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 Posted: Mon Feb 23, 2015 5:07 pm
The cleared smoke only made the lack of those standing horrifically obvious to Athene. The battle had been fought, slightly won, but at a grave cost and she didn't even feel the energy to look around. There will still green tear tracks on her face, her fist tightly closed around her scarf as she stared at the adult throwing a fit in front of her. Maggots, insects, was that the best she had to say? If she had picked off better trolls, why was she bested by them? It was simply a tantrum, thrown by someone who had thought they would get away with what they had been doing and had been proven otherwise.
Athene was tired, simply tired, but it was what she said next that made her angry. She stepped forward, shaking in rage, unable to bite back the thoughts that sprung to mind. "You're asking if we're going to kill you?" She asked incredulously, fury evident on her face. "Tell me, what makes you so worthy of living, while others here far better than you have lost their lives. Tell me, why are you so valuable that we shouldn't kill you this instant?" She stepped closer to the adult, leaning in so close that she was practically spitting in her face. "Nothing, you say? We have nothing? Ha!" She grimly choked out a laugh, "There is always a way to rebuild, to make the cause stronger. But you? You will always be a traitor and there's no redemption in that." With that she stepped back, giving Errade a good kick before walking off to a far wall and sliding down to the floor. With her knees up to her face she buried her face in the scarf, letting out a fear silent tears.
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Posted: Mon Feb 23, 2015 5:29 pm
He was battered, bloody, and singed all over from the previous blast, but Zeffer still had plenty of fight left in him. So much so that he was left snarling as the smoke finally cleared, swinging at specters in the mist until their hated adversary finally fell to the floor, cursing and spitting. Zeffer's eyes were glazed over as he watched her drop to her knees, and when her axe clattered to the floor, he knew what needed to be done. She was the sole cause of their pain, the direct originator of the deaths of hundreds of rebels before them, not to mention Akko's beloved father. She had nearly killed Byakko herself. Too many had lost their lives to her wretched schemes, and it would not go unpunished. Zeffer stooped to wrap a gloved hand around the bloodied handle of her axe, and began to haul himself closer to where the other survivors were gathering.
His breath heaved in ragged pulls, and he snarled again as the crowd murmured, gazing ahead, eyes far off. Already, younger members of the Initiative were starting to speak out. For a moment his eyes darted around, surveying the situation, and the growing crowd. It was hard to focus, and so he let it go after a moment, his blurred vision settling on the object of his hatred once again. He was assured of his matesprit's safety at least; he'd remained close enough to Aprife throughout the fight to know the yellowblood had not been hurt too horribly. Clenching his teeth, the blueblood began to slink forward again, shoving people out of the way.
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Eco-friendly Shapeshifter
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Posted: Mon Feb 23, 2015 5:43 pm
Milieu leaned against a table and gasped for air. Choking out smoke and blood, her eyes wandered the debris. Memories or Old Hemisect City flashed through her kind as real tears ran down her cheeks. Sobbing silently, the teal blood wondered if there was even a point to any of this madness. What had they done to deserve all this? Dreamed? Hoped? Wanted a better world. If she had been a good little troll and hadn't traipsed so gallantly into the rebellion maybe her life wouldn't be this traumatic. This wasn't the first time she had experienced this level of destruction, and sadly Milieu numbly realized that it would not be the last. She only lifted her head to watch Athene kick Errade and find a corner to cry in. Taking her eyes from the green blood, she looked back to the b***h that caused it all. Bile and anger rose until her vision was narrowed. Standing, milieu approached the defeated adult with barred teeth, daggers clutched in white knuckles hands as she glowered at Errade. Death would be too good. But it eons be over. Raising a dagger... She stopped. Death would be too good. Slowly lowering her hand, milieu slid both weapons away and took her board up. She wrote a simple message in her own blood on it and tossed it beside the adult. | USE HER. |Stalking to the corner, Mili crumpled and pulled Athene into a hug. She knew the other scouts would come after having seen them both approach the rust blood. They were alive. Mili knew it. Her Matesprite too.
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Posted: Mon Feb 23, 2015 5:54 pm
Anger boiled in his veins as Errade's words reached Stryke's still ringing sponge clots. He picked himself off the ground, clutching his short little daggers he carried and ran at the adult still wailing away on his father. While physically larger than himself, the stupid b*****d was crouched down over his still prone guardian. It wasn't the vile orangeblood, but it was a good start. The blow while not lethal given he couldn't get a good angle, was enough for him to find a spot lower down on the larger trolls body. Shoving them with what strength he had into the trolls body, he watched as the bloodied figure pulled away, and ultimately fell over yowling in pain from the unexpected blow to his hip.
