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laur-rants · 3 years

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Fic Update: Blood Wolf

Chapter 4

Fandom: Dishonored Ship: Daud/The Outsider, but I’ll heavily focus on the Daud and his Whalers relationship

Rated: Mature to Explicit, Strong Violence and Gore Ahead!!

Synopsis: Daud-Centric Prequel to Wolfbann. Origin Story, pre-canon. Centers on how Daud turned, and his subsequent marking by the Outsider and his formulation of the Whalers. Notes: There probably won’t be nsfw content in this fic, but it WILL be… violent. I want to play with my own boundaries of written violence and also Daud’s start wasn’t nearly as clean as Corvo’s. Their contrast on dealing with the werewolf transformation is one of the things I want to really explore, and Daud gets very close to falling off the wagon.

CHAPTER TAGS: His hands do violence, but there is a different dream in his heart. Alternatively, Daud talks to the Outsider, saves a girl, frightens a medic. AO3 link

Previous :: First :: Next

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Midnight, ???

The Month of Songs -- 1820

Daud drew breath and it burned cold in his lungs. He checked himself; somehow, his clothes remained intact, untouched by… whatever had just happened to him. He lifted his gaze and when he inhaled again, it felt like gaseous seawater at the back of his throat.

Where there once stood the Fink Manor, the house was now splintered, cracked, and floating into a vast, sky blue expanse. Though he was still standing in the pantry, the shrine humming next to him, the other two walls and the roof were destroyed as if by a bomb. A whale breached next to the stone platform this all stood on; it's massive eye met his briefly before disappearing down again. Daud felt his heart lurch.

His hands flexed. He whirled back to the figure still watching him so adoringly.

"What kind of game is this?" Daud asked, his chest still fighting to find air, still unsure if he was breathing water or not. The atmosphere was thicker here than it ever was in the waking world; not even the Serkonan summer had settled so heavily in his chest. Daud met those black eyes and refused to flinch. "Who are you?"

The entity just frowned, and something about that disappointment hit him like a carriage. He immediately regretted saying anything at all, especially something so pitiable, and he bowed his head in apology. A cold hand lifted his chin, forcing him to look back up into those glassy eyes.

"Oh, Daud, you know who I am. Even if you never were the worshipping type…" A slender thumb ran over those wounds on his cheek and he shivered. "No, you're the gambling kind instead, aren't you? Betting with your life instead of coin. You've always been like this. Perhaps that's why I took such a liking to you in the first place."

"I don't understand," Daud said, his head feeling clouded under the touch of such an ancient being. "The Outsider is just a myth, a fantasy to keep children at home, to give nobles something to jerk off to, or to give the Abbey a scapegoat while they piss on the Strictures." He shrugged out of the Leviathan's hold, grabbing at the hand with his own. The Outsider watched the motion, his face full of glee at the contact.

"Oh? It's not that complicated with me, Daud. You had a bet, remember? And I so wanted you to keep it."

Daud frowned. He racked his brain, searching for the memory. As he did so, the Void around them warped, unbidden, and the Outsider smiled as a forgotten vision burst forth. Daud's eyes widened, looking up at two massive monsters fighting in a sewer. One was grey and malnourished, covered in boils and scars. And the other was a snarling mass of black fur, it's face glistening with dark blood that poured from fresh wounds that looked exactly like--

"What the fuck?" Daud's lip curled and he mirrored the black, wolflike creature of his memory. His tongue touched his teeth and found them sharp. The Outsider just grinned all the more.

"I needed to save your life, or I would lose you before your story even began. So, I gave you the gift of your power a little earlier than others who have had the misfortune of being attacked by such a void-touched creature. Yes; you were cursed the moment those claws broke your jaw and split your throat, but I knew your tale wasn't so easily finished." The Outsider gave him a once-over, the gaze was so hungry it made Daud squirm. "You do not know your own importance and it is so splendid to behold."

There was a reverence there that Daud didn't trust, but it stirred something in his soul. "I'm just an assassin," he managed, taking a step away from the god of the Void. The Outsider just watched, but made no move to follow.

"You will move the tides of the entire Isles, Daud."

"You sure about that," he sneered, his fists clenching. "I am cursed now, you said it yourself. Cursed. I am doomed to go mad, just like the beast before me."

The Outsider held out his left hand. The smile he held was deadly.

"Will you be worth my time, Daud?"

Daud's lip twitched, wanting to refuse, but in the end, curiosity won. He relented.

"Bet," he growled, then gave his hand over to the Outsider to shake. As soon as he did, the back of his hand burned, seared as if branded with an iron. He hissed, not breaking his grip even as he turned his palm to see the back of it. There, glowing bright and smoking with arcane magic, a Mark appeared, one of an intricate arrow-and circle design. He stared at it, transfixed, as a new sort of power flowed through him.

"My Mark," the Outsider said casually, running his hand over Daud's soothingly. "It will keep the beast of you at bay, give you the control you so desperately seek." He grinned, his eyes glittering maliciously. "But how long can you keep up that control? I wonder…"

The god pulled Daud closer, dragging him in like the riptide. The Outsider smirked against his ear and Daud felt the shiver all the way down his spine.

"Can you shape the world to your will, Daud?" He whispered, holding the statement between them like a secret. "Or will you be ruined by it?"

The Outsider pulled away, his smile far too knowing.

"Until we see each other again."

Then, as suddenly as he appeared, the Outsider was gone. His cold, suffocating presence fled from Daud and when he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the Void. Instead, he was in the very real Fink Manor, the weight of reality far heavier than the pressures of the deep. Daud swallowed, first retrieving the runes from the shrine before stepping back across the pantry threshold.

The house was in ruins. The rampage he had caused nearly razed the building; a pipe from the kitchen was spitting water, the pantry wall was burst and the dog and handler were lying dead at his feet. Down the hall, he could see evidence of his huge body crashing through doorways with little remorse and forethought. Blood splattered the walls and limbs settled in places far and away from their original owners.

It was the sight of a massacre, one of Daud's own making. He choked on the bile clawing up his throat.

This wasn't his handiwork. It couldn't be. Assassins were meant to be clean, quick, quiet. A good assassin left no trace of themselves behind; a great assassin could even clean and dispose of the body before someone found the scene of the crime. The City Watch was founded to try and protect the streets, but they could do nothing against men and women like him. The best of them were, in all ways, untraceable.

If anyone saw this house, they wouldn't see the work of a trained killer. They would see a contained storm, or perhaps a Tyvian fanged bear set loose on a dare.

They would see the work of a monster.

Daud silently stepped through the wreckage, spotting a woman -- a maid, by the clothing -- with her throat ripped open, the lines jagged and unclean from where her trachea was bitten into. A wolfhound, ripped in two; the other half, he could not find, no matter how hard he searched for it. It left him light-headed, slightly nauseous, considering he vaguely remembered Eustace's arm in his mouth, the blood in his jaws --

He retched dryly. He fought the sick that threatened to come up, not really wishing to repeat what happened on the roof earlier. Certainly, he didn't want to know or see what would come up if he succeeded in vomiting. With a monumental effort he kept it down, gasping for breath and running a shaking hand over his face.

The fingers of his left hand traced over the new scars on his cheek and the sensation sent an intense shiver down his face and neck, all through his arm. He jerked his hand back away from his face, hissing in discomfort. The Mark on his hand burned for a moment, reminding him of his newest annoyance. He flexed his hand; the Mark lit up, itching, begging to be used.

He pulled curiously at the power beckoning to him. His fingers immediately morphed into long, black claws; he yelped, shaking his hand out in surprise. The claws disappeared-- but the power remained. He frowned, trying again. He focused on one spot near the stairs; the Void grabbed him at his request, pulling him forward in a rush and leaving a trail of ash in his wake.

Daud's eyes went wide and his mouth hung open. He had traversed 10 meters in just a moment, the Void whispering in his ear as he did so. It was heady, thrilling; he grinned, feral, and tried the power again.

He landed in a nearby living room where he had ripped a couch in half and knocked a woman in fine jewelry into a wall, breaking her neck. He was about to jump through space again when he heard a squeak, a yelp; he froze, looking to the sound.

What he saw brought a vice around his heart. A child, a girl, trapped under some fallen wood and plaster from the ceiling above. She caught sight of Daud and when Daud caught sight of her, her eyes shone with tears, threatening to spill over.

"Sir…" she said weakly, her voice bubbling up, full of pain and fear. He rushed over, pulling his glove back over his left hand. She squirmed, choking in sobs. "Is it gone? Is-is...where did it go? That beast…"

Daud shushed her gently, trying not to let shock set into his features even as his limbs ran cold. Of course the child didn't recognize him as the monster she witnessed slaughtering her whole family. "Don't use too much energy now, I'll get you out of there." He gently moved some plaster and she squealed in pain; he shifted a joist to the side and clenched his jaw tight.

A large nail had impaled her tiny calf, the wound covered in blood, the color of it darkening her slacks. He looked at her carefully; she was staring at her leg and when she went to grab it, he caught her hand in his.

"Do not touch it," he told her quietly. "You'll make it worse. How long have you been injured?" She just gripped his hand tight and shook her head as her chest heaved with swallowed cries. Void, she couldn't be older than eight.

"I don't know… it just hurts," she wept, her hands bloodied, her face pale. "My mother, she-she…" the child gulped, fighting for air.

She was spiraling. Daud put a hand on her head, trying to ground her. "Hey, I'm here, okay? You aren't going to die. Did--" his mouth went dry, and he tried again. "Did the monster touch you?" As he asked the question, he dug through a pouch on his hip, his eyes darting down to look for a familiar lime-green vial.

"No, I got trapped and then the dogs came and then…" her face screwed up in agony, and Daud had a feeling not all of it was physical.

Did it have to be a child? He hated this, hated thinking he had let a kid see something so needlessly brutal. "It's going to be alright. I'm going to get you out of here. I'm not going to leave you to die on this nail."

Her eyes met his for the first time all night, searching for the truth. He didn't waver, opting instead to hold her little hand tighter. He swallowed, and when he saw the returning trust in her eyes, he pulled out a small dart and showed it to her.

"This is a sleep dart," he told her, holding it out for her to see. "It will put you to sleep for an hour or so. It will sting a little, but it will help lessen the pain, and it will help me get you off the nail without it hurting. Do you trust me with this?"

What other options did she have? He knew she had very few, and there was nothing she could do on her own. She would die of infection here.

She nodded, but grabbed his hand before he could administer the dose. "Wait," she said. "What is your name first?"

He blinked. "Daud."

She smiled. "Daud, like Dad." That settled very unpleasantly in his stomach, but he did not correct her. "I'm Emma, it's nice to meet you."

He nodded. "Likewise. Now, are you ready?"

She let go and nodded. He adjusted the dose in the dart and then stuck it in her arm. Her eyes drooped; in the next few seconds she was asleep, and completely unaware.

Daud moved as quickly as he could. He had some bandages on him, as well as a few rags for quick wound wrapping, but nothing sustainable. He got up, using the Void to rush through the house and find the bathroom. He looted it swiftly; the first aid kit would have to do for now. He transversed back to where she lay, still stuck to the nail. He breathed, then got to work.

Daud had a very strict policy on children when it came to assassination jobs, one that put him at odds sometimes with his colleagues in the business. Other assassins would happily off a whole family to prevent leaks or future loose ends. In a way, it was self-preserving more than anything; a dead child could not speak of what they witnessed. Sometimes, the hit was on the child itself; easy to poison an unwanted heir, for example.

But Daud… he wasn't in this line of work to slaughter kids. He left kids alive; he took parents away from the home if he had to, so that it looked like an accident. He had even dropped a child off at an orphanage, an unfortunate leftover from a hit he and Rulfio once conducted. Rulfio had argued with him about it, but they both decided it was better than ending up dead, abused, or in the Golden Cat.

Never kill the kids. Not if he could help it. Whenever he saw a child, he saw a young Daud, stolen from his home, made to kill and perform for coin until he finally roused the courage to off his own abuser.

Then Daud had run off to become a killer of bastards just like the one who abducted him.

He frowned as he tightened the tourniquet and eased Emma's leg off the nail. The wound spurted with blood and Daud quickly staunched the flow as much as he could, before quickly wrapping the leg with bandages soaked in disinfectant. Through it all, the girl slept, and Daud sighed. This would not be enough, he knew; he worked his jaw, the scent of the blood and rubbing alcohol strong in his nose. He packed back up, lifting the girl carefully before shifting her so she was cradled in his right arm. His left fist clenched and he ignored the claws itching their way free as he jumped through the Void once again. He traveled back up the stairs, back to Eustace's room; the whole time, Emma slept. He kept a bead on her heart, the beat of it steady in his ears.

The bedroom was even worse than the rest of the house. Eustace Fink's body was wretched apart, nearly unidentifiable. Daud neared the pile of human viscera, trying not to think of how he had lost control, bursting forth and slaughtering the man.

Never again, he thought to himself, but even as he held the girl tight, he did not know the long-term validity of those words.

He spotted his whaler blade and mask; he grabbed both, carefully sheathing the sword, then, after a moment of hesitation, he clipped the mask to his belt. He then pulled the audiograph from Fink's remains and carefully swept the room for anything else of value.

A safe with gold ingots and 500 coin. A few choice books, stashed away. Notes from his brother-- Daud paused at these, frowning down at the ledgers.

Eustace,

Jerome changed last week; he will be ready for challengers soon, so get those hound fighters excited for our next event! The first week of the month of Clans will be best. I will test this brute against the others; as a former assassin, I cannot believe how strong his killer instinct is! Brimsley was right; the stronger the person turned, the more likely they are to survive to put on a show! I don't expect the others to fare so well, but now we know that we at least have a sure-fire way to lure Dunwall assassins into a trap.

