There's a lot more levity in this setting and the applicants so far, which I don't particularly like, but it does give me a chance to stretch beyond my usual recipe of Inadequacy-issues-rolled-up-in-a-metal-album characters. That's supposed to be good for you, right? Expanding horizons, turning over the damp stones of unexplored territory and bashing the crap out of anything you find wriggling in the mud of uncertainty. Drinking the unclaimed glass of mystery in the smoky bar of unexplored avenues. Embracing the metaphor of undefined gender in the analogy of inebriated affections.
It also lets me start writing now, rather than waiting to get my hands on the pre-written stuff a few hundred kilometers from my current position. But then again, what to write? We haven't had an Alien in Ratings War so far, plently of gods and related drudgery. We've gone more fantasy than sci-fi, and boy have we gone there, but what kind of character both breaks the cycle and fits within the context of an undefined contest run by a voice-in-a-droid?
Well, we have had an Alien, even though we haven't said as much. We've had bastions of Sci-Fi standards and beloved character markings, and put a plasma rifle in a few of the claws/hands/appendages of some past characters and you'd have a interplanetary being in all but name.
Earthy, dirty, wet and hard. The hilltop was as slippery as it was solid, the dry clay unyeilding despite the heavy dew that grew upon its grass. He knew better than to try and cross it in the dark while running, but around the hill grew brambles and trees so close they strangled the air, so it was over the hard hill or nowhere at all. Nowhere but backwards, and he couldn't go backwards. Earthy, dirty, wet and hard. He didn't notice the rising moon in front of him, the silver sliver so huge he could not eclipse it from the hunters eyes, but if he had he might decide that there were much worse places to die.
In desperation he juked left and right, not knowing if his hunter was three feet behind him or thirty, and he scrabbled desperately to keep all four hooves on the earthy, dirty, wet, hard ground. With the blood in his ears he couldn't hear much more than panic, but fear composed the sound of pursuit for him as he accelerated towards the top of the hill.
Claws, jaws, focus and speed.
The bones and the blood of a creature called Night.
All glory and hunger.
Hard ground, wet grass. His feet were made to cavort through leaf litter and roots, not sprint straight lines across open sky, but he made it to the top of the hill before he fell. Maybe he was distracted by the sight of the other side, maybe he looked back a hopeful instant, but it was all lost when his foot shot forward from under him and he hit the ground, his neck snapping backwards in the awkward fall.
Behind it, a metal creature erupted from the forest and slowed to a halt, weapons and arms folding back behind panels of steel and sensors scanning in vain for sign of a legend. For three minutes the robot stood over the unlucky fawn, but for all the hardware in its head it couldn't see the second creature that sat before it, its head cocked quizzically to the side.
He called himself Night, because that was what he was. He was its colour, and its sounds, and its smells, he was Night. Not the word and not a name, because he didn't think in words or noises, but in the runs of his mind there was no place where the night ended and Night began. It was him, in every facet and nuance. When it arrived, so did he. When it faded, so did he. When it hunted, so did he. All glory and hunger was the Night. And when Night howled, every ear within him knew the noise.
The droid stood still while hidden mechanics sent a message of failure back to its master, and then it conducted a final sweeping gaze before loping off the way it had come, leaving only the corpse and heavy footprints on the hill.
Beside Night, the hunted rose out of its body on wispy legs of spirit. It was a soft thing, thinner than gossamer and infinitely more fragile, made out of everything its life had been and might be, and it shivered unsteadily in the wind. It knew it should have eyes, and so it opened eyes on the face it knew it should have, and soon the gossamer memories had unfolded into the outline of what it had been. It turned its dream-eyes on Night, and it knew what it was to be hunted.
Why chase? It thought. Why run? Night answered.
It fled in panic from the beast, but Night didn't follow. He would, when the prey had gone far enough to make this a sport and not a duty, but not before then. This was his hunt this time. It belonged to him, not to time or sickness or violence or fate, they had had their pursuit and what they chased lay dead on the hill, it's neck shattered as it fell. He would follow the metal-creature, find where it had come from and why it had no life inside, but first there was the matter of a more familiar game.
The spirit had reached the brambles, and it flitted through gaps its mortal corpse would never have fit. It was running through different woods now, ones more made of memory and dreams than any wood or stone, but the stakes were no different than before. Sometimes they got away, they outran Night and dawn would find them waking to unbroken bodies and fading nightmares. But only if they got away.
Sometimes they did. But Night's claws didn't slip, his jaws didn't tire and his ears could still hear the spirits thrashing as it raced away from him through a thicket of notions.
Not this time.
Name: Night
Night hunts, there's not much more to it than that. Addmitedly, he hunts things when they're dead or dreaming, but it's hard for him to hunt them otherwise, given that he's not really that alive himself. He's like the game of chess you're supposed to get from the reaper, but with more running and less time to think. He doesn't know this, of course, he just knows that he chases the things that enter his territory, through the odd and twisted forests of their souls.
He is the Nightmare Wolf, and while he's a good deal smarter than your average animal, he is still exactly that.
I thought this might be a bit more fun to write, a simple little concept you don't have to think hard about, and one that makes for less convoluted matches all round. I'll write a second little semi-story to get him to this bar, and then he can just show up for matches. It's a good character for that, one I don't need to touch much and won't get frustrated about if things slow down to a crawl.
Ultrajoe... You are amazing. You and NukeLassic are writers that are in an entirely separate league than I am. I wish I had the talent that you two possess.
I have a feeling that yours is going to be a very popular character this time around.
As life's road in front unravels, we get to do the driving...
--------------------------------------------
If a man hurtles from sand dune to sand dune, and no one is there to hear it, does he make a sound?
Or.
Is the more important question: Why is there no one to hear?
Of course, to all three, the answer is Yes.
Thud.
Thu-
Thud.
Thu-
Thud.
Cluck wasn't mountainous. 'Colossal' was not in the approved list of words used to describe him. Cluck wasn't even very huge. And yet... there was a surprising solidity to him. There was a presence about his shape; a line in the sand: That is the world. Everything else is Me.
Thud.
Thu-
Thud.
Thu-
Thud.
He rumbled over sand dunes. Each step was a massive bound. 'Colossal' had been speedily approved as appropriate to describe his method of movement. Each step was like a minor earth tremor, up and down what had become a very quickly deserted beach. And with each step, he soared, covering large distance as if gravity did not affect him like everyone else. Strides like Neil Armstrong, each move a graceful, and forceful traversal rather than jumping and landing.
His very solidity was perhaps the single most incredible thing about him. Heads turned when he moved. Bodies followed, but usually in another direction, and always very quickly. He had presence. He was so un-ignorable that anyone who happened to brush eye over his form immediately forced themselves to ignore it, leave the vicinity and pretend they'd been at home admiring exothermic reactions in the wall paint.
He had more than gravitas. He had gravity.
As he seemed to hover in transit between two peaks of blustery sand, it was as if an enormous gulf had quietly opened itself in the fabric of normality surrounding the erstwhile Cluck, and was traveling with him.
The ever vigilant Space noticed this error and tapped Time on the shoulder, who in turn woke up Physics. A quick discussion confirmed that they were all irate at this intrusion on their honoured turf, and collectively it was decided to immediately set off and give this anomaly, who clearly had no respect for the way the world had been working since their invention, a 'What-for,-you-Jonny-come-lately'.
Like some kind of metaphysical tsunami, The Combined Forces of Reality built up preposterous levels of energy before surging in to close the gap. The potential of every known scientific, rule, theory, hypothesis, wild speculation and wishful thought crashed against the Very Solid Almarique Cluck.
And they all hit the Line in the Sand. Then washed off confusedly. Physics remembered it had to go home and watch paint dry. Time was suddenly vary busy- "Sorting out a temporal paradox involving Hitlers death in the 1940s, Sorry,-love-to-stay, important-stuff, you-wouldn't-understand, Just-came-up-I've got to go, Bye!"
Space was found three days (or what approximates for three days for a dimension) later, passed out in a gutter in Amsterdam's Red Light District. None of them never spoke of Cluck again.
Unaware of the trouble he was causing, Cluck managed a lazy somersault as he sailed slowly and landed softly, with a large yawn. Ahead, he saw the beach-front property vanguard of a large city approaching. But he hadn't seen a city in a long while. And what was this... thing squeaking at him?
"Why, hello there. Hope this security drone didn't startle you too much; can't be too careful, you understand.
Now, down to business. If you're listening to this recording, you either received my invitation or, by some freak chance, found this place on your own. If that is the case, I applaud you. In either case, let me welcome you to my city. I am Michael King, CEO of MasonTech Incorporated and unofficial boss of this li-"
Gulp
Cluck often took a long time to yawn. And frequently forgot to close his mouth.
Muffled through his stomach, he heard out the rest of the message. Then smiled.
He hadn't seen a city in a long while.
Thud.
Thu-
Thud.
Thu-
Thud.
------------------------ ...But don't choose the direction we travel.
Colour is an overrated phenomenon, a lie of convenience and necessity. There is no meaning to it, a spark of notion applied to the velocity of a wave as it courses through the sea of reality, among infinite others. In the realm of stone, and the spinning unrealities of physics and myriad tangible paradoxes, the idea of colour does not even exist. But color exists somehwere, for else how would you know it? And in this place it is all the truth that there is. There is no air to shake, sound is as unreal here as a shade is in the universe of flesh, all you hear and see is in your head. The things you see and hear in this place are more real than any sensation your clumsy body can interpret.
And here, all below the sky was white.
The trees are tall here, they tower higher than the eye can see, with branches that sweep out to shelter nations. And here the trees grow close. Roots tangle and clash like titans warring, great rolling knots of wooden dragons and serpents all lashed together at the foot of these impossible plants. And here they are all white. The snow that falls impossibly from the clear midnight sky is as bright as the stars that litter it, and her skin is as bloodless as those stars.
Her lips are beyond blue, now, fading to a delicate dolls-mouth in this land devoid of warmth. Her hair was so blonde it could blind, and her tiny dress is a beacon even under these incredible trees. This is a child's forest, a forest inside the mind of one so small that the trees know better than to pretend that they are anything less than monoliths. She stands away from her cold and shining body, tiny wisps-fingers reaching out to the white world around her.
And Night comes.
