The Ferocious Flight of the Freedom Fighters

[Zack Blaze]

He pressed his finger gently to his lips. In his free hand, the small flame of a candle danced about the abandoned home. The light source caused several bugs of different varieties to skitter across the dilapidated floors and walls. His eyes narrowed, adjusting to the light of his solitary fire. His orbs carefully moved towards his companions; the kindred spirits that had also signed up for this gargantuan task. The wind somehow found it's way inside, threatening to put out the candle's wick and leave the group in darkness once more.

It was a dark time for Salvar, and a dark time for Zack Blaze.

The teen had been visiting the snowy country for several weeks following his run in the Lornius Corporate Championship. It had been here that the youth had discovered the devastation that had befallen Knife's Edge. The town was a nothing but a shell of it's former self; what homes had not been outright destroyed had been left to disrepair long ago. No person was dumb enough to show themselves in the open, and those that did were met with the executioner's axe or the shackles of slavery. Even the animals, deer and snow rabbits that once frolicked about freely in the desolate town now feared to set foot in its borders. Professor Monstronomity had seen to that.

“They're coming,” Zack spoke in a hushed whisper to his allies, licking his thumb and index finger and putting out the wick. Loud stomps through the snow slowly made its way past the house, each synchronized crunch within the snow a reminder of the troop like mentality the evil baron had instilled in his personal army. The Professor had only been in Salvar for a few weeks, but in that time he had experimented on the homeless and destitute, those too poor to leave Knife's Edge, and turned them into horrific creatures of science. Creatures that were loyal to the Professor.

The marching began to drift off, alerting the rebellion that the coast was clear. Zack placed his bronze candle holder down, letting the biting chills of Salvar cover the gold-like object in a sheet of white. His hand grabbed the metallic doorknob, careful not to make too much noise. He turned the knob slowly, his body shivering at the cold feeling of the knob. Pushing the door open ever so slightly, the street fighter's eyes darter around the landscape, from the dozens of footprints slowly disappearing into the ground thanks to the snow storm, to the smoke in the distance where the Monstronomity army no doubt had claimed more victims.

He pushed the door open the rest of the way, stepping out into the winds. The ferocious cold was a harsh way to keep himself awake. How long had it been since he had last slept? He could hardly remember what a good night's sleep had even felt like, let alone recall the last time he had one. He turned to look to his compatriots; one a familiar face, the other not so much. They, along with several others, had vowed to not leave Salvar until Monstronomity and his abominations had been stopped.

Zack Blaze may have been callous and uncaring most of the time, but there was a part of him that was still human.

“Aurie,” Zack's voice had went back to normal now, the fear of the army bringing with it a new found confidence in the teen, “We can't keep doing this. Hitting one or two soldiers isn't doing us any good when Monstronomity just makes more with each passing hour. Something needs to be done.”

Aurelianus Drak'Shal lit a cigarette and took a good toke of the stick before responding, his spiky red hair blowing in the breeze. “Are you sayin' what I think you are, Cutter?”

Zack nodded. “I am. It's about time we resorted to extreme guerrilla warfare.”

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Aurelianus smiled darkly, the words sending a shiver coursing down his spine. His cold, snake-like eyes scanned the cutter leading this rag-tag little group; the tiefling insurrectionist had more than a little experience with Zack Blaze. He was technically one of the pugilist's employees, and was also responsible for murdering him once.

In fact, Aurelius knew the effeminate fighter still bore the scar today. The thought made him smile.

Sucking another lungful of the bitter smoke, the warlock once again turned his mind to how much he bloody hated the snow. After spending nearly a month in Salvar, however, he was getting more and more used to it. This was not something he was particularly happy about. But, once again Zack was providing him with the opportunity to raise some Hell for the poor sod they were here to pen in the dead-book, so the snow was only a minor inconvenience.

