Current
@The Irish Tree - What game? I just finished Armored Core 6 and need something new to play~
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1 yr ago
My shifts are night shifts!
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1 yr ago
I work long shifts so I have long weekends. Just jam a bunch of posts in that time off~
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1 yr ago
I have this week off. No work for seven days~
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1 yr ago
You guys feel confident in your posts? Unreal~
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Bio
If you're here taking a peek might as well have something to look at. Here are some samples.
Vox’s dark eyes opened slowly. The pit in her stomach was tearing her up. In a mixture of hunger, pains, and anger from the fact she was starving, she writhed on the ground for a moment groaning. She couldn’t even sleep at this point. She had already used her power far too much just to get into the city and then an attempted robbery on her first day here. She cursed this place, wrapping her arms around her abdomen in a futile attempt to soothe the beast eating her from within. She let out a half-hearted sigh. If she wasn’t going to get up and forage now, she probably wouldn’t have much more opportunity, especially if she was forced to use her power again.
She hadn’t expected the gangs here to be so organized. It was making things far more complicated than she had anticipated. Vox saw that they had actual border crossings between their territories. She hoped to use the confusion of gang wars to take what she wanted as she had before. Well, at least until she gained too much attention, then it would be time to move on. This place, though, was like miniature counties tentatively working as governments. Amazing! Albeit to her disadvantage. She had already crossed the rubicon. There was no turning back; she needed to figure something out and do it here.
Vox crawled slowly to the edge of the concrete floor she had been sleeping on. She was one story above a pile of rubble that filled the first floor of a deadapted structure. Most of the building lay annihilated around where it once stood; only the corner she slept on remained. Though a bit exposed to the elements, she liked the spot. It was high enough that she could not be seen from below, and there was no reason to get up there for anything as you could see there was nothing up there. Not to mention the rats couldn’t reach her. Vox’s silver eyes scanned the roads and windows around her briefly. The light was nearly gone from the sky, making it difficult to see, but she felt comfortable that nothing was moving about.
Grabbing the ledge, she swung her legs over, hanging for a moment. She dropped down onto the rubble below. Quickly she turned, doing another scan for any movement. She wasn’t paranoid, but having worked alone for so long, she knew she was the only thing between being covered and ruin. Once more satisfied there was nobody around, she made her way off the pile. It was slow going since one slip could mean, at best, a sprained ankle or, much worse, impalement on all the jagged rebar that was around. She had enough problems already, so she took it slow.
Hopping down from the final block of concrete, she breathed out slowly; that was more stressful and tiring than it should have been. On tired legs, she couldn’t have been too careful, though. Adjusting her feet in her boots, she frowned slightly, feeling how grimy she was. She hadn’t taken them off in days. She needed to be constantly ready to move. Couldn’t just expect potential threats to wait because you wanted to put your shoes on before slipping out. Putting her face down in her jacket, sniffing, she grimaced slightly. She didn’t stink outright, but she was working towards it. She would need to find somewhere to clean up soon as well. Her problems were stacking up.
“Tch,” she cursed under her breath. The fur collar that wrapped around her face muffled the sound further. Trudging forwards, she would see if things were better across the border guard she saw before getting some rest. Perhaps it was just this gangland that was so well put together.
Slipping her hands into her jacket pockets, rough lumps greeted her fingertips. Pulling one out, she shook her head. A pebble, with lingering cement clinging to it, about the size of a cherry, had found its way into her pocket. This was not an uncommon spectacle for Vox. Her hood, pockets, and even her boots could end up full of debris. Her power tended to fling things everywhere; at times, she had to dodge rouge fragments of things that she couldn’t just blow away with her power. It was chaos, but she didn’t know any other way to approach it. Just using it as an explosive force had gotten her well enough out of most problems. Vox pulled her pockets inside out, letting rubble and dust flow out of them. She returned her hands to the warm pouches.
She hadn’t wanted to camp too close to the border crossing, security seemed moderate, and she didn’t want to wake up to anything unexpected. Not that she got to sleep much anyways. It took her about 15 minutes of walking through the barren streets to return to where she saw the crossing. Oblivious to the tunnels, she couldn’t help but wonder where the hell people were. Sure, it was rough and slow going on the streets, but people usually took the time to clear things up and find what was habitable—looking around, though, she hadn’t seen much that looked very habitable. She had slept on a ledge, after all.
Turning another corner, she finally could see the border crossing. Clinging to the wall hiding against the darkness, she crept closer. She didn’t know the rules for crossing and didn’t particularly wish to draw any attention. She had decided that she would try and sneak through. Looking over the perimeter they had set up, she wasn’t sure there was a simple way. Perhaps she could return and go through the no man’s land of rubble. She wasn’t keen on that idea much either. If they had a border crossing here, they might have scouts hiding in the veritable concrete jungle. If she was going to have trouble, she wanted to see it coming.
Her senses were suddenly assaulted. Something smelled delicious. The pain in her stomach doubled down as her body protested. It did not just want that food; it needed it. Drawing closer from the alley she was creeping in, she stuck her head out just far enough to get a better look. She wanted to know what was making that smell, and it was not difficult to discern that the scent was oozing out of the small outpost on the border. It would likely be impossible for her to raid in this condition, and she might pass out if she tried to use her powers more than once more. She grimaced, biting her lower lip.
At that moment, a small party of people exited the building. Her eyes lit up; that probably didn’t leave too many inside. She watched the group walk a few paces from the outpost before disappearing. Her eyes flicked around the scenery in a panic. They had someone who could cloak them, or they had a teleporter. Both could be bad news. Her boot only began moving back away from the corner to take better cover when a man appeared about a block away; his gun pointed right at her. She locked up, silver eyes staring right at him. Her greed had slowed her sensibility. She knew she should have started moving as soon as they vanished, not waiting for this. It smelled so good though she couldn’t help herself.
“don’t move,” the man commanded.
She struggled with her next decision, her hands still in her pockets, and she had no time to make it. He was so far away she didn’t think he could easily hit her from there; she could run. However, he chose to position himself there, and there were others. If there was a teleporter, she was likely surrounded. Her hands balled into fists at her foolishness. This wasn’t the first time food had gotten her in trouble.
Moving very slowly, she skids her boots away from the wall, exposing herself to the man with the gun. Slowly she pulled her hands out of her pockets. Her hands open with her fingers spread; she held them up at shoulder height. Her eyes scanned around for any sign of the others she saw, but she could not locate a single one. Her attention returned to the gunman. She waited, not speaking to him yet. She didn’t need her hands to use her power, so if he got close, she could hit him with it directly, and he was too far away for her to hit him with any debris reliably. Besides, she probably only had one shot, so if she could get most of them together, she could use the old tried and true self-destruct. A move she aptly named as it’s a blast of her power in every direction hurling anything in its range in chaotic directions—a mess for everyone involved.
Vox awaited her fate, observing and trying to find any way out she could manage. She hoped her silence and her surrender would draw them in. If not, she might be forced to try diplomacy.
"Go on and finish me then." Vale hissed stubbornly, holding composure in the situation he'd found himself in.
Hands bound behind his back and forced to his knees, and he was surrounded by half a dozen members of the spring court. They had come prepared for him; the thin chain coiled around his neck, held taught by a masked assassin, looked innocuous enough. Most would think the Thane given his size, could rip the petite fey to him with it, but it was no mere chain. It was iron.
Welts raised on the marble white skin of the winterborns skin as if a severe allergic reaction was occurring. A similar welt spiraled up his left arm from when the trap was sprung. Mid-fight with the rest, the masked figure struck. Vale caught the attack as the chain coiled up his arm, but that was what they expected; all it needed was contact with the skin, and the effect would weaken him.
Their leader stood square with him now, a toothy grin spread across his face, a short, obtusely curved dagger in his hand. "I'm not like you, Thane." He said with a disgusted emphasis at his title. "A title forged with blood and position elevated on hundreds of bodies." he spit on the ground. "Besides, if we kill you, the Queen might find a way to bring back her favorite guard dog, and I can't have you back with a vengeance," he said, wagging his finger in front of Vale's face. "No, no, no. Unlike you, we came with a plan." he chided.
Stabbing the dagger beside Vale, it seemed to stick into the thin air. Pulling downward, a seam slowly pulled open, becoming a torrent of chaotic energy within the fresh tear.
The man stared at it, eyes wide and grinning ear to ear like some kind of possessed jester. All his plans had been perfect. slowly he looked back down at the Thane, still smiling. "Maybe I'll stoop to your level a bit. A treat for me as this has gone. So well~" as he uttered the last word, he leaned in, jamming the dagger into Vale's side. Due to the dagger's bizarre shape and nonexistent length, it would only prove to be a painful flesh wound, but it was more about sending a message anyway.
Though gnashed teeth, Vale spoke, "I'll come back and-" he was cut off.
"Yeah yeah, blood revenge murder. I get it. Have a nice trip."
With that, the man sidestepped Vale placing a boot on his shoulder. The assassin flicked the chain uncoiling it from its victim before he was forcibly kicked into the rift.
Freefalling through the rift was a uniquely unpleasant experience. Flipping and tumbling erratically as if momentum carried no meaning. Vale's body was pulled and twisted by unseen forces. But before he could even begin to consider his ride between dimensions, it seemed they had found somewhere to dump him.
The rift opened up in the quiet sitting room of a second-story apartment. Ejecting the winter fae unceremoniously into the table with a crash. Carrying through the poor table, his momentum carried him skidding and tumbling into the kitchen, where the lower cabinets were kind enough to bring him to an abrupt halt.
