Gladiators (Click to Show)
Azure (Manny Ken)
Story (Click to Show)
Cassandra (Leelee)
Story (Click to Show)
Chromium7 (Dante Rockwell)
Spoiler (Click to Show)
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Crank (Serif Winters)
[spoiler=The Hostile Hospital]“...You don’t consider us alive…”
The ambient noise of the city life failed to fall upon Serif, recent echoes reverberating through his being, floating to the top of every distraction he fought to find. His teeth grit as he tried focusing on the faces of old friends, but somehow they all morphed into either Ida or Ira.
“You can’t find a shred of a soul.”
Agony had already consumed him like a cannibal, but after hours of walking, his thighs felt like they were beginning cook. As much as he needed rest, there was a lead he had to chase more. Olivia’s forty-eight hours expired long ago, but the key was barely a day old.
“...If Dex didn’t shoot you…?”
Clutching it in his palm, he begged his brain to shift focus, but his desires were ignored as the trio of lines remained looped, pounding his skull, threatening to crack it. He always knew he was flawed, he always knew he had tunnel vision, but he’d never looked someone in the eyes before, only to consciously choose to abandon them to pursue someone else. He never betrayed someone’s faith before, he never knowingly spilled a friend’s blood before... and he never knew he could look someone he knew in the eyes and view them as acceptable collateral damage... The fact that a betrayal against him shifted his loyalties back almost didn’t matter. He decided people weren’t worth saving, and that continued mass death was acceptable for access to what he didn’t even know would help.
And now he didn’t even know the their fate.
Serif shook his head again as the twin’s words continued to rattle him. Each step he took felt weighted, but as his eyes fixed on the horizon, they locked on a familiar building. The closest thing he had to a home here, housing the closest person he had to a friend.
“You still think you’re a good person?”
The ambush from the new, old voice almost popped a blood vessel for the hunter, who’d already bled too badly to sustain anything else. Underneath all his ink, bruises coated his body and swelled his features, but no matter his condition, his fists still clenched at the man’s memory. If Hell was real and he was dead, he couldn’t burn hot enough. Rubbing his thumb along the key’s engraving however, he tried blocking the hate from his eyes before arriving home, only to realize his current condition was sure to confirm all his host’s fears in a volatile shock. After his past visit left him near dead for half a month, Annabelle didn’t take the news of his departure to the RHG HQ well. There was dread in her eyes when he spoke of the intended journey, she ordered him not to go, promised she’d give them a call, and swore they weren’t the type to help even if they could. She had said a lot of things... anything to make him listen to reason. She all but ran in front of the door and blocked it with her body, but his only reply was ‘Goodbye’. And now the sun and moon had completed a full cycle in the sky, and she didn’t even know if he was alive.
Wincing as he tapped his chest, Serif felt his finger dampen against fresh crimson, still soaking his makeshift jacket. With a sigh, his eyes averted from the motel, drifting to a hospital a short distance away. It wasn’t ideal, but looking alive was a courtesy he owed her.
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There was a certain list of things The Gentleman expected with his triumphant return to the RHG. Like a glorious bolt from the blue bursting a horrendous scarecrow into brilliant blaze, he re-appeared without warning, bringing back a classic clan in the process. Maybe ActaSanctorum didn’t have as many battles between its members as some others, but they were a longstanding clan, full of good people, people that could be rallied behind. People that could be relied upon. He was here to create a new golden age, but rather than being met with the enthusiasm he expected, he was greeted by…
Paperwork.
And condescension? This was the rejuvenation of a brand, not some panicked mid-life crisis. A frown tugged at his mustache as he thumbed through the stack of papers on his lap. Sure he was older than most of the other competitors, but thirty five was not the center of his life, and it shouldn’t be the cause of having to fill out a ten page questionnaire about his medical history. He walked with his umbrella like a cane, but did they expect him to keel over and break a hip at any moment? If he wasn’t so close to the end, he would’ve called his lawyer to finish the rest.
