Iwaku: Dark Reign

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Two minutes later and we're sitting at the bar like nothing happened. They say the Cbox was built close to the old M Tower, and it sure has some of that old magic. Feels like the ISAF have forgotten all about us, but only a fool would relax in this city. Neutral ground in Iwaku's like a virgin in a whorehouse. Feels like everyone's watching me.

We're the sitting dead, me and Kitti perched at the bar and letting the wounds sink in. The girl's not saying much, just hanging over her drink. She's bandaged her leg and let her hair down to cover the wounds on her face and neck. We haven't spoken about the fight in the alley. Guess there's not much to say.

As for me, I've got my scratches, the gash on my shoulder, the bite-marks on my neck, the bullet-shredded left wing. But I let 'em bleed. It's good for me. Always has been.

A bearded drunk has taken a shine to us and is footing the bill. Says his name is Myrnodyn and I feel like we've met before. I think of hairballs and tunnels of light when I look at him. Craziest damn thing. He's filled me in on this gutless purgatory that calls itself a city. Iwaku's in shit state. The more I listen to him the more it makes sense. Gotta get drinking, before I end up completely sane.

I order a shot of Goldenrod from the barman. Torsty - big bruiser of a Norseman who belongs on a battlefield. I remember him fighting for me once, then betraying me, but who hasn't? Anyone without the sense to backstab a son of a bitch like me is probably already dead. The amber spirit slides well down my throat. I remember when things used to turn to ash on my tongue, but then something happened - not sure what - and I started picking up vices. Good thing there's no chocolate behind this bar - I'd have to ask for my weapons back. Downing the shot in one, I start fishing out a cigarette, hands shaking as I hold the box.

Karma Cigarettes. Cute.

"And that's why I don't need you dragging your shit in here," Myrnodyn says, finishing his little drunken tirade. I haven't really been listening. Ears are still ringing from the gunfire and explosions. Who the hell was it who blew the streets apart? I'd like to buy him a drink.

"I won't be here long," I rasp and lift the cigarette to my lips. Torsty lights me up and gives me his default look - somewhere between intolerance and anxiety. I blow more smoke into the general fog that pervades the Cbox. "Just need my bearings. Then I'll be gone."

"And take that thing with you!" Myrnodyn jabs a finger at the window, pointing to the silhouette of the Terminator waiting at the other side of the courtyard. The Warmaster's been watching the place ever since we got inside, and I don't think he's getting bored.

What the hell have they done to him?

Can't get involved. I've got things to do. I make sure my coat is buttoned, to cover up the book that lodged in my chest, then order more Goldenrod. Torsty pours without speaking and moves away to serve Myrn.

I'm all alone with the alley cat, and she's still not speaking. This time I sip my drink, then tap my cigarette over an ashtray shaped like a viking helmet.

"That wound..." I say to Kitti, staring ahead at the mirror over the bar. "...It's self-inflicted, right?"

 
[DASH="blue"]I haven't spent a full day here, and already this town's tried to rob me, sell me as a prostitute, murder me, then steal money off of my supposedly dead body.

God, I hate this place.

Right now I'm just lying down to sleep for the night in a park-and no, this city can't even bother to get that right. The grass is wild and unkempt, somebody's out selling drugs or something three trees away from me, and the bench is covered in dozens of gang signs.

Hell, I can't even tell if it's night or not-the entire sky's blotted out behind a think cloud of smog, and just because it was night when I left the last world doesn't mean it is here.

One thing they never tell you about being a world-jumper; the jet-lag's absolutely killer.


First thing tomorrow morning I'm jumping again and leaving this place in the dust. Or I would, if it weren't for all the people living in this fascist hellhole. I usually make a habit of improving (or, well, trying to improve) the worlds I visit, and this one's no exception.

So instead, tomorrow morning I get to work fixing this place. Dystopias like this usually have good counterparts; if I can get the opposite of this one to clean it up, things should improve enough for me to leave with a clean conscience.

Though for now, time to sleep. I've got bruises and cuts and burns and all, and staying up worrying isn't going to make them much better.[/DASH]
 
Behind me, the stonework begins to explode as the Warmaster becomes aware of my presence and unloads a salvo from his storm-bolter. Cursing, I hurl myself to the side just as the bolts catch up with me, blasting the chimney that had been in front of me a second previously to rubble.

Storm-Bolters and Terminators. A rather potent and lethal combination for those on the business end of the pair.

Best let the big lad continue stomping ahead. He'll lose interest soon enough and go find something else to kill. Moving slowly and carefully this time, I move to the edge of the roof that overlooks the CBox, where the Warmaster has come to a stop in front of. I wait, watching the Terminator for several minutes and hoping that he'll move.

But he doesn't. Not even in an inch. Just waits there, like a predator awaiting it's prey, watching those doors like a fucking hawk.

Shit.

He's not moving, is he?

Sighing, I rise to my feet, the cold night air whipping at my greatcoat as if desperate to pull it from me. Even the city itself wants to see you stripped bare, reduced to nothing. Checking the magazine in my handgun to ensure I'm loaded up, my pass my hand over the clip and mutter a few choice words in the language of the Dead. The bullets begin to burn with an unnatural, black fire. I slap the magazine back in place and step off the roof.

Into a firefight with the man-monster I believe they once called Death.

He's turned round already as I land, clearly sensing the energy I just expended upon the bullets. I spin to the side as a burst of fire is hurled my way, into cover behind an old bus shelter. My only ally in this fight is movement; the Terminator is slow, ponderous, but he hits with the force of a rocket powered-freight train, so I need to stay ahead of him, keep up my onslaught. Maybe bring him down, but at the very least get in that bar.

