Sunset ^beta

Chapter Text

She awoke in an unsteady panic, coughing as she pulled herself up in bed, an odd sensation stuck in her throat. The dark of the apartment made her squint, Murati giving a tap to the back wall to provoke a pop-up that provided a gentle light. It lit her bed and nightstand, medications and torn condom wrapper spread across the small tabletop. She heard some quiet grumbling from her side, gaze shifting over towards the woman in her bed, silky dark blue hair splayed across the pillows, rounded, fluffy ear gently twitching as she shifted, and her eyebrows knit in her sleep from the soft light upon her.

An expression of fondness grew on Murati’s face, shifting in her position as big spoon to brush some hair from Imani’s cheek. She could feel the thick tail of the Shimii woman gently wrapped around her thigh and did her best to wriggle free to shift out of bed without awakening her partner. An early meeting with the Reichskommissar was on the docket for today- but Imani had been free the day before, so they’d taken the opportunity for a date to familiarize themselves with their new home in Aachen. A movie and dinner had been just the start- they’d spent the night enjoying each other’s company and drifted off with Murati still pressed close, inside of Imani. At some point they must have shifted apart from each other- the feeling of cum and sweat from their bodily contact had been given a chance to dry.

She made her way to the bathroom of her rather sizable apartment, starting the shower and letting the traces of the night she’d shared with Imani wash away, hands running through her hair, taking the opportunity to pay for the premium shampoo and moisturizer extras in the shower unit, putting in the effort to make sure she’d be presentable today before Reichskommissar Lehner. It didn’t take long for her to hear the shower door slide open behind her, Imani’s confident hands resting on Murati’s hips.

“Leaving me so soon? I might think you just see me as a piece of meat if you treat me so poorly. Without even a goodbye kiss?” Imani teased, the soft voice in her ear making Murati shiver as the pair pressed together in the warm water of the shower. The sensation of Imani’s soft chest pressing into her shoulder blades provoked some feelings in Murati. A gentle throb between her thighs made her mentally run over her schedule- but unfortunately, there was no time to make Imani cry out once more.

“I didn’t wish to wake you- I mentioned the Reichskommissar wanted to see me, and you’ve had scant few days off recently. I wanted you to have a chance to relax for as long as you could.” Murati’s answer was straightforward- she had understood Imani wasn’t serious but felt a desire to clarify and reaffirm her feelings in that moment.

Imani grumbled a bit at not having her joke responded to in kind, squeezing Murati a bit tighter in punishment. “Mhmm… And I bet that chipper adjutant of yours will be here any minute to suck your dick under the desk the whole meeting?”

Murati twisted around to look back, giving Imani an unimpressed glare that was met with an innocent little smile. “Imani, do we need to talk again about how jealousy isn’t a charming trait for a Standartenführer?” Her tone had a bit more iron in it now- this was a conversation that had been had several times at this point, and her initial flustered responses had worn thin as Imani kept poking at Christinia’s character.

Imani giggled at the response she’d gotten, hands lifting from where they’d been groping at Murati’s thighs to put them up defensively. “Oh my, pulling rank- very well, Oberführer, I’ll keep the peace. Invite her over, then! Violet too! It’ll help us bond! We’ll make an orgy of it!”

Murati grimaced at Imani’s concept of keeping the peace, pulling herself away from the other woman to step out. “Ugh. Take your time- there’s some food in the fridge.” She left Imani to sing some pop song in the shower, leaning against the sink as the mirror activated. Various ‘premium’ features were telling her the products that she could buy to style her face in line with popular trends- leaving out the ones from opposing brands, of course. She ignored all of these, simply straightening her hair and taking a few minutes to dry off- glancing down to see a few smears of blood smeared over the drain of the sink.

She felt an odd sting at her temple, wincing and shaking her head as she walked back to bed to grab her medications for the day, popping them all at once. Then, since she was mostly dry, she began to prepare her uniform. The process of it was secondary by this point, just a little ritual that helped steady Murati further. The gleaming badge for her rank caught her eye, adjusting it for a moment as she buttoned up her shirt and adjusted her tie- Christina had become less exacting about Murati’s appearance as she continued to be promoted and the pair grew closer, but she still appreciated effort being put into appearances. It was a ‘charm point’ of hers that Murati and no problems appealing to.

As if summoned, the doorbell of the apartment rang, alerting Murati that Hauptscharführer Christina Fink was at the door, ready for her. Finishing buttoning up her uniform jacket, checking the pins of her three armbands a final time, Murati made her way to the door to greet Christina, putting her cap on as she opened the door.

“Good morning, Hauptscharführer Fink.” With a warm smile given to Christina’s quick salute, Murati stepped out, preparing to leave- but the flushed expression on Christina’s face drew pause. Murati glanced behind her, getting an eyeful of Imani, still happily singing as she swayed out of the bathroom clad in a very loosely tied robe and flopping back, splaying herself out upon the bed. Without a moment’s hesitation, Murati slammed the door, aware of the sour expression on her face as her jackboots clicked against the steel hallway outside of her apartment.

Christina hurried to catch up and keep pace with her, an unsteady smile and awkward blush still very visible on her face. “G-good morning to you as well, Oberführer.”

Murati leaned back in the elevator, relaxing against the railing as Christina stood stock straight besides her. She’d been quiet since her greeting, and Murati sent a mental thought of frustration Imani’s way. An orgy? Ha. Even if Christina had agreed to keep her company once or twice or had assisted in relieving stresses during long hours or after battles- she required a gentle touch. Perhaps now all that progress was set back. She surely knew Murati had a variety of women who entertained her. But such a direct sight might have offended her rather delicate morals.

“Ah, Oberführer…?”

“Yes, Christina?” Murati’s response attempted to evoke some closeness, shifting a bit closer to her adjutant- but Christina seemed caught up in her own thoughts and missed these gestures.

“Are you and… Standartenführer Imani Hadžić… in love?” Her voice lacked the Hauptscharführer’s usual composed control, sounding a bit choked up.

Not the question Murati had been expecting. Love? That was difficult. She looked out of the wide window of the elevator as it brought them to the proper level, thinking for a few moments.

“I’m fond of her. She’s a reliable soldier who has a very respectable understanding of her role. I care about Imani. And I know she cares for me as well. I… I care about you as well, Christina.”

