Aighto, so how do Crests work? Like, do they have Crest-detectors? Do Crested folk instinctively know if someone else has a Crest? Do you have to invoke a Crest in order to use it, or is it like a bundle of passives?
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Maybe not so done, but the gist of it is there.
Yasu was personally going to drop down with the Trapeze lad, with the intent of stabbing it on the way down so that when it hit the stage, it'd like, crack open like a walnut or something. Just didn't write the stabbing cause I didn't know if it would actually drop or not.
Anyhow, will post later on this week, to let others do hijinks first.
Anyhow, will post later on this week, to let others do hijinks first.
That's a fun gif in your signature. Welcome.
“He.”
Serenity blinked, memories parsing sense now that she had time to think.
“She’s a demon. Damon enabled her possession through an artifact he gave that man, and she left with him after.” Twisting allegiances, too dense to make sense of. No point in dwelling upon it now though, not when the sounds of battle rang so clear, not when that sword gleamed with such vigor that even at a distance, it was recognizable.
House Cazt had risen into infamy due to the traitor who orchestrated the War of the Red Flags, but before then, they were granted power upon the deeds of their forebearer. The Demonbreaker, a knight of supreme capability whom had once done through sheer will what all the sages of the kingdom had given up upon.
Beyond that shadow of a hero laid the barrier of the sinner who chained him to their servitude. Outside, a caster of lightning contended with Cecilia’s storm bow. And the hostage herself, the sister of that nem assassin? Still breathing. Still alive. Damon didn’t lie. But that only made it all the more troublesome. It would have been better if the hostage was dead.
Serenity’s fingers drummed against her mace’s grip. The decision that she came to was made quickly.
“Lein, aim for the necromancer. Wait for the opportunity.”
And she was off.
The tides of the undead had already been churned up and cleaved through. Their Knight-Captain had found some of her footing after all, even if she seemed to perpetually be on the back foot. She had some amount of technique then. Just lacked in environmental awareness, if she kept getting taken by surprise with the appearance of such resplendently armored blasphemies. Gerard should have taken the hit for her anyways though. What was the point of a shield if it wasn’t used to let the one with two hands on her sword to focus on strikes?
But this positioning was useful regardless.
And there certainly was a bit of irony in what she was about to do next.
“Gerard! Shield overhead!”
With one powerful stomp, Serenity was airborne, her knee cracking off the skull of the undead that impeded her path, her mace of common steel brandished over her shoulder.
In the next, her feet found the surface of a shield scored with cuts and stained with desiccated flesh, and that became her platform for rising higher still. A second jump, propelling up and up. Like the griffin that tried to leap over her three days and three nights past. Like the beast that had begged to be disemboweled in its pride and stupidity.
But she flew higher still, trusting that Dame Fanilly and Sir Gerard would see the opening if the Demonbreaker raised his weapon that high up. Trusted that if not to strike at her, the Demonbreaker would raise his shield against her, to thwart off the aerial helmbreaker she was about to deliver.
And yet, at the pinnacle of her ascent, the flaxen-haired lioness had already passed him. At the pinnacle of her jump, she was already twisting her body, curling it inwards, reversing her orientation so that her feet touched the ceiling.
Legs coiling like springs once more.
The third jump!
Gravity, might, and mass unified, dust sifting off the ceiling as Serenity descended. A sword could cleave, a spear could pierce, but when structural destruction was the intent of a warrior, there was only one weapon that could claim the name ‘meteor’ even when craft only of mundane materials.
At the very edge of the barrier, she delivered a blow to shatter the earth itself. Stone fractured, slabs cratered, spiderweb cracks bursting out from the epicenter of the meteoric strike. Racing out, to sever the lines of chalk that declared to this world that a barrier ought to stand.
Now, the question remained.
Did Lein trust this gambit enough to fire his shot, through hordes of undead, through the defenses of an undead champion, past the body of an innocent child, into the vile flesh of a necromancer who desecrated the glory that belonged to this tomb?
If he didn’t, Serenity didn’t mind.
Her legs, after all, were coiled once more, ready to send her into the fourth jump, right into close-quarters with this bastard-mage.
//Day 0 | Location: Nameless Forest - Clearing
There were three things that humans were good at.
One, they could communicate. Their language was complex and diverse, capable of conveying commands, descriptions, and emotions with deceptive ease.
Two, they could throw. No other animal exists with as strong a throwing arm as a human being, whom at their best could throw a ball twice as fast as a cheetah could sprint.
Three, they could run. They were not fast, but they could certainly be consistent, their bodies tuned to manage energy and body heat, intake oxygen and conserve fluids, for days upon days.
But was it enough?
Duncan’s basketball, hurled with all the force he had in his bones, was only enough to draw the attention of the charging beast. The cranium protected the most important organ of one’s body, after all, and regardless of how hard the ball felt, its buoyancy meant that all the force that it carried upon impact was just as likely to bounce back against it. And so, it did. It bounced away in a different direction, and the wolfbear charged onwards.
