Saiyan

Heir to the Maou

Hi mate. No worries, I'm glad you feel better. I'm doing alright, thanks for asking.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Follow orders. Don't die.

He'd failed. As he lay there staring up at the bandit who would deliver the young knight's death, he did not think he might be able to kick his attacker and put him off balance. He didn't think that he could draw one of the throwing knives strapped around his person. He didn't even think to try and move. He'd resigned himself to failure and death, and wondered what his mother and father would think of his efforts. Would they be proud he at least tried to continue on and make something of his life?

As fast as this thought process was, he didn't get a chance to ponder his question.

"For Reon! For the Roses!"

A blur of glinting metal crossed his vision and suddenly, the bandit who was about to kill him was but a headless corpse collapsing in a heap. Lucas could only gasp in a mix of both wonder and horror. It was Sir Fleuri.

"I trust you'll be more careful in the future, Sir Lucas," Fleuri remarked as he glanced around looking for any other bandits that might be nearby. Lucas blinked twice, trying to find his voice. He'd almost forgotten that he was stood right next to the black-armoured knight ere the battle had begun. Ironically, Sir Fleuri had in fact been one of the many things that'd filled Lucas' head with the idea of romantic valour and knightly deeds. As a young lad, his circus troupe had come to a city, name long forgotten, on the same day as an annual tourney event. Lucas remembered, if nothing else, the black knight - The Flower of the North, they called him at the time - besting the competition. Harold Storm, Lucas' father had said to his son that the black knight was fast to act and nearly always put his opponents on their back foot, thus commanding the pace of the fight and never allowing his opponent to employ their own strategy. That's why he won. Lucas, a mere child, could only marvel at the skill. It was indeed ironic, that Sir Fleuri: Flower of the North, had showed him how beautiful melee combat could be... and now he was showing him just how ugly it could be - the headless corpse, gushing blood from the neck, beside him. "Are you wounded?"

Lucas dragged his eyes away from the corpse and finally found his voice. "Y-y-yes," he assured the older knight. "I mean no, I-I'm fine. I'm not hurt."

He got to his feet, about to declare his gratitude when the massive explosion of light and sound made him recoil and put his hands to his ears. His eyes went to the site of Alodia's Thunderstrike and saw the unfortunate bandits who'd took the full brunt of the magical attack. Then he saw his sword on the forest floor, not far away from his own position.

"Thanks," he said to Fleuri. A piss-poor response, Lucas felt, for someone who'd just saved his life at the last possible second, but there was a battle to complete. "I owe you one."

And with that, he went after his sword. Fortunately, between Morianne's song sowing dismay and discord among the enemy, and the absolute superiority of the knights in the order, his path was unhindered. His blood was still raging, his heartbeat threatening to burst his eardrums as he swiped up his weapon and ran toward the feeble positions of the remaining bandits. There were few left, and the full weight of the Iron Rose regiment had smashed into them. A memory flashed through Lucas' mind as he advanced on the fighting; an off-the-cuff remark from Senior Knight Tyaethe Radistirin she made in passing, one time.

'Hit them where they're not looking,' she'd said.

Lucas ran in a direction past one knight engaging a bandit, then turned into the flank of the duel and ran his sword into the armpit of the bandit, who howled in pain for a split-moment before being dispatched by the Iron Rose knight in front. He slashed the legs of another shield-bearing bandit already engaged, resulting in another quick loss of life. His movements were unmolested as the numbers advantage snowballed, and Lucas forced himself to enjoy the fact that they were winning, even if his vision was filled with an untold number of brutal deaths. There was no chance for the enemy to flee, but one in Lucas' sights did try.

"Don't let any of them flee!" he recited the Knight-Captain's orders to himself, although much too loud that it might have been mistaken for the young man trying to give orders.

His armour was light in comparison to most of his allies, and Lucas was already incredibly nimble and fleet of foot. He chased down the fleeing bandit easily, and kicked his trailing leg across, forcing his enemy to trip himself. The bandit tumbled to the floor and the raging young knight dove upon him, driving his sword with all his weight, straight through the back of the cuirass belonging to his enemy. Another cry of agony was released into the din, quickly lost in the air. Gritted teeth, all but growling, Lucas rose up, planted a foot on the bandit and yanked his sword free. Yet another cry. But the last sword thrust was the killing blow and his enemy was silenced.

He looked around for any more foes and realised that the battle was over. There were a scant few ambushers being promptly overwhelmed. None had managed to get away that the junior knight could see. Nevertheless, Lucas rushed back to the bulk of the Iron Roses, close enough to Captain Fanilly that he could hear her next orders.

"Ease the suffering of the dying," she ordered. Ease the suffering of the dying? Did she mean...? "Bind any survivors and take them prisoner. If they have any information, do your best to extract it from them."