This wasn’t quite an answer, and her hands began to move vaguely to convey some complex feeling- but she steeled herself and stopped them. It had been some years since she’d been mocked for her gesticulations in the Diver squadron, but old habits stuck.

“I see! Well, thank you. I’m fond of you, Murati.”

Now Christina took a single step to the side, becoming shoulder to shoulder with Murati. An urge swelled within Murati’s breast.

“Christina.”

“Hm? What’s the-”

She turned to look towards Murati, just in time for Murati’s fingers to rest beneath her chin, making Christina hold her gaze before pressing her lips to her adjutants. A bright red flush grew upon Christina’s face, but she didn’t pull away- Murati held the kiss, mildly surprised by the sudden taste of Christina’s tongue pressing between her lips.

Christina seemed satisfied- perhaps Murati could invite her over some night. To fight off any thoughts of favoritism from forming. How complicated.

The last few minutes of the elevator ride she felt her mind turning over thoughts of love. Half-remembered recollections of college, of one woman in some science courses she shared several dates with. A smile twitched to form at Murati’s lips at the thought of some intimate moments. But- it couldn’t last. As a North Bosporan, Murati had no hope of status or acclaim from the history courses she’d taken. And so, she’d arrived at the military. And that warm, charmingly sweet scientist girl with long, soft hair remained a fond memory. Their paths diverged, incompatible- it was a shame. But Murati was happy enough.

A short walk later, and Christina and her had arrived at Violet’s offices. Christina headed towards Murati’s office, stopping for a moment to ask, “Murati, would you like me to get you something to eat after your meeting?”

Murati gave a soft smile, shaking her head, boots clicking as she continued to walk, “No, don’t worry. Violet usually picks up something to eat for early meetings.” With a quick salute, Christina turned away, and Murati found herself before Violet’s doors. Taking a breath, wiping the smile from her face, she opened it, stepping in.

“Murati! Just in time, come here.” The lovely, easygoing voice of the woman within the office, legs raised and crossed on the desk came from the Reichskommissar of the region- Violet Lehner. With a small, customized cooler resting besides her. Murati obediently stepped forward, moving behind the desk and leaning down. “Open up!”

A few moments later, Murati had a small mushroom cap with some sort of pesto filling placed between her lips. She chewed for a few moments, swallowing, giving a polite smile to Violet. “It’s quite delicious, Reichskommissar.”

The woman’s face lit up, but she then rolled her eyes, “And you’re going to go right down to the restaurant next door to order some sausage and potatoes anyway, yes?”

Murati couldn’t help but tilt her head in assent, standing up straight. “Rhinea’s heartland puts a great deal of economic value into those ingredients- they’re an important crux of the Imbrian diet and representative of the current capabilities and production priorities of the R-”

She was cut off by a teasing wave of Violet’s hand, an exaggerated frown on her soft lips. “I know, I know, I know! I’m working on it! Soon we’ll have fixed that, Murati, and you’ll be eating every meal by my side.”

“I look forward to it, Reichskommissar.” She spoke honestly- a change in the priorities of the agricultural wing of Rhinea’s production would be a major upset of the status quo, but Violet was the one who she believed could bring such things about. And Murati was committed to standing beside her, to fight to bring those vast dreams to fruition. A complete upset of the diet of the average Imbrian was one of her more charming goals- her true dreams shined so bright Murati’s heart swelled.

Violet stood from her chair, surprising Murati for a moment, before she understood- “Ah, Violet, is there any chance M-”

Once again, she was cut off by a fond expression from Violet, “Don’t you worry, Magdalena’s suppressing some insurgents who’ve been making some noise in the lower maintenance tunnels. That ought to keep her busy for a few hours, at least. She’s been complaining about being kept on too short a leash.”

Murati let out a soft sigh of relief. Magdalena was another important part of Violet’s retinue, but she was… off-putting to Murati. Both for her casual racist remarks and for the way her gaze tended to linger on Violet- and Murati as well. Murati had been moved around so much and her relationships were often so fleeting she had trouble feeling ‘possessive’- but Magdalena’s eyes often made her want to stand between Violet and her.

And so, with the assurance they wouldn’t receive interruptions from the dramatic Standartenführer, Murati sat down in the Reichskommissar’s seat. A moment later, the familiar sensation of Violet in her lap, legs hanging off the side of the chair, set Murati further at ease. Her hand found its familiar spot, resting atop Violet’s thigh, fingertips brushing at the place her inner thighs pressed together.

The pair enjoyed a few quiet moments in the familiar peace: Violet eating a few pieces of the meal she’d brought, sometimes holding out a mushroom cap to feed to Murati, once even holding it between her own lips. Murati graciously responding in kind, biting into the mushroom while gazing into Violet’s eyes as their lips met.

Holding her gaze provoked a bit of an embarrassment in the Reichskommissar, and she hurriedly turned away to chew. A few moments later, she swallowed and managed a chastisement.

“I swear, Murati Nakara, you grow more obstinate every day!”

“I learned from the best, Reichskommissar.”

“Hmph.”

Violet’s charmingly cute pouting continued for a few minutes longer, giving Murati a chance to run her other hand through the woman’s hair, the straight pink and blue locks parting between her olive-toned fingertips. She’d originally thought Violet’s aesthetic ostentatious. Well- she still held that opinion, but it held more meaning to her now.

Hearing the speeches Violet presented to the world was one side of her. One that Murati respected and found worthy of support and her service. But it was in a few quiet nights, sharing the same pillow, with Violet’s less rehearsed, less grand words that Murati had truly devoted herself to this woman. ‘Passing’ as Murati had desired, for a time, wasn’t the goal. It was to force the people Violet stood over to look at her, to submit to her, and to know the entire time the identity of the one they were beneath.

Love… was difficult. Violet didn’t provoke the feelings she’d felt as a college student, holding hands in darkened theaters and sharing shy but hungry kisses in alleys away from view. But Murati felt her life to be intertwined with Violet’s now. She didn’t ever wish to be more than a short elevator ride from this woman. To be at her side, to hold her close, to pin her down- all these things were purposes that felt natural for Murati to fulfill. For her, maybe it was something akin to Destiny.

It was scientific- Fascism was an expression of the intrinsic identity of humanity. She felt that Violet’s interpretation simply made sense for the conditions of the world. Those unworthy of life, taking from the Reich- those undeserving of the agency granted to them by the current order. The coalition of those inside and out of Imbria’s borders to attempt to bring ruin to the world Violet wished to build.