Surprised, his lusus got up, making short work of the downed troll before it could retaliate further. Staring between the downed daggers as they clattered to the floor and the sight of his kid with blood on him. Tentatively he bumped his head against his boys leg.
Stryke didn't even feel it, his eyes fell on the orangeblood. All the intelligence pointed to a woman who was bitter, spiteful and had sold them out for the favor of the military. Stryke didn't dare approach the enraged adult, his own personal practicality told him she deserved to die, but he had no right to dare. Nor the physical strength to excute the deed. Not to mention it was a horrible thought, just hurting the troll he had now was bad enough. However his heart screamed for no more mindless deaths. Logically, no one deserved to have their lives snuffed out.
Yet. With so many lives on her hands, and a web of deceit how could she be allowed to go free? The answer was clear. She couldn't be allowed to walk freely.
"i hate this...these deaths, this pointless bullshit that's been caused on account of greed and deceit. i want the violence to end. but. she'd...jussst kill everyone we knew and loved..it's not like she's sorry. not like ssshe gives a damn whether we live or die. she'd murder us all while we slept given the opportunity. i don't want to see more trolls die..but she is sssomeone whom would otherwise make a toy out of us. no one deserves to die, but if we let her go she'd find a way to make us all pay. death is fitting for a traitor..or prison just don't let her bleed to death whatever we do." He looked away from the scene of orangeblood bleeding from the adult, translucent yellow tears rolling down his face as he backed away.
The massive blueblood with the mohawk was pushing trolls aside. He didn't want to look, nor see where this was going. Some one had to do it, and he respected the older troll for what he planned to do if that truly was to be Errade's fate. Although, Stryke couldn't help but feel sick. Every time he tried to dream of a better world, or a hopeful tomorrow he found nothing but despair and misery. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Mili hugging the greenblooded girl that had lashed out. One of Odette's and Vremea's friends. A part of him wanted to join them, but felt frozen in place. While he wanted to believe there was good in the world they lived, trolls like Errade reminded him why he wanted to be alone.
While he didn't go far, he did run from the site of blood painted nearly every hue of the rainbow. Off to a lone corner, just enough to put space between him and the potentially horrific sight.
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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Posted: Mon Feb 23, 2015 7:02 pm
Lunear was raised a highblood. Someone who would, given enough time and opportunities, was prone to have a well respected place among troll society. The military as a leader, or as enforcement, he had a plan and a purpose of being greater than some basic soldier. His blood and blood alone would have seen to that. Yet now he was a rainbow drinker, and so to claim he could be anything greater than a corpse was laughable. He'd never gain power, never rise to fame or glory with the current world and laws. He was dead to Alternia, and dead to an empire that would have little uses for him now that he no longer had a need to breathe as it were.
Watching Errade fall was like watching a great irony. She had betrayed her allies for what? Had she ever been an ally, or perhaps just a tool blinded by loyalty to a hue brighter and better than her own. No matter what she'd been promised by the empire she was orange. She was disposable. Anyone who didn't understand that fact was either blind or foolish. The color of blood was your chain- and Errade's leash was held tight and now tossed over a high branch it had become her own noose from which to hang herself. Lunear could almost take a small joy in it, watching her struggle, watching someone so low be brought even lower. Part of him knew it was wrong to think such thoughts, yet he was born blue, raised true. He had once lived destined for greatness, now in death he would remain, bound to the same chains as those he had once though beneath him.
He looked at the traitor, curious as she spewed her wrath and hate. As Athene and then his beloved Milieu approached. Then the little yellow. An amused smirk formed unknowingly on Lunear's face as the child spoke. Innocence. Errade had signed her death with ever having joined the rebellion. Even if she was a loyalist, her death would come, and it would follow her each moment she breathed. Trolls in the room would remember if she was spared. They would remember her face, the color of her blood, her voice, her image. They would lust for her blood and her death, chasing it as woofbeasts chased the fluffbeasts. And eventually, she's fall and become their prey. If not their's, then yet another corpse upon which the empire and queen would build, nameless and forgotten to history. History was written by the winners, and he doubted the empire would raise a lowblood up a hero for time. She would be if anything at most, a passing prop. An icon for posterity and propaganda. A tool to be used and discarded.
"I will not be the one who ends your life." He said, picking himself up, walking over to her and doing his best to keep his face void of any emotion, any hint of the schadenfreude he felt gleefully welling inside him. "Though it was by your hand, however distant, that likely ended mine." He looked down at her, A small sneer of disgust exposed as he noted her blood on his shoes. He'd gotten too close.
"Insects in a funny insult, given how well... how shall I put it?"
He allowed himself a full grin.
"How we squashed your attempts to get us culled?" He allowed himself a chuckle eyeing her blood before reaching down, gathering a few drops before tasting it.