He is a shape made of the sky above, his flesh is unreal and as dark as the void, as if made of smoke and whipped into his shape by the cosmic wind. He runs through this shining dream, a measure of the sky fallen down to earth, kicking up the snow as he races across the bridge-roots and winding paths of the forest. He has seen nothing like it, even after so long racing through the unrealities, and he marvels at endless oceans of fallen leaves that stretch out beside toppled branches that might have crushed a city. This could be the mind of a madman, if the tiny body in the snow was of any size to fathom madness. He found her in a hollow clearing, found the architect of this forest.
It was when the tiny ghost turned to look at Night that he understood this dream. For there, where there should have been the new blue eyes of the corpse, blazed the joyous pits of the blind unchained. She giggled as she teetered over to the new arrival, the deep pits of colour on her face sweept over his form while she ran her minuscule fingers through his not-fur. Night watched as the forest filled briefly with flickering white images of himself; they glided over the world unsteadily, with their legs unmoving. A child's vision of the Dreaming Wolf, using her eyes for the first time.
Night did not know how she gotten to where she had fallen in the real world, the middle of some unkempt suburban garden, and there was no way he could ever know that truth. He didn't know why this spirit had lingered in the realms he walked, rather than passing on, and he had long ago ceased to ask that question. Here and now in this place made of visions and meaning, he knew only that before the hunt there must be a challenge, and so he bent to meet her inhuman eyes with his own blue irises.
With a strangled cry, the spirit felt the meaning of the stare, and began to flee into the forest. On its shaky little legs, it got some sixty meters from Night before he readied for the brief chase. Or... would, if he didn't feel the eyes of something inhuman cross over him a second time.
In the realm of flesh, above the garden where the freezing girl lay, a metal man whirred back and forth as it scanned with bands of light and sound for a sign of its unliving goal. In its head, chips burned with calculation as it searched instead this time for a gap in the world where the legend might be. Like the last time, it sent only a message of defeat before turning into the distance.
Night stared as it went. He waited until it was out of his sight before he rose to his feet and broke into a sprint after the tiny phantom, his jaws wide.
---------------
Night didn't know why some dreamers fell into this place, or why some dead fell back, but they all got the same challenge and chance to find the dawn. He didn't know why the happy might make their minds into hellscapes, or why the insane sometimes sat in tranquil fields. He didn't know why some athletes could be caught in seconds, or why some newborns could evade him until day, he ran just as hard for every errant soul.
But he did know that you couldn't extend mercy in the name of compassion, not even for some blind spirit lost in a labyrinth of trees. He just didn't know why he knew. But, he thought, as he reached the screaming soul; That metal creature knows me, and this is our second meeting.
Night rarely got the chance to indulge curiosity, so after he had howled a joyless victory into the stars, he turned to the chase of something else unliving, a creature of metal and a mechanical mind.
One more intro thingy after this one. Only one, I promise, sorry these are always too long. And yes, to the eager judge, I know I jump between tenses but for the love of me it's just a habit I can't be arsed to fix for a story I'm having so much fun writing. Go back a hundred years, everybody was doing it. There are no excuses for my abuse of the comma, however, and I have nothing to say in my defense.
Edited 1/1/10 For some inconsistencies and the kind of errors you get as punishment for writing at 3am.
11 of them have submitted sheets (assuming that Sorrow approves of Logician using Gabriel). That means we've gotten past an even three-tier tournament which requires eight people and are into four teir terretory. An even four teirs tournament (that is to say, one where no one recieves a by, everyone has to fight four times, all fights are 1 Vs 1) would require 16 sheets. That means we have to get the sheets off everyone whose expressed interest and another two people.
I've Pmed everyone who played in RW3 minus Qayin and Meatspace because neither posts anymore. Everyone has read the message except Vid20, Rogueshadows, and SargentToughie. Mshcherbatskayas the only one to send a definite no, which means that people who might still be in are:
Of course, those people might be deciding not to play this round which means, as always, it's a good idea to round up newcomers.
I suppose this is a long winded way of saying, if you've expressed interest, get your sheets in! If you're lurking here and haven't expressed interest yet, we'd love to see you! If you know someone who might enjoy this, go ahead and invite them!"
Honestly, if we had an even tournament it would be the first time in RW history. Of course, it's never too late to do something historic. If we end up with less or more than 16 though we'll get by. Still 16 would be nice.
Seeing as I suspended myself when the deadline came around so I could concentrate on my exams, I'll be sitting out of this one. Good luck to all those taking part, though.
Thought: I wouldn't stress overmuch about the number of people, but if you were really keen you might hit up the escapist's IRC channel and the fine folk within it. escapistmagazine.com/chat will get you there, one button and you're in. I'm often there, so don't be shy.
And now for something completely different, my final thingo to intro Night.
Prologue: Of Memory And Challenge
The security drone was made for speed, discretion, power and... security. It was fitted with the finest software and logical reasoning routines available, and the engine at its core was built for endurance. Its mission had been simple, to search for the designated possible entrant and offer it the standard invitation. When that had failed, despite the cross-referencing of several thousand data sources and known facts (and likely hearsay), its mission had shifted like liquid into one of return. The Metal Man raced over road and field following its signals.
Night was made to chase. He is formed of a concept, driven by a mind forged into an edge by focus, and the heart at his core was born to sprint eternal. His instincts were simple, to chase what ran. When that something ran in the real world, where his chase usually only began, his instincts had hardened like diamond into one of determination. The Dreaming Wolf ran under bough and bridge in pursuit of its target. When that lead to the high, hard lines of a city, he dropped into the darkness of the train lines and drainways, following the scent of this artificial soul.
Its den, in defiance of any speculation, was the human equivalent of cooling yourself in the mud; The filthy pit of indulgence known as a bar. Passers by ignored the narrow door, and all acted as if the mechanical messenger never existed. Which was convenient, because to every sense Night had at his disposal... the creature simply ceased to exist.
And as the Dream Wolf slipped through the door into the warm confines, a message he could not hear or see flitted out from a place he could not find; MISSION STATUS - SUCCESS
The bar was filled with scents and sights that sent Night's head spinning, and the souls that stuffed it were no less damning. Pits of blackness, strange twisted scarecrows and a metal spirit that clanked even in the realm of dreams. Here and there were the normal shapes of people, or at least mortals, but they blazed with a force and intensity he had never seen before. Each and every one of the creatures in this bar, every one of them was here for one purpose.
To Hunt, and to know Challenge.
The Barkeep looked up when Night jumped onto the bar, ethereal paws passing through the littered bottles, but his face screwed up in confusion when he couldn't see anything.
"Can I get you anything?" He asked hesitantly to the empty space, you didn't tend this bar and go without both a sense for when you're wanted and a healthily downtrodden dose of logic. He picked up a bottle at random and placed it on the bar, but he was immediately struck with a feeling of... mistake. "Not a drink then" He said flatly, and he shook his head to clear the clinging emotion.
Mr. Timmoth didn't make mistakes, so when he dropped the bottle in his attempt to put it away it came as quite a shock. Shocking enough to make him leap back in surprise, in fact. Not nearly as surprising, however, as the vision that filled his mind when his head knocked into the sturdy bar shelf behind him; one of eyes, eyes filled with Challenge.
"I see" he said grimly with a glance at the other patrons "Well, you aren't the weirdest here"
A wash of appreciation flowed over him, and then he was alone at the bar again.
How willing Sorrow is to allow Night to remain a dream dweller is up to him, but King's robots have some sense of my character, so he is surely aware of the presence of the creature among his champions.
I realize that I am horrible at explaining concepts, so feel free to ask any questions I may have left unanswered.
"Please! Oh God, please don't!" Her shrill cry faded quickly in the empty, twisting nether. Her eyes, an icy blue, were wide with feral terror as she scrabbled desperately on a transparent surface. Her tattered clothing hung loose, revealing a body raked with horrendous gashes and oozing sores. Blood-soaked lips trembled as she pleaded, inching as far from her pursuer as possible.
"Now now, my dear..." His face was veiled in shadow, his voice smooth and clean as fresh-woven silk. A barely-perceptible grin crossed his face. "Those were the stakes, no?" A soft groan escaped the woman's lips as she slowed to a stop. Crouching beside her, he leaned forward until his chin brushed her sweat-dampened hair and his breath tickled past her ear. "You remember the deal... yes?" he purred, walking his fingers up her neck to her cheek as she curled into a fetal position. He chuckled dryly and whispered, his tone strangely reminiscent of a doting father. "Love... we had a game, and you lost. We had a bet, and you lost. You didn't pass your test, so you don't get your prize." He turned her head slowly, inspecting her high cheekbones and that face that seemed lovingly caressed into existence. He licked his lips surreptitiously. "Yes... your looks were not enough, so you sought the Devil's help, played His game for a man's affection." His grin disappeared, replaced with a wild baring of teeth. "Although, I doubt he'll be the last of your worries from now on."
He laughed as his fingers tightened on her cheeks. Her fear-filled eyes flicked between her jaw and her assailant's smile, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Now now," he cooed as if soothing a babe. "Don't struggle. I'll make it quick." He squeezed painfully. "Time to collect what's due."
His hand snapped like a vice, shattering bone and tearing flesh. She opened her mouth to scream as he drove his palm upwards. A spray of blood shot forth, along with the tip of her tongue and a sharp howl. The tongue-tip landed in the assailant's hand as the woman rolled into a rocking ball, whimpering and clawing at her mangled face. The man ignored her, lightly caressing his trophy.
She began sobbing violently as he laid a hand on her shoulder. "You have lost the Game. You shall tell no one of this. You were assaulted, beaten, raped, and left for dead. You will not die, only be reviled by all of society for your broken visage. What once was beautiful now is horrific..." He sighed almost lovingly. "Ironic, isn't it? Ah, that's the fun of being the Gamemaster, I suppose."
***
The afternoon sun shone cheerily over Guy Power's private beach on the shore of Crete. Crabs skittered below a charcoal-fueled range, their claws tip-taping on the ancient redwood deck. The smell of bear-battered ribs wafted through the air, accompanied by soft peals of laughter. The bright sound came from a group of young, sun-kissed women. They giggled and glanced warmly at a tall, striking man. Lounging in a sunchair, he was the picture of health; vibrant features, muscle-bound body, and a sharp glint to his eye. Guy Powers; the millionaire, the playboy, the Grim Reaper himself.