The warlock's peery gaze once again settled on the other cutter accompanying them on this merry little jaunt of murder and madness. Unlike Zack, he had no experience of the other, which instantly put him on guard. Still, he mused, Zacky-boy invited 'im along, so 'e can't be a total rube. And from what he'd heard of the latest chant on Professor Monstronomity, they would need more than just the street-fighter and the guttersnipe warlock to kill the berk. The barmy old bastard was said to have unlocked all manner of dark and creepy things to do with human flesh... well, not just human - figure of speech aside, he had taken any race, gender and age up to his kip. Their screams sometimes managed to escape, even if the bodies themselves did not. One of Aurelius' Anarchist cells - the Flayed Wolves - had even approached the place, trying to gather information for the faction... but Hurc and his lads hadn't been heard from since. Aurelianus wasn't holding out any hope.

Monstronomity's army patrolled the streets in greater numbers every day, either murdering those they came across or dragging them kicking and screaming to his lair.

The tiefling shrugged his trademark coat up higher, turning his collar against the cold wind blowing in the open door. Chittering up on his shoulder, Junior flapped its crow wings to shake free the frost, albino flesh turning blue in the extreme cold. The foetus complained constantly, hissing and squeaking in Aurelius' ear. He tried his best to ignore the familiar, despite the needle fangs clicking right next to his pointed and pierced ear. He was, as usual, turning over every possible action and outcome in his head, trying to plan the best possible chance they had of success in this ride. As he did so, Aurelius was unconsciously running his fingertips along one of the three-headed hydras tattooed along his shaved scalp - on the other side of the red-quilled crest sat it's twin, both tattoos silently roaring their fury at whomever the tiefling happened to be looking at.

Another stream of smoke emerged from the corner of the half-demon's pale lips. It was hard to tell where the smoke ended and his breath began, in these frigid temperatures.

"Well, Zacky-boy, you do know 'ow to make a body moist," he smirked, nodding as though to himself. "'it 'em hard, 'it 'em fast, and make sure we 'it 'em square in the bollocks... I like the sounds of that."

He turned his alabaster-skinned visage to the other basher in the room.

"You 'ave any objections, cutter?"

[Hysteria]

“Cutter?”

A subtle growl was mixed with the word. The creature from which it emanated sat in a chair behind the other two. A thin black metal claw tapped the table top with a slow but impatient pace. The long wolfen snout adorning him twisted in to an odd smile revealing a row of sharp white teeth.

“Cut off the head of the snake and the tail will hardly bother you.” His pale blue eyes met his fellow demonic saboteur, “and you can call me Tails.”

The creature pushed himself up and walked to the others, ducking slightly as he went through the doorway into the snow. It looked the world like a werewolf. Thick short black hair covered his arms and face, with a slightly longer tuft on his head between his pointed ears. A tight grey shirt barely contained his large frame. Just above his bum his pants were cut low and pair of tails stuck out and swished slowly side to side. Tails stood slightly taller than the others at two metres tall.

“I'll never turn down a fight, but I yearn for flesh.”

Even with his fur Tails could feel the biting cold of the snow around him. The beast grabbed at the air in front of him as one would do taking a cloak off a hanger. As he brought the imaginary clothing around himself a spreading shadow burst from his hands and materialised into a thick woollen cloak. Tails fastened it around his neck and pulled the hood up.

“Does it strike you as odd that you would accuse Monstronomity of unimaginable evil, when you have a sin of nature sitting on your shoulder?” Tails' face did the best impression a wolf could of showing bemusement, “Not that I am judging of course...”

Tails held up his hand and stared at it. The gauntlet was not just around his hand, the dark metal was fused it with. Like the little beast, his fingers were tipped with claws. In fact, Tails was more like the little creature sitting on Aurelius's shoulder than he was to Aurelius and Zack. Despite his current appearance, he was not a werewolf. He was something much less formless, something that has weaselled its way into the world. He should however not be mistaken as evil. The term he sometimes used was morally unrestricted.

[Zack Blaze]

Zack waited in the snow while his companions agreed to his plan. While Aurie had been an ally of Zack since the day they had met, the youth had some doubts about this ‘Tails’ character. It seemed all too obvious to Zack that this was an alias, some sort of name so that the man wouldn’t get suspicious of the smaller warrior. Zack looked at his small rag tag guerilla team and smiled. Monstronomity may have had numbers, but Zack’s group had skill and intellect. Other than that, both men where commanding monsters to do their bidding. The irony was not lost on the street fighter.

