. Definitely not Savitar's realm. He'd never tolerate such crappy surfing.
He wondered who was fucking with him this time, but wasn't interested enough to wait around for them to show up. He was going home.
He closed his eyes and flashed out...or tried to. When he opened his eyes again, he was in the same place.
"What the actual fuck?"
He tried again. The same shitload of nothing. He was still standing on the same beach as before.
His brain caught up. Beach. Sun. He was standing in real sunlight.
Next breath he was under cover of a small grove of trees, checking his arms and face for burns.
Again, nothing. No red welts, no smell of singed flesh. Not so much as a tan line. Not even the Malachai's red and black mottling that came out sometimes when he was under stress or pain.
This was just getting weirder by the moment. And with the life he'd lead, that was saying something.
"I think I need a drink."
[OOC: Find him just off the beach under cover of trees, he's wearing sunglasses and will be leery of walking in sunlight. Traditional...let's just see what happens. Closed to new top levels - ping if you have any ?? about Nick]