Needing the break however, his eyes averted from the sheet, glancing the rest of the waiting room, only seeing one other man a few seats down. Considering the location, a slow day may have been bad for business, but good for society. Seemingly drowning in his own stack of inked sheets, George considered letting the man do his work, but the metal device he carried caught his attention. Or rather, the appendage. Although it wasn’t a smooth metal all the way through, the robotic arm was a sight to behold. From the fingertips down to where an elbow would’ve began, the craftsmanship was remarkable. In addition to some sort of centerpiece on the palm, three small blades were protruding the limb.
Even for a hospital partnered with the RHG however, it felt out of place, if only for the fact that the towering, thinly-bearded man, had much more of his original limb than would fit into the machine. All he needed was a wrist and hand, assuming their absence was the reason for the cast coiled around his forearm. Looking back to his own paper stake, Prince spoke.
“I would’ve expected a mechanic to be better suited for such… augmentations.”
“They are. These are my discharge papers.”
Nodding, George let the conversation die as he continued reading, the faint sound of the door opening barely being processed in his mind, and the soft music masked the conversation the newcomer had with the receptionist. Signing his name for the dozenth time, he could hear papers shuffle next to him before the small giant arose, striding to front desk as well. The gentle rhythm of a piano danced in his eardrums as he turned the page over, trying to find the semi-silence soothing, eyes gliding from one paragraph to the next.
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“Ma’am, please, I don’t want to see a doctor,” Pinching the bridge of his nose after having to repeat himself, again, Serif reestablished eye contact with the receptionist, “I cauterized and cleaned my wounds; I’m bruised not broken, and I only require gauss and blood. I’m AB positive and need to recover what I’ve lost. Any blood pack you have will do, and I will gladly pay you for it.”
“We don’t sell blood, sir.”
“I don’t need a bed, I don’t need a nurse, I simply need to be on my way. I fail to see the inconvenience.”
“It’s against procedure, sir.”
“I’m blatantly injured, ma’am.”
“I’ll… it’s just something that we can’t do.”
Slowly, he motioned to the furs he wore like a jacket, head of the beast covering his like a cowl. Far bigger than that of a typical wolf, and much redder than anything out of the arctic had any business being, his unamused icey blues froze on her black-coffee brown. “Half of this is mine.”
“It’s just that…” Shaking her head, she suddenly became aware of a second man approaching from the lobby. Jumping on the distraction, she turned away from Serif instantly. “Did you complete the paperwork Mr…?”
The man nodded in reply, producing the sheets, but when his peripheral vision caught a glimpse of the ink concealed by a thick, winter garb, he stopped suddenly. Conversely, seeing the movement in the corner of his eye stop, a paranoia pricked Winters, craning his neck to face the figure. Ambushed by the recognition, the hunter took a small step back, bracing his footing on the carpet while his eyes shot to the man’s hands, confirming the right to be missing, only to lock on the metal one he was carrying, trio of blades captivating his attention. He could feel the massive man’s eyes on his, and watching his only knuckles clench, knew the obvious future like a gypsy.
Placing his palm on the woman’s desk, Serif’s eyes remained on the arm armed in the man’s grip while his enemy watched his in turn, grinning when tattooed fingers touched a vase.
“If you don’t move your hand, I’ll tu-”
Water turned pink as it splashed into the man’s fresh gashes, glass shattering like a fatal, head-on car collision, shards of the decorative design coating him in deep lacerations with crimson trails behind them like comets. Hardly a moment passed as he staggered, only to feel the hunter’s palm seize the back of his skull before jerking him to the side with all his might, bashing his temple against the side of wooden desk, blacking out his consciousness in a blink as a shrill scream strained the vocal cords of the woman just trying to do her job. Bolting to the back as the gladiator began looking back to her direction, Serif let out a long sigh as he gathered the bionic body part, tucking it under his furs for safe keeping.
Feeling eyes upon him however, he glanced over his shoulder to the rest of the lobby.
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Missing the leadin, it was the sudden shatter that ripped The Gentleman’s attention off of his paperwork, mouth agape watching the giant fall before the woman’s scream lurched him to his feet. Instantly, he locked his gaze on the winter-warrior, crimson coated and standing before a fresh fallen. Gripping Umbra, George held his ground while his lips moved.
“What brings you here?”
“Blood.” The mild annoyance in the otherwise casual answer was just the next red flag.
