It's another Tequila Sunrise

[Valentine]

The bright lights of a broken city violated the otherwise pitch black night, perverting the natural beauty with the waste product of man-made comforts. Etheria Port had no more right to break the ever spreading darkness of night across the Alerar landscape than a mouse's squeak had to interrupt a lion's roar. It was a blemish on the great continent, a failure where success had not been strove for, but expected. It was run by derelicts and populated by pirates and slobs. It simply existed to use up resources that stagnated the growth of the more deserving. Its light did not deserve to shine.

A shadowy figure stood on the hill overlooking the port, his entire body untainted by the light from the city. The only thing that surrendered his invisibility was his silver hair, which glimmered majestically when the moonlight touched it. This formidable being did not waver, did not even shift in the slightest as he stood statuesque, eyes locked on the panoramic view he had of the city. For almost an hour he had stood like this, literally not moving a muscle as every intricate detail of Etheria Port was absorbed into his psyche, every nook and cranny, every alleyway and street slowly memorized. When the first movement was made, it was a symbolic one. Within his arm's reach, a katana was impaled into the ground, its flawless blade glowing like a second lighthouse on the hill. Kadarus pulled it from the ground, its sharp edge sliding out smoothly before it was slotted instinctively back into its sheathe, hidden from the world. It did not have to wait long to be presented again though, for as he moved to descend the hill, the Valentine Bleeder was taking step after step towards massacre.

Stealth was hardly a resource that begged for use in a situation like this, but Kadarus indulged in it anyway. A brief focus later, his body vanished, becoming as transparent as the air that would soon carry the stench of death. The invisible warrior stalked down the hill, never breaking the speed of anything but a gentle stroll. Every step he dallied was another fraction of a second that he could hang on to his humanity, to control himself before the blood lust descended over him and he was the monster again. His invisibility would give him the time he needed to savor the brief lull period his insatiable need for carnage had; the short time between the agreement to slaughter and the act of slaughtering, where he was granted at least a moment's reprieve from the constant longing for his katana to be bathed in blood. Light shone straight through him, instead of casting his shadow, as he neared the foot of the hill. He could hear voices now... women, children, men, old folk. If they looked out the window, they would not see the unspeakable horror waiting outside for them, a stone's throw from the entrance to their town.

Kadarus stalked through the town, his feet sending no sounds echoing through ears, his body casting itself on no eyes. He was a ghost, walking through and observing the living. Only soon, he would be more than a spectator, he would act. It was only that he was biding his time, conflicted between choosing the perfect time to strike and resisting the urge to draw his weapon and cut down every person that walked by him, every family he spied as he walked by their window. As he explored the town he had seen from the hilltop, he found that not only his katana was begging to be unleashed. His murasame were starting to urge him to use them and his shurikens, mobilized for use at any time, were pleading to be unleashed. His weapons were growing restless and Kadarus found that he was too. His body began to quiver, eager for its drug.

For a few moments, he wandered aimlessly, unawares of which way he was heading, until the loud banter of men rang through the silent air. He followed that sound, this brief distraction slightly taking his mind off the urge for slaughter. The voices grew louder and louder as he moved, until the row of buildings stopped. Ahead, there was only the port and the ocean. The voices had come from a group of sailors, who were apparently working through the night to unload the goods that they had just brought to Alerar. Instinctively, Kadarus pushed his back against the last building before the port, his head perked outwards so that he could see them.

It took him a moment to realize that he was as transparent as the clear blue seas that these sailors had seen so much of. It would be the last beautiful thing that they would ever see. A sound rang across the night, one that was so shrill that it instantly alerted each and every one of the sailors, who stopped whatever they were doing and looked about in puzzlement. It was a sound that they had never heard before; it was a sound that few had the pleasure of hearing and telling other about. Only when a blade of perfect make and relentless maintenance was unsheathed in the blink of an eye could such a noise be made. It was the shriek of the deadly katana, Valentine, a symbol by its master that he was ready to satiate its urges. An invisible man wielded an invisible weapon, but somehow, he caused each and every one of the hairs on each and every one of the sailors' back to stand on end.

Kadarus advanced, his silent steps taking him ever so slowly towards them, enjoying the look on each and everyone of their faces, the fear as they looked about in confusion and terror. These feelings of sadistic pleasure only grew with each moment that rolled by, as he gently slid into the psyche of the Valentine Bleeder, a heartless man for whom slaughter of men came easy.

The next few moments were a blur, as the final bastions of Kadarus' resistance broke down. His feet moved of their own accord, tapping loudly on the ground so quickly and with such force that it was as if a herd of buffalo was stampeding forward. The sailors backed away in fear, knowing that something horrible their way was coming. A katana rose in the air, humming as its fine blade sliced through the air before coming down across the chest of the first unlucky man, spraying blood into the air like a crimson fountain. The Valentine Bleeder did not relent though, using the momentum from that strike to move into his next one, his bloody katana bathing itself in more blood with a diagonal strike across the waist of his next victim.

Invisibility became useless now as his katana and body were covered in the blood of his fallen enemies, but he became no less formidable when those he hunted could see him. He did not slow down, he did not relent until his blade had tasted the blood from every last sailor aboard the ship. When the dirty deed was done and his blood lust at last satiated, Kadarus left the boat and phased back into visibility. It was the middle of the night now, and Etheria Port was dark now that most of its residents had gone to sleep. The samurai intended to leave now that he had no longer had constant thirst for primal violence on his mind, knowing that this town deserved to be butchered no more.

Just as he was about to leave the dock area, he spied something out of the corner of his eye. It was not something particularly special, but for some reason, he stopped in his tracks. Two female silhouettes, two curvy shapes just about slid into his line of vision.

He could have moved, he could have dashed forward and used his bloody katana for one more crime, but he found that his legs were suddenly incapable of the unstoppable locomotion they had exhibited before. Instead, they remained rooted to the ground and Kadarus was left to glare at the silhouettes as moonlight washed over them, removing the veil of darkness that was hiding them.

Maybe his eyes had played a trick on him, for as the first rays of moonlight shone over the females, Kadarus realized that dusk had hid only one woman.

Closed to Mary Kade and Ashley

[Magdalena]

Those eyes.

Never had she seen eyes so outlandish, eyes that cast so deep a shade of gold. Here, beneath the moon and its spectral rays, they shone as brilliant as suns that stole the night away. Frightening to behold, silent, unmoving, they waited above a stage of blood and gore – one most likely wrought by their owner’s deadly hands. Even so, she found herself unable to break free from the unwavering gaze. After all, gold had a way of never losing its appeal, regardless of its taint.

Eyes to cut through a thousand hearts, eyes that would now run her through with the love and passion of a well-honed knife.

Those handsome eyes indeed.

For over ten years, she had outwitted death at every turn, had heard its stalking footsteps for as long as she could remember. How ironic that she was now to be a victim of mere coincidence. Still, the woman wondered what beastly thoughts had chained the man where he stood. Whatever it was, it had postponed their untimely demise. Before a murderer, sheathed in blood not his own, she was alive. Against all odds, she and he sister were still alive. ‘Sapna.’ None too brusque, she drew her arm back, hoping to catch her sister’s hand, a fold of her cloak, the side of her hip, anything. Anything to know that the girl was safe and sound.

Nothing. Nothing, save the cold brush of an empty wind. Sapna had vanished. Her heart raced, wracked with the urge to scream her sudden confusion, her rising despair. In the middle of this dreadful night, she was left to face an execution that she no doubt deserved. That was not her worry. No, it was the fact she had been left to face it alone that threatened to break her resolve. Even so, her face betrayed none of that inner turmoil, pale and expressionless as it was – unreadable and emotionless, a mask that mirrored the sinister lustre of a bisque doll.