Be careful if you come down to the ampitheatre to see this dog, however. I can hear it in my mind… it taunts me, hates me, tries to overpower me. I always just shock it back into submission; it's so weak it can't carry out it's bigger threats. But Eustace… please. Your mind is not as strong as mine. Do not be swayed. These monsters of the Outsider are no longer human, like you or I, no matter what it says to you.

Here is the list of the next possible brutes I have selected, and also the date for the next Hound Pits fight. Don't forget the fliers, we need the noble's coin to keep this up!

The snarl that ripped through Daud was so strong and loud it shocked even him. The girl stirred but did not wake; he looked to the body of Eustace Fink and no longer regretted his fate.

They truly had found some giant monster, one like him perhaps, that had attacked someone and then that person had turned. And then the next person, and then the next until they trapped an assassin -- Spirits. He knew Jerome, had seen him in passing; he was from Potterstead, was raised into the profession, was cleaner than all of them. Surgical, even.

And he had been tortured into blindness, forced to fight dogs, and then Daud himself had…

Daud bit down on his cheek until he tasted blood. He scoured the room once more, then pulled out a bolt from his satchel on his belt. Carefully, he set the girl down in a chair, then readied his wristbow. Three incendiary bolts flew through the room, igniting expensive fabrics, flammable wallpaper, the remaining useless documents on the table. He watched the fire spread, pulling a cigarette out and lighting it. He pulled the drag, then threw it into the growing flames.

Then, he secured his belt, carefully lifted Emma back into his arms, and left the burning wreckage of the home he single-handedly destroyed.

------

It was another late night, one that Misha knew he would not be walking home from. It was well past midnight and even with the Watch prowling about, the Hatter's were likely to jump anyone unsuspecting, stealing money for months rent, or worse. So instead, he just sighed and closed the downstairs shutters, pulling the curtains in and locking the door. The one lamp still illuminated the front desk where his assistant had been sorting paperwork earlier; end of month books, on top of end of year numbers. His numbers had seen better days. Between the gangs clogging up the streets and his brothers getting caught up in hound fight gambling, he had lost more than he had recuperated.

He missed his brothers. He did not miss them asking him for more coin every week of every month, effectively bleeding him dry.

He had tried a few times to dissuade them, but all in vain. They were his brothers, two versus his one. They knew how to guilt him, especially with the death of their mother hanging over the practice like a cloud. So he had given them what they asked for, knowingly enabling them like a bar enables a drunkard, and hoped everything would be okay in the end.

It wasn't okay. His brothers were presumed dead and he had no money for a dying practice. All he could do was try to set the remaining things right. Hiring the assassin gave him a grim sort of satisfaction, some twisted sense of justice. After the deed was done, he'd file with the Watch, see if their bodies couldn't be recovered. The hardest part was between step one and step two; waiting for the completed assassination.

As he headed up the stairs to retire to his office for the night, he stopped at the calendar on the way up. He looked at the final week of Clans-- then put an X over the 28th day, the last day of the month. Four other angry Xs precede the 28th, all counting down from when he and Daud had come to their agreement. He frowned, flipping the calendar to Songs.

Daud had said that his job took time, but gave no frame of reference to ease Misha's worries. He sulked for a bit at the calendar on the wall before finally moving on, entering the office and lighting the desk lamp easily. He then -- as he had done so every night for the past four nights -- went over to the terrace and moved to unlock it, just in case Daud returned with news and wished to enter the way he had initially done.

He didn't expect the man to suddenly appear before him in a swirl of ash and smoke. He also didn't expect the small, pale body Daud was carrying in his arms, either.

And he certainly didn't expect Daud's face to be visible, his eyes burning, long scars cutting valleys into his otherwise young face.

Misha gaped. He fumbled with the latch, pushing the door open to give Daud more access. The assassin pulled in a ragged, tired breath.

"Daud--" Misha started, following the other man as he swiftly entered the office. "What happened? Is Fink--"

"Dead," Daud said, the roughness of his voice contrasting how gingerly he handled the body in his arms. "I need your expertise. Do you have a table?"

Misha glanced towards the small figure and nodded, pushing open the far door; it led to a small operating room, separate from the others and one that he used for special cases. He turned on the light over the table as Daud placed a small child -- Void, a child -- down onto it. She was asleep but her breath was shallow, sweat beading on her brow. Her leg was bandaged, but it was already bleeding through, the blood dark and angry.

Misha immediately let himself still, evaluating this new, sudden patient. His emotions detached, and his brow furrowed in focus. He quickly grabbed gloves and sharply demanded, "Tell me what happened."

Daud hesitated, then, "Nail. She impaled her leg on a nail. Got trapped in the home."

"And you just took her?"

"Everyone else was dead." He said it softly, as if full of remorse. Misha knew the time for questions was now past. Instead, he got to work. He unraveled the leg and pulled over a bowl, cleaning solution, and a syringe.

"I used a sleep dart on her," Daud explained. "I don't know how much longer the sedative will last."

Assassin sleep darts, he knew, were usually sodium pentothal, and at the dose Daud probably used, the girl would still be down for a while. Still, a local anaesthetic wouldn't be a bad idea.

"Here, be useful. My usual assistant isn't here so I will need your help cleaning this." Daud complied, then began the task of fetching anything that Misha asked of him. Sutures, clamps, saline solution, scalpel, magnifier, light. The girl whined in her sleep, and Daud, surprisingly, was there for her, holding her hand in a heavy glove. It wasn't long before her leg was properly cleaned and closed, the sutures staying as he carefully bandaged the leg back up.

"If all goes well and the wound stays clean, her leg will survive," Misha sighed, pushing tiredly away from the girl and removing bloodied gloves. Daud just nodded, watching the girl carefully as she slept. A whisper tickled at the back of Misha's head and he grimaced, scratching at his hair. The movement made Daud's head jerk to look at him, inhuman and unnatural.

It was now that Misha was actually able to get a good look at the face of his hired hitman. He had short black hair, styled back and out of the way, though now it was tousled and out of place. His eyes were a striking blue, but not in the way that left him feeling flustered. Instead, they were like ice, splintering into his chest and making him feel as if a wild predator was evaluating his continued existence. The scars on his face tugged as he frowned; the longest line cut from his right forehead all the way down over his throat,a and the second longest also sliced through his cheek alongside the first. The last two sat partially hidden under his chin, over his throat, and Daud's frown deepened as he caught the doctor staring.

Misha's face flushed. He was never one to hide his feelings well, and definitely not as easily as a hardened assassin.

"Daud..." he started, trying to cover the intrusion. The assassin suddenly stood up, his hand flat on the table, challenging and threatening Misha to continue speaking.

"Go on, say it," Daud said, dangerously soft. "Others already have. They didn't have to be a doctor or an assassin to know I shouldn't have survived -- this." He waves at his neck, as if disgusted by the scars.

Upsetting an assassin seemed to be a poor life decision. Misha chose his next words carefully.

"You need to clean up, and you seem invested in the child. Would you like to stay the night, to at least be there when she wakes up?"

Daud's face immediately closed off. Again, something itched at the back of Misha's head, and he tried to rub it away. A whisper, almost… indecision? Misha had not expected an emotion to come forth. When he questioned it mentally, it disappeared, so still he shrugged it off as imagaination. He watched Daud as he pulled his face out of the lamplight and back into shadow, his eyes still bright in the gloom. His fist clenched.

"No, no, I'd rather not. I've already done enough to ruin her life." He looked around the office and then, finding what he was looking for, went to fetch it.

Misha almost missed it; Daud's left hand twitched and then suddenly, in a rush of ash, he was across the room, and then back. Misha gaped as Daud scrawled words over the paper he had fetched, then handed the paper to Misha.

"Outsider's eyes," he breathed out, but the look on Daud's face silenced him.

"This address; when she's well, take her there. Tell them Daud sends his regards, and hopes Jason is well. Also--"

He pulled a purse from his satchel, setting it down. "That's for the girl." Then he pulled out a whole gold ingot and handed it to Misha. "And this is for you."

Misha gaped. He'd never seen so much gold -- he shook his head, holding his hands up. "What--! I can't accept this-- Don't tell me that you are paying me for--"

"Don't worry, I have another," Daud assured. "I made sure I'd be paid well for this too. Besides, I told you, 'half now--'" he pushed the ingot to Misha more insistently. "'half later.' Here's your half, later."

Misha gulped. He had a feeling that Daud was not going to take no for an answer. He acquiesced, gently taking the gold, and the assassin relaxed. He stood back, giving Misha some space.

"Don't spend it all in one place," he suggested, a dry attempt at humor. Misha managed a tired smile in return.

"Am I allowed to offer my appreciation, now?"

Daud said nothing. He looked away.

"May we be blessed to never meet again, Misha Romanov."

Misha, personally, did not see that as a blessing-- but perhaps, given Daud's line of work, it was for the best. He nodded, not wishing to argue with a man who could so easily murder him.

"Regardless… Thank you, Daud."

Those prickled whispers returned, just as Daud met his eyes. There was something mildly astonished in his gaze, and Misha tried not to push away the foreign white noise that invaded his mind. Instead, somewhere in there, he thought -- imagined, he reminded himself -- that he caught the faintest expression of " You're welcome."

As quickly as it built up, the emotion was gone-- and so was Daud. Misha blinked, putting a hand to his ringing ear. He looked to the open terrace and was suddenly filled with the urge to follow, to rush out to the balcony so he did, throwing the doors apart in his wake. He breathed the night air and there he was, on the opposite rooftop, eyes and scars burning, even in the dark. Daud looked back at Misha; their eyes met.

Daud's left hand raised, smoking and black. His fist clenched.

And in a flurry of ash and wind, he was gone.

13 notes · View notes

pinknerdpanda · 4 years

Text

Yippie-Ki-Yay

Word Count: 1,080 Characters: Sam x Reader, Dean Warnings: Fluff, friendly competition, Dean being Dean Requested by: @princessmisery666 Beta’d by: @shy-violet-soul - you are a lifesaver and a light in my life. I love you.

A/N: This was written for my Merry Manda Christmas Drabbles. This is a one shot, but I wrote it as a pseudo continuation of a story I’ve done the past two years for my Christmas drabbles. If you’re interested, you can read them here: The Bet & The Bet: Round 2. But this can definitely be enjoyed as is. Also, I’m the reader. I’ve never seen Die Hard. It’s on my Christmas Bucket list this year. lol

Gif Credit x

Yippie-Ki-Yay

“No cheating, Jolly Green! Keep your eyes to yourself!”

You fling an elbow behind you and connect with the youngest Winchester’s stomach. He lets out a soft groan but starts chuckling and you’re sure you hadn’t really hurt him. Though you kinda wish you had - at least a little bit.

“How is that cheating?”

You’re too focused on the task at hand to look at him, but you can hear the smirk in his voice. That cheeky, adorable, competitive bastard.

“Spying on the competition? Totally cheating.” You dip your finger into the gooey, green substance and fling it in his direction.

“Hey!” He grumbles before tossing a few brightly colored sprinkles back at you.

“Stop distracting me, Sam! This whole thing was your stupid idea!”

And it had been.

It all started on the drive home from Boise when you were discussing your favorite Christmas movies. Yours was a classic - National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. Who doesn’t love watching Cousin Eddie emptying the shitter into the sewer in his bathrobe? The scene at the end where Clark goes nuts on everyone never fails to make you double over in a fit of laughter.

The brothers, however, had said in unison - as they often do - “Die Hard.”

“That’s not even a Christmas movie!” You’d argued.

The looks you’d received from both Sam and Dean showed you just how disgusted they were with your response. Matching expressions of incredulity bore down on you from the front seat and you wished you could have burrowed into the soft leather of Baby’s backseat instead.

Dean whipped his attention back to the road, but Sam had continued to stare.

“Well, it’s not. It’s about, like, bombs and stuff, right?”

It had been the worst thing you could have said in your defense. Well, the second worst.

“Have you ever seen Die Hard, y/n?” Sam’s gaze narrowed at you.

“Well, no.”

That was it. That was the worst.

Dean had nearly ran the car off the road at your admission.

“Are you fucking serious!?” He’d shot a death glare back at you after maneuvering the vehicle back to safety.

“I just, I dunno, I never did.”

“Well that changes as soon as we get back to the bunker.” Sam’s tone had been drenched in finality.

That was the worst thing he could have said. Nothing made you want to not do something more than being told you had to.

You’d crossed your arms, arching an eyebrow as you’d glared back at him.

“No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” Sam snorted.

“I mean, no. I have lived this long without seeing it. So I don’t see any reason that has to change now, just because you said so.” You’d tipped your chin up, looking pointedly away from his stupid face.

“Alright, how about this,” Sam had turned his large frame in the seat to face you as best as he could in the limited space. “How about we have a little friendly competition and the winner gets to pick the movie we watch that night.”

How you’d ended up making that “little friendly competition” into a cookie decorating contest, you can’t remember. All you know is that you have this in the bag. You think.

“30 seconds, bakers!” Dean barks from his perch at the table before taking a swig of beer.

You quickly put the finishing touches on your cookie art, drape a napkin over your work and step back just as the timer dings. Sam grunts and you can’t tell if it’s because he’s happy with the result or not, but you’re hoping for not.

“Alright! Let’s do this!”

Dean makes a big show of flicking out a napkin and tucking one corner just inside the collar of his flannel shirt.

“Ladies first,” Dean gestures for you to step forward.

You look at Sam, jerking your head towards his brother.

“You heard him, Sammy. You’re up.”

