AC: Round 1 - Group 8

[Revenant]

This thread is reserved for member of Group 8. The thread will open at noon on August 18th (Pacific time) and will be closed after two weeks.

Good Luck!

Group 8
Ciato Orlouge - Ciato Orlouge
Dan Wilmhearst - Slayer of the Rot
Touma Kamikaji - Whispers of Abyssion
Sei Orlouge - Silence Sei

[Whispers of Abyssion]

(With credit to Sei for the basic premise and setting...)

It was perhaps fate that he awoke first of the four. When the pain in his back grew too excruciating for peaceful slumber, his mind wrenched itself violently back to reality somewhat ahead of its prescribed schedule. The reason for said pain made itself clear quite quickly, and the young man groggily pulled himself free of the granite tetrapod that had broken his beaching, collapsing torso-first into coarse-edged sand. Curtains of darkness draped deeply across his eyes, accompanied by the gentle lulling rhythm of the waves washing up close to his ears. Such shadow could only exist in the presence of light, however, and the distant bonfire of flickering lamps made it a simple task to make sense of his surroundings, easily drowning out what stars might have shone in the velvet heavens above.

Touma Kamikaji's first conscious thought was of the dried blood and matted gore that clung to his body like a second layer of clothing, sealed to his skin by an overcoat of sticky salty residue that must have come from the sea. He took a tentative sniff, and would have retched were it not for an empty stomach.

He remembered fighting, deep inside an underground cavern somewhere below Kebiras. He vaguely remembered a monstrous horror easily twice the size of a standard dragon, all bulging eyes and groping claws and grotesque screams... ah, that would be it then. Forced displacement. Involuntary teleportation. He remembered Kayu speaking of a similar phenomenon when the Cabal had spirited her away, over a year ago now.

Touma's second thought was of his possessions, of his relative state of preparedness to face the challenges that surely lay ahead. Sword, check; rod, check; knife, check; kiseru, check. His robes, though filthy, didn't seem to be torn, and he even retained possession of both sandals. Ideally he would have preferred to bring at least another twenty or so mirrors along with him, but given the circumstances, he supposed that beggars could not be choosers.

Gingerly he tested his back, which groaned in protest but tolerated his abusive stretching. Gradually the endorphins kicked in and he could move with greater freedom, and slowly he rose to his feet. A gust of soft sea-breeze licked warmly at his still-damp clothes, followed by a low moaning keen from overhead that froze him momentarily to the spot before dissipating into the distance. He allowed himself to ponder briefly the lonely bittersweet sound, filing it away as likely belonging to a native avian species that he would do well to avoid until daylight.

With newly digested information fresh in his mind, narrowed brown eyes once again turned to their surroundings. They discerned little of note out to sea, save for the looming shadows where the horizon might have lain. Thus Touma turned smartly on his heels to study the coast upon which he had made landfall, sticky cotton robes floating limply in the humid salt air. Devoting his attention firstly to the big picture, he immediately noted that the myriad lights illuminating him from afar were spaced equidistantly and in neat rows - signs of artificial intent rather than natural design. They worked in concert to draw his gaze further inland, inwards and upwards until it rested on the island's crowning jewel: a brightly beckoning beacon set high above the rest of the metropolis, blazing merrily in constant luminance upon the lesser structures that surrounded it in all directions.

My destination, Touma realised instantly, instinctively. The goal of this little charade.

Swiftly he shook his head and refocused his thoughts, knowing that it would not do to get caught up in grand schemes without considering the small details. He cast his gaze about once more, this time trained closer to hand, and started to study the three other figures strewn about like so much discarded debris upon the beach.

One he instantly recognised from his mirror-gazing, distinctive orange hair attracting the eye even in the limited light. Sei Orlouge, Protector of Radasanth.

The second bore close familial resemblance to Sei, older perhaps but no less toned. Touma could not place his name, but carefully noted the slick white hair and keen features.

The third was none other than Dan Lagh'ratham, the Saraelian. There was no mistaking the powerful build and the scars upon his flesh.

... how interesting.

