Yes, the blog actually exists.

Someone told me that they couldn't find this page anymore. I find this strange because I am writing in it. But, whatever, this page is here; all is right with the world.
On another note...

Oh, god--I can't tell you how much this picture makes me laugh. Oh, Light, you are by far my favorite homicidal maniac. Death Note has never made writing or murdering look so fun.

NOW FOR SOMETHING DIFFERENT!

Because the acoustic version of this song is beautiful.  

Provehito in Altum: Nero

"Ah, good to see you have arrived, Commander Halston. I was beginning to worry about you."

Nero fell into step with the Admiral with some effort. He had traveled for nearly three days straight to reach Sanctum. The terrestrial gravity seemed suffocating compared to that of The Eos, making his movements sluggish and imprecise. The bright fluorescent light beat down on him, making him perspire fiercely, his body's natural reflex to keep from drying out.

He never understood why Central had decided to place their command headquarters on Earth. It was crowded and overrun; everywhere there was the smell and haze of industry, years of pollution now integrated into the atmosphere as seamlessly as though it were a naturally occurring compound. Even inside Sanctum, the brilliantly constructed world within a world Central had designed to house all active duty servicemen, Nero could not shake the feeling of encroachment.

"Good morning, Admiral. I hope that my tardy arrival has not caused you any inconvenience; we encountered some engine trouble around Deimos."

The Admiral smiled at Nero's formal tone; they had been acquainted since his birth and yet he still insisted on standing on decorum. "The Eos giving you trouble, eh? I suppose it is a good thing she is being retired this year; she must be nearly as old as you are, Nero."

"Nearly, Sir," Nero said, a smile spreading across his face.

"Did you know that The Eos was the first ship to be christened in your father's fleet? He was so excited to have such a modern ship under his command; he never let any of us forget that it was his ship. He used to call it the gem of his fleet."

"Yes, he has mentioned that fact to me once or twice in the past," he responded flatly. "It would seem that this diamond has lost its luster." It must have for him to relegate it to the inner ring for his son to command.

"You are so like him sometimes; both of you are prone to grandiose and extravagant wordplay."

"Forgive me, Admiral, but I'm sure you didn't call me all the way here to comment on my wit. My duties are back on Ganymede, so, if you wouldn't mind, I would like to keep this brief," he said coldly.

"To the point as always, Nero," he said dryly, unmoved by the younger man's impudent and snotty remark.

Nero squinted as they entered the artificial light of the solarium; the radiance the harsh fluorescents attempted to recreate had not been felt on the surface of the planet for nearly four thousand years, making it difficult for those who did not call Sanctum home to adjust their eyes to the brilliance. To Nero, who had spent the better part of his life in the far reaches of the inner ring, it felt as though he were being blinded.

The solarium was a vast circular room encased by large glass monitors; to heighten the illusion of a natural existence, the massive dome constantly projected the image of a sunny sky. A complex network of ducts and air conditioning systems generated the gentle spring breeze that currently blew through Nero's hair. The room itself consisted of nothing more than an open expanse of garden, carefully manicured and designed to feel and look like a carefree and open meadow.

"Please, sit down," the Admiral said, motioning to one of several garden tables placed along the edge of the clearing.

Nero seated himself somewhat clumsily in the small chair, his formal uniform far too bulky and opulent for comfortable movement. Why Central insisted on adding capes to high ranking officer's uniforms, he would never understand.

"I will save you the speech about your excellent record of service and fine military lineage and skip to the part you will care about: you're being promoted."

"Under whose recommendation?" Nero asked incredulously.

"Your commanding officer, of course. Who else? You've been reassigned to Origin."

"Fleet Admiral Halston recommended me for advancement? Are you sure he wasn't drunk when you spoke to him last, Admiral?"

"No, Nero; he seemed completely lucid," he answered, laughing at Nero's cynicism.

"When does my promotion take effect?"

"Now; you are to deliver The Eos and all of her men to Origin as soon as possible. There is talk of war in the Eastern colonies. Your father fears, as does Central, that the sentiment will spread westward. It'll be your job to see that none of the mines are taken back."

Nero leaned back in his chair, the shock of his promotion still setting in. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, rubbing his neck idly. His fingers probed the seven light pink scars on either side of his pharynx, their texture oddly smooth compared to the rest of his skin. He could feel his pulse thud as he let his hands rest around his neck, covering his deformity.

"I see your surgery has taken well," the Admiral commented. "Has the adjustment been difficult for you?"

"I cannot say it has been easy, but I am learning to live with it."

"It must be considerably easier not having to wear those damnable high collared shirts all the time. I can't imagine it comfortable to feel as though you were being strangled all the time."

"There is no difference for that is how I feel now, Admiral."

The two sat in awkward silence for a few moments, neither sure of how to proceed.

