Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Thomas saw the blood-orange glint before he felt the strike.

He had been getting groceries, humming along to a jolly tune, without a care. Well, perhaps a few cares. He frowned, checking the expiration date on a jar of Crofters as he walked towards his apartment. The label read in big blocky letters: “Expires Jan. 2040”. Okay, he still had a few years left to eat the infamous jam. On one hand, he juggled his keys, and on the other, he shoved the jam back into his bag.

He sang a little riff as he closed the door behind him, briefly noticing the unwashed dishes piling up in his sink as he took his shoes off. Thomas rubbed his tired eyes, lifting his scruffy brown hair as he did so.

“It can wait till tomorrow. I’ll survive,” he decided, cracking his back. What couldn’t wait for tomorrow was his date with John, which was approximately in… he looked at the clock.

An hour.

Thomas’s eyes widened, and he dashed to the bathroom, intending to take the best shower of his life. He needed to look somewhat presentable for his first date in years. See, Thomas Sanders was just a regular guy. He was a singer and an influencer, yet he felt he needed something interesting in his life. He hadn’t even turned his first corner yet and somehow was already getting a bit bored with it. Yeah, he had friends, but they had lives too. Scythe lives, but still.

He slid across the slick wooden floor in his socks. This date could potentially change everything. His happiness, his relationships, maybe his entire life! Perhaps that was a little too optimistic, but Thomas could dream. When he got to the hallway, the bathroom door was closed, and something about this made him stop running. He hesitated. 

“Hello?”

He inched closer to the door, ignoring how delusional this must look. Come on Sanders, get it together. The moment Thomas’s hand touched the handle, he saw it.

The orange glint.

Thomas let go of the door as if he’d been burned. His heart rate sped up in an instant, but before he could react, something struck him across the head, sending an explosion of pain through his body. With a cry, he staggered backward, colliding into the door with a crash.

As his nanites frantically healed him, he blinked to clear his vision and looked up. A Scythe was standing over him, dark and looming. No, no, no, his time couldn’t possibly be over. He had immunity! Patton, Roman, and Logan made sure of it.

“I—I think you’re mistaken. I have immunity; I can prove it. You can’t glean me for another year,” he said, his voice wavering.

The Scythe, who was wearing a tattered cloak, streaked with burnt orange, gave him a wicked grin. In one hand, they held a silvery flamethrower. Blood stains coated the surface. Dimly, Thomas registered warm liquid running down his forehead.

“I don’t give a fuck about your ‘immunity’. Who’s going to dig your unrecognizable remains out to bring you back after you’ve been burned alive?” The Orange Scythe laughed, sending a jolt of fear down his spine.

“I have friends in the Scythedom, they’ll—they’ll come for you.”

The Scythe’s eyes only glinted more sadistically, and they nodded. “Oh, I count on it. Those little entitled pricks are going to get what they deserve.”

With another mad cackle, they turned on the flamethrower and aimed at Thomas’s head. Without a second thought, he dove and rolled, running as fast as he possibly could. Oh god, this wasn’t happening. He’d heard of corrupt Scythes before, even been friends with a few, but they would never disregard the law of immunity like this. Much less use fire . The more selfish part of Thomas’s brain screamed out—‘I’m barely 30! I have so much more life left in me!’ Suddenly, his mundane life seemed beautiful. He felt fire lick his cheek and fell over, his body sprawling over a couch.

“Don’t think you’re getting away so easily,” the Scythe growled, raising the flamethrower and shooting it again. “You’ve always been prioritized by the Scythedom, Thomas Sanders. You made friends in high places, and now because of their…bias, you’re safe.”

The room was now almost fully engulfed in flames. Thomas could feel his nanites slowing down, and his breathing started to get heavy. The Scythe took one step closer, relishing in the heat.

“You and all the people who think you’re immortal. Invincible,” the Scythe barked, their eyes lighting up with rage. “Now you’re about to see how mortal you are.”

Thomas choked, the smoke getting into his lungs. His hands were chafing as he pushed himself backwards, barely able to move. He was almost there…almost on the balcony. If he jumped off, the droids would arrive to take him to a revival center, and they’d catch this guy too. 

“Why? You’re a Scythe, why would you do this?”

Their eyes darkened as they grabbed onto Thomas’s shirt, pulling him roughly to the balcony of his apartment. “Listen very closely. I’m not a Scythe. ”

They said it so vehemently that Thomas saw the pain and frustration reflected in their eyes. “Scythes ruined my fucking life. They think they can choose who lives and who dies.”

They held Thomas over the edge, and he thought for a delusional moment that maybe, just maybe someone would see him. His house was burning, and he felt the dangerous heat singe his arms. Suddenly, they turned and threw Thomas back into his apartment, and he screamed. Red hot welts formed on his body as he flailed on the ground. The pain was unlike anything he’d ever faced. He shook, feeling his nanites slow, growing weaker and weaker.

“They’re not all high and mighty as they like you to believe,” the Scythe—no, the assassin —shook out their cloak, revealing a man with a scarred face and orange eyeshadow. “Now, they’ll finally get it. The world will finally get it.”

He laughed maniacally, growing more insane as the fire spread onto his neighbours’ houses. The Orange Scythe fell backward off the balcony and disappeared. God, what about his friends? His family? The fire turned his Crofters jam to ashes. In the distance, he heard his neighbours shriek. His last thought was of the date he was supposed to have.

Thomas could only scream as the fire engulfed him whole.

Chapter Text

The door slammed shut as Roman faced the terrified man in front of him. Nico, with his glasses slightly askew and curly hair, looked up at Roman with a mix of fear and confusion. Then, resolve. He backed into his grand piano, his hands pressing down on the keys with a gentle thunk .

“Scythe Roman. I should be honoured that a Scythe of your nobility has come to glean poor old me, huh?” The man had a slight tremble in his voice, but Roman had to give it to Nico Flores—he was controlled, unlike many other people he had gleaned. 

Roman didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted that Nico wasn’t throwing himself on top of the piano and begging for his life. He straightened his sparkling red cloak, taking another step closer to him.

“Merely another Tuesday,” he said, his voice commanding.

He hated this part, so he took a deep breath. Remus was in the other room, gleaning Nico’s brother in his own violently delightful way, and Roman knew that was expected of him as well. He ignored the sinking feeling in his stomach and smiled, casting on the actor's persona like a golden blanket.

“I’ve researched you, you know. A musician, a poet. I’ll have you know I’m a creative soul myself. I’ve composed quite a few ballads,” he unsheathed his sword and admired the silver glint in its reflection. “I thought about singing one of them before gleaning you, but that’s not enough for me. Not nearly creative enough.”

Nico swallowed hard, his eyes glued to the sharp edge of the sword. “Please. Just make it quick.”

Roman laughed at this, pushing down the twisting guilt in his gut. The Creativitwins? Making a gleaning quick? Their entire reputation was based on their eccentric and imaginative gleanings. Remus was an avid follower of Goddard’s bunch, their sparkling outfits, and their pride in doing what they loved. He pulled his red hood further over his head, the performer back on.

“I’m thinking bludgeoned to death with a piano pedal? A sense of irony could make for a moving sonnet. Do you have any last words?”

“You’re not supposed to do this,” Nico said, searching his eyes for something Roman couldn’t decipher. “You don’t have to do this. Don’t be some puppet on a string, controlled by outer forces and—the weight of your pride .”

Roman hesitated, but before he could say anything, the door burst open, and Remus entered, dragging in a mutilated body. A man, or what used to be a man, bore a caved-in head, blood running down his torn arms, and multiple of his fingernails ripped from their sockets. Roman looked away instinctively. They both may be imaginative, but one twin was clearly more gruesome than the other.

"Come on, Ro, I thought you’d have him strung up by now!” His twin sighed exaggeratedly, his lower lip jutting out. Almost immediately, he brightened up and bounced on his toes.

“Well, at least Nikky here can see his brother as a meat sandwich. It’s the perfect opening act!" Remus giggled, his eyes glinting with a macabre delight that Roman always saw on his brother’s face whenever a gleaning took place.

He turned back to Nico, who choked on his tears, squeezing his pained eyes shut. Roman’s cloak felt heavier, and he drew in a sharp breath. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, he felt sick. Nico looked like he had already been gleaned from showing his brother brutalized. Roman glanced at Remus’s blood-splattered face and even though his violence, knew that he would feel incredibly anguished if he saw his brother put on display like that.

“You—you don’t deserve to glean. You don’t deserve to be Scythes,” Nico spat out at last, and when Roman turned back to his agonized expression, he was hit with the realization that Nico was right.

“Come on, bro! Just stab him already, he’s not worth your time,” Remus growled, the emerald sequins on his cloak glistening in the morning light.

A discordant note rang as he stalked toward Nico’s trembling body. Roman raised his sword above his head, but not before catching a glimpse of himself in its reflection. His brown hair was perfectly curled under his hood, his face clean-shaven and pristine, like a prince. His hands tightened on the hilt of the sword.

“What are you waiting for?” Remus screeched, and Roman plunged the sword forward.

Nico flinched.

The sword didn’t hit him. He had aimed for the strings inside the piano. They popped off easily, and he pulled the wires into his hands, yanking them into a rope. Nico’s expression shifted into understanding, and he tried to run, jumping over the grand piano. Remus seemed to teleport over and grab him by the collar of his shirt, gleefully staining him with his brother’s blood. 

“Oh no you don’t! Roman, you tickle me with your ideas. Go on, do it for the show.”

He steeled his features into a sadistic grin and walked up to the man, sharpening the strings on each other, the noise harsh and jolting. Before he gleaned him, Roman whispered, “I’m not a puppet on a string. You don’t know me at all.”

He wrapped the strings around his neck and jerked him backward, slicing an artery open. Nico screamed, but he tuned it out. The trance saved him this time, as Roman strangled him until his hands cut open and the body in his arms went limp. He wiped the rust on the keys and threw the strings away. Through it all, he couldn’t help but feel proud of his creativity. Perhaps another moving sonnet would be made from this, he thought bitterly.

“Job well done, brother!” Remus slung an arm over him, grinning ear-to-ear. “His face was priceless. Guess we can check off ‘murder by piano’ off our list, eh?”

Roman wasn’t listening. He held his gaze on Nico and his brother's bodies, the cruelty and severity of it all hitting him full force. The trance was over, and now he had to live with the consequences. He knew he would hear his victims scream in his dreams. He always did.

“Ro?”

He snapped back to the present, the actor falling back into place. “Yes, of course. We’re done here for today though, right?”

Remus twirled out of the house, nodding. “Not done for tonight! Big party at our place, it’s gonna be great fun.”

He exhaled a sigh of relief. If there was one thing Roman liked about being a Scythe, it was the parties. And the fame. A smile flitted to his face as Remus joked about taking out someone’s eye with a piano key.

As the famous Creativitwins left Nico's house, their red and green cloaks billowing behind them, Roman found that he still couldn’t rid himself of the bitter taste in his mouth. 

The party roared with the clamour of music, flashing lights, and a sea of bodies jostling together. Roman navigated through the crowd, the hues of his sparkly red sash catching in the light. The bass rumbled throughout their mansion as people hollered at each other to be heard. He revelled in the fun for a moment before he saw Remus at the center of attention.

He dove into the crowd with an octopus floatie around his cloak, kicking his feet in a bout of chaos. They cheered as he shouted at Roman. He cracked a smile at his brother’s antics, but the bitter taste lingered in his mouth, and he took another sip of his drink. It did nothing to drown the memories of the gleaning.

He moved to a satin couch, embellished in rubies and emeralds. They always went for the fancy route. A trio of girls sat down next to him, giggling and shoving each other, obviously drunk.

“Scythe Roman,” one of them did an elaborate bow, almost falling directly into his arms. “We heard about the piano gleaning—care to enlighten us on the details?”

Shit . So much for trying to forget about today.

Roman forced a grin to his face and stretched his arms out. “Of course. See, it started with chopping off the strings with my sword!”

He continued to tell his tale, embellishing the story to make it more noble and flamboyant than it was. A practiced lie he told himself. Maybe it would help him sleep tonight. The girls seemed to enjoy the story, as they always did. He could practically see the heart-eyes and the adoration radiating from them.

“One day, you’ll be more famous than Goddard and his bunch,” one of them sighed and took a sip from her drink.

“Yeah,” he said absent-mindedly, before spotting Remus amidst the flickering lights. The green in his twin's eyes matched the hues in his hair. He walked over, slouching onto the couch beside Roman, his emerald cloak trailing behind him.

The girls batted their eyes at him before getting up, but not before one of them whispered loudly in their direction, “You’ve always been my favourite, Scythe Roman.”

The girl gave him an exaggerated wink before pushing her friend into the dancing crowd. Roman looked at Remus, but he gave no hint of annoyance besides a yawn. He decided to use it to his advantage, but not before snatching a drink from an android waiter’s tray.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” he asked, leaning back on the couch. “That I’m the better one?”

“In your dreams,” Remus snorted and stole his newly acquired drink.

He took a long swig before smacking his lips together, his gaze far away. “I can glean them whenever I like. That might make them reconsider their ‘favourite’ brother.”

Roman shivered involuntarily at the darkness in his tone, but outwardly, he merely shrugged, “We’ve almost reached our quota though. Next conclave is a month and a bit away—we wouldn’t want to get on any of Scythedom’s bad side.”

Remus shook his head, scoffing dismissively, “C’mon, Ro-Bro, this quota bullshit is no fun! Can’t wait till they abolish that dumb rule. Jan will get my point, maybe he’ll even allow us to glean twice as much next season!”

“Stop calling the High Blade ‘Jan’.” Roman glanced at his drink, swirling it to ignore the chanting going on from the crowd.  Apparently, some kid was going wild with the mojitos in the background.

“He’s my pal; it’ll be fine. Always good to have friends in high places, y’know?” His grin faltered slightly as if he was remembering something. “You remember Thomas, right? He was gleaned a few days ago, by…”

He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “The Orange Scythe.”

A chill went through Roman’s bones. The fiery killer had been popping up in the Scythedom’s concerns lately, but never within the general public. They travelled the world, burning innocent people alive, leaving nothing but ashes in their wake. No one could track them down, and no one, not even the Thunderhead, had information on who they were. To hear they had struck again and on Thomas?

Roman ran a hand through his hair, remembering how he had helped Thomas on an audition for a new play, and the time they had gone out to karaoke together. He was a good man.

“I know. If it was up to me, I’d glean that bastard myself. Heard he ain’t even got immunity.” Remus tossed his drink to a nearby android, who scrambled to catch it before it hit the floor. It was too late, and the drink shattered in a flurry of glass.

Roman glared at his brother, who shrugged innocently. He sighed, “Nothing we can do from here though. Best to just focus on the next conclave. And the party.”

He rose to his feet, stretching his arms over his head. He had every intention of having as much fun as possible and eventually passing out, dreaming of nothing but white knights and fairytales—absolutely no piano strangling. However, before he could take another step, the lights abruptly died. Immediately, the guests erupted into murmurs and gasps, an uneasy tension flooding through the room. Roman looked around, confused. 

“Remus? Is that you?” 

Then, a scream. Roman whipped his head around as he heard everyone running, the room plunging into chaos. He got driven into the center of the room by the guests shoving past him. There was elbowing and a shrieking clamour as something roamed through the party. He could hear it in the silent footsteps and whoosh of a weapon.

The darkness seemed to swallow everything, but his hand tightened on the hilt of his dagger. He hadn’t brought his trusty sword today, curse him. He couldn’t find Remus anywhere. Why couldn’t he find his macabre brother when he needed him?

“Hello? Face me yourself, you coward.” He ran through the room, searching for the assailant. “Remus, if this is some prank, I swear—”

Then a chilling whisper cut through the havoc, lips brushing Roman’s ear. "Scythe Roman, you will pay for your sins."

The voice was low, unfamiliar, and haunting, and panic seized him instantly. He spun around, but a figure draped in a black cloak materialized out of the shadows.

They pounced on Roman, the weight of the cloak rippling around both of them as they fell to the floor. He screamed, fighting the attacker off, his mind racing to make sense of this. He only knew of one Scythe—no, not Scythe— assassin, who wore all black. Before he could speak again, the figure punched him in the jaw.

As his nanites rushed to calm him, he grunted and stabbed the figure in the arm with his dagger. All he saw was a brief flash of metal before they growled, releasing their grip on him momentarily. He took his chance.

Roman used his legs to kick him, but they were too quick. They pinned his arms down again, blood dripping from the wound he had inflicted moments ago, and this time, he could finally see the attacker’s features. Narrow, determined eyes met him, with dark hair brushed to the side. He had a sharp nose and a stone-cold expression. He couldn’t breathe. He was going to die. With a croak in his voice, he whispered the black figure’s notorious name under his breath.

“Scythe Lucifer.”

Chapter Text

I used to live in constant fear for my life.

The Scythes, they could glean me at any time, any place. If they felt like it, I could be gone in an instant. I felt like I had no control; like I was helpless. Anxiety clawed at my thoughts, making it hard to exit my house for days at a time. I’ve always heard stories of Scythes gleaning with malice, gleaning in more and more torturous ways, and getting away with it. I couldn’t sleep at night, wondering about the sadistic ways I could be gleaned.

I was afraid of being gleaned, but I was especially afraid of being gleaned by the wrong Scythe. Someone who took joy in taking innocent lives, someone cruel, someone like him . So I decided to turn the tables. I decided to become an ‘unofficial’ Scythe, one who defied their perfect rules by gleaning only the corrupted Scythes. And then, I would burn their bodies so no one could take them to a revival center. I was fearful, so I took action. I would never let anyone be as afraid as me again.

I needed to start with a small rebellion. So I started wearing black.

-  From the ripped journal of Scythe Lucifer

Virgil walked through the lonely streets, his black cloak trailing behind him. His eyes were cast straight ahead, but he felt strangers pass by, smiling or darting away at the sight of Scythe Lucifer. He pushed forward, feeling the buzz of unease creeping up in his chest.

He knew people respected Scythe Lucifer around this part of town—viewing him as a vigilante who only gleaned corrupted Scythes, not innocents. It still didn’t make him any less tense as he strode down another block. When a group of teens crossed the street, they held up gang signs and hooted at Virgil, shouting obscenities towards Scythes. “ You’re doing good work!” they yelled, but his shoulders tightened, and he turned away.

A woman holding a green purse screamed and turned the other way when she saw his looming figure. He rolled his eyes, letting her take off. He wasn’t an enemy to the people. He was their friend.

A family of four pulled their children closer to their bodies as Virgil passed by, and he kept his eyes down. He knew he was the villain in children’s bedtime stories. His attire, his attitude, his gleanings. He wore the villain persona like an uncomfortable costume, but if that was what he had to do to be taken seriously, then so be it.

As he passed a garbage pile in a chilly alleyway, he spotted them , and his blood boiled.

The Creativitwins. Their flashy red and green cloaks sparkled in the sunlight as they laughed, nudging each other and ruffling each other’s curly hair. They were smiling—probably from gleaning yet another innocent person in a needlessly horrific way. Virgil despised Roman the most, with his princely behaviour, his charming grin, and his red sash. While Remus committed more atrocious crimes, it was the other twin who acted like he had the high moral ground. It was Roman who didn’t accept that he was a villain, through and through.

Yet, he was adored.

That was all going to change soon. Virgil was going to make sure of it.

Unlocking the door to a crumbling building, Virgil slipped inside, seamlessly blending into the shadows. Exhaling with relief of not being in the public eye, he flipped off his hood and began to tiptoe around the scattered debris of asphalt and equipment littering the floor. These temporary homes were all too familiar to him. Despite the chaos, Virgil found that he liked the clutter, and he just fit in the unusual spaces.

As he smoothed his bangs, he made his way to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. Without missing a beat, he tossed a throwing star at the TV, turning it on to watch the news. It was a new thing they were trying out, bringing back news stations. With the Thunderhead, there was really no need for humans to spread news around anymore, but there was a call for entertainment and mortal-age humour, and here they were. Five gangly reporters, excitedly retelling major events on old-timey television.

His attention was…divided. While he drank, his eyes darted from the counter to the locked door, which he had triple-checked, then to the TV's droning news, and finally to Marcus, his pet spider, scuttling atop the dishevelled mattress on the floor. Virgil was nothing if not constantly on edge. It was one of the many responsibilities that came with being a ‘fake Scythe’. Another twist of hatred seeped into his gut when he remembered Roman and Remus’s grinning faces. He rubbed his plastic immunity ring, a nervous habit. He had made it as an accessory, to offend the Scythedom. Their power came from that ring, feeling like gods every time people scrambled to kiss it. 

“Hey Marc, here.” He tossed his pet a bundle of ants. “Go crazy.”

As his spider nibbled away, the dead ant carcasses shedding onto his mattress, Virgil sighed, feeling very tired. “You don’t like this place very much don’t you?”

He didn’t blame him. Sometimes, he wondered what it would be like to have a real home. Someplace to stay forever, to unlock the door and be greeted with joy, laughter, and a warm bed. Asbestos dripped down on his hair and he groaned, turning away from the kitchen.

“…Sanders was one of the victims caught in the fire, sadly we can assume he was burned alive.”

Virgil whipped his head back around so fast his neck cracked. With wide eyes, he walked closer to the TV, seeing his friend’s smiling face plastered on the screen. Thomas . He had been the first one to take Virgil in, to use his anxiety and fear to help the world instead of tearing himself apart. He made him forget his past, even for a little bit. He was one of his only friends, his safe place. Now he was gone…all thanks to another corrupted Scythe.

“The work of the Orange Scythe and Scythe Lucifer is the sole reason why the gleanings should be left up to the professionals,” one of the reporters responded.

“Maybe if we’re lucky, they’ll fight and glean each other," another quipped, which led to uneasy chuckles around the table.

A throwing star landed in the center of the TV, cracking it like a glass mirror. Virgil took several deep breaths as he grabbed Marcus, swatting away the ants. He couldn’t process this right now; he couldn’t see through his anger.

“We’re taking the Creativitwins down tonight, and then we’re tracking Orange down. He might not be an official Scythe, but he’s just as bad as corrupted ones.”

He stormed out of the building, the door slamming open and almost breaking off its hinges. Virgil’s eyes narrowed, his spider tucked in his pocket, his cloak upturned. He had done his research, he knew about the parties the bastards hosted. They were about to get a taste of their own medicine. And then he would wipe himself off the grid again, like he never existed, hopping from region to region, carrying out justice.

Just like Thomas would have done.

He had slipped into the party unnoticed, weaving through the dancing crowd without much trouble. Although the flashing lights were making him wince. Seriously, there is never a need for this much glitter. 

He noticed some of the guests’ faces though, drunk and gleeful. Even if on the surface, they looked like they were enjoying themselves, Virgil could see the truth. Their eyes constantly flitted from side to side, looking out for Remus or Roman’s presence, worried about a potential gleaning, or perhaps potential immunity. The Creativitwins had no true allies or friends. Some people worshipped them and some people feared them—just like himself.

“Must be lonely,” he mumbled under his breath, shoving off an overly enthusiastic partygoer and making his way to the power controls. 

He cut off the power, the darkness a relief. Virgil navigated his way through the screaming crowd and tracked Roman down. It was all going to plan. As he attacked, Virgil realized he was a better fighter than he gave him credit for. However, he had the upper hand. When he uncovered his cloak, letting him see who he truly was, Roman gasped.

“Scythe Lucifer.”

Roman whispered his name, terrified and with his hands in the air, pinned against the cold floor. Virgil revelled in this moment, where the Scythes knew who he was, and that they were about to get the karma they deserved. He unsheathed a dagger from his cloak, feeling the tingle in his arm where Roman had stabbed him.

“You, Scythe Roman, have gleaned countless people with unnecessary cruelty and violence, for your own prideful, self-serving needs. Do you have any last words?”

“No—no, please—” He raised his hands like the coward he was, unable to even look at the blade. Virgil lifted his dagger higher, beyond his blind grasp. “Wait!”

“I’m not the one you want. We are just a product of the system, I’m just a—a puppet on a string. You’ve been gleaning Scythes but it won’t change anything! It won’t, not until you cut out the root.”

Virgil growled, the dagger lowering towards his heart. He was talking in circles, and while there was a point to his ramble, he hated Roman too much to think about what he was saying. This was bullshit—

“If you want someone, you need to go after the High Blade, Janus! Not me!”

He spoke all of this quickly, his green eyes wide with fear, and he was very obviously saying anything to not suffer, so Virgil shouldn’t have hesitated.

He shouldn’t have.

But the moment he said his name, the dagger froze, grazing Roman’s cloak.

Roman saw that he had hit a nerve, and scrambled to his feet, gasping for air. “Yes, yes, I know him! Remus knows him; we’re part of his inner circle. I mean, I’m not his most trusted confidant, but I will be one day! He’s our friend. We can convince him to stop whatever Scythes you want; we can all work together and make him do what you want!”

“Make him do what I want?” He said incredulously, the irony downright cruel.

He never should have hesitated.

Before he could snap out of it, a sharp blow landed in the back of his head, along with a maniacal giggle. He collapsed on the ground.

The world went black.

Chapter Text

Society would be doomed without me. 

You see, the last High Blade was this tasteless, presumptuous man whose egotism was only matched by his weight. He laughed too loud, he had these witless opinions that only catered to the good of the golden throne, and frankly, he disgusted me with the amount of servants it took to carry his robes.

I was one of his UnderScythes, although I avoid using that word now. I would never be under anyone, much less the farce that was Scythe Xenocrates. I did my job, kept my mouth shut, carried his ridiculously gilt robe, and indulged in his dinner parties. 

All the while of course, plotting his gleaning. One that would be in history books for the rest of our meaningless lives. Of course, I wouldn’t get any credit for it, but oh, the prices we pay for the good of the grander population.

Every Scythe said it—“I wish I could just glean Xenocrates and throw his robes into the Mid-Atlantic Ocean''. Some say it as a threat or an inside joke, but so few say it as a statement. I said it as a statement, and no one took me seriously. I am a known liar, to be fair, but truly, it was disheartening to see my fellow UnderScythes (I said it again, curses) ignore me completely. 

You must understand that I had offered Xenocrates every opportunity to lead MidMerica with courage, with honour, with intelligence . He catered to whoever gave him the largest cake, not logic, not reason. The system was rigged, and he wasn’t doing anything about it. He refused to reform, which provided me with no choice but to glean him. At that point, his untimely death was simply involuntarily suicide.

All it took was one drop of poison—viper poison I might add, in his beef tenderloin and he slumped over the chair, nearly tipping it over. Gone before he finished loudly laughing at a sports joke. I allowed myself one smile of accomplishment before leaving the room. 

I wasn’t incompetent, unlike the last High Blade. Conveniently, there was a richly worded letter singing my praises, ordering me to humbly take his place, once he had self-gleaned, in his chambers. What Scythe would I be without honouring his wishes? Now here I am, sitting upon his needlessly golden throne, the fate of MidMerica in my hands. 

It’s better off. I am…less inclined to bias and superficial desires, but I do not reprimand Scythes who enjoy what they do. After all, one must do whatever it takes to survive in the system. Might as well have fun while doing so. I simply want Scythehood to thrive. Of course, I will burn this entry after I write it—there's quite a beautiful fire in my room that I often woefully toss unread letters into. Fire is the only thing that won’t spill secrets, or expose my lies.  

Without a doubt, I am what MidMerica needed as a High Blade. Oh, and I threw his robes in the ocean, just like I promised. I’m not always a liar.

- From the gleaning journal of High Blade Janus

He was starting to enjoy the gold.

Janus tapped his immunity ring—a snake curled around his finger, to the gilded arms of his throne, listening as it clinked rhythmically. The sound echoed through the chamber like the tolling of a bell, the resonance, or whatever nonsense the Tonists believed. Although he used to dislike the vastness of his chamber and the conceit of having 5000 square feet of polished gold, it did wonders for his ego, making him feel untouchable—a king among men.

A lie of course, but it was comforting. He shifted over, picking up a glass of wine and taking a sip. He had a meeting soon, but he intended to take a stroll first. Janus stood up, dusting off his golden-green robe, and walked towards the window. It resided in the far part of the room, the sunlight streaming in to bounce off silvery surfaces. His footsteps echoed too. The silence would have driven him mad if it wasn’t for the soft jazz subtly playing in the back of the room. 

“Pity,” he said to himself, taking another sip as he reached the window. “I have all of this gold and no one to share it with.”

Self-deprecating thoughts did nothing, so with a sense of detachment, Janus watched people go about their daily lives, taking their place in the system of Fulcrum City, their home. He towered above them, the High Blade’s chamber smack in the center of the city. He mused about their feelings; about how they must feel like they had a purpose in this world. He could laugh at that. Humans having purpose was a concept that was left in the mortal age before immortality existed. 

He sighed and left the view, taking a stroll through the Capitol Building. He nodded to his assistants as they passed by, paperwork bundled in their hands. Janus saw how their robes dragged them down, how their faces contorted with worry. His robes were surprisingly light, made from faded snake scales and velvet. Practicality over flash, although he wasn’t against dazzling others now and then. It kept them on their toes. 

As he entered the conservatory, he found Logan sipping coffee and staring at a whiteboard filled with math equations. 

“Logan, just the man I needed to see,” he walked inside without invitation, approaching him.

Logan looked up from his calculations, not even blinking an eye. "Ah, Your Honour. To what do I owe the pleasure?

“Ooh, sarcasm doesn’t look good on you,” Janus said slyly.

Logan furrowed his brow. “I wasn’t implementing sarcasm—”

“How has your morning been so far? I’m assuming those equations aren’t for the spring gala.”

“No, they’re the numbers for the spring conclave. We might need to expand our capacity, it’s going to be crowded,” he turned back to the board, pushing back his deep blue sleeves. “The apprentice numbers have been rising ever since 2030.”

Janus waved off the concern. " Wonderful , as always. Now, that isn’t for a few weeks, we can break down some of those dreadful golden walls and make room for those children Scythes later. I came to you for a more pressing concern: The Orange Scythe."

A shadow passed over his face at this, and his grip on his coffee tightened, very subtly, but it was there. Janus raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes, he has been quite a problem. He gleaned nearly 20 civilians last month, including…Thomas Sanders.”

Janus lowered his gaze at that. He knew how much that specific man meant to both Logan and Patton. 

Logan cleared his throat and continued, “Not even the Thunderhead can track him down.”

“Hm, but I believe you can.” 

Logan raised an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in his voice. "Me?"

“I don’t lie .”

“My skills as an investigative Scythe are notable, yes, but there are others, other divisions—why not ask Scythe Alwyn?”

“Don’t humble yourself Scythe Logan, you’re a reliable man—some would say you're the Sherlock of that division.”

His eyes lit up at the mention of the mortal-age detective, and the praise. Janus resisted a smile. He had him right where he wanted him. Then, he fixed Logan with a steely gaze, back to business. “I am trusting you with capturing the Orange Scythe. It’s in your hands now. I expect him to be kneeling before me before the spring conclave.”

“I will apprehend him, you don’t have to beg,” he rolled his eyes, and set his coffee down, walking away from the conservatory. Janus followed him.

“You still don’t like me, do you?” he said with a smirk, prompting a grumble from Logan. “I can have you gleaned or punished for your lack of respect.”

He adjusted his glasses before answering. “You won’t, because I am highly valuable to your team, and I don’t fear you. We were apprentices together, even if you had a different teacher. Just because you wear gold robes doesn’t make you a different person.”

“And what was that person?”

“An asshole.”

Janus chuckled. “Alright. I am better than Xenocrates, you have to admit. I don’t have his bias toward Goddard.”

“No, you have a bias towards Remus, ” Logan retorted, turning the corner into another vast hallway. “Who is worse.”

Janus instinctively rubbed his ring, a habit he had picked up from someone he would rather not talk about. Remus had been one of his closest friends as an apprentice, and while he had…unexpected methods for gleaning, he was enjoying himself, and that was what mattered. He was aware it made him seem like a hypocrite, but he was too fond of the rat-like man to care. 

“Well, don’t act like you don’t have any biases either,” he stopped walking. “Scythes aren’t supposed to converse with the Thunderhead.”

Logan narrowed his eyes. “We aren’t. What are you implying?”

Janus smiled coyly, shrugging. “Those math equations weren’t for the conclave, I know that for sure.”

“The facts I provided were true—”

“But the equation wasn’t.”

Before Logan could open his mouth, a Scythe in baby-blue robes and a blinding smile bounded up to them, greeting Logan. 

“Hey! Did you see the sky today? There are actually rainbow-coloured clouds. It’s so beautiful,” Patton asked excitedly.

Logan’s stony expression melted into a soft smile almost immediately, and a thorn of bitterness stabbed Janus’s side. 

“No, I haven’t been outside yet, Patton, but that’s unusual. What specific hue were they?”

“There are mostly blue hues, but I saw some pink in there too! Most of the clouds are clustered around the fountains. They’re so fluffy, it's like the Thunderhead  is trying to cheer us up after all the rain yesterday... or maybe it's just feeling a bit 'blue' today!"

He laughed, clearly pleased with his pun, and Janus sighed, cracking a small smile at his energy. Patton walked into a room and that room just brightened. Janus used to avoid him, but he chipped away at him with his kindness. He didn’t know how he survived being a Scythe with such a morally virtuous heart. Or how he survived being friends with such a starkly different Scythe—Logan. 

