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 Chapter 19: But I'm Your Friend

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Red Blizzard

Posts : 164
Join date : 2011-05-30
Age : 25
Location : Elsewhere

PostSubject: Chapter 19: But I'm Your Friend   Wed Jun 15, 2011 12:28 am

Two guards paced back and forth outside a small village of metal, located high in a mountain pass. Snow swirled lightly around the town, drifting through it to sugar-coat the windows of several barracks. Inside, men slumbered peacefully, lined up in their beds like bodies confined to their coffins, row after row, stacked one on top of another, bunk bed style. Two guards paced back and forth outside, jealous of their sleeping comrades. Hands were frozen stiff over spears and shields, metal armor conveying the cold outside through thick underclothes to the skin beneath. Goosebumps ripened.


Louder than expected, two knives flashed. The two guards fell to the ground in a spray of their own blood, necks bared to the bone. Behind each guard, a garbed figure stood. One nodded to the other, and they both proceeded inside, wiping their blades clean against the snow before sheathing them. One gave a silent signal, holding up a fist in the air. From behind a large snowdrift, two more figures emerged, one in hulking black armor, the other in stealth garb like his fellows. Together, the four snuck into the village of metal, meeting up in the center so they could go over the details of the plan. The tallest figure pulled back a black muffler, revealing the focused features of Saint, a jet of white steam issuing from his mouth.

“Alright, you guys know what to do. Destroy the clan. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Do the others know what you’re about to do?”

“Well, I hinted at the basics of what’s going on. But I skimped on the details a little bit. They don’t need to know everything right now, we can tell them after the clan’s gone.”

“Alright. And what about you?”

“I’ll be forging ahead to find Soluna. I’ll send messages back to you guys as soon as I can find a place to write. When you’re done, some of you report back to the clan, some of you keep the pass open. I should be back in a few days.” Everyone nodded. “Seth, you know what to do. New guys, I’m looking forward to good things from you. Let’s go.”

Saint took off, heading for the village entrance on the other side of town. A man in red snakeskin followed him, daggers unsheathed mid-gait. He leapt over the gate, pulling out ten throwing knives. Each one began a silver star, streaking towards their target, as the man grabbed each one and sent them flying. He landed in the snow several paces from the guards. As he got up, he heard two simultaneous thumps as the guards hit the ground, knives through the foreheads and through the hinges on the gates. The gates tumbled forward, their falls broken by impact with the guards’ bodies. Saint leapt out through them, heading towards the mountain pass.

“Thanks Cool.” The man in red snakeskin nodded to the retreating figure of Saint, then turned around and plunged back into the fray.

The man in the black armor cast his eyes around the barracks, pulling back his muffler to reveal the calculating face of Staitus. He liked planning out things before acting, and here, staring at the metal buildings that made up this clan village, he could see several options immediately presenting themselves. He picked the easiest one. He raised one hand, magic gathering in the form of flames, spiraling into his palm. The fire was a dull, deep orange, mixed with shades of black, and when it had congealed into a fireball about the size of a watermelon, it had become a flame that shed no light. Staitus’s eyes flicked all over the first barrack, probing for weak points visually. Judging one exact bend in the roof to be a good starting point, he threw the dark fireball. The result was terrific, or terrible, depending on where you were at the moment of impact. The roof buckled under the explosion, metal shearing away in large, molten chunks, pelting the inhabitants of the building. The fire spread along the edge of the roof, melting all possible supports. Within seconds, the roof caved in completely, burying the barrack’s occupants. The metal walls were torched as the flames spread around the entire upper edge of the building, and curled inwards under their own weight, droopy and molten. Then, they fell inwards on top of the collapsed roof, burying anything and everything that hadn’t been caught in the initial collapse. The whole mess smoldered for a moment, then was consumed by the black flames completely, erupting silently. For the flames made no sound, and the only thing that could be heard was the twisting of metal, slowly shriveling and warping with a low, mournful screech. There was perhaps, one scream, short and sweet, its echo hanging in the air like a black feather outlined against the white sky, separating sound from silence. Then it was all over. The flames winked out, leaving a small, oblong black lump in place of a building that had once held a dozen or so loyal souls of the Fallen Angels. Inwardly, Staitus smiled as he turned to the next building.

Seth walked into the clan’s headquarters. He had spent weeks here, getting to know the people he was going to kill. They had accepted him as a friend and a member of the clan, and he rose quickly with the ideas he generated, becoming just one rank away from the clan’s leader and a part of the inner circle of people who ran the clan. Now, Seth walked with a different tune in his step, entering the private domain of the clan’s leader. The fallen angel. He paused outside one door, wondering if it lead to the bedroom. Then the information regarding all buildings clicked in his head, and he turned and walked in another direction. He had spent two days memorizing the whole base’s layout, there should be no way he would be this hesitant. Another door, and this time, Seth came to a dead stop. In one hand, he gripped a silver shortsword, its edge recently sharpened, chips and dulled sections reshaped into a single, continuous cutting line. Seth pressed an ear against the door, listening for anything. All quiet. Could mean anything. Maybe he was already dead. But Seth shook that hopeful thought out of his head. There was no way he’d be dead already. What was wrong with him? This wasn’t his first assassination job. Not even his second. Steeling his nerves, Seth pushed open the door and stepped into the room of an angel about to fall.

“Why are you in my bedroom with your sword drawn?”

Seth froze. Before him, black wings spread, steel grey eyes glaring, was the target, wide awake and questioning.

“There’s a commotion outside. I thought I’d just come up to check on you.”

“Oh? And you just so happened to forget not to draw your weapon in my presence unless there’s a war going on?”

“Sir, there is a war going on.”

“And I suppose you’re the one declaring war on me?”

“Wha- Sir?” The angel strode forward, and Seth stepped backwards to follow, keeping his distance between himself and his target.

“Perhaps, you’re here as a spy, and have been observing us for this long, only to betray us into the hands of another clan. Another clan like Requiem.” Bump. Seth could feel his back pressed against the wall of the hallway. In front of him, the clan leader loomed large, managing to grab a scythe propped against a wall on his way out the bedroom. Seth swore and lunged, ducking low under the first slash. His opponent quickly reversed directions, parrying with the handle of his scythe. Sparks flew as the two weapons ground against each other. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Seth’s mind went into overdrive, trying to think up ways to get out of this. He wasn’t ready to take on this guy alone, not like this. He had been prepared, and what’s worse, he had seen right through him. How did he know? He pushed off, then turned to retreat to a more open area. The scythe flashed behind him, catching on the edge of his stealth suit and ripping off an insignia. Seth saw it flash by – a blue eye, some white letters. REQUIEM. So that was how he knew. Seth wanted to punch himself for his stupidity as he clambered down a staircase and into a downstairs room. Behind him, the shadow of a winged figure pursued him. And all throughout this chaos, only one word permeated Seth’s brain as he struggled to make sense of the turning tables. Oh.

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Chapter 19: But I'm Your Friend
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