jrazillashadowworks

[jrazillashadowworks]

Snowflake: Chapter Three (Victubia Fan Fiction)

Read chapter 1 Read chapter 2

Words: 1235

I’m really enjoying this story so far! I hope that you are as well! No warnings! Enjoy! 

~

Sergio’s finger shot out like a pistol to the wind mage who stiffened slightly. Instantly, he corrected his posture, a collected air emanating off of him. Smoothing out the fancy, silk hooded, white and mint green jacket he wore, his expression remained stoic.

“Liu Jinwu. Seventeen as well. As you have probably deduced by now, I am a wind magi. I live a very structured life and most of my time is spent studying or training. However, I do enjoy taking relaxing walks and swimming.” There was a proud shift to his posture. “My wish is to join the military and learn under the prestigious Royal strategist Channarong and hopefully one day surpass him as the new Royal strategist.”

Then he grew visibly apprehensive as if he was unsure whether to go on. After a couple of silent seconds, he nodded to himself lightly. “As for my most prized possession.” With great care, Jinwu reached into his bag slowly and procured a gold hinged, dark wood box. Eastern designs were cut into clouds all along its sides. A lacquered sheen flashed across the surface, coming to a sparkle as it lit up a small jade gem at its center.

Flake blinked, intrigued, though he tried to keep his demeanor from showing it. With deft fingertips, Jinwu raised the lid and tilted it every gently, even reverently to reveal its contents. Nestled perfectly within was an exquisite, white crane feathered fan fitted to a lavishly gilded handle. A sparkling jade oval center pieced the metal fringe that reached up into the feathers. It was impossibly beautiful. This was absolutely nothing Flake had ever seen before.

The others shared his enthusiasm, Sergio gawking stupidly while the metal magi held a hand under her chin, smirking. “This is a fan fashioned after the legendary Zhuge Liang’s from the time of the Three Kingdoms in China.” His tone practically radiated veneration now. Even though he no doubt knew that none of them actually knew what he was talking about, Jinwu continued. “His styled name Kongming, he was the most profound strategist of all time…In my opinion,” he added.

“So…what does it do?” Sergio managed to babble with a wide open mouth.

“I’m glad you asked,” he replied with pleasure. Excitement betrayed his cool disposition. Reaching inside, he lifted it and suddenly the jade oval glimmered to life like a light had been turned on within it. Once grasped, all around the fan, nearly invisible currents of pale green wind flowed in constant arcs. The air pressure intensified in the room, Flake feeling a slight tug towards the fan. It was indeed a gorgeous and otherworldly sight.

“It is a magic conduit that allows me to condense and focus my power into potent and measured attacks. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be wise to give you a demonstration in the dorm room. Maybe later, when we are outside.”

Placing it back, the air returned to normal, and the jade went dormant. “This item could be used to cause mass destruction,” he said tonelessly. A sudden tension wafted over them for a moment before Jinwu looked between them. “Oh, that’s right. It’s attuned to my specific pull of the element so no one else can use it like I do. I don’t plan to use it to that effect of course.”

He spoke as if they were supposed to instantly trust him. A glance at Sergio showed that he was wrestling with some powerful thoughts that were clearly winning. He almost appeared constipated. Then he gasped vehemently, startling everyone. “You are the one who kicked Quicksilvers ass last year!” Sergio burst out laughing, doubling over. Had he been trying to figure this out this whole time?

Jinwu was miffed, brows tugging together, shoulders drooping dejectedly. “Yes. I remember that…”

Sergio could barely speak through his guffaws. “He still goes on about that, wanting a rematch!”

“Not interested,” Jinwu snapped calmly yet sharply. “Let’s just move on. Who is next?”

Flake tensed up, knowing only the two remained. His eyes dropped as his ears exploded with his heartbeat. Fiddling with the inner turmoil, he made an audible sigh of relief when she actually responded.

“Anika Subira. I’m not going to indulge my age. As for my hobbies…” She grew playfully thoughtful, tilting her head side to side like a marionette on a string. It was rather adorable, her curls springing. Then she smiled dazzlingly. “Fine…well…Nah, never mind. I’m going to stick by my decision. And. You’ve already seen and heard my most prized possessions.”

Snapping her fingers rhythmically, the gauntlets that had been affixed to the bedposts sprung to life. Hovering, they waved, mimicking her motions before returning to their place. Then she threw her arms out and wriggled them like lashing serpents, creating a cacophony of tingling sound that pierced their eardrums. Flake’s brows pulled together.  

“That’s all,” she concluded, returning to her comfortable position.

Subira’s introduction was hardly that compared to the others. Even so, none prodded her to reveal anything more. In addition, although it seemed unfair, one good thing to come of it was now Flake could do the same. And it was an absolute necessity, for when all eyes slid to him, he felt his entire being anvil to the floor.

The room shifted as the anxiety mounted, leaving him lightheaded. Hands quivering, his fingers kneaded the scarf around his neck as he tried to speak. What came out was unintelligible breaths and fractured words. “F..lake. F…F…ifteen…S-S-ar…f…”

Flake refused to look up, strained eyes boring into the floorboards where the lines in the wood appeared to be moving. An agonizing silence fell over them, Flake sinking more and more into oblivion. Though he did not realize, it was only quiet for a couple of seconds before an angelic voice broke through. It was Subira’s, reaching down to pull him up from the depths. “Nice to meet you, Flake. It’s a lovely scarf.”

The others followed her example. “Flake is quite the artistic name,” Jinwu mused.

“I’ve heard of you,” Sergio elated. He was going to continue but was silenced by. Looks from both Subira and Jinwu silently suggesting to end this quick to spare Flake further. Luckily, he took the hint.

Flake did not respond but gave the slightest of nods, still steamrolled by the smothering angst. Sergio stammered. “Well! It’s nice to meet you all! I look forward to spending the year with each of you and hopefully learning more!” It was obvious that by that he meant mostly Subira. Then, peering at his shoddy watch, his stomach growled audibly. “I have an idea! How about we all go get something to eat. Nothing brings people closer together than food!”

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Jinwu said rather suspiciously, seemingly surprised by Sergio’s ability to come up with such a suggestion.

“I’m up for that,” Subira chimed. “You can all be my entourage.”

“Ento..what?” Sergio snorted ridiculously.

“Means we can be her lackeys,” Jinwu stated dryly.

Subira did some jazz hands, jingling. “Glamorous.”

Flake broke in quietly, sullying the mood. “Not hungry.” Without another word, he laid back down and turned away, curling up. He listened as the others got up.

“Only if you are sure…”

It was obvious that this wasn’t up for debate so the trio left the boy alone with short parting words. Once the door closed, Flakes stomach growled lightly.

[jrazillashadowworks]

Bastien

A soft, cold light filtered in through the thin veil of linen drapery that billowed lightly from the cracked open window. The family crest shifted on the fabric-a symbol of an eerie coffin with expanded demonic wings, lanced by an armory of blades and arrows, an N at its center.

The cold bite of the morning was just what he needed after his shower, washing goosebumps over his athletically lithe body, tuned over a lifetime of harsh training. A patchwork of scars practically covered him, slightly lighter than the rest of his already milky white skin. Seared into his right shoulder blade was the same crest that adorned the drapes, branded deep, marking him as property. His silky, pale blonde hair was long, reaching down to the small of his back. A tortured prince.

Walking to the black mahogany armoire, he retrieved his extravagant but militaristic attire. Donning a rather large, open-chested shirt, he tucked it into white trousers and threw on a flowing, colonial blue and white jacket with many silver buttons and facets, collar flipped up. Wrapping his neck in a wrap scarf, fastened, he then carefully dug his feet into the exquisite high leather boots. Finally, airing out his hair with a few flicks of the hands, he tied a silk azure ribbon around it, making it into a ponytail before putting on some white military gloves.

His knapsack had already been packed with what everything he could need on his trip, resting on his bed. Beside it lay a lavish sheathed saber blade with a silver hilt and design wrapped around that shift into wings of their own, and two small crossbows. Strapping each weapon to his belt, he lifted his bag and took one last look into his opulent bedroom with which he held no attachment.

Stepping outside, into the insanely exquisite halls of the estate, his boots clacked lightly against the glossy marble floors. Crystal chandeliers created a formal line of light all throughout the manor, luminance bouncing off of every smooth surface, leading him out. No one saw him off him despite the place is home to plenty of servants, not that he was surprised or cared. The corridors were completely devoid of anyone, the silence was only broken up by the random ticking from the grandfather clocks. It was only when he reached the main hall that he ran into someone.

This main hall was the most ceremonial within the estate, coats of arms, shields, swords, and portraits taking up nearly every inch of it. However, the defining feature of this corridor was the many flawless glass coffins practically cemented into the walls. Cased within each were mummified remains of beings of all races. They laid upright, neatly and respectfully posed in a bed of potpourri and flowers of all colors, vibrant against their greyed and browned skin that was shriveled like dried wood. The distinguished, clean clothing they were dressed in was off-putting, hanging lightly on the emaciated forms. Their eyes and mouths were gaping black holes.

Above these coffins were expertly and painstakingly detailed painted portraits of each of these beings when they were alive, dressed in the exact same clothes. Their names were scrawled in gold ink though hard to make out. The young man paid none of these any mind, walking with a purposeful stride until his cold eyes fell on a large figure ahead of him, blocking the front door with broad shoulders.

This person was of course known to him, a Cornige of an outlandishly bulbous muscular build and standing at six foot, seven inches, making him impossible to mistake. The clothes he wore was another defining trait that distinguished him to all around him. He was always draped from head to toe in leather. Wearing a jacket that reached down to his ankles, his collar was flipped and with a ring of fur as white as his hair around it. His extremely powerful, deeply tanned chest, his pride and joy was visible, the jacket buttoned and zipped only at his waist. Arms and legs like tree trunks, sheathed in silver dragon scale plating nearly ripped through the leather with any slight movement and yet it held.

His head was lowered, the large and long brimmed, tricorn hat marring his face, the ends flipped upwards. A couple of belts adorned the hat, a Lagvis tail feather fitted between them, striking back. Four horns dipped in gleaming silver protruded from his head, two out the front, pushing up through his mess of short but wild white hair and two longer, twisted ones poking out of his hat, affixing it.

“Good day, Bastien,” the Cornige spoke, his voice as deep as the ocean but smooth as steel. Lifting his head, he revealed a clean-shaven, handsome face already threatened by new stubble. The curse of the Cornige as he called it.

“Falke,” Bastien replied in his velvety tone, drenched in utter indifference, already knowing full well what would come next.

Sheathed at either side of the Cornige, were two broadswords, perfectly sized for his body type, handles of pure silver, molded into curved beasts. Without another word, he reached down and pulled them free, the metal hissing, revealing two black steel blades, their edges lined with silver. His intent was clear.

Bastien returned the gesture in kind, unsheathing his saber, and pointing the tip forward, shifting into a fencing stance, out leg extended before the other. Breathing softly, his eyes sharpened on Falk who immediately charged over, each step a resounding boom. Closing in his swords swiped diagonally, one after the other, followed by a sheering wind that ruffled Bastien’s hair and clothes. In that split second, he sidestepped away, watching the attack glance right by him. He made no attempt to retaliate, only awaiting the next attack. Spinning around, Falke continued with a vertical onslaught that would easily rend him in twain. Again he dodged, awaiting the exact time to strike, feet moving deftly.

They danced about the room, the Cornige barraging him with invisible slashes that sucked away the oxygen around him, Bastien keeping just out of reach. Their battle was kept directly in the center of the hall, as to not destroy any of the coffins around.

Bastien examined each attack methodically, visualizing the next step, ducking and weaving expertly. A few times he slid his saber hissing against the blades, only to test the trajectory of each. Heart thrumming carefully, he breathed softly as if nothing was even happening. Counting the milliseconds between each strike, the opening within his offense was becoming a pinpoint.

By the minute mark, he had completely realized Falke’s attack pattern and though he was extremely skilled, it was over. Just as the next slash was to connect, he lunged forward like a viper, saber slicing through the air until the blade pressed into the very crease between Falke’s pecs, sinking just enough to draw blood. Though he made no grunt of pain, the Cornige’s arms halted, weapons lowered as a deep rumbling of laughter escaped his throat.

Peering down amusedly at Bastien with much more exuberant, burning amber, Falke shrugged. “Nicely done, boy.” He clicked his tongue. “Good luck.”

Bastien flicked his blade on Falke to clean the blood from it before sheathing it in the same movement and walking past. Pushing through the front door, he gave no look back at Falke, or the castle-like estate as he walked onward, his purpose like the North Star, pointing him to Emershire. The standards hanging from the manor billowed, the crest waving him farewell.  

[jrazillashadowworks]

VTOTM JULY: NIGHTMARE

Wewt! Was able to finish one on time again! @,,@ Enjoy! 

Warnings: Blood, violence. 

Words: 1379

A harsh, eastern wind wails, piercing the darkness. After a moment of its cry, the sound dies and is replaced by labored and pained breathing. A dripping, crimson form, a single splotch of color in the void grows into focus as it becomes louder. Suddenly the wind is given form, standing before the being, now discerned as a woman knelt down, the body made entirely of blood, fleeting like candle wax on all sides.

The woman looks up, her face like a carved statue, frozen in agony as her body puddles under her. A heavy heartbeat quakes, resounding against the invisible walls. Her mouth moves over deaf words, hands quivering. Before the wind, rattling twin hook blades are gripped now, a guillotine around her neck, biting into it. A hiss so sharp it's maddening urges the wind on. Her mouth goes agape to beg before she is decapitated with a single movement. Head sailing, it lands with a hearty squelch and splatters, her body exploding like a bomb, painting the space in chunky gore.

Turmoil. The hook blades clatter to the ground, the cry of the wind returning only stronger. Sharp fangs immediately pierce the wind repeatedly, breaking him down, filling him with pulsing venom. Many more molten, bloody forms appear, seemingly burbling up from the ground, their cries now silent…only a hiss surrounding them…that dagger sharp hiss.

The weapons now moved without hesitation, blades of steel and wind sundering them all. Soon, their bodies completely varnished the void, the color somehow darker than the blackness. Encapsulated in these deeds, the wind feels the floor sinking in under him, pulling him with it. Just before his head is enveloped the scene changes into something entirely unexpected.

Red walls falling on all sides, he is now encompassed on all sides by sparkling blue water. Suddenly sitting on a vessel, salty air fills his lungs and a warm, pleasant radiance washes over his skin. Water splashes against the sides of the ship, muffling the constant screaming in his head and for the first time in a long time, he was able to relax somewhat. It was short lived however for he was ordered to constantly exhaust himself by use of his magic to speed things up. Finally, a new land appears on the horizon, a place more fantastic than any he has ever seen. He knew it was pointless to hope, but he couldn’t ignore the spark within him that something new could be ahead. Maybe a fresh start.

 Of course, this was not so. Everything remained the same, only the language and environment changed. These new lands were quickly bathed in fresh blood. He was a captive, a slave to murder, forever. Maybe he should just end it all… Multiple times he tries but cowers away from going through with the act. In this maelstrom of torment, a dulcet, soothing melody stretches across the space.

Floating musical notes sways gently on a new, western wind, flowing from a silhouette of pure white and eyes of deepest black. A boy, much the same age as him sits before a colossal backdrop of a stage, a string instrument just as large as the boy playing it leans against him. Expertly, the boy pulls a bow across the front, continuing the harmonic tune that seems to touch the eastern winds tormented soul. He tries to approach, tears biting at his eyes but is reprimanded by an earth-quaking hiss that tears down everything before them.

The instrument in the boy’s hand bursts, shattering into raining splinters all around his feet, the notes evaporating. Gasping, the eastern wind reaches out but something new replaces the instrument in the boy’s hand. Forming, he now grasps a sheening, large dadao blade, an induction gift. The white silhouette stares the eastern wind-down but says nothing. A new slave to this horror. The eastern wind wants so desperately to save him from this but could do nothing.

 From then on, the two were together, training their bodies, weapons skills and magic with which both shared the same element. Unlike the eastern wind, the western one was much more attuned for such a life even though he was new to it. It was almost unnatural how quickly he adapted and grew. The great hiss also showed great interest in him, in more ways than one...practically turning a blind, indifferent eye on the eastern wind. A myriad of emotions filled him, swirling colors clawing at his innards to get free. Jealousy, sadness, pain, confusion, and a new feeling he had never felt before…love. This feeling alone was the most powerful, threatening to rip him in twain.

Every moment he was with the western wind, he felt both at ease and ready to combust. This passion only flourished over time, like a towering inferno spread by two powerful gales. These feelings fueled his deepest want for a new life, free from all of this except him. One day it could no longer be contained and he broke down before him, exposing his innermost thoughts.

Tears flow freely where there should no longer be any, his cool façade completely obliterated, practically on his knees before the western wind in hysterics.

No words came from the western wind, he just leaned forward, hugging the eastern wind to him, encasing him in a warmth long forgotten. Everything around them melted into nothingness and it was just the two of them. He begs for it not to end but the scene shifts yet again. He now stands alone, his front illuminated by scorching orange light so hot it near flays his skin.

Off in the distance, a three-story, wooden building is being ravaged by a monstrous fire. Hot blazing fingers of flames shatters the windows, reaching up to the sky in flickering agony. Around it, an enormous, black and white cyclone swirls vehemently. It feeds the fire, howling with such power it stings all of his senses. The eastern wind can only stand, staring ahead in astonished disbelief as the structure is completely destroyed, left nothing but a pile of smoldering ashes in the wake of the tornado.

The last of the storm tapering, he feels his knees buckle under him and he slumps to the ground, realizing that it’s all over. It’s finished. He can finally have the life he’s always wanted now. Flooded with overwhelming relief, he weeps, offering his thanks, until the slightest movement catches his eye. Squinting at the mound of ash, his heart shoots into his throat as it shifts. Abruptly, an impossibly gigantic basilisk blast out, writhing into the sky with a warbling, hissing roar that sends jagged cracks in the ground all the way up to him. Its scales are completely seared and charred black, forked, infected tongue lashes out frantically.

His blood ices over as the bellow ends. Slack-jawed, his fingers curl. “B-Bashe….”

The reptilian head halts and jerks to peer to the east, one eye melted, fangs dripping with rivers of venom. Its maw stretches open, letting out a long, trembling growl. Recoiling back intently, it lunges forward like a crack of lightning, ready to devour him. Just as the jaws hinge around him, his eyes shoot open.

*

He was lying in bed, breathing strained. Sitting up, the handsome man of Asian descent sinks his face into his palms, large muscular form dripping with sweat, drops rolling down the sinewy creases. Already, the nightmare was fleeting, only bits and pieces remaining on his muddled mind. There wasn’t time to linger on this. He had to get to work. Getting up, he showered but was unable to shake these snippets from playing on repeat.

Paying no mind to why he dreamt this, he dried off. Approaching his closet, he grabs his uniform for work which consisted of a plain collared shirt, vest, tie and dress pants. However, before closing the doors, a glint catches him and he couldn’t help but push aside the other clothes to reveal a pair of perfectly glossy, steel hook blades. Lost for a moment, it was only a quick knock that pulled him away and he is able to walk towards his front door.

“Come on Xiang, it’s time to go, buddy!”

[jrazillashadowworks]

Victubia Theme of the Month: June- Flower Language

I’m soo damn late with this but better than not finishing it at all! @,,@  Warnings: Dark themes with mention of violation. 

I do hope you enjoy this. Been forever since I posted anything! Bonus at the end. ^,,^ 

Through the forest frosted and covered in white from the winter season, a massive being as pale as the snow trudged along, his form only noticeable from the void black hooded cloak. A colossal dadao blade was strapped to his broad back, accentuating his dangerous form, sheening in the grey light of the surroundings. However, cradled tenderly as if a baby in his muscular arms was a black lace bouquet of various species of decidedly out of season flowers, tied with a black ribbon. Each blossom was completely flawless and radiant as if preserved and protected by some form of magic, which indeed they were and a mesh veil. Just as special was the meaning behind each of them, some sweet and others somber.

It was with the expert assistance of the eccentric and theatrical entrepreneur from the special floral shop in the capital that he was able to collect such a meaningful arrangement. The short transwoman with the tri-colored ringlet hair had flit him about the shop, expressing the significance of each and every one. Though she was respectful to his purpose, she was rather apprehensive to let him leave with the flowers, learning he intended to leave them on a grave in the dead of winter. In the end, though his expression had been guarded, she saw the tragic sadness in his black eyes and she could not deny him. In the end, he walked out with a couple of pink carnations, dark crimson and tea roses, zinnias, anemones, and the best wishes of the businesswoman Adela.

Kain’s arms cuddled more around the bouquet and his heart sank as he broke through the trees to the small, secluded bluff overlooking the opaque ocean moving calmly under the desolate sky, drizzling with flakes. He had thought he had prepared himself enough, it had been a year since that day after all but, already he felt his innards constrict and tangle, tears already threatening to sting his eyes. Though he was struggling, he finally lowered his gaze on the three graves, only indicated by a trio of nondescript, dark grey stones. A thick layer of snow had nearly buried the stones, blanketing the mounds. This would not do.

