WHO Diego Hargreeves & Serefin Meleski WHERE The Underground, in the powers-approved space WHEN Sunday, January 17 (afternoon) WHAT Mentor and mentee magic spar and talk about relationships, past lives, and feelings, which obviously makes Diego super comfortable. STATUS Complete! WARNINGS Some blood mentions for blood magic, but nothing graphic
"I feel as though you are getting worse," Serefin said, as he paced back across the length of the magical threshold. He was holding tightly to a spot on his forearm, twisting his wrist around. For as many times as he bled himself in battle, for as many times as he bled himself training, the initial sting never truly went away. Became easier to ignore, yes, but blood magic was messy no matter which way he procured it, and a little bit of a bite lingered as he attempted to halt the flow.
It was a simple barrier. He didn't need to bleed out. Or well, he hoped not with how much Diego was assaulting it with every weapon and weight he could find. The structural integrity would last, he hoped.
This was how most of the training started—a barrier spell, a mirror spell, an offensive elemental, whatever page seemed to slip free from his codex that day. While Diego had focused Serefin's physical talents into defending himself without magic, Serefin thought it kind to return the favor. For all the bodily force he learned, it would do little if any of them were attacked by another blood mage. A Vulture. His brother. The ill-equipped Kalyazi were defenseless when he razed their monasteries without thought.
Serefin wanted the people he cared about to stand a fighting chance. This training was a contingency plan. A little blood was nothing in comparison to safety.
"If you plan on doing any damage, you will have to find another way around. Stop me before I—" Serefin ripped another page from his book dangling at his hip. "Cast something else? Honestly, you would already be dead," Serefin said, sounding bored, staring back at Diego, whose image was distorted in the shimmering reflection of the barrier. Serefin waved a dismissive hand, like clearing smoke, and the wall with it.
Serefin raised a brow, assessing. "You are sweating an awful lot."
“Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up,” Diego grumbled, pulling out two knives (you would think he would have run out of knives by now, but you would be mistaken and then stabbed for underestimating the amount of knives Diego Hargreeves carried around casually). Diego wasn’t a great strategist, but he was incredibly stubborn, which meant his method of dealing with this magical bullshit was to swear a lot and continue trying. Often in the same way. Usually in the same way.
It wasn’t that Diego thought less of magic--he really didn’t. Sure, his world didn’t have any, as in spells and potions and whatever, but the Hargreeves all had powers, so how was that much different? And Serefin wasn’t wrong (though he did seem to take just a little bit too much fucking glee in this whole thing), Diego needed to learn what the fuck to do when faced against magic. Time and support from people who actually gave a damn about him had done a crap ton to overcome years of thinking his value lay only in what he could do. But that didn’t change the fact that at his core, Diego was going to face down any fucking thing that tried to get to the people he cared about.
This magic bubble thing? Just made him grumpy and sweaty.
He waited until Serefin released the shield and the second he did, Diego released the two knives out of his hand at him, lightning quick. They went straight to their target, but cut a wide angle once they came a good five or so feet away from Serefin. “Okay, well, that’s bullshit, if you’re going to cast spells behind some barrier, then there’s nothing I can do. I’d rather take on whatever you’ll cast instead of wasting energy trying to knock that down.” Which was...probably not the smartest answer.
Serefin was used to these antics. He should have been more concerned about two knives flying at him, but his trust in Diego ran deep. His knowledge that this was all for show to prove a point ran deeper. He didn't even falter, made no move to get out of the way, and watched the knives fly wide.
"A blood mage is not going to be fair," Serefin said, knowing full well he wasn't. He had been unapologetically ruthless in war. Serefin didn't gain his notoriety for being merciful or fair. But Diego had a point, there was nothing physical damage could do to a barrier once it was up. But barriers had been precautionary things against Kalyazi weapons. Once they were scrambling and retreating, Serefin normally dropped it.
