Schnee Corp Lawyer
STILL not over Birthright's ending
Shiki Ryougi had never been one to improperly assess a threat. Eyes that could discern mortality were all well and good; but they were a curse, an affliction, a freak mutation brought on by a freak accident. They had a bothersome tendency of ending up useful in more situations than she'd have liked, but as far as she was concerned they'd always been a thing that had happened to her rather than an aspect of her being, and that was as much thought as she was ever willing to give them.
No matter how much she, deep down, knew otherwise.
Eyes that could size up an enemy, though? Those were something the Ryougi clan heiress had worked for years to attain, and they served a dual purpose within the context of her bloodline. The first pertained to their human dealings; the front that had, in time, become her clan's main area of focus, the status as a yakuza family of some prestige that her father and grandfather had carved out in blood, that had funded both her rigorous training and the upbringing of relative comfort belying it. Mixing in those circles, the ability to look a man in the eye and ascertain whether he meant you harm was key to survival.
The second purpose was also a matter of survival, if in a far more straightforward, unambiguous fashion. It came from the old teachings, passed from her grandfather's grandfather to him and him to her, more for ceremonial reasons than practical ones in the day and age she hailed from; teachings from a time when groups of self-important crooks with tattoos and fancy suits were the least of anyone's concerns. When actual, veritable demons roamed the land, and it fell to the likes of the Ryougi to kill them.
To kill them, you had to know how to spot them. Had to be capable of recognising when something was truly deserving of death.
You had to be able to see a monster for a monster.
Occasionally—very rarely, but occasionally—the dual purpose became one, and there came a time when one found themselves confronted by an existence that was both man and monster, one giving itself freely to the other. Those were the encounters that disturbed Shiki the most, though she never would've let that show in her actions. There was plenty concealed in the long, guarded stare the assassin levelled her quarry with from the moment he made himself known to them, in the twitch of her brow when she looked at his chest, in the way it had evolved into a full blown crease by the time he was finished addressing Emily.
All of it went summarily dismissed in a single, flat, disinterested huff, the air of apathy she exuded almost as dense as the necromancer's mist.
View attachment 995735
"Sheesh... I'm here twenty minutes and already there's an evil mage wanting to use my eyes. You types are all the same, you know? Nobody's ever interested in my personality."
The caustic edge to her tone and dark, sardonic smirk on her face when she looked back indicated she knew as well as anyone why that was. She rubbed the nape of her neck in idle impatience, taking a moment to roll it out from side to side before tossing a glance Emily's way.
"So? He makes some good points. You should probably do it."
For all the blunt, breezy indifference she spoke with it was as though she were advising the student on which college electives to take, and not particularly invested in the subject from the off. She stretched out a hand, nodding for the blade she'd buried hilt-deep in the wall, wordlessly motioning for the other servant to toss it to her if so inclined.
"Here. You can even use my knife."
"Power before personality, little monstrosity" the other servant replied coolly with a sardonic twist of the lip. "But a kind offer, nonetheless." he leaned against the wall the knife was embedded into and yanked it free, before casually flicking through the air to clatter at the ground at Emily's feet. "Go ahead. Your servant makes this easy for you! better to die by your own hand than that of a traitor. This, I know all too well."
Shiki Ryougi had never been one to improperly assess a threat. Eyes that could discern mortality were all well and good; but they were a curse, an affliction, a freak mutation brought on by a freak accident. They had a bothersome tendency of ending up useful in more situations than she'd have liked, but as far as she was concerned they'd always been a thing that had happened to her rather than an aspect of her being, and that was as much thought as she was ever willing to give them.
No matter how much she, deep down, knew otherwise.
Eyes that could size up an enemy, though? Those were something the Ryougi clan heiress had worked for years to attain, and they served a dual purpose within the context of her bloodline. The first pertained to their human dealings; the front that had, in time, become her clan's main area of focus, the status as a yakuza family of some prestige that her father and grandfather had carved out in blood, that had funded both her rigorous training and the upbringing of relative comfort belying it. Mixing in those circles, the ability to look a man in the eye and ascertain whether he meant you harm was key to survival.
