Cracked Earth: Satan from Orbit

[Slayer of the Rot]

The steak dripped loudly on the tin plate he'd been given, splattering on the dusty stone floor as he tore another hot mouthful free. Dan Lagh'ratham chewed, his expression tight and irritable. There was no questioning he was in a bad mood. Sitting on a creaky, rusting hospital bed wasn't helping it, either. Dinner had been served minutes ago, but even as he chewed, staring at the footprints in the dust and plaster, he knew hunger wasn't the issue. While the meat wasn't going to be enough - it never was, but then, there was always another challenger - there was something else eating away at his patience and good humor.

It was mainly how the monks had been treating him as of late. He knew they weren't stupid enough to bring it out in the open, but it was painfully apparent that he wasn't welcome in their Pagoda. Perhaps it was his affiliation with the New World Order, or the fact that he was a known mass murderer and cannibal. Maybe they were becoming sick of the messes they had to clean up once he was finished. The Dahlios woman had been a mass of shredded flesh of bloody torn muscle. Oh, how they'd complained, whined, and moaned as they gathered all the pieces up. His mind wandered further back to the tall, silver haired hybrid, Jame. The monks had whined over the amount of work they'd put into repairing his shattered skeleton.

Scowling deeper, he tore another chunk from his steak, blood streaming through his clutch as he chewed noisily. His mind went blank for a moment as the flavor of the meat filled his mouth. His annoyance briefly gone in his moment of satisfaction, Dan turned his eyes to the west of the crumbling room he sat in, towards the window. Beyond, thick white smoke poured from enormous black chimneys in the distance, fading as they reached a gray, cloudless sky. There was no sun hanging in the open air, and thus no hope. Hundreds of buildings, small and monstrous, sprawled under the smoke and the featureless gray, all of bricks laid by old, long gone hands. There was light, though it was nothing but white, empty air. Stale in its taste, it had, after a time, soured the Saraelian's mouth in his stay in the new arena.

Swallowing the seared meat, Dan's mind finally slipped back onto its usual irate track. Scowling, he kicked away a dirt crusted syringe from the bent tin plate at his feet as he thought of the notice he'd received with dinner. The monks had stopped giving him the names of his challengers; he suspected again, and perhaps irrationally, that it was over the Dahlios woman. The notice had been a small folded card, set neatly beside the fork and meat, and had stated simply 'They arrive in an hour'. He'd prepared accordingly; his gun hung from its holster on his hip, his new guan dao was laid across the bed beside him on his left, on his right lay the shining meat hook, begging to be used. It irked him that he didn't have a name to guess off of, but so long as he had something to eat, he didn't care if the challenger was male, female, old, young, skinny, or fat.

Dan tipped his head back and yawned, bits of pink meat trapped between the daggers of his teeth. Dropping the steak onto the plate between his feet, he wiped a hand clean on the wrinkled sheets of the bed he sat on, and pressed it against his face. Slowly, he shut his black ringed eyes, the crow's feet at their corner's crinkling up. Bending over so his chest pressed against his knees, his wavy black hair fell from his shoulders to hang in his face.

It was hard to tell time in this ruin of a place, but he knew the hour was wearing thin. One pale hand reached for the remainder of the discarded steak, and again, the Saraelian began to eat, counting the seconds tick away as he chewed.

[Lakin_of_DpN]

Lakin woke to the persistent prodding of a toe in her back and tried unsuccessfully to swat it away.

“Come on, girl, shift yourself” grumbled the Monk she had met the day before, whose name was too bizarre to remember. “It is time.”

Those words woke her fully. She had bedded down in the Monk’s Hall with the other challengers for two nights, waiting for this moment. None of the other challengers so much as stirred when she picked her way over their snoring forms. Which was no surprise; most of the men trained all day and drank long into the night. The sun rose that morning bringing a clear day. Which was a good omen, the glow lifted her heart and inspired a determined look at the monstrosity a few miles away. It sat amongst tattered shacks with slumped roofs and partially destroyed manors with blackened windows. Sad acknowledgments of the abandoned past. The gloom and doom of the Mill disturbed the picturesque views of the Monastery’s hilltop, and in Lakin’s opinion, the Mill clearly had to go.