Whirling out from behind cover, I spit guttural words of the Dead, dark energies speeding me out of harm's way as I open fire upon my foe. The bullets slam into him with unnatural force far beyond what they should have, managing to stagger him. Sensing an opening, I charge forward before leaping into the air, becoming vertical to the ground.

As I remember, there's a lovely little weak spot on the neck of that fancy armour of his.

Let's see if it's still there.

My leap brings me directly over the Warmaster, and I unload my weapon upon his neck. Nothing. No visible reaction whatsoever; the bastard doesn't even flinch.

Even I'm not that inhuman, and for pity's sake, I'm dead.

Faster than I thought possible, the Terminator's free hand snaps out, colliding with me whilst I'm still in the air. I'm hurled across the street, dazed, and have to desperately roll out of the way as he opens fire again. I throw myself behind cover again, cursing and feeling the bits of shrapnel lodged within me. This isn't working; even with the magicks I have used, I still cannot hurt this thing, this monster in power armour.

Desperate times, really.

Time for some truly desperate measures.

Still behind the cover, I hear the thud of the armoured monstrosity bearing down upon me. I return my gun to it's concealed holster, and focus my energy. This is going to cost me, but I can see no other way; the Warmaster's between me and what may be answers, and he's not gonna let me past even if I ask nicely.

So, I make a series of intricate gestures, hold out my hand and finally utter,
"Iratze."

In my hands, a blade begins to form, a sword of obsidian and it's hilt covered with human skin. I clench it tightly, feeling the loss of energy in my body; I'm going to need another victim very soon, or else risk falling apart. Yet I have my weapon, my true weapon, capable of defending me against my assailant.

As the Warmaster smashes aside my cover, I leap at him with a snarl, swinging the blade at his face. The huge form somehow manages to get out the way in time, but now his back's exposed; back-pedalling, I whip the blade around and drive it into the armour's exposed motorised back joints. The monster staggers, his back temporarily locked up and I seize my chance to get out of there; the self-repair functions will already be doing their thing, and I don't want to be around when he gets back on the warpath.

Racing for the doors, I hurl Iratze away from me; the blade disintegrates into dust by the time I slam through the doors and come skidding to a halt, closing the door behind me. I turn to face a sea of staring faces, all looking at me and the entrance I just made. Smiling at them all to reveal a mouth of dead teeth, I move past the bar, leaning in to whisper in the ear of tall, winged fugitive I saw earlier sitting next to the winged girl and a familiar-looking drunkard.

"A word with you, angel, when you have a moment."

With that, I move to the back of the bar, getting the impression the owners may soon have words for me...
 
[dash=#483d8b]Zypher crossed her arms as her boss came up to her, letting her know that another Guardian had come in that day and she was to have the day off while they conditioned them. Displeasure could be read across her face, or to everyone else's knowledge, his face.

"Very well, as long as I'm still being paid for the day." She said, making her voice huskier to complete the illusion of manliness, although she was almost certain it didn't fool anyone but the zombified ISAF officers who probably were too stupid to know better anyways.

"Of course Mister Zypher." The woman said, turning on her heel, off to tend to other matters of the Convent. Zypher rolled her eyes and walked back to the front door, she didn't want to go back home, especially so early or was it late? She could never tell with the smog blotting out the sunlight, but in either case a nice walk would do her brain well, at least she knew of a park nearby that wouldn't have too many ISAF officers wandering about at this time. She stepped out onto the quiet street, it seemed everyone stayed indoors these days, and those that didn't were usually up to no good.

She ducked her head as she let the gate to the Convent grounds swing shut behind her and began walking towards the park. From somewhere off in the distance Zypher could hear sirens. The ISAF, no doubt, had found another victim. She had heard horror stories about what happened when the ISAF caught you. They took you off in one of their large black vans and before you even made it to the facility you were eaten alive and the facility was actually just a glorified body dump.

Swept up in her thoughts about the ISAF she nearly toppled over another woman looking like she was ready to pass out on a bench. Suddenly a conflict arose in Zypher, on one hand she could ignore her and be just like everyone else, but this person looked clean, new, out of place.

"I wouldn't sleep there if I were you," Zypher said, almost forgetting to deepen her voice to appear male, "the ISAF will take any strangers away, you better come with me to my apartment, that way you'll survive a bit longer. At very least just take a quick nap and then keep moving." The words were automatic, she barely knew what she was saying but still the words were spilling out of her mouth with reckless abandon. Before another word could be uttered a clomping of boots could be heard from behind her.

"CITIZEN, IDENTIFY YOURSELF!" The voice was gurgled and almost unintelligible. Zypher turned to see a slack jawed ISAF officer, most likely in his last stages up decay standing there. His skin was sickly green and grey and looked almost slimey, as if she were to touch it the rest would slide off. As the officer repeated him...or did it used to be her...self indeed Zypher could see the tendons in its jaw stretching and contracting.

"I don't have time for this..." Zypher sighed, quickly spinning a pistol out of its holster she aimed and fired twice, one bullet catching the officer's cheek ripping away a bit of flesh which hit the ground with a wet sqlorsh noise. The other bullet hit the officer square in the eyeball, the brain of the creature exploding out the back and it crumpled to the ground.

"Damn ISAF, listen, either you come with me now or they come here looking for their officer and you get the blame, what's your pick?" Zypher said maintaining her gruff voice, extending her hand to the cat-eared woman.[/dash]
 
[DASH="blue"]
No rest for the weary...

Now there's a young man asking me to go home with him. Like hell. There are plenty of places where I'd go home with random strangers, but a city where the zombies carry assault rifles is not one of them.

"Look, I'd really rather not. I can take care of myself." And you might just be some serial killer, for all I know.

Then one of the zombie-cops comes up. I can smell it even before it asks me to identify myself. Yet before I can raise my gun to dispatch the monster, the new guy blows its brains out.

Color me impressed.

