Iwaku: Dark Reign

[Spammy]

Spammy winced as the candle was lit, his eyes stinging. He hid them behind his arm for a moment, before lifting his gaze up to see who was talking to him... then dropping it right back to that spot on the floor(somewhere between her feet now). It was easier to look at.

"I just wanted to go home..." He finally began with a shaky voice, "I went up to my apartment, didn't hear or smell Glazer anywhere... the lights were all off... and then I went into the living room and he was... petrified.

"I should've ran away then but I didn't, and then I saw it and it nearly got me..." Unconsciously he began to scratch at his left side, shifting around his left leg where he couldn't quite reach.

"I didn't get a good look at it... didn't see anything but the eye..." He began to quickly flex his left hand, as if to remind himself that it was still made of flesh.

The next words that came out of his mouth were pathetic, they were pleading, they were pitiful, but they blurted their way out before he could stop them: "Can I go home, please?"

 

[Warmaster Death]

"And this concludes our special report on Old Man Asmodeus, the murderer of Charles Glazer, who was found dead in his apartment today. Who says homicide can't be funny? This is Ocha from N.L. News, wishing you all a good night!"

Musical Score: Burn it to the ground - Nickleback


The chains holding the warmaster snapped taught, flinging a wave of cold water droplets from the superhuman's frame as his entire body seemed to explode outwards and the ISAF Guards soun around, weapons trained on their ward.

"Crimson Cadre, Amsodeus Roleplaying Corporation. Barship Command. I remember" he said, as if coming out of a daze

"Follow protocol, dont speak unless spoken to" of of the zombies barked, and the warmaster dived into him, spinning as he did so so that the zombies body was a shield, albiet a small one.

as the corpse shuddered under the impact of bullets the warmaster screamed in rage and frustration, pushing forwards, scooping up the dead soldiers rifle, turning it on the others.

half a minute later and he was running, hands empty, wrists and ankles still bound by steel cuffs, but the chains between each cuff and the steel belt that ran across the warmaster's waist, were snapped, and the warmaster pushed the sleeves of his prison greys up past his elbows as he ran, purpose flooding his every fibre.

Vengeance on Paorou, Orochi and all who had enslaved him.
The Warmaster ran towards the door, the bitch Inquisitor Natalie his first target.

 

[Asmodeus]

Just peachy. No evidence, no description and no lead. The boy was as useful to Natalie as eye liner. She would have to ship him off to the Teknikan labs - get them to take a look at the skin-damage on his left side. Right now that was the only thing that might yield some answers.

It was either that or kill him. A boy like this couldn't be easily re-classified. His experience made him more than an Ally now, and he was too young to be a Mentor. He didn't know enough to be a Herald, he was too scared to be a Trickster and too weak to be a Shadow. It was a core ethic of the Mad King's society that any criminal should not be executed until he is first considered for re-classification, but frankly Natalie didn't want the paperwork, because that would involve either taking him uptown to the gigolo suites where male Soulmates were housed, or putting him into the Guardian training programme.

Either choice was a pain in the ass.... so for now she'd just buy time - give him to the Teknikan surgeons and see what they could find out.

"Your home is a crime scene. Your possessions are evidence. And your pipes are frozen." There was a twitch across her scarred face, something like a smile, but it may have been the shadows of the candlelight. "Tell me about your neighbour - Zypher. He lives in the apartment above you."

She saw Spammy's brow crease, the same confusion he had shown from the start.

"He's missing," Natalie continued, I want to know where he is."

The prisoner shook his head, too bewildered to find words to answer.

"Your housemate worked as a porter in the Bread Temples. Did he have enemies?"

Again, the boy shook his head.

"An ISAF officer was shot in Madarac Park, a half hour before your landlord reported you returning to the apartment. You don't have a job. Why did you go out last night?"

Spammy curled up, holding his head in his hands, too overwhelmed to answer the detective's pressing questions. Natalie heard the priest behind her shuffle slightly and she turned to take something from him - a ream of paper, a 12 page document bound in crimson leather.

"Your ignorance will be the death of you," she said, approaching Spammy with the document in hand. "Your body will feed the temple furnaces unless you prove yourself useful."

She crouched a few feet from him, one fist clenched and ready to deploy the venomed whips of the Fear Garden. In her other hand, she placed the open document on the floor before the prisoner, and then proceeded to give him the official story.

"Your housemate was murdered by the angelic powers of a man called Asmodeus. He would've killed you too if you didn't get away and call the ISAF. Sign the witness statement, and the Inquisition will show you lenience."

She placed a pen on top of the papers, her hollow eyes watching him.

 

[Kitti]

[size=-2]
The walls now were within sight, the Temple was an enormous place that had imposing outer barriers to protect it from the public. Less from danger than the fact that these high members of society did not want their quiet prayers interrupted by the starving, drug-addled masses. The gates out front were wrought iron and would be difficult, at best, for most members of society to scale. They were locked almost at all times.

Kitti set Grumpy gently at her feet, knowing full well that right now, security was focused on patrolling the areas of concern and reporting findings. They had weakened themselves, though not enough to be overtaken. She didn't need to defeat them though, just to rescue Asmo. She scanned the area from her shadowy position and saw that her options were few.

Gingerly, Kitti let her cloak slide from her body to make a pool of cloth on the ground at her feet just next to Grumpy's still unconscious body. She would need a place to stash him or she'd have to carry him with but she didn't need another ally getting incarcerated. Kitti's eyes flicked around nervously as she ran her fingers over her back. The wings, they had tried to take when they caught her; the wings were sure signs that she was not like the others around her, she was something more and that something, well, it might incite the people.

With great care, Kitti began to peel away the bandages around her wings. They would have had enough time by now to recover if they were like the rest of her body but wings, they were special. Kitti bit her lip to restrain a cry as the gauze ripped loose from the healing skin. Slowly, like a soaking butterfly emerging from a cocoon, her wings unfurled, limply at first. The feathers were untouched by the blood and the feathers looked ironically beautiful. The new growth had made for feathers that were fresh and untainted like those of a baby bird. Soft white stunned Kitti into tears, she hadn't believed that she would ever see her wings again, let alone so lovely.

Tentatively, as though wary of a dream, Kitti reached out one finger to run over the layers of satin feathers, each the color of pure cream. Kitti flapped them a little, watching in awe as they responded. They were weak, like muscles that hadn't been used in a long time, but they quickly caught up as she flapped them more vigorously and she was rewarded with her feet hovering off the ground.

Again, Kitti praised the lightness of the necromancer's body. She touched down on the ground and scooped him into her arms, carrying him easily. She was going to break out Asmo, come hell or high water. Kitti slid several feet down the alley, facing the Temple with a determined stare. A deep breath later, she was darting as fast as her legs could take her and at the end, as she emerged from the alley, she flapped her wings.

Flying again was a glorious feeling and Kitti wanted so badly to revel in the glory of her flight. She soared in the air like an ascending angelwith Grumpy's body cradled in her arms, her eyes turned skyward briefly as little tears hung suspended from her cheeks and then fell dozens of feet to the ground. Then, she was there. Her landing was swift and she knew she had little time. Trying to make as little noise as possible, she slid through the entrance into the Temple.
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[spoiler: Kitti is bailing out Asmo! If anyone has any problems with this, whine in the OOC. :)]

 

[Jack Shade]

He is left to hang, framed on either side by dissidents of past unrest. The Red Spy, Simica...these two bodies no longer move in their individual alcoves. Here they are trophies, triumphs of Religion over the freedom of the once. Orochi no longer casts a sickly green across the room, finished torturing the angel for the moment. Asmodeus cannot move, cannot hope to escape. There is torture in that realization perhaps, a cruel loneliness which will not respond to his tales or words.

