Iwaku: Dark Reign

Status
Not open for further replies.
"They were close to one another. The bullets travelled less than six feet. Victim's sidearm is holstered. A routine Registration Check."

Natalie moved over the crime scene, stepping between the little numbered cards that signified evidence. The park was awash with the red and blue chatter of police lights that alternately defined then shrouded her scarred face. Her coat was long, black, pooling around her as she crouched beside the murdered soldier.

She reached out and dug her finger deep into the shattered eye-socket of the corpse, feeling the shredded brain matter. The faceplate of the man's gas mask was shattered, and together with the second bullet that had obliterated his jaw, there was almost nothing left of the victim's face. Not that he had ever retained much identity in life. Lieutenant Demitrio Antonucci, his dogtags said.

"Shots indicate a certain degree of training. A professional would have used one bullet. An amateur would not have drawn this quickly and would not have aimed for the head. Possible Guardian schooling."

She stood again, coal-black eyes scanning the park and the high rises beyond. Her left hand flexed. The back of it was strapped with a device containing four filament-like whips that could extend on synaptic command. They were treated with a cocktail of hallucinations that would plunge a victim into a nightmare of fits and delusions. The other officers called it the Fear Garden, Natalie's chosen form of custody for those who stepped out of line.

The ISAF teams assigned to the Inquisitor stood around her, statues with breaths wheezing softly in their respirators. They awaited orders... target assignments... kill missions... and until such things were granted they simply froze, half-gazing at the night sky or staring at the grass.

Natalie stepped between them as her brain, alive and scheming unlike theirs, processed the facts as she saw them. "Time of death, 1824... post clockout, pre-curfew. The killer might have been returning from work. But why the middle of a park? Stupid... Desperate..."

She looked again at the apartment buildings looming over the park, like the digits of a great claw threatening to crush this lone patch of tangled green. Then her eyes came back to her attending soldiers. "Question the landlords. Someone must have seen something."

The snap into action was almost violent, the soldiers forming a dozen groups and sprinting out towards the apartments to the north and west. It wasn't exactly a kill-mission that Natalie had given them, but there was always the chance that someone would be found uncooperative enough to warrant execution. Each apartment complex was run by a landlord reigstered as either Mentor or, more likely, Shadow. They were under legal obligation to report suspicious activity to the ISAF.

And as far as Natalie could see, the details of this murder pointed either to an Unregistered on the loose or a Guardian going off the rails.

Either way, someone could be squeezed. That was the law of nature in Iwaku City.

She flexed her hand again, the tendrils of the Fear Garden lashing outwards then retracting, like snakes in dance. Then she returned to her police car, leaving a final group of ISAF feasting on the corpse, their patience in waiting for the detective now most handsomely rewarded.
 
”I’d advise releasing me before the High Councilman and thus the ISAF know about my disappearance. I’d like to talk to Torsty.”

Geirmund brushed some dust of his left shoulder. He'd like to be anywhere but here right now. Even though he'd been running the place for the last twenty years or so, he spent very little time here. An old man, wrinkly, his beard mostly white with some few hints of grey. Even when his eyes were set on Pirogeth there was still something about the man that would ensure you; he was not a bad man. And especially in these days, that was a special feature to carry.

He didn't have any personal grudge against Pirogeth, but he kept a serious face while examining the victim, this was business, putting on a smile would only make things awkward.

"I'm sorry, Council-....member, there seems to have been some commotion at the Cbox, Torsty will not be joining us."

Geirmund took a sip from his glass. Letting the water flow around a bit in his mouth before he swallowed. Honestly, he saw the potential of this hostage, but he couldn't fail to think of the risk they were taking with this. He was, apparently, of value, but at what price? He didn't know much about Pirogeth and he hadn't had the chance to have anyone brief him on the subject. The last thing he wanted was for the Mad King to bring the horrors of Iwaku City to Holmgard. If his reports were right on who the ISAF were chasing, that would probably buy them some time before the men in masks came 'knocking on the door'. It also meant that their friends at the bar also, if they were lucky, had a chance to escape safely.

Holmgard can be described as a haven for those who still try to hold on to their sanity. While still populated by what remains of the people who traveled from Vetmimir, newcomers are welcome. Since it's situated around a brewery, it's only normal to assume that alcohol is legal. Reality is, most stay clean of any sort of drug. The official exception is the monthly festivities, celebrating what they consider to be last place of a somewhat civilized community. Consuming the pleasure of alcohol on a more regular basis will most noticabely restrict ones possibilities of a proffesion. Any sign of drug-use is rewarded with eternal banishment, returning assures death, viking or not. The latest development planned is an opening of a rehabilitation facility for addicts, but this is still only in talks. How would one be able to operate under the rule of a mad assembly who seemingly has no interest in cleaning up the gutter of addicts? How would it be financed? What would happen to the patients after possible treatment and could they be allowed to settle down? With all these idealistic thoughts in place, Holmgard was still ironcly one of the biggest distributors of alcohol in Iwaku.

-

Outside, not far away from where Pirogeth was held kids were kicking a ball around on a cement-covered playground. Two guards patrolled around them, keeping a watch. Most people from the outside didn't know of the place, but no wall kept them from entering. While close enough to downtown for one to walk, Holmgard lies on a hill-top, resembling a suburb from the old times. Mostly made up of small houses, the brewery, a school, a training camp and the main road which is occupied with small shops and a cafe.

A stone throw from the playground, on the outskirts of town, three female guards stand around another woman laying on the ground. By the looks of it, she's clearly not a local. One of the guards kicks her over to reveal the grey face of another lost soul. Dry lips, eyes wide open and slightly yellow.

"Any of you recognize her face?" says Hildebrand.

The answer that comes next might be the death of their discovery.

"I recognize her. She came by the tavern not too long ago. We could tell she was a former user and in a weak state of mind...we found rant in her house under a visit the morning after, we shouldn't have trusted her the first time she came around."

Torgjerd continued by swiftly drawing her shotgun to the womans face who gasped for air one last time. She didn't hesitate for one more second and planted a shell in what used to be junkie's face.

"Did you really have to..."

"Does it matter...."

Hildebrand sighed and turned around, snapping her fingers as a sign for her colleagues to carry the corpse away to the 'death-truck'. After a day of work, it would transport the corpses to a dumping-spot, far enough from their home so the horrible sight couldn't be seen by the children. Just another day of work for them, whatever happened at the cbox didn't seem to have an effect here, not for now.

-

Geirmund stood up, brushed more dust of his suit and walked to wards Pirogeth. The men would normally dress this way as a direct way to show outsiders that they were in no way the brute savages they often were portrayed to be.

"What happened at the Cbox has become less of an unfamiliar event for our inhabitants, as of late. What must we do to keep this terror out of our day-to-day life, Councilmember?"

He still had no idea what Piro's official title was. He felt his speech was terrible, how would this co-operative part on their end in the kidnapping of a council-member help them? By the gods, he felt like a fool. Oddly enough his hopes were that Pirogeth would easen the situation.
 
  • Like
Reactions: 1 person
Feral bristles, the hair she so painstakingly curled straightens.

“what?! no way am i watching anyone; cuz im outta here-”

But Asmodeus is already gone, swallowed by the building’s gaping maw of a doorway. Her body sags, suddenly deflated. Ignored again by the elitists. Only acknowledged long enough to be given an order. Feral sighs, leans against the wall next to Spammy and allows herself a look around. She does this for three minutes. And is relatively calm again.

The head is still and Feral knows that She is gone, now. She’ll never forget the brief glimpse of the head through the cracked suitcase; hair writhing like snakes, and the eyes-

omni_12-1.jpg

Feral decides to break the silence.

“no use trying to stop iwaku city people; they just go off into any old apartment they please” She watches Spammy out of the corner of her eye. He’s been hurt and forgotten, too. Feral’s eyes soften a bit as she shifts her gaze to the approaching Archy.

It’s been so long since she’s seen another Neko like her. She thought she was the last one.

Maybe. . .


“So, anyone care to explain this Medusa situation to me?” Archy cocks her brow and places a hand on her hip. Her accent isn’t noob, but still how could she not know?

Feral swallows and stares at the distant headlights of an oncoming car.

“iwaku city has not given her a name” Feral shudders, her voice drops an octave between fear and reverance. “she is Medusa; she is the mother of birth and death.”

“and she’s going to save us”
 
[DASH="blue"]Well, the angel heads on inside the apartment complex. Because getting turned to stone is perfectly fine by him, it seems. I'm left to care for a seriously disturbed man and a woman I want to kill, which shows that Señor Feathers here is not thinking this through very well. The guy is probably not going to be much help given his current state, so instead I walk up to the other Neko and ask her about this whole Medusa thing.

And she manages to tell me something that means absolutely nothing!

Well, it tells me that this particular Medusa is held in the same sort of realm as dark and fearsome gods. The savior message is particularly interesting...

"Save us from what, exactly?"

I go to lean up against the wall, looking back out at the cars. The other neko has a strange accent, like she isn't quite old enough to be dealing with this sort of thing. It makes me want to hit her even more.

And then I notice that the cars are gone.

All of them. In the span of the past few seconds every single car on the street has cleared out. The police cars are still parked, of course, but traffic went from fairly regular to nonexistent.