He stepped a few feet back. "You have roughly five seconds from visibility to attack. That's the time it would take a blood mage to pull a page, bleed, and cast." Serefin felt strangely vulnerable telling Diego this. A secret, another weakness, another way to take him down. Even with all his own knowledge on fighting, fist-to-fist, blood magic was his safety net. There was never an urgency to win when it always came in second to the hum in his veins.
"If you cannot get your first maneuver in before those five seconds, you have already lost. You should always assume a blood mage is using defensive tactics before offensive. Anyone who doesn't is a fool. They will cut off your source of retaliation and then annihilate. Fire first," Serefin said, his mouth going dry. Fire tended to always make him think of Jacob. "Torture after."
Diego could be accused of having the emotional depth of a thimble and the emotional range of ‘bitter, angry, and sarcastic’ to ‘apathetic and sarcastic.’ And yet he recognized the point of it--it wasn’t to get back at Diego for the hours they’d spent at the gym teaching Serefin how to punch (okay, a part of it probably was that, that little shit). It was for the same reason they were in the gym in the first place, protection and defense against things that could and would hurt. Because they’d all been hurt, all seen destruction and chaos and death.
And because yes, it was funny to see Serefin do his turtle on its back routine.
“Hey,” he said, clasping Serefin on the shoulder. “You know full fucking well I’m going to destroy any fucking thing that comes at us, and then tie them up by their entrails and leave them for those giant centipede things we had to eat at. And I’m going to bitch about fucking cheating with magic shields, but that’s okay. Don’t be fair.” He rustled Serefin’s hair and shoved him, before trotting back a few paces.
“Now, throw some fire or shit at me, let’s go.”
Serefin looked begrudgingly convinced. Months ago, if Diego had done this physical pep-talk (and that was a rather large if) Serefin likely wouldn't have believed him. He was too busy fighting off a god inside his head and drinking himself stupid over the burdensome crown and country. Listening to a pissant with knives and a stubborn streak would be at the bottom of his priority list. Now Serefin had reason to pay attention, and keep his face passively neutral when Diego went on about entrails.
Kindness, even in the form of threats, on his behalf seemed to do funny things to his resolve. "Leave no detail behind, Diego. I look forward to your bitching."
Don't be fair. The phrase lodged itself in his brain—no one would be fair. Holding back would only end in death. How many times had he held back with Jacob during these little stints too? Who was he actually protecting? Serefin tore a page out of his codex, twisted his wrist to catch on a blade inside his coat sleeve, and bled onto the paper. The barrier went back up, and Serefin did not throw some fire shit. With the first page already dissolving in his hand, Serefin took his time searching for the next one.
He walked closer to Diego, the wall moving forward with him. "You know fire is coming. Why would I be predictable?" Serefin asked, circling his fingers around another piece of parchment. A maelstrom formed around his fist, and Serefin's knuckles went white trying to contain it. His expression fell into that same impassive dead-eye stare, the one Serefin had trained himself to hold in battle, before he released it, throwing Diego off his feet and across the room.
Diego thought, maybe, for a second he could feel the way the spell traveled, which was admittedly a stupid thought. It was so much easier with things he could actually see, and easier still with something he was throwing. Instinctual, even, after countless hours of lessons on trajectory and friction and wind resistance and fuck you very much Reginald Hargreeves. He could redirect hundreds of bullets, even if that was just a memory--it was hard, because there were so many of them coming so quickly, but Diego was nothing if not stubborn so of course he was going to push Five aside and do it, if only by sheer force of will.
Magic was more unwieldy than bullets or knives, and by the time Diego had the thought of the spell’s direction, he was tumbling ass over head and crashing into a wall.
“Christ on a cracker,” he muttered, shucking his teeth. “Well, that sucked.” Rolling on to his shoulders from his back, Diego kicked up to his feet because even though he just bit it, hard, he was still a fucking badass, okay? “Alright, do it again, I got it this time.”
He did not, but he wasn’t going to admit it.