"...Sure, I'll come."
He offers me a hand to help me up, and shortly we're walking together towards his place. The streetlights do a poor job of fighting back the darkness, but an excellent job of illuminating the occasional hobo or overflowing garbage bin.

"So....how long have you lived here?"
"Since the Admin War."
His answers are short and to the point, like he doesn't want to talk about it for some reason.

"Mkay...and how long has this city been this way?"
"...Since the end of the Admin War."
Oops, that's supposed to be common knowledge here. I'm going to have to do better if I want to blend in.
"Huh. What are the other cities like?"
"What other cities?"

I stop, and a split second later, so does he.
"There have to be other cities here."
"No."
"..right..."

We get back to walking, and a sort of awkward silence rules for a while. I'm busy thinking of what to say next, while he's no doubt busy wondering why I don't know these basic facts about the world.

"...What about villages?"
"Excuse me?"
"If there aren't any other cities, are there some villages?"
"No."
"Any hamlets?"
"No."

Well that's awful matter-of-fact of him...
"No small clusters of nomadic cardboard boxes on the wild plains?"
"No."
"So...this city is literally the only habitation on the entire planet?"
"Yes!" And now he decides to smile, seeing that I'm finally getting it.

Silence reigns over our travels once more, but this time the atmosphere's a bit more friendly than before.

Doesn't stop me from scanning the alleys for potential threats, though.

Pretty soon there's an an apartment building up ahead, one I can only assume is his.
"...My name's Archy, by the way."
He pauses for a little bit while we walk up the stairs, thinking if he should really give out his name to a stranger, then sighs and decides to anyways.
"Zypher. Welcome to my humble abode."[/DASH]
 
[size=-2]
Kitti had been stewing over her predicament, letting her world fall in around her while she drank a charmingly named drink called Liquid Cocaine. She didn't down it, however, but rather let it burn its way down her throat while she ignored everyone else around her, everyone except Asmodeus; he was the only one here who interested her, the last person who might offer her the solace she'd sought. Myrn was there, acting more coldly towards her than ever but then again, she'd abandoned, hadn't she? A man who looked more like a bouncer than a barkeep served the drinks and though she knew everyone around her at least in vague terms, she didn't feel the desire to strike up a conversation with any one of the people who had betrayed her or that she had abandoned.

Myrn seemed to have stopped talking and she flicked her eyes upward, even though she didn't move her head at all for him. She kept her melancholy watch over her drink, turning words in her head for how to entreat Asmodeus, the man who had almost killed her just before ensuring her safe escape from the alleyway. Her thoughts were brought to a jarring stop when Asmodeus asked about the jagged slice across her throat. Wide eyes filled with surprise met his as her head shot up to glance at him. She opened her mouth, unsure of what to say to him that would keep her own painful thoughts at bay but before she had a chance to speak, another figure entered this performance.

Loud noises outside heralded his arrival yet it was still a shock to Kitti when the lanky man walked straight up to Asmodeus to whisper in his ear. Kitti felt a pang of annoyance - after all this trouble she couldn't even have a conversation with the man for more than a moment? Kitti sighed, watching for what Asmo's movements would be after this. She did not want to affirm his question without a chance to explain herself, she already felt guilty and dirty in his eyes without missing an opportunity to try to explain her situation.

"You seem... familiar" she muttered slowly under her breath, more to herself than to Grumpy as she tried to place him.
​
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The meeting was well underway and so far no screw ups. This was turning out to be one of them rare arrangements where something actually got done before it was dinner. "And according to file 87AC the current Directorate Office will forever be closed to any members and is the duty of all Council members to make sure that office stays filled." Pirogeth read off.
"Surely our King doesn't believe in immortality does he? I think of him more as an intelligent being, not a dreamer." The Cbox representative scoffed. There were eyes that darted toward him then quickly back to the High Councilman. He remained silent and even gave a gesture for Pirogeth to continue.
"So long as there are no legal obligations, 87AC passes by consent of this Council." The gavel came down and opened the floor for potential new verbal blood baths.
"I'd like to raise a concern." A newer politician stepped forward. He was put in charge of the Arts and Theater section of Iwaku. Nobody seemed to want that job and the last remaining politician drew the short straw.
"Yes please speak...uhhh..."
"Grop, Grop Thomas sir." He replied realizing that his name was once again forgotten. The Higher Councilman had a knack for making subtle gestures of humility. "I would like to bring attention to the Council the ethical allegations of using Prolific X on our combat units. The ISAF always has had an unstable relationship with exterior government, what's the difference in this case?" The H. Councilman smiled and looked toward the Advisor.
"If you'd be so kind Pirogeth."
"Under article 11CR in our new suburban watch clause, the drug known as Prolific X is available to any ISAF member by choice. The Council and all bodies of government who are related to said drug are null, by the court provisions, of any responsibilities caused by the drug's use. This includes transition of the pathogen, flesh rot, occasional skin burn, loss of limbs or other body parts, and loss of life. Any further injuries caused by the drug can be taken up in our Urban Militia Court three doors down from the N.A." Pirogeth rambled off knowing the code by heart.
"But isn't it true that even you, Advisor, take a disapproving position to the use of Prolific X?"
"I must interject! No matter the position of our Advisor on this matter it is only voted on by the representatives. His job is only to guide us in the right direction, not to control us." The "media" politician stated. His position on the matter was stated many months ago, especially when the news hounds caught wind of the implementation of it. Not even Paorou could silence them.
"You do make sense but keep in mind that we trust the Advisor's words. Don't cast them away so easily." The new voice was one Pirogeth had come to trust. The man sitting in the empty Asylum seat, the nerve center politician who's words were spoken only once and all heard.
"Well I suppose if Weavel suggests it maybe you can help Grop's case Pirogeth, hmm?" The H. Councilman seemed to be eager to hear this erupt in chaos as it did awhile back.
"Fine, I do oppose the use of the Prolific X drug. After all the implications on our citizens is only the beginning. If they do realize exactly what power they hold then our work is for nothing. Remember they multiply fast, nothing is more ruthless than these fiends."
"They are ruthless and that's why we use them in the field. Commanders, although sometimes unorthodox, have been deployed to keep them under control. Front line state of the art military Terminator Suits special class have been assigned to them. Those juggernauts could take several buildings falling on them and they'd never feel a thing." The Cbox representative said.
"Oh how I Know." Pirogeth muttered to himself. "I'm not asking to repeal article 11CR. I only wish for this Council to think over my words rationally."
"Rationality went out the window years ago, Pirogeth! Keep up with the times. The only thing that rules us is insanity." The General leader preached.
"Any act committed against me…" Pirogeth looked around the room at all their hostile eyes. "…can be seen as an act of treason. I'm sure you do not wish to take matters up with Paorou." Their loathing slightly dissipated but only to low grunts and murmurs.
"If that's all gentlemen you can be excused. Advisor I'd like to see you in my office after this."
 