Not a good sign...
"Hey." I glance over my shoulder at the man who came out of the apartments earlier. "Any idea where the angel went? We gotta get going. Now."
[/dash]
 
Life is concocted not of leaps and bounds, but footsteps. As individuals we often put emphasis on cataclysms and upsets in the status quo to define the people we are. It isn't completely unfounded, as a rule of thumb it's the awful times that stick out in memory. The day Paorou came to power, the assassinations and subjugation to follow...Rory's disappearance (or death), a thousand other injustices practiced on the innocent and guilty alike. Certainly I couldn't blame someone for defining themselves by the times. But me? Life, to me, is made of every breath and thought from the moment you wake to the time when you sleep. We're that loading bar for a new program. Each file needs to be in place before the installation can be complete. Who I was, Who I am...they're no different from each other. I woke years ago with a sword and a hammer...and I became those items. The only difference between Jack Shade the general and the Purger is that we fight for different ideals in different ways.

But always with the sword. Always with the blade.

I was not born to parents but to the hammer and sword. I forge my own destiny, and I forge it with blood.

One way or another, it would always come down to this.

Grumpy uses Julez as a distraction. I don't blame him for thinking I'd be off guard with my new leg brace, but it was his misfortune for being wrong. His pounding footsteps echo in my ear as the creaking of stone and mortar above me lets me know we have a visitor. I can't see all of him, the rain can't echo through buildings, but I see the outstretched hand, the falling candy, and I see it hit Julez before hitting the asphalt. Ordinarily I might have said something. The girl may be a mess, and it may be my fault...or at least partly so, but someone assaulting her, even just a bit, is beyond wretched. Provided I'd had the time...I might have had words to speak to the fellow.

But the rupturing pain of someone in my mind, paired with the necromancer's charge, has put me at odds with priority. All I can do is crush the thing he threw at her, a mere side step to grind it into the earth. It makes a sound it shouldn't, of paper or wrapping.

Irrelevant, I'll deal with it later.

Grumpy is in front of me, or rather the side, using the side Julez clings to as an opening.

Smart Dead-dancer. I throw my body back, bending my torso forward and throwing my stomach back, contorting around the blade. At this angle I can't strike him properly. When I wing at him, he's already moving.

Fast...too fast.

Julez is mumbling, a shock on its own. The girl has scarcely uttered a word, much less a sound, since after Iwaku's fall. Now she's a regular moaning chatterbox, and she recognizes Kitti. I want to tell her that she'll be safe with that one, to go to her and convince the angel to play dead for once. Of course I doubt she'd listen...and even then, what might Kitti think of the killer who had ALSO turned an old friend into a drooling addict?

Old fool, did you ever want her to know who you were anyways?

No.

She pushes into my psychosis and I send images to spar with her. Dead children, whoring shifters, slavery, and labor so cruel it'll take a stronger will than mine to deal with it all. Of course I'm only buying time, so I ignore her psychic question. First rule of getting mind fucked...never answer the intruder. It opens a direct line to your ethos and they'll snap it up. I let the computer do the work, a little 'gift' from the Council...along with the behavior modification chip.

It builds firewalls, reroutes her psychic attacks, and tries not to let on that it’s sending her into a loop. I want to answer her questions, but a sympathetic connection through inner communication might give her a link to my memories. I have to keep her off balanced, make her think I’m what they probably already assume I am…a monster. Fighting a two part war is difficult in any circumstance, but sending images of the children I see dying on the street, of the world I remembered Iwaku being torn asunder by Paorou eyebeams, all the while dodging Grumpy’s attacks is not what I trained myself to do. It isn’t that I can’t take them, but fighting at full capacity would most probably kill the trembling flesh and bone stuck onto my leg. I’ve seen friends go down screaming, I can’t just…

But I can. I just won’t.

I redirect Grumpy’s blade upward, swinging with my left but catching only his after-wind. Kitti is gnawing a hole in my defenses and I’m getting closer to just cutting loose. The angel is long gone and they’ve bought the time they needed. The Council won’t be happy, but if Kitti is out and running around…at least I know she won’t end up with arsenic in her glucose bag.
Score one for the angel, but that doesn’t mean I won’t kill him.

Rebellion is dangerous these days. Just last week Paorou made an example of a few Shifters still willing to fight the ISAF. It was…awful. I’m glad Myrn’s too punch-drunk to care anymore; he might have made a scene.

The necromancer presses, scoring a hit in my side. I feel the blade go through. Mistake, entropic energy never feels fantastic…and with my own personal stomach cancer, I might as well have tried to stomach burning turpentine.

I swing and connect, but a fist hardly has the same force as a blade. He moves with the blow and skitters back towards Kitti…she’s keeping me defensive, barraging me by mind. I don’t want the council to lock me out, but if she keeps pushing…I may not have my control soon.

I consider IT, the ability I had before. Swing a hundred blades at once…collapse the buildings on them. It’ll give the builders a migraine, but mass property damage is easier to escape than individual assassin attention.

No…I’ll give them a bit.

“Leave,” I call to them, commanding them…pleading to them, practically begging…but I don’t let my vocal chords show it. Wear and tear will happen with age, but the Council knows when I want someone alive…I don’t want them to have that info. “You’ve bought your time and if you continue to impede my hunt, I have no choice but to silence you.”

I pray they aren’t confident enough to keep coming, not for my sake (Hell, these guys could get a blow in before I eviscerate the city block, hopefully to the neck.) They have their time and their bravery. They can knock drinks over stalling the Purger. But the Council made damn sure I was strong enough to face the possible remnants of what Iwaku left behind. I’m there hidden ace in the sleeve, a war machine with a guilty conscience and a death wish.

Run or kill me

Run or kill me

For Iwaku’s sake, stop stalling me.
 
In a moment, all the things that happened in my life may not seem so big..... more like tiny little puzzle pieces.

...with every movement in the fight, more of the pieces came back to me.

A flash back to a time when I was with Rory, following him in my tiny little fox form. I yipped something out at him, tail flickering before I shot forward, running around him. Nothing but happiness in my system... Then another flash... Rory's name.... I think that was back during a time when he was trying to teach me how to speak as he did... as everyone did. I was able to write it... and I was able to write words soon, but I still can't speak like him... Another flash and it's to the first time I had a drug in my system after everything changed. I was.... tired... and I didn't know what else to do... The needle piercing my skin and then.... I began my ritual of just trying to forget I lived... Another flash and I remember collecting what little gems I had left of my power, and my pencil. I drilled holes with sharp pieces of rock, or whatever I had on hand... I tested it, and they'd still work like this...I remember feeling a little safer as I placed them around my neck. Another flash and I'm remembering the first experience of whoring myself out, of putting on bright red lipstick and trying to tend to my hair to make it alluring in some sense... I remember trying not to cry with the fact that I was selling my purity... and for what? Still, I smiled when it ended.... white on red... All was good. I had my money. I was brought back to the time that I had finally told Rory what I remembered my name as, "Julez", or "Trance Kitsune".... I was able to tell him in my own words, with him understanding, that I don't really know how I came to be.... For a moment, he had even seen my true form... but I wasn't able to sustain it.... I had told him everything that had happened prior to me stumbling upon him... I remember the smile I had on my face from him being able to understand me.... it was such a smug little smirk.... Then I remember weeks ago, when the headphones and the mp3 player broke.... I had sat there for hours, just looking at them... I remember trying to make them work... and they screeched like an injured animal just wanting to be left alone.... so I let it be... I remembered the first time the gems and the pencil broke.....

I should have noticed my mental state affecting the only store of gems I had left... Cracks started appearing on the gems around my neck... They were only real due to the fact that my own powers had turned them from simple drawings into gems that looked like precious stones... I only finally took notice when I heard the horrifying sound of the pencil broke again... the ribbon broke, and it all slid off my neck.... landing on the ground, breaking further.

I looked up at Jack, and then I looked at Kitti and the other man. Then I looked back at the crumbled pieces of my power.... all the gems lay in pieces. The pencil, already useless before, was splintered to oblivion now... Was it a sign that I was so weak now that I didn't even deserve what I had created what felt like ages ago?

It makes me sick to think that I have debased myself so much until this point... And to not even understand why...

There was a sense of calm washing over myself... an entity coming back into play... It was little more than a comfort in my mind now, unable to even call upon it physically anymore... It was all I could do, just to look up at the group again before stumbling to my feet.

I had made my choice... I knew what I needed to do...

I bent over to pick up the remains of the pencil and I studied them for a moment, it was at this moment that Jack had said to leave and what not.... how much had I missed during my moments within my own head?

I dragged the jagged bit of pencil over my wrist and then dipped my fingers into the blood that bubbled up slowly... sluggishly, as if being roused from a good dream... I then dropped to the ground, starting what I needed to.

Nothing else mattered.

My fingers dashed out on the dirty ground, marking it with the color of my life. Making jolting moves, twisting one way and then another. Dipping back into my wrist to retrieve more paint for my make-shift canvas. I only grew frustrated during the small fractions of seconds when the blood wasn't coming fast enough. This paint I was working with was turning brown on the dusty ground, yet I continued. I kept going until I was more or less satisfied. I looked upon my artwork only to see what I had displayed was being shifted.... moving around.