“So I think it’s best if we develop some code names. People don’t know that we’re here, and we shouldn’t let them know that MizBiz is involved until we’ve liberated Knife’s Edge. I’ll go with the codename ‘Sonic’. Once they think they’ve seen me, I’ll already be gone.” Zack’s eyebrows raised, the youth impressed with his penchant for clever nicknames. He could hear small snickers from his allies, and crossed his arms. “I suppose you have a better code name for yourself, Aurie?”

“You know it, Cutter,” Aurie took a quick drag of his cigarette before talking again; “I’m goin’ with ‘Shadow’. Fits m’personality.”

Zack looked over to Tails, noticing a small twitch from the younger accomplice. Something about Aurie calling himself ‘Shadow’ rubbed him the wrong way, it seemed. Zack grinned in delight as he nodded. “Alright, so here’s what we’ll do. Tails, I need you to do some recon. We know how often they patrol this particular area of Knife’s edge, but we should know more about them. I need marching routes, unit numbers, the general percentile that gets taken compared to the ones that don’t. Think you can do that?”

Once Tails nodded, Zack turned to Aurie. “Shadow, I’m going to need you to procure some weaponry. Get whatever you can, and however many you can. No weapon should be turned down, no matter how useless it may seem against these creatures. While you two go and do these things, I’ll be trying to infiltrate one of Monstronomity’s bases. We’ll all meet back at the house in three hours, with whatever we have. Sound good?”

“No,” Zack looked to ‘Shadow’, an eyebrow raised towards the tiefling, “Why the ‘ell are you on infiltration duty while I get the goods? No offense, Cutter, but I’m faster and stronger than you. Not to mention I actually look like the bloody things.”

Zack closed his eyes for a moment and shuddered. His hand instinctively reached towards his abdomen, where a giant scar Aurie had left upon him during the Lornius Corporate Championship remained. Zack could have had the mark removed, but the kill had been so good, it garnered respect from the street fighter. Enough respect to leave such a large scar forever upon his flesh. A scar that symbolized the rivalry between the two of them.

“Your network is better than mine, Shadow,” Zack quickly explained, small piles of snow starting to accumulate upon his shoulders, “you can get weapons I couldn’t. I can immediately teleport out of the area if I am in immediate danger, if I am caught, I’m much less of a threat monstrocized than you would be. Need I go on?”

“You made your point Cutter,” a huff of smoke-breath escaped from the tiefling’s mouth.

“Good,” Zack spoke without even gauging the reaction from Tails. “Remember, three hours.”

And with that, the three freedom fighters started their ferocious flight.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Aurelius couldn't deny that Zack's plan was well thought out; despite the fact he disliked being put on the supply run, he also knew Zack was right about the planewalking Anarchist's contacts for procuring weapons far outstripping his own. Once again, he found himself at least marginally impressed with the canny little fighter - not exactly known for being a people person, the half-demon warlock had nevertheless warmed to Zack Blaze. Especially after the cutter had decided to keep the livid, raw gift Aurelianus had given him back on the isle of Lornius.

He nodded absently, another stream of smoke wilting in the frozen air as he ran through options in his brain-box. As he did so, his fingers once again trailed habitually over the hydras inked across his scalp. His flesh was slightly goose-pimpled from the low temperature, the outlines of his many tattoos raised ever-so-slightly. He once again let his eyes slide over the cloak 'Tails' had formed for him.. itself, tucking away the little parlour trick for investigation later. It was a cute trick, to be sure, but the tiefling had more important things to occupy his deviant mind. Aurelius, already tired of wasting time in the flurry of snow, crushed out his smoke in one hand, tucking the end away inside his coat; he was too canny to give away his presence by leaving evidence he'd been there. In the same motion he drew out the silver case, tucking another coffin-nail between his lips and lighting it with the tiniest portion of his will, channeled into a candle-flame of black fire cupped in his leather-clad palm.

He turned to the third of their little rag-tag group as an afterthought struck him, smirking at the hulking man-beast. "Just to set the record straight, cutter, I never accused Monstronomity of anythin' more than pissin' me off." Junior, from its perch on the tiefling's shoulder, hissed malevolently at the creature before it, wings ruffling in an attempt to be intimidating; absolutely precious, coming from the mutilated, animated foetus of an elf.