This would have been the time to break, to run, but in that moment, as all the boys considered the pros and cons of splitting versus running in a group, Asahi stood up. To say that the branch he held was on fire may have been generous. Its tip was charred and smoking, but a proper blaze had not yet ignited. This was no torch. This was just a stick. But on the other hand? Regardless of what he wielded, this was Asahi! If he was willing to stand up…
“Yosh!” Daisuke roared, as if shouting down the fear. “Let’s do it, basketball team! Hiroshi, Juro, get the girls outta here! The rest of y’all, we’ll take down at least one of them! C’mon, Kurosh-”
A shadow shot past the blonde-haired jock, past the pink-haired socialite. In Kuroshio Ogata Middle, there were two people who distinguished themselves as true martial artists. There was Maki, of course, who practiced samba and would butt heads with anyone. But then, there was her neighbour, her rival from another dojo, another fighting style, another philosophy.
There was Bansen Sasuke.
The wolfbear lunged at him, and he fell back in turn, protecting the most vital parts of his body with his arms while simultaneously kicking upwards with his feet. Such beasts possessed strength that humans could not compare with, and if it had truly been the size of a bear, his gambit would have failed even with the principles of physics and leverage on his side. But here? Against a monster the size of a girthy deer?
It flipped over Sasuke, slamming onto its back.
And in that stunned instant, Kunio acted first, his reflexes kicking in as he dove atop the beast, trying to pin down one of its limbs with his whole body. Yuki, snapping out of it, leapt into the fray as well, but now the monster itself was scrambling for purchase, trying to find its footing.
“Go go go! Dogpile it!” Someone was shouting that. Someone from a distance.
Of course, that someone was Akito.
But in the brilliance of Sasuke’s technique, in the vulnerability that one of the wolfbears showed, all the boys: Asahi, Duncan, Kunio, Sohei, Yuki, Sasuke, they all forgot that there had been another wolfbear charging at the students.
…
Ayana though, could see it.
Could see Shun doing the same thing that Asahi did, brandishing a burning stick as if it could do anything against such a monster. Her own shoes were returned to her at such speeds she couldn’t even see, but perhaps it was better too, because immediately after that, Tsubaki smacked her on the head.
“What the hell are you doing, Ayana-chan?” she snapped, pulling against her wrist. “We need to run!”
Of course they did. The situation with one wolfbear and six of the most athletic boys in their class could go south way too quickly. She could see her step-sister running with the crowd of other girls, could see Ayano dragging her boyfriend away with her even as Kogen called (quite rudely) for his help. This was the Otherside, this was the portal and its monsters. Weren’t they all just being stupid, trying to fight here, when none of them had anything close to resembling a weapon?!
And if the boys were being stupid, then Shun had to be even stupider, trying to do what Asahi did, but without any of the support he had!
The motor-enthusiast’s pile of dirt scattered against the face of the beast that ran at her, which prompted it only to close its eyes before reopening them, vision wholly undisturbed. Closer and closer it drew, and faster and faster it seemed. Four limbs to propel it forward, hooked claws to offer greater traction than any running shoe, and a body that contained more strength than what any human bodybuilder could aspire towards. That was the nature of what she was going to face off against.
The possibility of death was high. The branch in her hands was slim, unreliable. Her mind was scrambling now, weighed down by the consequence of action and inaction, of a timing that her reaction speed could not handle.
Someone was going to die.
But if Yuudai had a choice, that wasn’t going to be Shun.
He came from a farmer’s family. His father always did what he could to make sure he grew up alright. He had older siblings to pick fights with, younger siblings to take care of. He had his dreams and his ambitions, his love for poetry and rice fields, for the salt sting of the ocean waves and the memories they all made on that summer day. And he knew that if he let Shun draw the wolfbear away, if he chose to run instead of fight…everything that he gained in his short life would have been worth nothing.
So, the boy made his own choice.
An impact struck Shun from the side, knocking her inches away from the reach of the wolfbear’s claw. In that fraction of a frozen second, she caught a glimpse of Yuudai’s gaze, filled with a confused desperation. And then both boy and beast was gone, smashing through the window of the burning bus, trapped in an inferno that should have been hers to suffer.
A cry of pain. The stench of burning flesh and vaporizing blood.
Her heart, roaring like a motor.
…
The branch snapped, but before the wolfbear’s jaws could clamp onto her shoulder, Rin jammed her bag into its mouth. Nylon and polyethylene tore, but steel was made sturdier and the monster growled. Between the strange thing it was biting into and the rocks that bounced against its head, it had decided.
Enough was enough.
And Masato, desperate to drag Rin out, had a front-row seat to it all, as the wolfbear whipped its head back and threw Rin twelve meters into the sky. The student council president felt a throbbing pain where his nail had torn off, but that pain was secondary to watching one of his classmates get flung into a tree with such force that trunk shoot. To watching her limp form hang off from branches of a ten-meter high tree, like a doll tossed away by an angry child.
Her bag of tools spilled out its contents. A rain of steel. Nuts and bolts, screwdrivers and clamps, the hammer and its nails.
Kogen’s words failed to find purchase. Every rock he threw, every iota of bravado he mustered, all of it didn’t change the inevitable. Rin was dead. No one could have survived that. And even if she did, all that awaited her was a fatal drop from the top of the tree to the bottom. Against the strength that the monster demonstrated, what did he hope to accomplish with a handful of rocks?
