If Only So Strange Bedfellows.

[Majik Sordman]

((Closed to Khalxaen))

The city was his playground.

The crisp air was cold and brisk as Razeki's black form ran through the late winter's night. Behind and beside stacked houses he easily went. Over and around stone walls he easily galloped. Up scaffolding, down ladders. He was adept at traversing obstacles and freerunning, though nowhere near an entirely devout master in the mobile art. He was a shadow, pawed feet moving one stride at a time like a well oiled machine, or as much of one as Blaze could be. He was a blur. He enjoyed the freedom of movement his heritage granted him, and in an ideal world he would have decided to spend the rest of that snowy eve galavanting about like the feline race he closely represented.

Unfortunately, however, it wasn't an ideal world.

For he was on a search. He was looking for a murderer. The nekojin often mused that an Exorcist also played the role of Investigator once in a while; running around aimlessly until the senses were tickled by the presence of spiritual beings, which then could be represented in various forms either corporeal or not. It took a lot of sniffing around to find an otherworldly criminal before finally cracking down on its head, and Blaze's night was no different. Or so he hoped. In truth, he didn't really know how events would unfold, this was one of the first times he had actually been sent from the Shirayama Mountains to deal with a problem. It was his time to shine.

The bright crescent moon shone clearly in the cloudless night sky, its silver glow gently illuminating the whole of Yanbo Harbor. The next dawn would be red, as the scent of blood permeated the salty sea air. It was this that Razeki sniffed as he waited near the tall westernmost wall that bordered the harbor, crouched upon a corner of a small one story home of mudbrick like a perched gargoyle. Homes of similar style and size lined his sight, and taller warehouses and building to the east blocked most of his line of sight to the sea. The cobblestone street of Crown Avenue was empty in the dead of night. The residents either slept, or gone to work the docks - which, in a port and fishing harbor such as Yanbo, never tired. Unrest filled that small western residential section of Yanbo Harbor. The rumors had spread like wildfire; a murderous demon spirit was on the loose. Some believed it false, until accounts of mutilated corpses appeared from what seemed like nowhere.

Blaze looked around, his jade eyes squinted slightly as they sorted out the darkness. The place wasn't much. Yanbo Harbor was mainly just that, a harbor; a port of fishermen and navy men, with their lineup of trade ships and galleons rowed along the eastern coast, their tall masts dotting the silver horizon. The rest of Yanbo consisted of homes, taverns, and fish markets. The late night hue of the moon gave off a surreal luminescence, an eerie silence engulfed the area, and small flakes of snow quietly drifted down from the heavens...

It was going to be an interesting night.

[Khalxaen]

Her head was throbbing painfully. An utterly familiar stench stuck to the cold air, and she knew almost instantly that it wouldn’t be a good idea if she didn’t leave immediately. Khalxaen grasped her head tightly, trying not to breathe. For a reason she didn't know, her hands were sticky with some sort of liquid. She felt the liquid against her face. The demon’s eyes were shut tightly, and she had her back against something hard—a concrete wall, perhaps.

’Location. Where the hell am I?’

Khalxaen was almost sure that she would hear the familiar voice of her sword, Skoteinos. It didn’t speak much, but it always did when she was in a crisis and facing that unbearable stench. It didn’t answer her. Instinctively, she put a hand down to her hip, and her eyes shot open when she realized her sword wasn’t there. The room she was in was dark, and her eyes flashed scarlet, allowing her to see clearly.

It wasn’t just the loss of her sword that startled Khalxaen. It was also the scene before her. She understood why the smell of the liquid, blood, littered the air. There was a carcass of a young woman before her, her neck slit and the thick red blood oozing out to the floor. She had cuts all of her arms and legs, her eyes wide and forever frozen, her mouth gaping open pathetically. Khalxaen quickly looked around the house and saw that a struggle had obviously ensued. Everything was a mess, the woman’s blood leaving a trail on the floor as if she had been dragged just a few feet. The door was ajar, the icy air seeping in. The night was silent. Khalxaen couldn’t hear a thing.

The demon growled under her breath, trying to remember what had happened. The last thing she could remember was walking through the streets. She had blacked out—which had happened a lot of times before. Was she responsible for this corpse in front of her? It was a possibility. It was a very probable possibility. It wouldn’t be the first time madness took over her mind, causing her to lose control and wanting nothing but murder. Although, it would be the first time she actually awoke and realized that nobody was able to stop her.

Another reason she highly thought it was all her doing was because of the liquid—the blood—on her hands. She tried all she could do to not breathe from her nose, grabbing the cloak from around her and wiping her arms and hands furiously on it. She also wiped her stained face against it, staining the white cloth with dark red. Khalxaen quickly discarded it on the floor. She would rather face the cold winter than leave blood on her skin. And, even though she had wiped it off, the smell still stuck to her. The demon knew she needed water to wash it off.

She had to get out of the place as quick as she could. Her mind was being devoured by a feeling of ecstasy—wanting, needing more bloodshed. She would not succumb to it.

