OwO

Hell on Earth: Supernatural & Demonic Detectives

The man in the purple suit and the Saniwa goons were--beyond anything else--bewildered. Though, it was to be expected when a fly small enough to punt rolled up with four knives and threatened to fillet them. An eternity seemed to pass as though the Saniwa were waiting for a question that never came.

Everyone who wasn't Marty was nonplussed. The goons did little more than stand and observe the strange little fly man. A few even stood slack jawed. It was unimpressive--that was saying the least. That wasn't even to mention of the audacity of Beelz's partner in uncrime. Though, it seemed like the Saniwa didn't notice her power-stance a chair with their focus entirely on the fly.

The man in the purple suit moved. His shaking hand lifted a cigarette--partially bent and broken--from his jacket and placed it in his mouth. A golden lighter flickered in his hand. The sound of flint spinning against metal filled the silence. A deep breath, then an exhalation.

"Yea. Get 'em."

It would have appeared that Yam's assessment of Marty's diplomacy was overstating his abilities a little.

As if forming battle plans utilizing henchman to henchman communication, the goons approached after equipping themselves with clubs and metal knuckles rather than any sort of blade or gun.

It was a fight.

One that opened with one of the injured goons charging Beelz with the leg of a table.

Hell on Earth: Supernatural & Demonic Detectives

Like his previous responses, Sato didn't know much. Though, the detectives could see him take longer and longer to think.

"Hit anyone hard enough and they'll liquify inside. Or enough chemicals will turn anyone to sludge. I know of a few people who'd do that kind of thing. Cleaners. But--you know--professional courtesy." Sato said. "And bouquets? What, is there some new serial killer on the loose?"

He paused--half to observe the two detectives, the other to think some more.

"I guess those Saniwa got liquified and turned into flowers, huh? No other reason why you'd come by. Good riddance. They deserve it."

He paused a bit more as if he was trying to predict the future.

"If you're going to ask if I think the concerned bitch did it, then no. She looked like the sort to kick down a door and pummel everyone with her fists. Or paws. Fuck if I know."

Caretaker remained an overly polite brick wall.

Hell on Earth: Supernatural & Demonic Detectives

Alphard could tell that the former heir didn't really listen when he gave Sato his name. When asked about the Saniwa, a grimace came over his face. "I stopped thinking about that shit years ago. I don't want any part of that bullshit anymore and I don't change my mind."

Sato spoke more when asked about about the wolf.

"What are you, deaf? What part of wolf says 'human'." Sato unceremonious snapped back at Al. He sighed as he recollected himself. Whatever would get them out of his hair without any trouble. "It's a brown wolf or dog or something--she's a demon. Parts of black. Some bullshit nu-tattoo without any meaning. Large scar on her eye. A few scars on her body--didn't wear much."

He paused to recollect more.

"She had a huge rack."

With his memories now spent, he took another sip of his drink. He didn't react to the drawing of the eye that Alphard had made earlier that morning.

"What, it's an eye?"

The two detectives could tell that the complete non-reaction and slight befuddlement that neither Caretaker--the sheep-like demon--or Sato recognized the drawing beyond it being an eye.

"She cleans up this place," Sato answered for Caretaker. "Rarely misses a spot. Except for the high shelves."

His stool jostled as Caretaker weakly kicked one of the legs.

Caretaker simply shrugged when asked about something not leaving a trace. Neither Kelly or Al could sense any deception. She probably didn't know anything it.

Hell on Earth: Supernatural & Demonic Detectives

It took some time for Lorelei's acquaintance to arrive.

Quiet and weak footsteps could barely be heard if one was quiet--twice as many, if one counted their own steps on their way up.

"It's been a while." A hoarse voice announced, their tone quiet and slow.

A small figure crested the stairway into the 2nd floor lounge. Someone of short stature, their loose clothing--though every detective knew that the figure's clothing wasn't meant to be loose--hid their figure beyond their surprisingly broad shoulders. Slowly, they continued moving up the stairs, both feet meeting on the same step before trying to ascend the next.

