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Forget what the movies say, this was real.

Life and death was a matter of seconds not a long drawn out fight that lasted several minute and made the crowd munch through a whole bag of popcorn in their seats.

Knives didnt make little scratches that heroes brushed off. Knives made wholes, like the kind in Izzy's stomach. The Punker would feel the stinging sensation of stomach acid leaking with blood into and onto her innards. This would hurt. And unless she received medical attention, her chances of surviving werent that great.

What made a real badass versus a movie shmuck was that despite this Izzy fought back. Her bonds snapped and the rope fell to the floor. The blonde's eyes opened as she saw Izzy's hand move exactly in the way they shouldnt have been moving and then...Smack.

Yes. Smack. Because thats the sound of the side of a fist hitting a neck. The sound of a knife cleanly going all the way into the meat and then fingers meeting supple and ruined flesh. Izzette's hands were not just vicious, they were wet. Blood spurted from the severed jugular, literally bubbling from the wound in squirts as the blonde womans beautiful voice was replaced with wet gurgles the panicked looked on her face. She would have died a horrible death. But...

...Izzy snapped her neck back very hard, and there was a pop. Her entire body, in the Punker's arm went as limp as a puppet with its strings cut. In a half a second she was silence and reduced to the past tense. She was meat. Dead. If the black haired badass wanted to continue sawing her neck, so be it. The singer was long. Her bright eyes lost all their glow and just dimly stared up at the other woman. Completely lifeless.

Blood. Blood everywhere. But the fight was done.

Izette was alone in the room except the corpse of her victim and glowing puddle of red from her self and the final dying beats of a heart. And yet...completely alone in the room...she was slapped clean across the face. Back handed in an empty room!

And then her eyes opened. Izzy was sitting in a chair in the middle of the exact same room. A set of large fingers could be felt on either side of her head, belonging to a strong set of hands that left no wiggle room for her head to move. Her hands, feet, legs, arms, and elbows were bound by several white pull ties. They were small, but together they allowed almost no motion except worm-like squiggling in her seat. Izzy was not wearing her jacket. She had thrown that away when Soul began working its way into her system.

Izzy's first sight through blurry eyes would be the exact same woman she just murdered wiping her hand on her dress as if she had just touched something filthy, and standing a few feet in front of her. A deep voice from behind her said, "These Reaper shits are tough. She just killed you V."

The blonde let out disgusted sort of grunt and then flopped down on a long couch, lit a smoke...one of Izzy's smokes...and then sprawled out along the couch like a big cat with her pig-tailed head leaning lackadaisically over the edge of the couch taking a nice long drag. Her skirt and top just barely keeping her curves from spilling into a free show. The woman waved the cigarette around and said. "What do you expect from the ******** hands of death? ******** her, try her friend. Make it nasty. He drained half the Soul stash trying to save her stupid a**."

And with that she gestured to the opposite couch. A man lay sprawled across the couch, visible unconscious with the edges of a red welt peeking across from his forehead from where he had been struck. Maximos had seen better days. The large man released Izzy's head and then sort of unceremoniously shoved her out of the seat where she could fall on the filthy red carpet as he hoisted Maximos up and set him in the chair as easily as one might lift and set a small child. He put his hands on Maximos head the same way they had been on Izzy's, and grinned.

The woman chuckled and said, "If he doesnt crack. Kill him. Then the b***h'll talk."

The man holding Maximos' head was absolutely nothing special. He was a bouncer like any of the club bouncers Izzy had seen earlier. Just a guy wearing a shirt several sizes too small to show off muscles several sizes too big. There were gloves on his hand with weird markings on the back of either palm. Bright green circles, and shapes with small detailed text added in impossibly fine text. The moment the beefy fingers touched Maximos' head the pale man grumbled under his breath, stirred, and then frowned.

Izzy herself was completely ignored as if she were quite literally one of the discarded cigarette butts that littered the floor around her.

A few second later the large bouncer started laughing and said. "Haha this is brutal! I did what you said V, I put him in with all the people he killed. Theres got to be a whole city worth of people in there and he's not even fighting!"

V made a bored sort of groan and slithered along the couch. Izzy would be able to hear the shuffling of red upholstery, and likely smell the scent of burning cigarette get closer.