“Oh my, Murati- isn’t it rather early?”

Her train of thought was broken by Violet’s rather lascivious tone. The sensation of Violet’s ass pressed into her lap, shifting and bouncing with her eager constant repositioning had provoked some stiffness between Murati’s thighs. A soft smile formed on her lips, hand taking the opportunity to grip a handful of the hair she’d been running her fingers through, leaning a bit closer to Violet’s ear.

“Reichskommissar, you grow more obstinate every day. Trying to dodge your responsibilities?”

“Mmmm, I-I learned from the best.”

Murati’s desire was growing- but unfortunately, this meeting wasn’t simply for the pleasure of Violet’s company. She instead leaned in closer, her breath making the woman’s earrings shift as she whispered.

“Then come by tonight, Reichskommissar. Keep this lustful, corrupting Oberführer company this evening.”

“I suppose… for you… I could clear some space in my schedule.” Her breathy, stumbling voice was such an enjoyable side of Violet. Just for Murati. She responded so well to her every touch and word. And so, Murati leaned back in the chair, letting her grip loosen and giving a much gentler smile. Which provoked a contorted expression from Violet- a desire for more, an understanding for what the reasoning was- Murati had learned to read her this well at least.

“Hmph. Then, to business-” There was a bit of an unsatisfied grumble there that only charmed Murati more.

“To business.” Murati assented, Violet twisting her lap once more to be able to activate the screen upon her desk. Looking over her shoulder, Murati got the gist of it- some coalition of leftists and an NGO trying to undercut the efforts of Violet’s precious Zabaniyah. The Shimii of Aachen’s relationship to ‘Fascism’ was still developing, and threats to the proper understanding and priorities being imprinted into them were some of Violet’s biggest concerns now.

“Would you like me to go visit? Instill some order?” Murati asked, Violet’s single nod of assent all she needed. Slowly sliding from her lap, Violet stood, regaining that regal composure that represented the face she wore for the rest of the world. Murati followed her lead, standing and adjusting her cap, steady and unflinching. She made her way around to the other side of the desk, returning to the more ‘official’ relationship.

“It’ll be done, Reichskommissar. I’ll see you tonight.” She gave a salute, turning to leave the office- only to begin choking, coughing as the room began to spin- Violet's comforting face smearing into a distorted mess of colors as she fell to her hands and knees. A taste of salt filled her mouth, vision blurring as her final thoughts of Destiny faded to black.

Her eyes bolted open, coughing and gagging up water as she pulled herself from the instantly recognizable metal flooring- this was the showers aboard the Brigand, wasn’t it? Was that nightmare over? She felt groggy and unsteady, looking at the floor beneath her and finding it covered in a thin layer of black liquid, disturbed by her sudden motions. Laying down on her side must have meant she kept inhaling and choking up some of the liquid- its inky darkness was throwing her off, but it seemed to just be saltwater from the lingering taste in her mouth. Murati ran a hand through her soaked hair, slicking it back and unsteadily getting to her feet- jackboots splashing in the shallow water as she stumbled to the sinks and mirrors. She was face-to-face with familiar olive skin, brown hair (streaked with black now), her own amber eyes- but she was still clad in that wretched uniform, three armbands reflected along with her frenzied, horrified gaze.

Murati hurriedly clawed at the buttons of the uniform jacket, tearing it off and tossing it to the floor and watching as- before her eyes- it dissolved away into the inch of black liquid as if simply absorbed into the dark shallows. She slumped back against the sink, twisting and staring into the drain- it was smeared with red blood, bright against the pale metal. Murati’s mind was running in circles. Something was wrong. It was difficult to put her thoughts in order, to even conceptualize what she’d just been through. The names and faces of fascists she’d seen only through screens- even fascists she’d never seen- were now fresh in her memories. Fresh, close, and… intimate. Her eyes lifted back to the mirror, that shellshocked expression remaining on her face, hands white from how tight she gripped the sinks edge.

A feeling of disgust and horror rose in her, along with- a rising sensation of vomit. Her hand instinctively lifted to cover her mouth as she wretched, expected bile or saltwater, greeted instead by the taste of iron. Murati’s fraying composure reached its breaking point as she spit up-

blood, it was blood-

she could taste it on her lips, see it in the palm of her hand-

dripping down-

onto the clean (why was it clean?) sink drain beneath her-

staring in horror as the smear of red blood she swore she’d seen before-

dripped from her palm, staining the drain with the familiar splatter pattern still fresh in her mind.

“Solceanos defend.”

Slowly lowering her hand, gaze drawn back into that mirror- still clad in the soaked shirt and tie of the Volkisch uniform clinging to her body, her lips now smeared with red alongside the black of the stained water. This was a nightmare. In every sense of the word. But- Murati swallowed back the taste of iron and blood, her expression steadying as she took a breath.

So many things she’d faced so far had been nightmares. The cruelties of the Empire, the racism of its people, that haunting eruption of Agarthicite she and Shalikova had bore witness to- all things that had left scars upon her soul. And none had stopped her- none had turned her away from this journey. Standing up straight, turning and walking out of the showers without looking back- the splashing black water from every step of her jackboots following her into the hall. Murati taking her first steps into the flooded corridors of this impossibly quiet and haunted False Brigand to oppose this specter of Destiny haunting her.

Chapter Text

Murati couldn’t come to terms with her surroundings, but thoughts continued to bounce through her mind as she paced through the shallow waters in the familiar painted metal halls. Her knowledge of psionics was limited- she didn’t understand how something like this would be possible. She badly wished for Euphrates’s company and the comfort of her knowledge of psionics but continued to walk. The chill of the soaking wet Volkisch uniform she’d awoken in sent a shiver through her. Had her undercover mission with Aatto tainted her? Had putting that uniform on and making the Gau her own, even for a deception, permanently embedded some shard of fascism in her soul? Such thoughts were unmaterial and fanciful, but Murati’s bleak awakening made it difficult to completely push such understandings away. Loosening her tie, she took a breath and continued down the hall.

At first, her exploration was directionless- checking in surrounding rooms only led to more questions. Unusual configurations made her doubt her memories- meeting rooms now lacked central tables but had chairs haphazardly stacked upon each other, braced against the far wall as if to stop something breaking through. Officers’ quarters felt similarly off-putting: lacking any signs of individuality or anyone living- every closet was filled with more Volkisch uniforms, all in her size, her ‘rank’, and all with the same three armbands. Her nerves were fraying but Murati did her best to recenter herself. Sitting on a chair pulled from an unsteady stack, letting the water around her come to a standstill, she tried to calm down.