Storytellers are always mocked by the silence of their audience.

Not even whimpers escape the corpses on either side of the angel, and so he answers them with his own mute suffering. Is there poetry? Asmodeus is a wordsmith at heart and even in such dire times, no doubt he can cultivate flowers from even blood and splintered flesh.

The steps that sound to the angel do not begin from the door. Orochi has not returned and neither has a curious guard or priest come to stare at the god that was. God that is. God that could be. From the center of the room a man has stepped from air and imagination, only taking a moment to assess his bearings. Asmodeus gazes, eyes trying to unsee what must be a phantom, the aftershocks of the Fear Garden fading from his system. It's a creature from his memories, those times before his ascent...before the world turned dark...just before Diana. He recognizes it not by how it moves or what it looks like but rather from the little he can see of it. Dirty satin layered with the afterthought of golden lining glints in torchlight cast before the angel's hangng form. Only pale skin and heavy-gazed eyes look from clothes and swaddled body. Hijacker, general of the n00b armies Diana sent. Relic old as he and older. Of all the n00bs, Hijackers changed the least from back then...before Gabe retook Iwaku. For some reason they always had to be covered, layered their skin in fabrics. Were they leprous? Albino? Did some curse force them to bind their transient nature to a single form? None lived long enough to say.

All that Asmodeus knew of them was their arrogance, their command, and that their minds among ALL n00bs were those touched by a semblance of dangerous complexity.

It paused, staring hard at the angel and even reaching up to trace a purple layered hand over the arch of his wings.

"You choose oddly appropriate times to reveal yourself," the stranger spoke, a strangely voluminous sound that filled the empty spaces of the room "And yet always find yourself in torture, each time...are you a masochist?"

Asmodeus doesn't speak, still not convinced he hasn't killed this one somewhere in his past. Natalie's poisons are potent in illusion.

The Hijacker frowns with his eyes, skin wrinkling at the edges of his stare, "It would be enough for you to die tomorrow, one last reminder that His world is complete and without Revision."

"Orochi?"

The Hijacker shook his head.

"I cannot see you dying."

"I tr-y not t-to dissapoin-t."

"You deserve it," he said at length, nodding almost to himself "You've murdered hundreds over your various wars. Your ego and your need to impose order has always fueled your actions. My kind suffered greatly under your persecutions, but we were just your enemies. To your allies you gave the Ego virus and poisoned words of higher calling. No one exists that has not been betrayed by you at least once, yourself included."

"The st-story," the angel muttered, lamplight eyes a flicker of what they'd been before, "I act-ed for the C-Cycle and the p-people of Iwaku. Your k-kind are s-savages, lawless c-chaos."

Rearing back with a sudden ferocity, the Hijacker pummeled his fists into Asmodeus's wounds. Gloved fingers tore at the edges of his lacerations and the angel howled.

"The narrative was never yours to write, only Revise...as many have done before you." The Hijacker drew closer to Asmodeus, searching for answers eye to eye, "Think. Others have changed the story in your lifetime, what did they all possess...what do they all have? You always come during times of change and times of upset, can you think of why? Do you even know why? Your pen directs and mediates. Directs and Mediates! Until you understand what you are this Cycle will continue."

Drawing back, the Hijacker looks sharply to the door...to the sound of feet beyond.

He presses an object into Asmodeus's hand, a long thin thing with a pointed end. It cuts his thumb. "I will see you again," the Hijacker promises, "And I will make you understand. If you want to leave this place, remember that you always can. You are an author, you have power...do to this world what you've done to so many others."

He doesn't leave room for questions, simply vanishing as the door opens and Orochi's green glow washes over the room. By that glow, Asmodeus catches sight of what he has been given.

A pen.

He holds a pen in one bleeding hand.


*****************************************************


I hear Ocha before I hear her words, that's the kind of voice you learn to fear if you have something to lose. She turns the honest men crooked and the crooked men straight in this city. Her words aren't just words, they're decrees passed from mouth to wire and wire to ear. I catch the name before I make the final move, Tegan's king limping across the board. I consider ending it, but I toy with her longer than I should have. I want the pawn to checkmate her, I need it to. I'm sure she let it happen somehow, but I want this moment of simplicity. A single subject, lowlier and greater than one could imagine, toppling the distant king.

There is meaning in this victory although I'm not quite sure what kind.

Asmodeus.

The name is shocking but I try not to let it show. I had my suspicions when I fought the fellow on the streets, he moved the same, fought the same...but I didn't let myself believe it then. I swallow the last of the bittersweet tea and find it remarkable how clearly I can hear the rutting of the citizens behind the closed door. It was never so clear before.

I try not to think about it.

Asmodeus will be executed for some inconsequential murder. If I wasn't already having a bad day I might have laughed. An army, countless legends, and a giant Elder scorpion later and the angel is felled by some framed nonsense. I saw the corpse of Glazer and no angel could have killed him. Petrified, inked in stone from head to toe. Not the first victim to show up that way and I doubt it will be the last. So far I haven't gotten a kill order so I'll have to hope whatever it is tries it on me next.

The stomach beetle has ceased its clawing prematurely. Even without more tea to warm it into slumber, it remains eerily inert. The tranquility is suspicious, but I assume Tegan's tea was brewed to instill comfort somehow. She knows that I'm on edge, moreso now than I've been in awhile. Asmodeus is going to be executed, my orders were circumvented by loaf munching fanatics, and I'm pretty sure Kitti is running around town getting herself into more trouble. Even Julez is gone and I can't help but feel guilty for that.

"I can spare the time," I answer her, packing up the game "Ever since the angel hit the streets, ISAF has been a bit more trigger-happy than usual."

A lie, they only act on orders given. There is a distinct lack of passion to their combat.

"But my designation is not Guardian." She knows, but it doesn't hurt to remind. Confused identities could get you killed these days. Everyone to their own, tick tock, tick tock.

Fucking clockwork world.

I want to kill Asmodeus, finish my mission. It's strange to think I'd take pride in this work, but I guess the whole thing has grown on me. I was an ambitious ass back then and I am now, just under a different guise. I smell the energy of the city as we step out of the Gateway, I can't imagine how I've missed it before. Everyone is expectant, as though the city holds a collective breath for some unseen cataclysm. Fire and Stone...I remember.

I check to make sure the sword is at my waist. I'll have work tonight I think.

The comm is silent, my brain only buzzes with my own thoughts. The Council has allowed Asmodeus to be taken. Rare that they change their minds on anything but I suppose criss-crossing religious protocol that aims to kill the angel themselves would be pointless. I pause at the doorway before following Tegan. Three blocks to the Temple in the opposite way she's walking. I could be there in moments.

I follow her graceful shadow, letting old dreams and mentors fall into step behind me. It isn't my responsibility to overcome Asmodeus anymore...our fight has been over a long time. I may relish the chance to triumph over him just once...but it isn't a suicidal compulsion.

Tegan could not see her, neither can I.

I hear her.