It was too late now: she had looked into the eyes of the beast, and there was no breaking that unspoken pact, that brittle truce that drew the line between this world and the next. How long would she be able to stand this torture?

The murdered shook, his feral stare growing wide and wilder. The beast was moving, the end was coming… or so she thought. Little by little, the golden disks vanished behind slowly sagging veils. His limp body thumped heavy onto the blood-slicked cobbles, a slight squelch following the fleshy thud. Bewildered, she made a tentative step forward, leaning over to better observe it.

Splayed on the ground was a young man with disheveled grey hair, the faded tan of his complexion telling of bygone days spent in the sun. it was, however, offset by the pale gleam of countless weapons strapped about his body. He was endowed with handsome features, this one, and even she could appreciate this fact, had it not been for the fact that he had slaughtered so many and that she had almost become his next hapless victim.

Something flashed, and she hastily drew back. The space before her was warping, distorting the air like waves of heat in a withering desert. Upon the unconscious heap was now another silhouette, just as tall yet slimmer and far more curvaceous. Enswathed in a felt cloak of deep amethyst, she stood astride his crumpled person, arm raised and fingers curled around the haft of a black stiletto. The pommel was facing outward, the dark knob slick with a thin layer of blood.

She had eyes of green beryl that glimmered dark and flat. Strands like liquid fire wreathed the impassive expression of her face.

The girl, Sapna, was a mirror of herself. Yet, they were so unalike.

"Sorry I had to fool you too, Sati," she began, lowering her blade-wielding arm as she crouched over the still body, observing it curiously. "If I had let you see me, he would have followed your eyes and cut me before I could even get close." Sapna looked up, a perfect smile of innocence splayed upon her lips as she slit the man’s throat with unnerving ease. Blood drops sprayed, the murderer’s mixing darkly with that of his victims.

"Believe me, I am glad you did. I would much rather be mad at you for tricking me than at myself for getting us both killed." Sati grinned back at her sister’s childish pout, but her heart still thumped wild against her ribcage, threatening to tear itself out with every beat. She let her eyes wander the fresh corpse, considering it as one would a new trophy or prized game. ‘A magnificent catch, this one.’ The woman only realized the truth of those words when she noticed the stylized accessory around his finger. "Scheisse, Sapna!" she hissed. Her nails dug bloody grooves in one hand while she pointed madly at the carcass with the other. "That’s one of their rings. He’s an Audeamus."

"Oh… should I not have killed him?" The poor girl’s head was cocked, the green of her eyes misting with unshed tears.

"You had no choice. We couldn’t have…" Sparing the corpse another cursory glance, she discovered that the man was just as good an actor as she had been, seconds prior to his collapse. "He... is still breathing. With a slit throat, the bastard is still breathing." It was faint, almost imperceptible. If she waited any longer, then it would not make a difference, for his throat was still spurting red and bright. Wasting not a second, she scarpered to his side, knees splashing on the thickening pool underneath.

Sati applied pressure on the red gash that was still gushing in waves. Closing her eyes, she focused hard, willing into her palms a sinister glow. A moment later, after removing her hands, the bleeding had somehow been stalked. Something akin to satisfaction danced on the priestess’ lips. "I saw a warehouse not far away, near the docks. Help me drag him there, quick. We’ll truss him up later."

The twins acted surprisingly fast, as though it were not the first time that they were confronted with the need to dispose of a body. It was, in fact, most likely the case. Within seconds they were gone, their footsteps already faint in the distance. When even the echoes had faded into nothingness, a low wash of fog crept onto the streets, come to pull a shroud over the still painting of dead sailors bathing in their spilled guts and sprayed blood.

Oh, the morning would be harsh for the citizens of Etheria Port, but it would be harsher yet for the man behind the massacre.

A slim consolation, but a consolation nonetheless.

[Valentine]

Despite the fact that he dealt with death on a regular basis, Kadarus was afraid of dying. For all his life, he had been steady and sure of everything that he had done, even if the reasons behind them were morally ambiguous. But whenever the moment would come that his last breath would leave his body, the samurai realized all he knew would be at an end. He knew nothing of what lay in the afterlife and this terrified him. He would shift from being the lion to become the lone deer standing in the middle of a dark forest, with only his fears of the unknown in the future to keep him company. This was what Kadarus was afraid of. When he died, he would cease being person that he was. Despite the fact that he hated what he had become, the samurai at least took comfort that he knew who he was and that maybe some time in the future, he could serve penance for his sins.

These were the thoughts running through Kadarus' head as consciousness slowly returned to him. The memories swarmed back at this point, albeit with some pain in the back of his head attached to them. For a brief moment, he thought that he had died. The samurai had felt the attack from behind, a powerful bludgeon that had connected with the back of his head, sending him collapsing to the ground. He was still awake though, for he remembered the pain his face felt as it collided with the rough gravel of the dock. A voice had rung in his head at this moment, though he could not make sense of them. The voice had a rough edge, yet it subtly held a vulnerability within that was almost comforting. Then, a tug at his hair, pulling his head backwards and revealing his neck to the cold night air. A colder blade sliced across his neck with unerring ease and the samurai fell, an animal slaughtered.

But Kadarus was not dead. For as consciousness returned, pain joined it. The back of his head throbbed with pain where he had been hit, his hair further aggravating the wound by brushing against the monstrous bruise. He strained and managed to open his eyes, but found that his vision was blurry and he could see nothing except shades of colors twisted as if they were in an artist's palette. Kadarus' eyelids descended, the samurai deciding that he would rather live in darkness than in a world of uncertainties and confusion. He tried to take a deep breath to regain his composure, that maybe he could make sense of what was happening to him.

Instead, he felt blood swim up into his mouth with such force and in such quantity that he almost choked. He leaned forward and coughed loudly, sending his crimson fluid flying from his mouth and onto the ground in loud splats. Kadarus tried to push his chest forward more, so that he could be more comfortable as he threw up more of his own blood. Instead, he was greeted with a loud clinking sound and a force, invisible to him, restraining his body from moving. Confused, he pulled again, letting the blood gather in his mouth as he struggled. He pushed and pushed, but found the clanking of metal his only reward. Unable to withstand the buildup of fluid in his mouth, he spat it out, defeated.

His arms felt the chains around them now as he finally calmed down, more out of fatigue than will. Cold steel pushed his arms against his torso and bound his body against a thick pillar. Kadarus squirmed now, trying to make room for comfort but found that it was impossible for him to make more than half an inch of movement before the bars of his prison reined him back in.

The Valentine Bleeder coughed in surrender. It was a weak sound, similar to a dying man's last breath. Only Kadarus knew that he was nowhere near death. He still felt so much pain. As long as he felt, he was sure that he was alive.

He dared not open his eyes, concluding that there was ample justification for his weakness. His throat hurt and his neck pulsed with agony with every breath he took, but somehow, Kadarus mustered bravery enough to speak.

“Release me,” his voice pathetically murmured, sounding more like a moan than speech.

His words were a beg and one that was so filled with frailty and weakness that Kadarus coughed again, vomiting more of his blood out in disgust.

He was a whelp now. Of that he was sure.

[Magdalena]

“I am afraid I cannot comply.” The denial came in a husky drawl, breaking the silence of the hours past midnight. Sati had made a salt-crusted crate into a seat, upon which she was perched with elegance both learned and inherent: legs crossed, back as straight as a spear shaft, an invisible book poised on her head. The posture was a sure sign of noblesse, but many aristocrats could only display it with an air of affected constipation. On the contrary, the priestess was such a natural that some described it as exuding a forbidden grace – others just called it oozing with sex. Sati frankly did not know which one she preferred.