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I remember reading Hamlet once, back on the Silent Hill when I had nothing better to do. One of themes is interruptions - everyone gets interrupted at some point in the play. They say it's Death's way of reminding you that nothing goes as planned.

Now the Cycle's sent a Necromancer to tap on my shoulder. It's got a real sense of humour tonight.

I know he's a Necromancer by his smell, and I know his name by the headache he gives me. Like fingernails scratching on a chalkboard, sobering me up in seconds and making my blood run cold. Only one man could do that.

Grumpy


Suddenly it's like I've remembered everything. Bad memories. The bar counter flows with blood and bone fragments, and barbed wire binds the drinkers to their chairs. On the music stage I see crucifixes lifting, animals and Orientals nailed and twitching. And the lid of the piano lifts and falls, pulping the bodies of sceaming infants.

My shotglass spills across the counter and Torsty scowls at me. Blinking, I focus again on Grumpy and flip another cigarette into my mouth. I guess the alleycat will have to wait. Getting off my bar stool, I grip Myrnodyn's shoulder. "Don't let her leave," I say, nodding at Kitti.

The mut should listen if he's got any honour left. I saved his people after all, didn't I?

Didn't I?

Grumpy waves his hand, a black flame lighting my cigarette, then leads me towards a booth in the corner. I didn't know it at the time, but we were sitting right between two old friends - Karsikan in the booth behind us and Feral in the next. Like I said, the Cycle's got a sense of humour.

"Y'know," I begin, as the Necromancer slides onto the leather seat opposite, "The thought's crossed my mind... maybe you're behind all this. Maybe we're still on that gantry and you've put this nightmare in my head. Eighteen years of illusion..."

My cigarette burns black, a necromantic smoke encircling us, and I watch Grumpy's monacle gleam amongst it. Whatever he's got to say, I can't let it distract me.

My other hand presses against my coat, feeling the surface of the book inside my chest.
 
Cleaning up the mess Asmo left behind, I scowl as he follows the path of Grumpy to the back of the bar, what are they up to? Shouldn't I check if the necromancer had left behind his stash like everyone is supposed to? I've honestly never liked the guy. I don't trust him, and whenever he's been a guest, it feels like the bar is damped with his black magics. That thing not only looks ugly as hell, he's also taken some of my best customers away!

On the other hand, shouldn't I tell Myrn to go sober up? He's one of my best customers and I've come to like the guy ever since we accepted shapeshifters into the bar. He usually lightens people up with his playful nature, but as of late, his mood has changed for the worse too. Wherever he is headed, it seems to me like a road with no happy ending.

Oh, what a crappy night for you all to come here. Most of my crew sleeps during these hours. It's my responsebility to make sure that none of my guests get hurt while they're here, my feelings to wards them, doesn't matter. With that in mind, this is an eccentric crowd. To ignore the possibility that they might cause trouble on their own can have crucial outcomes, but I need to go upstairs for a bit, what do I do? The angels shouldn't be any trouble, by the look of it, they're in a terrible state. Myrn's about to fall asleep sooner or later anyway, Grumpy's up to whatever Grumpy's up to and Karsikan has been quiet ever since he came in. It's the lone woman with the suit-case I'm worried about. Did I confiscate that? I remember serving her, and figured my first-impression of her was wrong, she's definitly not lost. Her scent, gunpowder and something else, something familiar, something funny.

I mix up another drink for Kitti as the bar goes back to it's usual numb feeling.

"This one's on the house. Make sure Myrn doesn't make a run for the bar himself, Kitti."

Adding her name at the end to get her attention, she seems lost in her own thoughts.

 Torsty leaves the bar and walks up stairs and makes a sharp left to the end where the halls meet to corner. Fumbles for something in his pocket, a key, and opens the door opposite to the bedrooms. "How are things looking, Solar?"

Each of the Cbox's corners on the second floor are occupied by already mentioned snipers, in rooms that are locked at all hours, only personel hold keys to these doors.

"He's just standing there..." Solar says, as the both of them take a look down at theWarmaster. "Should I...take a.....shot at it?"

"No. How many times do I have to tell you? We only shoot back after they open fire first! We'd be doing him a royal favour by opening fire first!"

"That doesn't sound very viking...-y, Torst."

"It is what it is. We can't hold ISAF's forces on our own...currently!"

"What happened to 'Always outnumbered, never outmanouvered!'?"

"It doesn't work that way now, Solar. Ever since these drugged up weaklings forced us to use firearms....It's all about statistics and who got the most resources, not about true strength and great talent for the game of killing!"