There's more than that, I hear it all. I hear the loose raindrops giving definition to the thing in her lap, I hear the echoes sinking into the bite marks on the corpse beside her. I hear the nakedness of the body, how the wind perverts its stream to touch her exposed sex. I hear the derangement in her voice.

Her voice...she uses it again but I think I wish she hadn't.

"A moment, Tegan, if I may."

I don't let her refuse and already my jacket is off my shoulders. I knock the thing from her lap, stuffing and blood in some horrible cobbled creation splatting dully by its body. I wrap the leather around her, not caring if she struggles. Everything today and somehow I can't stomach the idea of letting her be like this anymore. I have no orders to keep her hooked, to keep her whoring and useless. I may have at the beginning, but surely this is too much.

Fuck the Council this time, but I can't just let her sit like this.

I don't feel the reprimanded shock and so I pick her up. It's shocking how weightless she is in my arms, like cloudstuff or feathers. I feel the contours of her butt and I know how long its been since I've been with a woman.

I reign in my mind, now is not the time to think about humanity.

Now is only to act.

"You're coming with me," I breathe it into her neck, dragging her away from the body and this cannibalistic madness I do not want to comprehend. Julez eats the dead and the dead eat the city...and the city chews upon the living in some twisted Cycle. Fuck patterns and fuck narrative coherence. "Please," I plead with her, with myself, "Please don't let me be too late for you."

It's a moment of weakness I'm not proud of...but damnit, it reminds me of how real I still am. I have a beating heart. I am no automaton.

I smell the blood inside her.

Disturbing thought.

Tegan waits for me, her figure dappled in moonlight and mystery. What a sight I must look now, a stark comparison to her untouched grace. Still, at least I feel I've done one thing right tonight.

"My charge," I explain, not sure why I feel I must justify it to her, "She was misplaced and I'll be bringing her along."

I can't draw my sword in this condition but hopefully the ISAF know their place.

I don't expect violence tonight but I'm not counting it out. These streets aren't safe and we all know it, I'm just hoping whatever's out there has enough common sense not to tangle with the Purger. I saved one life tonight (wishful thinking), and I don't feel like balancing it out by killing another.

 

[Cosmic Orion]

After getting his marching orders from Pirogeth before the Herald wandered off, his new Guardian slightly fractured one of his rules. Usually he never left the side of a client unless they were engaged in certain activities that required privacy. Even then he might be just outside a door if it were allowed. Orion took the jobs assigned him very seriously. It was the only way to build up a reputation that would garner future clients down the road. Yet it would have put his client in danger if they he were to not be completely prepared for the mission ahead.

Searching through the room he quickly located Miru standing there in what looked like someone awaiting their execution. But that wasn't completely out of the norm. Very few shifters live after any type of involvement with the ISAF. Death almost went hand in hand with anyone who crossed paths with those soldiers on the wrong side. And while some could fight the zomvie soldiers, many could not hold their ground or even put up resistance beyond words. Everyone knew what defying those soldiers meant. It made them part of the hunted.

"We've been given time to get ourselves equipped for a mission. I need to get a couple things from my apartment. Do you have anything you need from somewhere? It might be the last time you get to go there for a long time. Come with me first though. After what happened earlier I'm not sure you should walk the streets alone."

Orion spoke curtly to Miru, wanting to get the point across quickly. No time for idle small talk that went nowhere until they were already on the move to the Guardian's apartment. Determined by the fact he wanted to fully protect his client, getting his own equipment first became a priority. But he also needed to see just what type of person this shifter was deep down. Piro thought he could be trusted, or at least worthy of rescuing from the ISAF. Orion still needed some convincing since they would be working with this stranger. Just how the poor guy dressed didn't inspire much confidence. . . but that could be blamed on the poverty this city imposed on so many souls.

Every station was broadcasting some type of interview headed up by the famous Ocha as they worked their way across the city. Asmodeus had become a laughing stock to some as those who were afraid before now saw him as someone stripped of powers. Imprisoned in a place that would never see the light of day and mocked as he told history as he remembered it. Nothing really rang a bell in Orion's mind though. It was as if he had never existed until now and yet he had memories of brighter times. Had he lived during those times Asmodeus described and simply never been a major player? Just some surf bum who had likely died off in unspectacular fashion as collateral damage and gone unnoticed? Yet now he felt connected to something larger than he had ever been. It left him feeling uncertain of what was laid out for him in the stars.

Some things appeared to have quieted down a bit. But only on the surface. Underneath everything was still buzzing from the arrival of the Angel. Patrols had decreased down to their normal levels which always seemed a bit overzealous anyway. But soon enough they arrived at what could have been called a studio apartment. Orion walked over to the closet and opened it to reveal a strange looking surfboard with intricate patterns carved into it as though they mapped out something of great importance or a design of great power. Moments passed by from when his hands caressed the smooth surface of a device that had not been used in years. Without warning it responded to the touch of it owner and producing a flash of cosmic light seemed to vanish. Yet it had not entirely ceased to exist.

In the palm of his hand rested a keychain that resembled the surfboard exactly.

"Alright. Let's go."

 

[Hydronine]

I had been waiting quite some time.... He was late...

She wanted to wonder why, but such a complex illusion of trying to figure out the "What ifs" were beyond her right now...

She was too happy. I was much too happy...

A view of two. Seeing as myself and seeing myself from another perspective. She was confused, but it was ok, she heard footsteps nearby.

The rain trails down my skins.... down everything... water washing away the blood from her body. From her dirty, sinful body.

It rose her flesh, hair and flesh standing on end. I knew it was too cold.... and I knew that I needed to make clothes for myself, but she was enjoying it too much.

It felt good... cleansing to her and I both. Why was I dividing myself into two?

Because she can't handle what is going on right now.... she has to hide away... remain.... pure...

And I'm just a monster of a alter-ego...

Or am I? Could I just be striving for complexity, so I fabricate this view in so that I feel special...

I hug the stuffed head again before letting it fall loosely back into my lap, most of the weight of it being caught at my inner thighs and my lower stomach.

I wonder how I must look, how she must look.... But who is dominate in this view? Is it me.... deranged?.... or do I still hold reminders of the past.

Head is spinning... Don't wanna think anymore...

Where is... there he is!

She waits patiently, almost holding her breath. She thinks to say "Surprise" like a little child, who had secretly made breakfast for their parents, but it's too late for that...

I'm disappearing again... only surfacing in times of insanity... it's sad to think that she doesn't think in this way...

but she can't...

The I is disappearing, leaving only herself to think of it as watching herself. Because that's the way things work.

She is a little shocked that he knocked the present from her lap.... did he not like it?

And then she feels leather on her. Clothing. From him.

Was that a reward? Did she do good? She pleased him with that, didn't she? He saw what she could do and he was happy! Why else would he be giving her his jacket? It smelled like him... of old blood... guilt... and adulteration of the simple goals he had so long ago... Something had tampered with him, changed him.... but she wouldn't know what that "something" was. All she knew was that his jacket was warm against her body... the biggest of small comforts.

He picked her up! Actually touching her! That was the first time... besides when she had held onto him with all the might in her tiny body... it was like they had been afraid of skin contact all this time.... she hadn't been offended... but in a sense, they were in the same position. Hers was lower, but just as steeped in shadows and sin as he was. All she could do was snuggle into the warmth he held. Nothing perverted, just seeking out what she no longer held in her body. The rain had washed away her heat.

She wondered idly why she hadn't trembled from the cold, but she dismissed the thought rather quickly.

