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 Posted: Wed Apr 29, 2009 2:22 am
loading ... ___cavagio square, lower district - 9:08 PM. ______( fifth day since contract formed )♥ ♥ ♥ In all truth, Trystan Bishop Chevalier enjoyed his job.
Sure, it got old being shot at and most of the time almost killed, and the men and women he was hired to kill weren't exactly the smartest people in the rotting world, but it was fun. Only a demon would think about that like he did. And at this moment, Trystan was more of a purebred then he was a mutt. What was more was the morbid amusement he took in peoples actions once their entire lives had been threatened. The hitman had people on their knees begging for mercy, begging to make it fast, or barely saying anything at all. There had been people who would scream in agony, and others who would go without a word. However, what Trystan liked most in those he held at gunpoint was their shaky attempts to lie. The alley was marked with the stench of the decay that the lower districts were littered with. Trystan let a coy smile play on his lips as he cocked his gun a bit, the barrel shimmering in the dim, flickering lamp light. A man was standing before him, his withered, rotting look just a show of how much time he'd spent in the hazardous services that hid behind the smiles and innocence of the upper districts. His shoulders were shaking, but he was certainly much braver then most of the greedy little buggers Trystan found when he needed information. And right now, he needed it quite a lot.
"I wont ask again."
The sultry purr came off of his lips as the demons blackened eyes glimmered with a bit of playful malice. Trystan was hardly one to conform to being civil, and the scolding he got the most back home was a very teasing 'stop playing with your food, Trystan.' And by food, the mafia hardly meant literal food. "Please, I have nothing of interest for you - you have the wrong man!" The familiar plea didn't really reach Trystans mind this time, no, it just reached his angry disposition and scratched at it even more. Tilting his head to the side, the demon let a frightening glimmer of a smirk onto his face. "Really?" There was a loud crackle throughout the alley, accompanied by a scream of absolute agony. The mans right leg gave out, a bullet now embedded in the sticky flesh of his thigh. Red fluid drizzled from the wound, making a sickening sound as it splattered on the floor and stunk up the air with a suffocating stench. "One more bullet says you're lying." Trystan waggled the gun, a cunning grin accompanying his glittering eyes. The man staggered a bit, as if contemplating his options. Trystan slid his anger into the back of his mind. All this man needed was some.... convincing. "My patience is wearing, darling. I'll give you three seconds." The man jerked, his eyes wide and shocked.
"No - wait - p-please, I have a family - I have kids - you cant -"
Trystan smiled lazily. So he was finally breaking, was he? Just after one bullet?
"Three."
"Please - !"
"Two."
The man fidgeted, seeming to choke on his own spit. Gurgling a bit, he hacked and stared desperately at the other man. Trystan could somewhat understand - even though he hardly cared to toss the information into his own way of thinking. If this man gave away information to Trystan, then surely his employers would murder him in a more savage way then Trystan was -surprisingly - capable of. If he didn't, then Trystan would be the one with the final say. However, the hitman could easily find another pile of s**t to dig information out of, but this one had been easy to track down, and he wasn't so sure he wanted to go around finding another one when he had such a nice little piece of meat at his disposal already.
"One."
The man was a fraction of a second too late. The bullet went directly through the flesh this time, a fresh spray of blood jerking out from the wound as the man fell to the floor in a painful twist of agony, his breath shallow and eyes squeezed shut. The demon before him simply decided that guns weren't working as well as he had hoped and shoved the pistol back into its holster. Stepping forward, he nudged the man over onto his back, staring down at the scared face with an look that screamed superiority. Planting a boot clad foot on the open bullet wound in the brunettes left thigh, Trystan started to push down And not in a comforting 'I'll stop the blood flow for you' kind of way. "Speak up." He instructed, and when he watched the man open his mouth, he jerked his foot down, listening to the sickening crack of a now mangled and broken bone.
"Quickly."
The man screamed and writhed, trying to kick the other desperately from him, to try and cure the pain. "S-s-six-sixtee - teenth stre- street!" He gasped out, crying as Trystan twisted the heel of his boot further in. "K-kings square! Kings square g-god da-da-dammit!" The brunette threw his head back, sweat pouring from his face. "T-theres an entrance there - a-an en-entrance behind the S-s-santa d-di Marco!" Trystan cocked an eyebrow. An entrance in Kings Square? Santa Di Marco.... some sort of club and bar, certainly. Trystan had passed it a few times. "How do I get in?" He inquired in a lulled purr, as if a cat had just been given a ball of yarn to play with. Removing his foot, he watched as the other gave out a breath of relief, while Trystan circled to the other side of the man. When he tried to roll over away from Trystan, the man growled and planted a foot on the others ribcage, applying pressure to hear another few sickening cracks and a scream that enticed him to do it even more. A demon at heart. Only human on the outside. "Dont get cocky, I'm not done with you yet." He said in a soft yet stern tone, as if he were trying to impersonate his father. "T-theres a c-c-car-card k-key d-d-de.... - " Suddenly the man was cut off.