Touma's keen glare flicked between unconscious features – from Dan's to Sei's, and then to the unknown lying between them – all the while debating his next move. No doubt if he desired simply to advance to the next stage of the competition, then the shrewd stratagem would be to obediently tag along to the better-known adventurers. But would that really be the best decision at this stage? If he befriended them now, would there be any guarantee that they would not work against him - voluntarily or otherwise - at a latter stage?

Would it not be to his advantage to level the playing field while he still held the initiative?

Long precious minutes ticked by as Touma's cunning brain wrought its magic. Mind spun, thoughts churned, and plans hatched and died in unsung obscurity. Risks balanced against benefits, probabilities danced against costs, and the possible futures played out upon his mental chessboard. Once again he took in the key facts - his blood-drenched clothes, the streetlights in the distance, the three men motionless upon the coarse sand – and pieced them together in his mind like a patchwork puzzle.

His decision, once made, seemed almost an anticlimax.

With no further ado, Touma turned away from his 'comrades' and staggered off into the night.

[Ciato Orlouge]

Ciato was the next to awaken, his head still groggy from the spell used to bring him here. He could feel the grains of sand as they blew across his skin; feel the mosquitoes as they had feasted upon his body. The Mystic swatted at his neck, a low grumble escaping his mouth. Whoever had the audacity to make a fool out of him, the great Ciato Orlouge, would soon find penance for their misdeed at the tip of his beloved rapier, Asterodeia.

He sat up from the ground, checking around the area in hopes of recognizing where he was. The crashing of waves against sand hinted at a beach of some sort, though there were the sounds of a bustling town making faint echoes into the blackness of the night. He could barely make out a few silhouetted buildings, their outlines barely visible thanks to the candles used to keep their lights on. He was in an unknown land, but at least he was near civilized society.

At least as civilized as non-Mystic scum could get.

He finally roused himself to his feet, the sand that had snuck into his clothes raining out of the bottom of his pants. He reached into his pocket for his comb. After all, it would be rather undistinguished of him to not have the pinnacle of perfection atop his head. His hand searched the pocket of his vest for several seconds, his eyes growing wide when he could feel nothing but fine silk. Whoever had brought him here, they had stolen his comb. Another growl escaped, this time more defined. “Oh yes, there will be retribution…”

The nobleman made a fist, the hand shaking with anger at the sheer bravado of any crook who would steal from him. He closed his eyes, breathing in and out for ten seconds to try and calm his nerves. One of the Litter had taught him how to meditate in order to soother his violent tendencies. Between the constant buzzing mosquitoes, the sand in places where it should never be, and the bare visibility of his location, the meditating was doing little to help.

He heard something shuffle, and instantly turned to his left. His hand had already drawn Asterodeia, and the rapier was pointed directly at the human-like lump that lay in the sand. Ciato raised an eyebrow at the shaded creature, slightly poking it with his sword to check for vitals. “On your knees, worm. You will show the proper respect when a nobleman from the house of Orlouge is in your presence,

The inky blob turned around, the moonlight hitting the form just right to illuminate the orange mane atop the person’s head. His grey karate gi seemed to be flapping in the wind, inviting the grains of sand to rub against him. Ciato’s vision narrowed as he looked at the image of his more well-known brother, and all seemed to become clear to the Mystic.

“The Crown…” Ciato mumbled to himself, bits of sand crumbling down his lips. His gaze shifted around, checking both for dangers and potential allies. Soon, the man’s eyes settled upon another large man-like outline. The Mystic could tell just from the girth of the body that the man was probably ones of his brother’s friends, or worse yet, self-righteous Ixian bodyguards. A scowl forms upon Ciato’s lips. Attacking his brother now would not be prevalent to his goals of winning the Adventurer’s Crown. For now, Sei was to be a pawn in the giant chess game of this tournament, defending Ciato, his ‘King’ with his own life if he had to.

Sacrifices were surely an outcome of this competition. Probably.

Ciato leaned down to his brother, shaking his body a few times. When his handicap hindrance continued to lie still in the sand, Ciato shook a little harder. “Sei, get up. The tournament’s started.”

Sei’s answer was turning his back towards his older brother, Ciato’s fists starting to shake in frustration. He looked back and forth for a moment, lifted his leg, and slammed the toe of his steel-toed boot into his brother’s spine. Sei’s body rolled in the sand three times before the Protector of Radasanth rolled onto his feet, the chakrams normally sheathed at his hips in each of his hands. Ciato smiled at this pose; a battle-ready Sei was a better pawn than a sleeping Sei.