And....

There it was...

Ha was taking her away. She was frozen by the pleasure of it. He was actually taking her away from all of this. She was happy, and had started to smile when he had started pleading almost, talking about being late...

"S'ok... you're only late to your own redemption, silly." She heard herself murmuring. She didn't know why she said it, but it felt like the right thing to say. It felt like something he wanted to hear.

She leaned her head against his chest, her silver hair was a dusted brown because of the muck she was forced to endure. Her eyes were bloodshot and her body was covered in bruises, lacerations, scratches and scars. One might be drawn to stare at some of the scars on her breasts. Bite marks. Something much more savage than her had bitten her while she had been in the midst of her duties. No. Her job. She believed her duty called to something higher...

Or at least, she hoped it did...

"She doesn't think you're too late... she just was waiting... she doesn't want to dabble with drugs anymore... she has something better! She can make everything soft and fluffy... pure!" She rambled against Jack's chest, smiling up at him.

"She made a stuffed animal! It's all fluffy... but it's too dead... and she ate most of it.... So it didn't work! But.... it's ok... to eat if you're hungry... right?" TK looked up at Jack, her questioning eyes boring into his while the obvious hunger in her stomach was clearly displayed by the sunken cavity where her belly was. Her profession was obvious from how she looked... from the basic way her eyes seemed to have lost a simple glimmer in them

"She doesn't wanna be hungry anymore..." She continued quietly. After a moment, "She misses Rory." Her continued use of third person pronouns speaking of her personal disassociation with herself.

Though when he called her his charge, she didn't know how to feel... the associations with that one word... her history...

"Is she still going to have to walk the streets? It's getting cold... she's not making much money anymore... no one wants her.... And..... and she's afraid of the bread... refuses to eat it...Will she have to.... to kill more?" TK tried not to cry... she thought that she was done with it, with being weak. With showing this softness. But still the tears came, and her breathing became uneven and ragged, gasping while still trying to hush herself.

"She is sorry for being a burden.... She is sorry for being weak... she is sorry for trying to find a way to be free of this.... or to change something about this situation... but she is tired of this... she's tired of selling herself for money and for drugs... She's tired of being hungry... tired of being jeered at and.... and hurt.... Did she do something to deserve this?" She asked in between sobs and gasps. "She's tired and feels like she's not wanted... and drugs don't help with that... she's sorry... she's sorry and she wants help... she's afraid of having to kill again... she doesn't want to..." She murmured her small bony fingers gripping onto Jack as if he was the only person there, like he was the only person that could save her.

"Is she going to get in trouble for eating when she was hungry?"

 

[Spammy]

There's a lot of things people tell themselves so that they feel better about themselves.

Spammy's brows knotted in confusion as Natalie set the statement and the pen down, telling him the story. He didn't know much about the situation, but he realized that the Asmodeus she referenced must have been the guy with the wings who took his keys. No, he hadn't killed Glazer, hadn't tried to kill him, and Spammy definitely hadn't gone and contacted the ISAF. So far as he knew, Asmodeus hadn't done anything but be on the wrong side of the "law."

But this... Tell a lie, say an innocent man is guilty, maybe get out of this hellhole? Could he do that? People tell themselves a lot of things so that they feel better about themselves. And people tell themselves they were better than this. That they'd do the right thing. That there'd be no question about it.

But questions were the only thing on Spammy's mind right now. It sickened him to know that he was seriously considering this. But what could he do? He didn't know Asmodeus all that well, had never met him before, had only known him for about ten minutes. Was it worth staying here to try and protect a stranger? And besides, he'd seen him fight, and the treatment he got from the soldiers... this was just a formality, they would probably find any excuse to do whatever it was that they were going to do to him. So why not profit from it?

His hand started to reach for the pen, hesitated, then grabbed it firmly. He flipped through the witness statement, signed his name where ever it was needed, focused on thoughts of freedom and not what signing this would mean. When he finished, he shut the leatherbound ream, held it and the pen up for her to take, lifted his eyes up to hers. The left felt a little fuzzy, but they had a new look to them: Hope.

 

[MiraMirror]

Miru sniffed the air as Pirogeth left the room, but could only catch the scent of clean, sterilized air as the doors slid shut, leaving him alone with Orion. He was unsure how to react in such an occassion, and simply stood with his arms pinned to his side, fear abundant on his face. When he was asked if he had anywhere to go, he looked to the window, staring at this cursed city. It had a way of sucking away any happy memories from its inhabitants, and that's exactly what it had done to Miru's, for the most part. He stuttered at the beginning, as he tried to explain to Orion:

"All...all I remember is the C-Box...I had to do things...They owned me...They...they still own me...And if I didn't do....what I was supposed to do, I got punished..."

It was obvious that the punishment had affected his brain ever-so-slightly, as he talked about the matter like someone younger than he was. It was also the only place he could remember living, so being removed from it made him sad, which showed.

"I can't remember anything else...."

On the trip to Orion's destination, Miru couldn't help but stare at the newscast, showing some form of angel. He stopped walking with Orion, entranced by the news, watching blankly while Orion continued onward. It was a few minutes before he realized Orion was gaining distance, causing Miru to sprint on all fours to close that distance. He had never seen the angel before, but he felt something odd, something that contrasted with the hopeless mood of this city.

They finally reached a small apartment, which they both entered. Miru stared at Orion as he grabbed a strange keychain, shining with light for a few moments. He glanced at the oddity as he waited for their next move.

 

[Torsty]

"Ladies....Gents." Gudrun interrupts the last break-period of their schedule. It's time for the last topic of today, probably the most important subject to be discussed for the last ten years. "As you all know..." Gudrun looks back down on her paper, pauses and continues, clearly a bit nervous about what she's about to say. "As you all know, "the media" has accused our friends at the cbox for causing danger to one of the council-members..." She pauses again. "They say we have broken the truce that has enabled us to make our precious home what it is today. According to Idmund we'll have to wait to see what their next move against us will be."

Some of the attendants chuckles, sighs and shakes their heads in disbelief. Though manipulating news in an authoritarian society such as Iwaku City is common, this is still a new feeling to them. Being semi-allies with the Mad King might have made them lower their guard after all.

"We need to discuss what we will do to defend ourselves if so be needed against an attack from the overwhelming forces of the ISAF. Any suggestions?"

Hjalle raises his hand and speaks with a calm, decisive voice.
"I say taking an offensive strategy is the best way to handle this. If we can disable the ISAF, we'll have a much easier way to defend ourselves against the cultists. No matter if the Bread Cultists and ISAF work together, the fact remains that the ISAF is still to be considered as mercenaries or aiding soldiers of the king."

"But their fucking zombies!" Someone replies critically.

"Correct..." Hjalle continues. "..but if we can take down their leadership, they will A, subdue to us, most unlikely. B, disband and

​

[NOT FINISHED...]​

 

[Cosmic Orion]

Orion had listened to Miru speak about his past but did not say anything about it right away. Part of it came from not knowing what to say when confronted with a story like that. He knew what sorts of dark dealings went on but facing the victims of those arrangements never really got any easier for him to stomach on the inside. But on the outside he could actually be seen as somewhat hardened against it. For the various clients that could hire him he needed to be capable of dealing with all sorts of horrifying situations without breaking down or losing control of his emotions.