But not by Trystan.
A mangled cry came from the mans throat, but it was silenced soon enough as another bullet came from nowhere, piercing the dark of the alley and lodging itself in the mans head. Effectively killing him once and for all. s**t. Trystan thought, cursing himself for not having recognized the growing threat earlier. Slamming his back into the wall to avoid another round, Trystan blinked open his eyes when an explosion of pain erupted from his side. Looking down, he cursed, seeing a gash in his side from a grazing bullet. When had they - s**t! "Machine guns? You guys are unoriginal as ******** style="color: black"> He said loudly to the dimly lit, bloody alley way. A snicker came from down the way, and made Trystan whip its head towards it as another flash came from the dark down the length. So thats where one of the men were hiding at least. Probably goons from the organization he had been assigned to take down. Probably men with all brawn, no brains. Luckily, Trystan had a bit of both. "Baby, you ain't playing with the big boys 'till you've learned to dodge these!" A gruff voice responded with just as much of a taunting tone. Snickering, Trystan screeched when a bullet or two lodged itself into his wrist, making for a bloody mess. Sucking in a harsh breath and gritting his teeth, Trystan threw his head back, hitting it against the wall. This was a good time as ever to thank the gods above for making him a demon.
"Stop that!" He yelled down the alley, hearing a snicker from somewhere beyond the darkness. ******** purebreds. They didn't own the place! Jerking a bit when he heard the gun cease fire, and the man curse something about reloading, Trystan made a heavy dash for the opposite end. It wasn't that he didn't want to kill them - it was that he was outnumbered, and didn't like the odds. On top of that, it wasn't part of his mission, and he'd already gotten most of the information he needed. He could easily jack a card key from one of the workers there. He had enough resear - A bullet whizzed past his ear, the sound screeching as it collided with a dumpster ahead. The next one tore open his side bag, along with a part of Trystans leg. Well, there went his plan for running. He could have made a dash for it with two good legs - but demons had enhanced stamina and speed - even if Trystan had run, they would have caught him. And he hardly doubted that there weren't men stationed out of the alley, just waiting for him to show up. Even demons weren't any match for gods. They weren't all powerful - and Trystan sure as hell wasn't able to dodge bullets like some sort of action hero - not even demons were capable of that. Planning a messy tumble, the demon hit his head against the concrete wall and scrambled to the side, panting a bit as he examined his wrist, using the wall as temporary protection.
Grimacing at the bloody gore, Trystan instantaneously plunged his index finger and thumb into the mess, biting back a howl of pain as he fished for the bullet engraved somewhere. Yanking the metal out, he tossed it across the slabs of stone and then pressed his mouth to the open wound, sucking some of the still pouring blood out of it. If there was any poison embedded in the bullet, he would get it out. Finished with that, Trystan glanced down at side bag, checking the things inside. Ammo, a broken gun, a notebook, his cellphone, that spark Banning had given hi - where was the spark? "Where is my spark?" Trystan said instantly, searching the bag, almost deaf to the bullets whizzing deathly close to him. Once the man stopped to reload again, Trystan cursed and peaked around the corner. He could now see the outlines of steadily approaching figures.... And the Spark having been knocked from his bag and lying on the ground in the middle of the alley way near the body of the man he'd interrogated. Its swirls were angry - where was its master? Where was he?
The connection between the two was decreasing rapidly - Trystan didn't know how, but he could feel it. And it felt weak - not like when he'd met the Spark five days ago - not like when the contract had been sealed. Would he die here, in this alley after acting like a god he wasn't? Would he die at the hands of purebloods - probably men from an opposing family that would laugh once they found they'd killed the mutt of the Chevaliers? Would the news spread, and make half of his own kin happy that their marks would become untarnished by the disgrace again? Trystan threw back his head, and if he didn't have his pride left, he would have let out a hiss and a wine, and maybe a low life cry of irritation at this cruel trick of fate. Worst of all... Trystan opened his eyes and stared at the sky above. He had never seen the stars of the planet before, the deep, swirling black clouds and manmade smoke always hiding them from his view. Like the disgusting, earth bound demon he was. Worst of all, he would fail Banning - more importantly, he would fail the Spark that had been sealed to him. Trystan narrowed his eyes. The revival of a dying and illegal species. Trystan writhed a bit as his leg gave out and more blood spilled from the gash. ********, what weapons were they using now? What happened to the old fashioned guns and pistols?! Will I die here, without even being able to do such a simple thing?