Sam tips his head to one side, his lips folding into a deep, dissatisfied frown as he rolls his eyes. Dean wheezes, clapping his hands, clearly approving of your joke.

“Hilarious, y/n.” Sam’s tone couldn’t have been drier.

“Alright, alright,” you step forward, placing your tray in front of Dean. “Don’t get your panties in a knot, Winchester.”

You tug the napkin off the tray with a flourish, revealing three snowman cookies. Each one has a different expressions on their fluffy white faces and their scarves are intricately designed with shades of green, red and yellow.

Dean grins at you, obviously impressed.

“I don’t know, Sam. You may be in trouble.” Dean tsks. “Let’s see what you’ve got, little brother.”

Sam approaches the table, tray in hand. Up to this point you’d felt pretty secure in your work, but at the moment Sam’s dimple is mocking you as he shoots you a self-satisfied grin. Bastard.

Sam hadn’t bothered with a napkin to elicit any kind of suspense so he just places the tray next to yours and stands back. He crosses his arms over his chest before turning and winking at you.

You lean over to find a tray of four, simple, round sugar cookies. Each cookie bears a single word, and while you don’t really understand the meaning, you have a feeling you are doomed.

“Yippie-ki-yay, motherfucker!” Dean reads the cookies and roars with delight. “I think we have ourselves a winner! I’m gonna go get the movie set up. Saddle up, y/n. You’re about to be schooled.”

Dean chuckles, grabbing one of your beautifully crafted snowmen and biting his head off cleanly. He grunts approvingly before grabbing another.

“Damn, these are good!” His voice fades as he saunters out of the room

Sam’s lips twitch, clearly trying to suppress a broad, victorious smile. It’s so adorable, you can’t help but giggle.

“Well played, Samantha,” you sass, “well played.”

Sam’s hands find your waist, pulling you forward as he presses a sweet kiss against your lips. He grips your hand and leads you out of the room and after Dean.

“Come on babe. A deal’s a deal.” He grins.

“Well, I suppose there are worse ways to pay up,” you offer. “Remember that time you had to slide down the stairs?”

Sam’s eyebrows shoot up. “You mean the time you were checking out my ass right before I almost died.”

“Oh, Sam.” Leaning up, you place a kiss against his cheek before whispering in his ear. “I was checking out your ass long before that night.”

---

Like what you see? Want more? My Masterlist is here. Thanks for reading! :)

My Forever Tags - Stay weird. I love y’all:

@wheresthekillswitch @pretty-fortune @arryn-nyxx @emlostinwonderland @becs-bunker @cookie-dough-lova @impandagrl @maddieburcham1 @trexrambling @beachballsizeladyballs @hannahindie @rosie-winchester @winchesterprincessbride @that-writer-one @fandomismyspirit @angelsandwinchesters @cfordwrites @charliebradbury1104 @mogaruke @luulaachops @supernaturaldean67 @barbedwireandbubblegum @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @muliermalefici @galaxy-jellyfish-queen @canadianjelly @kathaswings @feelmyroarrrr @lorilane33 @bethbabybaby @myfanficlibrarium @akshi8278 @emoryhemsworth @boxywrites @atc74 @anticipate1003 @super100012 @lovesj2m @masksandtruths @ellen-reincarnated1967 @growningupgeek @there-must-be-a-lock @mrswhozeewhatsis @amanda-teaches @cassieraider @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @its-my-perky-nipples @squirrel-moose-winchester @sandlee44 @paintrider13-blog @arses21434 @petra-arkanian-1497 @sasbb23 @princessmisery666

#Sam Winchester #Sam Winchester x Reader #sam x reader #sam fluff #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #merry manda's christmas drabbles #merry manda 2019 #panda writes #i lost my queue

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a-rat-and-a-blob · 5 years

Conversation

Catchphrase Time!

ZAC: IT'S SQUASHING TIME! Uh.. Hmmm.. What about... "LET'S BOUNCE!"

Twitch: Grrrr.. What are you doing Goopy One? Quiet down! Your king is trying to come up with a grand sentience potion?

ZAC: Oh. Sorry Twitchy! I was just trying to come up with my catchphrase.

Twitch: Catchphrase?

ZAC: Yeah! Like an iconic saying that gets people to know you! Like... uh.. "To the skies!" (ZAC points to the Jayce poster)

Twitch: Oh.. So that's how humans recognize you..? Ok! Urm... What's in a good catchphrase?

ZAC: Hmm... There's just gotta be some oomph to it, y'know? And some spectacle!

Twitch: Uhhhhh... Hm.. Oooh! I got it Goopy One! This is a good one.. Hehe.. "From out of the sewers comes.. DOOM!" What do you think!? (Smiles)

ZAC: Hmmmmm. Sounds like a villain catchphrase.

Twitch: Is that good?

ZAC: Villains usually always lose, pal...

Twitch: WHAT!? (Scourges through ZAC's comic collection) What's a good catchphrase then Goopy One!?

ZAC: Well.. You're talking to a catchphrase master! Don't worry! I can make a killer one for you!

Twitch: Do the humans say your catchphrase?

ZAC: Um... no. But it's getting there! (Smiles with a thumbs up)

#ic #Twitch #ZAC #League #League of Legends #LoL #Dialogues

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beckettsmeckett · 6 years

Text

Traitor - 1:1

Hey guys! The first chapter of my fic is done! I don’t usually write so it may not feel quite right. It is pretty graphic (not smut) and gruesome and down right weird. So give it a read and tell me what you think!

THUMP! Ryan hit the brakes and the car screeched to a stop. He and Lindsay looked at each other and the spiderweb of cracks across the windscreen before sprinting out of the car. They ran under the bridge towards the body that was twitching on the ground, a broken noose pulled tight against the person’s neck, blood trickling out of their mouth. Lindsay gasped as the person’s eyes opened and they flailed their arms at the noose. Ryan pulled out one of his knives and hacked away at the thick rope until it was in tatters; the person gasped and choked on the blood and oxygen flooding into their lungs before passing out from the exhaustion. Lindsay picked up the stranger and put them in the back of the car and noted the expression on Ryan’s face, “Hey, we hit them, so we should help them, it’s only fair.” Ryan sighed and got into the car, popping out the destroyed windshield and lowering the roof of the car. Lindsay got in the back and pulled out her phone as Ryan pulled away.

“Hey Geoff, tell Jack to get the med kits we’ve picked someone up who needs help”

“Ok, we’ll be ready for you when you get home. Hey Jack-”

Lindsay looked at the person more closely they were filthy, clothes in tatters, dirt and bruises covering their skin, blood was still running out of their mouth and Lindsay hoped it wasn’t from them hitting the person as they fell.

When they got back Jack and Gavin were waiting for them and helped to carry the person in and placed them on their back on the sofa. All of the crew stood and stared at the unconscious body.

“So... uh... What happened here?” Geoff asked turning to Lindsay and Ryan “You guys went out for late night groceries and came back with this guy”

“Well, um... we were driving to the supermarket downtown as they had a sale on diet coke and just after we came out from under a bridge this guy crashed into our windshield with a snapped noose around his neck. Ryan shrugged at Geoff. Suddenly the person on the sofa started to convulse and choke, spitting blood all over themselves

“Jesus!” Jack cried and pulled them onto their side, as they turned their mouth opened and blood poured out. “Christ, we need stop this bleeding, where is it all coming from?” He presses down on their chest, feeling for broken ribs.

“Ryan?” Gavin looks over to Ryan who is drawing circles in the carpet with his foot.

“I’ve been thinking and I might know who did this and why he’s bleeding so much” Ryan walks over to the body and peers into their mouth “Yep... Thought so. They’ve cut out his tongue. “Gavin gagged as Ryan wandered into the kitchen and turned on the gas hob to full and began to heat up one of his knives. “We need to cauterize the wound, or else the bleeding will never stop because the blood can’t clot due to the saliva in your mouth,“ He said matter of factually when he saw the looks on the crews’ faces. Once the blade was red hot, he brought it over to the stranger, “Jeremy I need you to pin down the legs; Micheal, you’ve got the arms and body; Jack, I need you to hold the head steady; Lindsay, prep some pain relief; Geoff, see if you can find some spare clothes and bedding for him and Gavin... Go to your room, you won’t want to see this.” As everyone assumes their assigned positions, Geoff is shocked at how easily Ryan can control the rest of the crew without even a complaint or question from the others, it amazed and worried him but Geoff knew that Ryan would never overstep his mark, he was too afraid of losing the crew.

“You all ready? Ok. Three, two, one! “ Ryan plunged the knife into their mouth and they can all hear the sizzling of flesh for a second before it is drowned out by screaming and thrashing. Ryan nearly slices the remaining tongue when their eyes fly open and he is greeted with the most emerald eyes he has ever seen. He pulled the knife out and Lindsay gives them a shot of morphine straight in the chest. In seconds the thrashing stops and the person lies awake but in a blissful haze. “What’s your name?” Lindsay asks but all she gets is a happy gurgle and pointing at their chest. “Chest, chest, chest... Chester! Can we call you Chester?” Lindsay questions, proud of her charades skills. Chester shrugs and gurgles. Lindsay practically shoves Ryan out of the way, almost burning herself on the still hot knife in his hand. “Ok love, I’m Lindsay and this is Jack we’re gonna get you cleaned up. Come on, up we get” Lindsay coaxes Chester’s arms around Jack and together they practically drag them through to the bathroom, giving Gavin the all-clear on the way past.

“Did that just happen?” Ryan said to no-one in particular.

“Yep, Lindsay just stole your patient Dr. Haywood” Jeremy replied with a smirk as Ryan started towards him with the knife.

Once in the bathroom, Jack ran a nice warm bath and Lindsay stripped off Chester, who, while awake, they were definitely not lucid. Lindsay was shocked when she saw that underneath the tattered clothes their skin was covered in blood and grime so dense it was basically a second skin; but it was nothing when she pulled off the underwear expecting to see male genitalia considering Chester was as flat as a tea tray, to find nothing: nothing at all, there was just smooth flesh Jack looked over and saw the horror on Lindsay’s face and went as white as a sheet when she saw too. They put Chester in the bath and began to wash them down with flannels and soap in silence, both registering what they had just seen. As the muck was washed away they weren't even surprised to see that every inch of Chester’s body was covered head to toe in scars of all kinds: deep, old, shallow, new, smooth, jagged, burns. But what caught their eye was where Chester’s breasts should have been there being two silvery scars and underneath those seemed to be fresh cuts, barely even scabbed over yet, jagged and scrawled but still legible in the word TRAITOR. Lindsay and Jack exchanged a glance that said it all ‘who was Chester and who did this?’ before going back to cleaning Chester off and dealing with the many other minor wounds she had.

The remaining crew sat in silence, waiting, until Gavin threw a question at Ryan unexpectedly, “How did you know what to do?” he quipped causing Ryan to start out of the doze he had drifted into. “What do you mean?” he fired back, hating how Gavin always asked a question he didn’t want to answer; despite opening up to the crew overtime, he wasn’t ready to tell them everything, yet.

“You know, Ryan, how come you knew exactly what was wrong and how to deal with it. You even said you knew who did it and yet you haven’t said a word since. What do you know Ryan?” Gavin leaned forewords in his seat, knowing you had to be precise with Ryan or he would find a way to avoid giving an actual answer.

Ryan sighed and ran his fingers through his hair “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything” he mumbled before leaning forwards and giving Gavin his best Vagabond stare that could turn Medusa to stone. “Before I was with you guys. Before I was as well known. I was strapped for cash, several jobs had gone wrong and I was desperate. I had heard the rumors in the sewers of humanity that there was a man who needed people. What for no-one knew, but it wasn’t for whores or trafficking like the normal scum, so I did what I had to do. I had befriended a squatter nearby and told them that I had come through on the promise I had made when I was richer. I told him that I had found a home for him and I was to take him there straight away. He didn’t suspect a thing, he was as desperate as me for some kind of hope, too hungry to see the trap. I doomed that man. My only friend for a long time and I led him to his death like a lamb to the slaughter. I sold him to his fate for a pittance, barely enough for a meal, one he would never get to have. The Puppeteer they called him. when I sold my friend to that -that madman- you know what he did Gavin? He killed him right in front of me, slit his throat and pulled out his eyes and then he had the audacity to offer me the rest of the body back. I was too furious to move when I heard a scream. Some guards brought in a naked girl, barely ten years old, saying how they found her trying to escape through the vents and the puppeteer laughed and told the guards to hang her up, they tied a noose around her neck and raised it until her feet just touched the floor if she really stretched. He beat that girl till she was blue and then he pulled out the same knife he had to slit my friend’s throat with and cut out her tongue. He then pulled a brand from somewhere in his hellhole and branded her stomach with the words ‘DESERTER’ laughing the whole time. He is the only one who I have seen to hang and mute for disobedience -for anything. He must be the one who did this, and Chester must be one of his. Poor guy...” Ryan trailed off and sat back, stuck in the memory. Gavin stared at the floor, regretting with every bone in his body for asking the question. After a minute, Geoff broke the silence, “we’re going after this puppeteer guy, right? We can’t leave a man like that alive. Not while people like Chester are suffering.” Geoff’s voice brought everyone’s mind back to the present and as if on cue Jack and Lindsay returned to the living room.

“She’s in really bad condition. We think that Chester should go to the hospital tomorrow for a check over” Lindsay’s tone was somber, and the crew instantly knew how bad it was.

