Fantasy The War Never Won (Open, limited spots available)\[T]/

[TheLoneRook]

Sunsets were beautiful once, a long time ago.


Perched on a pier, the waves lolling out to snag away what little of the world they could. His tie hung loose around his neck, collar unbuttoned. He liked to throw the gilded silver into the water, only to watch it fly from the brine and sink itself into the wood beside him.


There was no escaping this war.


A man stood beside him, top hat resting at a tilt, tails blowing in the wind. He squinted out to the horizon as the sun waved its last goodbyes and the night took hold. His hands found their way into his pockets, but there was no sigh, not from a man who didn’t breathe.


“How’d it go?” asked the seated man, tugging his curse from the boardwalk and tossing it into the water once again.


“She went in her sleep. Good family, quiet procession. It was a nice break from the typical job. What’s the word on the others?”


“Dushku’s quiet, he hasn’t left the hotel since his last card. Willowbrook’s been on the move the last few days, but I can’t tell if she’s chasing a target or just trying to get out more. It’s hard to tell with her. Braufellow’s been active, he was spotted a few times but he hasn’t pulled out his brand yet so I assume he’s fine.”


The man nodded quietly, his face shrouded by a cowl he would never remove, despite the contrast with his elegant attire. All that was visible on his dark visage was his left eye, swirling with a terrible knowledge of the world. He pushed his hat back into place and tugged at his bowtie. Death was a gentleman, above all.


There were more warriors than the ones he’d mentioned, but they were irrelevant to him. The fledglings didn’t last long in this war, unless their grace was truly enough to push them above and beyond. Many cards sent good men and women to their graves, but that was the curse they’d taken on. With time, Tony had come to understand that the only thing that would keep you alive in this battle was your willingness to fight back, and those that weren’t willing would not make the cut.


Death rested a gentle, cold hand on Tony’s shoulder. “New cards will be arriving soon. Stay sharp, Marcello.”


Tony didn’t bother replying. He felt the hand vanish soon enough. As he stood he looked from the ocean to the city, alight with the bustle of its chaotic streets. He started back towards the hotel, only to hear the quiet “thump” of his sword, indignantly shanking the pier. He sighed, it was worth a shot.




Hotel DeSangre was a long abandoned building to the common citizen. For whatever reason, the city avoided its demolition, apparently the owner found charm in its empty halls. In reality, the building acted as the sanctuary for Warriors. Warded by Death and what little influence he had, it masked the presence of any and all Warriors within, both from War’s servants and the CWI. Within its halls, Warbrands were effectively useless, and the conduct of its patrons was managed by a beautiful young woman named Bel. Bel was most known for her gray skin, white hair, blood red eyes, oh, and the axe she carried that was roughly the same size as herself. Asking her where she came from never got you an answer, so most never really bothered to investigate further.


The Hotel however, was only a place to stay. Many who found themselves in its safety tried to hide under its ward, avoiding the fight they’d been drafted into at all costs. These people didn’t last long, since you didn’t need a Warbrand to kill someone, and at the beginning of the week War put out his favorite card.


“Clean Out The Unworthy.”


Cards never came when you wanted them to. Lovely little red envelopes filled with up and coming bloodshed, their instructions were as vague as they were daunting. Fulfill War’s expectations, and you were left alone, even given newfound strength. Sometimes a less literal power, if that was your desire. Refuse to cooperate with the card you were dealt, and War made it his personal goal of the day to have your head on a stick by sundown.


Fledgling warriors all got the same card. “Kill.” For some it was simple, there were loopholes to be exploited. Take out a dog, that’s killing. For others, it wasn’t so easy. The thought of killing was enough to crush some people’s grace, and the brand took them before they ever had a chance. For most, the CWI caught them while they were still reeling from the shock.


The Counter War Initiative was a cruel and unyielding force in the city. Sanctified and praised by citizens, they neglected to remember that the people they were killing were once just like them. They lived on an “ends justify the means” tactic, and they didn’t consider surrender an option.


Six years had passed, not much has changed. There were warriors who’d lived through it all, the CWI turned from a task force into a militia. Cards came out once or twice a week, and the same rules still applied. This was the world they lived in, whether they liked it or not.

 

[TheLoneRook]

Tony didn’t have much trouble walking the streets of Jericho. Most Warriors avoided main roads like the plague, but all it took for him was a different trench coat and hat every few weeks and no one was the wiser. He kept his sword in a duffel bag with a change of clothes and some food in case he ever needed to lie low. The CWI reserved the right to search any civilian they deemed suspicious, but the bright green letters atop the mass of kevlar they all wore was easy to spot from afar, and avoid accordingly.


It was only about 4 blocks from the pier to the hotel, and once he was in he dropped his things and tossed away the coat and hat. His sword of course the moment he went outside of its 10 foot comfort zone would tug at the bag, following him with an accursed refusal to leave his side. He let it be, it was easier than carrying the damn thing anyhow.


Going up to the 9th floor where his room was he saw all the usual things. Fledglings, crying. Younger Warriors, more accustomed but still pausing with quiet caution as he went passed their rooms. Earning respect in the Warrior community was as simple as surviving. Those few that had been in since the beginning were infamous, but few thought much of it. Reputation, as powerful as it was, wasn’t quite a concern for most.


The 9th floor was entirely more peaceful than the rest of the hotel. Enforced by the lovely Bel, it was the only available to Warriors who’d been in since the beginning. There were only twelve to commandeer an entire thirty-room floor, but everyone was mostly content with their own personal rooms. Tony’s room could’ve passed as uninhabited at first glance. His belongings were all tucked away in drawers, the bed was never left unmade, and the only loose item inside was his bag, which was only in the room when he was. It was a quiet space, but he never bothered to close the door. After six years of fighting, the occasional conversation was always welcome.


His bag managed to drag itself behind him all the way to his room thanks to his Warbrand, and with a sigh of fatigue Tony crashed onto the plain white linens. He closed his eyes, and for a moment it was as if the dull red of War’s cards was painted on the back of his eyelids. Perks of the job, it would seem.

 

[Euclid Leaf]

...


Terry had been in her room all day. Afraid. It would come soon.


The thin girl lay upon her plain white bed, wrapped in the thick cloth and looking up at the ceiling. Her blank yellow eyes glimmered as they glided around with nostalgia. Across her room was a collage of pictures. Many of them were of different kinds of birds, others tickets to simple scenery and landmarks. They marked her journey thus far. She wanted to smile at all of the memories, but she couldn't. The heavy feeling in her chest grew the more she tried to escape. As though trying to shackle her to this place. It was like being in the hospital again. Trapped, alone, and terrified by those around her. Each day she tried to forget her purpose here by embarking on this journey through the images, but it would return. There was no escaping it and yet she kept fighting. She always questioned her purpose in all of this. Blood and war? Offerings for a god? She couldn't understand any of it. All these years she never found an answer. It frustrated her to no end. But every time Terry wanted to give up, she would be reminded by the tug on her neck.


The bronze locket was as heavy as ever today.


She had always been fighting. There would be no point to stop now.


"Maybe, one day..." she muttered, cradling the metal case in her supple hands, her eyes now landing on a panel of a clear open sky captured upon the wall.


But a noise tripped her out of her stupor, the clattering of the room next door and a familiar crash.


"Tony?" she asked in her sore tone, creeping up against the wall, "I-is that you...?"


These days, she can never be too sure.


...

 

[TheLoneRook]

Tony had grown accustomed to relying on minimal amounts of sleep as it was. Terry had never helped him with this issue, but he wasn't the type to complain. Everyone in this place was broken, but she was a different kind of broken. Her life was fucked up enough before the sword. She was the only person he'd refused to fight, she was the only person most people refused to fight. A culture had blossomed within the hotel walls. People introduced themselves to one another politely, and yet everyone wanted to know how to bring the people around them within an inch of their life, just in case. If a fight could end without death, the Warrior's curse could easily restore someone to full health. Even though Terry fought as much as the rest of them, the curse had only ever gone so far as to restore her wounds, her illness didn't seem to fade. It was a cruel trick, and the original twelve had always tried their best to leave her be. Plenty of fledglings had died trying to attack her, thinking she was an easy target that would win them favor with War.


Tony tried his best to keep her at ease. It was the least he could do, as a neighbor.


"Just me, Sniffles. Nothing special, I'm afraid." he called back to the wall, bringing up his arms to rest against his head. "How're you holding up? Bel says she's making chili tomorrow. Should be really good." he mused, the thought was enough to make him feel better, so he figured it might help her too. There weren't many positives to living in an abandoned hotel, but Bel was a fantastic cook, and by Death's good graces and a bit of offshore banking they never had issue getting good ingredients.


He gave up on resting and sat up against the bedframe. The old floors groaned with the shifting, but he'd grown so accustomed to the sound he didn't notice it. Steely eyes gazed over to the picture that Bel had framed for him so long ago. A tiny little polaroid that gave him the faintest feeling of relaxation. Len and Vasil were up against the back wall in the hotel's lounge, talking. He always remembered it too, the debate over who would make the cooler superhero. Bel was sharpening her axe, somehow managing to look innocent and quaint with a titan of a weapon resting on her lap. Gloria was sitting on the windowsill, listening to the automatic piano play its out-of-tune rendition of "Midnight Sonata". In the center of the photo was him and Terry, playing chess. Two calm faces, both staring at the board, invested in the game. It was his favorite picture in the whole house. He couldn't see a silver sword anywhere. He'd pretend Bel's axe was a prop for a convention.


It was the little piece of normality he clung to.


@RyuShura ~ @SniperBus @DarKnight36 @AtlasAtrium ~

 

[Euclid Leaf]

...


Terry lips showed sign of relief when she hear his voice return.


But as she opened her mouth to reply, too excited for her own good, something caught in her throat. She let out a string of light coughs. The girl winced at the sudden pain, but it was normal at this point. Today it was another growing cold. Her joints ached but she has yet to acquire a runny nose or a knock to her head. Not yet at least. She considered it a lucky sign, all things considered.


There wasn't much to look forward to in this dreary place. Most of the times it was quiet. Not many are allowed to this floor. She wanted to go out and see the world again, but she has been forced to hide. The ones below thought she was some monster or something. Terry wishes she can deny such claims. Whenever it got too lonely, her roommates still out on their rounds, she would seek Bel for comfort. She saw her like a big sister. Tending to the hotel building and enforcing the laws here, for as long as she has been here, she has taken care of everything for them. But no matter how busy she was, Bel would set it aside for a moment for her. The otherworldly woman never got sick from her, so she never thought twice to pay a visit to chat and play.


Drying her moistened eyes with the sheets, she sat up and laid her bare back against the wall, covers hiding her frail white form.