It changed from a picture of a simple flower.... like the ones kids draw.... to a rose... and then... for just a moment, the drawing lifted from the ground, all brown-red... dirty and bloody from the circumstances. The rose came apart within seconds.... and then... all the petals drifted away and it withered... but it had be so much more...

I had done it... just to prove to myself that I could... and the results had surpassed what I had expected...

I clamped my hand over my slowly bleeding wrist and looked up at the group which still seemed locked in a want to battle.

So I did what I felt was owed to the person who had consoled me in a form. I didn't want to see my dealer be injured. He was fucked up.... but he wasn't evil... I had seen the way his mouth turned down at the edges when he had given me what I had striven for in the past... the way it seemed like he was the one who needed the drugs more than I did.

"Kritti!" I felt the air rush past my dry and parched throat as I reached to grab at the student of my old friend... I tried to drag her away from him. I don't want to see either of them hurt....

Or maybe it's just that I felt I needed a reason to be so close to that girl with wings...

I don't know if I have any ulterior motives at this point... I'm too confused... but as my arms wrapped around her waist and I tried to push against her.... to get her to move away from him... even though I couldn't make her budge.... it felt nice to be touching someone in a way that wasn't sexual, or to plead for something... Or was I pleading for her to stay away from my dealer?

"Kritti." I said the word again. My dirty, filthy skin pressed against her dress, and my eyes, blood-shot and red to begin with, looked up at her face. It was almost comforting.

Almost.
 
[size=-2]
Tears were streaming down Kitti's face, cleansing dirt and taxing her already dehydrated body further. The images that were flowing from this monster into her mind were his desperate pleas of defense, yet his defense stung her. the images bit like vicious insects at her mind, yet Kitti knew where her goal lay. With merciless attacks, she pressed harder, resisting the urge to weave him nightmares more terrifying than the ones he sent her because she needed her focus.

The shock of TK's body pushing against hers startled Kitti and the monster's mind tried to rush for freedom. In a panic, Kitti lashed out with the first horrible image that came to mind. There, on her dreamscape, was Simica. Images from the first days of the purge and Simica, broken in an alley, covered in blood and crying, her arms bound to her sides and completely nude... followed by the image of a silhouette hanging from the rafters, a dark vision seen from the other side of a mullioned window.

Kitti broke away now, having succeeded in sabotaging herself. Why was that what came to mind? It should have been anonymous. Panting, Kitti returned to the present, to the now. Without hesitation, she scooped up TK in her arms, feeling the weight more than ever with her weakened muscles.

Kitti would finish this man, if that was what the necromancer wanted. She only needed his signal, rescuing TK was also a priority but she could not launch an attack on his mind any longer, she would fight physically instead.
[/size]
 
As Geirmund searched for his question he heard the whisper from the vent. He perked his ear slightly to let the man know he got his attention. But first there were the Vikings. ”I’m afraid you give me too much credit for these events. But as I have seen the vocal billowing between any two representatives I have noticed that malice toward your fellow man has also become quite common. Even those in an organization you expect cooperation from, there are twists and turns that must be made, and such is the way of our government.” Pirogeth recited. He had not indulged them in the knowledge that he was only the Advisor of the council but he felt that information was unneeded. ”But if you let me go I can have a good long word with those that would threaten the little stability the cbox has.” Pirogeth waited for an answer as he began motioning his hands in the cuffs. He wanted the man in the vents to meet him outside after this had all blown over.
 
We got out of the C-box in one piece, that's a start. I come out after the viking leader still inspecting my gun, the TF-gun once given to me by the Lycan Queen herself. I've reprogrammed it countless of times, but I haven't quite found the nerve to test the current programming yet. The Shapeshifters just can't afford to use passive weaponry anymore.

Torsty and his allies prove once again to be a valuable asset to have on your side as they get rid of the small detachment of ISAF that swung around to the back of the C-box. My mind is on escape, murky still from the alcohol that courses through my veins, poisons have always been a weakness of mine. My eyes rest on a dark back-alley though, and Torsty seems to have read my mind as he and his band of norsemen start moving towards it.

I try a teleport and it succeeds, barely. A used mattress, still smelling like stale semen and spoiled whiskey, breaks my fall as I manage to displace myself several inches above the ground and at an odd angle. No more teleports for me until I sober up. I find myself at the back of the (now surely former) proprietor of the C-box, and decide to waste no more time. He seems to be looking for something, but I tap him on the back and tell him to come along. We have a long way to walk, considering the 'peacekeeping' troops in the area.

Before we're half a street away, a girl joins our group. I've seen her take out one of the ISAF in passing, so for now I doubt she's with them. I carry vague memories of her having a connection to Pirogeth though. It's unsafe to let her join our group, however, we need to move quickly and we have no time to waste talking to her, ESPECIALLY if she's with them.

It's not long before we leave the C-box area of the city and cross into the slums known as the "new cult quarter" remnants of all the organizations and cults that weren't absorbed in Paorou's mad scheme for power reside here. Some still honor their traditions, keeping them alive as well as they can under the current regime. Others are like the Shapeshifters, gatherings of a ruined people that do everything they can to survive.

The new cult quarter is better than the shadow district, if not by much. At least the muggers here are after your money, your drugs, or your food and not your blood, your life or your soul. We pass by several dark alleys where werecats lay next to nagini and the occasional human, all victims of the same drugs, being pushed especially in these quarters by those in the employ of the cursed counsel. Occasionally, a pair of watchful eyes follows us from a balcony, a doorway, or a dumpster. One might suspect these were spies, but I know they are my spies. These are the checkpoints the last loyal Shapeshifters use to warn them of approaching ISAF patrols or worse. We've seen that blind wreck of an angel lurking about as well, but he hasn't found us yet.

In a way, the Shapeshifters still control their own domain, though it is not theirs by name anymore, and conditions are harsh and worsening by the day. This much becomes evident to the group that's following me to the HQ as we finally land on an open square. A troop of wererats have us surrounded and are closing in on us, their TF-weaponry aimed at the vikings, Zypher and the girl that joined us halfway.

"It's okay, they are with me." I explain to both the Packleader and Torsty after keeping my silence for the entire walk. There's one thing I haven't told them about. I don't quite trust them to keep the secret of our hiding place just yet.

I turn to the group completely and begin to speak, my diplomatic nature resurfacing for a short while as I hope to convince them to go along with the next step peacefully "My safehouse is nearby, but...Shapeshifter procedure requires every non-shapeshifter to be blindfolded before they enter. It would be a great relief on my part if you would all consent to be blindfolded. My....troops will take care of any ISAF pursuers."

Let's hope Torsty and his vikings have mellowed out enough over the last few years, we've come too far to let it turn into a bloodbath now.

(Summary: Myrn takes the C-box survivors to a place nearby Shapeshifter headquarters, and asks the group politely to consent in being blindfolded for the rest of the trip.)
 
Answers came from listening in and watching every movement that Pirogeth made as a possible signal. Every second that passed since the Guardian's question was awaited with the eagerness that he might be called into action. Or at the very least, hired by this hostage. From behind him in the vent he could still hear the echoes of that cackling feline causing trouble for that backdoor guard. Now it seemed that the strange creature had started t try heading for the front door now. Perhaps it had taken some type of food or other consumable comestible from these suited up vikings and now wanted to escape with the treasure.

How many times had it done this to others before?

Meanwhile Orion remained completely still in the vent above the hostage and watched in silence. Understanding the signal to meet him outside happened without fail. But he felt this man might need him to stay near as an option for defense. If he left too early and Pirogeth died it would be on the Star Child's head just as much as the captors capable of killing him. Plus from this vantage point he could receve signals from the hostage if their mind changed any from now until his release.
 
trio.jpg

"What do we know about Arachnion?"

Raife stood besdie the marble pool, one hand on his tattooed chin as he watched the visions swirling. "Present in two of the last incarnations. A Neko scientist, mage and gunslinger, in the sometime employ of the Shifters. She's a Shadow-Trickster at best. Worthless."

"And yet..." spoke the soft voice of the Dream Sphere that floated by the window, "Her's his a freer will, a choice to come and go through worlds of her pleasing."

Porg grunted, folding his arms as he leant against a pillar, "Sounds like Soul Arts to me."

"And yet she arrived at the same time as the Anomaly."

"What are you getting at, Raifey?"

"Asmodeus is accounted for. We know his part - to provoke the plot. But Arachnion... why her, why now?"

In the opposite corner, where shadows wreathed the muralled walls, the armoured figure spoke from his throne. "A circled dot. She is connected to the One who is hidden from us. Her path and that of the Medusa are entwined - Feral has begun their entanglement."

"We should warn the Council."

Raife shot a murderous glare at Porg. "We are forbidden to interfere."

The Dream Sphere hovered in support above his shoulder. "In the Four Incarnations we have each overstepped our limits. For the preservation of the Cycle our neutrality must be sacrosanct."

Porg raised his hands and slumped onto a chez longue by the pool. "Alright, alright. But don't come whining to me when Pirogeth figures this all out."

"The News-Letter is a whelp. A dime-a-dozen herald with delusions of grandeur."

"That so, huh? Funny how the ruckus at the Cbox was ultimately his fault. Your so-called whelp has stirred up a political shitstorm in one night. The Holmgard Truce is under threat and the Shifters are riled up. At this rate Myrnodyn will be crowned regent again and we'll back to the fucking Cult Wars."