“Chester’s sleeping in my room right now. She’s a real mess.” Jack was standing up straight with a fire in her eyes. Geoff looked at the clock and rubbed his face with his hands, daylight was already brightening the sky “come on everyone, we ought to go to bed now, really.” The rest of the crew murmured their assent and sloped off to their rooms until only Geoff and Ryan were left. Geoff sidled into the kitchen and grabbed two diet cokes from the fridge and went to offer Ryan one. However, Ryan just collected his mask and jacket, which he had previously thrown over the back of the sofa, and all but sprinted to his room, leaving Geoff standing alone in the kitchen.

#fahc ryan #fahc #fahc jack #fahc fic #fahc gavin #fahc geoff #fahc lindsay #fahc vagabond #fahc michael #achievement hunter #rooster teeth #ryan haywood #geoff ramsey #fahc fem!jack #my character #violence #gore #mutilation #fgm

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coldalbion · 6 years

Text

Enfolding Darkness

...I’m continually taken aback by some of the darker aesthetics around furor and madness and death and so forth which for various tbh perfectly good and intelligible reasons I do have to contend with and I, just. I’m not nearly goth enough for this shit. - @anaisnein

A little background, in reference to this post and my to my not entirely flip comment of: Does this make me Just Goth Enough, then?

I’ve told the story of my, well, what I term theft, by the Old Man many times, but what is relevant here is the retrospective - a recognition of a certain figure in childhood nightmares, as I once wrote: “In the recurring nightmares wherein he is pursued through labyrinthine corridors and redbrick sewers of Victorian make, there is a watcher who stands in shadow. Observing from balcony and hallways that lead to nowhere, this figure seems faceless, features obscured by the broad brimmed hat and dark cloak thrown over spare shoulders. There is an air of quiet menace about him, but it is never directed towards the boy himself – rather a sense of sinister potency, as if even the demons of nightside consciousness would rather avoid his scrutiny. Many times the pursuit is interrupted by an awareness of his presence, as if he draws everything to him like some strange gravity well. The laws of the dreams seem to bend and twist when he appears, as if somehow he overrides and diverts the very presence by simply being there. For his part, the boy always awakens the moment contact is made, the moment the figure swells to encompass the entire awareness. Seized, he is ripped from the nightmare and sent to wakefulness in frozen shock. For a moment the nightmare is obscured by the presence, and then it recedes to rest in half forgotten memory until the next contact, and the fears from the dream drive him to call for parental comfort.” Rather than being a figure that caused the kid that I was to experience nightmares, it was that presence that broke them. Time and time again, the Old Man has, I believe, fundamentally changed my attitude to what could be described by outsiders as ‘goth’. And that attitude has in fact enabled me to deal with fears and privations, starting from the very beginning - in the sense that present affects past, and future.: “Taking a leap into the void, the foetus begins ramping up the chemicals still further as the oxygen falls away and the neural network begins to undergo a near-terminal brownout. Sacrificing neuro- receptors that act like circuit-breakers, it overloads the grid and gives in to last ditch fury, half-finished muscles twitching, on some level delivering a kind of spastic semaphore as the evacuation plan begins. Chemical messengers begin haemorrhaging outward, staining the sea with biological cargo that permeates membrane and sets uterine walls to twitch. Writhing weakly, the unborn sends up the last of its distress flares, abandoning anything we call normality in exchange for survival. In that moment, hanged and slowly dying, there is no return. In that moment, nine weeks become the never-was, etched into a body that is never truly complete, operating on its own plan as an outlier made flesh. In that moment, the unborn is seized and gripped – fettered and loosened all at once by the tightness of the noose, an echo of something awakening underneath what should have been and yet is not. The rune is risted then, the carving made as the world contracts and the sea breaks like a roaring wave. Then it drains away, leaving behind a channel of pain and fear pressing all around in uncaring pulses of slick muscle and crushing bone - cord cutting ever deeper as death blooms like a beautiful flower in the brain. The brownouts roll on as cells begin to die, sections escalating into cyanotic night, blacked out forever, as the fear reaches a crescendo, as the unstoppable force bears down in response to the first chemical spell the unborn has ever unleashed.Somewhere, a hanged man – lord of the gallows – grins an awful grin. The drum of a mother's heart pounds a wild staccato, a frenzied accompaniment to this terrible crushing dance.

Resistance comes then, a hand shoved hurriedly in place to halt the doomed journey, midwife's desperate skill prolonging the torture still longer, cord not quite taut and death not quite there. But time is racing on and amidst the pain and fear, a capture occurs, all unremembered until almost thirty years later:

The brush of a raven-black wing against skin and a guttural call, the nip of a beak crafted to rip and tear as an old grey wolf stalks closer, padding purposefully over a plain of bones in a land of frozen mists.

A rueful grin crosses a bearded face, accepting the inevitability of it, timeless and fated by choice – a doom grasped in both hands while laughing in bitter joy at the glory of it all. He greets them then, these visitors, and gathers his cloak about him, all black and rainbow colours like a crow-feather in the rain. Then he walks along the poisoned paths, hissing wyrm-words as he reaches the river and follows its writhing banks to the well that boils and bubbles like a roaring kettle.”

The above is of course, a personal telling, the speaking-of stepping into, and returning to, the realm of the mythic. Why do I include it? Precisely because that joy, leavened with the bitter, is in my personal experience the perfect offering to - and I mean this affectionately, and tongue lodged firmly in cheek - Ultimate Goth Dad. The fear, the nightmares, the anxiety, the death, the war, the fury - the angst in its original technical sense - is all that we want Away From Us. It is carrion, and the Old Man is, in a very real sense a carrion feeder - transmuting the horrific, the abject, the terrible and the awful into something fearfully and vitally Potent. So, personally, I give my fears, my terrors, in all their immanent hearts-hammering, breath-stealing embodiment, to the Old Man. I envisage myself enshrouded by the enfolding darkness of his presence, the shelter of carrion-wings beating eternally on cold winds, summoning it all to its most terrible extent. And I see him smile, that rictus of grinning bone, sharp as a knife - feel my lips peel back in the exhilaration of communion, feel my nerves sing with the knowledge that I am most terribly mortal, most aw(e)fully alive. The carrion does not vanish - rather it becomes a banquet - and in doing so, it is something we are capable of sharing. Every pain and privation, every anxiety, every terror, ever known? He has known them, he has gnosis of them - extracting the poetic, the magical, the furious wisdom from all things. For he is not content, never content - and in this is wise beyond being middle-wise as the Havamal recommends. He is the Most Terrible, and he feasts on lesser terrors where others might avoid them - he looks them straight in the Eye, ready to receive them as they are, unadulterated, and unavoidable. No mere confrontation, or Feeling the Fear and Doing It Anyway, the alchemical transformation is like the transmutation of Kvasir’s murder-blood into the mead of poetry. The grim aesthetic conceals a glorious joy, a mordant exultation which not only inspires poiesis - the bringing-forth of Creation, it enthuses and infuses vitality into mankind. Such a feast of inevitability is remembered when, according to myth, the kosmos is composed of a corpse . Ultimate Goth Dad. Just sayin’...

#the old man #ultimate goth dad #*odin

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naioge · 7 years

Text

Mikannie Week - Day 4 - Forgiveness

Mikasa sat heavily on the stool next to the bed and looked down at Eren as he slept. His condition was rapidly deteriorating and there was nothing she could do. She felt truly helpless for the first time in a long time. All she had wanted to do was be by his side, to see him happy, to see him realize his dream and now… now she was doomed to simply sit here and watch him die.

The thought made her sick to her stomach and she stood, pacing the small room as her mind though back to what years she’d had with him; the first day they met, how he saved her life and gave her purpose, waking him up when he’d been lazy napping beneath a tree and watching him grow from scared little boy to the man he was today.

The room felt too small, too sad and Mikasa found herself walking towards the door and into the hallway, her footsteps carrying her forward even as she continued to be lost in thought. It was the sound of the guard stopping her that made the girl realize where she had ended up. She was deep underground, deeper than even the city’s sewer tunnels and at a door that had almost become as familiar as Eren’s.

Annie.

That name brought with it a range of conflicting emotions; anger, sadness, confusion, unwanted desire, love and hate just to name a few. So far Mikasa had resisted going past that door to the girl who lay within. She wanted to see the small blonde, to demand answers to so many questions but what good would it do now. Mikasa had put all of it behind her when Annie had retreated behind her crystal. What good would it do now to ask why she had killed all those people? Or why she had betrayed her comrades or what possessed her to try and take Eren away KNOWING what he meant to Mikasa?

The last thought had the brunette slamming her fist to the wall, startling the young man on duty. She felt his eyes on her and ignored him as she continued her pacing, letting herself get lost in thought, dreams and memories; memories like what had happened after Shadis had pulled the two of them apart before they could determine who would best the other in hand to hand combat.

_____

“You kids knock it off? This is not the time to brawl. Now go run laps, both of you.”

Mikasa had saluted and then immediately turned to begin her punishment, pacing herself for what she was sure would be a long sentence. She could feel Annie’s eyes on her and hear her close behind. Her fighting instincts rose. Would the blonde try and take her down once they were out of Shadis sight? Mikasa tensed and fought against putting more distance between herself and the small blonde. Instead she shifted her position so that she could see Annie more clearly in her peripheral vision and adjusted her pace so that they were almost even. They lapped the entire base four times before they heard Shadis yell at them to hit the showers.

Mikasa had partially stripped before the door had even closed and wiped the sweat from her body with her discarded shirt. Every inch of her felt disgusting and Mikasa crinkled her nose as she peeled off her boots. The only way she could smell worse was if she were dead. She stiffened as the door opened once more and watched as Annie walked in and sat on the opposite bench, back turned. For a moment Mikasa felt the urge to throw one of her boots at the girl but she refrained and worked on getting out of the rest of her clothes. She walked naked over to the closest shower and turned it on, not even bothering to let the water warm.

Mikasa shivered under the ice cold stream but the water felt good on her skin, washing away the sweat from the day. She grabbed the block of soap and lathered up, determined to clean everything at least twice. She flinched slightly as she heard the other shower turn on and pointedly averted her eyes. The brunette had seen the small girl unclothed before and knew Annie naked did nothing for her. It wasn’t the nudity that made her avert her gaze but the anger she could feel still bubbling close to the surface. A part of her had wanted the fight to continue, to answer the question on everyone’s mind as to who would win in a one-on-one match. Mikasa was convinced Annie was her equal and it was only the other girl’s laziness that kept her from rising in the ranks. The girl had already said she didn’t care, that as long as she made the top ten she would be satisfied.

“Are you done yet?”

That voice was colder than even the water and Mikasa turned to glare down at the girl (secretly pleased that she was over half a head taller) and frowned when she saw a slender hand outstretched as though waiting for something. Her frown deepened as those slender fingers snapped twice before unfolding, ice blue eyes glaring back up at her in annoyance.

“The soap. Are you done with the soap? You’re not the only one who got sweaty you know.”

Mikasa felt her lips curl into a cruel smirk as she held the bar up over her head.

“You want it? You’re gonna have to work for it.”

She saw Annie’s jaw tighten, surprised when the small girl jumped over a foot off the ground and Mikasa felt those small fingers brush against her wrist. She heard the small girl curse and suddenly found herself pinned to the wall by a muscled forearm.

“Just give me the fucking soap.”

Mikasa scoffed and started to drop her arm when the brush of something firm and soft pressed against the underside of her breasts. Startled she looked down and saw Annie’s body leaning into hers and she flushed as an electric shock rocked through her and felt the bar of soap slip through her hand. Mikasa watched as it slid across the wet floor just a step away. She felt those cold eyes on her, surprised when she heard a soft sound that might have been a laugh coming from the other girl.

Mikasa felt the tight hold loosen and lift as Annie turned around bending over to grab the discarded bar. Mikasa gasped as the other girl’s ass pressed against her hips, digging in briefly before Annie straightened up and sauntered away. The brunette watched as slender hips rocked provocatively. She felt frozen as she watched Annie take the bar and rub it slowly down her front, blue eyes flashing as her hand crept between her legs before Mikasa snapped out of it. Blushing furiously the taller of the two turned and finished, dressing quickly before retreating back to the dorm rooms. Glad to find them empty for once she stripped back down, tugging on a tank top and her second pair of uniform pants. She hurried to the dining hall, grateful to lose herself in routine while her mind furiously tried to rationalize what had happened.

____

Mikasa shook herself from the memory, feeling the tips of her ears burn with the fact that even now, almost 6 years later, she could still recall the feeling of that firm flesh pressing against her and she could feel her fingers twitch from the desire to reach out and hold the girl there. She hadn’t then and Annie had avoided her after that, but the tension had remained, unchecked and not fully realized until after the battle of Trost when she had found the blonde sitting alone staring out into the night with a stricken expression on her face.

_____

The battle had shaken Mikasa to the core. Losing Eren only to be reunited again had exhausted her emotions. She had fought to remain at his side as he was taken into custody but her squad leader had pulled her back, telling her there was nothing more she could do. Mikasa had resisted at first, determined to not be separated again but it was no use and she watched as the only family she had left was taken away. She had wandered from corridor to corridor, taking in the grief of those who’d been left behind and feeling lost. The girl’s dormitory was empty save for Krista and Ymir, the two of them wrapped up in each other, oblivious to everyone and anyone who may or may not want to share the room. Mikasa had turned, content to give the two their privacy, it wasn’t as if she could sleep right now anyway - not with the knowledge of how easily she’d been willing to give up.

She took another long corridor, pushing open the door at the end of the hallway. She felt more than saw the hard gaze from the girl who sat near the only window in the room and Mikasa was startled to realize it was Annie. Feeling the awkwardness that had been building between them for months, Mikasa turned to leave stopping only by the faintest whisper to stay. Curious the brunette turned and looked at Annie, truly, for the first time in months. This was not the Annie she had grown accustomed to seeing. Gone was the bored expression and that cold glare. No, here sat an Annie she had never seen before, raw emotion bleeding through the cracks in that aggressive facade. Mikasa stepped into the dark room and closed the door, slowly sinking to the floor with her back pressed against the wood, content with the silence.