She was alone- psionics didn’t reveal any signs of other auras. The wall screens, when she attempted to use them, displayed paragraph after paragraph in High Imbrian. From what little she could interpret; there didn’t seem to be technical logs or information on this False Brigand’s bearing- all were written accounts and quotations reciting various fascist principles and ideology. Repeated references to the fuhrerprinzip and other concepts she’d begun studying in detail with Aatto had initially made her stomach drop.

But sitting and thinking through these things helped steady her nerves, and gave her direction as well- the place she considered to be the crux of the Brigand would be the bridge. And this was a destination she could reach for and find some sort of answer within. Either a way to connect manually to those outside or find the source of this corruption. And so, she stood and began to head towards the elevator. Despite the black seawater coating the floor, most electronics still seemed functional (although unreadable), and the internals of the Brigand weren’t rearranged.

Making her way to the elevator, the doors were open- revealing the empty elevator shaft. It was an unfamiliar sight, but on some level, it was comforting to not have to rely on this unknown spaces elevator system and being able to use the service ladder along the side. Black water continually poured down to levels below, and from above as well, dripping down the metal walls of the shaft into the lower floors of the False Brigand. And yet despite how shallow the water was, it never seemed to get lower, and it never seemed to flow towards where it drained or be disturbed except by Murati’s footsteps.

Gripping the edge of the opened doors, Murati swung herself over the void to grasp at the ladder. It was wet, and the rungs were cold, but it seemed solid enough. Pulling the rest of her body onto it, she looked up, seeing a crack of flickering light from the uppermost doors, making her way steadily up the rungs. The chill of the water she’d been wading through was making her shiver, teeth chattering as she steeled herself, gripping the service ladder more intently. She wasn’t sure what she’d find ahead- Officers? Some source of this water? Nothing at all? None of the answers she could think of brought her much peace.

Arriving at the entrance to the bridge, Murati tried fruitlessly to tug the False Brigand’s doors further apart. Damn it. Frustration at this obstacle began to mount, but a solution occurred to her moments later. Grimacing, she activated her psionics and, making sure to protect her face with an arm while looping the other through some rungs, focused on the point between the doors.

The effect was immediate- horrifically loud screeching as she pulled the trigger, the metal shredded apart as though they were sheets of paper- shrapnel sparking against the walls of the elevator shaft, slicing into Murati’s shirt and pants in a few places, followed by a steady rush of water, joining the other flows into the shaft. The sound of the unrestrained violence echoed, Murati frozen to the service ladder at the sound filling the False Brigand’s halls, even as blood dripped down her nose and lips, joining the rest of the pool of liquid at the bottom of the shaft. Slowly, however, the echoes faded, and she was left alone, breathing heavily on the ladder.

Her inability to lessen the force of her psionics was a constant source of frustration, but after wiping her face, Murati felt rather thankful for it in this moment. At least something like this wasn’t an obstacle in her search for answers.

“Don’t worry, Karuniya- I’m coming home.” Murmuring to reassure herself, to ground herself even a bit more in this false realm.

She managed to swing from the ladder, pressing herself through the mangled remains of the doors- the steady flow of seawater pouring through the bottom of the gates nearly made her jackboots slip, but Murati managed to get a solid foothold, stepping into the bridge.

And everything went wrong.

Her head began to ache, and another urge to vomit filled her, coughing up more mouthfuls of black seawater as she took unsteady steps towards the captain’s chair. This feeling- it was the same as when she’d awoken, the same as throughout that vision. What provoked it? Why was this happening to her!?

She lifted her eyes, catching sight of something. The central screen was black, but not off- Murati could vaguely see something incomprehensible outlined, black on black. Something that made her urge to vomit return, hand lifting to brace herself on the armrest as her senses left her, a voice filling her head as she stumbled, sinking beneath the water-

Drown in a black tide, revolutionary.

Violet Lehner twisted to look into the eyes of her adjutant. “Murati? Are you alright?” A comforting hand laid over her own, Murati’s vision steadying.

“Ah, yes. Thank you, Reichskommissar. I just didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Mmmm. I didn’t either, but I know what you mean- you were tossing and turning.” Violet’s expression became a bit more teasing, although her concern was still readable. “Are you in a good enough shape to offer guidance to me?”

“Of course, I’m at your service.”

Sitting in her throne within the bridge, Violet pulled up something on the main screen while the black uniforms below the pair ignored this moment. Murati’s role as Violet’s adjutant was something that went unquestioned- as did their closeness and visible affections for each other.

Murati was seated in a much more standard adjutants’ seat at the side of Violet’s chair, close enough to be able to quietly confer with the Reichskommissar. The layout of this bridge was a bit unfamiliar, but the Shimii of the Zabaniyah seemed to be adapting to it without too much issue. She adjusted her cap, pressing her lips together as she reached a hand up to feel the metal protrusions… a mimicry of Shimii ears.

She had felt this distasteful, and attempted to shy away from offers of a matching cap by Violet- but when it was gifted to her in an intimate moment, she couldn’t find the heart to reject it. Maybe it would grow on her- she thought the one worn atop Violet’s head was rather cute. At least she hadn’t gifted her that tail tassel as well.

She turned her focus to the screen, clearing her throat again as the familiar sight of the map of the Union was put front and center. Murati’s gaze narrowed, looking over the ship layouts as presented before her. This assault was something that she and other members of Violet’s cabinet had poured over for days- it was a larger scale than what she was used to, but she felt the angle they’d decided upon was the best chance for victory. And so it was that the Brigand had been hastily repurposed for Violet’s use.

A union ship outfitted for stealth and Diver combat- something that would be an extremely useful weapon to eventually bring to the walls of that communist 'state'. Only recently wrested from the hands of some insurgents who’d been plotting some offense in Aachen, Murati had led the assault. The communists aboard had been uniquely hardy and capable, but her overall willingness to retreat and let them overextend or commit to their defenses had proved enough to overpower them. With Christina alongside her, she was responsible for the executions of several of the crew, passing the surviving officers off to Magdalena for interrogation and less tasteful treatment.