"The Street Preacher will play his part," spoke the slow, faltering English of the armoured figure. "As will the News-Letter. Like Asmodeus they are drawing allies to their cause, allies who protect them from the hunting guardians. But they are not heroes. This much we know."

"And while we're on the subject," Porg rolled onto his side, looking over at the Dream Sphere, "How about filling us in on what Tegan's up to?"

The magical sphere floated above the pool, its spots of colour forming and dissolving like eyes but showing no emotion. It did not answer.

"Come on, Weaver. We know that someone killed Lady Markov and cut off her head. And we know someone's out there trading in body parts. And Tegan's in the middle of it all, lying her ass off. What gives?"

Still the Sphere did not answer, bobbing up and down with resonant energy, as if it were breathing.

"Are you not telling us, or do you not know?"

Before Porg could pester it any further, the Sphere turned and floated to the window, its voice radiant and joyous. "My daughters, my beautiful ones. Tegan and Zypher, Kitti and Julez, sweet Julez. They will not play the games of earth nor air - no, for they are pathless, they are beautiful. In all things shall my daughters nourish, and join each line into a circle."

"Enough poetry!" Raife spat, his bloodshot gaze coming back to fix upon the armoured figure. "And you... you have still not answered me. There is too much here beyond our sight. How much is Paorou permitting to happen? How much does he know?"

Now it was the armoured figure who played the part of unyielding silence.


3d94d1e9bfa5ed86276df4318ffe44e2.jpg
 
A few blocks away from the park, the streets are empty; save for a black cab, parked for the night. Inside, the elderly driver sleeps. A lone man in a top hat emerges from the alleyway and taps on the window.

“I spotted Feral. She’s with two other blokes-a Neko and some scared-lookin' wank in the highrise nests. Di’nt see any angels.”

The old cabbie breathed a small sigh of relief. The sound was young and feminine.

“ISAF’s sending patrol teams their direction. Fucking clusterfucks every which way. This has t’ be real fast, luff.”

“Can you beat ISAF to Feral?” She was already asking so much of him- too much. But there was no other choice. She couldn't use her light in front of them, it would give her away. "I’m counting on you D-A. If Feral is caught-”

The sharp sound of his laugh silenced her.

“‘Course I can, luff. Don’t insult me.”

"Good. Get in. I'm driving."


- - - - -


Feral watches Archy as she tries to get more information from Spammy, but he's still in shock. Still brushing the flakes of dead skin away. Reminds her of snow.

She knows she’s not supposed to tell anyone. But Archy’s a Neko just like her. She has to understand. She knows what it’s like.

she knows what theyve done to us. theres no way she can be on their side.


“She’ll save us from the jaws of this city”
Feral isn’t talking, she’s reciting something that comes as automatic to her as the answer to 2+2. “The Gorgoneion”


- - - - - -


Archy was about to shake the other girl until she stopped talking in useless riddles and made some actual sense, when something else caught her attention.

There was a car on the street. She didn’t know where it had suddenly come from, but it was approaching very fast. Archy’s hand ghosted over her gun as she narrowed her eyes to get a better look at the oncoming cab.

Feral sprang from the her place against the wall, tearing away from the group within the blink of an eye. She ran, full speed, into the street before the black cab could reach the front of the building.

“Hey!” Archy called before instinct took over and she gave chase. “You want someone to see us?” But Feral paid her no mind.

When the cab at last came to a halt, Spammy and Archy were able to see the occupants.


- - - - -

The angel stands half way in the entrance of the apartment complex and wonders if he’s suddenly fallen from Shakespeare to Sartre. Archy chasing Feral towards a black cab driven by what appears to be circus performers.

The driver is staring at him. Asmodeus can’t tell who she is for the mask. Though it’s obvious that she is not at all happy to see him.

But there’s no time to ponder why, because her companion is about to make his move.





- - - - -



The passenger door swung open and a tattooed man in a top hat emerged, his lips split wide with a grin.
He paid little attention to Feral as she scuttled past him and practically threw herself into the back seat of the cab. His beetle black eyes were set on the Neko Archy, who was swiftly closing the distance.

“Sorry to break up the party, luvs, but we need to get this one home, and youre not invited.”
D-A raised his arms, like a gunslinger draws his piece. “I’ve got another game for you.”

In each hand was a deck of cards. “52 pick up.”


The people of Iwaku City classified what he did as Deviancy, but it was so much more beautiful than that.

circus_illusionist_by_yd84-1.jpg





The shower of cards spread over them like a cloud, an d beforethey knew it

every thing


got


(weird.)


The ground beneath them felt like waves.


The sky stretched to its limit before it tore into a pixelated nothing.

























When reality suddenly settled back into itself, there was no sign of the black cab, or Feral. The only sign that they ever existed were the dirty playing cards blowing away with the wind.

Spammy had fallen to his hands and knees during the Deviant’s attack. He was still having difficulty righting himself. He had dropped his gun. That detail whirled about his swimming mind like hair in a drain.

“DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND IDENTIFY YOURSELVES.”


Oh, the ISAF is here.

They’ll sort all this out.
 
  • Like
Reactions: 1 person
I'm free, a mixed feeling. On one hand I can move easier now, cut, stab, and kill. Not really something I was looking to do, but it beat getting Julez caught up in a battle. I kinda miss her, that simple child. She was always a little fucked up, even when she could still speak. Nowadays I think I like her simple nature better. Words cloud the water, muddy meaning...sans the sex and drugs, Julez has digressed to a purity nobody here could touch. Oblivious. Ignorant. Confused.

Better than knowing what you are every morning.

I see the image of Simica in my head and try to choke back tears. Strange, I thought I'd have none of those left, I thought the implants would soak them up and deny me even that release. But I can cry, I just choose not to. I'd rather them not identify humanity in me this late in the game.

Still, Kitti will take care of her. The angel knows a thing or two about broken minds and miserable corners. If anyone can lead Julez from the maze of flesh and chemicals she's built around herself, Kitti will. As for the necromancer?

I dunno, he can die I guess...if there kind even lived to begin with.

I like his bravery, but that selfless nature inspired Kitti to danger. I kinda hate him for it, a bubbling resentment somewhere beneath bitter sorrow and raw instinct. Without my sentient leg manacle, I don't have any excuse not to kill them. At the same time, Kitti is distracted holding onto Julez and Grumpy is focused on me. I'm faster. Before I was worried Kitti would get in my way, but with her distracted I could always move past the caster and after my true quarry.

Council will berate me for leaving dissidents, but I'd rather flip the bird to the council and quote from the rulebook...NOTHING is more important than my orders, not even stopping the odd rebel or two.

Of course then they just send me after each of them.

I try not to think about it.

Grumpy knows I'm serious, he tries to end this quickly. His blade snarls with necrotic energy, wreathing magic crackling louder than gunfire. He raises shadow around me, cutting off my sight. He means to end this in a single blow, stab me when I'm not watching, when I can't see.

He underestimates me.

I feel the blade pierce my stomach, a pain both similar and dissimilar to the cancer already burrowing into my gut. The energy doesn't feel like magic should, necrotic energy somehow more energetic than lethargic in my body. I blame my natural bad aura, but it takes to it like fire to dry leaves. In moments I'm dead, all that magic burning me out inside...hollowing me out inside. The cancer was a godsend, the necrotic spell helped it grow and fill me with twisted tumors and failing organs.

I had no chance really.

Of course it doesn't last, I bring the dull side of my blade against the back of his neck with enough strength to send him spinning into a wall. He didn't see me, couldn't see me. He relied on his eyes, and his eyes told him I was dead and impaled.

Eyes are really quite unreliable, especially when I'm controlling them.

It doesn't kill him, just a blow to the head to send him sprawling. His bony knees crack against the loose asphalt, but I hear the smack of his hands, palms out. He uses the momentum to spring to his feet. Lithe fellow, more flexible than I gave him credit for...but that blow had to shake his brain around a little. Dead or not, he isn't just shrugging that off.

Someone uses Reality Bending...it isn't either of them. I sense it to my left, over the corroded fence and across the soggy park. It's a sharp snap of alert, a tiny red flag in my brain or a clattering monkey with a tambourine. The first time I noticed I had a detector fused to my brain stem was during a fire fight with Zeon...at least when Zeon still had fire in him. Almost cost me the battle, not used to having my own personal alarm.

It could be anyone, but more than likely it's the rest of the group that took off with my quarry.

I let the angel tend to Julez, and Grumpy to get control of his vision again.

I sheathe my blade, the first indication that I don't intend to continue. Grumpy knows what I'm doing, and he's hissing spellwork as I'm running up the wall. Kitti would attack if she could, but Julez robs movement from her limbs and I only need a moment to acrobat myself over a fence.

I wish I could have used wings, but they went with my sight...maybe it's an angel thing.

Or a hope thing...I'd have to ask Asmo.

I hit the ground at a sprint, rain muttering its pattered visions and I wish I had the time to thank it. The park is rarely used, mostly a battle scarred warzone with a swing set still half rusted. I don't think children use it anymore, although it creaks back and forth in the absence of wind. I think it's the unquiet dead, ghosts and phantoms too afraid to move on and find Paorou destroyed the afterlife as well...so they haunt this city in droves.