“Wakey wakey,” Ciato spoke, sheathing his sword and walking towards his defensive brother, his lips ‘tisking’ his sibling for drawing his weapons. “Keep that kind of attitude up, and I’m telling Mother….”

[Silence Sei]

Ciato’s sudden presence was a welcome surprise to the mute, despite the stance that he had taken against his brother. Sei had determined ahead of time the chances of just ‘waking up’ at the start of the Adventurer’s Crown; people with lots of power had the tendency to abuse such powers. As such, the telepath had spent several days preparing himself for the coming of the tournament. While no date had been set, Sei had ensured that he slept with as many of his weapons as he could, as well as his Thayne-blessed armaments. In fact, the only noticeable losses to his person were his trademark Gemini Blades (which he couldn’t sleep with, as he usually had them sheathed upon his back), and his kung fu shoes known as ‘The Feet of Y’edda’ (Because who the hell sleeps with their shoes on?)

Sei lowered his stance and sheathed his chakrams as Ciato approached; the brother’s slapping one another’s hands in a friendly fashion. “Ciato,” Sei spoke with a smile graced across his features, “I was hoping I would be paired with a family member. Is there anyone else here?”

“Just your sleeping beauty,” Ciato used his sword to point behind Sei. The mute turned to see the large, slumbering form of Dan, a man who once went by the nickname ‘The Slayer’. “You chose your protectors well brother. I know if I were under attack, I would surround myself with lazy giants as well.” There was venom in Ciato’s sarcasm, and his grip upon his brother’s hand tightened.

“We both know you’d rather throw your own children at a threat before you ever engaged in combat yourself,” Sei commented with his own snarky tone, his grip meeting that of Ciatos. His brother raised an eyebrow, a now sinister smile across his face.

“That’s okay, because my Litter fights better than over half of your knights. The ones that don’t betray you, anyway.” This comment earned the noble Mystic a direct punch to the face, causing him to release Sei’s hand in order to check his nose for bleeding. Sei’s face donned a look of worry, though he was mentally beaming with happiness for taking a shot at his most annoying of kin.

“We need to get moving. That town is probably our best bet for finding any clues or tips on how to advance in this tournament,” Sei spoke as he looked behind Ciato, to the skyline that belonged to the nearby city. Sei looked to the air, following the trail of smog that signaled industrialization. Was it possible that the tournament had brought the Orlouges to Alerar? The lack of airships seemed to answer that question for the strategist. He looked back to Ciato, who had a sneer, a look of sheer contempt in his crystalline blue eyes. The smell of his musty cologne sneaking in uninvited and disturbing Sei’s senses.

“What about him?” Ciato once again pointed to Dan, his grip on the sword steadier now, as if he were ready to strike down his sibling at a moment’s notice. Apparently Sei’s blow did more damage to Ciato’s already fragile ego than it did to his face. “Won’t he be concerned if he wakes up all by his lonesome?

“Dan has a tendency of finding troubling, and then proceeding to wipe it out,” Sei spoke with the utmost confidence of the Slayer, “if we get a head start on him, we’ll be able to avoid less needless casualties.”

“Casualties are only useless when you don’t exploit them right,” Ciato mumbled underneath his breath. Sei ignored him, choosing instead to run his shoulder into that of his brother’s as he passed by, the blow causing the older Orlouge to take a force step back.

“Let’s make one thing clear before we leave together, Ciato,” Sei spoke, the smell of his relative’s cologne already fading from his nostrils, “I still haven’t forgiven you for what you did to V’dralla, and you still would like to see me broken and defeated. However, we do share a common goal for now. Let’s try to get along for now.”

Ciato followed his brother, a sarcastic laugh escaping from his lips. “Oh yes,” he said, both of his arms extended outwards as if he were having the time of his life, “Let’s reach the common goal of making it into town so we can prove to the world that the Orlouge family bond is unbreakable! We’ll show them that we’re undefeated when we work together! Friendship and family is magic! All for the sake of reaching the city!”