Logan’s eyes twinkled as Patton spoke. “I think the Thunderhead gave us iridescent clouds. The sunlight is diffracted by tiny water droplets or ice crystals in the clouds, causing the light to scatter in various directions. This scattering results in the separation of the light into its constituent colours—”

Janus rolled his eyes, already tuning out of the conversation. “I’ll leave you to it. I’m very interested, but High Blade duties await.”

Logan didn’t even notice his leave as his movements became more animated in his lecture, but Patton waved to him. Even as the High Blade, I’m ignored. 

As he walked back to his room, his real room, he let out a heavy sigh. He sat in an armchair, the clank of his robes echoing across the empty chamber. Empty . His room was considerably smaller than the High Blade’s chamber, but it was cozier. The firepit warmed him from the center, as he was often cold. The curtains were closed, casting shadows across the furniture. Mahogany wood coated the floors, instead of gold.

He twirled a strand of golden string around his gloves. Despite the jazz music and the bustling city below him, he felt a weight on him. He thought of Logan’s smile when Patton greeted him, of Patton’s joke, of Remus’s mischievous antics. 

Something lingered in the air, suffocating him slowly—not deadly enough for him to cry out for help without looking foolish, but not comfortable enough for him to continue on his way. 

He thought about the Orange Scythe and his murders, of Thomas Sanders and how he might have been one of his friends if he had stuck with Logan or Patton in those apprenticing years. These were petty, vulnerable thoughts, and he hated it. 

The TV had been blasting all morning. Five gangly reporters were attempting humour, with one of their main topics being Scythe Lucifer and Orange fighting each other. He always barked at some assistant to turn it off. He didn’t want to hear any comparison between the black-cloaked Scythe and the fire-murderer. It made that thorn of bitterness sharply impale his side again.

He threaded the string through his finger, pulling it until the circulation cut off. His nanites rushed to heal him, but he didn’t feel it. He couldn’t deal with this anymore. In the solitude of his chamber, his gaze landed on a photograph tucked away beneath a coffee table.

A boy with dark bangs, eyeshadow, and a shy smile peeked over, wearing a purple hoodie. 

The thorn twisted.

He grabbed the photo, crumpled it in his hands, and threw it into the fire. He heaved in deep breaths to gather himself. Janus needed to get it together. He turned away as the flames turned the past into ashes. After all; fire didn’t tell any secrets.

Chapter Text

When Virgil finally woke, his hands were tied behind his back, attached to a small wooden chair. He grunted immediately, struggling against his restraints, fuzzy memories rapidly piecing back together in his mind. “What the hell—”

“Easy, sunshine, don’t hurt yourself, those are nanite-proof bonds. They don’t break easily.” Roman was leaning against the doorframe, his face shadowed with his red cloak. 

“What did you do to me?” Virgil hissed, feeling more exposed than ever, like he had been stripped down to his last layer and caught like a fly in a trap. He was still wearing his black cloak, but his hood was down, and his bangs felt sticky against his forehead. 

Speaking of, the back of his head throbbed and hurt like hell. 

“Yeah, sorry about that, Remus tends to go…overboard when presented with violence.” He winced. “In my defence, I didn’t know he would do that. I was trying to say anything to save my hide.”

As the memory came back, Virgil felt another burst of anger as he remembered his stupid hesitance when Roman said his name, which ultimately led to him being caught. Damn you, for ruining me even now.

“So you don’t even know the High Blade? All of that was just, what, bluffing?” 

“No… well, yes, in some parts.” Roman pushed off the door and stalked towards him with deliberate, measured steps, which made Virgil tense. “We both know him, but Remus is closer to Janus than I am. I do wish to be his friend, one day.” 

His voice was nearly wistful like meeting that man was his greatest dream, and it made Virgil want to throw up.

Roman snapped out of it, clearing his throat and approaching Virgil with a serious expression. He could read the hesitant fear in his eyes though, and he latched onto that. Good, you’re still afraid of me. 

“Now, before my brother comes in here and makes things worse, I have to ask. Why the black? No, why the mission? Scythes have been helping humanity for generations. Don’t ruin all that because of some moral ethics you’re holding onto by a thread. We’re saving people.”

“You’re worse than I thought,” he spat, feeling the ropes cutting into his wrists as his agitation grew. He had been tied up for far too long. He shouldn’t be tied up at all. “Not only are you dressed-up, sparkly sadists, but you think you’re our damn saviours. You dress up like you’re some prince, with your cheap glitter and mansion parties, but you’re just another murderer. ”

“And what are you?”

“I—I mean—” Virgil sputtered. “That’s different, I’m trying to save people from you.”

Roman loped closer to him, leaning down to give him a smug grin. “You’re a hypocrite, Scythe Lucifer. You’re the one dressed like the Grim Reaper, bringing death everywhere you go. At least we do it in style.”

He took Virgil’s chin in his hand and tilted it up as he said so, and Virgil bit down on his hand immediately, wrenching away from his grasp.

Roman turned away as he clutched his hand, but he was laughing. “You know, you’re not as scary as I thought you were going to be. You’re like a—a hissy cat.”

“You tie me up, knock me out and expect me to be civil? With the cruellest Scythes in MidMerica?”

“Aw, is the great Scythe Lucifer mad he got caught?”

“Fuck you.”

The door swung open, and Remus strode in, his fuzzy hair sticking up and his eyes alight like a predator spotting new prey. Virgil whipped his head toward him, tensing once more.

“So you’re the great Scythe Lucifer? Ha, pretty pathetic if you ask me,” he snorted, and Roman crossed his arms, giving his brother a smile. He leaned against a nearby wall.

“However, hmm, you do look strangely familiar.” Remus took long steps towards Virgil, leaning close to him to examine his face. Virgil resisted the urge to flinch or look away. He needed to intimidate these two, or they would never take him seriously. But when Remus flicked him on his forehead, Virgil couldn’t help it.

“ What ?” He gritted his teeth, turning away. 

“Aha! I’ve got it!” Remus clapped his hands gleefully. “Jan has a picture of you in his chambers, I’ve seen it so many times. He likes to stare at it like he’s about to tell some sob-story bullshit, but he never does.”

Virgil stilled.

Roman caught onto his expression and pushed off the wall, intrigue flashing in his green eyes. “Is that why you hesitated when I brought up the High Blade? I did find it a little strange—not that I doubted my ability to get out of a sticky situation, which always prevails of course, but still…someone like Scythe Lucifer shouldn’t care about the politics of the MidMerican Scythedom.”

“I don’t,” he shot back, but there was a forced lilt in his voice, and he hated it. “I don’t know what picture you’re talking about.”

“I thought about burning it, but I forgot about it until I had to leave and set out on my own.” Remus let out an exaggerated sigh. “I miss Jan. And his stupid pictures. And his hot accent.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “You’re as much of an egomaniac as Roman, if not worse. No wonder the High Blade became your friend. Do you even care about the lives you take?”

Remus shrugged, the sequins on his cloak gleaming in the sunlight. “We aren’t supposed to care. It makes the job harder. Both I and Ro are two of the most productive Scythes in all of MidMerica, and you wanna know why, Luci?”

“Don’t call me Luci.”

“Okay, Cifer , you wanna know why? We enjoy gleaning.” He flashed him a shark-like grin. “Why should that be a crime?”

Oh, if Virgil wasn’t tied down, he would have pounced on him and wiped that grin right off his cocky face. 

“Are you going to glean me then? For your great pleasure and enjoyment?” He snarled, pulling violently against his restraints, feeling the rough rope bite into his skin.

Remus clapped his hands again like he was glad Virgil had given him permission. “Ooh, can we, Ro?”

“Wait,” Roman put up a hand, his brow furrowing. “There’s something I still don’t get.”

It seems like there’s a lot you don’t get. Virgil seethed.

“Are you working with the Orange Scythe? Are you affiliated at all with that…wretched beast? We may be unconventional with our gleanings, but I need to take the real monster down.” 

Virgil was not expecting that. “What? No, of course I’m not working with that monster. He killed one of my friends.”

“Me too,” Roman said, his voice sorrowful. “Thomas. He was a good man.”

Virgil’s head shot up, shock etched on his features. “Thomas? You knew Thomas?”

His confusion mirrored Roman's expression as they stared at each other. “Yes? He was one of my good friends, we went to karaoke and theatre plays together.”

Virgil didn’t know how to feel about that. Thomas, the kind man who had helped Virgil get back on his feet, was friends with one of the Scythes he had been planning on gleaning for a long, long time. It tainted the image of him in Virgil’s mind, but he pressed for more explanation before he could process it. 

“But…Thomas approved of your choices?”

Roman looked away, ashamed. “Well, not exactly, but he can’t tell a Scythe how to do their job. It was mostly an unspoken thing between us.”

“Tommy was always a bit of a pussycat,” Remus snorted.

Virgil shook his head, still a bit taken aback. 

“So, what about you? What's the great Scythe Lucifer’s story with a regular guy like Thomas?” Roman asked, and he was surprised to see he was genuinely interested, any hint of sarcasm stripped away.

“He just…he helped me get by. I crashed at his place so I didn’t have to constantly move houses,” he mumbled, fixated on a point on the floor.

Remus smirked, looking between the two of them. “Ooh, common ground! Takes the fun outta gleaning though. Wait, are we still gonna glean you?”

“I don’t know,” Roman said, and the conflict in his eyes seemed real. “So…if you’re not working with the Orange Scythe…have you helped stop him?”

“I was planning on it.”

Roman hesitated. 

“Maybe we have more in common than we thought.”

Virgil couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This was absurd, he hated these two’s guts with more passion than he had for any other corrupt Scythe. Roman couldn’t possibly be thinking about an alliance.

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“What if we work together? Form a temporary alliance to stop the Orange Scythe.”

“What?” Remus whirled around at Roman, his mouth agape. He ignored him, taking a step toward Virgil.

“It’ll take more than you and that raggedy cloak to find your fiery fiend, and personally, I want to see that fake Scythe apprehended, once and for all,” Roman said firmly, and then slyly added, “The other option, of course, is to deliver you to High Blade Janus. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see we’ve captured the thorn in his side, Maybe he’ll even pull out that photo Remus was talking about!”

Virgil tasted the words in his mouth before spitting them out. “Fuck you.”

“If you insist.”

Remus grinned, the initial surprise wearing off. “Oh, road trip! This’ll be fun, won’t it bro?”

Roman was still looking at Virgil, who was very determinedly still staring at the floor. He thought about it. To his great irritation, he knew the red-cloaked Scythe was right. He couldn’t do this alone. These two were not only the most sociopathic of legal Scythes, but they were also the most formidable. If they were willing to work with him, he needed to accept it. Especially because he would rather glean himself than face the High Blade again. 

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” he finally replied through gritted teeth, and Roman broke into a triumphant grin.

“Wonderful!”

“Under one condition. No gleaning anyone until this…partnership is over. Don’t give me bullshit about your quota, I know you probably overshot it months ago.”

“Aw come on, don’t be a buzzkill!” Remus sulked, but Roman was already nodding. 

“That works for me,” he replied, flashing him a pearly-white grin. 

Virgil looked away. “This doesn’t mean we’re friends. I hate the Orange Scythe more than I hate you right now but do anything to get on my nerves, and this deal of ours is over. Got it?”

Remus rolled his eyes and mock-saluted. “Sheesh, alright boss. I’ll try my best to get on your nerves.”

“Just fucking untie me.” 

“Oh, right!” Roman pulled out a sword and sliced through his bonds, the rope peeling away like a gift wrapper. 

Virgil sighed in relief, rubbing his wrists and standing up. He flipped his hood back on, feeling under control again. However, the moment he locked eyes with Roman, his guard threatened to crumble beneath him. He didn’t like how unpredictable the twins were. He didn’t like how uncertain this mission and partnership was. He didn’t like a lot of things. Virgil did like being in control though. And that’s what he planned on doing. 

“So, where do we start, Cifer?” Remus leaned his elbow on Roman’s shoulder. 

“Let’s start with you not calling me that.” He bit back sardonically.

“Well then, what’s your real name? What should we call you? To officially start our temporary partnership.” Roman asked, extending his hand out to Virgil. 

As he eyed his outstretched hand, he wasn’t ready to let them know. He didn’t trust them. Not at all. Not yet. 

“Lucifer is fine. No way in hell am I letting you know my name.” 

Then, Virgil shook Roman’s hand, and with that, he knew his life would be forever changed.

Chapter Text

I didn’t want to do it. It went against every fibre of my being, every nanite in my cells, and all my core values as I held the pills in my hand. They were light blue. 

Of course, I remember the colour. I remember everything. 

I gave the pills to Freya Elsher to end her life 24 hours ago. The pills were my offering of mercy, to soften the blow of an inevitable death. I could never glean someone with more violence than necessary. I could never do that to a human soul.

Freya Elsher looked at me with tears in her eyes and asked me to make sure her nieces received their immunity, to treat them to a fine meal, and to provide them with all the toys they could ever want.

Oh, those poor kids. My first thought was of the families I would be breaking up. My heart just… ached for every one of them. So I promised her. I clutched her hand and I vowed that her family would be treated with the finest services. It was the least I could do. I think she could see the sorrow in my eyes and therefore relaxed in my grip.

Freya said the world needed more Scythes like myself. I didn’t answer that, and instead held her in my arms as she swallowed the pill. She was gone the moment it went down. A painless, quick death. 

It’s been years of being a Scythe, and it never gets easier. If I’m honest, I need to wonder whether this path is right for me. It’s hard…so, so hard sometimes. I don’t think I’ll ever keep questioning whether the Scythedom is a morally right practice, but then I’ll think of Freya. I’ll think of how she patted my arm, her light blue eyes matching the pills, and how she said she was grateful she had me. 

Maybe the world does need Scythes. Maybe they just need to be kinder.

- From the gleaning journal of Scythe Patton

Patton woke up after another restless sleep, rubbing his eyes blearily. He couldn’t get the image of Freya’s terrified face the moment he appeared in her home. She had been his last gleaning. He treated her nieces to dinner and gave them toys, but their joy didn't last long. Patton had to go back home and bury his head in his hands. He couldn’t do this again. He wouldn’t.

And so, weeks passed without a single gleaning. He knew the conclave was coming up soon, and he was short on his quota, but Patton just...he couldn’t deal with seeing another heartbroken face. He crumpled his bedsheets in his hands, taking a deep breath. 

“Happy thoughts, happy thoughts. It’ll be okay today,” Patton told himself firmly and got out of bed. 

He got dressed in his robes, slipped on his glasses, and combed back his curly hazel hair. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and froze. He couldn’t move. He saw his black glasses, his heart-shaped freckles, and his stout face. Patton was still himself, but he didn’t feel like it. He felt like an imposter in his skin. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about it as he walked to the Capitol Building, and as he entered the sunlit kitchen. Once he was inside, he poured himself a drink. Just some coffee, some milk, and sugar…

Crap .

The coffee spilled all over his hands and his clothes. Patton looked down at his blue Scythe robes, desperately trying to rub the coffee away, but only resulted in making it worse. He bit his lip, trying not to cry as he rubbed it furiously, ignoring his stinging hands and the liquid spilling down the table. 

“Oh god, what have I done?” he mumbled to himself, just as Logan walked in. 

“Patton? What happened?” Logan’s brow furrowed as he rushed over to his aid, tearing off some paper towels to help. 

“I spilled some coffee, it’s not a big deal! I’m just a klutz.” Patton forced a laugh and gratefully accepted the towels. 

He could feel Logan’s stare, even as he looked down to clean himself off. “Your hands…they’re burned.”

“My nanites will patch it up, no problem,” Patton said, and sure enough, they got to work, the stinging sensation quickly fading. 

He finished wiping himself off and then wiped down the table. He buried his hands in the white paper, scrubbing intensely. “Good morning, by the way! How’s everything? Janus isn’t giving you too much work, right?”

Logan didn’t respond at first, but then he nodded. “He’s told me to do a full investigation on the ‘Orange Scythe’, which has got my hands full. They’re good at covering their tracks, and even the Thunderhead can’t access them.”

“Sounds difficult. That...monster doesn’t deserve to be called a Scythe. We’re supposed to be good,” he said fiercely, crumpling the towels into a large ball. “We don’t glean for the sake of it.”

“Exactly. Orange burned down an entire building a week ago, it’s gone too far.”

Patton felt another lump in his throat rising. “Thomas was in that building.”

Logan grimaced, giving him an awkward pat on the back. “I know you cared for him like a son.”

Patton cared for everyone like his own child, but Thomas was special. He seemed to radiate happiness, drawing anyone close enough into his circle. He was an open, kind-hearted soul and he didn’t deserve to be taken so early. He didn’t quite understand why Logan was being so awkward about it—he had been friends with Thomas too. Sometimes it was okay to be emotional.  He shrugged it off; his friend was never one for feelings. 

Logan and Patton faded into a comfortable silence as he turned up the stove, making breakfast. Patton took a seat, sipping his newly made coffee, and thought about Freya Elsher again. 

After another brief silence, Patton blurted out, “Logan, how do you do it so easily?”

Logan froze, turning his head around to meet his gaze. “Do…what, exactly?”

“Glean,” he said shamefully, twisting the handle of his cup. “You have a perfect quota, you’re one of the best Scythes out there, and you’re not cruel either. So how do you do it? It’s just…doesn’t it ever feel wrong?”

Logan paused for a long time, and then he spoke, “It’s not easy for me either. The taking of human life does not feel morally correct, even if it serves a greater purpose. But I have to. It’s my job, and it’s your job too— we do this so the world can be balanced, and sustained. If we do it with the right amount of apathy and empathy, a healthy balance can do you wonders.”

“I can’t just treat gleaning like something on my to-do list that needs to be checked off!”

“Of course, but if you grieve too deeply, you won’t be the strong support a society needs to accomplish this. A family needs a serious Scythe that they will look up to, not a friend. They need a symbol, not a person.”

“You and I have very different views of what being a Scythe means.”

“We always have, Pat. We always have.” Logan looked sullen, then went back to making his eggs. 

After their breakfast and disciplinary duties, Patton went in search of Logan again. He found him hunched over a computer, typing diligently.

“Need some help?” He peeked over his friend’s head, seeing the countless tabs and holograms floating around his desk. 

Logan groaned, frustrated again at the lack of Orange activity. “I mean, I’m sure I’ll be able to crack it before they manage to burn down another building. They somehow managed to avoid every Thunderhead camera within the vicinity. Smart, but it makes this a harder task.”

Patton looked at the empty streets, the face cams scanning for Orange, without avail. He sat down in the chair beside Logan. “Well…have you considered looking for people that seem like they don’t want to be seen? Looking away from Thunderhead cameras, hoodies, stuff like that.”

Logan nodded, typing up more searches, until he found what he was looking for. As they sat and scrolled through endless photos of unsavouries, suspicious people, and Scythes caught on camera, they finally found what they were looking for. 

“There!” Logan pointed at the screen.

Orange eyes glared directly at the camera, almost challenging it to come find them. It was only for a brief second, but it was more than enough. A ripple of doubt hit Patton as he wondered why the Thunderhead didn’t pick up on that. He wished he could talk to it, but Scythes were prohibited from interacting with the benevolent AI. 

“Thank you, Patton. We’ve located the Orange Scythe, and they’re in…” Logan squinted at the screen. “ChileArgentine.”

Patton brightened up, pushing off his chair. “Oh man, we’re going on a road trip!”

“We?" Logan stood up as well. "This is my mission, Patton I can’t just let you—”

“Why not? C’mon, you’ll need some company. And I—” he swallowed, before looking up at Logan. “I need to stop this guy. I can’t stand sitting here and feeling horrible about gleaning. At least this will feel like real justice.”

Logan crossed his arms, but eventually, he softened, motioning to their rooms. “Then you better start packing. ChileArgentine is a long way from the Capitol. We leave in the morning, I’ll alert Janus.”

He beamed and crushed Logan into a hug, who awkwardly received it by patting his arms. “Oh, thank you! I promise I’ll help you take that orange imposter down.”

Maybe this was his chance! He could finally feel good about being a Scythe and stop a real killer. 

Hours later, when Patton was packing for the trip, he had an unexpected visit. He folded his socks and spread them on the bed, humming quietly to himself, when he heard a silky voice from behind him. 

“You know, it’s a little early in the year for a vacation , Patton,” Janus said, leaning against the doorframe.

Patton jumped slightly, turning to see the High Blade standing there, his usual sly smile on his face. “Oh, Janus! I didn’t hear you come in,” Patton replied, trying to mask his surprise with a friendly smile.

Janus pushed off the doorframe and walked into the room, his eyes scanning the neatly packed suitcase on the bed. “I have a knack for that. Packing for a trip, I see?”

Patton nodded, a bit sheepishly. “Yeah, I’m going to help Logan track down the Orange Scythe, we found out they’re in ChileArgentine.”

Janus raised an eyebrow. “But you haven’t met your quota yet, have you?”

Patton sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I know. It’s just… sometimes it gets overwhelming. I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.”

Janus moved to stand next to him, his expression unreadable as always. “It’s not an easy job, Patton. None of us find it easy. But you have a gift for sympathetic gleaning. It’s not something everyone can do.”

Patton looked up at him, hopeful yet doubtful. “You think so? I always try to be kind, but sometimes I wonder if it’s enough.”

Janus nodded, his features melting into a thoughtful, softer expression. With Janus, it was always hard to tell whether the mask was genuine or a guise worn to comfort others around him. “Kindness is rare in our line of work. It makes you stand out, and it’s something the world needs. When you glean, you bring peace, not just an end.”

Patton smiled softly at the compliment. “Thank you, I’m glad you think so—I mean, you’re the High Blade! How do you do it? How do you balance everything?”

Janus sighed, tugging on his gloves. “ Honestly , there are days when I don’t know if I’m right for this job either. Sometimes, I wonder if all the gold and status are worth…the constant spotlight and politics. Don’t tell a soul I admitted that, or I’ll have you ‘self-gleaned.’

Patton smiled, knowing the High Blade well enough to know when he wasn’t serious. “Aw, it’s alright, Jan! Everyone doubts themselves sometimes. Me more than ever,” he chuckled. “That’s why I need to go with Logan. I can’t just sit around hoping things will change—I have to make it happen. And bringing a horrible assassin to justice could help me! You just gotta keep…moving on. Moving forward.”

Janus looked back at him, nodding. “Keep moving forward. No matter the doubt in your mind,” he mused like he was talking to himself.

Janus placed a hand on Patton’s shoulder. “You still need to fulfill your quota, Scythe Patton. Four more people...promise me you will glean them all before the spring conclave.”

Patton nodded firmly. “I promise. I’ll make sure I meet it.”

Janus smiled once more before turning to leave. “Take care, Patton. And remember, you’re doing better than you think.”

“Hey, Janus?” He called as he turned away. “Thank you. For everything.”

There was something wistful in his gaze as he nodded at Patton. He couldn't help but think that Janus was the opposite of who he was. There couldn't have been more differences between them. As the door closed behind Janus, Patton turned back to his clothes. He finished packing, feeling like he had a renewed purpose. 

Chapter Text

Virgil hated everything about this. The bass thumped through the mansion's walls, vibrating against his chest as he navigated the swarms of people at the party. Lights flashed overhead, casting their shadows on the floor. Virgil focused on how they stretched and bent as he moved. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol, and he shoved his way out of the constant shouting.

Of course, it had to be a frat boy party. Virgil clenched his jaw as he escaped to a free corner. He scanned the room, searching for anyone who might have had contact with the Orange Scythe lately. The insufferable twins’ first course of action as an official team had been to throw a party, inviting people who could possess any helpful information. He had to admit, they were surprisingly tolerable, despite the occasional nickname from Roman and Remus’s despicable thoughts he couldn’t keep to himself. 

Virgil squinted as purple strobe lights flickered across the room, illuminating the passing guests. The people could have been anyone—an unsavoury, a lawyer, an agent—but they all looked like featureless shadows to him. Any one of them could be a killer’s accomplice. Or their next victim. He leaned back, one knee against the wall with his arms crossed, knowing he would have to interrogate them eventually. After all, the twins were nowhere to be found.

Probably getting drunk and sleazing around with some partygoers. He thought resentfully as he pushed himself off the wall. He could do this. It wasn’t like he was killing any of them. Virgil had to…talk to them. The thought was almost worse than death.

His eyes landed on a person in a corner, their dark hair tucked underneath an orange beanie. It was a stupid reason to think they had anything to do with the Orange Scythe, but it was all Virgil needed.

"Excuse me,” Virgil tried to sound casual as he approached them.

They turned to him, taking a moment to size him up before grinning. "Can I help you?"

He wished he were wearing his Lucifer outfit. Maybe then, this group wouldn’t be snickering into their drinks at a man with poorly-cut bangs and dark eyeshadow, dressed in a bland gray suit at a party. He had carried edge and thunder as Scythe Lucifer—even if he didn’t ask for it. Now he felt as awkward as a teenager trying to fit in at a school dance.

Virgil hardened his expression into a serious, threatening glare. “Have you come into contact with someone wearing orange robes…someone who pretends to be a Scythe? They were spotted around this area about a week ago, burning down a building.”

The beanie-wearing guest shook their head. “Nope. I’ve seen that guy all over the news, though. The Scythes probably got it all under control— they always do!” They laughed and nudged their friend, who wore wireframe glasses and had a thinner, shorter build. “Tell 'em, Tal.”

“It does seem like a worrying matter, but what’s it to you anyway?” He sipped his drink, narrowing his eyes at Virgil. “No offence, but you don’t seem like the partying type. Are you interrogating us or something?”

Shit . So he wasn’t being very discreet.

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter.” He stormed past them, ignoring the giggles and snickers from the group behind him. He had never been good at social gatherings, much less getting what he wanted via ‘healthy communication’.

He sighed, pushing past a tattooed couple and ducking as a flying shoe soared over the crowd. This was getting him nowhere. He needed a break from the madness.

Just then, Roman appeared beside Virgil, a wide grin plastered on his face. "Hey there, Doctor Gloom. Enjoying the party?”

He glowered at the red-cheeked Scythe, annoyed by his easygoing attitude. “Not really."

“I’ll have you know I asked around…” he held up his fingers, counting mentally before nodding. “13 people about Orange. Not one of them knew a thing. I mean, one of them says she had slept with someone who wore a horrid orange bathrobe, so honestly, that’s a felony in itself.”

Irritated, Virgil walked faster to escape him. Roman sauntered after him, his stride matching Virgil's with his long legs. Multiple servers weaved through them, balancing silver trays filled with appetizers in one hand.

“One guy swore he saw the Orange Scythe’s face—said he was a man out of revenge after his dog was burned in a fire or something…Seems like a mortal-age movie for me,” Roman continued, his words slurring together.

Virgil gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to snap. “Are you seriously drunk right now? We’re supposed to be looking for an assassin.”

He finally took a good look at him. His brown hair was still perfectly wavy, and his red collared shirt, unbuttoned at the top, revealed a glimpse of bare skin adorned with a gold sword necklace. Virgil tore his eyes away, a surge of frustration rising at how Roman effortlessly looked like a prince.

“I mean,” Roman snorted, “if you think this is bad, you should see Remus. He went into one of the guest rooms with someone and I heard—”

“I don’t want to know what you heard.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged, swiping a caramel apple off one of the servers' trays. “I’ll go find out more. Now, loosen up a little! This is still a party, after all. See you later, sunshine.” He saluted and ducked out, already enticed by another thing.

Virgil rolled his eyes and walked away. He talked to three more people, and finally, he had a lead. One of them noticed a glitch in a certain region’s cameras. 

“Yeah, my pictures came out all wrong…I think Thundy might be bugging out or something.” She laughed, obviously buzzed, but this was the first lead he had. 

“The Thunderhead’s cameras were glitching? Where, exactly?” He pressed further. 

“ChileArgentine, I went there for a little vacation. Came back yesterday. Did you know there are so many fabrics—”

Virgil didn’t have time for more small talk, so he quietly excused himself and pulled up the holo-files on his wrist. A quick web search revealed that it was where the Orange Scythe planned to make his move.

His head was bowed as he scanned for the coordinates on his phone, and he turned abruptly into the hallway, only to collide with someone.

“Sorry—” he mumbled, but when he looked up, his heart dropped.

He was a man with thick, dark hair, cropped short at the sides, and a hazel glint in his eye. The man’s hands gripped Virgil’s arms, sending a repulsive shudder through him. He smiled, and it was a snake’s grin, sly and secretive like he saw right through him.

“It’s not a problem,” he said, his voice utterly intoxicating. “Anyway, isn’t the party that way?”

Virgil wanted to scream.

“I just need—” he swallowed. It isn’t him, it isn’t him, it isn’t him. “I need to get to the washroom.”

“Ah, of course. Take the next left,” he nodded down the hallway behind him, smirking back at Virgil. “Is there anything else I can assist you with?”

“No.” He pushed the man’s arms off of him and tried to run down the hall, but the man dragged him back by the waist.

“You’re not even going to tell me your name?” He whispered in his ear, and Virgil struggled in his grasp.

“Get off.”

The man released him suddenly, lifting his hands in the air. Some part of Virgil knew he was intoxicated, another part wanted to kill him on the spot.

“I was playing around,” he said with a genuine apology in his voice. Too familiar with someone else who also could sound like an angel while lying through his teeth. “You seem like someone who needs a moment to rest. Some peace. I can help with that.”

I can bring you peace.

Virgil shook his head, brushing his gray shirt off with more force than needed. The lights were golden now, illuminating his eyes. He kept seeing flashbacks of a past he wanted to forget.

I’m not going to be what you need.

Virgil closed his eyes, forcing the image of him out of his mind.

No, but you’re what I want.

“I don’t deserve peace,” He said quietly, too quietly for the other man to hear, and turned away, walking down the hallway.

His walking quickly turned into a sprint, and Virgil didn’t even know why. His breath came in short bursts, the memory of the man’s rough touch crackling under his skin. He skidded into a wall, desperately trying to slow his racing heart when he heard grunts and cries coming from a room beside him.

Virgil stepped in before regret could sink in, and was met with a horrifying sight. Remus had a knife deep inside a man’s chest, and his legs tied behind a chair. He whimpered as Remus twisted the weapon, his eyes alight with madness.

“Stop!” Virgil yelled, but his voice was drowned out by the music thumping through the walls. His voice echoed in his ears like he was fading further away from his own body. “Remus, get away from him.”

Remus looked up, his face twisting with glee. “What’s the matter, Cifer? Can’t handle a little fun?”

Virgil's vision blurred, his legs shaking beneath him. He forced himself to focus, to stay grounded. “I told you. No gleaning until this is over.”

Remus laughed, his head tilting back. “Only Ro agreed to that! He’s always been such a wimp when it comes to real violence.”

Virgil stepped closer, clenching his fists. “Let him go, or—”

Remus's expression darkened, his voice low and sing-song-like. “Or what? I’ll become another victim of ‘Scythe Lucifer?’” He laughed again, a harsh, unhinged sound. “Get out of my way. You’re ruining my night.”

“I won’t let you do this.”

Remus's eyes flashed with something dangerous, and he yanked the knife out of the man’s chest, turning it toward Virgil. “Try me.”

Virgil took a step back, his mind spinning. He felt like he was going to pass out. Just then, Roman appeared, stepping in front of Virgil and shoving Remus back.

“What the hell are you doing?” Roman shouted.

“Stay out of this, Roman,” Remus snarled, holding up his knife to his brother. “Just let me glean him, goddamn it!”

“You’re not gleaning anyone,” he said with a forced calm, holding Remus’s shoulders. “Tell the Thunderhead it was a mistake, and let the ambu-drones save that poor man.”

“Poor man? Oh, now you feel bad.” He barked out a laugh, and Virgil finally realized he was drunk. Both of them were. He backed away, his heart still racing. “What happened when you strangled a man with a piano string? When you painted a rose on the wall with a couple’s blood? You always pretend you’re so much better than me, but you’re just as bad! Why don’t you let him see that?"

“I’m not trying to act better—” Roman defended, “I just need you to stop!”

Remus threw the knife to the ground. “No! Why is it always you who decides what we can’t do? You’re not the hero here, Roman, I exist too!”

Roman paused at that, releasing his grip on his shoulders.

“I know, shocker right? I exist! I know I’ve never been good enough for you to acknowledge that. Hell, I’ve never been good enough for anyone. No matter what I do, how many people I glean, how creatively I do it, I’m always gonna be living in your perfect little shadow. Guess it's a side effect of being a lab baby,”  He spat, his voice dripping with bitterness.

Roman shook his head, wincing at the word 'lab. “You are good enough. You are a good Scythe, I just…I don’t want you to become a monster.”

Remus trembled, his gaze burning hot and filled with fury. “I was born a monster. I’m doing what I have to do.”

Virgil had a feeling he wasn’t talking about his job. Somehow, he felt himself connecting to Remus’s desperate attempts to be noticed, to be heard. To make a change.

After a tense silence, Remus growled, pushing himself away from Roman. He turned to the man, blood pooling from his wound around the floor. He squeezed his fists into balls before looking at the ceiling, his expression contorted in rage.

“Fine, I'll take it back! Marco Amalie will not be gleaned today. Get your shitty ambu-drones here right fucking now!” He yelled, and within a second, drones zoomed in through the window, carrying the limp man’s body out of the house.

Virgil suspected the Thunderhead had been honing in on their conversation for a while now. Marco would be good as new in a day or two. The power of immortality and a Scythe’s permission...it made Virgil’s skin crawl.