She could feel Annie’s eyes on her, watching her, assessing her. The memory of the last words she had said to the blonde played back in the asian girl’s mind and she cleared her throat softly, breaking the silence between them.

“I want you to know that I don’t think you are a coward.”

Mikasa watches Annie look back at her and stammers out the rest of her words in a rush.

“Everyone else was standing there and I needed - “

“You don’t have to explain. What you said worked.”

Mikasa finds herself at a loss of what to say back. She is no hero. She had led recklessly, selfishly, caring for nothing but her own sorrow. A sudden movement caught her eye and she looked up to see Annie standing over her, expressionless and realized that she had been speaking her thoughts outloud. The brunette felt her cheeks burn and looked away from that piercing blue gaze only to find her chin caught and turned back, forcing her to look back at Annie.

“What matters is that you lived and that you didn’t lose anyone today.”

The words are soft and Mikasa can barely make them out past the pounding of her heart as a calloused finger traces her lower lip, pulling it down slightly. She is reminded suddenly of that time in the showers, of the way that memory made her feel all the times she examined it. Mikasa finds her head tilting up and she holds her breath when she sees Annie lean down, the first brush of their lips full of hesitancy, wonder and fear. It is the kind of mixed emotion that changes things but Mikasa can’t worry about how she is changing, only that she wants to feel that again, harder and more. She wants to focus on the heat it brings, to lose herself in the experience and forget how she almost lost herself completely earlier that day.

Annie is pressing her against the door, pulling her forward and then her back is on the ground, shoulders pinned as the small blonde straddles her waist, lips slanting at just the right angle so their teeth don’t clang in the heated rush of their first real kiss. Mikasa can feel the heat radiating off that small body, so much heat from someone she’d always thought as cold. It feels like it is burning through her and she moans as she pries Annie’s hands from her shoulders, lacing their hands together as she sits up before cradling the girl in her lap.

She knows that what she feels is want but she hasn’t the slightest clue how to sate that need. She wishes she had paid more attention to the things Ymir and Krista do with one another but she has always turned away from such things. Mikasa lets those small hands slip from hers and she trembles as nimble fingers unbutton and unstrap and peel back all the layers between them. And when it is over and all she can taste and feel is the girl resting in her arms, does Mikasa finally stop thinking and let the sleep her body needs take over.

_____

Mikasa stands at that doorway remembering that night, remembering all the nights after when she would think back on it and wish that things could be different. It is only wishful thinking. There is no going back now that Annie has revealed herself to be an enemy of humanity and all Mikasa can think of is to wonder how can she love Annie despite that. How can she forgive a girl who is directly responsible for the destruction of her home, for trying to take Eren away, for killing all those people? She thinks back to what she said to herself after the battle of Trost, of how the world was cruel and yet so very beautiful. She thinks of the way those cold eyes resemble the clearest sky and makes her decision.

Slowly she opens the door and sees Annie lying on her side staring, once more, at the world outside but there is no look of longing on her face, only resolve until those eyes turn to fixate on Mikasa once more.

“Annie, I forgive you.”

And she does because all the people she has left in this world, that she loves are titans now and the time she has left with them is scarce and too precious to be wrapped up in hate and misunderstanding.

@mikann

#mikannieweek #mikannie

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gutterballgt · 7 years

Text

Some thoughts about IT.

Kneejerk first reaction: I loved it. It was nostalgic (both because I'm a child of the 80s and because I've read the book about a hundred times) and tense and filled with the helpless sense of doom, of fate, that so often permeated the book. The visual effects are flawless and enhance every unearthly scene. I left the theater satisfied and with only one complaint.

Spoilers below!

The only major complaint I have with this film is when Beverly, who is a total badass throughout the whole film, suddenly gets taken by Pennywise and used as bait, the helpless damsel, to get the boys to come after her. Even if that was the plot of the book, I would've expected it to be updated for a modern audience, so it being a complete deviation from the book's plot made it even more glaring a miscalculation.

Yes, she proved she wasn't scared of Pennywise and, thus, was sent to the deadlights instead of killed, but seriously. Why her? Why not Eddie, who spent the whole movie complaining about germs and filth and was so scared of everything? Why not Stan, who only believed because he literally had no other choice than to believe his own senses?

But no. Pennywise kidnaps the girl, who just beat the shit out of her own creepy-perv, abusive father and has been a BAMF the whole movie. Because girls.

That was disappointing. It didn't ruin the movie, exactly, but I was definitely disappointed, even in the moment. It was a bad look in an otherwise amazing movie.

ANYWAY.

Now that it's been a couple of days since I saw it (and I've watched the old TV miniseries and picked the book up again), I do see a few things that I missed from a new adaptation: namely, all of their specific talents. Maybe it was too hard to fit them into a responsible running time for a film, but why wasn't Ben an engineering genius? They didn't spend as much time in the Barrens in the film as in either the book or the miniseries, so I get why they didn't build the dam, but... that’s how he becomes rich and famous later in life. It’s what made him successful.

And why wasn't Beverly learning to draw from her father, illustrating the painful, confusing methodology of the abuser, as so glaringly drawn in the book? Her father could be kind and generous and loving... but he could also be the cruel, lecherous abuser, which was why so many women can't leave their abusive husbands. Why, in fact, Beverly always chose men who treated her like a queen until they treated her like a punching bag. Her learning to draw was the promising bud of her becoming a massively successful fashion designer later, so why is it missing?

And Bill and his storytelling. He becomes a hugely popular horror novelist later in life, unconsciously writing about his childhood horrors, but he was always a storyteller, always charismatic even with the stutter. Why was that absent?

Eddie's uncanny sense of direction. It saved their lives in the sewers, how he always knew which tunnel to pick, always knew where Derry's dark and brutal heart lie, always knew the way to go. He became a fantastically wealthy professional driver in one of the most difficult-to-navigate cities in the world with that ability. Completely absent from the film.

They did sort of mention Richie's impressions, but only in the large sense that he's a joker and a smartass. They mostly focused on him being inappropriate and hilarious (often both at the same time, which was priceless), but again, his impressions are what make him a hugely successful entertainer later in life.

Given that their adult successes -- compared to Mike's bare-bones existence and lack of any wealth or fame because he stayed behind in Derry -- were yet another sign that It's mark was still upon them, that their business wasn't through... why were these important character traces absent?

Given that it was their extraordinarily imaginative minds that both drew It to them and allowed them to defeat him, why is that almost completely missing?

I mean, it doesn't RUIN the film. In fact, anyone who hasn't read the book would never know that element was gone. Traci and Kobie (the friends that went with me) certainly didn't, and neither of them had read the book. Both LOVED the movie, and I'm trying to foist the novel off on them for more context for what they saw, but neither of them are big readers.

But for anyone who knows the overarching story -- part of which they're definitely hoping to bring to bear in the almost inevitable sequel -- it's a puzzling omission. Not a story-killer, but definitely a head-scratcher.

Don't get me wrong: some of the changes they made are good ones. Excellent, even. I loved the floating kids in It’s lair, not only because "we all float down here" but because it implies that the vast, extradimensional spiderweb in It's chamber is truly extradimensional and, thus, invisible on this plane.

And I totally get moving the entrance to the sewers from the Barrens to the house on Neibolt Street. It's way easier to make a creepy old house look foreboding and was probably way cheaper than filming out in the boonies. I did miss all the fun and games (and the genius underground clubhouse and the smokehole ceremony) and fear they had out in the Barrens, but I get it.

And it was a BRILLIANT choice to have this new Pennywise actor focus on inflections, twitches, and mannerisms instead of trying to recreate Tim Curry's manic, evil cheer from the miniseries. Bill Skarsgård has such a looming way of standing, and the weirdly over-sized head compared to the normal-sized face was visually disturbing. The contortionist moves... yeah. Creepy as fuck.

The visual effects are glorious. The jumpscares aren't either cheap or hackneyed but always well-planned and well-executed. The sustained tension, that brooding sense of wrong-and-getting-wronger, the interspersed "kids being kids" and "holy shit EXISTENTIAL TERROR" is beautiful.

It's a great horror film. It's nostalgic as fuck. It gets the damn point across, and I hope hope hope there will be a sequel with the adult half of the story and a lot more focus on the Lovecraftian nature of the original book.

Everything else (except the "damsel in sudden and unnecessary distress" thing) is quibbling with details.

Go watch it. You won't regret it.

But you might have nightmares.

#stephen king's IT #definitely a movie to watch #get thee to a cinema!#but seriously SPOILERS guys

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ecotone99 · 4 years

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[FN] The Kirdakk

Inspired by /u/Lukge1's original prompt on /r/WritingPrompts and my short response, which I really wanted to expand on. So I did!

[WC 4399]

The Kirdakk

"I offer you this exchange, Captain. Send your warriors to clear the sewers of a few giant rats. For this, you will recieve fifty gold Sudrrins, as well as my permission to never come back to Virgar again."

Bohr snapped, moving towards the Guildmasters desk with all the intent of driving his axe into the man. It would have been what was deserved, but Lanett threw her arm in front of him before he could perform the proper rites of violence. She shoved him back in line between Vina and Cafwe, the two twins standing still as statues, glaring daggers at the Guildmaster.

Lanett had the authority, and Bohr trusted his Captain to make the right decision. He acquiesced, stifling his temper to watch the warrior woman engage the Guildmaster in a subtler battle of wits.

Lanett stepped to the desk slowly, letting silence seep in to the room. Swani the Guildmaster looked at her impassively from his seat, his hands forming a steeple on the desk. Every step Lanett took appeared light, but in the absence of any other noise, each clack of her boots against the creaking floorboards was multiplied noise. As she stopped at the desk, she looked down upon Swani, and the light of the candles cast her in a haunting glow. She was a tall tower of a woman, strong and sharp-jawed, and the copious scratches along the plates of her armour were a testament to her experience. Swani was firmly planted in his seat, but Bohr thought he might have seen the chair retreat an inch in his stead.

"Fifty gold Sudrrins could almost make up for your hospitality, Swani. Why go through the formality of killing a few rats?"

Lanett purred as she spoke, a lulling tone that only put Bohr on edge. He exchanged a look to the twins beside him. They all understood the wrath that lurked underneath. The Captain had seen it. They had all seen it.

The Kirdakk.

Swani the Guildmaster responded in the same haughty manner that had earned him Bohr's particular resentment for the last two months. "The Guild, and the people of Virgar by proxy, are not a charity for wayward soldiers, 'Captain'."

Swani paused a moment to scoff, an action that Bohr saw as a comical affirmation of the Guildmaster's utter lack of self-awareness.

"You should be grateful that the Guild is willing to be so generous in compensating your services, and provide the capital to repair your boat. Would you rather be stuck in this backwater town, waiting for a passing ship from Basg to come rescue you?"

Lanett's eyes narrowed, and she stared silently at Swani. The Guildmaster didn't flinch.

“Two months in Virgar should be enough for anyone, Swani. Do not play with me like some enamored sulach hypnotised by the glint of gold. You do not want us here, and we do not want to be here, yet only now have you seen fit to 'help' your visitors.”

Swani's mask cracked for a moment, a small twitch in his eye that repeated as he spoke. “Your arrival at Virgar was unexpected, Captain. We are but a small fishing town, not some port to service every wayward ship caught on the reefs. Our resources are limited, and your services only now became... necessary.”

There was a hint of annoyance that wove its way into Swani's voice, like a hissing snake curled around an arrow. He continued on, his eye still twitching. “We assumed that by allowing you access to the surrounding lands, to perform your own repairs without interruption, that you would have long since made sail for somewhere more hospitable. By your standards.”

Lanett grunted with sarcastic amusement. “You allowed us? An interesting way to describe 'Locked the gates and hid away the food'. We needed tools, craftspeople, a proper shelter.”

Bohr nodded approvingly with Lanett's words. It had been two months of rain and cold, misery that soaked into every fiber of his furs and dampened his warrior spirit. Not even Stravv, a sailor who had grown up in Virgar himself, had been able to negotiate an understanding with the town and its impassable walls. The poor man had even been denied the right to speak to his family.

Lanett pointed at the Guild marker hoisted on the wall behind Swani, a simple iron triangle inlaid with a circle of gold and the inscription 'Dornin trik na sweli'– 'To be of service to all people'.

“Now you want us to kill a few rats, spend the gold on some essentials and be on our way?” Lanett asked, slamming a gauntlet against the desk. The desk was sturdy, and remained surprisingly unrattled.

“Why now, Swani? Tell me truthfully,” she pleaded. Bohr thought Lanett always had a soft spot for people, that she wanted to believe in the best from them. She may have wanted to believe that Swani was just an idiot; an asshole, and an idiot, but innocent of the horror her warriors had uncovered.

There was a long silence. Bohr heard rain beginning to fall outside, drumming against the roof of the Guild hall and the small office attached to it. Vina and Cafwe mirrored each other with visible anxiety, fidgeting with empty hands as the tension rose.

Swani seemed to be considering his response, his fingers tapping along their steepled opposite. His eyes were unfocused, staring through Lanett.

The twitch of his eye continued, until finally he leaned forward, planting his chin on top of his hands to form a flat platform, holding up his head. The twitch stopped, and Swani opened the top of his lips, a half-formed smile that Bohr found unnerving.

“To... exchange words with you in a manner you understand,” Swani began, his voice dripping with an unhidden venom, “A ship that sails against the wind is doomed to failure. I am giving you the wind, Captain. How fortuitous that it directs you elsewhere.”