The last part, he understood. But he didn't quite understand how he, with little knowledge of the healing arts, could help the dying...

"Right, ma'am."

Lucas' head turned sharply to that familiar voice. He watched Sir Gerard intently as the man roamed among the dead. It was starting to dawn on him what his orders actually were, and perhaps, if it was just denial that was keeping him in the dark, the knight he idolised was about to make it clear.

"To whatever rest you've earned. Reon'll show you."

Gerard delivered a solemn killing blow to the wounded bandit. Lucas shuddered. His battle-rage had gone, his heart calmed down, and he began to take it all in. The results of their work. A mass loss of life. The smell. By Reon, the taste! The sight. He didn't know how to feel, but he'd gotten his orders. He knew what he had to do. Many were doing the same as Gerard, scouring the battlefield. With the blood of another man all over his face - and in his ears, he could feel it - all over his arms and hands, Lucas steeled himself and joined in. Walking about the dead-strewn forest floor was like a something out of a nightmare. A knight beside him stabbed a corpse just to make sure it was indeed dead. It was sickening, but Lucas now sought to do the same. He thrust his blade into corpse after corpse, all of them already dead. The smell was as revolting as the act of stabbing a corpse. It felt wrong, somehow, and he didn't have the wit - in this current environment - to see why it was necessary. He didn't have the wit for anything right now. It was all he could do to simply carry out his orders and not vomit while doing so.

He and the rest of the corpse checkers seemed finished after a spell, and Lucas, (who originally thought to make his way to Sir Fleuri, in order to give a real thank you plus an apology for running out of formation and requiring rescue,) followed the loud and positively obnoxious voice of the troubadour, Morianne. Her colourful language was doing some really heavy lifting to lighten the mood, and Lucas felt like listening to her musical voice would stop him from emptying his dinner onto the ground. He arrived in close proximity as her song ended, and watched as she interrogated the bandit.

"Now," Morianne grabbed the bandit by the chin, "would you be a darling and help a fine lady like me out? I just want to know what Jeremiah has planned for the Iron Rose Knights. If you tell me, I just might give you a kiss."

Lucas felt blood rush to his cheeks. He knew she was simply playing a role to get the information but he couldn't help but think that her charm would probably (definitely) work on him. Quite a few of the female knights in the Order were attractive - even some of the more butch ones like Serenity, certainly could not be called ugly, however manly they acted - but Morianne was perhaps the easiest on the eyes. In spite of her bitchiness at times, she had that quality that all good bards had: An inexorable amount of charm. And she'd turned it on for the bandit, who, judging by his face, was like putty in her hands.

Lucas looked around to take note of the Cecilia and Hope's position as they started on their scouting mission, hoping to reorient himself and remember the direction of the bandit camp. Then his attention was firmly back on the interrogation, with an ear out for any further orders Knight-Captain Fanilly might give.

The Second Falling of the Big Brother Government - (A Tale by KrystalKleo & Saiyan)

Pistol Pete was chewing slowly on his chewing tobacco as he watched the young woman approaching the front gate. Paul, the other gate guard on duty, was stood statue-like. Pete was the superior officer on duty, Paul would let him do the talking. When the woman got closer, he could see that she was exhausted and wore a few injuries. He spat and continued chewing, looking for any tattoos that might signify she was a raider, but she had none that he could see.

"You alright miss?" he asked. "You look like you've been to hell and back."

He would normally tell outsiders sternly, 'What's your business?' but the girl was a sorry sight. He couldn't bring himself to be stern with her. His tone was sympathetic and he could tell Paul was looking at him in his sideview. The young guardsman was probably confused, but Pete was experienced to know that sometimes you had to judge the situation and change accordingly. This woman had no weapon on her, and her clothes were bare enough that she couldn't really hide one. She was without a weapon in the dangerous wastes and looked like she hadn't slept peacefully in weeks. Pete would bet that she'd been running from trouble too, with the fresh scrapes on her arm. Maybe she could use a break, this once.

Whatever she answered to his inquiry, he told her; "Paul here will take you to the guards barracks where you can get some rest. We'll give you a day to get yourself sorted. After that, you'll need some caps or do some work if you want to stay longer. That's the best I can do for you."

If she agreed, Pete would give a nod to Paul, to follow his order, and Paul would lead the way.

***

Isaac Storm gave the raiders the run-around all night. Firing off shots at them and fleeing, taking corners, getting lost in the mazey ruins around them. He'd even took one of them down, leaving only Tasha and three others following him. And one of them was injured, with a bullet in his arm. It had been a fun night.

In the end, Isaac watched the sun rise as he lounged on the broken roof of a building.

"Shit, we've lost them!" he heard Tasha shout. He was tempted to fire a shot at them for giggles. He smiled at the thought. But he decided against that when he heard, "We need to fall back to base... report to the bossman that she's gotten away."