"Augh."
She tasted like peasant.
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Posted: Mon Feb 23, 2015 11:42 pm
So this was it?
The smoke had began to wisp away, tendrils snaking and sizzling and slowly dissolving into the space around them. The first thing Muerte noticed were the bodies, some in piles, most along the walls, a few unfortunate to be more or less a mass rather than a corpse. His eyes traveled over each one very slowly. Something seemed entirely too somber to the greenblood; he was not one to mourn and he never would be—but the sight of it all was still... unique. Difficult to swallow. The beginning of this encounter had been a frenzy that escaped him, but now? It was somehow quiet save for the laborious breathing of everyone still standing, each a solemn statue left to vigil for the end.
Errade sneered at the group, and Muerte felt glory as he looked down at her. Something about the hysterical laugh almost hit a spot close to home, but instead the greenblood was steeled. His expression revealed nothing. The blood that smeared down the crescent cut on his face had left stains on his white coat, stains on his soul, stains on his pride and subsequently stains that bled to anger.
But even that was but a smolder now. He was reduced back to coals from the hungry consuming flame. All he could do was think in the aftermath of the explosion, though one thought in particular came to mind. Was this truly worth it? The dead stacked in piles... surely the Initiative had lost a majority of their ranks in the cataclysm. Was it possible to rebuild? Did he care?
He shouldn't, not particularly.
The weapon in his hand was sullied with colors now; Errade's orange and other hues from those loyal to her. He had a small grasp on what the rebellion was about... but what of Errade? What of her followers, loyal to her cause, now dead? The entire lot of them gone. They had jumped to her aid, taken her hits, fought for her with their lives... yet, at the end, the orangeblood detonated the bombs without a single thought. He almost felt a chuckle rise in his throat. Talk about using others for personal gain. To her they were nothing more than meat shields in the end. Did the followers think they amounted to anything? Did they think the orangeblood ever cared?
What Muerte found disturbing about the ordeal however was his own disgust. He had little use for others unless they proved themselves valuable, but to what extent? Bitterness churned with rage. He hated to see himself in the orangeblood he had so grown to detest. Much to his vexation, there were similarities abound, though Errade herself was definitely an extreme taken further. What had she seen in the Initiative, to want to usurp the power? When she first joined, was she like the rest of them standing here, willing to prove herself, loyal to learn? Was her hideous deception inherent to her nature, or was it something taught? Everything on Alternia was about survival, about getting ahead, Muerte knew that much. He too played the game.
So why did it feel wrong?
The sudden... empathy, dare he call it that, bothered him immensely. A sneer crossed his face—as well as it could, anyway—lips limp as they gave a tiny twitch. Even talking seemed like an arduous task, what with his face refusing to cooperate nerves shot and what wasn't dulled with pain.
A small part of him recognized that no, in the long run, there was nothing to be gained of her death. Dying was, perhaps, the most primordial fear known to living things, and Muerte was no exception in that. However, there was a certain solace that could be found in death, he was sure; freedom from pain, prosecution... Watching her squirm would be better, tormenting her through every breath while she lived. Muerte himself had little reason for wanting her suffering aside from his own petty tribulations, but there were others—his eyes caught Aprife and Zeffer, among the rest he was positive—that faced the consequences of her actions first hand. Prison. War. Surely they would want her to hurt, to writhe, not to simply lay down to die.
But there was also a specific closure native to death. The nail in the coffin, so to speak, that would lay this entire run to rest. After everything the orangeblood had caused, would it better for everyone to kill the b***h and move on? Lay rest to old demons and walk forward, heads held high—okay, now the chuckle came out, though cynical and wry. He diverged; thought of his lusus in his hive, buried under boxes and locks down deep in the basement like something out of a horror story. If only he could get the same closure there. If only it were that easy. Unfortunately, or fortunately, he was not in his hive. He was here, in the desert, in this base blown to smithereens, standing with a handful of revenge thirsty barbarians. Perhaps he shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth; this was their chance to end this, after all. This is what they set out to do.
This was what he, most of all, was waiting for.
Wearily and shaken, his hand rose, saw gripped loosely until someone moved past him. He recognized the troll immediately, saw the axe in his hands, and almost shouted out Bravo! Kill the b*****d with her own weapon, absolutely glorious. His saw dropped to the floor in a clumsy manner—too tired to manage the fine motor skills to sling it at his side—as he reached up for his glasses with trembling fingers, cleaning off the splatter of blood and sweat and god knows what. It was almost reminiscent to the first time he watched Zeffer kill, though far less dramatic and quite a while quicker. He would still enjoy this show. How lovely it would be to witness an execution up close and personal.