Serefin Meleski, High Prince of Tranavia, leader of the blood mage armies, and unrepentant torturer, wouldn't have wasted a second breath to immolate Diego Hargreeves. He had plenty of time to rip another page with unflinching brutality, crushing Diego under the weight of an unseen magic force or a slash with an invisible weapon to cleave him in half. Boil his blood until it leaked out of every part of his body. Fire would have been a mercy in retrospect. But Serefin, reluctant royal, floundering protege, and friend dropped the shield and wiped the blood from his arm on the thigh of his pants. He couldn't do this anymore.
This was why training was never a preferable outlet for him. He couldn't be the mentor. Serefin knew Diego's constant pressure on him to get up, get hit again, get back in the ring was because he wanted to see Serefin do better. And Serefin wanted that just as much as he hated it. There was no way for Diego to get better from this. He was already dead.
Stone-faced, Serefin shook his head. "No, we're done. Unlike you, I know when to call it." And with that, he unhooked the codex from his hip and tossed it down to Diego's feet. A clear sign of surrender. "Before you call me a quitter, and say whatever it is you are going to say, let's just save us all the exasperating conversation and don't."
Serefin sighed, almost forced in its dramatics as he slouched. "I'm tired. Are you not?"
Diego arched an eyebrow high to the sky. “What, you’re just going to kick my ass and not let me have a chance to retaliate? Asshole.” It was said without any heat to it though, just like Diego commenting about the weather. The codex, he ignored entirely, unsure if it was one of those things that were considered too personal to touch by anyone else. And if it had been anyone else really who out and out said ‘don’t touch this thing’ of course the first thing Diego would do would be to touch it. But for Serefin, his protege, who was clearly Going Through Some Shit, he would leave it alone
He walked over to grab his water bottle and throw one at Serefin (with perfect accuracy, because, duh). Diego was already planning on how to be better--do better, a voice that sounded like Isabela said, in his head, because his abilities didn’t determine his worth. That was something Diego was still, and would probably always grapple with, but he was trying. In this instance, it was that Diego honestly wanted to improve his skill set, and yes, maybe a part of that involved having his friends throw knives at him while he wasn’t looking, so what?
He took a swig of water and eyed Serefin with an appraising look. “I already regret asking, so answer quickly, but what’s up? Why are you losing your shit?”
Diego's aim might have been perfect, but Serefin nearly dropped the bottle thrown at him. A true testament to his distracted state and Diego's ability to catch him off guard. He took the moment to roll back his sleeve, revealing the line of blades, to rinse off his arm. Serefin was not the one who was out of breath, or the one who was recently tossed across the room. Water could be used to clean his cuts.
When Serefin glanced up, Diego was giving him that look. He mirrored the expression, his mouth falling only momentarily at the question. Was he losing his shit? "I am not losing my shit," Serefin said, which came out far more defensive than he intended. Serefin had his shit together. He was absolutely not thinking about how he allowed himself to be underestimated, purposefully, because he had ignored his previous—current—life. Serefin did not want to be the High King of Tranavia in Vallo.
And it was slowly becoming a mistake, a domino effect of bad choices and mistakes waiting to happen. He left people vulnerable, he left himself vulnerable, with people like Diego, and Evie, and Jacob in his life.
"You must have hit your head harder than you remember," Serefin said, around a drink of water. Then another, then another. Buying time by over-hydrating. "I do not know how to train you for something you cannot fight." That was an explanation, but not the reason. He squinted an eye at Diego, his frustrating building.
And then honesty came rushing out, as Serefin said, "You do not do feelings, you told me so yourself, and this is ostensibly about feelings."
The noise Diego made was akin to getting punched in the stomach while riding the Tilt-A-Whirl at full speed after downing a plate of carnival nachos. It was true, nothing made Diego ‘headbutted an assassin who wore a metal mask’ Hargreeves want to shrivel up like a slug dipped in salt more than talk about feelings. Especially his own. He bottled everything up and turned it all into anger and bitterness..which wasn’t healthy, okay, fine, Diego knew that.