The women were ignorant to that, of course. All they knew was that he was rich, young, attractive, and most importantly, rich. Their smoky looks were met with knowing smiles as he spoke "Alright, so an Irishman walks into a bar..." The women all attempted to resist rolling their eyes; not all succeeded. They had quickly learned that he fancied himself a comedian.
"I'm rolling thunder, poundin' rain, I'm comin' on like a hurricane, white light's flashin', across the sk-"
Scowling, Guy grabbed the ringing phone and flipped it open with an agitated "Powers here, and unless it's a matter of life and death," He inwardly chuckled at the irony of that statement "make it quick."
"Sir, you have a visitor." Geoffrey's drawling, Southern accent wiped the frown from Guy's face. It always did, for some reason.
"Tell him to wait." Guy snapped as the women began chattering amongst themselves. Women tended to do that when left alone, he had noticed. Dammit, Geoffrey knew better than to interrupt his master's shenanigans. "Entertain him for a few hours, I've got my hands..." He idly appreciated the women's backsides. "Got my hands full here." At least, he would soon enough.
"Sir... it says it will not wait."
Guy winked at one of the women before responding. "Whaddya mean, 'it'? Some kind of hermaphrodite?"
A loud crackle signaled Geoffrey's signature sigh. "Sir, it's a... machine, of some sort. It says that it's master has a proposition befitting one of your station." The butler paused a moment. "It says 'The City is waiting', Sir."
Guy froze. With a hurried "Shit...", he slipped away from the chatter and into the twisted maze of his home. The City was waiting, and he wasn't one to delay a chance for a game.
"Saddle up, Geoffrey. We're taking a trip."
"'We', Sir?" He sounded exasperated.
"Yeah, 'we'. What, do you expect Death to do his own laundry?"
Corkscrew Nick is a killer who has the mind of a deranged literary professor. He sees the world in symbols and deeper meanings, tends to quote Shakespeare and make other literary references at every opportunity, and doesn't take anything as seriously as he should.
and i am going to really enjoy reading more of Night's Hunts.
edit: the character i was trying didn't work. so i made a new one.
And lo, the Next did put His hand upon the Fang of the Serpent, and there was a Screaming, and a Wailing, and a Glow blood red, and He took the Fang and vanquished the Messenger. And the Watchers did send a second Message by a different Way, for it was late and they wanted to clock out.
Katherine carefully unscrewed the grating and gently (silently!) placed it on the roof. The sky was overcast, reflecting the light of the city, so he could see, but it was unlikely anyone looking toward him would have any night vision at all. The museum?s bright front display glittered below him, visible through a sky-light, belching its corona up to join the rest of the city?s light pollution. ?Wonders of the Occult!? the black banner proclaimed. Kat was only interested in the sword.
Not just any sword, either. The Snake?s Fang was ?a shard of shadow, glazed and smoky | with the word and the wisdom entrapped. | cool and clear but chromed void and sky, | never to sheathe save when life it has sapped.? That was what the Client had said anyway. Crazy old bugger. The High Magus Alejandr Milton-Kynes, Mr. MilK to you or me. The guy owned a profitable mall chain, spread all across the continent, but fancied himself a magician. And now he wanted this sword. Well, Kat would get it for him. He?d hand it over before going home. If he were caught with it, he would have very little chance. Without, he had at least a little plausible deniability.
Wouldn?t enjoy going back to that secret lair though. ?Oh, I?m sorry,? the cat-burglar added mentally, ?the Hall of Asmodaen?. The place was all red velvet, black candles, dripping sounds and skulls. The Client had described the sword there, and Kat had mentally translated into real words: a bit more than a metre long, made of glass (or something like it) with a sheath covered in engraving, owned by this Michael King fellow, and on tour in an exhibition (that just happened to be in town, luckily). And there was about a paragraph, collectively, that Kat had mentally reduced to one word: Black.
And the guy had warned him against touching it.
?don?t sweat it, mate. I always wear gloves.? He had told the man.
?yes? silk gloves would resist long enough? very well.? And that had been that.
But silk? C?mon, the stuff?s slippery as hell! No way silk gloves are useful for anything. Kat flexed fingers covered in molded rubber textile. Now these, these were Gloves. Present from his gramma. Proper professional rock-climbing things.
They worked like a charm on the inside of the ventilation shaft, that?s for sure.
Shimmying down the inside, hands and feet pressed flat against the galvanised iron, Kat paused to glance down. He should be nearing halfway, so there should be? yes. He wriggled around until he could lean back, supported by the friction between his back and the wall, braced by his feet opposite. He craned his neck to look down, to where the red beams showed dimly in the darkness. ?whoever designed the security here watches too many Bond films,? Kat thought as he removed a small device from his ankle pocket. It was three triangular mirrors, glued together at right angles, like the corner of a box. Any light going in would come out again in exactly the opposite direction, no matter the orientation of the thing. Nifty, eh? A little quick-dry adhesive and he was on his way again.
He had a bit more trouble with the other end (ventilation grilles are not designed to be remove from the inside) but eventually managed to remove it. Good thing he wouldn?t need to put it back, though.
He stood up, dusting himself off needlessly, and proceeded to walk through the well-lit room to a back corner of the exhibit. He didn?t worry about cameras: he?d paid off the only security guard on duty tonight.
And there it was.
The Snake?s fang sat perched on a black plastic stand, held in its sheath about a hand above the red velvet, wrapped partly in black cord. It appeared for all the world like a piece of art. Scores of lines crisscrossed it, engraving swirling in imitation of smoke or water. ?Or blood? Kat thought, glancing again at the red velvet. The material did look like coloured glass, but never was there glass that dark. It sat in its corner with the air of one who secretly owns not only the building they?re in, but also the surrounding block, the airspace above, and the lives of all within. It was? smug. Kat had no idea where that thought had come from, but it was unmistakeable. That sword knew something, and it wasn?t telling. ?Creepy,? he breathed.
He carefully undid the screws around the glass case, a job that required a specialist screwdriver, with a head in the shape of a star. He had one: he?d inspected the set-up under the guise of an amateur photographer earlier that week, and acquired the right kind of tool from a friend. Well, a business acquaintance, anyway.
He lifted the glass half-box up, and set it carefully down on the ground. Then he grabbed the sword and saw the little ouch sensor embedded in the stand. The alarms went off.
Amid the clanging claxons, ringing bells and flashing red lights, Kat cursed. Later he would say that the sword was creepy, and he?d been off guard, but the truth was it was a very good security set-up. The button wasn?t visible when the sword was in place, but the alarm went off as soon as it was moved.
Kat turned, tripped over the glass case and sprawled on the floor. He needed to get out. He scrambled to his feet and stopped to stare at the large metal cylinder that was turning around. He?d assumed it was an exhibit, but the protrusion that had extended from its front was clearly modern.
?Why, hello there.? It said as it pointed the taser at him.
There is a point in developing any skill after which you no longer have to think about what you?re doing. This is particularly evident in martial skills, where there is no time to think ? you just act, but Kat had experienced it before, while picking locks. It felt good. Exhilarating, to just have something work with very little effort. It still gave him a smile whenever he got through a door without forcing it.
He was mildly surprised when chopping up the droid felt like that. The sword tore through sheet metal and wire like cardboard. Still, that wasn?t as surprising as the fact that he knew how to use it at all. He even knew the names of the forms he was using. The words passed through his head as his hand guided the sword: Beheading the Cobra removed the taser?s front, Juggler?s Trick cut three neat gashes in the paneling, and Kingfisher Through Tall Grass pierced the center of the metal fiend. The recorded voice fizzed and died.
* * *
Far away, a tired man sat at a computer. ?Aw, man! He killed it before it finished the message. Now I gotta wait around annother hour till a new droid gets out there.? Behind him his colleage paced.
?come on, we?ve got to get going. You said you?d give me a ride. Just send him a text message, you?ve got his number right??
?yeah? hang on a tic.?
Satisfied with the shortcut, the pair left the room, turning off the lights behind them.
* * *
Moments later Kat was running down the hall, sword in his right hand, scabbard in his left. He turned a corner and glimpsed the front door before his attention was distracted by another taser pointed at him.
Kat slid to a halt, breathing heavily. ?the hell are you doing? I paid you a good 5k to sit at your screens and do nothing.? He said, for the benefit of the cameras. The fat security guard was sweating and panting, but his aim was steady. He wasn?t tall, but he towered over Kat, an effect helped in no small measure by his girth.
?Place the weapon on the ground and back away slowly,? the guard commanded. Corrupt he might be, but he knew how to do his job. And while sitting through an alarm would have been the end of his career, there was no audio track on the cameras. He gestured with the electric weapon, ?go on.? That movement was Kat?s opening, and he took it.
Spider?s Dance had him around the taser and his blade flying towards the man?s jugular. Kat?s eyes widened. That was a killing blow, but he was no murderer. He managed to hold back the strike, and only barely drew blood.
?no, you drop yours.? The guard did so, and Kat sent the plastic skittering across the marble floor. Backing away slowly, he sheathed the sword and picked up the taser, pointing it at the guard. ?run? the fat man lurched away.
Kat stood for a moment, looking at the sword in his hand. He knew every inch of it, knew the balance, knew it fit his hands. He could even remember the Forms, formal moves for attacking, blocking ? hundreds of them. Stances for moving, stances for holding ground, stances for all sorts of ground surface. He had no doubt he could use that sword as well as any man alive.
The thing was, he couldn?t remember ever learning the things he knew, ever even touching any other sword. No, better than that: he could remember being completely ignorant of everything to do with swordplay.
It was creepy, but he had other things to worry about. The grand glass doors out of the museum, for instance.
Kat briefly considered trying to break the glass, but the door was thick and he doubted even his death-hardened weapon would be able to get through in any reasonable time. He frowned as his hands worked the lock-picks. Death-hardened? Where had he heard that? And what did it mean? As if in answer, an image rose unbidden in his mind, and he almost puked at the carnage. Luckily, the lock clicked open and brought him back to the present.
Standing up, he pushed the door. It didn?t budge. Worried, he tried pulling ? that guard would have called the police by now. Nothing. Then he noticed the deadbolts at the top and bottom of the big door, and cursed quietly. The sirens and lights were getting to him. Yes, and the swordplay too.