"Someone in the Diamond Backs must've helped her out. There's no way this wasn't planned."

Isaac watched them leave and then waited for a half hour before getting down to the ground and heading in the direction of Grasscroft. He moved carefully, and regularly checked to see if he was being followed. After an hour, he was just travelling normally. It was still a long walk away to Grasscroft. Isaac hoped Zara had made it there. He didn't want to abandon her. After all, there was no way she could just set up in Grasscroft. It was too close to the Diamond Backs base. She needed to get further away, and Isaac knew a settlement in Manhattan where she would be very safe. If he could just catch up to her, he would follow through on his vow to help her. All the way. It wasn't a vow he'd actually made to her out loud or anything. But once Isaac got himself into to some trouble, he would always vow to himself, to see it through.

He just hoped she'd be there when he arrived.

Bloodlines (A tale by Love Dove & Saiyan)

"You wanna bike!? I'll give you a bike!" Archer stormed out of Daniels' office... "I'll fucking run you ov..." ...slamming the door and drowning out the Sergeant's tirade. Swearing and huffing and puffing, Archer marched through the office booths. He passed, looking around at other people like David Cartwright - 'by the book' agent, rarely in trouble... people like Wynne Scottson - practically born and raised in the company, rose through the ranks in 'the right way...' every face he saw, he felt jealousy and undeserved anger towards. It was such a difficult job to be an assassin - an agent for Lightning Corp - how the hell did they not make mistakes that were highlighted and featured for all to see? So annoying. After crossing the office floor, he punched the button for the lift. Other than getting out of his way, no one else paid much attention really. This was nothing new. The young assassin looked around, fired up and ready to answer any comments nevertheless.

"Risk my life every night out there and this is the fuckin thanks I get." When the lift doors opened with a <BING> the assassin walked inside and punched the ground floor button. The doors shut and the lift began to descend. Archer shook his head and breathed out audibly. This job had been so much easier when she was around....................

Inside the Brunswick Road Cathedral, Archer ran up the spiral staircase of the steeple, taking the steps two and three at a time, golden guns in his hands. He didn't stop at the top, shoulder-barging the door through and aiming his guns about as he strafed inside the upper-most room of the sanctuary. When he laid eyes on the target, it took him a moment to realize the situation.

"Hahaha...!" he guffawed, holstering one of his twin desert eagles. "Hey Mac! Come look at this whoppin bannana!"

You could hear MacKensie Trydant's huge catapillar boots thundering up the staircase before she glided in, taking off her silver shades to put her emerald eyes on the vampire in the corner. The creature had fled to the nearest building as sunrise came, which, unfortunately for it, was a holy building. Now, even more unfortunately, it was trapped in the shadowy corner of the room, kept prisoner by the intruding rays of sunshine coming through the stainglass window. It had nowhere to go. MacKensie chuckled. "Well ain't that some shit," she remarked. Then, a little louder to their prisoner: "Haven't you had just the worst night?"

The vampire hissed at her. "One day, Trydant, you will get yours."

MacKensie waved away the retort. "Please..." she shook her head derisively. "I musta heard a hundred of you sucker-heads make the same claim. Each one of them has tasted stake." She drew a silver stake out to show him a sample. "Medium Rare." He hissed even louder. "Finish the job, Brandon."

Archer stepped forward and put two bullets in the vampire's skull, then he caught the stake his mentor threw to him and knelt down to drive it into the vampire's heart. The body started glowing gold before it burned up into sand and ash. Archer fished around the remains and retrieved his silver bullet casings. They could be salvaged later on. "Less than 24 hours from business to pleasure. That has to be some sort of record. I could do this job in my sleep."

MacKensie turned on her heels, making her trench coat whirl behind her as she exitted the room. "Good, because I'm leaving to go back to Italy today. You'll be on your own from here on out."

"Wh-" Archer span around, his face aghast with shock as he stared at MacKensie's back slowly disappearing down the spiral stairs. "What?"

"You're training's done, Brandon. You're an agent now."

Archer was rooted to the spot, the dusty remains of the vampire, Cicero, for company.

Outside the church, MacKensie was waiting, smoking a cigarette and watching cars pass with those cat-like, emerald eyes of hers. Archer often wondered how on earth the woman smoked twenty a day and still managed to outrun him all the time. She was special. She was MacKensie Trydant - The baddest bitch Archer had ever known. As he fell in beside her, she turned her head sharply to regard him, then sharply back with a smirk. "Awwww," she purred. "You're upset. I'm touched."

Archer was a little embarrassed but no more-so than she'd made him before. It had been two and half years since she'd saved his life in Ninth Avenue Subway Station, but it had all flown by. Even with all she'd told him about her life, all the clues and hints she'd dropped, he never considered that she would one day leave America and him behind. Or at least, he'd never wanted to consider it. "I thought we were a team, Mac."