Trystan gritted his teeth, pushing himself up against the wall so he could stand, feeling the skin of his leg begin to twist and churn a bit. Demon blood. Faster healing. Not fast enough. He could hear footsteps, the "I wonder what this is" and the "leave it alone for later, kill him first" that came when they saw the spark. Stupid gits, neither of them noticed? Trystan tilted his head up, once again glancing at the sky. There had been times before, when he had thought "am I going to die." The prospect of it was never scary to him before, never felt like he didn't want to - nor did he have much of a reason to keep living except for the merits that the humans body naturally brought along. Alcohol, sex, dangerous things, adrenaline rushes. But he didn't have a reason that tied him down to this world and made him think "I cant die yet." Whenever that thought came into mind. So. Why now. Trystan gritted his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Why now. Was it the god damned bond that tied him to the Proto? Banning had stupidly left out the part where getting one would make him start to care. ******** rock. Messing with his life. However, the demon couldn't be mad at it. His mind was running rampant now, with the thoughts of death, and the things that made him wish he wasn't being compromised like this. He didn't want to die like this. He didn't want to die in an alley way where no one knew his name. He didn't want to die as a disgrace to the Chevalier family. He didn't want to die at all. But why now?
I dont want to die.
The men were rounding the corner now, and Trystan cursed fate for making him drop his gun. There was a smile on the horned mans face as he ushered the other back and swerved to face Trystan, a new pistol shoved none too gently against his neck. Neck? Why not his forehead? Stupid purebloods. "I knew your voice." He said snidely, tauntingly, cocking his head to the side. "You're that mutt whos been running around. Thought you could play god here, huh?" The stench of alcohol was on the black clad mans breath. "Pathetic. I'll give you a slow, shameful death." Trystan closed his eyes, ignoring the man. Normally, he would have berated him with foul comments, made some sort of snide joke. This time he could barely listen to other drawl on. Obviously, Trystan had managed to aggravate him, because the next thing he knew, he was being choked by the horned mans burly hand. It was painful, but not as painful as half of the other things the back of Trystans head contemplated. Being set on fire, poison, biohazards, chainsaws, mutated insects. Gagging, Trystans reflexes kicked in, as he clawed at the mans hands, successfully breaking skin, but only making the other laugh more. His vision was flashing black and white. Dots were appearing in the corner of his eyes. Choking again, Trystan let a cocky grin slide onto his face even as circulation cut off. "Shameful?" There was the old mutt, back to bite again. "Honey, I've seen shameful. Whatever you're gonna do to me is gonna be innocent as hell compared to -" The man squeezed harder, making Trystan throw his head back and struggle even more. ********! Trystan had been built physically in an appealing manner, but not in one that would ensure a win in a fist to fist brawl with such a burly, muscular man.
"Beg." The demon sneered to Trystan, making the other snarl and wish he had the breath to snap "never!" back at him. The release let up soon after Trystan kicked his legs out in anger at his bad luck, and he slumped to the floor, panting. Soon enough however, he was looking at the barrel of a gun. "You weren't as much fun as I thought you would be." The man said tauntingly, cocking his gun to the side. "So what will it be? What should I shoot first?" He snickered, and his partner joined in as well. Sick, disgusting creatures. Now Trystan knew why he was a hitman - more so reminded, however. And now, he was going to die at the hands of people he would have killed without a second thought. Thats pathetic. He thought lazily to himself as his vision dashed in and out. He was vaguely aware of the man turning and saying something to his partner, vaguely aware of them relying information to each other. But again, he was caught up in his own, deranged mind. Suddenly, a simplistic clear voice broke through his train of thoughts.
You aren't going to die now, are you?
Trystan jolted his head up, a mangled cry coming out of his throat but only making for a scratchy, cat like hiss. Slamming his back against the wall for a second, Trystan tried to collect his thoughts. It was a familiar voice, familiar, familiar.... You. This was the first time in five days, that he'd heard the Sparks voice again. And this time, it was coming to taunt him?
Look, I've already got fate, and a few other things trying to get back at me for being an a** the entirety of my life, can you come back later? Like when I'm in hell?
The snide comment was ignored - or so it seemed, by the bond that tethered the two together. One of them unknown at the time, and one certainly human. Trystan looked up as the man took out something from his partners bag - something that glittered in the light. His eyes narrowed a bit. It was a knife.
Shut up. The voice demanded, making Trystan surrender to a throaty growl. You are not allowed to die here. You cant. That would be displeasing, and I still need you. The voice of the Spark so easily stated its dependancy, its need for Trystan. Something twisted inside of the man, watching as the knife came closer and closer. He had never been needed by someone - or something before. This was oddly outlandish to him. It twisted something painful in his gut once more, and Trystan tried to ignore it. The sense of knowing someone relied on you - the fear of failing them. The demon grimaced. I hate to break it to you, but unless I find theres a working gun in my bag, and that man with a knife stops looking like my blood is a five course meal, then I'll not be dying any time soon. His dry sense of humor managed to kick in a little bit there. Though, the chances of those two things occurring within the next five seconds are highly improbable, and even more likely impossible. Sorry, fella.... I guess I let you down, didn't I. Would this be a good time for an apology? The thing seemed to purr a bit, as if something about the situation was humorous. Trystan was barely aware of it, because by then, the man had grabbed him by the neck and was slamming him once more into the concrete of the wall, the knife dangerously positioned against one of his open gashes.