“I see that you found it.” Taking a step forward, Mr. Prince failed to intimidate Mr. Winters, “Perhaps you should take your leave now.”
“Not without what I came for.” Brandishing a knife, Mr. Winters failed to intimidate Mr. Prince, “Perhaps you should return to your seat.”
“Perhaps,” Moving forward another pace, the businessman lifted his umbrella, revealing the deadly tip as he pointed it at the hunter, “But I was called too old by too many people too young to know today.”
“So be it.” Finally leaving the counter, the unheroic advanced on the ungentle, rolling the blade between his fingers as his free hand plucked a metal bola from under his layers. Eying George as he took a fencer’s stance, Serif’s mind raced to calculate a likely speed and range for the man over a decade his elder, but the swift crunch of a splintering wooden frame tore their eyes off the other. Suddenly pivoting their poses to face whatever kicked in the front entrance together, the hunter reflexively let his projectile fly at the sight of furry feet.
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“Ohmygosh Zack! I heard you used to be part of the Wind Chasers! Hi!”
The voice pained him. Physically. There’s a limit to the jubilation a stranger can ambush him with, and the pitch it’s shrieked at needs to be below a certain level.
“Can I talk to you for a little bit? Did you know Vamprina? What was she like!” Zacheroar had only accepted the debriefing mission due to the quiet alone time the journey offered, only to be robbed of both things. Distance blessed him with noise akin to a whisper at first, but as she bolted towards him, her volume rose exponentially. “Why’ja go? Was Aiba different before people started leaving? Do you think he’ll get better? How are you!”
Like it was a ‘c’ on a multiple choice test, Zackeroar answered everything with a grunt.
“I heard there was some sort of clan war, did you hear anything? I heard alotta people got hurt, but that’s all. Do you think the Wind Chasers could’ve won a war when everyone was there? Do you think you’ll come back-”
“No.” His answer was swift as an assassin’s blade to the heart, but only when he heard the fangirl buckle did he turn to face her fully. The same applauded expression she had plastered struck him at her sight. When Leelee was described to him as ‘like a bunny’, he had assumed it was a polite way of saying she was a whore with a shitload of kids. First glance spat in the face of that assumption, at her age she was still a child herself, but to who, he hadn’t a clue. Zeus fucked someone as a swan, but at least those cousins still looked human.
This one though, this spawn of bestiality looked to be split in the middle between girl and rabbit, save for her long ears flopping over her blonde ponytail, which for some fucking reason was wrapped around her neck. Whatever lingering respect he had for his old clan died as the rest of her appearance seeped in. There were little hearts on her cheeks and ‘I love your EVERYTHING’ written, in glitter, on her shirt. Even if her white bunny paws had claws she’d still be the least frightening thing he’d ever laid eyes on. The Wind Chasers used to be intimidating. They used to have a samurai, a swordsman, a half angel half demon, man with a magic staff, an assassin, and him, a son of Zeus. Now they were reduced to recruiting the daughter of some sick fetish?
As he continued to stare, Leelee’s eyes narrowed a bit in her own right. “I’m tougher than I look, ya know.”
“You look as tough as fresh venison.”
A huff expelled her as she finally caught up to the spartan, who in turn, continued his journey. “Well I’m tougher!” In that moment, the annoyance left her, replaced with the sparkle of hope, “I can show you if you want!”
“I have business to attend.”
“What kinda business?” Looking between him and the hospital ahead, her eyes grew wide with concern. “Is-”
“I need to talk to a man about a dog.”
“Is it a puppy!”
“...I was told that means ‘none of your business’, but I can see I was misled...”
“Well I’m gonna recruit some Wind Chasers!”
He tried to ignore her, but once she raced in front of him, jumping backwards to keep somewhat at eye level, doing so became difficult. “At a hospital?”
“I mean, there was just a war, and lots of gladi-” Her ear twitched without warning and her face fell serious for a moment, paling at the sound. Furrowing his brow, Zackeroar looked to her for explanation, but she was off like a bolt of lightning before he could get a word out. Cursing under his breath however, he took off after her, partially hating himself for his inability to keep up with a child, beating him to the entrance by a mere cluster of seconds.
She leapt into the air