Sitting his flowers under one of the spindly boned trees, he turned back and lifted his arms to the frigid wind, feeling the power resonate within him. Brows furrowing and with a single tear sliding down his cheek, he thrust his hands forward. Harnessing his inner turmoil, he surged a blast of magically concentrated air to dust the graves free of the white, fanning it over the bluff in an avalanche. The deafening, whirling howl of the wind gave voice to Kain’s deepest feelings, the cold clawing up his arms and fingers.

Dropping his hands, shoulders slumping, he exhaled softly, the graves visible with a glossy sheen of ice over the black dirt. Muscles tensing, he could not halt the faces of the two brothers from entering his mind, Arui, and…Ovis. The third grave belonged to their mother though Kain had never met her but, he held her in great esteem for she was the figurehead of their family. Ovis took center stage of his mind as he recalled the time they spent together as friends and comrades under the way of the assassin.

These memories, more powerful here, continued to bombard him as he retrieved the bouquet, brushing away the clinging snowflakes. When he turned back around, his feet became as if encased in cement blocks dropped in quicksand. It took all of his strength to trudge over to the grave of Ovis, each step heavier than the last. He could hear Ovis’ smooth voice in his head, the passing conversations and snarky comments playing out on repeat.

Reaching the foot of the mound, the voice was cut off by the ringing of the wire that decapitated him. The scent of his blood was as fresh in his nose as the day he died. Kain’s knees buckled, the weight of his emotions, amplified by the images of Ovis’ demise, crumbling him to the ground. Hunched over, tears flowed freely now, sprinkling the petals, instantly crystalizing into frozen blossoms of their own.

Kain cried silently for a few minutes before he was finally able to lay the bouquet onto the grave, whispering yet another final goodbye. Midway through his sentence, however, another voice intruded, one horribly and impossibly familiar. The sound was gravelly, yet smooth, like the burble of a creek over jagged stones.

“Ni hao, my western wind.” The tone was dripping with longing and elation, a strange combo that made Kain notice for the first time just how cold it was.

Wondering whether he had lost his mind, the pale man turned his head slightly, squinting at the ostentatious form, emanating warm color. The very sight made his skin crawl and the sadness evaporated, replaced by a cold emptiness. Standing not ten feet away was a man of average stature, but a powerfully athletic build, draped in the most ornate and embellished ceremonial, silk robe Kain had ever seen.

A rose gold embroidered fierce serpent of Chinese myth, known as the Bashe, wrapped around his body multiple times, jaws unhinged and fangs threatening, in a sea of glittering lotus flowers of warm colors. Over the robe, he wore an open, large sleeved, cloth overcoat, tied at the chest by a felt chord, one arm occupied and the other vacant. A head and face wrap obscured ninety-five percent of his features save for a single eye, his mouth and a very long tuft of silver hair that sprung out in a downward curve. Although the sheathed Jian blade, hardly veiled by the coat was cause for concern, it was more what was behind him that snatched Kain’s attention.

Haphazardly hidden around his back was a colossal bouquet. The impossibly slight movement of Kain’s notice did not escape this new arrival, causing him to hide it better. “So living a normal life didn’t suit you huh?” He spoke matter of fact, clearly posing it as a question out of some mock sense of propriety. “And now you seem to have been accepted by THEM fully.”

Kain felt the sting of the phantom needle on the nape of his neck again where a tattoo of a wraith now resided, marking the creation of a new bloodline in the growing web of assassins. He gave no implication of responding, though his hand incessantly itched to reach for his blade.

“It’s pleasant to see one of you stuck to it, especially after all the work I put into creating such masterpieces. Shame my Eastern Wind actually succeeded in the normal life.”

White hot memories flashed before Kain’s eyes of a past friend the exact age as himself, raised in the life of murder. It was this friendship that changed everything and lead to the betrayal and fire that supposedly freed them from this life. Although a twinge of relief found Kain at the knowledge of his friend’s positive turn, he was crestfallen to find that their biggest problem apparently survived.

“What do you want?” Kain finally asked with a hard edge to his voice. “You’re desecrating hallowed ground.”

The man let out puffs of breaths that turned into a full-on cackle that shook his entire body, extremely entertained by the notion of an assassin respecting the dead. After a full minute of this, he finally calmed, still chuckling through frantic, broken breathes and apologies. Once again composed, he continued as if it did not happen.

“A peace offering…” He finally pulled out the bouquet he had hidden behind his back that easily put Kain’s to shame in both size and color. Though it would appear to be a simple collection of extravagant and beautiful flowers, Kain remembered once again the voice of the flower shop owner. Among the rainbow bouquet were flowers such as jonquils and red camellias with positive meanings behind them. However, there was also an abundance of flowers that expressed disappointment and anger, along with some that were downright warnings such as begonias and monkshoods. This bundle was a complete expression of the man’s deepest thoughts and wishes towards Kain.

“I enjoyed your idea so much I had to imitate it. Now, I’m willing to forgive you for taking my arm and nearly having me burned to death if you would but come back to me…” A vehement lust resounded from within the man now, his form quivering with a sickening longing. “I desire to have what we once had. Join me again and we can go start over, right before all those horrible mistakes you made. Forget about these silly bloodlines and dead people who were simply substitutions for your broken friendship with the Eastern wind.”

Kain reached for the hilt of his sword now. A maelstrom of excruciating emotions whirled inside him like a ravaging tornado, aided by the appalling thoughts of the countless times this man had molested, violated, and beat him, along with the accusation that everything he had with Arui and Ovis was fake. “Leave…”

“You even kept the sword I gave you. It’s clearly destiny!!!”

At those words, the smothering pain inside Kain became a coalescence of gusty magical energy that in that precise moment released in a single attack, impossible to catch. With a single spin, Kain let loose his dadao in a sideswipe that blasted forth a terrible white cyclone that tore up everything in its destructive path towards the man, including the iced stone ground.

The deafening cyclone made for the trees, collapsing a few before dissipating in a gust that blew the snow away in all directions. What was left was not the man but a scattering of shredded petals, raining a kaleidoscope of color. Brows knit so tight they were almost connected, Kain hissed through his closed lips, scanning everywhere for the individual only to find nothing.

Once the sound died down, a voice filtered from nowhere in particular. “Such a terrible shame. The west wind seems to have weakened. Don’t worry. I haven’t given up on you. But…I’m thinking I’m going to have to pay a visit to our old friend institutionalized by the false contentment of a normal life and…persuade him. Until we meet again my Western Wind.”

Kain’s powerful arms went limp as rubber, hanging down. With all his power escaped, he was left but a husk of a man staring dead-eyed into the tree line, shivering cold.

 Bonus: Flower language

Flowers in Kain’s bouquet:

•        CARNATION Pink - I'll Never Forget You CARNATION, Purple – Capriciousness

•        ROSE Dark Crimson - Mourning

•        ROSE Tea - I'll Remember; Always

•        ZINNIA Mixed - Thinking (or in Memory) of an Absent Friend

•        ANEMONE -Forsaken or forgotten love and affection, the death of a loved one or the loss of them to someone else, the arrival of the first spring winds, Bad luck or ill omens

•        DAFFODIL - Regard; Unrequited Love; you’re the Only One; the Sun is Always Shining When I'm with you

•        HYACINTH Purple - I Am Sorry; Please Forgive Me: Sorrow

Flowers in the arrivals bouquet:

•        GERANIUM -"Stupidity; Folly for Kain’s actions.

•        HYDRANGEA - Thank You for Understanding; Frigidity; Heartlessness

•        JONQUIL - Love Me; Affection Returned; Desire; Sympathy; Desire for Affection Returned

•        MONKSHOOD - Beware; A Deadly Foe is near

•        STOCK - Bonds of Affection; Promptness; You'll Always Be Beautiful to Me

•        CAMELLIA Pink - Longing for You

•        BEGONIA – Beware

•        CAMELLIA Red - You're a Flame in My Heart

•        CARNATION Yellow - You Have Disappointed Me; Rejection

•        HEATHER   White - Protection; Wishes will Come True

•        MARIGOLD - Cruelty: Grief Jealousy

•        NASTURTIUM - Conquest; Victory in Battle

•        PETUNIA - Resentment; Anger; Your Presence Soothes me

[jrazillashadowworks]

Quickblade

Another D&D short for the fun of it. I’m just enjoy making new characters.

Warnings: Cruelty and violence. 

Word count: 1677  I hope that you enjoy. ^,,^ 

Roaming the Dampen forest for what seemed like an eternity, he had finally found it. The downpour had made things near impossible, the Lightfoot Halfling warrior drenched to the bone. His short greenish brown hooded, leaf-shaped cloak was like a cold, wet blanket, weighing down his small but athletic frame. In his now straining hands, his trusty, elaborate gold short sword and buckler shield remained tightly gripped. After so much searching, he had become tired, something that could not be tolerated, not with what must be done.

A smirk of sinister purpose stretched across his copper skin, his second wind kicking in, washing over him in a scorching, newfound energy. He brushed the pale whitish blonde bangs from his undercut hair out of his face with his wrist. Before him, a gaping maw of a tunnel as opaque as the void stretched out from under the forest hills. The grass and moss overhang trickled a veil of runoff over the entrance. The Halfling sniffed deep, filling his lungs to capacity with the soaked, earthy surroundings. With the keen sense of smell of a dog, he picked apart the grass, wood, rain, and rock until the faint stench of his quarry entered his nostrils. They were definitely there.

Usually such openings would be trapped, however, a quick scan revealed that this one was not, proving it to be a recent tunnel entrance. He would continue to remain vigilant and cautious, knowing full well of what his target was capable of. Leaving the grey and green haze of the outside, he carefully took his first steps into the cavern. A mix of anxious adrenaline and healthy dread filled the Halfling, giving him a slight jitter to his movements.

Pushing the shield to wrap up his wrist and reaching into his slung overpack, he pulled out an iron torch, covered with a cloth and banded tightly with twine. Underneath, a dim glow of an ever-burning flame emanated from under the fabric, a gift from a mage he had entertained once…or twice. It did enough to keep his surroundings just in sight.

Water trickled in from the earthen ceiling creating streams down the path, the only sound in the quiet tunnel. Worms wriggled violently between the soiled walls and the floor was cool underneath the leather undersides of his feet. If the plan had gone as instructed, he should have little opposition, the enemy lead to one side of the tunnel passes. If not, he was likely going to die, a thought that both scared and excited him, causing his knuckles to bleed white around the sword and torch.

Marking the walls with an exit symbol only he could notice with his blade as he continued on. Traversing the maze-like expanse that no doubt was dug through the entire forest seemingly aimless, he followed his dependable nose, turning this way and that. He had not run into a single enemy yet. Seemed his companions were correct, they were now focused on one side, leaving their most important flank open to him. Moronic creatures, he spat.

After a while, the stench grew exponentially, a smell akin to wet dogs. He was now extremely close. Turning a bend, the cavern opened up into a circular room. Slowing his movement, he crouched low and crept along the floor until the light from his torch brushed against a nest of six eggs. Grey and spotted, he immediately recognized them. “Bingo,” he whispered to himself. They had moved their nest here.

Unwrapping the twine around the torch head, he let the magical flame shine, illuminating a third of the room. Brows shooting up, a chuckle gurgling in his throat, he scanned the near fifty small nests of eggs nestled here and there. His task was now at hand. According to the band leader, he was to simply throw in a bundle of dynamite and run but where was the fun in that?

Stepping up to the first nest, he scoffed and tilted his head. “You shall not see the light of day, filth,” he whispered with bile in his tone.

Lifting his long, wide foot, he brought it down like a hammer, the hard shells crunching easily into an oozing, yellowish curdled puddle. Feeling the cool splattered embryo’s underneath, filled him with an insatiable bloodlust. His form became that of a hysterical child, hopping from nest to nest, crushing all under his feet until not a single egg was left undestroyed. By the end of his horrid escapade, his legs and feet were splotched in gore he huffed in the saturated death, sordid chuckles seething through his bared teeth.

With his job finished, he had but to blow up the cavern and leave. Flicking his toes, he approached the exit of the den and halted instantly when a form came within the glow. There, before him, a female kobold with glinting crimson scales stared mortified at the Halfling, eyes as wide as possible. Standing a couple of inches short of him, his visage was imposing and horrible, more beast than she was. Within her arms, cradled protectively was a collection of three more eggs. There was no weapon on her person. She was completely defenseless.

Shaking her head, the kobold could not move, frozen from fear. The corner of the Halfling’s mouth turned upward. “I was hoping to find more females. Kill this blight at its source but you are the only fully grown kobold I have come across.” His voice came out sharply, dripping with a palpable hatred. “I guess you can easily breed another litter of greasy scaled bastards with ease. Unfortunately for you, you won’t take any part in it…” He examined her for a response but her expression remained the same, snout cracked open and fear-stricken. “You can’t even understand what I’m saying can you?” He scoffed.  “You can understand this though…”

Like a flash, he blurred as his whirlwind steps closed the gap between them instantaneously. The blade rose high, as he sprang into the air, the gold glimmered in her eyes as it was slashed downward. His strike sliced true, slashing asunder her left arm like butter. Shrieking out, a baleful, hissing whine, she dropped the eggs to the ground. Before she could move again, another slash freed her of her other arm, flinging into a wall with a meaty slap. Another howl, music to his ears.

Falling on her backside, blood rolling out her nubs, she tried feebly to back away. Letting out crackling cries, she begged in unintelligible Draconic to death ears. Her tormentor stalked slowly, examining the red blood as it glided down his sword, asking himself if he should lick the blade like some villain. Deciding otherwise, he swiped it to the left, the blood splattering across the females face, making her wince as if she had been whipped.

Coming upon her, he pressed his foot to her chest. “Make the last one a good one.” Thrusting forward, he stabbed her directly in the gut, forcing her to writhe on the spot. The scream was not enough so he twisted the blade, feeling her innards satisfyingly crunch and squelch around his sword. Blood flayed from her mouth, forked tongue lashing about as she let out a more convincing wail of agony.

The Halfling worked on her until her voice dropped to a dying whistle, body going limp and her head lolling to the side. “That was a nice song you dirty lizard.”

From back in the tunnel, a cacophony of voices suddenly filled the stagnant air. He could make out a couple words of crude Draconic. More kobolds. He didn’t have much time. Removing the bundle of tied together dynamite, he used a flint stone and lit the fuse before covering up his torch and speeding out. If his calculations were correct, they would reach it just as it exploded. Though he wanted nothing more than to watch them blown to smithereens, he had to leave.

Breathing silently, he sprinted back the way he came, noting each of the exit markings he made earlier, keeping his route clear. Known for his speed, he saw the opening leading back into the open air within a few minutes and just as he reached it an earth-shattering boom sounded back within. Rolling outward, he slid just in time to see the tunnel’s ceiling spray into the air, raining down in massive clumps a ways away.

Laying on his back, face, and body scorching on the inside, he stared up at the patchwork of branches and the clouded sky beyond them. The rain continued, blurring his vision and cooling his skin. Chuckling softly at first, he soon began to cackle maniacally before breathing out in a long sigh. “Job complete.”

“Is that so?” A voice both gruff and smooth replied, the sound of soft footfalls coming up behind him.

“I’m sure you saw that explosion…or at the very least heard it,” the Halfling snickered.

“I also heard the screams, Master Quickblade. What was that all about?”

Flipping backward expertly to his feet, the Halfling known as Quickblade turned to the attractive, scruffy looking, broad-shouldered human who watched him with scrupulous brown eyes. The human appeared to scan him top to bottom, noting the blood on his legs and feet. Crossing his arms over his leather breastplate, the human waited for a reply, tapping his foot for good measure to show it.

Quickblade removed his hood and scratched the shaven part of his head where runes had been carved into his skin. “Just a den mother that got in the way. I dealt with her in a humane manner.” He then laughed as if he told a hilarious joke and started sauntering past him. “What are you doing here anyway? Never mind, I get it. You have feelings for me, don’t you? Eh, Marcus?”

Marcus made a light disgusted grunt. “Let’s just head back. The others are waiting.”

Sheathing his short sword, Quickblade took one last look at his handiwork and smiled from ear to ear.

[jrazillashadowworks]

A Rainy Day

This is for March’s Victubia theme, a rainy day. I hope that you enjoy it. ^,,^

Word count: 2698

Warnings: Scene of violence.

The sky was chaos, a rolling, dark grey, tumultuous ocean. A torrent blasted the muddy field below, deafening cracks of thunder quaking the air. Streaks of blistering lightning sliced across the sky, curling fingers of monstrous white electricity.

Charging through the slick muck, flaying thick mud with each frantic step, a young man, stung by the heavy, wet blades of rain, searched. Hair drenched, clinging to his face, vision blurred, he continued his breakneck gait, soaked to the very bone, the shuddering cold only staunched by the scorching of his skin. His military grade rifle, strapped to his broad shoulder, jostled against the large, medical knapsack he wore on his back, marking him for what he was, a medic.

He continued on, steadfast, despite his screaming body, breathing harshly, lungs burning, and mind a maelstrom of worried thoughts, coiled, battling neverendingly with hopeful naivety. It was all but impossible to make out the surroundings, a soggy watercolor painting of browns, greens, and greys running together, beset by a draping haze.

By some miracle, his ears were able to discern the sounds of battle through the downpour a few feet ahead, sharp stings of metal ringing out. Gasping, he crested the hill and froze on the spot, a blinding blast of light from above, disorientating him for a second. Once his vision returned, pupils focusing, he caught glimpse of a horrible sight that stopped his heart mid-beat, blood completely icing over.

There, before him, over ten of Minx’s soldiers lay in the dirt, streams of blood marring their purple and gold uniforms, watering into the mud, beyond them, a collection of dead Barr troopers. The hopes he had clung to until that moment were dashed, sunk into the sludge. Tears began to form, throat tightening, until another sharp sound wrenched him out of his misery to a single Minx soldier still standing, just in eyeshot.

This soldier was surrounded by five Barr troopers, brandishing sparkling cutlasses and rapiers, glinting with morbid purpose, though the survivor remained planted to the spot, appearing unperturbed and ready. They encroached on the curly, dark-haired survivor whose weapons were unlike the others, blades of darkened steel, attached to his arms, lifted in a defensive stance.

Everything grew silent as the tense standoff continued, the rain a quiet vale. The medic’s breathing, slipped through cracked lips, body unable to move even an inch. Then like a flash, one of the troopers lunged, thin rapier striking out like a serpent, aimed directly at the survivor's heart. Sucking in, the medic watched in horror as what looked to be a perfect thrust. However, at the exact moment, the rapier was to pierce him, the Minx soldier expertly and instantly sidestepped with a skill the medic had not seen before, slashing out with his right blade. Slicing all the way through, the Barr trooper continued past him, skidding, head sliding off, and body smashing against the mud.

As if to signal the others, the death of their comrade, sent them into a furious rage, converging on the Minx soldier simultaneously, their baleful voices lost. With movements akin to a dance, the survivor twirled and dodged, retaliating with a single slash for each, felling them in a perfect display of blade skill. The battle lasted but only a few seconds and the survivor remained such, still standing, swiping his arm blades, he relieved them of the blood in streaks that drew two crescents around him.

The medic’s mouth hung open, unhinged as he still could not believe what he had just witnessed, lips fumbling over unintelligible whispers. Feeling his voice rise in his throat like a volcano, he prepared to cheer when a single flash of movement, the striking color of red and gold snatched his attention. Another lone trooper appeared out of nowhere, rifle raising in slow motion, steadily aiming up at the survivor, threatening to end it all.

Brows rising high, the medic fluidly unstrapped his own rifle with lightning speed, brought on by white-hot adrenaline and biting anxiety. Everything suddenly slowed to a crawl as the medic found it impossible to aim due to the trickles of rain leaking into his eyes, a slight tremor shaking his arms. However, he did not stop, realizing if he didn’t do something that soldier would die. At the moment, his senses were heightened, the staunch smell of drowned earth and diluted blood filling his senses, manifesting a moist lump in his throat. One eye open, the world seemed to swirl and vibrate around this one trooper, the medic’s heart near beating out of his chest, mouth now agape to let out strained breaths. Cocking the hammer of the rifle, and more out of jittering reflex, he squeezed the trigger, the blast echoing out, louder than the lightning, louder than anything ever before.

As the reverberation settled into the cacophony of rainfall, the medic opened his eyes, realizing he had them closed, gun still poised. Brain catching up, the medic darted his eyes around, seeing the survivor standing where the trooper had been, now lying dead under his blades. However, now the survivor's face was turned towards directly to him. Did he succeed in shooting him? He had no idea, but what mattered was, the soldier was still alive.

Lowering his gun, his instincts took over and the medic started to tumble down the hill, wanting, no, needing to check if the survivor was hurt. On his approach, the survivor returned to his downed compatriots, pointing at them. Coming up alongside them, the medic made out that they weren’t actually dead at all, still writhing slightly on the ground, groaning in pain. He was unsure how he had failed to notice their movements.