Trystan.... The man jolted a bit at the way his name was said - the absolute tone that held no worry, no doubt, no hate in it. What is my purpose?
The man before him gave out a howling screech, and Trystan could only watch in sheer shock, and slight morbid fascination as the man was ripped from the middle of his stomach, to the outside of his entire body. The weapon used was something resembling a knife, but Trystan could only stare at the thing it was attached to. Standing before him was something he'd never seen before. No... That was wrong. Red tendrils greedily connected to the molten mechanical arms and body, the knife weapon now reshaping itself into a steady, clawed hand. It was like a machine, but its dog attributes held a morbid interest within Trystan. The scanner glittered red, a brighter tone then the rest of the unnaturally tall Proto's build. As the crimson smoke began to dissipate from the body, leaving the Essentic behind in its wake, Trystan could only watch, his legs feeling weak - even though the wounds were well on their way to healing. He tilted his head down, and the Proto mimicked him by tilting his head up.
And then he spoke.
"My purpose..." He purred in repeat, the blood staining the long claws of his hand as if a contract made in the dead of night. "Is to serve you - and only you, Trystan Bishop Chevalier." If the mechanical being had a mouth, it probably would have twisted into a coy smile by that point.
"How am I supposed to do that, if you are dead?"
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Posted: Mon May 18, 2009 12:50 am
loading ... ___Santa Di Marco entrance, Kings Square, Middle District - 1:59 AM. ______( sixth day since contract formed )♥ ♥ ♥ It was.... strange.
Trystan sighed as the metallic door clicked open, the thick, stained air making him almost feel sick to his stomach. However, he'd already been briefed on the type of place and the people he'd be encountering... so he held it back with a stiffled grunt and stared into the dark passage warily. Behind him, the Proto was, its low thrum coming whenever it seemed pleased... or just the opposite. He hadn't named it yet, hadn't thought to, because he was still getting used to the other..... thing. The hit man was still under the impression that it was a he... but he had no idea of knowing for sure. As it was, his limited experience on Essentics restricted him to the bare minimum knowledge that the Proto stage had no gender. Trystan could only sit back and cross his fingers, hoping for a male. With a snort, the man glared down into the blackened, sickening looking entrance. Now I sound like an expecting parent. He thought dryly.
Trystan.
Forcing himself not to jolt, Trystan glanced back at the Essentic behind him as it moved closer. "We should go... its not safe to linger like this, is it?" The Essentic asked in a thrum, tilting its head up at Trystan. The obsidian haired demon - despite his lack of enthusiasm for entering the blackened entrance that smelled a lot like death - nodded. Turning his head to Crux, he gestured for him to come forwards. "Stay on my shoulder," He said, lifting the Proto up by slipping his arms under its own arms and lifting it onto his shoulder. "That way I wont have to wonder where you are." He sighed as the Proto thrummed a low note of acceptance. It was barely his first day in existance, and already he was being called to work for Trystan. The man gritted his teeth a bit. "Dont do anything I dont tell you to do down there. Even I dont know what I'm encountering." He said, taking a step into the darkness, one hand on the smooth granite wall. As his eyes adjusted to the black, the hitman noticed that it was a staircase - a narrow, cracked one - that led down further and further. "Are you sure this is a smart course of action?" the Proto asked emotionlessly from his shoulder, perching on it like an oversized monkey.
Making his way further into the darkness, eyes glittering with dangerous intent, Trystan smiled listlessly. "It hardly matters to me whether its smart of not." He retorted to the other, the stench of death becoming heavier the further they desceneded into the black oblivion. Beneath his feet, Trystan heard sickening crunches, and could only imagine that he was either stepping on bones or dead rats. Poison perhaps? The man mulled it over in his head. "As long as it gets the job, whether I'm acting with my head or not isn't part of the equation." The passage widened out nearer the bottom, and Trystan narrowed his eyes. What he'd said was true, so long as he got something done, whether or not he got mauled in the process of it was out of the question. Perhaps however, that would be something he'd have to learn about in the near future. The pain from his healing wounds were proof enough that it might be a smart idea to rethink his current idealogies on life. The man had the common sense to stop and patch himself up with gauze and disinfectent before heading into the first ring of hell, but the stench was hardly doing anything to cure his growing headache. His Proto had emerged. And it acted more strangely then he'd imagined. It even looked stranger then he had imagined. On top of that, he'd almost been murdered - which wansn't so much a shock as it was a displeasure.