He groaned slowly, writhing in the debris he had carried into the room as Vale caught back the breath that was knocked out of him. With his hands secured behind him, he lay still panting, taking a second to consider his injuries. Tasting blood was unsurprising, given his inability it catch himself. His side burned from the fresh stab wound, but he'd dealt with worse. It was staining his stark white tunic that was inlaid with baroque silver and similar style black embroidered hems. His pants matched his shirt, only inverted. Black with white hems.
Shifting slowly, the Thane attempted to get up and figure out where he'd ended up.
It had been over a minute since she had simply motioned for the young man to sit. She flipped through one of many manilla folders containing information on various heroes and villains. Out of the bottom, a small photo escaped skidding into her lap as she did. She closed the folder to set it on the desk. Looking into her lap, she retrieved the image pushing oval glasses back onto her face and stared at it. Whatever was in the picture caused a flash of bitter frustration—a rare moment of visible emotion from the ordinarily analytical Director. With a heavy sigh, she looked across her desk at her only volunteer to fix their bind.
It just had to be him, she internally lamented. She didn't dislike him. Quite the contrary, in fact, she found him quite endearing. He may have even been one of the better matches for the job though she doubted that was his reason for volunteering. He reminded her of a golden retriever in many ways: reliable, good, kind, charming even. The best, but not the brightest. She almost didn't want to know, so she couldn't have any reason to stop him. This wasn't an optional job, with the Buero breathing down their necks. She just hoped he would be able to outlast Ronin.
"You're my volunteer, huh?" she said, placing the picture on top of the folder before sliding it across the table. "I'll have to brief you and warn you. That folder is deceptive and won't prepare you for dealing with Ronin..."
The picture on the front of the folder that got a rise from the Director was of Ronin as a hero. He wore a stylized flight suit that looked like a cross between a pilot and something a superbike racer would have on. It was a bright purple and white in color with thick nylon belts and rigging around it. The man has a strong, determined face with sharp, clear eyes. His hair was a tight fade, with some wavy hair pushed slightly to one side. Nearly unrecognizable from the current Ronin.
Her sapphire eyes searched the room for a moment on where to start. "I'll keep this short so you can review the documents." leaning forward, she rested her elbows on the desk folding her hands in front of her. "Mr. Wolfe has been very busy lately, apparently knocking over a few Corps (villain police force) armories taking a great deal of weaponry, though the bizarre thing is it seems much of it is being disposed of." she shook her head as if this was bad news. "They found one of the dumping points he used and have narrowed down what he was after. They found no explosives among all the destroyed weaponry..." She rubbed her face.
"as if that's not already concerning enough, their agents haven't been able to locate any sign of them nor get close to him with any success." she took a deep breath looking at the flaxen-haired boy she was sending to deal with all of this. "Aaaaaand... well, there was a tipping point for the Beuro. About five weeks ago, there was an incident between our target and the Corps. Ms.Reika (Villain: Electric Eel) was cagey with the details but did inform me that there were a few Corps casualties, and when her personal reinforcements arrived, he... well, he murdered them..." She ran her fingers through her French bob, fanning it out before continuing. "over the last few weeks shes repeatedly found him near various power substations, able to fight him off but they haven't found a single sign of explosive or even sabotage at them. The Buero and Ms.Reika now want something done about it, and since there were deaths involved, we don't have much choice." she shrugged, "There is good news, I suppose. They just want us to figure out his plan and where the explosives are before they apprehend him. Simple enough..." She said, oozing with sarcasm.
With the official brief over, she leaned back into her chair. Her office looked like a 1930s private eyes, a green and brass bankers lamp with papers in organized piles from the various projects she coordinates. Wooden blinds closed behind her, and walls were covered in cabinets and bookshelves with a mine of information hidden away. "Not as your boss, but a friend, I want you to be careful. I worked with Va..." She stopped herself from calling him by his hero name. "Ronin Wolfe is a clever and strategic opponent. I've seen him overpower foes that should have clearly beaten him on paper." She knew that he had faced off with him before and likely understood some of what she was saying. "The file classifies his powers as the same rank as yours, but I believe he never really showed anyone the hand he was playing with." There was a hint of sadness in how she spoke of him. "Just be careful. I mean, why have you even volunteered for this?" she said, her curiosity the better of her.
Cinders swarmed in swirling patterns on the evening wind. In one corner of the village was a roar of flames sputtering and sparking to the nearby buildings. None came to extinguish them. None were left that could. The setting sun reflected off the dark muddy surface of blood and earth mixed into a greasy ichor. Dozens of bodies lay, their mortal wounds still streaming red. Some escaped the single assailant leaving all behind to find refuge anywhere away from the blind fury of the woman who seemingly materialized straight out of the blood and chaos. A story all told throughout the region at this point. For some, it was an oni on the warpath, a spirit scorned, communities demanding demon hunters come.
Others came to know the truth. The last bastions of hope for the next village, an odd collection of bounty hunters hoping to bring the head of this vengeful spirit in. They knew taking the job it was just one human woman, no demon hunters required; clearly, the eight of them should have been more than enough.
Five whole bodies still drew breath in this town. They stood in a standoff on the street. Four stood against one. They had finally organized against her, but half had been sundered in the chaos leading up to this. The fear gripping them was visible. Sweat beaded on their brows, eyes wide and unblinking. To blink felt like a death sentence. Everything so far had happened so fast. This fear allowed her a few breaths she desperately needed. The fight had dragged on for some 20 minutes. For them, a furious blitz, but for Akane, it was a war of attrition.
Eyes stinging from the blood that has splashed across her face. Blinking caused long red streaks ran down her cheeks as if she was crying blood, only adding to her terrifying visage of unevenly cut hair dripping with blood and her shitagi and hakama bearing clear holes to see the bleeding wounds beneath. She had sacrificed minor injuries for killing blows dozens of times in the swords she had crossed in the last couple of months. Her composure was what terrified them the most. Her fury sustained her despite her wounds, heavy breathing, and searing muscles. Her big eyes showed no sign of weakness, not a moment's falter. She couldn't stand around forever and knew she was on a shortening clock before her wounds made her too weak.
Despite their numbers, she stood in an offensive stance, her amber eyes searing into each of them, flitting between them, inviting any of them to come forward to become her next victim. They remained frozen, praying she would succumb to death by one thousand cuts. With one more bloody blink, sucking a deep breath in through gnashing teeth, she brought forth every molecule of her rage. In a blink of a step forward, she clashed blades with the closest of the men. Her body weight continued into him, slamming her shoulder against him to throw him back. With him off balance, she raised her foot to straight kick his knee, buckling it backward. Howling, the man fell away from her, swinging wildly. His blade nicked the bridge of her nose as she leaned back, already turning to the next target.
Turning, as this attack was only bait for who was bold enough to try and take a shot. One was already mid-strike, lifting his katana to try and strike her down. Leaving his sides open, she struck. With a loud wet thunk, her katana buried itself into the man's side, sticking much to her disdain. She could have forced the slash through if she wasn't so exhausted. Seeing an opening, the man on his right leveled the point of his katana at her and, with one quick jab, was able to catch her in a desperate dodge. Pain in the side of her chest as his blade tore through the muscles, only saved by the glancing blow not cutting through her ribs. Seething, she rotated away from the one that stabbed, leaving her back exposed to the fourth fighter. Wrenching the man around with her as she turned, she twisted the blade readying for the next move, forcefully kicking the dying man off her sword into the one that just stabbed and rotated in one fluid movement slashing her blade to fling a spray of blood, into the fourth fighter's eyes.
A terrified and knowing gasp escaped the now momentarily blinded man. In a futile effort, he swung his sword wildly at where he had last seen her. Easily dodging her blinded opponent, she sidestepped, slashing across his gut, disemboweling him before finishing him with a nasty overhead chop to the head, caving in the side of his face. Wrenching the blade from his head, the body slumped into the black mud forming beneath them. The first man returned to his remaining good leg, not wanting to be cut down lying on his back. The other shoved the lifeless body of his ally to the ground looking on with abject terror.
"can't we-" he tried to plead with her, but her face twisted with hatred and disgust.
"No," came her answer, followed by greater brutality. Stepping closer, she slashed with abandon. The force of the steel coming together created sparks chipping both blades in, then as second and third swings clanged as if she was focused only on attacking his katana. Again the terrible ring came from their blades as she closed the gap, locking her blade against his, pushing in as close as she could to him, pinning his blade to his chest. For only a moment, her eyes pierced into him; for him, it must have felt like forever, but for her, it was only the amount of time it took her left hand to come up and grab him by the head, her thumb sinking into his eye socket. Wailing in pain, she tore him to the side, raising her katana in one hand to chop into him repeatedly until the screaming stopped.
Slowly she turned to the only one. The last remaining soul besides her left in the town. Her arms hung at her sides, threatening not to rise again. She hadn't noticed, but she was practically gasping for breath. In one hand, her katana hung, the tip resting on the ground, the other still gripped white-knuckled to the man's head. Tears welled in the eyes of the man across from her. He could not imagine what had brought her to such brutality nor how she did not fall. With a couple of unsteady breaths as he tried to choke down his fate. He raised his sword fully above his head with both hands.
Releasing the captive corpse, Akane faced the man. Possessed by her desire to finish things, she held her breath, willing the last of her strength to come through. Promising her body rest soon if it just saw the task finished. With a determined flick upward, her katana again took a fighting position. Dashing a few steps toward her final target, she bellowed an uncanny roar. Screaming intensified as if all the anguish was simultaneously trying to leave her body. Blade, like lightning, flew up to intercept the man's downward slash. His blade was not her aim, though. Her sword cleaved both hands at the wrist, sending the opposing sword cartwheeling down the street. Carrying the momentum, she pivoted, returning the blade to decapitate the man. His head spun down the road leaving only one standing in the street.