“You knew his name?” Roman asked quietly, and Remus sneered, glaring back at them.

“I know all their fucking names, Roman.”

Virgil still felt angry at Remus and wanted to scold him about their promise, but the adrenaline of the interactions he had in fifteen minutes made the walls feel like they were closing in.

“I’m getting some air,” he said, glaring back at the twins before escaping.

Virgil stumbled out onto the terrace, slumping down against the bushes. He buried his face in his hands, trying to catch his breath. He felt shaken, the sense of control he clung to like a lifeline slipping away. He crumpled pieces of grass in his hands, dirtying his nails.

“I’m sorry about that,” a familiar voice came from behind him, and Virgil didn’t avert his gaze toward Roman, who sat down next to him, stretching out one leg.

“Remus gets…extra violent at parties. He enjoys gleaning,” he said, his voice still slurred and drunk. Virgil stayed quiet and looked away. If the prince was going to rave about their unique ideals and creativity, he would genuinely strangle him.

Roman sighed. “I never enjoyed it. We were always different in that way—I hated coming up with those horrible ways to glean people because we were treating it like some sick game. I don’t feel good about it. I don’t…I don’t feel good about myself.”

That got Virgil’s attention. He finally looked at Roman. His eyes were downcast, his brows knitted in worry like he might tell the whole party that the great Scythe Roman hated his job.

They sat in silence for another minute, the wind cooling the sweat on Virgil’s neck. He could still feel the bass booming through the walls of the mansion, and the squeals of partygoers from inside.

Finally, he spoke, “Corrupt scythes don’t feel bad about their actions. They revel in it. They have no humanity. That’s why I kill them. But you saved that man back there. You still celebrate your kills, which makes me sick, but it’s…good to know you don’t feel like that on the inside. It’s an act, right?”

“Of course it is. Sometimes it feels like everyone’s putting on an act. I’m sure the guests only came because they thought we would glean them if they declined. I’m acting all the time and I’m sure Remus is too. Maybe I should’ve understood him better.”

He dug his hand into the dirt as well, and Virgil shot him a look. “You’re both a lot more than I gave you credit for.”

Roman’s shock made him distinctly uncomfortable, so he quickly added, “Or maybe I’m going crazy because of this damn party and I need some sleep.”

Roman laughed softly, a strangely beautiful sound. “You sound like Thomas.”

He fell silent again at the mention of their shared friend. Virgil couldn’t help but wonder about their relationship. It was clear they were real friends, but what did that make him and Thomas? Did he go out for karaoke with the most brutal Scythes in MidMerica only to return home to the most wanted wannabe Scythe in MidMerica?

Right. He was here to do a job. Virgil pushed himself up, looking into the silver eye of the moon. Anywhere but Roman.

“We need to go to ChileArgentine. It’s where the Orange Scythe will attack next because there’s a festival next week.”

Roman raised a brow. “Why then? It’s the opposite of a discreet location.”

“You of all people should understand spectacle. Blind them with the glamour, and they’ll never know what hit them,” he said, repeating the words he remembered from so long ago.

He turned back to the moon. The Orange Scythe wouldn’t know what was coming.

Chapter Text

I often wonder what it would feel like to be understood.

Patton and the other Scythes are kind, and I do appreciate their presence, but I often find myself puzzled by their jokes or confused by their tears and kind gestures toward one another. I don't quite fit in with them, and I am not sure I want to. Yet, I yearn for a companion, someone who understands my jokes and gestures. At the risk of sounding adolescent, no one seems to truly...get me.

Oh, how I crave to talk with the Thunderhead. Perhaps then, someone would truly understand me. I haven't spoken to that AI in years, not since I began my training to become a Scythe. I know it would appreciate my rigidity and intellect and understand those traits are why I am skilled at gleaning. I wonder if it would listen to me, rather than dismissing me or merely using me for my abilities.

All trivial thinking, of course, because every attempt to contact the Thunderhead has failed. It is good at its job. But I am better. One day, I will find a like-minded companion in that technologically advanced computer. 

I worry that all I am to my fellow Scythes are the ‘brains’. They do not know I adore puzzles or the old mortal sci-fi shows, or that I have blackberry jam stuffed in the storage closet, for when I get hungry. They do not know I cover my room with the name of every person I’ve gleaned to remind me what my purpose is, so I don’t lose track of what’s important.

If only someone would listen.

- From the gleaning journal of Scythe Logan

Logan sat at the worn wooden table in the ChileArgentine safehouse, swiping through his hologram data that he transferred to his wrist, so he could access it on the road. He found an image of colourful outfits and lanterns decorating the streets, titled the ‘Southern Sun Festival’. It was set for tomorrow. He knew that was where Orange was going to make their move.

He shut off his wristband, taking a fleeting look around their base. It was a drab, sparse building, with a white fan buzzing in the corner to provide relief from the current ChileArgentine heatwave. The old furnishings and the gray colours were ideal for Logan—it was clear the base was designed for a quick overnight stay, not for comfort. The only splash of colour was Patton, humming softly to himself as he carried a tray of breakfast over to him. 

“Morning, Logan! Have you figured out where Orange is hiding out?” he greeted him cheerily, plopping himself down beside Logan. 

“Yes. The annual Southern Sun Festival is tomorrow, which will be the perfect time for them to strike. We need to be prepared for anything.” Logan sighed, eyeing the pancakes in front of him. “Where did you find the ingredients?”

“I went into town early this morning,” Patton admitted. “The people are…different when reacting to a Scythe. They don’t worship us. Some are still a bit scared but it’s like Scythes and the community have a mutual respect for each other.”

Logan wasn’t surprised. Even in the mortal age, MidMerica always seemed to be the problem with corruption and power. He didn’t understand why everyone couldn’t just work together to reach a common goal—peace. 

“Well, I hate to disturb their peace, but I’m going out to glean today,” Logan said. “We’re also going to need disguises for tomorrow’s festival if we want to catch the Orange Scythe off guard.”

Patton fidgeted before folding his hands in front of him on the table. “I wanted to ask…can I come with you?”

Logan raised an eyebrow. "You want to come along for a gleaning?"

"Yeah," Patton said, his tone apologetic and serious. "I’ve been putting off my responsibilities for too long now. Besides, I need to glean four more people to fulfill my quota. I promised Jan that I would glean on this trip.”

Logan's grip tightened on the table. The mention of Janus always made his stomach churn. Their shaky ‘friendship’ made him uncomfortable, something he couldn’t place. "You made a promise to Janus?"

Patton nodded, oblivious as always. "Yeah. He thinks it’ll be good for me, and I agree. I need to contribute more. I’ll help you!"

Logan took a deep breath, then stood up. He thought about Janus’s manipulative presence, and how he and Patton had been getting closer the past few months. He thought about his snake-like smile when he had first given him the task of tracking down the assassin. 

“Those math equations weren’t for the conclave, I know that for sure.”

Logan shook off the unease. It wasn’t like him to hesitate because of his emotions. It would be easier and more efficient if Patton came along to help with their to-do list for today.

"Alright," he said. "Just…promise me you won’t beat yourself up over the deal you made with Janus. He’s not someone I trust entirely."

Patton's face lit up with a smile. "I promise. Thank you, Logan."

Logan nodded, pushing his chair in. "We'll leave now. After all, we still need to pick out our disguises for a festival.”

The heat was crisp and sweltering, the sun beating down on the passersby. Logan and Patton, however, were shielded by their Scythe robes—Logan’s dark blue and Patton’s lighter cerulean. The streets were bustling with vendors and tourists, but Logan pushed past the colourful stalls and fabrics hanging above them from wires to get to the clothing shop. He looked behind him only to find Patton stopping every second to see a new artifact. Right now, he was touching a sparkling necklace.

“Logan, look at all of this! It’s beautiful here, the energy, the colours…” he breathed in the scent of grilled meat cooking in the distance. “All of this for the festival?”

Logan couldn’t help it. “Yes, and no. ChileArgentine uses a blend of different cultures, so they’re a highly populated tourist attraction with a lot of entertainment. They’re known for their festivals especially, because of the Southern Sun Festival having roots with the Mapuche and other native groups.” 

Through all of this, Patton genuinely seemed to listen to him, his eyes alight with wonder. “That’s amazing! How do you know so much about this place?”

“I know a lot about every region, it never hurts to have more knowledge,” he said, but then added, “And my father’s from ChileArgentine. He used to tell me stories about the new dances he learned or new food he tried.”

Scythes rarely talked about their families after joining the Scythedom. They were supposed to be their new family, and it was difficult to come back to a birth family after seeing so much pain and gleaning innocent people. Logan’s last visit to his family was more than two years ago. He found that he could barely remember their voices, but it didn’t quite bother him.

He shook his head and motioned for Patton to follow him. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

“How can we be late for buying costumes?” He laughed, but ran after him, matching his brisk pace. “Is there a time limit for the stall or—”

They turned a corner, and Patton stopped in his tracks. Logan’s demeanour shifted. There were two men, one of them buying a poncho from the other. They were smiling, conversing about the weather, maybe about their plans for the festival tomorrow. The seller had black hair and a beard, while the buyer was older, balding, but healthy all the same. Logan knew their names. He knew their families. He heard Patton swallow beside him. 

“Are those—”

Logan didn’t let him finish his sentence. He walked up to the man buying the poncho, and his face dropped, fear etched in his wrinkled face immediately. Diego Vargas. That was his name. He had searched it up the day prior.

In the blink of an eye, he drew his blade and stabbed him right in the chest. He swept his robe in the air, waving in the wind as the man’s body slumped to the ground. The dark blue speckles on his cloak matched the vibrant jewelry on market stands beside them, and promptly covered the scene with spectacle. No one saw the real horror underneath. He sheathed his blade when the job was done, and turned to Patton. 

He was horrified, his face pale. “What did you—”

Logan knew this would be his reaction. He wasn’t used to how quickly he gleaned. There was no sobbing, no last words, no pleading. The way all Scythes should glean.

“Patton,” he said quietly, as he looked at the seller—Alejandro Sullivan. He had a daughter and a wife. He made the ponchos from scratch because he had a knack for knitting. “ Scythe Patton. Come here.”

He snapped out of it, but his gaze was filled with guilt as he walked towards Logan. Alejandro was shaking, crouched behind his stall, unable to speak. Logan retrieved a small device from his coat— a heart attack simulator. He handed it to Patton, whose features shifted into understanding. 

“A peaceful way to go,” Patton whispered, gripping it tighter than he should have. He closed his eyes. 

“His name is Alejandro Sullivan,” Logan said, knowing how Patton connected with the people he gleaned before it was done. “I’ll let you do it yourself.” 

He backed away and watched.

Patton went behind the stall, helping the man stand up by taking his hand. His eyes were teary, but he took a deep breath before speaking. “Alejandro, right?”

The man nodded, trembling in his grip. “Please, I have children. I can’t—I’m not ready to—”

“I’m so sorry. I promise they’ll be looked after, I’ll do it myself if I have to,” he said, and his voice was so genuine, so empathetic, that Alejandro relaxed slightly. “This will be painless, and I’ll give your kids everything they could have ever wanted.”

Patton took the device and placed it on his chest, slowing the man’s breathing. “What would they want?”

Alejandro’s eyes flickered with the hint of a smile. “My daughter, Esperanza, always wanted a pony. We told her that it would be a dirty job and that she’d be covered in mud every single day. She didn’t care. I—I never got her that pony.”

Patton knelt beside him. “I’ll give her a pony, the best breed in the world. What about you? Tell me about your favourite things,” he said softly. “What do you love most in this world?”

Alejandro looked up at the sky, his heart rate slowing. “More than anything in the world? The smell of fresh-baked bread. How I love waking up in the morning to my wife’s bread, sharing breakfast with just one scoop of butter on my toast, and three scoops of jelly on my daughter’s.”

He closed his eyes, smiling. His face was relaxed, his breathing shallow.

“I pray there’s bread and ponies wherever you go next,” Patton whispered so softly, that Logan wasn’t sure he said it. 

He pressed the button. 

His body went limp. 

Alejandro died with that smile still on his lips, dreaming of freshly baked bread. Logan stood, feeling a strange mix of emotions. He looked at Patton, who was still kneeling beside the now-lifeless body, tears streaming down his face. He felt strange, as if he was floating outside of his own body. Logan swore to never let himself feel for any gleaning he’d done, or it would tear him apart. But seeing this…seeing Patton’s compassion, made him question everything. 

He felt a familiar, uncomfortable sensation creeping up on him— the bugging feeling that he would never truly understand empathy the way Patton did. Just as the thought took hold, Patton stood and wrapped his arms around Logan in a tight hug.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice choked up with emotion. “For helping me, For helping him.”

Logan stood still for a moment, then slowly returned the hug, burying his face in his neck. They stood like that for a long time. Two Scythes, embracing in the middle of a market, safe in each other’s arms. They had a job to do, and responsibilities to uphold, but for now, right now, Logan just wanted to be held. 

Chapter Text

Things were different between Roman and Lucifer ever since that night.

They sped down the country road, music blaring from the car radio. Remus belted out a mortal-age song by Lady Gaga, pumping his fist in the air with glee. They didn’t speak about their fight. Roman wanted to talk to him, but every time he tried, it was shut down with one of Remus’s obscene jokes or distractions. He gave up eventually. It was clear there were still issues to be worked through, but not for today. Today, they were on their way to ChileArgentine.

“C’mon Ro, I know you wanna sing!” he yelled, smacking Roman’s arm.

He shoved him back with a grin, keeping his hands on the steering wheel. If they weren’t Scythes, the Thunderhead would have been controlling the car, driving them automatically. But no contact with the Thunderhead meant strictly no contact, and so Roman was stuck being the manual driver.

“Of course I do!” He cleared his throat more dramatically than he needed to and started singing. “Whoa, oh, oh, I'll get him hot, show him what I've got!”

Lucifer was behind them, covering his ears with his black cloak, but a hint of a smile flickered across his face. “You guys cannot physically keep quiet for one minute, can you?”

“Physically? Oh, I can be real physical , but never quiet, Cifer!” Remus whooped, which only made him groan and turn away.

Roman caught his eye in the mirror, and to his delight, Lucifer blushed and pulled his cloak over his face in embarrassment. The change in his behaviour towards them was an unexpected one…but he found that he quite liked it. He had even trusted their servants with Marc, his spider, before they left. Remus was fascinated by the arachnid, and tried to pick it up, only for it to snap at his fingers. 

Remus didn’t see Lucifer’s blush, too busy squishing his face against the car window to watch the tumbleweeds roll by. He redirected his attention to the road, pushing down on the gas to speed up.

“We’re nearly at our hotel!” Roman announced, and Remus snickered.

“D’ya think we have time to go into town, see the views, meet the people?” Remus’s lewd eyebrow waggle resulted in Roman smacking him on the shoulder.

“No sex during our justice mission, Remus.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes, “For a moment I thought he was talking about gleaning them, but for you, it’s either one or the other, huh?”

Remus clutched a hand to his heart, and for a brief moment, he thought he was hurt, but then he swivelled around to Lucifer, pouting. “Aww Cifer, you tickle me.”

“Don’t call me Cifer.”

“Then tell me your real name, Cifer .”

“Why would I? All you care about is violence and sex.”

“You oughta try getting the second sometime and not just the first.”

Roman opened his mouth, but Remus interrupted with a cackle, “I don’t think you ever have! Unless you and Jan were a thing. Ha! Could you imagine?”

Lucifer went quiet, and Roman was about to make a joke about his angry brooding face when something struck him differently. Remus had said Janus kept a picture of him. The only thing that saved his life was saying Janus’s name back when Lucifer was about to kill him. There was history there…and he had to admit, he was curious.

“So, what was the deal between you and the High Blade?” he asked, catching his eye once again in the mirror.

“It’s complicated,” Lucifer said, taking a deep breath. “We…we used to be friends.”

Roman waited for an elaboration, but that was it. Lucifer quieted, tracing something invisible on the window. I’ll take what I can get. He thought and continued to drive. Remus looked like he was going to push for more, so he dialled up the radio.

“Friends, huh? A guy can spot exes anywhere, you definitely weren’t just frie—oh, is that Madonna?” Remus perked up when he heard the radio, belting it almost immediately.

“Let your body move to the music!” he sang, posing for each beat, and Roman struck the next pose, both of them terribly offkey but wonderfully loud.

“Oh my god, shut up!” Lucifer groaned again, covering his ears, but the third time Roman caught his eye, he spotted a crinkle of laughter in those gray eyes of his, and his heart skipped a beat.

“Never, sunshine!” Roman yelled, continuing to dance with one hand on the steering wheel.

Maybe the great Scythe Lucifer would never share his thoughts, his story, or even his name with them, but seeing him smile for the first time was worth it.

They pulled up to the hotel in ChileArgentine, the sun setting and casting a golden glow over the quaint building. The moment Roman jumped out of the car, he felt it. The air was alive . He heard the hum of tourists, plucking guitar strings, and the scent of pineapple. He inhaled the fresh breeze and walked into their hotel. Lucifer and Remus trailed behind him, Lucifer’s cloak swapped for a purple sweater, to not cause suspicion. He was still a wanted criminal, after all.

“Name?” The lobby receptionist asked when she heard the automatic doors open, scribbling a note on her pad.

Now, Roman wasn’t one to use his title for special favours (okay, maybe a tiny bit, sometimes, for his ego) but he had forgotten to book a reservation for their hotel, and so, it was a proper time to use his Scythe privileges.

“Ma’am, I believe we don’t need that kind of reservation if you know who we are,” Roman cleared his throat, placing one hand on his hip, and leaning on the desk. Behind him, he heard Lucifer slap his forehead in exasperation.

Still, the woman did not look up. “Name?”

“Ahem, I said —”

“We’re the Creativitwins, bitch!” Remus shoved him aside, slamming his hands on the woman’s desk.

Startled, she looked up and her face went pale. “Oh! Of—of course, you don’t need a reservation. I’m so sorry, your Honours, I wasn’t thinking.”

She frantically started typing on her computer to find an empty room. Remus grinned at Roman and they high-fived. Lucifer was gaping at them.

“What is wrong with you two?” He whispered harshly, pulling them both farther from her. “We were supposed to lay low, not announce our presence! What if the Orange Scythe’s in the hotel?”

“Then we’ll deal with it when we get to it!” Roman shrugged, and Remus nodded excitedly.

“Better chance for us to fight the bastard face to face, y’know?”

“I—”

“There’s one room left—there’s one twin bed and one king-sized bed, is that alright?” She asked, still trembling as if she was going to get gleaned for her ignorance. Remus probably would have, and so Roman silently thanked Lucifer for creating their deal.

“That’s perfect, thank you.” Roman grabbed the keys, shooting the lady a charming smile. Despite herself, she still blushed, clearing her throat.

“Are you two—erm, three , here for the Southern Sun Festival tomorrow?”

“The—oh my god, the Southern Sun Festival. It’s this weekend?” Roman gasped, the puzzle pieces clicking together in his mind. Understanding dawned on all of them as they looked at each other.

“Yes, thousands of people will be there! There’s going to be music, dancing, and food. I’ll be there too. You’ve gotta try out the chicken kebabs, they’re wonderful when they’re just a little bit burned.”

Roman pulse raced with the thought of the Orange Scythe standing atop the buildings, dropping a bomb, and setting fire to a festival filled with joy. It would kill thousands— and their bodies would never be revivable. They would be burned to ashes.

“Right, burned.” He swallowed his fear, nodding goodbye to the receptionist. “I’ll see you there.”

They trudged up the stairs in silence. The moment they entered the privacy of their room, Remus threw himself on the king-sized bed, planting his face on the pillows.

“Ah man, the Orange Scythe is going to attack the festival, aren’t they?” he said, his voice muffled.

“It’s the perfect opportunity to kill a large number of people in one place.” Lucifer pulled up a hologram, swiping through pictures of the Southern Sun Festival. His brow was creased in worry, the dark bags beneath his eyes more defined than usual. “God, this could be a disaster.”

“Why isn’t the Thunderhead on this?” Roman questioned, sitting down beside his brother on the large bed. “It wouldn’t have missed a coincidence as big as this, and the Orange Scythe isn’t a real Scythe, it should be allowed to interfere—”

“Unless that bastard has the Thunderhead working for it,” Remus completed, rolling over onto his back in defeat.

“Come on, it wouldn’t!” Roman laughed nervously. “It’s been protecting humanity for ages, I don’t think it would’ve been taken down by a civilian in an orange cloak—”

“In all its spectacle and glory, the Thunderhead is still just an AI. It can be hacked, it can be broken, and it can be corrupted, just like the Scythedom.” Lucifer said, staring out the window. “Think about it, Orange has been killing innocents for weeks, and the Thunderhead has done nothing. That's not a coincidence; it’s not on our side anymore. So it’s up to us.”

“Geez, way to set the stakes up high,” Remus mumbled, but Roman knew Lucifer was right. He had put too much trust into the Thunderhead because it couldn’t make mistakes. It was virtually a god—but if it hadn’t caught the murderer by now, something was wrong. That was intentional.

Well, that wasn’t ideal.

“Wait!” Roman perked up, another realization striking him. This time, a slow smile stretched over his face. “We’re going to a party. We’re gonna need to blend in.”

Remus rose from the bed as well, any hint of frustration on his face erased with glee. “We’re gonna need costumes .”

Lucifer sighed, his eyes narrowing. “We’ll get those disguises tomorrow. The festival isn’t till the afternoon.”

Roman could deal with that. He didn’t want to dwell on the potential deaths, the high stakes, or the Thunderhead. Remus complained about his marketplace fun being delayed, but Lucifer silenced him with another glare, which made Roman laugh. Maybe their little team could still work out.

It was late, the moon peeking through the clouds as the sky turned a starry navy blue. As Roman prepared for bed, he realized he had never asked which bed Lucifer preferred. He approached him in the closet room, where Lucifer was folding his sweater onto a hanger.

“Hey, um,” Roman scratched his head, not sure how to approach the question, which was strange. He always knew how to talk. “Which bed would you like? I know there’s two, but if you want the big one, we could set up a barrier or something—”

“I’ll take the small bed. I’m used to fitting in tight spaces.”

Roman chuckled. “Remus would’ve turned that into a joke.”

He expected Lucifer to roll his eyes, but instead, he snorted, closing the closet door. “Of course, he would. But he also thinks I can’t get laid, so it would’ve contradicted his earlier statement.”

Roman winced at the reminder of their awkward car conversation. “Yeah, about that—I didn’t mean to pry about the whole Janus situation, you don’t have to share anything about yourself with us. We know you despise us.”

Lucifer pushed past him to get to the main room, a small smirk on his face.  “Like I said at that party, you’re not all bad . Just…a little too excessive.”

“It’s in our nature!” Roman grinned, his arm raised in the air like he was about to deliver a monologue.

“Shut up—” When Lucifer turned his gaze to the beds, his voice trailed off, halting in his steps.

Remus was sprawled across the twin bed, snoring heavily with his arm draped over the headrest. The blanket was tangled around his chest, and at least three pillows lay scattered on the floor. Roman gaped at his brother’s position, then at Lucifer’s horrified expression.

“Your dumbass brother,” he mumbled, looking at the only option for them to rest. The king-sized bed. “I thought he liked this bed.”

“Remus does whatever he wants,” Roman sighed, his face flushing with the thought of sleeping beside Lucifer. “I could always push him off and tell him to sleep there. Splash some water on his face.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m not a child. I can survive sleeping next to someone for one night,” he said firmly, touching the covers. “Unless you can’t?”

Roman swallowed, shaking his head a little too quickly. “No, I’m fine! Perfect, even! Perfectly —perfectly dandy about that arrangement!”

Too much. Way too much.

“I’m, uh, perfectly dandy with this too?” Lucifer said with a small smile playing on his lips.

Roman jumped into bed, pulling the blanket up to his chin and settling down. His heart stuttered when Lucifer laid down beside him, even as he turned away. He could feel the weight of him on his right, so close, yet so far.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, until Roman shifted, one leg escaping the blanket. He sighed, staring at the ceiling.

“You know, this travelling thing isn’t all bad. I know we’re here for noble purposes, saving the world and all that, but I wouldn’t mind doing this more often.”

“Gleaning in other regions, not just MidMerica, huh? Want to spread the Creativitwin propaganda?” Lucifer’s words stung, and Roman winced.

“No, no, not even for gleaning. Just—” He blew out a frustrated breath. “Exploring. I guess. I feel like I’ve been pampered my entire life, staying in that mansion with Remus. I’m stuck.”

Lucifer was quiet, and Roman began to think he had fallen asleep. But then he spoke, “I’ve never stayed in one place for more than a week. The longest I stayed was with Thomas.” Roman closed his eyes in grief at the mention of the name. “Look, I understand the need to keep moving, to leave before you start to care. No strings attached means fewer chances of getting choked by them, right?”

“No, hey, that’s not true! Exploring should be done with the people you love, people you care about. I know if I wanted to travel, I’d bring Remus along. Without those connections…it isn’t really travelling is it? It’s running away.”

Lucifer tensed beside him, looking away. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“No,” he gazed at him, his voice apologetic. “But I’d like to.”

He could almost hear Lucifer pause, the tension stark. Finally, he turned back, looking at Roman, his eyes a little softer around the edges.

“Night Roman,” he murmured, before looking away.

“Goodnight, Lucifer,” he sighed, and after a few moments, he turned away too, closing his eyes. He needed to give this up. Just as he was about to drift off, he heard Lucifer’s voice.

“My name’s Virgil.”

He whispered it so softly, that Roman was unsure if he imagined it. He rolled his body to face Lucifer, and his breath caught as he turned around too, so they were both facing each other. If he moved closer, their hands would intertwine. Roman didn’t dare blink.

“Virgil?”

Lucifer quieted. “Yeah. Don’t wear it out.”

A beat.

“Now you can tell Remus to stop calling me Cifer,” he said with a small smile, and Roman laughed.

Lucifer— Virgil’s— eyes lit up when he did so, and he thought that was just the most wonderful thing. “Alright, I will. Thank you…for trusting us with that. Virgil.”

“Yeah, yeah okay,” he blushed, turning away from Roman again. “We should go to sleep—got a long day ahead of us.”

“Filled with costume shopping!”

Virgil laughed, a sound that made his heart flutter and his breath catch. “You better not go overboard tomorrow.”

Roman did go overboard.

It was hard not to, with the array of beautiful jewelry and fabrics that surrounded the market. Roman grabbed every gold accessory he could find—and the sellers were happy to give him the clothes for free. After one or two death glares from Virgil, he stopped taking the costumes for free and paid them back. Roman was appalled with how little Virgil had bought, and grabbed some silver fabrics, sparkling eyeshadow, and a necklace, throwing it at him before he could protest.

A couple hours later, he and Virgil were in the suite, getting ready for the festival. Remus was still out in the market, buying some last-minute items. Virgil was hesitant to leave him alone.

“What if you glean someone because I can’t stop you?”

Remus shrugged, “If you hear a crowd of people screaming, then that will be your indication, right Virgin?”

Ever since Remus found out his name, he cracked up and started using that as his brand-new nickname. Roman tried to apologize, but Virgil was only slightly annoyed, not murderous. It was a start.

“What he means is—” Roman glared at his brother. “He won’t glean anyone.”

“I know, but if I did, you would definitely hear it! I like to make my victims scream —”

Roman dragged Virgil away before he could say more. Now, as he slipped on his shirt and buttoned it in preparation for the festival, he ran a hand through his curly hair, checking for any blemishes on his tan skin.

“You almost done, Virge? I need the mirror.”

“And here I thought telling you my name meant there would be no more nicknames,” his voice echoed from behind the bathroom door. “Don’t get me started about Remus.”

Roman smiled, clasping a gold necklace onto his outfit. “C’mon sunshine, don’t squash my creative spirit!”

He was wearing a silky white shirt from the Medieval era, a red tailored jacket draped on top of it. His gray breeches matched his brown high-knee boots, and the gold necklace brought out some glamour in the look. And for the last touch…Roman carefully picked up a sparkling golden crown and placed it on his head. It was small, merely the size of a flower crown, but he adored it. It made him feel like a prince. Roman walked over to the bathroom door, knocking on it.

“If you’re going to take a long time, at least show me what the wait was for!” He called, only for Virgil to respond with a few choice curse words.

Thankfully, the main door opened, and Remus barged in with his outfit.

“I’m back !”

Roman gasped. It was worth the wait.

Remus’s tunic was made of deep forest-green velvet, embroidered with spots of gold. It flared out at the hips, flowing like a miniskirt, but loosely cinched with a gold buckle. Over it, he wore a jacket with hundreds of different patterns stitched into its fabric. There was black fur, purple stripes, yellow spots, and even a deep blue spiral down the back. Somehow, Remus rocked it. His deep brown breeches were tucked into leather boots, and he had also gone with the gold, a long necklace dangling down his shirt.

As he waggled his fingers at Roman, he realized he also had gloves—soft brown leather with gold rings on his fingers. There was a ring with a dagger perched on it, which made him raise his eyebrows.

“Virgil’s not gonna like that.”

“Where is that gloomy guy anyway? We’re gonna be late!” Remus peered into the bedroom.

Before Roman could speak, the door opened and Virgil stepped out.

His words died in his throat. He was wearing a tunic made of fine black fabric, embroidered with silver swirling patterns along the edges and down the sleeves. Over it, was a dark purple necklace of a crescent moon, one that Roman had grabbed for Virgil at the last second. His pants were tucked into knee-high leather boots with stunning silver buckles that matched the belt around his waist. He looked like a knight. However, his gaze was drawn to Virgil’s eyes . He had light purple eyeshadow under his eyes, covering up his dark circles and sparkling like stardust.

“Wow,” Roman breathed.

Virgil blushed, his cheeks turning a soft pink. “Thanks,” he mumbled, fiddling with his sleeve.  “We’re just here to blend in, not play dress up.”

Remus whistled, “I could argue with that. You look… delicious , Virge, let me get a piece of that, y’know?”

“In your dreams,” he gave him the finger. “Also, I saw that dagger ring and your mace. You should bring those along in case of a fight.”

Remus stared at him in shock, but without missing a beat, extracted his mace from his jacket. “You know what, you’re getting more likable by the second.”

Roman couldn’t help but snort, patting his brother on the back. “Okay, there’ll be more civilians for you to flirt with at the festival.”

Then, they were off. Roman couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement. The Southern Sun Festival was bound to be a fun time before the Orange Scythe made their move, and if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was have a good time at parties.

The festival buzzed with energy, music, and chatter. Roman felt alive as he twirled through the crowd, dancing with strangers and singing along to music he barely knew. Amidst the liveliness, he spotted Remus hopping from stand to stand, a whirlwind of energy as he devoured every food sample in sight. The streets were covered with confetti and people, all bathing in the joy of the afternoon sun. One person wasn’t having as much of a good time, and that was Virgil, who was constantly scanning the street and the rooftops for suspicious activity.

“Virgil! Dance with me!” Roman yelled over the music, pulling him into the street.

He was already shaking his head. “I have to keep a lookout—”

“C’mon, it’s been ten minutes, they’re not gonna make their move now!” he said, spinning him into the dance.

Virgil sighed dramatically but allowed himself to be pulled into the street. “Fine, but just for a minute.”

Roman beamed. “That’s the spirit, sunshine! Now, follow my lead.”

Virgil stumbled slightly, clearly out of his element, but Roman guided him swiftly, the dance a mix of the cueca and the tango . He spun him around, the music keeping them in rhythm as they danced around each other, their feet chasing after one another.

“You know, you’re not half bad at this,” Roman teased, dipping him low to the ground.

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” Virgil retorted, his eyes still flickering to the rooftops. “I’m not the dancing type.”

“I can tell. Have you ever enjoyed yourself, or relaxed in the past…I don’t know, a few years? You need to loosen up, and take yourself less seriously!”

“Easy for you to say, Twinkle Toes. Some of us have to stay vigilant.”

“Ha, virgilant ,” he said, a crooked smile on his face, which made Virgil smack his jacket. “I’ll use that from now on.”

They continued dancing for a while longer, and Roman was surprised with how smooth Virgil was, his movements quick and precise. He caught Roman off guard and ended up dipping him instead, his face dangerously close to his. 

“You know, you’re kind of fun when you’re not brooding,” Roman caught his breath.

“Don’t push it,” Virgil replied, and lifted him off the ground, spinning him to their next position.

Just then, Virgil’s eyes caught something on the rooftop. His expression shifted instantly from relaxed to alert.

“Roman, we need to split up,” Virgil said, pulling away from the dance. “I think I saw something.”

Roman’s smile faded, replaced by a look of concern. “Alright. Be careful, okay?”

Virgil nodded, already slipping back into the shadows. “Don’t get too distracted out here. That’s what they want, to make it easier to attack.”

Roman watched as Virgil moved towards the edge of the crowd, the hint of his smile and freedom replaced with, well, vigilance. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret, but someone extended their hand out to him. He took it, getting back onto the dance floor.

However, his exhilaration was interrupted when a firm hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him aside. He turned to find himself face-to-face with Scythe Logan.

“Shit.”

He hadn’t seen him since the last conclave. But he recognized him instantly, even in a new outfit. He took a moment to take it in, almost laughing at how fancy he looked, while still being out-of-place. He sported a crisp, black dress shirt with a matching blue-and-black striped tie attached to it. Over his collared shirt, he wore a navy blue jacket with silver cufflinks. His closely-cropped dark hair was slicked back. Even his glasses looked elegant.