I see in dappled clarity the dirty cards battered by the wind and rain. They speckle the earth around my feet but I'm careful to avoid them. Reality Bending has been used here and I'm not in the mood to accidentally detonate a playing card...should that be its use.

The ISAF are already moving onto the scene. I try not to hear the rain drip between empty eye sockets, or patter their face in sunken necrotic patterns...but I'm not allowed to selectively view with my ears. They have the Inquisitor with them...or rather AN Inquisitor. It's Natalie, and her methods of interrogation are more than enough to almost give pause to my approach. She doesn't like me, and as it is customary to return the feeling, I dislike her as well. I may respect her Fear Garden method of interrogation...effective, very effective...and less cutting them up with swords from my end. Still, she might try to fuck up my mission. Not that we aren't able to work together, but there's a gray line where jurisdiction comes in. I have my mission, and she has hers...mine tends to leave her leads in body bags and hers tends to leave my quarries safely behind bars...or in a black bag a mile underground and a million miles from rational mindset.

If I get the chance, I'm taking my angel...no amount of grandstanding on her part will move me. I'm in no mood to play 'Who's dick is bigger' tonight and honestly I'm not sure I can win that battle.

I've had this suspicion she's really a guy with tits for years now.

The joke is inappropriate, but I latch onto any humor to level out my depression.

I take the ground ahead of her, sword already drawn as I pass beside the ISAF officer toward Archy and Spammy. I don't recognize the latter, but there's a chance he's innocent in all of this. Not that the ISAF really care, but I do...if I can, I'll make sure she lives long enough to regret not being part of this.

I get that a lot...people need to die with some sense of honor or accomplishment.

That rarely happens here.

My eyes are not for them though, they seek the angel half in the apartment complex. I see his outline though he might have been veiled in shadow. The rain isn't all on him, but it brushes the height of a wing and traces the contours of his bedraggled feathers. He won't be able to fly, not in that condition.

What a relief, I'm not interested in following him by rooftop in this weather.

"Surrender Angel," I call to him, holding out my blade, "I promise I will not let you suffer."

Didn't I say the same thing before?

Maybe...but I'm not really in the mood to vary up this conversation. This is really an open and close case...or rather living then dead case.

My usual cases.

I hope the neko has the good sense to run.
 
I thought I was clear.

I'd taken the stairs four at a time, half of me just wanting to get out - to get away from that freezing room where the corpse of Glazer sits entombed in stone... the other half hoping that maybe, just maybe, I'd catch up with the woman who I'd glimpsed in the courtyard.

But I've barely got one foot out the lobby door when the air cracks. And it's not a feeling I'd wish on anyone, not even my enemies. It's like the fabric of reality gets torn and the beast roars and screams in equal measure. Worst yet, it puts its agony into you, as if it's the only thing it can think of, to visit as much of its suffering on the people around it. Deafening, agonising, gut-wrenching.

I've felt this shit before. I have memories of a town being torn apart, picked clean by giant spiders and the vermin of their cause.

It's a Deviant... has to be... but why?

Next thing I know I've fallen onto the sidewalk, the lobby doors spinning behind me, the pavement littered with fluttering playing cards. Spammy's on the opposite sidewalk. No sign of Feral. And Archy's in the middle of the road, one hand clutching her head as the other retrieves her gun. There's cards blowing all around her.

But that's not all.

Silhouettes are breaking from the rain, shapes forming in the darkness or peeling from the trees around the parkland. There's sirens, boots on concrete, engines and racking weapons. The ISAF have found us and they're pouring onto the street from my left, straight towards Archy, their whispering ego-rants as rhythmic as the rain.

Then a voice startles me. To my right, standing between Spammy and Archy, a little onto the road and wreathed in the shadows of the high rises, a man lifts a blade and fixes me with hollow eyes. "Surrender, Angel. I promise I will not let you suffer."

It's him. The one they called Purger.

They... Grumpy. Kitti. They didn't hold him off. The grief pierces like a knife and I stay on my knees, half in the rain, mourning my two allies as if they were the very strength in my limbs. But perhaps the greater part is shame - shame that I did not make good my escape... that their sacrifice was for nothing. And now I'm between a rock and a hard place. The ISAF clock Archy and sprint towards her, even as she swings her gun.

And in an instant my grief and my weakness are replaced. Archy fires the first shot and I see the muzzle flare in slow motion, a shining circle with the dot of the bullet at its centre.

She means something in all of this. She's a key. I've got to protect her.

And then I'm launching across the street, the fastest I've moved since I got here. We come together like the four points of a cross - the ISAF on the left, Archy on the right, the Purger to the north and I to the south. The collision of four charging forces, but my momentum is the greater. Clotheslining the first two soldiers, I tackle Archy from the side and sweep her away from the horde, holding her up for an instant before releasing and throwing her clear. She is propelled away, her feline instincts engaging and helping her to land on the sidewalk next to Spammy. And by then the street is clear and my hands slam together, catching the Purger's blade between my palms.

It's almost mathematical. In a half-second I've replaced Archy in the middle of the road, wedged between the Purger and the ISAF.

"RUUUUUN!" I yell to her and to the boy by her feet, and then my time is up. The Purger pulls his blade clear and we are swept up by the ISAF, a dozen soldiers stampeding into our midst. But our eyes are only for each other. I twist and turn between the soldiers, blocking their rifle-strikes even as the Purger stabs at me. His own blade cleaves limbs and bodies, his indifference matched by the ignorance of the zombies. They don't care that they are getting in his way, just as he doesn't care who he cuts aside to get at me. Both Purger and Zombies are driven by the single commandment of their task.

Pushing a soldier fully into the Purger, I use the moment to kick a rifle into my hands, bracing it to fire. The bullet is cut from the air and with the second swing my cheek is sliced. I fall back, lifting both arms to block a zombie on either side. Their blows are deflected and I grab a handful of their uniforms to use as leverage as I kick. My feet strike the Purger's chest and put him on the back foot.

Dropping, I steal the knife from the leg sheathes of the two soldiers, drawing them with bloody slashes that bring them crashing down. And then I'm on the offensive, swinging both knives at my enemy. As numerous as the raindrops, he parries the rapid strikes, disarming the first knife then the second with expert flourishes.

But the momentum is still mine. With an engine noise filling my ears I grab the man by the shirt and pivot. We swing out across the street and I put him back-first into the arriving humvee. Its hood crumples with the impact and I keep hold of the Purger even as I sumersault. I roll up the front of the humvee, taking him with me, the two of us like birds crashing over the incoming vehicle. With the final roll I slam onto the roof, which carries us along as we exchange thunderous blows. Below us, more ISAF are ploughed aside as the vehicle mounts the curb. I can hear Archy's gun, somewhere far off. She's giving them hell.

The humvee strikes a shopfront and we're thrown forward, crashing back down the front of the vehicle and landing amid the shattered glass. Unfortunately, it's me who breaks the fall for my new friend here, which leaves my back and wings torn by a dozen gashes. I'm lying in the headbeams of the humvee, his hands around my throat as if I'm made of braille.

So much for his promise to not let me suffer.

His hands... I feel his hands... they're rough, callused... cut with labyrinthine wrinkles and imperfections. But moreover... they're something else... something that brings the memories rushing in as the air rushes out, my lungs choked and replaced with the blackest bile of past regrets.

His hands are burnt. I feel it. They're still hot. Burning hands, blistering and charring in the fire... the fire that I made... the fire that I cast him to.

I... know... this... man...

The moment of insanity passes as quickly as it came. Rising from my delusion, I pull Spammy's apartment key from my pocket and drive it into the Purger's ankle. He snarls and buckles, just enough to give me another breath, which I use to good effect. My other hand clamps his face, and one handed I ram his head against the grill of the humvee. The cheapshot dazes him and I pull myself up, turning to make a dash through the half-ruined shop.

And that's when the ISAF bring out the big guns. A sharp stinging pain - no, make that four sharp stinging pains - cut across my chest and neck and everything goes cold. I stagger, almost falling on top of the Purger as, wide-eyed I behold the figure before me. Natalie's eyes are as dark and empty as the Purger's, and yet she sees me all too well, a slight smile as she retracts the four whips of the Fear Garden.

I drop, my blood... my all too human blood... turning to liquid madness. The world swirls and tips, like the Deviant's power but without the screaming - only laughter and the chattering of nightmare memories. Fear comes upon me like a flood. I see the faces of King Gabriel and Coffeecake turning away. I see the Towers falling. I hear the voice of Homac in the heavens. I see dizzying flights of unending stairs and the screaming of a baby in the womb.

Then the pain comes. The remaining ISAF crash into me, a storm of rifle butts and kicking boots. I'm taken down, pummelled into the ground, beaten into darkness and welling misery. And as they leave me there, bleeding and beset by horror, I hear voices trickling through the dark.

"Sheathe your blade, Purger."

"I have orders, Inquisitor. Stand down."

"Your orders have been overruled. The Cardinal wants him alive."

"Orochi? This is not a Bread Cult matter."

"Ours is not to reason why. Now stand aside."