“I’m here to help,” the medic shouted over the rain, immediately reprimanded by the survivor’s finger, rising up to his own lips. His warm brown eyes were serious and stoic, boring into him. Up close, the medic could tell that the survivor had to be a few years older than himself but was still young and was rather handsome with an undeniably mysterious air about him.  

Lowering his voice, he knelt down, assessing the wounded soldiers with pinpoint focus. All had suffered a bullet wound but not much else. Upon quick first inspection, none appeared to have been hit in a vital area at least, another miracle in itself. Only one remained motionless among the group, a man that looked to be in his fifties with a salt and pepper beard and wide, mortified, milked over, blue eyes. His uniform was more embellished than the others, revealing his rank as captain. A single hole had been shot through his head, no doubt killing him instantly. Bowing his head, Luca gulped down, feeling the immense sadness of losing one of Minx’s trusted captains. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Forcing down his sadness under his duty, and finding his voice again, he spoke up with a tone as professional as he could muster. “My name is Luca. I’m an assigned military medic. Is there anywhere we could take them so I can stabilize them?”

“Riley,” the standing soldier replied quietly, still looking out over the ridge. “And yes, we have a tent set up not far from here.”

“Okay. We are going to have to make multiple trips but if we both carry one it shouldn’t take long. Don’t want to agitate their wounds any further by trying to overextend ourselves.” He wished he had a stretcher or something and more medics but he was alone in this. They would have to do. “You are okay to lift them aren’t you?”

Riley nodded and turned to pick up one of his comrades into his arms, Luca doing the same. “Okay, Riley, my friend. Lead the way please.” All his working out had paid off, the medic having no problem carefully carrying the soldiers to the small encampment, that consisted of only a single purple tent, no doubt shared by their unit alone. Inside, he lay them on the cots already set up. Going back and forth until all had been retrieved, the captain brought last, Luca immediately got to work.

With expert and gentle hands, he removed the bullets that had been embedded in the soldier’s extremities, cleaning and patching up the wounds, all the while, offering comforting words to his patients. With each soldier patched, they thanked him graciously and solemnly. Riley, kept outside the tent, silently guarding the open flap, scanning ahead for any possible attackers, helping to ease the worries of those inside.

It took a good thirty minutes, Luca darting to each person until only a single soldier remained in need of aid. They were yet another attractive individual, a woman with deep russet skin and cropped short, pale blondish hair. With a bloodied hand, they held their shoulder, greeting Luca with a rather smarmy smirk, little pain visible on her tomboyish countenance. “Saved me for last huh? Well, aren’t you a good-looking, muscular piece of medic?” She whistled then winced from the sharp pain, chuckling. “You definitely aren’t what one would expect.”

Luca completely missed her compliment, too focused on attentively fixing up her wound. “Please tell me if I make the pain worse. I’ll be very gentle.”

“What if I like it rough?” They countered.

“You got the wrong medic for that then,” Luca giggled charmingly, trying to keep the blush from his face, reminding himself to be professional. She continued to watch him as he worked, fingers indeed like soft satin.

“Can’t believe we were ambushed instantly upon taking to the field,” she suddenly blurted, possibly to keep her mind occupied upon realizing he was about to remove the bullet. “We all suggested that silly old captain that we should send out a scout before marching. But did he listen? Nooo. Lording his rank over us. Look at him now…”

Luca, perturbed by her egregious remark at the now dead captain, inadvertently jerked the forceps slightly when removing the slug. Not enough to make the wound worse but enough to be painful. Hissing in a deep breath, she stiffened into a plank, muscles tensed tight, glaring at him with fiendish black eyes, lips curled in a furious snarl. “You said you were going to be gentle! Shit!!!”

The entire tent roused, startled by the sudden tantrum, Riley side glancing inside. “I’m so terribly sorry!” Luca yelped, speaking not only to her but to the others, dropping the instrument to the floor with a clink, holding his palms up. His expression was both apologetic and ashamed. “Please forgive me!”

Her countenance softened into a childish pout as she relaxed again, sighing heavily. “Fine, but only because you are so damn good looking.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Luca nodded repeatedly. Finishing her up with great care, he apologized again.

“Yeah, yeah,” she rolled her eyes. “How old are you anyway? Maybe you can make it up to me with a date?”

Suddenly feeling nervous, taken aback by her out of the blue offer, he rubbed a hand through his wet hair “I-I’m eighteen…”

Thin brows shooting up, she stared at him incredulously before chuckling disappointingly as if he had done something wrong. “Damn. Too young for my tastes. You got my hopes up for nothing.”

Not sure how to even reply to such a thing he simply apologized yet again. “Ah well. Guess Imma just rest now, thanks.”

“My pleasure, soldier.”

She scoffed at that. “Lucia.”

“Oh. That’s a pretty name.”

“Don’t go trying to charm me now. You heard my answer.”

“I wasn’t…” Luca stifled a laugh causing Lucia to squint her eyes suspiciously. “What’s so funny?”

“It’s just that, my name is Luca. We are only one letter away from having the same name.” He let out a soft snort and she almost made the exact same sound.

“You are a special kind of medic, Luca. Now, let me stew over how little we actually were able to do in this war. What a bloody letdown.”

Wanting to argue with her that, he decided against it and just nodded, Luca, moving over to Riley who shook his head without looking at him. “I’m fine.”

Luca wanted to persist but he did not want to impede in his duty, so he went back to check on everyone. Things grew silent in the camp, the sound of rain continuing to drone, neverendingly tapping against the tent’s exterior. There was an uneasiness on the faces of the others as time went on despite the fact that they were now stabilized and protected from the rain. Anxious whispers wafted through of a possible raid by some other unit within Barr’s rebellious forces. Luca did what he could to keep spirits up but, he couldn’t deny the sinking fear that it could happen, the mere thought prickling the hair on his thick arms to stand on end.

Over an hour of tense quiet, and a new sound peaked over the rain, a rumbling collection of splashes coming from behind the tent alerted everyone to freeze. Shadowed figures filtered from the other side of the fabric of the tent, revealing no less than forty marching around it, bayonetted rifles held before them. Luca’s muscles clenched tight as he watched Riley’s back, waiting for the inevitable to happen. He could not stop his mind from reeling, holding his breath for far too long.

“What happened here?” a mighty, heavily Caribbean accented female voice demanded, her form veiled just out of sight.

Riley promptly saluted, sending a wave of relief over the tent's occupants. “Major. We were ambushed and took a volley. One casualty, the captain. A medic showed up out of nowhere and helped me bring them back to camp and gave them all prompt medical attention.”

“Thank you, soldier,” the voice replied calmly, passing to stand in the entryway.

Luca blinked at the tall woman, standing a couple inches over him, her body athletic, dressed in a major’s uniform, right arm exposed and tattooed with tribal designs. Her hair was long coils of black and teal that was tied back, a few dreadlocks hanging in her angular, mesmerizingly powerful face. Tracing over the group once over, twice over, she then locked onto Luca, the only one standing within.

“Are you the medic he spoke of?”

Instantly, he shot up straight, and saluted her, knowing full well who she was. “Yes, Major!” He yelled, voice cracking slightly.

She gave him a subdued but genuine smile. “By helping to save these soldiers, you have done a great service to her majesty. The next time I speak with the Queen, I will mention your heroic deed. What is your name?”

Already needing to fight back tears, his chest welling up with warmth, he sniffed loudly, trying to not embarrass himself. “My name is Luca, Major! I do not deserve such an honor! I only did what little I could to help her majesties grand and brave soldiers.” He peeked past her to Riley. “However, if I may. It was Riley who single-handedly fought back the remaining troopers to ensure I could even help at all! Without him, I dare not imagine what horrible fate awaited us.”  

Turning her head to him, she gave him an acknowledging nod. “I will, of course, be sure to mention his overwhelming contribution as well.” She addressed everyone now, her fervent tone, rousing and inspiring, those that once lay, sitting up on their cots. “With things as they are, the captain killed in action, this unit shall now fall under my command. Know that it is not forced upon you, should you be too hurt to continue on, remain here and rest…but. If any of you can still fight, I ask that you join me as we continue to march forward to help drive this treacherous rebellion into the ground, so that it may be completely washed away by the rain.”

Feeling utterly enthralled and uplifted by her speech, Luca and a few others, including Lucia rose up despite their wounds, their voices melting together into a rallied roar. “Yes, Major! By her majesties glory, we shall see them defeated, swept away by the mighty rain!”  

[jrazillashadowworks]

Behind the Mask

So, this short is for Victubia’s February theme of Behind the Mask. I really enjoyed writing this silly story and I hope that you will enjoy reading it as well!

Word Count: 2053

Warnings: None

It had been a long day of disappointing drills for Luca, the sun slowly descending into the warm, red, pink, and purple liquid hues of the darkening sky before he was let loose. It would be a lie if Luca admitted he wasn’t distracted the entire day, mind preoccupied with looking forward to going to the Royal Library to see his crush Melissa as soon as he was free.

Unfortunately for him, his military drills were overseen by Channarong, the most prestigious strategist within the Royal army, who kept him there longer than anyone due to his abysmal attention span and scores in each session. At the very end, he had sighed and slapped Luca on the forehead with a gilded, folded fan.

Keep reading

[jrazillashadowworks]

Behind the Mask

So, this short is for Victubia’s February theme of Behind the Mask. I really enjoyed writing this silly story and I hope that you will enjoy reading it as well!

Word Count: 2053

Warnings: None

It had been a long day of disappointing drills for Luca, the sun slowly descending into the warm, red, pink, and purple liquid hues of the darkening sky before he was let loose. It would be a lie if Luca admitted he wasn’t distracted the entire day, mind preoccupied with looking forward to going to the Royal Library to see his crush Melissa as soon as he was free.

Unfortunately for him, his military drills were overseen by Channarong, the most prestigious strategist within the Royal army, who kept him there longer than anyone due to his abysmal attention span and scores in each session. At the very end, he had sighed and slapped Luca on the forehead with a gilded, folded fan.

“You hold yourself as loyal to her majesty,” Channarong said coldly, his voice like icy steel. “With such a pathetic display, the Queen herself would feel a true dishonor should she had witnessed it. Don’t let it happen again.”

With the plump strategist disappointingly walking away, Luca couldn’t help but feel tears sting his eyes, finally realizing the weight and severity of his failure. There was nothing he abhorred more than failing his Queen. Sniffing loudly, he promised indeed that he would not fail her again.

Leaving the training grounds, Luca felt the immeasurable burden of his incompetence on his consciousness, almost too ashamed to meet with Melissa after failing in such a manner. So, it was more out of habit that his body continued on to the library than his mind, which was lost in deep thought.

However, along the way, a ruckus broke out in front of him, ripping him back. Luca only caught a glimpse, as a robed figure knocked over a woman carrying a basket. With an alarmed yelp, she fell over and the bizarre person darted into the nearest alleyway. Instantly, a flare of inspiration filled Luca’s chest, a chance to make up for his dreadful performance that day. Whoever this person was, they were surely up to no good.

Running up alongside the woman, he helped her to her feet and kindly asked if she was okay, instantly giving chase to the individual once she nodded, a blush setting on her cheeks. Surged with purpose, he charged just in time to see the billowing tail of the blue cloak reach the bend. Turning the corner after them, Luca caught sight of the strange, Papier Mache mask made up of white and yellowed book pages, adorning the hooded figure as it looked back at the hulking man. “Wait up,” Luca amiably called out.

From then, a ridiculous game of cat and mouse transpired in the streets of the Capital, the two weaving through the evening crowds, the masked one keeping just out of reach. Luca pressed on, politely yelling at all to get out of the way, while the figure knocked over whoever and whatever they could to bar the muscular Luca, who apologized to all who were affected.

Amongst the crowd, out of the corner of his eye, by a pure stroke of luck, a stern ‘friend’ of Luca’s raised a brow, freezing on the spot, possibly hoping to not be noticed. Unfortunately for him, Luca saw him.

“Hi, Riley,” Luca chimed excitedly, waving madly without losing his stride. “I’m chasing a suspicious individual! Once I capture them, I won’t have failed the Queen! Isn’t that great?! Got to go, bye!” Riley completely ignored him and the confused eyes darting to him and left the scene.

Keeping up his warm, silly expression, breathing lightly, Luca easily out winded the one in the mask who begun to slow after ten minutes of continuous running. Though it was impossible to see the villains face, it would surely be surprised that such a behemoth could be so fast.

Finally, by some bad planning on the part of the villain, they had run into a dead end in the form of a tall brick wall. Now, Luca stood at the mouth, thick arms out. “I gotcha,” he said with a smile.

The cloaked individual paced back and forth, mumbling curses as they started to jump pathetically at the wall, fingers not gaining purchase between the grout to climb up. At that moment, their cloak opened up, revealing a strapped, leather knapsack, filled with multiple books and tomes.

“Drat and curses,” they finally hissed, their voice all over the place, piercing high octaves at each end of their sentences. “You belligerent oaf! I have never been caught before. To think it would be to such a bumbling beast! For shame!”

Lots of words had been lost to Luca, who simply stood there and smiled brightly, large chest heaving. “By her majesty, you will turn yourself in…” Mid-sentence, Luca realized he had no idea what the person had done wrong. “For…whatever crime you have committed.”

“Blast it! Fine!” They unstrapped the bag and held it out. “Rejoice you buffoon, for you have caught the nationally infamous, Victubian book thief!”

Luca’s expression slacked as he then gasped. “Woah! That’s pretty impressive!”

“It is?” The thief faltered, unsure if he was serious. “I mean, yes! That’s right! So, well done! You’ll be lauded as a hero for this!”

Luca’s face flushed as he suddenly chuckled bashfully. “I’m a hero,” he said more to himself. “Wait until I tell Melissa!”

“Congratulations. So are you going to take the books or not?”

“Ooh, right.” Luca closed the distance and took the bag into his hand, clasping it close to his powerful chest.

“Now do you want to know how to become more of a hero?”

Peering down into the mask of the thief, Luca’s sea green and blue eyes sparkled. “How?”

“You let me go. It means that one day you can catch me again and then you’ll be twice the hero.”

Luca gasped innocently. “Really?!”

“Absolutely. You can trust me. Would this face lie?”

“But I can’t see your face…”

They chuckled and started to lift up the mask slowly. Out of nowhere, a rush of professional and forceful voices blared out behind Luca, a ways back. Taken off guard at the moment, Luca failed to keep the thief, as they took the opportunity to dash past the man and disappear just in time for police officers to come into view.

Ray spearheaded this group of officers who surrounded Luca now. Fixing his cap, the young constable looked Luca up and down. “What happened here?”

“Well, I had caught the infamous Victubian book thief but…then they got away.”

“The who? Never mind, follow me to the station. We can talk about it there. You lot, search around for this thief. They couldn’t have gotten far right?”

“Umhm.”

Being brought to the precinct, they discussed the situation, Luca less than helpful with as little information as he actually had. At this point he was growing giddy, not wanting to miss, Melissa at the library, night already falling. Leg bouncing, he answered questions as quickly as he could. Ray finally let him go after a few minutes, along with the books, no traces of the masked thief left on any of them.

“Have a good night, soldier Luca. Thank you for your cooperation.”

“Bye officer!”

Once outside, Luca instantly ran all the way the library with a fervor that matched the earlier chase. Along the way, figuring that since the books were given to him, he decided he would gift them to Melissa, considering her overwhelming fondness for such things. He did not check what the books were even about but assumed it would do just the same, knowing her thirst for new information and knowledge.

Reaching the front steps of the astonishingly elegant and massive library between the VU and VMA, Luca huffed, beaming up at the front door. All windows were ablaze with the warm glow of the golden lights within, cascading rectangles of luminance on the stone steps. Despite his long and strangely busy day, a new blossom of excitement filled him with energy and he skipped up to the entrance and swung open the door a bit too strongly. Flinching at the harsh sound of the screeching hinges, he chuckled nervously, glancing into the building.

Right away, he was greeted by a collective hiss from the libraries patrons, shushing him, glaring disapprovingly at his disruptive entrance. Grinning childishly, Luca waved with his free hand. “Sorry,” he half whispered.

Attention turning away from him, he took in the glory of the Royal Library, a tradition he was unable to break, no matter how many times he entered. He was always in absolute awe of its magnificence, the circular main building still busy even at this time of night. Three floors of countless books covered the shelved walls, with rolling, wooden ladders to reach the higher tomes leaned against them. The spines of the books created a rainbow tapestry of color all around him. These walls reached up to the glass-domed ceiling, revealing the now darkened sky, twinkling in starlight. The moon almost directly overhead, bathed the dome in the pale light, glistening against the window panes.

After standing hilariously still for a good couple of minutes once again lost to the beauty of his surroundings, a soft, sweet, and intelligent feminine voice addressed him. Blinking wildly, being pulled back to reality by the angelic, familiar tone, he felt his face immediately heat up as a radiant blush stretched across his face. Unable to contain his silly smile, he looked down on the gorgeous, dark-skinned beauty standing below him, dressed smartly and gracefully, thick, long and wavy purple hair dancing down past her shoulders and down her back.

Staring up at him with tantalizing violet eyes and an amused expression, raising the two beauty marks under the edge of her right eye, her purple brows lifting high, a long scar stretching diagonally at the corner of the right, she chuckled lightly. “Good evening, Luca.”

Luca had forgotten to breathe, finally sucking in air, a rather dramatic, strange sound. “Hello, Gor…Melissa.”

Chuckling, she grabbed his hand. “Stop standing at the entrance like a doorman at a fancy hotel and come sit down.”

Face practically a scorching, red spotlight, he followed her to the reception desk where she sat down, her posture perfect and neat. Taking a seat beside her, he fidgeted, unable to take his eyes off her. Melissa stamped a book then side glanced at him. “You look rather spent today, Luca. Rough day?”

Luca began to spill out the details of his entire day, his mouth like the opening of floodgates, words rushing out. Most people would find it impossible to keep up with the fool’s silly ravings, but Melissa did not miss a word, listening intently. She eased his worries about his earlier failure and inspired him to work harder with encouragement. Finally, he came upon the incident with the thief and lifted the bag of books onto the glossy reception desk. “A gift for you,” Luca bubbled.

Melissa scoffed lightly and gently removed and lined up the books. “I can’t believe you got them back.”

“Got them back?”

Her face lit up as she opened the covers of each book, revealing the prestigious, purple stamp of the Royal Library above the titles. “These were all stolen this afternoon by the strange individual you mentioned.” She beamed, reaching out to gingerly touch his hand yet again. “Thank you so very much, Luca. You truly are a hero.”

At a complete loss, he mumbled incoherent words, blinking at her, impossibly blushing even more than before. “T-Thank you so very much, Melissa.” Tears once again threatened to well up in his eyes, but he wiped them away quickly. “H-How was your day?”

Giggling, a chiming sound that tickled Luca’s ears with delight, Melissa’s thick lips twitched upwards at the edges. “How about we go out to dinner and I’ll tell you all about it?”

Feeling as if his heart would explode from his chest from the sheer elation, his jaw slacked in utter disbelief. “Really?!” He asked breathlessly.

Melissa leaned closer to him, batting her lashes. “If you want to of course.”

Gulping down, he nodded briskly, an almost boyish innocence on his face. “Yes, please. I would love nothing more.”

Pleased, she stacked the recovered books and shut the last cover. “Wonderful.”

[jrazillashadowworks]

Strange Arrival

So, I have a bit of an addiction to DnD lately. So I figured what the hell, I’ll write a random short series, loosely connected to Dungeons and Dragons. So yeah. I hope that you’ll enjoy this. 

Word Count: 1215 Warnings: None....yet  Among the far-reaching western hills of the Dinvar Empire, a small, peaceful town lays, illuminated by the flickering, summer lights from the hundreds of glowing fireflies that seemingly appeared out of thin air, blinking in and out of existence. Tamardale, it’s called, a peaceful farming village comprised of thirty or so, expertly architected, wooden buildings, their eaves curved in fancy designs, each one different from the other. Surrounded on all sides, was an ocean of golden, shimmering fields of wheat, swaying in the warm, nightly breeze, wafting its intoxicating aroma to waft over the town’s entirety, creating a halo around the town. The denizen’s livelihood is seemingly limitless, as they export anything and everything to do with wheat, their crafted ale’s the toast of the Empire. Here, a peaceful coexistence of humans and dwarves make up the citizenship, sparse problems arising within the confines of this ostensibly harmonious paradise. However, on this night, an oddity occurred, a strange creature had come into town, entering the Tamardale’s only pub, dubbed ‘What Ale’s you?’ A silly title, the newcomer couldn’t help but scoff at. 