She giggled weakly, "I'm so happy...!" taking a moment to breathe, "I love her chili... Bel always makes it not too spicy just for me. I wonder if she'll let me help her this time...?" her head plopped to one side knowingly, "Ah, but she never lets me in the kitchen. Says I'll get something in the food..."


Her eyes moved upwards to a picture of an owl. Tony always knew what to say at every moment.


"How are the others...? I haven't seen them in some time now... I hope they come back soon..." she stopped to cough, "I want to play with everyone again. Just like old times."


She glanced over to a photo of a time long ago, when life was simpler. This was one of the few that she had not taken herself, placed on an island surrounded by the others. It was special. This was the only one she had of her roommates. They were all given this one. She wondered if the others had kept theirs. Each new card demanded a more complicated death, a more entertaining way to please War. Sometimes it would take days for someone to return, even weeks. So it was harder and harder for her to see them.


But even if they did come back, it was never the same. There was always something different in their eyes.


Terry sighed, "I miss them..." the girl slowly bending up and hugging her knees, "I miss them so much..."


~ @TheLoneRook


...

 

[SniperBus]

His situation was, well, pitiful. The police cars were racing, sirens blaring, ambulances following behind at high speed to the scene of the crime. And who was there, in the thick of it?


Len. With only himself to blame.


How do I get myself into these messes? Of course, he already knew the answer, but it never hurts to stall for time when it runs out. Right, anyway.. time for a solution. I've got a bloody typewriter in one hand, a discharged gun in the other.. and at least four people have seen me with my warband. All the normies have left the cafe, but the exits are both closed and I may as well be a lobster in boiling oil... I'll find a way out, I guess. I sorta have to.


The cop cars pulled up outside, accompanied by two ambulances. Luckily, though, no CWI. Yet. Len dropped the typewriter, vaulting the bar and firing shots through the glass window at the front of the store. He doubted it would help, but anything is better than nothing. Grabbing a coffee maker, he unplugged it from the wall and shoved it in the bag slung over his back- he needed one at home, anyhow. Or maybe that decision was the reaction of his brain to his memories. Hastily, he fired more shots blindly towards the front of the store, hopefully buying him some time.


He ran to the emergency exit, pushing the door handle with his empty hand. Locked. Without thinking, he shot at one of the sprinkler heads. He was met with the sound of water gushing from the ceiling and the sprinkler head embedding itself in the face of a police officer who's just entered the room. Huh. Lucky shot. Immediately, the door unbarred and Len was sprinting up the fire-escape to the roof. x The cacophony of noise was nearly impressive, and as he got to the roof he'd realized his mistake. He'd gone up the stairs.


He quickly took stock of the situation; both the building to the right and left could be jumped to, but they'd require a degree of climbing afterwards, and when that happened, he'd easily be shit by the police.


Len stole a glance off the side of the roof, seeing the front of the building in chaos. Policemen swarmed into the building, and there was a hammering on the fire escape. Some people take the easy way, others take the road less traveled, I suppose.


His warbrand rippled, forming over his hand as the wind ripped at his clothing and face. He gripped his elbow, slightly bending his knees and arm for the impact. It was only a twenty foot drop, but he couldn't afford to break any bones.


The jarring impact rubbed him the wrong way, but he was fortunate to land on the roof of one of the ambulances. What kind of paramedic parks four feet away from a hazardous building, anyway? Len pulled the pincer out of the roof of the ambulance and slid off, sprinting away with his all his parts intact. Shots were going off, but he hardly cared. The clock moves on, and I'm dragged along.. I'm on my own, aren't I?




Time was practically put in a blender, seconds becoming minutes, minutes to hours, and the long walk home became more and more lonely as even the shady people in the alley-ways drew back inside. Len hardly cared, though. It had taken ages for the blaring lights and noise to leave, and a little peace and quiet was all he wanted. Each step was a mile, and the street lights overhead did little to help the mood. Eventually, though, Len was finally able to collapse through the front door of the abandoned hotel, weighed down by his thoughts. His mood only worsened as he realized what had happened.


A few minutes and nine flights of stairs later, Len appeared onto the ninth story, sitting in the first chair he saw and pushing against his forehead. As if I can change my brain.. I'm stuck with this, that's fine.


What I'm not fine with.. is my only cure disappearing.


I didn't remember a single thing, in the entire ten minute scuffle. From bashing the person in the face with the typewriter, from shooting several different people, from accidentally killing that police officer.. Jumping off the roof.. Nothing brought a memory back.


Not a single one..





"I feel like my feet are buried in the ground, sometimes." Len said to no one in particular. He wouldn't be surprised if Terry or Tony heard him, he was sitting next to their rooms, after all.


Len put his head back in the chair, taking off his bag and pulling out the coffee maker and his notebook. In the notebook, he put in twelve tally marks, then stowed the notebook away.


He fondled the coffee-maker lovingly.


"Oh, at least I have you, likely-to-be-broken liquid goodness machine.."


@TheLoneRook @RyuShura

 

[TheLoneRook]

The war was harsh, and it took a toll on everyone. That said, the last thing Tony ever liked to see was sulking. It only made things worse than they had to be.


He picked himself out of bed, fixed his vest, tucked his sleeves. "There's never a good excuse for poor attire." The voice echoed in the back of his head, like that song you could never forget. He pulled open his duffel bag and his Warbrand flung itself to his hip, the wicked silver extending into shadow, spiraled eye of Death flickering open on its side. His vision widened, expanded. The city was a floorplan in front of him, its many inhabitants all flashing blips on the layout. He saw the Warriors, their blips bold in their silver outlines. He saw it all.


He saw Terry, curled up in the room next door. She looked better than she had six years ago. Stronger, more resilient. Still, her sickness came after her, refusing her any sort of rest. He took a turn into the hall, only to find Len being dragged off by Bel. She gave him a quiet nod of greeting before she was pulling Len down the stairs, cursing him in all kinds of languages no one understood.


He didn't bother to knock, he just pushed open the door to Terry's room and leaned on the frame, crossing his arms. "Well, Len just got back, so he's fine. Stop that worry face. What, you think the others are just gonna croak now? After all this? No one's going anywhere Sniffles, don't you wor-excuse me. You there, in the stairwell? Yeah, I can see you. I'll give you about five seconds before I call for Azel and then he'll do the rest. Sound good?"


The footsteps back down the stairs were hurried as Tony turned back to Terry with a little smirk. "See? Everyone's fine."




Bel was attending to her usual chores. Mopping blood, explaining the concept of The War to the ever-confused younger crowd who couldn't seem to grasp something that was expertly explained to them by the person who put them in this mess to begin with. Oh, and also dealing with older occupants. She was just coming back from her daily grocery shopping when she saw an all too dazed and confused Len rushing up the stairs and through the front door. Forever the psychiatrist to everyone's favorite lobster-hero, she was quick to stow her purchases and run her way up to the 9th floor.


She gave a nod over to Tony who was watching over her favorite person in the whole hotel (except maybe Azel but she'd never admit that to him) before she took the oversized crab-hammer by the scruff of his coat and dragged him down to the basement, to which he silently followed, clutching to his new-found coffee machine as though it was his life's blood. It didn't take them long to get to the basement and she delicately sat Len down in a chair next to where she worked and wrenched the coffee pot from his hands, taking it over to a pantry which she had built herself, opening it to reveal nothing but coffee machines. Needless to say, he always forgot he already had one. She put the new addition up with its brethren and shut the pantry.


"Len, I swear to god, one of these days I will carve the brand from your skin, destroy your sword, and force War to make you a machine that works as a coffee machine so you can finally be at peace with yourself." she grumbled, throwing herself into a chair with a quiet huff as she set to stitching up some bastards completely tattered jacket that.


"Tell me what happened this time, out with it, before this needle turns into an axe."


@SniperBus @RyuShura

 

[SniperBus]

Len blinked his eyes, and suddenly he was in the basement with Bel, staring back at her. Len kept an unknown beat with his thumb on his thigh, processing the day's events in an order that made sense.


"Well, what happened? Hmm, that's a good one. I don't know what didn't happen, really.." Len put his left hand on his head, rubbed it a bit, then started his story.


"This one's a lil' bit of a long one.."


"Four days prior to today, I got a new card in my coat pocket." Saying this, Len took off his coat, revealing another one underneath. It was a bit hot in the basement.


"Anyway, I'd never had the card before- and, fuck war, by the by- that card was HELL."


"Right, so, imagine milking a wild zebra every morning to make your coffee- that's what this card was like." Len smoothed his hair back with his left hand, still keeping a beat on his thigh with his right thumb.


"So I take it out of my pocket, right, imagining the best, most simple card possible-


you know what that card was?"


"Kill a CWI officer, in a PUBLIC cafe at 2:01 p.m sharp." At least I got it done..





"His name was, eh.. mmn, I can't seem to remember.. huh. Hardly matters, though."


"So I.. procure.. a typewriter. I befriend the CWI officer, then invite him out for a coffee at 1:55 p.m. With my disguise as a hipster, I had to bring the typewriter to lunch. At 2:01 P.M, I bring the typewriter over my new friend's skull, and bash his brains out. You'd imagine it would be pretty uneventful after that, right, job done? Of course not!" Len sighed, the beat picking up.


"It always goes wrong when I try to do something right, y'know? Erry time!" Len's brow furrowed as he tried to recall information.


About twelve seconds later, he continues. "Then the barista vaults the bar and starts trying to pummel me. No, I'm not proud of shooting her, maybe all this war is getting to me after all.. Aw, fuckin' 'ell, I know it is. No wonder 'bout that. I'm out of my mind! I kill people..for someone else's enjoyment! Arright, arright. So she's done. At that point, the rest of the people are sprinting out of the cafe, practically trampling eachother, and I'm alone with my thoughts for a bit. Hot gun in my left hand, typewriter in the other. I manage to vault the bar before the cops show up, procure a coffee machine- by the by, I had one? I coulda sworn I didn't.. right."


"So I blind-fire over the counter, and get to the emergency exit. It's locked. So, taking the obvious route of action, I shoot a sprinkler head and the door unlocks." I should leave out the part about that innocent police officer getting a hot metal sprinkler death shuriken to the face..


"I run up the stairs, yeah, jump off the building, eventually end up here."


"But that's not the proll'em, you know? I do this kinda stuff every day. It's fine."


"But I didn't get any memories back, the entire time. Not one." Len's head drooped, and he rubbed his head with his left hand, his right hand still keeping the beat.


"I feel like my time is running out, Bel."


@TheLoneRook

 

[Euclid Leaf]

...


Terry's lips bent up when Tony opened the door.