"Do it." The doctor urged, voice a small croak as it hissed through his barely parted lips. He wasn't even sure if the blueblood heard him; he had that look on his eyes, the hunter focused on the hunted. Nothing could stop him now, not that Muerte cared to. Death was in his nature, after all. Though he supposed it might be humorous to watch someone step in, to try and quell the blueblood. What a riot that would be.
Donning the glasses again, he watched carefully, eyes haggard but alert. Whether he decided to remain here was yet to be seen, but he was still fortunate enough to bear witness to history. He would hold his applause for now, until the deed was done. Truly, his only regret was that there wouldn't be another round for an encore.
A shame.
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Posted: Mon Feb 23, 2015 11:46 pm
There was a warm wetness clinging to her side. Byakko glanced down at herself, for the first time noticing her bright mutant blood creeping through her hooded cloak. <********> She hissed, tenderly clutching at her fresh wounds. She had been diligent to avoid opponents with bladed weapons, taking care to check for seeping wounds through out the battle, but she was in danger of being outed once more. While Zeffer had been receptive to her blood mutation, she didn't want a repeat of the bunker... She doubted everyone would react as warmly as he had. There was enough going on right now, escalating the situation had to be avoided at all costs. Confessing her mutation needed to be a concern for future Akko; right now, Errade had to be dealt with. Eyes flitting around the hazy cavern, she spotted the corpse of a nearby tealblood crumpled against some overturned tables. The dead rebel's hue nearly matched Byakko's sash, her camouflage, and as the mutant ducked behind the tables to tear the hooded cloak off the stiff body she muttered a solemn thanks. She trembled as she wiped away streaks of pink trailing down her legs with her blotchy robe before discarding it among a pile of corpses, softly whispering an apology to the tangle of bodies and the tealblood she was forced to pilfer from. Wrapping herself up in the teal soiled robe, Akko took in a sharp breath before darting back out into the chaos.
Byakko herself had been reluctant to accept the leadership position of the Phoenix Initiative after the decimation of the adults. In retrospect, it was naive for her to think that everyone would remain loyal to the commander once she was named leader. Who was she to hold such a title? It had been bequeathed to her, yes, and while she hid it well the teen had never particularly felt worthy of the position. She almost couldn't blame the dissenters for feeling similarly. How could she? He may have always intended it to be so, but surely Zhuque never accounted for her having to step up as early as she was prompted to. The only driving force behind her motivation to stay in power was the vivid memory of Trolldad- she had to honour his wishes. It was the one thing that gave her life meaning. He gave her this life, believed in her, in who she was and what she could accomplish, and so Byakko had no choice to persevere.
Still, she had been a puppet of Errade all along. Had she been one before the death of her predecessors? Looking back, Errade had garnered a sudden interest in the young mutant shortly before the departure of the rebel forces into space. Errade had never especially paid the child any heed prior to that, but Byakko had been thankful for the kind words from the Head of Intel and never questioned her support. She now cursed her naivete.
Zhuque's lusus, Tigermom, had never been fond of the orangeblood, often pulling Akko away from their interactions even before the ship explosions. The tiger lusus had been found dead shortly after the death of her charge... was that Errade's doing, too? After the deaths of the Initiative members on the ships, Akko had often turned to Errade for comfort, finding solace in whom she obliviously regarded as a friend and foster parent of sorts. A mentor, an advisor- Byakko had wholeheartedly trusted her. Looked up to her. Admired her.
Errade now lay bleeding before her, spitting and cursing through her blood up at Byakko and her allies, challenging them to kill her. The orangeblood was responsible for so much carnage. Byakko would have liked to think herself merciful, but there would be none tonight. Her lips curled into a feral snarl as she stared fiercely down at the traitor. Trolldad's murderer. She wanted blood.
There were still things that didn't add up. Even with her confession, with the information collected, there were many unanswered questions. If the rebels ships were rigged to explode, then why were the previous Queen's forces obliterated, too? While Errade clearly was working with the Alternian military now, there was no proof she had been those sweeps ago. She could have answers, potentially useful answers that the Initiative needed. Byakko balked. As much as she wanted blood, information was just as tantalizing.
Which lead her to speak, once her comrades had their say. "I told you all before we would collectively decide the traitor's fate," Her voice was as steadfast as always. She purposely planted her kanabō before her, folding her hands over the handle as she glanced around the room. "I had hoped for something akin to a trial, but..." Akko turned to glare savagely down at the accused. "We seem to be short on time."
Out of the corner of her eye, Byakko spotted Zeffer's hunched form advancing beside her. A moment of elevation- he was alive. Then she narrowed in on his maddened stare, the swagger in his step... the axe. Akko cocked her head, lips parting as she sharply inhaled. He wouldn't, would he-?