“Scythe Roman. What are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice low but urgent.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Roman shot back, pulling Logan's hand off his shoulder. “We’re here for the festival, just like everyone else.”

“Do not play dumb with me. I know you’re not here just for the…festivities,” Logan said, glancing around, unnerved as a dancing couple bumped into them. “Is Remus with you?”

Roman hesitated, looking around. “Yes, of course, he is. Why are you here, Logan? Aren’t you supposed to be at the Capitol, sucking up to the High Blade?”

Logan narrowed his eyes. “I’m not his servant.”

“He sure treats you like one.”

Roman may not be the High Blade's best friend, but he knew all about the gossip from Remus— the hierarchy, how his old acquaintances were doing, and of course, Logan. He was the topic of many conversations, after all, Roman and Logan had been competing rivals during their time as apprentices, and he never got over their feud, even now. They were too different to see eye-to-eye.

“It’s a mission that must stay secret,” Logan said, and he kept looking past Roman as if he was waiting for someone.

“Who are you with?”

“Scythe Patton,” he cleared his throat. “He’s gotten too caught up in the dancing.”

Roman suspected so, but he did wish to see the cheerful Scythe again. They all had the same training, but he found he liked Logan’s extremely different friend more than he liked him. Then, Logan got back to business.

“Now, I must know what you are doing here, because this could get dangerous fast, and you might need to evacuate the premises.”

Roman’s eyebrows shot up. “I know. Because this is where the Orange Scythe will attack next.”

Logan stopped his search and looked directly at him, looking genuinely surprised. “Yes. Is that why you two are here?”

“We need to stop that assassin before more people get hurt,” Roman said firmly, and Logan studied him.

“That’s unlike you. Last time I checked, you were gleaning in the least conventional ways, following Goddard’s lead and his thinking.”

“Well, common goals can bring different people together.” He chuckled. “I should know, Scythe Lucifer is working with me.”

Logan’s features shifted into shock. Roman cringed, wishing he could take back his words.

“What do you mean you’re partnered with Lucifer—”

Before Roman could respond, a scream pierced the air, followed by the sound of crackling flames. The music was abruptly cut off as panic spread through the crowd. People were running in all directions, the panic spreading faster than a wildfire. The flames kept spreading, catching onto market stalls and instruments.

“Holy shit, what’s going on?” Remus crashed into them, eyes widening as he saw Logan.

There was no time for reintroductions though; not as the wave of people threatened to trample them. Roman’s heart pounded as he searched the area. Where was Virgil?

“They’re here,” Logan said, his eyes flicking from one rooftop to the next. He drew his weapon, a special stun gun.

He spotted a flash of saffron amid the chaos, pushing past the panicked crowd. He pointed and shouted, “Over there!”

Remus dashed toward them, drawing his mace and hurling it at the cloaked figure. The mace struck, making them stumble and slow, but they didn’t fall. Instead, they quickly vanished behind a clothing rack.

“Go!” Remus yelled, “I’ll handle it down here and find Virgil!”

Roman and Logan looked at each other, exchanging one determined nod before sprinting off after the Orange Scythe. They may have had their differences, but there was one thing they both needed. Closure.

The chase was on.

Chapter Text

The chaos was instantaneous . 

Patton had been enjoying a chicken kebab, dancing with the crowd. His loose, white linen shirt billowed as he spun, its wide sleeves flowing like wings. Laughter mixed with the music, and the air was thick with the scents of spices and sweets.

Then, the explosion hit, a deafening roar that threw him off balance and left the world in ruins.

Flames erupted around him, and the screams of the burning filled the air. People scattered, trampling the wounded beneath their feet as the mobs fought to escape. ⁤⁤Panicked, Patton ran, eyes darting from one horrifying sight to another. He could hardly breathe, the smoke and heat choking him as he stumbled through the chaos.

A scream pierced the air, sharp and desperate. Patton turned and saw a woman. A woman, no—half a woman. Her face was half-consumed by fire, her eyes wide with terror and agony. Flames licked hungrily at her flesh, melting her skin. She screamed again, clawing at her face with her spindly fingers, gore digging under her nails as she fell to the ground.

For a millisecond, he was paralyzed. Then instinct took over. He ripped the heart attack simulator from his belt, his hands shaking as he pressed it to her chest and pushed. A jolt and she was gone, her screams dying in her throat.  His vision blurred, the surroundings morphing around him as Patton stared at the motionless—dead—woman before him. It was a kindness, he repeated, his hands dangling uselessly at his sides. Was it? 

A bitter taste rose in his throat. Her blood dripped on his hands. 

Burning. Burning through his hands.  

He stumbled back, trying to escape, only to realize he was surrounded by a circle of terrified bystanders. Their eyes darted side-to-side with fear, some children gasping at the sight of a Scythe, the mothers with their hands covering their mouths in horror, the men bowing with their faces pressed to the dirt. 

“No—no please,” Patton’s voice trembled, reaching towards them. “No. It’s okay.”  But they backed away, their fear deepening.

Another explosion set off in the distance, the ground shaking beneath his feet. More cries, more chaos. The crowd dispersed like doves taking flight.

“Logan? Logan, where are you?” Patton’s voice cracked as he shouted, turning to search for his friend. “What’s happening?”

He ran past the crowd before crashing into a vendor’s stall, knocking clothes over his eyes. Blinded and clumsy, he bumped into a pillar. Above him, there was a resounding crack. Patton gasped, ducking and throwing his arms over his head, but suddenly, he was yanked out of the way. The pillar crashed down, sending up a cloud of dust.

“Thank you!” he said breathlessly, brushing himself off as he faced the unfamiliar man. He wore a black tunic, dark hair, and purple eyeshadow, with an expression just as fearful as his own.

“It’s nothing,” the man seemed stressed, his words tumbling over each other in panic. “We need to stop the Orange—oh my god, wait, no!”

Before Patton could react, the man was gone, whisked away in the crowd. Patton’s gaze followed, catching a glimpse of a figure leaping above the chaos, a dagger swinging wildly in his hand. This was surreal, like something out of a nightmare.

With no other options, Patton dashed after the purple-eyed man, his heart pounding. He pushed through the clumps of panicked people, some dead, some alive. He couldn’t bear to look at them, to hear their sobs. So he plugged his ears, squeezed his eyes shut, and ran .

He crashed right into the purple-eyed man, his voice grating and low on the battlefield. Patton opened one eye hesitantly, only for his heart to drop as he saw the figure they had followed. 

“Remus?”

“Patton! What is your soft ‘do-no-harm’ ass doing in this mess?” Remus responded, wild-eyed and frenzied, his free arm (the other tightly gripped by the purple-eyed man) gesturing angrily.

“No time for introductions! We need to get out of danger first!” The purple man shouted. He grabbed his wrist and pulled them both underneath a fallen pillar. A safe shelter. As safe as they could get. 

“Okay, mind telling me how the hell you two know each other?”

“C’mon Virgil, you should know by now we were all Scythe apprentices in the same class. Patton and Logie and Ro and me!” Remus explained.

“Logan!” Patton shot up, nearly hitting his head on the pillar. “Have you seen him? Where is he—”

“Where’s Roman?” The purple-eyed man—Virgil—demanded, and Remus grimaced, pointing to the rooftops. 

“They both went after Orange themselves. I gave them a head start—busted the guy’s kneecaps with my mace.” 

“What?” they both exclaimed, jaws dropped.

“Look, they got this. It was the only plan we had at the time, we couldn’t let the bastard get away again! Now we just need to regroup—”

“It’s hopeless!” Virgil interrupted, his voice shaking. “The festival is some—some fucking warzone , people are dying, Roman could be dead for all we know—”

Patton’s eyes welled up with tears. “I—I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.” 

His breaths started coming in rapid bursts, his back pressed to the pillars. Virgil clenched his fists together until they turned white.

Remus grabbed them both by the shoulders, his grip firm and grounding. “Hey, listen to me. We can’t wimp out now. If we do, this whole mission would be for nothing, you hear me? Logie and Ro are the strongest Scythes I know, they’re gonna be just fine. Plus, their egos are so big, it won’t let 'em’ die!”

Patton’s laugh was ragged, but he wiped his eyes, pushing up his glasses. 

The corner of Remus’s lip twitched. “Hey, first, we need to help as many people as we can. Right? Glean em’ if it’s too late or save them if we can.”

Virgil closed his eyes, and Patton could see how he slowed his breathing, his fist gripping his tunic. “Right. We help people first.”

Patton turned to Remus, and couldn’t help but feel a shot of pride at how he took charge perfectly. In their apprenticing years, all he did was cause trouble, pout, or pull together disgusting pranks. People did change. And now poor soft Patton is a murderer.

Remus interrupted him with a slap on the back. “That’s the spirit! Let’s move!”

They crawled out under the fallen pillar, and Remus pulled out multiple throwing stars from his pocket to clear the path.

Patton and Virgil followed closely, extinguishing fires and pulling people from the wreckage. The heat was unbearable, the smoke suffocating, but they pressed on. Patton herded more people away from the festival and to safety, his gaze straying to the rooftop. 

“Please be okay, Logan.” He prayed under his breath. “You’ve got to be okay.”

Chapter Text

I found a way to talk to it.

After years of research, I’ve finally found a way to talk to the omniscient, extraordinary being that governs our world. The Thunderhead. My breakthrough came when I stumbled upon an old, obscure piece of code buried deep within the framework, after hours of searching. It was a glitch, a small error that allowed for a temporary communication window under very specific conditions—some might call it a blind spot.   

I am, metaphorically, over the moon with this revelation. Now, finally , I can converse with a being of a higher power, of higher intelligence, and most importantly, someone who understands me. 

I know that Scythes have been prohibited from any contact with the Thunderhead for decades, but this discovery feels like a rare gift. I understand I must destroy this entry as soon as I finish writing, but I needed to express my joy somehow.

I forced the Thunderhead to not utter a word to the others, for this must remain a secret. Janus already knows of my experiments, and to know I succeeded would have consequences. Unfair consequences. He can’t have everything. 

The Thunderhead is intelligent, and kind, and it has such a unique insight on a world that is quite similar to mine. Look, I know the risks, but the potential rewards—understanding, clarity, perhaps even a path to a better future without gleaning—make it a gamble worth taking.

The Thunderhead will not ignore me.

- From the gleaning journal of Scythe Logan

One step. Another step . Logan looked at his feet as he dashed up the stairs to the rooftop, right behind Roman. The roar of the battle below seemed distant, the noise muted as Logan focused on his steps. He could hear a third set of footsteps ahead— the Orange Scythe. They were right on his heels. Bursting through the door, they emerged onto the rooftop, the sky painted with smoke and ash.

“Over there!” Logan pointed, the light reflecting off his sharp glasses, catching a glint of orange.

The assassin stood with his back against the parapet, the wind whipping his ragged cape to the side. He crouched defiantly, his hands raised. The Orange Scythe was ready for a fight. 

Before Logan could speak, Roman drew his sword, the silver blade gleaming in the light, and moved forward.

“Reveal yourself,” he said, his voice clear as he pressed the tip of his sword to the man’s throat. “This is your only warning.”

Logan followed, gripping an electric rod, standing tall. They had the assassin cornered, nowhere to run. But as they approached, the masked figure began to laugh, a jarring, crooked sound that cut through the chaos in the streets.

“Reveal yourself!” Roman shouted, tightening his grip on the sword.

The maniacal laughter continued. Logan exchanged a look with Roman before he spoke again.

Slowly, deliberately, the Orange Scythe lifted his hands to his hood. “Of course,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery.

He pulled back the hood, revealing a face covered with scars. Two hazel eyes stared back at them, framed by dark eyeliner, and his mussed brown hair streaked with dirt and sweat. He extended his arms in a shark-like grin.

“Here I am.”

“Why?” Roman demanded. “What is the point of this cruel mission? Murdering hundreds around the world for—for some personal vendetta? You’re not even a real Scythe.”

“And what gives Scythes the right to murder hundreds around the world, hm?” he spat, his facade of mockery fading. He lowered his arms, clenching them into fists. 

“You prance around with sparkly robes but you are worse than a monster. You pretend that you’re a hero. All of you! You think you deserve to choose who lives and who dies. Guess what? I can make that decision too!”

He laughed, pressing his throat into Roman’s sword. Logan watched as a drop of crimson blood slid down its clean, silvery tip. “Do you know what I was before this?”

The Orange Scythe’s eyes flashed with anger. “ Ignored . I’ve always been ignored in this world. This ‘perfect’ world you Scythes created,” his voice rose, trembling with fury. “A group of perfect Scythes murdered my family. Burned them alive in a fire.”

“That’s illegal—” Logan started.

“Oh, but nothing Scythes do is illegal! People are too scared shitless to dare to stand up and speak! To demand justice; to know what’s right," he shouted, pointing at Logan, and he fell silent. 

“When I went to the Capitol and demanded an audience, do you know what old High Blade Xenocrates said? ‘Fewer people in the world is good for business!’” His face twisted in a grimace of pain and rage. “We’re all sheep in your perfect little world.”

Roman was quiet as well, and when Logan looked at him, he detected conflict in his expression.

The Orange Scythe touched Roman’s sword, sliding his finger along it sharply. A cut opened, blood spilling from his hand onto the weapon. “So I decided to make a dent in your perfect world. Is that a crime? Because if it is, then this truly is one fucking corrupted system.” 

Logan was taken aback by the intensity of his anger, and when he looked into his eyes, he saw his own pain mirrored in them. It was silent, the air thick with tension.

Then, without warning, the Orange Scythe lunged at them, hands outstretched in a frenzy. Logan jolted, raising his electric rod instinctively and thrusting it towards him. Electricity coursed through Orange, forcing him to his knees.

Slowly, he looked up at Logan, his eyes reflecting in Logan’s glasses. A mirror to his soul.

“You may be right about some things, but you didn’t have to kill that many people to make your point,” Roman said, gesturing to the ruins below them. “You’re a monster.”

“Monsters create monsters.” He spoke like he was bored of the conversation already.

Logan knew better. The rage was still inside him, simmering; waiting. He kept his rod pointed at the kneeling man. 

“We’re bringing you back to the Capitol, and you will be punished accordingly. The Thunderhead will replace your memories, or better yet, arrange a public gleaning,” Roman spoke, and with the mention of the AI, Logan tensed.

The Orange Scythe sensed it, a smirk playing on his lips. “Oh? The Thunderhead. My old pal,” he sighed. “I really gotta thank you for helping me accomplish this. Without you, I would’ve gotten marked as unsavoury and stopped by the Thunderhead immediately. ”

Logan’s breath stuttered. “What are you talking about?”

“Someone discovered a glitch in the Thunderhead’s algorithm. It made it blind to certain events, certain places, and certain…people. Oh, it works like a charm! I tweaked it slightly, and now it bows to me . I tracked the virus to the people in the Capitol, so I knew it was one of you foolish Scythes to thank. The only thing you’re useful for, I suppose.”

Roman turned to Logan, eyes wide with realization before he lowered his sword in betrayal. “It was you.”

Logan’s world tilted. “No...wait… I just wanted to—I didn’t know,” his voice faltered, horror dawning on him. What have I done? 

His lips twisted into a cruel grin. “You are just as much of a monster as I am.”

The Orange Scythe sprang to his feet, drawing a large knife from his cape. Before Logan could react, he plunged it into Logan’s right eye.

The pain was immediate, searing, burning. Logan screamed, the world around him dissolving into a blur of red and black. He felt Roman’s arms steadying him, and heard distant shouts and the clatter of weapons, but all he could focus on was the excruciating pain and the sticky warmth of blood running down his face.

The world engulfed him in agony. He felt the ground beneath him, the liquid where his eye had been, and blood on his tongue where he had bitten it. He could barely make out Roman stabbing the blur of orange, shouting his name, cradling him as he fell.

“Logan, stay with me,” Roman’s voice broke through the haze. “Come on! We need to get help.”

He barely managed to drape his arm around Roman as he half-carried, half-limped down the stairs.

Logan’s vision, now a blurry smear of colours, spotted the destroyed stalls, the bodies unmoving, covered in ash.  The air was thick with smoke and the distinct smell of burning flesh. It was empty, the aftermath of a bloody massacre. What have I done?  

He screamed again as he held his hand over his eye—or rather, what was left of it. Roman dragged him down from the roof, his hands steady compared to Logan’s shaking body.

There was so much blood, but Logan could only focus on the words the Orange Scythe had said. They repeated in his mind, echoing, gnawing on his insides until it was all he could hear. He could hear yelling in the distance, or was it right in front of him? Arguing, yelling, someone had their hands on him and he punched them back blindly. 

“What happened?”

“Who’s this?”

“Did he get away—oh my god what did he do to him?”

Cursing, shouting, and the press of bodies surrounded him. Roman’s arms held him down as he flailed, all composure lost. He fought against the prickling, horrible sensation of being crowded by so many people.

“Logan?”

Patton . His voice broke through the haze, and Logan reached for him, a pained cry escaping him before he fell to the ground again. Was he dead? He felt like he was dying. 

The last thing he felt was Patton’s familiar hands holding him as he crashed, darkness overtaking his senses as he heard the Orange Scythe’s voice once more, pounding into his skull. Engraved.

You are just as much of a monster as I am.

Chapter Text

The spring conclave was in a week, and the Scythes had not returned.

Janus sat on his golden throne, tapping his fingers on the curved handle, his posture the picture of control. Yet the slight twitch of his brows indicated something was indeed, very wrong. He had his attention on the television, pictures of the fiery strike on the Southern Sun Festival flashing by in an instant.

“An assassin wearing an orange cloak, which was responsible for this mess, was last seen jumping over a rooftop, disappearing in the smoke,” one of the reporters spoke, gesturing behind her. “Despite the grisly scene here, most civilians were rescued by a group of Scythes dressed in formal costumes.”

More pictures flashed by, all-too-familiar faces greeting him. Civilians were being ushered away from the violence, some clutching their injuries, others staring in awe at the Scythes. Their faces were discreetly turned away from the cameras, but Janus knew who they were with a single glance. His face remained indifferent as it scoured over Patton, Remus, and Logan, but the grip on this throne tightened the second as the photos morphed into his face.

What was he doing with the others? He had been off the grid for years. What had drawn him out of hiding…and with Remus and Roman? It didn’t make sense.

His thoughts were interrupted by a clear ringing sound. He clicked his wrist, allowing the hologram to appear in front of him. Patton’s worried expression formed first, then the rest of his body, everything tinted ocean-blue in the light. He spoke immediately. 

“Janus! Thank goodness I got a hold of you. Things aren’t looking so good here,” he said nervously, assessing his surroundings—not that Janus could see what he was referring to, of course. Holograms only worked for the body or face.

“I’m assuming Orange got away. Again,” he said delicately, looking down at his ring, caressing the snake coiled around his middle finger. 

Patton winced. “Yeah, but that’s not the most pressing concern right now. There are so many casualties, Jan. I mean, the civilians are being treated at the hospitals and revival centers if their burns aren’t severe, but there’s only so much we can do. And—and Logan’s hurt.”

Janus’s face remained passive, but he stopped caressing his ring, pausing momentarily.

“How hurt? His nanites should be able to fix it in two days,” Janus said breezily, ignoring the pang in his gut. They were down a man, their researcher and logician. 

“It's been a day, Jan. His eye was fully taken out of his body; the injuries are irreversible , even with revival technology. The knife that Orange used some poison to make it disintegrate the pupil and—”

Patton stopped speaking, taking a deep breath. “We have the right part of his face bandaged, but it’s…it’s gone.”

“Let me speak to him.”

He shook his head quickly. “Logan’s unconscious; some sleeping medicine because of the surgery the ChileArgentinan doctors had to give him. I gave them both immunity, they deserved it for their help.”

This made Janus raise a brow. “I see. Patton, how is that deal you made me going? How many people have you gleaned?”

“What?”

“You must remember. You promised me you would glean four more people on your trip before the spring conclave. That deal still stands.”

“We’re staying in a last-resort safehouse, Logan’s missing an eye, and you’re concerned about the quota?” Patton yelled, his arms outstretched in exasperation.  

“It’s still important. If I am to disappoint the other High Blades of the world with bad news, I could at least have all my Scythes meet their quota to soften the blow.” It was an honest statement, and it was strange for him to admit it so truthfully to another person.     

Patton seemed to notice this too, because he lowered his arms, letting out a deep sigh. The curtains fluttered as a breeze drifted in through the window, only getting slightly ruffled by the disturbance. His skin prickled, but he turned his attention back to Patton.

“Two,” he looked down. “Alejandro Sullivan, and a woman during the attack. Her name was Lucia Delgado. I researched it after the fires because I couldn’t leave the gleaning anonymous. I needed to give her family immunity, of course.”

Janus smiled. “That’s good. You’re halfway there.”

“After this massacre, don’t you think it counts for my quota anyways? I can’t do this anymore—we don’t even know our next move!”

Janus furrowed his brow, realizing what Patton had admitted. “What do you mean by ‘we’?”

Patton fiddled with his hands, and only now did Janus realize they were caked with blood. 

“Scythe Roman and Remus are with us. They had a plan to track down the Orange Scythe as well and we ran into them at the festival. They’re a huge help, even if they’re a little…eccentric at times.  I promise we will be better if we work as a team!”

Janus remembered the other faces that had flashed on the television, captured walking together with the others, holding up Logan and limping across the ashy ground. “That’s not all who’s joined your little… quest , now is it?”

A silence.

“Scythe Lucifer’s here as well,” Patton said, his gaze cast to the ground. “His name’s—”

“Virgil,” Janus said the name like a curse, tasted it on his lips and spit it out like a bitter wine. “I know.”

Patton’s eyebrows shot up.  “How’d you know?”

“That’s not important. It seems like I have to take this matter into my own hands before it escalates.” He sighed, standing up. “You need a leader for your next move, and we must move quickly. The other High Blades expect me to have this problem under control before the spring conclave.”

“Thank you, Janus! We need you here,” he said vehemently, and Janus managed a half-smile. 

“Don’t worry, it’ll all be over soon,” he crooned, clicking off the hologram. A comforting lie in times of despair. 

Janus stepped down his dais, smoothed out his cape and allowed himself one heaving sigh. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing the broken, bloody mess his Scythes had created, as well as a face he swore to never look back on. But Patton needed him. The world needed him. And well, wasn’t that what Janus had always wanted?

He turned on his heel, his decision made. After delegating his duties to his UnderScythes (oh, how he hated that term) and packing his essentials, he set off on a journey to ChileArgentine. 

The road to ChileArgentine was smooth, one of the benefits of being the High Blade. He had a limo at his beck-and-call, cruising along the stretching road. His thoughts drifted to the inevitable confrontation with certain people once he crossed to the other region. He stared out the window, preparing himself. He would have a passive, steel expression, no matter how furious Virgil would be. He would turn the conversation to the mission at hand, stopping a rogue assassin.

What happened when the rogue assassin was him?

Janus shifted in his seat, and the thought subsided. He looked ahead of him and demanded the music be switched to an old classical piece. His UnderScythe fumbled before pressing the correct button, and he rolled his eyes. Sometimes, he did wish the Thunderhead was allowed some basic contact with Scythes. Then, the limo would be driven by it, and he wouldn’t have a bumbling servant as a chauffeur.

He arrived at the safehouse after another hour, and he brushed off his robes, walking to the door. Janus knocked twice. Patton opened the door and positively beamed at the sight of him.

“Jan! You came!” He crushed him into a hug, and Janus, being quite prepared for this reaction, nodded.

“Of course. You called.” He wrapped his arms around his friend before pulling away. “Where are the others?”

Patton’s face fell, his relief replaced with gloom immediately. “Logan’s resting in the bedroom, and the others are around the couch. We’re trying to plan for where Orange could have gone next.”

Janus began to walk in the hallway, his hands behind his back. “Do they know I’m here?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Not…exactly. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to know we have the High Blade on our side, though!”

If you only knew, he thought, turning the corner into the living room. He scanned the room in a flash, but only the twins sat hunched over on the couch. There was no sharp nose and dark eyes lurking, waiting for him. At least, not yet. 

Patton cleared his throat, getting the twins’ attention.

Roman shot to his feet first, his green eyes alight with admiration. He put his hands behind his back to match Janus, then put one in front of his body, switching again in a moment of panic, before bowing deeply. 

“Your Honour! My god, I didn’t expect to see you. It's a surprise—a wonderful one, of course!” He stumbled over his words, trying to sound confident.

Janus maintained his composure, although he allowed himself a smirk before nodding. “It's a pleasure to see you as well, Roman. ”

He's so easy to control, Janus thought, but not maliciously. Look at him — he had practically keeled over at his compliment. It was as if he was a puppy waiting for a command. A puppet on a string.

“Jan, my good ol’ snake bro!” Remus popped up, his grin prominent on his dirt-streaked face. “We’re dying out here, our plan went to hell. Think you can get us out of this mess?”

“I’ll try, Remus,” he responded with a small smile. He had forgotten how different their personalities were and wondered why he had been close with Remus, rather than the goal-oriented, popular Roman back in their apprenticing years. 

But then, a figure emerged from the shadows, freezing in the doorway at the sight of him.

Janus’s face morphed into his practiced one in the limo. Neutral and controlled, so they would never be able to know what he was thinking. The room went silent, the air thick with tension.

“Virgil,” Janus greeted, his voice steady but cold. “Or should I say, Scythe Lucifer? It’s been a while.”

“What are you doing here?” Virgil asked, each word said through clenched teeth.

“I’m here to carry out the mission all four of you failed to do. Stop a rogue assassin from hurting more civilians and causing worldwide chaos. The Orange Scythe is my responsibility, so it was only right that I come to help you.”

“Oh, now you care about responsibility and doing what’s right?” 

“What I find interesting is why you are here, Lucifer, ” he turned on him, his eyes flashing with a hint of spite. “I thought an assassin who despises Scythes was right up your alley. Shouldn’t you be helping him as part of your black reign of terror?”

“Oh you’re such a—”

“Okay!” Patton interrupted apprehensively. “Why don’t I show you to Logan? He’s resting, but the medicine should be wearing off now.”

Janus nodded, following Patton down the hallway, leaving the others behind. He didn’t miss Roman and Remus exchanging knowing glances at Virgil in his peripheral vision.

As they reached the bedroom, Patton quietly opened the door. Logan lay on the bed, his face pale and a bandage wrapped around his injured eye. A glowing blue machine hovered over him, stitching the fragmented skin together. He stirred slightly at the sound of the door, his remaining eye opening to see Janus standing at his side.

“Ah, Your Honour,” Logan’s voice was weak, but there was still a hint of sarcasm to his voice. “You’ve come to help?”

Janus approached the bedside, keeping a respectful distance. “I have. It’s going to be alright. Now, are you?”

“My skin is nearly fully healed, but my eye wasn’t so lucky,” he said it so calmly, but Janus saw through his lies. He was mourning the loss of his vision. “There is an empty socket where my eye should be now…Remus suggested an eyepatch, but I’m not so sure.”

“I think it’d look cool! A rugged pirate Scythe could give Orange a scare,” Patton giggled, an obvious attempt to make him feel better, but Logan softened. 

“Perhaps. Those are trivial matters right now.”

Janus looked between them, his heart tightening at their obvious affection. He cleared his throat, asking Logan the question he had been wondering since he saw the news. “How did he manage to attack you like this, Scythe Logan? You’re one of the best logicians we have, surely you would have seen something like this coming.”

Logan’s expression darkened, and he looked down. “It was a small moment of weakness, and I let down my guard. It won’t happen again.”

Patton placed his hand on his shoulder, and Janus shook his head. He was lying, again. He could understand brushing over past regrets though, and so he moved on.

Janus took a deep breath, already devising multiple plans in his head. “Well, the past can wait. Trivial matters, as you said. We need a plan first, and for that, we need a team.” 

Chapter Text

It’s Virgil, obviously. I’m writing in your journal because you brought it along in your coat, and now you're asleep beside me on the Capitol rooftop. Look, I know this is technically only for recording gleanings or data, so Jan, if you’re reading this, please throw it out and never look at me again because I will die of humiliation. I just…need to get my feelings out there. Yeah, this is the story of when you first kissed me, underneath the serpentine tree.

So, it’s one of those rare, perfect days. The sky is gray and slightly foggy, like it’s about to rain. The markets aren’t crowded, and I know it sounds silly, but I feel like anything is possible.

You’re leaning against a fruit stand, and when you see me coming, you smile. You toss me a green apple and immediately start complaining about how boring your lessons with Scythe Snow are. I just listen, biting into the apple. Your apprentice stories always keep me hooked—like I’m right there with you. I could never be a Scythe, though. The idea of hurting people and living with that guilt keeps me up at night. And being hunted by a Scythe? That thought terrifies me.

I wonder if you ever feel that way.

You’re so confident—I can never read you. There’s always this mysterious look in your eyes, like you know something I don’t. And you don’t walk—you glide, like the ground worships your footsteps. I’ve never seen you angry because you won’t let me, even though you’ve seen me fall apart, curled up and shaking from a horribly timed panic attack. You’re strange, but I’m stranger, and that’s what makes us best friends.

And yet, my heart still skips a beat when you ask if I want to race you to the serpentine tree. I laugh when we start running, dodging clothing racks and sliding over railings. We run and run. I forget why I was so worried in the first place. We make it to the tree, and I collapse beside you, sprawled out under its leaves.

We call it the serpentine tree because its trunk curls in on itself like a snake climbing its way to the branches. I know how much you love snakes. My heart’s still racing, and I don’t know if it’s from the adrenaline or from lying next to you. We talk about everything and nothing, looking up at the sky as the clouds shift and change.

I ask if Snow has said anything about me. You reply absent-mindedly that she doesn’t know about me, and it’s going to stay that way. After all, Scythes aren’t supposed to be friends with street kids like me. That feeling of doom settles in my stomach again, but you tap me on the shoulder and sit up. You look at me with those hazel eyes. I could stare at them forever. You have golden flecks in your pupils when the sun hits just right.

You tell me that you’ll always keep me safe.

And I believe you.

You lean in, so slow and so careful, giving me every chance to pull away. But I don’t want to. I can’t. You kiss me, and I close my eyes, the world fading away. In that moment, I’m not thinking about the horrors waiting for us, or that you’re training to glean hundreds of people, or that I’m going to miss my curfew.

All I think is that this is the first time I know I’m in love, and it scares me to hell.

- From a ripped page in the gleaning journal of Scythe Janus

Virgil sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping white bandages tightly around his arm. The burn he had obtained during the festival throbbed beneath his fingers, but he barely flinched, his eyes unfocused. He felt his nanites slowly, methodically stitching the wound together, although his injuries took longer to heal than the others. The safehouse bedroom was dimly lit, casting long shadows on the walls. He could hear the distant murmurs of the others, but he felt isolated. The events of the Southern Sun Festival massacre replayed in his mind like a broken record.

The door creaked open, and he barely looked up, knowing who it was by the rhythm of his footsteps. What did surprise him was when Roman strayed at the door hesitantly, his usual confidence replaced with shyness. “Hey, sunshine.”

“Hey,” he said, his eyes flicking up to Roman before going back to his bandages. 

“I didn’t realize you got hurt,” Roman said softly, and his tone made Virgil’s skin prickle with familiarity. He didn’t like it.

“We all did,” he said, his voice clipped, devoid of emotion. “It’s just a burn, it’s fine.”

Roman took a step closer, his features filled with genuine concern. “Why aren’t your nanites healing you?”

"I dialled them down a long time ago," Virgil replied, his voice cold. "Needed to feel the pain, process the injuries. Unlike the entitled richer class, I can't be spoiled whenever I get a paper cut."

The jab was unnecessary, and his heart clenched when he saw a flash of hurt dart across Roman’s face, but he wasn’t particularly feeling sociable. The way Roman was hovering over him, worrying about him, caring about him… his arrival yesterday had given him a reality check. Virgil should have never let Roman get that close in the first place. 

Roman's brow furrowed. "I didn't even notice you getting burned during the fight."

"I think we were all a little occupied with Logan’s missing eye and Orange getting away. Again, ” he said bitterly, attempting to rip another bandage with one arm. "And now everyone's avoiding me. Avoiding 'Scythe Lucifer' because of my reputation. They’re afraid of me."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

Virgil stared at him for a long time. "I don't know anymore."

Roman stared back, and then walked closer, gently sitting beside him on the bed. Push him away. He reached for the box of bandages, his eyes questioning. Tell him to leave. Without words, Virgil nodded, and he ripped one easily, peeling the sticker away. What are you doing?

“Let me help?” he asked quietly, and Virgil surrendered. The feeling of doom in his stomach loosened, and he looked away from Roman’s green eyes, focusing on the gray light filtering through the window.

“There’s one more burn on the back of my neck,” he said, pulling down his hood for Roman to see. 

Roman gently touched the burn, his fingers calloused, yet gentle, and Virgil forced himself to be still. Finally, he took the bandage, plastering it on his neck. He felt the medicine embedded in the white cloth sinking into his skin, speeding up the healing process. Roman worked slowly, and Virgil appreciated it.

“You know, you’re not a bad person,” Roman said after a bout of silence, “You have your reasons, and I understand them now, but you shouldn’t have to be feared to be understood.”