Regardless, she sat there with half-veiled eyes, ever watchful of the captive yet evincing nothing but cold apathy. In the perfect likeness of uncaring faces carved in unliving stone, she had remained insensate to the awakening struggle of his eyes, to the scarlet mists of blood he coughed.

The chains rattled and strained with each of his jerks, but the bonds would not break. She and Sapna had wrapped him in the spare mooring chains that were lying in the warehouse, then in smaller chains that they’d found drooping on old boxes. All of that was secured with countless ropes that looped through the links and into dozens of padlocks, which were then knotted again and again. Tedious work, especially so late at night, but they would not take any risks with such a skilled killer.

Yet the feebleness in his words – how his furious demand had become a whimpering plea – was so unbefitting of the murderer that it brought a smile to her lips. Sick. Belittling. Veritably, an angel’s smile.

“Tell me who you are.” The demand was curt, the woman caring not to mask the dryness and disrespect in her tone. She would suffer no polite detours this night, and there would be no jumping through hoops. This was not the court, after all. This was an interrogation.

The man sneered, but it made him spit more blood. He bared reddened teeth in defiance. “Who are you?”

Sati’s eyes became thin slits, but she soon loosened her expression into a playful grin. Pity that he refused to see it. “That’s not how it works, unfortunately.” Unbeknownst to him, she gestured with her right hand, catching her sister’s compliant nod in the corner of her eye.

The murderer shook as though struck by lightning. A seizure. He lurched forward and retched, voiding his stomach over a layer of filth and red fluids. “Tell me who you are, or your bowels are next.”

To her threat, he only replied with a grunt. Sati lifted her arm, but decided against it and sighed. The vomit already burned her nose, and she wouldn’t have him defecate six feet from her. “That ring you have. Who did you kill for it?”

He grunted.

“What is your business in Etheria Port?” Another grunt. To each and every question that followed, he replied in the same manner, each groan more animalistic than the previous.

To say that she was exasperated would be a gross understatement. Still, she would not relent. In due time, he would lose his taciturnity. Sati would loosen those jaws of their reticence, even it meant breaking them apart in process. “Why did you kill them? Why do you kill?”

*His silence was not expected – his reply, even less. “Because I have to.”

The priestess was at a loss, all too shaken by the weight of those four, simple words. Suddenly the chains that fettered him seemed insubstantial, so benign in the presence of a thousand others. Ghost chains, each held by an unforgiving soul, pulling him back – or dragging in forward. Prisoner of a thousand burdens, or slave of a thousand masters. For a moment, she pitied him.

*“Why am I alive?”

But only for a moment. “That's a question I've been meaning to ask, myself,” she admitted with a quiet nod. “But let's not dawdle over the details: you should have died, and yet you haven't. Why haven't I tried to kill you a second time, however, is because I am... curious.” He said nothing, but she knew he was waiting for her to elaborate. Sati smiled, and did not.

“How is your throat?” she asked instead. The foolish and the oblivious would think the query posed on genuine concern; alas, reality was something else entirely, and the captive was not oblivious, nor was he a fool. “You see, there's another reason why you're not dead yet.” The crate made the faintest of creaks as she stood. Near him, she leaned forward, softly brushing his left cheek with one hand, the caress as gentle as she could make it. With the other, she drew out the sickle at her belt and brought underneath his eye. A motion later, the blade breached skin, drawing a line of dripping crimson.

He winced when she harshly pressed her thumb onto the gash, dragging it along from end to end. Then, he realized, the hot sting had quelled. She had healed him. “Practical, no? But I have other gifts as well. Far less... benevolent.” Her thumb traveled back along its path, and the skin split open like a small, screaming mouth. A scream that reflected his own.

Then, she let something drip in the reopened gash, a single bead of sizzling water that leaked from her thumb. Acid. He roared anew.

“Why are you doing this? Why do you make me suffer?”

Sati lowered the sickle, drew closer to him. She let her fingers softly run on his cheek, round his neck, then pulled his head closer to hers. The woman's breath was warm on his skin, smelling of white roses; her voice was even sweeter as she whispered into his ear. But those words, they were poison. “Why, because I have to.”

He heard the angel’s laughter, heard the swift ring of her sickle. Clenching his teeth, he prepared for the worst.

[Valentine]

There were so many things she had done to assail his senses in such little time, but while most were destined to be forgotten, one promised to haunt him for ages to come.

Her breath. It stole all sensibilities from him the moment it blew across his face, steamy and seductive, triggering nerves and toying with emotions that he had thought dead. She smelt so wonderful that it seemed as if spring’s first morning had brushed against him. But with every spring eventually came the winter. Her words, as sweet as they felt and sounded to his senses, were as poisonous as her torturous magic. She was mocking him.

“You,” Kadarus growled, a sound that sounded more beast than man. Even in this pitiful state, the proud man would not tolerate insults. Driven to salvage whatever little dignity he still had, he forgot his pain and situation for a moment, letting himself go to to his emotions.

“You don't have to anything … EXCEPT RELEASE ME!” he roared, the anger he had held in until this point exploding with all the rage of a volcano. Kadarus would have shot forward like an arrow and throttled the life out of her porcelain doll features if not for his shackles, which clattered loudly against his vain charge, reminding him of what he had briefly forgotten; he was a prisoner. Defeated and demoralized, he tilted his head to the side and spat out a mouthful of blood, along with the rest of his pride.

“I’m sorry…” the samurai heard her seemingly innocent voice say. “… but I cannot.” His head instinctively lifted in the direction. Only then, in his relative calm, did he realize that that his eyes had opened. The curtains of his eyelids had risen in his fury to present a blurred, but logical world.

Kadarus could not get much of a grip on his surroundings. How could he when no matter how much he tried, he could not prevent his eyes from falling on the woman who stood just a few feet in front of him? Seeing her face now was like painting the definitive part of a masterpiece – beauty had been there before, but now it was undeniable. She was stunning and despite all that she had done, Kadarus could do nothing but remain captivated.

His eyes attempted to wander, trying to rid themselves of the Siren that had sucked the life out of their owner. They did not have much success. For, just a few feet behind the torturer, stood her carbon copy. From this distance, Kadarus could see them as nothing but two sides of the same coin. They had the same fiery hair and enamoring features, but there was an instantly obvious difference. The torturer had a posture of confidence about her while the one behind seemed to be strangely neutral to the recent events.

“Is that your sister?” the samurai asked, his previously feeble speech featuring a newfound, subtly growing strength beneath it. “She must be the strong one. You don’t look like you have the bottle to slit a man’s throat.”

"It doesn't take a keen eye for either assumption. You are, however, only half-right," the domineering of the two females said, taking a slight step forward to look down her nose at him. "We are sisters. Twins, in fact, if you haven't yet realized that we look the same."

Any composure in her voice that she had lost after Kadarus’ emotional outburst appeared to be regained now, but that sentiment had been completely reciprocated on the samurai’s side. He had revealed more than enough to his tormentor through his weakness, but had known nothing about her until this point. Now, she had inadvertently given him one morsel of information, and that was enough to reinvigorate him. Blood was in the water and the Valentine Bleeder was going to feast.

“Not for much longer,” he said, his voice a menacing whisper.

“What do you mean?” came the response. Kadarus did not need to use his eyes to know which one had spoken, nor his ears to hear the animosity in the voice. As a prisoner, his usual weapons weren’t available to him but he realized now that his tongue was as deadly as any sword.

“When I break out of these chains, and I will,” the Valentine Bleeder taunted, the first hints of a sadistic smile twisting across his face. For the first time since he had returned to consciousness, his confidence was with him. “The first thing that I’m going to do is bleed every last drop from your sister's alluring body... while you watch, trapped in the very binds that hold me now.”

His head rose slowly, yellow eyes taking their time to ascend before they carved themselves into her flawless features.