I feel myself lifting. The one eye that isn't swollen picks out the detail of my escorts. The Inquisition. The role-less, faceless monsters tasked with assigning all souls to their allotted place. They pull me from the shop and drag me towards a waiting car, black and undistinctive like the Inquisitors themselves. Natalie is with us, her breath on my neck as he watches the poisons of the Fear Garden excavate my insides. By the time they throw me into the back of the car I'm having visions of the Roleplay Chasm, filled with the screaming souls of the Crimson Eye, and far below them the fire... the fire that burns the bodies of Pirogeth and Okami... and a man like the Purger...

There's gunfire in the distance. I pray Archy is still running. She's the only one now... the only anomaly against the machine. Everyone else has been devoured, and I'm just another lost soul to be bagged, tagged and processed.

My first night in Iwaku City turn out pretty shit.





END OF CHAPTER ONE
 
CHAPTER TWO: BREAD AND SLAUGHTER


I was amazed to find that Kitti had scooped me up like she had.... was I that thin? A trickle of clarity had started in my mind, and with it came thoughts that weren't welcome.

I couldn't do it.

My moment had passed, and I was back to needing a fix. All I could think of was the past, and how it led to the present.

I let out a loud yelp as I watched the scuffle between Grumpy and Jack... I didn't want Jack to get hurt. After all this time, he had been my dealer.... He had helped to take care of me in a way that no one else could. He provided the only escape I could get...

My mind was like a snow globe. Little specks of my life and memories floating around the bigger picture. If you let it settle.... you start to think. So you have to keep shaking it... Only .... my version of "shaking the snow globe" was more or less rotting my head.... and honestly...

I don't even know if I care.

I hiss and cry out and struggle against Kitti as I see Jack impaled. I thought she was part of the good guys! Good guys don't hurt people!

....Or do they?

At this point, my head's on a downward-spiral. I'm already calculating what money I have could get what drug.... I needed something.... anything!

I felt tears form at the corners of my eyes, my fists weakly beat against Kitti. I wanted to scream for them not to hurt him.... Should I have stayed connected to his leg? Would it have helped?

And then he was gone.

I couldn't do this... I won't do this...

I finally squirm my way out of Kitti's grasp, landing on my ass before trying to move to follow Jack.

I almost feel like laughing again. My head's screaming at me that I've been deserted again. I don't even know...

I am a simple child.... I am not quite mature enough to survive on my own... It makes sense that I would slink to a level of prostitution. It's a social job in a sense... And I need that.... The other part I need is affection... or care...

I suppose I tried to treat that with drugs.... with some imposed and created thought that.... if all else fails.... at least you know your drug dealer won't leave you.

But he's gone, and I'm left standing where he had stood.

I wanted to rewind it all.... Go with him.... Or... was I meant to stay here?... Did Kitti and Grumpy even want me with them?

I choose not to think on that question for too long. I don't like what was beginning to answer it. There's a mantra going over and over in my head.

I am Rory's forgotten friend. I am a useless pile of flesh that has been used by more bodies than I can keep track of. I am one of the many open, festering wounds of Iwaku.I can't survive without drugs...

I finally look up at Kitti.

And I see Rory.

I just can't face it. I know it's all in my head.... but it's too much.

I make a run for it. I don't get far though, I fall down, and I stay down... I can't remember my last meal... And then I started running again.

I wish I could explain... but it's not like they'd understand me...

They had called him a "Purger".... But still... she knew that man didn't mean harm.... he couldn't have... could he?

I managed to pick myself and run like no one's business.

I was too confused to try and trust Kitti.... and whoever that was...


I ran away from it all.

And straight into where I was familiar.

I was back in the alley where I had started out in, the headphones and broken mp3 player still lay broken on the ground... and for a moment, I felt like I was retracing my steps until I suddenly ran across something.

An old card....

A business card, to be precise.

Smut Club

Don't misunderstand... this isn't even THAT "Smut Club".

No. This is the bastardized remains that go by that name. It's nothing like what it used to be... it's... a lot more civil than it was.... but at the same... I feel like in a sense, I'm slightly afraid of them...

My last meal actually came from there.... their version of charity, I suppose.

I'm not even really sure why or how it happened.... to be honest, that night was the fuzziest memory I've had in a long time.... and coming from someone who drowns her head in a fog of drugs and anything else I can... that means something...

I didn't know how to feel anymore... so I finally find my way back to the place....

There's no sign... no crowd outside of it.... you wouldn't notice it unless you knew about it....

I enter through the simple door and all at once I'm submersed in scents, all familiar to me, but at the same time, overpowering. It smells of sex and sweat and all kinds of smoke meant to be inhaled. The of stench perfume and of cologne permeate throughout the building.

This is not what the Smut Club was... no... this was an entirely different entity that went by the same name...

Because it was more than your average whips and spankings.... no.... it was more like an urban whorehouse. Among other things.

Sexual deviants, meet your new church.

All I knew is that if I gave in and joined on with this.... they could offer me a lot more than I was making right now... and a warm place to sleep...

Drugs were comp'd like drinks in a casino... so I would be set....

All this place was... was a collection of second-rate, generic, off-brand cultures and people.

I finally signed up.

But I stuck out like a sore thumb in my attire.

Because I was wearing more than anyone else just by being in my bra and panties.

I finally unhooked my bra and asked for a cocktail of poisons. I needed to get my fix.

Perhaps it was the smog of smoke in the room, but everything in my head started to get foggy... my head just... got empty.... meaningless....

I kept taking more stimulants and depressants... hallucinogenics were out of the question. Like alcohol, they'd screw me over with my job.

Everything seemed to slow down and swim in my vision.

Then all of a sudden, I blinked and suddenly I was in a dark room, the only sounds a strained, grunting and groaning, and the feeling of pressure on my body, being held down....

I think the CD just skipped.... because I don't remember anything leading up to this.

I suddenly felt like I wasn't in the mood to be exploited, so I bit into his forearm, and as he withdrew I got up and found a pair of pants on the ground and donned them before turning back to the sniveling man...

Was I really that hungry, or did his blood really taste that good....?

I figured I'd pay the owner of this establishment a visit. So I walked through the pulse of the throng. Bodies writhed without space to breath.... it was truly some kind of massive organized orgy.

And I finally found him on the second level of the building. As I rounded the corner, all I heard was groaning and moaning. His back was to me and there was a girl on her knees in front of him. Of COURSE the hyper-sexual creator was getting busy.

"Finally taken me up.... ahhhhh.... on my offer?" I finally heard him say after I had stood there for some time, waiting. Was it shameful that in this time, he was the only that I could talk and have him actually understand me.

"What can I say? I'm sick of walking the streets... and you make this place so nice.... plus the pay is great..." I hear myself saying the words and faking the compliments. He eats it up. Once upon a time, I knew this man, and I still dislike.

"I knew you'd....nnnnffffff.... come around at some- Ahhhh! Girl, slow down!" I heard the slap... and saw the whore collapse to the ground... she got back up of course, and continued.

"Well of course.... You make it so nice... it's so much better than the original "Smut Club".... But... I have a few questions...." I grinned as I heard him moan. Close again.

And then he was done. Holding his whore on him for every last moment. Spitting is an insult, don't waste it.

"What can I do for you?" He asked after finally composing himself, gesturing to the nearby couches, I choose to remain standing.... knowing him... the sexual frustrations that came out of him? That couch was not safe. Though he and his little whore sat there.

"I was just wondering.... how do you manage to drug the air downstairs, TRS?" I'm playing dumb, and at the same time, trying to stroke his ego in any way I can...

"The "How" doesn't matter, it's the "Why". It makes it easier for guys to score." He replies. Very Matter-of-factly. It's almost sad.

"Because that's the only way you'd get a girl... I bet that whore right there is drugged as well." I say, cutting to the chase.

"Milkshake." I hear him state, curtly.

"What? No... I don't want a milkshake" He points at the girl and I'm still confused, the girl starts yelling in some odd dialect. Angry gibberish. He asks again and I shake my head.

"No! That's her name! And she's not my whore! She's my GIRL!"

I almost want to laugh. The point of me coming up was null now... I had gotten as much of an answer I was going to get.

"So... what's the news from the outside world?" He asked quietly, and I saw him out of the corner of my eye, cuddling with..... "Milkshake", who seemed to be regarding both of us with a scowl.

Nice. He found a bitch just like him.

"Nothing much... Hey, is everything in this damned building drugged?"

"No...........yes."

I sigh and shake my head, walking away before he can say something else stupid, looks like I cant get a meal here.

I walk out of the building, still without a top.

I doubt anyone will care.
 
[size=-2]
Even light beatings, with the variety of deficiencies Kitti was suffering from, caused gently blooming bruises across her skin. She was a tapestry now of various colors: the rusty red of blood, the deep black of street soot and grime, the blooming purple of fresh bruising, and the soft yellowgreen of older marks. Kitti turned to follow the man after TK fled. Perhaps the girl was on the Purger's side and darkness had taken her, body and mind. How was Kitti to judge?

Kitti was in time only to see Asmo being forcibly taken. She had not been good enough, her pathetic attempts to help him had done nothing and now she could not save him as he had saved her. There were no options left for her, only to avoid being captured. Before attention could be paid to her, slinking in the shadows, Kitti fled back to Grumpy. Her long white fingers curled over his battered body and she knew that he was weak.