I slam the door behind me as I walk out, lock the door and head back down-stairs to serve more drinks. This kid doesn't have to remind me of how the use of modern warfare has changed the entire way of life we lead. And why aren't the ISAF ordering they're pitbull away? They couldn't possibly be thinking about breaking the treaty we signed? I'll have to take this up with the council representative. Might even pay Piro a visit.
​
 
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The high rises of Iwaku City were unnamed and unreachable. People lost track of which landmark was which and what buildings were the property of which ministry. With no public records or official maps, no one could keep up with the name changes and power shifts. Today's library was tomorrow's prison.

But in this particular building, in the penthouse beneath the Eye of Paorou, the four figures gathered there were ones who never changed. For they were the constants who watched all things, second only to the Mad King himself.


trio.jpg


"The pieces are in play," spoke the tattoed man. He sat one side of a marble pool that occupied the centre of the lounge. Within it waters swirled, showing the things that had been and yet to be. "Asmodeus will do as he has always done. He will trigger a chain of events, for better or worse."

Opposite him, Porg leant against a pillar, arms folded. "Not if the Warmaster kills him first."

Above the pool, a sphere of magic floated, a beautiful and feminine voice emanating from it. "There is yet hope. So far the Warmaster has fallen, all these years... ever in darkness... ever enslaved. My poor child. There may yet be light for him, beyond his agonies."

"He's a welp," argued the tattooed man, "The Warmaster has killed and served - he knows nothing else. A lapdog with bark and bite. Someone in the bar should put him out of his misery."

"Got a lot of faith in people, don't ya?" Porg grinned.

The tattoed man spat then sat back, stroking the head of a dark, mishapen creature who knelt by his throne. "But at least he has the decency to kill people. Not like the Viking. Should Torsty ever find something to believe in I'll know my influence is at an end."

"It is not his part to choose." The ornate sphere floated beyond the pool, repainting the penthouse in sparkling hues.

"What about the ladies, huh?" asked Porg. "Kitti and Tegan? Can't quite see what they're doing yet. Maybe they'll give them all a nudge in the right direction."

"They'll do what women do. Sit there and react - pointlessly!"

"Be not so ignorant, Raife. For what the others achieve in lines my daughters will achieve in circles."

"Very poetic," Raife sniffed, leaning down to kiss the beast at his side.

With a fairy light on each shoulder, Porg came forward and swirled a hand through the waters. "I'm sure they'll do something." He squinted a little. "Is that Karsikan?"

"For what it's worth. Asmodeus will need him if he expects to get anywhere. Some obstacles require a bulldog's touch."

"So young upon his journey. In dreams I go to him, and tell him of the true path. His heart is in blossom."

"Bullshit!" Raife rose from his seat and stormed to the window, looking out as the acid-storm scoured the rooftops. "He'll become the Warmaster soon enough. They are sides of the same coin those too. Blind adherence to statues and dust."

Porg continued playing with the waters, his two fairies skipping on the surface around him. "I'm watching over Pirogeth. I think he's taken a little of my mantle, y'know? Always on the outside. I think it'll count for something."

"As I watch over Myrnodyn, his cause so noble." The sphere passed the dining table, the chairs collapsing into snakes and fluttering doves. "Soon we shall behold in him what was potential."

"He's not the only one you're watching over." Raife turned from the window, rounding on the sphere. "How many more chances will the Necromancer get? He's borrowed so much time that he can never repay. How many more lives?"

The sphere hovered, waves of jade and amber all around it. "Grumpy's part is not yet played."

Raife swept past her, moving towards the fourth figure who had yet to speak. Sat in the unlit corner, this last attendee was armoured, face wreathed in shadows from which nought but a crimson robe was trailing. "And have you nothing to say? You are the Mad King's voice and yet you are silent. Is this not as you predicted?"

"The One who is hidden from us has yet to show. His path remains... uncrossed." His gauntlet lifted slightly and the waters of the pool shifted again, almost splashing Porg. In the centre of the swirl, a vision emerged of Zypher and Archy crossing the park towards the apartment blocks beyond the Convent. "But I see a ripple..."

"We need more than a ripple." Raife spat. "This thing that is coming must be quanitified - it must be known and named. Or we shall all pay the price."

Porg lowered his head and the Sphere settled in a chair.

"Patience," said the armoured figure, clasping its gauntlets together. "In all things... patience."

 
She barely touches her drink, the cigarette in her hand is burning down to the filter without her taking so much as one drag. She's just doing it because everyone else is, anyway. An old habit, left from a time before that she hardly remembers. She's trying to break herself of it, but it's hard.


She stares out the window at the still form of the Warmaster, dread and fear pooling in her stomach, before checking her watch. She knows she is well past the rendezvous time, that they've already gone home without her, that they'll tell Her that she failed, that she'll never make it back on her own, that she'll die out in these hostile streets.

The suitcase rests heavy against her leg. She glances down at it and almost double takes when she sees a tiny trickle of dark, coagulated blood dripping from a tattered corner. Surreptitiously, she wipes it away.

She doesn't make her move until Asmodeus and Torsty are a safe distance from the bar.

Gathering her suitcase and her half-empty glass, she heads for the bar, stumbles and spills her drink on Kitti.

"excu-Excuse me," She mutters a quick apology, before whispering, quickly and quietly, so that only Kitti can hear.

"i canget you and he out to someplace safe and alone; you just have to help me"

"I'll get you something to clean that off," and she's walking away now, towards the lady's room, hoping that the girl will follow.
 
[size=-2]
Kitti's thoughts spiraled, created worlds upon worlds, places where light and dark only met to form boundaries, good and evil clearly defined so that safe passage was assured. Twice now, twice have women deemed fit to wreck these dreaming places that brought her old light back into being. The first time, she was grateful for the alcohol, thus she let slip like water into a bowl from her cupped hands the images that she had been dreaming. These images gave her sustenance and they took with them slivers and shreds of her will to live. These were fantasies of other universes that she watched through closed eyes, each one a lovely picture of happiness and enchanted grace, and she was loathe to give them up even though they more often than not tormented her to her soul's end.