"Don't be such a pussy," she shot back as she waved a black cab down. It did a U-turn and pulled up next to them. "I don't fuck pussies." She gave him that unsmiling but playful look that would normally melt his kneecaps, but today it didn't. She dipped into the cab and Archer followed.

The ride was in silence, MacKensie studying Archer as he stared out of the window at the scenery. He waited for her to speak so he could tell her, 'Fuck you, you could've warned me!' but she never did. They never spoke another word to each other ever again. Archer stopped the cab near his apartment in Brooklyn and got out without even so much as a glance at his former mentor. He heard her give the driver directions before the cab drove off. Immediately he regretted his decision, but what was done was done...................

<BING> - The lift doors opened.

There was plenty of work to be done and the night was young, so Archer walked through the through the city to Club Brood - always his first port of call when he had a new assignment. A man called The Wizard owned the place. MacKensie had introduced him to The Wizard, a man that was no mortal, to be certain, but Archer wasn't exactly sure what he was. MacKensie neither. Some kind of demon, perhaps. Apparently, The Wizard was everywhere. Literally everywhere. All the time. He owned property and businesses all around the world and he personally attended every one, every single hour of every single day. Apparently. He was, as to be expected, always well-up on current events in New York when it came to the underground, non-human scene. An indispensable source of information who was always happy to help his friends, and Archer was a friend... apparently.

He turned up at the club and bypassed the queue of punters, walking straight up to the double doors that were sentried by two, six-six mountains. The music was thumping even stood out front. The bouncers recognized him and stepped aside. Reaching into his pocket, he leisurely pulled out his silver shades and placed them on carefully, nodded to one of the bouncers and walked in. Club Brood felt like it was literally shaking and it had only just turned dark outside. Inside, the only light came from neon blinkers, traffic lights and strobe lighting, illuminating the crowds of sweaty people dancing to synthesized techno beats. His sunglasses made it harder to see in the dark club but it was worth it. The non-humans in Club Brood always recognized the silver shades. They feared them. It represented MacKensie Trydant.

He navigated the crowds with a turn of the shoulder here and a gentle push there, arriving at the bottom of a metal staircase blocked off by someone with his back turned. Archer tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around, a mean look on his face until he saw who it was. Promptly, he raised his hands in surrender and stepped aside. Archer gave a teethy grin, his laugh completely muted by the deafening music. He went up to the second floor and there, a man was waiting with open arms. "Archer. A pleasure to see you." He didn't shout, yet his voice was clear in the ears of the agent. "Go on up," the man continued. "I am waiting."

***

High up above, at the massive window of his private quarters, Sergei Romanov, also known as The Wizard, stood and watched his club. He stood with his hands linked together behind his back. His suit was jet-black and expensive. His slick, black hair was gelled back and shiny, highlighting a thin, pale face.

"The post-modern age..." he mused. "Don't you just love it, hmm?" The man sat over on the cushioned seats smiled, exposing the short fangs of shape-shifted demon. Serge continued. "Elves and dwarves, dungeons and dragons... witchcraft and wizardry..." he turned from the window and strolled into the centre of the room. The room itself resembled the lounge of a penthouse suite. Decked with a fine, white carpet - there were leather, cushioned seats, a bar in the corner and cream wallpaper. "...The Great Cataclysm... The Sumer Empire, the Romans, European feudalism... I've seen it all, my friend. But Western Capitalism, well... I have to say; it has been the greatest age. Perpetual-growth business, the military-industrial complex, Wall Street, lightspeed communication... and it turns out, after all these years, that the stars are not gods nor heaven but places to go. How can you not love that?" The demon laughed out loud this time and Sergei smiled, though he needed little encouragement for his eccentric soliloquys. He was about to continue when he was suddenly distracted. "Ah... we have a guest."

Not longer after did a knock come at the door and it opened, revealing Mr Brandon Archer.

"Come in, my friend," again Serge greeted him with open arms. "What brings you to my humble abode?"

Archer took off his shades and put them in his inside coat pocket. "I think you might know."

"Tell me anyway," Serge shot back playfully, gesturing to a set of sofas on the opposite side of the room to where the humanoid was sat. Archer sat down and Serge carefully placed himself on the sofa opposite, then crossed one leg over the other. Here, Archer explained the situation, about the mysterious beast that was attacking innocent civilians. Serge listened tentatively, but the young assassin got the feeling that he knew all this already. The Wizard was everywhere, after all. All the time. When Archer was finished, there was a brief silence, then Serge got up. "Would you like a drink?" He made his way over to the bar. "Jack Daniels," he said, reciting Archer's favourite drink. "And you, sir?" he asks the humanoid, who politely declined with a shake of his head.

"Cheers," Archer said not very enthusiastically. He knew he had to play along with the Wizard's game to get the prize but he wasn't known for his patience. Sergei had noticed this about Archer from early on in their relationship and he liked to push the assassin's buttons. He would do as entertainment, for a while.