The second purpose was also a matter of survival, if in a far more straightforward, unambiguous fashion. It came from the old teachings, passed from her grandfather's grandfather to him and him to her, more for ceremonial reasons than practical ones in the day and age she hailed from; teachings from a time when groups of self-important crooks with tattoos and fancy suits were the least of anyone's concerns. When actual, veritable demons roamed the land, and it fell to the likes of the Ryougi to kill them.
To kill them, you had to know how to spot them. Had to be capable of recognising when something was truly deserving of death.
You had to be able to see a monster for a monster.
Occasionally—very rarely, but occasionally—the dual purpose became one, and there came a time when one found themselves confronted by an existence that was both man and monster, one giving itself freely to the other. Those were the encounters that disturbed Shiki the most, though she never would've let that show in her actions. There was plenty concealed in the long, guarded stare the assassin levelled her quarry with from the moment he made himself known to them, in the twitch of her brow when she looked at his chest, in the way it had evolved into a full blown crease by the time he was finished addressing Emily.
All of it went summarily dismissed in a single, flat, disinterested huff, the air of apathy she exuded almost as dense as the necromancer's mist.
View attachment 995735
"Sheesh... I'm here twenty minutes and already there's an evil mage wanting to use my eyes. You types are all the same, you know? Nobody's ever interested in my personality."
The caustic edge to her tone and dark, sardonic smirk on her face when she looked back indicated she knew as well as anyone why that was. She rubbed the nape of her neck in idle impatience, taking a moment to roll it out from side to side before tossing a glance Emily's way.
"So? He makes some good points. You should probably do it."
For all the blunt, breezy indifference she spoke with it was as though she were advising the student on which college electives to take, and not particularly invested in the subject from the off. She stretched out a hand, nodding for the blade she'd buried hilt-deep in the wall, wordlessly motioning for the other servant to toss it to her if so inclined.
"Here. You can even use my knife."
"..W...what?"
The response came out infinitesimally quiet, the slightest breath past the vocal chords that even the servants could barely make out. She reflexively took a step backwards, and the self proclaimed Ruined King snarled immediately.
"Don't run, cretinous human. Do that, and I promise it will only make your death far, far worse. The ire of a king is far worse than a simple cut."
The mist rumbled in chorus with its king, flashes of green like lighting flickering through the smug as it swirled around his feet, and Emily froze in place with a whimper as she stared in terror.
This... this was so unfair. She'd seen everyone else's servants, heard them talking. They all at least pretended to want to keep their masters alive, or wanted to fight. Shiki hadn't even bothered. Maybe this was why she'd been so quick to separate her from the others. Maybe this was just the most fun she was going to get to have with Emily now that another servant had found them, forcing her to do this, to choose.
That was the worst part. The choice.
She hated thinking about dying. Despised it. At least if they just killed her, it wasn't her choice; she was powerless. A victim. It was something happening to her. She could just think about wanting to live even as she took her final breaths.
₴ⱧɆ ₩₳₴ ₴Ø ₲ØØĐ ₳₮ ł₮
₮ⱧɆ ₭łĐ ₩ⱧłⱤⱠɆĐ ₣ⱤØ₥ ₩ⱧɆⱤɆ ⱧɆ ₩₳₴ ⱠØØ₥ł₦₲ ØVɆⱤ Ɇ₥łⱠɎ ₳₦Đ ₴₦₳ⱤⱠɆĐ, ɆɎɆ₴ ₩łĐɆ ₳₴ ⱧɆ Ɏ₳₦₭ɆĐ ⱧɆⱤ Ʉ₱ ₳₦Đ ₳ⱤØɄ₦Đ ł₦₮Ø ₳ ₵ⱧØ₭ɆⱧØⱠĐ ฿Ɇ₮₩ɆɆ₦ Ⱨł₥ ₳₦Đ ₲Ɇ₦Ø₴
Her head started to throb, and she lost her footing as she went down to a knee.
