"Alas, regardless of their doom, the little victims play! No sense have they of ills to come, nor care beyond today."

-Thomass Gray

********

"It's jumbled," Melina said as she set down a broken piece of coral. It was fashioned into a necklace of sorts but had been shattered long ago. "I am a Dragon of Fire. These feel too much like the sea."

"The psychometry should come from the Phoenix Force, not your Element," Nico Robin asked with a raised eyebrow.

"It is through my Element that I can be a host," Melina said as she ghosted her hands over the other remnants Robin had laid out for her. "Everything I do is channelled through Fire. These are too tied to water. I cannot see anything clearly."

That was disappointing.

When Robin heard about Melina's ability to see the past through objects, she immediately realized its potential in archeology.

Since they had some downtime after the convention, Robin dragged the Kindling Maiden to her study, where she kept the samples of Atlantian civilization that she had... borrowed from various museums worldwide.

Once a pirate, always a pirate.

Nami would be proud.

The familiar pang of sadness at the memory of her fellow Strawhat flowed through Robin as she turned things over in her mind.

Strictly speaking, with what they knew about Poseidon, Robin was almost sure the destruction of Atlantis had been caused by this 'Oppressor.' After that, any remnants in the ocean had been 'Freed' by her husband, unintentionally whipping out all clues that had been buried in the waves.

It would be easy to leave things there.

Robin never took the easy answers in her search for the truth of history.

Was Poseidon turned before or after Atlantis' destruction?

Why was it destroyed? How was it destroyed?

And why the long time between its disappearance and the advent of Endbringers if the enemy controlled them? The last record of the underwater city was decades ago.

At least Robin had a hypothesis about why its study had fallen out of favour despite proof of its existence. The enemy didn't want people looking too closely at its disappearance.

Which made her study of it even more critical.

If somebody wanted history to be forgotten, they'd have to do it over Robin's dead body.

But, without further leads, she was at a dead end.

Until Melina became the Phoenix Host.

"Not even from this," Robin asked Melina as she led to the most important part of her collection.

It was a half-broken trident, rusted and calcified from the years and salt spray. Faint Greek lettering was carved into the distorted sides of the metal.

Thanks to the catalogue, Robin could read it as well as any language, so she knew it wasn't a really coherent sentence. Parts had been worn away over time, and the damage the weapon received.

Robin had roughly translated it as '- last - dying -- sight.'

She had hoped it was some sort of record of the end of Atalantis, but Medea had said it wasn't a magical weapon. She had also explained that it could just be an epitaph on a soldier's weapon, a reasonably common tradition from her time in case warriors fell in battle.

Still, maybe Melina could get something from it. It was the last item to wash ashore decades ago that could be reliably attributed to the fallen city.

"I..." Melina paused as she stared at the broken weapon before shaking her head. "Even less than the others. I can't see anything."

Very frustrating.

"Why don't you tell me how you use your Element," Robin tried. "We might be able to find a workaround."

If there was one thing the Family had learned about their Elements, it was how incredibly subjective and fluid they were. Their exact manifestation was wholly dependent on the way of thought of their owners.

Tsunade thought of 'Life' as all life forms connected through spiritual channels because of her experience with chakra. This led to her gaining Sage Mode as the primary manifestation of her element and Wood Release as a byproduct.

On the other hand, Mikael saw 'Life' as the struggle to stay alive. His ability was way more limited but more powerful. If he was touching something, it could not die if he didn't allow it.

Robin's own Element 'Flower' was obviously a manifestation of her Devil Fruit, but it also represented her struggle for survival over everything life had thrown at her, similar to Mikael's Life Element. So long as one 'flower,' or clone of her, lives, she can regrow. It had removed the concept of a 'main' body for her. All of Robin's limbs and copies were just petals on one flower. It was why not even Mikael going at full power could kill her.

Flowers would always bloom again.

'Fire' was such a broad concept that Robin was betting there was some wiggle room for them to try and work out a way for Melina to get something from all this.

"I see things in fire," Melina said with a shrug. "Things that were burned or warmed by the flame."

"So both destruction and a form of creation? No, closer to 'aid' or 'blessing' rather than creation?"

"Something of the sort. Shall we ask Medea or Scathach for aid?" Melina offered. "Or Emma."