It was full daylight by the time she reached the gully. The brisk wind made her skin prickle beneath her beautiful long cloak—elven made it was strong as steel. She looked out across the pale green grass, remembering a harsh, wire touch and shivered. A rough crooked path led her to a rampant wilderness, in which she searched, her gaze skimmed over rich vegetation, the gloomy shadows enveloping her as she found the first herb among the trees. They were huge and their foliage entwined overhead to block out the sun. Cool vines reached out to brush her skin, but the air was strangely oppressive. Lakin continued anxiously, amazed that each herb seemed to neighbor the next, lemon balm, damiana, graviola and passionflower, were all gathered effortlessly. Lakin crushed and ground each aromatic plant, until only a colorless, odorless paste remained. The fusion, jealously guarded by the healers of DpN, was used as a potent remedy that relaxes muscles, and induces sleep rapidly. Calming her tumultuous thoughts, she whispered a short prayer of gratitude up to the Ancients before coming back through jumbled rocks.

The road to the Mill was nothing more than a narrow strip of pale dirt scattered liberally with stones. The wind was winter cold, and relentless. All in all it was a perfect time for war. She sat her horse easily, reins held loose in gloved fingers as she watched the distant ribbon of silver where the road curved toward the grim corpse like domain. Outside the iron-banned door, the night had barely begun. No stars hung above the dreary gray horizon and the moon was full but pale. Evening. amid the shadows. Moreover, horror. She could feel that too. But the ebony clad rider knew every abandoned room occupied by disused medical equipment that looked more like the gory implements of torture; she knew every tile cracked passage of the structure, every twist of the dirt stained halls of the hospital that offered concealment. She had investigated it, studied it, dreamed over it. And now she was ready to ply her own dark trade across it. Grim faced, she slid a half mask of black silk down over her fine-boned features, just above a lick of moisture that gleamed cold at her full upper lip. She had no more time for reverie or doubt. Not tonight. Tonight battle called. It was time for Mistress Lakin to dominate.

She stood perfectly erect, shoulders stiff and squared, gloved hands clasped primly around two identical vials. Lakin stood as a supreme counterpoint to The Slayers mercurial world. She looked out at the vast, cold expanse with only one purpose in mind, to collect and collar her property before morning. Therefore, she dressed accordingly. Lace up boots; the stilettos were 5inches of pointed steel, a deadly spike, coated with fantasy, the concoction she had prepared earlier. Lakin envisioned her stretch thigh high dominatrix boots as the perfect weapon for pining Slayers wrists hard, while her clenched fists gripped his hair. Commanding him to his knees or even lower, to his belly. Her sleek ebony corset, known to Subs as the Black Widow was nothing less than stunning, the strapless design loaded with tiny razor-sharp steel clasps formed a deep V to the waist; it choked tightly, revealing an hourglass figure. The metallic clasps were easily removed and used as throwing darts, small pins smeared with the same poison as the heel of her boot. These petite accessories were delicate yet lethal, as were her talon sharp nails, dipped in silver at the ends. Deep cleavage revealed creamy, flawless skin sculptured exquisitely for seduction. Merely a distraction, part of her costume in the dominant role she now portrays. The Slayer of the Rot, sold by the Pagoda Monks for one gold piece, would submit, the easy way or, Lakin smirked, the hard way; which candidly she preferred. Skintight, riding pants, shinny and smooth finished the Dominatrix. The hilt of her blade jutted out, strapped to a slopping back. While the short sword, mockingly-sharp, was kept nearby. Both weapons lay ready and tainted. Various other trinkets she now owned, regards of the Bazaar, were kept well hidden beneath the fabric of her cloak. Her appearance would indeed reflect power and allurement.