"Zeffer-" Akko reached out, gently placing one hand on his back as he passed. She began to protest, but after she called out his name she couldn't manage to choke out the rest of her objection. Errade was valuable, but her mind continuously flickered back to Trolldad, to the vengeance she so hopelessly craved. It was selfish. Byakko knew better, Trolldad had even taught her better, but she didn't care.
She wanted Errade dead.
Byakko's hand slipped off of the blueblood's shoulder, smearing a trail through the blood sprayed across his jacket. Her unwavering stare broke as she gave her frienemy a crumpled look of uncertainty, nodding shakily.
Democracy be damned.
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Posted: Mon Feb 23, 2015 11:55 pm
Kursha was loading fresh rounds into his gun when suddenly he heard a hoarse shout. He looked up in alarm, expecting to see more grenades flying through the air... or worse. Instead he saw the head of the intelligence on the floor, kneeling in an ever expanding pool of her own blood. Her weapon lay useless beside her. There was a click as Kursha fitted the last bullet into the chamber. It was obvious the orangeblood was done for. Unless she was put out of her misery soon, she was going to bleed out. Lowering the muzzle of his weapon, Kursha restored the safety and approached. For someone who was half-dead, she sure had a lot to say. He did not want to miss a word of it. The crosshairs faded from his eyes, but he was close enough to see the spit fly without enhanced vision. As the orangeblood spoke, Kursha tilted his head. He could not help it; even in defeat Errade was inspiring. She had single-handedly done more damage than the lot of them had all together. It had taken over a dozen trolls and then some to reduce her to this. Even now, she was not wholly broken. She had her past victories to hold over them. True, ultimately she faced defeat, but Kursha could not help but think that her defeat was overshadowed by her triumphs. If there was a way to go, this was it. Too bad she had picked the wrong side. As the remaining rebels launched into righteous monologues, Kursha could not help but roll his eyes. What was the use in lecturing someone who was on the brink of the abyss? Besides, she was convinced her of her own path. Nothing they said would sway her from that. He eyed Lunear with distaste, scowl forming as the rainbowdrinker licked a smear of blood off his fingers. ********, she deserved better than this garbage. Kursha had clicked off the safety of his gun, when he noticed Zeffer creeping up through the crowd; he carried with him Errade's axe. About damn time. Even if the blueblood was an insufferable a**, Kursha could not help but feel a growing respect. He stepped to the side to let the older troll through. Not without a brief word though. Bringing the muzzle of the rifle round to face the orangeblood, Kursha locked eyes with Zeffer. He offered him a lazy grin. “Right behind ya.” If the blueblood showed the slightest sign of hesitating, Kursha would end Errade himself.
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Posted: Tue Feb 24, 2015 1:18 am
Rasali wheezed as the last of Errade’s supporters fell, leaving only their leader who appeared to be not far behind. Rasali could hardly believe it. Such a long battle. So much violence. So much death. It felt like Rasali was waking up from a dream, but rather than feeling the cool embrace of sopor slime against her skin, there was just blood. Rasali flexed her aching muscles and felt the dried spatters crack and flake. She could finally stand and catch her breath. Errade wasn’t going anywhere.
Rasali didn’t even register that Errade had been saying anything until she started shouting. Even then, Rasali had a hard time mustering the energy to care. Errade was good at what she did. That was admirable. However, she was also evil, self-serving, and destructive. Considering both her actions and her claims, she had undoubtedly killed far more people than she was worth. Rasali would only mourn the loss of Errade’s skill and potential. The troll currently before her was a waste.
Rasali had never met a person she would have considered a waste before. It was surreal. Errade appeared distinctly alien in those moments. Rasali felt as much sadness as she did disgust. As relieved as she was to have helped bring this woman down, she wished desperately it hadn’t been necessary in the first place.
What a waste.
Everyone around Rasali seemed just as tense. The exception was of course Kursha, but even he seemed to have the sense to keep quiet in Errade’s final moments. Rasali listened to the few remaining Initiative members parse out their thoughts on Errade as she recovered her breath. She didn’t see Zeffer approaching.