"Emma's with Mikael," Robin shook her head. "They went to talk to Frost. And we can ask the others if we don't work something out. I think we can, though. These conceptual elements are not too dissimilar to some of my world's more esoteric Devil Fruits. Remind me to talk to you about my captain and his... unique abilities sometimes. For now, why don't you tell me how you use Fire with the Phoenix's psychic abilities."

"I burn things," Melina deadpanned.

"I guessed as much," Robin chuckled. Every once in a while, Mikael's influence on the woman shown through clearly. "What do you burn, how do you burn it, and how does it help you with your psychic powers?"

"I picture a fire in my mind," Melina said with a frown. "I feed it everything I don't want to sense. Mostly thoughts of the people around me."

"And the people themselves? Do you sense them? What about actual fires? I can't sense flowers, but I know Scathach can feel any blood spilled within a few miles of her."

"I feel people," Melina nodded. "But that is from the Phoenix Force sensing their psychic waves. I only visualize them as flames. I do feel fires, but they are like stars in the sky. I only notice if I am concentrating on them."

"Hmm," Robin gently turned over a piece of decorative shell. Once, it would have had ink depicting various scenes; now, it was little more than a carved surface with vague humanoid figures. "If you feel fires, can you feel where fire once was? Or where fire touched."

"Possibly," Melina said hesitantly. "But that will not aid us here. They lived under the ocean."

"But they needed light of some form," Robin said. "And heat. A civilization cannot exist without the ability to perceive the world around it. Unless they all operated by echolocation, which Emma and Diana said their versions of Atlantis did not, they had to have some way of perceiving their world. Bioluminescence, magic, electricity, or some other form of light and heat needed to exist for them to shape these tools. Can you try to sense the heat on these?"

Without a word, Melina took up the broken trident once more and closed her eyes.

"I can sense the heat of light," she said with a frown. "The sun. Then, something more artificial. Lightbulbs. I see faces and gloved hands."

"That is probably from when it surfaced and was studied by archeologists," Robin nodded. "Can you try and go further back? Focus more on the heat that shaped it. It's metal, which likely means it was melted at some point. Focus on that."

"I..." Melina paused, her frown deepening. "I can feel heat, but I can't see fire. I still feel the water. Water and pressure and heat."

Robin cast her thoughts to the mystery. How had an underwater civilization developed tools? The light could come from the sun or bioluminescent animals and coral, but how had they shaped metal? Medea had not sensed any magic, so it had to be some natural process.

Boiling water?

"Try this," Robin suggested. "Don't think about fire as you know it. Think of magma. Beneath everything is immeasurable heat. The Earth's core, mantle, and all the lava it produces. It shifts, rising and falling in currents like water. Fire under stone. Heat is trapped by rock and caused by pressure. Always moving beneath the surface. It will eventually escape, even under the ocean, and it will boil the water of the sea floor."

Like how Robin's education in atomic theory had allowed her to grow her limbs without anchors, she hoped knowledge of the Earth's crust and mantle would help Melina visualize 'fire beneath the earth.'

Her words took hold.

Melina let out a grunt of pain as she stumbled back.

"What is it?" Robin asked eagerly. "Did you see anything?"

"Not the way you hope for," Melina said, taking a deep breath. "I felt the Earth. The fire and the stone. They are as one down there. Bleeding into each other. And they had a presence. Two psychic entities. One is as solid as the ground, and one is as effervescent as a flame. Were it not for the Defences, they would also have sensed me."

It took Robin a moment to realize what Melina was probably talking about. Mikael had given them a brief rundown of the Parliaments after the incident with Ciara.

"Those were probably the Parliaments of Stones and Flames," the pirate sighed in disappointment. "But nothing from the artifact?"

"Let me try again," Melina said, closing her eyes. "The Earth's flame surprised me, but I have known fires much greater than it. It shall not distract me again."

There was silence in Robin's study for a long moment as Melina concentrated.

"I... feel something," Melina said lowly. "I see the trident being made. It was heated and shaped in a volcano under the sea, but not with magma or lava. It would taint the metal. A blacksmith of sorts shapes it with a hammer and magic. He is not human, though he looks like one. This trident was one of hundreds. All the same. Soldiers weapons."

Robin was writing everything down in her notebook, eyes gleaming.