"So..." Sergei started. In his glass was a large ice cube sculpted perfectly into a rosehead. With the vodka it swirled around his glass. "...Lightning Corp joins the race for Aurora." Archer's chin raised slightly as he tried to keep a poker face. Sergei smiled. He was so easy to read. And so fun to toy with. "For every point you earn, I shall tell you something about your Lycan. I think that sounds fair, hmm."

"What's the game?" Archer asked, radiating a hopefulness that it would be something he was good at. Sergei wasn't sure exactly what that game would look like. His private room wasn't big or suitable enough for any kind of athletic challenge.

"The Game of Kings," Sergei replied, getting back up to retrieve a chess board and two bags of pieces from nearby.

"Oh yeah, what's that then?" Sergei handed him a bag of the white pieces, and placed down the board on the table between them. "Please be checkers... aw, for fuck's sake."

That made Sergei chortle, and even got an involuntary laugh from the humanoid in the background. "I trust you know the rules." Archer replied affirmatively. "One piece of information per point."

Bloodlines (A tale by Love Dove & Saiyan)

"Excuse me, sir, spare some change?"

The man walked right past the dirty-dressed girl, seeming not to hear her. Penny scrunched up her brow in a scowl, then tried again.

"Excuse me... miss... spare some change? I've no home and I'm starving."

This time the woman looked, but shrugged her shoulders helplessly and continued to walk. This was not going well and Penny Brice was hungry. How cruel was this world that grown adults could walk right past a starving child without even considering offering help. Or throwing the poor beggar a few coins, at least. In spite of the lack of success though, deep down she was thoroughly enjoying herself. It was all like a fascinating experiment. In Penny's vast experience, she had come to conclude that it was other poor people who were the most charitable. After that, it was the low working class. And from there, the richer they were, the stingier they were. It was a rather odd scale, at face value, but then, those who had learned to acquire wealth would obviously hold it fast. People didn't usually get rich by being nice.

There weren't many people in New York who were willing to hire a teenager for work. And Penny was determined to start this phase of her life with nothing, and become something. So right now, she was homeless and begging. If she didn't get some donations soon, she'd be going without dinner tonight. She decided to be a little more aggressive next time.

"Sir," she called out, tottering meekly up to another passer-by and tugging his coat. "Sir, spare some change? I'm..."

"Get off me you little rat," the man wrenched away from Penny, shot her a glare of contempt and then was on his way.

Penny growled low in her throat. Ignorance was one thing, but insults. Penny did not like to be called names. She had recent memories in her mind of bullies in school, and the insult lit a fire of disquiet in the pit of her stomach. She began to march after him in her dirty black shoes. The rest of her attire was an unwashed, flowery dress with a red cardigan over the top. Her face might be considered cute if it was cleaner and she didn't have that angry, vengeful look in her eyes. Through the light crowd, she followed the oblivious man, her fists balled at her sides as her kept up with her quarry. The evening was here and she fancied settling down on the subway with a nice Big Mac and Fries.

Ah well, she thought. A proper meal will have to do.

The man turned down an alley and Penny followed. Judging by his suit, he looked like a man with a decent job. Penny wondered he did for a living. What insane, pointless job (or career) in this day and age, did he have? What did he think and feel? What did he know? It was not until he heard Penny's voice again that he turned around.

"How dare you..." He turned about to see Penny stood with her feet planted shoulder width apart. "...you ignore the pleas of a starving fourteen year old girl. Have you no heart?" She walked forward slowly and the man backed away a step, more in confusion than anything else. He wasn't scared at first, with the seeming lack of physical threat, but then outright terror struck him when Penny's eyes - even the whites of her eyes - become blood-red.

"What the hell...!"

Penny convulsed and her form grew, black fur sprouted quickly all over body and her nose elongated. The child's clothes began to melt away into nothingness as she grew, and within seconds, Penny Brice was no longer Penny Brice. In her place, standing six feet tall and weighing a dense and muscular 280lbs, was Baroness Aurora: The Malevolent - First of her kind and mother of all Lycanthropes. Saliva dripped from her razor-sharp teeth, her fiery gaze burning holes into the poor man who was statue-like in fear and disbelief.

Aurora lunged at the shrieking man..............

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

The whole time, Lucas hadn't once looked up. He'd not considered the possibility of an aerial ambush. On the training yard, he'd been shouted at more than once for jumping too much (or jumping at all,) often trying to incorporate his acrobatic prowess into both attack and defence. Being in the air made your movements and finishing positions predictable. There was no place for it in the fundamentals of swordplay. So when the first wave of bandits landed from above, suffice to say the young knight was surprised.

Perhaps, momentary surprise was all the ambushers had managed to achieve though, as their advantage was quickly destroyed by the veteran warriors around the captain.