Jumping from the last step onto the cold metallic ground, Trystan shivered as the stench of something rotting filled the air. He'd moved from the long, winding staircase into an elongated hall. From the look of things, renovations weren't even being considered, the walls broken and beaten, dried blood caking the crevices and walls as if a massacre had occurred. This was the place where he would find his target. According to sources, it was an underground laboratory - an animal and human testing facility. The Diamoni family knew more then him on such a matter, but since the mere thought of testing unpredictable things on humans much less animals made him sick to his stomach, Trystan dared not venture to know anything more then he needed to. Dim, cracked lights hang from above, illuminating the soul figures. "We are searching for the head scientist...?" the Proto confirmed from earlier information Trystan had relayed to him. It was the first time the thing was speaking since it had asked its last question. Nodding soundlessly, Trystan glanced down the length of both sides of the hallway, and tentatively brought out a small device, flipping it open to reveal a screen and what looked to be a cell phone of sorts. He'd been able to upload a layout of the entire place from the poor unfortunate souls own laptop. After a few seconds, it was closed again, and Trystan started to pad down the hall.
"Zero visible, eight and counting invisible."
"What?"
Trystan looked over, trying his best not to blink. Another wave of stale air hit him in the face. The Essentics scanner glittered red as it turned to face him. "I said zero visibly, eight invisible... nine now." It turned the macabre head back, nodding down the hall. Trystan didn't bother to ask how the Proto was able to do that. All in all, it seemed like a good thing to have. But nine.. Nine where? Pausing at an intersection in the dimly lit halls, Trystan pressed a hand to his mouth and nose, fidgeting under the rotten odor of dead and decaying bodies and carcasses. The worst part was that he was most likely headed in that same direction. Turning on his heel, the man entered the darkened, unlit corridor, the sound of machines whirring from somewhere in the background. As if reading his mind, the Essentic shook its head. "Most of the targets were down the other corridor." It commented, falling silent now that it had fulfilled helping the other man.
The corridor ended in one single door, the sickening artificial light pouring from the cracks. The sly click of Trystan drawing his gun put the Proto on his shoulder on edge, and with something akin to a purr, it turned its head. "Three in the room beyond... one in the door to the right." Trystan nodded as if distracting himself with the news. "Proto..." He commented, adjusting his shoulder a bit. "Do you think you can handle the three in there?" The question was clear enough, and when it jumped down from his shoulder with an almost satisfied purr at the action granted, Trystan smiled, leaning against a near wall. "Once they are cleared, let me know." He said. The Proto was gone before he could even say anymore. He was left to his own whirling headache, the stench of death making him screw his eyes shut. He'd gone through worse before, but he'd never liked spaces underground. Especially confined, disgusting, diseased ones. The creatures living down in such places were hardly more human then the things they tested their needles and syrums on. Trystan was so caught up in his thoughts that he hardly heard the muffled cries of pain from within.
Trystan.
Still not used to the voice within his head, Trystan figdeted and pushed away from the wall, inhaling sharply as if the stench would cause him less harm then it had before. That had been quick. Opening the door, Trystan brushed his hands against the wall, turning off the blinding artificial light and bathing everything in darkness. Ice blue eyes glowing coldly, he stepped over a mutilated body, and into the room, door swinging shut after him. The room was a large place, cut up into sections by walls. The first, the one Trystan was in, was filled with cages. He could hear the upset snarls of still living animals, and smell the rot and stench of dead carcasses. The wall next to him, lined with cages, opened up further along into a makeshift surgery and dissection area. At the end, beside a towering rack of dirtied supplies was a door. Trystan could see panicked movement within, and moved with the fluid motion as he was greeted by the shadow of the Proto. It moved quietly, soundlessly against the tops of cages, finally falling down in front of him. "Targets eliminated." The Proto purred with almost curious desire for more. Trystan would not grant him that kind of carnage. The Essentic was already bathed in blood, serrated knives having replaced his elongated fingers. I've already mutilated you with sin. Trystan thought, staring at the tool. But you'd follow me to the deepest pit of hell. I should be the one holding shame. The Proto tilted its head up, as if realizing the mans thoughts.
No regrets, Trystan.
The man could almost feel a smile in those words. Never regret. Trystan almost let a bubble of laughter come to his lips. Two years ago, he would have thought that same thing. Turning to the Proto, he sighed. "Stay here. Anyone comes in, kill them." He smiled. "I have a date with destiny." The Proto watched him go, the scanner shimmering ever so slightly as the man disappeared behind the only door with another presence in it. It could heard distant voices, Trystans sultry mannerisms showing through. However, something else caught its attention. Something moving. Something alive. The Proto stepped over a fallen body, its predatory manners taking over as it stalked along the cage filled wall, animals within snarling or growling, falling silent as it slid past like a ghost. The darkness almost soothed the need for blood within the Protos mind frame, and trying not to think too much on what was now going on beyond the door, it rounded a corner, the stench of death not phasing it in the slightest.