"Your father must be pleased with your progress," the Admiral said lightly. "He has wanted this for you for a long time now."

"Yes, he is." Now I am truly made in his image.

"But I am sure this has not influenced his decision to promote you. Regardless of your birth, you've done extraordinary things during your short career."

"Yes, regardless of my birth," Nero repeated sourly. "It is truly amazing that I have overcome the handicap of my DNA."

"Nero, I didn't mean it that way," the Admiral sputtered. "You should know better than anyone that I thought of your mother as one of us. I never saw her as anything but human."

"How kind of you," he replied coldly, his voice shaking with the strain of keeping his rage from coloring his speech. "Thank you for delivering the news to me; I trust that my father was far too busy to pass it on himself. " He rose, saluted the Admiral, turned toward the exit and stalked away to the dock.

"You're acting like a petulant child, Nero; you should be happy you've come this far. It's more than most humanoid life-forms ever accomplish," the Admiral called to him as the exit bay doors slid shut.

His boots thudded heavily against the metal flooring of the entry hallway as he stormed his way to The Eos. His heart pounded against his ribs, his blood surging painfully through him like an acidic poison. His chest rose and fell rapidly as his undersized lungs tried in vain to keep up with his rampaging heart. He was ready to be free of this wretched place; he may have been born here, but it was far from his home. He longed for the oblivion of space, for that unending, infinite darkness.

That's all I'll ever be to them, he thought bitterly. No matter how high my rank; no matter how much I look like them—I will always be half of what they are, just a shadow of my father's greatness.

He pounded his fist against the wall and sank to the ground, unable to breathe properly. His hands shot to his neck instinctively, clawing furiously at the tiny pink scars. They're gone, they're gone, he reminded himself. Use your lungs now. He opened his mouth awkwardly and gulped in the dry, filtered air. It stuck in the back of his throat like thorns, but his feeble lungs filled and soon the panic left his body.

He held his head in his hands, his mind a tangle web of indiscernible hatred, and tried to catch his breath. Using his lungs to breathe was still a strange and new experience for him; using them to breathe oxygen was doubly so. His body was simply not made for such an atmosphere as the one he had been born in; it was in this way that he took after his mother. In all other ways that mattered, he was now the mirror image of his father—only 30 years younger.

They shared the same dark hair and eyes which had been passed down for generations in the Halston family. The fair skin of his European ancestors was still present in him despite his mother's rich olive tone; it was also free of any distinguishable markings on his face and arms. As long as no one could see them, they didn't exist. His posture, despite his ignominious birth, was regal and proud; he refused to bow down to any master. Well, except to those who outranked him.

Still shaking, Nero pushed himself to his feet, his knees nearly buckling under his own weight. He clutched his hand, now throbbing from the pain of his foolish and rash outburst. He never felt more like his father when he did something moronic and this time was no exception. Miserably, he continued forward to the docking station.

It was mercifully vacant except for the hanger guards. As soon as they saw his uniform, they allowed him access to The Eos without question. He could feel their eyes bore into him as he walked passed; he was used to the stares by now. Defiantly, he pulled back his long hair from his neck and tied it into a loose ponytail, making his scars plainly evident.

"Did you get a close enough look, gentlemen, or should I stop to let you inspect me?" he asked calmly as he stalked passed them. "If you are lucky, maybe I'll even let you feel where they cut off my operculum. McMahon, lower the gangplank; prepare for immediate departure," he said, pressing the surgically implanted communicator at the base of his ear, standard issue for all high ranking officers.

"Yes, Captain Halston. We've all just heard the news, Sir; congratulations," the lieutenant said softly. "You'll make an excellent captain."

A small stair way descended from the underbelly of the massive ship. As Nero clumsily ascended the undersized walkway, his body contorting awkwardly to fit up the narrow passage, he couldn't help but overhear the guards talking about him.

"What a freak. No wonder Fleet Admiral Halston kept him buried out on Ganymede for the past two years. I wouldn't want to claim him as mine either."

"Yeah, well, it's not like he didn't know what he was in for when he bred with that thing. Titan humanoid birth deformities were well documented by the time his son was born."

"Do you really think he expected him to be a lungfish?"

Their laughter echoed off the walls of hanger, amplifying their voices to unnatural levels. Nero felt as though it were coming from inside him, buried somewhere deep inside the recesses of his brain. He relished it, for their cruelty, their lack of understanding was of a primordial nature.

As he proudly strode the cramped walkways of his vessel, a little smile pulled at the corners of his lips. It was here, among the soft buzz of electricity and the hum of the engines, that he was at peace. It was his lullaby, the gentle kiss goodnight that averted his passions and eased his blood. Here he was just another solider. This was the one place in the entire universe he didn't have to lie about who he really was; here no one was human.

Extra cool points to you if you didn't have to google the word operculum.