“You will suffer.”

[Magdalena]

Few had ever seen past her deception, seen what twisted ruin lay beyond a mask that feigned it all. Each transgression against her, or worse against her beloved sister, meant a new wrong to be righted… and right them, she did. Indeed, of those few, not one remained among the living.

But the man before her had done more than a simple wrong, more than a mere offence, more than a deadly crime; he had broken a taboo. ‘You would bleed my sister.’ More than he would ever know, his words had stirred an old poison in her blood, the very venom that had made her what she was today. ‘You would make me watch.’ And with the stirring of blood diseased came that of memories vile and vicious, memories of the cursed day when innocence grew fangs.

She could smell the winter’s snow, could feel its cold breath upon her bruised and battered flesh. But more than anything else, she could see the blood run warm on the floor, see it flow to her hands like crimson rivers, tainting them. They were bleeding her, over and over, bleeding her on their spears. She saw the pigs, fat and hirsute, smelled their fetid sweat, heard the sickening groans as they broke her. So much blood. Her sister’s blood. Sapna’s blood.

And they made her watch.

Sati felt herself falling, felt the nightmare shift under her feet. Felt the return to reality, and her mind breaking against it. A million pieces scattered across the floor, among the fragments of a mask that hid her no more. She trembled, struggling to hold a composure that was long lost, then trying to hold onto its sweet illusion. Scream. She wanted to scream, to burn her lungs and flay the skin from her flesh, to scream again and pluck out her eyes in the desperate notion that blindness would keep the demons at bay.

But they would not be shaken. The images were burned into her mind, the grunts and cries echoed ever stronger in her ears. The nauseating stench was invasive, all spoiled blood and spilled seeds. And the source? No longer the phantoms of the past, no longer the men she murdered and murdered until their corpses were no longer human. No, the source was right in front of her. Cold fury seethed in her eyes, in the warping features of a face once beautiful. But in her hands, the fury that burned and boiled. She had hitherto only used a single drop of acid. Now, however, her palms were soaked in it.

She drew her hand back, the palm fuming sulphurous. Silence did not hang long, broken as it was by the violence of the slap. His head jerked to the right, a stream of red spouting out of his mouth under the impact. The skin on his cheek was hissing and melting, slathered in the corrosive substance, but it was not over. She was not yet done.

Lunging forward, she grabbed his face with both hands and dug into the flesh with tapered nails. Sati squeezed harder and harder, distorting his face so much that his lips stuck out, wet and dripping scarlet. She was fuelled by the absolute pain in his eyes, by the crisp sizzling of his skin under her forceful caress. The smell was so pungent and the air was growing thick with burnt fat, but that drove her as well.

“Eat your words,” she snarled, no more clearer the gleam of madness in her eyes. “Eat your words, or I’ll kill you.” She twisted her hands, tearing through skin and muscle. Blotches of dark meat were now hanging from her fingers, steaming without cease.

“Then KILL ME!” he bellowed like a madman, lunging and snapping his stained teeth inches from her face, almost close enough to tear her nose away. A chunk from the pillar snapped under the force of the chains; the links made a horrible wail. “DO IT, YOU COWARD! KILL ME!”

Oh, he had asked so many requests, but at least that one she could grant him. She would be delighted to grant it.

And she would have, had Sapna not stopped her. The girl’s gloved fingers had taken hold of her forearms and pulled her away, the motion forceful yet gentle. Sati fell, eyes listless as she felt her sister catch her, felt that severing sense of loss overwhelm her. The murderer’s head fell back, jarring against the pillar as columns of smoke spewed forth from the wounds in his cheeks. “Why?” she whispered, incredulous. “After what he said... why?”

“Because he never meant it, Sati. Not a word.” Though the girl’s face was as emotionless as ever, Sati was not oblivious to the depthless sorrow that laced her revelation. There was no need to ask how she knew this, how she knew his true intentions. Sati could already hear the answer, plaguing her with so much guilt that it brought tears to her eyes. ‘Because you’ve been hurt by people who did.’

The priestess sealed her eyes, not daring to face her sister. If she had felt broken by those words, then what did Sapna feel? “Forgive me.”

Sapna said nothing, only smiled. What that meant, Sati knew all too well.

And it broke her heart.

We'll discuss the next parts tomorrow, but feel free to be nitpicky now!

[Valentine]

There were a thousand ways to describe his agony, but none would have done it more justice than a bestial scream. Unfortunately, Kadarus was deprived of even that privilege. As her acidic fingers scratched into his cheeks and began their savage work of burning his skin off, his only thoughts were of the pain. Fingers dug into his face so deeply that his mouth faced staunch resistance just to open. It did not matter though, because his throat was overflowing with so much blood that it could not produce any sound anyway. His eyes shut tightly as the acid burnt into his face, his only consolation the fact that soon, he would be dead and the torment would be over.

But even this wish was denied to him. Even after her torturous fingers left his skin, their acidic remnants remained, chewing and eating away at his flesh. His nose was filled with the pungent smell of his own exposed raw flesh, a stench so foul he really thought he had died and gone to Hell. Only the sound of the twin women talking in front of him snapped him back to reality, a harsh world that he would not have the luxury of leaving just yet.

It was at this moment that he realized that the woman had stopped just short of murdering him. He wanted to open his mouth to goad or taunt her into finishing the job, but found that the acid had dripped down the sides of his face to his neck. The cruel deeds done to his face were repeated here, resulting in a burning sensation down his throat whenever he tried to do so much as breathe. It was painful, but not enough to snuff his resilient body. If she had held her poisonous hands to his face for just a few seconds longer, they would have eaten deeper into his flesh and surely killed him.

Kadarus groaned in pain, a whimpering sound more akin to a dying animal than the powerful man he once was. His weakening eyes stared upwards at the twins, his still functioning ears telling him everything he wanted to know about what they were saying. The more they spoke, the more likely it seemed as though his body’s endless torrents of searing pain seemed as if they would never cease.

A wheeze escaped his lips, a pitiful instinctive sound that was the result of his body clambering its way to survival. His eyes stared upwards, the yellow in them trying their best to look hateful, but without the strength to do so. They saw the two girls step forward, one looking down at him before turning to the other.

“Heal him, Sati,” He saw one of the twins look down at his disfigured face, but he could not tell whether it was a look of disgust or one of sadistic pleasure. He did not think it would be one of pity. “He wants to die… yet the state you have put him in ensures he will toe the borders of life for a long time to come.”

The samurai saw Sati reluctantly lean downwards, her open palms just an inch off his face. Just from the way her body language was, Kadarus could tell of her intentions. He knew what to expect, but was relieved nonetheless when a cool, relieving feeling swam through his face, causing skin to grow back and wounds to heal. Perhaps best of all, the pain slowly faded away, until nothing remained.

There was a brief moment when the healing was complete, where both of their eyes seemed to open at the same time. Kadarus’ yellow eyes glanced into Sati’s beryl orbs, transfixed and unable to look away. But the beautiful redhead pulled away, standing up before walking off, visibly unhappy at what she had just had to do. The samurai’s eyes followed her body for a short time, before they turned to the other twin. She was the mirror image of Sati, but what she had done made Kadarus realize the difference in their personalities.

“Why?” the samurai asked, forcing his weary voice to ask the question that had been on his mind since those deadly acidic hands had first left his flesh. “I want to die… and your sister wants me to die, yet you deter her murderous ways. Why?”

Post may not be done, maybe add a bit more conversation. Feel free to anally critique.

[Magdalena]

Sapna narrowed her gaze, the dreary lassitude of her eyes becoming thin, green slits. "So alike, you and Sati." Always with the questions, always regarding her as this elusive mystery. They were the ones who held the wool over their own eyes, ever dismissing the simplicity of it all. "Because I have no reason to want you dead," she finally answered, tilting her head as would a child in afterthought. "At least, not anymore."