She was so wrapped up in her gloomy thoughts that she was taken aback by the sudden intrusion. This was not the first time he's done this. While observant, Tony could be a little reckless in the way he handled things. Maybe being able to see everything made him extra confident? But luckily for him, she was wearing clothes this time. It didn't matter who, but hearing one of their names uplifted Terry. First it was Tony, and now another had returned! She could jump for joy if not for doing so would surely earn her a headache given her growing cold. Still, she was really thinking about it regardless.


Len always had fun stories to tell. Though they never seemed to amuse Bel too much. He was a wild thrill seeker and Terry learned to respect that about the man. Always trying to get every last ounce of life in every waking moment. Sometimes that meant risking his own life. But he didn't seem to mind at all.


"Well, I guess if Len's okay after all this time... the others should be fine too..." she sniffed, unwinding her thin body and slowly crawling out of the bed.


She was wearing a plain one piece, her bare feet smacking against the floor with every excited step. Perhaps it was her sickness, but Terry didn't seemed to mature like most girls her age, her modest outline making her look years younger than she actually was. She scanned through the neatly folded piles of raincoats in the dresser before tossing a stripped yellow one over her body. Snatching her medication box, she scooped a couple pills from the separate compartments and chewed them down like candy.


Terry quickly strolled up to the ever suave man, round yellow eyes gazing up. But no matter how calm and collected he wanted to make himself appear in front of them, he was just a big softie to her. "Thanks, Tony..." she said in her muddled voice, "For everything. I hope you never disappear... "


Her hands clenched at the thought. The heaviness was beginning to return, but she shook her head and tossed it out. After all this, there was no way she would let it take her again.


"No... Of course not." she reaffirmed, "I'll always be there to help you..."


She then giggled, grabbing his wrist and pulled him along. He always took the initiative, so now it was her time. "C'mon, let's go see what Bel will do to Len this time as punishment...!" Terry took a breath, "I remember last time she made him clean out the entire hotel because he blew half of the third floor up..." and another, "oh, and the time...!"


It took a lot of effort trying to sound enthusiastic, her gravelly throat causing her to cough every other sentence. But she didn't mind.


Things were finally picking up.


...

 

[TheLoneRook]

A surprisingly strong young girl tugged at Tony's arm as she almost dragged him downstairs to see Bel and Len. Though constantly ill, she was still certainly a Warrior, and beneath loose clothing he knew she was hiding muscles much more capable than what she would lead you to believe. He didn't resist, as tired as he was. After all, he almost never got any sleep as it were.


It didn't take them long to reach the ground floor, and the stairs to the basement didn't run along the same stairwell as the rest of the building. As he was being dragged through the living room the pair came across a monstrosity.


Dimly lit white eyes contrasted a dull red frame. Its body all made from the same blood red sinew with a texture that resembled metal. It stood over 8 feet tall, and held a spear of sinister cold dark iron. The beast exhaled a deep, guttural groan, its claw-like hands gripping to its spear. It was as though it spoke the words of chaos in a tongue no one understood.


"Azel, no one can hear you inside that thing."


The monstrosity shrunk down, its metallic sinew receding until all that was left was a man, dressed in a simple t-shirt and sweatpants. His skin however was a dull gray, like that of his sister's.


"*Ahem*, sorry, I was scaring some kid into submission earlier. Just going around delivering today's bad news."


He pulled from his pockets two slips of paper, each red in hue. On each paper was their respective brands, burnt into the parchment. He handed both to Tony, a practice he'd become all too familiar with. Tony scanned each card, his face entirely stoic. One was a relief, the other a minor concern. All in all, it was manageable. He scanned the building, confirming his suspicions.


"Terry, go downstairs and see Bel. Len's down there too, if you could send him up I'd appreciate it."


He stepped away from the two. As much as he refused to refer to himself as a leader, he certainly took command of a situation. Azel put a hand on Terry's shoulder, quietly ushering her towards the basement.


Tony looked at the cards one more time.


"Kill Tony Marcello." Nothing special, someone got one of those every two days, especially Terry.


"Kill Len Yafuk."


Different problem


@RyuShura @SniperBus

 

[Euclid Leaf]

...


Terry smiled at the face of the supposed 'monster', her teeth showing as she waved happily.


To her, Azazel was anything but one. Everyone had a demon inside of them. For him and Bel it was just literal. Sure he was a little rough around the edges and didn't talk to anyone much, but Azazel was just like any one of them. Whenever he wasn't stomping around delivering penance to those who defied the tenants of War, carrying out the overlord's bloodthirsty rule, she would see him painting on the rooftop of the hotel, a look of peace in his listless eyes. She often wondered if he didn't have a choice in any of this, like her and the others, and was only doing all this to survive.


But the happy expression faded when she saw the red notes slipped to Tony.


No. But it's so soon...?


She looked at him with concern when he sent her away, a look of pain on her face. She hated this. It wasn't fair he was forced to carry the burden of misfortune.


Her hands gripped against the tails of the yellow raincoat as though she wanted to say something. Maybe Azazel had mixed them up? There could be similar brands across the hundreds of them, right? No, he's never made a mistake like that before. Her eyes were puffy and reddened. It looked like she was about to cry, but one more look at Tony's stoic expression before Terry reluctantly started down the stairs. There was no point in crying. No amount of it could change the absoluteness of the red letters. It all just wasn't fair. But when has the world ever been a place of fairness?


When she reached the bottom of the stairway into the basement, Bel was already in the swing of things, chastising the grown man like he was a child.


She could barely speak, her eyes pointed to the ground.


Terry desperately wanted this reunion to be happy. She wanted to run up and hug Len and greet him back to his home. Even if everyone wasn't there, they could at least try to forget about this whole war, just the few of them. But it was all dashed at the sight of the red envelopes. Each year it would take longer and longer for them to return. War liked to push them and watch as they struggle. It would be a matter of time before it got too much. For them, they might as well been death sentences.


"T-tony is w-waiting for you... Len..." the thin girl shaking as the sour words dripped from her mouth. "...We got them."


Her hands drifted up to her chest, tiny fingers trembling. It hurt there. No matter how hard she fought against it this heaviness would always come back. It sunk into her, like the blade that hugged her back every waking moment. Maybe it would be an easy one this time?


She could only dream.


...

 

[SniperBus]

Bel was a bore sometimes, though Len could hardly blame her. She didn't really help with his problems, most of the time, she just pressured him on the mistakes he made. But that was fine, though, he had to learn somehow.





Even if he forgot.


But she was right to berate him this time. Honestly, he thought he deserved it every time, but this time was different. It clearly meant something deep to her, she was really getting after it this time.


Oh well. One less person to become a puppet of war. If she was going to be one, that is. Oh well. On less CWI officer on the street, I guess? If she was going to be one..


There's no way to rationalize it. I'm a murderer.


At least I'll forget..





"Hey, Bel, listen-- I can't make light of what I did, and you'll probably look down on me for doing it. But, I'm going to forget. Maybe it won't be soon- only time will tell. Just, promise me, right, you keep this between me & you- and don't pull it up, please. Shooting someone who didn't deserve it is bad enough.. Living with the hatred that brings? Oh well."


Len stood up from his chair right as Terry came in through the door. Her voice was shaky and worried. Len turned around, facing her with a smile.


The facade of a murderer.





"Oh. I can only assume 'them' being the cards, but I'll check it out. Don't worry 'bout a thing, you hear? Just keep yourself how you're doin' it. We can all make it through this." Len rustled her hair as he walked by, saying it one more time: "Don't you worry". Making his way up the stairs to where Azel would be waiting with his fate in hand, Len dropped the smile facade. Times were grim. But some people just needed to be uplifted.


When he finally made it up the stairs, Len raised his hand in greeting to the two standing there. "'Ey, Azel, what's the death sentence for me this time, ehh?"


@TheLoneRook @RyuShura

 

[TheLoneRook]

Azel was not the kind to just up and say hello to people, he was always the more "gently wave in the background" type. He held to this depiction of himself at that moment, a gentle to and fro from good ol' leftie was all that Len received.


Tony had produced a bottle of amaretto, setting it quietly on the coffee table in the middle of the room. To any and all newcomers, this was a random bottle of liquor on the coffee table. To those few who'd been here long enough, it was a bit of a tradition.


The person who'd been given the card always provided the drinks. All those involved partook in the drinks. After that, it was a trip to The Dirt.


The Dirt used to be The Forest, until six years of combat turned it into little more than an arena of mud and clay. There, participants would do as War commanded. Many had died there, but most survived. The goal was never to kill the opponent, but there was always a few bouts where emotions pushed blades further than they needed to cut. It was a loophole, but one that even War could not challenge.


Tony sat two glasses on the table and poured them both to an easy half-full, neat. He slid one to the other side, taking the other for himself. Azel sat himself on the couch between the two, pulling from under the coffee table an old hotel registry book, names and dates written in all manner of styles and mediums. Except on every entry were a numbers of names, followed by a line, followed by one of the names that was listed before. Azel took the pen that was forever glued to the crook of his ear and jotted down the most recent participants.


Tony lowered his glass from a long pull, looking to Len. Len was forgetful, but in all his years he'd never forgotten tradition. "I don't have super-hearing to go with the eyes, but I must say you really know how to make Bel's hair a lovely silver." he mused.


Any other person, even Terry, and Tony probably would've gone for a cheaper bottle, he had plenty. Len, however...


For all he'd been through, Len deserved the good stuff.




Bel knew what was going on before Terry even made it all the way down the stairs. Her hair dulled from its bright silver down to its usual pink, the fiery light in her eyes quieted down to its normal luster. Len's words were enough to make her scream. He put all of it on himself, he didn't think to look to anyone. He didn't think, he only did. Though admirable, it was what often got him into trouble. He never meant for anyone to get hurt. Not that time, or any of the others. Then again, no one here ever really planned to hurt people.


Not the ones that found their way to this hotel, at least.


Bel was good at cheering people up, and she knew that herself, but Terry...Terry was going to worry whether she cheered or not. Tony was the worst for her, but Tony was the only person she couldn't scold. Not because he wouldn't listen, or because he didn't care, but because even she knew that what he was doing was what would keep everyone safe. He took other people's burdens without a second thought. He solved problems before they started. To anyone watching he was impenetrable. The only people who'd ever seen him crack were Azel and herself.


Still, she couldn't just sit there and let the poor girl mope, so she the coat on her chair and placed her needle back into her ear, taking a quick step over to the pantry and hurling from its depths a nice pear to Terry's hopefully reflexive hands.


"Alright, I know it sucks hun, but Azel would talk to a girl without stuttering sooner than either of those two would bite the dust. So no pouting, not in my kitchen, ya hear?" Bel pulled herself from the pantry, the fire in her eyes rekindled as a quiet yet firm candle's flame. After all, someone in this hotel had to keep everyone afloat.


@RyuShura @SniperBus

 

[SniperBus]

Len smiled at Azel's simple greeting, waving back with his own left hand.