Furthermore, rather than scrapping it for parts and details of the Union’s construction processes, after initial testing revealed some of the ships capabilities, Murati found herself advising Violet on a plan. To take advantage of this ship for the Reich and use it as the crux of a plan in truly settling things with the communists. Once and for all. Violet had seen the appeal and taken a liking to the unusual floor plan and build of the ship, getting National Socialist Labor Unions to work on retooling some Union parts, operating systems, and decorations to be more in line with her preferences.

The simple captain’s chair was replaced with a throne, the missile and gas guns refitted for Imbrian calibers of ammunition. Various other changes had been checked off by Violet and given an eye-raise by Murati. Some more extravagant options included a total remodeling of some standard ‘officer’s quarters’ into the Reichskommissar’s personal chambers (now Murati’s as well), along with repurposing the science station and kitchen to support Violet’s diet. The contract for the retrofit was lucrative and the company had done well on short notice- it was only about a month later they set off.

The position of strength from Violet’s easy victories in Kreuzung and Aachen meant that the Zabaniyah were primed for a strike. The presence of revolutionaries this deep in were worrying- as were the advancements in technology and Diver technology discovered aboard. That long-forgotten bastion of slaves and bandits had painted a target upon itself with this act. And Murati’s initial offer of heading the operation were denied by Violet- she wished to accompany her, at least part of the way. It would be an immense victory for the Reich: the communist beliefs allowed to fester and steal the resources of the Volk under the Imbrian Empire would be swiftly crushed beneath the heeled jackboot of Violet Lehner’s National Socialism.

A complete rout of the ideals of ‘socialism’. Murati couldn’t help but scoff.

“Reading some of the works of socialists that were kept aboard this ship, I see the draw it has for the oppressed and denied: the unity and change in the social order promised would be rather appealing. The people of the Union will probably fight to the last to defend their beliefs. Those aboard this ship certainly did.”

Violet listened, an entertained smile on her face. “Oh? Thinking of changing your black uniform for a green one?~ Or trying to make your case for staying at the backline of the confrontation?”

Murati met her gaze, hand gently twisting up to intertwine her fingers with Violet’s, leaning in. “Please be serious, Reichskommissar. My family was North Bosporan, but they clearly read the tides of the Imbrian Empire. They recognized that something akin to a Volkisch Movement would need to form, to unify disparate peoples under a banner, subsumed into the Reich.”

Talking about her parents always provoked odd feelings in Murati- they’d been early proponents of fascism, and their shadow often hung over her. How little she truly knew about their beliefs, their interpretations of the world- but it was a guiding light for her regardless. Continuing, never looking away from Violet’s gaze, she spoke,

“This path was carved through my own efforts, and I’ve dedicated myself to it: and to you. The world must be examined, understood, and competing ideologies must be repressed. Had I been some nameless Union soldier, what could I aspire for? What heights could I reach? To merely remain one of a faceless mass? While my own struggles and loyalty have led me to your side. I would never desire anything else.”

Violet’s cheeks gained a bit of a flush, finally breaking Murati’s eye contact.

“My, Oberführer- a certain romantic might interpret such an expression of commitment as a proposal.”

Murati gave a gentle squeeze to Violet’s hand, leaning back into her seat with a cocky smile on her face.

“Perhaps, Reichskommissar. Maybe our wedding night could be marked by the fall of that Union.”

Violet laughed, drawing a few glances from the officers at the stations below, but a steely glare from Murati quickly got them to return to their work.

Another cough came on, and she lifted her free hand, a splitting headache accompanying it, coughing out a splatter of blood into her palm, eyes burning as she slumped down in her seat, Violet’s hand moving to gently rub at her back as her vision dissolved into blackness once more.

She surfaced, coughing and choking for breath while pulling herself from where she’d been floating face-down. Murati braced herself against the captain’s throne, her head aching with a splitting pain- it felt as if she’d been shot. Whatever had happened- the memories of that tenderness with Violet burnt freshly into her soul- had changed something. The water had risen to her hips, and she’d nearly drowned in it while in the throes of the vision she’d had. It wasn’t real- it couldn’t be. She felt ill, her head ached, and swallowing mouthfuls of this accursed saltwater wasn’t helping, the burning in her eyes and mouth making her keep coughing.

Slowly struggling to catch her breath, the urge to vomit was still strong in her chest. The world it had showed her was unbearable- a world where Murati had been responsible for the deaths of those she loved. For what? Love? Fascism? None of it felt right in her head. But the emotions of that Other Murati were still fresh and real. That dedication wasn’t a front, or a shallow understanding of the material reality. It was a choice to side with the oppressors and imperialists. It was the resolve to put a gun to the head of every person aboard that ship undercover in Aachen and do it with a smile.

It felt incompatible with her existence. It made her sickness feel even worse as she heaved out a sob. The thought of a world where she was responsible- no, integral- to the deaths of Ulyana, Erika, the entire crew… It was unbearable. It was horrific to conceptualize. The chill of the sea was soaking her to the bone, and an overwhelming desire to fall to her knees, to submit to these visions-

to give in-

to submit to Destiny-

and be swallowed by a sea of black-

Murati’s eyes opened with a start, standing up even as her head spun. She reaffirmed herself. None of that had happened. None of it was real. But she felt the black sea suffocatingly around her. Submitting to it would bring those worlds about. She felt a desire for motion, a desire to fight and struggle for the things she held dear. For the ideals she believed in. For the people she loved.

A hesitant glance towards the screen revealed it now pouring black saltwater into the bridge- the captain’s interface and lower tiers of the False Brigand’s bridge completely submerged. Coming here had only caused her more pain, and seemingly advanced whatever rot was latching onto her. Murati began mumbling to herself through chattering teeth, trying to think.

“The bridge’s a dead end…b-but there was… something…something there.”

A figure- unfamiliar and uncomfortable, but it was something. A thing aboard this ship other than her. Struggling to decide a direction- she felt so detached from everything, another choked sob forced out between gritted teeth.

“Karu… Karu… please… I need…”

The chill was setting in, and she rubbed her sleeve against her eyes, clearing tears and noticing the sleeve slick with blood- a bit of shrapnel must have cut deeper than she’d realized. Unsteadily, Murati undid her tie, retying it as a makeshift bandage over her arm to stem the blood loss.