The roar of the flames engulfing the surrounding buildings cut the silence. Beams crumbled, emitting intense heat, new jets of sparks dancing into the sky. Looking around, it was indistinguishable from home. Her big eyes scanned the hellish scene settling on the towering inferno, wincing as the wind got knocked out of her by all the collective pain surging back to the surface. Crashing out of her adrenaline rush, her body screamed in protest.
"Not. Yet." she insisted, praying her body would listen. Holding her stance, she caught her breath. Cinders and ash flowed around her as they swept down the mountain. Though indistinguishable from the falling ashes, light snow was beginning to dust the landscape. Slowly her breathing settled, granting her some of her composure back.
Her hand rose up to press on the fresh stab in her chest. It wasn't a severe wound but worse than most she had collected so far. Hoping to control the bleeding until she could treat it, she applied what pressure she could. In her other hand, she slowly turned the katana to the side. It was ruined, not that she had any reason to care. It wasn't hers, and she had destroyed a few blades already. Tossing it aside, her eyes scanned the bodies around her. It only took a moment to spot what she was after. A katana still sheathed. It remained on the side of someone ultimately unprepared for the speed of her assault. Claiming it, she slid it into her belt, a ritual she had done a few times.
The snow had a way of eating sound. Akane could only hear her labored breaths and the snow packing beneath her feet. She knew she needed to trek just across the ridge from the town. It would be safe to set up a camp there to recover. It would take days for any hunting party to find her if she found the right spot. She just needed to push on.
It was clear from how she trudged forward that she was held together by will. She had a resolute expression, eyes burned into the ground ahead of her. She pushed forward one step after another, but the evening was settling in, and the mountain cold was on its heels.
Her senses reeled, her foot slipped, and it was red alert to stay upright. With a jolt, she planted her weight on the other foot managing to catch herself. Her eyes took in her surroundings for the first moment in a while.
A crystalline pond, some distance away. Still to the point, its surface perfectly reflected the nightfall sky. The last rays of light streamed across the sky, the first stars shining through like a portal into the heavens sprawled across the landscape.
"Pretty..."
With a thump, Akane toppled to the side. Her body had finally given in. With a groan, she pushed herself to lie on her back, staring into the sky. It was hard to admit that she had pushed too hard; given her position, it was impossible to ignore. Attempting to sit up proved a fruitless collection of groans and hissing as she tried to push through the pain and fatigue. Watching her breath plume into the air, huffing just from the minor exertion. Her heartbeat quickened as she willed herself to stay conscious. She couldn't stop yet; she wasn't finished. The fear that if she closed her eyes, it would be the last time gripped her more than the mountain cold.
Vacantly, Rune's eyes blinked twice at Hoshiko's response to his questioning. It was difficult to overestimate how literal she was. Slowly he just smiled, tickled by her humor. Intentional or not, it worked on him. Shaking his head, it made another attempt at the slipper noodles.
Mistakenly he had thought the udon would somehow be easier to eat with chopsticks—rookie mistake. Finally getting a good hold on a few more noodles, he looked triumphant right as Rose arrived, crashing down at their table. Focus failed as he flinched from her abrupt arrival. The noodles took a plunge back to their dark broth.
Squeezing the chopsticks with enough force, they creaked in protest rune sighed. Rose was tenacious. Her personality and frame were why Rune considered Frames to reflect the pilot. Her aggressive nature somehow slipped by being abrasive. He enjoyed her company even if they weren't much alike. They had both served in their country during the outbreak, so he felt a soldier's comradery; he wasn't sure she shared it with him.
"Ohayō," he responded, welcoming her to the table with a slight bow of his head.
Elise placing her chopsticks down caught his attention. Eyes met hers as she silently addressed each of them. Setting his chopsticks down in solidarity, not at all because he was frustrated. He gave her his full attention as she shared what she'd heard.
He stared at the table as he considered what she had heard. It was a bit concerning.
"Hmmm," he basically growled, the inflection of thought sounding more like a grumble in his chest.
Jennifer made an interesting point.
"Could be a rotating schedule so we won't all have to fight every day." he offered in agreement with Jennifer. There was, however, a layer to this that he hoped was wrong. They currently didn't fight every day, so that could mean there would be much tougher times ahead.
"Seems more likely related to reclaiming Saitama. Right Elise? May be bigger than initially thought..." he drifted off thinking.
He considered who they would pair him with. Hoshiko and Jennifer could fly, giving them ground and air control. Rose and him were a force on the ground, the good old sword, and shield. Elise would be good in any configuration. He wished she had heard more so they could strategize. All things considered, though, any of them would be a good pair or trio. He was confident in their abilities.
"Itadakimasu~" Echoed the fellow pilot as he arrived just behind the others at the table.
With practiced dexterity, he slid the tray in his only hand onto the table before sitting beside Jennifer and across from Elise. Though his tray was similarly piled with food, it was far from Hoshiko's. A far more reserved bowl of udon, a large salad, two cookies, and a banana.
Pulling the chair back to have a bit more legroom, Rune, the veritable giant, sat. he always enjoyed sitting next to Jennifer, giving the broad height contrast between them. He was confident that standing, she was barely above eye-level with his navel.
Taking in the three, he started with the pilot across from him. Elise looked pensive and in thought. He had a feeling he knew what was on her mind; he hoped to chat with her about the coming mission. She was the most reserved from his perspective, and appreciated for her consistency. He gave her a kind smile as he settled into his seat. They trained and worked a lot on the airship. He didn't want to bring it up while they relaxed and ate, leaving it for her to bring up. If she wanted to, or he would wait until later.
The little one beside him understandably chimed up about Hoshiko's eating. Rune felt he could always tell how her memory was treating her by how much she reacted to his height. He related to her, though. They were all injured somehow, but Jennifer and his were easier to see on the surface. She was sweet, so he did his best not to let her forgetfulness bother him.
"Hoshiko," he said with a mild emphasis as not to directly correct Jennifer. "I still can't believe you'll eat all of that. Where does it go?!" he said with a chuckle and a shake of the head. "I'm twice your size, and I don't think I could finish one of your meals..." his voice was low and husky. Resonating deep in his chest, giving a bassy hum to his words.
Futaba Hoshiko was a ray of sunshine. What wasn't there to like? They hadn't had all the time in the world to get close, but she had magnetic energy. He wanted to reach out and ruffle her hair for being so charming, but he held himself to better standards than that.
He tucked into his meal, still getting used to chopsticks; the udon was slow going. Determined, though, he pressed on, trying to find his coordination. There never had been a point that he showed any frustration with only having one arm. Even when learning new things with his non-dominant hand, Rune always approached the challenge with resolve and determination.
Appearance: Monolithic 6'6'' (200 cm) with a muscular build. Scandinavian-born, the Norwegian is notably missing his right arm just below the shoulder. Four jagged scars horizontally across three-quarters of his front. The first across his pectorals lined up with the end of what remains from his right arm. The second, third, and fourth each spaced a few inches below: across the ribs, navel, and just below the belt.
Personality: Rune possesses an unyielding determination. Once he sets his sights on a goal, nothing can deter him. Challenges merely ignite his fiery resolve, driving him to surpass his limits. His unwavering commitment and perseverance make him a force of nature. When Rune gives his word, he moves mountains to honor it.
In the realm of emotions, Rune wears his heart on his sleeve, effortlessly revealing his innermost feelings. Yet, amidst his emotional transparency, he maintains a composed exterior. His cool-headedness allows him to clearly navigate emotionally charged situations, making sound decisions. However, beneath his calm facade lies a smoldering temper, ready to erupt when provoked.
Rune's relentless pursuit of perfection often becomes his own worst critic. He holds himself to sky-high standards and feels disheartened if he falls short. This self-critical tendency erodes his confidence and impedes his ability to appreciate his achievements.
History: In a desperate battle against the encroaching outbreak, Rune and his Scandinavian comrades united to defend their homeland. Trained to rescue survivors and evacuate danger zones, their mission was to minimize casualties and contain the spread of the Warped.
During a chaotic evacuation, Rune's squad faced a ferocious canine-like Warped. With innocent lives hanging in the balance, Rune made a split-second decision. He engaged the monster, diverting its attention while bolting toward the cleared combat area.
Despite his efforts, the beast relentlessly pursued Rune, closing in as he reached an open street where heavy firepower awaited. It was a race against time. As the creature lunged at him, Rune fought back with all his might, knowing his survival was uncertain. The blow threw him down the street, leaving him dismembered and gravely wounded.
Miraculously, Rune survived his mortal injuries healing in a matter of days. Only to be quarantined in a remote Icelandic research facility. After enduring years of humane experimentation, an opportunity arose when someone from Japan showed interest in him. Keen to reclaim his freedom and humanity, Rune eagerly seized the chance, longing to assist others while finding his own liberation.
Skills: He used to love tinkering with cars and machines. Circumstances as they were, these skills fell by the wayside. He did find an appreciation for cooking, finding it easy enough to do most things in a kitchen with one hand. He's no expert, though, having only begun learning in the last year or so.
Muscular and notably strong, He spends a portion of every day exercising. Though not the most dexterous or quick, his endurance is unreasonable.
Rune speaks Norwegian, English, and he's been diligently studying Japanese from the moment the organization first contacted them. It took some time for all the arrangements to be made so he has a principal understanding of the language, even if some things get lost in translation.
Abilities:A bulwark of protection! His Frame matches his body, only having the left arm. Peculiarly it has no weaponry, only a large shield. The carapace covers his entire body offering incredible defense at the cost of air maneuverability. However, what he may lack in aerial agility, he more than compensates for with raw, unbridled strength and unparalleled endurance.