₮ⱧɆ ₱ɆⱤ₣Ɇ₵₮ Vł₵₮ł₥
₦Ø₮ ₳ ₥Ø₥Ɇ₦₮ ₳₣₮ɆⱤ ₮ⱧɆ ₵₳Ɽ ⱤØɄ₦ĐɆĐ ₮ⱧɆ Ⱡ₳₴₮ ₵ØⱤ₦ɆⱤ ₮Ø₩₳ⱤĐ₴ ₮ⱧɆ ⱧØ₮ɆⱠ, Ɇ₥łⱠɎ ₲₳₲₲ɆĐ ł₦ ₱₳ł₦ ₳₴ ₴ⱧɆ ₴ɄĐĐɆ₦ⱠɎ ₣ɆⱠ₮ ⱧɆⱤ ₣ɆɆ₮ Ⱡł₣₮ ₮ⱧɆ ₣ⱤØ₥ ₮ⱧɆ ₲ⱤØɄ₦Đ ₳₦Đ ⱧɆⱤ ₦Ɇ₵₭ ฿Ɇł₦₲ ₱ł₦₦ɆĐ
Images swirled in her head, far more violently than any of the masters had felt so far.
ł₦ ɆVɆⱤɎ ⱠØØ₱
₮Ⱨł₴ ₮ł₥Ɇ, ⱧɆ ₣ØⱤ₩Ɇ₦₮ ĐⱤ₳₲₲ł₦₲ ₩ⱧłⱠɆ ₴ⱧɆ ₩₳₴ ₴₮łⱠⱠ ₳฿ⱠɆ ₮Ø ₣ł₲Ⱨ₮ ₳₦Đ ł₦₴₮Ɇ₳Đ ₥₳ĐɆ ₮Ø ₴₮Ɽ₳ĐĐⱠɆ ⱧɆⱤ ฿₳₵₭, Ⱨł₴ ɆⱠ฿Ø₩ Đł₲₲ł₦₲ ฿Ɇ₮₩ɆɆ₦ ⱧɆⱤ ₴ⱧØɄⱠĐɆⱤ ฿Ⱡ₳ĐɆ₴ ₳₦Đ Ⱨł₴ ₩Ɇł₲Ⱨ₮ ₱ł₦₦ł₦₲ ⱧɆⱤ ĐØ₩₦
All different memories, yet the same memory every time, one that crystalized the in the same feeling she felt every time, that she was feeling now as she picked up the knife and looked into the reflection in the metal as she gripped the side of her hair with her other hand and wheezed as she felt the thought burble back up to the surface for the first time, for the thousandth time
₮Ⱨł₦₭ł₦₲ ₮ⱧɆ ₴₳₥Ɇ ₮ⱧØɄ₲Ⱨ₮ ₩ł₮Ⱨ ɆVɆⱤɎ Ⱡ₳₴₮ ฿ⱤɆ₳₮Ⱨ
Ø₦Ɇ ₥Ø₥Ɇ₦₮ Ɇ₥łⱠɎ ₩₳₴ ₴ł₮₮ł₦₲ Ø₦ ₮ⱧɆ Đł₴₳Ɽ₥ɆĐ ₲Ʉ₳ⱤĐ’₴ ₵ⱧɆ₴₮, ₮ⱧɆ ₦ɆӾ₮ ₴ⱧɆ ₩₳₴ Đ₳₦₲Ⱡł₦₲ ฿Ɏ ⱧɆⱤ ₦Ɇ₵₭ ł₦ ₮ⱧɆ ₱ⱤłɆ₴₮'₴ ₲Ɽł₱ ₳₴ ⱧɆ ₲₳VɆ ₳ ₴ɆⱤɆ₦Ɇ ₴₥łⱠɆ
'I don't want to die'
She sniffled and pushed herself up to her feet, rubbing her eyes with her sleeves before she glanced between the two expectant looking servants with sharp breaths of terror cut with more sucking breaths of attempts at crying. It meant the scream that followed didn't have the breath she tried to give it as she suddenly launched herself forward with the knife to try and plunge it into Viego's neck.
Despite the look of mild surpise on the king's face, she didn't mke it more than half a step before a tendril of mist skewered her like a sharpened blade through the stomach.