Amaretto? Len raised his eyebrow at Tony, but knew better than to question him about it. Not exactly polite to question the guy giving out free drinks about his choices, after all.


I suppose that means he has the cards. And as we down our drinks, we can think of the endless fighting before us. Honestly, war, you're a douche.





Len looked straight at the glasses as Tony poured, dreading the moments ahead with the subtle certainty that came every time the cards arrived. Honestly, it was almost impossible for Len to overcome the thought of probable imminent death. Though, I've lasted this long..





Len caught the glass as it slid across the amazingly smooth table, chuckling as he picked up his glass. He took a sip, then transitioned into a long drink before setting the liqueur back down on the table. Just a little bitter..





"Some times I wonder if Bel does it to herself on purpose, y'know? I suppose there's some underlying message with her words I'm just not seeing, or somethin'. It's not really right of me to ask her to not worry about me, but it all ends up well in the end." Len took another sip, savoring the drink. Time has to be taken to appreciate the nicer things in life..





"Honestly, though, this nice drink reminds me that I might need to get myself a coffee maker soon, I'm pretty sure I still need one.. But that's 'nuff 'bout that, yeah, how're you holding up, and what's the verdict from War this time?" Don't bother sugarcoating it.


@TheLoneRook

 

[Euclid Leaf]

...


Terry jumped like a squirrel, lurching out and nearly dropping the pair as it flopped around in her hands. She wasn't exactly the most coordinated of individuals, as anyone could tell, physically or mentally.


"Whoa... you scared me..." she muttered, looking down at the lopsided fruit.


Her eyes lingered on it for a moment while she digested Bel's affirming words. For some reason, she liked things that weren't symmetric. It sort of reminded her of herself. Things were never that simple. As much as she'd like to believe. Life could disappear in a blink, no matter how strong someone is. She's seen it before. Many times. Her memories hazed forth briefly and she could feel herself standing at the quiet entrance once again, the doctors telling her of where she would be staying from here on. But she wasn't listening. Terry was too busy stared wide-eyed at the world she always wished to enter. To actually be there, it was surreal. She was finally leaving this hopeless place. But all alone. She thought all the others were much stronger. Both in spirit and strength. So why was she the only one to escape?


It made no sense.


But she remembered what she told Tony just a moment ago. Bel, as well, was doing all she could to cheer her up, even from the beginning. She couldn't let it all go to waste.


The thin girl's lips bent firmly, trying her best to be strong for their sake. Taking a bite of the pear, Terry wiped her moist eyes.


"Haha, you're right...!" laughing in between chewing, "The day Azel gets married, is when I really need to start worrying. He can't even look me in the eye, let alone kiss someone!" her nose crinkling at the thought, "I guess that makes him so charming. In a quirky way. Though you're not any better, Bel. Every man who claims they love you gets stamped to the ground, or worse. I'm starting to think this romantic curse just runs in the family."


Her lips bent mischievously as Terry darted up and slung her arms around the woman's waist.


"But don't worry." rubbing her head against her cold gray skin, "I will always love you, Bel."


...


@TheLoneRook

 

[TheLoneRook]

Azel kept quiet, eyes turned down towards the bottle on the table. He started to rub the mark on his wrist, a habit he'd had for as long as he could remember. He showed himself out before long, his shy nature coming back to the forefront of his mind.


Tony sighed, setting his now finished drink on the table. "Just a trip to the dirt. I'm a little rusty anyhow, so it'll be good to take on someone who can actually hold their own. All in all, it's nothing we haven't seen a thousand times before. It's almost like he's running out of ideas." he said, crossing his arms in the neat uniform fashion he always maintained. It was certainly strange, pitting the two against each other. Especially considering the twelve never really committed to fighting one another. Even still, a card was a card, and ignoring it was probably a bad idea this late into the game.


He took his blade from his hip, which immediately hissed its disproval, but once he shoved it into his duffel bag it quieted, and soon he felt its transformation fading as his eyes faded into their regular state, the world closing around him to much more reasonable dimensions. He hefted the bag up onto his shoulder, cracking his knuckles and rolling his neck.


"We'll get you a coffee maker on the way back, okay?"




Bel snickered, picking up Terry and squeezing her with a strength that she probably should pay more attention to before setting her back down. "Don't tell Azel this, but you've always been my favorite." she said with a little wink.


She stepped away and around the corner to her room which adjoined the kitchen, off to change out of her usual gear. There was a hiss of steel and a large clank from her axe resting against the far wall in her room. "As for my love life, the last person I need lecturing me is you, Ms. I Refuse To Go On A Date. We've already confirmed you're not contagious, you don't have any excuses!" she ranted, her hand occasionally shaking out the doorway for added effect. "Besides, I'm picky. I need someone who doesn't ask me to 'stop wearing the skin makeup' before I ever settle down."


She popped back out of her room in sweats and a tattered tank that left little to the imagination, forever oblivious to her displays as she ruffled the form out of her pink curls. Most people thought her clothes were tattered to look fashionable, but in reality there had just been several occasions in which she'd delivered deadly justice in pajamas. She stuck her index finger into the air and drew a little circle, and with a bit of vertigo and a change of scenery the two were warped to the building's roof. The sun now finally stowed away, the moonlight against the clouds was a wonderful sight. Which of course was why Azel was sitting on the edge of the building, painting the world in a light only he somehow understood. Vibrant colors of city streets flew across his canvas, and Bel always loved to watch him, especially because he was so invested he never noticed her there. She sat in the chair immediately behind her and kicked at Terry's knees to plop her into the seat next to her.


"You know, one of these days this is all gonna be over, and then we'll have to find real jobs, and do all that boring adult stuff. What would I even do? I could work at one of those haunted houses...."


@RyuShura @SniperBus

 

[Euclid Leaf]

...


Terry giggled at the woman's returned words despite the pain coursing through her body, wobbling in place as she was set back down. Bel really did know how to squeeze every drop of love out of her. A cold touch never felt ever warmer. The thing girl had actually been horrified of the devilish woman at first, what with the brimstone colored skin and the flaring red eyes, but she soon realized that her heart was no less human than her own. Perhaps her heart was the warmest out of them all. While Tony was the leader in this dreary journey, Bel was like the campfire that they would gather around for comfort. Without her support, Terry didn't know if half of them would have even made it past the first year in this war.


"Well, you guys are different..." she coughed, talking to the shufftling doorway, "Other people get sick from just breathing the same air as me..." kicking her bare feet shyly against the ground, "Besides, I'm not interested in that sort of thing right now... I'm just happy I've got all of you to keep me company!"


Saying that, it didn't mean she hadn't ever thought about romantic relationships. But admitting just how much she has would burn the sickness right out of her body in embarrassment.


Returning in typical Bel fashion, the woman was able to somehow making 'ordinary' appear much more. Her proportions were perfect and she had just the right amount of roundness in all the right places. What made things worse was that she wasn't even trying to show off either. Terry wished she was nearly as beautiful and mature as Bel, the girl glancing down at her meager form, but she has never said such a thing aloud. Perhaps because she knew there was no way she could ever be.


They were quickly whisked to the rooftop, the city and hotel washed in the peaceful gleam of a closing day.


She sat down in a chair beside Bel, or was forced to rather, though not that she wouldn't have chosen that spot anyway. Her yellow eyes gleamed while she watched the descendant sights flicker alive as the city drifted into the dark sea. She never got tired of such things. Countless, many similar scenes are captured and placed upon her gallery, but this one in particular, was special to her. Maybe it was because this was the first time she found hope when she thought there was none left in this world. Having wondered out here, Terry was looking for a place to cry alone. Completing her first envelope was too much for her frail heart. The pain was unbearable. Though she didn't get her wish in the end, an even better one was granted.


She was able to meet Bel.


Azel really did know how to pick the best spots to inspire his pieces. Sometimes she joined Bel there on this loft, enjoying the simple moment itself or talking about whatever was on their mind that day. But Azel would never paint around the girl. Maybe he was shy? Or does her presence make him feel awkward? She couldn't really tell. While she found it easy to approach Bel, her brother seemed distant and difficult to her.


"When this is over..." she muttered, her mind returning to the conversation.


Those words played with her heart like a violent muse.


"Do you think..." her eyes lowering, "Do you think that after all of this... will I be able to?" eyes blinking quickly, as she tried to form her fuming thoughts, "W-what I mean is that... after I've done all these horrible things..." her head lowering in shame, "Am I allowed to return to being normal...?"


...


@TheLoneRook

 

[Master Jaster]

One Week Earlier

Traffic was at a standstill outside. Horns were on and off; a good number of windows rolled down to let the smoke or stale air out to mix with the exhaust fumes. There was work being done on the sidewalk two blocks east of Madeline’s record shop. The cones with the orange reflectors had spilled out onto the streets and closed off one of the lanes. Maddie could barely see the police station across the street through the haze of smoke, exhaust, and heat radiating from the cars.


The cool air mixed with Brubeck’s seamless melodies set the store’s atmosphere at stark odds with the street’s outside, but the heat persisted. Madeline could feel the aridity through the window pane’s thin barrier. She had her wrists wresting on the glass counter, letting the warmth flow into its cold surface and cool the blood flowing through her veins.


Something about the rows of CD’s, cassettes, and vinyl always made the place feel margins hotter than it actually was. One of the record cases Maddie had tied up to the ceiling was still in its plastic packaging, and would berate her irises with a blast of reflected sunlight every ten seconds or so. Long After Dark. A mental note wouldn’t be enough to remind her to tear the packaging off.


The ladder in the far back of the storage closet was caught on a shelf edge. Maddie stepped over a stack of old Alternative Press magazines and yanked the ladder out from its corner. The ensuing cloud of dust filled her lungs and sent her into a mild coughing fit as she dragged the ladder to the storefront.


Things were average today, but Maddie willed herself to be content with it. A mid-aged guy and some post-hardcore teenaged boy were flipping through the stacks as Maddie made her b-line towards the dangling Heartbreakers album. The teen smiled at her as she passed. The congested street outside hadn’t had the effect it usually did on her shop’s midday business. Normally, the colorful storefront filled with vintage guitars and classic vinyl covers would draw a decent percentage of the traffic’s wandering eyes, and send them crawling in around lunch to pick up a memory or two. Seeing that it was half past three and stale, chances were these two would be some of the last faces Maddie’d see until tomorrow.


The hinges on the left side of the ladder creaked as she climbed. Outside, a cab was trying to pull onto the sidewalk to circumvent a portion of the traffic, and was greeted by a chorus of horns that blared out the soft sound of "Take Five". Maddie peeled the packaging away from Petty’s frog-like face, keeping her breathing steady and the din of the street in the back of her head.