Though the exhaustion in his voice remained, it was now punctuated with a mild tone of perplexity wrought by the ambiguous reply. "What do you mean?"

One knee down on a floor that was only dust and asperities, Sapna drew out a gloved hand from the folds of her cloak. The thick leather was black and rough, but the man could imagine the soft white skin that hid beneath, the slender fingers that knew how to emulate kindness as well as they did cruelty. Hands… just like her sister’s. When she brought it close to his neck, he flinched and turned away, for he was plagued by uncertainty. Of the two touches, which would it be?

Sapna had seen this, and chose to let the hand hover in wait. She met his eyes, saw the golds flash in alert. It was not the fear of a broken man, but that of a caged and tortured lion, patiently biding its time until the slaver dared dangle his fist over the beast’s gaping maw. He would snap it shut to rip the flesh, to snap the bones and devour, all for the sweet and ferrous taste of revenge. Still, the woman did not falter, did not remove her hand as she maintained the gaze, asking for his permission.

He lowered his head, the fires tamed. The coarse texture of the glove brushed with the scarring strip of tissue on his throat, but it was so careful and light that there was no pain. Lifting his chin, he realized that her stare was still intent, dull greens full of meaning. The silent answer came to him as a chill, and he spoke. "You should have finished the job."

"Maybe I should have," she said monotonously, cautiously drawing her finger along the scar. The whole of her attention had been siphoned by the pink streak, by the clots and fresh blood that hung to it like dew. Then, were she returned his look, sympathy had returned the life to her once unliving eyes. "But the fact is… I did not, did I?"

"Do you know who I am?" he asked, the underlying sigh an undertone of exasperation. Everything in him disagreed with the decision, pleaded for the woman to reconsider. There was no threat in his question, only the assertion of what perils lay in his release. Only the despair for release.

"You are a man who kills," Sapna replied. The simplicity of the words, how innocently she had spoken them, belied the horrors that lay in their meaning.

"Does that not frighten you?" he asked in the same tone, his upper body pushing against the hold of the chains as he made a slight lean forward.

Her expression unnervingly blank, Sapna looked on, the riveting stare as unyielding as a charmer’s before a deadly snake, baring its dark and dripping fangs. "Do you know who I am?"

The faint wails of his restraints quelled to a stop, for the murderer had been given pause. The sisters were decidedly more alike than he had first presumed, though this one did not use his own words against him in mockery, nor to wound him or to make him suffer. No, only to uncover the sinister chains that bridged their separate worlds.

The murderer’s eyelids descended, letting the pale ghosts of the warehouse dissolve in darkness absolute. He breathed in deeply, but the exhalation was long and soundless. "Whatever crimes you may have committed... your sins will ever pale in comparison to mine."

Unmoving, unwavering, she spoke. "And does that make you proud?"

Rage climbed in his chest like ravenous flames, but the storm was soon doused, first by the realization that her intent had not been to scorn him, then by an oppressive wave, the driving breath of a wretched fate. "It makes me feel like a slave," he said at last, so low that he could barely be heard. "No… I am a slave."

"Because you have to kill," Sapna continued. The man’s eyes flew open, taken aback by the proximity of her voice. They were only inches apart, a thin barrier of naught but air and shadows that stood between them, between the skin of their faces, between the dark apples of their eyes. Yet, there was no palpitation in this moment of closeness, for the woman stared unblinking, seeming to peer deeper and deeper into what could not, should not ever be seen. "Because… you are made to kill."

"How do you know this?" He was alarmed once more, feeling that a deep secret had been torn from him. In some ways, that was the truth; long ago, Sapna had lost the life in her eyes, and in return she had been given the power to see what cost the lives of all others, to see the secrets that should ever die unseen.

But Sapna had not uncovered that which he desperately kept buried within him. Eyes were mirrors into the soul, and what she had seen in his eyes were ancient wisps that told of a dreadful change, of a wicked curse. But more than that, ever since she had first seen him, he could not hide the true chains that had already bound him. Ghastly chains held by the dead, always tugging to see him fall, and other chains that trailed behind him, like the leashes of a dog without a master to hold. The fated prisoner of a thousand chains.

"Now, would you say…" Sapna began, her voice a phantom susurration. Her hand, which had never left his throat, slid to grasp it. The hold was loose, lenient and, in a strange way, compassionate. But the murderer held no illusions. What answer he would give would decide her verdict. In the matter of an instant, compassion could become execution. Still, as she looked him in the eye, he could notice the faintest trace of trust.

"…that you were made to kill us?"

[Valentine]

She held his face in her grasp with a sense of delicateness in her fingers that he had not felt for a long time. Kadarus was under no illusions though, he knew that she had the power and the opportunity to kill him at any moment. He need only feel her nails scrape his skin to remind himself that a slight turn in her wrist and her fingers would shed their perceived daintiness for something more brutal. His eyes turned in their sockets, managing to catch just out of their line of vision, Sati who was standing a few feet away. If her sister would not finish him off, surely she would leap at the opportunity to give his face a second taste of her acid.

But death was far from Kadarus’ mind. He had tried to browbeat Sati into killing him, but now he felt as though he should live. Revenge and bloodlust were not his motivation; it was curiosity that dominated his thoughts. Sati’s sister, for he had not yet learnt of her name, was reading through his history with all the ease of a children’s book. But that wasn’t what piqued his interest; even a minor telepath could raid his mind, but it took something special to really touch Kadarus’ emotions. And she had done that with skill through her series of questions, so much so that he didn’t want to resist them anymore, he wanted to give her answers.

“I was not made a monster, I was changed into one,” Kadarus said, his eyes locked on her’s. He could not look away, for she held his head in her fingers. But even if she didn’t, the samurai imagined that he would not want to turn his gaze away anyway. “I was perverted into the beast that you see before you. A beast that does not discriminate, does not feel and does not have the freedom to pick and choose targets. So the answer is yes, I was made to kill you.”

She was silent, looking straight at him, expecting him to elaborate. He did not even think about disappointing her.

“There was a time, a long time ago now, where that was far from the truth. I used to be good, I used to be a hero,” he said, melancholy in his voice. He looked into her green eyes, but he had the faraway look of a man who was thinking of his childhood. “Now look at me.”

Kadarus pulled his face gently from her hands when he noticed that they had slipped away from him. He looked down at his body, encased in chains and pulled tamely at them. “I am a monster. I deserve to trapped in this prison.”

He looked up now and stared at her, the fire in his yellow eyes extinguished. “In another time, you two might already be dead at my feet. But that is not what I want and that is now what I wish.”

Even upon hearing his answer, the strange woman betrayed no emotion. Her eyes held steady on him, green daggers that were ready to strike at the smallest hint of a lie. She did not move, she did not speak: she only searched his gaze in the utmost silence. In this still moment, Kadarus realized he could hear the loud crash of waves breaking against the pier outside. The rank staleness of the warehouse suddenly overwhelmed him, the lingering stench of rot and fish worsening tenfold. Heat seeped through the leather on his throat, creeping over the raw skin as would a swarm of spiders.

The dreadful warmth was dispelled, and brushing his skin was now the cold breath of night. Sapna had removed her hand. She had… spared him.

“I believe you,” came her simplest of answers, and through the shadows he saw the faintest of smiles. At once she scrambled to her feet, sweeping the dust off her knees. Then, to his greatest surprise, she leaned forward, key in hand, and disengaged one of the locks that kept him bound.

[Magdalena]

“Wait, Sapna.”

