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___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?"