Their skin and hair was nearly flawless; fragments of age spoiled perfection, however. Of course, this was no natural beauty. Both Dezzie and Lorelei knew that this beauty was the result of hours of care and enough product to start a retailer. Barbados? The man's idea of "exfoliate" was letting the wind kick beach sand into his face. Contrary to their appearance, they didn't possess an ounce of youthful vigor. In fact, a light breeze would blow them away.

"Congratulations on the promotions," they said to Lorelei, "or I suppose transfers? It's been quite a while since I last saw you. How have things been going with your life?"

"Though, it's a bit strange why you'd ask me to meet up with some..." they paused as to look up and down at Dezzie and Barbatos, "swingers?"

They chuckled to themselves a little, only stopping as a languidness took them over. Rather quickly, they took a seat.

"I'm Lev," they introduced themselves, "my mother wanted me to be like a lion, but you can see how that turned out."

⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

ａｎｄ　ｔｈｅ　ｆａｍｉｌｉａｒ　ｓｅｎｓａｔｉｏｎ

It would appear that the man with burning skull didn't warp and shift. Strange. Was there some sort of condition towards her transformation? Or did the burning skull give some kind of immunity?

Though, her attention was split between her thoughts and listening to the wordy man.

How many had the witch insulted? That was an interesting question--where it not for the immediate issue one would come across when pondering such an issue. As always, her memories--and lack thereof--said zero. Her heart and instinct spoke towards an unimaginably large number.

"A rather daft question." She rebuked. Her eye flickered towards the manic one before briefly glancing at the man with grey skin. Her movements were exaggerated as if to accentuate whatever malcontent and spiteful point she was trying to make. "I would presume that you could infer the answer on your own rather than belie on rhetoric."

She paused for a brief second.

"Oh, and I speak solely to provoke." The witch rebutted.

As if to wave off the man, she once again turned her attention to the man with flame in skull. To make it worth his while?

She thought for a brief moment to consider how she could do such a thing. Only one thing came to mind. If it was the price to pay for knowledge of the flesh--especially what was esoteric, then she would easily pay it.

"Well, I can't quite do it to you here, but if the need arises..."

Her finger dragged across the top of her other hand. Her own flesh tore and parted as her nail dragged towards her wrist, a laceration forming across the length of her hand. Her nerves shuttered. She could smell and nearly taste her own blood. Yet she didn't pause or shudder. It was too familiar to do so. It was something that was ingrained into her soul. To accept this pain. To not yield to it.

Her blood seeped out of the fresh wound. Before it could spill on the ground, the blood stopped. She held her hand up to reveal the extent of the damage to the man with the burning head and those around him.

Just as easily as her finger tore through her flesh, the blood began to shift and contort into the wound as if time was reversing. But it was nothing as refined as altering chronology. No, it was brutal and primitive. It was just as painful--if not, more. Her flesh stretched as muscle shifted and reformed. Her skin darted into itself to hide what was just exposed. Just as easily as the wound was created, it was hidden. The witch felt every unnatural movement as she contorted her own flesh whole.

"...I can offer my services."

It would appear that she didn't quite understand what the man meant when he said to make it worth his while unless he had some very strange peculiarities. The grin that had formed through that ordeal nothing to help--unless he was oddly into that sort of thing.

As if that display meant nothing to her, she turned back to the altered one.

"And please do stick your hand inside."

⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

ａｎｄ　ｃａｓｅ　ｓｔｕｄｉｅｓ　ｏｎｅ　ａｎｄ　ｔｗｏ

The witch didn't have much to say about the others who stepped forwards.

The ardent one lost in confusion that seemed to find a fragment of direction as their feet curled into the ash. She was uninteresting. The witch had little interest in the thoughts of others. Though she would be interested if it was a condition of the mind.