Pulling the deadbolts out, he hurried into the night, tying the sword to his belt, above his left hip, to free his hands. He needed to get onto the rooftops, and back to his car.
* * *
Back at his apartment, he flopped onto his bed, hand on the hilt of the sword to keep it out of the way.
Some time later he was awoken by the beeping of his phone. He groggily pulled it out and opened it. Dialing his message box, he listened to the monotonous voice list date and time of call, before the real message started.
Why, hello there? Kat sat bolt upright as the voice continued, inviting a ?master thief? to Paradise City for? reasons that weren?t covered. It concluded with a comment that Michael King was ?quite looking forward to meeting the next wielder of the Fang.?
?Shit. Shit shit shit shit SHIT!? King was the guy who owned the sword, and he had Kat?s number, not hours after the theft? Of course! The droid must have had a camera. Simple matter for a powerful man like King to track him down. He needed to disappear.
Wait. The message wasn?t threatening, not even in the usual polite underworld crime boss way. It was genuinely cordial. And it did mention expenses paid.
* * *
That was how he found himself on the plane, having discovered a booking already made in his name. There was a sleeping man in the window seat, and an empty one between them, so he was comfortable. Special flight, too: they had let him board with his sword. He hadn?t even realised he was wearing it until he?d gone to sit down. Now it leant against the seat in front, a bold black punctuation mark on the blue fabric.
It was partway through the flight when Kat noticed something curious. The light of the setting sun was streaming through the window opposite, and Kat?s shadow was falling on the empty seat beside him. At least, he thought it was. There was something? wrong about it, and it took him a while to figure out.
His shadow wasn?t moving. He tried moving a hand, but his shadow remained still.
?what?re you sstaring at,? it said.
* * *
More to come.
Name: Katherine "Kat" Herald. yeah. He's given his parents a lot of grief about that over the years.
Description: His business card says "Aquirer of protected items". or would, if people did things that way on the wrong side of the law. Kat steals things people want. Usually hands whatever it is later the same night - the longer he has something, the more risk he runs he'll be caught with it. He is short and slight, the better for squeezing through small spaces, and wears his dark brown hair short. He is only really comfortable while on a job: that's just his comfort zone. He has trouble being lazy, and doesn't handle social situations well. When on a job, he wears a generic security-guard uniform, modified to restrict movement less, and to have more pockets. When not on a job, he wears cargo pants and a grey hoodie. has taken to wearing gloves, even while not on a job.
Ssthsylkussen is a daemon, bound into the sword called the snake's fang. Mostly, now, she interacts with the world through the shadow of the sword's owner (i.e. Kat). She can, if she wants to, become more corporeal, taking the form of a naga: like a mermaid with a giant snake instead of a fish, covered in black scales and spiderwebbed with scars. However this takes quite a bit out of her, so she won't do it often. Her voice is sibilant. Initially, she doesn't much like Kat, and will try to get him killed so she can have a more interesting (read: less cowardly) owner. Can?t do much, though: shadows are kinda not solid. She likes poetry.
Equipment:
The Snake's Fang is a curved, single-edged sword made of glass coloured dark, with writing somehow written inside it in blue. it is a bonded weapon, that is, when someone owns it, they can't get more than a few metres from it before they start to feel sick to the stomach. Like an invisible hook in their belly. It also contains knowledge of how to use it, so its owner is immediately an impressive swordsman. it is "death-hardened" (a gruesome ritual. you really don't want to know) so it won't break.
Kat also carries lockpicks, a small selection of screwdrivers and wrenches, and other tools of the trade.
Ssthsylkussen carries nothing. not even clothing.
Abilities:
Kat is quite accomplished at Breaking and Entering, with the less breaking the better. he can also climb very well, and has a good sense of direction.
Ssthsylkussen can make Kat's shadow move, as if cast by someone else. she can also move it to cover Kat, making him difficult to see in low light. but she won't. the guy's a coward! the only way he could possibly entertain her would be to die spectacularly.
Strengths: Kat's major strengths are stealth, agility, and swordplay. Weaknesses: the sword, in particular being removed from its immediate surroundings, and Ssthsylkussen, who really doesn't like him.
and thanks to Khedive Rex for letting me know this was on. Haven't been logged in very often.
Corkscrew Nick is a killer who has the mind of a deranged literary professor. He sees the world in symbols and deeper meanings, tends to quote Shakespeare and make other literary references at every opportunity, and doesn't take anything as seriously as he should.
Regarding your own character: The trickster guy you had before you changed it was pretty cool, but I think I like Kat better. More of a complicated character, I think.
I look forward to your entries, thou peons, and especially towards deciding your fates. [/jest]
As always, put your heart into it, do your best, be prompt, punctual, precise, and... pretty. Have fun, good luck.
Alright, I do believe it's time to get to it.
(I swear I didn't plan this).
A knock on the bar's door startled most of its occupants into motion, but Timmoth calmly walked over and opened it. Those at the right angle could see a security drone handing a small screen to the bartender, who accepted it graciously. The bar's owner placed the little device on the counter and flicked it on.
There was no video, though the occupants got the unnerving impression that they were the ones being watched. The audio pervaded the hazy room.
"Bonjour, hello, Ba-weep-gra-na-weep-ninny-bong, etc. Welcome, one and all. Now, I'm sure a lot of you are quite antsy, but you'll have to take turns. Setting this stuff up is a delicate process. Anyway, here's the first game. Would Masters Gabriel and Night make their way up to the screen? It's a little private. Thank you. Now, your challenge. There's really no use in overwhelming anyone early, so I've set up a simple game for you two. There's an armed robbery going on three blocks dead east. They've stolen exactly $100,000. Whichever one of you manages to either get the money and return to the bar or kill the other advances. The loser is set out in the city with a kill-on-sight order. Off you go!"
They obliged.
"Alright. Now, I need Kaynard and Corkscrew to get their asses over here. Your task is slightly different. You two get to play detective. There was a murder on the intersection of Fourth and Main. The killer is still there, surrounded by a crowd. Whichever one of you offs him first wins. Collateral damage is acceptable; you can kill all of them if you want. Just make sure you get the right guy. Now beat it."
--
Ten days, ladies and gentlemen. Let the games begin.
NOTE: This story is subject to change right up until the last available minute, judges and other readers are urged to either save viewing for that time or asked to re-read the story then to see the final product.
Ah, Logician, we seem destined by fate to ever clash when we are raw to the fight. Still though, rematches do hold a certain personal weight and I appreciate that it will only enrich both of our tales. Best of luck.
With the lack of actual character info on Gabriel, I am assuming his personality and usual role are the same as when we last saw him.
Chapter One: Man Versus Machine... Versus Wolf-Thing Part 1: Simple
Gabriel straightened his back as he walked out from the bar, feeling the setting sun warm the broad plates of metal that covered his frame and feeling the mechanisms of his spinal column stretch pleasantly. He had decided he was in no rush, and not many things other than himself could decide when and where he rushed. The fact that he was apparently facing an entrant nobody in the bar knew about was odd, but he had hardly been expecting to encounter the mundane in this contest. Well not much of the mundane, and certainly not 'stopping' a bank robbery to determine who got to stick around. But, he did have some experience with this kind of thing at least. Gabriel tuned into the police broadcasts, listening to the chatter concerning his objective and the understandably panicked voices as they discussed the criminals.
He turned his eyes skyward and sighed in both anticipation and apprehension. In a perfect world, he would be able to outpace 'Night' to the crime scene and be back at the bar before his opponent was halfway to the bank. However, Gabriel was more than aware of the world's imperfections, and he whispered a quick prayer to nobody in particular that this would go as planned.
Wings like a swarm of swords spread wide, and he charged the sky.
---------------------------------
Night sat atop the bank, breaking his stare at Gabriel to cast his curious eyes over everything around him. Below, men shouted and killed each other over scraps of paper, their souls whipping straight from this world into the next. Around, the city tried its best to ignore the madness at its heart. Above, however, the metal enigma soared towards the fighting with the light of righteousness in its eyes. It was not like the machine he had chased towards this place, its movements were as fast and precise to be sure, but they jerked with the cognitive indecision of the living before shifting. And more importantly, within its chest blazed a soul as bright as a sun. It fell into the firestorm fearlessly, for what in this world could harm a man of steel?
---------------------------------
It has been said that the Martial Arts died as a form of warfare when the first bullet slammed out from the first gun. And for the most part, time has proven this true. They have become a tool, another niche ammunition in the churning warmachine, no more are they the heart and soul of a fighting force. When lead first screamed through ribs and bone, it killed not only a man but the idea of a man as the weapon. Not even bows had managed to kill that, not with a thousand darkened skies.
There was silence for twenty seconds after Gabriel slammed into the ground, both sides of the shootout trying to adapt to this new threat. Being seven foot of Shock and Awe came with certain restrictions to your social life, but Gabriel found that times like these were almost worth it. It was the criminals that shot first.
When the first bullet ricocheted from his armor, it blew apart not only the foot of the shooter, but over a hundred years of cultural conditioning that said 'Gun beats enemy'. In desperation to defend the fading status quo, the other thieves each unloaded a few bullets into the towering arrival, having no effect past making the hulk shudder with impacts. Gabriel raised his hands into a relaxed guard, he wasn't in the business of killing, but a few broken ribs were probably deserved. One of his wrist-cannons flared, unleashing a stunning wave of light and heat into his assailants that blinded them enough for him to strike. He drove in with straight punches, flicking kicks and hammer-fists, all whipping strikes that shattered fingers and forearms and sent guns flying. Gabriel spotted the bags of cash near what appeared to be their leader, one quick pulse shou- bang
Behind him, the officers had decided that, whatever he was, they were going to shoot everyone and ask questions when there were no more giant metal monsters. Gabriel cried out in pain as one of the bullets hit the back of his knee and breached the vulnerable seals there. Mistaking his cry for a roar, one of the policeman sitting a squad car decided to improvise... and rammed him.