Lanett closed her eyes, letting out a long and audible breath. When her eyes opened, she looked to Bohr for a moment, and gave him a small nod. There was anger in her expression, but above all was worry. Their battleaxes had been repurposed for hewing down trees, their shields tied together as ramshackle shelters in the first days. They had suffered together, clinging to the barest chance at survival, until finally the winter had broken.

The repairs had been completed in secret, and they had scrounged enough supplies to make the voyage back to Basg. The crew could have chosen to leave Virgar behind, cursing the town and its island until it vanished on the horizon.

They had all chosen to stay. To be warriors again. They had to be.

Bohr hadn't worn his armour since their arrival, and he had lost some of the weight and strength that had once filled it. There would be time enough to reclaim what was lost. Soon.

Bohr and the twins moved their hands quietly to the freshly sharpened axes at their sides, prepared for the worst. The round shield strapped to Bohr's back suddenly felt much more prominent, aching to be used. Lanett looked back to Swani, stepping back by a foots length. Her words were matter of fact.

"We know about the Kirdakk."

Swani's face blanched, devoid of all blood and colour. It was the first time Bohr had thought the man genuinely showed himself. Yet in the Guildmaster's eyes, he didn't see fear or horror at Lanett's admission. Bohr saw a primal response, anger so deep and terrible that the frail, thin frame of the Guildmaster became a threatening figure. Swani pressed against the table as he moved to stand, but he appeared slightly off-kilter. His head was cocked to his side, while one bony shoulder gradually rose past his collarbone. The twitch in his eye returned.

Bohr had been certain of Swani's guilt, but as the warrior assessed the sudden change in demeanor, he realised that the Guildmaster was much more than a simple conspirator. In Swani's eyes Bohr saw madness. A killer. A monster.

Bohr sniffed, and to his horror the air had taken on the scent of blood, laden with iron. The Kirdakk was close. Perhaps the foul being had been there the whole time, lying in wait.

Swani grinned, a smile so wide that his mouth threatened to stretch and rip.

"Well... I see!" he yelled excitedly, bouncing like an excited child. "We-- I gave you a means to leave. This could have just been a faded memory, Captain, a small adventure to forget."

Swani jolted out of his seat, and Lanett recoiled, her hand moving to unsheath her blade from its scabbard. "YET! It seems you have decided to stay!" Swani acted with a wild mania, dashing past Lanett to the door behind her, leading into the hall. No one moved to stop him, Bohr and the twins taking a position alongside their Captain. They unstrapped their shields, long axes held tightly.

Before Swani could lay his hands on the doorhandle, the thick oak construct burst open before him, swinging on its hinges. The Kirdakk stood on the other side, and the smell of blood intensified into an overwhelming stench, so that Bohr felt like he was swallowing red.

The Kirdakk was, above all things, ugly. It's head was swollen like a balloon, a round encasing atop its shoulders that had little need for the traditional human decorations. There was no nose, and its eyes sprung like stalks from the sides where ears should have been. It used this additional space solely to fit its oversized maw; there was only the mouth, so large that it could swallow Bohr whole if he gave it a chance.

Inside of the wretched maw were continous sets of sharp teeth, a sea of white daggers that coursed down to the creatures throat, and perhaps even further. The Kirdakk squatted in the middle of the doorway, its jaw hanging loose to form the second least attractive smile Bohr had ever seen. The creature was at least nine feet tall, yet it looked thin and sickly. It imitated the human form at its most emaciated, with taut skin across the bones of a jutting ribcage and pelvis.

Despite its appearance, Bohr knew that the Kirdakk had been well fed. He had seen the leftovers. A flank of Guild guards appeared behind the Kirdakk, six men in total that Bohr could see within the hall. They were armoured, wearing full sets of chainmail and armed with boxy wooden shields and iron axes. Bohr gathered that the conspirators had prepared for this outcome in advance, but the crew had made their own plans.

Bohr and the twins were better equipped, with steel-plated lamellar armour that hung down to their knees, padded with a heavy cloth gambeson. Mail chausses covered their legs, less protective than Bohr would have liked, but sufficient to protect against the slashing claws of the Kirdakk. Lanett alone sported a full set of plate armour, though she had neglected to bring the helmet as a part of the diplomatic performance. She gripped her longsword with both hands, blade set in her gauntlets as a sawblade for flesh.

Thunder rumbled outside, and the rain took on a new impactful cadence against the roof, dripping into the tension. Swani shuffled behind the Kirdakk and the armed guards, rushing down the hall to flee through the great doors on the other side. The monster stared, assessing the four warriors while the guards stood nervously, shields raised as they waited for some oncoming signal.

The Kirdakk took a step back from the doorway, standing up to its full height so that the head disappeared from Bohr's view. Then it screamed.

The sound whipped and curled into Bohr's ears on the wave of an unnatural high pitch. He grit his teeth in pain, the inside of his ears threatening to burst.

“Plugs!”

Lanett roared the word, but it came to Bohr as a faint whisper. The Kirdakk's guards were just as affected as Bohr, their hands desperately pressing against ears as they paid the price of proximity to the creature. The scream was an ironic act of good fortune, giving just enough time for the Bohr and the rest of the crew to dig the fingers of their axehands into the pouches at their belt, each retrieving two wax plugs that they hurriedly slammed into their ears.

Bohr's relief from the auditory assault was immediate, rebuffing the initial soul-ripping skirmish of unearthly wails to a slightly uncomfortable hum. His ears tingled, and he felt the beginnings of a headache throbbing in his temple.

The pain was temporary, a sacrifice in service to the objective. They were here to kill monsters. The Kirdakk's scream finally came to an end, a ten second display that acted as a more effective signal than the horn Cafwe had brought along. The guards were dazed, a small trickle of blood dripping from their ears. Lanett, a steel-clad bear unphased by the paltry squealing of monsters, bared her teeth and roared.

“Come on! Enter you sons of Helich, meet us in battle! I WILL RIP OUT YOUR HEART!”

Bohr was gratified to see the Captain's wrath unleashed. He locked shields with Vina and Cafwe, Lanett flanking their right. Vina screamed out a shrill war cry, joined by Cafwe. Bohr kept his silence, focusing on the rhythm of blood pumping in his heart.

The Kirdakk squatted back down, supporting its weight on the tips of its toes as the eye stalks blinked curiously. It raised a single elongated arm, pointing a claw-tipped finger at Bohr. The guards charged inside the narrow doorway, pushing into the cramped space of the office. Bohr grinned. It had begun.

The first man inside tried to flank their right, making room for his doorway reinforcements. Lanett pounced, charging him with her longsword raised high in her hands, aiming to stab at his throat. He raised his shield in response, his axehand hanging dumbly at his side. The Captain readjusted her thrust, holding the longsword horizontally and hooking the pommel around the side of his shield.

The guard raised his axe in response, but Lanett pressed the momentum of her attack. She used the unconventional hook of her pommel to throw the guards shield aside, before throwing her full armoured weight at his body. He grunted with the impact, and the tackle was enough to send him keeling to the floor. Bohr waited until more of the guards filtered in. The Kirdakk pointed still, its arm transfixed upon Bohr. He felt fluid well up in his mouth, thick replacements for saliva that had dried up. It tasted of blood, hot across his tongue.

Bohr spit out the fluid, and was horrified to see that it was, indeed, blood. It spilled endlessly from his mouth, like a jug filled to overflow. He felt it traveling down his neck, soaking into his gambeson.

The Kirdakk had to choose someone. Bohr had just hoped it wouldn't be him.

Five guards charged, their axes raised to chop from on high. Vina and Cafwe broke off from Bohr's side, darting around the first clumsy slices, blocking with their shields and returning with strikes of their own axes. Two guards threw themselves at Bohr, bashing their shields against his to crush it into his chest. Bohr dug in his feet against creaking floorboards, holding against their weight. An axe came slicing from on high, and Bohr blocked it with the shaft of his long-axe. The second guard, pressing all his weight into Bohr, swung his axe into Bohr's unguarded side, but the blow was weak and only clanged against the armour plating.

Bohr shifted his grip, bringing his axehand downward while twisting the bladehead to catch the blocked enemy axe. Bohr wrenched his axe back to his side, and to surprising success, the guard lost his grip of his weapon. It went clattering to the floor behind Bohr.

Another swing into Bohr's side clanged once more against the armour, this time with more force. The gambeson padded the crushing impact of the blow, but it was a reminder to Bohr that he was extremely exposed. It was followed by another blow, the same axe to the same location, as if the guard was trying to fell a steel tree.

Teaching cultists how to kill wasn't in Bohr's interest, so he allowed the man to continue bashing against the armour, trusting in the plates to hold against the assault. The other guard, now unarmed, rushed backwards to raise his shield, prematurely anticipating Bohr's attack. It relieved the extra weight against Bohr's torso, and as another axe blow clanged against his side, he pushed back against the pesky guard, opening up a foot of space between them. Blood still welled in his mouth, and he spat the swollen red ichor at his close attacker. It splattered across the man's face, eliciting a cry of surprise and panic as the liquid caught and oozed in his eyes.

To Bohr's left, Vina had dispatched a guard, his body laying crumpled face down on the floor.

“Take him!” Bohr yelled to Vina grabbing her attention as she reasserted her footing. The spat blood had effectively blinded Bohr's attacker, who swung his axe wildly in front of him, shield raised. The second, unarmed guard fumbled around his waist, taking out a small dagger to replace his lost axe.

Bohr smashed the iron rim of his shield into the blinded guards wooden defense, eliciting a loud thunk as it hit. His intention was to throw the guard at Vina, and so Bohr pressed his embedded axehead against the front of the shield, shoving his panicked enemy across the floor. The guard stumbled, but stayed upright, jumping a step back to open up space between Bohr and himself.

Vina came up behind him silently, wrapping her axe arm around his neck and pulling him back against her. He struggled, slashing his axe down in an attempt to catch Vina's legs or torso. She deftly evaded the strikes.

The dagger-armed guard charged Bohr, but the short range of the blade made the series of thrusts that followed feel like a comical display of desperation. A thrust at Bohr's unprotected head was parried by Bohr's axe, throwing the guards arm aside. Bohr used the opportunity to smash his axehead down at the guards neck. It struck into the chainlinks of the mail armour, but there was enough force to elicit a cry of pain. The guards weight shifted to his side, folding into himself as a reflex. Bohr maintained the momentum, slicing into the guards shield hand.

It only took three more slices to knock the guard out of the list of conscious fighters. Bohr slammed his axe repeatedly into the guards temple where the underpadding was minimal, concussing the man and sending him falling to the floor.

Bohr turned his attention to Vina, who was busy wrestling her guard down to the ground in a whirl of wordless grunting and cursing. Her arm around the guards neck was still wound tight, while her other hand gripped at the guards axe hand, caught in a contest of strength to wrest the weapon away.

The distraction of their fight provided an opening for Bohr. He dashed the distance between them in a second, twisting his torso as he approached to wind up the power of his attack. Vina snarled with a happy recognition, holding the guard in place, and Bohr swung the rim of his shield straight into the guards torso. It clanged against the guards chainlinks, but the impact was sufficient enough to steal the guards breath, leaving him dazed in Vina's grip.

Vina could take care of the rest. She threw the guard to the ground, retrieving her axe from the ground and setting about the bloody business of hacking through the stunned man.

The bloodlust was palpable, particularly so for Bohr as he spat out another thick stream of blood from his mouth. Despite the guards' unholy loyalties, Bohr pitied their fates as the short-lived peons of something as disgustingly parasitic as a Kirdakk.

The fighting had quieted considerably, with most of the guards dispatched in quick succession. Lanett and Cafwe were in a standoff with the two remaining guards, who slashed wildly but were obviously exhausted. The Captain and the twin would have no trouble with them, so Bohr's next objective was simple.

Kill the Kirdakk.

More blood spattered from Bohr's lips. He wasn't worried, provided that this fight didn't last much longer. The guards they fought were willing participants in the horror that had been beset upon the town of Virgar, 'uncorrupted' only in the magical sense. Bohr was experiencing the beginning of a Turning, intended first to horrify its victim, then to gradually extend the influence of the Kirdakk in their mind.

Given enough time, he would be bound to the creature's whims, as the blood congealed and soaked into his essence. The same fate had befallen those townspeople unwilling to serve the Kirdakk and its cult, creating a small army of shackled servants to feed and protect the Kirdakk. Lanett's final negotiations with Swani had been a necessary facade to allow their entry into the town, a distraction that Bohr hoped had provided the rest of the crew time to infiltrate the gates, eliminate the cultists, and break most of the Kirdakk's enchantments.

The fonts of blood were highly unpleasant, and Bohr was highly motivated to put it to an end. He looked to the Kirdakk, grinning silently with its infinite teeth just beyond the doorway. Its outstretched arm still pointed at him, transfixed to Bohr's slightest movements. It almost looked... friendly, harmless, like a child playing with its toys.

There was an element of sympathy that mingled with Bohr's disgust for the creature, but it was a feeling beyond reason. It was the first weed to grow in his mind as the Turning progressed, choking out a healthy distaste for flesh-eating creatures. The thought was sweet, an overly sacharrine contrast with the grit and anger that pulsed through Bohr, and that made it easy to identify.

Yes, he was going to kill the Kirdakk. Even if he didn't want to. But he did. He absolutely did. Didn't he? Bohr charged at the doorway. The Kirdakk reacted instantly, keeping its arm pointed to Bohr while standing up and slinking backwards into the open space of the Guild hall. Its thin legs moved like a spider, stabbing down into the floorboards in a quick, calm retreat. When Bohr burst through the opening into the hall, the Kirdakk stood silently in the center.