“I’m guessing the value’s not so important if it’s just set to be a decoration.”


Maddie craned her neck to turn to the older man who had approached the ladder from behind. He had a stock-broker look to him, with his red checkered tie and thin hairline, and was holding a best-of Eric Clapton CD.


Maddie flipped the record to peel the clinging shreds of plastic away from the track list. “No, that tends to be when its most important. Gives a place that vapor-worth, you know?”


The white-collar laughed that laugh a guy gives before asking you out to a mid-priced dinner. “This place has anything but vapor-worth. Its manager clearly knows how to draw an eye.”


“I’ll be sure to tell my husband later tonight.” Maddie used her thumbnail to scrape the rest of the plastic shell away from “Straight into Darkness”. “He loves hearing that people admire his work.”


Maddie focused on the ladder’s steps as she climbed down, missing the confident aura shrink from white-collar’s demeanor. As she reached the bottom, a tremor rippled through the store, causing the dangling records to sway back and forth and the ladder to tremble. Maddie gripped the edges to steady herself as the older man grasped the legs of the ladder.


After a moment, the tremor ceased. Maddie climbed down and steadied herself. “Thanks.”


The man stepped away from the ladder and dusted his hands off on his jacket. “You’re welcome. This place isn’t set up over a metro or something, is it?”


“Nope, that was definitely new.” Maddie glanced outside and saw that several people had stepped out of their cars and were looking up and down the street.


“I might need to move if this city’s built on a fault line.” The man said with a laugh before holding up his CD. “I’d like to buy this, by the way.”


“Oh, shit, yeah let me help you with that.” Maddie hurried around the counter and scanned the back of the case. “I’m pretty sure this is the one with the live cover of “Layla” I like. Good pick.”


“God is better than good. You know that song’s based on his relationship with George Harrison’s first- “


Before the man could finish, a deafening roar went up from outside, followed by a wave of heat and debris shattering the window of the store. Maddie was knocked off her feet by the blast, glass cutting into the side of her face. She hit the ground hard, covering her head from any remaining shrapnel and curling herself tightly into a ball. As the rumble from the blast faded, the fire alarm went off and water began pouring from the sprinklers.


Maddie’s ears were ringing as she pushed herself to her feet. She took a moment to steady herself, and checked her chest and legs to make sure she wasn’t hit by anything other than the glass. She could hear coughing and groans from beyond the counter, and screams outside. Holding a hand over her ear, she looked around the store, squinting through the water running down her face. The middle aged man was on the ground, blood running from his forehead and building under the navel of his collared shirt. In the back of the store, the teenager was poking his head up from behind one of the rows. Maddie hopped over the counter and moved to the man as he attempted to sit up. She guided his back so he could lean against the counter.


“Stay right here. You!” She called over to the teenager, who flinched at the noise. “Stay inside and call an ambulance!”


The teen nodded and frantically began searching for his smartphone. Maddie grabbed her sweatshirt and pressed it against the older man’s chest, where blood was now clearly flowing from an unseen wound. “Hold this in place and put pressure on it. Hey! You hear me?”


The man nodded and coughed harshly, spattering some of the red-tinted water running down his face across his jacket. From outside, sirens could be heard approaching. Another tremor ran through the store.


Maddie poked her head up and looked outside. Across the street, the police station was a crater. Debris from the building littered street, and Maddie could see the bodies of police officers inside. Several of the cars lined up in traffic had been overturned, several burning along with the source of the blast. Just as she was about to turn her attention back to the man lying beside her, she saw something.


From inside the destroyed police station, Maddie could make out a lone figure emerging. Tall, muscular, with wings sprouted from its back and a large spear at its side. Pedestrians still reeling from the blast stumbled by this impossible shape, oblivious to what only Maddie was seeing. The figure seemed to watch the pedestrians as they passed in a curious, intrigued fashion. A police officer lying on the ground by the figure’s feet stirred and looked up at it. The red giant looked down at the man, and delicately slipped the blade of its spear under his neck. The officer raised his weapon and fired a single shot at the beast. The figure swiped the scythe back, unperturbed by the bullet that just entered its side. An arc of blood flew from the officer’s throat, and he collapsed, still and silent.


Disgust was building inside of Maddie. “Fucking animal.”


Though she said the words quietly, to herself, the figure suddenly tensed up and turned directly towards her. Despite the searing heat she was berated with from outside her shattered storefront, the sweat that covered her suddenly felt cold and cloying. Maddie raised herself to her feet, feeling an old, familiar sensation building within her. She was ready to move. She couldn’t do a thing against one of these freaks, but she was not about to die quiet.


The figure kept its gaze locked on her as the dust began to converge around it. Slowly, the figure became entirely obscured by the cloud. All but its eyes. They stayed on Maddie until they gradually closed. The dust parted for a moment, and the figure was gone.


Maddie let her body relax, and rested her arm against the counter beside her. Her heart was hammering, her blood pumping through her veins, smooth and hot. She let her breathing pattern continue at its fast pace, sucking in air through her nose and letting it out through her mouth. She looked down to her clenched fist. It was steady, unshaking. She felt herself smile.


“That thing looked right at you, didn’t it?” Maddie tensed up and spun, fist raised, towards the voice. The teenaged boy stood behind her, phone in hand. He stumbled backwards at motion, tripping over the legs of the man on the floor.


Maddie relaxed and let her arm fall to her side. She stared at the terrified teen crawling back on the floor, then looked around the ruined store. Something deep inside was telling her that she needed to move. Needed to go. She grabbed her keys from behind the counter, and ran out onto the street, leaving her store behind her.


Whatever it was that she was feeling, whatever had happened, Maddie knew that she had to run. As she ran, though, Maddie was unaware of the smile she had on her face.


---------------------------------------------------------------


Only after Maddie slammed her apartment door shut behind her and locked the deadbolt into place did she feel the fatigue and wear from the events of the past hour. Her legs trembled underneath her, the sweat running down the side of her face stung the open wounds, and her head was a twisted knot of dehydration and anxiety.


What had happened back at the shop? One of those silver sword warriors had looked right at her, but done nothing. It could’ve slaughtered the entire street like it did the officers working at that station. Maddie had read about these monstrosities doing much worse. Families splintered. Buildings razed. Good people dead for nothing more than cheap thrills. She’d seen enough chaos to know that people like herself didn’t have the luxury of happenstance. Getting this close to something like that… Things were going to get complicated. She needed to leave.


Maddie grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and hurried into the bathroom. Swigging the water to clear her head, she looked into the mirror to assess the damage. Four punctures and one cut adorned the left side of her face. Nothing that would scar. She opened the sink cabinet and pulled out her first aid kit. Tweezers, antiseptic, and a gauze pad were enough. After picking stray bits of glass from the wound, she sterilized and set the gauze on her face.


As she reached her right arm across her chest to apply pressure, a sharp pain ran across her back. She turned saw another wound, small and isolated, just above her right shoulder blade. She pulled off her cardigan and began dabbing at the cut. Thankfully, there was nothing stuck inside this one. As she worked, she couldn’t take her eyes off her tattoo. The ouroboros constricting the devil’s pentagram. The irony of the gesture she’d made several years ago was losing its novelty.


As she traced her eyes along the circle of the ink, reversed in the reflection of the mirror, something caught her eye. Through the bathroom door, on the floor of her living room, a glimmer of reflected light was moving smoothly along the wooden surface. Maddie turned, slowly, and leaned around the edge of the doorframe. The reflection as coming through her bedroom door, which was wide open. In the four years she’d lived in this apartment, she had never left a door open before she left the house for the exact purpose the tick was serving now: She was not alone.


Maddie moved low and fast across the living room to her desk. From inside the topmost drawer, she removed the Ruger her father had gotten her as a birthday present some years earlier. Flipping open the cylinder to make sure the cartridges were loaded, she stalked towards the open bedroom door. As she reached the edge, she stepped out, pistol at a readied position


A sword was floating a foot in front of her bed, catching the sunlight streaming through a crack in the blinds. It was rotating steadily on an invisible axis. Floating. Maddie ignored the gravity defying object and scanned the rest of the room, her aim steady. She knew what this meant. The CWI’s alerts had interrupted many a late night broadcast to warn people about what to look for.


She stepped carefully around the sword, giving it a wide birth, and kicked open her closet. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, within the closet or without. Besides the door being open and the sword, the room was as it had been before she left for work that morning.


Keeping the Ruger trained on the sword's hilt, she approached. Directly beneath it, at the end of the sword’s point, was a card, an octave clef was drawn neatly in its center.


“After all this time, I still marvel at the craftsmanship.”


Maddie spun to her right and fired the Ruger. The bullet struck the mirror she had hanging on her wall and shattered it. Maddie backed away from the sword and into the room's entrance.


“Easy, child. You might hurt yourself with that useless toy.”


The voice was calm – amused – seemingly enveloping the bedroom. Maddie’s eyes flicked frantically to every corner, scanning the ceiling and windows. She wanted to run. She never should have come to Jericho City.


“Relax. Deep breaths. I’m not here to hurt you. Not the way you think, anyway.”


“Show me your fucking face and I’ll relax, freak.” Maddie’s voice was wavering. Get a fucking grip. If it’s talking, you can kill it.


A full and hearty laugh responded. “No, I don’t think I’ll do that. If you won’t calm down, I suppose I’ll say my piece anyway. We don’t exactly have much time.”


Maddie stepped back into her living room and moved to the desk, gun trained on the bedroom door's frame. “Then talk. You’ve got my attention.” From inside the drawer, she removed a box of cartridges and replaced the spent shell, pocketing a handful of others.


“The gun is just going to make things louder, you know. Those little men are on their way now.” The voice had followed her into the living room. Maddie spun to scan the room with frantic eyes, and saw that the sword had moved from the bedroom and was now hovering over her afghan rug. “That boy was eager to mention that lovely moment you had with the Red One. A real paragon, that one.”


Maddie realized that’s what had spooked her. She should’ve told the kid to keep quiet. “Say what you’re gonna say, champ.” She sounded more frightened than she wanted to.


“As you wish, Madeline. Or should I call you Thana? Or Marísh? One of the four horsemen of Lagos? You weren’t War, by any chance, were you?”


Maddie’s hands tensed around the revolver. “You know who I am. Get to the point.”


The voice laughed again. Across the room, her speaker system turned on. Moondog’s Prelude and Fugue began to play lightly. “I am War, Madeline. I am here to offer you the chance to shine the way you did all those years ago, but on a new battlefield. A true one. One where you won’t be snapping the necks of gangbangers, but dueling with those in a class of your own.”


Maddie’s could feel her heart’s rhythm quicken in tempo. The sweat on her palms was beginning to make her hands itch against the revolver’s grip.