Gabriel's head collided with one of the stone pillars of the bank entrance. His body was wedged there by the bumper of the car, and his vision swam and flickered from the impact. Something was damaged, he could feel steam escaping a crack somewhere in his neck and it was filling his vision with clouds... or was that some other injury? He turned to look groggily at the ongoing gunfight, it appeared the ringleaders were getting away in a car, one of them catching a stray bullet in the ne- a shape of darkness raced along the bullets path, jaws that flashed with stars closed on the wound at the same time as the round struck ho-ck and he fell out of the door he was climbing in... to... what? Gabriel smacked himself in the head, was he damaged? What was that he saw? His questions were silenced as the criminal's car squealed out onto the street.
With a roar he lifted the car up far enough to free his wings from under himself, and with their power pushing him up he tossed the vehicle aside. He had no idea if his opponent had arrived yet, or who they might be, but the key to victory lay within that car as it sped off down the dirty streets. Gabriel fixed it in his sights and tried to take off, but his injured leg protested at his leaping start. Of all the luck, injured by the same people he was trying to help. It wasn't the first time.
"What the hell are you!?" One of the policeman gibbered.
"I wish I knew" Gabriel answered truthfully, before taking off rather more gently than before.
It took only moments for him to catch up to the targets. Below him, the car wound its way between traffic- followed by a shape that was blacker than its monochrome world, its legs a blur in attempt to keep pace with... Gabriel? -narrowly slipping between a semitrailer and a biker. It was the same shape from before, but this time its glowing eyes were fixed on the flying creature rather then the thieves. Gabriel swerved to avoid a light post, and slapped his own forehead in an attempt to see th- it ran through cars, as if they were mist, but it weaved and jumped to avoid the people within them, its eyes never leaving the angel above -e creature once again.
Gabriel smiled grimly. Now this was more to his expectations. His head was ringing like a gong, but somehow the injury was showing him what his eyes normally couldn't. Now, if he could just secure this cash before he blacked out, that would really make his day. He flexed his wings and drew level above the speeding car. "Stop" he commanded loudly "I'd prefer not to have to cut the car in half, but I'm sore and if that speeds things up then I might just get impatient"
"Shut up, asshole!" called one of the thieves, extending his middle finger and the barrel of a weapon through the sunroof. Bursts of such low-caliber gunfire didn't usually bother Gabriel, but the muzzle flash was not helping his increasingly painful headache. He frowned angrily and descended onto the rear of the car, driving the rear axle into the road for a second. Nobody, he mulled internally, ever makes this easy. He leaned forward and spread his glittering wings. Gabriel ducked his head as his wings cut overhead like giant blades, removing the roof of the car, the barrel of the vulgar fellow's gun and his vulgar finger.
"Any last, free words?" Gabriel said, taking off once again to stare down from above.
"Yeah" The leader said, from the back seat "Where the fuck do you think you are, tin man?". He reached down and came up with something in each hand; PRPG's, smaller versions of the infamous anti-vehicle weapon and far, far beyond the arsenal of the average crook. Gabriel's eyes opened wide in shock as the man hefted both weapons onto his soulders. The felon grinned as he lifted the sights to his eyes "Welcome to Paradise city, scrapheap, you aren't the freakiest son of a ***** we've had to blow away"
Gabriel had time to swerve aside from the first rocket, but the second took him in the chest and all went black.
Gabriel awoke, something he had never expected to do again as he stared down the lethal rocket.
The rocket! He whipped a hand up to his chest, and was horrified to find that he had neither. He might have cried out in shock, but there was no mouth to scream with. In fact, he had no ears to hear with, or eyes to see with, or a brain to think with. Gabriel panicked, but before the madness that befalls some souls could claim him, his mind went dark again and his will found an outlet for the confusion.
In the rolling mists of the nothing, a gear coalesced into being. Beside it, a tiny rod slotted into place and was joined by a hinging joint and several tiny pins. More gears rolled into existance, and a spark jumped from the aether to set the tiny contraption to work. It jerked upwards, spooling the rest Gabriel's soul piece by tiny piece into more components that in turn grabbed and linked with one another to form another ethereal link in the chain. In what might have been an eternity or an instant, there was a tiny ball of mechanics resting in the void.
And then, with a grinding hiss, the tiny metal ball grew, shuddered and split into two tiny metal spheres. And then four. And then eight, and so on and so forth until the floating essence of all that Gabriel had been was sucked into the expanding mass. Eyes unfolded, and the blinking cables of a spine uncoiled and spread into the shape of a man. Around them the metal flesh expanded, steel rods extended and pistons swelled out of the mass. Bit by bolt, Gabriel found his shape in the Spirit world. He thought, and so he was.
Night tilted his head and watched. Every soul came to find its shape differently, but none had ever done so in the manner of this metal creature. It was slower than most, but then again no soul had ever achieved such a complexity. Most were simply empty shells, reflecting only what a living thing knew of itself by its senses, but this mechanism blossomed in every detail. It's spiraling blueprints would settle for no less, it seemed.
Gabriel jerked to unlife, and with the question of 'What am I?' sated, he thought instead 'Where am I?'. Around him the nothing shifted to answer, and by the time Gabriel could open his eyes an electric empire was ready to greet him.
Night had time to yelp in confusion before he was yanked away to his place in the machine.
---------------------------------
Gabriel stared up at the towering cliffs, their grey surface dominated both sides of his vision and beyond shone the dull glow of the late evening sky. That, he thought, hurt. It didn't now though, which was more troubling than the thought of being lost in some foreign canyon. Perhaps he had lost, and this was where they dumped the losers of that blasted contest. He had to admit, there weren't many places less congratulatory than this. With any luck he could still get on his feet.
He lifted the leg that had been injured before, testing it for any pain, but he felt the joint moving more smoothly than it ever had. He let it drop, instead reaching for his chest where, huh? Around him a golden ripple was spreading up the canyon walls. He lifted his foot up and down again, and where it touched the ground golden lines radiated outwards almost faster than he could follow. He tapped his hands and feet, watching the pulses spread out around him with curiosity.
His first impressions had been wrong. These ripples weren't made of golden lines, they were just highlighting an intricate pattern carved over the entire canyon. He watched them flood out around him as he clambered to his feet, they looked almost like... no. Gabriel glanced around him and took off down the length of the gorge, scanning the patterns on every surface. As he watched they began to glow of their own accord, and Gabriel soared upwards to view the surface of this place.
What greeted Gabriel as he exited the depression was enough to render him speechless.
Around him, from horizon to horizon, was a world of grey covered in the racing golden lines of a circuit board. Data ran up and down the sides of fractal trees, rivers flickered with shoals of electrons and beneath the setting sun he could see the logic routines of a distant city laid out before him. The world glowed and sang in the dim light of dusk. He looked down at his own hands, but despite their metallic nature they lacked the beautiful golden tracery of the world around him.
But for all the beauty, Gabriel realized that this meant the contest was far from over. He couldn't see the Wolf that had haunted him, but if a head wound had let him see the beast then a rocket to the chest sounded like as good a reason as any for him to be here.
"Why did you bring me here?" He muttered rhetorically, but in return he was struck with feelings of wrongness and misunderstanding. Followed, came the thought, and it slipped into Gabriel's mind as if it had been his all along. He swore under his breath, this unexpected answer had confirmed all of his worst suspicions. "So what now?" He asked as he turned towards the distant city lights "What are you?"
The answer took several seconds to arrive, but Gabriel felt it coming. In front of him, the setting sun was barely a sliver above the horizon, and as it disappeared beneath the world the answer seemed to rush out of the approaching darkness: Night.
Something growled at Gabriel out of the darkness, a bass rumbling so deep it wasn't heard so much as felt. He spun midair, trying to catch sight of Night, but he was too far from both the golden network below or the glittering stars above to see anything in the blackness. He dropped towards the ground as fast as he could, unleashing blasts from his wrist-cannons wildly to fend off the invisible threat. He could feel it, something other than the wolf, it was like the sky itself wanted to crush the life from him for daring to touch it.
He raced towards the gleaming nexus of the city below, and the sanctuary its bright streets offered. Gabriel was focused on speed, but even he could not stop the feelings of wonder from displacing his fear. Every building around him was an expression of circuitry, each street a highway of binary pulses and singing energy. What did it say, that it followed him here? Gabriel had long sought answers about his past, where he had come from. Was this it? Had his death at the hands of some thug sent him to the place of his creation? If so, where were the others like him? It was a mechanical world as much as he was life made machine, and the technology that surrounded him reflected his own. Steam poured from vents as he passed, and through windows he could see the thick cables that even now ran through his body.
But it seemed so... empty. Almost empty. Ahead of him, in the main square of this metropolis, he could make out the dark and swirling shape of Night. That accursed creature, Gabriel was willing to bet it had all the answers inside its stupid little brain. He dropped from the sky as fast as he could, hoping to scare the blasted thing with his landing. With a roar he slammed into the ground, shattering the surface and causing the yellow light to dim for several meters around him.
Night stared at the new arrival, before pointing his muzzle upwards with a confused expression. He looked back and forth between the sky and Gabriel before tilting his head again. Bird?
"I don't know what I am" Gabriel spat, aiming both of his devastating weapons towards the Dream Wolf "But if you could help me with that, I'll just walk away and let you win". Night growled at the weapons, ignoring everything but the implicit threat. "Don't move" Gabriel said as it prepared to attack "Please, just tell me why I came here, I need to know"
Night ignored him and circled the metal monster, looking for a weak point in its seemingly impenetrable aegis. Droid? he wondered loudly.
"Don't you know? How else did you know where to follow me?" Gabriel asked desperately "Please, tell me I'm more than a robot".
Night saw his hesitation and struck, leaping forward with jaws held wide. With a crash he barreled into the chest of his prey, but his teeth and jaws were unable to crush through the faceplate of this monster. Gabriel roared in pain as the plates of his skull began to buckle. He reached up a massive hand and tore the Wolf off of himself, and before he could stop himself he had crushed the animal in his rage.
The metal man cursed, he hadn't meant to kill the thing, but here were all the answers and all they wanted to do was rip him apart. As he watched, the ethereal body of the animal dissipated and slid into the shattered earth. If this was part of the contest, had he won? Shouldn't he be back at the bar, being offered bittersweet congratulations for having killed his one hope for revelation? With a tortured scream Gabriel blasted at the ground beneath himself, trying to pour his rage into whatever might be left of the creature.
He had to try and find answers before somebody came for him, and he had no doubt that King had some way to track him down. Perhaps there was a record left behind, or a marker meant for anyone who found their way here. Perhaps he could leave his own message so that if another arrived the- huh, what?