With explosive force, he can leap to incredible heights and run with impressive speed. He uses this strength and defense to pummel and delay their opposition while providing ground support. Effectively acting as an obstacle on the battlefield.
He theorizes that his weapon was linked to his dominant arm, but he only has the shield without it.
Appearance: Monolithic 6'6'' (200 cm) with a muscular build. Scandinavian-born, the Norwegian is notably missing his right arm just below the shoulder. Four jagged scars horizontally across three-quarters of his front. The first across his pectorals lined up with the end of what remains from his right arm. The second, third, and fourth each spaced a few inches below: across the ribs, navel, and just below the belt.
Personality: Rune possesses an unyielding determination. Once he sets his sights on a goal, nothing can deter him. Challenges merely ignite his fiery resolve, driving him to surpass his limits. His unwavering commitment and perseverance make him a force of nature. When Rune gives his word, he moves mountains to honor it.
In the realm of emotions, Rune wears his heart on his sleeve, effortlessly revealing his innermost feelings. Yet, amidst his emotional transparency, he maintains a composed exterior. His cool-headedness allows him to clearly navigate emotionally charged situations, making sound decisions. However, beneath his calm facade lies a smoldering temper, ready to erupt when provoked.
Rune's relentless pursuit of perfection often becomes his own worst critic. He holds himself to sky-high standards and feels disheartened if he falls short. This self-critical tendency erodes his confidence and impedes his ability to appreciate his achievements.
History: In a desperate battle against the encroaching outbreak, Rune and his Scandinavian comrades united to defend their homeland. Trained to rescue survivors and evacuate danger zones, their mission was to minimize casualties and contain the spread of the Warped.
During a chaotic evacuation, Rune's squad faced a ferocious canine-like Warped. With innocent lives hanging in the balance, Rune made a split-second decision. He engaged the monster, diverting its attention while bolting toward the cleared combat area.
Despite his efforts, the beast relentlessly pursued Rune, closing in as he reached an open street where heavy firepower awaited. It was a race against time. As the creature lunged at him, Rune fought back with all his might, knowing his survival was uncertain. The blow threw him down the street, leaving him dismembered and gravely wounded.
Miraculously, Rune survived his mortal injuries healing in a matter of days. Only to be quarantined in a remote Icelandic research facility. After enduring years of humane experimentation, an opportunity arose when someone from Japan showed interest in him. Keen to reclaim his freedom and humanity, Rune eagerly seized the chance, longing to assist others while finding his own liberation.
Skills: He used to love tinkering with cars and machines. Circumstances as they were, these skills fell by the wayside. He did find an appreciation for cooking, finding it easy enough to do most things in a kitchen with one hand. He's no expert, though, having only begun learning in the last year or so.
Muscular and notably strong, He spends a portion of every day exercising. Though not the most dexterous or quick, his endurance is unreasonable.
Rune speaks Norwegian, English, and he's been diligently studying Japanese from the moment the organization first contacted them. It took some time for all the arrangements to be made so he has a principal understanding of the language, even if some things get lost in translation.
Abilities:A bulwark of protection! His Frame matches his body, only having the left arm. Peculiarly it has no weaponry, only a large shield. The carapace covers his entire body offering incredible defense at the cost of air maneuverability. However, what he may lack in aerial agility, he more than compensates for with raw, unbridled strength and unparalleled endurance.
With explosive force, he can leap to incredible heights and run with impressive speed. He uses this strength and defense to pummel and delay their opposition while providing ground support. Effectively acting as an obstacle on the battlefield.
He theorizes that his weapon was linked to his dominant arm, but he only has the shield without it.
@SaltSightAwesome. Glad you're interested. What caught your eye?
The setting and themes are some of my favorite. Dystopian cyberpunk with gangs mixed in is a winning recipe for me. I'm torn between E Street or Black Maria!
If you're here taking a peek might as well have something to look at. Here are some samples.
[Hider=Post-Apocalyptic gangwars w/ superpowers]Vox’s dark eyes opened slowly. The pit in her stomach was tearing her up. In a mixture of hunger, pains, and anger from the fact she was starving, she writhed on the ground for a moment groaning. She couldn’t even sleep at this point. She had already used her power far too much just to get into the city and then an attempted robbery on her first day here. She cursed this place, wrapping her arms around her abdomen in a futile attempt to soothe the beast eating her from within. She let out a half-hearted sigh. If she wasn’t going to get up and forage now, she probably wouldn’t have much more opportunity, especially if she was forced to use her power again.
She hadn’t expected the gangs here to be so organized. It was making things far more complicated than she had anticipated. Vox saw that they had actual border crossings between their territories. She hoped to use the confusion of gang wars to take what she wanted as she had before. Well, at least until she gained too much attention, then it would be time to move on. This place, though, was like miniature counties tentatively working as governments. Amazing! Albeit to her disadvantage. She had already crossed the rubicon. There was no turning back; she needed to figure something out and do it here.
Vox crawled slowly to the edge of the concrete floor she had been sleeping on. She was one story above a pile of rubble that filled the first floor of a deadapted structure. Most of the building lay annihilated around where it once stood; only the corner she slept on remained. Though a bit exposed to the elements, she liked the spot. It was high enough that she could not be seen from below, and there was no reason to get up there for anything as you could see there was nothing up there. Not to mention the rats couldn’t reach her. Vox’s silver eyes scanned the roads and windows around her briefly. The light was nearly gone from the sky, making it difficult to see, but she felt comfortable that nothing was moving about.
Grabbing the ledge, she swung her legs over, hanging for a moment. She dropped down onto the rubble below. Quickly she turned, doing another scan for any movement. She wasn’t paranoid, but having worked alone for so long, she knew she was the only thing between being covered and ruin. Once more satisfied there was nobody around, she made her way off the pile. It was slow going since one slip could mean, at best, a sprained ankle or, much worse, impalement on all the jagged rebar that was around. She had enough problems already, so she took it slow.
Hopping down from the final block of concrete, she breathed out slowly; that was more stressful and tiring than it should have been. On tired legs, she couldn’t have been too careful, though. Adjusting her feet in her boots, she frowned slightly, feeling how grimy she was. She hadn’t taken them off in days. She needed to be constantly ready to move. Couldn’t just expect potential threats to wait because you wanted to put your shoes on before slipping out. Putting her face down in her jacket, sniffing, she grimaced slightly. She didn’t stink outright, but she was working towards it. She would need to find somewhere to clean up soon as well. Her problems were stacking up.
“Tch,” she cursed under her breath. The fur collar that wrapped around her face muffled the sound further. Trudging forwards, she would see if things were better across the border guard she saw before getting some rest. Perhaps it was just this gangland that was so well put together.
Slipping her hands into her jacket pockets, rough lumps greeted her fingertips. Pulling one out, she shook her head. A pebble, with lingering cement clinging to it, about the size of a cherry, had found its way into her pocket. This was not an uncommon spectacle for Vox. Her hood, pockets, and even her boots could end up full of debris. Her power tended to fling things everywhere; at times, she had to dodge rouge fragments of things that she couldn’t just blow away with her power. It was chaos, but she didn’t know any other way to approach it. Just using it as an explosive force had gotten her well enough out of most problems. Vox pulled her pockets inside out, letting rubble and dust flow out of them. She returned her hands to the warm pouches.
She hadn’t wanted to camp too close to the border crossing, security seemed moderate, and she didn’t want to wake up to anything unexpected. Not that she got to sleep much anyways. It took her about 15 minutes of walking through the barren streets to return to where she saw the crossing. Oblivious to the tunnels, she couldn’t help but wonder where the hell people were. Sure, it was rough and slow going on the streets, but people usually took the time to clear things up and find what was habitable—looking around, though, she hadn’t seen much that looked very habitable. She had slept on a ledge, after all.
Turning another corner, she finally could see the border crossing. Clinging to the wall hiding against the darkness, she crept closer. She didn’t know the rules for crossing and didn’t particularly wish to draw any attention. She had decided that she would try and sneak through. Looking over the perimeter they had set up, she wasn’t sure there was a simple way. Perhaps she could return and go through the no man’s land of rubble. She wasn’t keen on that idea much either. If they had a border crossing here, they might have scouts hiding in the veritable concrete jungle. If she was going to have trouble, she wanted to see it coming.
Her senses were suddenly assaulted. Something smelled delicious. The pain in her stomach doubled down as her body protested. It did not just want that food; it needed it. Drawing closer from the alley she was creeping in, she stuck her head out just far enough to get a better look. She wanted to know what was making that smell, and it was not difficult to discern that the scent was oozing out of the small outpost on the border. It would likely be impossible for her to raid in this condition, and she might pass out if she tried to use her powers more than once more. She grimaced, biting her lower lip.
At that moment, a small party of people exited the building. Her eyes lit up; that probably didn’t leave too many inside. She watched the group walk a few paces from the outpost before disappearing. Her eyes flicked around the scenery in a panic. They had someone who could cloak them, or they had a teleporter. Both could be bad news. Her boot only began moving back away from the corner to take better cover when a man appeared about a block away; his gun pointed right at her. She locked up, silver eyes staring right at him. Her greed had slowed her sensibility. She knew she should have started moving as soon as they vanished, not waiting for this. It smelled so good though she couldn’t help herself.
“don’t move,” the man commanded.
She struggled with her next decision, her hands still in her pockets, and she had no time to make it. He was so far away she didn’t think he could easily hit her from there; she could run. However, he chose to position himself there, and there were others. If there was a teleporter, she was likely surrounded. Her hands balled into fists at her foolishness. This wasn’t the first time food had gotten her in trouble.