“This sword will be your weapon. It will mold to you, become part of you. You will have unimaginable power with it at your side. You would become the true vision of what you once embodied.”


Maddie rubbed a bead of sweat from her forehead. “I don’t play that game anymore. It was all for the thrill. I’m not interested.”


“Now, now, let me finish. Should you choose to accept, you will be able to fight against those who have disgusted you for the past years. The only way to stop my warriors is to become one, after all. Should you refuse, however, your journey will end here. You will die in this quiet room, alone and forgotten.”


Slowly, Maddie let the gun fall to her side. She pulled desk’s chair out and let herself sit down. Looking down at her hands, she saw that they were trembling, ever so slightly. “This is fucking insane. This is how you spend your time? A god? You’re pathetic, you know that?”


“If you choose to see it that way, I suppose I can't change your mind. You're not alone with such an opinion.”


Maddie stayed silent. Gods. Demons. Eternal warriors. She had damned herself long ago, but this… She had spent so long building herself a normal life. A normal mentality. The thrill of breaking a man’s jaw – the feeling of bone snapping under her boots – she had boxed it up. Put it far away from her mind. Say no. You can say it. You’re ready. You don’t need to run anymore.


She rolled the gun around in her hands, fidgeting with the hammer. “… I’m dead no matter what I say.”


Another bark of laughter. “Why must you fools think so much? You all react the same. Think, think, think. It’s all you insects do. I’ll make a choice for you if you don’t. The CWI pulled up twenty seconds ago. Three of them are on their way up this very moment. Will they find a corpse or a legend to be, hm? Don’t think, Madeline. You know what your answer is.”


A thumping was heard at the door. From beyond it, a muffled, authoritative voice came. “Madeline Morris? This is Agent Douglas of the CWI. We have a warrant.”


Maddie looked from the door to the sword. The gun in her hand was growing heavy. She’d thought about it before. Putting the thing to her chin and spattering her brains all over the yellowed walls. But they always stopped her; the promises she’d made. Promises. Promises and ideals. If you do this, you’re going to regret it forever. Do you really want more regrets? Despite these thoughts, she could already feel it. Her veins screaming with the hot blood coursing through them. The adrenaline working her body like a puppet. The impact of bone on bone.


The thumping came again, louder. “Ms. Morris! Open the door now!”


“Madeline…”


The gun fell to the floor with a thud. Maddie stood up. “Fine. I’m in. Just do it you fucking coward.”


As the gun fell, the thumping stopped. She could hear the shuffling of footsteps away from the door. The agent addressed an unseen partner. “Open it up.”


Madeline could hear the smile on War’s face. “Lovely. Hold out your arm.”


A searing pain burned into her wrist the moment she complied. She cried out, biting her lip and gripping her arm. She watched as two fiery specks ran steadily in an intricate pattern along her veins. An octave clef, like the one on the card, came into shape. The pain was beyond anything Maddie had felt before. War’s laughter sounded surreal and distorted as she writhed.


The sword flew from across the room and embedded in the wall beside her head. It twisted in shape, dripping in melting strands of silver onto her shoulders. The metal was cool against her skin, and ran down along her arms to her hands. Bending and twisting, the metal formed two shells around her hands; gloves with the octave drawn into their backs. The card, blown by some unseen force wind, flipped over to her and turned onto its back. The side was blank, but dark, inky lines began to spell out letters as Maddie watched. “Agent Douglas and co.”


“With that, Madeline Morris, I leave you. For your sake, I hope your conscience takes a backseat for the next several minutes. You’ll hear from me soon.”


The door to the apartment buckled under a heavy blow from outside. The deadbolt held, but the wood it was screwed to would give soon. Maddie blinked spots out of her eyes. Every inch of her body felt on fire. Her muscles, her heart, her senses; everything was electrified with a new energy, a new sensation she’d never before felt. The gloves, melded cleanly to her hands, vibrated with the peak of this energy. Her fists were clenched, a glow coming from her palms. She looked to the door, rising to her feet. She knew what the law was against warriors. She knew that these men were doing their job. None of it mattered. She was outside a Bangkok trafficking shack again, the countdown ringing through her earpiece. She could hear Daly, Itō and Craine checking off, jeering for the coming thrill of the hunt. Another kick came at the door, this time, bringing the deadbolt an inch away from the wall, still clinging by the ends of its screws. Tears ran from her eyes. She was home again.


The door gave in. An agent swung around the frame, tactical shotgun in hand, as his partner recoiled from the final kick to the door. He saw Maddie, saw the gloves, and screamed.


“She’s one of them!”


Maddie moved. The shotgun went off as she pushed it to the side. She felt the buckshot graze her ear, but no pain came. She was beyond all feeling. Sight and sound were all she needed. She spun, kicking the man square in the stomach, knocking him off his feet. Standing framed by the doorway, she opened her vibrating palm as the two additional officers raised their weapons. The frame of her door shattered as a shockwave emitted from the glove. The two agents flew back against the opposing side of the apartment hallway, one of them flying through her neighbor’s door. A knife stabbed through her calf, and she was dragged off her feet onto the floor. The fallen agent she had kicked released the knife and drew a pistol up towards her head. Maddie grabbed the front of the barrel as he fired, the glove blocking the bullet. She squeezed, shattering the weapon along with the man’s hand, bringing up a cry of agony from her assailant.


In the hall, the agent who had been knocked into the neighboring apartment opened fire from on top of the ruined door. Maddie rolled to the side, tearing the knife from her leg as she did, and leapt to her feet to take cover behind her apartment wall. Bullets tore through the plaster as Maddie slid back into the door frame on her knees, swinging her weight around the edge, into the hallway and out of the officer’s line of fire. For a brief moment, she saw the officer rising to his feet, moving to take cover to the left of the opposing apartments door. The third agent, still stunned from the initial blast, looked at Maddie as she skidded to a halt in front of him. He raised his weapon groggily, but Maddie was already on her feet swinging her knee towards his head. The blow knocked the man’s skull through the cheap plaster wall behind him, and his body went limp. Inches from her head, the wall exploded inward, followed by the thud of a body inside her neighbor’s apartment. Spinning, Maddie saw the first officer, his shotgun propped up over his mangled hand, reeling from the recoil of the shot. She rolled between the two doors, avoiding a follow-up blast from the crippled officer, and raised both palms to him. The blast sent the shotgun-wielding officer sliding back into her apartment, his weapon flying across the room and his head cracking against the edge of her bedroom door. She rolled to her left and turned, crouched beside the neighboring door. Silence had filled the hallway.


Maddie waited for a moment - panting, sweating - her fist raised to her neighbor’s doorframe. When the silence persisted, she inched forward and peered swiftly around the doorframe. The agent, who had taken cover beside the door, had been hit by the friendly fire of his partner. He lay still on the floor, blood pooling under his body. Maddie pulled back, and did the same check with her own apartment. The other, who’d led the breach, was sprawled on the far side of her apartment - the wooden frame of her bedroom cracked by his skull. The chattering of coms could be heard from his body.


“Contact lost with agents Douglas, Adams, and Ramirez. Strike team in transit.”


Maddie moved quickly. She grabbed her first aid kit, three bottles of water, several shirts, sweatshirts, and a fresh pair of jeans, and limped out of her apartment. As she did, she glanced into her neighbor’s living room, and saw the older man standing behind his couch, phone in hand. He stared, horrified, and slowly raised his hands over his head. Maddie gazed back for a moment.


“Sorry for playing loud music sometimes at night. Seriously. I felt bad about it every time.” Not waiting for a reaction, Maddie took off, as fast as her condition would allow it, out of her building.

One Week Later…


The hotel was unassuming. Run-down, built in a quiet district. To the passerby, its windows were boarded, some broken – openings to the dark insides of the structure. The occasional pedestrian would pass the building, though none would look twice. Such is the nature of a forgotten place. Everything seemed to match up with the clues Maddie had been following for the past few days.


She shifted in her crouched position from on top of the warehouse, itching her calf with the sole of her sneaker. The slit left by the knife had closed up and vanished long before she’d cut away the fabric of her jeans to treat it. Little things like accelerated healing and heightened senses were pluses Maddie was still adjusting to. Her hood was up, and she used a hand to cover the reflective lenses of her binoculars. Elbows propped on the rooftop’s raised edge, she scanned the building for signs of life. In her eyes, the building was well lit, properly maintained, and every bit as grand as it once looked in the laymen’s eyes long before the war. She caught glimpses of its inhabitants every now and again, casting reflective gases out onto the city skyline, sneaking out the front for beats of fresh air, gathering on the roof for private conversation. From afar, they looked like normal people.


Maddie descended from her vantage point via a drainage pipe on the north side of the building. Sidestepping the occasional homeless dwelling or prostitute, she made her way towards the hotel. She was unsure of how to approach the community of the place. On one hand, she’d need friends if she was going to make any sort of impact in this war. On the other, these were ruthless killers from a wide range of backgrounds. She’d seen what the violent side of life could do the mentality of someone with a weak will. She knew how easy it was to be consumed by the thrill of the hunt if a person didn’t have to work for the right to kill. Regardless of the risks, Maddie needed the place. She was tired of sleeping on the streets - eating leftovers from the tops of garbage cans. That, and War’s parting words had been nagging her.


“You’ll hear from me soon…”


Maddie rounded the corner of another warehouse, turning into the alley that would lead to the doorstep of the hotel. Shrugging the duffle bag that held her sword and additional belongings to a more comfortable position on her shoulder, her eyes wandered up the building’s face. It was taller than it had looked from the warehouse roof. The front door was closed, but she could hear activity on the inside. Cracking her neck and taking a breath, she knocked.

 

[TheLoneRook]

Her hand hit the floor.


The man was cut in half.


He couldn't get the blood to stop.


"Leo...don't fucking look at the blood look at me. Me, Leo. Look right here. Leo..."


"LEO!"





Roark woke to a red demon standing above him. His arm extended, Wicked Dancer already aiming to put a spike through the demon's eye. It was leaning on its spear, gently staring down at him as though perplexed by the behavior.


"Is this a new hobby? Staring at people in their sleep?" Roark growled, Dancer retracting its lethal spine as he pulled himself out of bed, the demon that was Azel stepping back quietly, his body shrinking down to its regular form.


"To be fair, last time I tried to wake you up you managed to actually skewer me. Precautions needed to be taken." Azel said, ruffling his hair out of the matted mess it always became when he was in his old form for too long. Roark rolled his eyes as he went for a jacket, not even bothering to put a shirt on as he left the damn thing unzipped. If anything it was an excuse to say he was wearing clothing.


He turned to Azel, silently crossing his arms in that "Fuck you, you woke me up" kinda way, waiting for an explanation as to why. Azel sighed, tugging from his pocket a red card. Roark tensed, but quickly recognized the symbol on the letter wasn't his.