~The inside was cleanly and homely, circular tables dotting the freshly swept floors, small, glass lanterns flickering as the centerpiece of each, casting a warm glow throughout the pub. Much like the outside, a fragrance of wheat pervades the interior but almost liquefied, a strange but alluring scent. Instantly, as the door opens, the very few pairs of eyes of the Human and Dwarvish patrons shift over to the foreigner, their complexions pale as this newbie glides to the bar. These wary glances were always warranted and expected, for this arrival was beyond anything the denizens had dealt with before, for he was a Tiefling, and not just any ordinary-looking Tiefling. Unlike most of his kin, his skin was pitch as midnight, half-lidded eyes, a vivid, gleaming green, akin to the magic given off by pure witchcraft. Dark hair hung in and around his handsome, but hard to distinguish face, his horns coiled about his sharp ears. His clothes did little to detract from his horrifying, demonic visage. He wore a hooded, leather cloak, shredded with time and use, the tails reminiscent of bat wings. Underneath, he wore a large round neck, wire netted shirt, the collar reaching up and around his chin, legs wrapped in light fitting, cloth trousers, tied together with a cloth belt. Both his arms and feet were encased in plated steel, dragon scale-shaped, clawed gauntlets and greaves, under protected by leather. What cheerful, relaxed voices that once filled the pub, instantly evaporated, as this being silently took a seat at the half crescent bar curling outward from the massive barrels, tapped behind a Dwarvish man in his twilight years. Withered lips in a straight line, almost invisible through his salt and pepper, wiry beard, he but stares, as if this was the most bizarre thing he had seen in his entire life, which was probably accurate. Forehead creased with a patchwork of wrinkles, his rotund body stiffened as he attempted to speak, nothing breaking through, not even a breath. The Tiefling paid the awkward exchange no mind, ignoring the heat from all the suspicious eyes that scorched his back and unfurling his spaded tail that was once wrapped around his waist. Like a serpent, he flicked it towards the single page menu already placed on the bar, causing the barkeep to flinch and wince as if he had been jabbed with a needle. What wasn’t visible before, the bartender was now able to make out that this spaded tail was only half flesh, the other a sharp, dagger-like, glinting steel clasp that looked to now replace a piece that was once cut off. The metal tapped against the menu, lightly, without puncturing any holes into it, the sound freezing his innards. After a second, the dwarf finally peeked down, noting that it was pointing at their most prized selection, aptly named, ‘Liquid Gold.’Without a word between them, there was yet another silent stare down, the Tieflings indifferent expression unfazed. Abruptly, he reached under his cloak and procured a leather satchel, clattering with what could only be assumed was money. Opening it, he revealed his hoard of gold, peeking up, with a raised eyebrow. With the all understanding language of coin, the invisible shackles that once held the dwarf into place, clinked loose and he instantly flit about. Grabbing a stein from under the counter, he nervously skid to the barrels, and turn the half rusted knob, the liquid rushing loudly into the cup, until a thick, pale froth leaked over the lip of the cup. Returning with a horribly strained smile, he placed the stein down and the Tiefling pulled out a single gold piece and slid it to him, shaking his tail when the dwarf offered the correct change. Gripping the stein in his hands, and with a stinging twinge of thirst in his throat, the Tiefling reared back, almost instantly downing the ale. It had an extremely robust, fresh flavor, with a hint of the wood of the barrel it had settled in. Tilting his head from side to side, he quickly and silently ordered another. Soon things returned to normal, now that everyone seemed to realize this newcomer was not there to incite trouble, the drone of voices on the rise yet again. However, it was not to last.Suddenly, the front door of the pub was blasted open, the hinges screeching as it flopped, slamming against the wall, wood splintering, prompting all within the bar to nearly fall out of their chairs, save for the Tiefling who remained immovable. Standing outside the doorframe, a towering figure, no less than seven foot three entered, shadowed at first but slowly becoming visible in the light of the tavern. Cascaded in full plate armor, embellished by gilded, gold additions, oiled and with an unmistakable sheen, glistening across the glossy metal, the giant sauntered inside. Their countenance was veiled under a massive, horned, and winged helm befitting a knight of some holy order. With each, intimidating, floor cracking stomp, they approached, quaking all the tables, tipping over chairs, steins, and unseating the remaining patrons until all were on the floors. A colossal, double sided, full moon axe was strapped to their broad back, unbelievably massive, by any logic, seemingly impossible for any one person to wield. Within their gauntleted hands, they clutched a horrible, black bow that screamed cursed and a dark hide quiver full of arrows. A pungent hush overtook the pub yet again, everyone breathless as they but watched in awed horror, as the giant clomped up behind the Tiefling who had not moved an inch, despite the vehement entrance of the knight. Encompassing the Tiefling in the shadow cast by their magnanimous form, they halted, all-metal joints clinking into place. Tension blanketed the interior, and cold sweats broke out on every single forehead, save for of course, the Tiefling. Suddenly, a low, resoundingly deep rumble escaped from the knight’s chest as they seemed to clear their throat, hollowed out by the metal helm, building and growing louder. Then, with a gravely, imposing voice of someone who gave the impression that they devoured boulders, growled maliciously, “Hello…Grimm.”  

[jrazillashadowworks]

A Real Family

Word Count: 1293 words

This is a very special short. I really hope that you’ll read and enjoy it. ^,,^ 

Something Very special at the end! Read first! 

Surrounded by walls of curling, hissing fog, the boy stood, frozen to the spot, petrified. Before him, a glass, multi-faceted eye floated above a collection of blazing, multicolored crystals, hovering in the form of a horrible constellation. Eyes cemented, body unresponsive, he could but stare, unable to run from it, despite every fiber of his being screeching for him to.

Suddenly, on either side, through the hazy veils, towering, shadowed figures erupted into form, faceless. They surrounded him, voices like crashing waves, enthusiastically urging him on, encouraging him with sweet words, though their tones were distorted and monstrous. His ears rang, an icy cold stabbing him with billions of needles within his frail body.

Prodded by the steel jaws of insurmountable fear and by no will of his own, his right hand begun to lift, fingers outstretched to the bizarre phenomena ahead. Throat wrenched as if his windpipe was being crushed, he whimpered through his lips, voice cracking.

The voices reached a crescendo, deafening, morphing into manic laughter as a sudden suction clutched his chest. Like a ripping black hole, he felt his essence, his very soul being vacuumed away from his body, sucked towards the eye. Shrieking out for help, silent names spewing from his mouth, only raising the voracious, morbid mirth of these creatures.

The icy cold clung to his essence, the last tethers to his body being torn asunder, swirling, absorbed into the glass eye. At the sound of clunking gears, his soul was caged in a mire of agony and misery, chained.

Everything went black and silent as if all his senses had been stolen from him. There, in the darkness, an ember of bright, glowing blue flame flickered. In a mere second, it swelled, bursting into an inferno, melding the pain with an indescribable power. The force exploded, and the eye blasted crystal blue, evaporating all before it, leaving no traces of the fog or the monstrous forms.

-*-

Silently gasping awake, the older teen shot up from his pillow, drenched in cold sweat. Entire body trembling horribly, he let his head drop into his palms, pressing hard against his face. Chest aching, he spun off his bed and to his feet, his room pitch black as the void. By memory, he carefully stepped over the

Doberman that lay beside his bed, and found his way out into the hallway, heading to the bathroom a door down from his.

Rounding the corner, he flipped the switch, blinded suddenly by the glaring light. Wincing, he approached the porcelain, bowled sink and turned the gilded faucet on. Listening to the soft hissing water, he leaned his hands onto the sink and tried to calm himself until the harsh jittering relaxed to a gentle shudder.

Finally, he cupped his hands into the warm water and splashed his face a couple of times before turning off the faucet. Letting the heat seep into his cool skin, wild, dark hair sticking to his forehead, he looked up into the ornate, golden mirror at the sickly, faded purple under his bright blue eyes. Grimacing at the sight and remembering the nightmare, he reflexively but slowly tugged his shirt down to reveal a bizarre, star-shaped scar of the exact color at the very center of his chest as if he had been branded. The trembling returned the longer he stared, miserably fixated.

Tears began to well up in his eyes, glistening with a pain he had lived with for what felt like an eternity. Gulping, the dry realization of how parched his throat was, ripped him from his horrid thoughts and set him on something he could actually change. As a comfort mechanism and with the constant craving for such a thing, he decided to get a drink of milk from down in the kitchen.

Deftly and expertly silent, he returned to the darkness of the hallway and down the stairs, eyes quickly adjusting. Shakily reaching into the icebox, he only opened it slightly, pulling out a glass jug from the rigid interior. Popping the cap quietly and with a feverish need, he tipped it upwards. Glugging the refreshingly creamy, ice cold milk, he felt his throat slicken and thank him. Without thinking, he had chugged the entire bottle, relishing the fresh flavor and consistency until nothing was left.

Pulling away, he sighed softly. Suddenly his senses picked up a powerful scent that shot directly up his nose. One that was not there a second ago. It was pungent and overbearing, metallic, souring the taste in his mouth. His blood iced over, the hairs on his skin pointing on end. Clenching the bottle, he turned to a figure, he could barely make out the outline of, though knowing exactly who it was.

“Good evening, Raz,” he let out politely but quietly. “A-Are you okay? I smell blood.”

“I believe that question fits better directed at you, Relix” the helmeted man, retorted in a stale voice.

Playing with the jug in his hands, he focused on it. “I just had a nightmare.”

Raz gave the slightest nod and turned to leave. Relix hastily cleared his throat, feeling the absolute need to say what was on his mind. “Thank you again for letting me live here with you and Gabbi.”

The mod shrouded in a darkness more opaque than the room itself stood still, back to the boy. “You should more thank Gabbi and Mohini. I was purely contented with keeping you in hiding,” he admitted. There was a silence for a few seconds before he spoke again. “After taking in that little brat Mohini, I guess my mind was more open to the idea to take you in as well. Seriously though, this is the one-thousandth time you have thanked me. That’s more than adequate.”

Relix smiled slightly, feeling a warmth in his chest. “Can you thank Gabbi for me…Again?” He then chuckled softly. “You might want to get cleaned up first, before going to her though…You smell of death,” he joked half-heartedly.

“I intend to,” Raz replied. And then, he was gone, dissipating into the very shadows, leaving the teen all alone.

Cleaning out the empty jug, he set it aside and returned to the second floor where his room was located. Passing by it, he approached the open door past his, where a dull, orange glow seeped out into the hallway. Light-footed, he clung to the wall and peeked past the threshold into a lavish room about the same size as his. Surrounding the walls were plush stuffed animals of varying shapes and sizes. A wardrobe stood open at one end, revealing the many dresses and clothing, haphazardly hung up and lots of shoes sat before it.

The orange radiance, came from a spinning nightlight, projecting moving black stripes across every surface. On the right side of the room, a large, grand bed was occupied by the young Mohini, under a see-through drape that fluttered to the floor. There, she was splayed out on top of a big cloud of fluff and fur belonging to their family Samoyed, who showed no sign of care that it was being used as a pillow, for it was just as asleep as Mohini was.

Mohini drooled out the side of her mouth which was wide open as she breathed lightly, hair an absolute mess. Relix could not help but smile widely, almost snickering under his breath at the adorably dorky scene laid out before him. He wasn’t exactly sure what sort of family they all were, but they were indeed a family.

Relix stopped himself from tearing up again, and leaned his head against the door frame, feeling the overflowing appreciation he had for all of them trickle into his words. “Thank you, Mohini.”

(This is Relix, as a teen a new design made by the perfect, amazing gorgeous wonderful brilliant skilled woman ever!!! Gabbi!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 

[jrazillashadowworks]

A DAY IN MY LIFE: KAIN EDITION

So this is the short I wrote for the Victubia theme of January, A day in my life, featuring one of my favorite Oc’s, Kain!  Warnings: Adult themes. Violence. Language.  ENJOY! ^,,^ 

Vass, the astoundingly beautiful coastal city of Victubia, spotted with multi-colored stone buildings surrounded by crystal seas and lively, vibrant plant life that seamlessly blended nature and architecture. A never-ending summer paradise, open all year round. Tucked away on a backstreet, away from the hustle and bustle of the boardwalks surrounding the beaches, a very special massage parlor was located.

The structure was tacked on to another building, no longer used, grey stone, mingled with white. Lively shrubs lined the corners, pale roses, stark against the green. A driftwood sign hung on thin chains, above the arched door, carved into the shape of an adorable white cat with crystal blue eyes, curled up, a blue ribbon wrapped around its neck. There was absolutely no way of actually identifying the place as a massage parlor, the only words printed under the cat being the name Demetria.

Inside was rather quaint, with a small waiting room, with a white and blue color scheme, elaborately decorated with expertly sculpted Greek statues. Velvet topped benches lined the walls, bowled potted plants hanging above, vines rolling down in curtains. A curved, crafted driftwood counter protected the back massage room. Scented sea breeze candles were spread about, giving off a relaxing beachside scent. Tantalizingly smooth jazz played from some hidden radio, with an underlay of soft waves, wrapping the relaxing atmosphere with a bow.

The owner of the establishment was far from normal, a tall, ghost of a man of pure muscle, handsome with white hair and eyes black as the void. He looked entirely out of place, dressed in a form-fitting white shirt and tan pants. This job was the direct opposite of what he was used to, just waiting for a customer to show up. Standing up perfectly straight behind the counter, he tenderly pet the snow white cat that curled up on the counter, pose matching that of the sign outside. Demetria the cat, purred contently against his fingertips.

A sudden, shrill ding of the bell attached to the front door alerted them to a customer, a rather exasperated, lanky, middle-aged man with a fancy, primp goatee and slick back hair. He wore high-end clothing, marking him as a wealthy individual. Demetria lost interest quickly, instantly returning to her peaceful slumber. The customer’s eyes fell on the hulk of a man, scanning him up and down more than a few times, his brows raising, not hiding his surprise. “Good grief,” he sighed heavily. “I expected a beautiful woman to be running such a place. Especially with the whole cat sign.” He noticed Demetria. “Oh, there’s an actual cat. Peculiar.”  

“Welcome to Demetria. My name is Kain. How may I help you?” His voice was toneless, expression as stoic as the statues.

The man chuckled, removing his woven hat. “Not very personable.” Looking around, his lip twitched. “You could have made this place easier to find. Seriously, whose idea was it to place this parlor so far off the beaten path?” He gave Kain no time to respond. “Rather fancy for a hole in the wall.”

Kain took no offense at anything he said and just waited for him to answer his earlier question. The customer took the hint and animatedly shrugged. “Well, anyway. I was gifted this slip for a full body massage from the so-called best masseuse in the world by my workers.” Pulling out a long, colorful slip of paper, he took a few steps forward, handing it to Kain. “I don’t know why they didn’t just send me to the nationally renowned Ekard spas but, hey, what can you do? I’m not going to turn down anything free. I do hope you live up to the hype.  They said it’s ‘To die for.’

Examining the paper, Kain had never seen such a thing before. In golden, glittering letters, it mentioned a free massage at Demetria and, nothing else. He was going to debate the authenticity of the slip until, his eyes crossed over the tiniest inkling of a spider ever, nestled within the letters, nearly impossible to make out. Such a thing, only he would notice. Understanding what it meant, he accepted it and motioned his large hand to the backroom. “Please come in, Mr…”

“Penningsworth,” he replied with a pompous confidence. “That should suffice.”

“If you prefer. Right this way, Mr. Penningsworth.”

Kain lead him to the backroom, holding the swivel door open for him. Stepping inside, Penningsworth observed the single massage room. Here the walls were painted to picture perfection the likeness of the city of Oia, in Greece. Whitewashed and multi-colored, curved topped buildings surrounding them, the opposite wall, illustrating the bluff, reaching down into the clear blue ocean, a line of glitter lining the calm waters. The sky was a wash of warm-hued colors, the setting sun, making its decent, bathing things in a soft glow, sparkles inlaid into the walls to glint and sparkle.

As the centerpiece of the room, there was a long, oak wood, leather-topped, foam covered massage bed, with a plush pillow at its forefront. Colorful bottles of different oils sat neatly on a rolling table next to the bed, glistening under the light from the ceiling. A towel was folded on the bottom shelf of the table. “Good grief,” Penningsworth exclaimed, expression almost contorted in humored incredulousness. “You really went with the Greek theme huh? Are you Greek or something?”

“No, sir,” Kain simply responded, taking up his position alongside the bed. “I don’t exactly remember where I am from originally.”

Penningsworth scoffed. “Mysterious. You, sir, are very strange.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Please, remove your clothes and assume the position.”

His customer suddenly appeared very uncomfortable, an uncontrollable blush setting on his cheeks. “Really wish you were a woman.”

“My apologies.”

“Could you turn around please?”  He demanded more than asked.

“Of course, sir.” Turning his back to him, Kain kept his eyes forward, as Penningsworth begun to undress, mumbling incoherencies. Unfortunately for him, Kain could make all of it out, noting his fragile masculinity, which was rampant in his frantic words.

Once Penningsworth was nude, he lay, back up on the bed, snatching a towel from the table and hastily covering his backside. Almost nervously, he held the pillow under his chin and sighed. “Alright. I’m ready.” As Kain turned, he quickly added. “But don’t get any ideas. I’m not into men.”

“Yes, sir.” Kain was an impenetrable wall when it came to words, not a single syllable getting to him. “Do you have a preferred oil?”

“Sweet almond,” Penningsworth instantly snapped, almost sounding as a gripe.

“Good choice.” Of course, he would choose the most basic of oils, showing just how adventurous he truly was. Taking the bottle, strangely warm in his hands, Kain observed Penningworth’s back. From his first assessment, he could already tell what little effort or strain the man went through in his life.

Gently, Kain drizzled the clear, honey-colored oil in the line down his back, Penningsworth letting out a startled coo. You’d think he was about to be tortured. Reaching down, Kain smoothed out the oil to cover his back. Finally, he got to work, starting out gentle, massaging around his neck, encasing it in his thick hands.

Taking his time, despite the fact that there was no need, he pressed harder the more he went down, into the shoulders and back. With elaborate, curving movements like the beating of wings, he massaged Penningsworth, changing between his large palms, then streaking through with his fingertips. Penningsworth skin was rather firm, slightly giving under the touch. Using his signature style, he begin to soothe green spirits into his muscles through his hands, healing even the tiniest kinks, only present due to the man’s age, not from actual strain.

Within minutes, Penningsworth opened up to Kain, practically crooning under his touch. “Well sir, you are quite the surprise.” He groaned, pleasurable, as his lower back was rubbed down. “This is most definitely the best massage I have ever had. I’ll have to be sure to thank those idiots for sending me here.”

“I’m heartened to hear that.” Kain continued.

“Not a man of many words are you?”

“No, sir.”

“I’m assuming you don’t go out much either, despite living in Vass. You are as pale as a linen sheet on a snow-draped plain.”

“I don’t tan.”

“Clearly. That’s quite the skin condition you got there.”  He chuckled.

“Indeed.”

Mercifully, the conversation ended there, allowing Kain to work in relative silence, save for the ambiance playing over the radio. Penningsworth continued to let out sighs of pure bliss. Finishing up with his feet, Kain moved away. “Here, you can roll over and we can do the front of your body. However, if you do not wish for that, I can work my way back up instead?”

Penningsworth grew silent, clearly wrestling with his own thoughts. Letting out another agitated sigh, he clicked his tongue. “Screw it. Might as well get the entire thing. I can just continue to pretend you are a woman. A very muscular, tall woman.”

“If it suits you.”

Clenching the towel tightly, he made sure to keep covered as he spun onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. As Kain took up position, Penningsworth closed his eyes to no doubt fantasize that he was a woman. Beginning again, Kain massaged him, aiming to indeed give him the best he had ever received. By the reactions he was getting, he seemed to be doing just that, a bit too much, garnering an unwanted response from Penningsworth, though he just ignored it. Once he finished his abdomen and then pectorals, he moved back up to his neck.

Wrapping both hands around his neck, he kneaded it gently, slowly gripping tighter and tighter until he was throttling him. Penningsworth’s eyes shot open, bloodshot as his masseuse drained the life out of him. His neck encased in a steel trap, he gasped futilely, his face turning a sickly shade of blue, tongue lashing out in all directions. Flailing his arms and legs, he kicked over the rolling table. Glaring at Kain in utter despair, unable to scream, to fight back against the behemoth, he simply chocked. Kain’s rippling muscles locked into place, assuring the man’s demise, the man’s neck like a twig. Then, with a swift jerk, SNAP!

[jrazillashadowworks]

Footsteps Into Anarchy: Chapter Three

Warning: Gore, language. 

Word Count: 3288

Glad to bring back this story. I hope that you guys read and enjoy this. ^,,^ 

Overpass Bridge Outpost Two: Flotsam Islands/Seafoam fortress (District Four)

Through the scope, a decayed face shuffled between the crosshairs, one eye missing. Dry, cracked and torn lips pulled over chipped, corroded teeth. Pasty, molded flesh clung loosely to a half exposed skull, patches of hair spotting the melted scalp.