"And Junior 'ere don't appreciate bein' called a 'sin of nature'. 'e prefers the term 'adorable'," the half-demon chuckled, turning on his heel and giving his human companion a wink - as close to a friendly gesture as could be expected from the arrogant guttersnipe. Zack returned the gesture with a nod, obviously tense at the undertaking looming ahead of them. Aurelius, on the other hand, was calmly looking forward to the inevitable mayhem to come, licking his fangs as the horrorshow played out behind his eyes. It's goin' to be a good day, he thought merrily.

"Try not to get yourselves killed lads. 'Ave fun," he added, wandering off down the snow-filled streets and crumbling thoroughfares of the once-proud city, a trail of smoke following in his wake.


***

He slipped through the abandoned streets for over half-an-hour, ducking into side alleys, skittering through half-collapsed shells of houses that the war had claimed, and to avoid the occasional patrol, even hopping between the roofs of the grim stone buildings.

The tiefling was constantly having to shake gathering drifts of snow from his beloved coat, trying in vain to ward off the sharp sting of the icy wind. But it was no use; the half-demon had even exhausted his hip-flask, and couldn't risk smoking anymore with the frequency of the patrols the further he got into the city. I swear, if I don't get to pikin' kill somethin' soon, I'm goin' to.. he paused, trying to follow that train of thought before giving up as another gust of knife-keen cold cut through him, well, to bloody well kill somethin'!

Junior was clinging to the blades adorning his armour, like a baby sloth, its wings like a funeral shroud to keep the snow off the creature's flesh. It turned it sutured eyes to the junction at the end of the road they were currently on, hissing a warning to Aurelianus through tiny needle-fangs. The half-breed, well used to the acuity of Junior's other-sense, instantly ducked aside into what was once a small family-owned butcher. The warlock glanced around him, marking potential exits and choke-points as he heard the unmistakable tromp of Monstronomity's minions, marching past in rank and file. Aurelius, not a local of Knife's Edge would never have guessed the original purpose of the hollowed out shell of a building, only perceiving the pall of misery that permeated the air.

The patrol got closer, and the tiefling slid his twin Baatorian green-steel knives out of their sheaths at the small of his back, the runes along the blades pulsing rhythmically.

He held his breath, every muscle taut as the hideous flesh-creatures passed his hiding place, making no other sounds other than their perfectly synchronised boots hammering against the hard-packed snow. They didn't have the independent thought required to check the buildings they passed.. but even if they did, why would they? No-one'd be addle-coved enough to wanna sneak into this anthill, Aurelius smirked, running his black tongue over his dry, chapped lips.

He waited a few minutes more, barely moving more than to tense and un-tense his muscles in turn - wouldn't do to have to run or fight, and wind up with a cramp - before he was finally sure the squad had passed his position. With an affectionate smile, the plane-touched ran a finger gently over his familiar's diminutive head, feeling how soft the foetus' underdeveloped form was. It squeaked up at him, with its best approximation of a smile; it was not close to a real one. Not close at all. But Aurelius found himself amused regardless, gently nudging the monster into an inner pocket of the coat. "Don't want you catchin' a cold, do we?" he said softly.

Poking his quilled and tattooed head out of a cracked and rough-edged hole in the wall, the Anarchist infiltrator scanned left and right. His heightened senses signalled the all clear and in a second, he was out and moving again.


***

All told, it took him a full hour to get to the Flayed Wolves' safe-house, nestled in a small sub-cellar in what had once been a tannery. The way had been marked with a series of what, to the uninitiated, would have appeared to be simple graffiti; in truth, it had been a series of small glyphs, like the ones Aurelianus wore about his person, to mark out a safe place for any Anarchists in the area. Granted, their numbers were few, but the more the various factions across Althanas abused and extended their domains, the more people the tiefling was finding who were willing to tear those organisations down.

So far, no-one had tumbled to their existence. Aurelianus hoped it stayed that way for a good long while.

He slid into the abandoned main floor of the leather shop, his nose instantly assaulted by the reek of the old tannins left in their vats, the carcasses of animals on the hooks lining the walls; though by now, they were little more than clusters of maggots hanging above vile black-brown puddles of whatever had dripped from them. Keeping a hand over his nose, the tiefling pressed inside the building, forcing the door shut behind him. A small eddy of snow crystals drifted in as the door finally shut, the cold receding a tiny bit now that he was out of the worst of it.