Protection of others required a certain clarity of mind

Still inside the apartment, he looked over at Miru just as they were about to leave his apartment. Finally the state Miru was in actually sank into the blonde's mind fully past all the barriers. Trickster class always seemed to have death around the corner and while they likely needed protection more than anyone else. . . not many could afford to pay. Yet right now the Guardian realized his current situation granted a slight loophole that his more generous nature wanted to take advantage of to express a kindness from long ago and beyond the stars.

The closet which had contained the surfboard along with some random clothes of his was re-opened.

"Well whoever owned you cannot punish you anymore. Through your association to Pirogeth, my services extend to you as well. If you don't understand that I'll make it even simpler. I'm a guardian for hire, and you're now one of my clients."

He looked into the assortment of clean clothes and then looked back to Miru.

"Take some clothes if you want. And maybe a shower wouldn't hurt either."

 

[Tegan]

I am by no means superstitious. I believe in divine foreshadowing. We are, after all, in someone else's story. Naturally, the writer leaves clues for us to follow, if we have the presence of mind to notice them. Asmodeus' trial-by-radio, the Purger's victory-they're not coincidence. They're choices.

It was a fork. A piece for a piece. The rook or the pawn. Asmodeus or this girl. I'm pleased with the Purger's choice, and relieved that I took that gamble.

I slip away from the two, allowing them a moment's privacy, to inspect the strange shape in the alley.


It isn't the face that gives it away - there's nothing recognizable in that gorey pulp.

It's the radio, lying in a pool of blood. Red light blinking.

It's her, Mogno. The one who was supposed to help Feral deliver the head. The one who went missing. What did they do to her?


There's no time to think about it. Not when I have the Purger standing behind me in the street, cradling a blood-drenched addict. He's too preoccupied with his charge to properly destroy the remains. Another clue for Inquisitor Natalie to find. Sloppy, Purger.

Blood, bone, flesh, stuffing, metal, plastic are gradually incinerated by celestial light. I catch the reflection of my glowing eyes in the rain drops. There's nothing left in the alley. Nothing for the Inquisition, nothing for the n00bs. No one will know what happened to the Spammer Mogno. This girl. She's a piece to the puzzle.

I begin manipulating the light around them as I rejoin the pair in the street. The Purger notices it right away. The slight warmth that envelops them both, the smell of clean rain, the pulsing, distant heartbeat. He knows I've cloaked them in my light, in an illusion. He might be distracted by the girl, but he is no fool.

"Pardon the intimacy. We'll avoid a lot of questions this way."

On cue, a man rounds the corner. I recognize him, he works in the Gateway. He passes us by without a single glance.

I try not to look directly at them. I feel like an intruder.

Who is this girl to him? Just an assignment? No, he wouldn't hold an assignment that way. Perhaps the Purger does have a heart left.

The tea. . . I almost regret giving it to him, now. I've signed his death warrant; though many would say he deserves this fate, he's still the closest thing I have to a friend in this city. Part of me still hopes he'll defy my expectations, and survive.


I remind myself that every moment with him, every breath, each heartbeat, could be my last. That any moment he will grow bored of our game, and end it with a brief flash of steel that I won't be fast enough to dodge.

It's not death that I fear. It is the waking in some other place. Of having nearly reached the end, of almost solving the puzzle-

I'm close to the end, now. I can solve the puzzle. I can't afford to wake up.

I have to keep the game interesting.

 

[Asmodeus]

The first night at the Shapeshifter Safehouse had passed quietly, with the exception of Piroko trying to stretch her legs and being told by five armed guards that she wasn't leaving her room without a blindfold. The 'guests' were given rooms in the cold, dilapidated warehouse that the gang called their headquarters, spending the night on damp mattresses and wrapped in vermin-mauled sheets. By morning Torsty, Zypher and Piroko were looking worse for wear, but a breakfast of stale coffee and staler bread kept the pneumonia at bay. By mid-morning the three were sitting on packing crates in the centre of the warehouse as Shifters of all breeds and temperaments arrived around them.

A meeting had been called, Myrn sending the word to every corner of the ghetto. Whatever this raid was that he had planned, it was a big one.

"Okay, let's get started," The first mutter to break the silence was Myrnodyn's. The man was standing by the window, where dull twilight caught his haggard face. He looked even worse than the others - the telltale marks of insomnia and alcoholism. And something more... some other burden that he could not speak of. "Do you have the items?"

Opposite him, a group of Wererats came forward. It was the same cadre that had stopped the newcomers on the square last night. By their weapons and their posture Torsty guessed them to be of some standing here - maybe even a faction unto themselves.

"Only twelve were finished. But it should be enough," the alpha rat answered, placing on one of the packing crates the object he had brought. The other Shifters moved closer to get a look. It was a clay vase, fashioned by hand and painted with gold leaf designs. He put it down carefully, the tremble of his hand showing that it was heavier than it seemed. "Half a pound of semtex in each. Slow burn fuse wire moulded on the inside. About two minutes to get clear."

"You boys planning to blow something up?" Zypher asked, raising her eyebrow at the rat, then at Myrnodyn. But Myrn only looked away, veiling the pain behind his eyes.

The Wererat, meanwhile, gave Zypher only a passing glance before continuing, "We'll use seven in the main chamber, then two to breach the first and second kitchen." he motioned at the viking next to Zypher. "With Torsty's help we can get the last bomb into the Hall of Skhone..."

"Wait," Torsty interrupted, turning from the rat to look at Myrnodyn. "You told me this was about stealing weapons? Why do you need this much explosive?"

Again, Myrnodyn looked away, his arms folded and his shoulders sunk. "It's not that simple, Torsty."

"This isn't just about stealing bread and weapons," The Alpha Rat picked up the vase and handed it to one of his pack. "This is about revenge. The Shifters have been made the clowns and vagrants of this city - the dancing monkeys for the Mad King. Well, tonight we'll give him something to laugh about. The more civilians we kill in the Hall of Hunger, the more afraid the people will be to step inside foot the temples. We'll bleed the Bread Cult dry, one bombing at a time."

* * * * * *​

Another smile, twitching and imperceptible, crossed the scarred face of the Inqusitor. Natalie took back the book and pen and rose to her feet. "You have done your city proud." she said, before heading out of the cell and leaving Spammy in darkness once again.

On the outside, as the door was shut, Natalie turned to the Bread Priest who was snuffing out the candle. "I want him moved to the Teknikan Lab. Have him cleaned up and ready for transfer in ten minutes."

Giving no space for argument she turned and strode down the hall, passing a window where the silhouette of Kitti had just vaulted the perimeter wall. Natalie might have noticed it, had her phone not rung at that precise moment. Looking down, she pulled the device from her pocket and saw the incoming call from the Inquisition tech wing.

"Anything?"

"No Maam. We pulled apart the CCTV network but we can't work out who's hacking it. They've covered their tracks too well."

"Then why did you ring me?"

"We did a spectral scan of the apartment complex. Turns out there was a Class 4 Deviant incursion on the street outside. Someone stretched reality just before Asmodeus was captured."

"So?"

"Well, it's not like a Noob to be in that part of town. And what's more, there's a report of reality bending during the Cbox incident. And then there's the rumours about a murder at the Markov Ma-"

"Are you deliberately wasting my time, or do you just enjoy the sound of your own voice?"

"Well... it's just... sorry, but... I think the readings might be linked to the Medu--"

"Know your place, Herald!" Natalie snapped into the phone. "It is not your job to make assumptions. Come back to me when you've found the hacker." She ended the call abruptly and continued down the hallway.