[Majik Sordman]

He blinked several times, glancing up at the sky. His breathing became a conscious thought in the monotony. In and out, in and out, slowly, his warm exhalations immediately condensing into the frigid air. Blaze didn't really know where or how to continue; to scour the entirety of Yanbo Harbor would take all night, and he cursed the lack of sleep he previously endured in the yesterday.

"Wonder if I'll ever be able to perfect it." His mind, straying from the current task, began to wander and reminisce about the previous night's endeavors. For a fortnight he had been trying to manifest his spirit energy in different forms of fire. Some of the ideas included: Could it be cold? Give off electric shocks? Act as a shield? The possibilities were theoretically endless. "Cold fire made from my spiritual energy. Interesting, " Holding out the palm of his right hand at the thought, a green flicker of hot flame sprouted skyward for a second, followed by a light sigh. "I suppose it's possible. I'm not creating real fire, I'm manifesting thoughts in my mind, if I were to - "

Something caught Razeki's eye.

Shrugging the thoughts out of his contemplative head, his gaze snapped down to the street. An inky black shadow wavered in the middle of the snow-covered cobblestone way, in between his perch of a house and another across. He squinted, but the dream-like glow of the night made the shadow's contours indistinguishable. It looked like it could've been a man, but... No, it didn't feel like it. Something gripped his senses like an icy vice. Blaze knew that all-too-familiar feeling. The form's eyes, or what he assumed were eyes, flashed green, and were staring right at him. The nekojin's face contorted into a puzzled expression, and the form began to walk away.

"Hup!" Razeki hopped off the house with a grunt, landing with a thud and curling into a practiced roll; a cold sensation rushing up his spine as he tumbled across the snow. The sound of his blade being unsheathed sang through the air as he performed a quick draw immediately after rising. The black shadow continued off down the road, turning into a small home on the left several houses down. A confident smirk crossed his lips, and his eyes screamed determination. "You're mine." He thought.

A quickened dash had the Exorcist standing in front of the house's door that he saw the shadow escape into. The smell of death was prominent, and the snowfall had ceased its descent to share Blaze's suspense. The door was creaked open slightly, and after a couple moments of thought, Razeki's foot found its way to helping the door open fully with a loud kick, katana held tightly in his right hand with the blade projecting downward. He pictured himself like a storybook hero, busting down the main antagonist's door with the silver light of the moon shining down on him in just the right way. He half expected a damsel in distress to look up at him, glossy-eyed, and cry for his divine aid.

Standing in the doorway with a wicked grin, he yelled out, "Ready to die?!"

[Khalxaen]

Khalxaen gave one last look at the corpse before her. She crinkled her nose, feeling sorry for the human—the weak, pathetic human, couldn’t even defend herself. If only her blood didn’t stench up the air, then Khalxaen would probably have given some time to dig her up a grave. She put her hand to her hip again, wanting to grasp her sword as a form of comfort. Her hand met nothing. ’That’s right. I lost it. I need to look for it.’

The demon could feel a painful knot in her throat, and she tried to move, but she couldn’t. All she did was look at the corpse. Khalxaen said she wouldn’t succumb again, but apparently, her demonic instincts thought otherwise. Something flashed at the corner of her eye, and she quickly turned around to get a look. There was nobody. Her eyes scanned over the room. She was still alone—but, she could hear footsteps.

Someone barged into the door.

’No, not now.’

Khalxaen felt her lips curl into a mischievous smile. The person in front of her was much taller than her, black fur matting his skin. He didn’t look weak—unlike the woman who had just been murdered—but that didn’t stop Khalxaen from feeling that intense want of murder flowing through her again. Khalxaen’s scarlet eyes stared at the man, and she felt herself chuckling underneath her breath. She had no sword, but that wouldn’t stop her from trying to kill this man.

’Kill? No, uh, I can’t do that…’

It was all the room’s fault, and the blood in it. Khalxaen was becoming overcome by bloodlust again. She had to get away, maybe out of the house, into the streets—but that man was blocking the doorway. The man would probably fall victim as her prey, if he didn’t let her pass. Khalxaen rummaged for something else behind her, where a small knapsack rested. Her hand soon wielded a small dagger, quite useless, but better than nothing.

“Are you ready to die, cat boy?”

Before she knew it, she had lunged forward, the dagger aiming for his neck.

[Majik Sordman]

((Bunny approved.))

"Gah!"

Pure unexpected surprise had Blaze staggering back off his stance as a bloodied Khalxaen tried to pounce on him, only mere moments after kicking the door in. He had anticipated to find the black shadow lying calmly in wait for him, or if not he at least assumed that nothing would be there and he'd be thrown back out onto the streets to meander the harbor. He expected anything but what really happened.

Toppling over to his backside, Razeki's eyes widened as the demon girl flew over his falling form. Practiced reflexes had him curling up and performing a back roll into the street with a grunt and quickly hopping back to his feet, an iron grip on his katana. There was no time to think. He had found his mark.