Beyond him was a darkened space, large enough to be a room and small enough to be hidden away from view. Towards the back were cages, a certain species caged within each metal box, teeth snapping as the stranger approached. What was sickening, however, was that it seemed as if the middle of the room had been turned into a surgical and experimental area. A long metal table sat precariously in the middle, the sides and floor beneath caked with dried animal blood. Morbid curiosity catching hold of the Proto, it jumped up onto the metallic surface, leaning over a dead animals body, scanner glittering in the dark. Scapels and mechanical devices were littered on either side of it, but the Proto was more interested in the thing before him, somehow fascinated by the wide golden eyes, the fight locked into an eternal gaze now that death had crept into the system.
Its pelt, the Proto noted as it stroked a claw along the fur, was strange and mottled. Distorted by color. Curious.... The Essentic could hear the snap and snarl of the same sort of animal still alive and fighting, but it was overtaken by this one that was still and passed on. How much had this creature fought before giving up? How much had it longed for a freedom not granted to it? The Proto contemplated these thoughts in the back of his head, and turned to examine the bodies near the corner he'd rounded to come into the space. He wondered, absently, how much the men who he'd taken down without any shame had fought for their lives. If they'd been strapped to some sort of surgery table at one point in life, forced to confinement against their will. the Proto thought of it literally, but sooner or laer it would come to think of it in a theoretical and metaphorical manner as well.
Passing a clawed digit against the slit open body of the creature, the Proto pondered what kind of animal would do such a thing. There was a large opening in the beasts stomach, the rib cage distorted and mutilated. The organs within had been removed as well, almost as if a pack of animals had devoured it and left the carcass to rot. Trailing a finger against the mottled coat, the Proto stopped as it came upon the neck, where something leather lay strapped to the animal. Snaring it in a sharp, elongated claw, the Proto slit it in half and brought it up, scanner shimmering ever so slightly. It was a collar, a symbol of confinement. Something that made the Proto twist with unease. This was absolutely revolting. "Now you are free." It spoke softly, brushing its free hand along what remained of the bloody fur. "Free..." It repeated cautiously, and jumped from the metallic table and onto the ground. The collar still held loosely in its hands, it moved fluidly to the cages, listening to the snarl of the animals within. Humming a bit, it read the plates attached to each cage with renewed interest.
Lycaon pictus.
"The Painted Hunting Dog."
The mottled coated creatures within the cages snapped their teeth angrily, the growls forming in the back of their throats with ease. The Proto, unphased by this, reached a hand through one of the bars, and flinched when it was viciously bitten into. An Essentic was capable of pain, after all. However, the thing stayed its ground, and after a few moments, the dog stopped its attack on the Essentics hands, slowly releasing it and backing up with a sort of growl. "Dog...." The Essentic acknowledged in thought. "Not meant to be caged, confined." With a purr, it switched out one of its elongated fingers with a sharp, shining knife and sliced the lock in two. Backing up a few steps, the Proto watched as the creature snarled and crashed out of its cage at a lightning speed, fangs bared at its savior. At its full height, it was almost as tall as the Proto, its nose pressed to the scanner, teeth a sheer white stained red. The Proto stood deathly still as the animal sniffed it up and down, clearly angered from being caged up, and not fed properly at all. Malnourished. Angry. The Essentic made note of these things. Once the Painted Wolf was done sniffing him, it whined in an aggressive manner, and took off. The Proto did the same thing on the other four cages, and soon enough, a pack of mottled, malnourished canines were running rampant throughout the underground. Surely they would die sooner or later, but at least they would die with the dignity of being free.
Glancing down, the Essentic thrummed, and felt the presence of Trystan grow closer until the door swung open and the mans voice rang ruefully through the air. The stench of blood was almost too heavy for any one human to take. However, Trystan was a mutt, and the Proto didn't have the sense of smell just yet. The macabre doll scuttled closer to its owner, who had appeared with traces of wet blood all over his features. "Good evening." He greeted with a sultry smile, his eyes blackened to a dark grey-black. The Proto was unaffected by the demon showing its true colors from within Trystans fractured body. "Good evening." It responded softly, to which Trystan looked a bit surprised. Of course, he hadn't heard the thing talk much yet. This was an interesting aspect. Humming a bit, the Proto lifted its right arm, and passed the collar on to Trystan. In turn, the man took it and stroked the blood stained leather, placing his index finger on the golden name tag and brushing the caked blood off of it.
"test subject 0074. painted hunting dog.
Trystans eyes narrowed, and he flipped it over, rubbing his finger along the back as well, feeling the dents of more lettering. Once the stains had been removed, he read the name of the dead animal - its real name.
Crux. The Cross.