The yellow of his eyes darted back and forth in their black surroundings, seeking out what he knew would be... there.

Daubed on a small trap-door at the back of the workshop was a symbol in black paint - it was a crude imitation of the gold glyph the veteran malcontent wore on his left index-finger. With one last glance between the rickety boards of the shop's door to make sure he hadn't been spotted, Aurelius slid silently over to the trap-door. He wasn't sure what he would find inside, but he didn't have time to waste hesitating either.

Without another beat, the tiefling hefted the hatch open and dropped through into the dark sub-cellar.

[Hysteria]

Tails lifted his head to the sky. Pale moonlight filtered through the clouds, a soft layer of falling snow. Tail's wolfen head twisted to the side, his thin eyes focused on the outline of the buildings from his spot perched on a roof. There were maybe twenty buildings huddled together to form the town. Out of necessity buildings were close together to provide cover from the harsh wind. Small roads also allowed minimum snow clearing. The hunter dropped his head as he surveyed the town.


* * * *

Tails lifted his hackles, a deep growl sound emanating from his throat at the flippant words of the Tiefling. It was a cough from Zack that brought him back to reality. Tail nodded and flicked his hand in acceptance.

“I'll follow the scouting party, see what I can dig up.” Said Tails.

The beast didn't wait for acceptance before leaving. He followed the scouting party for several miles until they reached their destination. Anyone with some knowledge of military tactics knew that troops, even the freakish metallic creatures of the Baron, had to rotate through some sort of staging point. This particular one was a logging and hunting centre, sitting deep within a high forest. The position was isolated, hard to find without help and far enough away from other structures that it would be hard for someone to reach it without heavy duty supplies. In that respect Tails was lucky, he could create his own heavy duty cloths. The wolf paused as he reached the edge of the clearing that acted as a pseudo town wall. The metal monstrosities moved in small groups around the deserted streets. Tails' dark cloths slowly lightened, turning grey and finally slightly off-white. The creature ducked and ran across the open snow, his cloths blending into the snow in the moonlight. With two powerful bounds he closed the last distance and lept up the side of the wall and onto the roof.


* * * *

Tails took a few steps back and then burst forward. He leapt across the gap between two buildings as his thin shadow flashed across the ground below for an instant. The creature landed softly and continued forwards, leaping again and again until he skidded to a halt on his target house. By watching the patrols it had been clear that one house was at the centre of the radius of patrols. When designing a defensive tactic it was important to place the most important piece in the middle, however most rookie field commanders mistake themselves for that piece.

Slowly Tails crawled on all fours towards the edge of the roof. With even slower movements, such that would be painful for even people with inhuman patience his hands moved down onto the side of the house. With each inch he moved, Tails' white cloths shifted back into black, providing no contrast between himself and the dark wood. With unnatural abilities it was easy for him to crawl along the outside wall and he reached a window. With the same extreme patience he lifted his hand up to the glass and used one of the claws as a mirror. Inside he could see a man sitting at a table with his back to the window. A woman stood nearby, a servant of some sort. Tails could guess that she was a survivor of the town that that had otherwise been used in the Baron's experiments.

A few ideas drifted through the wolfen head. He knew he could kill the man, take all the documents he could carry and make a run for it. He could also abduct the man, and get some quiet time to discuss strategies with him. Tails switched his focus to the woman. She looked like she'd given up a long time ago. Given the chance she would probably plunge a knife into the man herself. There were no options that didn't have drawbacks. If a middle level leader was taken it might provoke a change is strategy and it would all be for naught.

Tails swallowed and decided he would need to make up his mind later. With a quick movement he used a claw to reach in between the windows and flick open the latch. In a second he had opened it far enough for him to crawl in. The woman looked up, her face twisting into shock. Tails lifted a finger to his mouth, doing his best to provide human expressions as he signalled her to be quiet. She seemed unsure, but remained silent as he made his way up the inside wall and onto the roof. The creature's ability to cross any surface as if it was the ground was uniquely useful and allowed him the sort of tactical advantage most would dream off. Tails dropped from the roof and landed softly behind the man. He turned, Tails' punched and the man was on the floor unconscious.