It wasn't long before the phone rang again... an urgent call from the ISAF command centre.

* * * * * *​

For a moment he thought he had been shot. JackShade staggered slightly, almost losing his grip on Julez, his foot ending up in a deep puddle. The splitting headache scrambled his 'vision' and the whispers came flooding in.

"Warsevonlooseriflekilledsrtreetbarloc... Severdus... Warmaster... Guardian ID#49712... breach of protocol..."

Tegan turned and looked back at JackShade, seeing him half on and half off the pavement, his foot submerged in the puddle as he struggled to hold Julez. She could see the anguish on his face, as if an old wound had split and left him rooted to the spot.

But JackShade endeavoured and, with the focussing exercises he had learned over the years, he filtered through the flood of whispers.

"...three ISAF fatalities... unarmed... heading west... Paulus Street... 7 minutes prior to transmission... Validation Nic10283Cpr... PURGE IMMEDIATELY... PURGE IMMEDIATELY... PURGE IMMEDIATELY."

The Shadow's next mission had arrived.

* * * * * *​

Orochi's back... and he's brought some friends. A whole trolley of them. The sadistic bastard wheels in a cart of freshly baked goods - cinammon loaves and flapjack cake, brownies and toasted crumpets. Muffins of fragrant blueberry and waffles dripping with butter and sugar. The aroma forces its way down my throat like a crowbar prizing through every chamber of resolve.

I drool... I swallow... my mouth becomes a desert and my insides growl. Oh God, I'm starving... just one little bite... please...

"Not long now, Asmodeus." Orochi says as he lifts a scone and bites into it, the crumbs falling between us. "The Mentors are doing their final checks. Once we are sure that your reputation is in tatters, we can move on to the main event."

It doesn't take an English student to read between the lines. He means my execution.

"Of course..." he continues, coming close as he bites into a waffle, the butter and sugar oozing down his chin. "You could always speed things up. Tell me about this Coffeecake character. Was it unrequited love? Or did you ever get inside his robes?"

My face is locked in a glare... not because of his insult, but through pure concentration. I'm willing him to get a little closer. The pen the Hijacker gave me is held in the only place where he won't see it... clenched at the tip between my toes with the shaft lying flat to my sole. My legs are only loosely chained... enough slack for a kick. One kick. It's all I'll need.

Come on, you bread-munching bastard. Just a little closer...

I don't know who that Hijacker was or what he wants from me... but I'll be damned if I'm gonna miss my ride on the Deus Ex Machina.

 

[Tegan]

The front door to the Roleplay Gateway opened with a jingle of old iron bells. Piotr, the aging barman stepped inside, only to be greeted by his part-timer standing behind the bar, slack-jawed staring, and looking as if she'd just seen a ghost.

"Something the matter, Delphi?"

The younger woman shook her head, forcing herself from her trance.

"Do not tell me you didn't see him in the street-he just left!"

"See who?" Piotr was beginning to think that the young woman had been slipping some of the brew.

"The Purger! He was here!" Delphi seemed to be having a difficult time breathing. She kept sputtering and choking on her words.

"Really? I didn't see him," Piotr peaked out the door, into the street.

Delphi ceased her sputtering long enough to regard him with suspicion. Perhaps he had been sneaking the brew. . .

"You're being awfully calm about this."

Piotr's laughed boomed throughout the empty bar. "I keep forgetting that you haven't been working here that long."

The older man joined her behind the bar and withdrew a notepad from his pocket. He spoke to her absently as he checked the inventory.

"Purger's been coming here for years: every once in a while, he'll come in, order a cup of tea, then sit in the back for a few hours, just plays chess all by himself."

"Oh. . ."

"Don't worry, you'll get used to having the Devil himself here. Just don't speak to him and you'll be fine."

 

[Zypher]

[dash=#483d8b]Zypher had spent a haggard night in the lair of the shapeshifters so when the time came for the meeting she was more then relieved. It was awful traveling everywhere with an escort and blindfold.

The plan unfolded as the meeting conversed and Zypher's gaze couldn't help but jump to Myrn more then the wererats. He didn't seem pleased with how things were working out...

"You boys planning on blowing something up?" She asked the rats as they explained their "acquisitions", knowing what most of those components lead up to. Of course she was brushed aside, even in the downtrodden she felt like a second class citizen, but what did that make her if she was a second class citizen amongst the second class? Third class? The undeserving of acknowledgment?

"Revenge? This is what this is about? How do the innocent people deserve that? They only do what the mad king tells them! They're stuck between starving from the bread cult and being shot by the ISAF. If you really wish to kill those that have nothing to do with your plight then I'll be leaving. I have the soulmates to protect. Anyone who thinks this is a bad idea can come with me, but I refuse to stay any longer. I'll wait a half an hour outside for anyone who reconsiders but after that I can't stay and be a part of this mindless destruction." Zypher shook her head and let one of the shifters blindfold her and lead her to the outside where she intended to make good on her promise to wait for anyone else. With a quick check to her guns to make sure they were loaded in case she had a random rendezvous with a wandering ISAF officer.[/dash]

 

[Neko Archy]

[DASH="blue"]I keep my head down and avoid eye contact as I enter the Temple. These are the people responsible for feeding the city, keeping it from famine and mass riots.

And it's here that I get to really grasp how horrible this city is.

There's a decent crowd right now, each of them praying or negotiating with priests for meager amounts of food. As I pass by I'm pretty sure I overhear the price of a month's worth of loaves being set at an hour with a virgin.

But I'm not here for food; if I need it I can always just go somewhere where the entire world's population isn't shoved into one city. No, I'm here for something else entirely.

If these people were well-fed, they wouldn't be very likely to rebel...this is just excessive cruelty on the part of this government. It would only take a few temples lost to destroy the food supply for the entire city and trigger a wave of chaos. With a bit more poking and prodding, there's nothing that could allow the Council to keep their hold on power.

That's the basis of my plan to deal with this world, and this is the first step to that end. I'm going to need to know the security measures on each of the temples and how to defeat them if I want to pull this thing off right.

Briefly, I notice a heavily scarred woman walk by, and I quickly turn around. It's that investigator from before...what's she doing here? Does the Bread Cult run an inquisition or something?

Another odd thing I notice; despite the portcullis, security only really exists after the first chamber. Nobody checked my ID coming in, but there's checkpoints on all the ways deeper into this building. Only a few people go through there, compared to the wide open gates at the front.

I sit down on a pew next to a fervently praying man. "Hey, do you know why those guys get to go on through?"
He only intensifies his pleas to Skone, and I start to get a bit worried that he'll attract attention to us.
"Hey, it's just a simple question.."
"Be quiet! Do you want to be put in the furnace?" His voice is a harsh whisper, but it raises another question for me.
"They put people in the furnace?"
"Yes! Now be quiet!"

I'm quiet for a bit while I think on what to do. I had planned to wait and gather forces and intelligence before making my move, but they're burning people alive in this building even as I sit here and think out my plans.

What the hell. I'm in this world as an agent of chaos, destruction, and maybe rebirth. I've got crazy yahoo superpowers, a gun, and a little bit of a misguided sense of justice. If there was a time to do something, now would be it.

So I stand up, and I fire one shot into the ceiling.
"Everyone! I'll be destroying this entire building in the next few minutes. Now's the time to get running, if you want to live through today."