From out of the crater he had made, from where he had crushed the enemy, jagged red lines grew outward in mockery of the golden chorus that surrounded them. They shuddered and flickered, dancing in a spiky sound wave that mirrored the throbbing growl that they released. Like bloody thorns they crept out towards Gabriel, and where they touched the elegant golden pattern they snarled and corrupted like some horrific canine virus.
"No!" Gabriel screamed, as the red infection spread "Leave it alone!". He lashed out with vicious blasts from his weaponry, blowing the crimson stain apart wherever he saw it, but fragments of blighted rock were tossed in every direction and where they landed the pestilence spread anew. The red lines blurred and shook as a furious howl rang through the city. "More than a robot" said the virus, playing his words back to him in a mockingly high tone.
"Don't do this to me!" Gabriel roared "Don't destroy this, you spiteful little creature!"
Night crawled out of a distant sewer drain in pieces, the wispy matter of his being stitching together slowly. He had been taken apart before, but never so one-sidedly or painfully. He could hear the... thing... screaming in the distance, something directed at him, him and the strange red squiggles that were crawling towards Night even now. This was new, and even more curious than the monster.
Gabriel spread his wings and took off, but in terror he realized that the virus was creeping across and inside their metal surface. He must have been struck by a stray piece of shrapnel during his rage, and it was slowly encroaching on his body every second. He dived low and scraped the wing against the ground in an attempt to grind it off, but as the surface of his metal feathers was eroded it only revealed the corruption within.
He banked left, firing the steel plumage from his wings in a wild attempt to rid himself of the curse. It clung to him doggedly, ignorant of his defiance, and wherever his projectiles landed they seeded even more of the infection. Screaming in anger and desperation, Gabriel attempted to rid himself of the wing entirely by ramming it into a building. In an instant of agony and salvation, it was ripped clean from his shoulder.
He fell from the sky in a twisted heap, and once again thought nothing.
---------------------------------
Gabriel opened his eyes, and above him the city raged. Golden streaks were fighting back against the attack, and orange light flashed overhead as the city blazed for survival. Gabriel looked to his own left hand, where red lines were spidering their way up his arm. His right arm was shattered from the fall, all that remained were the thin steel fingers that made up the frame, and across this oddly human hand marched ranks of golden light. He flexed his right arm, and across the city the golden light blazed brighter for a moment. He flexed his left, the one made of heavy steel and steam, and the red blazed everywhere he looked. When he remained still, the city tore itself apart.
As he lay on the ground, torn apart, realization dawned. "It's me" he said slowly "It's all me. You didn't make this... you followed me... I... made this. Am I dreaming?"
Night padded into view, taking time to sniff at the broken monster before sitting down beside it.
"You, I saw you when I passed out for a second. And then again when I had a concussion. This place, this world, this is a dreaming place yes?" Gabriel said breathlessly "But not while I was awake, I couldn't see you then. I made this, I made this world like this, this is my dream". He propped himself up on his elbows, dragging his unresponsive legs underneath him so he could sit.
Night watched his babbling impassively. He found it hard to understand words at the best of times, delirium and blows to the head of the speaker did not make for improved communications.
"And I broke it." Gabriel continued "Not you, me. I smashed it apart in anger, and now the entire place is fractured. Something... something in me is taking this place apart... and if this place is me, then I guess that explains these jazzy hands, huh". Night was flickering in and out of focus, as was everything else. Blackness was crawling into the edges of his vision like yet another corruption, but Gabriel knew that this one was nothing unnatural.
"I guess" He said painfully, and before he could continue he had to take more than one ragged breath "I guess there's something, something in me that doesn't agree with all circuits and gears. That chaos, that madness that wars... with the machine. It reminds me of the panic in those police, and the anger in that criminal... and the rage you made me... feel..."
Artificial eyelids fluttered closed, just as that last idea came round for a final pass.
Gabriel's eyes shot open and darted back and forth between his two glowing hands, and an idea lanced through his mind like a spear of ice. "There's something very human about anger, Wolf"
He dragged his hands together, and red rage met gold logic in a world-consuming blaze of amber light.
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Part 3: The Bit After That Bit
Gabriel stood, staring at the Horizon where dawn approached the edge of everything. Daylight was approaching, after a night of revelation. The angel smiled as the orange lines curved softly across his dreamworld and his body, a sign of peace between the twin sides of his nature, and the confirmation of a Soul. He felt the actuators in his body whir and he raised his hand to stare at it. He had abandoned his broken, heavy armor, and stood in his barest form beneath the open sky. With his wires and pistons laid bare, he looked very much to Night like a human without its skin. An improvement, in his eyes.
"Human" He said, rolling the idea through his mind and finding it pleasing "A Soul, a source of chaos in a construct of logic. I guess I have you to thank for this, don't I"
Night sat about three meters to the left of the Metal Man, watching the suns glow creep closer. If he heard Gabriel, he didn't show any sign.
"More importantly, did you come here just to show me this? Or was I just lucky enough to hit my head at the right time? Actually, am I dead? I got shot in the chest with a rocket, will that be fixed because of all this?". Gabriel mused on it all, while looking up at the fading stars. "I suppose you found out what I was, at any rate, that's what was bothering you wasn't it? Thank the lord for your curiosity, at any rate."
Night admitted that the nature of the metal man had been giving him trouble ever since he had spotted him in the bar, but a machine with a soul wasn't terribly hard to accept. A fusion of man and metal, with oil for blood and circuits for brains was no less valid than humans with their hearts for engines and muscles for pistons. Still, mystery solved in the end.
"So where do we go from here?" Gabriel asked "Even knowing this, I still have no idea where I came fro-
Night took him at the throat in full-leap, the Machine-Man's exposed nerve column snapping under the impact like a biscuit bridge in a hurricane.
Now that I finally know where to bite you? Night thought Now. now I go home.
End
For some reason, I find it terribly amusing to play This at the very end.
Anyway, the story stands for itself, I'll come back for a proofread tomorrow and it might change slightly before the 10 days are up, but I figured its better for the readers to have *something* to look at while they wait. Consider it like one of those restaurants where you can watch your food be cooked in front of you, all the more magical for seeing it come together. There's a lot of pacing work to be done and some odd turns of phrase I need to fix, but that wait until tomorrow.
Explanations in the commentary; I hope the wait was worth it.
Gabriel landed on the ground just as another machine rolled into the building. He walked quickly past the doors hearing an automated voice behind him; he had no use and no love for petty introductions; the measure of a man could not be summed up in one glance.
Gabriel scanned the room before him; an odd assortment of characters, most at least appeared human, a bar to the side, and-
"Bonjour, hello, Ba-weep-gra-na-weep-ninny-bong, etc." The machine that had come in before Gabriel had gotten on a podium in the center of the room. The machine was holding a display box?screen?thing, on which was a man in a black suit, addressing everyone. "Welcome, one and all. Now, I'm sure a lot of you are quite antsy, but you'll have to take turns. Setting this stuff up is a delicate process. Anyway, here's the first game. Would Masters Gabriel an-"
How the hell did he know I was here? I didn't even know I was here, how did-
"-y up to the screen? It's a little private."
Gabriel looked at the odd assortment of characters before him. He shrugged and walked up to the screen. Along with him walked a...beast. A four legged beast, long, powerful, feline and canine, made of smoke and lust and nightmares. Gabriel wasn't entirely certain what that meant, but he didn't like it.
"Thank you. Now, your challenge. There's really no use in overwhelming anyone early, so I've set up a simple game for you two. There's an armed robbery going on three blocks dead east. They've stolen exactly $100,000. Whichever one of you manages to either get the money and return to the bar or kill the other advances. The loser is set out in the city with a kill-on-sight order. Off you go!"
Gabriel looked over to Night. In a conventional fight he could be beaten, Gabriel was certain of that, but something like this...whatever it was, it was made to hunt. Gabriel wasn't. He hated to admit it, but despite his strength, speed, skill, and everything he was capable of, he may not have the advantage.
Night howled, and gave chase. Gabriel steamed as he flew off into the sky.
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Gabriel didn't fly high because he liked the view, he flew high because it was cooler at higher altitudes. Gabriel experienced a heatstroke once; he was unconscious for three days and couldn't move for almost a month. Terrance told him it was because what was under his armored skin was much more sensitive than one would think; it was like sponge, almost. And that wasn't to speak of what was under that; some sort of gold alloy filled with mercury that acted as both an endoskeleton and a nervous system. The sponge-material had been...was burned the right word? Better than none perhaps. In any case, he didn't care to go through it again.
So he took precautions. He "steamed" much more, now that he knew he was supposed to, and that it wouldn't really have any adverse affect on him; he worked hard not to over-exert himself; and he didn't go out if it was too hot.
Gabriel was lucky in that respect; it was forty degrees tonight, perfect weather for him. He knew where he was going, what he needed to do, how he was going to do it.
On the other hand...
Gabriel heard the blare of police sirens, and rose higher. He didn't want them to see him, not right now. They would only have questions, and that would just waste time, time he didn't think he had. At worst, well...he specifically remembered the words, "Shoot to kill." His primary concern right now was for the robber; if this 'Night' were to get to him before Gabriel, well, there would be death.
Gabriel, seeing the bank, dropped fast, slowing his descent at the last possible moment. He landed softly on the brick of the building, scanning the area around it. Whoever he was, the robber had gotten away; the police seemed to be at a loss to which way he went, and were spreading out every direction.
Gabriel looked around again, as far as he could. He supposed that the robber would likely have fled south, away from the businesses and towards the crowded apartment buildings that seemed to be there. It was the most logical route, certainly, but something about the situation bothered Gabriel.
The robber should not have had time to come in, take the money, and run. Not a hundred grand. Not as fast as he did.
The cops should not have such a hard time finding him. It shouldn't have taken them very long to get here.
Something here reeked, and-
If this...this King character had as much money, it was a distinct possibility that he ran several banks, maybe a whole chain.
And Gabriel had been in a competition like this before; it may be that this was a fight, and this robber was to act as judge...or something or another.
If the teller had given the robber the money, immediately, by orders of Mr. King, and misled/distracted the police, perhaps waited to trigger the silent alarm-
If that was the case, there was the distinct possibility he was headed back the way Gabriel had just came.