Moving very slowly, she skids her boots away from the wall, exposing herself to the man with the gun. Slowly she pulled her hands out of her pockets. Her hands open with her fingers spread; she held them up at shoulder height. Her eyes scanned around for any sign of the others she saw, but she could not locate a single one. Her attention returned to the gunman. She waited, not speaking to him yet. She didn’t need her hands to use her power, so if he got close, she could hit him with it directly, and he was too far away for her to hit him with any debris reliably. Besides, she probably only had one shot, so if she could get most of them together, she could use the old tried and true self-destruct. A move she aptly named as it’s a blast of her power in every direction hurling anything in its range in chaotic directions—a mess for everyone involved.
Vox awaited her fate, observing and trying to find any way out she could manage. She hoped her silence and her surrender would draw them in. If not, she might be forced to try diplomacy.[/hider]
[Hider=Fantasy Fae Vibes~]"Go on and finish me then." Vale hissed stubbornly, holding composure in the situation he'd found himself in.
Hands bound behind his back and forced to his knees, and he was surrounded by half a dozen members of the spring court. They had come prepared for him; the thin chain coiled around his neck, held taught by a masked assassin, looked innocuous enough. Most would think the Thane given his size, could rip the petite fey to him with it, but it was no mere chain. It was iron.
Welts raised on the marble white skin of the winterborns skin as if a severe allergic reaction was occurring. A similar welt spiraled up his left arm from when the trap was sprung. Mid-fight with the rest, the masked figure struck. Vale caught the attack as the chain coiled up his arm, but that was what they expected; all it needed was contact with the skin, and the effect would weaken him.
Their leader stood square with him now, a toothy grin spread across his face, a short, obtusely curved dagger in his hand. "I'm not like you, [i]Thane.[/i]" He said with a disgusted emphasis at his title. "A title forged with blood and position elevated on hundreds of bodies." he spit on the ground. "Besides, if we kill you, the Queen might find a way to bring back her favorite guard dog, and I can't have you back with a vengeance," he said, wagging his finger in front of Vale's face. "No, no, no. Unlike you, we came with a plan." he chided.
Stabbing the dagger beside Vale, it seemed to stick into the thin air. Pulling downward, a seam slowly pulled open, becoming a torrent of chaotic energy within the fresh tear.
The man stared at it, eyes wide and grinning ear to ear like some kind of possessed jester. All his plans had been perfect. slowly he looked back down at the Thane, still smiling. "Maybe I'll stoop to your level a bit. A treat for me as this has gone. So well~" as he uttered the last word, he leaned in, jamming the dagger into Vale's side. Due to the dagger's bizarre shape and nonexistent length, it would only prove to be a painful flesh wound, but it was more about sending a message anyway.
Though gnashed teeth, Vale spoke, "I'll come back and-" he was cut off.
"Yeah yeah, blood revenge murder. I get it. Have a nice trip."
With that, the man sidestepped Vale placing a boot on his shoulder. The assassin flicked the chain uncoiling it from its victim before he was forcibly kicked into the rift.
[hr]
Freefalling through the rift was a uniquely unpleasant experience. Flipping and tumbling erratically as if momentum carried no meaning. Vale's body was pulled and twisted by unseen forces. But before he could even begin to consider his ride between dimensions, it seemed they had found somewhere to dump him.
The rift opened up in the quiet sitting room of a second-story apartment. Ejecting the winter fae unceremoniously into the table with a crash. Carrying through the poor table, his momentum carried him skidding and tumbling into the kitchen, where the lower cabinets were kind enough to bring him to an abrupt halt.
He groaned slowly, writhing in the debris he had carried into the room as Vale caught back the breath that was knocked out of him. With his hands secured behind him, he lay still panting, taking a second to consider his injuries. Tasting blood was unsurprising, given his inability it catch himself. His side burned from the fresh stab wound, but he'd dealt with worse. It was staining his stark white tunic that was inlaid with baroque silver and similar style black embroidered hems. His pants matched his shirt, only inverted. Black with white hems.
Shifting slowly, the Thane attempted to get up and figure out where he'd ended up.
[/hider]
[Hider=Enemies working together. Dystopian superheroes where villains have taken control]It had been over a minute since she had simply motioned for the young man to sit. She flipped through one of many manilla folders containing information on various heroes and villains. Out of the bottom, a small photo escaped skidding into her lap as she did. She closed the folder to set it on the desk. Looking into her lap, she retrieved the image pushing oval glasses back onto her face and stared at it. Whatever was in the picture caused a flash of bitter frustration—a rare moment of visible emotion from the ordinarily analytical Director. With a heavy sigh, she looked across her desk at her only volunteer to fix their bind.
It just had to be him, she internally lamented. She didn't dislike him. Quite the contrary, in fact, she found him quite endearing. He may have even been one of the better matches for the job though she doubted that was his reason for volunteering. He reminded her of a golden retriever in many ways: reliable, good, kind, charming even. The best, but not the brightest. She almost didn't want to know, so she couldn't have any reason to stop him. This wasn't an optional job, with the Buero breathing down their necks. She just hoped he would be able to outlast Ronin.
"You're my volunteer, huh?" she said, placing the picture on top of the folder before sliding it across the table. "I'll have to brief you and warn you. That folder is deceptive and won't prepare you for dealing with Ronin..."
The picture on the front of the folder that got a rise from the Director was of Ronin as a hero. He wore a stylized flight suit that looked like a cross between a pilot and something a superbike racer would have on. It was a bright purple and white in color with thick nylon belts and rigging around it. The man has a strong, determined face with sharp, clear eyes. His hair was a tight fade, with some wavy hair pushed slightly to one side. Nearly unrecognizable from the current Ronin.
Her sapphire eyes searched the room for a moment on where to start. "I'll keep this short so you can review the documents." leaning forward, she rested her elbows on the desk folding her hands in front of her. "Mr. Wolfe has been very busy lately, apparently knocking over a few Corps (villain police force) armories taking a great deal of weaponry, though the bizarre thing is it seems much of it is being disposed of." she shook her head as if this was bad news. "They found one of the dumping points he used and have narrowed down what he was after. They found no explosives among all the destroyed weaponry..." She rubbed her face.
"as if that's not already concerning enough, their agents haven't been able to locate any sign of them nor get close to him with any success." she took a deep breath looking at the flaxen-haired boy she was sending to deal with all of this. "Aaaaaand... well, there was a tipping point for the Beuro. About five weeks ago, there was an incident between our target and the Corps. Ms.Reika (Villain: Electric Eel) was cagey with the details but did inform me that there were a few Corps casualties, and when her personal reinforcements arrived, he... well, he murdered them..." She ran her fingers through her French bob, fanning it out before continuing. "over the last few weeks shes repeatedly found him near various power substations, able to fight him off but they haven't found a single sign of explosive or even sabotage at them. The Buero and Ms.Reika now want something done about it, and since there were deaths involved, we don't have much choice." she shrugged, "There is good news, I suppose. They just want us to figure out his plan and where the explosives are before they apprehend him. Simple enough..." She said, oozing with sarcasm.
With the official brief over, she leaned back into her chair. Her office looked like a 1930s private eyes, a green and brass bankers lamp with papers in organized piles from the various projects she coordinates. Wooden blinds closed behind her, and walls were covered in cabinets and bookshelves with a mine of information hidden away. "Not as your boss, but a friend, I want you to be careful. I worked with Va..." She stopped herself from calling him by his hero name. "Ronin Wolfe is a clever and strategic opponent. I've seen him overpower foes that should have clearly beaten him on paper." She knew that he had faced off with him before and likely understood some of what she was saying. "The file classifies his powers as the same rank as yours, but I believe he never really showed anyone the hand he was playing with." There was a hint of sadness in how she spoke of him. "Just be careful. I mean, why have you even volunteered for this?" she said, her curiosity the better of her. [/hider]
[Hider=Japanese Fantasy Revenge! Oni pact included~]Cinders swarmed in swirling patterns on the evening wind. In one corner of the village was a roar of flames sputtering and sparking to the nearby buildings. None came to extinguish them. None were left that could. The setting sun reflected off the dark muddy surface of blood and earth mixed into a greasy ichor. Dozens of bodies lay, their mortal wounds still streaming red. Some escaped the single assailant leaving all behind to find refuge anywhere away from the blind fury of the woman who seemingly materialized straight out of the blood and chaos. A story all told throughout the region at this point. For some, it was an oni on the warpath, a spirit scorned, communities demanding demon hunters come.
Others came to know the truth. The last bastions of hope for the next village, an odd collection of bounty hunters hoping to bring the head of this vengeful spirit in. They knew taking the job it was just one human woman, no demon hunters required; clearly, the eight of them should have been more than enough.
Five whole bodies still drew breath in this town. They stood in a standoff on the street. Four stood against one. They had finally organized against her, but half had been sundered in the chaos leading up to this. The fear gripping them was visible. Sweat beaded on their brows, eyes wide and unblinking. To blink felt like a death sentence. Everything so far had happened so fast. This fear allowed her a few breaths she desperately needed. The fight had dragged on for some 20 minutes. For them, a furious blitz, but for Akane, it was a war of attrition.
Eyes stinging from the blood that has splashed across her face. Blinking caused long red streaks ran down her cheeks as if she was crying blood, only adding to her terrifying visage of unevenly cut hair dripping with blood and her shitagi and hakama bearing clear holes to see the bleeding wounds beneath. She had sacrificed minor injuries for killing blows dozens of times in the swords she had crossed in the last couple of months. Her composure was what terrified them the most. Her fury sustained her despite her wounds, heavy breathing, and searing muscles. Her big eyes showed no sign of weakness, not a moment's falter. She couldn't stand around forever and knew she was on a shortening clock before her wounds made her too weak.