“I wasn’t referring to the city when I was referring to our common goal,” Sei continued to walk, his bare feet brushing against both grass and dirt and he began his journey. Ciato slowed his pursuit for a moment, a sign that he was now genuinely curious.

“Then wh---“

“Kyla entered the tournament as well…”

Those words caused Ciato to completely stop, a pause of utter shock.

[Whispers of Abyssion]

The skyship left the suburbs at sunrise, floating majestically into the swift-moving grey cloud that hung low over the island. Its sleek lines and widespread windsails placed it closer to dar’elin or ancient elven design than the steam-powered efficiency of Alerar or the coal-belching behemoths of Kebiras. Apparently it was only safe to fly in these islands during windows of a few hours respectively at dawn and dusk: intense light interacted with the smoggy cocktail in the sky to create corrosive poison during the day, whilst nocturnal predators adapted to life in the city and quite capable of overwhelming medium-sized craft – such as the fearsome banshee he had overheard last night – stalked the darkness. As such, Touma actually found the skies rather empty for an industrialised society; it took a little while to get used to, albeit a lot less hectic on the senses.

In the brief moments before he lost sight of the land below, the Nipponese finally managed to garner some idea of the sheer vastness of the metropolis he had stumbled upon. The sliver of beach upon which he had found himself stranded soon disappeared completely, lost between the grimy grey of soot-stained shacks and the greater azure of the ocean beyond. Glued to his cabin’s porthole as the ground dropped away, his eyes traced the abrupt divide between man and nature as it extended in a perfect curve as far as he could see in both directions, never once losing its harsh contrast. Then they flicked back to the rigidly packed blocks of residential housing that lay directly beneath him, structures that undulated gently into local peaks – suburban centres like the one that his skyship had just departed from – before falling away again. The greatest peak of them all remained the tall tower in the centre of the island, the crowning lights that he had witnessed just after waking the previous night, the jewel to which he was now headed. Its monstrous girth of steel and stone jutted forth from the ground like an abhorrent gesture to whatever gods lived above the clouds, a blatant symbol of man’s defiance and disregard.

It hadn’t been hard to convince the natives of his identity as the harmless victim of some dire accident, in desperate need of their aid. He had eventually stumbled into an all-hours patrol station, where the officers on duty had taken pity on the half-dressed young man in obvious shock and pain. They fed him, cleansed his clothes, tended to his injuries, and granted him passage on the daily skyship to the central tower, where they told him he would find further help. They weren’t quite so naïve as to send him there unguarded, but the overweight patrolman assigned as escort even now slumbered noisily in the seat opposite.

Of course it helped that he played the part of mentally-traumatised casualty to perfection, complete with a few judicious glances over his shoulder and occasional fearful whispers of "they’re after me”, “three men… three men… black and white and orange…”, and “blood on the planking… blood on the sea”, combined with hysterical laughter. Touma considered himself an expert judge of mood and character, and he caught the meaningful glances passing between officer and patrolman, the thick tension in the air, and the worried looks in the direction of the beach. He wondered how long it would take for his blood-drenched robes to inspire the word to spread, the paranoia to build, the trigger-fingers to itch.

After all, these island folk had lived in the middle of nowhere all their life, and quite naturally had inbred suspicions against anybody from the outside world. One man appearing before them visibly weakened and injured was one thing… three battle-hardened warriors on said man’s trail would be another altogether.

Outright accusing somebody of murder was a risky and dangerous proposition in his line of work, and tantamount to suicide when the somebody in question was as powerful as Sei Orlouge or Dan Lagh’ratham. Insinuating, implicating, and manipulating, however…

Touma allowed himself the faintest of smiles as he wondered what sort of reception would greet his 'comrades' when they finally deigned to approach civilisation.

[Ciato Orlouge]

Ciato’s body stiffened at the news of Kyla’s registration. While the noble Mystic did not like many of his family, Kyla Orlouge was the exception to the rule. While technically the youngest daughter to the oldest Orlouge brother, Sei had taken the girl under his wing and adopted her as his own. Unlike her three sisters, however, Kyla had some semblance of a dark side, one that Ciato helped nourish and expose more often than not. There were not a lot of things Ciato Orlouge cared for, but Kyla was definitely one of them.