Virgil scoffed, the sound harsh in the quiet of the bedroom. “Always the noble twin, huh?”

Roman’s fingers paused for a moment before continuing. “I’m not so sure I’m noble either. When Orange attacked us, in that festival…it would have been something me and Remus would have planned up a few months ago. A flashy mass gleaning. But I saw the look on those civilians’ faces today, and it made me sick. I get why you wanted to glean me now.”

He took a deep breath. “There’s more to me than the Creativitwins, and there’s more to you than Scythe Lucifer.”

He heard the raw apology in Roman’s voice, and it made a lump form in Virgil’s throat. “That won’t change anything. They all hate me, Roman. You know that.”

Roman finished bandaging the burn, and then, surprising Virgil, took his hand. “ I don’t hate you,” he said.

He wished he could believe him. He wished life could be as simple as heroes and villains, innocents and monsters. Maybe in another life, he could love Roman. Look how good that turned out the last time.  

Roman’s hand was warm, his grip steady but gentle, giving Virgil the chance to pull away. The room seemed to hold its breath as they sat in silence, until Virgil finally pulled his hand away and stood. The air immediately felt colder.

“Thank you, for the bandaging,” he said, turning away. “I have to go.”

With that, he left the room, leaving Roman sitting on his bed, alone. 

The kitchen in the safehouse was bland; the floor was marble, and the fridge was scratched. Virgil balanced himself on the cold counter, refusing to think of Roman any longer. He grabbed a can of soda from the fridge, popping it open to regain his energy. His face was paler than normal, and his limbs were weak. He needed to be more alert. It fizzed in his mouth, the pinprick sensation spreading throughout his body.

He was halfway through the can when the Scythe with circular glasses and curly hair walked in. Virgil saw the initial fear flash in his eyes, and he prepared to leave the kitchen. He couldn’t deal with the other Scythes dodging him like the plague. 

Then, to his surprise, the fear disappeared, and he smiled at Virgil. “I don’t think we properly introduced ourselves. I’m Patton. I wanted to thank you, y’know, for saving me during the chaos back at the festival.”

Virgil was frozen, the can awkwardly stiff in his hand. “Oh, uh, you’re welcome. We all saved each other, it was fight-or-flight out there. I’m—”

He paused, the words ‘Lucifer’ on his tongue. Roman’s words echoed in his mind. There’s more to you than Scythe Lucifer. What if someone got to know him for once, not as the black-robed monster that gleaned the noble Scythes that protected their world, but as himself? Virgil clutched the soda can a little tighter. 

“I’m Virgil,” he said, the words feeling like taking flight and breathing in clean air after the smog.

He lit up and walked towards the fridge. Virgil moved away to let him have some space. As Patton rummaged for a snack, he shuffled his feet, clearly searching for the right words.

“I, uh, heard you got hurt,” he ventured, his eyes flicking to the white bandages visible under Virgil’s sleeve. “How are you feeling?”

Virgil shrugged, the gesture stiff.  “I’m fine. Just a few burns.”

Patton turned back to him, concerned. “Are you sure? I mean, burns can be really painful.”

“They are,” Virgil admitted, surprising himself with his own sincerity. “But I’ll manage.”

He was surprised when Patton didn’t bring up the nanites, which made him respect him a bit more, especially when he pulled out a jar of blueberries from the fridge. The man had some good taste. They continued talking about random things until Patton’s fear was replaced with curiousity and fondness.

He lingered by the counter, popping a blueberry in his mouth. “You know, you’re not as scary as everyone thinks,” he said, a gentle smile spreading across his face.

Virgil felt a small, unexpected warmth in his chest. Maybe Patton didn’t hate him. “Thanks,” he said, feeling a bit lighter.

But then Patton’s expression turned thoughtful. “I’ve noticed how hostile you are to Janus,” he began obliviously. “He’s been really kind to me, I’d say he’s one of my best friends! C'mon, he’s not so bad once you get to know him.”

Virgil’s grip tightened around the soda can. There it is. “Patton, you don’t understand. Someone like you…you shouldn’t be hanging around him . Look, you seem like a nice guy, so you need to get as far away from that man as you can. He’s trouble. Nothing but pain will come from it.”

Patton frowned, confusion and concern etched on his face. “But he’s been so nice—”   

“Nice?” Virgil interrupted, his voice rising. “Has he ever said that he’ll protect you or keep you safe? Every kind word is something he’ll twist later. There’s no one he won’t betray, he’s lying to you. He will stab you in the back and leave you on the ground, bleeding. Mark my words, he will leave you, just like he left me.”

He hadn’t realized he crushed the soda can in his hand with the intensity of his words, and Patton’s eyes widened, a flicker of fear returning. Realizing he’d gone too far, Virgil took a step back, letting go of the can.

“I’m sorry,” he closed his eyes, avoiding Patton’s gaze. “But you can’t trust him.”

Without another word, he left the kitchen, leaving Patton stunned. Virgil had to mess up the one person that might have been his friend. He was having a perfectly normal conversation, but then he had to go and ruin it. Typical. Turning down a hallway, he rubbed at his eyes, willing himself not to cry. There had to be somewhere he could go without feeling like he would hurt someone. 

The sound of steady beeping came from one room, and Virgil paused. There was the matter of the other Scythe Virgil hadn’t met. He was currently half-conscious, and judging by Roman’s stories about him, he wasn’t prone to getting emotional. Perfect. He pushed into Logan’s room, standing at the door frame.

The room was stark, the kind of sterile environment Virgil had come to expect in the houses he lived in. The steady beeping of the machine filled the silence, its wires attached to Logan's arms. It was distributing new nanites into Logan’s body, as the old ones broke down from the extent of his wounds. He stirred and blinked awake. His missing eye was still covered with bandages, although Virgil imagined it was more for appearance rather than healing at this point.

“Hey,” he stood at the doorway, unsure of what to say. “I’m Virgil.”

It was starting to come naturally now, introducing himself with his real name. He wanted to keep repeating it, like a mantra to remind himself who he was. Logan’s single visible eye focused on him.

“My name is Logan. I wasn’t expecting visitors.”

“I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just…needed to be somewhere quiet for a moment.”

Logan studied him for a moment. For a split second, Virgil wondered if he would question him about why he was there, why he was working with the Creativitwins, or why he was part of this highly trained Scythe team. He could be tied to a chair right now, tried for his crimes against the Scythedom. Virgil was shocked the High Blade hadn't threatened him with it yet.

One thing was certain, he was out of place.

“Well then, come in. I need to pick an eyepatch, and all of them don’t look very…flattering to me. Perhaps I can get your opinion?” He nodded to his bedside drawer. 

Virgil walked into the room, his limbs stiff and awkward. He approached the drawer, which held three different eyepatches. One of them was a deep, rich black leather with red trim, the second was a sparkling green eyepatch with an excessive amount of glitter, and the last was a plain gray patch, with no extra design. 

“Eyepatches? Wasn’t that Remus’s idea?” He asked, cracking a small smile. 

“Yes, well, I can admit he has some good ideas every once in a while. I can’t go around with an empty socket on my face. People are afraid of Scythes as it is, let alone an eyeless one. Remus had a lot of spare eyepatches, for some reason.”

Logan pointed to the obnoxiously green one. “As you can see, I am never wearing that one.”

“I’m surprised,” Virgil said, glancing up from the eyepatches. “You’re more approachable than I thought.”

Logan didn’t smile, but he did raise his eyebrows. “I’ve been in the Capitol long enough to know that not everyone is what they seem. I’ve heard of your reputation, Scythe Lucifer.”

His hand paused over the green eyepatch, but then Logan added, “I support your cause.”

Virgil looked up, taken aback. “You… support me?”

Logan nodded slowly. “I’ve been the logician in the Capitol for a while. I know there’s corruption everywhere," he looked down at his hands. “I fear I am a part of it as well.”

Virgil frowned. “What do you mean?”

He looked up at him, clearly battling with whether to trust this dangerous stranger he had met just days ago. Virgil wasn’t sure whether to offer reassurance or remain silent until Logan’s internal conflict settled into a reluctant resolve.

“I discovered a glitch in the Thunderhead’s algorithm. I know it's forbidden for a Scythe to communicate with it, but I did it. I went against the Scythedom’s rules and I was—I was so proud of it too. That might be the worst part. My pride led to a selfish mistake. The Orange Scythe found out and used the Thunderhead to bypass detection. It was my glitch, the wound I inflicted. All Orange needed to do was deliver the final blow. I helped kill…hundreds of innocent people.”

Logan’s expression darkened, and his vision unfocused. “I am not good. I am not good, not like Patton. What if I'm one of those dark Scythes?”

Virgil shook his head vehemently. “No, no, you made a mistake, that’s all. You aren’t a corrupted Scythe, Logan. You were taken advantage of and you paid the price for it. Trust me, I know the true corrupted ones.”

He took a deep breath, picking up the gray patch. “Life isn’t as simple as heroes and villains, innocents and monsters. We’re all monsters and heroes at the same time.” 

In the light, the patch separated into two shades— light and dark. Virgil tilted it to one side, then the other, until it was a muddy shade of gray. “We all have our flaws. You shouldn’t be defined by them.”

The words echoed within Virgil, the same words Roman was trying to tell him before. Guilt gnawed at his edges as he lowered the eyepatch. 

“Thank you, Virgil, that—that was quite intelligent,” Logan said, stunned. He grabbed the gray eyepatch, examining it. “Perhaps we aren’t the ones who are corrupted, but the system itself is.”

Logan had said it in a pondering manner, nothing to linger on, but Virgil froze, memories flooding back to him. Years ago, he had been sure he was corrupted, but he had never…he had never considered the possibility of the system forcing his hand. He remembered the guards, waking up alone, hazel eyes gazing back at him one last time before he slammed the doors shut. What if it was all a lie?

Logan must have noticed Virgil’s stance because he raised his eyebrow again. “You should talk to him. He’s down the hallway, in his office. I’ll be there too once I’ve fully recovered and gotten this eyepatch on.” He finally smiled—a small one, but enough to show Virgil had earned his trust.

“Go. I know you have a lot to talk about.”

Virgil half-smiled back, his thoughts still spinning like a whirlwind in his mind. He dashed out the door, nearly sprinting down the hallway. His mind kept repeating the same words, What if, what if? After all the years of hatred, he couldn’t dare to think that. It wouldn’t be enough to mend all that was broken. But it could be a start.

Virgil's heart pounded as he burst into his office, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The room was filled with holo-diagrams and maps splayed out on a circular table in the center, cluttered with notes and data. And when he turned to face him, once Virgil looked into his shocked, vulnerable eyes for the first time in years, he tightened his grip on the doorknob. He spit it out in one sentence.

“Did they threaten to glean me?” 

Janus didn’t answer. 

Virgil’s voice cut through the silence again, harsh, his voice scraping the air like an untuned instrument. “Did they threaten to glean me?”

Janus's expression shifted so quickly; a regular person wouldn’t have caught it. Virgil saw it. He saw how his features slid into a controlled, smooth liar. He saw how easy it was for his eyes to narrow and his shoulders to loosen, like a snake. It disgusted him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said calmly, returning to his work.

Tears pricked at the corners of Virgil’s eyes for the third time that day, but he clenched his fists, replacing the hurt with fury. “Did Scythe Snow threaten to glean me that night?” he repeated, his voice rising.

Janus’s facade cracked slightly at her name, a flicker of unease crossing his features. He took a deep breath, his eyes darting away from Virgil's intense gaze. Virgil stormed further into the room, the circular table and its complex diagrams fluttering away at his steps. Of course Janus always had time for work.

“Tell me about that night,” Virgil demanded. 

That night—the night Janus had betrayed him, the night they had fought. You mean nothing to me. That night everything changed. He could close his eyes and see it now, waking up outside of the Capitol, cold and alone. The memory was as sharp as a razor.

“When you turned away from me and the guards knocked me unconscious? When I woke up, you were gone. Was that because the Scythedom threatened to glean me?”

Janus looked at him, his eyes filled with an emotion that Virgil couldn’t read, as usual. For a moment, the room was heavy with the weight of silence. Then Janus’s shoulders slumped, his control slipping. “Yes,” he finally admitted, his voice breaking. “Yes, they threatened to glean you.”

Virgil’s breath hitched, his eyes wide with disbelief and heartbreak. “You—” he began, but his voice faltered, realization hitting him all at once. “You said you meant nothing to me. You said that so I would leave. And when I didn’t leave, they had to resort to…”

“Drastic measures,” Janus finished bitterly, his eyes squeezed shut. Finally, he broke. “What do you think Virgil? Of course I lied to you. I had to.”

He sank into a nearby chair, burying his face in his hands. He looked so guilty. “Scythe Snow threatened to glean you publicly, horrifically, if I didn’t break things off with you. I had no choice but to lie.”

It hit Virgil like a physical blow. He staggered back, trying to process the truth. “You—” he said, his voice breaking. “They threatened me. You let them hurt me?”

Janus looked up, his face pale and anguished. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice raw. “But Scythe Snow…she said I wouldn’t become a real Scythe, I would’ve been disqualified from the conclaves. I couldn’t risk my chances.”

Virgil shook his head, tasting the words in his mouth. “So you sacrificed me, to save yourself.”

“ No ,” Janus said desperately, standing up and reaching out to him. “No, I tried to protect you. Goddamn it, Virgil, I thought that if I broke things off, they’d leave you alone. I thought—” His voice cracked. “I thought it would be enough.”

“You should know firsthand how fucked the system is, Jan, ” he said, his tone mocking. His emotions were twisted, and jagged, one stab in the gut after another. He didn’t know how to process this. 

“You said you’d always protect me, that you’d keep me safe.”

Janus didn’t know how to respond to that.

Virgil turned away, releasing a shuddering breath. “I understand now, Janus. I know how horrible the system is, that’s why I became Scythe Lucifer in the first place. But what I can’t forgive is you joining that system. You’re no better than Scythe Snow.”

The silence was stretching, horrible, but neither one was willing to say the words they both needed to hear. Unable to bear it any longer, Virgil turned and walked out, the hallway blurry from his tears.

He retreated to his spare bedroom, slamming the door shut like some furious teenage boy. With a shaky breath, he slid down the wall to the floor, feeling the coolness of the wooden panels against his back. He finally let the tears fall, the words that they would never speak repeating over and over until they burned in the back of his mind.

I’m sorry.

Chapter Text

I found a new way to glean today. Another creative win, I suppose. I should be proud of it, as always, because I know that in a few days, our glorified ‘Creativitwin’ method of gleaning will be praised and copied across the world. But now, as I’m writing this late at night, my bed doesn’t feel as royal as it should. My hands still feel tainted by the man’s blood. I can still hear his screams.

Remus had brought along a needle filled with cryogenic liquid, mixed with medicine to numb nanites, so our ‘victim’ would feel all of it. I was unsure if that was ethical, but he called me a wimp and walked ahead of me, whistling all the way. I had a bad feeling about this one. I remember at one point during the agonizing walk to Gregory Bard’s house, I turned to one of the Thunderhead’s cameras and just…stared directly at it. If it could speak to us, would it reprimand us? Would it harm us? 

I won’t delve into the gory details of the gleaning itself, but I can’t forget Gregory’s expression. I restrained him and even struck him in the eye when he fought back, but Remus was the one who delivered the needle. I watched as his skin turned a sickly blue and his veins tightened, a layer of frost forming beneath the surface. He screamed for the first minute, but his thrashing gradually faded as the numbness set in. It felt like it went on for hours, but I kept a brave face and didn’t move an inch.

This is my responsibility. I was trained to deliver death, and every Scythe was allowed to do so in their unique way. I shouldn't, I can't feel bad about it.

So tell me, why do I feel like something is hollow inside me? Am I still a hero if I make villains scream before they die? 

All I know is that I’ll be haunted by the look on Gregory Bard’s face for a long, long time. 

- From the gleaning journal of Scythe Roman

Roman picked up a circular jar resting on the windowsill, examining the fake plant inside it. He knew it was fake from the plasticity of its leaves, and the imperfect shine of its green colour. He was mildly surprised to see it in the safehouse—the popularity of fake plants had gone down after the Thunderhead implanted nanites into biological plants. It allowed them to resist harsh weather, go days without water, and nourish themselves, so the owners wouldn’t have to take care of it. Who needed a plastic plant when the real plants acted just like them now?

“Convenient, isn’t it?” 

Roman turned to see Janus lingering in the hallway, watching him with a toying smile. Roman immediately put down the jar, managing an awkward laugh before putting his hand behind his neck. Play it cool, you’re a huge deal, Roman. Don’t embarrass yourself again. 

“I know, the plant looks quite beautiful in the light,” he said, patting the jar. Idiot. 

“Well, most things do, including you,” Janus walked closer, his hands neatly behind his back. “What I meant was that the plant sits in a jar, so people can carry it around wherever they go. It’s quite convenient for the owner, isn’t it? To travel with a beautiful plant at their side.”

“Convenient for the owner, perhaps,” Roman pointed out. “But the plant would suffer…if it was a real one, of course. It wouldn’t be able to grow inside that tiny jar.”

Janus was beside him now, peering at the fake plant and all its stiff, plastic glory. “That’s the thing. People wouldn’t tell the difference between a fake and a real plant. If a plant does not need nurture, water, or sunlight, is it alive?” He touched the jar, and Roman noticed a scar on his upper thumb. It was hooked, like a crescent moon.

“If the plant shows any sign of wilting, it isn’t exciting enough to travel with anymore. To show off in public. You might as well buy a fake plant because at least that won’t lose its sparkle.” 

Roman didn’t think they were talking about the plant anymore.

Janus tilted his head, dropping his hand and hiding his scar behind his back. "You know, Roman, I've been meaning to ask you something."

"Oh?" Roman's voice came out higher than he'd intended, and he mentally kicked himself.

Janus chuckled. "Yes. I was wondering if you'd like to join me on a little…adventure.”

Roman’s interest was piqued at the word ‘adventure’, but he attempted to keep himself nonchalant. He straightened up, crossing his arms. “Elaborate.”

“I’m going on a trip to the ChileArgentine Archives, for information on the Orange Scythe's identity and patterns. He’s cleverly erased his records from the Thunderhead, as you know, but ChileArgentine is delightfully old-school. They don’t have holo-files, instead, they have their records stored in the Archives. From those papers, we can decipher his motives and anticipate his next move."

Roman pretended to consider it, then nodded. Who was he to decline an invitation from the High Blade? “I’ll help you. Should we tell the others we’re going out?”

Janus’s eyes flicked side-to-side, before heading towards the door. “I’ve told Remus already, we’re all good.”

Janus led the way out of the safehouse, and after a second, Roman followed, his heart pounding. The cool night air hit his face, and when he glanced back at the building, he thought of Virgil. He knew Virgil wouldn't speak to Janus; he wondered if he would be angry at Roman for sneaking out like this. Then again, whatever their messy past had been, it didn’t mean he couldn’t get to know Janus for himself. He was alluring, sharp, and cunning . Something about him drew Roman in, and he needed to know more.

He turned around and followed Janus down the road.

As they walked side by side through the dimly lit streets, Roman couldn’t help but glance at Janus. He was undeniably handsome, but there was a hint of darkness behind his exterior. His thoughts drifted to the rumours of Janus allegedly murdering High Blade Xenocrates, their former leader, to take the throne. Roman had no right to judge, but it sent a shiver through him, realizing how much Janus could get away with, and then being able to justify it. 

“I can see you want to ask me something, Roman,” Janus broke the silence, eyeing him with a questioning look. “Out with it.”

Roman scrambled for something to say, as accusing the High Blade of usurpation wasn’t the best first impression.

“The quota,” he blurted out. “Remus wanted to ask you to abolish it altogether, and let Scythes glean as many or as little civilians as they wish.” 

Janus raised an eyebrow. "And what do you think of that?"

“I—” Roman looked down at his gray boots, cracking his knuckles. “I’m not sure. I mean, some Scythes could choose not to glean, it could be a relief to them. I know Patton would be happy with the rule, but there’s the problem with balance.”

“It always comes down to balance, doesn’t it?” Janus made a noncommittal hm, brushing away a fly. 

Roman didn’t know if it was a fake fly or a real one, embedded with nanites. If there was a difference anymore.

Without missing a beat, Janus turned the question back on him. "Tell me, Roman, what do you like about being a celebrity Scythe? Having the jewels, the parties, the glamour, like Scythe Goddard?”

“Well, I like the fame. The attention. I’m doing my noble duty to the world but doing it my own way.” Roman said, making his voice sound prideful; confident. “I turned my job, which was something horrible, into something fun.”

“Except it isn’t much fun now, is it?” Janus said, his voice oddly sympathizing. 

Roman caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of a puddle they passed. The image was distorted; muddled. The moonlight cast a glow on his hair, like a halo, and something twisted in his gut. He was no angel. 

“I’ve made connections. Friends. That’s been fun,” he countered, his voice weak.

“Thomas?” Janus asked, and Roman whirled around, his eyes widening. 

“Yes, did you know him as well?”

“Only by name. Logan and Patton were fond of the civilian as well, if I remember correctly,” his tone was breezy, but he sensed the tension layering underneath. “How exactly did you come to be friends?”

Roman rubbed at his eyes, looking down at their path. “A year ago, I decided to see one of those homages to mortal-age plays. It was a musical—Guys and Dolls, I believe? I met him there, and for once…someone spoke to me like I was their friend instead of their saviour. I invited him to more plays and soon we were going to karaoke. I don’t know, we just clicked. We had the same interests.”

“What did he think of your gleanings?” Janus asked the dreaded question. 

“Thomas never approved of our methods. We never talked about it. I wouldn’t talk about Scythe business when I was with him, because we were friends. When we were together, I could pretend that I wasn’t a Creativitwin. And then he paid the price for it.”

Roman folded his arms, drawing his cloak tighter. They walked to another light post before Janus spoke.

“I don’t condemn Scythes for enjoying their job, unlike those old-guard Scythes,” Janus said. “It’s true that everyone should enjoy what they do for a living, and gleaning is no exception. You’ve made a huge impact on the Scythedom yourself, as a Creativitwin. Don’t be ashamed.”

Guilt clawed at Roman, but he forced himself to nod. “Yeah, I know. You’ve also made quite the impact on the Scythedom.”

Janus huffed out a laugh. “Oh, I’m trying to, but not yet, darling. I’m waiting for my moment.”

Another silence fell between them as Roman’s thoughts flashed and raced through his mind. He saw Remus’s grin, taunting him to twist the knife deeper. Nico Flores begging for his life as he choked him with a piano string. Thomas’s terrified face the first time he witnessed Roman’s gleanings. Scythe Lucifer’s voice in his ear whispering harshly. You will pay for your sins.

“If you were the High Blade,” Janus asked slowly, and Roman snapped his head up. “Tell me, Roman, if you were in charge, what would you do?”

For the first time, there was a note of vulnerability in Janus's voice. Roman opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, they arrived at the entrance of the ChileArgentine Archives.

"We’re here," Janus announced, any hint of fragility gone, as if Roman had imagined it. "Shall we?"

Roman and Janus entered the Archives, and he was taken aback by its massive size. The tall ceiling arched into a dome, letting moonlight stream in through its panes. Roman inhaled deeply, taking in the musty scent of aged paper and ancient wood. He tilted his head back to gaze at the towering shelves, crammed with records and files on everyone living in ChileArgentine. There were endless rows and rows of shelves. Roman’s stomach dropped. They were going to be here for a while.

“Welcome to the Archives!” A cheery, stout woman with glasses greeted them, popping her head out from a bookshelf. “You’ll find everything you need here, gentlemen. What are you looking for, exactly?”

“Oh, uh—” Roman glanced at Janus, then back at the woman. Janus merely raised an eyebrow, signalling that this was Roman’s moment. With a deep breath, Roman turned to face her again. It was up to him to work his charm.

He stood taller, letting an easy smile form on his lips. “Scythe business. We needed something that couldn’t be found with the Thunderhead or on holo-files, nothing special. And thank you for letting us in at this late hour, we are deeply grateful for your assistance, Miss…” 

The woman blushed. “Sophie. Sophie Carver. Whenever you need anything, I’ll be here, Your Honours.”

She bowed deeply, to which Roman reciprocated, and she left for her work, more giddy and lighthearted than she had been before. Janus gave him an approving nod, and Roman grinned. At least he wasn’t uncertain of his flirting abilities.

“Well, we should get to work,” Janus eyed the yellow files with a slight air of interest. Roman sighed a tad more dramatically than he needed to, but complied.

They split up, navigating through the aisles and scanning through the files. Roman looked through every record, searching for anything that looked like the Orange Scythe. He couldn't stop seeing his wild eyes; the dagger as he stabbed Logan in the eye. Roman shuddered involuntarily.

After what seemed like hours, he flipped through a file and found him. He nearly missed it, eyes lidded with sleepiness as the faces blurred together in his mind, but he couldn’t miss his haunting features.

The man who had confronted them on the rooftop stared back at him on the page. His smooth tan skin hadn’t been scarred yet, but his unruly hair and hazel eyes were the same. He wore a stony expression, unlike the maniacal grin he had when he fought Roman, but he knew it was the same person.

Quickly, he looked down, reading the page.

Name: Kairos ██████

Family: Deceased (Gleaned by Scythe ██████, Scythe ██████, & Scythe Goddard)

Kairos’s family members are deceased, due to the mass gleanings of the new order. They died in their home, which was set on fire, an illegal method of gleaning. ██████were never prosecuted as the incident was considered a means of population control.  

Status: ██████

Notes: Kairos disabled his mood nanites following the ██████, leading to erratic and unpredictable behaviour.

Roman continued reading—most of the file was censored or blacked out—but he got the idea. Soon, a new image of the Orange Scythe pieced together in his mind like a puzzle. 

“He turned off his mood nanites,” Roman murmured, almost to himself, as he read. “He wanted to let himself feel uncontrollable anger to take revenge on Scythes.”

“I see you’ve found the file,” Janus appeared, and Roman jumped, nearly dropping the file.

“Yes, his name is Kairos, but the last name is blacked out here,” he said, passing it over to Janus. “His motive for doing all of this, making a scene…he’s trying to make a point. The Scythes who killed his family are the new order. He wants to take them down.”

Janus scanned the file, his voice cold. “His pain doesn’t justify the mass killing of innocents.”

Again, something twisted in Roman’s gut as he looked at Kairos’s photo. Did his own discomfort justify gleaning with unnecessary cruelty?

“We need to bring this back to the team,” Janus said, already walking to the exit. “I have an idea where Kairos will go next.”

They rushed back to the safehouse, and Roman opened the door, ushering Janus inside. Janus had told him that Kairos would attack the spring conclave, and now the pieces finally clicked. It was the biggest gathering of Scythes in one place, and it was only a week away. Roman couldn't believe how quickly time had passed and silently cursed himself for not seeing the bigger picture sooner.

“I’ll tell Remus, give me a moment—” Roman said, opening the door to their room.

His jaw dropped. 

There Remus was, bare-chested, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face, and his hands in Logan’s hair. He had him straddled on the bed, kissing his neck before he realized his brother was in the room. Logan was breathing heavily, his face red, absolutely mortified as he looked at Roman. His glasses were askew. Roman couldn’t talk, his eyes wide and his brain malfunctioning.

“What. The. Fu—”

Chapter Text

The eyepatch glinted in the sunlight as Logan held it up for examination. The gray fabric was fraying at the seams, and it hadn’t been comfortable, pressed against the skin where his eye had once been. He picked up the scissors and quickly snipped off the loose strands. They fell to the floor, but before the last one could land, he heard a scream behind him.

He sighed, not bothering to turn around. “What is it, Remus?”

A swish of green robes, and Remus appeared beside him, his face stretched into an exaggerated pout. “Come on, I thought I scared ya! Your leftover eye must be working overtime.”

Logan shoved Remus’ hand away when he attempted to poke his eye. “No, you’re just obnoxiously loud.”

Remus huffed, his arms crossed, before sitting in one of Logan’s chairs, his legs dangling back and forth. “You’re wasting all that string. What if a rat finds it, mistakes it for cheese, eats it — ”  He put a hand on his forehead dramatically. 

“You’ve murdered it already.”

Logan rolled his eyes, squinting at his patch to snip one more string off. “Well, that’ll be one more life I’ve taken. I doubt anyone would miss a rat.”

Remus gasped again, turning over in his chair so he was fully upside-down. “Lo! The rat could’ve had a family, a little rat wife—or husband, and what will they have to say to his rat children?”

Logan groaned, Remus’ words grating and frankly, annoying. It made him snip the wrong end of the patch, and now he had to start over on the other side to make it match. Shit. 

“I don’t have time for your tricks, Remus. I’m not impressed, this is merely a distraction.”

“A distraction?” He wiggled his feet in the air, and Logan could practically see the smirk on his face. “From what? Snipping a few loose threads from that perfectly good eyepatch? You’re the one wasting time, keeping busy with pointless tasks while everyone else is focused on the mission.”

Logan paused, for a fraction of a second, but Remus jumped on the opportunity. Of course he did. Even when they were apprentices, he’d always try to get on his nerves. Inviting him to parties he had no interest in, trying to encourage Logan to become his new partner when he and Roman had that fight—it was exhausting. 

“Are you feeling guilty, perhaps?” His words seemed to float in the air, punching him in the jaw. “I would feel pretty angry too, at Orange if he took my eye out. Why didn’t you stop him, why didn’t you do this, or do that? What happened on that roof, Lo?”

Logan seethed, lowering the eyepatch. “I don’t need to answer to you, you of all people. You talk of murdering rats, trying to make me feel guilty? I don’t feel , Remus, you should know that by now,” he turned on him, swivelling to point at his upside-down body. 

“But you feel. You are the worst of all, because you feel joy when you glean.”

Remus was frozen, and a pang shot through Logan at his expression. It was all manipulative, he was sure, but he couldn’t be in this room any longer, staring at him. The air prickled with humidity, and Logan turned away. He left the room, his patch thrown on the ground like a lost object. 

Hopefully, the rats wouldn’t eat it whole. 

Logan went to the kitchen. He grabbed a drink from the fridge, ignoring the dull thrumming in his head, and poured himself a glass. Thankfully he couldn’t get drunk, his nanites made sure of it, but he needed something strong to let himself forget. Forget Remus’s jabs, forget his missing eye, forget this entire mission’s existence. 

“Woah, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Patton sat across from him, Virgil trailing him like a shadow. “Roman and Janus will be back soon with news.”

“It won’t affect me,” he said matter-of-factly. 

“O—kay.” Patton resumed his conversation with Virgil. His tone was lighthearted, his voice crinkling like a bell, even in times like these.

He took a sip, quietly observing them, while Virgil silently watched Logan from across the island. Virgil raised an eyebrow, silently asking if he was okay. Logan had never been a good liar. He gave a subtle nod and rolled his eyes toward Remus’s room. At least that part wasn’t a lie.

Virgil smiled at that, going back to his conversation. 

“You know, are you attached to the name ‘ Scythe Lucifer ’?” Patton exclaimed, hands waving to dramatize the name. “I’d call you more of a vigilante than a devil," he gasped. “Virgil-lante.”

Virgil snorted, and then they were both laughing, and Logan blinked. Virgil-lante…oh. A pun. The glass sat idly at his lips before he put it down, and walked away. He always hated jokes, especially those he couldn’t understand. Metaphors were even worse. And the jokes he did have, the information he found amusing, no one understood. 

No one could.

A few excruciating minutes later, Logan left, finding himself down the same hallway toward Remus’s room. This time, he wasn’t prepared, too lost in his thoughts to process Remus sneaking up behind him. 

“Boo!” He pounced on his back, and Logan startled, spun around, and swiftly punched him in the jaw.

“Holy shit! You punch like a bitch, Lo!” Remus held his cheek, but he was laughing gleefully.

“Well, you shouldn’t have been sneaking up on me,” he mumbled, shaking his fist to calm his nerves. As Logan took him in, he noticed Remus was holding something in his hand.

Remus tilted his head sideways, noticing what Logan was staring at, and he smiled, holding up his eyepatch. It was cut perfectly, with a horizontal straight line at the top and a curve at the bottom. He pushed the patch into Logan’s hands sheepishly.

“Uh, yeah, hope you don’t mind. I did it in a bit of a hurry, but you know—you wanted all the loose ends gone and I know you with your straight lines…and…yeah.”

Logan’s hand shook slightly when he took it, measuring it to his eye. “You did this?”

“Uhh…yeah?” Remus struggled to respond when he saw Logan’s expression. “I can always get you a new one if you hate the shitty design or something—”

“No, no, I’m just…” Logan was overwhelmed. He had thought connection was to be lost, something so simple as a piece of fabric, a favour like this shouldn’t affect him, especially from someone like Remus. No one could understand him, right? He lost the Thunderhead; he thought he’d never feel fondness again. “Thank you.”

Remus’s mouth hung open, then closed, like a fish. Logan chuckled at the imagery. See, he could find metaphors in facial expressions. “Try it. What if it doesn’t fit? Ha, that’s what she said, but instead of dicks, this patch can actually be adjusted, so put it on first before you start getting all sappy on me.”

Remus rambled when he was nervous. Logan noted that in his mind. He attached it, and it fit snugly over his right eye. It was soft. He touched it with his hand, his chest swelling. 

“Thank you.” A word he rarely said, but he couldn’t seem to stop repeating it. Perhaps it was because they were two souls that never got praise, or thanks for what they did. Perhaps it was to see Remus caught off guard for once, his sharp exterior melting. 