Mass-produced weaponry might not seem as special as a unique or distinct weapon, but it tells a lot about the culture that produces it. For example, the choice of a trident could have religious connotations, but the fact that it was a standard issue meant that it was also a practical choice and indicated a centralized authority.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

It was also made entirely of metal instead of having a wooden shaft, which indicated a high level of metallurgy, considerable material wealth, and a robust infrastructure that allowed the transportation of material from one location to another. It also pointed to a unique technological development path, where wood would be rarer and less useful than metal because of the water.

Did it help with this Oppressor? Maybe not, but learning about history was never a bad thing, and you never knew what could be a clue.

"Anything else?"

"No. It all goes dark and wet from there."

"What about the inscription? Can you read the full thing?"

"It..." Melina paused. "It wasn't there during creation. It was added later. But I can't see how."

Then, the soldier likely carved it into the metal by hand at a later point. Atlanteans had a form of super strength, didn't they?

"I can feel something else," Melina said with a frown. "The sun again, but briefer. The weapon is being held by a soldier, and they are on land. A guard. A diplomatic meeting. With the Amazons, I recognize Hippolyta. The trident belonged to a royal guard of some sort. But it only saw the sun for a few hours before it returned to the sea. Then..." Melina shook her head.

"Can you tell how long ago the meeting was? And did it have the inscription when the meeting happened?"

"I cannot, and it did not."

"Anything else?"

"No. Just water and pressure and darkness. I cannot even see when it broke."

Still disappointing, but it's a good starting point.

Robin paused as a thought struck her. If the inscription had been an epithet or way of identifying ownership, the soldier would likely have carved it relatively soon after receiving the weapon.

It was too early to say anything with certainty, but it could be related to the fall of Atlantis after all.

"Let's go over the rest of my collection," the pirate said, switching pages in her notes to categorize things appropriately. "Once you have more practice, maybe you can get more out of it."

Melina shrugged, going along with Robin's study without complaint.

Robin and Melina didn't have time to go through the entire collection before they were called away by their husband being accused of kidnapping a baby, but they weren't entirely without results.

Over the next few minutes, the archeologist learned more about the daily life of the average Atlantean, but nothing that helped shine a light on the destruction of the underwater civilization.

But that told Robin its own story.

Everything they found indicated that Atlantis had been flourishing. Rich in materials, food, and populace, it had not been declining in the slightest. Then, it went completely silent, with no calls for help or awareness of its disappearance by the larger world.

The end, however it had come for the lost city, had been sudden and violent.

********

Emma Frost shuddered, writhing in ecstasy.

It was all she could do to wait for Mikael to leave her office before she completely lost control of herself.

Being so close to Him, being His sole focus of attention, of His rage...

The memory of it had her spasming.

Heartbreak had been the best thing to ever happen to her.

Everything before had been... dull. Muted. Empty.

She gathered riches, power, and influence, but Frost never cared for it. It was simply something to do.

Ambition for ambition's sake.

Now?

Now Emma Frost had a purpose. A mission.

For those few fleeting seconds when she had been one with the Elden Lord, she had been everything.

It had been rapturous.

Emma Frost needed that again.

She needed it like she needed air or water.

To discard this flesh sack, this confinement of mortality and weakness, and become one with Him.

Frost would do anything for that. She'd make his little pet a star. She'd bounce his happy little sluts on his dick as much as he wanted. She'd debase herself in front of the whole world.

Emma Frost would force the world to bow to Mikael if it meant she could be with him.

He could have taken her then, right in her office, and all she would have felt was ecstasy.

For so long, she had been sleepwalking. A mindless sack of waste going through the motions.

Heartbreak had woken her up.

Meeting Him, touching Him, had shown her what she was missing.

Colour. Emotion. Life.

The exquisite sense of fear as His draconic eyes judged her. The thrill of excitement at the possibilities of what he could do. Hope, lust, envy, pride, so many emotions that had dulled had come roaring back into her life.

They were but a taste of what could be.

What would be.

Emma Frost would be Mikael's next consort.

She wouldn't allow anything else.

********

Mikael was an absolute madman, Valeria thought to herself as she hummed—a true monster.

The pre-teen giggled to herself at the memory of their talk on the phone.

Mikael had been so angry when she asked if he had taken Nathan Summers, like Valeria had insulted him with the idea he would kidnap a baby. Which, to be fair, was a reasonably wild thing to ask anyone.

Except Mikael.

Valeria's giggles continued as she continued to work.

The silly dragon didn't seem to understand the irony of immediately thinking up a scenario to justify something you were being falsely accused of. He said he'd never kidnap a baby, but Valeria knew he was wrong.

Mikael would do absolutly anything.

He just had to have the right motivations, and he'd betray his morals, fears, and beliefs. Not only would Mikael kidnap babies, but he would gleefully throw them into an active volcano if he thought he needed to. He was only held back by things because he allowed himself to be.

Valeria knew the type.

Uncle Doom was like that. A monster.

Valeria wanted to be a monster.

She was already halfway there, Valeria told herself. She was a self-made madwoman. Sure, it was temporary, but Rome wasn't built in a day... unless it was.

Valeria took a second to contemplate the impact of magic, mutations, and possibly alien intervention in history.

She took three more seconds to compose a short, fifty-page essay on the possible influence of foreign life forms on humanity's development, listing the proper research papers that supported her hypothesis.

Valeria would write it out later, once she wasn't arms-deep in her most recent invention.

Valeria returned her thoughts to her ally.

Mikael, his false accusations, and what it meant for her situation.

In the end, Valeria decided she could do nothing now, so she banished it from her mind.

It was easy not to worry about things when you are physically incapable of having worries.

Instead, Valeria thought about happier topics.

Like how she could become a monster.

The easy answer would be to get Mikael to turn her into a dragon and gain power that way.

His ability to grant powers was the greatest she had ever heard of. Not just because everyone she knew who received it was increadibly powerful, but because of how reliable it was.

All other paths to power Valeria was aware of were incredibly conditional or based on chance. Yes, she could turn herself into a cyborg or genetically modify herself, but the odds of it going wrong, even with her prodigal intellect, were too high to risk. The same problem with some sort of Iron Man suit. Without it, she'd be just as weak as ever.

No, Mikael was Valeria's path to becoming a monster.

The problem with becoming a monster that way was that, as far as she was aware, Mikael was increadibly leary about offering that power. The only person not married to him to whom he had granted powers was Glory Girl, and even then, it had been a discount version without the draconic power.

So then, why hadn't he?

Valeria pondered the question as she set about tweaking the formula to get it juuuuuusssssstttttt right.

Didn't want to start a zombie apocalypse on accident, after all.

There had to be some cost to the power. That was obvious. And the greater the power Mikael gave, the greater the cost. But what was it? Was it a one-time fee or something that needed to be paid over and over? And who paid, Mikael or the recipient?

"Questions, questions, questions," Valeria laughed. "A monster of questions. That's what I'll be. What about you all? What type of monster would you be?"

As always, the bodies on the bed never answered her. Her family remained as silent as the grave, as they had for years.

But that was fine.

Valeria couldn't feel sad about it anyway.

A shift of perspective. That was what Valeria needed. She could discover the price when Mikael offered her power if she could only discover how to get him to offer it.

Unfortunately, the most obvious answer was impossible.

Valeria couldn't be like Emma Frost. Valeria had years before she could attract romantic attention from the dragon if she decided that was the path to pursue. Everything she had observed showed that Mikael held zero attraction to her. He clearly preferred mature women.

Which was good. For a lot of reasons. But it did leave Valeria in a loop on how to convince the dragon to turn her into a monster.

Sure, they were allies, but so far, Valaria hadn't brought anything to the table. She needed him more than he needed her. That was obvious after Mikael had almost left their reality not too long ago, and there was nothing Valeria said or did that convinced him otherwise.

The little girl was physically incapable of feeling the emotional pain of betrayal, but Valeria certainly hadn't been as happy as she would have been if that hadn't happened.

The space flight had been fun, though.

Still, it was the perfect example of why Valeria wanted to be a monster.

Monsters had options. They had power. They were the ones who could change things.

A monster could be good or evil, rich or poor, alone or with family, all on their whim.

Not like Valeria.

For years, she had changed nothing despite her best efforts. Even if she wanted to become a villain, it would not accomplish anything.

Valeria's intellect, inventions, and planning did not save her family or the world. She had needed to ask a monster for help.

She had just been lucky enough to get the right kind of monster.

The type of monster with a treasure. A dragon with a hoard.