“Then we have to reach that city at all costs,” Ciato whispered to himself, keeping up with the pace of his brother, finally taking notice of the sockless and shoeless feet of his younger sibling. The two walked side by side for a while, both of them enjoying the lack of talking from the other. Ciato did not feel up to hearing about justice and virtue and the right way to do things and Sei didn’t want to hear about what he could do with the power and fortune he had accumulated.

As they approached closer to the city, Ciato began to hear sounds more familiar to his lifestyle. People were talking, some loud, some in normal tones, the whirling of machines and braying of horses told the Mystic that he was now closer than ever to the first traces of true civilization since waking up. He could make out the form of several men; most likely guards stationed outside the city gates. They were approaching with a speed matching that of the Orlouges.

“Stop,” Sei ordered Ciato as if he were one of their Ixian Knights. The older brother obeyed, and found himself dumbfounded with just how commanding of a tone Sei could have for a telepath. “Look at their hands, Ciato.” The noble man obeyed, and a slick smile creeped across his face.

The soldiers had one hand above their heads, holding up lanterns to help them see in case things got too dark. Two of the six men were using their free hand to hold leashes, the straps holding back canines with jet black coats, pointed tip noses, and clipped ears. They were hunting dogs, but not ones that hunted game, these were dogs that tracked down and took down grown men.

Ciato reached to his side, his hand resting upon his rapier’s hilt. Sei lifted a hand, intending to interject, but Ciato cut his brother off, withdrawing his sword with such force that the hilt of the blade literally slammed directly into Sei’s face. His mute brother would treat the motion as an accident, but Ciato had too much skill with a blade to ‘accidentally’ withdraw too far. Now, the blow was payback for Sei’s earlier punch, but in such a subtle way that the telepath would never realize it.

“Fools….all of them,” Ciato said as he ran forward while his brother recovered from his injury. The Mystic lifted his sword, dashing forth towards one of the dogs. By the time Sei had managed to yell the order to stop at his relative, the blade of the rapier had found a home four inches into the beast’s neck. “I will show you all the strength of Ciato Orlouge!” The mighty Mystic declared, much to the dismay of his brother.

[Silence Sei]

Sei shuddered at the sight of the crimson rain enveloping his brother. The mute had always admired his older brother’s skill with a sword. The older Orlouge always had a skill and grace when using his weapon; from using traditional moves such as a larga movement (being able to close a large gap between one self and opponent with a single step and thrust), to less commonly used techniques, such as smacking the second dog in the nose with the piatto (the flat of a rapier blade). But as all things that involved Ciato Orlouge, with the beauty came a shockingly horrifying tone as well.

Blood seemed to fall from the sky, the white haired Mystic easily cutting at the throats of his foes, sending their life essence splattering on their comrades faces. There were howls of pain, last whines in the throes of death. And even as the last thing standing, the dog Ciato had not killed yet, had his entire body forced down by the strength of the rapier shoving into it’s back, there were noises of misery escaping from the beast.

Sei stood mortified, looking as his brother withdrew the weapon from the dog, only to place it straight into his skull. Ciato removed his weapon once more, flinging it to the side to wipe away excess blood, and turned back to his brother. His pale reflection was now soaked blood red, his clothes with large splatters of crimson. The foul stench of death and blood permeated the newly colored grass field. Sei took a hard swallow, glad that, at least this time, he and Ciato were not enemies.

“Let’s go,” Ciato said plainly, turning back around and sheathing his weapon, “there will be another patrol soon, and Asterodeia is sated at the moment. We should hurry up and get into town to find Kyla. Now.”

Sei watched as his brother took the lead, running straight into the town. Originally, the mute thought that he would be the one to lead this little expedition. However, after watching Ciato work, of remembering how this man killed a God right in front of Sei’s eyes, the telepath began to have second thoughts. Ciato would get through the city in the fastest and most efficient way possible, and make sure that the two of them got to Kyla before anybody else.

“Wait up,” Sei said, running after his kin, to which he heard a loud ‘No’ shouted from Ciato, who was rapidly gaining a distance between them. “Ciato Orlouge, mark my words, if you slay any innocent blood today, it will not be the guards that you have to worry about. It will be me.” Sei’s ‘tone’ was decisive. While he couldn’t afford to waste time with people who looked ready to kill the brothers, he also could not have his reputation tarnished by his more ‘noble’ brother.