The unresponsive one that stood at a distance was also uninteresting at this moment. Perhaps if she did a little jig or her arms fell off instead of standing slack-jawed would the witch deign a moment of thought towards her. Well, catatonia was also interesting. Of course, had the witch been facing the construction of faux-flesh and bone, she would have been considerably interested in such a marvel.

The one with two blades and closed-eyes was of more interest to the witch. Very obviously, he had some kind of ailment towards his eyes. She was at least thankful this one wasn't deep into theatrics like the one she had insulted.

Then came the bald girl. This one was manic beyond all belief. That was of some level of interest to the witch. Though, the witch knew that ailments of the mind weren't her domain. While she thought it would be interesting to look into this mania, it was only to sate some level of curiosity.

The short one in an ill-suited outfit was of little note beyond the strange noise she made.

The pale, less-human looking man didn't do much to grab the witch's attention either. Though his question did spark a few thoughts. Obviously, she couldn't remember her name. She knew what a name was yet nothing came to mind as to what she would refer herself as. She had the briefest inkling of something--a title that others would call her--but she could not yet recollect the word. Shaman, like how the blonde spearman said, felt similar but was too distant.

The noble-looking man wasn't of much interest. Even as he approached the spearmen armed with little more than a dagger and prose, the witch didn't pay much mind to him.

Now who was of interest? None other than the man with cavernous skull, a lack of lips, and burning flame. By all means, it didn't make much sense. Presuming he was human and not some flame possessing a corpse, his existence was already of intense interest to the witch.

"Some more broken than others," the witch mused as she rose to walk towards the man who seemed born to a woman and lantern.

"Were you born like that?" She asked the ironic question. "Not to mention, how did you make such a sound without lips?" She then extended her hand to the side of the man's head--still in the field of view of people who didn't typically have portions of their head replaced by cinders. "Can you tell me which two fingers are touching?"

Her impromptu session was cut short as the scaled spearman demanded silence, only to observe--rather, to not observe--how he shifted and moved to place the bald girl under threat of spear-tip.

The witch was tempted to dare either one of them to walk forward, though such planned incites were interrupted by the reappearance of the blonde alongside someone who could only be the shaman. Her admonishments were ignored as the witch hadn't touched the spears. She was too comfortable sitting on the ground to do so. The announcement of their location was noted. She didn't recognize the name. Of course, why would she? Beyond her sole memory of the bogs, she couldn't recollect anything besides concepts.

Though, the shaman's entrance was overshadowed by what the witch had noticed in the corner of her eye.

"Now that is curious." The witch's attention was focused on the short one as she observed the spear in her hand corrupt and alter her arm. Suddenly, the least interesting out of all of the strangers had become second only to a man missing half of his head.

"A phage or parasite? But that wouldn't progress as quickly. Magic? Possible, but I would hate to waive off such an event with a convenient explanation." She continued to mumble to herself. "But that does mean..."

She turned to face the man who had shoved multiple spears into his skull.

⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

<Snipped quote by TheMushroomLord>

The gods have rewritten all of your brains to speak the local language.

@Redacted

Darn. No Tekken vibes where people speak their native language and just understand each other with zero acknowledgement of this happening.

Hell on Earth: Supernatural & Demonic Detectives

There wasn't much danger that Kelly could surmise from the bar. It was just overly clean. Though, it was a little hard to focus when someone as brutalized as Sato was in front of him. He had some sort of punished charisma going on. Either that or his senses were still yelling out that there was a 50/50 chance that Sato would still hock the glass at him.

"Listen, I don't know shit about anything if you don't tell me what you're looking for," Sato frustratedly said before he took a sip of the drink in front of him.

He paused for a moment to think as if recollecting some memories from a hazy stupor.

"This brown wolf bitch covered in scars came in a month ago asking about the Saniwa and the floating district. Said she was a concerned citizen and that whole spiel. I didn't tell her shit and couldn't because I've been rotting away here for years. Plus, I'm not some bullshit kumbaya unionist so I wouldn't tell her even if I did know. If she did something, I'm no part of it."