Despite their numbers, she stood in an offensive stance, her amber eyes searing into each of them, flitting between them, inviting any of them to come forward to become her next victim. They remained frozen, praying she would succumb to death by one thousand cuts. With one more bloody blink, sucking a deep breath in through gnashing teeth, she brought forth every molecule of her rage. In a blink of a step forward, she clashed blades with the closest of the men. Her body weight continued into him, slamming her shoulder against him to throw him back. With him off balance, she raised her foot to straight kick his knee, buckling it backward. Howling, the man fell away from her, swinging wildly. His blade nicked the bridge of her nose as she leaned back, already turning to the next target.
Turning, as this attack was only bait for who was bold enough to try and take a shot. One was already mid-strike, lifting his katana to try and strike her down. Leaving his sides open, she struck. With a loud wet thunk, her katana buried itself into the man's side, sticking much to her disdain. She could have forced the slash through if she wasn't so exhausted. Seeing an opening, the man on his right leveled the point of his katana at her and, with one quick jab, was able to catch her in a desperate dodge. Pain in the side of her chest as his blade tore through the muscles, only saved by the glancing blow not cutting through her ribs. Seething, she rotated away from the one that stabbed, leaving her back exposed to the fourth fighter. Wrenching the man around with her as she turned, she twisted the blade readying for the next move, forcefully kicking the dying man off her sword into the one that just stabbed and rotated in one fluid movement slashing her blade to fling a spray of blood, into the fourth fighter's eyes.
A terrified and knowing gasp escaped the now momentarily blinded man. In a futile effort, he swung his sword wildly at where he had last seen her. Easily dodging her blinded opponent, she sidestepped, slashing across his gut, disemboweling him before finishing him with a nasty overhead chop to the head, caving in the side of his face. Wrenching the blade from his head, the body slumped into the black mud forming beneath them. The first man returned to his remaining good leg, not wanting to be cut down lying on his back. The other shoved the lifeless body of his ally to the ground looking on with abject terror.
"can't we-" he tried to plead with her, but her face twisted with hatred and disgust.
"No," came her answer, followed by greater brutality. Stepping closer, she slashed with abandon. The force of the steel coming together created sparks chipping both blades in, then as second and third swings clanged as if she was focused only on attacking his katana. Again the terrible ring came from their blades as she closed the gap, locking her blade against his, pushing in as close as she could to him, pinning his blade to his chest. For only a moment, her eyes pierced into him; for him, it must have felt like forever, but for her, it was only the amount of time it took her left hand to come up and grab him by the head, her thumb sinking into his eye socket. Wailing in pain, she tore him to the side, raising her katana in one hand to chop into him repeatedly until the screaming stopped.
Slowly she turned to the only one. The last remaining soul besides her left in the town. Her arms hung at her sides, threatening not to rise again. She hadn't noticed, but she was practically gasping for breath. In one hand, her katana hung, the tip resting on the ground, the other still gripped white-knuckled to the man's head. Tears welled in the eyes of the man across from her. He could not imagine what had brought her to such brutality nor how she did not fall. With a couple of unsteady breaths as he tried to choke down his fate. He raised his sword fully above his head with both hands.
Releasing the captive corpse, Akane faced the man. Possessed by her desire to finish things, she held her breath, willing the last of her strength to come through. Promising her body rest soon if it just saw the task finished. With a determined flick upward, her katana again took a fighting position. Dashing a few steps toward her final target, she bellowed an uncanny roar. Screaming intensified as if all the anguish was simultaneously trying to leave her body. Blade, like lightning, flew up to intercept the man's downward slash. His blade was not her aim, though. Her sword cleaved both hands at the wrist, sending the opposing sword cartwheeling down the street. Carrying the momentum, she pivoted, returning the blade to decapitate the man. His head spun down the road leaving only one standing in the street.
The roar of the flames engulfing the surrounding buildings cut the silence. Beams crumbled, emitting intense heat, new jets of sparks dancing into the sky. Looking around, it was indistinguishable from home. Her big eyes scanned the hellish scene settling on the towering inferno, wincing as the wind got knocked out of her by all the collective pain surging back to the surface. Crashing out of her adrenaline rush, her body screamed in protest.
"Not. Yet." she insisted, praying her body would listen. Holding her stance, she caught her breath. Cinders and ash flowed around her as they swept down the mountain. Though indistinguishable from the falling ashes, light snow was beginning to dust the landscape. Slowly her breathing settled, granting her some of her composure back.
Her hand rose up to press on the fresh stab in her chest. It wasn't a severe wound but worse than most she had collected so far. Hoping to control the bleeding until she could treat it, she applied what pressure she could. In her other hand, she slowly turned the katana to the side. It was ruined, not that she had any reason to care. It wasn't hers, and she had destroyed a few blades already. Tossing it aside, her eyes scanned the bodies around her. It only took a moment to spot what she was after. A katana still sheathed. It remained on the side of someone ultimately unprepared for the speed of her assault. Claiming it, she slid it into her belt, a ritual she had done a few times.
[hr]
The snow had a way of eating sound. Akane could only hear her labored breaths and the snow packing beneath her feet. She knew she needed to trek just across the ridge from the town. It would be safe to set up a camp there to recover. It would take days for any hunting party to find her if she found the right spot. She just needed to push on.
It was clear from how she trudged forward that she was held together by will. She had a resolute expression, eyes burned into the ground ahead of her. She pushed forward one step after another, but the evening was settling in, and the mountain cold was on its heels.
Her senses reeled, her foot slipped, and it was red alert to stay upright. With a jolt, she planted her weight on the other foot managing to catch herself. Her eyes took in her surroundings for the first moment in a while.
A crystalline pond, some distance away. Still to the point, its surface perfectly reflected the nightfall sky. The last rays of light streamed across the sky, the first stars shining through like a portal into the heavens sprawled across the landscape.
"Pretty..."
With a thump, Akane toppled to the side. Her body had finally given in. With a groan, she pushed herself to lie on her back, staring into the sky. It was hard to admit that she had pushed too hard; given her position, it was impossible to ignore. Attempting to sit up proved a fruitless collection of groans and hissing as she tried to push through the pain and fatigue. Watching her breath plume into the air, huffing just from the minor exertion. Her heartbeat quickened as she willed herself to stay conscious. She couldn't stop yet; she wasn't finished. The fear that if she closed her eyes, it would be the last time gripped her more than the mountain cold.
[/hider]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">If you're here taking a peek might as well have something to look at. Here are some samples.<br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Post-Apocalyptic gangwars w/ superpowers">Post-Apocalyptic gangwars w/ superpowers [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none">Vox’s dark eyes opened slowly. The pit in her stomach was tearing her up. In a mixture of hunger, pains, and anger from the fact she was starving, she writhed on the ground for a moment groaning. She couldn’t even sleep at this point. She had already used her power far too much just to get into the city and then an attempted robbery on her first day here. She cursed this place, wrapping her arms around her abdomen in a futile attempt to soothe the beast eating her from within. She let out a half-hearted sigh. If she wasn’t going to get up and forage now, she probably wouldn’t have much more opportunity, especially if she was forced to use her power again.<br><br>She hadn’t expected the gangs here to be so organized. It was making things far more complicated than she had anticipated. Vox saw that they had actual border crossings between their territories. She hoped to use the confusion of gang wars to take what she wanted as she had before. Well, at least until she gained too much attention, then it would be time to move on. This place, though, was like miniature counties tentatively working as governments. Amazing! Albeit to her disadvantage. She had already crossed the rubicon. There was no turning back; she needed to figure something out and do it here.<br><br>Vox crawled slowly to the edge of the concrete floor she had been sleeping on. She was one story above a pile of rubble that filled the first floor of a deadapted structure. Most of the building lay annihilated around where it once stood; only the corner she slept on remained. Though a bit exposed to the elements, she liked the spot. It was high enough that she could not be seen from below, and there was no reason to get up there for anything as you could see there was nothing up there. Not to mention the rats couldn’t reach her. Vox’s silver eyes scanned the roads and windows around her briefly. The light was nearly gone from the sky, making it difficult to see, but she felt comfortable that nothing was moving about.<br><br>Grabbing the ledge, she swung her legs over, hanging for a moment. She dropped down onto the rubble below. Quickly she turned, doing another scan for any movement. She wasn’t paranoid, but having worked alone for so long, she knew she was the only thing between being covered and ruin. Once more satisfied there was nobody around, she made her way off the pile. It was slow going since one slip could mean, at best, a sprained ankle or, much worse, impalement on all the jagged rebar that was around. She had enough problems already, so she took it slow.<br><br>Hopping down from the final block of concrete, she breathed out slowly; that was more stressful and tiring than it should have been. On tired legs, she couldn’t have been too careful, though. Adjusting her feet in her boots, she frowned slightly, feeling how grimy she was. She hadn’t taken them off in days. She needed to be constantly ready to move. Couldn’t just expect potential threats to wait because you wanted to put your shoes on before slipping out. Putting her face down in her jacket, sniffing, she grimaced slightly. She didn’t stink outright, but she was working towards it. She would need to find somewhere to clean up soon as well. Her problems were stacking up.<br><br>“Tch,” she cursed under her breath. The fur collar that wrapped around her face muffled the sound further. Trudging forwards, she would see if things were better across the border guard she saw before getting some rest. Perhaps it was just this gangland that was so well put together.