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Posted: Tue Feb 24, 2015 2:25 am
Zeffer reached up absently to wipe away the blood dripping from his nose and mouth, as he took in the scene before him. Everyone looked pretty beat up, but as far as he could see, most of the newer recruits, the intrepid bunch of investigators, had made it through the impromptu fight. It was only a vague observation that hovered in the back of his mind. As their words of anger and protest blurred together, they were a mild hum compared to sound of his pulse pounding in his sponge clots. Bits and pieces of conversations with Akko found their way into his think pan instead. Their reunion, the way she had opened up to him, if only a little bit. The frantic rage she had displayed mere minutes ago rattled around in his skull, and he found himself choking on similar feelings of pain. Memories of their stint in prison, the sick feeling of dread and hopelessness that had seeped into their very cores, knowing their death warrants had been signed. Zeffer exhaled sharply, and forced himself to focus, chest heaving with fury and ******** you." He hissed as he fixed her with an icy stare, shoving through the last of the crowd, not hesitating to push the slower ones aside as he tightened his grip on the handle of her axe. If he had been more removed from the situation, he might have granted an amused sneer for her bravado, but in the thick of it, it only served to further disgust him. How many still lived, who had lost someone close to them in the explosions? The blueblood was not usually one for such sentimentality, but he could only think of how close he had come to losing Akko and Aprife, and how Qinlon was now doomed to live in solitude. They would not suffer in vain. It was by sheer luck that they were still standing, and against all odds, they were poised to avenge the fallen, and salvage what was left.
Another exhale slithered from Zeffer's bloodied mouth as Akko touched him, and he spared her a feral glance, only half-there as he made it to the front of the crowd. Casting a glance back, he was met with varying states of anger and sadness, and though a certain greenblood's mischievous gaze stood out amongst them, he was pulled back as Byakko spoke. Despite the distant quality of her voice to him, there was no question over his agreement. That they had ever considered a vote seemed too great a kindness now, for what she had done. If there was anyone in the crowd still willing to argue for mercy, they would have to go through him first. For a split second, he thought Byakko had meant to stop him, but as she nodded, he pulled his eyes away from her to regard the orangeblood once again. It had to end, here and now.
His pulse skyrocketed as his movements gained a sudden swiftness, and his breathing was audible as he advanced on the guilty orangeblood. Whether he was met with fear or more anger, it didn't seem to matter to him as he lifted his boot to deliver a brutal kick, only to bring it slamming down onto the small of Errade's back. Her screams and curses fell on deaf sponge clots as he put his weight on her, snarling angrily as she tried to twist away. She could scuffle against the floor all she wanted, nothing could save her as he hefted up her own axe, its weight reduced by the adrenaline that was still coursing through his veins. As her struggling grew more frantic, accompanied by further cries of hate, a furious roar tore from Zeffer's throat in response, and he wasted no more time in delivering the final blow. The axe came up before slamming back down in one swift, deliberate motion, and her crescendoing voice was cut short with a sickening crunch-thwack.
The blueblood seemed to freeze in place for a moment, as he stared down at what he had done. The color slowly drained from his face as he allowed the axe to clatter from his hands, into the pool of orange blood that was steadily spilling out onto the floor. Though the look in his eyes was still distant, he could finally feel himself coming down from the battle haze. Their foe had been vanquished, silenced forever, and they could finally begin to move on, to rebuild. Sucking in a shallow breath, he looked up, and took a hesitant step back, before his eyes slid across to Byakko.
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Posted: Tue Feb 24, 2015 7:33 am
Odette was caring for her comrades before the glint of Errade's axe caught her eye. She watched as the axe came down, paralyzed by the brutality of the scene. The gruesome sight made her sick to her stomach, and she turned to wrench the contents of her bile sack onto the ground before her. She cried, looking away from the body. But the scene stayed, permanently etched into her memory, replaying in her head like a record.
She heaved again and again, crying more as she replayed the scene in her head. She held herself, shaking with nausea and fear. But something happened inside Odette as she threw up on the cave floor. Something was different this time. Something changed.
Something snapped.
"What is wrong with you?!" Odette screeched at Zeffer, doubled over and clutching her chest. For a moment, she was surprised by the sound of her own voice. She wasn't aware of how loud her voice could get. "What is wrong with all of you?" She screamed again, turning her attention to the room.
She took a deep, shaky breath, standing straight and narrowing her gaze before speaking. "I have lost everything working for this cause! I lost everything even when I thought I had nothing!" She screamed, eyes darting about the room. She paused for a moment, studying the faces of the trolls who were still standing. "I gave everything to this cause because I thought it would change things for the better! I thought it stood for fairness and good! I thought it had morals!" Odette shouted, voice already going hoarse.
Her face was bright red from screaming, tears streaming down her hot face. Anger was still stewing inside her. She was not yet done with her tirade. She turned to Byakko, locking eye contact with her. "From the first day I joined this initiative, it has been nothing but senseless death and destruction," She spat, shoulders trembling.
Spinning on her heels, she turned her fearsome expression towards Zeffer. "We had a chance to start over and change our ways for the better—" She gestured to the body at his feet. "But now that chance is dead, bleeding out on the floor!"