The steady sea breeze, caused the young gunman’s aim to falter, pushing the reticle downward, unwillingly. He took note of it, knowing full well its effect on the trajectory of the shot. Filling his lungs with the salty air, he let it linger, swirling about in gales. Fixing the sight, he waited for a single break in the wind. He wasn’t sure how long he had been holding his breath, save for the constricting of the throat that steadily twisted into a coil. Squeezing the trigger at the last moment, the butt of the rifle jerked sharply into the gunman’s shoulder, the cushioned arm guard stabilizing the strong tremor. The deafening blast would have ruptured his eardrums, were it not muffled by the tightly clamped, standard issue, military headphones on his head.

Grimacing, he recoiled and sighed. Missed. Miffed, he fired off a couple more misplaced shots, without much focus. Disappointed with himself, he growled with one final shot. The bullet whizzed through the air, whistling as it collided with the cheek of the zombie, blowing apart half of its face, in a blast of molded crimson. Though it was a kill, the shot was crude, and not centered, lacking his usual skill. Falling back from the rifle, he clanked the gun against the railing, slumping in his chair.

The sky was a swirling mess of grey and red above, the standard look of daytime. Crackling flashes of red lightning struck the thick, morphed clouds. Gulls fluttered about, pale beacons in the drab expanse. They cried, their voices strained and hollow, a death call to the unfeeling masses below. The sound was uncomfortable, making his skin crawl. Brushing the dark strands from his face, he simply watched them for a moment, winding down.

Finally letting his gaze fall, he peered out at the never-ending stretch of bridge that he was in charge of watching over, jutting out of the darkened ocean. This was one of the only two overpasses that lead to the Secret State Laboratory, doubling as a fortress, Tangaroa. He had only seen the outside of that massive facility, and it gave him the creeps. Though he was always curious what went on in there, his anxiousness kept him from asking. Then again, there was no longer anyone to ask.

By some horrible misfortune, all other soldiers that were stationed on this desolate overpass, abandoned their posts, leaving him all alone. With the world going to hell, and communications cut shortly after. The last order was for them to stay put and not to leave under any circumstance. He could not really blame them for leaving, wanting to check on their families and so forth. Some promised him they would return, yet…that was over a month ago.  

It was also impossible for him to keep them there, being of the lowest rank in the State’s Watch, not that they would listen anyway, their superior being one of the first to leave. He, however, had nowhere else to go. He was safe here and that was good enough for him. Although, he kept his radio on at all times, in some vain hope that he would miraculously receive new orders.

Taking one last look around the perimeter, he flipped the switch, turning on the magnetic field. The translucent shields sparked to life, sparkling clear, octagonal shapes, clinking together to create a diamond wall that was almost invisible to the naked eye. They were rather beautiful, a sight to behold each and every time. No undead could penetrate it, these shields used normally to protect from explosives and gunfire.

Peeking around the old, cement base, he could make out the faint, grey outline of the massive military compound and laboratory, shrouded by a light, never-ending mist. Shrugging, he entered the barracks, the sound of wind stifled as he closed the door. Taking off his long, white, uniform jacket, he hung it up and let his hair down with a sigh. He peeked at the lettering on the arm, ‘Harry.’ Heading to the small kitchen, he grabbed the first MRE he could get his hand on, not even paying attention to what it was.

Flopping down into one of the chairs, he tore open the sealed packaging, revealing a folded loaf that couldn’t possibly be real bread. More than accustomed to the bland food, he tore off a chunk. By some sick circumstance, he imagined he was tearing apart skin, the bread suddenly flesh in his hands, sinew between his teeth. What was supposedly tomato sauce, became blood, wetting his tongue, and leaking through his fingers.

Rolling his eyes and swallowing it down, things returned to normal. “Nice try,” he told himself.

Taking another bite of the tasteless loaf, he looked up at the poster plastered on the far wall, next to the fridge unit. In big, bold, blue lettering, the State’s Watch stretched, celebratory, across the top. Underneath, the great leader of the State’s watch, Tenzen Byakko, a woman of Asian descent, painted with flowing, raven hair and steeled brown eyes, stood proudly, grasping the flag, adorned in the insignia of their cause. She wore a form-fitting, white and blue accented, six button, leather, generals jacket, silk scarf tucked in, with just as tight pants and mesh toed shoes. A curved blade was sheathed at her side.

Harry had always been in awe of her almost regal beauty, her calm yet powerful voice a constant inspiration whenever he had heard her, replaying elegantly in his head. She was the reason he joined after all. When around his comrades, they would always tease him vigorously, calling him a fanboy. They weren’t entirely wrong, though he always denied it.

Standing beside Byakko, towering over her by more than three feet and thrice as wide, was an imposing, armored colossus. Amongst the uniform, the golden plated pauldrons, and knee pads, his right arm stood out most, linked in heavy duty, mesh armor, an unnatural light shimmering through the open creases.

His face was encased in a striking faceplate, with four eyes, searing emeralds. This being simply went by Divine. More of a title really than a name but still, his astonishing appearance lived up to the name. Harry, however, although never actually having seen him, assumed his image was highly embellished. Unless he was one of the State’s Watch’s mech’s or something. Ah well, he thought. Probably would never meet him anyway.

Finishing up his meal with a glass of crystal water, he trudged to the bunk room, past the communications room and showers. Entering the rectangular area, multiple bunk beds were pushed up against the grey, cracked walls. It was here that Harry felt the loneliest, passing by the messy, no longer used beds to his, at the farthest point. Only his stuff remained, a single military backpack and some clothes, folded on the nightstand, a handheld video game device crowning it all. Grabbing the system, he rolled onto the thin, lumpy mattress, expelling all the air within him.

Clicking the power button, he watched as the screen blazed to life, blinding him for a second, before animated bullet holes, riddled the screen. The sharp sound of glass shattered, as the title stretched across, in massive letters, wreathed in flame. ‘Whirlwind of Bullets.’ Sifting through the menus, he scoffed at the multiplayer function. Even though the WIFI field that encompassed the entire continent, remained unaltered, despite all that happened, he had not once found another person playing the game. Then again, he was sure everyone had more pressing matters, not as privileged in their situation.

Harry knew well how stupid it sounded, to check a video game, to possibly find someone out there but, he always had this ridiculous hope or, perhaps it was more out of curiosity. Habitually, he ended up choosing that option and immediately he was thrust into a destroyed battlefield. Choosing his specialized class, he ran through the hi-res fields, shooting at all manner of beasts and soldiers. Vibrant, flashing colors, washed over his face, tantalizing, intense music and gunfire, pounding from the hidden speakers.

After a while of play, taking out over a hundred hell beasts, Harry thought he saw something peculiar, strike over one of the far rising hills, a few, out of place pixels perhaps? His mind began to reel, pulse racing, despite his brain telling him it was probably just a glitch. Giving in, he ran over to the hill and upon cresting its ridge, glanced out at another player standing in a horde of beasts. Railing against them, this bulky soldier blasted all with a Light machine gun.

Utterly shocked, Harry’s heart shooting up into his throat, he was about to run to them when he saw their player name….Gurgle_My_Balls. At that very moment, he let out an almost painful groan, his expression morphing from incredulousness to a defeated resignation. Forehead creased, he wondered if it was better if humanity went extinct.

Seriously questioning whether he should approach them now, he was taken off guard when they wheeled about, the beasts lying dead all around them, in a mire of gore. They both froze, staring at each other for a moment. Too late now. Pressing forward, he made his descent down the hill, turning on his mic.

“Hey there,” he said, in a friendly tone, though a touch of exasperation leaked through. “I never thought I would find another player here… My name’s…”

He was cut off, when the other player lifted their gun, blasting a hail of fire in his direction. Inhaling sharply, he cursed as he ran back up, zigzagging away from the ballistic trail behind him, uprooting grass and dirt. Kneeling down behind cover, he called out. “What the hell is wrong with you? Let’s talk!” He was practically screaming into the mic. “We could the very last people on earth!”

The response was a whistling, a grenade landing just beside him, tapping against his arm. Stomach dropping like a boulder into the ocean, he whispered….”Fuck.” With a massive explosion, his body was obliterated into a thousand, mutilated pieces, littering the hill. The surroundings spinning, they constructed the words all gamers hated to see, ‘YOU DIED!”

Almost throwing his handheld, he shot up, headbutting the top bunk with a loud clink. Exclaiming, he held his forehead, shooting pains, striking in all directions. Gritting his teeth, floaty, colorful specks filled his vision. “Damn asshole!”

Out of spite, he fought through the pain to rejoin the game but, unfortunately, they were gone. He tried repeatedly, restarting over and over to find them to no avail. It must have been a couple of hours of continuous attempts before he finally passed out, from stress and exhaustion. Arm hanging over the bed, his system fell to the floor.

It was to a massive, resounding boom that ripped him from sleep, the bridge beneath the base quaking. With a start, he smacked his forehead on the top bunk again, groaning as he threw his legs over and wobbly stood up. Peeking through his fingers, he noticed just how dark it was, everything around him, almost pitch black. Stumbling about, he found his flashlight inside the nightstand, flicking it on, creating a cone of stark luminance. Groggy and perplexed, he hurriedly scrambled to get outside.

Hit with the salty night air, mixed with a burning taste of ash, he retched. A palpable smoke danced on the sea breeze, shooting up his nose. The red glow from the crimson flashes above, allowed Harry to navigate around to the back of the base. Though he had a hunch it could be an attack, he never could imagine he would see Tangaroa, the establishment he guarded, reduced to absolute rubble. Bleeding hellish flames that writhed in the cacophony of smaller explosions, a pillar of swirling, black smoke encased the scene.

“What the hell?!” Jaw dropping, he felt a cold sweat creep upon his forehead, mind a broken, jigsaw puzzle. Gripping the railing to keep upright, he tried to make sense of how an attack of this magnitude could take place, and without him knowing. It was then that he realized, a bit late, that the power had been completely cut off from the laboratory fortress. A protective measure, to keep power uninterrupted by anything, all lines lead under the bridge and were supplied from the lab's generators. Aided by the disbelief that whoever attacked could make it past their defenses, especially those ridiculous Anarchists, it was a bewildering happenstance.

With everything suddenly falling apart, Harry tried to fight through his clouded mind, to think of what possibly to do next. Then, a strike of icy fear, shot up his spine, as he thought of the bridge. With the area now unprotected and him being all alone, the undead could easily swarm. Frantically, he began to panic. Then from the dark recesses of his memory, he remembered that the overpass base had its own generator, used only in the unlikely situation of such a thing happening.

About to turn, his peripheral caught sight of a fast ripple in the murky water. First thought to be a simple wave, he couldn’t ignore the screeching alarm in his heart. Reflexively scurrying back inside, Harry dropped low, as a geyser erupted from the water’s surface, followed by a fleshly slapping against the grating. Freezing on the spot, Harry’s hair stood on end as a dank, disgustingly horrid stench, flowed in, through the doorway. It was the fetid stink of rotten fish and long scrapped, boiled crustacean shells, in a fermented oil that was relished with a distinctly sour twist.

It was the most horrible thing he had ever smelt, throttling his throat, and scorching his nostrils. The slapping grew louder, as whatever accompanied that smell stepped into the base. Harry had snuck back into the bunk room, hiding under one of the beds. He did not have a gun, the only weapons being his sniper rifle, which he had left outside and the few munitions, sitting in the armory closet. He could only wait in silence, the stale cold of the floor emanating into him, chilling him to the bone.

In the stifling silence, there was an unearthly, guttural, clicking thrum coming from whatever had entered. It was akin to an animalistic, yet alien growl of some sort, the likes he had never encountered. Harry had thought that the undead to be the most abhorrent things in this new world but, apparently, there was something more.

Whatever it was, it had to be searching the compound, its steps, deft yet erratic. Harry listened intently as it went about, smashing things about in other rooms, throwing stuff around. It was one room, in particular, that received the brunt of its attack. By the sound of it and its location, it had to be communications. It made an unbelievable ruckus, smashing no doubt every panel in the place, a bizarre, hissing spray, punctuating all other sounds.

Once it had finished, Harry thought it was over, then the thrum entered the bunkroom, bouncing off the walls. Stifling his breathing with his hands, he waited as still as he could. Drops of something splat against the floor, the same hissing sound, rising up from where they had landed. Unable to see, Harry could only imagine what was in the room with him. The growl whirred, sharp sniffs mixing in.

Then the unthinkable happened. It dropped down on all fours, right beside the bed Harry was hiding under. It sniffed the flooring, something slathering against it. Every inch of Harry’s skin crawled, its broken breathing, washing over him. Gagging silently, he pressed his hands to his mouth as hard as he could. It was an unbearably possibility that it could be looking at him but, it was impossible to tell in the overbearing darkness.

After a few painstaking, heart-stopping seconds, by sheer luck, or some other unfathomable entity at play, it finally shot up and left. Remaining motionless until the sounds stopped, assuming the thing had returned to the sea that spawned it, he slipped out. Clicking on the flashlight, but keeping the beam contained, looking at the spots where the drops had fallen. In their place, the cement had been eaten away, leaving melted holes, remnants of the stench, curling with unusual steam. Only acid of some kind could do something like this.

Stealthily, Harry followed the trail, peeking around the corner to make sure it was indeed gone. Eyes moving to the open doorway, he fell upon an otherworldly being, standing atop the railing, back to him, filling him with a shocking disbelief, at what he was actually seeing. It was a repulsive mix between a fish and a human, greenish blue, striped scales making up its entire, athletic body. Jagged, blood red fins lined its arms and back, long, striped spines protruding between them. A few, deep crevices on its sides, and back, leaked streams of the puss colored acid, glistening.

Just as it bent down and lunged into the air, to return to the depths, Harry was absolutely certain he saw Xenolith’s symbol, branded into its right shoulder blade. With the slosh of water, sounding its departure, Harry’s head dropped. “They are the ones responsible? How the hell does such a creature even exist?” The questions were endless, followed up with the most important. What in the world was he going to do now?

After searching the base, Harry surveyed the irreversible damage the monster had inflicted, the control room left a melted mess. All controls and machines including the generator were cleaved and disintegrated, a layer of the mucous-like ooze, cascading every surface. Still reeling from what had happened, and lost as to what to do next, he went to the armory closet. Taking the only remaining military vest, he put it on and loaded up every compartment with whatever clips he could fit.

Lastly, he found a submachine gun, hidden behind a couple of empty bullet crates. Lifting up the lightweight weapon, and checking it, he exclaimed happily. With both the sniper rifle and submachine gun, he had both far and mid-range covered. Counting his clips, he figured he had enough to protect himself for a while at least if he was careful. Still, the question remained. What was he going to do now? Should he go check on the facility, despite its ruin, for survivors?

As if to answer him, his radio crackled on his belt, startling him, to jump on the spot. Fiddling with it in his shaky hands, eyes bulging wide, he gasped when a feminine voice, both professional, and strained fizzled through. “Whoever can hear this, this is an S.O.S,” she said. “My name is Mishy. I am a State’s Watch doctor. I would be eternally grateful if I could get some assistance.” She rattled off her exact latitude and longitude, placing her in the city of District four, just across the bridge.

Collecting his things and realizing that this was the best choice out of the two, he walked back to the coat hanger, he pulled on his long jacket and exited to collect his rifle. Picking it up, he peered out as far as his eyes could reach, the city a mere outline in the dark haze. Lifting the radio up, Harry cleared his throat and pushed on the receiver. “This is Harry, a Soldier of the State’s Watch. Stay put. I’m on my way.”

[jrazillashadowworks]

Snowflake Chapter Two (Victubia Fan Fiction)

Read chapter one here: https://jrazillashadowworks.tumblr.com/post/165333400752/snowflake-victubia-fan-fiction-chapter-one

Here’s Chapter Two. No warnings.

Chapter Two

Nearly smashing against the wall, the door stalled on its hinges as an athletic young man, with a rather muscled build filled the doorway. He was at least a couple of years older than Flake, peach fuzz already growing on his chin, his skin russet and his eyes swirling black pools. His spiked hair was pushed up by thick, scuffed aviator goggles, resting on his forehead. He carried impossibly heavy weights in his chiseled arms, a mountain sized bag slung over his squared shoulders. No doubt a sporty type.

His expression was animatedly apologetic, as he realized how obnoxious his entrance was. “Sorry about that,” the newcomer chuckled. “Hands are a bit full here.”

Flake did not respond, words a jumbled mess in his mind, as he took him in. Not that he wanted to talk anyway. Shuffling inside, the newbie found the bed with the red uniform and nearly dropped all that he was holding simultaneously. He stopped himself just in time to let them thud lightly, floorboards creaking under the immense weight.

His roommate was indeed a strange one and Flake was immediately under the impression that he was a bit of an airhead. After situating himself, the newcomer sat on his bed, bouncing lightly. “Hey Snowball, what’s your name?”

The nickname irked Flake, despite how close it was to his actual name. Or, at least the name he gave everyone. With a soured expression, Flake was about to hiss that he should introduce himself first, when yet another rounded the corner. Like the last, he was a young man, about the same age as airhead but, that was where the similarities ended. This one was much leaner, and of Asian descent. His dark brown hair was short and extremely silky, the sides slightly faded around the edges, bangs hanging perfectly in his face. Thin, stylish, black rimmed glasses sat atop the bridge of his nose as his calculating eyes scanned the room.

“Hello,” he said without any emotion in an attractive, velvety voice.

“Ey there bunkmate,” the other shouted, excitedly. “Welcome to our shared abode!”

“Thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you both, my name is…”

“Hold up, friend!” He interrupted. “Save it for now, buddy. I just got an idea so that we can all introduce ourselves when we have all assembled, to save us the trouble of having to repeat it again, when our metal friend shows up, and to make it more fun.”

Raising a brow, he shrugged slightly. “Um. Alright then.”

Flake did NOT like the sound of that. What the hell was he planning? Sharing a room for a whole year with this guy, was already sounding impossible. Never the less, it gave him time to uncomfortably contemplate what he could have in mind, while they waited for the last roommate to show up. They unpacked, the silence broken only by the drone of idle chatter by the airhead, who haphazardly strewn his plain clothes about before shoving them in the drawers of the dresser, messily.  His opposite was extremely organized, his attire made of much finer fabric, revealing a difference in status.

A while had passed, with the final roommate still not showing up. Flake was beginning to grow irritated with the lingering awkwardness that would not abate, like festering acid, scorching his insides. Turning on his side, he focused on the window until a chorus of loud jingling filtered in from the hall. About time, he thought to himself. He just wanted this whole introductory thing to be over with. Reluctantly, he shifted to look back. Four, floating, gold laced, silver gauntlets came hovering into the room, reed weaving covers on each, striped, green, yellow, and red. They carried fancy suitcases, placing them by the last, untaken bed. Once finished they clasped onto the bedposts.

“Oooh, fancy,” the airhead whistled. He stopped midway when he saw who followed next, his jaw slacking.

Flake’s stern expression faltered when he noticed that the final roommate was a girl. She was a goddess, her skin a dark midnight, hair, hundreds of tight curls that bounced below her neck. Her facial features were striking, long eyelashes fluttering over sparkling eyes. If her looks didn’t draw those to notice her, her vibrant, stylish clothing would, along with the ten, gilded bangles wrapped around her thin wrists, creating the jingling earlier. She was silent, looking between the three boys.

“A-Are you sure you are in the right place?” The airhead wheezed, sounding as if he had been punched in the stomach. Flake did not have to look at him to tell he was blushing.

Flicking a card with the room number between her fingers, she nodded. Smiling or maybe smirking, she strut to her bed and sat down, throwing one leg over the other, as if she was waiting for something. She did not even attempt to introduce herself, like she knew what was going to be taking place, now that she had shown up. Flake was confused, wondering why any girl, especially one so radiant, would want to share a room with three boys. It did not make sense to him, not one bit. Slight intrigue prickled within the boy, treading the tumultuous waters of his anxiousness, making what to follow, almost tolerable.

Things clearly became awkward for the airhead, as he tried to initiate introductions, his skin sporting a rosy glow, as he fidgeted, clearing his throat, to gather everyone’s attention. “So,” he began, almost mumbling, only growing louder, the more he spoke, his shyness abating. “Well, now that we are all here… I was hoping we could have a sort of introductory merry go round thing, where we tell each other our names and a little bit about ourselves.” He made a circular motion with his hands between the four of them. “I-If that’s alright with everyone?” Flake knew that last question was geared more to the latest arrival.

Although Flake wanted to protest this stupid idea, his voice was absent as he pressed his head harder on his pillow. “Ladies first?” The doofus asked politely. “But of course if you don’t want to go first I understand completely.”

She leaned on her arms and smiled at him, shaking her head. “It’s your idea,” she chimed, her accent beautiful, African perhaps?

“Oh-r-right! My apologies!” Inhaling, and puffing his chest out, he nodded. “My name is Lorenzo! Sergio Lorenzo! I am seventeen and a fire mage! I like working out and being active in every way possible! Also, I love people! I love talking to anyone and everyone and hanging out! I’m purely a people person! Lastly…” Pushing up the worn goggles on his forehead, he flicked the side, proudly. “This is my most prized possession. My father is an esteemed airship pilot and this was the first goggles he wore on his very first flight! My ultimate dream is to be a pilot just like him!” Finally taking a breath, he chuckled lightly. “Nice to meet you all!”