Lucas stepped towards the centre - thinking to sprint in and help - but his attention was immediately drawn to his left where, from the cover of the trees, more bandits came rushing out, shouting as they charged. The sudden cacophony of battle surpassed even the loud and rapid pulse of his own heartbeat in his ears, and Lucas was carried away with emotion.

"AAAHHH!!!"

And with that, he was away, breaking battle lines and charging out of the Iron Rose left flank like a maniac. Tunnel-vision and single-mindedness. He had to kill them before they killed him. No more than ten paces and he made contact in the form of a battleaxe-wielding brute who brought his massive weapon around and high to come crashing down on the knight. Lucas threw his sword up to block, cross-blade high, angling his blade to guide the axe-head away from himself rather than take on the full power power of the blow. As steel scraped down steel with a Ring, Lucas spun off his front foot, and just like that he was past his first opponent.

Leaving an enemy behind was certainly not the best idea, but beyond the brute came more bandits and Lucas' attention was drawn further into the fray. One stupid fool lunged into his attack, but he was clearly not within lunging distance. Lucas' first lessons in fighting were on the importance of understanding distance. None of the details came to Lucas in this moment, but instinctively, his lessons manifested themselves as he back-stepped to the right, and countered with his own thrust. When the tip of his sword pierced the throat of the bandit and he flicked his wrist to deliver his first fatality, time seemed to slow down. Even in his battlefield rage, the utter horror of a frontrow view of an ugly death all but froze him in stasis, eyes wide as the realisation dawned on him - this was what fighting truly was. It wasn't a beautiful dance - like when he watched his superiors spar on the yard. It wasn't met with applause - like when winner and loser shook hands in a tourney.

It was awful. It was disgusting.

The moment seemed to last much longer than it did. In actual fact, the bandit - clutching his throat and gurgling his last breaths - had barely hit the floor before Lucas' shivering body was forced to turn and meet a screaming attack from another foe. Ducking the hand axe aiming for his head, he stepped forward, allowing the enemy to skewer himself on Lucas' sword and they both fell to the ground. Stuck under the dying man, eye to eye, Lucas winced when the bandit choked and coughed blood in his face.

Charging footfalls thundered past him and the din of battle remained constant above it all. Lucas hauled the body off him with all his strength, then rolled over onto his knees and got to his feet. The first tug failed to free his sword from the corpse... "Damn it!" ...and he caught the attention of another bandit. Second tug; almost free... "Come on!" ...the bandit swung his sword. Third tug; freedom!

Ching!

Off balance with poor grip, Lucas was sent tumbling into the dirt, losing his sword in the process. But he'd somehow managed to block the blow and save his own life. But now the bandit was stood over him, a maniacal smile on his face as he raised his sword for the killing blow.......

Heir to the Maou

Talia's answer to his question didn't surprise Dante in the least. In fact, Dante should've known the answer before he'd even asked. He smiled to himself. Talia had always been good with the younglings. "Those twins compete something fierce," was his comment.

Later on, maybe a half hour after Fenn had gone on his soliloquy about triangle-shaped sandwiches tasting better than the usual rectangular-cut ones, (Fenn was a connoisseur of slave food, having gone out of his way to try all manner of creative recipes and meals that one could make with what little the Overseers allowed... and even some of the foodstuffs they kept for themselves,) Gunthar was on his way back with cartloads of debris. Dante stood up straight from his work and looked at the passing ogre, catching Gunthar's comradely nod and giving him a cool salute back. "Sup, Gunthar."

“Why don’t we go with Gunthar? Dante put his pickaxe down on it's head and pushed it away to lean on the tunnel wall as he listened to his friend. He’s making fresh tunnels, so there should be more ores right on the surface. He might even be knocking some loose that we could add to the carts.”

It wasn't a bad idea.. certainly broke up the monotony for a second. And they would get to the easy ore before anyone else. The corners of Dante's mouth pulled down and he gave a nod of approval. "Sounds good to me," he replied.

"Easy ore, I like it," Fenn chimed in and Dante laughed. That's why they were friends.

“Would you mind, Gun? We’ll stay far enough back you won’t have to worry about hitting us.”

"Okay."

"Alright!" Fenn cheered. Gunthar went to take his work back before returning to show the way. But in that time, Fenn was called up the tunnel by Virgil. He had to go. "Awww, no fair."

Dante retrieved his pickaxe, said a goodbye to Fenn, then joined Talia as they followed Gunthar down the tunnel. The young demon looked at the walls, ceiling and floor with a little bit of doubt and reservation, as they went. The fresh tunnels hadn't yet been secured with beams, which made them slightly dangerous. More than a few deaths had happened due to accident, in Dante's lifetime, and the old-timers had plenty of stories of when work in mines was even more dangerous for the slaves. If he heard the slightest stress, he was ready to high-tail it out of there, dragging Talia with him if he had to. Subconsciously, his path strayed a little closer to her.