Instantly I am greeted by the blank stares of everyone present. They can't quite believe what I'm doing, and can't even conceive of what I'm about to do. The two guards on the front door start to walk briskly towards me, their religious finery setting them apart from everyone in the crowd.

Good. That makes this next part that much easier.

A bullet goes to each of them, straight into the eye.

It's then that the crowd realizes that not only do I plan on doing what I say I do, I have the skills to actually do it. Or at least kill them. They panic, flooding out the front doors while the priests either flee or head off to raise alarms.

I have to wonder; did the angel expect me to take my freedom and assault the Bread Cult on their home territory?

No matter. The zealots are starting to arrive. It's gonna be a long night....[/DASH]

 

[Kitti]

[size=-2]
It was almost surreal to Kitti as she stepped over the threshold of the Temple. The guards had been unprepared for the infiltration of a pair over the gate. Not as though Grumpy had been of any use though; Kitti had found it necessary to set him down to continue fighting but he almost got her injured and captured defending him. She'd had to act swiftly to keep the men from raising an alarm and even still, she knew it would not be long until their presence was missed. They had to hurry. This was the place of fear and of oppression, one that represented in a real way the tyranny of the government. Fear even now wormed its way into her heart, the distress not so much of being captured but that if they were captured, Asmo might well be stuck here for the rest of his short life. That is, until they executed him.

Doubts plagued her mind, tormenting her with the thought of the angel rotting in a cell until they figured out how to kill him. She almost thought of turning back, waiting until there were others or for even a sign or until Grumpy woke up...
It seemed a sign to her then that Grumpy, at long last, stirred in her arms.

Kitti made certain he was quiet by clamping her hand over his mouth, leading to some flailing on his part while she tried to set him on the ground. She shook her head at him and indicated the room enclosing them. Questions were in his gaze as he looked around and realized that they were here, this was the place where dreams died and people were broken.

Kitti led him along the hallways, skulking around until smell led her to the great bakery. A pang hit her stomach, though she was not starving, reminding her that she could still do with eating. This torment made her mouth water with the wafting promise of gratification. She knew how awful it must be for the starved prisoners, being taunted with the scent of a full stomach in its sweetest forms, from rolls to waffles and all manner of sweetmeat.

A man entered the bakery while Kitti was watching the food enviously. She fretted a little with fear of capture, all the while watching the figure stocking a cart of these treats. It wasn't until a moment later that she realized that this was an opportunity in disguise. Fortune seemed to have aligned themselves with Kitti's mission and glee danced through her veins. Orochi. There he was, exiting the bakery with the heavenly scented bread on a little rolling trolley. It her inferences were correct, he was headed for the dungeons or whatever they were keeping their prisoners captive inside, designs set on punishing their basic instincts with the delicious smell of food that they couldn't have.

At a distance, Kitti trailed Orochi, Grumpy in tow. The arrogance of the regime would at least be a boon to her - it was clear that they didn't think anyone would infiltrate this hellhole. Kitti smiled darkly to herself, feeling a vengeance within that could be sated at the same time that she accomplished her true goal. Orochi's betrayal had never received due punishment.

Must focus, she corrected herself. Sweet revenge would be secondary. Asmo was the important thing here and even if Orochi had to escape untouched, Asmo's escape would be humiliating enough. As Kitti padded along, she looked in awe at the surroundings. This hall was a tribute to the citizens whose class placed them at the top of society but in following Orochi, they began to move away from the heart of the splendor.

Anticipation made her feel weak in the knees but fear did the rest. If Orochi did not hurry, the incapacitated guards would be found and their presence would be known. Fortunately, he seemed to have reached his destination and disappeared from view. With bated breath, Kitti and Grumpy listened to what he had to say.


​

[/size]

 

[Pirogeth]

From one unreasonable group into another. At least this lot had hope and that is something rare to come by now. Piroko couldn't stay silent much longer, after all their plan was not the best. "Your goals are great but getting there you sound like a fire fly trying to muster enough strength to light up a coliseum. Those bombs they will get us in but getting out is a separate story. In addition the Bread Cult thrives on flames both of cooking and of war. These bombings will just give them the more reason to take over what is left." Piroko's concern came from her month spent within the temple conditioning her to lose hope. It was no wonder she was skeptical of the plan. Instead of being the troll in the room Piroko made a new suggestion. "You might need a slightly bigger distraction. Sorry to say but there is no way of coming out of the Temples without some casualties."

----------

Both Weavel and Pirogeth made it down the hallway before spotting something else of intense significance. "Weavel what's the date today?" The Advisor asked his skin turning slightly pale.
"The thirteenth, why?"
"That's why." Pirogeth pointed to a man dressed in uniform. He wore a gown of sorts decorated with the most vibrant crimson. He wore equally red gloves and his hair was covered by a replica of an old mask that would probably be used for super heroes. "It is the High Councilman's Monthly Inspection." Weavel seemed equally as worried. Both tried to move forward quicly past the first guard but as soon as they made it to the front door they knew they could not avoid him much longer. It almost seemed as if a parade was going on. The streets had been cleared straight down the middle and even the bureaucrats had stopped to look. The two had no choice, they joined the crowd on the side and remained until he passed by.

Lucky for them it was not long until he came into sight. The sheer aura he gave off would paralyze any lesser man with fear. The black hair, thin smirk, and wide eyes were the face of this world. The Mad King himself, Paorou, made his way up the stairs. The doors closed immediately behind him as his personal guard, the Crimson Cadre, took up positions behind him. The crowd dispersed but Pirogeth had one last matter he had to attend to. The General of the ISAF approached him in the streets. Obviously Paorou made sure it was only the High Councilman he was talking to.
"Pirogeth I would like to talk to you for a moment." He had not much of a choice. So both Weavel and him followed him to a diner close to his home.
"Alright what do you want to talk about?"
"You're the last person I want to have do this, but as it turns out I have no other choice." His voice seemed to be filled with sincere disgust. He could not blame the general, his actions had always come into conflict with the ISAF's missions. "The ISAF is not as solid as people would think. Out of the thirty six Emissaries in the ISAF, Only nineteen still remain loyal to the Council and thus me."
"Can't you talk to the Mediators? I'm sure if you convince them they will convince their six Emissaries to be loyal." The idea was sound but the General seemed to already confront that idea.
"Yes I tried that. If that worked I would not be here asking for your help. It seems that Natalie must be one of these separatists. You know her, she comes to my office every once in awhile."
"Yes I know her."
"She has made a move, one that allies herself with the Bread Cult. If she is doing this alone or with the others I do not know. I want you to figure out what is going on there while you condition the boarders."
"Very well, General. I'll seek out your information, what is a Herald for?" The General merely nodded and returned to his station, outside the main hall. "Well let's get back Weavel, looks like I'll need your help."

 

[Jack Shade]

Words erupt from nothing where they shouldn't, sound never touching empty air vibrating in my skull. Receiving messages is never pleasant, I much prefer the dot scarred paper. Julez is saying something to me, lost...lost. her voice is only murmurs in a landfill of static. I brace my feet against the earth and remind myself I live on solid ground. I see nothing, hear nothing, and only touch reminds me I still have to breath. I'm still alive.