"New girl, should be coming to the door any minute now. Death gave us the heads up, apparently she's already got heat on her. I'd assign someone else to keep an eye on her but Tony's got business with Len and...well quite frankly she's not gonna like me very much."


"You just don't want your nightly painting session interrupted."


"Yes! I also don't like dealing with girls, and yet you people STILL try to pin them on me! Good day, Mr. Cranky!" he exclaimed, already walking out the door.


Roark didn't bother complaining. Fighting Azel on something was like trying to, well, fight a giant red demon brandishing a spear.


He very slowly made his way from the 9th floor down to the ground. A few Warriors stared at him from their rooms, there was the occasional "That's the guy." but it wasn't anything he hadn't heard a thousand times before. By the time he made it to the ground floor he heard the knock at the door. Either Azel was a telepath, or he probably just got Tony to find the girl for him. Probably the latter, but Leo wasn't the kind to really investigate things like that anyways.


He practically tore the front door off his hinges the way he opened it, but he was still wearing Wicked Dancer, there wasn't any reason to take it off. Then he saw her.


Beaten, bruised, the classic look of someone fresh out of the gate. Nowhere to go, nowhere to be, and nowhere to run. A long time ago Leo held sympathy for newcomers. Now, he just found it sort of funny. That said, she was fit, and it wasn't fear in her eyes. It was hope, and a bit of anger sitting quiet in the back, waiting to let loose on whoever she could put a finger of blame towards. Not someone who was new to the fight, and certainly not someone who was afraid of it. That said she looked good...he didn't elaborate on that thought, for the sake of his own dignity.


"Okay...let's see. You're gonna need...shit we've really gotta find more creative ways to stash swords. Oh wait, shit, your records...Mody!"


A hand appeared from thin air, gloved in black leather, a folder in its hand. Roark took the folder and smacked the hand. "It's not polite to sneak up on people, you know that." The gloved hand disappeared quickly, a sad hum emitting from the air around them as the sound of hushed footsteps could be heard fleeing the scene. Roark sighed as he opened the folder, gesturing off into the hotel. "That's the least confusing thing you'll see here. Okay we got...shit, quite the background...you know that's funny my sister....nevermind. Propulsive gloves...shit if you haven't shattered your arms yet you're in good shape. Okay. Your stuff's inside, Death's generous so you should have most everything you need. Anything specific and you can take it up with Az- actually just take it up with Bel. You'll know her when you see her. Alright, that looks like everything."


Roark stepped out of the doorway and gestured for her to enter. "You're 113. Go get settled, come back here when you're ready. I wish I could say you've got time to rest, but right now...you don't."


@Master Jaster

 

[Master Jaster]

Expectations collapsed once the door opened. The half-clothed warrior, the intricate weapons wrapped around his arms and legs, and the disembodied hand that carried her life in a folder. Maddie had readied herself for anything, but the results sidestepped her guard by a margin of miles.


It was borderline comical, the scene that unfolded in front of her. The man who addressed her seemed to have rolled out of bed, and mumbled through a confused series of thoughts before ushering her into the building. Room 113. She glanced over the man's body once more before brushing past him, into the Den of Warriors.


Maddie let her eyes wander as she walked, catching an eye or two on the way towards the stairs. The warriors wandering the hotel lobby were, for the most part, stray dogs looking for scraps. One or two made suggestive gestures towards her, before turning to companions and mumbling what clearly weren’t echoes of admiration. She was a target. Having spent time in prison, she knew the mentality these types had. They thought she’d be easy prey.


Maddie closed the door to her assigned room behind her and instinctively locked the door. Dropping her bag at the doorstep, she began sweeping the room. She ran her hands along the bottom of the nightstand, dresser, and small dining table she was supplied with before dismantling her bed and checking the mattress for any hidden incisions. She pulled down and tore open the few paintings that adorned the walls, and ran her hands up and down the thick cutains that covered the window. Inside the dresser was clothing. High quality, covering the full spectrum of practicality. The nightstand was empty. The bathroom was next, small but cozy. Pushing the urge to shower from her mind, she checked the underside of the sink and inside the mirrored cabinet. Clean. Last on her list was the closet. Pulling it open, preparing to check any shelves and test the walls for structural inconsistencies, Maddie's breath caught.


Resting on the closet floor, in a neat pile, were various things from her apartment. Her record player sat next to a crate filled with a selcet few of her vinyls. None of her favorites, but the personalized thought caught her off guard. She hadn't thought she'd see any of the stuff again. Beside the player, two cardboard boxes were stacked atop one another. Peeling back the folds of the first, the light from the closet's bulb fell across the reflective visor of her gas-mask. This made her smile. Underneath the mask, her combat and bulletproof vests were folded. A few scattered trinkets from her apartment, chosen without specificity, accompanied the vests. The second box held some books, CDs and a small box of jewelry she'd forgotten she kept on her bedroom's dresser. What she found underneath the uninformed collection of objects was the leather-bound journal her mother had given her as a teenager and an envelope containing various photos from her house. Whoever had been to her house to collect the things clearly had had the decency to leave the journal closed; the thing had not once been written in.


The thought and effort that had gone into gathering these things relaxed Maddie. She stepped back into the main room. The walls were clean, decorated with flowered wallpaper. The spots on the walls that once supported the shredded paintings blended seamlessly with the rest of the room. The wooden floor was polished and pristine. Even the bare mattress was stainless, seemingly brand new. It was as if the room had been assembled just moments before she entered.


Deciding to forgo the process of reassembling the room, Maddie pulled off her shirt and jeans and made for the shower. A week without a proper one was something she hadn’t come close to dealing with in years, and she appreciated the warm water and real soap. As the warmth enveloped her body, she organized her thoughts. The man who had let her in was a bigshot, that much was certain. Pressing him for information needed to be her first priority. She’d need to map the building’s layout afterwards. Last on her list: she needed to find someone she could trust. Anyone. Stay focused. Reserve judgement until you’ve got a grip of this place.


Using one of the towels neatly folded on a rack beside the shower, Maddie dried her body off. Tying her hair up into a neat bun, Maddie rooted through the bathroom cabinet for a toothbrush before moving back into main room of the hotel suite. Her new clothes, neatly folded by type in the three drawers of the room's dresser, were new like the rest of room. She slipped on a pair of jeans tank-top, pulling a black sweatshirt over head. Maddie grabbed her duffel bag and headed back downstairs, silver sword clinking silently against her back. She felt a bit more relaxed than she had when she first arrived, but still had to learn why she didn't have time to rest.

 

[SniperBus]

Len nearly choked on his drink when Tony complimented him. "Hold my own? You'd just as soon be able to evaporate me as you would draw your sword.." Len muttered, staring his friend down. A new fire blazed behind his eyes, as if it was kindled by the thought of a good fight well fought. Len reached into one of his many coats, and after shuffling around for a moment, he produced a crystalline flask and poured the last ounce of Amaretto into it. It was tacky, but necessary. Tony would probably understand. Len wasn't even close to offering a reason for it any time soon, however. There was only one way to surprise people.


The room darkened slightly, and the light flickered a few times as Len stowed away his precious flask under his many layers of clothing. Len picked up his hefty bag after Tony made the gesture to, thinking of new ways and strategies in order to actually, maybe, leave a scratch on him. "Okay. Sounds fair. We might get a free one from Marcello. You know, the drug dealer I introduced you to?" Len snickered, walking past the open front door as Leo introduced someone and straight to an exit, leaving the building with a gleeful stride.


The dirt isn't too far away! Of course, neither is death..







Ruby flung herself out of bed, patting her face repeatedly. Wet. She stared up at the ceiling, just as another stream of water came out. Instead of landing where her head just was, the seemingly sentient leak squirted water directly into her face. Shaking her head, Ruby dug around though a variety of dressers, drawers, and boxes before she finally found her new savior. Ruby rubbed her face against it affectionately, "Ah, the wonderful duct-tape~". She tore a strip off, looking up at the ceiling. It was at least twice as high up as she was tall, and her bed was low to the ground.


"Huh." Ruby started to walk around the leak in a circle, looking for a way to apply the tape. She pulled out her warbrand, and balancing the tape on the end of it, managed to barely get the tape on the hole in the ceiling after a few minutes of jumping. The person in the room below probably thinks I'm crazy.. Ruby donned a pair of jeans and a shirt, slinging her small travelbag over her shoulder and shoving her warbrand into it. She grabbed her hat off the rack by the door and put it on as she slipped down the stairs.


Ruby made it to the bottom of the stairs, her foot touching the bottom floor just as a realization came into her head. I left the lamp on, didn't I? I may live here for free, but I'll never be ungrateful on someone else's penny.. She grabbed the banister, spun around on her foot and ran right back up the stairs.. straight into somebody else. Ruby bounced off of her, colliding into the wall of the stairwell. At least they were on a landing. Ruby cast out apologies while attempting to stop the other lady from falling over. "I'msosorryandalil'bitdumbbutthat'sallrightsorry, sorry!" She was unsuccessful, practically tripping her own feet by trying to help, so she stopped to keep matters from getting worse. "So uh.... not the best way to meet, huh? I'm Ruby, good to meet'ye, sorry.. again.. for that.." Ruby looked down at her feet, rubbing the back of her neck.


@Master Jaster

 

[Cajolions]

The hotel’s windows glinted pink in the empty evening light as Lyle approached it, bloody hands still on the boat shop’s keys. Someone, a young woman it seemed, was passing from the porch into the revolving doors, to its comforting world of lobby music and programmed murders, ushered in by Roark and the fateful folder. He moved his eyes away.


Today he thought perhaps he too would enter and decide to stay, permanently. Perhaps after having carelessly poured, Theseus-like, the contents of shop and hotel room into one another, he’d now reached the point where the two places were one and the same --the first swarming with CWI, the second with Warriors, both a complete surrender to the encroaching absurdity of this life-- and it would simply be easier to settle into the least exhausting of the two. To retire.


He’d have to reinstate the hotel mattress. He could see it already in 901, held up against the wall by a rampart of dust, book boxes and the old, glum Giacometti fake; the prospect of having to get it out already felt stratigraphic. If the bed slats weren’t rolled up and hidden behind it, he’d probably lost them. His hands felt heavy. The blood was hardening under his nails.


“Good evening Roark,” he called, crossing the drive-through. “Half-naked and half-awake as per usual I see... Was that a new recruit?”


@TheLoneRook

 

[TheLoneRook]

Tony rolled his eyes, quick to follow the scruffy pile of leather and dirt that was his old and slightly psychotic friend. "I swear of all the things you forget you still remember that story..." he mumbled to himself, the image of his long-deceased cousin who'd tried his hand in the business of drug dealing flashing into the back of his head. Admittedly, his father's side of the family were never people he felt much fondness for, so the reminder didn't fill him with woe and sorrow like one would expect it to.