Gunthar waved them to a halt and Dante complied, adjusting his weight onto his back foot. He tossed his pickaxe into a flip, catching it by the handle and repeating the process, while he watched Gunthar do his thing. "Here, I work."

"Nice," was all Dante could think to say. Aside from the excitement of being so far into a dangerously fresh tunnel, Dante was actually waiting in anticipation to see Gunthar start wrecking walls.........

"Pick any you want. I break fast, so no worry."

..........And boy, that ogre did not disappoint. Dante's jaw dropped. Gunthar's power was terrific. He tore through rock and stone like it was nothing - like he was a living machine, rubble and debris pouring onto the floor around his feet as he progressed. The young demon swore under his breath, forgetting he was down here to work for a moment. This moment lasted for a few minutes when suddenly, a whole wall of rock came crashing down in front of Gunthar. The ogre had bored right into a wide open, underground cavern.

The significance of this discovery didn't dawn on Dante until the dust settled. It was then that Dante realised that there was no one to act as Light for Gunthar. And yet, down the tunnel where the ogre was, there was a glowing aura. Dante's eyes widened in surprise. He looked at Talia and smiled, then flicked his head pointedly Gunthar, gesturing her to follow with him. His feet carefully navigated the dirt and rock as he caught up to Gunthar, the light getting brighter he neared. When he finally caught up, he was not ready for what he saw...

"By Lilith," he swore, putting a hand on Gunthar's elbow as he stood beside him. (It would normally be a hand on the shoulder, but the ogre was just so massive, it was easier this way.) "What the hell is that thing?"

They were looking at a floating sphere of light - a ball of energy, suspended in the centre of the cavern, just existing. It was nothing like anything Dante had ever seen, and yet he could feel it's power - the swirls of aura that surrounded it. It was radiating magical energy. Dante was frozen on his spot, just staring.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Lucas was not so full of anticipation that he couldn't enjoy the interplay between his comrades. The cocky back'n'forths, wagers placed, colourful displays of magic and harsh reprimands. Such a vibrant cast of personalities reminded him of his family. It was nice. Just as Lucas was reflecting on this, Alodia fell off her horse with a cry, turning her spell of dopiness into a sweet flip and landing on her feet. The young man's smirk turned into a full grin.

Yeah, it was nice indeed.

Then came more orders from the captain and that grin disappeared. "...Once you have returned, we shall advance and split into three groups to encircle the camp. Archers and magi will remain behind and offer support to those in front," she continued, "Do not loose arrow or spell wildly into the encampment. They have prisoners, and we cannot injure any innocents who may be out in the open."

While Lucas tried to burn the captain's words into his mind, his feet followed the knight next to him, Fleuri, to the front of the left flank. He had no idea the pros and cons of this position, only that there was plenty of space in front of him... space that would likely be taken up by people trying to kill him. With a clear view ahead as they advanced, Lucas' eyes darted around at every swaying branch, rustling bush and moving shadow. The exposure made him second-guess the protective capability of his armour. Sure it looked cool. But a well-placed arrow would mean his end. And then there was his skills. Gerard had told him not try and copy the older knight's aggressive fighting style. That he should find a style that better played to his strengths. But Lucas hadn't listened. In the few months he'd spent training with a sword in his hand, he'd done nothing but practice what he saw Gerard doing. He was determined to be like the older knight. And he was naïve enough to think he could come even close to catching up on a swordsman who'd been forged in five years of battlefield fire. But here at the front of the line - the darkness ahead promising malice - he was starting to wonder if any of his time on the yard would help.

Follow orders. Don't die.

Those two seemingly simple objectives were maybe a little more complicated than they sounded.

When the overturned cart came into view, Lucas realised that not all reminders of his past life would good ones. Fanilly called for aid and Lucas craned about to get sight of the situation. Lucas' circus troupe had been forced to stop on the roads in Velt for similar looking sight. Old man Biff had told them not to stop - not even slow down - but they couldn't just leave an dying man in the road. And then the slavers sprung. From the tree line, seemingly up out of the ground, they'd surrounded the troupe and killed everyone who resisted being taken away in chains. And now here he was again. On the edge of a bandit camp, seeing the same sight.

Everyone knew it too. Everyone except the captain, it seemed. What kind of a captain was this? Sure she was young, but so was Serenity, and Serenity was already on point with the scenario before them. As disturbing as it might've been, it was merely a thought running way in the back of Lucas' mind. The more pressing concern right now, was that a fight was about to break out at any time.

Knuckles of his sword-hand white, he fell into a fighting stance, his head on a swivel as he waited for the trap to spring.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

This is it, he thought to himself. This is what I've been training for.