"Well, " The nekojin moaned faintly, rolling his snow-covered shoulders and turning around to face Khalxaen. The cold night wind picked up seaward as adrenaline kicked in, his gleaming jade eyes stared daggers into the girl that slid across the cobbles. She was bloodied, there was no question. She was the culprit. Or the victim, for she actually looked pretty, petty, and petite and otherwise unable to be any sort of demonic murderer. Then it dawned on him, and he opened his mouth to finish, "Seems we have a possession on are hands, folks." His wily voice carried into the night, broken ever so slightly by the cold. He twirled his katana once, then snapped it forward to have the blade tip pointing at Khalxaen who landed a few feet forward.

He flashed a fanged grin, "Your exorcism won't hurt a bit. Trust me."

[Khalxaen]

Stumbling forward, Khalxaen firmly planted one of her hands on the ground and steadied herself. She had not expected the person to avoid her so skilfully. She craned her neck and stared at him again, studying him with a maniacal expression on her face. Her knees were bent, and she bared fangs, looking like she was about to pounce again. The demon gave a low growl that resided from the base of her throat.

’A possession?’

Khalxaen could look at him better now. She didn’t really have enough time before—she had decided too quickly to just attack. The man had a sword. Khalxaen glared back at the tip of the blade, as if daring it to come at her. The blade looked perfect, a true masterpiece; it looked like it could easily slice off someone’s head, just like Skoteinos.

“Skoteinos…!” gasped Khalxaen, and she suddenly started to look around in a panic. The streets were empty, nobody in sight except this fellow in front of her. No longer in the confines of the small room with all the stench of the blood concentrated in one place, Khalxaen slowly regained her true consciousness. There was still a faint smell because of the stain left on her clothes and skin, but it was much less effective once it was mixed with the fresh winter air. The demon took a sharp breath and forced herself to breathe from her mouth to escape the scent completely.

The demon looked back at the one before her. He was still pointing the blade at her accusingly. All Khalxaen had in her hand was a dainty dagger, which she stared at and then back at his sword. Obviously, she had no chance. And even if she did, she saw no reason to fight this man who thought she was possessed. It would take too long. She needed to find her sword.

“Won’t hurt a bit…?” Khalxaen returned his cocky grin with a snarl. “You point that thing at me and tell me it won’t hurt!? Besides, there's nothing to exorcise!”

Giving the man a glance, she suddenly got up on her feet and quickly dashed away, towards the empty alley in front of the house she had just exited. There was a wooden fence, and she grabbed the top with her hands, hoisting herself to the other side. The snow on the fence was cold on her skin, and the air was freezing her lungs. She had no time for weaknesses, though. She tried to remember what had happened. Khalxaen had faint memories of screaming—who was screaming? Was it her? Perhaps it was the woman who had been murdered.

She landed on the other side, almost sure that the nekojin was going to come after her. Khalxaen was going to head towards the inn, where she had slept the night before. From there she was going to retrace her steps during the day.

[Majik Sordman]

"Hm..."

Razeki, confused and amused, tilted his head as Khalxaen darted off, the tip of his blade trailing after her. His eyes looked down in thought for a very brief moment, pondering what was really going on. Before anything became clear to him however, he beckoned "Hold on there!"

The nekojin turned after her, but didn't pursue immediately, for two reasons: One, the alerting presence that he felt only moments ago had suddenly vanished, meaning the girl that had sprung on him like a tensed coil couldn't possibly have a possessing spirit dwelling inside her. Thus, secondly, he presumed that she was basically harmless, what with only a dagger and all. That didn't explain the blood though...

He lifted his blade and rested its side on his shoulder, tapping it up and down lightly, but still keeping his muscles and body poised for anything. The wind kicked up after the suspense, creating little tornadoes of fluffy snow on the ground, and whistled in the feline's ears. The muffled sound of crunching snow under Razeki's naturally padded feet filled the icy night as he walked ahead to the alley, boxed in by tall walls of mudbrick on either side. He stopped before the short fence, his eyes tracing the darkness in which the girl escaped to.

Honestly, he didn't really wish to see the aftermath that he anticipated he would find if he actually went into the dark home and checked around. That wasn't his job. His was to find the culprit, and deal with it. Perhaps the girl held the key to the puzzle, perhaps she was a surviving victim of whatever occurred in the house. A daughter, perchance.

"W-Wait a moment!" He began, his tone slightly annoyed in the wind. Although his speech began to visibly break a little the longer he traipsed through the cold midnight. An exasperated sigh soon escaped his lips as he watched Khalxaen run off into the cold night.

Blaze's next thought was, naturally, to take a break. He decided he'd try and head over to a pub and inn to warm up, and perhaps continue in an hour's time. Whatever the case, Razeki didn't really want to be running around Yanbo Harbor during the daytime, but he couldn't stay out all night.

Sheathing his katana with practiced skill, he looked around warily, his eyes narrowed as they tried to pierce the night. Nothing else seemed out of the ordinary, but he still felt strange. That fact notwithstanding, the inn was his next destination.

The killer was out there still, he could feel it in his gut.