And though all this may have been a defining moment for the two boys, for the monster that stood before them? It was just food for later. It could shake that lump of meat down from the trees after, but there was prey to be hunted now.
So it charged.
And so she did too.
“Listen to the dumbass!” Maki leapt up onto the wolfbear’s back, arms wrapping snake-like around its neck, legs locking around its torso best as she could. “Run, Masato! GO!!”
Her arms could not squeeze past fur and fat and muscle to choke out the beast. Her legs wouldn’t last long against the wild rampaging that the wolfbear did to try to shake her off. And Masato too, could see the purple splotches on her right ankle.
A consequence of hasty action that brought no meaningful results.
Rin could no longer run. Maki couldn’t either.
Only he could.
Would he?
Figured that with the green finger of death around, Yasu would just forcibly take Emma down with her. If you want her to stay though, Vertigo, Yasu'd probably be more focused on getting out than on keeping a vice-like grip on Emma.
A strike of her sword, accurately placed, sliced cleanly through through the gap between frame and door. The lock that barred the room stood no chance. As plain as her sword may have been, Yasu always made sure it was unreasonably sharp as well, and once all that was done, she hooked her hand around the door and opened it up, revealing a projector room filled with the recently-deceased, old films and reels that may be worth something to a collector, and something else.
She had been in danger her whole life. Had trained as a hunter at a young age. And she had learned too, that where there was light, there was shadow. Where there was shadow, there were monsters.
And here?
"Emma!"
The scepter of death loomed within a green finger, death that bloomed heartily, that slew with timed intent. And Yasu wasn't done with this world yet. Frenetic footsteps shot her across the room, one hand reaching out to grab the shadow-puppeteer's own. The other, gripping her relic's handle, smashed it into the window before she slammed the rest of her body through it to break it open completely. The strength that befit a Cleaner wasn't the strength that belonged to a slight waif, and it was with that same strength that she continued onwards. One foot pressing against the window's ledge and then pushing off, the two of them flying through the air!
Fragments of glass, sparkling like diamonds. Their backs against the projectors, shadows larger-than-life.
And as for the first target, captured within the half-millisecond of her odd-eyes sweeping over the stage?
The two Cleaners landed atop the elephant-headed aerialist, and without hesitation, Yasu's sword flashed out the second time that day, intent on severing the strings that suspended it and dropping it down upon the monstrosities below. There was a time for subterfuge, of course. But what was a stage girl if not dramatic?
~1442 | PARIS | FASHION SHOW VENUE
Panic erupted in an instant, and Edward was immediately in the thick of it.
Compared to the destruction of the lights, the sudden appearance of a guy in a weird costume was basically a non-issue. No one spared a glance at his desperate chant, but the efficacy of it, at least, was proven. Though broken glass slipped through the gaps of the skeletal hand, the interconnected nature of the lights allowed more of them to be hoisted up by the necromancer’s spell than simply the size of the hand itself. The patrons of the place had been saved!
But they were now all streaming towards the exit too, security motioning towards the exits as the well-dressed, well-perfumed attendees of the fashion show made their exits as quickly as possible. And with in the tide of humanity, Edward found himself being swept away, his tangible form pushed and prodded out of the venue alongside everyone else, glass embedding itself in his shoes on the way out.
And as he neared the exit, he saw two things.
The wisp wriggling back up, fresh tendrils bursting out from charged lumps. It had been damaged, greviously so, but it had recovered in the chaos as well, fluctuations of emotion giving it the fuel it needed to continue.
The man on the stage, pulling out a card from the breastpocket of his suit. With a parting of his lips, the card ignited and disappeared, the surest sign of written magic, before the security team escorted him out through the back of the stage.
…
Pool balls littered the floor, and the dragon, its fleshless feet already lacking traction, slipped upon them as a result. It was effective!
Stabbing a creature made of absolutely zero flesh? Much less effective.
Lucian’s pool cue may have made for a good weapon if he had swung it, but a thrust simply ended up with the stick going through the eye socket and out the back of the dragon’s skull as the spectral monstrosity tripped forwards and slammed its jagged forehead right into the reaper’s chest. Momentum continued, Lucian smashed straight through the drywall. His back and his butt were stuck inside the wall now, but before a finishing blow could be delivered, Vera’s claymore swung true, struck true.
Soundlessly, that ebony blade slid through the dragon’s tail, severing it with a singular stroke.
It roared in response, twisting around like a snake to face its foe, inadvertently wrenching Lucian’s weapon from his grasp. Four limbs coiled up like springs, four sets of claws digging deep into the walls, a pair of wings spread out and aligned like blades.
And with a kick, it launched itself towards Vera, intending on smashing her to bits the same way that it had for Lucian.
In the frenzy and the scramble, however, Celeste’s presence was difficult to track.
Unlike Lucian, she hadn’t been half-buried in a wall.
Unlike Lucian, she was being lead away by a host of skeletal monkeys, glowing with the same unearthly shine as the ghostly dragon.
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