More blood pooled around Bohr's tongue, but he did not evict it. It tasted sweeter, and the boiling temperature had ebbed away so that there was only the sensation of iron, as pleasant and soothing as cool springwater.

He almost swallowed it whole, but the flame of rage within Bohr had not died out yet. He leaned his head forward, allowing the blood to splash to the floor. It stained the leather of his boots, and Bohr groaned frustratedly.

“That's not going to wash out. You damn tak!”

Bohr clanged the head of his axe against his shield, scraping against the metal boss in the center.

“DIE!”

He ran forward, brandishing his axe in a wild, hurried haze. He needed to hack the Kirdakk to pieces, throw those pieces in the fire, and bury the ashes. There was a building desperation in his mind, as he felt himself slipping away into the blood-soaked groves of the Kirdakk's false peace.

Bohr came into the close quarters of the Kirdakk. The monster stood at its full height, a mass of claws and bone. Bohr, veteran warrior and hulk of muscle, became a small, well-armed tantrum child by comparison.

For a moment, he felt terror. Instinct carried his attack through, his conscious mind reduced to a mad war against itself that threatened to overtake his reasoned objective of murdering the cursed parody of flesh. He swung his axe at the Kirdakk's torso, hoping to cut deep, but the creature wove around the weapon with a surprising agility. Its arm was still pointed at Bohr, the blood in his mouth still pooling as a result, so Bohr used the momentum of his first swing to strike out at the arm.

The Kirdakk dodged again, dashing back on its long legs, always keeping the distance from Bohr. He chased after it, lunging and swinging at the air the creature vacated. It matched his speed perfectly, and Bohr quickly began to tire.

There could be no rest until the creature was dead. His body ached under the heavy armour, crying out for oxygen and a bath of ice if he could spare it.

“D-d... die. DIE!”

He intended to yell the words, but his voice cracked and cut the sound to a whimper. The Kirdakk simply stood, staring with its stalky eyes. The creature was... sickeningly beautiful. Pure. Graceful.

Bohr swallowed the blood, and felt completely at peace.

He lowered his axe to his side, feeling his knee buckle down so that he knelt in front of the Kirdakk. He heard it speaking, hauntingly clear within his mind.

“GooOooOd. Kkkkkiiilll yoOoOuR fRiEnDs--”

It ended abruptly. Bohr blinked, finding himself staring at a blood-stained floor. He looked up at the Kirdakk, the sweet miasma of its influence dissipating as his sanity reasserted itself.

Vina and Cafwe were busy hacking at the Kirdakk's limbs, its body limp and strung out long across the floor of the hall. Lanett stood before him, sporting a new, small gash across her forehead.

“Still in there, Bohr Gregahrsen?” she said, the open palm of her gauntlet outstretched to him.

Bohr took a moment to consider. He put his axe back into the loop around his belt and let his shield rest against his side. Still kneeling, he observed his hands in front of his face, slowly coming back into his own body.

“Iyod, Captain. I am here,” he said, taking Lanett's hand to stand. She smiled, rubbing away half clotted blood on his cheek like a mother cleaning their child.

“Good. We killed the giant rats. Now we go find Swani.”

If you enjoyed reading this, come check out my other stuff at /r/tickytac

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thatcrazyfanfictionwriter · 6 years

Text

Secret of the Sewers: Enter the Shredder

Amidst the broken glass strewn across the rugs of April's apartment, and the torrent of rain pouring in from the open window, Leonardo lay unconscious, beaten to within an inch of his life. His siblings and Master all knelt around him, each of them scared beyond measure. April clung to Casey, fighting back tears as she stared down at her friend.

Not two minutes ago, the blue turtle had been flung through the window like he was nothing. Before falling into unconsciousness, Hisako had been able to read his fading thoughts, pulling the name of his attacker from his mind. Unfortunately, that name left more questions than answers.

"The Shredder?" Raph repeated. "Who the shell is that?"

"I don't know that guy, but I hate that guy." Mikey declared, his fingers twitching over his Nunchucks

Splinter looked at his fallen son, then at the others. The name Shredder was all too familiar to him, a name that meant certain doom for them all if they remained where they were.

"We are no longer safe here." He declared. "We must flee."

He bent down to try and lift his son, April immediately bending down to help him. As they did this, the rest of the windows in April's apartment exploded inward as various motorheads entered the apartment. Everyone gasped, the still conscious turtles and Hisako all readying their weapons. Casey pulled his mask over his face, drawing a golf club as a weapon.

"You guys again!" Raph yelled. "So this Shredder guy's part of the Foot Clan! As if I needed any more reason to hate him!"

The Foot soldiers charged at them full force, determined to finish what they'd started. Raph struck at them with the blunt end of his sai, taking down one after another in a fit of unbridled rage, not just at the motorheads, but at himself. The image of Leo lying broken on the ground just added more strength to his furious attacks.

Mikey joined in, spinning his nunchaku wildly. He didn't even bother dispensing with his usual banter, feeling that this was neither the time nor the place. It was time for some helmet-wearing creeps to get the comeuppance they so richly deserved for what had happened to Leo.

Donny blocked one oncoming sword strike with his staff, his eyes scanning the apartment for a possible escape route. He knew from experience that neither Raph nor Mikey would be thinking about getting out, leaving that task for him. Unfortunately, because of this, he wasn't fully paying attention to his opponents, which left him open for another Foot soldier to leap at him. Thankfully, before the Motorhead could strike with his sword, he received a kick to the gut courtesy of Hisako.

"Watch your back Don!" she called out, jumping on top of the motorhead who had tried to hurt her brother.

"Thanks sis." Donny responded, kicking the other soldier.

"We cannot afford to stay here!" Splinter informed fending off a few Foot soldiers himself. "Michelangelo, April, get Leonardo down the fire-escape."

"Will do!" Mikey called.

"Raphael, Donatello, clear a path." Splinter continued.

"Way ahead of ya." Raph called back.

"Hisako, Mr. Jones, with me. We will hold the rear." Splinter finished

"Got it sensei!"

"You're the boss, Splinter."

Mikey jumped over to where April was, helping her to pick up Leo. He grimaced at the sight, something that didn't go unnoticed by April.

"He'll be okay, Mikey." she assured him. "Once we get him out of here."

"Right." Mikey agreed, though he didn't sound very convinced.

Mikey was then tackled by a Foot soldier and shoved right up to the front door of the apartment. Mikey struggled with the motorhead, just barely holding him off with his nunchuku while simultaneously trying to get free of the pin. Just then, there was a quiet knock at the door.

"April…?" Irma called from outside the door, her voice groggy from sleep. "What's going on in there? Are you having a party or something?"

"Um…" Mikey started to respond, doing his best to imitate April. "Something."

"Well… keep it down. I mean, it's bad enough you're letting your friends stay over when it's clearly against your lease. If this keeps up, you'll have an angry landlord on your hands."

"Uh right." Mikey replied, still mimicking April while delivering a punch to the Motorhead's gut. "Sorry for waking you. We'll try and keep it down."

"Thanks April." Irma said before shuffling off. "Though she probably shouldn't be throwing a party if she's losing her voice. She sounded way off."

Mikey finally shoved the Foot soldier off and punched him hard enough to break the visor on the helmet. He then spin kicked the guy down into the ground.

Raph and Donny meanwhile were knocking away one Foot soldier after another that stood in the way of the window to the fire-escape. The foot clan obviously knew it was the only escape route the turtles had without giving away their secret, and were guarding is rather well. Still, the two turtles would not be deterred. They batted, punched, kicked, and pummeled the foot clan members all across the apartment until an opening was found. Raph wasted no time breaking the window with his sai, grabbing a motorhead who was on the other end and using his helmet to clear away the remaining glass fragments.

"You know we could've just opened it." Donny voiced as Raph dropped his makeshift tool onto the fire escape.

"Maybe when we're not fighting for our lives." Raph retorted.

"Right." Don relented. "Guys! We're clear!"

Hearing this, Mikey jumped onto a fallen Foot soldier and sprung off him back flipping towards the window.

"Ladies and gentlemen, turtles and rats, run, do not walk to the nearest exit!" He exclaimed.

April came up carrying Leo. Mikey immediately took hold of his arm, draping it over his shoulder and together, both he and April got Leo out onto the fire-escape. Unfortunately it seemed they had company. Several other Foot soldiers were perched on several levels of the fire-escape in anticipation for them.

"Oh give me a break." Mikey complained.

"The ways blocked!" April exclaimed.

"Not for long." Splinter replied. "Mr. Jones, help these two protect Leonardo I shall clear us a path."

Before any of them could respond, Splinter leapt onto the fire-escape and began engaging the Foot, his walking stick spinning in his hand like Donny's Bo staff. The motorheads all attempted to tackle the rat, but with Splinter's advanced skills the soldiers of the Foot didn't stand a chance. He batted them aside with his walking stick, snapping his tail at a few others. Those who managed to avoid these two deadly weapons found himself at the mercy of Splinter's precise nerve strikes and powerful kicks.

…

On the bottom of the fire-escape, the turtles made it to the ground, Hisako remaining above to hold down the fort. Casey and April weren't too far behind with Leo.

"Hand him down." Mikey instructed.

Carefully, April handed Leo down to Mikey, who took hold of him as she and Casey made it to ground level. April then helped Mikey carry Leo as they made their way towards the Shellraiser.

"Anybody else getting the feeling that this is a bit too easy?" Casey noted.

That's when smoke suddenly appeared around the Shellraiser, revealing a group of five hooded figures. The two humans all stared for a second, paralyzed by the menacing air these five gave off.

"What's the hold-up you guys?" Mikey hissed.

The orange turtle peeked around the corner, coming face to face with the figures.

"Nice hoods." Mikey commented.

Mikey then grabbed both Casey and April by the collars of their shirts, pulling them back behind the cover of the building along with his unconscious brother. Unfortunately, this action nearly caused him to run into Raph and Donny.

"Mikey, that's the wrong way!" Donny exclaimed.

"Wrong way my foot!" Mikey retorted before realizing what he'd said. "Poor choice of words. We got an ambush at the Shellraiser!"

"Well it's not like we can go back the way we came." Raph replied, gesturing upward.

They all looked up to see Hisako and Master Splinter both fighting off several foot soldiers, trying to keep them in April's apartment and away from the fire escape. Hisako blocked a sword attack with one tessen and sliced the soldier's arm with the other. She took this opportunity to kick him to the ground.

"What's going on down there?" Hisako called down.

"There are some seriously mean looking guys guarding our getaway ride!" Mikey called back.

"Raph, think you can handle these guys I got?" She asked.

"Like you even have to ask." Raph replied, gripping his sai.

Raph then charged at a massive group of Foot soldiers and tackled them to the ground. What followed next was a series of punches and kicks to anyone that was dressed as a motorhead and conscious. This allowed for Hisako to jump down to try and deal with Mikey's 'mean looking dudes'. As she rounded the corner, she saw the elites and skidded to a halt.

"Whoa..." she muttered, "Nice hoods."

The kusarigama elite then shot out his chain at Hisako, which she quickly deflected with her tessen. She ducked back, looking over at Mikey.

"Okay, you're right." She told him. "Mean looking dude. Very powerful, mean looking dude."

"Told ya." Mikey quipped.

Leonardo let out a groan, causing them all to remember the direness of their situation. Donny squatted down, checking his brother's pulse. His face visibly became worried as he looked up at the others

"We can't just stay here." Donny informed them. "Leo won't last long if we do."

Mikey gulped before responding.

"Then I guess we fight our way out." He said nervously.

"Together." Donny agreed.

The three ninjas then rounded the corner, where the elites were waiting.

"Nice hoods." Donny commented.

"Aren't they?" Mikey asked, trying to lighten the very tense mood.

The spear elite and the hook sword elite then charged at them. As the sword elite swung at Mikey, Mikey kept backing and flipping away.

Donny engaged the spear elite head on. The two exchanged blow for blow. The spear elite swung his weapon at Donny, who barely dodged it getting the tips of his mask sliced off.

"What did I say about watching your back, Don?" Hisako asked.

She and the Kama elite were circling each other, each ready to make a move at a moment's notice. Finally, the two clashed. Each one trading attacks with great speed. Hisako then kicked one Kama out of the elites hand and brought her tessen under his chin.

"Did you hurt my brother?" she questioned, her voice as hard as steel.

Before she could get an answer, the hook sword elite came out of nowhere and kicked her in the gut, knocking her to the ground. As she saw the two elite coming down on her fast, she quickly rolled out of the way and got to her feet.

"I'll take that as a yes." she muttered before speaking up. "Guys, I do believe we are out of our league on this one! These guys are uber strong!"

"Sis, blast them!" Mikey called. "Go dark phoenix on them!"

"I can't!" she called back. "Not exactly in the best mindset right now!"

"So what now?" Donny asked blocking another spear attack.

…

Back with Casey and April, Leo was deathly still, much to April's dismay. Casey was doing his best to fight off a few motorheads that strayed too close, but it was clear he was in over his head. Without any skills to call her own, April could only hold Leo close as everyone else fought. Just then, a large shadow overtook them. They turned to see Hun towering over them.

"Your friend doesn't look too good." Hun observed cracking his knuckles. "Shall I put him out of his misery?"

April gasped, but steeled herself, draping herself over Leo's form.

"You want him, you're gonna have to go through me first!"

"And me!" Casey declared charging at him.

As he came close, Hun picked him up and threw him against the wall.

"That's the idea." Hun told her as he came closer. "Those green freaks and their little pet feel great affection for you. Losing you should take the fight out of them."