The repetition is unnecessary, but I suppose urgency has its redundancies. I let Julez out of my arms hesitantly, memorizing the contours of her little body and the way her feet wince when they touch damp stone. She is alive, now more than ever. Her voice had nothing to do with vivacity, it was a simple need or drive to excuse herself...to explain. She could have done it in words or pantomimes but I see the hint of intelligence I thought lost from her.

Tegan is waiting, almost expectantly. I wonder if she set this up somehow, and if we're still playing the game of chess. Friend and enemy, we hug with one hand and dangle daggers with the other. She doesn't bare her teeth and I don't bare mine, we operate on mutual vows of assumed ceasefire. I'm not all that smart, or at least I don't believe I am. I have no mind for her wit and plotting, only a sword and a growing rot in my stomach...nothing more. I think she'd like Asmo, both of them always putting value into every interaction. She lacks his passion and he lacks her subtle deviancy. Perfect lovers, they'd poison each other in their sleep.

I'm not sure if I like that vision or not, I don't give it much thought.

"Take her to my house, she'll be safe there." I do not ask her. Her magic has already proved to me she could walk these streets naked and perhaps never be seen. She needed no Guardian...or Purger for that matter. I fear what lies ahead for me down the road, the unknown of her possibilities, the anomaly of this venture. As soon as I speak the words I know they are mistaken. Tegan has no use for a huddled skeleton of past addiction. No burned out junkie would motivate her hand.

"Nevermind," I correct, holding Julez closer, "You'll have to carry on from here alone...I am needed."

I do not elaborate, have no need. I'm sure she has her sources which will tell her soon enough. I scoop up Julez and place her on my back, instruct her to hold tight. There is need of both hands. My destination is not far from me and will put me on a path to the temple. To Asmodeus.

Oft times I wonder if perhaps he was right all along, that nothing happens without reason...that there is structure in every action we accomplish. Unwittingly we write his story with every breath and clash of steel. If so he is a poor writer, giving symbolism through sorrow and ending only through great sacrifice. This world deserves a lighter tale and yet I know if he has a hand in this...we will only live a tragedy, greater meaning hidden in our personal failings.

"Thank you for the evening," I finish, it is paramount tradition, "Next week perhaps?"

There is no answer, though I imagine she may have given one. My attention is drawn with the shouting of tinny voices, vibrating my lobes.

"I miss Rory too," I say to Julez, already moving, "But you must be strong without him...we all must be."

Warmaster is an old friend, but not one I have spoken with in some time. I heard he was the Council's dog, no surprise there, but it makes me wonder why he's gone rogue now. Asmodeus springs to mind, the whisper demon masquerading as an angel, but I try to rationalize that there is another reason. I can't accept that so many would throw away their lives just to suckle on the angel's penchant for conflict. Iwaku suffers, but it certainly needs no more strife within it. Revolution would leave the city lifeless and the populating scattered. I cannot allow such foolhardy measures to be taken.

Not on account of some feathered Trickster, drunk on his own image and irresponsibility.

I hear the Warmaster crashing through the streets, marauding his way towards the temple. Above him I set Julez upon the roof of an apartment, pat her briefly on the head. I don't even have time to say 'stay', but I hope she understands. The blade is drawn and the rayskin wrappings lather nostalgia in my grip. This may not be an easy fight, but the advantage is mine.

Wind lashes my face as I plummet from the roof, cutting off his advance with the dirtied edge of my blade.

"Warmaster," I speak, not introduction necessary, "Will you not submit without a fight? I do not want you to suffer."

Please resist.

Please resist

I beg that he resist.

I want to make him bleed, make him whimper, make him suffer.

The thoughts are so alien they throw off my guard. I'm not used to such savagery and the images in my brain are repulsively vivid. Is this the Council? Do they seek to corrupt the last sanctum I hold?

No time to question, no time to dodge.

He's coming.

 

[Asmodeus]

From the shadows a growl, thunderous and blood-chilling, makes Orochi turn. It's at the very moment I'm bringing up my foot to strike. Panicked by his sudden withdrawal and the terror of that noise beyond him, my foot unclenches and the pen drops from between my toes and rolls beneath the trolley.

Shit! Shit shit shit shit shit!

"What is it?" Orochi speaks into the catacomb darkness, but something is already moving. In torchlit patches I see it... the thing he was stroking earlier... majestic sweeps of musculature painted by fire. The dungeon shakes with a mounting charge and it crosses in front of me, its passing toppling the food trolley and rattling my chains. I can't help it... I've closed my eyes... quaking as it roars again. But the very fact I'm still alive in the presence of such a beast tells me that it's sniffed out an all-so-sweeter prey...

* * * * * * * *​

Archy's gunfire had pulled the guards from the Temple of Skhone. But that was as far as Kitti's luck would stretch. She heard the growl and felt the ground shake, but she had barely taken a breath before the darkness of the catacombs spewed forth the behemoth. The creature, twelve foot long and built like a rhinoceros, bounded up the flight of stone steps from the catacombs, crimson fur bristling into light. With wings unfolding it leapt to the threshold of the Skhone Chamber and the intruders therein.

"Jesus Christ, it's a lion!" Grumpy got in front of Kitti, barging her aside as the lion pounced. His other hand sent a pulse of necromantic energy, but it did nothing to slow the beast. The lion's jaws closed around the Necromancer shoulder and lifted him from the ground. By the time Kitti had got her footing Grumpy was being savaged like a ragdoll. She heard bone cracking with crescendo ease and then, with a cry, Grumpy was tossed over its shoulder and left to crash down the stone steps and into darkness... a broken and discarded toy.

She was alone. Getting upright again, Kitti was swallowed in the shadow of Orochi's pet and protector... Dandelion.

* * * * * * * *​

Suddenly the rush exploded backwards, like one wave crashing against another. A dozen of the peasants trying to flee from Archy were sent tumbling in the opposite direction, their flesh slashed and their eyes black with venom. And as they fell Natalie stood among them, the whips of her Fear Garden clearing the space around her. Stepping over the convulsing bodies, the Inquisitor extended the pistol in her other hand.

Archy was already running, her feline grace dodging bullets that shattered lanterns and ruptured pew and pillar. Natalie had unloaded a full clip by the time the Neko got to cover, and three other civilians lay between them now, clutching bullet wounds and pleading for deliverance. Natalie paid them no heed, her black eyes fixed on the pillar where Archy hid. She motioned to the other Bread Priests, who had arrived from the adjoining corridors with power-pins and boltguns. "TEAR THE NEKO STRAY APART!"

Like chorus to her prelude, the Bakers opened up, and Archy plunged into a world of fire and thunder.

* * * * * * * *​

"Whatever casualties there are... we accept." The Alpha Wererat replied to Piroko. Zypher was already being led out, blindfolded but resolute in her opposition to the terrorist act. But sadly she was in the minority, as most had gathered now with the explosive vases, wrapping them for the journey and preparing other weapons and supplies. Myrnodyn seemed to slip further into shadow, his face grey with apathy and unable to return Torsty's stare.

For two decades we've suffered," the Wererat continued. "You don't reason with the Bread Cult. You don't play mind games or conduct surgical strikes. You hurt them and hurt their followers. You burn their factories and smite their congregations. They declared this war on us, but they'll see we have the tougher skin."

A concurring snarl went up from the other Shifters, seasoned with the rattling of oil drums and hilts on armour. And even as the noise filled the warehouse the crackling of a radio could be heard. The first reports were coming in of the disturbance at the Temple.

The window of opportunity was open.