<br><br>Slipping her hands into her jacket pockets, rough lumps greeted her fingertips. Pulling one out, she shook her head. A pebble, with lingering cement clinging to it, about the size of a cherry, had found its way into her pocket. This was not an uncommon spectacle for Vox. Her hood, pockets, and even her boots could end up full of debris. Her power tended to fling things everywhere; at times, she had to dodge rouge fragments of things that she couldn’t just blow away with her power. It was chaos, but she didn’t know any other way to approach it. Just using it as an explosive force had gotten her well enough out of most problems. Vox pulled her pockets inside out, letting rubble and dust flow out of them. She returned her hands to the warm pouches.<br><br>She hadn’t wanted to camp too close to the border crossing, security seemed moderate, and she didn’t want to wake up to anything unexpected. Not that she got to sleep much anyways. It took her about 15 minutes of walking through the barren streets to return to where she saw the crossing. Oblivious to the tunnels, she couldn’t help but wonder where the hell people were. Sure, it was rough and slow going on the streets, but people usually took the time to clear things up and find what was habitable—looking around, though, she hadn’t seen much that looked very habitable. She had slept on a ledge, after all.<br><br>Turning another corner, she finally could see the border crossing. Clinging to the wall hiding against the darkness, she crept closer. She didn’t know the rules for crossing and didn’t particularly wish to draw any attention. She had decided that she would try and sneak through. Looking over the perimeter they had set up, she wasn’t sure there was a simple way. Perhaps she could return and go through the no man’s land of rubble. She wasn’t keen on that idea much either. If they had a border crossing here, they might have scouts hiding in the veritable concrete jungle. If she was going to have trouble, she wanted to see it coming.<br><br>Her senses were suddenly assaulted. Something smelled delicious. The pain in her stomach doubled down as her body protested. It did not just want that food; it needed it. Drawing closer from the alley she was creeping in, she stuck her head out just far enough to get a better look. She wanted to know what was making that smell, and it was not difficult to discern that the scent was oozing out of the small outpost on the border. It would likely be impossible for her to raid in this condition, and she might pass out if she tried to use her powers more than once more. She grimaced, biting her lower lip.<br><br>At that moment, a small party of people exited the building. Her eyes lit up; that probably didn’t leave too many inside. She watched the group walk a few paces from the outpost before disappearing. Her eyes flicked around the scenery in a panic. They had someone who could cloak them, or they had a teleporter. Both could be bad news. Her boot only began moving back away from the corner to take better cover when a man appeared about a block away; his gun pointed right at her. She locked up, silver eyes staring right at him. Her greed had slowed her sensibility. She knew she should have started moving as soon as they vanished, not waiting for this. It smelled so good though she couldn’t help herself.<br><br>“don’t move,” the man commanded.<br><br>She struggled with her next decision, her hands still in her pockets, and she had no time to make it. He was so far away she didn’t think he could easily hit her from there; she could run. However, he chose to position himself there, and there were others. If there was a teleporter, she was likely surrounded. Her hands balled into fists at her foolishness. This wasn’t the first time food had gotten her in trouble.<br><br>Moving very slowly, she skids her boots away from the wall, exposing herself to the man with the gun. Slowly she pulled her hands out of her pockets. Her hands open with her fingers spread; she held them up at shoulder height. Her eyes scanned around for any sign of the others she saw, but she could not locate a single one. Her attention returned to the gunman. She waited, not speaking to him yet. She didn’t need her hands to use her power, so if he got close, she could hit him with it directly, and he was too far away for her to hit him with any debris reliably. Besides, she probably only had one shot, so if she could get most of them together, she could use the old tried and true self-destruct. A move she aptly named as it’s a blast of her power in every direction hurling anything in its range in chaotic directions—a mess for everyone involved.<br><br>Vox awaited her fate, observing and trying to find any way out she could manage. She hoped her silence and her surrender would draw them in. If not, she might be forced to try diplomacy.</div></div><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Fantasy Fae Vibes~">Fantasy Fae Vibes~ [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none">"Go on and finish me then." Vale hissed stubbornly, holding composure in the situation he'd found himself in. <br><br>Hands bound behind his back and forced to his knees, and he was surrounded by half a dozen members of the spring court. They had come prepared for him; the thin chain coiled around his neck, held taught by a masked assassin, looked innocuous enough. Most would think the Thane given his size, could rip the petite fey to him with it, but it was no mere chain. It was iron. <br><br>Welts raised on the marble white skin of the winterborns skin as if a severe allergic reaction was occurring. A similar welt spiraled up his left arm from when the trap was sprung. Mid-fight with the rest, the masked figure struck. Vale caught the attack as the chain coiled up his arm, but that was what they expected; all it needed was contact with the skin, and the effect would weaken him. <br><br>Their leader stood square with him now, a toothy grin spread across his face, a short, obtusely curved dagger in his hand. "I'm not like you, <span class="bb-i">Thane.</span>" He said with a disgusted emphasis at his title. "A title forged with blood and position elevated on hundreds of bodies." he spit on the ground. "Besides, if we kill you, the Queen might find a way to bring back her favorite guard dog, and I can't have you back with a vengeance," he said, wagging his finger in front of Vale's face. "No, no, no. Unlike you, we came with a plan." he chided. <br><br> Stabbing the dagger beside Vale, it seemed to stick into the thin air. Pulling downward, a seam slowly pulled open, becoming a torrent of chaotic energy within the fresh tear. <br><br>The man stared at it, eyes wide and grinning ear to ear like some kind of possessed jester. All his plans had been perfect. slowly he looked back down at the Thane, still smiling. "Maybe I'll stoop to your level a bit. A treat for me as this has gone. So well~" as he uttered the last word, he leaned in, jamming the dagger into Vale's side. Due to the dagger's bizarre shape and nonexistent length, it would only prove to be a painful flesh wound, but it was more about sending a message anyway. <br><br>Though gnashed teeth, Vale spoke, "I'll come back and-" he was cut off. <br><br>"Yeah yeah, blood revenge murder. I get it. Have a nice trip." <br><br>With that, the man sidestepped Vale placing a boot on his shoulder. The assassin flicked the chain uncoiling it from its victim before he was forcibly kicked into the rift. <br><br><hr class="bb-hr"><br><br>Freefalling through the rift was a uniquely unpleasant experience. Flipping and tumbling erratically as if momentum carried no meaning. Vale's body was pulled and twisted by unseen forces. But before he could even begin to consider his ride between dimensions, it seemed they had found somewhere to dump him. <br><br>The rift opened up in the quiet sitting room of a second-story apartment. Ejecting the winter fae unceremoniously into the table with a crash. Carrying through the poor table, his momentum carried him skidding and tumbling into the kitchen, where the lower cabinets were kind enough to bring him to an abrupt halt. <br><br>He groaned slowly, writhing in the debris he had carried into the room as Vale caught back the breath that was knocked out of him. With his hands secured behind him, he lay still panting, taking a second to consider his injuries. Tasting blood was unsurprising, given his inability it catch himself. His side burned from the fresh stab wound, but he'd dealt with worse. It was staining his stark white tunic that was inlaid with baroque silver and similar style black embroidered hems. His pants matched his shirt, only inverted. Black with white hems.<br><br>Shifting slowly, the Thane attempted to get up and figure out where he'd ended up.</div></div><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Enemies working together. Dystopian superheroes where villains have taken control">Enemies working together. Dystopian superheroes where villains have taken control [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none">It had been over a minute since she had simply motioned for the young man to sit. She flipped through one of many manilla folders containing information on various heroes and villains. Out of the bottom, a small photo escaped skidding into her lap as she did. She closed the folder to set it on the desk. Looking into her lap, she retrieved the image pushing oval glasses back onto her face and stared at it. Whatever was in the picture caused a flash of bitter frustration—a rare moment of visible emotion from the ordinarily analytical Director. With a heavy sigh, she looked across her desk at her only volunteer to fix their bind. <br><br>It just had to be him, she internally lamented. She didn't dislike him. Quite the contrary, in fact, she found him quite endearing. He may have even been one of the better matches for the job though she doubted that was his reason for volunteering. He reminded her of a golden retriever in many ways: reliable, good, kind, charming even. The best, but not the brightest. She almost didn't want to know, so she couldn't have any reason to stop him. This wasn't an optional job, with the Buero breathing down their necks. She just hoped he would be able to outlast Ronin. <br><br>"You're my volunteer, huh?" she said, placing the picture on top of the folder before sliding it across the table. "I'll have to brief you and warn you. That folder is deceptive and won't prepare you for dealing with Ronin..." <br><br>The picture on the front of the folder that got a rise from the Director was of Ronin as a hero. He wore a stylized flight suit that looked like a cross between a pilot and something a superbike racer would have on. It was a bright purple and white in color with thick nylon belts and rigging around it. The man has a strong, determined face with sharp, clear eyes. His hair was a tight fade, with some wavy hair pushed slightly to one side. Nearly unrecognizable from the current Ronin. <br><br>Her sapphire eyes searched the room for a moment on where to start. "I'll keep this short so you can review the documents." leaning forward, she rested her elbows on the desk folding her hands in front of her. "Mr. Wolfe has been very busy lately, apparently knocking over a few Corps (villain police force) armories taking a great deal of weaponry, though the bizarre thing is it seems much of it is being disposed of." she shook her head as if this was bad news. "They found one of the dumping points he used and have narrowed down what he was after. They found no explosives among all the destroyed weaponry..." She rubbed her face. <br><br>"as if that's not already concerning enough, their agents haven't been able to locate any sign of them nor get close to him with any success." she took a deep breath looking at the flaxen-haired boy she was sending to deal with all of this. "Aaaaaand... well, there was a tipping point for the Beuro. About five weeks ago, there was an incident between our target and the Corps. Ms.Reika (Villain: Electric Eel) was cagey with the details but did inform me that there were a few Corps casualties, and when her personal reinforcements arrived, he... well, he murdered them..." She ran her fingers through her French bob, fanning it out before continuing. "over the last few weeks shes repeatedly found him near various power substations, able to fight him off but they haven't found a single sign of explosive or even sabotage at them. The Buero and Ms.Reika now want something done about it, and since there were deaths involved, we don't have much choice." she shrugged, "There is good news, I suppose. They just want us to figure out his plan and where the explosives are before they apprehend him. Simple enough..." She said, oozing with sarcasm. <br><br>With the official brief over, she leaned back into her chair. Her office looked like a 1930s private eyes, a green and brass bankers lamp with papers in organized piles from the various projects she coordinates. Wooden blinds closed behind her, and walls were covered in cabinets and bookshelves with a mine of information hidden away. "Not as your boss, but a friend, I want you to be careful. I worked with Va..." She stopped herself from calling him by his hero name. "Ronin Wolfe is a clever and strategic opponent. I've seen him overpower foes that should have clearly beaten him on paper." She knew that he had faced off with him before and likely understood some of what she was saying. "The file classifies his powers as the same rank as yours, but I believe he never really showed anyone the hand he was playing with." There was a hint of sadness in how she spoke of him. "Just be careful. I mean, why have you even volunteered for this?" she said, her curiosity the better of her.