Ciato slowed his run, long enough for Sei to catch up and hear him. “Look at me, trembling in my boots….”

[Whispers of Abyssion]

Morning came slowly to the poorly paved streets.

Part of the problem lay in the thick smog overhead blunting all semblance of light filtering down to ground level, he realised as he flitted like a ghost from window to window. Without a clear natural indication of when to start their day, the natives had to rely on artificial means of timekeeping: steam-powered clocks, perhaps, or centrally controlled interior lighting, or…

Or the piercing wail of an alarm siren, echoing brashly yet mournfully from loudspeakers placed strategically throughout the tired blocks of residential housing.

Touma’s disembodied head – a fragment of his soul channelled through his polished glass knife via mirror-gazing techniques – paused for a moment in the corner of a grocery shop to ponder. All around him, flames blossomed within homes as the eerie sound continued to echo. Concerned faces peered from doors held half ajar, and a murmured hubbub began to swell from one block to the next. Something was wrong.

Again the smile played at the edges of his thinly pursed lips.

Once again he sped forth on the move, an ethereal apparition barely visible as it danced from pane to pane along the darkened pavements. His physical shell remained safely slumped in the skyship high above, opposite the peacefully cataleptic guard in a cabin now locked from the inside, but nothing could hope to bind his consciousness as it sped through the stirring city. Outwards towards the beach, on a route vaguely remembered from a few hours before when he had stumbled in…

There.

Orange and white… Sei and the unknown.

Adorned in red.

He observed them from a street mirror as they plunged into the streets, the white-haired swordsman unerring in his desire to penetrate the city, his orange-haired companion less eager and certainly more circumspect. Their argumentative banter reached his ears, almost nostalgic in the way it crawled up his spine. Almost as if Sei didn’t want to follow this Ciato’s lead, but had little choice in the matter…

The name rang a bell, and he recognised it from the list of Sei Orlouge’s known kin and associates. One look into the distance at the bladework that had done for the officer and his patrol confirmed his hypothesis; the white-haired unknown had a label now to go with his face. Ciato Orlouge, eldest of the three main Orlouge brothers.

In another world, another place, Touma might have felt guilt and regret for involving these men - both innocent and not - in a quarrel not of their choosing. But compared to the devastation of the Cataclysm, with the fate of the entire known multiverse at stake, their sacrifice meant nothing to him. Six lives, possibly two more, against the possibility of saving billions? He had been granted the power to make such decisions, and thus it was his lot to weigh them in his hands and to discard them if necessary. The Book of Destiny was a prize worthy of such a loss.

He carefully filed his newly-gained information away, then took a second look about his surroundings. For now, what he didn’t see concerned him more than what he did… where was Dan Lagh’ratham, the Slayer, the Saraelian?

Marking his current location upon his mental map, he cast his thoughts about him for a trace of the fourth castaway.

All around him, the alarm swelled in intensity as the slumbering city slowly reacted to the deaths of its guards.

[Ciato Orlouge]

He ran. He ran as fast as his feet could carry him into the city. The sounds of the sirens all around him did nothing to deter him from his goal. Winning the Adventurer’s Crown and making sure Kyla were safe were his priorities, though he was unsure which one trumped the other in terms of importance. The industrialized building whizzed by his head and the towns people moved from the two charging men. It helped that one of them was soaked in blood and looked genuinely insane.

The smell of smog from the city began to fill his nostrils, much to Ciato’s pleasure. Civilization was its own worst enemy, tearing down things it needed to survive for things it could survive without. Man was a beautiful beast of burden. Guards would come, Ciato counted on that, and had his Asterodeia armed and ready to strike when the time came. Already the blade was thirsting for more blood.

Ciato smiled as he saw a line of men, each clad in decently crafted leather body armor, halberds at the ready and pointed at the two rushing Mystics. He slowed down, hearing Sei’s own bare foot running catching up to his stride. Ciato looked back for a moment, grinning sadistically at his brother.

“Ciato….don’t you do it….”