The air splitting sound of vials shattering echoed out, repeating through the Cafeteria occupied by her Prize, while in perfect harmony, she chanted the spell given to her by the ancient ones, intending to condemn Slayer to mortality. The words rang strangely in her, and she filled with fleeting images of Dan Wilson Wilmhearst, of churning despair, of the wind swelling up without warning and a child crying out. The illustrations faded in her mind, awareness returned and her vision cleared.

“What a good boy you are.” Her eyes shone as she spoke. “The playroom is perfect and I can see that you have all my favorite toys on display in here, ready and waiting for my approval.” She explored with a tremulous excitement. Her gaze raked over rusted medical lights, hooks and rotting carcass swaying slowly, persuaded by the draft. The beauty astounded. The sickening smell tempted, like sweet Akashiman Perfume. At the same time a pneumatic punch and all manner of scalpels, hammers and knives lay scattered over the grubby floors, all at her feet, at her mercy, as was Slayer. The scene stole her breath. The room she stood in was a typical bondage haven.

“Ahh yes you have pleased your Mistress very much, come my Pet you may lick my boots”

[Slayer of the Rot]

A series of sharp clicks drew his attention up to the door of the dusty hospital room. He grimaced as he swallowed a hard lump of barely chewed meat. The disappointment was painfully apparent on his pale, tired face; he hadn't even managed to finish dinner. "Hey, fuck off!" He called, rubbing at his eyes. "Just...come back in another fucking hour. You can't be so eager to be killed, eh?"

But the clicking didn't stop. It simply kept coming, drawing closer and closer to the dirt smeared doorway. The Saraelian's features twisted up in annoyance, and he folded his legs underneath him, twisting the yellowed sheets of the bed up even more. Again, he rubbed at his eyes, his cooling steak dripping, dripping, dripping on the tin plate and the dirty floor as he held it out before him.

Then she arrived, moving with deadly resolve. She came through the door later than expected and fashionably so. In two elegant, gloved hands, the woman in black clutched a pair of vials. With a simple, but strong movement, she shattered them, and began to chant. "Hey, can't you fucking hear? I'm in the middle of a god damn meal, so why don't you turn your skank ass back around and give me at least another thirty minutes of peace?" The volume of his voice built steadily, trying to volley itself over her chanting. Simple irritation had escalated into rising anger.

In any other man, she would have incited such an incredible lust, that it would have been nigh impossible to keep from leaping across the room and into her leash. But, Dan had all but eradicated that need from his body. He was getting old, and all he wanted to do was sleep, kill, and eat. She was the most delightful embodiment of danger; dripping with sin and allurement that struck any man's simple needs.

But Dan Lagh'ratham was simpler than that.

His eyes had settled after a time, on her swaying hips, watching the ambrosial curves. He wasn't tearing the black leather pants off in his mind, though; he was instead cursing them for every inch closer they drew, every new click of the heel. It was when they stopped, that he realized she had stopped chanting. Still words were coming out of her, and he turned his eyes to her face. There, to the full, smiling lips - spilling unimportant garbage. She indicated her thigh high waist boots with the sharp heel.

And then he began to laugh.

"Wow. You've got some kind of wicked sack to come in here and talk to me like that." He brought the steak to his lips, bit, and pulled. He pulled again, but the meat didn't shred apart under his teeth like it had been a few moments ago. Dan pulled the food away from his mouth and ran his tongue over his teeth. They were flat and simple again. Human. He threw the steak to the ground in disgust, summoned a cigarette, and leaned back against the wall the bed was propped up against. A strange heaviness had set into his bones too, like shavings of metal sinking to the bottom of a puddle.

"I didn't know the monks were going to send a show up for dessert. But I'm feeling tired. So why don't you be a dear and fuck off."

