by D.M. Jewelle

The prologue was written several months from the first chapter, and while it is connected to the story and sets up the situation, it was originally written as a one-shot, so *technically*, I’m not counting it.

Reposted from LJ with a few minor edits, from [info]number304: Quote, “Rays of light from the stars in the night sky above send a plea from across the ages with colours that haven’t faded” -“Asteriks” by Orange Range.

It is a well-established fact that God will not have sex with You.

Gods tend to change the fate of the world they govern. They split the ground and call it an earthquake; sprinkle shaved ice and call it snow; crank up the heater and call it a drought. With that kind of power, one should safely assume that anyone who is God is a control freak and thus having a say about their choice of partners would certainly be a given.

While it cannot be a broad generalisation, it does explain why Finnegan, member of the Lower God Senate, did not look too pleased pinned under his assistant.

“Master Finnegan, for the longest time, I’ve…” Sedna’s voice trailed off, a disturbing pink tint splashed across his cheeks. Finnegan swore he saw Sedna’s pupils dilate and ripple, but he shied away lest the eyes hypnotized him into submission.

Like hell was he going to submit to Sedna.

Sedna’s blue fringes rested on Finnegan’s spectacles, tickling his eyes. His long hair, neatly kept in place by flexible tubing, draped over the desk, snaking around various stationary and limbs, as if caressing them. It was rather ticklish, and it annoyed Finnegan.

“I know, get off.” Finnegan growled.

“No, I shan’t let go of you this time! Too often have you neglected my longing glances and caffeinated glomps!” Sedna pressed harder on Finnegan’s wrists, bursting with steely resolve. “Today, today shall be the day when all shall turn into a big happy ending with butterflies and flowers!”

“What the heck-”

Lips met, a body reflex was triggered, and a kneecap kicked a set of balls.

There was only pain and disorientation.

Finnegan pushed Sedna to the other end of the room, pulling his shirt back up with one hand, the other sweeping across the table searching for something, anything with which to inflict bodily harm on, and very visibly angry.

“I told you before, STOP TRYING TO GROPE ME!”

Sedna barely avoided the speeding object as it crashed into the wall behind him. He found spots of ink on his hair and on the hand that grabbed the wall for support. Compared to Finnegan’s World Project beside him, he had come out unscathed.

Neither moved as they saw the big blobs of ink falling into the ocean, the weight of the ink pushing to the bottom of the sea, creating a whirlpool, blending to produce a sinister shade of murky blackish-green. The force of the heavy seawater then pushed the inky tide into the eastern continent of Canace, flooding the coastline.

Sedna cringed. “Well, crap.”

Finnegan narrowed his eyes at his assistant, nails poised for blood.

There was no rejoicing today.


Key loved Jan. The way the shadows on the wall bounced behind her, the way her laugh echoed into the sea, the way her smile captivated him. She was his life, she completed him.

He would tell her he loved her.

His friends laughed; his parents gently assured that his feelings were but a child’s passing fancy. The world seemed to oppose his single desire to confess. Too long had he listened and bowed to the pressure. Today he would persevere, today he would show everyone he did know the meaning of love, today would be his moment of truth, and whoever said otherwise would pay dearly.

“Jan, I-I-I, I need to t-tell you something…” He stammered, fingers tying knots round themselves.

She turned, and her lovely brown hair – oh how he wanted to run his fingers through them – fell over her shoulders and over her soft cream sun dress. She tilted her head, eyes wide and attentive, a curious smile waiting.

“Jan, I….I…for the longest time, I…”

The sun began its slow descent, yet the sky seemed darker than usual.

“Jan, I love you.”

Her smile faded, eues squinting as if boring a hole through him, and it worried Key. Did she not think the same? Why did she look so puzzled? Perhaps she had heard him wrong? Her lips were moving, but no sound came. He stepped closer.

“I can’t hear you, there’s a really loud noise!!!”

The tsunami looked like a large black monster, rising from its watery abode to devour and destroy. It hurtled past the beach, pulling the barricade apart brick by brick, its deafening roar shook the heavens and tore the ground apart. The black torrent swept Key and Jan into its path, their screams muffled as the thick gooey liquid was shoved down their throats. More were soon caught up into the wave, and when it had had its fill, slinked back into the sea, as quietly as it had come.

Key had been swept right into a tree, his limbs tangled into the branches. When he came to, he was upside-down, soaked in ink. He barely made out the remnants of a brick house, reduced to rubble and metal scraps and miscellaneous material that seemed out of place. Was there a body impaled by a large wood splint? He could not tell.

He tried to call for her, but spat more globs of ink and bile. A gurgle, and he closed his eyes.

And that was how Key Sand was victim to the Great Ink Disaster that nearly wiped out the peaceful coastal town of Asterwick from the continent of Canace.

There really was no rejoicing today.