Feelings were complicated. They couldn’t be fixed by punching something in the face, or scaring off with creative threats, or knifing.
He chose to tackle the much, much, much easier elephant in the room. “Exposure, that’s how. Look, no fucking shit you had the upper hand, I know jack shit about blood magic. But now that I’ve seen it, we’re going to keep doing this and then I’ll kick your ass in this too and it’ll be fine.” The ‘fucking duh’ was implied.
The latter, well. That was harder. But there was no one more stubborn than Diego, and faced with something he hated, Diego telling himself that he couldn’t do something meant that Diego would tell himself to fuck right off, that he was in fact going to face this down. Sort of. For his protege, he would try. But he’d rub a towel over his face and become really concerned with his hand wraps first. “You can talk to me about whatever,” he said, lip curling instinctively. “I’m like, legally obligated to listen.”
And then I’ll kick your ass in this too. Serefin harrumphed, but it wasn't mean spirited, just typical. Leave it to Diego to be rightfully and stupidly stubborn. Perhaps that was what made him a good mentor in all things physical—there would be no giving up on his end, which meant Serefin couldn't give up either. It sounded exhausting, but Serefin hadn't left yet.
He had only selfishly thrown his codex down as an indicator of his own mental defeat. They were even now. Diego had won on that front.
"You are? Why was I not informed of this sooner?" Serefin asked, preening. The thought that Diego was willingly offering proved he was soft somewhere, deep inside that hard, rough exterior.
And even with the nudge, Serefin still hesitated before speaking.
"It's about Jacob, or rather—" Serefin sat down because standing seemed like too much effort when the weight of everything was always so crushing. He was examining his freshest cuts with feigned disinterest. "How I feel about Jacob and how that is going to affect things like this. I'm torn between training for his safety and wanting to be sick at the thought of hurting him. He would tell me, much like you, that he could take it."
Serefin let out a heavy sigh, like he was endlessly annoyed with himself. "I don't quite like hurting you either, but you continue to fist-fight me regularly. We have a rapport. Blood magic is different, it always will be."
That Tilt-A-Whirl suddenly decided to lift up off of its shady ass gears and go into 5g mode. Diego metally, spiritually, emotionally, and very physically cringed. It was probably the worst kept secret in Vallo that Diego, for all of his insistence on being a lone wolf, that he didn’t ‘do’ feelings, that he was an awesome badass motherfucker (okay, holdup, that part was always going to be true) he in actuality did care so much it was amazing he hadn’t yet burst with the effort of keeping all of that repressed. Diego’s care tended to come out in creative threats, in reckless feats of facing down danger, and pep talks that sounded violent and angry, but his loyalty and love ran deep. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t face down for the people he loved, nothing he wouldn’t threaten.
“First of all,” Diego started, looking very much like he would rather be literally anywhere else than here, having this conversation. “If you hurt him, I will murder you.” He paused. “If he hurts you, I’ll murder him.”
Diego. Hated. Everything.
The threatening of his protege and his best friend out of the way (it probably didn’t need to be said but he said it anyway), Diego started to unwrap the tape on his hands. “At a certain point in time, you can’t say you care about someone if you can’t trust them,” he said, with yet again someone sounding very suspiciously like Isabela in his head. “And you have to trust someone enough to believe them when they say they can handle something. Look, I’m training you, right? Because it’s fun to kick your ass and whatever, yeah,” he rolled his eyes, smirking. “But what it’s about? Is that I want you to be able to handle yourself if you don’t have your magic. And yeah, I’m always fucking going to be there when something happens, but I can’t be in two places or three places or ten places at once. And I want you to be okay.”
God, he was going to puke.
Serefin rolled his eyes with amused exasperation. Leave it to Diego to claim murder on either of them for harm against the other. Serefin had no intention of hurting Jacob intentionally, but Serefin had on more than one occasion, hurt others involuntarily. It came with the territory—one that no one, other than Ostyia, knew about. It felt like lying, and Serefin found it difficult to tie self-preservation to false claims lately.