The demon cocked his head to the side. Cross.... sacrifice. Trystan smiled a bit, and looked down at the Proto, who was still, waiting for further words from his masters lips. "Your name..." He said softly, extending an arm down. The Essentic took that invitation and climbed up onto the other mans shoulder, thrumming a bit as if curious to the others words. "My.... name?" it repeated, scanner glittering. Trystan started walking out of the place, knowing that anyone in his way would meet the gun in his right hand. He fell silent as he mulled it over, letting the Proto think as well. They made it to the stairs, and Trystan was almost too excited once they broke through to the night air of Vargash. The sound of the city roaring around them brought Trystan back down from his sky high reveries, and he let Crux hop from his shoulder as he stuffed his fun into its holster, threw off his shirt, and wiped the blood from his cheek. The now bare chested man glanced back at the sky, and stuffed his hands in his pocket, book bag stilling against his thigh. For once, the stars shined through the murky atmosphere, down onto the rotting planet. A sign of purity among the decay of the planet.
"Your name is Crux. The Cross." Trystan said, his voice slicing firmly through the air. The Proto sat up a bit straighter, scanner glittering a bit as it was named. Trystan, smiling faintly, glanced down at the torn collar in his hands.
Perhaps, like all other things, this was simply a new beginning.
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Posted: Thu Jun 11, 2009 2:52 am
loading ... ___penthouse apartment, upper districts - 8:09 PM. ______( seventy eight days since contract formed )♥ ♥ ♥  It hurt. It hurt. It hurt to breathe.
It was.... empty. He felt.... empty. It was never said, never spoken, never even thought of the night before. But waking up had been like hell. Knowing somehow, simply knowing that he would never return, never was what hurt the most. Kaosu had never said "I wont come back..." never spoken any words. The night had been absolute paradise. Something Trystan could never have imagined in his entire life. But there was a forbidden sense of melancholy behind the words and actions, Kaosu's lips on his, his voice in Trystans ear. The young demon had forced himself to ignore it, make it a figure of his imagination. But waking.... waking told him everything was real. Kaosu was gone. Gone forever.
And he couldn't breathe.
Trystan was vaguely aware that he was curled on his side, sheets tangled down near his ankles. He was alone. And he had forgotten to take deep breathes. His eyes were barely open, and his mind felt like it was empty, but filling with a thousand thoughts at once. Up until two months ago, he'd been on his own. He'd been fine on his own. He'd never loved anyone to a point where he would have been absolutely devastated had they left him. But this feeling... was beyond devastation. He'd never cared excessively for someone to the point where them leaving, or them disappearing would make him think twice on his actions. Not even his family members had made him feel this way. So why. Why, why, why..... Love. It was all that stupid emotions fault. Love. Trystan hated love. It got into a persons heart, and tore them apart. And that he'd even considered confessing. How stupid could he have been. The deathly still young adult shuddered, vaguely remembering in the back his mind that he'd promised himself long ago never to fall in love. Now he was here.... and feeling emptier then ever.... because one man had slid into his life, turned it upside down, and disappeared.... Disappeared.
Something splintered and broke in Trystan.
Crux, who'd been lying in wait for his master to return home ever since last night, had decided to lounge on the couch in the living room. He'd been watching the humid rain pour down after the sunny day had passed, boredly counting droplets splattered against the window and considering what Zia might have been doing at that moment. He wasn't aware that Kaosu had left for good - he was simply under the impression that he'd left again. Trystan had told him that it truly didn't concern him too much, and that it wans't something he should have dealt too much time on. And so Crux had followed his words. However, the bond between him and the other was somewhat strained today, and Crux couldn't imagine why, but as he'd been told before, it wans't really his business to intervene into. So instead, the Proto lay in wait, wondering if Mikhail would drop by from down the hall, and watched the rain collide with the windows like sharp explosions against glass panes. That was of course, until something almost shocked him. A pain - immense and sorrowful - crashed through his entire system, sending the Proto up into a defensive, shocked position all too quickly. His scanner flashed in a morbid array of red color, and the Proto shuddered as another wave of nauseus pain hit him. What was this? What was going on - Crux snapped his robotic head up.
"Trystan!"
This was.... his owners pain. It was flooding into the bond between the two, almost drowning out Crux's other senses and making him hiss. What was going on? Assuming the worst from his point of view, Crux immediately checked for other people in the room with Trystan, and upon finding none, fell into a state of confusion. Why was Trystan in pain then? Had he done something to himself? A gunshot maybe? No, Crux would have heard it firing. Then what? A knife. Trystan was smarter then that. Crux was still unaware of the pain that emotions caused. The suffering that loss, and love and hate brought into someone who was already as emotionally ******** as they could be. Family issues, pasts wrapped in secrets and lies, friends and betrayals. Love and loss now too. Crux.... did not know any of this though. So oblivious, he rushed to the bedroom, expecting to see a stain of blood, a hissing Trystan, maybe a curse or an outburst or two. When the Proto came in through the door, he did not expect to see Trystan....
Vulnerable.