Hun wound his fist up as April clutched Leo harder. Before he could swing however, his fist was held back by a hockey stick. Hun turned to see Casey back on his feet holding back his fist. Through the holes in the mask, Casey's eyes were burning with more hatred and anger than anyone had ever seen in the guy's face

"Hun!" Casey yelled. "Never! Ever! Threaten her!"

Hun then turned around and swung at Casey, who ducked under it. Casey then swung his hockey stick at Hun's face several times. When Hun tried swinging at him again, he rolled under it and ended up behind him. Casey then struck Hun in the back, sending him colliding into the hook sword elite and the kusarigama elite as they were fighting Don, Mikey, and Hisako. Once Hun was down, Casey turned back to April.

"You alright?" he asked, pushing his mask up to check her out.

April smiled.

"I am now." she told him "Now go show these guys how Casey Jones fights."

"You got it." he replied winking at her before sliding his mask back down and joining in the fight.

…

Back in the apartment, Splinter and Raph were the only ones fighting off the Foot soldiers, though they were decreasing in numbers.

"Looks like they're finally running out of goons." Raph noted.

"Go, aid your siblings." Splinter instructed. "I will finish up here."

Raph nodded and made his way down the fire escape, leaving Splinter to mop up what remained of the Foot soldiers. As he jumped down the fire escape, something caught his eye. On a building across the street, two figures stood, surveying the entire battle. One was a slender female figure with pink hair that glowed even in the dim light of the evening. The other was a tall man dressed in metal samurai armor. For some reason, the man gave off an aura that just felt off to the red turtle.

…

Back on the ground, the elites were made a bit more manageable since Hun inadvertently took out a pair of their forces. Still even the three elites were proving to be a bit of a challenge. Donny, Mikey, and Hisako had been backed up against the wall as the sword, Kama, and spear elites stared them down. Raph jumped down in between the two groups, twirling his sai in his fingers. As he noted this new breed of opponent, he couldn't help but comment.

"Nice hoods." he quipped, delivering a roundhouse kick to the sword elite.

"Yeah, we thought so too." Mikey added, spinning his nunchuku in the face of the Kama elite.

"Say what you will about these Foot guys," Donny began, clashing weapons with the spear elite. "But they do not skimp on the headgear."

"Speaking of headgear, look up on the roof next door." Raph informed them.

Everyone turned to see the two figures, Hisako's eyes locking onto Karai. Her eyes narrowed as she brought her hand up, her knuckles connecting with the sword elite's face when he tried to sneak attack her.

"The one on the right is Karai, but who's the guy on the left?" Mikey questioned, finally taking down the Kama elite and delivering a kick to the gut for good measure.

"I bet it's that Shredder guy who beat the stuffing out of Leo." Raph snarled, grabbing the spear elite from behind and tossing him into a wall, sending him to join his brethren in the land of unconsciousness.

"Then why are we just standing here?" Donny asked. "Let's go kick their shells!"

"You guys handle the Shredder." Hisako told them quietly. "Karai is mine."

They all gave a small nod.

"Give her shell, sis." Raph told her.

…

Up on the building, Karai and Shredder were surveying the battle with interest, especially the rat who was single handedly besting their troops with only a stick for a weapon. As they turned away from Splinter's battle, they were both surprised to see no sign of the turtles and Hisako. Just a pile of unconscious bodies where the Elites had been.

"Where are they?" Shredder wondered aloud.

"Right here!" Raph exclaimed.

Shredder and Karai turned around to see the turtles and Hisako standing in a dramatic pose on the roof entrance on the building.

"Looking for someone?" Mikey asked.

Hisako looked at Karai, her eyes glowing green in anger.

"You're mine Karai." she told her. "And I'm gonna make you pay for what you did to my brother!"

She launched off the roof, tackling Karai and sending them both falling off the edge of the building. Being kunoichis, they would be fine, and that left the three turtles to deal with tall, dark, and evil.

"Guess that makes you all ours, tin grin." Raph remarked spinning his sai.

"You freaks have been a thorn in my side for long enough." Shredder called out. "You will soon learn that no one opposes the Shredder. Say farewell to each other while you still can."

Oh yeah Mr. spikey pants?" Mikey asked. "Well you're the one who should be saying farewell. To… to yourself."

"Oh yeah Mikey, that got him." Raph replied sarcastically.

Shredder wasted no further words, raising his clawed gauntlets as he charged at his adversaries. The turtles leapt away as Shredder came in for a landing. Raph charged at him first and thrusted his sai forward. Shredder caught it in his claw and delivered a punch to the face, knocking him to the ground. Mikey came up next with his nunchuks spinning, and tried swinging at him. Shredder just kept backing away with each swing until he finally kicked Mikey in the chest sending him flying across the roof. Donny then leapt at Shredder, trying to hit him with his staff. Shredder merely caught the staff, swinging Donny so violently that he went flying into the recovering Mikey.

"Pathetic!" he exclaimed, breaking the staff in his hands and discarding the pieces. "These are the creatures that have caused me so much grief? I expected more from you!"

"You ain't seen nothin yet!" Raph declared getting up.

He charged at Shredder again with his sai spinning in his hand. Shredder then charged at him and the two clashed weapons.

…

Down below, Hisako was refusing to let up on her attacks on Karai. She swiped her fans with blinding speed, forcing Karai to remain on the defensive.

"Have to say, you're pretty skills for only having four years of training." Karai admitted, blocking a rather close swipe at her throat.

"Circumstances forced me to learn quickly." Hisako spat. "I have too much to lose to let anyone beat me."

"Too much to lose?" Karai questioned. "You mean those monsters you call brothers? Or that mangy rat you call your master?"

Hisako faltered for a split second, which gave Karai an opening for a well-placed kick to Hisako's stomach. Hisako gasped, doubling over as Karai uppercut her across the face.

"You're absolutely pathetic. You know that right?" she taunted, spin kicking Hisako a few feet down the street and into a parked car. "You cling to those things, those freaks you call your brothers. I don't care what Stockman says about you. You're weak!"

Hisako's blood ran cold at the mention of the monster that ruined her life. Karai noticed this and chuckled.

"Oh yeah, I know all about Stockman, and about Project Oracle." Karai added, grabbing Hisako by her shirt and pulling her to her feet. "You should have stayed in TCRI. At least there, your powers were put to good use."

Hisako's entire body was shaking.

"You… How do you…?"

"Know about all that?" Karai asked, pulling her closer so she could meet Hisako's eyes. "My dad's the one who ordered him to find out everything about you. He brought you to TCRI, gave you to Stockman. He's the reason you are who you are today."

With that final sentence, whatever was holding Hisako back snapped. Her eyes became solid green as her powers exploded outward, sending her into her dark phoenix mode. The wave of energy sent Karai flying across the street and into a street lamp, as well as shake the building Shredder and the others were fighting on. When Karai slowly got to her feet, she found herself staring up at an extremely pissed and powerful Hisako.

"I am done listening to you!" Hisako shouted, her powers making her voice resonate with an untold energy. "I am done with your manipulations, your slanders, and I am one with you bringing up my past!"

Karai got to her feet, but before she could do much more, she was shoved and pinned to the wall telepathically. Cold sweat began to drip from her brow as Hisako floated towards her.

"Did your father ever tell you what I did to that psychopath?" Hisako asked menacingly. "Did he tell you how I ripped his memories from his skull, crushing them into dust before leaving him to get crushed by his own lab falling down on top of him?"

Karai attempted to fight against Hisako's hold, but couldn't as much as move a finger. Hisako lifted her hand, fingers curled like claws.

"Perhaps a demonstration is in order..."

Without further hesitation, Hisako dug her fingers into Karai's skull. Without consideration, she took hold of Karai's memories, slowly pulling them free of her mind. To Karai, it felt as if someone was sticking hot needles into her skull and searing her brain. She screamed out in agony as Hisako continued without a speck of remorse.

…

Shredder, meanwhile, had Raph by the throat. He was just about to sink his claw into him when he heard Karai's screams.

Karai!" he yelled, turning in that direction.

He quickly dropped Raph and sped towards where the two girls were fighting, leaving the turtles beaten and bruised.

…

Down below, Hisako had almost fully pulled Karai's memories free. The screams had trickled away to a pained moan, Karai barely able to remain conscious. Hisako's lifted her arm, prepared to rip the memories free, but before she could do anything else, she felt two really sharp blades penetrate her side. She let out a scream of pain, her powers suddenly disappearing as her eyes returned to normal. Her grip on Karai's memories slipped from her fingers, snapping back into place. She felt the two yank out of her, her hands going to her side as she turned to face her attacker. She could feel blood running through her fingers as she came face to face with the Shredder.

"You hurt my daughter!" he yelled, striking her in the face.

Hisako stumbled back, two bleeding wounds on her face that just narrowly avoided her eyes. She tried to grab for her tessen to defend herself, but Shredder merely batted them from her hand, his claw raking her across her arm. She let out another scream, now on the ground bleeding from her various wounds.

"You have proven yourself to be far more trouble than you're worth!"

He raised his gauntlet to bring down the final blow. Before he could land it, the killing blow was intercepted by Splinter, who'd been drawn by his daughter's screams. Splinter's walking stick easily pushed away the bladed gauntlet as the rat got between the Shredder and Hisako.

"I will not let you hurt my daughter any longer!" Splinter declared.

The three turtles, who had just recovered from the beating they'd taken, all saw Hisako bleeding out on the street and freaked out.

"Hisako!" They all screamed.

"That's it!" Raph declared. "He's dead!"

"No!" Splinter stopped. "Help your sister. I will deal with the Shredder."

The turtles nodded as they made their way to their sister. She was holding her side, her vest and shirt gaining a large red stain and her face practically covered in blood. She seemed to be barely holding onto consciousness.

"Hisako, we got you." Donny promised her.

Raph picked her up, cringing with every cry of pain that Hisako gave. Mikey just stared at the blood on the road, looking a bit pale. As the three of them carried their sister off, Splinter stared down her attacker.

"So you are the Shredder." Splinter surmised.

"Indeed." Shredder answered. "And you are the rat Stockman reported. I have heard your skill is impressive."

"It has been a long time since a member of the Foot Clan bore the mantle of the Shredder. It is an honor one such as you does not deserve!"

"We shall see of that!"

With that, the two foes charged at each other. Shredder tried bringing his claw down on him, but Splinter blocked it with his stick. Splinter then shoved Shredder off and struck him in the chest. Shredder staggered back a bit before swinging at him. Splinter ducked under the attack and used his tail to trip up the Shredder. Shredder quickly got up and gave an uppercut to Splinter. Shredder walked over to his fallen foe and attempted to bring his claw down on him. Splinter, however, quickly used his tail to catch it.

…

The turtles meanwhile were making their way to the Shellraiser, where April and Casey had already gotten Leo inside. April had gone digging for the medical kit that Donny kept in the glove compartment and was already doing her best to try and help the fallen turtle.

"Gangway!" Raph exclaimed.

April looked up and gasped at the sight of Hisako.

"What happened?!" she exclaimed.

"Shredder happened." Donny exclaimed, taking off his coat and using it to try and staunch the bleeding. "He's bad news."

"Really bad news." Mikey agreed.

Casey looked at the others, noting large bruises forming, as well as a few cuts from their battle. While none of them were as bad as Leo and Hisako, it was clear that the fight was slowly tipping out of their favor.

"Guys, I hate to say it, but I think it's time to get out of here." he informed them. "That's the best strategy we have right now."

April looked out the window and gulped. The previously unconscious elites seemed to be regaining their senses.

"He's right." She agreed, closing and locking the door.

"Then let's get Splinter and get out of here!" Raph yelled.

Casey slid into the driver's seat, snagging the keys from the sun screen and jamming them into the ignition. Putting the Shellraiser in reverse, Casey slammed his foot on the gas, backing up and making a backwards bee-line for the Shredder. Shredder turned to see the oncoming vehicle. While Splinter jumped out of the way, Shredder got rammed by the Shellraiser and launched into a pile of trash as it came to a stop.

"All aboard!" Casey shouted. "Next stop, anywhere but here!"

Donny opened the rear door, allowing for Splinter to jump inside. Donny barely had time to close the door before Casey threw the Shellraiser into drive, once again flooring the gas pedal. Shredder pulled himself free of the trash just in time to witness his adversaries disappearing into the night. He scowled at their escape before turning his attention to Karai.

Karai was still, her eyes glassy as she let out weak, thready breaths. He bent down and picked her up, holding her gently as he looked off in the direction his enemies had gone.

"Spread out." He ordered. "Find them. Find them all! I want them all to suffer for what they have caused!"

"What about Project Oracle?" Hun questioned, his voice a bit slurred do to serious facial reconstruction on Casey's part.

"Especially her." he proclaimed. "She's become far too uncontrollable… and far too dangerous."

He caressed Karai's face as the motorheads disappeared into the night to do their master's bidding.

…

Hisako had joined Leo in unconsciousness, but thankfully, Donny had been able to at least slow the bleeding. He tore off long strips of his coat, tying them around her stomach and waist to serve as bandages until the real thing could be found.

"How are they?" Mikey asked.

"Stable, for now." Donny answered. "But they're both gonna need somewhere safe to heal and rest."

"We all are." Splinter clarified.

"But where?" Raph questioned. "We can't stay in the city. That Shredder's gonna be gunning for us."

"Well, my grandmother has this farmhouse up in Northampton, Massachusetts." Casey offered. "It's been empty since she was sent to the nursing home, and there's nobody for miles."

"I feel that is our best course of action." Splinter decided.

"Then that's where we'll go." April said. "You all just rest. We got it from here."

The Shellraiser drifted through the city, a solemn air surrounding it and its occupants as they made their escape.

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