He definitely had a fiery personality, the direct opposite of Flake’s. It was already obvious that the two’s interactions would be forced at best. Nice to meet you, the others replied, Flake practically mouthing it only. “Thank you, thank you,” Sergio bowed, repeatedly. “So next up…How about…You!”

[jrazillashadowworks]

Farewell Ovis (Victubia Fan Fiction)

Warning/tw warning: Blood. Suicide. 

Ovis belongs to Mishy. Enjoy. This Story opens into something further so I hope you’ll read through it. ^,,^ 

This goes in relation to http://mishy3wynnn.tumblr.com/post/167331365661

Winter had fallen on Victubia, the country hit by record snow fall, the likes none had seen before. Most of the country was now draped in frozen white. Within a forest, in an undisclosed location, two stood among the cascaded, sky piercing pines, their black swathed clothing, stark against the never ending white background. The taller, male of the group had their back facing the other, shoulders low, his body language absolutely exhausted. He let out a long sigh, a plume of clear steam spewing from his chapped lips.

“So you’ve made your choice?” The shorter, female breathed, her voice as toneless as the breeze.

There was then a silence only broken by the hollow creaking of the gently swaying branches of the pines, dropping clumps of snow in a crystal haze. The man remained still, his hands the only thing shaking. “I’m just…so tired of it all. I can’t do this anymore. I’ve been questioning it for a while now…Why we do what we do?”

The woman remained quiet, letting him speak his mind freely, though her face was just as frozen as the surroundings, no trace of the hellish smile that usually adorned her countenance. Her cold, grey eyes stared at the coiled, octopus tattoo on the nape of the man’s neck, a symbol of what he belonged to.

“It’s been fun while it lasted,” He continued, his voice dripping with a debilitation of both body and mind. “I know this is the end of the line. One does not simply leave this life. Thanks for everything, Widow.”

For the first time, she was indecisive, an annoying, strange twitch in her dark heart. Disappointment was rampant within her, the word spilling over in her mind repeatedly. “I should have figured this was your choice, coming here. You intend to join them then?”

“I…do,” he let out.

She bit her tongue, teeth nearly gnawing into the flesh, expression unfazed by the stinging pain. “So be it, Brooderpus. You truly are such a disappointment…Walk forward.”

He turned his face to the side ever slightly, his usual face mask removed, revealing a soft but weary smile. “Heh. Thanks. See yah, Widow.”

As he took his first step, her heart begun to pound in her chest, rising slowly as he grew closer to the low hanging branches. She caught sight of the gleam on the impossibly sharp razor wire, wrapped around the trees, a web of death, waiting ever patiently for their prey. The pounding in her ears grinded against her nerves, the surroundings swirling, teeth grit as she clenched her fist, the wires gliding with a hiss through his neck like butter, slicing his head off in a single motion.

With an impossible speed, she disconnected the wires from her fingers and sifted over to him, catching him as he fell, letting his head remain upright as he was laid on the ground, face down. A pool of blood seeped out of the perfect three lines, marring the snow in deep crimson, soaking into the icy crystals, steam wafting upward. Knelt beside his now motionless body, she could practically taste his blood, the smell pungent and strong. Orliona stilled, the madness quickly ebbing to a hollow standstill, leaving her cold both inside and out, though her fingertips tingled.

Up above, snow begun to fall once again, hundreds of flakes floating down on the somber scene, dancing through the patchwork of branches. Orliona tilted her head upward, letting a few flakes rest against her cheeks, their delicate, intricate forms un-melting against her cold skin. After a few seconds, she dipped her finger in the slowly cooling blood on his neck, and traced a line ever gently down the tattoo on his neck, marking out his bloodline for good.

“You truly are a disappointment,” she stated once again, standing to her feet. “No need to hide any longer, Kain, the deed is done. Come, pick him up. Let’s go bury the disappointment.”

It was rather remarkable how anyone could hear her voice for she had not raised it in the slightest, and the massive man was quite far. Even at the distance, she could see he was quivering, fists clenched tight, blood dripping from where his nails had dug into his palms. He approached very slowly, almost staggering in the thick snow, despite his immense build and strength. Coming up beside her, his ghostly exterior was somehow paler than usual, his face astonishingly sullen, hand prints glowing awkwardly on his sheet white skin. Orliona knew well his love for Ovis, so she ignored it. During the entire ordeal, she knew he was cowering behind the trees, face clenched tight in his big hands, trying to shut out all sight and noise.

Kain moved at a snail’s pace, scooping up Ovis’ remains, being extremely careful to not let his head detach, like it would somehow bring him back. He held him in a way that Ovis was leaning against his chest, almost cradling him, protectively. Not a single word was uttered between them as they walked to the secret burial ground, where Ovis once buried his mother, along with his brother’s ashes, designated by a couple of withered stones. These graves were set on the very edge of the forest, at the peak of a bluff overlooking the vast ocean, grey under the thick, rolling clouds, blotting out the sky, millions of white specks, joining the water below.

While Orliona watched over them, arms crossed, Kain rested Ovis beside the others, as if he was just sleeping. The hulk of a man could easily rip up the ground with his wind magic, or his large blade, but he decided to dig the hole with his bare hands, throwing back the snow and thick chunks of near frozen earth behind him. Usually, Orliona would scold one for taking the long route, but considering the circumstances, she let him. If he wanted to get frost bite, so be it. In any case, she was much too stuck in her own mind, remembering all the stories her family once told her of the immense rivalry between the Widow and Octopus clans. The fun times the two shared was nothing compared to those tales and now, it was all cut short. So…Disappointing.

By the time Kain had finished digging, he had tossed aside his cloak, his body covered in splotches of black dirt, his shoulders shuddering. He could have been crying, but any sound was lost to the waves and wind. Placing Ovis ever so carefully in his grave, and out of sight of Orliona, rested his forehead against his, and almost whimpered an apology to him, his brother and even his mother before returning to the surface. Brushing all the dirt back in place, he patted down the mound and adorned his grave with a rock, identical to the others. Kneeling once again by the graves, he stayed there a good while, broken, shattered into a million pieces.

Orliona who had been pretty patient until now, was beginning to get extremely frustrated, her own thoughts amplifying her anger. “Come on, Kain. We’ve idled enough here,” she said as calmly as she could manage. Kain gave no reply, not even giving the tiniest acknowledgement to her. “I said…come on.” Again, nothing. Feeling the hot fires stoked within her, she reached into her cloak, gripping the hilt of one of her daggers. ‘I’ve killed on friend today,’ she thought. ‘Another won’t change much…’ She gave him one last chance, her words seething with venomous warning.

Just as the blade skid out its scabbard, the metal ringing in a sharp hiss, he moved, standing up slowly and grabbing his cloak, throwing it on and joining her, face shrouded in contained grief. Shutting the dagger back, she glared at him, pupils smoldering like melted mercury. Standing on her tiptoes, she gripped his chin in her sharp talons. “You better not disappoint me like Ovis did. There won’t be anything left to bury, otherwise. Now let’s get the fuck out of here.” Kain said nothing but nodded, his black eyes, unreadable.

They immediately left the gravesite, leaving the forest behind to return home, their trip silent and strained. Upon returning to one of the many houses they owned around the country, this one situated in Abborre, at the end of a very long dock. Waiting inside was yet another assassin, one of a muscular build like Kain’s but smaller, his skin a deep tan, and with exceptionally more scars as well. He was the oldest of the group, at least pushing into his late forties, though no one really knew how old he was, his handsome features and squared jaw no help to answer the mystery. Assassins never looked their age, a bizarre trait they all shared. Another similarity to Kain was his white hair, though it had a distinct, feathery look to it. He wore a dark grey, torn, sleeveless jacket and a fishnet shirt that exposed his toned chest behind it. With sharp, scrupulous eyes, he bid the two welcome.

“Mistress Widow,” he said, his voice breathy yet deep. “There is a letter for you. I have no way of telling you how it wound up here, but it was sitting on your night stand.”

Orliona sighed roughly. “You were supposed to be watching the place, you old Scorpion.”

“I have no excuses for my failure. Whoever left it would have had to be almost as deft as the shadows themselves.”

“Hm…Interesting.” Orliona looked over Kain, whose expression remained unchanged even now. “Get cleaned up, you are going to get the place dirty.”

Breaking off from the others, the Widow entered her rather lavish room at the far back of the house, with a circular window that revealed the perfect view of the ocean beyond it. Passing by her bed akin to the ones in the suites within the brilliant, elegant hotel they ran in Ode, her focus passed on a midnight black envelope on the nightstand, striking atop the glossy wood finish. Sauntering over to it, she flicked it into her hands and spun it around to the back, cutting a perfect opening with her fingernail. She was terribly intrigued by someone who could have made it past the eyes of old man Scorpion and it did bring a nice change from the irritated thoughts she had only a few moments before.

Striking a single card out from the envelope, she spun it around, gasping silently as she scanned over two words written in the most elegant hand she had ever seen, in flowing purple lettering. It read, as if a royal invitation….’Come Home,’ the last line, moving to create the shape of a bat to the far right, wings unfurled. Lips twitching upwards, her usual, hellish grin returned to her for the first time in the past few days, lighting up her face entirely. She giggled almost maniacally. “Impossible!” she chimed. “I’m on my fucking way!”

[jrazillashadowworks]

Victubia Fight Night

Just a one off. Pretty proud of this one actually. Really hope you enjoy it! ^,,^ 

Word count: 5537 

Warnings: Some blood. 

It had been a very long day with the mayor meeting happening that afternoon. All officers were on patrol, keeping watch around the carriage routes to the Mayor HQ and back to wherever the visiting mayor’s stayed that night. By the time all was finished, Ray was back at the precinct, the last of his energy quickly draining. Feeling his eyelids droop, his vision blurred as he simply waited for the night officer who was tardy to come in. Slumping in his chair, he muttered not much longer, repeatedly more so to keep himself awake.

He begun to daydream or did he fall asleep? He wasn’t sure but he was either imagining or dreaming of being in his warm bed with Felice before a loud thump startled him awake, almost knocking him from his chair. Straightening up and striking the slight dribble of drool from his chin, he focused on his captain standing before him. “Yes sir, sorry sir.”

The captain’s mustache bristled as he gave Ray a rather apologetic look, something the young officer was not used to. “I hate to do this to you,” he trailed off.

“Yes sir?”

“I know that you are supposed to be getting off as soon as relief comes in but we have a situation.”

Ray felt a slight but sharp pang of pain ricochet around inside his head. He was unable to disguise his immediate frown, garnering another apology from the captain. “Its fine, sir. What’s the situation?”

“Well, we had a report that a rather large gathering has seemingly turned into a street fight. A man came in all beat up and bloody, saying he was attacked as he happened by.”

Sighing, Ray rubbed his forehead. He wanted so badly to hand it off to the next officer but he was a man of duty and bound by that fact, he would act. Fighting through his sleepy stupor, he finally gave a nod and stood up. “I shall put an end to it.”

“You may be a first responder but if things get out of hand, use your whistle and others will come to your aid. Thank you again for this, Constable. The location is in the Lavender district, within the courtyard of the group of apartments being renovated.”

Strapping his gun to his waist, and putting his cap on, Ray headed outside into the warm night. He had a decent way to go but the fresh breeze helped staunch the clawing nag of sluggishness. With great need of haste, Ray reluctantly accepted to take a police steed. Taking it along would also bolster his image, showing how serious of an offense this all was.

Meeting with the horse, bridled with a purple police saddle outside, he gave it a blank stare for a moment before approaching. No matter how much training and how used to the beasts he became, he always had an underlying worry that the next ride could be the last. A silly notion considering by now he was a pro, according to Felice. Then again, his boyfriend was always overly optimistic.

Peering into the dark, yet twinkling eyes of the horse, Ray felt as if the beast could see into his very thoughts and it made him uneasy, almost as if it was judging his reluctance. Brows furrowing, he found his courage to mount, not wanting to look bad to a damn animal. Gripping the reins tightly, he gulped the quickly forming lump in his throat and turned the horse towards the street. Inhaling, he spurred onwards.

The streets of the capital were alive and yet, the constable had no trouble speeding down them, only garnering the turning of heads by a few onlookers. Wind lashed at his face, cooling and clearing his sinuses, giving him a burst of energy towards his mission. He still blew his whistle to warn he was in a hurry, more out of habit than actual need, piercing the night air with its shrill cry. Maybe another officer would hear it and join him, he thought but, that was wishful thinking. By the time he had reached the Lavender district, east of Iris, he had yet to see another officer. It was slightly unnerving to be honest. A stone of anxiousness dropped into the pit of his stomach. Hopefully he could handle this alone.

Galloping alongside the outlying street of Lavender, he eyed the blocks of high rising apartments, cordoned off for the safety of the public while being renovated. However, a couple of the small wooden blockades used to halt trespassers were moved aside, allowing a clear path into the complex. Now, within range of his destination, he heard voices playing on the wind, droning, growing louder as he got closer until it was practically ear splitting. He was able to discern only a few words among the collected babble, mostly curses.

Slowing his horse to a stop, Ray squinted, staring down the darkened pathway, a flicker of light melting shadowed forms against the wall adjacent. Inhaling a deep breath, he unmounted and tied the reins to one of the blockades, patting the beast’s neck, to thank it for not killing him. Still feeling the jitter of anxiousness, he slowly walked down, trying his best to gather his fleeting courage. It seemed there were indeed a lot of them and he was alone after all. Hopefully this could be done peacefully, however unlikely it seemed at the moment. Ray wasn’t defenseless by any means but, he did not see himself beating up a large group all at once and he most definitely did not want to shoot anyone. If things got to that point, maybe a shot in the air would be enough to scare them off.

Slithering, with his back up against the wall, he neared the corner, his ears ringing from the human roars coming from the courtyard. Closing his eyes, he tried to untangle his increasingly knotting nerves, heart beating madly, though his expression remained steeled. The only thing threatening to give him away was the cold sweat beginning to form on his forehead. I got this, he repeated to himself.

Huffing, and puffing out his chest, he trotted towards the courtyard, shared by the collection of buildings and upon reaching its maw, froze as he caught sight of the scene before him. There, between four, elaborate lamp posts, was a haphazardly crafted ring surrounded on three sides by wooden bleachers usually reserved for the construction workers on their breaks. Now, they were swarmed with the seediest collection of people Ray had ever laid eyes on.

From his initial scan, the officer was able to identify a few within the mob, past convicts of crimes, burglaries, assault and the like. Many of them were shirtless, bloodied and with swollen faces that made them barely recognizable. Something was off however. Despite that fact, they seemed utterly elated, drinking bottles of undiscernible liquid Ray could only assume was alcohol. A quick glance at crates scattered about, filled with much the same bottles, their sides labeled based on their contents assured his suspicion. Gin, whiskey, and rum, they had quite the assortment and amount for a random street fight. This all seemed pre organized.

Streams of curling fingers of smoke rose from various places in the bleachers, melding together in a low cloud that dispersed, only to be reformed instantly. Burning ash and slick blood was the most prevalent smells wrinkling Ray’s nose. The haphazard ring was empty at the moment, giving the constable the assumption things may well be over. Ray was beginning to doubt the sincerity of the citizen’s report. As things stood, this was still an unlawful assembly that need be disbanded. Taking a step into the light, he was about to blow his whistle when a familiar, yet disinterested voice called his name.

Nearly jumping out of surprise, Ray turned to see Hanya sitting at the end of the stands closest to him, a lit cig dangling from his lips. Blatantly exasperated and with a barrage of questions coming to mind, the constable stumbled over to the private investigator, mouthing unintelligible words.

“W-Wha-What are you doing here?” Ray finally managed, his tone brimming with confusion.

Hanya just smirked and scooted over, rudely pushing the man next to him over with his shoulder until a space was opened up. “Take a seat, Ray.”

Simply flabbergasted, he reflexively joined Hanya, staring at him as he sat down, as if his world had been turned upside down. “Hanya…what the hell are you doing here?”

Leaning back, Hanya smirked. “I’m watching the show.”

Ray’s jaw slacked. “Okay…what are you really doing here?”

“You don’t have to doubt everything I say, kid,” he griped, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “Just relax and watch.”

“This is an unlawful assembly Hanya, I don’t think…”

“Spare me the cop routine. Just chill a bit. Take in your surroundings. Listen to this old man.”

“You aren’t even forty yet,” Ray countered.

“Looks and feels are two different things,” he noted, flicking off the ash, and side eyeing Ray.

Speaking of feeling, there was definitely a prick of irritation forming within the constable, as word vomit, hot as scorching flames shot up his throat. His mouth forming a straight line, he gulped it down and unwillingly listened, giving a closer inspection of the people around him. It was then that his police instincts kicked in, his dark brown eyes scanning and profiling persons of interest with great attention to detail. Ray noticed something even stranger going on as he looked around. Though a police officer just showed up in their midst, not a single person batted an eyelash in his direction nor showed any sign of alarm, even those that usually ran at the first sight of one of his occupation.

Out of the crowd, many faces were unfamiliar, but a select few stuck out, like glimmering diamonds, among shoddy coal. The most obvious and absolutely stunningly gorgeous one was a light skinned woman, sitting pristinely atop the center bleachers on a gold tasseled, purple velvet cushion, like some deity of grace. Her face was elegant and nearly perfectly symmetrical, complexion absolutely flawless. Streams of wheat colored curls rolled down from her crown over her shoulders. Gold eye shadow glittered over large, deep brown eyes and long eyelashes that fluttered lightly. Thick, pursed lips were coated in a glossy, gold lipstick, her thin, manicured fingers, holding a long cigarette.

Her form was sultry and exposed, her breasts perking up from the tight, and expensively fancy corset, her long legs sweeping out from a lace skirt, crossed over one another, foot rolling side to side. From her exquisite and flowy movements, Ray could practically feel confidence emanating off of her. She leaned on the possibly middle-eastern male next to her who looked around the same age, dressed in a long white, hooded jacket with a black scarf, embroidered with a bizarre insignia of a bleeding eye. He like her, was very attractive, his expression cocky, pale blue eyes looking down on all below him as if they were ants. She playfully caressed his chest with her hand. Most likely a couple, Ray assumed.

Hanya followed the constable’s gaze and clicked his tongue. “That’s Queenie. Royalty among this rabble and her ‘boyfriend/boy toy’ Nazeem. She’s a mystery from Syd and He’s from a well to do family in Ekard but has broken off for some reason. He looks very untrustworthy.”

“I see. Simply visiting for this street fight perhaps?”

“Could be.”

Ray was not assured by Hanya’s reply. It was almost as if he was withholding information from him. Then again, this was common when dealing with the private investigator. It did not stop the constable from glaring at him however. Then, a hulk of a man, dressed in an obscure military jacket, clinging tightly to his large chest, approached and picked the guy up beside Hanya and tossed him like crumpled up paper before taking his seat. The wood whined under his muscular weight as he tipped his cap, respectfully to Ray, his thick, messy, dirty blonde hair forced into his chiseled, scruffy face. The bottle of alcohol in the man’s meaty grasp, sloshed violently as he took a swig. A drunkard?

“Gabriel,” Hanya said with as much enthusiasm Ray had ever heard from the man, still without looking to the new arrival.

“Enjoying the show so far?” The man known as Gabriel asked, his voice gruff and powerful.

“It’s a bit one sided,” Hanya snorted.

“Hah! Indeed! These chumps are no match for Rummy! And here we thought at least one of you capital babies would put up a decent fight!”

“Well with all the trash you guys collected, are you really surprised?”

“This is all we could get to answer our call. Seems your trash are the only ones with pride and courage!”

“Now only to become poor and beaten trash.”

“Least we are keeping them busy for a night so your city can get some form of break from their stupidity.” Gabriel looked more at Ray when saying this.

“Thanks,” Hanya scoffed. “Should wear them out for a bit.”

Ray was so confused by the whole situation. Things were much more complicated than he thought. He kept silent through their conversation until the crowds combined roaring came to its peak, startling him. Jerking his head back to the ring, a man walked to its center. A fighter through and through. Ray could only assume that this man was Rummy.

This fighter, Rummy was about five foot eleven inches. A fine piece of walking sinew. His form was wrapped in a torn, sleeveless hoodie, exposing his muscular, and powerful arms, and only half zipped to show off his extremely toned chest, and abs. He also wore boxing shorts but no shoes. Rummy was not as large as Gabriel but he was close. There were many thin scars cross hatching across his face and body. His hands were taped and stained red with blotches of dried blood.

Rummy brushed a hand through his spiked back, black hair and nodded, scanning over everyone with rather bright, almost glowing, blue eyes. Smiling brightly, Ray could make out a couple of missing teeth in the far back of his mouth. He was indeed a scrappy looking individual.