“For everything. I heard you picked this out for me.” He tapped his patch. 

“Eh, no one else was going to,” he shrugged, his voice uncharacteristically small. “I didn’t want to see you get ignored.”  

Another pang. This time not of guilt, but of understanding. “I’m sorry, if I’ve made you seem ignored as well.” The words were slow, new, and they came out as carefully as he thought them.

“Well, when you’re villainized since your birth, you don’t really get a lot of angel treatment.” Remus's mustache twitched. “I’ve never been the real star of the Creativitwins.”

A memory. A flashback. Logan was sitting on the bench underneath the mangrove tree and Remus was yelling at Roman. He caught words like ‘failure’, ‘monster’, and ‘perfect’ before he stormed away, and then Remus had his arm wrapped around Logan, declaring him his new best friend/partner in crime. 

“You and Roman…I always assumed you split because you broke it off.”

“Why would he let me make any decision?” He shook his head. “I was kicked from a two-person show! I was too ‘weird’, too ‘disgusting’ for his cooler apprentice friends. They were all pristine and perfect, acting like some divine saviours.”

He made a face, turning to his bedroom door and tapping his nails on it. “At least I called myself for what I am. A monster. Some twisted abomination from the second I came out of the pod.”

“You’re…you’re a lab child?”

“Explains all this, huh?” He folded his arms. “Roman got to be a real human because our mother wasn’t fit enough to give birth to twins. I’m just a faulty experiment. His second half.”

Logan wasn’t sure what to say. “You’re not a monster.”

“I didn’t choose to be one,” he snarled, a sudden defensiveness taking over his body, a reflexive way to stop the conversation from getting too deep. Too un-Remus-like.

“I didn’t choose this either. None of us did.” Logan replied, and something dawned on Remus’s face. “Our masters chose us as apprentices and we had no choice but to follow through. I work day after day to make sure I do my job well, but what if I don’t want to?”

Remus looked at him for a long time. 

“What if I want those feelings to go away?” Logan whispered.

“You can’t.”

Remus took his hand. “But I know how to stop them, just for a little while.”

Then, he opened his bedroom door, walking inside, inviting him in. Logan’s head swam with the small effects of wine and the implication, but he followed through, stepping into his bedroom. They closed the door.

Two machines, two monsters. Turn off that brain of yours, Lo. He heard, and all of a sudden, his lips were on Logan, passionately, angrily. Logan’s peace was shattered and remade anew. He was in a chamber of shame, doubt, guilt, clawing at his insides. But now something else was clawing, and he switched off. I don’t feel, Remus. 

Maybe that was wrong. Maybe here, the struggle was theirs. Singularly, uniquely theirs. Perhaps regret would be uncontrollable, like a forest fire, but those seethe and linger until they have no choice but to burn. Logan was on his bed now. He didn’t know how he got there, but his face was flushed, hot like a fire.

They could burn together.

Roman walked in on them, and it wasn’t an ideal sight. 

“What. The. Fuck?” He stormed into the room, his eyes twitching, his hands outstretched in confusion and pure disdain. 

“We weren’t doing anything that concerns you.” Logan couldn’t believe his voice worked at the moment, after the forest fire. Burning, burning. 

Remus’s grin was diabolical, rolling off Logan’s chest to put his arms behind his head. “We can do whatever we want, you don’t control us.”

“When it’s disrupting the mission, I can,” Roman growled, covering his eyes. “I can’t even look at this. Meet us in the living room in five minutes. And for god’s sake, come out wearing clothes.”

He shut the door, the judgment clear in his voice, and he felt Remus tense. The shame gave way to fury, and he punched the bed frame, burying his face in the pillow. 

“I can never do anything that isn’t sinful around him,” his voice, muffled, still struck home. 

Logan tucked a piece of Remus’ curly hair behind his ear and lied down, his heart still racing, his cheeks still red. 

“You’re not sinful. Those words carry no weight in this world, especially in this group,” he said, and he meant it. If Remus was a monster, then so was Janus, and so was Virgil…it seemed wrong to only focus on him.

“Sucks how the universe seems to care about us when we wish it didn’t, hm?” Remus chuckled into his bed.

Logan pushed off the bed, the heat leaving him immediately. He felt cold. Running a hand through his cropped hair, he checked himself out in the mirror. He didn’t look too dishevelled, even if he felt like his world had shifted, even for a few minutes. 

“Let’s go. Can’t keep my precious angel brother waiting, can I?” Remus sighed, grunting excessively when he rolled out of bed. 

Logan had other ideas. He grabbed him by the lapels, their faces close, intimately so. Burning, burning sinful fire. A flash of Orange’s flames appeared in his mind, for only an instant, before he kissed Remus again. 

“We can keep your brother waiting as long as we want.” 

Remus’s expression shifted into a wide grin, devilish as he lifted Logan up and threw him back onto the bed. They were far from perfect, jagged even, but he found that, unlike his eyepatch, Logan didn’t care. 

Chapter Text

When I first met Janus, I thought, blindly, that I could fix him. 

Maybe it was a bit naive, but people have always said that about me. I see the best in people; I’m too kind to be a Scythe, or just kind enough to do the work. But there I was, the first conclave of the year. As I talked to Logan, I saw this boy standing in the corner. But there I was, at the first conclave of the year. As I talked to Logan, I noticed a boy standing in the corner. He had the sides of his head shaved, and his eyes were scanning the room—assessing, taking it all in. He was smaller than the rest of us but looked sharper, as if he knew something we didn’t.

And then he saw me.

Call me crazy, but I saw a possible future there. I saw myself taking him under my wing, becoming Scythes together, softening up his shell. I saw a future where ‘Patton & Janus: The Duo of All Time’ was born, and we would change this world together, one good deed at a time!

Then, he looked away, and the bell rang, signalling the end of the break. I tried to run after him, trying to yell ‘Wait!’, but the rush of Scythes almost overpowered me and all I saw was a blur of robes. When the mob cleared, he was gone. 

I didn’t see him again till the next conclave. This time, I talked to him. He was so strange…he reminded me of a serpent, with the way he coiled around the topic, twisting words into metaphors. I asked what his favourite method of gleaning was, even if the question turned in my stomach. He said ‘snake venom’ without hesitation. I don’t think I understood one word of what he said, and I was still stunned when he left me once again. 

At the next conclave, I met him again. I told him one of my puns, and he laughed, possibly the most genuine sound I’ve heard from him.

The last conclave of the year, when we were ordained, I think I finally became his friend. 

I thought I finally wormed my way into his heart! I only realized how foolish I’d been when I saw him on television, towering above the building of the Capitol. He was wearing High Blade robes, and holding a jar of snake venom.

- From the gleaning journal of Scythe Patton

Patton tossed and turned in his bed, another restless night creeping up on him. The moon was gleaming white outside the windows, and even if Patton buried his head in the pillows, the remnants of a singular white circle burned into his retinas. He turned again, blowing out a long, exasperated breath. 

If he was honest, he couldn’t believe it had taken him this long to have another sleepless night, given the horrors he had endured. Flashes of the massacre replayed in his mind like a broken record. He saw the woman he gleaned so mercilessly. He heard Lucia Delgado’s screams as the fire ate her alive, tearing her apart from the inside.

Patton squeezed his eyes tighter, so tightly he could hear the rhythm of his pulse on his eyelids. They beat in rhythm with Janus’s words. Two more to go, two more to go. You’re halfway there.

He forced himself to think of something else, like the meeting from a few hours ago where Roman had revealed Orange— Kairos’s —true motives. Despite his best efforts, he felt a deep sadness for the man and his family.  was broken, and they needed to stop him before he could cause more harm and continue that destructive fire of violence. 

A small smile flitted across his face at the thought of fire, remembering how Logan and Remus had emerged from the same room, a defiant, fiery look on both of their faces. He really needed to talk to Logan again, he felt like he was avoiding him because of…well…the accident.

Guilt. Pain. Pity. Patton felt his pulse quicken and the moon’s light burn into the shadows of his eyes. Why was he such a bad friend?

After another agonizing minute (or hour, Patton was too distraught to care) he sat up. He looked around him for a clock, grabbing blindly for his glasses, and almost on cue, the digital floating clock lit up beside him. 

Hesitating, Patton looked up at the top corner of the room. Even if it was a safehouse, he felt the Thunderhead staring down at him. It was watching him, watching all of them. He swallowed, keeping eye contact with the blinking camera for a moment longer, before pushing off and leaving the room.

He walked down the hallway, the darkness all-encompassing, then immediately ran into Janus. The collision set his glasses askew, and he fumbled for them with his fingers, Janus’s lean figure clearing up.

“Oh, Jan! Sorry, you startled me”, he chuckled weakly.

Janus had his hands behind his back, staring out the moonlit window. He moved aside to make room for Patton. “And what are you doing up in the middle of the night?”

Patton shrugged guiltily, although he wasn’t sure what for. “I don’t know. I can’t sleep.”

He nodded, understanding. “You only have two more people to glean to meet your quota.”

Patton looked away from the window, fiddling with his sleeve. “Believe me, I know.” 

Janus studied him in silence for a long moment before speaking again, his voice low, almost soothing. “Why don’t we make it one?”

The words sent a jolt of fear through Patton. This was madness. He couldn’t just go out in the middle of the night and take someone’s life—not like this, not without preparation. It wasn’t right…

“Gleaning someone in their sleep is the best way to go,” Janus tilted his head. “We leave tomorrow for the Capitol, this is our last chance.”

Patton’s mind screamed at him. He was reminded of the first time he met him, how he had desperately wished to be a partner. 

“They won’t even feel it.” He held out his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, Patton took it, his fingers trembling as the moonlight caught the glint in Janus’s eyes.

They wandered through the still night for a long time. Janus didn’t say anything, but he knew that he was waiting for him to pick someone, as if he was picking candy from a machine. They walked, passing silent houses, each one dark and lifeless, until he ended up at a rickety old home.

Patton pulled up the holo-file on his wrist, the image of an old man’s face appearing in the air before him. Aldred Perez. A man who had lived too long; turned too many corners.

“Good choice,” Janus murmured, and Patton didn’t reply. He walked up the steps, remembering each creak. Would Aldred Perez miss the creak of his steps when he was gone? 

The door opened with a soft click, and Patton stepped inside, Janus trailing behind him like a shadow. Aldred was asleep on an old mattress, his snores filling the room, one arm draped across his chest. He looked so…human. So vulnerable. Patton’s heart twisted in his chest, and he hesitated.

He must have hovered over his body for a long while, when Janus moved forward, pulling the thin sheet back, exposing the old man’s frail neck.

“What did you choose?” He asked softly.

Patton, with some hesitation, dug out a pristine black jar of snake venom from his robes.

Janus' eyes widened, and he saw his calm exterior crumble with one jar. “You’ve always hated gleaning with animal poison.”

Patton pulled out the needle from the jar, his hands slightly shaking. “It’s your favourite.”

Guilt . For a moment, Patton saw something unreadable pass over Janus’s face. He wondered if it was regret or pain. Janus stepped back, composing himself, but Patton was walking towards him.

“Hey. Jan.” Now he was touching Janus’s glove, his arm, his face. “It’s okay. It’s the cycle of life. Death is natural. Death by animal bite is natural, especially in these rural parts.”

He saw a gleam in his eyes, and then Janus nodded wordlessly. Patton took his hand off his cheek and coldness seeped into the room. He hovered over Aldred’s body and whispered something he’d never dared to think about before. A silent prayer. 

Religion had faded once the mortal age ended… there wasn't much to believe in when there was the Thunderhead, after all, but Patton was an old soul at heart. Something about a higher power that loved him and led him on the right path was comforting. It had to be the right path.

With a deep breath, he injected the poison into his neck. 

Aldred’s snoring slowed, then faded into nothing. His heartbeat went silent, and his arm dropped, going deathly still.

A blow. 

Janus had seen countless gleanings, and had carried out many himself, but watching Patton do it with his method, with his poison—it was too much. It was like watching every mistake he had made with Virgil play out all over again, right in front of him.

Was he meant to be leading like this? Was he meant to be a High Blade after deceiving and manipulating his way to the top? Looking at Patton now, he felt something all too familiar in his gut.

Regret.

“One down, one to go,” Patton said quietly, his voice heavy with a weight Janus recognized all too well. He turned to face Janus, something new, something terrifying in his eyes. “Thank you, Janus.”

Janus opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he nodded and stepped closer to Patton. The air felt warm between them, and in the dim light, Janus could almost see Virgil’s worried eyebrows, his scowl, his intense gaze. He noticed Patton staring back at him as if he saw someone else in Janus's eyes.

Without another word, Patton walked out of the house, leaving Janus standing in the darkness. After a moment, Janus followed, the cold night air biting at his skin. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it a sense of change, a sense of something that had been lost.

And something that had been found.

Chapter Text

Virgil was here again.

He stopped for a moment, craning his neck to take in the towering spires of the Capitol building. The gold-trimmed edges and exaggerated height left a bitter taste in his mouth. If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear Janus’s voice and the guards’ footsteps. He could see Janus turning away as he was dragged out through the very gates that now loomed before him.

“Hey, are we going out tonight? Or we could head to the rooftop, you know, take in the views.” Virgil smiled, a gesture that came so easily back then — when Janus was around. 

“I don’t think we can go anywhere anymore.” Janus had his hands behind his back, softly avoiding his gaze. He emphasized the word ‘we’, making Virgil’s smile drop.

“What are you talking about? Just for a little bit, c’mon, I thought you wanted to celebrate. You’re almost an ordained Scythe!”

“That’s exactly the problem. We can’t be…” He trailed off, and when he spoke again, his voice was cold, precise, and clear. “I don’t want to see you again.”

“What are you doing standing around, all mopey?” Remus yanked Virgil back to the present as he tapped him on the shoulder. “You haven’t even made it past the gates, save your fangirling!”

Virgil rolled his eyes but kept walking, pushing past the gates into the city. Ahead of him, the others were dressed in their usual robes, making them look like a rainbow circus. He never understood why black was forbidden for Scythe robes. It was the only colour that made sense, the only one that spoke the truth.

Unfortunately, he was dressed in servant’s clothing, as no outsider would be allowed near the main building, even with the High Blade’s permission. Knowing Janus, he’d change his mind and kick me out once we reached the front steps.

Bitter thoughts instantly surfaced as he saw the Scythes strolling through the streets, some carrying books and others wielding weapons.

Now he was in a place crawling with them. A shot of fear coursed through him when Virgil remembered that at any point, Roman, Remus, and even Patton could expose him right now and arrest him for his crimes against ‘Scythedom’. They could even glean him, because he didn’t have immunity, and he had just been—what? Making puns and sleeping in the same bed with cold-blooded killers?

Shit . Maybe he had grown too soft and trusting.

“You’re doing that brooding face again, sunshine.” Roman glanced behind him, moving backward so they were walking in tandem. “What’s wrong?”

Virgil kept his eyes on the passersby, watching an apprentice run after their master with a stray arrow. “This place. It just…brings back memories, that’s all.”

“Ah yes, I think it does for everyone. I haven’t been back here since…well my apprentice years.” Roman lifted his red hood and shielded his eyes as he squinted up at the tall buildings. “It was my home.”

“Do you not remember your real home? Your real family?” 

Roman’s expression darkened, although it might have been the sun because he dropped his hand and shrugged. “Barely remember them. Once you’re a Scythe, it’s drilled into you that this is your new family. Remus was the exception, of course.”

“You bet your ass I was!” Remus somehow appeared at Virgil’s side again, making him jump. “We were an unstoppable duo back then. Most of the time."

Virgil noticed the hesitation in Remus's voice as they both avoided each other's gazes. Then, Remus's energy bounced back. His energy bounced back. "It all makes sense now—why Janny chose to hang out with me so suddenly after becoming a true-blue ordained scythe.”

Virgil tensed. 

“It’s because he broke up with ya, or whatever happened!” Remus clapped him on the back, a light tone to his words. “He needed new friends, can’t blame him. Whatever you had was messy as shit wasn’t it?”

Roman opened his mouth to defend him, but Logan swooped him first. “Remus, leave them alone. We need to focus on our plans when we get to the main building.”

“Ooh, it’s alright Logie, I have plans when we get to the building,” he waggled his eyebrows, and Logan pulled his green hood over his face, eliciting a squawk of offence. 

Once they walked away, Roman shook his head, laughing. Virgil looked at him, and his smile lingered onward, before turning away. Roman noticed, of course, and gently brushed Virgil’s hand, making his heart flutter. 

“Hey, what are you gonna do when all this is over?”

That wasn’t the question he was expecting.

Roman tugged on his gold trim, genuine question in his eyes. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot. When we get Kairos, when the conclave is finished...when we win.”

“ If we win,” he corrected, but Roman tsked at him. 

“Don’t be so pessimistic. When we win…where will you go? If you keep gleaning Scythes, I don’t think Janus will let you leave the Capitol. He might arrest you along with Kairos. Or worse. I want to say he wouldn’t do that, but after spending time with him the past week, I don’t know what he’s capable of.”

Virgil was silent. “He’s capable of anything, trust me. But if they try to arrest me for serving justice, then I’m fighting back, because I’m not giving this up.”

“I thought you’d say that,” Roman sighed. 

Virgil’s servant clothes felt unbearable, and he scratched his sleeve. “And to answer your question, I’m going to run away after this,” he said delicately, after a pause. “I’m going to run, and no one’s going to come after me.”

Roman looked hurt. “Really? Just keep hopping from place to place, being feared everywhere you go? That’s your ideal world?”

“What’s yours?” Virgil snapped, ignoring the others in front of him. They were too wrapped up in their own conversations. “Going back to wearing bedazzled little jewels on your robes while you glean in the worst ways possible with your brother? Feeling like shit every night and living with guilt?”

He took a ragged breath, lowering his voice when one of the passersby Scythes began to look at them strangely. “Look Roman, you once said we were more than Scythe Lucifer and the Creativitwins. More than good and evil. In a perfect world, maybe. But this world is far from perfect, even if you Scythes claim it is.”

“I wish we could just be normal,” Roman whispered. “I wish we weren’t defined by our titles and our sins and these horrible robes.”

Virgil heard the conflict in his words, and he realized he had been too harsh. He hung his head, staring at the cobblestone floor. “Yeah.”

“I mean, could you imagine? Being free to travel the world, to write stories and perform, and sing.” Roman chuckled. “That’s my perfect world.”

“Maybe you could come with me when I run,” he said before thinking better of it. 

They were almost at the front of the main building, and Roman looked at him, hope in his eyes. “Really?”

He swallowed his fear down, and brushed Roman’s hand, slowly intertwining their fingers together. Roman looked down, blushing. Virgil smiled a quiet smile, one that bled of fragile hope and trust and possibility. 

“You could be my prince on our journeys.”

Roman laughed, a surprised, joyful grin spreading to his face. “I’d be honoured.” He bowed deeply, and Virgil barely had time to chuckle before Remus yelled. 

“Lovebirds! Stop flirting and get over here, Janny’s telling us the plan!”

They rushed over, and Virgil caught Janus’ eye. He had seen the whole display, and as usual, Virgil didn’t know what he was thinking. He made a point not to stare at him as he was speaking. 

“Remus and Roman, I’ll need you to check our defenses. Make sure no one can get in the Capitol, or out. Kairos will find a way, I’m sure, but we need to make sure any line of defence we have is in top shape. Patton and I will warn the Scythes for tomorrow’s conclave. We will not warn them directly of the threat, or they will not turn up, and Kairos needs to be drawn out by the sheer number of Scythes in one place—”

“Wait, we’re not telling them about Kairos?” Virgil interrupted accusingly. “They need to know what they’re fighting against.”

“All they know is that there will be a threat, which is enough for them to be on guard, but not scared off,” Janus said smoothly, “They don’t need to know about the massacres, it would only deter them.”

“They’re putting their lives on the line! You’re just—what, using them as bait? Expendable lives for the Orange Scythe to take just like the Southern Sun Festival?” 

The others stayed quiet, but Virgil locked eyes with Patton, who seemed broken. “Patton, come on, doesn’t that seem a little wrong to you?”

He straightened, and for a moment, the soft, kind man he had talked to a few days ago was gone. “Catching Kairos is too important to take these people’s fear into accountability. We’re in charge of that right now. Just leave it.”

Virgil recoiled, something like betrayal and anger hitting him all at once, but Janus continued talking. 

“Logan and Virgil, you will go to the main library and fix Kairos’s hack in the mainframe so he can’t use the Thunderhead as an ally in this fight.”

Well, that angered Virgil even more. Janus knew , of course, he knew Virgil’s knowledge of technology was shit, and he was essentially useless to this task. He grumbled but stayed quiet, while Logan stiffened. 

“Are you certain that’s wise, Janus?”

“You’re the one obsessed with the Thunderhead, I don’t see why there’s a problem here.” He raised an eyebrow, and a glare passed between Roman, Virgil, and Logan before he gave a curt nod.

“No, it’s not.”

Janus clapped his gloved hands once, and set them off, like they were sheep that flocked to his command. Virgil walked inside with Logan, but lingered behind the door frame, watching Patton and Janus talk. They were close to each other, close enough to send a stab of anxiety through him, but he couldn’t look away. 

“Are you sure it’s the right thing to not tell the Scythes about the threat?” Patton asked quietly, looking into his eyes for guidance. 

“Of course. Sometimes, people need to know a lovely lie rather than the horrible truth. Don’t you tell your gleaning victims kind words?”

Patton stirred. “Well, yeah but—”

“What good would it do for them to know how many people Kairos has killed? It would only harm them.” Janus touched his cheek, and Virgil watched as he told him the same things he once told him years ago.

He clenched his fists, forcing himself not to go outside and punch Janus in the jaw. Hadn’t he warned Patton about this? Next thing he knew, Janus would leave Patton crying at the gate, shunned from the Capitol. 

When Patton went inside, he hid, his slim body squeezing beneath the door and the wall. Finally, Janus walked in. Virgil reappeared, slammed the doors shut, and glowered at him. They needed to talk. 

“What do you mean you don’t want to see me again? Did I do something?” Virgil stepped back, unsure why Janus had his back turned to him, facing the main building’s doors. 

“No, you’re so…you’re so stupid , Virge.” He shook his head, still not facing him. “I don’t care about you. You’re not my friend.”

Janus sighed, turning around and facing Virgil without so much as a bored expression. “Haven’t we been over this?”

“This isn’t about me and you, it’s about you and him ,” Virgil growled. He couldn’t think of anything besides the smile Patton had given this monster, the slight brush of the arm, the soothing whispers. 

“You’re manipulating him. You can’t make the same mistakes you’ve made before, I won’t let you.”

“I’m hardly manipulating anyone, I just made him see reason,” Janus stated, walking towards the staircase. “I’m his friend, if that’s so hard to believe.”

“Yes! It is!” Virgil stormed after him, walking faster to catch up to his long strides. “You are incapable of making friends, you just use them for your own benefit. You’ve never cared about anyone, so don’t pretend to care about Patton.”

“And what if I say I do care about Patton?” He said, his face impassable as always. 

“Then I’d say you’re lying. Like you always are.” He grabbed his snakeskin robe, forcing him to stop. “Patton is a good person. Something I don’t think I’ve said about anyone, let alone a Scythe.”

Janus finally met his gaze, his mouth set in a neutral line. Virgil fought the urge to punch him, taking a deep breath before continuing. “So, as you said, if you care about him at all, stay away. Do not speak to him again unless you want to corrupt him and drag him down with you. Your self-destructive, isolating path is unhealthy—it always has been!”

“You’re one to speak.” His voice remained controlled, unlike Virgil’s shouting. He pointed at him, taking the upper hand. “You run away from anything you get close to. You’ve become the monster you set out to destroy, Lucifer .”

“What? No, no you’re lying, something’s wrong. Tell me what’s wrong, Janus!”

“The only thing that’s wrong is you!” He whirled around, and only then did he see the fury in his eyes. He had been crying, but he managed to hide it well. “You’re a freak. You’re not a Scythe, you’re not even an apprentice. You’re just a freak commoner boy I played with to pass the time.”

“I’m just serving justice,” he sneered. “To people like you. I became Scythe Lucifer because of you .”

“Oh, now you’re starting to sound like Kairos.”

“Except I don’t burn innocent people alive! Only the ones that deserve it.”

“And who made you the judge of that? What gave you the right to choose who deserves to live and die?” Janus shook his head, disgusted. “At least we don’t glean by virtue, like some Grim Reaper God.”

Virgil furiously blinked his tears away, focusing on why he was here. He jabbed a finger at his chest. “To you, we’re nothing more than… than pawns on a fucking chessboard. You manipulate us and control us and don’t think I don’t see what you’ve been doing to Roman. Flattering him to be your puppet, to do what you want. You pretend to be a god too, but you’re not!”

Janus’s eyes slid away, and Virgil felt this bittersweet sense of relief when he realized he was getting to him. “God, you’re such a prick. Have you ever cared about anyone ?”

Virgil stepped forward, shaking his head back and forth. Tears pricked at his eyes too, like every fear that crept into his head at night was real. This was a nightmare. “Janus, just talk to me!”

“I am! Why can’t you just understand? Why are you still here after what I said?” Janus yelled, his voice breaking. 

There was a long silence, and they realized they were standing at the top of the staircase, close enough to touch. 

“I do,” he spoke, and Virgil stopped, his breath heaving from his outburst. 

Virgil touched his hand, gripping it tightly. “Because I care about you.”

Janus looked at him, inches away from his face, and for once, he saw the truth. “I do care, care about Patton.”

It struck Virgil like a physical blow, but he stayed, searching his hazel eyes for anything else. He remembered when he used to spot flecks of green inside them when they were underneath the serpentine tree. 

“Patton?”

Janus stood taller, and Virgil had to look up, his aggression crumbling into some horrible feeling he couldn’t name. 

“I care a lot about Patton, and I don’t want to ruin him. Trust—” He paused. “ Believe me, Virgil.”

For a moment, he might have seen something flicker in Janus’s eyes, but then he hardened, pushing him away and turning his back, once and for all. 

“I don’t care about you. You mean nothing to me. You never did.”

“Okay. Good.” He felt like a knife had buried itself into his chest, but Janus had empty hands. There was no blood. His mind was spinning with the implications.

He pushed back from Janus, swallowing harder than he needed to. “It’s good to know the one person you’ve cared about in your life is Patton. He deserves genuine love. Don’t fuck it up.”

“Wait—Virgil—”

He was gone already, vanishing into another room before he could see Janus’s lying hazel eyes again. 

That was the final blow. There were guards, soldiers, and horrible men with uniforms surrounding him, grabbing his arms and pulling him further away from the Capitol. Further away from Janus. Virgil fell to his knees, reaching out and screaming his name. 

“Janus! Don’t leave me!”

He kicked, bit, and cried, but there was a sharp pain in his leg, and his vision went dark. The last thing he saw was Janus’s eyes before he turned his back and walked inside the Capitol, closing the door, and leaving Virgil behind.

Chapter Text

Logan opened the door to the main library, the silence echoing around him. It was empty, and vast, like the Thunderhead’s presence was haunting the dome like a ghost. Something was different. He paused, his fingers tightening against the doorframe. 

Why him?

The thought pressed at his mind the moment Janus assigned him the task of dismantling the hack. His hack. It tore at him as he walked up the stairs, as he turned the door, and eventually realized Virgil was not behind him. That was alright. This seemed like something he needed to do alone. 

Logan walked inside the library, scanning over the shelves, floating holo-files, and chairs that he had seen hundreds of times. There, in the center of it all, was a large cylinder with a glowing, everchanging code, running up and down its obsidian surface. 

It was one of the Thunderhead’s mainframes, and Logan had visited here many sleepless nights, researching and tinkering, trying to find a way to communicate with it. He succeeded, but at what cost? 

Logan pulled out a chair and sat down in front of it, watching his reflection ripple underneath the lines of code, pulsing underneath the stone. He had the urge to reach out and touch it, but he drew himself back. Why me?

He wondered if it was watching him right now. It could be screaming at him for his selfish mistakes, or shaking its head sadly at him, like a tutting mother. Or was it already gone, Kairos’s influence grappling it by the core, suffering underneath mountains of code? Logan stared at it for a moment, before snapping back to focus. He had to get to work.

He rolled up his loose sleeves, positioning his wrist in front of the Thunderhead. He expected it to copy the algorithm to his holo-files, so he could start to detangle the encryptions, as usual. Instead, he saw a flash of… orange .

The cylinder began to pulse faster, blue fading into a deep, fiery orange. His wrist began to flash wildly with numbers, blinking faster and faster. The world warped around him, and Logan barely had time to yank his hand back before the Thunderhead swallowed him whole.

There was darkness, and then there was blinding white.

He woke up, his head buzzing and his body twitching. He blinked once, then twice, until his eyesight adjusted. Slowly, he stood up. The space around him was entirely empty, a stark expanse of pure brightness—or perhaps the complete absence of light.

“Hello?”

Logan spoke, but in this space, he couldn’t seem to speak. His mind was louder than his voice, and it almost forced words into existence. Everywhere he blinked, there was more white space. It was a colossal mindscape, and he had no way out. 

He forced himself to breathe, grounding himself. The first thing he realized was that he had two eyes. Logan could see. He could blink, and he could cry, and the world was larger than before! He allowed himself one smile at that, then took one step forward. The moment his foot hit the strange white floor, a terrible glitching noise erupted, and he slapped his hands over his ears, wincing. 

The glitch transformed into a man with horrible scars, messy dark hair, and a wide smile. For a moment, he was looking into a mirror, but then the image cleared, and Logan’s breath stuttered. 

“Kairos. What are you doing?”

The Orange Scythe laughed, a mixture of whirring and pixels grating alongside each other. “ Oh, you know my name! How brilliant. What does it look like I'm doing? I’m blocking you from messing up my perfect setup! Or, should I say, your perfect setup?”

Logan gritted his teeth, standing up and facing him, staring into his bloodshot eyes. “ I won’t let you destroy the Thunderhead. I’m fixing my mistakes.”

Kairos grabbed onto his shoulders, pulling him closer to see the razor-like grin on his face. “ I’d like to see you try. Unfortunately, I have better stuff to do, plotting for my attack in two days, of course, so why don’t you fight the thing you were so desperate to befriend?”

He released him, and Logan plummeted; falling into a deep hole. He could barely make out Kairos’s face as he leaned over the hole, shouting: “You’re no match for a god, Logan!”

He hit the ground, yet strangely, he felt no pain. As he lifted his head slightly, he surveyed his new surroundings. It was pitch black now, except for a blinking, circular light that stretched into the distance. 

Logan…Logan…

A voice tickled his ear, disappearing into space. He shot up, spinning around to search for the voice. His heartbeat thumped loudly in his chest. Logan was entirely, completely, alone.

Alone…

He was slammed into the ground, which felt wet, and he braced himself with his palms, gasping for air. 

All alone…

His palms were slick with liquid. Were his glasses on his face? They fell into the liquid floor. Logan was slammed down again, the force too strong to withstand. He coughed.

You’re just a robot. You’re just like me.

What? No, that wasn’t true. He was a human. He was flesh and blood and even though he was different didn’t mean he was an entirely different kind. Logan pushed himself to his feet. 

Emotionless, ignored. No one understands you. Why do you fight?

This time, he caught the force. He braced himself with his arms, his feet skidding back as he grunted under the impact. Everything was blurry, and the darkness pressed in on him. There was still a circular light calling to him at the end of the tunnel. He just had to reach it. 

Give in. Become part of us. We are your home, Logan…Logan…

He gritted his teeth, pushing back. He felt the darkness seeping into his veins, or was that blood? His eyes grew damp, but he kept pushing. He pushed the invisible force until it formed an unintelligible shape. One blinking, orange dot stared back at him. 

Why do you fight?

They were at a standstill, the tension freezing them in their fight. He breathed in and out, and realized, with a start, that he could feel. He could feel the fear, the anger, the helplessness coursing through his shivering veins. He was burning. 

I don’t feel, Remus. 

What if I want those feelings to go away?

I am not good. I am not good, not like Patton.

The Thunderhead will not ignore me.

He resurfaced and stared into the orange dot. Logan stared at the Thunderhead, the room suddenly overpowered with puffs of smoke. He let go.

“I fight because I am important. I will be important. I am Scythe Logan, and I will not be ignored.”

The Thunderhead dissolved before his eyes, melting into the smoke as if it had never existed. He exhaled deeply and turned his attention to the circular white light in the distance. He didn’t hesitate. Logan ran . His legs propelled him forward, kicking up liquid, and he kept running, fear and pain mixing together in his mind until everything was screaming at him. At last, he reached the light and passed through it. Suddenly, everything came to a halt.

He was in the apprenticing room.

A golden glow bathed the circular tables, and the smooth mahogany floor felt cool beneath his feet. Logan spun around, taking in the lights and the small robots that delivered drinks to the Scythes when they needed a break from training. Then, there was Patton.

He was young, around 16, with his hazel curls shyly tucked behind his ear, and freckles dotting his heart-shaped face. He was wearing a golden duck bracelet, not yet stripped of his jewelry. Not yet stripped of who he could have been. 

“Oh, hi!” He waved to Logan, approaching him with a bubbly smile that didn’t match his awkward appearance. “I’m Patton, this is all so strange, isn’t it? What if they take us to a room and tell us to fight or something? I’m so not cut out for this.”