She turned again, pointing at Byakko. "You! You should know better! You're supposed to set the example and do the right thing! And what did you do?" She paused, hands shaking. "You did nothing! You sat there and let it happen!" Odette retracted her hand. Her breathing was heavy and irregular, and she was still seething with anger. She grabbed her weapon.
"I've seen enough." She said, throwing her weapon violently at the floor before Byakko's feet. With that, she spun on her heels and stormed off, a gust of wind following her as she left.
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Posted: Tue Feb 24, 2015 8:48 am
Milieu's shoulders jerked at the sound. No vote. No consideration. Just more death. A chance wasted, lost completely. Odette was yelling and storming off, but Mili was gone, enraged and bitter. Had any of them considered what she had said? Ah, but that was the issue. She choked back a sob and felt what little strength was left inside her crumple. It was a little sign beside a dying adult, with teal blood splattered across it in two words. Even when Milieu had an audience, it was a struggle to make others listen. Maybe if she could have voiced her sentiments then things would have, could have, gone differently. Mili joined the initiative in hopes that even though she was mute, they would respect her voice. They would listen. Or at least, hell, give it some consideration. Apparently that was just a pipe dream. Pulling away from Athene, she gave her fellow scout a kiss on the cheek and stood up on shaky legs. She wanted Lunear, needed him. The two freaks had one another.
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Eco-friendly Shapeshifter
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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Posted: Tue Feb 24, 2015 10:43 am
His walk towards Milieu had been short. She was easy to spot in his view, horns and hemoglobin setting her from the crowd of those still breathing. Still living. She was shaken and that much might have been apparent, but he didn't gather the full extent until her neared. Until he turned back in time to watch the final moments of the traitor's life. Glorious. It was the one word he would give to the carnage, the death of the other troll. Almost artistic in it's brutality and finality, there would be no doubt that she was well and dead, unable to return to them. Well, provided she didn't turn into a ghost but then it would be a most awkward haunting to be sure. Still, the sight of a decapitated corpse didn't slight the blue blood, but rather made him feel a morbid sense of glee at knowing it had been done, and, he'd had the joy of witnessing it. Trials were shams, mockeries of justice. Your fates were decided before you'd ever see a 'court room'. Here among the rebels it would, should be no different. War was war and you didn't let the enemy walk free, you didn't allow traitors to live. If he found anything sour about it it was more Odette's reaction, though, he didn't blame her for it. She was red, mutant, and had wanted the ideals the forces had promised her. To her, they had been nothing more than pretty lies. To him they had simply been an opportunity, now, a resource. Now they watched as the orange blood outed the truth for what it was. They were at war, and there could be nothing left to chance, not when your enemy would happily use any tactic they wished. Cruelty and violence were bred into them, it would not so easily be changed in but one generation. Turning from the scene to face his matesprite he choked slightly as he looked her in the eye. He'd been smiling at Errade's death. Pleased and happy at the display of violence. Mili would know, and he felt a guilt for that. Reaching out he gentle touched her face, whatever joy had had over the carnage dying. "I am sorry my dear one." He whispered to her. "We can depart if you like." He gave her a choice. While he would be unperturbed by any further displays, he doubted she felt much the same. He doubted many of the other girls would share his thoughts on the need for such tactics and... heavy handed methods.
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Posted: Tue Feb 24, 2015 4:55 pm
After Errade's fall, everything felt like a blur to Vremea. The smell of blood and gunpowder was so poignant in the air, it gave her nausea. She needed to take a breather... Ugh, even now, ages since she'd known of her latent powers, she was still inept at using them. Lifting a shaking hand to the back of her head, the yellowblood's eyes widened. A slow warmth dripped onto her fingers. Wait... blood? Most likely from that hit to the head she received, crap... Just knowing she had a gash on her head made her pump biscuit feel heavy. The adult's piercing yellow eyes glazed over as her head throbbed-- Ugh, what... Was Athene screaming? Was that... Stryke... What was he saying? It was like she was listening to them speak, but her mind wasn't analyzing it. The lights were too bright. She felt lost and confused. What was even happening...? Her head hurt... Leaning on a wall, the yellowblood slid her dominant hand to her temple. She felt lightheaded, ugh... She closed her eyes, ignoring the scene around her. She needed to calm down.
Her eyes started focusing after her mind stopped hurting somewhat. She still felt lightheaded, but hearing the voice of someone talking... It rang in her and made her feel even worse. She was trying to listen, but it was too much... She closed her eyes again before finally risking a look, only to see... Zeffer. Why was... The ax he held in his hands, what... Why was he gripping it, like he was going to use it again? Watching the expressions shared between the rebel leader and Zeffer, the yellowblood's eyes widened. Realization cut through her like a blade. Her breath picked up, and her body rushed to stand, only to falter. She let out a pained gasp and clutched her stomach, aching. What were they thinking?! The click of Kursha's gun made her tremble. The yellowblood forced herself to stumble closer, pushing and shoving, trembling in fear. But she was too slow.