But thoughts of Karuniya kept her conscious and centered. She had to keep moving. To surrender to apathy and cold would mean to let the fire in her chest go out- she had to keep walking. Euphrates walked on, for uncountable centuries. What apprentice would Murati be if she let some cold stop her in her tracks? Gritting her teeth, she turned away from the bridge. She didn't have an exact destination in mind, but she would check every damn section of this False Brigand if she needed to.

Swaying her way through the deeper water out of the bridge, she was greeted with an unpleasant sight: the elevator shaft, now completely filled in with that blackened water. Just the sight of it felt overpowering, but it was the only way out of the command module.

Murati took a few breaths, kicking off her jackboots- now weighed down by the water that had poured into them, they’d just slow down her swimming. She was sure there’d be pockets of air below- the shapes of the Brigand's rooms would allow for plenty of spaces to breathe. And if not- well. She would be dead anyway.

Psyching herself up, the image of Karuniya in her head, she took a breath and dove in, squinting as she willingly let herself be swallowed by the black sea- salt burning her eyes. And she saw something, in the distance- a glimmer of purple, far on the other side of the ship, shining impossibly clear through dozens of layers of metal. Her mental map returned to the forefront of her mind- it was where the Agarthic core array rested, at the back of the ship. Murati felt a tug in her chest, memories of her previous sighting of Agarthicite coming to the forefront of her mind. She continued to swim down, deeper into the sea.

Kicking, favoring her uninjured arm in her sweeping swimming motions she attempted to make her way down to the proper level to swim towards the core, that voice spoke- suffusing her body with cold, the still water she was struggling through beginning to move, flowing as it spoke.

Yes... come pay your respects at the altar. Kneel and swear yourself to me to Violet to Imani to Christina to the Reich to National Socialism to Destiny.

It reverberated through her senses, the flow increasing in intensity, slamming Murati’s injured shoulder into the shaft, causing her to involuntarily hiss, breathing in some of the blackened sea and beginning to choke once more, that voice growing ever louder in her head, pounding, the image of Karuniya she held in her mind growing blurry and distant. It was pounding, growing excitable, speaking faster and faster and making her thoughts feel quiet and small against its voice and the swirl of water catching her in its grip.

MuratiLehnerOberführerofTheVolkischMovementfortheNationalAwakening.YournameyourfateyourtruthyourDestiny.

It was all so cold, being knocked about by the currents- dragged as if by a riptide down and slowly, brutally being pulled towards that figure who claimed ownership of her fate. Murati was caught in the tides of Destiny and couldn’t even muster the strength to keep her eyes open- surrendering to this unceasingly cruel sea.

Chapter Text

A stinging taste filled her throat as she swallowed, Murati coughing and grimacing alongside Violet, drinking shoulder to shoulder. Setting the glass down at the nightstand, she gave an unimpressed look at her Reichskommissar.

“Ugh. I can’t stand this vodka. Whose idea was this?”

Violet chuckled, choosing to ignore Murati’s self-admonishment while she leaned in, bare shoulders brushing.

“Mphm, it’s lacking for sure. Maybe we could get some officers to offer up some corn wine- I’ve heard from some of them it’s less offensive to the senses.”

Murati gave a nod of assent, leaning in herself, stealing a kiss from Violet. Drawing it out for a few long moments before pulling back for a breath, an unreadable expression in her gaze.

The conquering of the Union was underway- and going well enough for the pair to be able to spend a relaxing night together, sharing a bed aboard a captured station, drinking communist liquor and enjoying each other’s company. It had been a busy few weeks, and they’d rarely gotten to spend their time together.

Violet’s intent on immediate, massive changes to the agrispheres of the Union to support her raw veganism agenda required strict implementation and her dissatisfaction with the economic capabilities of the stations captured so far continued to vex her. While Murati was conferring with generals and captains to continue their unceasing onslaught, making sure to cycle out ships in the lead and bolstering their entire frontline as well as could be managed, Violet’s broadcast speeches to the Volkisch was the most she’d seen of her in recent days.

“I’ve missed you, mein schatzi.”

Violet’s eyebrows raised for a moment, shifting once more to lay her head upon Murati’s shoulder.

“I’ve missed you too, Murati. I hadn’t expected you to get so needy after only a short time apart- distance must make the heart grow fonder. But it’s a charming side of you.”

Murati wore a soft smile on her face, hand idly tracing shapes across Violet’s back- the pair was sitting up in bed, undressed and lounging while only mildly inebriated.

Moving to fix that, Murati took Violet’s glass from her hand and shifting to slip out of bed.

“Ugh.” Violet made a dissatisfied noise, but didn’t object further.

Murati pulled herself up, snatching her own glass up and swaying over to the table that the bottle had been left at. After pouring some more vodka for the pair, Murati seemed to pause for a few moments, asking a question with her back to Violet.

“Violet- are your sure of your priorities?”

“Mmm?”

“The agrispheres- we haven’t forced the cooperation of enough of the Union’s productive forces for it to be sustainable.”

“Ah.” Violet’s voice sounded as if this was something she’d expected, quieting to listen to Murati’s words.

“That means soldiers of ours- even if they’re inexperienced Blood Bund meatheads from that clown in Rhinea- must do agricultural work they’re unprepared for and will resent. And that work also requires extremely tight margins to be economically viable.”

“Murati, this is our chance for a complete upending of this state: to turn this Union into a model for National Socialism- and that means even in food production.”

“Violet, I understand. And I support you, but-” Murati fought the urge to turn, her hands pressing into the tabletop, eyes drifting over the Volkisch uniform pants she’d haphazardly tossed atop it- the pocket specifically.

“You’re concerned about the sustainability of this blitz, yes?”

“Mhm.”

The room went silent for a few more moments. Murati’s index and middle fingers discreetly tugging a pair of small packets from her pocket. Both were half-filled with a uniform white powder, but the different hues of the packaging let her know which would provoke the desired effects.

Reichskommissar Murati Nakara. Came a whispered a voice in the back of her mind.

Then she heard a soft sigh from behind her, able to so clearly picture Violet’s expression- put upon but with a bit of fondness.

“Very well then- we’ll leave the corn alone until it can be harvested a few more times. And put more effort into making the people of the Union understand what the Volkisch can offer. Making more of the Zabaniyah prominent in policing will help.”

Murati let out a breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding, tapping one packet back into her pocket, twisting around to reveal her tearing open the other and pouring it into her drink to her bed partner.