The walk to the Dirt was certainly quick. Three blocks north, one block west, and the city limits faded into thick deciduous brush. The summer had finally started to bring back vivid green, but it was dulled by the absent night as the two tromped their way into the shadows.


The forest was home to its own kind of bloodshed. On the Dirt, there were rules. There were no rules in the woods. Many a coward had slit someone's throat or ran them through from behind on the walk to the battlefield. It was the sad truth of this war they were a part of, the ends justified the means. There were plenty of fledglings who rejected comradery for the sake of power. He'd seen people kill their loved ones for a chance at newfound strength. It wasn't really a sad truth. It was more like a disgusting one.


That said, Len and Tony walked together, their footsteps almost matching each other. The bags they held almost hissed at one another, seemingly aware of all that was about to go down. Tony started to remember the first time they fought. The stakes were on opposite ends. Tony was young, and his weapon terrified him. Its power was seemingly uncontrollable, a rage he could not comprehend nor extinguish. Len's weapon, though simple, was something he quickly learned to use. The two were in unison before Tony ever even knew what his weapon actually was.


A long time ago people thought Warbrands had minds of their own. Their own agendas, their own desires. With time, Warriors came to understood that what Warbrands possessed was personality. They each responded differently to their owners. Some wanted to fight all the time, others were particular about the when and where. For some Warbrands, certain conditions had to be met in order for their power to be fully exploited. With even more time, Warriors came to understand that their weapon's personality...was simply their own.


It didn't take long before they were finally there. The clearing was quiet, but in the center was a young man practicing the swings of some sort of whip. His form was limp, he had no sense of urgency, no power. It was as if he was trying to brush a fly from a horse's ass without its noticing. Tony, assuming Len would take the close side of the field, started walking towards the boy. He'd left his bag on the outskirts near the trees, his weapon already poised at his hip, silver turning to deathly black as his vision expanded with a rush of sensation, the spiraling eye on his weapon darting to and fro, enjoying its familiar surroundings.


The boy took all too long to even recognize his presence, and under worse circumstances would have been dead before he had time to scream. Even still, the young man stood his ground and pulled back his whip for another sad, limp strike.


"That's it huh? The sword everyone gets so scared of? It doesn't look all that scared to me. I think you've been bluffing the whole time." the boy said, his body language was surprisingly confident for someone who didn't know how to use his own weapon. Tony sighed. This was his least favorite part of the entire gig. Dealing with people who though him refusing to draw his sword was some sort of intimidation act. He could feel it whispering to him in the back of his head. The kid wouldn't feel a thing, gone before he knew what happened. His hand went to the hilt of his blade, the whispers rose to murmurs, excited.


"That sword is yours. Don't let it tell you otherwise."





The words soothed him, the murmurs died away, their plans foiled yet again.










Terry's words didn't stir her. At least not externally. Of course she worried for her, that was what she did. She worried. That didn't mean she was classless enough to let people know. No no, she was the rock. Always solid, never faltering.


"Whatever the world gave you, whatever poison fate decided to pour into your cup, it hasn't taken you down yet. If you can make it this far, I have no doubt you'll make it 'til the very end. You're not just anyone, yknow. You're Terry Walsh, the Misty Princess of Hotel DeSangre. If you can't survive this, I doubt anyone could. Well, except maybe Azel, but that's more because of his thick skull than anything."


"I can hear you."


"That's why I said it!~"


Azel more than likely rolled his eyes as his head rolled with them, but Bel paid him no mind as she tilted her head up towards the stars and ruffled Terry's hair from across the space between them. It was a quietly firm bond the two had, a rock covered in soft sand. Her hand rested on the blonde locks as she gazed.


"You'll be fine. Anyone who says otherwise can refer to me, personally."




Still in a bit of a sluggish stupor, the call from Lyle all but woke Roark right up again, the tips of spikes firing from his hands in the way they always did when something caught him off guard. His groggy eyes soon matched the voice to the face and his alert demeanor returned to its usual sluggishness.


"Hey Mr. Simon, yeah it was. Seems like she could be a tough one too, but we've seen more promising fledglings fall short before. How's the newest project going?"


To almost everyone in the Hotel, Lyle was Mr. Simon. His age, however, wasn't what caused the uniform title of respect, but his attitude. Despite the war they all waged, he was always a kindhearted and peaceful soul. He was an intellectual, and a man of the mind. He fought as they all did, and he fought hard enough to survive, but even after six years of fighting he still kept to the same ideals he had brought with him upon entering into this hellscape. That alone was something to be admired.


@SniperBus @RyuShura @Cajolions

 

[Cajolions]

Awoken only an instant, the young man quickly returned to the torpor of a jolted anemone, and gave the news. Judging from the figure of this vigorous fledgeling, Azel must have been the one to assign him welcome duty, though neither of the two was much good at managing the unsurmountable of a female presence. In the truly elderly, consideration of these kinds of flutterings was a cannibalistic pleasure, a delicacy, but there was yet too much bitter youth and bile in his own heart for that. He glanced at the heavy folder in Roark’s hand. "Well I certainly wish her the best of luck," he said.


The sun was stepping from the outside in, and turning electric. The stars were settling into their seats over the sea. He pressed his cigarette into the entrance ashtray, and emptied his lungs.


"As for my project- it's been…” he paused, thinking with the stained cigarette stub still between his fingers, “somewhat postponed. Put back." The crack of the agent's skull under his knuckles had been entirely silent, swallowed by the deep whispers of the bowrider hull she'd started to set aflame. If her mistake had been to investigate the hangar, his mistake, finding her about to throw the fire extinguisher off the pier, would have been to let her live. He'd come in time to salvage the shop and the apartment.


Moving with Roark, he pushed his shoulders into the revolving door, lifting a viscous hand. "It's not something I can't handle, but it is a real pain in the ass, and I shouldn't have ignored the new CWI posts by the pier.”


@TheLoneRook

 

[Semblance]

A half-eaten sandwich in one hand, Xena chewed on her favorite panini from the local cafe as she headed down the street. Her bright blue eyes naturally scanned her surroundings as she walked, always on the look out for any of War's monsters.


Ever since she had accepted her Warbrand six years ago with the intention of redeeming herself, she soon realized that she had been thrown into a well-fabricated deception. Like all the other Warriors, War had appeared to her with this glorious image of fighting evil and becoming heroes. It was the night that she had driven her parents back from the airport, except that she had been drunk from a party earlier, leading to a fatal collision that killed her parents. She, however, survived with moderate injuries and the guilt from her actions has been haunting her since.


As a result, when War came to her, Xena had naively accepted her Warbrand, expecting to fight criminals and keep the peace. How wrong she was. From the second she realized the true nature of the fateful red cards, she had been fighting them every step of the way. Occasionally, she would accept a card to placate War, simply because she knew she was reaching the breaking point with him, but Xena was adamant at committing the bare minimum of murders. Therefore, there were often monsters and servants of War ambushing her in her daily activities, forcing herself to be on high alert every time she left the hotel.


The most recent card she had received, however, happened to be a person that she used to know in her past life, before she was branded by War. A girl named Laila. Back when Xena was a normal high school teenager, Laila had been her best friend, practically a sister. The two had often attended parties together, drinking and smoking without a care in the world. In fact, Laila was with Xena on the night that she was supposed to pick her parents up from the airport. They were at a college party that night, and Xena's need for social approval had led to the gravest mistake of her life.


Pushing the painful thoughts out of her mind, the girl made a turn into a smaller, more secluded street off the main road, and that's when she saw it. This time, it was a large boar with several sharp horns protruding from its face and neck, standing there calmly and clearly waiting for her. Gruesome drool dripped out of its mouth as small flies made their home in its vile fur. The boar's soulless red eyes glared straight into Xena, adrenaline rushing through her veins as they made eye contact.


Without warning, the atrocious creature rapidly charged towards the slender girl when it spotted its target. She immediately threw her sandwich down and reached for one of her Warbrand knives, choosing the holster that held her net blades. Xena flung the knife with as much force as possible towards the oncoming monster. As soon as the blade picked up speed, it spread into an extensive metal chain-linked net, hitting the boar square in the face. An angry, shocked snort escaped the creature's mouth as the heavy net wrapped itself around the animal's muzzle. The boar slowed down to shake its head viciously, attempting to escape from the trapping net.


Xena took advantage of this moment and flung three of her explosive blades towards the monster's face. They immediately bursted into sharp, burning metal fragments upon impact, a few shards lodging themselves into the monster's skin. The boar let out a loud roar of anger and instantly charged towards her once again. She knew that her attacks thus far were merely slowing it down and that she needed to get near its throat in order to deliver a killing blow. Xena readied herself, a large, sharp knife in hand, as she watched the creature race towards her.


When the boar was dangerously close, she leapt out of the way at the last possible second, leading the animal to run into the brick wall behind her. Xena struck her knife towards the monster's throat, but she overestimated its reaction time. As the boar swiftly swung around to face the girl, one of the sharp horns on its neck cut her right forearm that was holding the knife, the impact of the creature's thick neck pushing her onto the ground. She instantly dropped her blade at the painful laceration, blood beginning to spill down her arm. The creature used this moment to dive towards her, its pointed horn poking out of the net and heading straight towards her.


Her heart pounding in her ears and adrenaline racing through her veins, Xena instinctively rolled over to the side, narrowly missing the boar's razor-sharp horn. She instantly grabbed the knife from the ground with her left hand and sunk the sharp blade deep into the monster's throat before it could react, cutting a long gash down its throat. Blood immediately poured out as the boar fell with a shriek onto the ground motionless. Panting, the girl pushed herself up and wiped the dirt off her clothes, pushing her light red-brown hair to the edges of her face. Xena jogged out of the secluded street and headed towards the hotel, her pulse still racing.


When the familiar building came into view, she saw Leo and Mr. Simon just entering through the hotel's revolving door. Xena followed after them, catching a glimpse of an unfamiliar tall girl with wavy brown hair head up the stairs. "Twenty bucks says she's gone before the end of the month," she said to Leo and Lyle, referring to the new Fledgling with a smirk. She knew that the majority of the new Warriors were either taken by their own brands, caught by the CWI, or killed by War's servants. By the end of the first couple months, only a handful of Fledglings often remained.


Xena's attention diverted to the drops of blood that was starting to drip onto the hotel lobby from the gash on her forearm, staining the white tiles red. She had almost forgotten about the cut on her arm. "Bumped into another one of War's servants. It was a boar this time," she added nonchalantly, offering a short explanation to the two men.

@TheLoneRook @SniperBus @Master Jaster (mentioned)