He watched Diego twist up with consternation—or more like constipation, but Serefin didn't say that outloud—his brow furrowing with increasing confusion as he spoke. Of course, he trusted Jacob. Of course he cared about him. It wasn't about one or the other, right? Now it was Serefin's turn to look on the edge of ill, drinking more water until he drained it dry.
"You are saying a lot of nice things," Serefin said, trying to sound casual, his default. "And you are not wrong, I suppose. I do not need you to feel obligated to protect me, and I understand this—" Serefin gestured to the building around them, the back-and-forth between them, the months of training to get Serefin to be relatively decent one-on-one. "Is to make sure no matter what happens, I am okay."
He grinned at that, knowing how much trouble it was for Diego to be so forthcoming with how he felt. In all honesty, Serefin did prefer the thinly veiled threats, but they were getting somewhere.
"But the magic? What I have done with it? I do not think I have it in me to be that person anymore, even in training. I would prefer faceless drones that I have no emotional connection to." And then Serefin added, almost sheepishly, "I have been going easy on you."
“It’s not an obligation,” Diego snapped, with the vinegar that showed when he knew he was shedding his badass, hardass, three feet of titanium walls around him, exterior. “I give a shit about you and I don’t want shit to happen to you. And if you spread it around that I’m saying nice things, I will be that shit that happens to you.” Obviously.
He considered Serefin’s words and settled on a shrug. As he’d just been flung straight on his ass, Diego didn’t doubt that Serefin’s magic ran deep and strong. He was, however, having a hard time rectifying the idea of Serefin, his protege who ran his mouth more than he actually ran, whose defensive style tended to learn more towards lounging than actual defense...who struggled with a god in his head controlling him and who had been so very, very afraid. Of course, Diego supposed none of them were exactly who they had been, before. People changed and grew and developed.
Not him, of course, he was the best version of himself at all times, there was nothing he needed to grow or change or develop duh. Except maybe his deltoids. Maybe.
“Then you say stop,” he said, shrugging. “And we stop. That’s how it works. You think anyone is going to push you into something you don’t feel good about? But other people trust you, idiot. So just,” Diego gestured, throwing his hands out in a move that was more about his frustration to say what he wanted to say than actual frustration. “Let us.”
He was never going to talk again, that settled it.
Whatever sour feelings had plagued Serefin earlier were slowly lifting. His smile, now less brilliant and more savagely smug, grew tenfold. Coming from a world where trusting anyone would likely get you murdered for being pointlessly gullible, it had been an exercise in allowing people in. Maybe denying himself trust for so long outside of his tiny, tiny circle, didn't really prepare Serefin for what that entailed.
He certainly didn't expect other people to trust him in return. It was weird, and he could see it was causing Diego a lot of grief to explain it. He held up a hand, surrendering. "I will spare you from having to verbally torture yourself with kindness. I prefer your threatening method anyway, it is very you." That was his own way of saying yes, I will let you. It was the first step, wasn't it?
Now Serefin just had to do it. But not now, later. When this conversation had time to settle in his brain, and he could sort out the way it made him feel. Oh, feelings. Serefin was starting to see why Diego hated them so much when they made you take critical looks inwardly.
"But I am not promising to not tell anyone. Blackmail is how we trust, right?"
Yeah, forget leaving Serefin’s codex alone, Diego picked it up and whipped it at him like a throwing star. Couldn’t let him get too comfortable, after all--except, okay, not that, that sounded too much like his dad. Diego’s people didn’t need to prove anything, there was no ranking or bullshit like that, never had been, never would be. If people felt comfortable in his friendship...well. Good. So, instead, he couldn’t let Serefin be so goddamn fucking smug.
“You tell anyone and I’m going to fold you up into tiny pieces and stuff you in an envelope and mail you off to who knows where,” Diego promised. “Now come on, let’s grab lunch. You owe me for cutting training short.”