It was probably hard to see in her current situation, but sprinkles of ash were falling beside and onto her head. V was sprawled backwards on the couch with her head upside down hanging a foot or so above Izzy and was flicking the cherry of her stolen down on the Punker.

And then for no apparent reason except to be mean she giggled and just reached her hand down and ground the spent cigarette out on the back of Izzy's head. What a b***h! Whatever was going on around her face, no one seemed to care.

Well...

...That was disturbing.

There were however a few devilish details that conspired to make Izette's attempt at...aggressive diplomacy go less smoothly than planned.

First off, was Izzy herself. V was paying absolutely no attention to what was going on on the floor, but if she was going to put a cigarrette out in something she had to look at it, and if that something was entirely jet black...well. It might have been a tad more hidden if Izette was wearing her jacket. But as she was a pale woman and wearing revealing clothing...things went a bit differently.

V looked at her upside down, as her head was still hanging over the edge of the couch and her face twitched, like a cat wriggling its whiskers. You definitely have to take notice when your prisoner turns jet black and becomes several times her previous size and...a man. V was sure she was dealing with Reapers the most gifted killers the world knew, powers were a given and deadliness was required.

The singer's arm was grabbed and she was pulled. But she never struck the floor. As she was upside down on the couch when she was pulled, she flipped instead. Her legs flew over her head up, so that in one nimble motion both of her thighs were around the manly Mr. Prechtl's neck. Muscles or not, the clamping of said thighs would begin to do horrible things to Izette's air supply.

This left room for the next detail. Izzy had no jacket. And there were precious things, in Izette's jacket. Things like knives and smokes. One of which V was now pulling from the thin line of her plaid mini-skirt, popping open, and using her free hand she would begin impaling Izzy's wrist until she let go or passed out from suffocation. It seemed more likely she was let go, even if simply because somewhere in all that stabbing V was bound to find the tendon required to hold a fist shut, and sever it. All the while, Miss V held a somewhat lazy expression on her face. Absolutely taunting. If Izzy let go it would take about a second for V to be wielding two knives and prep herself for other fancy cutting work.

If after that, Izzy was still advancing on the big bouncer, the final detail came into play. The burly man jerked Maximos' head to the side, so that it faces Izzy and then grinned. And then in a tone that was absolutely amused he said. "One more step and I snap his neck like a twig."

Izzy was in his body. She had to know he could do it. And easily, he already had his hands in the perfect position. Logic stated she couldnt have been faster than him if she was him. She would have to move and swing. He only had to twitch. "Your a good looking guy. Nice pecs. But I like your rack better, why dont you turn back now...niiiice and slow."

About now, if Izzy hadnt done anything about her V would be performing a neat sit up, and then sliding one of the knives down the space between her thighs, which so wonderfully lead to Izettes jugularly. She didnt stab, she just held it there. At which point she sighed, a long dramatic sigh and said. "Yeah p***y cat. You dont look good butch."

Assumptions. In a haze of rage Izette had made two many of them, or not enough of them and now there was something of a price to pay.

The Punker was not a logical thinker, but then again it honestly could not be said that she was hired so that she could think logically. Izette Asis Prechtl was hired so that she could be exactly everything she was, and she was doing it swimmingly. It wasnt really her fault that while briefly explained, the actual depth of what she was dealing with was intentionally kept beyond her reach.

In this particular case, she was dealing with foes expecting a set of the most deadly killers in existence to stroll in their front door. Not much men with guns, but killers able to remove people in a room without causing so much as a ripple in the crowd. The boogiemen of the supernatural world, only boogiemen most people do not realize they should be afraid of until its entire too late. That meant that anyone willfully crossing the Reapers had better have their proverbial "s**t together", or their excursion outside the law was nothing to last very long. Holding two Reapers hostage by way of two mundanes with zip ties...was not up to par. Allister had hired V, and in turn, V ran a club expecting the Reapers to come and try and kill her and her boss. She was chief of security in an entirely illegal operation, that made her...while perhaps not visibly so...something of a tough-girl.

But looks, especially on Gaia, could be deceiving.

And now, Little Miss V, was being forced to prove that fact. Mr. Izzy crashed backwards toward the nearest wall. And while she might have expected to have smooshed a woman between her and the cinderblocks...she didnt. Izzy would only feel her back striking hard stone. She was supposed to have a hold of V's wrist...and yet in her hand was nothing, and now things were going terribly wrong, terribly fast.