Quiet now, she returned to her inner movie, this one a meadow of flowers and a young woman who was darting though, fingers skimming over the petals and creating a trail in her wake of floral innocence. The young woman turned to Kitti and smiled, slow and sweet as congealed honey, and extended her hand out to reach for Kitti's own outstretched fingers. The meeting of the two, Kitti's long hands like the slender white body of a spider with overgrown legs and Fluffy's pale, sweetly form hands of rosy pink, was the last thing Kitti saw of her daydream before her thoughts were broken once more.

Kitti stood on the thin line of interest in the offer and annoyance that boiled up in her throat. She wanted to hear more, to know if this was a pipe dream or a real chance, but she also wanted to lash out in anger for having disrupted this particular vision that she held so dear. Kitti rose, finally, taking deep breaths to calm her nerves. A thought struck her as she climbed to her feet, none the worse for her alcohol consumption, it took so much anymore to take away the dreams. Was it possible, she considered morosely, that she was destined to die here? That perhaps she could simply join Fluffy in her field if she walked out into the welcoming storm of the ISAF? Clearly she had already considered this notion, the finger stroking the stitches whose wound was all but faded were a testament to this.

Kitti was quite convincing to herself, her arguments sounded on receptive ears, yet there was one voice that held her back. Asmodeus, the dark king, the man that she had only seen once, had risked his own life to preserve hers. True, he'd threatened to kill her but he'd gotten less close to that than most of the people she'd met in the past few days, she couldn't even exclude herself from the roster. What right had she to so simply surrender the life he'd saved? Instead, she considered the offer of the woman who had just slipped into the restroom. Myrn was little trouble to push back down into his seat before she slid to the door. Instead of following, however, she raised a sardonic eyebrow.

"Thanks all the same, but I don't tend to follow women I've never met into the bathroom. Makes for too many questions when I end up seeing the physician" she quipped leaning against the frame of the door. Some woman, with a suitcase, anonymously offering a golden ticket? Kitti wasn't buying it and her dead body on the bathroom floor pooled in blood would be a rather anticlimactic end to what was at least an eventful life.
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[dash=#483d8b]Zypher opened the door to her apartment, it was simply furnished and of decent sized. She allowed Archy to step past her and inside. She peered out at the hallway just to make sure they weren't followed.

"Please, have a seat, I'll make some coffee." Zypher said, stepping through the living area into the kitchen and started the percolator. She stepped back into the living room, looking at Archy, sizing the other woman up, "I don't know where you've been this whole time but you've been missing out on a lot. All you need to know is that the Mad King has pissed away this world and people like you and I are hardly worth his notice."

Zypher stretched and took off her jacket, resting it over the back of a chair and reaching under her shirt, the sound of velcro ripping could be heard as she released her chest from the constraint. "Gods that hurts, I tell you being a boy isn't much fun." She groaned eyeballing Archy as she pulled the wrap from under her shirt and tossed it over the chair and let her hair down. "Once the coffee's done you can grab a cup, I need a shower, we clearly have a lot to discuss."

Zypher turned on her heel and stepped into the bathroom off to the side and closed the door behind her. She hoped that she had found an ally that would understand what she had in mind. To free the people of this world she would have to destroy the Mad King's rule, his control over the city and the best way to do that would be to destroy his followers, maybe even the whole world and take the soulmates and start fresh.[/dash]
 
Myrnodyn lolled about on his stool for a few moments as he was pushed back into it by Kitti. Leave it to her to completely ignore his attempts to keep her there, as well as to caution her and advice her.

Then again...

His current state didn't allow for much cautioning and advising. At least, not properly. He shrugged and turned to the bar to order another drink. It was not like he hadn't tried to stop her, Asmodeus couldn't blame him for anything. Besides, didn't he know you shouldn't trust drunkards with important tasks? He laughed in himself and looked around for Torsty to order a whiskey. Where had the damn bastard gone off to?

He looked around him. Asmodeus was busy talking with that damned necromancer, god knows how many shapeshifters the son of an undead bitch had killed to keep alive, but he couldn't prove a thing and the C-box was neutral ground. Kitti seemed distracted by the woman that had bumped into her, he thought he had recognized that face but that didn't have to mean he KNEW her. More importantly though, Torsty was nowhere to be found and he had left an open bottle of whiskey tantalizingly close to the counter.

Maybe if he could just reach far enough and...

At that moment Torsty came back downstairs and walked back to his spot behind the bar, distrustful eyes looking in Myrn's direction as he caught Myrn's position leaning halfway over the counter just short of having outstretched his arm. Myrn smiled nervously.

"Torsty! Me and a couple of mates of mine are planning something tomorrow, something BIG! So I was thinking...Can't you pour me another glass of whiskey?" In all honesty it was probably a good idea if Myrn headed upstairs to sober up, but he had a lot riding on tomorrow, it could be the last raid his selected shapeshifter rebels ever made and so he lingered, drowning his worries in golden brown whiskey.

(Summary: Myrn does nothing important, but mentions he and "a couple of friends" are planning something big tomorrow)
 
Torsty wasn't angry, he was just very dissapointed with him. Then again, from a cynical view-point, he proved a good catch for business. Myrnodyn clearly showed emotions of regret and fear when drunken talk ensued. Was this his way to escape another warning? No matter the case, what he did say had caught the vikings attention.

"Torsty! Me and a couple of mates of mine are planning something tomorrow, something BIG! So I was thinking...Can't you pour me another glass of whiskey?"