The current situation sat strangely surreal in Sir Storm's mind. Even the fact he was a 'Sir' was an odd thing in of itself. But here he was, amidst a band of more than two hundred knights, about to fight it out to the death with bandits. Up until this point, it had been a concept - an idea - something far off to prepare for. For the few months he'd been a knight, he'd trained, ate and slept with his new comrades. He'd gone out into the city, looking for wealthy, lackadaisical lords and ladies that might 'make a donation' to his fundraising campaigns that would supplement his armour purchases. He'd purchased his incomplete armour, one piece at a time - a single pauldron here, a set of greaves there - and posed in the mirror when no one was around. Not to say that Lucas hadn't been taking the whole knight-thing seriously. He had. But there was a sense of fun to it.

Not anymore.

He was positioned near the front of the vanguard after forcing his way forward before they set out. 'The tip of the spear' as Gerard Segremors would say. Gerard was in fact the reason Lucas was determined to be here - both at the front and in the Order all together. He looked over to make sure he could still see his idol. There Gerard was, a row in front over to his left. It was reassuring for the younger knight.

As everyone began to dismount, Lucas did the same, swapping his lance out for the sword fastened to his saddle. His blood was already running fast.

"Awl'right cap'n, who dae you ken tae go about for the flanking party in the auld akelarre?"

Katerina, Lucas remembered. The colourful wizard was difficult to forget. And just as difficult to understand, at times. As the woman went on, offering up her advice, Lucas did his best to follow along. At least he would only have to fully understand Captain Fanilly.

Follow orders. Don't die. If he could manage these two things, he'd consider today a good day.

The Second Falling of the Big Brother Government - (A Tale by KrystalKleo & Saiyan)

When Zara started towards the bathroom escape route, Isaac jumped back up and let fly a few rounds from The Raging Bull. That painful rush of 50-calibur recoil running up his arm, all the way to his shoulder... he enjoyed it. It made the gun feel like an extension of his own body and reminded him of his old lessons.

I aim with eye. I shoot with my mind. I kill with my heart.

The muzzle flash, in the dark bedroom, lit up Isaac's face to show bright blue eyes awash with excitement and a teethy one-sided grin. Here, in the middle of the gun battle, was a young man completely in his element. The wasteland was ruthless, unforgiving and dangerous. Animal or man - to survive you had to be the same. Isaac had learned that the hard way when he lost his mother. Such a tragedy had destroyed the boy he was. But that only allowed him to be built back up by the wandering hero who crossed his path. Cairo 'The Courier' Storm. It had taken some convincing by young Isaac to get Cairo Storm to teach him how to be a soldier of The Good Fight. But The Courier eventually did relent and take on Isaac as an apprentice for a year. And built back up, Isaac was... his heart just as big, but now with ice in his veins.

After trading volleys a couple of times, Isaac snuck away towards the back of the building, about time he made his own escape. Unfortunately for him, two of the raiders had made their way around back to surround the townhouse. They saw the rope dangling from the third floor window, right about the time that Isaac was halfway out.

"They're trying to escape!"

Isaac dove back inside, escaping gunfire. He couldn't see Zara and worried for her safety, hoping that she got away or at least found a good hiding spot, while he figured a way out of the situation. The raider's began calling to eachother, maintaining a lock on the front and rear entrances, as they probed carefully for a way in. Isaac glimpsed one of the raiders creeping to the front entrance, but didn't get time to shoot as Tasha unloaded her Uzi in his direction. It wouldn't take them long to realise that there were no more traps downstairs, and then they would rush in for the final showdown.

Think quick, Isaac, he urged himself.

After going down the 2nd floor, he realised that there were indeed windows on the southside of the building (the front and rear entrance facing east and west, respectively.) He snuck and checked out of the window. No sign of the enemy. Quietly and carefully, he slid the window up and open, and popped his head out. Coast still clear. With that, he went back up to the 3rd floor, ran to the bathroom window and squeezed off two shots at his foes, who shot back. Then, sprinting into the bedroom at the front of house, he threw his last grenade out of the window and rushed down to the 2nd floor.

The grenade bounced with a Clink before... "Grenade!" ...it exploded into shrapnel.

The diversion was chaotic enough that he had time climb out of the window, hang from the ledge and then drop to the floor. The impact on the concrete almost broke his ankles and he dropped onto his ass.

"Ugh. Shit," he moaned as quietly as possible. He got to his feet, a hand on the wall as he looked both ways. "I hope she remembered what I said about Grasscroft."

And with that, he made a run for it. As soon as he got over the road, he turned around and started blasting again, getting the raiders attention before disappearing behind the houses. He could hopefully lead them south and away from Zara, then meet up with her at Grasscroft. The nearby town had it's own militia who defended the settlement from threats. It was about as safe a haven as they would get for now.

After 20 seconds of running, he could hear shouts behind him. He smiled as he ran. His plan was working.