"We must go now, they have him... nothing I could do" she whispered hoarsely to Grumpy, fighting back tears. Her body screamed in defiance but she helped him up. He wasn't very heavy, only bones it seemed, but she was running low on energy to even move her own weight. Still, this became her priority now. Kitti clutched Grumpy as though he were a life preserving in a tumultuous ocean and she helped haul him away through back alleyways. There was a refuge left, a small apartment in a building looted and destroyed already. This had been her little nest she'd created before things went to hell. It had been one of the first places they had ruined looking for dissidents.

"We'll be safe here, for a little while. Until we can find others... it's close and I'm feeling faint" her explanation sounded more like a plea for understanding but he was hardly in a shape to argue. She felt a tenderness, a maternal warmth, in taking care of him as best she could. Asmo had trusted him, she would care for Grumpy then because Asmo had cared for him and he had tried to defend Asmo.

Kitti slept fitfully, her tossing and turning reflected the dreams that still plagued her. Dreams haunted her days but at night, they were in control. The sleep that she got woke her in the morning with a tear-stained pillow or patches on the ground where puddles had been. It pained her that she could not prevent this at all, because she was certain that it made sleeping more difficult for Grumpy. If he slept. She wasn't sure.

She didn't know what to do, she had failed. Worse than that, she had been weak. Kindness and affection, nostalgia for the past, it had caused her to try to save TK and that had allowed the Purger an escape. For this, she was curious with herself. No longer, she thought, would she allow things like the past to have any sway on her. The next time she saw TK, she was determined it would not be so sweet. Kitti felt betrayed and angry - she was certain that TK had been working with the Purger in trying to get her killed.

For now, Kitti trusted only Asmo. No one else had earned her trust anymore and times had changed. The only people from the past who had stayed the same were the dead ones. Even then.... no, it was too hard to think of some of it. Old friends had died that first year of the control as though they were trying to fill coffins faster than they could be crafted. Some lived, but they were not those that one would like to meet. Even Grumpy had changed, though Kitti would not have believed it true if one had told her beforehand that he would. How could death change?

[/size]
 
[align=center]
Councilscourt.jpg
[/align]

The bright enhanced glyphs on the walls provided the light in the room. A blue hue gave only a vision of the three figures standing on the far side of the circular room. The windows themselves were painted in a sort of orange and gold fresco of what remained in memory of a sunset. Occasionally the paint was halted by a brief view of the darkness outside but that was not what caught Pirogeth’s attention. Aside from himself standing in the middle of this room the three figures conversed with each other one of which was the High Councilman. The other two were the replacement advisor, in the off chance like now where Pirogeth could not perform his duties, and the General of their zombie faction. It was clear that after several minutes the three still could not reach a verdict. ”Upon review we find the results inconclusive, however, we request you tell us again what happened after your capture.” Pirogeth was inclined to answer the advisor unless he risks the perversion of the truth, a crime punishable by death for all Heralds.
”Well I did manage to leave on good terms but afterward…”

~~~~~~~~~~

With the cuffs unlocked Pirogeth was able to move around. ”Thank you Geirmund. If it is true Torsty did get caught up in the whole incident at the cbox I assume he would not come back here right away and put you all at risk.” The Advisor moved toward the door rubbing his wrist after the chaffing a tight iron cuff gave him. ”Give my regards to Torsty, his men did a fine job.” Opening the door now Pirogeth turned back to give Geirmund one last message. ”Please try not to meddle too deeply in Council affairs next time.” Turning around the building’s corner to what he could work out was the exit for the vent he met up with Ventman. Using his sight into others’ souls Pirogeth picked up a grey tinge to this soul. Either a merchant or a soldier with no master, maybe even both. Putting his hand up to the stone wall for support Pirogeth began to talk to this vent savvy incognito. ”I am sure you are aware that I am an important figure by now. And I can see by your very soul that you must have something to sell me. So out with it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

”His very soul? What kind of crap is this!?” The General yelled in an outrage. He did not believe in most magic powers even when seen himself. He was a pure believer in explanations for everything. He indeed believed that every man was born evil and focusing that evil was the true way to bring out someone’s inner potential.
”Believe him General. Pirogeth here has a sight which cannot be replicated by many men.” The High Councilman defended Pirogeth’s words. He tilted his hood to the center of the room to further question the defendant. ”If you wouldn’t mind Pirogeth please hurry to the crime at hand.” Pirogeth nodded slightly and proceeded. ”The man was a sort of mercenary so I hired him on in the absence of Piroko. After all, I was still in a risky part of the city.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Off in the distance were the sounds of numerous sirens, bells, and whistles. The downtown Cbox area was now overflowing with zombified soldiers using every last excuse to get a taste of blood. Pirogeth felt a bit of anxiety overtake him. Were the soldiers after him, the Vikings, or perhaps a larger target he had not seen altogether? Soon the prize to be won was unveiled to both of them.


The stench of various alcoholic beverages invaded the nostrils of a teen-aged neko, down on all fours, making bounds across the rooftop of a run-down apartment complex. That could only mean he was nearby his master, which is exactly what he needed right now. As he took panicked breaths, he looked over the edge of the building, noticing the poor souls taking refuge on the streets, huddled together for warmth. This city was just one collective shade of gray to Miru at this point, ruled by tyranny. His brief moment of zen was lost as a single bullet was fired in the distance, issued from an ISAF-standard handgun. The bullet zipped by, making an audible rip in the sleeve of his worn shirt, interrupting the silence of the stale air around him. His pursuers appeared to be three standard ISAF grunts, each carrying semi-automatic rifles. It was basic ISAF equipment, but it was deadly nonetheless. The smell of alcohol was quickly replaced with the stench from the grunts, the overpowering stench of death. To think, all of this was caused by his supposed “intervention in an ISAF mission”...All he had done was bump into one of the brutes. As much distance as Miru had put between himself and the soldiers already, they had nearly closed in a few measly minutes. They fired a few three-round bursts, making tiny craters in the cement rooftop just as Miru made the transition to another roof, the ISAF right on his tail, literally. He made the mistake of looking back to check the distance, and was met with the butt of the gun. The momentum increased due to the running of Miru and the soldier. The force sent Miru tumbling off the edge of the roof, plummeting to the streets as he stretched out his arms, his claws digging into the brick wall of the building, close to a large hole in the structure. He struggled to raise himself up, and stumbled into the room, blood now leaking from his mouth. It appeared as though this building had been raided by the ISAF before, judging from the damage. The walls were riddled with bullet holes, the furniture had either been shot through, upturned, or broken by other means, not to mention the sizeable hole in the brick wall, presumably caused by an explosive. Miru scurried into a corner, tucked away as he took a reprieve, trying to catch his breath, listening for signs of more ISAF soldiers.

Pirogeth’s attention was taken by the ISAF soldiers cornering a young neko in a building that had already been seized by them. The advisor seemed to have a moral obligation to fulfill. ”It seems that I will be putting myself in harm’s way. I hope you will accept government issued checks.”

~~~~~~~~~~

”It is obvious he put my soldiers’ life behind that of a low life neko! I demand retribution!”
”You have to calm down. This court is not for shouting.” The High Councilman quelled the shouting rather quickly. His word was above everyone’s there, even the defendant’s. ”Please take a moment to recount your actions while we deliberate again.” The three turned their backs on Pirogeth once more. The air became thick with conversation and it grated on the Herald’s nerves. Just the sheer unknown of it all was enough to break a man under pressure. Only those with iron wills could resist the temptation of running away. Embracing the sweet kiss of death sometimes felt like a better way out than what they had planned, but Pirogeth knew better. He still remembered what the High Councilman sent him to do and his job was unfinished. Like the Purger he himself knew of the clutch the Council places on missions with such extreme outcomes. The only difference in this case was that not only was Pirogeth aided by an unassigned accomplice, but he destroyed ISAF members who were on a mission to find the renegades that had left the pub. Before he could think anymore upon it the figures once again turned toward Pirogeth to deliver, hopefully, a verdict.
”It is by decision of this court that Pirogeth is cleared of the following charges, First Degree Murder of ISAF officers, disruption of an ISAF mission, and Perversion of the Truth. It is also by the decision of this court that the Mercenary known as Orion be assigned to Pirogeth as per his business prior to the incident. Payment though must be made in full before the end of each week. Finally the Neko known as Miru will be executed-“
”I ask the Court to take into consideration a revision of Neko, Miru’s final judgment.”
Pirogeth interrupted hoping that his voice would be heard. ”From what I have seen this one has an innocent soul and very well malleable to say the least. Allow me to show you that I can turn this Neko into a proper citizen of this City. It will be at least one you won’t have to deal with.” The air was silent in the room for a moment as the three looked at each other. Eventually they settled on their answer.
”Miru will remain in your care as well then. You will be in charge of him for the time being. If there is no other business then I shall call this meeting adjourned.” After the other two left Pirogeth was left alone with the High Councilman in the court room.
”I hope this doesn’t put a hindrance on your mission. Aragon will be taken care of as soon as we can find him again. Your next objective will bring you very close to dangerous territory.” Pirogeth dreaded hearing those words. The only place even more dangerous than the cbox was the basic no man’s land of political control. It rested in a remote corner in between the General Sector and the Cbox, the Cult Quarter. ”Where would you have me?” Pirogeth questioned.
”The appropriate question is “where would you have us?” Seeing as you were here the whole time I don't have to explain that you have two new companions for you to worry about. I would not get to caught up in worrying about Piroko, she is doing just fine.” The High Councilman took a breath before he started his briefing. ”The Cult Quarter has been giving the Council a hard time with border disputes in the General area. If things are not solved quickly I believe my ass will be hounded. That means I need you to do me another favor, think of it as another key to unlock that horrible device on Piroko’s back.” Pirogeth was reluctant to take the job but eventually he replied.
”Very well.” The High Councilman seemed to smile behind the black shadows under his hood and he started to walk off. Before he left Pirogeth questioned him one last time.