"I say I'll pour you what's left of this bottle and you tell me everything about this BIG thing you and your furry friends got planned...what do you say? I'll have someone escort you back up to your room when you're finished. For......old times sake."

He said with a smirk while he ended the last sentence. Wiggling the bottle back and forth slightly above Myrn's head. Resting one hand on the counter while the other on the back of his hip. If he were to join shapeshifters in battle was another conversation, the right information can be valuable in Iwaku City.
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Pirogeth approached the office thinking about what was said at the meeting. He knew very well that the High Councilman dabbled in the ISAF affairs and he stood much to gain for their continued presence. The only reason he wanted Pirogeth to say anything during the meeting was to see how much restraint he had. Obviously it must of hit him the wrong way because now the cold copper handle was cupped in his palm. The door creaked as he opened it up to reveal a moderately lit room. There was a desk lamp working its hardest to cover every corner in light. "Ah Pirogeth, please come sit down." The H. Councilman said extending his hand in invitation. "Please shut the door as you come in, you know I like to keep business private." He did as he said, denying him a request was the wrong way to go when already on his bad side.
"Sir, I must ask, is this about the meeting?" Pirogeth questioned just before sitting down. He thought about it for a moment then smiled and nodded.
"You could say that yes." Gently nudging the chair back a bit Pirogeth managed to find room for his legs as he took a seat. "How many years have you worked here? Ever since we first arrived in this new realm right?"
"Yes." Pirogeth answered. No need to give away more information than needed, especially when you were trying to predict this man.
"Yes, it's been so long since the initial rebellion. Great fighters all opposing the Mad King only to find their lives in his clutches." He paused for a moment to take out a small box from the drawer. He popped it open to find a cliche large cigar. "But even after sending that message to this day rebellion still incites the masses. In fact just a few moments ago I got a call from our military branch saying they spotted a suspicious character and before they could aprehend him the buildings 'exploded' on them." Pirogeth remained silent as his eye, hidden behind the darkness of his cloak, fell upon him. "Very well, I know your position on the ISAF...your real position. And if I were to guess that explosion had to come from somewhere. Those materials are not just given to anyone and no attempts have been made to steal them. Our database finds all explosives checked and accounted for, if you know what I'm getting at."
"I still don't see what it has to do with me." Pirogeth said playing the ignorance card. "After all these accusations have no concrete evidence and anything related to the Council needs a physical piece of proof, even under this regime of turbulence." The H. Councilman got out of his chair and let out a large puff of smoke.
"I have not reported anything to The Four, nor have I given any information to Paorou yet, please think about that before you answer this next question." He paused again hoping to let some kind of understanding sink in to his victim. "There have been obvious and not so obvious attempts at taking my office in the past few months. Legal documents, criminal record, even the assassination attempt. The only problem is I can't pinpoint who is trustworthy and who is not in that room. As the Council Advisor you have access to each territory by our law. I need you to get some information from each council member."
"And what if they get hostile? You seem to like the past and you know I have almost no powers thanks to Paorou. I will not sign up for a suicide mission." He was stopped as the H. Councilman put his hand up.
"That is already covered, you see a prisoner in one of our camps, only under the identification of B772, tried an escape the other day. She failed and was nearly killed. But now we have the perfect body guard for you." He pressed a button on his desk and a secret door opened, put there for quick escape. From it came a slender, blonde haired girl dressed in brown tattered prison garbs. Mud on her face had yet to be cleaned off but Pirogeth could still identify the woman.
"P-Piroko?"
"Now you get my position. I give you her you give me what I want." Pirogeth sat there a moment, partially suprised partially thinking over what to do next. He had his source of power sitting right next to him. It had been so long since he could materialize anything from his soul.
"What stops me from just taking her after you give her to me. I need her to complete this mission after all." A brief case was put upon the table and the clips snapped open.
"This will." He pulled out a vial, something that was all too familiar, Prolific X. "The device on her back will inject her full of the serum if our demands are not met. Attempted removal or an incorrect password will also begin the procedure." Pirogeth was now in a pretty comprimising position. Mulling over the idea one last time he made his final decision.
"Who first?"
"Cbox Representative, Aragon Draco."
 
"A feasible theory for one who doesn't understand Necromancy," I reply, staring at the angel intently, "But to sustain such a... detailed illusion for nearly two decades is a little farfetched, I think."

I continue to watch the man like a hawk, never taking my eyes from him, barely blinking as we sit across the wooden table from each other, him smoking his cigarette and I with my arms folded upon the table, a rather uncharacteristic gesture of peace. "But I did ask you over to discuss the past, Angel. No, I have some more... personal questions to ask.

"It seems that my memory is no longer it once was, I fear. Days have blended together, events with events, to the point that... well, I don't know how this city came to be anymore. All I can remember is the city being as it is; the ISAF locking down the streets, the privileged few keeping it all and leaving the majority to survive on scraps."

Looking the man up and down, I smile briefly. "You, however, are the first familiar face I've seen in a very long time. Your face reminds me of wars fought long ago, and standing atop a gantry with a man dressed in black..." I drift off into thought, then suddenly lean across the table, locking gazes with the angel and refusing to let him look away, our noses so close they can almost touch. "So my question is this.

"Who are you, oh so familiar Angel, who speaks to me of past events as if we were friends... yet cannot look me in the eye truly, and clenches his fists under the table as though preparing for violence?"




 
So much for enjoying my Karma cigarette.

With Grumpy's face an inch from mine, I stub it out and consciously unclench my other fist. There's sweat on my brow. My left eye's watering as it tries to look down, away, anywhere but at the gaunt face that looms before me.

"I'm just a messenger... I mumble.

The black smoke of the monster's magic stays around us, making a little world where the two of us are alone. Me and the grinning skull. More Hamlet jokes... the Cycle's on fire today. I glance up, into the eldritch pools of his eyes.