[Zack Blaze]

When his allies went their separate ways, Zack wandered his way back into the makeshift base. It would be another fifteen minutes before the next patrol came by. This one would be a lot more thorough, checking the houses for any stragglers rather than simply roaming the streets. That gave the street fighter fifteen minutes to prepare for his spy duty. Hopefully, fifteen minutes was all that Zack would need.

He took in his surroundings, the dust that had settled on the floorboards being kicked back up with each step. The torn pictures of a family of three hung on the mantle above the fireplace, several of the bricks knocked out of place. There was a chair knocked over; Dad probably gave a struggle to Monstronomity’s creatures before they took him and his family. The stairs that led up to the second floor had a large gap in the middle of them, probably a monster dropping into the middle of the stairwell. This also explained the chunk of hand rail missing around the hole.

They gave a good fight. They would be avenged.

He checked the best places to hide, the best places to lay traps. He waited in the shadows, thinking about all the atrocities that their enemy had committed in the fifteen minutes he had to wait. When he heard the old door creak open, he balled his hands into fists, ready to strike when the time was right. He could make out the pig shaped head even in the moonlight. Two eagle-like wings were fused onto the creature’s back, and he could hear the snake’s forked tongue as it ‘sensed’ the air in the area.

The beast turned to face Zack a second too late, the street fighter’s hand wrapping around the beast and sending out an electrical surge all through his body. The monster was paralyzed, convulsing against the floor that Zack dropped him on. The boy winced and closed his eyes. Weeks ago, this was probably a person, a real, breathing human being. Now, however, it was an enemy, and Zack knew he must do what had to be done.

The snapping of the neck was not difficult; the spine had recently been attached, apparently. Even pulling the pig head from the stitches around the neck was nothing for Zack’s strength. The wings were a bit more nauseating, each stitch peeling and popping out of place with each tug. He could hear more soldiers approaching, his time growing short. He jammed his hand into the neck of the pig, his power digging out what was once the monster’s insides.

By the time the door opened once more, the monsters within were greeted by their pig-headed ally. Luckily, their limited intelligence did not process the pool of blood upon the ground, or the different size of their friend. The inside of the beasts head stunk like death and bad pork, but Zack would have to stomach it, at least for a little while.

I hope to the Thaynes this works Zack thought.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

The first thing that hit him was the smell.

As soon as the tiefling hit the ground, his hand flew to his face, covering his mouth and nose against the pervasive reek of decomposition. It was like being inside a rotting animal left too long in the summer sun. Bile rose in the back of the half-demon's throat, but he fought the acrid taste back with a thick swallow. Aurelius looked around, seeing the damp black patches on the ceiling of the sub-cellar, where the viscous remains of the animals above were seeping through, pooling thickly on the hard, cold stone of the floor. Except down here, there was no fresh air circulating, no way for the stench to escape. The heat was stifling, the darkened room haunted by the low droning of unseen insects.

The roof was low, forcing the warlock to crouch as he moved deeper into the darkness. His quills scraped against the wood above, a dry scratch, hissing out in the deathly silence. Turning his face away, Aurelianus spat a mouthful of bitter tasting saliva, trying to rid himself of the foul taste creeping up his nostrils.

"Bloody 'ell, smells like somethin' crawled up an arse and died," he muttered to himself, his keen eyes scanning for any sign of life, or any sign of the missing Anarchists. Hateful profanities were scrawled across the walls, but mould and damp had covered many of the vulgarities. That meant the Flayed Wolves probably hadn't been here in a few weeks. His mouth twisted into a frown. The room was the length and breadth of the tannery above, though the roof was decidedly lower, and from what he could see, it was filled with crates, sacks and general detritus. In one of the corners, Aurelianus could just make out one or two cots - evidently Hurc and his boys didn't just use this safe-house for storage.

Keeping his head down, the half-breed warlock stalked further into the room, head swaying to and fro as he tried to discern anything of the Flayed Wolves' fate.

The going was slow, the way narrow and cramped. As he moved, something snagged the sleeve of his battered coat. Grunting in irritation, the Cager jerked his arm to free it up, and almost instantly realised his mistake when he heard the soft hiss of a crossbow. Even with his heightened, inhuman reflexes, he barely managed to throw himself back to the ground. A split-second later, and he was showered with splinters as a bolt the length of his hand speared through one of the crates stacked where his head had been. Raising his gaze to the quivering bolt, Aurelius smirked to himself.