</div></div><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Japanese Fantasy Revenge! Oni pact included~">Japanese Fantasy Revenge! Oni pact included~ [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none">Cinders swarmed in swirling patterns on the evening wind. In one corner of the village was a roar of flames sputtering and sparking to the nearby buildings. None came to extinguish them. None were left that could. The setting sun reflected off the dark muddy surface of blood and earth mixed into a greasy ichor. Dozens of bodies lay, their mortal wounds still streaming red. Some escaped the single assailant leaving all behind to find refuge anywhere away from the blind fury of the woman who seemingly materialized straight out of the blood and chaos. A story all told throughout the region at this point. For some, it was an oni on the warpath, a spirit scorned, communities demanding demon hunters come. <br><br>Others came to know the truth. The last bastions of hope for the next village, an odd collection of bounty hunters hoping to bring the head of this vengeful spirit in. They knew taking the job it was just one human woman, no demon hunters required; clearly, the eight of them should have been more than enough. <br><br>Five whole bodies still drew breath in this town. They stood in a standoff on the street. Four stood against one. They had finally organized against her, but half had been sundered in the chaos leading up to this. The fear gripping them was visible. Sweat beaded on their brows, eyes wide and unblinking. To blink felt like a death sentence. Everything so far had happened so fast. This fear allowed her a few breaths she desperately needed. The fight had dragged on for some 20 minutes. For them, a furious blitz, but for Akane, it was a war of attrition.<br><br>Eyes stinging from the blood that has splashed across her face. Blinking caused long red streaks ran down her cheeks as if she was crying blood, only adding to her terrifying visage of unevenly cut hair dripping with blood and her shitagi and hakama bearing clear holes to see the bleeding wounds beneath. She had sacrificed minor injuries for killing blows dozens of times in the swords she had crossed in the last couple of months. Her composure was what terrified them the most. Her fury sustained her despite her wounds, heavy breathing, and searing muscles. Her big eyes showed no sign of weakness, not a moment's falter. She couldn't stand around forever and knew she was on a shortening clock before her wounds made her too weak.<br><br>Despite their numbers, she stood in an offensive stance, her amber eyes searing into each of them, flitting between them, inviting any of them to come forward to become her next victim. They remained frozen, praying she would succumb to death by one thousand cuts. With one more bloody blink, sucking a deep breath in through gnashing teeth, she brought forth every molecule of her rage. In a blink of a step forward, she clashed blades with the closest of the men. Her body weight continued into him, slamming her shoulder against him to throw him back. With him off balance, she raised her foot to straight kick his knee, buckling it backward. Howling, the man fell away from her, swinging wildly. His blade nicked the bridge of her nose as she leaned back, already turning to the next target.<br><br>Turning, as this attack was only bait for who was bold enough to try and take a shot. One was already mid-strike, lifting his katana to try and strike her down. Leaving his sides open, she struck. With a loud wet thunk, her katana buried itself into the man's side, sticking much to her disdain. She could have forced the slash through if she wasn't so exhausted. Seeing an opening, the man on his right leveled the point of his katana at her and, with one quick jab, was able to catch her in a desperate dodge. Pain in the side of her chest as his blade tore through the muscles, only saved by the glancing blow not cutting through her ribs. Seething, she rotated away from the one that stabbed, leaving her back exposed to the fourth fighter. Wrenching the man around with her as she turned, she twisted the blade readying for the next move, forcefully kicking the dying man off her sword into the one that just stabbed and rotated in one fluid movement slashing her blade to fling a spray of blood, into the fourth fighter's eyes.<br><br>A terrified and knowing gasp escaped the now momentarily blinded man. In a futile effort, he swung his sword wildly at where he had last seen her. Easily dodging her blinded opponent, she sidestepped, slashing across his gut, disemboweling him before finishing him with a nasty overhead chop to the head, caving in the side of his face. Wrenching the blade from his head, the body slumped into the black mud forming beneath them. The first man returned to his remaining good leg, not wanting to be cut down lying on his back. The other shoved the lifeless body of his ally to the ground looking on with abject terror.<br><br>"can't we-" he tried to plead with her, but her face twisted with hatred and disgust.<br><br>"No," came her answer, followed by greater brutality. Stepping closer, she slashed with abandon. The force of the steel coming together created sparks chipping both blades in, then as second and third swings clanged as if she was focused only on attacking his katana. Again the terrible ring came from their blades as she closed the gap, locking her blade against his, pushing in as close as she could to him, pinning his blade to his chest. For only a moment, her eyes pierced into him; for him, it must have felt like forever, but for her, it was only the amount of time it took her left hand to come up and grab him by the head, her thumb sinking into his eye socket. Wailing in pain, she tore him to the side, raising her katana in one hand to chop into him repeatedly until the screaming stopped.<br><br>Slowly she turned to the only one. The last remaining soul besides her left in the town. Her arms hung at her sides, threatening not to rise again. She hadn't noticed, but she was practically gasping for breath. In one hand, her katana hung, the tip resting on the ground, the other still gripped white-knuckled to the man's head. Tears welled in the eyes of the man across from her. He could not imagine what had brought her to such brutality nor how she did not fall. With a couple of unsteady breaths as he tried to choke down his fate. He raised his sword fully above his head with both hands.<br><br>Releasing the captive corpse, Akane faced the man. Possessed by her desire to finish things, she held her breath, willing the last of her strength to come through. Promising her body rest soon if it just saw the task finished. With a determined flick upward, her katana again took a fighting position. Dashing a few steps toward her final target, she bellowed an uncanny roar. Screaming intensified as if all the anguish was simultaneously trying to leave her body. Blade, like lightning, flew up to intercept the man's downward slash. His blade was not her aim, though. Her sword cleaved both hands at the wrist, sending the opposing sword cartwheeling down the street. Carrying the momentum, she pivoted, returning the blade to decapitate the man. His head spun down the road leaving only one standing in the street.<br><br>The roar of the flames engulfing the surrounding buildings cut the silence. Beams crumbled, emitting intense heat, new jets of sparks dancing into the sky. Looking around, it was indistinguishable from home. Her big eyes scanned the hellish scene settling on the towering inferno, wincing as the wind got knocked out of her by all the collective pain surging back to the surface. Crashing out of her adrenaline rush, her body screamed in protest.<br><br>"Not. Yet." she insisted, praying her body would listen. Holding her stance, she caught her breath. Cinders and ash flowed around her as they swept down the mountain. Though indistinguishable from the falling ashes, light snow was beginning to dust the landscape. Slowly her breathing settled, granting her some of her composure back. <br><br>Her hand rose up to press on the fresh stab in her chest. It wasn't a severe wound but worse than most she had collected so far. Hoping to control the bleeding until she could treat it, she applied what pressure she could. In her other hand, she slowly turned the katana to the side. It was ruined, not that she had any reason to care. It wasn't hers, and she had destroyed a few blades already. Tossing it aside, her eyes scanned the bodies around her. It only took a moment to spot what she was after. A katana still sheathed. It remained on the side of someone ultimately unprepared for the speed of her assault. Claiming it, she slid it into her belt, a ritual she had done a few times. <br><br><hr class="bb-hr"><br><br>The snow had a way of eating sound. Akane could only hear her labored breaths and the snow packing beneath her feet. She knew she needed to trek just across the ridge from the town. It would be safe to set up a camp there to recover. It would take days for any hunting party to find her if she found the right spot. She just needed to push on. <br><br>It was clear from how she trudged forward that she was held together by will. She had a resolute expression, eyes burned into the ground ahead of her. She pushed forward one step after another, but the evening was settling in, and the mountain cold was on its heels. <br><br>Her senses reeled, her foot slipped, and it was red alert to stay upright. With a jolt, she planted her weight on the other foot managing to catch herself. Her eyes took in her surroundings for the first moment in a while. <br><br>A crystalline pond, some distance away. Still to the point, its surface perfectly reflected the nightfall sky. The last rays of light streamed across the sky, the first stars shining through like a portal into the heavens sprawled across the landscape.<br><br>"Pretty..."<br><br>With a thump, Akane toppled to the side. Her body had finally given in. With a groan, she pushed herself to lie on her back, staring into the sky. It was hard to admit that she had pushed too hard; given her position, it was impossible to ignore. Attempting to sit up proved a fruitless collection of groans and hissing as she tried to push through the pain and fatigue. Watching her breath plume into the air, huffing just from the minor exertion. Her heartbeat quickened as she willed herself to stay conscious. She couldn't stop yet; she wasn't finished. The fear that if she closed her eyes, it would be the last time gripped her more than the mountain cold.</div></div></div>
Snowdrops
blindwoofer
BlazingBark
Arista
Red Hood
Guess Who
Guardian Angel Haruki
Uncertain Tea
The Irish Tree