Footsteps could be heard in the dark, light and hesitant as they scuffed the dust and grit beneath. A short while later, Sati’s face could be seen emerging from the backside of the cracked pillar, directly opposite to the silver-haired prisoner. It seemed she had found refuge there ever since she mended the flesh on his face, or at least most of it. Her red mane, once smooth and flowing with the gleam of embers, was now slightly disheveled, bushier and showing loss of luster. In the shadows, she had quite nearly torn out her hair as she fought her inner turmoil, but her face was now serene. The flames had doused, and had given way to cold reason.

“Do you still not trust him, sister?” Sapna asked, her grip on the padlock loosening.

“I trust no one but you,” Sati answered solemnly, closing her eyes. “And, as such, I trust your decision. But there is something I must ask him, first.” She resumed her advance and, when she stood to her sister’s right, Sati turned to face the swordsman. “I need to know who you are, and I need to know your relation to the Audeamus.”

The man kept silent in consideration, his golden eyes flashing downward to the ring he wore and the grey-tinted glass stud it held. In the end, he returned his gaze to Sati, to those pools of beryl. Enthralling as ever, though the frigid stiffness had somewhat thawed. They were still miles away from compassionate, but they were no longer distant and cruel.

“Kadarus is my name,” he finally answered after exhaling deeply. “I am a member of the Audeamus, as you have no doubt guessed from my ring.” The samurai flinched, feeling a resurging ache as the flesh of his face stretched with every word. There was only so much that could be healed in so little time.

“Ah, present tense,” Sati said absently, her tone musing. “So it is reborn.”

“What of it?” he asked with a pained hiss, feeling a rupture in his cheek.

“Nothing much,” she sighed, rolling her shoulders. “I was merely one of their agents, long ago. What a coincidence, that we should meet so.” His answering grunt was raspy, and he clenched his teeth to fight the ensuing ache.

“What a child you make,” Sati muttered, hiding none of her usual condescension. Stooping down, she slid her hands over her thighs and swept the dress beneath her knees. The priestess leaned forward, leering into the man’s eyes with a clear glimmer of reluctance. “This means nothing, understood?” Before he could voice his bewilderment, she had closed the gap between them, locking lips in a kiss so tender it was misleading.

Sati drew back a moment later, unknowingly releasing a toe-curling sigh as her eyelids hung low and heavy. Gently, she pressed her fingers against her lower lip, the tip of her tongue lapping at the diluted blood that had clung there. As she peered through her half-sealed eyes, she saw the raw strips on his ruptured cheeks and the pink scar on his throat, remnants of her previously hasty mending. They were now rapidly shying away, gashes closing and color blending with the surrounding skin that was left unmarred, until they had nearly vanished. It seemed that, as a kiss was more potent in love than a mere caress, so too was it in process of healing.

For a fleeting moment, however, she felt her gaze riveted to his golden eyes. “Dawn nears,” she said at last, turning away to the gates that led into the warehouse. Through the interstices, she could see that the sky was taking on a russet hue, sign that the sun would rise within the hour. “We should hurry before people come by.” With that, she began her hushed labor, toiling to disengage a series of ironclad padlocks while Sapna put her dark-enameled stilettos to work by cutting off the mooring ropes that bound their prisoner.

[Valentine]

Long after the last embers of sensuality that had been set ablaze during the brief kiss had been snuffed from existence, Kadarus’s mind still could not wander very far from the silky smooth, sensual taste of Sati’s lips. Traces of her saliva remained on the cusp of his lips, a nectarine flavour he would not soon forget. His tongue remembered the taste of her’s from their brief encounter and would not relent as it bombarded his mind with long absent lustful thoughts.

Fortunately, the twin women were unable to notice that his mind was less than focused on his present situation as they endeavoured to free him from the very prison they had locked him in a few hours ago. Kadarus took these few moments to compose himself and feel the energy and vitality return to his body. Sati’s kiss had done more than trigger primal emotions; it had pushed his body on its way to recovery. His muscles twanged with the power that had been stolen from them, eager for a chance to demonstrate their colossal might.

“Move,” the samurai said, a single word laced with so much authority that the two startled women had no choice but to oblige.

His muscles bulged as they exerted themselves, his face grimacing as he struggled against the chains which bound him. The metal links creaked under the stress before the first link finally snapped under the pressure. With one of them gone, the rest stood no chance and Kadarus let out an animalistic growl of frustration as he gave one final, powerful tug, shattering each of the binds that held him in place.

Kadarus rose a man triumphant, some form of pride restored after his chauvinistic display of strength. His legs pushed him to his feet in a less than steady manner; they had been bound down for so long that it almost felt strange for them to be free again. Still, it took only a moment for those muscles to be revitalized and the samurai to be comfortable standing upright once again.

“The weak men and women of this town do not occupy my thoughts for more than a moment,” he said, though it was more informative than authoritative in tone. He had calmed down somewhat, controlling his emotions enough to see these two women as what they were, his allies. Nothing more, nothing less. “What does concern me is what the two of you are you are doing in this part of the world. There is nothing special in this town, nothing here that warrants more than the bat of an eyelash.”

“We’re travelling without much aim,” Sapna stepped forward to say, her voice stern and objective. “An odd job here and there, under the employ of any that can make use of our... skills”

That last word sent shivers down Kadarus’ spine, though he did not let either of them see any signs of weakness. He took a few uneasy steps forward, stepping past the two of them and looking forward to the door exiting the warehouse.

“Perhaps we should leave then. But first, if you really gift me with your trust and belief... give me my sword.”

[Magdalena]

Upon hearing Kadarus’ request, Sati turned to her sister, the question glimmering clearly in her arctic eyes. The priestess was still reluctant in granting too much of her trust, especially when the recipient killed without rhyme or reason, answering to naught but murderous whims. That a greater force had planted the seeds of change in this man did little to assuage her worries; in fact, this knowledge only made things worse. His relative tameness might have been a chance occurrence, a mere oversight by whatever had cursed him to become this arbitrary killer. At any moment, the corruption could pour into his veins and the poison consuming him it could guide his shivering hands toward the only antidote he knew.

“Yes, we have to,” was Sapna’s sincerest reply to the unspoken query. Her gloved hand trailed to her belted hips, past the ebony sheathes of her daggers to an indistinct shadow that seemed to rest on the small of her back. Its form seemed to warp with the touch and, as it slid into sight, took on the shape of a curved sword, sheathed in three feet of sullen grey and spattered crimson. With a slight yank, she pulled the blade out from the scabbard, emerald eyes stern as she saw its blood-red hue, as she felt it beckon to drink more and more. Insatiable. “Your sword is not your venom,” she began calmly, her tone oddly dispiriting. “However, it is as much of a conduit for the infection as it is a bane unto itself.”

“I know of this,” Kadarus answered, his voice neither shameful nor joyous with pride. It was simply awareness of an evil he could not discard, the submission to a habit from which he would never wean. Not unless he held on to the blade, not unless he yielded to its demands. Outstretching his hand, he waited for the vile touch of the hilt, the all too familiar weight of the wicked weapon. “Yet I will keep it. I must. The Valentine cannot be denied.”

“No, I suppose not,” Sati said with a sneer of sarcasm. “That is why you will kill us the moment you hold it, is it not? The cold haft of a killing tool is all that is needed for you to throw those hollow promises to the wind. Do you have no will, or is it simply weak? Ah, nothing but pretty words scrawled to the dust...” She even grinned as the swordsman cringed, his eyes gleaming as gold in the forge, angry and afire.

“What my sister so tactlessly meant to say,” Sapna began, looking crookedly at the priestess, “is that you seem to have forgotten one thing. You are a tool to your sword as much as your sword is a tool to you.”

“And what my sister so wisely meant to say,” Sati interrupted, “is that if you cannot deny its urges, you can learn to control them.” The priestess had concluded with an annoyed tone of finality, happy to end a lecture that made her queasy with repugnance.