The sheep demon still didn't speak, though she nodded to affirm what Sato said.

⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

ａｎｄ　ｔｈｅ　ｎｅｗ　ｗｏｒｌｄ

It wasn't her sky. Or perhaps it was--her sole memory was of that moonlit night. It didn't take much to intuit why it was different. Despite not a single memory of it remaining, her body and mind could intuit the flame, smoke, and ash that littered the air. Flames that painted the sky an ominous sunrise. Perhaps it was the basal instincts born into all living beings that she knew what fire was. Perhaps her mind was deciphering base concepts on its own. Or perhaps she kept her knowledge but was simply unable to recollect concepts without proper impetus.

Whatever the case was, she knew that this place was an ill tiding.

No matter--she could remember to breath, move, think, and speak. For what use were the other things at this point in time? Though, she dare not move yet. She was quite comfortable sitting on the ground.

Unfortunately, with the ability to think and speak, she also had the ability to listen. And she had to listen to the blithering of two spearmen and a man equally as strange as her.

"Can you hear yourself speak?" Her voice rang though her sharp teeth as she targeted the esoteric speech of the equally strange man as he approached the spearmen. "Or do you just enjoy speaking in theatrics?"

Her voice was unexpectedly melodic in spite of her stature. If she stood, she would be half a hand over the taller of the two soldiers, not including any hat or headgear. Despite this size, her voice was as sweet as a siren's.

It was a shame that her first words were an insult.

⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

I'm a healer but...

???

Age of Death: — 70
Gender: — Female
Race: — Alopiidon
Psychology: — For someone unable to recognize their own name, the Alopiidon is a rather vain and prideful one. Though, perhaps her pride is born out of a misanthrophy--to see herself as greater than her peers. Of course, for someone who has such a brutish power, she has some innate level of excitement towards blood and viscera--both her own and other's. Beyond any of that is her desire to learn--as such, she's quite indifferent to the loss of her memories and is more infatuated with the concept of a new world.

⑇⑉What You Remember⑉⑈

^{Marshland Academia}
The cold night's air numbed her skin--though she dare not grasp herself in any attempt at warmth. She was no longer a pup. Her kith stood alongside her. Younglings of the same brood--though she would not admit such words. To do so would be to renounce her claim to adulthood. They watched as the elder dragged a human, one with various parts half-detached, across the water. Small bits of leaves covered his wounds, but could not stymie the flow of blood diffusing into the bogs. It was slow but meticulously fast--the elder dragged his body onto a stone altar in the bogs.

Observe, pups, those words rang out, of how to preserve life and, if that fails, to use its throes to learn.

⑴ To understand how to mend was ingrained in her kind. To weave flesh, marrow, and blood to reform the body--for what use was a styptic when one could naturally detoxify one's blood and put it back inside the body. Though, the prospects of one's flesh being forcibly contorted and woven is never one's first choice of [Asqkmxkirr•]

⑵ Of course, one cannot understand how to mend without knowing how one's internals functioned. What would a doctor be without practical experience? Just as easily as one can mend flesh can one rend flesh. Slowly, carefully--always to preserve the structure of lymphatic systems for greater learning and understanding.

⑇⑉What You Don’t ⑉⑈

^{[An End of Eras]}
Apostate. That was a new one. Though, it was probably wrong of them to say such words--she never believed in their metal gods. Such were the old ways of her kin--they had no gods or masters to worship. Though, any accusation was just pretense. Simply put, it was a purge to make way for a new era. Magi were no longer needed in a world of metal, pistons, and whale oil. No matter her ability, she couldn't take the weight of a nation-state bearing down on her. Though, she did try out of principle. Even her own death would serve for her learning--even if it was as simple as how many she could kill.

As their harpoons left her impaled and no longer able to see the light of the moon, she had only a single thought.

Oh, to continue my work. That would be just swell.