Taught the sods well, he smirked to himself. Turning his arm, the tiefling chuckled as he finally marked the small hook caught on the hem of his sleeve, and the almost invisible length of wire attached to it.

Booby trap.

Aurelius dragged himself back to his feet letting his eyes wander over the area again, senses alert for any other fun little toys the Flayed Wolves might have left for unwanted guests. It made the going almost painfully slow, but the last thing the warlock planned to do on Zack Blaze's little venture was wind up in the dead-book himself.

It was another twenty minutes before the Anarchist stumbled across the body.

It was nestled behind a small stack of grain sacks, at the end of a trail of darkened blood on the dirty stones - Drak'shal might have picked out the smell on any other day, but with the rank pools of corpse-liquor dotted around, the half-demon wanted nothing more than to be stripped of his sense of smell. From the looks of it, it had been an elf at some point. Though discerning that was difficult, given the state of the man's form. Ragged wounds covered its back, exposing raw, red meat and the gleam of bone shining through from underneath. He knelt next to the body, the insurrectionist turning his face away from the reek of decay wafting up from the remains. It didn't help. Aurelius leaned in close to try and make out details in the lightless gloom, reaching out slowly to move some fallen sacks from on top of it, and touch the edge of the wounds - the blood was cold, the meat soft. Something wriggled under the skin, and a small white maggot writhed out into the open.

"Deader," Aurelius said to himself, quietly.

He felt Junior squirm against his body under his coat, the albino sin-against-nature crawling deftly past the vicious blades on its master's armour to throw itself at the remains with a happy shriek. The creature's blade talons dug into the meat of the body, trying to tear off a hunk to chew on.

And then the body moaned.

In a heartbeat both Junior and Aurelianus sprang away from the "corpse", the latter smashing his head against the low ceiling. He fell back into a stumble and landed on his arse rather ingloriously, bladed armour slicing through his coat in a few places. Luckily, there was no-one there to see him... except Junior. The winged familiar perched on the edge of a wooden crate, giving out a high-pitched burbling sound. It was doubtful anyone other than its creator would recognise the sound of Junior's laughter.

"Pike off," the half-demon growled, swatting at the monstrous little foetus as he moved back to the evidently not quite so dead elf. Reaching out slowly, peery in case he was dealing with some form of undead - unlikely, but always a possibility. Rolling the elf over, the tiefling watched as his eyes rolled open, one of them milky and blind, rolling around in his brain-box. The front looked no better than the back; weeping wounds marred his flesh, more bone gleaming a sickly white against the already rotting flesh. It looked like he'd been mauled by some sort of animal, but even the planewalking tiefling hadn't come across anything quite so vicious in a long while.

"Who-- nnggh-- w-who's there? C-cold.."

His voice was barely a dry, pained whisper, croaking out of a throat that was struggling enough to draw breath.

"It's Iharkav, cutter. Lie still. What 'appened?" Aurelius asked, his voice low but firm. He was using the alias he usually used when he was working in Salvar - the name he had given when he brought the Flayed Wolves into the fold. "Where are Hurc and the others?"

"Dead. They--" his voice trailed off as he broke into a cough that was rather too wet for Aurelius' liking. Blood flecked the elf's already stained lips, and the tiefling had to help him up to stop him choking on the clots. The snake-eyed half-breed could see the poor sod wasn't going to last long. Better get the dark out of 'im quick, then. The elf opened his mouth and another thin trail of thick blood spattered the front of his ruined jerkin.

"We g-got-- ah, Thayne damn it! Am--bushed... we got ambushed. Hurc.. Laren.. taken," another cough wracked his ravaged body. The tiefling glanced down, his sharp eyes marking the wet rhythmic undulation of the elf's lung through one of the tears in his chest. How he hadn't simply bled out was a mystery. "The rest.. the rest a-are d-dead."

A sob hiked the elf's chest.

"I-I..," he paused, turning his half-blind gaze to the serpentine horror, crouching by his side, forked tongue lashing furiously over his inhuman fangs. "I ran," he said, almost too softly to be heard.