What Izette could not see, was what happened behind her. The wall zoomed closer and V turned at the waist, her hand smacked against the wall and shoved her forward. It required a good amount of abdominal strength, but had done her crunches. V, with the added shove of her arms glided around Izzy's shoulder and in front of her. Her moist thighs letting he swing around the Punker's neck like some sort of human hoolahoop. How did her hands get free? There was no telling. But their were no knives left in Mr. Prechtl's wrist to be grabbed. None of that mattered. What mattered right now was the one hundred pounds of extra force, literally swinging around his/her neck and the strength of those thigh-master enforced legs that were tugging her to fall forward and down. The natural bodies reaction would be to curl forward under the weight, meaning she was more likely to flip and land on her back than fall dead forward. There were as many martial arts as knives on Izzy's person that taught little people how to bring down very big people.

Before Izzy fell, V was already continuing her assault. Assumptions had very likely lead to a fall. In this case, assuming V was mundane, but also assuming that the thug handling Maximos was something other than human. He was big, he was muscular...but he was just a guy. V was in the process of proving that she wasnt. As she spun and tugged Izzy to the ground with her legs, V aimed both of her hands at the burly punker's face. She was hold both knives, but there was something wrong with one of her wrists. Her hand was normal, and her forearm was normal, but her wrist at a width exactly equal to Izzy's new man-hand was whispy and grey like smoke or ash.

Just as quickly as Izzy could notice that, she would see twin gouts of gray and black air fly at her face from V's hands. It was smoke, which should have had very little effect on the man-woman, but something was wrong with it. It was hot and stung the eyes like tear gas and pepper spray, and yet it was thick and painful so that while it could be breathed in, it cause the person to immediately break into coughs and chokes. Coughs and chokes were not something that a person who thighs crushing their windpipe wanted to deal with.

On top of the fancy kung fu motion V had pulled off, it seemed almost a done deal that Izzy was headed straight for the ground. Through the unnaturally thick smoke it was impossible she would be able to see anything, but she would be able to feel the thighs still crushing around her neck and hear the bouncer chuckling, as V spoke in a sickeningly sweet tone. "Dont get cute with me Izzy-poo. Tap out and I'll let you breath. You lost, and now you and your friend, are going to work for me."

This would have all gone terribly wrong if the big guy was trying to subdue Iz, while V worked Max's head. V just had to do her homework. Two prisoners. Both unconscious and one room. All the time in the world to Google the face of a famous HoH fighter. One big beefy guard as a distraction and seemingly the best choice to shift two, one devilish Minx with all the real combat ability hidden in a dirty little blonde package. As it was, all was according to plan.

The water started at his ankles.

It was little more than a trickle rushing around the soles of his boots and amidst its whisper was the whisper of voices far in the distance. Perhaps there was a city past the trees, active enough to be heard through the night and through the trees. Was this the outskirts of Aekea? Had they simply dumped him out in the woods to be killed by nature? It seemed a rather ineffective strategy but...for the time being all he had to do was walk. And all he had to walk toward was the end of the stream.

For some reason it never crossed his mind to exit the stream and walk along the banks. They were about equal with his head, but he was confident he could climb them. He just didnt want to. There didnt seem to be a point. And so he walked, on and on.

Time seemed to be an immeasurable thing. There was no moon, the stars did not move and all he had to count or measure was his own footsteps. A few steps later and Max could have sworn he saw shapes moving through the treeline. Nothing moved very fast, or was visible enough to be recognized, but there was definite motion. And then water was deep enough to roll over the top of his boot and wet his laces. He shrugged and trudged along.

Around a bend, standing against the opaque light from some unseen source was a figure. It seemed like a person but its proportions were all of. Its stood as if its frame could not support its weight and this was simply the way its mass fell. It seemed so odd, that Maximos couldnt turn away. And then his foot sloshed through the water ahead of him. He felt an uncomfortable chill as wetness ran over his ankle and then slithered its way around the mouth of his boot and surrounded his foot. His next foot fall was accompanied by a squishy feeling between his toes that made him frown deeply at his foot.

A scream filled the air. Not fear, not pleasure, but pain. