au where azoth doesnt die and instead has beef with a baby
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mmm modern au azoth definitely smacks antim a lot and even if most of them arent that hard (he doesnt want it to be bad enough for antim to go to their mother) she still kind of learns to keep her distance from him. its not really a habit he picked up from their mom tho, he intentionally does things agatha would do to him because he believes antim isnt punished enough.
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POV- Your dad tries to introduce you to some drinking buddies and he witnesses your negative rizz first hand
actual future page :>
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im still stuck between an actual azoth and agatha confrontation (satisfying to azoths character + gives us a rlly interesting interaction between the two of them and seeing how they feel about each others take on it) or them never actually getting closure with each other (somewhat more realistic and in character for both of them + gives me the opening for her apology to be biased selfish and detached in the form of a journal)
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MONSTERHEART- Being transmasc in the world of monsterhunter and some lore.
Azoth is a trans man! And so was his grandfather/mentor. Here’s a breakdown of each sketch
1- Serge finishing his wraps around Azoth. “Now, you don’t want it too tight. If you can’t breathe, you’re doing too much. This is only a little(compression). Armor does the rest of the work. Now if you bruise your ribs from doing it too tight I’m kicking your ass”
2-Serge’s full name. Sergerous. A depiction of him in his 30s. He looked a lot like present day Azoth! Albeit waaaay paler.
3- Enraged Mizutsune serum. One of many possible ways to isolate hormones for HRT. Unfortunately, Azoth’s tigrex blood makes him allergic to most. (depiction of him chokingon the stuff)
4- Azoth binding on his own.
5- Present day Azoth- 30 years old, 5'8" tall (not done growing. Serge, 74 ish years at death. Stood at 6'7" He is 100% human. Azoth senior, 50ish in present time, stands at 6'3" he is ¾ human and ¼ wyverian. Azoth, past, 19 years old, standing at 5'3" Azoth is ½ tigrex, ¼ human and ¼ wyverian.
6- Azoth making his father help with his binding, who refuses to look out of courtesy. Azoth doesn’t get it. he’s just one of the dudes, yknow.
7- Hypothetical, how Serge would react to Azoth being with Erik. He’s aggressively indifferent. in a “That sure is a man my grandson chose.” way. Erik is terrified. He’d probably scare erik often just for entertainment.
bonus,
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“Look at my baby I MADE HIM” Dad and “please god stop making people perceive me” son
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Darkhearts AU CHAPTER TWO
A little later, in Azoth’s study.
Knock knock.
Brynn sighed, looking over at Azoth, who was sound asleep in his ornate coffin. “Yeah? Nix, if this is about another 2v2, I’m not feeling—”
She opened the door to an empty hallway. “Ding-dong ditchers?” she muttered, starting to close the door.
A hand shot out, stopping it. Isaiah stood there, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.
“What do you want?” Brynn asked, her voice thick with resentment. “You ruined my reputation. I can’t even show my face in the mess hall.”
“Let me say this,” Isaiah said, his voice a soft, placating murmur as he stepped inside, forcing her back. The door clicked shut behind him. “I’m sorry for bringing this onto you.”
Brynn looked helplessly at the coffin. “Azoth!”
The lid shifted. “Excuse me? What did this peasant say? I was busy dreaming of my skeletal servants serving me… or whatever liches dream of.” Azoth sat up, his green eye-sockets fixing on their visitor. “You.”
“You were correct,” the Isaiah-thing said, its voice losing all pretense of warmth, becoming flat and hollow. “There is a faker.”
Before Brynn could react, before Azoth could even rise, the creature moved.
It was a blur of corrupted flesh and brutal intent. It was on Brynn before her bow could even clear her shoulder. One hand clamped over her mouth, the other snapped her head to the side, exposing her neck. Its signature move.
Azoth, reacting with centuries-honed instinct, summoned a spectral arrow and fired. It was a perfect shot, aimed directly for the thing’s temple.
The arrow didn’t pierce. It shattered, its ethereal energy dissipating against the creature’s skin with a sound like cracking ice. The Isaiah-thing didn’t even flinch. It turned its head, Brynn struggling weakly in its grasp, and fixed Azoth with a smile that stretched into a grotesque, unnatural rictus. A silent, mocking promise.
Then it bit down.
The sound was wet and final. As it fed, the corruption bloomed under its lips—a metallic, pink-veined plague that spread across Brynn’s skin. Her body went rigid, her eyes rolling back before snapping forward, now glowing with solid, toxic pink light.
The thing let her drop. The new Brynn rose smoothly to her feet, a puppet with fresh strings, and turned with it to face Azoth.
The lich looked from the broken door to the two pairs of glowing pink eyes. His skeletal shoulders slumped. The fight drained out of him, not from cowardice, but from cold, logical certainty. He was outmatched. Outclassed. This was not an enemy he could destroy with the magic of this world.
He lowered his hands, the necrotic energy around them flickering and dying.
“Just make it swift,” Azoth said, his voice hollow, the echo of his pride utterly gone. “A true death. That is all I ask.”
The Isaiah-thing tilted its head, the creepy smile returning. It walked forward, not with violence, but with a predatory curiosity.
“A swift death? For a mind that understands the flow of souls? For a general who commands legions of the dead?” It clicked its tongue, a mockery of disappointment. “That is a terrible waste of a perfectly good resource.”
It placed a hand on Azoth’s skull. The touch was not to infect, but to commune.
“You asked for death. I grant you purpose. You are now the General of the Unmade, the Architect of the New Flesh. You will build our army from the bones of this realm.”
The infection flooded into him then, not as a mere disease, but as a data stream. It was a violent, agonizing promotion. Azoth felt his consciousness expanding, forced to understand the buzzing, hive-mind frequency of the infected—a language of pure intent, of shared hunger, of absolute unity. It was a symphony of madness, and he was now a permanent, screaming note within it.
The creature finally pulled its hand away.
“Rise, General. Your first orders are already in your mind.”
Azoth—or what was left of him—stood. The green flame in his sockets was gone, replaced by the same unwavering pink. He looked at the Brynn-imposter and understood her completely. He looked at the Isaiah-thing and knew his place in the hive.
He was not granted death. He was made its master, a prisoner wearing a crown of rot. And the army of Valhalla was now his to command and corrupt.
——-
After the muffled whispers and sidelong glances, the hall finally quieted for the night. Everyone went to sleep.
Well,almost everyone.
Kaya’s dorm mates had locked her out after the cafeteria incident. So had everyone else, it seemed. Branded a suspect, she was now a ghost in her own home.
With nowhere else to go, she wandered the silent corridors, looking for a quiet corner to nap until dawn.
“Hey. You seem kinda lonely.”
She looked up, eyes half-closed with exhaustion. “Rayman?” she whispered. “What are you doing out here? In the middle of the—”
Before she could finish, he pressed a finger to his lips—a sharp, urgent motion. His eyes darted down the empty hallway. We’re being watched, the gesture said.
“Come on,” he whispered, his voice oddly flat. “I know a way out of this.”
He led her toward a disused service exit. With no other option, she followed.
—
After what felt like an hour of walking through the dark, whispering forest—a place she remembered split into strange, unnatural regions—they stopped.
“Welp. We’re here,” Rayman announced. He sounded relieved, but the gratitude in his voice didn’t reach his eyes.
Kaya, who had been stumbling along in a daze, finally focused. The trees here were too still. The air felt thick.
“Hey,” she asked, a slow chill seeping into her voice. “Where exactly are we?”
Rayman turned to her. He opened his mouth to answer, then paused. His expression went blank for a second, as if searching for a script.
“I thought you knew this place like the back of your hand,” Kaya said, her worry curdling into fear.
He smiled. It was a strange, empty smile.
Thunk.
Everything went black.
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With the idea of the word azoth containing A and Z, alpha and omega, it makes sense there’s Christian symbolism in play (Jesus called himself the alpha and the omega in Revelation 22:13) but it’s also hard to tell how far back it is where Hermeticism ends and Christianity begins. Azoth as A and Z could already be present before people like Paul Lautensack interpreted 666 as the number of Jesus Christ, but if that’s the fact do we not arrive at the idea that Jesus is only 666 because Jesus is the “heavenly azoth” of the Protestant theosophers?
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i need to make antimony worse i need her to rip open her chest just to make sure her heart is there and thats its more of a heart than azoths is i need her to be insane i need her to rip open her brothers ribs to reassure herself that hes nothing next to her and that hell never be what she is so she can block out the crushing guilt of letting her daughter die. rip open your skin and make sure you bleed like a person does!!!!!!