"You got weapons left 'ere?"

He stopped, shocked that the demon had just ignored his confession. Maybe he hadn't heard? Whatever the reason, the elf decided not to question his luck. Trying in vain to raise his hand, the elf keeled over, a weak scream tearing from his lips as he hit the hard ground. After a few more feeble attempts, he finally managed to gesture to a pile of shipping crates against the far wall.

"Alright, mate. Relax. 'ere, lie back. It's over now. You did all you could, cutter."

The elf tried to nod, but Aurelius was on him instantly. His hands gripped the elf's head, and with one violent twist, the Cager snapped his neck. The warlock got to his feet, looking down over the body - it wasn't the first time he had killed someone already wounded. Hells, it wasn't even the hundred-and-first. Nor was it the first time he had killed another Anarchist. Back home, his brethren were about as trustworthy as he was, in a tight spot. But the half-demon could never bring himself to fully enjoy killing another member of the faction. Every death meant one less free body out there, fighting for the cause. But to flee while your brothers were taken into slavery? That was inexcusable.

"Did you a favour, cutter," he sneered at the corpse, spitting on it as he stepped over and heading for the crates the elf had pointed out. Behind him, he heard Junior flap down to the ground, followed by the wet sounds of tearing meat. The animated abomination would eat its fill. He raised an eyebrow at that, pondering a moment on that little idiosyncrasy for the hundredth time. The familiar wasn't alive in the conventional sense, and yet it was always hungry for flesh and blood. Curious. But, when you were dealing with the resurrected remains of an infant, raised through foul sorceries and blood magicks, what passed as "normal" was hard to gauge. Shaking his horned head, the malcontent turned back to his work. He didn't have time to wait pissing about, and truth be told, he had already wasted too much with the deader, and in the end had got no real answers out of him.

The boxes and sacks he had pointed out were piled against one wall, and just to the side of them there was something about the size of his arm, nearly, covered in a thick tarp. Splatters of the black, reeking soup coming down from above were pooled in the folds, maggots swimming in the fetid mess.

Aurelius cracked open one of the boxes, his mouth curling into a smirk as he saw the assortment of crossbows piled within. The next was even better, but when he saw it, the half-demon swore softly, taking a half-step back from the crate. Packed inside in heaps of sawdust were several metal cylinders, each with a length of string emerging from one end - he had heard about these things; rare little inventions from Alerar. It was said they were more than volatile, but put a spark to the wick and give it a throw.. Aurelianus had heard they could leave a hole the size of an ox in the ground. Explosives were sure to make this little ride of Blaze's all the more entertaining.

Another twenty minutes, and Aurelius had unearthed more little delights, as well as some basic toys. Short swords, crossbows, the explosive cylinders, molotov cocktails, blades of all shapes and sizes, even a handful of flintlock pistols, with enough powder and shot to do some damage.

But none of it compared to the sheer, almost sexual excitement the half-breed got when he finally pulled the tarp off.

It was a rare day the tiefling saw something he had never seen before; but today was one of those days. He silently thanked the Flayed Wolves for being such bloodthirsty, war-hungry bastards.

It was mounted on a wooden frame, polished to a lustrous sheen. The item in question was a cannon. More than that, it was a cannon about the size of Aurelius' arm, with three bronze-chased barrels at the end. Running a gentle hand over them, the tiefling's fanged grin split wider when he found they rotated. A handle emerged from the top, with another nearer the back. Standing up as tall as he could, the aroused creature hefted the weapon. It was heavy, but too beautiful for words. The handles allowed him to carry the item, a pair of metal rings meaning he could secure it, brace it, guard himself against the recoil. The wooden display frame held ammunition, both ball and chain shot, as well as enough powder to keep the thing churning out death for a good long few hours.

"You know," he crooned to the epitome of 'messy death' clutched in his white-knuckled hands, "somethin' as beautiful as you can't go without 'avin' a name. You need somethin' that'll strike fear into the 'eart of any sod who 'ears it. Somethin' that captures your beauty perfectly."

For a moment, the rest of the world didn't exist. He brought the cold metal up to his lips, whispering as if to a lover.

"I'm goin' to call you Vera."