"But I got the message wrong."

My hand lowers, gripping the zipper of my longcoat. Then I whisper, "I've toppled empires. I've battled gods. But with you... all strength fades, all will is broken. Can't you see, Necromancer... you make the dead things dance..."

I unzip the coat, pulling one side of it back, letting sparse lamplight fall upon my chest. To his eyes, and only his, I show the curse and the calling that has brought me here. The book is lodged within my thorax, in place of heart and lungs, an internal organ trumping all others. One side of it lodged in flesh, while the pages on the other side flap loosely. I have turned back five of them, to show him the beginning.


The first page is illustrated with the Symbol of Fire.

Iwaku was a plain, featureless save for the odd forest or mountain. It belonged to superheroes and cartoon villains. Gabriel Zero dominated the Story, but the Cycle grew weary of him. And so in the form of Paorou-Sama it brought about the First Power. Reality Bending. It saturated the world and made the Story one of comedy and madness for its own sake.

I turn to the next page, which is illustrated with the Symbol of Earth.

That same madness began to corrode Gabriel and weaken Iwaku's identity. So a second power was conceived. Confluence. It was put into the hearts of villains like Razilin and Asmodeus, who enforced reality upon Iwaku. With it the featureless plain transformed all at once into a kingdom where castles, factories and Cult slums came into existence. In this new world, Order and Chaos vied for power in the guise of the Admin War. The Story became a realistic one, of princes fighting for the legacy of their king, and old friends torn by divided loyalties.

My blood smears the paper as I turn to the next page, where the Symbol of Air is shown.

With Iwaku almost destroyed, the Cycle turned to a Third Power to solve its imbalance. Dreamweaving. Through Rory and the Goddess Engel, the power of magic and divinity was used to transform the world. All at once it became an island, with new territories appearing. Everything was magical and adventurous, a dream weaved from the energy of the Third Power. The Story was now one of endless possibility and imagination for its own sake.

The fourth page is revealed, begun with the Symbol of Water.

But again, things became unbalanced. The Crimson Eye, with their over-emphasis on magic and symbolism, threatened to destroy all things, and a time-loop from the Legacy survivors derailed reality itself. Dreamweaving had gone too far. In desperation, the Cycle brought in global villains, to destroy and reshape the world. The Elder Invasion and the coming of Diana allowed a Fourth Power to be conceived. Soul Arts. It turned the Story into a simple, personal one - a story of the prophecised Hero of Iwaku - where each character looked at their own values and inner strength.

I turn to the final page, where the four symbols are combined and etched in gold.

But the Messianic slaughter of Asmodeus and the acceptance of the False Hero, Diana, proved that even Soul Arts could not bring balance to the Cycle. And so the world was changed again...


I watch Grumpy's expression change. His eyes scan down the rest of the page, which is blank except for one word... one name that confuses him as much as it confuses me.

MEDUSA​


"This has happened before," I say, finally finding the guts to look at him. "And it will happen again. When I fell I remember seeing a building... an apartment block south of here. It shone like gold. Something's going to happen there..."

My fist clenches again and pulls the coat back across my chest.
 
There's anger in her eyes, and frustration. She hisses.

"stupid girl!"

She steps closer to the bar, closer to Kitti, and stifles her desperation. Myrn and Torsty seem too involved with their own plans to be paying attention to them. Her dark eyes shift back to Kitti, still angry but calm now.

"i'm trying to help you," her voice drops into a heady whisper. She reaches into her coat pocket, withdraws a cigarette. "you're longing for something-for someone; i can see your desire." She reaches into her pocket again, withdraws a battered matchbook. "i can help you; i just need you to help me get somewhere." It is when she strikes a match that Kitti is able to see the front of the matchbook. Zirkus Der Blaue Engel is printed across it.

She sets it on the counter between the two of them.

Everyone knows of it, but only those with the right connections know where to find it. An underworld den in the n00b slums, a haven for thieves, gamblers, cut throats spent their nights and days. You can find anything at the Zirkus Der Blaue Engel, and anything can find you.

She exhales a puff of smoke into the air before leaning in closer to Kitti, keeping their eyes level.

"look around you, their all ignoring you, they're too busy with their own plans and problems and leave you to drown in your longing." The words seep into Kitti's ears like a heavy smoke, coating her thoughts in a thick, heady haze.

"i'm giving you the chance to be a hero in this story; while they all sit around in this bar, decaying with their stories." The words caress Kitti, lovingly coax her.
 
[size=-2]
Kitti was stunned when she saw the matchbook, forgetting to breathe momentarily as she studied the words. They stung as she traced her fingers again and again over the word 'Engel'. It was too coincidental, really. Kitti wanted to laugh and cry and escape from the woman in front of her, yet she didn't know how. She watched her mouth moving, transfixed by the words until a jarring note brought her back to reality, a most hateful dreaming world.

"You've got some of it right, but the rest, all wrong... I have no desire to be a hero, I want to decay more than they could imagine right now..." her voice was choked with sorrow as she fought back the tears that were welling up - she was never so weak before. "Temptress, I seek what you say, my desire threatens to end me, but what I seek is not to overshadow their stories, let the men change their worlds. I will stop only at nothing to return my passion for life, yet the one I seek is no longer of this world. I came to find the necromancer, but he's a cold shadow of his former glory and I seek a goddess's body, no easy feat. You think you can promise me this, my love returned from pure consciousness?"

Kitti watched the woman, unafraid to spill the words from her mouth because they eased her suffering inside. The matchbook fit easily into the palm of Kitti's hand and she curled her fingers around it. "If you had even a way, a a pipe dream of aiding me, I would move mountains. My morals vanished when they took everything from me, when Rory consumed my love for a vessel. But if you have no hope to offer, than be gone or be dead."
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