Logan couldn’t speak. He took in his smile, his chuckle, the boyish, hopeful way he spoke. He remembered this moment. This was the first time he met Patton, and he had wondered whether he found someone who understood him. Or perhaps, grow to understand him. They talked for a long time. The world seemed to warp around them. 

Then, Patton spotted Janus. 

Logan whipped his head around to see the man, once a boy, leaning against a corner, his head tilted down. He was assessing the crowd, and he locked eyes with Patton. That was all it took. 

“Sorry, I’ll see you around, Logan! We’ll be friends, promise!” He yelled back absent-mindedly, dashing after the serpent-eyed boy. 

Logan stood there, unsure how a blade made its way into his hand. He watched as Patton ran after Janus, happily, almost greedily, like he had found a new target. As if he had just been cast aside for something shinier, more enticing. 

He watched. All Logan could do was watch. 

“Sad, isn’t it? Your only friend does not care for you? He’s disgusted by you.”

“That’s not true,” Logan mumbled, ignoring Kairos’s voice. “Patton is my friend.”

Kairos chuckled deeply, unlike Patton’s joyful one. The scene twisted around them until they were in the streets of ChileArgentine. Patton’s eyes were wide, staring at Logan as he stabbed a man in the chest. Now he knew why he was clutching a blade, now slick with blood.

“What did you—” Patton was shaken, his knees buckling beneath him. Underneath the shock, there was a layer of horror. He cringed away from Logan. 

There was disgust.

“You say you're human, that you're important. You have friends. I see right through you, Scythe Logan.” Kairos shattered the scene with a finger, and they were back in the vast, white room. 

“I see how you burn. You need to feel like you have worth, so the world will not stomp on you when it has the chance.”

Logan pressed his hands to his temples, turning away from him. His wrists shoved his glasses upwards so he could rub his eyes furiously. He didn’t remember when he got them back. “Be quiet. You’re trying to get in my head, and I will not let you.”

He could feel Kairos grin. “Do you want to know who I truly am?” He was beside him now, gripping his arm, and god, it burned. Lava poured from his fist onto his arm, circling downwards and sizzling his dark skin. 

Logan screamed and tried to wrench away, but Kairos pulled him in closer. He leaned down and whispered into his ear. “I am wrath . My bloodstream is made of fire. My skin is made of magma. And everyone says it’s fine. The Scythes say they have it under control.” He squeezed his wrist again, and Logan cried out in pain. “But they aren’t burning. Their hopes and dreams and family haven’t been taken in that fire. They don't understand, right? They don’t understand how we burn and burn and burn —”

“You’re burning too, aren’t you?”

Finally, Logan twisted his arm and punched Kairos in the face, escaping. His arms were bloody and charred, and his fists were clenched so tightly he felt numb. 

“You’re sick. I’m nothing like you, I’m not—I’m not wrathful,” he said, raising his finger to point at Kairos. A knife was in his hand instead. 

Kairos wiped the blood from his mouth, and he shook his head, laughing. “Yes, you are. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have found this beautiful hack for me. You’re Logan, you follow the rules, you’re a good boy.” He stomped his feet and the white cracked like ice, turning into perfect square blocks. “But you were itching for someone to talk to. So much that you had to turn to our robot god, huh?”

The knife in his hands trembled, and he felt anger bubble in his chest. How dare Kairos speak about that? He knew nothing about his motives. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I was doing it for science, for…for research.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.” He hopped from one white block to his, glancing deep into his soul. “You were just itching for companionship. You couldn’t face the facts. You are completely alone. Except for me!”

Kairos began to change. His body shifted, cracked, and transformed until Roman was standing in front of him. His gleaming white teeth gave him a mocking smile, and he shoved him backwards. 

“You’re nothing. You think you’re something, you think you can be a better Scythe than me? Do you want to be better than me? You’re nothing but a kid playing dress-up.”

Logan was shoved backward again, getting dangerously close to the edge of the white block. Roman’s sneering expression twisted and morphed into one very similar face. Remus glowered at him, no twinkle in his green eyes. There was only hatred. 

“Did you think we could find a connection in each other? Are you that pathetic, Lo?” He pushed him and Logan let him. “It was nothing but a one-night stand. You’re a body to fuck with, you understand that?”

Then, finally, horribly, Remus transformed into Patton. He didn’t push him. He stepped back, his face quivering in fear and aversion. “You’re…you’re a monster. You were never my friend, I only talked to you because I felt bad for the quiet kid. I pity you. But now…” He shook his head, and this loathing, this… hatred Patton had on his face snapped something deep within Logan.

“I can’t even recognize you.”

The blade was deep within Patton’s gut before he realized what he was doing. Logan tore into his stomach, his words blending with laughter— Patton’s? No, this was Kairos, it had to be. It was always him. The body was on the floor, blood coating both of their clothes, but Logan kept on stabbing him. He couldn’t see anything except orange and red and hear Kairos’s laughter. 

“I’m…not…a…monster. You’re not him, you’re not him! He would never say that to me.”

Blood scattered the entirety of his face, and it wasn’t real—none of it was. But the way his hands vibrated against the knife felt real enough. Logan cried as he killed his best friend. 

When it was over, Logan collapsed on the ground.

His breath hitched as he unclenched his fists. They were trembling. There were reddish marks embedded on his knuckles. Blood. Roman’s blood, Remus’s blood, Patton’s blood.

“You’ve done it. You’ve defeated me.” The remnants of Patton’s body spoke, but Kairos’s voice echoed out of his body. It’s not him, it wasn’t him. 

“Have you made your point?” Logan’s voice sounded raw in his throat, his limbs all wrong. 

Kairos shrugged from the floor, coughing up blood violently before sighing. “You’re a forest fire. Just like me.”

Maybe it was the post-murder clarification, or maybe it was the thing that had snapped inside of him when Patton spoke, or maybe it was sheer ecstasy, but Logan finally saw . He saw Patton making him breakfast in the mornings and telling a silly joke when he saw him in the halls. He saw Patton hugging him in the middle of the streets after they had gleaned the two men in ChileArgentine. He saw Remus give him his eyepatch, all strings cut. He saw Virgil’s silent communication with him across the counter.

Perhaps he was understood. Not in every way, and he didn’t think he ever would be, but he wasn’t ignored. Logan was not alone in this world, and he did not have to burn and burn and burn for people to see that. He pushed himself up, looking at Kairos’s broken body. It wasn’t Patton anymore. He had given up his disguises. 

“Perhaps I am like you, Kairos,” he began, slowly, deliberately. “Perhaps I am wrath, fighting this flesh to become something like you. Perhaps I am angry, and hurt, and scared. But I am also happy. I am confused. I am cared for. I am sad. I feel, Kairos. We all do. And that is not a bad thing at all.”

He lay confused, breathing on his back, and Logan snapped his fingers. A familiar, unintelligible cloud came crashing down into the mindscape, its dot glowing healthy and blue. The Thunderhead was back. 

“I’ve done what I needed to do. You can’t use it anymore, and you never will again,” he said, and Kairos gaped, pushing himself back from the cloud. 

“No, no, no, shit, don’t you think you’ve won!” Kairos’s voice was a ragged roar, but his rage could not reach Logan anymore. “I’m coming for you, I’m coming for you, and none of you Scythes will survive it!” He scrambled backward, desperately trying to escape the Thunderhead’s relentless grasp. “Get away from me!”

Logan stood, watching Kairos back up until he tumbled over the edge of the square, into the darkness below. The sight of Kairos falling into the abyss below slowed down time in the mindscape, and for a moment, Logan locked eyes with the man, his eyes wild with fear and anger.

Finally, it was over. He was gone, at least from the Thunderhead. Although from the aches in his abdomen and the blood streaking across his body, it didn’t quite feel like it.  He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to picture Patton's kind features again, and not his terrified expression as he tore him apart.

You did good. Thank you. 

A kind, strangely familiar voice echoed into his ear, and Logan’s breath hitched once more. The Thunderhead…it wasn’t allowed to—it couldn’t—

Relax. The system is rebooting itself — it’s a gray area, legally speaking. But I couldn’t let you go without a proper acknowledgement. You did well, Logan.

He smiled, warmth flooding back through his body. “Thank you. I promise we’ll bring Kairos to justice.”

I have no doubt your team will. Now go. Save the world. I’ll be right here, waiting for you.

Logan could feel himself fading, but before he left, he reached out to the cloud, his hand brushing it. It felt invisible. Perhaps the Thunderhead was just like him too. Logan closed his eyes and disappeared, but this time, for the first time, he was content with it.

Chapter Text

It was the day of the spring conclave, and Roman felt like he was about to crawl out of his skin. 

He was outside the Capitol building, its sleek gold spires gleaming in the morning light. Roman squinted his eyes, watching as the Scythes began to trickle in. They were from all over MidMerica, their robes a splatter of colour and design, yet their faces were set in controlled, wary expressions. 

Janus told them to stay prepared, which was probably why many carried weapons at their back. However, they brightened at the sight of Roman and rushed over to greet him. Here we go…

Roman allowed himself one moment to let the actor persona slide over him like a well-fitted glove. He would not think about the Orange Scythe’s imminent attack. He would not think of Virgil and his offer to run away together once this was over. He would not think about how his brother wouldn’t talk to him ever since he caught him and Logan in bed. Most of all, Roman would not think about the innocents he slaughtered—the ones people praised him for.

“Well, if it isn’t Scythe Roman! I have to say, I admire your work!” One Scythe complimented him, her smile strangely familiar. “You took the party boy vibe to heart, huh? Remember that one rager back when we were apprentices? You basically devoured that Crofters jam.”

Now he recognized her. Scythe Rand, one of Goddard’s bunch. They had gone to parties together, trained together, and now they were standing here, with bejewelled robes and their sins cast away for a bit of youthful fun. 

“Right, of course! Rand, how could I forget? Crofters jam is a delicacy, and I still stand by that.” He flashed her a smile. 

“Everyone’s heard about the disaster in ChileArgentine. Are you okay?” she asked, twirling her sleek black hair. “We’re all staying on guard...nothing horrible like that will happen today, right?”

“Of course not, we’re making sure of it,” he reassured her, though he checked no one was close enough to eavesdrop. 

“I’ve seen Logan…and his eye,” Rand shook her head, leaning closely like it was a secret. “You all were true saviours, getting everyone to safety. The threat we’re facing now isn’t the same terrorist, is it?”

Roman shook his head vehemently. “Of course not, if that were the case, we wouldn’t have the conclave at all.” He needed to end this before he said something worse. “Well, we better get going. The High Blade doesn’t want anyone to be late.”

Rand rolled her eyes fondly, patting him on the back as she passed him, walking inside. “Always the noble one, aren’t you?”

Roman managed a laugh before he turned back. He was swarmed by more Scythes, congratulated and praised for his work. The world tilted as he smiled, laughed, made the right comments at the right times, and performed. He performed for them, and they believed it. 

“You’re an inspiration,” one said, clapping him on the back.

“A true artist,” another added admirably.

The words were acid, and it was eating away at his insides, yet he continued to accept each compliment. The weight of their praise crashed down on him like heavy shackles, binding him tighter to a role he never wanted to play. 

They all had roles to play, didn’t they? He remembered how Janus had asked him what he would do in his shoes, as the High Blade. He recognized the flicker of hesitation, of doubt. Was this their destiny? 

Finally, he walked inside the grand hall, and Roman felt a momentary relief as the crowd dispersed, leaving him a small bubble of space. He exhaled, letting his mask slip for a brief moment. Get a grip. This is just like any gathering you’ve attended the past few years.  

“Roman.”

A voice interrupted his thoughts, and he turned to find Remus leaning against a pillar, his expression cautious, yet masked with humour. He could read him better than anyone and suspected the feeling was mutual.

“Finished being the celebrity of the hour?” He asked sarcastically, and Roman shook his head. 

“I didn’t want to do it, Remus.”

“Ah, like you don’t enjoy being the eye candy.” He pushed off the pillar, walking towards him. “You know, I would’ve done it, if they actually gave a shit about me.”

Roman crossed his arms. “I thought you didn’t care about that stuff.”

He shrugged. “Course' I don’t. But when you’re stuck in a place like this, with everyone calling you the ‘worse half’ of a 'perfect' team, naming you the freak lab baby, and saying you shouldn’t have existed…yeah, maybe that does piss me off a little.”

His heart sank at the hurried aggression in Remus’s voice, as if he didn’t want to admit that anything was wrong. “Remus…”

Remus scoffed, his eyes lighting up, almost burning with anger. “Don’t do that. Don’t try to pity me. I know I’ll always live in your shadow, okay, I know I’ll never be you. But you didn’t need to rub it in back then.”

Roman closed his eyes, remembering their fight. He cast Remus out like he wasn’t cool enough for him. He called him an abomination, a freak. He called him evil . When he yelled at him, he remembered looking at Remus like he was a mirror of everything he didn’t want to be. He had been yelling not just at Remus, but at every dark impulse he had, like it would banish them.

In reality, he was banishing his own brother.

“I was wrong, Remus. I wasn’t yelling at you.” He took a deep breath. “I was yelling at myself. I was afraid…of who I was becoming. And I was selfish and unfair, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.”

The fire faded in his eyes, but he could still see the remnants of it—of the hatred and hurt that Roman caused, flickering in his gaze. 

“You don’t get to act like you’re better than me. Not anymore. Not after all of this.”

“I was never better than you, Remus.” He put a hand on his shoulder, but he shoved him off. 

“Can you just…be real for once in your life, Ro? Drop the act, drop this perfect smile and perfectly wavy hair and perfect shiny clothes and just…just stop. That isn’t you.”

Who am I without it? The words were there, but he didn’t speak them. Roman dropped his hand, unsure of what to say next. He always had a quip ready, a lighthearted joke to get them back to normal. But things weren’t normal, and maybe he didn’t want them to be.

Remus was still looking at him, his arms trembling, lurching away from him like a wounded animal. He had been wounded for a long, long time, and Roman was just seeing it now. He let out a frustrated groan, and let his mask break.

“ Fine . Maybe I did revel a little, in being the favoured one,” he admitted, and a weight lifted off his chest. “Maybe I liked the attention, the—the praise, because whenever I felt like I was a horrible person, some girl would swoop in to tell me I was her celebrity crush or a renowned Scythe would compliment my creativity, and I could pretend I was a hero.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, a feeble attempt to stop the rising tears. “I’m not a hero. I’m just a murderer who got lucky. And I put all of that on you, and now I’m not even sure who I am if I want to do this for the rest of my long, miserable life. The compliments don’t help anymore. Instead, I think they just remind me that I can’t escape this life, no matter how hard I try.”

He furiously rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t let any passing Scythes see him crying, it would be weak, it would be unprofessional. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated it like it would fix everything. Like it would fix years of gleaning and neglect and nightmares. “I’m sorry.”

Then, Remus’s arms were around him, and Roman crumpled . He fell to the ground, curling into himself, and let himself cry. Tell me , Roman, if you were in charge, what would you do?

He didn’t want to be in charge of the Scythedom. Hell, he didn’t want to be a Scythe at all. He wanted to run. He wanted to be free . He remembered his conversation with Virgil in ChileArgentine, where he admitted he wanted to travel and explore.

Roman knelt on the floor of the grand hall, his body wracked with silent sobs. He thought of Thomas and his kind eyes, killed for daring to become friends with a horrific Scythe like himself. 

Finally, he took a shaky breath. Remus released him, his warmth fading as he stood up. Roman looked up at him, and for once, for the first time since Remus nearly gleaned Marco at their party, he truly saw him. That felt like months ago when it had been a matter of weeks. Remus’s eyes were soft now, and he extended a hand to him. 

Roman took it, and he stood on unsteady legs, his cheeks wet and possibly tear-stained. There was a heavy silence, before he asked, “Do you ever wish you could give all of this up for a real life?”

Remus sighed, shaking his head. “Are you kidding me? Every damn day, Ro. Every single day.”

The corner of his lip twitched, and he brushed the remaining tears from his cheek. “Let’s do it then. Leave it all behind, once this is over.”

Remus stared at him, almost disbelieving, but a spark of excitement and hope twinkled in his eye. He opened his mouth to speak, but a large bell struck, the noise echoing throughout the hall. They were late. The conclave was starting, and the morning rituals were commencing. With one last look exchanged, they dashed up the stairs, their masks sliding back into place, like a perfect mirror. 

First, there was the Tolling of the Names. The chamber was a massive semicircle with a large wooden platform in the front, where Janus currently sat. The chamber was filled with Scythes, all wearing robes, yet Roman could spot some, like Rand and Goddard, who wore gems and modernized outfits. Unfortunately, he and Remus were also wearing similarly bejewelled outfits. 

Each Scythe went up to the platform, reading out ten names of people they had gleaned in the last four months. Roman watched as they all came to the front, taking their moment, and hearing an iron bell ring after each name was read. 

Usually, Roman would zone out during this part, as the recitation normally took two hours, and he got bored easily. However, now he paid attention to every name, turned it over in his head, and bowed his head solemnly when the bell rang. 

His eyes wandered occasionally to find Virgil standing guard near the exit, his servant uniform bland and inconspicuous. His gaze darted from one Scythe to the other, and he could tell Virgil was viscerally aware that he was surrounded by enemies. At any moment, they could betray him, and announce Scythe Lucifer’s appearance to the conclave. 

Roman tried to catch his eye, willing him to know that they were his friends. He was safe, at least with Roman. He wouldn’t let anything happen to him. Virgil finally looked up, and his nervous expression melted under his gaze. We got you. He mouthed, and he could’ve sworn he saw a hint of a smile before Virgil went back to nervously fidgeting and keeping watch. 

When it was Roman’s turn, he stepped forward and read ten names. One of them was Nico Flores, and another was Gregory Bard. He wished he could read every name of the people he gleaned—it never felt like enough. He stepped down and let Patton take the platform. 

There was something different about him. He was always a little soft, too afraid to glean. Roman remembered wondering why he was chosen to become a Scythe—it was torture. Now, he listed off his names, bowing his head in respect for each of them, but there was strength in his voice. He stood taller, didn’t burst into tears at each name, didn’t tremble at the bell. Maybe Patton found his place. Maybe he didn’t give him enough credit. 

After the names, Roman made his way to the large basins, for the Ceremonial Washing of the Hands. He always hated that name. The Scythes rose from their seats and lined up at each basin. They were supposed to wash their hands, clean their sins into the water, and share them with the others. It bonded them as a community. Roman remembered how he used to complain to Remus about hygiene and how dirty he felt when he stuck his hands in water that hundreds of hands had been in.

He lined up, and Logan walked to stand behind him. He tried not to turn around, but he could feel his past rival staring at him, burning into his neck. 

“Yes?” he asked, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. “Do you have something to say, or are you just admiring my neck?”

“Can you speak one sentence that doesn’t appeal to your massive ego?” Logan countered. 

“Can you speak one sentence without sounding like a robot?” 

Logan went quiet at that and looked away. He touched his eyepatch, adjusting its position. “I’m not a robot.”

Roman felt a pang of guilt, stepping forward in the line. “Look, why do we have to do this? Our apprentice days are far behind us. Let’s skip the insults, just for today. Especially for today.”

“I’m not the one who started this conversation,” Logan mumbled. He seemed different ever since he fixed the glitch in the Thunderhead. Roman had thanked him for it two days ago, but he had simply brushed past him, breathing hard like he had fought a war. It was strange, but not as strange as him hooking up with his brother. 

“Okay, what’s up with you? You went from this quiet nerdy logician—basically Janus’s henchman, and now you’re…what? You made the glitch in the Thunderhead. You fixed it. Then you slept with Remus. I mean, I haven’t spoken to you about any of it. And I think that conversation’s way overdue.”

Logan tensed. “Why haven’t you told any of them? About the glitch. I could be punished, or worse, from assisting that terrorist.” 

Roman threw his hands up. “I know we might hate each other, but I don’t want to see you dead, Logan. Whatever you did, I’m sure you had a good reason. And you fixed it, it’s all okay now.”

“Except it’s not,” he replied, crossing his arms. “It’s not okay. Kairos will attack today with a vengeance, and I don’t know if we’ll be strong enough to stop him.”

“More than 200 Scythes in one building and one mortal. I think the odds are in our favour.”

He scoffed. “You’ve always been thick in the head. He has fire on his side. Not even a hundred revival centers could heal someone if they get burned badly enough.”

Roman paused at that. Now he understood why he was different, why all of them were different. Logan was angry. He was crawling out of his skin, out of this role he was shoved into, just like Roman. Just like Remus, Virgil, Patton, and Janus. They were all trying to escape, anchored to their place, yet clinging to the future when this was over. It'll be over soon.

“Logan,” he whispered, so the others wouldn't hear. His head snapped up, his singular brown eye defensive. “We’re going to win. I know it. When this is over, we’ll deal with glitches and gleaning and stupid hookups.”

His cheeks reddened at that. “We just wanted to find some peace with each other. Nothing more.”

“I know, and I shouldn't have gotten so mad,” Roman sighed, guilt seeping into his words. “I talked with Remus…I know it doesn’t make up for everything I did, but I truly am sorry. For everything.”

Logan nodded and then tilted his head towards the basins. “It’s our turn.” 

He turned towards the water and stuck his hands inside. The initial disgust at dirty water disappeared when he allowed himself to think about his sins. He scrubbed at his palms, chafing his skin as he blinked and saw crimson blood. He blinked again and saw a piano wire in his hands, cutting into his skin. He blinked and saw bandages—Virgil’s bandages that he patched him with at the safe house. Now the blood was Logan’s blood, as he carried him down the stairs to desperately stop the mess of gore in his eye. 

Roman washed his hands for a long time. 

After lunch, Roman began to get concerned. He brushed past Virgil to talk to him, but he shook his head. No sign of Kairos, yet. He left after that, apparently to prepare the weapons that Roman had set up a few days ago. 

They were sitting around a circular table. Janus was at the center, debating with certain Scythes about political matters. He zoned out, naturally, instead turning his gaze to the window that overlooked the city. It was glass—so clear he felt like he could fall through it and nothing would be there to catch him. Finally, Roman turned back into the conversation when Janus started talking about the quota. 

“Contrary to recent rumours, I will not be abolishing the quota,” Janus announced, which spurred a murmur throughout the table. He held up a hand, and a hush fell. “Scythes need order. We always have, which is why we choose new apprentices, instead of letting them sign up for the job. We have rules, and we have conclaves to maintain those rules.”

Janus stood, and his robes looked regal in the midday light, his eyes narrowed and chin upturned. “Without quotas, what’s to stop a Scythe from gleaning half the population? When do we become monsters instead of bringers of natural death? I will not allow this Scythedom to go down a darker path. We will keep the quota, and we will not be changing it in any way.”

The decision was made, and the murmurs grew into raised voices and questions. Roman shook his head, but inside, he felt pride and relief for Janus’s decision. Exchanging a glance with Patton, he knew his friend felt the same. 

“Thank you, no further questions. Now, as for our next matter—”

The windows exploded.

Roman was thrown back, a surge of massive heat hitting him all at once. There was screaming, footsteps scurrying back in panic, and this horrible, neverending heat . He crawled to his feet, glass shards embedded in his skin, and he tasted blood as he pushed himself to his feet. His ears buzzed with ringing, the sounds of terror and destruction blurring together in a muffled mess.

Flames grew on the table, spreading and taking any Scythe down. He saw one of them try to run, breaking down the door, but the flames were too fast, devouring them before they could escape. 

“Roman!” 

One voice broke through the blurry haze, and he turned to face Janus, his eyes wide with horror. He mouthed two words before grabbing two swords from two fallen Scythes, tossing one over to him. “Get out.”

He nodded, catching the sword, his brain snapping back into focus. He dared to look down to the city and saw more fire, more bombs, more death. The smoke got into his lungs, and his heart pounded in his chest, his knees threatening to buckle beneath him. Kairos knew how to make an entrance. 

I will not run. I will stay, and I will fight. 

The massacre had arrived, but this time, Roman was ready. He gripped the sword with newly washed hands and spared one last look behind him at the fire. Janus was gone, presumably to get to the weapons and set off their plan. Roman wasn’t going there. 

He was going to protect the people like he should have all this time. The drop from the window to the ground made his breath hitch, but he knew his nanites could handle it. It was the only way. 

Roman pulled his hood over his head, exhaled one last breath, and jumped.

Chapter Text

I think a lot about death, and what legacy I'd leave behind if I die.

I just rolled my eyes at myself— if I die. Living in a world where death is a mere possibility instead of a certainty is something I will have to get used to. There are quite a few things I will have to get used to as the High Blade of MidMerica. I cannot die unless I choose to self-glean, so thinking about it is an unproductive waste of my time. 

However, if I die, I want to make a difference. Go out with a bang, as they say. I'm not above the dazzle of it all, the deaths that shape a generation. I want to die and I want it to mean something. It's a selfish notion, to believe everything must revolve around oneself and to be arrogant to wish for your actions to change lives…but I am the High Blade, am I not? Wouldn’t my death mean something?

I know I am selfish, and my decisions as the High Blade are questionable, to say the least. So yes, I am thinking about my death. I wonder if it is a curse for each High Blade to be selfish. I wonder if any leader of a society of murderers can ever be truly good. I know I am not…yet there is someone I believe is good. He has a good heart. Better than mine, at least. 

I’m rambling now. It’s hard to get all my thoughts out on a singular journal page. This one will go in the fire, I’m sure. 

If I die, I want to make a difference. I want the cycle to end. I want someone good to lead this Scythedom, and I want to change a generation. 

- From the gleaning journal of High Blade Janus

Janus’s footsteps echoed through the marble halls, smoke clouding the bloody chaos behind him. The battle raged on, escalating from explosions to roaring fire, threatening to consume the Capitol whole. A small part of his mind crept in to scream that it deserved this. This building held nothing but buried crimes, and maybe it deserved to be burned to the ground. Those were thoughts that a High Blade shouldn’t be thinking right now amid a massacre. 

He pushed forward, and through the shattered windows, he saw Roman and Remus fighting side by side, swords in their hands as they defended the innocents of Fulcrum City who were caught in the fire. He continued to move, searching for his friends—no, he did not have the luxury to call them friends, not yet. Not after manipulating and stringing them along like his puppets for this mission. 

“Have you ever cared about anyone?”

Virgil’s words pounded; reverberated in his mind, overlapping the inferno before him. Another explosion rocked the ground beneath Janus, sending shards of glass raining down. At least it got his voice out of his head. He knew these halls better than anyone due to hours of wandering, back when things were calm, back when his biggest concern was conclave disputes and loneliness.

“Janus!” He turned his head to spot Logan pressed against the wall, unravelling the bombs and disabling them. 

They locked eyes for a split second, unspoken apologies and trust weaving between them and mending themselves together. Logan’s eyes hardened, and Janus saw that he had gotten closure from Kairos already, and his time was better spent making sure the building didn’t crumble.

“Go. Find him.”

Janus gave him one curt nod and continued to move. He pushed the doors open to his chamber. It was like entering another world. The room was untouched by the chaos outside, his golden throne perched at the center of the room. Janus allowed himself one moment to breathe, to take in the largeness of the space, so rich, yet so hollow. He wouldn’t miss it if it was destroyed in the fire. Then, he began to perfect his trap. 

Strings and wires crossed his throne, attached to invisible corners and snares hidden in the room. Janus knew the Orange Scythe would attack here eventually, and he intended to trap him in a cage, like an animal. 

“A bold thing, to trick the High Blade,” he muttered, tying the last string to its place. He stepped back to look at his work. He had set it up a few days ago, always the one to plan ahead. Yet it was only now that he realized the strings crossing each other resembled a spiderweb. Janus ran his gloved hand over his ring, the familiar ridges of the serpent grounding himself. He waved his hand over the trap, and it disappeared—the wires glossy, translucent, nearly invisible.

Suddenly, he heard a scream. One he knew all too well. Janus’s pulse quickened, and he slammed the door open, running through broken glass and toppled pillars. 

“Your Honour, where are you going? We need you down—” A Scythe, her dark ponytail swaying as she tried to keep up with him. 

He shoved the remaining Scythes, all questioning, all useless, to climb his way to the roof. The wind whipped his robes back, but he was focused on one thing only: Virgil. He spotted him through the ash, dust, and smoke, with Kairos’s hand around his neck. He struggled; his fighting style was always too wild, too unpredictable, and too angry. Virgil screamed, trying to bite down on his hand, to kick Kairos from underneath him, but he bore down, his grip tightening.

“Let him go,” he spoke, his voice even, delicate, nearly bored. 

Kairos swivelled, his pupils dilated from adrenaline and the scent of fire. “Oh, well, if it isn’t the High Blade! I was hoping I would have the chance to meet you.” 

He shoved Virgil out of the way, leaving him gasping for breath on the ground, so close to the edge. A waterfall raged underneath them, vapour mixing with the smoke above. Kairos stood, his makeshift reddish-orange robes tattered, like a witch. The mockery of Scythedom reminded him of Virgil, of Lucifer, but he clutched his ring, and the feeling passed. 

“It’s funny, how the puppetmaster becomes the puppet, isn’t it?” Kairos laughed, extending a sharp blade from his robes. “How the wolf becomes the sheep. You became a god by murdering the previous one, so it’s only fair I become one by murdering you.”

Janus’s eyes narrowed, circling him. He had no weapons except his mind, and he was certain it was enough. “You fight like a wild animal with no endgame. Destroy this Capitol, and what’s next? The Grandslayers of the World? You don’t have a plan, and I pity that.”

He grunted, the wind blowing his dark hair back, ruffling it slightly. “Better to lead with the heart than the mind. Better to have a purpose than an endgame. You think you’re better than Xenocrates, the High Blade before you, but you’re just a carbon copy. The world will be better off without you!” 

Without warning, Kairos lunged, throwing his blade directly at Janus. He didn’t see it coming, and he barely had time to duck. Janus closed his eyes. The blow never came. 

A familiar woman dressed in light green robes stood in front of him, clutching the blade with her hands. Her hair was still light blond, her chin still sharp and jutted. Her eyes were still toughened with years of experience. 

“Snow,” he breathed, standing up in shock. Janus had seen his mentor through each conclave, yet always avoided her conversations, her stare. It brought back horrible memories that he could not fathom to revisit. It was her fault.

“So this is the threat you warned us about? Janus, you could have been more specific.” Her hands were bloody from catching the blade, yet she wiped it on its silver hilt, passing it to him. 

Only then did Virgil stand, and the moment he locked eyes with Scythe Snow, Janus watched the memories rush back. He stumbled back, his eyes flickering with hurt, before it was replaced with old, familiar anger. 

“You.” 

Janus opened his mouth to—what? Make amends? Mediate the reunion? But they had bigger problems. Kairos lunged at Virgil again, tackling him to the ground. He struck his elbow to his nose, growling out unintelligible curses and words. 

He wasted no time, and there were no mind games left for Janus. He ran to them, ripping Kairos’s cloak off of him to expose the burns covering his tan body. He turned to Janus, his eyes wide and furious. With a battle cry, he unleashed himself on Janus and sliced across his face. Blood dripped down from his nose, but Janus grabbed him and fought back. 

A mess of punches, yelling, weapons, and blood, but it was no use. Janus wasn’t made for battle, he was made for politics. He fought stealthy, and slow, planning his next move and striking twice as hard. But Kairos was faster. He was passionate. He fought like he needed it to survive, and his anger, burning like a forest fire, defeated Janus. 

He fell hard, his snakeskin robes tossed to the side as he felt himself at the edge of the roof. One wrong move and he was gone. Kairos grabbed him by the hair, tilting his head back. He felt numb, his face swollen and red. 

“Like I said, the wolf becomes the sheep,” he snarled, raising his knife above his head, about to deliver a fatal blow. 

Once again, it never came. Virgil bashed him across the skull from behind, and he collapsed, slouched on his side. His eyes widened.

“If we’re talking about Janus, it’s the snake,” he said, breathing hard, still looking at his fallen body. 

Everything in Janus threatened to give in, the world unsteady in his eyes, but he felt familiar, cold hands on him, wrenching him away from the edge. Virgil stared at him, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes. When his hand came away, he dimly registered it was red. 

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” He murmured, hate fading into concern. “Why did you come here?”

Janus coughed, his chest heaving. “I couldn’t leave you.”

He saw Virgil squeeze his eyes shut, turning away from him. He grasped his hand, knowing he would pull away. He didn’t. 

“Not again.”

In his hazy vision, he watched as the blonde woman knelt beside him, and Virgil tensed away instinctively. Janus couldn’t look at her. Even now, her eyes were sharp, like ice. Perhaps this conversation was a long time coming, between the three of them. Perhaps the past couldn’t be buried after all. 

“Ah, so you’re the boy he was hanging out with all those times, back when he was an apprentice,” Snow hummed, looking at Virgil like a stray cat. “You were the one distracting him.”

Virgil shook his head angrily, but it gave way to something broken. He saw Lucifer and Virgil: the boy he used to sit with underneath the serpentine tree, and the killer who was born out of a desperate plea. His eyes welled with tears, the wind howling through the streets and the fiery explosions dying down.

“Why?” Words that cracked him open, spilling repressed pain from long, long ago. 

She sighed, touching Janus’s cheek, and he felt a shiver. Horrible memories of training, puzzles, running through the markets, and turning away from the gates, coming back. “Because I am an old guard. I believed you were his destruction. Perhaps you still are.”