Then, as curtly as can be, she purloined the katana from Sapna’s grip. She paused, sighing deeply to collect herself, and with as much trust as she could muster, she brought it dangling in front of Kadarus’ face. “The men I kiss are never weak. Do not prove me wrong.” At last, she shoved the sheath into his outreaching hand, and to his wide-eyed stare, she only grinned. The men Sati kissed also never lived very long, but that he would learn another day, perhaps.

Sati strolled away from a scenery of dust and darkness that had become so familiar it sickened her. Too many hours were spent in this dank warehouse, and the smell of brine and stale fish was starting to impregnate her dress. She yearned for the sunrise, if only for a momentous change of pace. Thus, without a word, she left the depot through the brightening doorway. Sapna answered the look on the man’s face with a shrug, then scuttled for the exit to rejoin her hasty sibling. Seeing that there was nothing more to say, Kadarus tightened his grip on the scabbard, the loosened it as he simply followed suit.


Only minutes outside, and they could already perceive the sun’s scarlet crest peeking over the horizon, dragging itself up from a long night’s slumber. Sati could hear the distant caw of a lone gull, an early bird wandering the shores past the port of Etheria, testimony of how young the day still was. Despite that, however, they met with activity the moment they rounded a soot-stained fence of bricks, onto the scene of the midnight’s massacre. Constables and street labourers had gathered there, quietly at work as they pulled half a dozen dead sailors out of sight, picking severed limbs that had flown into the town’s decorative underbrush and industriously scrubbing the blood from the brick walls and cobbles.

Before Sati could even swear and back away behind the corner, an officer accosted her, the skin beneath his lavender eyes sagging and weary. The Drow was a grouch, his speech cantankerous as he questioned her. “Isn’t it rather early for a leisure walk, milady?” Something in that last word made Sati cringe in disgust, either the degrading way in which he spoke it or the simple fact that during her noble upbringing, she had never heard it used in anything but a pejorative way. “As you can see, the nights here can be dangerous. It’s a wonder you’re unharmed.”

“Oh gods, what… what has happened here?” she stammered apprehensively, gently pushing the officer out of the way for a better look at the premises. Two quick steps forward and a last, tentative one to show that she was realizing the situation. Bringing one quavering hand to her lips, she backed away step by step, evincing as much revulsion as she was capable until she had to turn away. She tottered weakly as she crouched to rest on a wall, the heave of her shoulders arrhythmic as she faked the repression of vomit.

Taking advantage of the moment, she pinched the skin near her eyes, drawing tears of pain and minor swelling as she began to whimper between whispered words of disbelief. For a moment she hesitated - the final act was one she would definitely not enjoy. Finding no escape, she subtly stuck her finger down her throat, prodding around until she gagged. The woman purged an already empty stomach into the bushes, yet the watery substance still burned her, smelling foul an acrid. She lay there for a moment, feeling truly sick and incapable of reacting to neither the officer’s soft rasps and taps on her back nor his words of worry and apology. ‘The price to pay for maintained freedom,’ she groaned inwardly.

Alas, in that moment, she saw Kadarus appear from the street’s corner, with a careless Sapna roving in tow. Silence hung taut in the air, the constable having seen the two as well, but his eyes focused on that fleeting image of a red-stained sheath. “You… that’s…” he stuttered, afraid to look back at the scene, at the slashed and dismembered bodies. The swordsman saw that creeping realization on the officer’s face, could feel the Valentine calling to be released, to deal with these gnats and taste the unctuous blood of dark elves. He would have answered, had Sapna not intervened.

She cried in a huff, as if she had been running. “Thank god, officer! I’ve been attacked!” In an instant she had flung herself into the man’s arms, shivering with fright and sobbing as she tried to catch her breath. “This man… h-he saved me from my assailants. He managed to take down two of them with that stick, but there were too many! We had, had to run,” she blubbered on, face still buried in the man’s shirt.

“Stick?” he asked, incredulous. “That’s not a stick that’s clearly a… a… stick?” Unable to believe it, he squinted his eyes, then drew his head back slightly, but the result was always the same. It was a stick, seemingly broken off from one of the many maple trees scattered along the streets, and stained with fresh blood from blunt strikes to the head, apparently. With a more scrutinous look at the man, he noticed similar trails on his body such as his face, neck and hands most likely spattered from the impact. “I must have been mistaken. All this has… oh, it’s so early.” Massaging the bridge of his nose, he resumed. “You said you ran from them. How far from here, and how many?”

“I… I don’t know how long we’ve been running. But it was a-almost a straight line, I think. Down that street.” Sapna was calming down, stinting her whimpers and replacing them with the occasional sniffling. “Ten, maybe twelve. T-two wounded. Armed with s-swords.”

“Alright men,” the officer grinned, the weary look on his face quickly replaced by one of satisfaction. “We’ve found our culprits. Everyone follow me.” All stood at once, fastening their belts and checking that their blades and sword breakers were present and at the ready. With a whistle from their leader, they stormed out in his tow, yet were silent and organized enough not to bottleneck into the narrow street. Only the workers were left, some staring absently at the dust brewing in their wake, others throwing away their scrubs and pails for an early break. Only few paid attention to the three outsiders, but it was listless, almost as if they wished for them to leave.

“I will not argue with that,” Sati murmured, slowly rising from her shelter near the bushes. She had been all but forgotten, and was beginning to wonder if her act had been necessary, but to believe that she had retched for nothing was a dispiriting thought. Looking at Kadarus and her sister, she gestured for them to leave first. Half a minute later, she did the same, only taking a different path so as not to arise suspicion.


“You certainly thrive under pressure, Sapna. A stick? That was rather ingenious,” Sati said in genuine praise.

“I’m surprised I failed none of my illusions,” the girl answered, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Her final feat had been beyond taxing, and the wear of a sleepless night did nothing to help. Still, that she was still so apt in such circumstances proved that she was becoming stronger. “An eventful night, and not a bad one at that. Though, the officer hasn’t worn clean clothing in weeks.”

“Well you had to hide your face some way, or else he’d be suspicious to find identical women stumble upon the same place with two different stories. Plus I doubt you would have managed to change your face and the sword simultaneously. Besides, you were quite an actor.”

“I would have killed them,” Kadarus said at long last, breaking his self-imposed muteness. Ever since their narrow escape, he had been silently brooding, and for what reasons neither of the twins knew. The sisters’ light conversation had come to a screeching halt, as had their stroll through the dark alleys of the city. Trying to make sense of his words, they waited, watching. He was holding his blade laxly, staring at it as he would a strange and unknown device. “I was going to kill them, but you stopped me,” he continued, turning his golden gaze to the assassin sister. “That… has never happened before.”

“Your point being?” Sati asked hastily, hoping that he would not bawl with his heart on his sleeve, but at least speaking without her usual nagging quality. Sapna, however, silently answered the man’s gaze with her own implacable eyes.

“I have a proposal,” Kadarus said at last, this time meeting the priestess’ quizzical stare. “You said you were once an agent of the Audeamus.” There was a time of pause after this statement, a time during which the swordsman awaited an assertion. Sati, however, did nothing but narrow her eyes. “And you said you were seeking any who could make use of your abilities.” Again, she answered with nothing but a deeper squint. Almost sighing, Kadarus decided that there was no point in beating around the bush. “I would that both of you come with me, and return to the Audeamus as my… protégés, if you will.”

Her eyes were still narrowed, but a faint smile drew itself upon her rose-polished lips. ‘And here I thought you’d never ask.’ Looking at her sister, she received a nod of approval. “Well, and here I was thinking that you would hold a grudge for what I did to you,” she taunted, yet there was seductiveness in her tone. “Or is it that I have, somehow, redeemed myself?” This time, it was his silence that vexed her, which she made clear with an annoyed grunt. “And should we join you, what would be our first order of business, might I ask?”