Crux stopped dead in his tracks, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to help. His owner was slammed back first against the wall behind his bed, knees drawn to his chest, legs kicking out every once in awhile. A shudder was fixated on his entire body and didn't seem to want to let go of its hold, and his hands were both holding his head, black obsidian hair falling over marble skin. The worst part, Crux realized, was the fear and isolation, the absolute loneliness and vulnerable emotion scouring those ice blue eyes. Before he could even examine them, make sense of them though, Trystan screwed them shut, shuddering again, shallow breaths making the silence pained and horrible. Tense in all senses of the word. Crux stood frozen to his spot, something horrible welling in his own gut. It wasn't Trystans emotions, it was his. Failure. A sharp cry came from Trystans lips, but the man did his best to hold it in, as if he was still trying to be strong. Somehow, even though he'd been broken as if he were snapped in two.
Suddenly, he was being pushed aside. A redhead, elegant in his ways and entirely certain of his ow actions pushed past him, his green eyes flashing dangerously as he turned his head back to glance at the proto. Mikhail. Crux would have hissed, but he was so shocked, so rooted to the spot, so hopeful that Mikhail would make Trystan go back to normal - stop feeling so... strongly about something Crux did not even understand. Without even pausing, Mikhail strode for the bed, as if he'd picked up on the emotions from all the way down the hall in his own apartment. Trystan was too lost in his own mind, too lost in raw, pure, agonizing emotions that he did not notice the other until there were forceful hands on his arms, demanding that they be pulled to stop hiding his tear streaked face. There was a sickening crack as Trystan pushed himself back away from the other, kicking out his legs, angrily shouting. "Dont touch me!" He screamed, his voice ripping across the room like a broken record. He raised his arms as Mikhail held on, his steely emerald eyes calm as if he had expected this. "Trystan." The silk voice rang in Crux's head, but he hardly acknowledged it. Tears now fell like porcelain drops from the obsidian haired mans face, and he fought the other once again, angrily forcing himself away, as if afraid - terrified of the contact. "Dont touch me, Mikhail! Dont - just, just - dont!"
Ragged panting came from the out of breath half breed, and Mikhail, easily enough, dragged him forward, despite his outraged, hateful, terrified protests. "Trystan." He said again, this time it was louder, more forceful. Pulling the other to him, before Trystan had time to try and retaliate, the other had decisively curled his arms around the other, one hand placed to the back of Trystans head, tangled in the charcoal locks. The other to the small of his back. Realizing his entrapment, the younger man finally gave in to his emotions, a sharp, painful cry coming from his throat. It was foreign to the helpless proto. Absolutely... foreign. Lithe fingers grabbed desperately at Mikhail, and the ice blue eyes usually filled with dry humor were now terrorized by horrible pain, horrible agony. "He's gone - " Trystan forced out, in between sobs. Mikhail held him tighter, like a lover would. "He's gone - he's gone - oh god, he left - he - " Mikhail let a soothing smile fall on his face, running fingers through Trystans hair and allowing him words. "He was everything - everything - and I - I cant believe I -" Another heartbroken sob filled the room. Crux felt every part of his body seize up again. He wanted to run, hide. He didn't want to feel this, see this, be part of this. It was all unneccesary to his purpose, and yet he was trapped with it no matter what.
Mikhail, meanwhile, leaned in close, pulling the other to him like cradling a fragile toy. There a smile on his face, one that sent shivers up the Protos exposed spine but kept him rooted in place. Mikhail had been the heir to the head of the Auclair family. He was knew all of the secrets of the family, was friends with the best of the best, and the worst of the worst. He could rip Crux apart - and even Crux knew that, and was too frightened to even try and fight against him. He was weak, in all senses of the word. He couldn't help Trystan, he couldn't protect him, couldn't save him. Mikhail could. A hateful shiver ran through Crux's body. He needed to become stronger, smarter, more knowledgeable. He needed to be what Trystan needed from him, not just another space that was hardly anything but another useless tool. Again, the wrath of guilt, self hatred, and insecurity washed over him.
Looking back at the Essentic with cool, neon green eyes, Mikhail smiled once more, his fox like intentions hardly innocent. Pulling the younger of the two closer to himself, the redhead began to whisper sweet nothings in his ear. A beautiful, terrifying string of lies. Crux couldn't handle it. His body, his robotic mind could not handle this painful writhing of emotions flooding his body. They weren't his own, and he didn't want them! Turning, the Proto forced himself to run. Run out of the bedroom, out the apartment, out of the feelings that were splitting. He couldn't survive this, couldn't handle it. He'd never experienced anything except for slight sensations of these monsters inside of humans. These things that he never wanted to feel like he just had. The overwhelming sadness, the hate, the pain, the love, the deep betrayal. How could someone survive that? His body forced him to run, his mind screamed to go back to Trystan. But he kept moving, through the alleys, out of sight, until he was blocks and block from the apartment complex, in the middle of an overcast morning, rain splattering the sidewalks and trashed asphalt surrounding him. Falling down onto his knees, his scanner glittered madly, and the head splitting pain of a headache from the emotional overload pressed into his mind and turned every last inch of his body molten heat.
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