[Lakin_of_DpN]

Her unconcerned laugh would further fray his nerves. Lakin reigned in her impatience, inhaling deeply then exhaling. “Quiet” It came out as a grunt than a word. “You will not speak, unless I give you permission“The shadows lengthened in the room, tangling with columns of candescent moonlight. Lakin stood; full of superiority and glared at him “You belong to me now” Her eyes narrowed. They were black and remorseless. In this place, Lakin was not the same woman she had been in Savion. “I have one gold piece invested in you. Whether you agree or not, you are my property, and you’ll do as I say. Do you understand? Now remove your clothes, so I can take a good look at you” She winced, her brow furrowing. The muscles in her lean jaw flexed, willing any visible emotion away. Her challenging gaze never left Slayers. He tucked his legs under him, but not before, he treated her to a glimpse of the full sinewy contour of his thighs. Lakin clenched her fists at her sides, resisting the urge to test the tautness of his skin. Taking a deep breath, she forced her body to relax, finding little fault with the figure beneath his clothes. She raised her gaze from his thighs to the cigarette touching his lips and felt repulsed by the habit. Lakin held a persuasive quality. If her voice could take shape, the sound would be intoxicating. “Decided on the hard way, huh”

Faceted eyes, glossy black and determined, lit her gaze as she urged forward. Four steel darts sat in the right palm of her hand. The hilt of her short sword, at the tip, was pushed against her left palm and one finger acted as the trigger on the trailing edge of the handle. A notch, carved into the hilt from constant use accommodated her grip. Lakin threw the short sword out in the air, long and narrow the blade surfed the wind, making a sharp arc, ravenous and swift at the end. It peaked early, swiping in perfectly and finding its target above Slayers head. The deadly sharp edge of her blade cut through the remaining threads of electrical wire clinging to a half-ton Medi-lite and X-Ray Unit fixed on the ceiling. The dome of the Medi-lite jutted out, cracked and decayed with only five of the seven reflectors still attached. The halogen lamp dangled dangerously, jagged and broken. The unit stretched along the full length of the bed Slayer occupied, and extended to the wall, the descent would be rapid, upon him. In the background, the whirling hum of her short sword stung the air, like a boomerang the weapon returned obediently to the palm of her raised hand.

In the same moment she released the short sword attack, like hungry wolves between her fingers, she unleashed each spike. Ready to slay, the tiny arrow’s ripped through the air, striking in quick procession. Attempting to inject poison into Slayers body, bloodstream and muscles. To maim limbs, and overcome his senses. Dual darts flew straight and fast, focused on the huge package between his hard thighs, open and vulnerable. A third dart, stalked the guan dao, similar to the reclining moon blade owned arrogantly by an assassin in her clan, Lakin recognized the style. The dart attacked silently fixed on the well-used part of the polearm, to puncture Slayers left hand, in his plight to reclaim his weapon. The final spike gnarled the air aiming at the handle of Slayers meat hook. To impale his right hand, in his efforts to grab at the steel. Still well protected, donned in her mail-like cloak, Lakin moved with caution. The darts though compact in size, were large enough to reach through cover, to tear the flesh with a razor tooth.

A snap-kick, punted an idle cabinet that rose just above her head to the middle of the dust-riddled floor, in-between herself and Slayer. Lakin maneuvered herself in behind it, but was still able to chaperone his every move. Her breathing was a thread of sound, even and controlled. Images of his unbound hair swirled in tangled strands, pulled her gaze to the man she considered chattel. His pale skin looked smooth beneath the filtered moonlight crossing his face and yes, at first he had a look of pure-savage, unbridled and untamable. But now she saw a calculated evil in him that sent a shiver down her spine. She was unsure which was more lethal, the animal or the man. Dark brows arched perfectly over his compelling eyes, Lakin realized once cleaned up he would be quite easy to look upon, the perfect showpiece. Then she reminded herself, she’d not be around long enough to see. She would deposit him at the auction house with an opening bid of no less than 5,000gp. Pay the fee of 100 gold pieces owing to the Pagoda and net an impressive profit for her trouble. Everyone would remain, blissfully unaware of her financial situation at this point in time.

(Please don't delete)