“Oh my- using sex as a reward for political decisions? You’ve matured so much from that eager-to-please Obersturmführer that caught my eye.” Violet teased, although Murati could clearly see the way her pose shifted, laying further back on the bed, propped up by her elbows- full of desire.

Downing her vodka as the powder was dissolving into it, she returned to the bed, crawling atop Violet, pressing her down- olive meeting ruddy skin as she whispered,

“I don’t recall giving you permission to speak, kätzchen-”

Silencing Violet’s further noises with a hungry kiss, pinning her to the bed even as a sensation of cold filled her body, salt stinging her eyes.

Murati’s eyes opened groggily- she wasn’t drowning, for once. She was slumped over a large work cart that had been wedged between a doorway by the blackened waves that now stilled once more around her bedraggled form. As her consciousness returned, the stings of bruises and wounds all over her body- along with how freezing cold she was- made her shudder. Her shirt was nearly in tatters, the black button-up revealing plenty of her bust along with the jagged lines of red in her skin. Processing the vision was something that felt beyond her now. The sickening feelings bubbling in her gut, the sensations she’d felt as that Other Murati, all of them made her want to disappear.

But she couldn’t. It wasn’t even a coherent belief that was fueling this opposition- Just some deep sensation of wrongness in her head. The pounding headache was making it more difficult to think of Karuniya, to focus on what she’d been doing. That unknown voice that filled her head with its echoing cries still felt fresh and clear- difficult to put out of her mind.

The core! Murati remembered, jerking up, glancing around the hall- she was close to it. That unbearable tide had pulled her to only a few modules away before she’d gotten caught in this doorway. Testing if she could touch the floor, she found that the water wasn’t as high as before- it was up to her chest now but was still possible to move through.

Slowly, agonizingly, she tugged at the cart, shifting it out to free the doorway. Her body ached, chilled to her bones, barely able to stand the freezing cold metal beneath her feet as she padded slowly through the deep water filling the halls. These lower levels contained a lot of storage and tightly packed Diver parts, but in this False Brigand, it seemed as if it was completely empty. At this point, that was just another distraction from her goal- from putting an end to this nightmare and those visions filling her head.

Wading onwards, arms spread out, Murati sneezed- she felt unsteady and weak from the chill. It was getting harder to think straight, and she kept stopping to shiver for a few moments at a time, suffused with an awful sense of freezing to death if this effort failed. It was like teetering on the edge- one more vision felt like all it would take to shatter this fragile sense of self she was left with, to snuff out the flickering candle in her chest.

“Karu…please…I’m… I’m coming…”

She gasped out, stuttering and stumbling while pulling herself through the slightly opened bulkhead that normally separated the core array from the rest of the ship.

Through the door, her faint memories of what an Agarthicite Core Array looked like from earlier work on ships were reaffirmed. The osmium shutters were torn apart, blackened water hiding the generators and turbines that constantly drew power from the horrific rock that should have been embedded upon the altar. The metal God of the After Descent Era- was gone. And in its place, upon its pedestal was a pretender to the throne.

A shadowed blackened figure, near impossible to discern details of in the lightless room, with twisting roots digging into the metals surrounding it. From its body and its roots poured forth more and more blackened sea water- the source of this false sea. And she heard its voice, reverberating through the waters, provoking small waves to lap at her shoulders.

Welcome, herr Reichskommissar. Said the tones in her mind.

“That’s not- augh.” Another splitting headache, hand lifting to her temple, glaring into the darkness before her. Murati felt the heat of the rings around her eyes forming, chasing away the chill and haunted feelings for a moment.

Not enough? You seek to be Fuhrer? To rule, completely? To consume and take and hunger for more all the while? Its eagerness and fondness audible, desiring her victory, desiring her to reach ever-higher heights.

She had to shut it up- sending a wave of her fury in the form of a vector- that caused a weak splash in the water before her, leaving that figure on the altar untouched. It felt like all the fight in her body left her in that moment. Her one weapon, her one way of harming this thing… was so pitiful before it. Whatever it was.

You know… you know me so well… It led her on, reveling in her weakness.

Her head was spinning, the weight of its presence pressing upon her. Memories of the visions flickered before her eyes- of Imani pressed closed behind her, Christina’s lips against her own, Violet beneath her in bed. Throughout it all, persistent through the world it showed her. Ever hungry for more. Ever consuming. Ever desiring.

Could this be… Fascism? Her enemy, given form? The ideology held by Imani, by Christina, by Violet and so many more she stood against- was this the source of it all? Some horrifically beating heart of black matter, a perversion of the sacrosanct Agarthicite that was burnt into her mind?

Yesssssss, came the voice in her head, an intonation comparable to ‘pride’ readable in it. It was content with this understanding. Fascism as something that wasn’t human, but something ancient and horrific and immutable. Something that seeped up from below and imbedded itself into those above.

And in a moment, despite the dread and fear Murati felt, she knew this wasn’t so. It went against everything she believed. Everything she understood. Not in the way of psionics or this False Brigand did, as things beyond her current understandings- but because it was such a cowardly answer. It was one that denied self-interrogation or a hope for bettering oneself or others. And one that promoted a disbelief in the harm people could bring about.

But how can you know? It asked and was ignored.

This was not the Source of Fascism. To say so was to surrender culpability. It was something human, something formed from the belief and psyche of humanity. This thing too was born from human desire and reflected it- Aachen had let it feed on the minds and ideals of the Empire for generations, and it had grown larger and insidious. The Fueller Reformation may have threatened it momentarily- before it relaxed at the familiarity of the desires of this movement, letting it taste new flavors of the same meal, to further awaken and hunger for more. And now the Volkisch Movement had come here. To let it stretch itself and become a true guardian wyrm of the ideology it was fed by, wrapped around the struts of this city.

Murati’s head ached, her entire body weighed down, every motion difficult in the chest-high black water filling this room, soaking and chilling her to the bone as it forever poured from that mangled shape upon the altar. And yet she felt more assured than she’d been this entire journey- communism was a threat to it. Her beliefs, Erika’s beliefs, every single crewmates belief about what the world could be was a predator to this prey. Even unknowingly, the Brigand’s arrival was a knife buried into this foe.

No! Came a cry, the waves becoming more frantic. Defensive, even.