“I hope you lot are ready for more of a beat down!” Rummy blared out in a thick, British accent. “Comin to the capital, I expected some great fights but man have I been disappointed!” He flicked his nose and craned his neck. “Hope the next batch can actually lay a hit on me at least!” He thought for a second. “How bout this? If one of you can, I’ll consider that a win and give you all my winnings!”

Uproarious cheering exploded from the stands, nearly deafening the constable who reflexively stuck his fingers in his ears. More bottles were distributed among the viewers as a line of enthusiastic men stood ready, waiting for their chance against the street fighter. Ray was beginning to get nervous, a horrible feeling lurking in the pit of his stomach. Jittery, his knee begun to bounce when the first contestant from this new batch took his place in the ring.

There was a clang from a hidden bell that made the constable jump and then the fight was underway. The contestant came in arms swinging wildly and without tact. Rummy weaved through like a serpent and unleashed a blazing uppercut that resounded like a shooting bullet, sending the man on his back with a heavy thud. Immediate knockout. Ray’s eyes widened, utterly shocked by what just transpired. He was shaken out of it by Gabriel who blasted praise, lifting his drink in the air.

“Atta boy! Fuck em up! Haha!”

The first contender was dragged aside for another to take his place and once again, after one hit, they were knocked flat by a completely different, jaw quaking punch. Ray was beginning to feel almost reverence for his abilities as each fell to his fists without any trouble whatsoever. It was almost artful how Rummy moved and fought, despite its rough and wild street fighting appearance.

As an officer, he knew he should not be appreciating such a thing but he could not help it.  Rummy also did not go for more blood when they were down which was respectable and dare he say, honorable. During the fights, his expression became that of a focused tiger and once over, shifted to one absolutely carefree. Deep down, Ray was beginning to actually like him.

“He’s pretty skilled isn’t he?” Hanya queried, having noticed the slight ques and minute changes in the constable’s posture.

“He most definitely is,” Ray replied instantaneously, though he did not mean to. “For a street fighter,” he added.

Hanya chuckled lightly. “Do you think you could take him?”

Ray silenced. He knew damn well he could not take on someone like him. The constable looked for an out, so he veered, changing subject. “How long are we going to let this go on?”

“It’s almost over. We have it handled.”

“What do you mean, we? We haven’t done anything but sit here the entire time.”

“We are keeping watch and making sure things don’t get out of hand aren’t we? Also, you may not have noticed but the shadows are watching as well.”

The color drained from Ray’s face and he stared at Hanya then to each of the shadows that lurked around every corner, quivering. Though he could not tell if they were moving unnaturally, he could feel a ghastly gaze on him now that chilled his blood. “R-Raz is here too?” Raymond whispered. “Why?”

“No idea,” Hanya replied dully, taking another drag. “You are asking me to define the motives of the most mysterious person in Victubia. Not even I’m that sharp.”

“I suppose…” Side eyeing the shadows, he hesitantly turned his attention back to the final fighter to go against Rummy.

Upon seeing the tall, bald, troll of a man, Raymond immediately recognized him. Scowling, he recalled the man’s past, heinous crimes which mostly involved domestic violence against his wife. On more than a few occasions they had found his frail wife covered in bruised blotches and with a broken bone or two. However, unfortunately, they were unable to put him away because she refused to testify against him, out of fear no doubt. In that moment, Ray forgot all around him and a seething rage burned in his chest. He almost wished it was going to be him to fight the filthy bastard.  

“That’s that scum, Brandon Brunsten…”

“I know of him,” Hanya spat. “Maybe he’ll get what he deserves here. Didn’t think he would ever fight anyone that wasn’t defenseless.”

“I hope Rummy rearranges his cowardly face,” Ray let slip in a fit of disgust, clearing his throat immediately after to mask what he just said.

Brandon cracked his knuckles and sauntered up to Rummy who looked him up and down. “Evening, bigg’n. Seems your last up.”

“Immah break you down, boy.”

“Well come on then,” Rummy said, digging in his ear with his pinkie, then flicking it off afterward.

At the sound of the bell, the fight was underway. Immediately, Brandon stomped forward, jabbing sharply at Rummy, his bulbous arms nearing his face only to glance at air. After a failed first attempt, the lumbering mass of walking filth charged, swinging left and right in a chaotic flurry. Rummy side stepped and danced about, dodging everything, without once countering. Ray had not noticed but he was leaning forward, heart pounding in his chest, his breathing strained as he watched intently.

It was a full offensive by Brandon, Rummy simply keeping out of reach, all the while, letting the fists come within inches of his face. Something was different about this bout, usually it would be over by now but it seemed as if Rummy was toying with his opponent, deliberately. Ray felt his voice scorch up his throat, begging to release a barrage of inspiration for the street fighter all the while condemning his enemy.

The crowd was on fire, hurling all manner of words and curses. Ray’s own voice would surely be lost among the mad chorus so, he just sat there, fists clenched tight, nails biting into his palms. He was unable to blink, so worried he would miss a single second. Rummy continued to skid about, slithering just out of reach as Brandon continued to swing, his furious attacks growing more and more labored. Streams of sweat rolled off the big man, as he started to scream colorful language at his opponent, complaining about his lack of action, questioning his manhood. Then with one more gigantic swing, Rummy spun around him in a blur, his feet slicing across the ground until he was on the other side of Brandon.

Rearing his fist back, everything slowed to a crawl as Brandon, blundered around to gaze at Rummy as he jumped up. With the speed and ferociousness of a fired cannon ball, Rummy’s fist crashed into his face with a blood chilling crack that echoed past the stands. In that moment, Ray was sure he saw Brandon’s face cave in on itself, a spurt of blood lashing out, grotesquely.

With deft foot work, Rummy landed as his opponent wobbled about before tipping over, smashing hard against the ground. Then the cheers erupted from the stands, hands clapping in unison. Ray, a burst of screaming adrenaline coursing through his veins, nearly shot his arms up to the sky in victory. He stopped halfway when Rummy wrenched the downed man’s head up by the hair and started wailing on him savagely. Taken aback, he could only watch in horror as the street fighter pummeled Brandon’s face into a black and blue mess, surges of blood spilling all around, squirting on Rummy’s clothes in crude designs. Each punch reverberated, wet and loud.

In that moment, Ray’s police instincts took over yet again, tearing him from his stupor. If Rummy wasn’t stopped, he was no doubt going to kill him. Body reacting on its own, Ray dashed over towards the beat down and reached out to grab Rummy’s fist before he could land another punch. The officer was yanked by the immense force, nearly throwing him to the ground. Reacting, the street fighter whirled about and shot a fist directly at the constable’s face, lurching to a halt when his knuckle brushed his forehead. The intense burst of air that followed, made Ray’s eyes water and a sharp sensation scrape across his skin, blowing the cap from his head.

“Ah!” Rummy exclaimed, sincerely. “Sorry about that, mate.” The boiling rage that turned the fighters blue eyes into a furious sea, softened instantly when looking at Ray who was kneeling helplessly now, still trying to process what just happened.

Shaking madly, Ray tried to regain his footing and composure, his heart working in overdrive. Standing up as straight as he could muster, he cleared his throat. “I-I-I am placing you under arrest.”

Rummy smirked and shrugged, holding his dripping hands out, allowing him to cuff him. “If you say so officer.”

Ray was utterly shocked with how compliant he was. “Show’s over,” he called out, his tone wavering but demanding. He pulled out his serpent steel hand cuffs.

Just as he was about to clamp his hands, another, unfamiliar gloved pair hovered over Ray’s. Confused, Ray gazed at the olive skinned older woman now standing next to him, dressed in a full black suit, accented in silver designs, with a silk ascot, tucked in. One side of her hair was perfectly straight and gray, draping down in her face while the other was wavy and black. A cigar dangled through her thin lips and her piercing, dark eyes bore into the constable, almost threateningly. There was something very imposing and authoritative about her he could not quite place.

“I will handle this,” she stated dryly, lolling the cigar over to the other side of her mouth as she spoke. 

Ray was having none of it. “This is Victubia police business. I ask you to kindly step away and don’t impede me in my duty. I don’t want to have to take you in for obstruction of justice.”

Though she kept her hands where they were, he was still able to cuff Rummy. “Hanya, take care of everything else here. I’m taking him to the precinct.” There was no doubt the rest could be left to him, even if he didn’t want it to be, especially with Raz watching as well, there was nothing to worry about. Hanya blew out an ashy plume of smoke and nodded, clearly bothered by being ordered around. However, at this particular moment, Ray did not give a damn. 

The woman shared a non-verbal exchange with Rummy before secretly sliding something in his pocket, then backing off, without Ray being any the wiser. Angry boo’s resonated from the onlookers as Ray begun to walk off with Rummy, back out to the street where his horse had waited patiently. Unhooking the beast, Ray simply pulled it behind him, keeping his captive ahead as they walked.

Ray was to be honest, rather thankful to be out of there, feeling the nice breeze wash over his heated skin. They kept quiet along the way, save for the constable giving Rummy directions back to the precinct, leaving a trail of crimson droplets behind them. After a while of this, Rummy stretched as best he could, wearing the cuffs. “Sorry to bother you officer but, can you do something for me?”

Forehead creasing, Raymond simply acknowledged him with an, “hmm?”

“Can you reach into my pocket and pull out the money?”

Ray frowned. “Trying to bribe me are you?”

“Nah,” Rummy laughed heartily. “I was hoping you could give it to that man’s wife. You know, the one that he beats. Maybe with this money, she can escape that piece of shit.”

Once again, Raymond was taken aback by this man. “How did you know about that?”

“Sources,” he stated frankly. “I was just hoping to teach him a lesson by beating him to the brink of death, so he knew the fear he put into his wife. I did not intend to kill him despite that being what he deserved. There’s nothing worse than a man who beats on a woman. So, could you please do that for me? I’d be very grateful.”

Conflicted, the constable warily pulled out the thick wad of money, which was more than Ray had ever seen before at one time. Staring at it, he glanced between the two then sighed. “This isn’t stolen is it?”

“Of course not. I just won it back there with my own fists. My hands are clean,” he said, looking down at them. “So to speak.”  

“Fine.”

“Appreciate it, mate! You’re a good chap!”

Ray couldn’t admit it but, he really liked this man. Despite his rough appearance, and underhanded tactics, he had honor, respect, and possibly, a good heart. In the back of his mind, he was even playing with the idea of letting him go. However, his duty dictated otherwise and he shrugged off the notion.

Upon returning to the police station, he locked Rummy in a cell. “I’ll see you in the morning, Rummy.”

“Sure you will, mate! Have a good night. Oh, and thanks again.”

With a nod, Raymond left the street fighter and gave his report to the acting night shift captain. Exiting the station, he was hit with a tidal wave of debilitating exhaustion, his shoulders and head slumping. Feeling the bulge of cash in his pocket, he headed home where no doubt Felice would already be asleep.

Opening up the front door of their shared residence, he walked into the still lit hallway. Rounding the bend, he saw Felice, face planted on the kitchen table, breathing lightly. He must have waited as long as he could, Raymond thought to himself with a smile. Quietly, he turned off the lights until he reached his partner, before scooping him up and carrying him to their bedroom. Felice along the way, mumbled his name and subconsciously wrapped his arms around him.

Within their bedroom, he gently lay his boyfriend down and pulled the covers over him, lovingly. Finally changing out of his uniform, he was able to relax and breathe a sigh of relief. It was such an eventful day. Hopefully tomorrow would be more lax. Feeling his body weigh down like lead, he plopped into bed and splayed out. His eyelids grew heavy as he stared at the ceiling until he felt something warm press against him. Turning his head, he saw Felice scooting over to him, to rest his head on his shoulder.

“Goodnight, Felice.”

“Nyight Ruhmond…”

Smirking, he gave into sleep, nestled in with his partner.

~

The next morning, after having breakfast with Felice and explaining to him all that happened yesterday, he was back in uniform, the money still in his pocket. Returning to the precinct and going through the main doors, he immediately headed for the jail cells, to have a talk with Rummy with a clear and awake mind. Coming upon his cell, he was shocked to see that it was empty. Befuddled, he turned to find the Captain, who happened to have appeared right in front of him. Surprised, he took a step back before straightening up.

“Good morning sir. I was just going to look for you. What happened to the man that was in this cell?”

The captain’s mustache wiggled as it always did as he put his hands on his thick waist. “He was taken away by a woman earlier.”

Ray immediately imagined the lady in the black suit. “What justification did she have for taking him?” He asked rather bluntly and with a sting of ire.  

“Well,” the captain began. “That woman so happens to be Camilla Paxton, Chief Superintendent of Syd.”

The constable’s face paled, his blood icing over as he realized who he had disrespected last night. “Chief S-Superintendent you say?”

“Yes. Don’t worry,” he assured, waving his hands, to reassure him. “She had nothing but praises to say about you. But, she has taken over responsibility of him because he is a resident of Syd.”

“Oh…I guess that makes sense.”

“That’s that. However, I do have something to speak with you about pertaining to the incident. If you would please come with me to my office.”

“Yes sir.”

Back in the main room of the precinct, the man Rummy had beaten to a bloody pulp was leaning over the information desk, face a bulbous, discolored wreck. He spat at the officer behind the desk, demanding reparation for what was done to him by that man, his speech barely intelligible. Beside him, nearly folded inwardly on herself out of fear of her husband, was his thin wife. She kept her face down, as if she would be struck for holding her head at the same level of anyone else. As sad as it was, the situation was rather fortuitous. Once an officer went to transport the man to the complaints office, Brandon demanded his wife sit down and wait for him, practically spitting on her.

Ray waited for the disgusting bastard to be out of sight before stopping his captain. “One moment please sir. I need to speak to her.”

“It’s pointless, constable,” he complained with a sigh. “She won’t ever testify against him. I hate to say it but you are going to have to let that go.”

“It will only take a moment, sir.” Hurrying over, Ray asked her if he could take the seat beside her. She did not respond, hands quivering, clenching tight to her old and moth bitten purse. “Don’t worry. I’m not here to talk to you about that. I have something for you,” he whispered, sitting in a way that concealed his intentions from the others. He pulled the money out of his pocket, discreetly. “This is for you.”

Though her face was cloaked behind low hanging tresses of brown hair, she stared at the money. “Why?” she whimpered.

“It’s a gift. I hope that you can do better for yourself with it.”

After a moment of hesitation, she shakily took the money and whispered a weak but grateful thank you, shoving it into her purse. Ray tipped his hat to her and stood back up, going back to join the captain. As they continued to his office, he gave one last look back to her seat where she was no longer sitting and smiled, as genuine happiness flooded him. “Good luck,” he muttered.

Turning his attention back, he headed inside the office and took a seat before the captain’s desk. After a moment of silence, his captain leaned back in his squeaking chair, stroking his mustache. “Ray. Did you who this Rummy was?”

Taken aback by the line of questioning, he raised a brow. “No. Not at all. I just met him for the first time ever last night.”

An uncomfortable, curious silence ensued until the captain spoke again. “Well. His full name is Rummy Corvin Lowell.” He went quiet yet again as he waited for a reaction from Raymond who though thinking the last name sounded familiar, gave no reply. After another moment, the captain gravely slid a paper over for Ray to read. Glancing at his superior, he wondered where this was going, that was, until he glanced down.

Gasping, Ray’s eyes bulged as he read over the names on the file. Renau Lowell (Deceased), Rummy Lowell (Alive), Kale Lowell (Missing), Reina Lowell (Deceased), and Relix Lowell (Missing). Lifting the paper in his strained hands, he read over it repeatedly as if it would help the information sink in. Without looking up he mumbled weakly. “Rummy is relative to the family that started the second rebellion…”

[jrazillashadowworks]

Snowflake: Victubia Fan Fiction Chapter One

Just a new series I’m going to be doing involving a year at the VMA. Each chapter is going to be short from 1000 words to 2000 words. Without further ado, enjoy. No warnings.

It was a distinctly warm day in early September, the sun already peaking in the sky, bathing the capital in golden streams of light. A drone of excited chatter wafted on the light breeze, for down on the streets and sidewalks, droves of teenage students strolled towards the institutions of both the VMA and VU. Energetic smiles were commonplace, and there was a chipper hop in everyone’s step as they carried cases filled to the zippers with clothing and whatever else they needed for their stay in the dorms.

Straying away from the rolling seas of teenagers, a frail, boy of fifteen followed after, keeping his crystalline, blue eyes on the sleek card in his almost translucent fingers. He wore a thin, sky blue, silk, short sleeved jacket, embroidered with silver lining and designs over a simple white shirt and cotton pants. No shoes. He never wore them. There was absolutely nothing more uncomfortable to wear than shoes. Unlike the others, he carried with him a single, light case with only a few articles of clothing, hardly enough for his long stay ahead.

His messy, thick, glistening, silver hair hung in his oval face, hiding his intensely grumpy expression completely as he read the location of his room within dormitory Andromeda over and over- Floor 5-Room Z, more to escape having to look at any of the others than to commit to memory. He focused on his inner magic, emanating a sphere of almost wintry cold around him that rebuffed any that would dare enter, a legitimate, personal bubble as it were. A punitive measure.  It staved off the uncomfortable warmth of the day as well and he imagined walking through a blizzard, devoid of anyone but himself.

This year was the first time he was going to actually be staying in the dormitories. The past two years at VMA, he had snuck into a secret basement that was always chilled, serving as his own, personal dorm room. Unfortunately for him, near the end of last year, they found out and closed it off, barring him from it. ‘It’s best to be with the other students,’ they had said. Brows furrowing at the mere thought of it, he at least hoped he would not have to share a dorm room with anyone…Wishful, futile thinking. Then again, he had already agreed that if he didn’t like where he was staying that he would find another place no matter what. This time, they wouldn’t find out.

Before long, the vast trio of buildings came into view, crowned by their respective colored roofs, surrounded by a verdant green courtyards. Packs of students congregated around Ruby Square and Karamell café, mingling and chatting with one another, some blocking the pathway to the Victubia Magi Academy. Each time the boy passed, the people affected by the frigid sphere jumped animatedly, letting out high pitched, squeaking gasps, eyes shooting wide.

“Get out of the way,” the boy breathed, silently.

The entire place was swarmed, a complete sensory overload that was already giving him a pulsing headache. Covering his ears, he hurried to break through the ranks until he finally escaped the throes of his peers. Breathing an irritated sigh, he kept up his gait around the massive VMA main building and down the right branching pathway to the back, where the three dormitories were located. There was a few like him already making their way inside.

Without so much as a glance, he scuttled into the Andromeda dorm set in the middle of the others, with its back to Huldra Lake, a place the boy was particularly fond of. He would definitely go out to walk around it after settling in. Pushing into the door, he grimaced at the ache that set into his shoulder, stabbing into his weak muscles. Gritting his teeth, he pushed as hard as he could muster to get inside and when he did, he chaffed his arm until the pain dissipated. A couple of students watched him, the younger even snickering. A frozen glare quickly silenced them however. Damn brat, he scorned, inwardly.

Going up the five flights of stairs was very taxing, pins and needles coursing through his legs by the time he got to the uppermost landing. Resting against the marble bannister, he breathed haggardly, cursing his own weakness and frailty. With no time to waste, he pushed off, and staggered down the ornate and beautiful hallway to the final room at the far end that faced out to the lake. The gold plated room number glinted, a sparkling sheen stretching across the smooth surface, a detail everything within the hall shared. Everything was all so clean, including the air that had an almost linen scent drifting about. It was sure to be a fleeting aroma however, for the rabble would soon steal it away, exchanging it for their own.

Regaining his composure and breath, the boy stood there. Inhaling sharply, he grasped the handle and prepared for what unpleasantness he would find on the other side. With a silent click, he slowly opened the door but a crack, peeking with a single eye to warily peruse the room in its entirety. Every dorm room within the dormitories looked more or less the same and this one was no different. Spacious, elegant and furnished with everything a student could possibly need, a desk, a shelf and a wardrobe. The boy glowered however, when he noticed the four beds…four. Neatly folded on each of them was a different colored uniform, varied by element, a red (fire), blue (water), greyish green (metal), and grey (wind).  

Brow twitching at the realization that he would be sharing a room with three others, he already begun to contemplate looking for another place. He would stay here for now but as soon as he could, he was moving out. Least it was empty…at the moment. Slipping inside and closing the door behind him, he grabbed the blue uniform on the first bed to the right and traded it with the grey one closer to the window. The closer to the lake the better. Not even bothering to unpack, he sat his case on the small shelf at the end of his bed along with his uniform. Pulling the cover to the foot of the bed, he folded it and smoothed out the pillow before laying down to stare at the ceiling through his dense bangs.

As he waited for the others to arrive, a dreaded anxiousness lingered in his stomach like a block of lead, his heart, steadily beating in his ears. A few excruciating minutes passed before enthusiastic voices started filtering in from out in the hallway. His innards clenched up, jumbled and entwined like a ball of rubber bands, his mind reeling, as if he was waiting to be executed. Then, the door handle clicked, the tiny mechanical sounds enhanced and agonizing, piercing the boy’s ears. Suddenly his heart was beating a mile a minute and he stiffened as the door swung open.