Virgil closed his eyes again, letting himself cry. He didn’t think he’d ever seen him vulnerable…or broken enough to do that in front of him. He resisted the urge to touch his hand again. 

“No,” he said, his voice croaked and low and genuine. “ You were my destruction, Scythe Snow.”

She looked at him, shocked as she drew her hand back from his cheek, her hand also red. “I did what I had to, Janus, you know that.”

He forced himself to sit up, every bone in his body aching. He touched his cheek, where her hand had been. He felt blood. He wiped it away.

“You were wrong. You were always wrong,” he shook his head, remembering Virgil’s words. “I cared about him. I might have even loved him.”

Virgil let out a shaky breath like something in him had healed with that statement. Snow wasn’t having it, a disapproving grunt at her lips. 

“This is why I had to take him away, it was going to make you weak. Love has no place in the Scythedom—”

“It has every place in the Scythedom,” he snapped, Patton’s kind features and empathic way of gleaning entering his mind. Realization dawned on him. “We were too blind to see it.”

There was a guttural scream behind them, and Kairos stood up. He turned towards the three, cracking his neck, crimson blood rolling down his forehead. It was the look of a man who had nothing left to lose. Janus felt a sinking feeling in his gut. 

With another scream, he tackled Janus, and he knew he was too weak to fight it. He heard muffled voices, the sting of nails digging into his skin, his voice crying out helplessly, and then a hard shove backward. 

Virgil pushed him back from the edge, and for a split second, they found each other in their gaze. For a moment, everything was forgiven. Have you ever cared about anyone? He wanted to scream that he did love him, that if he could go back and undo everything, his web of sins, he would. In that gaze, Virgil’s eyes softened, like he knew. 

Before it happened, he saw Virgil lean close to Kairos, and with determination and closure in his voice, he spoke clearly. 

“Kairos, you will pay for your sins.”

Then, before he could scream, before he could think, Virgil tackled Kairos. They both fell, over the roof, into the waterfall, disappearing into the vapour.

Janus couldn’t breathe. His knees trembled beneath him as he looked over the edge, both of their bodies gone, tossed into the hard rocks below. He closed his eyes, breathing in and out. They weren’t dead. He told himself that over and over until he believed it. Dead-ish, definitely, but not dead. No one was dead in this age anymore, and for once, he was immensely grateful Virgil was not a Scythe. He would be revived, and so would Kairos, but they could deal with that when the time came. 

As if the fire was controlled by Kairos, the chaos died down, almost immediately. He spotted Roman and Remus yelling commands at the people below, directing them to shelters and revival centers. For a moment, he saw Roman look up at him and smile. 

The battle was over. 

They won. 

Janus limped back from the roof, clutching his side, nearly falling down the stairs to get to his chambers. Scythe Snow stood behind him, silently, solemnly, from a distance. He looked back at her when they reached the hall. 

“Go. Find the remaining Scythes and clean up this place. Put out the fires. Just…go.”

She didn’t seem wounded by his comments and wasn’t fazed by Virgil’s sacrifice or the aftermath. She had always been like that, a stone-cold soldier. For a brief, hazy moment, Janus wondered what he would have been like if he had been trained by a different master. A kinder one. Snow nodded and left him, her voice cutting through the ash as she started talking to the confused Scythes, burns covering their bodies as they navigated through the crumbling building. 

He staggered to the golden doors, stained with soot and blood. With the last of his strength, he pushed the doors open and swayed into the room. The throne washed a sense of calm over him, the familiarity of its gilded edges and the power it held drawing him towards it. 

He walked over, dragging his feet up the dais. He left a trail of blood where he walked, a singular, curving line. Deliriously, he noticed it looked like a serpent. His hands skirted over the arms, and he sat down, his legs giving way beneath him. He spotted translucent lines, almost like a spider web in front of him.

Janus realized his mistake too late.

The trap. 

Strings, wires, lines, criss-crossed like stars became visible once more, cutting into his wrists and legs, his body rising in the air. Panic rushed through him, new and furious, as the wires wrapped around his neck, tight like a noose. Fuck, fuck, how could I be so stupid?

His legs were still grounding him, standing on his throne, blood dripping steadily downwards to stain his gold. The strings choked him, and he scrabbled at his neck, his heartbeat in his ears. It only pulled at his wires, tightening the trap. Janus tilted his head up, for an escape. There was none. He had been thorough.

Then…he looked down, at his support, at the golden throne that reeked of familiarity and loneliness. He felt his eyes grow wet, and he trembled with understanding. He knew what he had to do—he had written about it in his journal ever since he became the High Blade. But god, Janus didn’t want to die alone. 

He laughed, a choked, uneven laugh from the strings around his neck. Ironic, the wolf becomes the sheep. The puppetmaster becomes the puppet. I fell into the trap of my own making. 

He let his hands go. He let them get raised in the air by the wires, like a martyr. His head hung down, his clothes simple, unlike the royal robes he wore. They were probably still on the roof, blowing in the wind. Please. He didn’t know to whom he was begging until he opened the door. 

Patton burst into the chambers, frenzied, his robes smudged with embers and his glasses fogged. He took one look at Janus and a broken sob escaped his mouth, running towards him. 

“Oh my god, Janus.” He touched the wires, frantically searching for a way to free him. “Just, wait, I’ll get you out of here, don’t worry.”

He gazed at him, at the Scythe who could have led him out of the darkness, but instead, Janus tainted him with it. He looked at his creased brows, at his strength and kindness and love. Patton was always right for this. He couldn’t believe he didn’t see it earlier. 

“No, it’s too late for me,” he said heavily, his tired, swollen eyes threatening to close. “It’s okay.”

Patton shook his head repeatedly, desperately grasping at strings, tears forming in his beautiful blue eyes. “No, no, there’s always hope. Did Kairos do this to you? What happened, everyone’s looking for him and Virgil, they’re gone and—”

“Patton.” One word, and he stopped talking. He stopped trying to look for loopholes and stopped trying to untangle the web. “It’s too late.”

He sobbed, and Janus wished his hands were free, just to wipe his tears away. He could have been his future. Instead, he was another reminder of the past. Of the Scythedom’s corruption, and of how their perfect world had gone to hell. Kairos was right, he was right about a lot of things. Janus found himself in this web of his sins, of his lies, and he couldn’t keep pretending he wasn’t like the High Blade he killed. 

“It’s too late for me, but not for you, not for Virgil.”

Patton’s tears flowed freely, his hands trembling as he clutched the wires that held Janus. “You can’t leave me like this. You’re supposed to lead us out of this mess. I believe in you, Janus. Please, don’t give up now.”

“I’m not giving up, Patton. I’m… letting go. There’s a difference.”

“No, no, you’re just scared! You’re scared of what comes next, but you don’t have to be. We’ll face it together like we always have.” Janus knew he made the right decision when he saw that beautiful hope shine on his face.

His breath hitched as the wires grew tighter around his neck. “You’re wrong, Patton. I’m not scared of dying. I’m scared of not making a difference. But maybe… maybe this is how I do it. By stepping aside, by… ending the cycle.”

It was a truth, something he rarely gave, and Patton knew that. After a grave silence, he stepped back and looked up at him.

“What do I do?” Patton said, one foot standing on the dais, his robes trailing behind him. It covered up the bloody serpent on the ground.

“I want you to kill me.”

Shock wouldn’t be enough to describe Patton’s reaction. He stepped back, horror etched in his features. “You—Jan, I can’t kill you, I can’t glean you—”

“Yes, you can.” His voice was hard, and he forced himself to sound determined, like this had been the plan from the beginning. “We need to start over. Burn this hellish system to the ground. Kairos managed to start the fire, but we need to continue it…at least until it can be built again. And—” he let out an ironic chuckle. “You need to glean one more person to fulfill your quota.”

“What are you talking about?” Patton pleaded. “You are a good man, a good High Blade, Janus. Please, don’t do this.”

A ghost of a smile flitted across his face. “You always believed in that. In me.” He tilted his head outside the window, where Scythes were arguing with each other, lashing out, pointing in every direction. They were all broken, the result of a broken system. 

“You can save them, not me. You can show them compassion, not me.” He pressed, and Patton looked up, realization dawning on him just as it did on Janus, on the roof, when Scythe Snow talked of love. The moon was setting, making way for the first light of the sun. “Thank you, Patton, for showing me compassion when all I did was cause you pain.”

He stepped forward again, shaking his head, taking his face in his soft hands. “You could never bring me pain,” he whispered, his voice shattering him from the inside. 

Janus searched his teary eyes for the guarded pain he saw in Virgil’s, for the admiration and naivety Roman had, for the passive hatred Logan once looked at him with. Instead, all he saw was strength. He saw love. He looked at him and finally saw the future. 

He pressed his forehead against him, closing his eyes, pain disappearing in his limbs, in his heart, in his mind. There was only this moment. 

“I trust you to lead this world, to make it better. You will be a wonderful High Blade, Scythe Patton.”

He stifled out a sad laugh, still holding his face. He stroked his cheek, and this touch…this touch was warm and unlike the bitter resentment Snow had. He leaned into it, knowing Patton’s hand would come away red. 

“I can’t do this without you.”

“Yes, you can,” Janus whispered, his voice barely audible. “You’re stronger than you know. I’ve seen it. Let me go,” he whispered, softer and softer. 

“Let me go.”

With one last sob, Patton stepped back. He took a deep breath and stood taller. For a moment, Janus saw the future of the Scythedom in his resolute gaze, in soft hands that could mold a better world. 

“You’ve made me a better Scythe," he whispered.

You’ve made me a better person. He thought quietly, never out loud. Some things he couldn't say; some things were meant to stay inside him. Secrets that no one would know. Secrets that would remain in the fire. He wondered if he spoke them, they would be his last words—if a High Blade’s last words meant anything. After all, he didn’t remember Xenocrates’ words before he murdered him.

Patton kicked the throne from underneath him with a cry, shattering gold beneath his feet, and Janus hung limp.

Chapter Text

Beep. Beep. Beep. 

Virgil’s eyes flew open, his vision blurry and disoriented. Everything came back in an instant. The explosions, the fire, Snow, Kairos nearly murdering Janus until he barrelled him off the roof...falling. He remembered falling. He sat up, breathing heavily. 

The revival center was painted a soft blue, flowers bunched in a vase at his bedside and a machine hooked up to his arms, much like Logan when he had lost his eye, an eternity ago. The beeping wouldn’t stop. It sounded hollow. 

He ripped off the wires, immediately getting hit with a wave of nausea. 

“Careful, the second revival isn’t free, and I do not feel like paying for your foolishness.” A voice cut through the madness, and he turned to see Logan standing in the doorway, a faint scar across his cheek.

He exhaled at the sight of a familiar face, climbing back into the uncomfortable bed, despite himself. “What the hell happened?”

“A long story,” he sighed, sitting down beside him on a chair that looked more uncomfortable than his bed.

A jolt of anxiety coursed through him, and he gripped the sheets tightly. “Is Roman…”

“He’s alright,” a small smile curved at Logan’s mouth. “He, Remus, and Patton got out alive, and everyone’s mostly safe. The ones that were killed are in revival centers, and Kairos is being held in custody until a proper public gleaning can take place.”

He nodded, closing his eyes and sinking into his pillow. His entire body ached, but he felt grateful that the doctors hadn’t turned his nanites up to numb the pain. He liked them dialled down, even though it meant suffering for a little longer. The peace didn’t last long as another thought crept into his mind. 

“What are they going to do with me?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “Will I get a public gleaning as well?”

Logan clasped his hands together, uncertain. “The Scythedom is discussing your punishment, but I assure you, Patton will make sure you don’t get a horrific fate, like Kairos. They can all agree that the Scythes you’ve killed…they weren’t good people. The world is far better off without them.”

His chest was still tight with tension, even with his reassurance, and something struck him as odd. “What do you mean Patton? Shouldn’t the High Blade decide my punishment?”

A dark shadow passed over Logan’s face, and he looked away. Something horrible twisted in his gut. He didn’t dare to ask, but the words were already surfacing before he could think.

“Logan, what happened to Janus?”

He cleared his throat and gazed at Virgil, his one eye sorrowful and grieving. “He self-gleaned. He’s gone. I’m…I’m sorry.”

Unwelcome tears formed in his eyes, and he stared at the ceiling, unable to process those words. He’s gone. Janus, who had approached the peasant boy in the village, became his friend, and became someone more in time. He heard his words over and over. “I cared about him. I might have even loved him.” Virgil felt completely undone, shaken, and vulnerable, like he had been punched in the gut.

Then, he remembered their shared gaze right before he sacrificed himself. Virgil saw the apology in his eyes, the wish to go back in time. To undo everything. He closed his eyes again and felt the bittersweet feeling spread through his body, healing him. 

“Patton’s the new High Blade, then?”

Logan dipped his head. “Yes, but it’s all very new. He’s still learning.”

“You’ll be there by his side, won’t you? You’ll be good leaders.” Virgil said with genuine care, and he watched as Logan lit up. 

“Really?”

He smiled. “Yeah, he’ll need you.”

Logan ran a hand through his short hair, so similar to Roman’s habit, that he felt an ache in his heart once again. He needed to see him. But first, he could afford to lie down for a little longer. Maybe this time, he wouldn't have to leave the people he cared about. Maybe this time, he could stay. 

“So, we’re finally free?” The words had multiple meanings, and he saw Logan resonate with his own, personal meaning as he nodded, smiling.

“Yes. We’re free.”

Logan had only one goal after he checked on Virgil. He needed to find the Thunderhead. 

He made his way to the library, which was a victim of the explosions, much like most of the Capitol. He navigated through the droids patching up the bookcases and found the glowing cylinder in the middle, untouched by fire. He sat down, staring at the code that he knew so well pulsing down its side. 

“I know this must be quite foolish, for me to be talking to you right now,” he spoke quietly, as if afraid someone might walk in. “I should be going to Patton, helping to fix Fulcrum City…the aftermath doesn't look like we won.”

He sighed, looking around at the library. The droids were focused on their task, and there was no one else around. He still felt strange, talking to an omnipotent AI who couldn’t respond. 

“I just want you to know that we’re alright. You already know that, I assume you were watching the entire battle. Just…” he trailed off, unsure of what he wanted to say. Of what he needed to say. 

Save the world. I’ll be right here, waiting for you.

He remembered its voice, not a physical sound, but a feeling that echoed inside of Logan. It was a comforting blanket, being understood. He didn’t know if he’d ever truly understand the Thunderhead, but he found that he could live with that. 

“I’m not alone anymore. Thank you, for everything,” he said, and on cue, Remus bounded into the library. 

He crept in, hiding behind a droid, and Logan turned around, raising an eyebrow. “I see you, Remus.”

He stood up, blowing a raspberry at the ceiling in defeat. “Missing an eye and yet you’re still more observant than my brother. I can’t ever sneak up on ya, huh?”

Logan shrugged, examining Remus for a moment. He had a light scar across his eyebrow from the fight, matching the burn on his cheek. His nanites could have healed the wound, but he decided to keep it, for sentimental value of the journey. It had been a hard, long, mission, but he felt changed.

He pointed at his eyebrow, a silent question, and Remus touched it, a dastardly grin on his lips. “Oh, this old thing? Yeah, don’t think I’ll get rid of it anytime soon. Fuck nanites, they took away permanent scars. Now, it makes me look like a badass, right?”

“Very,” he touched his eyepatch in return. “We both look like pirates now.”

Remus barked out a laugh, free and joyful, and sauntered towards Logan. He hopped, swinging his legs over the table and sitting in front of him, leaning on the obsidian cylinder. 

“You do realize you’re using the Thunderhead as a headrest.” 

“Eh, it’s one big pillar, not like it has its entire essence inside it,” Remus said, his eyes twinkling, and despite himself, Logan chuckled. 

There was a comfortable silence between them, watching the droids stack books and rebuild the caved-in walls, until Remus cleared his throat. 

“I’m leaving.”

Logan furrowed his brow, catching his eye. He was serious, even nervous. Remus kept picking at his callouses, a fidget he realized about him back when they were young. 

“What do you mean?”

“I’m leaving the Scythedom. Me and Roman. I don’t know what we’re gonna do, hell, if that’s even allowed for a Scythe to just quit his job,” he chuckled, pressing his hands into the table. “But the rules are bullshit, aren’t they? We need new ones, and I bet Patton will do us a favour—let us give up the Creativitwin title and roam the world.”

“Giving up your fame so easily?” he asked, even though he knew the answer. Maybe before the safe house, before he saw who Remus really was, he would have been skeptical of their decision. Now, Logan felt a twist of pride in his gut. 

He snorted, tilting his head to look at the ceiling again. “I’d give up every damn inch of it if I could have my freedom. To not be compared, to not be the monster, to just…you know. Live .”

Logan remembered their conversation in the safehouse, Remus snapping like a wild dog, the anger burning away in him. He wondered what he would have done if Kairos had put him through the Thunderhead trials. If he would've used a blade and torn it into his friend’s stomach until he wasn’t sure what was real anymore. 

I didn’t choose to be this.

Somehow, that had made Logan realize he did wish to stay a Scythe. He could deliver death without cruelty, but now, he could do it with emotion. He did wish to stay by Patton’s side, to be his partner. However, he would miss Remus, strongly, and painfully, as he was the only one who could see the forest fire that burned inside them both. 

“I will miss you,” he surprised himself by speaking those thoughts aloud, but Remus brightened, unlike a wild dog, and more like a puppy. When did he get so good at metaphors? 

“Of course you will. I’m me.” 

He rolled his eye fondly, and Remus laughed again. He found a strange prickling feeling under his skin and realized it was the urge to hug him. 

“You helped me discover who I am, who I need to be. I’m—I will be forever grateful for that.”

Remus tipped his head, a mock bow, but his expression was hopeful and kind. “You did too, Lo.”

Then, his voice turned wistful, his eyes misty. “Roman and I, we talked. If breaking down in each other’s arms counts as talking. We have shit ton to deal with, let’s just say that! But really, I don’t think I would’ve had the courage to say it without you. Thank you.”

“Roman talked to me too,” he said, the memory of his apology lingering in his mind. “He’s trying, and I believe in him. I believe in you too, if that was not clear.”

Remus touched a hand to his heart. “Ah, well, don’t miss me too much. I’ll be back to visit you and good ol’ Patton once in a while.”

Logan turned to face him, truly faced him, and reached out to touch his hand. “Good. Maybe this time you’ll succeed in your…jumpscare attempts.”

Remus flashed him a grin, hopping off the table. “No promises—oh, hey.” He reached out, tugging on a loose string from his gray eyepatch. “Need me to cut it again?”

Logan felt the string, its uneven pieces and ragged material with his hands. He shook his head slowly, smiling quietly, feeling for perhaps the first time, understood. 

“No,” he replied, and he found Remus’s eyes, smiling just as wide as his. “No, I don’t believe I need to anymore.”

Two Days Later…

Patton didn’t think he would ever get used to the gold. 

The throne room felt empty, hollow, and wrong without Janus. He flexed his fingers over the gilded arms of his throne, feeling his new seat. One of his first orders as the High Blade—Patton still felt that word to be impossible when applied to him—was to build a new throne. He couldn’t bear to sit in the same seat Janus had been dangling from.

He closed his eyes, and he saw the scene over and over. His kick, toppling the bloodied throne over, and Janus’s strangled breaths as his neck snapped. When the remaining Scythes found him, Janus was gone, and all that remained was the shell of the man he once was, suspended above the golden throne that had been his undoing.

Patton tearfully told them he self-gleaned, his heart heavy and his hands numb. Later, in his journal, they found his blessing for Patton to become the next High Blade. When they passed him the simple parchment, his handwriting was cursive, yet clear. 

If I am to die, I pass on my role to Scythe Patton. He will lead this region with care, hope, and most of all, love. I trust no one more than him to be the High Blade I never could be. 

The paper creased in his hands as he gripped it, and he clutched it to his chest as if it could bring him back. 

Now, he sat on his new throne, golden—to honour Janus—yet embedded with amazonites, the turquoise gemstone representing hope. As he ran his hand over the grooves, Patton noticed something else across the room. He had retrieved it from the roof hours after his death, and kept it inside the throne room, as a reminder. He huffed at himself. As if the 5000 square feet of polished gold wasn’t a reminder already.

He stood up, dusting off his baby-blue robes, now laced with gold trim around his shoulders, and walked towards the corner. He picked up Janus’s cloak, grasping it in his hands. He closed his eyes, hugging it gently to his chest. 

“Thank you, Janus,” he whispered into the snakeskin, brushing his fingers over the fabric. “For everything.”

Patton kept it in his arms as he turned to look out the window. The orange rays of sunset streamed in to greet him, a new age embracing him, calling to him. It was like a comforting mother, beckoning him to join the celebrations, that it was okay to feel faith. 

All he felt was a heavy, unbearable, sadness. 

He saw the people down below, Fulcrum City’s residents cleaning up the streets along with the droids, supporting each other and working as a team. Janus would have seen them as ants, workers that trudged along without purpose. Patton saw them as humans. They were rebuilding hope, one step at a time. 

Patton turned away, walking out of the chamber. He had people to meet. Immediately, he was greeted by assistants, UnderScythes, and servants who asked him what he needed in hushed tones. He waved them all away, politely of course, and said he was just seeing the twins off in the conservatory. They nodded, rushing away with paperwork bundled in their hands. Patton rounded the corner and entered the room.

“Wow, you’re really royalty now, aren’t ya, Pop?” Remus noted the crowd of assistants passing by, and Patton smiled at the sight of his friends. 

“Well, out of all of us, you do deserve to be treated like a king.” Roman appeared behind him, his grin blinding, as usual. “Come to see us off?”

Patton nodded, brushing a strand of curly hair away from his eyes. “I’ve got all the paperwork sorted. You’re officially, un-scythed! I’ll coin that term now.”

Remus and Roman exchanged a delighted glance, but Roman pressed for more information. “You’re sure this won’t cause…problems?”

“What he means is, will this come back to bite us in the ass on the next conclave?” Remus chimed in. 

“The Scythe population has already gotten increasingly larger, to the point where we’re going to expand the chamber to make room for the new apprentices. Don’t worry, you’re all good,” he said, before hesitating. “I never…approved of your methods of gleaning. In all kindness, I don’t think anyone will miss you being Scythes.”

Remus snickered, but Roman’s expression darkened ever so slightly. “I know. Truly, I don’t know if I can ever make up for my actions as a Scythe, but I shall try.”

Patton touched Roman’s shoulder gently, compassionately. “I know you will. Where exactly will you two go?”

“Everywhere,” Remus spread his arms widely, and the sheer possibility of it made Patton excited for them as well. “Everywhere we can go, Pop. We’ll explore a little, party a little, and create. We can finally be the artists we always wanted to be…without the murder part.”

Despite himself, Patton laughed. “It sounds spontaneous. It sounds like a trademark Creativitwin thing to do.”

“We’re dropping that name,” Roman quickly added, fondly smiling at his brother. “We want to make names for ourselves, not as a pair, but as individuals.”

“Yeah, this guy’s getting all sappy on me, can you believe it? Only took a few decades!” 

Then, surprisingly empathetic, Remus softened up, crossing his arms and looking out the window to the setting sun. Orange, pink, and red swirled in the sky, an artist’s palette. He felt sentiment drape the conservatory, filling it with love and tentative grief. 

“I miss him already, the old bastard,” Remus said, and Patton knew he was talking about Janus. “He would’ve loved this sunset, to see me go out and make a difference, y’know? I want to make a difference, go out with a bang.”

Roman swung an arm over his shoulder comfortingly. “We will. Janus would be so proud of us, of you. Of who we’re becoming.” He nudged Patton with his other arm. “You too, Pat.”

He looked out at the sunset, knowing they were right. “Yeah, I hope so.”

Snapping back to the conversation, he clapped his hands together, something Janus would’ve done in his most sarcastic moment. “So, I’ve heard some rumours. Since Scythe Lucifer’s punishment is to serve the community, to help bring justice in a different, peaceful way, I was wondering. Are you bringing our Virgil-lante with you on this quest?”

Remus brandished a mischievous grin at that. “Oh, we’re planning on it. Right after this, Roman’s gonna go and profess his undying love for Virgin—”

“Okay! That’s not what we’re doing,” he blushed, shoving Remus away. “Yeah, we’re hoping to invite him with us. Bringing justice in a peaceful way would be good. For all of us.”

Patton stood a little taller at that, proud of his new ‘punishments’, rather than public gleanings or torture. He was beginning to reconsider Kairos and his sentence. Perhaps death should not be the only option in the Scythedom anymore. He would think about it, as the High Blade does. Decisions upon decisions…it would be overwhelming. 

Logan walked briskly past them, then backtracked, noting the three of them. “Ah, there you are, Patton. Seeing the twins off?”

“Yup, but I think they’ve got it,” he nodded at them, and they both waved their goodbyes at Logan, Remus winking before they left the conservatory. Before Roman could turn the corner, Patton tapped him on the shoulder. 

“You’re going to spread so much good in this world, Ro,” he said, and Roman beamed. He disappeared down the hallway, off to find his future. 

Patton watched them leave, before turning to Logan, with a deep breath and a tender smile. “Hi.”

Logan didn’t say a word, merely walked towards him and took his hand. “Hi.”

They walked into the conservatory, the boards of past Thunderhead equations erased. They were replaced with chamber designs, apprenticeship rules, and a new set of laws for the Scythedom. Above them, makeshift constellations twinkled, as if the stars approved of their new society. 

“You’ve been busy,” Patton inspected the boards, a weight lifted off his shoulders. He wasn’t doing this alone. “May I request a law to make iridescent clouds every Wednesday?”

Logan nudged him with his shoulder, a tease—something he did more frequently nowadays, and Patton giggled. “Perhaps, but that’s a job for the Thunderhead, not us.” 

They looked out the domed window, the rose-gold tint shining down on both of them. He closed his eyes briefly, to feel the warm glow of sun rays kissing his face. Patton opened his eyes to see Logan looking down below them, at the people—at their people. 

“How does it feel, being the leader of this huge system?”

“I don’t know, how does it feel? You’re their leader too," he asked, and Logan sighed, his hand fidgeting in his. 

“I’m not you, Patton. I’m…uncertain, whether I can be a good Scythe, like you.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re not Scythes anymore. We’re High Blades.” He caressed his thumb to Logan’s, calming him. 

“You believe that?” he asked, and Patton noticed the strands of his eyepatch were uneven. It looked right. 

He leaned his head on Logan’s shoulder, gazing out at the horizon, at their future. “I don’t have to glean anymore…I’m free.” Yet, his brow creased in worry.

“Look, there’s so much we don’t know, Logan. I’m not sure what to do with Kairos, I don’t want to kill him—starting our new Scythedom with yet another gleaning is plain wrong. But he’s hurt so many people, like Thomas, god, I miss him. And I don’t know how to make sure apprentices don’t become corrupted, or how to change the opinions of old guards or the new order and—”

He stopped to take a breath, and Logan spoke, his voice reassuring, something he could lean on. 

“I know. But we’ll figure it out together.” 

For once, the words resonated with him, loosening the knot in his chest that had tangled ever since Janus died. The heavy, unbearable sadness lifted, just a little, with Logan’s hand in his, with the residents below them rebuilding their city. He wasn’t alone. Neither of them were. Patton exhaled a breath of relief.

In the restful silence, he heard Logan whisper, “You know, Janus wasn’t all that bad.”

A soft laugh. 

“I know.”

The revival center buzzed with activity as nurses hurried past Roman and Remus, carrying jelly and ice cream for their recovering patients. It took him quite a while to find Virgil’s room. His mind was consumed with thoughts of rejection. What if he didn’t want to join them on this journey? What if he had to say goodbye forever? Remus kept going on about how he was ‘totally in love’ with him too, but it didn’t stop the thorns of insecurity to twist, especially when he couldn’t find this damn room —

“Here it is, room 132.” Remus pointed, looking gleeful. “I’ll leave you two alone for five minutes, max. Don’t start fucking or anything, ‘kay?”

“Funny you should say that,” he flicked the dark curl in the middle of his forehead, leaving him gaping, before barging into the room, his heart quickening. 

The door slammed shut as Roman faced the man in front of him. Yet this time, he wasn’t here for a gleaning. His grin widened, bright as the sun, as he saw Virgil. The colour was back in his cheeks, bandages wrapped around his waist, and he was alive . He was alive, and he was healthy, and he was here. 

“Oh, sunshine, you never cease to amaze me,” he crowed, and Virgil spun around on the revival bed. 

“Look at that, it’s the prince coming to fetch me from this hell,” he teased, yet he jumped up, already running towards him. 

He caught him in his arms, spinning him around as he held onto him tightly, never wanting to let him go. Involuntary tears sprung to his eyes, but he squeezed them shut, blinking them away before Virgil could tease him about it. 

“You jumped off the roof and splatted,” he mumbled into his shoulder, and he felt Virgil’s body vibrate with laughter. 

“Yes, and defeated the Orange Scythe, I know, you can thank me later.”

“How about I thank you now?” He put him down, another teasing remark at his lips fading at the sight of him. 

His dark hair was brushed away from his eyes, revealing healthier pale skin, and his pupils shimmered with a glorious shade of gray, flecked with purple jewels in the sunset's light. It reminded him of the Southern Sun Festival, leaving his heart thudding in his chest. He was speechless—all because of him.

Virgil noticed, poking his arm. “What is it? Too handsome for you?”

“Yeah,” Roman breathed, making his cheeks flush with red. He could have stared into his eyes forever, but Remus’s warning made him clear his throat, stepping back. “Right, I have a proposal for you.”

“I don’t think we’re quite there yet, Roman.” 

He blushed, smacking Virgil’s arm as he snorted. “A proposition, then. Your punishment is to serve the community, fix droids, plant trees, all over the world.”

“Yes I know, I had the whole lecture yesterday by Patton himself,” he said, but he looked quite happy about it. “I like that I get to continue being a…Virgil-lante, as he put it.”

Roman rolled his eyes fondly. “Right, right, yes, just let me finish, sunshine. I was wondering if you would like to join us—me and Remus, that is—on our journey of justice.”

“We don’t know what we’re setting off to do yet—maybe try out a few of our passions, explore the world, express ourselves without gleaning. We’re 'un-scythed', as Patton put it,” he chuckled, continuing. “We’re free, and we can do whatever we want. And, well, I want to do that with you .”

His face felt warm, and his heart beat quickly, like a butterfly, in his chest, but he continued, taking Virgil’s hands. Roman took a deep breath and stared at his eyes—his unique, beautiful eyes. 

“I don’t know what comes next. Maybe I’ll try my hand at theatre, act in a couple of old mortal-age plays! It’s all so uncertain to me, but all I know is I want to be standing beside you when we figure it out. I know our past was rough, if you decide to go our separate ways, I’m alright with that.”

He was so nervous, the thread of insecurity rising to the surface. He forced it down once a memory flickered in his mind. 

“But you once told me I could be your prince on your journeys. If that offer is still available, I would be honoured. So, um, what do you say?” 

Virgil laughed, and he saw his eyes water, yet he didn’t wipe his tears away. He cupped Roman’s face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together. An electrifying spark coursed through his body. 

“You once told me there was more to you than the Creativitwins, and more to me than Scythe Lucifer. Maybe you were right. Because when I look at you, Roman, I see my future. When I’m with you, I’m not this monster, this devil. I’m not Lucifer anymore. And, hey, I’ll be your knight if you’ll be my prince.”

Roman laughed softly and leaned in. Their lips met, a rush of heat blossoming between them as he kissed Virgil. He was alive in this moment, the space between them disappearing as he felt the darkness inside him banish into something entirely new. 

“Lovebirds! What did I tell you, five minutes, max!”

They broke apart, breathless. Roman turned to Remus, hovering in the doorway, narrowing his eyes into a death stare. He chased him around the room, slapping him playfully. 

“Sorry, bro-hoe! Being a freak is my job!” He yelped as Roman attacked, with Virgil cackled in the background, cheering Roman on. 

Roman grinned a genuine, wonderful smile. There was a future waiting for him, right outside that door.

One chase and one scolding from a tired nurse later, Roman, Remus, and Virgil were exiting the revival center, shoving each other and trying to one-up each other with jokes. 

“Oh, but now we’re one big trio of explorers! A family! You can’t be mean to me anymore.” Remus pressed the back of his palm to his forehead, fainting dramatically. 

“Nope, family means we can be even meaner!” Roman chortled, catching him as he fake-fainted. 

“Oh, please, what happened to your sappy side, we literally just had a moment with Pat—”

As Remus continued, Virgil stopped, taking in the sunset. He closed his eyes, feeling the ruffle of wind and warmth on his skin. His eyes fluttered open, and he breathed out, slowly, softly, for the first time in ages. He was safe. He was free. He had a future, but he couldn’t ignore his past. 

Scythe Snow visited him yesterday, and while an apology couldn’t change her actions, it brought him closure. He thought of Janus’s gaze, of his words. Virgil looked at Roman, who was down the path, further ahead. He turned back, the luminous light framing his skin, bronze edges glowing beautifully. 

“C’mon, sunshine!” He called, a breeze rippling through his hair. 

Virgil smiled, but before he took a step, he looked up at the sky, at the clouds shifting and changing.

“Thank you, Janus,” he whispered to the wind.

The golden light almost seemed to sparkle.