Now, how did Valeria become part of that hoard?

That was the question the twelve-year-old girl asked herself as she created a self-replicating nanomachine that targeted all cell structures and could spread through the air.

It would wipe all life from the planet in hours if it was ever released.

It was Valeria's forty-seventh doomsday weapon.

Just like Mikael, she could not recognize the irony of her own position.

Only a madwoman would destroy a world rather than letting their enemy gain control of it.

Valeria Richards laughed, giggled, and smiled as she contemplated how to become something she already was.

********

He was a god of nothing.

A king of a sleeping kingdom.

A father without children.

Odin dragged his feet along the ground of his hall in Asgard. The illusion he had cast upon himself for the Phoenix Force was dissolved around him. He didn't have the strength left to keep it up. And it took with it the mindset he had forced upon himself.

He barely paid attention to the guards, sleeping slumped against the wall. He paid even less attention to the decorations that lined the walls. Trophies from when he was younger.

Odin was an old god.

And he felt every minute of his age as he lethargically put one foot in front of the other.

He hadn't been this weak in... ever.

Odin had never been this... mortal.

No. That was the wrong word. Odin had walked as a mortal before. He had lived among them, suffered as a mortal and even died as a mortal.

Odin had never been this alone- this hopeless.

The vigour of youth. The hope of naivete. When had he lost it?

When had Odin discovered the end of his world?

When Thor returned and Odin realized something was off with his son?

When the changes spread, Odin saw his people fall under foreign sway?

Or was it when Odin tore out his one good eye, not for the wisdom it could grant, but to save himself?

So that he would not lose what made him 'Odin' and not another of the enemy's countless puppets and victims.

Odin had known war. He knew death and loss and betrayal and pain.

But this?

This silence and darkness was the most terrible thing he had ever known.

Seeing nothing did not harm him.

Hearing nothing hurt him in ways he could not have imagined.

Odin wandered the quiet halls of Asgard. He could not see, but these passageways were as familiar to him as his own name.

There were no feasts.

There were no brawls.

There was no laughter to ring out through the gilded realm of the gods.

It was quiet as every god slept in this graveyard of what was once a great people.

No one was awake to see the shuffling of the blind god as he made his way through halls he could not see.

Odin was alone. The last of the Council of Godheads. The last Asgardian.

The last god of Earth.

And he had failed.

The Odinforce was spent in the casting of the great spell that kept his people in their slumber.

He had sacrificed his final eye to protect himself from the enemy.

His personal reserves had been used in his supplication to the Phoenix Force.

Had Odin succeeded in becoming the host, he would have won. He had gambled it all on the possibility of healing his people for a great counterattack.

Odin had gambled and lost.

He had lost as soon as the Phoenix made its choice.

Odin had nothing left.

Nothing but a sleeping kingdom he would soon join.

The Odinsleep called.

Should he awake from it, he would be revitalized. Odin would be able to call upon the Odinforce once more.

The wise god knew he would never wake.

The enemy had claimed every other realm of gods, glutting itself on their power as they were destroyed from within. Asgard alone was spared because Odin's wisdom had prompted his quick action. Without the Allfather, nothing would protect his people from its grasp.

Odin's empty eyesockets felt so heavy.

Was this to be it? The King of Asgard asked himself. Was this to be how his people perished?

Not in glorious battle in Ragnarok, but as sleeping lambs waiting for slaughter?

There would be no Gotterdamerung.

Twilight had already long passed, and only a long night loomed ahead.

Odin cursed the Elden Lord. A prophesized doom was a surety. A comfort. The loss of that certainty of purpose led to fear and doubt.

Odin cursed the enemy. Patience, wisdom, power, and a hunger for control that would devour everything. A foe he wanted to face in battle yet never would.

As he feebly lifted himself into position for his last sleep, Odin cursed himself.

For failing his people. For not being the king they needed. For not having the strength to save the world.

Finally, as Odin's consciousness faded, his last conscious thought was not a curse but a prayer.

Not to anyone or anything else, for he was the last god of Earth. There was nothing left to pray to.

It was as much a wish as a prayer.

A wish to wake up once more, to see another day so that he might right wrongs. A wish for his people, for the Earth, and for all of the universe.

A wish for a better tomorrow.

Asgard was quiet as all life within slept through the world's end.