Lifting his left hand, he presented them both the jewel upon his ring finger, the studded gem gleaming a somber grey in the alley’s shadows. “To get your own rings.”

“Well, well,” the priestess began humorously. “First a proposal, then a ring? But my, we’ve only just met.” She was playing coy, batting her eyelashes teasingly as she forced a blush and gyrated as sappily as she could. Sapna repressed a giggle at that, but Kadarus remained steadfast, apparently not one to be embarrassed by her flippant banter.

“Do you accept?” he asked sternly, as was his habit, though his tone was slightly gentler, more sincere, and touchingly expectant.

Putting her antics to a stop, she stared into the man’s eyes, wondering. When at last she answered, the rising sunlight threw shadows upon her ravishing face, and he could not choose whether it was an angelic smile or a devilish grin.

“I do.”




I'll submit this for judging now, but we'll have time for one final review of the thread. There are just a few kinks that need to be taken care of, but one short sitting should be enough.

I'm very sorry for making you wait this long, but I've been having a hard time being motivated to write with these two lately. It's back, though!

Also, "I would that" is not missing a verb. It's correct grammar.

To the judge, I know this final post is very long, but I think it flows better when in one block. Still I was wondering if it could be considered as two posts? If not, it's very okay, I just thought I would ask.

Spoils: No spoils. Instead, if everything could be dumped into experience, I would be very grateful.

[Breaker]

It's another Tequila Sunrise
Quest Judgement

Hopefully my comments are lucid enough, I haven't slept in about a day. As always, I'm available on AIM for extra commentary/discussion.

STORY

Continuity ~ 5/10. As far as storyline goes, this thread was pretty bare bones. The ending tied it off nicely, which saved you from a lower score, but there wasn't much of an arc, not much happened, and nothing really took me by surprise. I'm guessing you two didn't put a huge amount of thought into the storyline, and that results in a lower score here.

Setting ~ 7/10. You're both great descriptive writers; you know it and you show it. I especially liked Valentine's opening description of the battle with the blood spattered across his invisible form. But I think you both need to go back to the minors a little. You got caught up in describing your characters, and yes, this thread was all about the characters, but that doesn't change the importance of observing and interacting with the setting. For example, I think I read at least six different descriptions of the twins' eyes, but I didn't even know where the chains came from. That's a fairly inconsequential detail, but a paragraph about the girls shaking rust off the chain like an ancient serpent shedding skin then winding it around Kade and a scarred oaken support beam would have helped me identify with the surroundings more. I know it can get stale describing the same room over and over again, but try to find new things to elaborate on; look for ways to make your warehouse original.

Pacing ~ 5.5/10. In all honesty, as a casual reader I don't think I would have finished this thread. The first post was incredibly thick and didn't demand attention; the second kept me reading but was rather long winded. The elaborate descriptions of torture and pain kept me reading, but never had me begging for more, never kept me guessing. I find pacing is largely tied into the other categories, so my comments here run a little short.

CHARACTER

Dialogue ~ 5.5/10. Dialogue wise, I think the first post was my favourite. Not saying anything, barely even pausing to think, really represented Kade strongly for me. However, I think a little banter between the sailors would have added the edge of realism to the scene. From then on, the dialogue was defiantly average. Despite the insane level of physical and emotional pain the characters went through, the dialogue remained bizarrely lucid. Also, until the last post, each interaction seemed to have "plot point" written all over it. In the last post, things got a little melodramatic and daytime-soapish, capped off by that buffoon of a cop. And IMHO... "Using all caps DOES NOT ADD ANYTHING TO DIALOGUE!" :p

Action ~ 6/10. You both have writing styles that seem to get in the way of your action sequences. I picked a one paragraph example to break down for each of you.


The next few moments were a blur, as the final bastions of Kadarus' resistance broke down. His feet moved of their own accord, tapping loudly on the ground so quickly and with such force that it was as if a herd of buffalo was stampeding forward. The sailors backed away in fear, knowing that something horrible their way was coming. A katana rose in the air, humming as its fine blade sliced through the air before coming down across the chest of the first unlucky man, spraying blood into the air like a crimson fountain. The Valentine Bleeder did not relent though, using the momentum from that strike to move into his next one, his bloody katana bathing itself in more blood with a diagonal strike across the waist of his next victim.
First of all, you want to avoid words like "was" and "were" at all costs in action sequences. It's passive voice, and it slows things down. "Was" is not an essential word like "the" or "a" or "he". It can be avoided, and it should be in these sections. A perfect example is the buffalo metaphor. "His feet moved of their own accord, tapping the ground forcefully like a herd of stampeding buffalo" is a very nice simile. But you ruined it by adding in all those extra words. Think about the way you wrote this paragraph, then think how you could write it using stronger, concise language. I'm getting long winded here myself, so I'll just say if you want any help with this, feel free to IM me.


She drew her hand back, the palm fuming sulphurous. Silence did not hang long, broken as it was by the violence of the slap. His head jerked to the right, a stream of red spouting out of his mouth under the impact. The skin on his cheek was hissing and melting, slathered in the corrosive substance, but it was not over. She was not yet done.
A lot of the stuff I said above to Valentine applies to you as well, so I wanted to point something else out here. The first two sentences read rather awkwardly, and as a result spoil the rest of the sequence. There are at least a half dozen ways you could have worded it better with the same writing; it's time to start finding these passages when you proofread, and improving them. Once you get good at that, you'll notice them as you write them, and before long you'll be writing concise action instinctively and efficiently.

Persona ~ 6.5/10. Looking over my notes, I have "one dimensional" scrawled in more than one place. You wrote them well, but they came off as violent characters in a violent story, rather than multi-faceted, interesting individuals.

WRITING STYLE

Technique ~ 7.5/10. You both know how to use vivid imagery, for damn sure. In particular, you both have a rare strength in personnification, which I love reading. But again, I found that at times your writing got in the way of technique. A good example is the last paragraph of post #9. "Simplest", "faintest", and "greatest" are all rather weak adjectives, which are weak words to begin with. Try using adjectives with a little more color, or if you can, verbs. Another example is the first paragraph of post #11. The second half of that paragraph is very good; the first half is one horrible run on sentence. Stuff like this, as well as general awkward/roundabout/thick/longwinded writing, can really take away from those powerful literary devices.

Mechanics ~ 8.5/10. I caught an error once in awhile, but only on a couple occasions was it significant enough to give me pause. Careful proofreading can only improve this, but good job.

Clarity ~ 7.5/10. Pretty good here, but I'm going to summarize what I said over the span of a few categories: both of you have numerous, if not dozens of paragraphs in this quest that could be a few lines shorter without losing anything at all. And again, if you need a little help just give me a shout. This could seem inconsequential, but when the words don't get in the way of the writing, your reader is free to enjoy.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 7/10. This could have been a 10 if a threeway ensued, but you walked a different path.

TOTAL ~ 66/100. Despite my harsh critique I mostly enjoyed this read, except when I felt like I was wading through a swamp:p. But then, what's the point of a judgement if I don't tear the thread apart? I trust neither of you will despair, and I look forward to seeing more from both of you.

EXP and GP Rewards

Valentine gains 2700 EXP and 150 GP
Magdalena gains 1426 EXP and 150 GP

Other Rewards

Kadarus finds the broken halves of an iron chain link in his pocket; a reminder that even the mighty can be bound.

In the folds of her dress, Sati finds a loop of Kade's skin, burned tough and leathery by her acid. It fits almost perfectly as a bracelet or anklet, but is not a recommended affectation for fancy dinner parties.

[Witchblade]

EXP and GP added!