“Sorry Sei, can’t hear you over the sound of us winning this tournament!” Ciato announced, picking up his pace once more and running directly into one of the soldiers halberds, the tip of the blade a mere inch or so from actually penetrating the nobleman.

The glass formed spider web cracks all along his body, shattering without so much as a second thought. The guards eyes widened, horrified of this mysterious and strange beast. As the Mystic Protection homed into the guard that dare try and run through Ciato Orlouge, the white haired wonder laughed maniacally. The glass pieces rained down into the mans eye, a fountain of crimson being pushed out so more broken glass could be pushed in. By the time all of the glass had penetrated the soldier’s body, he fell to the ground dead, a pool of read not only under him, but across the features of his comrades.

“My name is Ciato Orlouge!” he exclaimed proudly, his blade singing a chorus of madness into any flesh he could find, “And by the time I’m through you will know two things; my name and your place!”

[Silence Sei]

Ciato’s declaration struck fear into the hearts of their would-be attackers. Ciato cut his sword into a few more guards before Sei’s hand grabbed the nobleman by the wrist, stopping his slaughter of the soldiers. The guard took this act of mercy as a sign to turn tail and run, kicking up a cloud of dust as they did so. Ciato turned his head to his brother, glaring at his younger sibling as he yanked his wrist out of the telepath’s grip.

While still looking at his brother, Ciato threw his rapier through the air, the sword planting itself firmly in the back of an escaping soldiers head. If the guard was not running as fast as they could before, they certainly were now. Ciato turned to the corpse of the last killed guard, walking over to the body and drawing his blade out from its skull sheath. “If you ever stop me in the middle of a symphony again,” Ciato slung the liquid rubies off his sword with a fling, “I will make sure that you will be the crescendo.”

Sei sighed at Ciato’s way of speaking. The Older Orlouge never saw killing as slaughter, but as an ‘art comparable to an orchestra’, as he phrased it. Every kill was just another musical instrument joining in the symphony. The crescendo was typically reserved for the best kill, which to Sei translated to the most gruesome. To be threatened to be the most brutal death in Ciato’s daily symphony was not a threat to be taken lightly, and it was the final straw for Sei.

He ran at his brother, tackling him to the ground. The two rolled in the dirt for a moment before they finally stopped, Sei on top of Ciato and continuously beating in his brother’s face. Each blow seemed to alleviate the stress of the younger Mystic further and further.

“I’m done with your orders,,” a quick punch to the right side of Ciato’s face, “with your threats,” a punch to the right, “and most importantly, your reckless endangerment of this town! And I will not stand for it any longer!” The punches came more rapidly now, until Ciato’s cheeks were swelling, his eyes almost closed shut from his brother’s barrage of bare knuckle beatings.

“Beautiful…” Ciato whispered, as if he were on his last legs. The soft words caused Sei to stop his pounding for a moment to look at how pathetic his sibling looked now. Azure blood was pouring from the mouth of the ‘noble’ Mystic, as well as from his nose. Bruises had easily swelled up on the older brother. Unfortunately, this was the exact opportunity Ciato wanted, and before Sei could react, he was on bottom, taking the haymakers to the face.

“It’s beautiful the way I can use you! You’re a pawn and I am your king!” Almost each word spoken by Ciato came with a punch. As the fists slammed into the mute’s face, Sei kept trying to focus his attention back towards the sky, beyond Ciato’s head. Looming over the two was a giant airship, at least three blocks long from Sei’s point of view. The mute’s lack of defending himself was not lost on his brother either, and eventually Ciato turned his blurred vision towards the sky as well, an occasional punch still slamming into his brothers’ face. He had to remember that Ciato was his better, after all.

“Airship?” Sei asked, his ‘tone’ remaining unchanged despite the beating Ciato had delivered onto him. Ciato nodded, “Airship.”

Ciato climbed off of his brother and Sei (who, while suffering a few bruises, looked nowhere near as bad as Ciato), closed his eyes and almost instantaneously sprouted two large, blue butterfly wings from his back. The mute grabbed his older brother under the arms, and leapt up into the sky, using his wings to support the noble. After all, if this airship was hovering over this land as ominously as it seemed, chances were that it was the cause of all these patrols.

And if that were the case, the mastermind behind this plan would feel the full wrath of the two Orlouge brothers.