Be drowned, revolutionary. In the black tide of Destiny. It purred out once more. No longer intent on filling her head with possibilities- possibilities that could exist. Murati wasn’t special or unique. Had she not been in the Union, had not found communism, had not gained a material understanding of the world- she could have been the Oberführer of Aachen, another keeper of this creature. Her blood dripping through the pipes joining the others in the city to satisfy its hunger.

But she wasn’t. Even as it roared and shook, and the walls of the False Brigand crumpled from the pressure- Murati knew. She would live and die a worker, without a name.

And the misshapen core let its blackened sea rush free, unrestrained.

She was knocked off her feet by the sudden wave that poured forth, dragged beneath the current- uselessly paddling for the surface as she was flung against the walls, kicking and attempting to swim. The breath was knocked out of her, opening her eyes to struggle to see anything she could grab hold of to stop her sickening motion, staring into the blackness, the sting of salt filling them as her lungs burnt from lack of air.

For a moment-

All seemed lost-

That now familiar chilling apathy-

She’d thrown it off for an instant-

But now-

Coating her, marring her, seeping in-

She would drown here-

In the salt and the sea-

Overcome by Destiny-

Unable to see her wife again-

But the utter darkness was broken by the glow of an unfamiliar light… coming from herself. A purple, throbbing, incomprehensible shard buried in her chest. She hadn’t felt it (or had she always felt it?). This was a wound left in her by her experiences. She knew, innately. Her hand gripped the shard, and she felt it all over again- the sweat and alarms of her Diver, her eyes locked on the screens as the Agarthicite collapsed on itself in front of her. Murati felt herself being pulled further into the sight, losing herself in the purple instead of the darkness, hexagonal burns beginning to trace down her fingers.

Even in the dark void of the water, she could see as those purple-hot burns struck through her hand, mangling her flesh to the bone as it fed more and more from her touch and flesh. Before those too stopped- by another wound, this time self-inflicted: the cut on her palm.

All the sudden, she wasn’t lost in a sea of blackness, detached from time and reality, gripping a shard of something beyond understanding. She had made a pact that grounded her- a pledge to serve. A pledge to fight as a soldier for Astra Palaiologos II in the Time of Polemos.

And whatever Katarran dark magic it was that sustained that pact, it was strong enough to let Murati’s feet touch the ground- to slow the burning of the purple shard she yanked from her ribs. That pounding heat of Polemos was in the distance, and its existence and sensation allowed Murati to reframe her understandings. She was a soldier. And in her hand was a weapon. And before her… was an enemy.

She took a step.

The water flowed around her, pounding at her body, small bits of metal and shrapnel cutting into her flesh and driving her to wince- but she took another step.

Lit by the purple glow, wielding that vague sensation of Polemos as a compass, Murati continued to steadily, step by step, approach this Reflection of Destiny. Its howls reverberated through the water, roars like a wounded beast. But she’d slain beasts before. Leviathans carved by her Diver’s weaponry. The Agarthic shard in her hand crackled at the memory, pushing her onwards.

Her lungs burnt, unable to draw a breath in this false sea, but she could see the altar now. Every step she could feel the sea press around her, the mangled and torn remains of the Volkisch uniform repaired in its wake- those three armbands burning, cutting into her as the vile symbols upon them shone red in the darkness. And she continued to walk, to not accept this fate.

With every step, the light dimmed, and as she put a foot upon the guardrail around the Agarthic altar, it changed. Jackboots replaced with the familiar, comfortable plastic of Union boots, her rank emblazoned and glowing with the same energy that now fueled her to take a leap, to grasp at the wretched altar, scrabbling for a handhold and digging the shard of Agarthicite into the metal, securing herself as the tides continued to attempt to throw her aside.

This is not you. You are of the Black Tide, of the Ever-Devouring, of the National Socialist! Cried out the husk.

It was finally lit by the Agarthicite shard, letting Murati look upon this enemy without shadows or screens separating them. It was a rotted body, tendrils of blackened meat and bone choking the natural processes of the core. She could not tell if it was man or woman- but it was petrified, solid, with its arm extended out in an all too familiar salute. An oddly shaped rusted mask, metallic compared to its flesh-like limbs, hid its expression from her eyes.

Murati stood, her uniform flickering once more as she lifted that shard of Agarthicite high. The Union officers’ garb was replaced in an instant by the weighty, unfamiliar feeling of armor, a billowing cloak tossed about by the currents. She could sense immediately- this was the armor of a Merarch, the weight of Katarran power armor affixing her to the ground, the sensation of Polemos centering her once more, the blood loss and chill so insignificant in this moment of violence.

And she brought down her weapon. For socialism. For Polemos. For Karuniya. For herself. That jagged chunk of accursed metal that haunted the edges of her consciousness she buried into the chest of the petrified clotted corpse of the past.

Accursed revolutionary… I fear… your steel… I fear… what you will… attain… Its voice grew softer and more labored in her head… before it was silenced forever, a weight leaving her shoulders.

The sea stilled around her. She took a gasping breath, spots flickering in her vision as she found herself able to breathe- the false sea of this False Brigand evaporating in an instant, the weight of the armor steadying her shaking body. And, stepping forward, looking at the dissolving remnants of the corpse, her face smeared with blood and salt and blackened liquid, cloak billowing behind her, Murati spoke,

“The People make up a Nation; you’ll-” And she stumbled on the altar, falling back upon the guardrail, which bent and shattered beneath the weight of her armor, winding her as she fell in an unsteady heap on the floor. 

Looking up at the ceiling, she couldn’t help but chuckle, then slowly build to a full laugh at how much tension had been released. Beginning to intermingle with sobs as the armor encasing her shimmered away as well. She was exhausted- bruised and beaten and she could barely keep her eyes open. But she continued to laugh and cry as sensations of life and light seemed to return to the Brigand around her. Slowly, flickeringly at first, but then gaining strength, the familiar purple Agarthicite reasserted its place at the Core, filling the room with a comforting, soft glow.

It was entrancing, but waves of weariness seemed to come with this return to normalcy. A yawn left her lips, laughter subsiding. And peacefully this time, Murati’s eyes closed with an unsteady smile still on her face. It would be some time before she was awoken in her familiar uniform by a very confused Iessenia and Nina within the Brigand’s reactor room. Then various explanations, checks to her health, and concerned, tearful hugs would follow. But in this moment, bathed in that shimmering purple light, Murati rested and for the first night since she arrived in Aachen, felt that she slept comfortably.

She dreamed of Karuniya and Solstice.