But...Gabriel just wasn't sure. Logic was...well, logic. But his gut told him something different. In the end, Gabriel decided he would leave it to fate.
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Light streamed in through the stained glass windows; it was early in the morning, eight or nine at best. Gabriel against a wall, looking excessively sober, as usual. Sam walked over to the pew next to his wall-seat-thing and sat down, taking out a piece of gum.
Sam liked to think he knew Gabriel pretty well; he knew that Gabriel didn?t talk because he was stoic, but because he knew his voice was as frightening as his appearance and (more importantly) he wasn?t good at it (he tended to repeat words or phrases; not even Terrance could figure that out). He knew that Gabriel couldn?t sit on anything because he weighed close to a ton and would probably break most seats by looking at them too hard; he settled for leaning on stuff most of the time. He knew that Gabriel wasn?t the iron-plated monster people made him out to be; he was very shy, very insecure, and resented that he was never going to meet another one of his kind. Sam knew that Gabriel was also really smart, heroic, and genuinely believed in doing something worthwhile, even if he wasn?t sure what that ?something? was most of the time.
So Sam could tell that Gabriel?s pose wasn?t just ?chillin?, but brooding; there was something on his mind, and he needed to get it off his chest?plate?thingy?.ness. Being an unassuming adolecent, Sam broke the ice.
"What's wrong?"
Gabriel responded immediately; Sam always appreciated that Gabriel treated him as a peer rather than just another kid. "I...am conflicted."
"What about?"
"Events that have already been set into motion. I am uncertain-"
"OK, you know I can't understand all that gobbledygook. Just tell me straight up what's happening."
Gabriel paused for a moment. "A man intends to kill another man; I am unsure as to how he intends to do it."
Sam got up and leaned against the wall, next to Gabriel. "The cops can't do anything about it?"
"This man is a cop. Unfortunately."
"Why would a cop-"
"He is...crooked. The man he intends to kill is a witness in an internal investigations trial; he is not only a witness against the mob, but against the police themselves. It is...complicated."
"OK, sounds like the general messed up stuff you usually get yourself into, what's the problem?"
"I am certain that this man is going to snipe the man in question; it is...logical, and it is set up in-"
"What's the other way?"
"...Ramming. With a car, another armored van, something of the sort. Maybe shooting him afterwards."
"That doesn't make sense. Why do that if-"
"The sniping is...too obvious. Too cliché. Too...easy too expect. He could set up someone to attack the van just as easily, perhaps more so, and without any evidence to lead back to him. I know it seems irrational, but if done correctly, it would be rather effective."
"Ha! 'Brash'. Why don't you just nuke the guy?"
"A man with great power must have greater control over it. I go to great pains not to abuse mine."
"Heh, suit yourself. Why don't you just wait for him to make his move?"
"I may be swift, but not as swift as a bullet."
"Oh. Forgot about that. So what are you going to do?"
"I am uncertain."
"Oh. Forgot about that, too." Sam pushed himself off the pew and rubbed his hair. ?Tell ya what; let's flip a coin. It's what my dad does when he can't decide something."
"You would leave a man's life to the whims of fate."
"Sure, why not? It's not as crazy as it sounds, trust me."
"I am hesitant."
Sam sighed and shook his head. "Listen, Dad says that things tend to happen the way they need to, right? Terrance would agree, only he would make it about God intervening when he needs to, or something like that. You believe in God, don't you?"
"I am hesitant."
Sam scoffed. "Look, if nothing else, It's better than sitting around doing nothing."
Gabriel bowed his head. Steam shot out from the cords on his head; Sam always thought it looked like giant dreadlocks. "Very well." Gabriel said. "What do we do?"
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A long time ago, Terrance had given Gabriel a small brown bag. Gabriel still had it, tied to the armor on his hip. He held a few trinkets in it...a small glass ball, a talisman with a strange symbol on it, and a small silver disk; a quarter, the same one he had used to make that same decision two years ago. It had been the right choice; someone had been hired to run into the van; It had nearly killed him, but he stopped it, and earned, beyond any shadow of a doubt, the trust of his city. He supposed Sam had been right; sometimes things just happen the way they're supposed to.
Gabriel loosened the drawstrings on the pouch, took out the quarter. He had never believed in fate before that; just in doing the right thing. He still believed in doing the right thing afterwards, but now he had something more than just a reason. It may have been what they were supposed to do.
Gabriel held the coin in his hand. It had helped him once. More than once, actually. Using it now seemed to make perfect sense.
"Heads, logic." he said softly. "Tails, intuition."
Gabriel tossed the coin into the air. ____________________________________________________________________________
Tom was scared. That was too easy; it was like they knew he would be there, like he was being set up. Was he being set up? It all seemed to convenient, from the lax security to the money being available right fucking there. He didn't like it. He still had the money, but he-
There was a vibration on Tom's hip. His phone. It was only silent for-
Tom took his phone, flipped it open. "You lousy ************! You set me up, didn't you?"
The man on the other line laughed. "Now, now, Thomas, we both know that there are consequences to your actions. You chose to rob a bank, and now you're facing the repercussions."
"Bullshit! You-"
"I just thought I'd tell you, Thomas; you're being hunted. Hunted by two beings, actually; a gigantic man of metal, and an ethereal being made of nightmares."
"I'm gonna fucking kill-"
"Not if they kill you first. But...if you can get to the place where we made our...arrangement...then you'll be off the hook."
"...What's the catch."
"Catch? There are two exceedingly powerful beings trying to kill you. I don't need a catch."
"...fine. I'll be there."
"Good. Oh; and don't bring a gun. The people here are...shaky."
Tom snarled and hung up. There wasn't a chance in hell he'd be able to get there before these...whatever they were...got to him. But trying was better than doing nothing.
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The prey was afraid; he was wise then. It was not often that It was outmatched, outfought, outran. It would not happen today.
He seemed to be speaking to himself. A side effect of the fear, perhaps. Such things were not uncommon. A mad foe was more evasive, more unpredictable, than most, but was still no match for It.
The prey turned, his back facing It. It pounced.
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A bright blue light shot from the sky, carving a path in the ground. Tom screamed; that had barely missed him, what the hell-
And then he saw it. Something like a wolf, or a panther, something with teeth that were made of diamond, and breath that was made of death. Something that reminded him of his Uncle Ted, an insane man who had nearly beaten Tom to death as a child. Something that was meant to kill.
He screamed in terror.
Gabriel came down, cannon pointed at Night, hovering slightly above the ground. Night jumped at Gabriel, roaring. Gabriel blasted him with him in midair, with red energy this time. The blast propelled it upwards, slamming it into a building across the alley. "There's a bar about halfway across town, The Gurney Wheel, on the corner of Fourth-"
"What are-How do you know about-"
"I thought as much. Go there, tell them I sent you; I'll hold this one off."
Tom nodded, and ran away. Gabriel turned to Night; it was back on its feet, and running.
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The way Tom figured, if someone had seen fit to save his life, it might actually be worth a damn. Tom didn't know why someone would think that, but they did. It didn't hurt any that he'd had a change of heart; he realized he didn't want to die anymore. In fact, he had realized just how stupid that idea was.
So he ran. He ignored the pain in his legs and lungs, and the fear in his stomach. That there could be a new life ahead of him was enough.
____________________________________________________________________________
Gabriel turned his wings to his front; Night slammed into them full bore, sending Gabriel skidding across the wet asphalt. Night landed on its feet running, while Gabriel slammed into a dumpster, flattening it. Night pounced again, intent for its jaws to close around Gabriel's throat.
Gabriel threw up his arm just as Night's jaws were clamping down. He hit Night's neck hard, throwing it off and quickly getting to his feet as night pounced again Gabriel blasted it with green energy, sending it sprawling.
The two faced each other for a moment, taking each other?s measure.
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It was elated. Standing here was a magnificent prey, a powerful prey, poised and ready for battle. It could not remember the last time anything had stood against it, let alone anything that could fight. The prey was fearless, as well; he had stepped in with out hesitation or regard for his own safety. It could feel the long-dormant strength flowing through almost forgotten crevices. It's whole body was poised for battle.
The night was still young. It was going to enjoy this.
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A beam of bright blue light shot out into the night sky; it pierced through the darkness, through the apathy of the corrupted city, through the clouds and into the heavens themselves.
Tom wasn't even phased. He knew that it was his guardian, because he remembered that light. The only contemplation Tom had was to wonder what he was fighting; it must be powerful, too.
The bar was just across the street; Tom ran across it and stumbled through the doors. "I'm here! I'm-"
The bartender caught him as he fell in. ?Heya, fella? What?re you doin? here??
?Made it ba-? Tom muttered weakly. ?Made it back??
The bartender guided him to a stool. ?Here, sit down, I?ll make ya something? to drink.?
Thomas was taking in air in great gulps. He had made it. He had fucking made it. The bartender gave Tom a drink; He gulped it down as fast as it would go, threw it up, and asked for another. Slowly, his wits began to come back to him; he wasn't going to keep the money, he already knew that much, but he could start over from scratch, maybe move to 'nammy or Shore City.
Just then, something slammed into the bar. An armored being the color of rage-
Tom would have leapt out of his seat he hadn?t fallen over it. Several of the other patrons got up, their curiosity piqued; the robot with the display screen, in particular, seemed to almost jump.
Gabriel stumbled into the bar, tripping over his own feet, slamming into the ground. Tom scrambled over to him without getting up. He asked ?Are you hurt, man??
Gabriel rolled over on his back. ?No. Just weak. Last attack took a lot out of me.?
Tom managed to move into a crouching position, and was trying to heave Gabriel up. ?Someone-uhhhh-someone-?
"With all respect, Master Thomas, our Master Gabriel weighs well over a thousand pounds; while I do not doubt your masculinity, he is beyond your capability to, shall we say lift?? The machine rolled over to Gabriel. ?Master Gabriel; judging by Master Thomas?s reaction to you, I feel it safe to assume you have won this little game. However, it seems we have a much more important matter on our hands?your friend, Master Night."
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Had It...had It been hurt? It could not remember the last time It had been hurt before... it had happened, obviously, but long, long ago, when It was still weak from having just become. What was this prey?