[jrazillashadowworks]

Tranquil Hearts: Of Vines and Flame Chapter 3

Well, finally got another chapter of this Punky romance finished! I really hope you enjoy this silliness. 

Paul was at a complete loss, as the young man across from him, smiled brilliantly, an air of innocence flashing across his countenance. “I’ve never seen you before!” the new arrival exclaimed excitedly, patting the horse’s neck gingerly. Their voice was soft yet playful, much like a gentle breeze. “Is this your friend?”

The mayor’s mouth moved but no words escaped his dry lips. Befuddled and exhausted, he stood there awkwardly. For some strange reason, a sudden wave of relief washed over Paul, as if the new arrival brought peace with them. “Y-yes,” he replied, finally finding his voice after swallowing. “He got away from me when that roar spooked him. I thought I had lost him.”

Blinking wildly, utterly fascinated, the young man, who looked to be but a couple years younger than the Mayor nodded. “Good thing I found him then! I was able to calm him easily. I’m good with animals, see!”

“Clearly you are. Thank you very much,” Paul said with a warm, grateful smile, the normal, elegant cadence returning to his tone. Remembering the niceties, a rosy blush set into his cheeks. “My names Paul. Sorry for not introducing myself sooner. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Although he reached his hand out stiffly, around the horse’s front, the other simply tilted his head at the gesture before walking before the Mayor.

Paul got a clear view of the young man now, trying his best to not show that he was looking him over. Standing but an inch taller than himself, they wore a dirt splotched, form fitting white shirt, under a weathered, black leather, fur brimmed and cuffed hunter’s jacket. Slightly baggy, faded black pants covered their legs, ripped holes revealing patches of scrapped and bruised skin underneath. Tied haphazardly to his feet were scuffed, high rise, leather boots. Thick, messy, windswept hair crowned his head, black with a strange white stripe down the middle, a few pale strands hanging in his handsome face, as the rest was brushed back. Though he would never admit it, the Mayor was reminded of the skunk that ran across his path yesterday.

“I’m Skunky,” the young man chimed.

The Mayor’s jaw slacked slightly at the name, though he quickly collected himself as to not seem rude. Though it was almost assured to be only a nickname, anyone could understand the reasoning behind it. Before he could focus on it too long, or respond, Skunky suddenly closed the gap between them and hugged Paul tight. Surprised, a blossom of pink, flushed his cheeks, as strong arms wrapped around. Unaccustomed to this impropriety of social norms, Paul hesitated, stuttering softly in the embrace before awkwardly hugging back. However, a sudden whiff of the gentle, pleasant aroma of fresh plotted earth and pine wafting off the young man, cleared his mind, and relaxed him. It was a scent of pure nature.

Pulling away, the one known as Skunky, flashed their glorious smile. “You are the prettiest and best smelling person I have ever met!”

As if he wasn’t blushing already, Paul’s face tinted a deep, beet red now, inwardly giggling that they had the same thoughts about the other. Eyes shifting to the ground, he fidgeted on the spot, even though he heard no underlining meaning to his words, no flirtation. This strange man was simply complimenting him, innocently.

“T-Thank you, Skunky.” Though he wanted to compliment back, finding Skunky more than a little attractive, he kept himself from doing so, not wanting to make the situation any more awkward for himself. Not to mention, it was against the social standards set for him. He even reprimanded himself for even thinking such things.

“You’re welcome!” Skunky’s expression turned thoughtful. “So were you simply taking an enjoyable stroll through the forest?”

“Actually…” Trailing off, Paul reminded himself the reason he had come out here in the first place. “I know it’s going to sound silly but I was searching for the one known as the forest spirit.”

Skunky’s brows shot up, and it was only then that Paul noticed a small scar that cut the right brow in half at its edge. “Forest spirit?”

“Well, let me explain. We were fixing up a wildlife reserve in the forest that a storm had destroyed. I, along with my assistant Amara, paid a visit to the volunteers to see their progress and show our support.” He didn’t have to worry about Skunky losing interest, the young man seemed to be hanging on every word Paul was saying. The absolute focus made him blush more. “However, when we arrived, the volunteers met us with the news that it had been repaired by the Spirit. So I simply left a letter for them as thanks…”

His words dragged as the last of his breath seeped through his lips. Before continuing, Skunky cocked his head to the side. “Letter?” Reaching into his jacket, the young man procured the folded up note. “This?”

Amazed, Paul’s countenance dropped, making Skunky chuckle lightly. “That’s a silly face you are making.”

“Are you?” His voice was barely intelligible. “The spirit?”

“I don’t know what a spirit is, but, I am the one who fixed the um…what did you call it?”

“Reserve.”

“Yes! That!”

The Mayor’s face showed all kinds of emotion now, parched lips muttering over muddled words. The amount of sheer luck was almost fantastical coming out of the disaster that had unfolded only minutes before. Paul had come face to face with the spirit he was searching for after all. Through the flood of pure relief, he felt warm tears well up in his eyes though he quickly wiped them away. A rush of exhaustion followed. Staggering, Skunky nearly lunged forwards to keep him upright.

“Are you okay?!” Genuine worry filled his tone and features, for the person he had just met.

Latching onto Skunky out of reflex, he smiled wearily. “Yes. I’m just very tired.” Feeling the bone dry fingers clawing his scorching throat he added, “And thirsty.”

“Why don’t you come to my house for a bit then? You can relax for a while and I can bring you some fresh spring water! It’s not too far from here.”

Silence ensued as the Mayor looked him in the eyes, glistening emeralds of pure innocence and kindness. Though it went against all sane thinking for him to follow someone he just met into the forest, Paul couldn’t help but feel an unnatural ease around this man. He mustered a nod and Skunky hopped for joy, letting out a jubilant laugh.

“Why don’t you ride on your friend here?” Skunky asked, while patting the saddle. “I can lead him on by the um, the strap things.”

“Reins?”

“Right!”

Paul felt bad that his new companion would be walking alongside him instead of riding, he did not fuss over it however, and carefully lifted onto the horse. Sitting up high, he looked down at Skunky who was stroking the muzzle of the horse gently and speaking very softly. Paul was unable to pick up what he was saying. He wanted to ask but of course kept from doing so. There was no need to pester him about such things. With a gentle tug of the reins, they were off back into the forest.

There was no need to worry about getting lost, this time. His guide, led him into the foliage, and down invisible pathways through the green, Paul had figured Skunky had traversed countless times before. Now, he was able to finally relax and catch his bearings. He looked about as golden beams of sunlight peeked between the branches, creating cones of dancing light on the lush surroundings.

Skunky checked back on Paul periodically through the trip, as if to make sure he was still there. Each time their eyes met, the Mayor would blush again. It was getting ridiculous and oh so embarrassing, though Skunky did not seem to notice. Was he even going to survive this? He wondered. Finally breaking through the tree line, they stepped into a magical place.

The Mayor was awestruck when he viewed the fantastical meadow, nestled perfectly within the forest. Pale, healthy grass, made up the ground, not a single dead or dry blade within the entire vicinity. Beds of yellow, purple, and myriads of other colored flowers spotted here and there, boxed in by tiny stones. Leafy vines, lined the grass, creating designs much like the ones around the habitat. These snaking trails, led up to a decent sized, white stone, circular hut at the very center. The vines clung to its sides, coiling together around the doorway and up to the plank wood roof, which had multiple finches tittering on its peak.

Squirrels, bunnies, chipmunks and even a skunk played about in the area, unperturbed and content. It was a small paradise, Paul had never imagined would be in this forest. Skunky lived up to his title. “This is my place,” Skunky chimed, throwing his hands out, dramatically, showcasing everything between his arms.

Paul tried to reply but was still in a cathartic trance, tears welling up from the sheer beauty. “It’s absolutely astonishing,” he whispered.

“That’s good right?”

Lolling his head into a nod, Skunky giggled. “Yay!”

Leading the horse up to the front door, Skunky held out his hands to help Paul dismount and once he was planted safely on the ground, opened the door for him. “Make yourself at home!”

Stepping inside, his feet clapped against the cracked floorboards that squeaked under his weight. While Skunky hurried around, Paul scanned the interior. It was a very humble abode, compared to what it looked like on the outside, with a very low table in the center of the floor with two, moth bitten, embroidered pillows, he assumed were used for chairs, placed on either side of it. An ashen, fireplace was set inside the left wall with a dull pot, in dire need of polishing, hanging over the burnt wood. Sacks full of different nuts and berries sat on either side, giving off a natural, sweet and hearty aroma that masked the barely noticeable stench of burnt wood.

Skunky’s clothes, riddled with holes, were haphazardly folded on top of a chipped, faded oaken dresser, the drawers missing entirely. There was an overused, wooden bow, resting on top of the clothes, and quivers full of arrows leaning against the shelf, along with an open knapsack, with what looked like notebooks inside. The Mayor’s eyes fell on a pathetic excuse for a bed next, which was little more than a thin, ragged bedroll without a pillow or cover. It made Paul sad to imagine that Skunky slept on something so uncomfortable a thing. Immediately, he wished to help him out, maybe buy him an actual bed sometime. Then he remembered, it was not his place to do so. They were still pretty much strangers to one another.

A single window, cut out of the stone, above the bed, revealed the gorgeous surroundings outside, vined tendrils squirming through the opening, reaching inside and crawling down to the floor. Overall, it was a stark contrast from Paul’s lavish home within Ekard but there was an undeniable charm to this place that was not lost on the Mayor. Skunky pat him on the shoulder, jumping him out of his thoughts, wagging a small cylinder bottle. “I’ll be right back. You can eat whatever you want, however much you want!”

“Thank you,” Paul replied just before Skunky dashed away.

Finding the sack of berries again, he picked out a few, plump blackberries, and raspberries before sitting cross legged on one of the pillows. Examining them, in the light of the window, he noted the moist sheen that coated their exteriors. Plopping one in his mouth, he exclaimed at the burst of tart flavor, the plentiful juices, tickling his taste buds. Feeling the brunt of his hunger, urged on by the sweet taste of the berries, he found himself eating more, mixing them with the fresh nuts for a cornucopia of flavor. It was a wonderful snack that calmed his wailing stomach.

Sitting there silently, he listened to the collection of fluttering birdsong outside, resting his hands on the table. For some reason, his glance kept falling on the knapsack on the floor, to his right. He knew better than to go sniffing through others belongings but the steady current of curiosity got the better of him.

Lifting out the first notebook he got his hands on, bound in a brown, leathery hide, he sat back down, caressing the smooth face with his hand. What lied within, surprised Paul. Flicking through the pages, gently with his fingertips, Paul was gifted with some of the best sketch art he had ever seen. Pictures of all things nature, cluttered the pages, not a single space unused. Expertly drawn birds, plants, trees, animals, came to life on the yellowed paper.

The Mayor was utterly enthralled, taking every single picture in before turning the page. Skunky was clearly a man of many talents, despite his deceiving appearance. He cursed himself for judging based on that fact. Apologies were definitely in order. Turning to the last page, he caught a glimpse of a distinguished, bald man with thick, powerful brows that hid his eyes, and a gruff, bristling goatee.

“I’m back!” Skunky announced in a blaring, sing song that sent an electric shock up Paul’s spine.

Exclaiming, the Mayor slapped the book shut and sat it on the table, covering his hands over it, face burning bright red as Skunky came around the other side of the table and plopped down with a thump. Grinning from ear to ear, Skunky placed the full cylinder bottle of water on the table right before Paul. “Drink up!”

Gulping, Paul shifted uncomfortably on the seat, glancing at his hands, the bottle, and then Skunky who cocked his head to the side, patiently, staring him down. It was indeed a precarious situation, one the Mayor was having trouble thinking through. Surely, he would find out how nosey and rude he was, should he move his hands. Not a picture he wanted painted of himself, especially with such a new acquaintance.

“Oh, w-w-wait,” Paul stuttered. “The box! Would you be so kind to get the box tied to the horse? Please?” He tried his best to give a smile, though it most likely ended up looking desperate and pathetic.

“Of course,” Skunky replied, happily. Then he was up and out in a flash.

With no time to lose, Paul scampered across the floor, replaced the book and scurried back, to compose himself as if nothing had changed. A single bead of sweat rolled down his cheek as Skunky rejoined him, placing the box beside the cylinder. “Aren’t you thirsty?”

“Of course! Thank you.” Taking the long bottle, he hastily uncorked it and shot it up, feeling the ice cold water run down his parched throat. With all propriety cast aside, replaced by burning thirst, he chugged the water completely, until it was bone dry. Not ever, had he tasted something so crisp and refreshing in his life. Pulling away, he exhaled softly, wishing there was more.

“What’s in the fancy box?” Skunky asked, curiously, poking his finger to it.

“I’m not sure. It’s a gift for you, from Kina.” Paul could not deny, that he was very interested in finding out as well.

“For me?!” Hands striking out, he snapped the box to his chest, face alight with unbridled excitement. “It’s wonderful! Thank you Kina,” he shouted, as if his voice would reach her.

Paul giggled as Skunky fumbled with the chord, gloved hands fiddling until finally untying it. Lifting the top off, he gasped as he pulled out a new toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, shampoo, and some wrapped chocolate. Somehow holding everything in his hands, he hugged them all, as if these daily items, people took for granted, were cherished, royal heirlooms. The sight was so pure, it warmed the Mayor’s heart. It was so strange. They had only been together for maybe an hour or two but Paul was beginning to understand that he already had a keen liking to this man.

“I have a gift for you as well,” Paul said. Reaching into his pocket, flashing the certificate before giving a bow as he held it out to Skunky, who after moving the other items to left arm, took it, examining it with starry eyes. “Ooooh,” he cooed. “This is very pretty paper. Thank you so much! I love it, Paul!”

After a minute of watching Skunky look over the certificate, Paul cleared his throat, lightly. “You know what it is don’t you?”

Blinking, Skunky looked up to him, innocently. “Pretty paper, right?”

“Well, yes, but, it is also a gift certificate for the most lavish restaurant in Ekard. They have the most delicious foods you can imagine. This paper gives you an all-expense paid visit, where you can have whatever you’d like.”

Skunky stared in awe. “This paper is magical!” Then he looked into Paul’s eyes, an almost serious glint, deep within them. “Will you go with me?”

Feeling the familiar blush scorch under his skin, Paul gasped, lips twitching. “Uh-Uh-Ah.” His heart pounded in his chest, thumping loudly in his ears, as he fretted, fingers twining together. “O-Of course, he breathed, sheepishly.  

“Really?!” Skunky nearly jumped off the ground, brimming with enthusiasm. “Wonderful! I can’t wait!”

This was the most excited reaction, Paul had ever gotten by someone just wanting to be with him. Though it embarrassed him, he did enjoy it immensely, and being in Skunky’s company was refreshing and nice. Taking a second to find his voice again, he sat up straight. “When would be a good day for you?”

“Any day,” Skunky sang, hugging the certificate to him.

“Then, how about Thursday?”

“Perfect!”

At that very moment, Paul had not the mental capacity to wonder what others may think of this-him going on an outing with this strange person. He was much too exhausted to mull over the matter however, barely able to keep his head up. A nap was an increasingly wonderful thought, at that very second. Silence filled the hut as the two sat quietly. Skunky then slapped his own knees, perking the Mayor up. “I forgot to get some water for your horse! I’ll be right back! I’m sure he’s just as thirsty!”

“You are too kind,” Paul said.

Once he was gone, yet again, the Mayor leaned his arms on the table, his head weighing like a block of lead, drooping. It was impossible to think logically when he was this tired and his home was a good ways away. “Maybe only for a few minutes,” he whispered to himself, leaning his head on his arms. Just like that, he was lost to the world.

There was no way of knowing how long he had been out, but when his eyes finally drifted open, it was dark outside, little lights blinking in and out, hovering in the darkness. A candle on the table flickered, casting shadows on Paul’s face as he slowly lifted his head, a string of drool clinging to his chin. Noticing warmth on his back and a weight he did not have before, he turned his head and felt the fur collar of the leather jacket, he remembered Skunky wearing, that somehow hung over his shoulders.

Had he wrapped it around him to keep him warm while he was asleep? Paul wondered, muddled and drowsy. Caressing the leather, it took Paul a minute to realize what had happened before shooting up perfectly straight. “Oh no! I passed out! What time is it?! I have to get back!”

“You are awake,” the light hearted chime of Skunky’s voice said from behind him.

Spinning on his heel, he wiped his lips, trying his best to compose himself even though his nerves wracked his body. “Yes. H-How long was I asleep?”

Skunky counted on his hand, expression suddenly very focused. “About four hours. I was going to move you to the bed but I didn’t want to wake you.”

For the millionth time, his face flushed and then a sharp strain in his back snapped him out of it. Wanting to stretch but feeling awkward being watched, he tried to mask it as best he could. “Thank you for covering me.”

“No problem! I hope it kept you warm enough.”

“It really did.” Carefully, he handed the jacket over, Skunky immediately shrugging it on.

“It’s so toasty,” he beamed, pulling it tight, relishing in the warmth.

Definitely a strange but sweet person. “I hate to be rude but I really must be getting back.”

“So soon?” Skunky pouted.

“I’m afraid so,” Paul replied. “But hey, we will see each other again in a couple days.”

“That’s right! If you are in a hurry, I could perhaps ride the horse with you?”

“You know how to ride horses?”

Skunky shrugged. “Well I have ridden an elk before, and a bear. It can’t be that much different.”

Paul’s jaw slacked. He had to be joking, but his face remained unchanged, without a hint of humor. “A-Alright then.”

Saddled up on the horse, Skunky took the reins, Paul sitting behind him, staying upright by tightening his legs. “You may want to hold on,” Skunky grinned, peeking back with a gleam in his eyes.

With a click of his tongue, the horse nearly swung around, Paul nearly falling off, only keeping upright by reflexively, and instantaneously wrapping his arms around Skunky’s firm chest, tightly. Inhaling sharply, the Mayor held on for dear life as the beast shot back through the forest, the darkened surroundings passing in a blur.

Wind whipped at them, as they sped through, Paul holding on tighter and tighter as they jumped over unseen underbrush, and clopping up and down the constantly changing terrain. Though he was scared out of his wits, Paul was utterly surprised by the expert horse handling by Skunky, who responded perfectly with each movement, keeping up the gait. At times, Skunky laughed, voicing encouragement to the beast, urging him to go faster. By the time they made it back to the main path, the Mayor’s head was practically mushed against the riders back, completely adhered to him.

Finally, the ride slowed to a calm gallop and Paul was allowed to lighten his steel, vice grip on Skunky who did not seem to mind in the slightest. “That was fun, wasn’t it?” He giggled.

There was no possible way he could respond, a constant tremor going through Paul’s body. Surely, whatever he would have said would have been a jumbled mess. He simply nodded. Allowing a few seconds to compose himself, Paul finally breathed. “I think I can handle the rest of the way.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind taking you all the way to the gates at least.”

“I’m sure.” There was a lingering foreboding sensation in his mind that it would be best to return alone and not clinging to a random stranger. It was already assured to be much worse. “We can meet at this spot, next time.”

Stopping the horse with a gentle pull of the reins, Skunky then shifted about to where he was sitting, facing Paul. He then proceeded to hug him fondly. “It was so wonderful to meet you, friend! Thank you for coming to visit and for the amazing gifts!”

Hesitantly hugging back, Paul smiled. “My pleasure, Skunky.”

Sliding off the horse, Skunky stood, patting the mane, offering heartfelt praises and appreciation to the beast, while Paul scooted up the saddle. “Will you be safe heading back?”

Smacking a fist to his chest, the forest boy smiled widely. “I’m the spirit or whatever, remember?”

Paul chuckled. “That you are. Take care, Skunky. It was very much a pleasure.”

“You too!”

Urging the horse with a gentle kick of the heels, they moved on, the two watching each other until out of sight. Once the Mayor was by his lonesome yet again, he sighed heavily. What an adventurous day. Surely, the next day would prove just as eventful, for he would need to somehow explain the situation to Amara and get her understanding. Guess sooner rather than later, he thought, as multiple, floating flames came blazing into view, accompanied by darkened forms and raised, alert voices.

“Mayor Paul!” They cried out, repeatedly, moving erratically.

Hands shaking, Paul gripped the reins and steeled himself for the extremely awkward and stressful ordeal ahead. “I-I’m fine,” he called out as loud as he could muster.

Then he was swarmed, all lights coming to surround him, the flames revealing troubled and stressed Ekard guards, practically pale as ghosts. At the sight of their Mayor, they began to express their relief. They marched around him, as he rode to the gate, where a mass of people awaited. In the group, he caught sight of the guard of the gate who allowed him passage, who was sweating bullets, face a strange, blueish color in the dim light. Paul felt bad for him. That was, until his eyes came upon another, in which icy fear was stricken in his veins, stealing its place. His countenance immediately mirrored that of the guard as his stomach plummeted to the ground.

Searing, reddish brown eyes, glowered at him from the very front of the group, arms crossed, countenance, ice cold. “A-Amara…”