The deafening slice was enough to make her stumble to a stop.
Her eyes had watched every second of it. From the lifting, to the falling, to the look of terror in the orangeblood's lifeless eyes... Vremea felt sick to her stomach. She grabbed onto her retractable scythe so hard her knuckles hurt. The anger in her was so deep and ingrained to her body, she could hardly stand it. When Odette screamed at them, Vremea wanted to join her. The yellowblood wanted to grab them each by the shoulders and yell into their faces, to let out the anger bubbling in her... But she couldn't. She was unable to move. She didn't want death. After her morail rushed away in a flurry of anger, she felt her body tense. She stumbled after the redblood, using her weapon as a walking stick. Odette had said everything she'd wanted to say. Everything she couldn't say right now, because her head hurt too much... But the anger in her was still fervent.
But instead, all she could do was cry.
With a shaky breath, the yellowblood leaned onto her pole and turned to the others. It took her a little to be able to speak, and even then, it she was slurring and unfocused. "Is... d-death the only... option to you all?" She asked, voice cracking at the word death. The whack she'd received was stronger than she realized it'd be. Her body trembled, not from sadness, but from anger... Why is this happening? The rebellion's purpose to help them gain a voice. This wasn't what she had signed up for... This wasn't what she wanted to happen. Not since the beginning. She had held it in all these sweeps, but Vremea wasn't having it anymore. No. This was too much. "Odette-- Odette said everything I wanted to say..." In her daze, she looked to Milieu and Lunear, together. It made her hurt more. Then she glanced at Athene, crouched in a corner, alone. She had a feeling Athene wasn't screaming about not killing her, earlier. Closing her eyes, the yellowblood forced the sadness out of her voice. "How... how does this make us... any better than them?" She asked, voice shaking. No more. She didn't have enough energy for this.
And with that, Vremea stumbled off, shoulders sagging, feeling a lot older than she ever believed she could be.
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Posted: Tue Feb 24, 2015 5:34 pm
Zeffer had raised the axe over Errade, who lay prone on the floor, under his boot. There was a moment where time seemed to stop, the weapon having reached the pinnacle of its swing and everyone's gaze was glued to the edge. Kursha threw a salute to the orangeblood. Her chapter had closed. Farewell. The axe came down. It was over in a flash. No needless dialogue or wanton abuse. Her screams were suddenly cut short in a spray of blood that signified the end. Errade Etturi was dead. Kursha gave Zeffer an approving nod. The blueblood was in a daze and seemed not to notice but that was all right. He needed some time to pull his thinkpan back together. From behind, Kursha could hear the sounds of someone retching. He turned to see Odette sprawled on the floor, regurgitating the contents of her lunch. Peas. What a surprise. His good humour was spoiled though when the redblood spoke. At her very first words, Kursha's grin wavered. Then, as she went on, it disappeared entirely. He stared at the redblood coolly, unimpressed. She somehow believed that Errade's execution had been unjust? What a ******** b***h. The orangeblood was bleeding out and would not have lasted much longer anyway. If anything, granting her a swift death had been merciful and judging by her list of crimes, it was probably better than she deserved. Before Kursha could so much as open his mouth to refute her points, the redblood had stormed away. He watched her go in disbelief. “Goodbye and good riddance,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Cry me a river, geez.” Maybe she had the right idea though; at least as far as it went making an exit. The tunnels had sustained heavy damage and were at risk of collapsing. He did not want to be around if or when that happened. Shouldering his weapon, he turned to go, but in the process nearly stumbled into Vremea. The yellowblood was in terrible condition, leaning on her scythe as her own blood dribbled down from the back of her neck and onto her clothes. Tears stained her face. Kursha's eyes widened in shock. She had claimed lives in battle before. Why was she crying now? At the yellowblood's words, Kursha's mouth tightened in a frown. “Tch.” She was hurt. Confused. The bloodloss was inhibiting her thinking. He would have to find time to clear things up later though. Every second threatened disaster. His eyes went to glaive at Byakko's feet, and he briefly considered it. A split second later he made his decision. Jogging over, he paused briefly to give the rebel leader a nod, and then stooped to pick up the discarded weapon. “Don't know about you guys,” he said as he stood. “But I'm gonna get going while the roof holds. See you on the other side.” His grin returned. “And nice work.” With all the negative accusations flying, the least he could do was offer some support. Turning, he hurried after Vremea, glaive in hand. As soon as he caught up, he reached out with his free hand to touch her shoulder. For the time being, he had put her outburst behind him. He was going to make sure that she walked out of this alive.
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