”Do you remember our origins?” He paused, then a slight spat of detest was pushed out his throat before leaving.


((Pirogeth relays his misadventure in the cbox and how he had acquired two new companions (Orion and Miru). He is also given a new assignment in the General Sector to quell a rising problem of border disputes near the Cult Quarter.))
 
  • Like
Reactions: 1 person
THEN

From the moment the two had reached an agreement Orion began protecting Pirogeth as they began making their way from where the adviser had been held hostage. It was certainly nice to be out of that ventilation system. How could those brutes breathe the air so easily? Then again just about the entire city had quite a rank smell from border to border. It had smelled awful with how the mold had mixed with burning yeast. Shortly after they had encountered Miru trying to escape the unjust pursuit of three ISAF grunts. Situations like these would not have concerned in an unemployed state unless Miru had tried to hire him. But Orion already had employer as they resentfully came upon an all too familiar scene.

And it had been at that point Pirogeth gave the Mercenary his first orders.

NOW

Posted outside the door to the glyph-filled room where his employer was currently held, the Mercenary awaited the results of the trial going on inside. Depending on the verdict he might have a consistent income for the first time in a while. He stood as close as he could to the chamber, knowing that this time he could not sneak around. If only there were an easier way to learn what was going on inside. Risks like those could however somehow incriminate his employer at this point. So instead he quietly complied with the order Pirogeth had given to comply with the government hired guardians that in some way it seemed this particular loner had just joined the ranks of in the last few hours.

A certain ace did rest up his sleeve at the moment.

Contractually, the Mercenary always required his clients to agree to a certain level of shared cosmic awareness with him. Something that related to his rather unique array of abilities. In this fashion he would not read private thoughts or any such invasive thing as that. Heralds deserved privacy as much as or even more so than a regular client. It merely set up a type of invisible fence around the client that allowed the Guardian to sense if they were in danger at a distance. Whether or not the ISAF had been informed of this remained unclear. But what had become clear at this point was the fact he would not turn down government checks as a method of payment. Not when it meant they would pay his price i full whenever it came.

To think he had been worried about getting work at the beginning of the evening.

When Pirogeth exited the chamber alive, Orion was there waiting patiently and walked up to the Herald without hesitation. Just what had he seen in his soul anyway? Could every Herald do that? It certainly seemed like an interesting client had hired him on. Perhaps this one could keep him busy enough to make life interesting again.

"I take it they let you go. So what's the situation?"
 
He had found no better option but to agree with the terms Myrn had offered. After all, getting to the HQ was the primary reason for following him anyway. Unless he had become a double-agent for the Counsel there was no way he'd lead them into an ambush. No faction would dare or be stupid enough to go against another faction these days. Each one had enough trouble keeping it's existence while the ISAF was on the hunt. Allying with others was much more favorable, almost irresistible. That does not mean you should not keep your guard up at any moment however. This is a crazy world, insanity be the norm of daily life.

As I was just getting used to not being able to see where I'm going I feel a ill stench through my nostrils. I cough while shaking my head to the side as a reaction. I'm not unfamiliar to this part of the city, I know where we are going, I was born here, in the Cult Quarters, but I do not know where they are taking us. As we move on we're ordered to halt. Some loud noises break the silence, we move on, then we're asked to stop again. I'm guessing no matter if this is my home-borough or not, I won't be able to find my way back to this place on my own.

We're in the god damn sewers! Well, guess the gossip about how bad the conditions are for shapeshifters nowadays are true. Myrn would many times mention it to me back at the bar, but not in detail. The sound of dripping water echoing throughout, damp air and the smell, even if he had not been here for years, he could recognize it by sound and smell to this day.

We stop, time to take off the piece of cloth.
 
We are a death scream, a city in the cracks.

Iwaku was a dream and we have fallen into nightmare. All that is left in the darkness is the Mad King and the fragments of his city.

And now I'm among them, a bloodied trophy hung in the catacombs beneath the Bread Temple. Which temple I cannot tell, but it's one of the dozens that hold the city on the brink of starvation.

A baker's dozen. Take your pick. No one and no thing can find me here, except the horrors of the Fear Garden, which from a hundred memories and a thousand psychic chambers lash against my soul with unerring accuracy.

The poison has been in my blood for hours, corroding what I sought to forget, drawing what buried deep. I feel again the heartache of the Silent Hill and the slow demise of Gabriel. I watch the Knights falling into ruin and the Nobody Rebels running wild in the streets. I hear the weeping of Queen Anne and the eyes of Razilin gleaming in the dark. I stand over Zeon as the zombie virus corrupts his flesh. I feel the blood of women and children as Paorou slaughters them with his chemical bombs. I smell the blood-wet stone of the Nerf gantry and Grumpy's necrotic stain on my heart. I listen to Lamord's last story as the ground gives way beneath us. I behold the slaughter of the Crimson Eye, the shattered promises of the Emissaries. I feel Grant and Uriel catching me as I fall. I feel the mask on my face. I see Shifter Town and Dystopia fading like ink from parchment. I feel Sakura's tears on my skin, Soulless's arms around my body. I feel the betrayal of the Hero Myth, my dreams exploited by the Elder agents. I see Pirogeth and the Purger, burning, over and over again...

"Tut tut tut" The voice comes from beneath me rather than inside, and it's the first time in hours that I'm reminded a world outside the nightmare. The chains rattle as I twitch, lifting my head a little to focus on the figure beneath me.

Orochi... the Cardinal of the Asylum. I remember him - Rory's mad half-brother turned High Priest of the Bread Cult. He's dressed in patterned red and gold, a vestment that fuses latin and oriental style. Half his face seems missing, covered by a mask that shows a sickly green vapour swirling in his skull. It's the same green as the blood that dripped from Homac, back at the climax of the War.

His voice is strained, like it hasn't seen water in decades, or like he's just come down from a fit of shouting. It hisses out to me. "Such propaganda."

He reaches up, an ornate implement in his hand that resembles the long, fine, tongs used for taking bread from an oven. They probe the chasm of my chest, gripping the loose pages of the book and turning them back. The edges of the paper cut me afresh and only now do I see how much more has appeared on the pages since I last checked. A picture of Feral, sketched in chacoal and incorporating the smudge of a handprint. I remember that she shoved me in the bar and that I felt the pain as something happened to the book. The picture shows her with the suitcase, dripping blood, and playing cards dancing all around her.

I can't read the text - Orochi is turning the pages too fast. I see another sketch - this time Arachnion and beside her a page of prose written in her voice. Then we're back to the earlier stuff - the four pages of the elements covered with epic poetry about the history of Iwaku.

"These lies will not do. Such heresy..." Orochi tuts again.

"They're not lies, Orochi," My voice remains strong, even while my body bleeds. "This is the fifth incarnation of Iwaku. The anomaly in the Cycle has succeeded four times. The Grandfather Paradox, the Rift Storms, the Legacy Crossover, the Elder Bleeds. Now Med..."

My world becomes a chorus of screams. Orochi twists the cermonial tongs and suddenly there's electricity shooting through my body. I buck and writhe upon the chains, my cries echoing from the walls of the catacombs.

"Cardinal, if you please. And I would advise you to remain true to the canon. This is the One Iwaku, built by Paorou-Sama when he slayed the Dark God Homac."

I'm foaming, my eyes bloodshot as I glare back. "He only killed Homac because the crew of the Legacy helped him. Lamord was there, with Grant and Uriel and Sozrosse. They got the Sword and..."

He fries me again and I feel my feathers and flesh singed in the agonising throes.

"Listen to yourself. Gibberish. Lunacy. Always trying to structure things, to piece the fragments together and make some grotesque meta-story. This is the very definition of madness, Asmodeus."

The irony is inescapable and through the blood and smoke I laugh, the chains rattling in time with me.

"Sadly," Orochi continues, looking back at the book inside my chest, "There are among the weak and vulnerable of this city many who share your delusions. Sick creatures, all of them, once content in the unconnected harmony. But with your arrival things have changed. Now fugitives are crawling from the woodwork; ministers of state are conspiring; and rebels are flocking to follow you and your overstretched plots."

He moved away, pacing between the pillars of the catacombs, lost in darkness but for the green swirl of his eyepiece. "I have intervened in this matter. It is not enough for the Purger or the Warmaster to kill you. No. Too many have witnessed your arrival and too many asking what your... role is. They see a structure emerging - an arch to follow. And as you are well aware, it is OUR job alone to tell the people exactly what everyone's proper place is. You must be processed correctly before your execution, winged one."

He turned, fixing me again with a smirk all too reminiscent of the man he serves. "And we shall begin by establishing precisely how you murdered Mr Glazer."

I lower my head again as the Fear Garden plays hell with my stomach. This is going to be a very long night.

Or is it morning?
 
Status
Not open for further replies.