The last form It had taken had been of little use against this being. It decided to take a new form, that of a much...greater...hunter...
A nagging at the back of his mind; there were rules to follow, apparently. It held no rule but It's own. This man made of metal; that was too great a prize to be passed up. He would be hunted, and he would fall, just as hundreds of billions before him did.
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"Master Night is no ordinary hunter; he is a being that has existed since the beginning of time, something that exists beyond the imagination of man; something of a Lovecraftian horror, if you will."
?Things like that exist?" Gabriel asked. He was actually sitting on a stool; they seemed to be strong enough to support his weight. The machine/drone stood before him, telling him straight-faced, without a break in speech or manner, that they?d hired an Lovecraftian Horror to participate in this fucked up little game of Mr. King?s.
"It would appear so.? the machine replied. ?It seems to have taken quite a shine to you, Master Gabriel. It does not take loss very well, and It wants It?s vengeance."
Gabriel drummed his fingers over the bar, thinking. ?How do you know this??
?We have our ways, Master Gabriel.? the machine chimed back. ?Rest assured I personally will not allow Night to participate any further, even if It were interested; we were not fully aware of It?s nature when It chose to participate.?
Gabriel rose. "Don?t worry; I?ll take care of it."
"You cannot.? The machine replied, it?s head turning. ?Nothing that exists in our mortal plane can even fully comprehend something like-"
"I still say no."
"With all due respect, you cannot say no. It would mean the death of mankind."
Gabriel turned around and walked out the door. "We'll see." He said as his feet left the ground. "We'll see."
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It was hunting now, truly hunting, like it had not in many, many thousands of years. The last time It had felt like this was while hunting one of It's own.
It was catching up now. The prey was close; it could smell him, it could taste him, it could feel him. It was closing, fast. And It was hungry.
____________________________________________________________________________
Night had taken the form of a werewolf-like being Gabriel had encountered on?another world. The form was more lupine than feline now, covered in armor, and much more...human. Gabriel supposed it made sense. They had been strong, proud warriors, capable of unbelievable feats of strength-
But Night completely misunderstood what made them such efficient hunters; they could think. They understood that they could make choices as opposed to running solely on instinct. An animal did not understand mercy, surrender, honor. They only understood fear, fight, kill, maybe love.
This Night, this...thing was ready for a fight, right in the middle of the street. Gabriel was happy to oblige.
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The form It took was that of a powerful beast It had encountered many hundreds of years ago; it had given It the greatest chase of It's life. Eventually, the prey had escaped; one of the few who ever had. It had been one of the fastest, strongest beings that It had ever seen. It was certain that this form would be more than a match for this prey. This form was a match for anything.
The Prey had come. With a mighty roar, It charged.
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The clash of metal on metal was horrifying, but it meant Gabriel was holding his own. This was no small thing
Sparks flew through the air; Gabriel?s blue or bright white, and Night?s black as?well, you know.
Men of the law and ordinary civilians stood in awe, or fear; the kill-on-sight order had been called off. It would have taken an army to stop just one of them, in any case, which left the sticky problem of what to do with the other one, so they just stood in awe.
As it was, there were a few people in Paradise city that had lived in Shore City. Most of them knew of Gabriel only by reputation, and a few thought of him as an urban legend, but there were one or two that had encountered him in person. After a time, two of these people met in the crowd, and started cheering. It didn?t take long for other people to join in; people tend to follow those who seem to be leading. After only a few minutes, the cheering had swollen into a roar. It didn?t matter that only half of them knew why they were cheering, or even who they were cheering for, but it gave them hope.
Gabriel and Night, of course, were oblivious to the roar of the crowd; they were wrapped in their battle, trading blow after blow, both confident that the next would be the last. As it was, Gabriel was the one in the right; with a final, mighty blow backed with a blast from his energy cannon, Night lost Its head, and it?s body was wholly disintegrated before it touched the ground.
____________________________________________________________________________
It had been bested? Again? This prey was unlike anything it had ever encountered; he was much more powerful than most beings, he would not back down, and he would not die. It found the last bit simply infuriating; his battle-frenzy had gone from joyful love of the fight to simple, bitter bloodlust. It wanted this to end.
So it was no small matter when the prey separated the head of the form It had taken from the shoulders of the form It had taken, forcing it to retreat again.
This time, though?this time It would show this prey It?s true form. No more games, no more beating around the bush, just the beast and It?s prey. The Prey would fall. They all fell, in the end.
____________________________________________________________________________
Gabriel had been unaware of the chanting until several seconds after he defeated Night. He almost kicked himself; it had swolen into something resembling an explosion that wouldn?t stop. Steam shot out of the wires on his head; he felt pride swelling up in his chest, a warmth that would have made him weep if he was human. This feeling validated his existence, gave him another reason to do good.
Gabriel rose into the sky. Steam shot out of the wires on his head. This was a good feeling, this-
An unearthly scream tore through the sky; Plants withered, glass shattered, buildings were crumbled and men and women pointed to the sky and people collapsed, blood pouring from their ears. Gabriel rose higher; something was wrong. He had defeated Night; was this one of It?s cosmic older siblings?
Gabriel looked to the sky; there was a maroon tear in the heavens, and something?something beyond horrifying was coming out of the rift. Something sickly and dark and full of rage murder and want. Something with tentacles ten miles wide and a beak that could crack skyscrapers and who shook mountains when it walked. Something that could drive you to insanity by looking at it.
Gabriel was afraid. He had been afraid before, though, and mastered it. But?this was?beyond anything that had ever encountered. He had fought horrors before, he had fought demigods before, but this thing was beyond fighting, beyond attacking.
And Gabriel realized what he had to do.
Gabriel soared through the air, meeting the rift in the sky.
Gabriel took one last look at the earth. If this was what needed to be done, so be it.
?BEAST!? Gabriel screamed, soaring upwards. ?I UNDERSTAND NOW!?
Gabriel soared miles up to meet Night, for he was sure that was what it was. ?TAKE ME! TAKE ME AND LEAVE THIS WORLD!?
Night screamed with delight, reaching out to rip Gabriel apart. Gabriel allowed it to wrap him in it?s clutches, pulling him into the rift with him.
As Night opened its maw, The energy cannons on Gabriel?s forearms and thighs cocked and fired blazing, violet light at It, ripping at It, engulfing It. It writhed, screamed, but it didn?t back down. Gabriel didn?t let up; he fired more, harder, not letting up. ?I MAY DIE, MONSTER,? he roared. ?BUT I WILL TAKE YOU WITH ME!?
There are things a beast cannot understand; amongst them are love, valor, and honor. Beasts, true beasts that act solely on instinct, fear these things more than any man could ever imagine. Gabriel encompassed all three of these traits in that moment; Night, terrified beyond human capacity, was unable to recoil, unable to attack, simply petrified by the sight of something a being like him never could or would understand.
And the first light of day peeked over the horizon, the Horror and The Noble were engulfed in light. When it cleared, they both were gone.
___________________________________________________________________________
Light streamed in through the windows; it was early, maybe seven or eight. The bar patrons were shaky; whatever they had just lived through, they were (for the most part) thankful for it. The flash of light had repaired the destruction Night had done to the city, repairing buildings and healing people. Some had forgotten the incident, but most retained some memory.
Tom was one of those. He had been saved, saved, like everyone in the city or maybe even the planet, by some sort of angel, an angel who had died so that they could live. The idea that such a being had to die was enough to bring him to tears.
The bartender walked up to him, washing a glass. ?It?s some sorta thing. I?ve been ?round for longer than most people, but I haven?t never seen anything like that.? Tom said nothing. The bartender sighed, put down the glass, and cracked his neck. ?Look, I?m not a smart guy, but I don?t think Gabe would?ve wanted you to mope around, doing nothing. I-?
?Was that his name?? Tom asked. ?I didn?t know that.?
Timmoth nodded. ??s a good name, I thought. That was an angel, wasn?t it??
Tom shook his head. ?I dunno. I was never into religion?I might start now, though.?
Timmoth sighed and shook his head. ?Can I gecha somthin?, at least??
Tom shook his head dryly. ?No. I?m starting my life over, making something-? Tom stopped for a moment; was that a glint of crimson?
Gabriel, completely unharmed, not a scratch on his body, walked through the doors of the pub. Tom nearly screamed with joy; he jumped up out of his seat as fast as he could, nearly tackling Gabriel in the process. ?You?re alive! You?re-you fell!?
?I have survived much worse things.? Gabriel said. ?Are you-?
?Fine, fine, fine. You?re name?s Gabriel?? Gabriel nodded. ?Ha! That?s great, just great, man! Here, let me get you a drink or something, c?mon!?
Gabriel took a look around. For the third time, despite impossible odds, he had come out alive. His situation had always given him a certain appreciation of things; life, beauty, the world he lived in.
He supposed things just sometimes turned out the way they were supposed to.
I'm sorry for saying, but I don't think this is that good a story. I mean, it's good, obviously, but not quite up to my unreasonably high personal standards; in fact, it falls quite a bit short of that.
So when I say I was astounded at people's responses, I'm not even a little bit joking. Not a teensy bit. It's not that the story itself is bad, it's just the quality is disproportionate to the effort put into it; I put a lot into this story, it didn't just pop out. I mean, I knew what I wanted to do, but that only ended up being about a quarter of the whole story. I ended up adding the robber, the bit with Gabriel and Sam, and the entire second half of the story at separate times. The original idea was having Gabriel not even fight Night. I didn't want Gabriel to fight night over something as small as money, so I figured he didn't need to. About halfway through that story, I realized that Night, being some sort of beast, wouldn't be bound by the same rules as everyone else is; you wouldn't expect a wolf to follow the same rules as you, would you? From there, everything sort of took off; I needed Tom to be sympathetic so that there was a reason to save him, Night needed to be powerful enough to beat Gabriel, and there needed to be a legitimate reason for Night not to come back (that reason being he was scared shitless of Gabriel). I still don't like the ending; if I had more time, I could have added something explaining what happened, but it might've made the story as a whole more difficult to understand. It still took a long time to write, longer than I would have liked, but I got it out, and apparently it kicked all kinds of ass.
Maybe I'm just used to these things popping out, I dunno. It certainly makes things more convenient. I can't remember any story that came up to my personal standards. Maybe a couple of fights with Devon. Maybe.
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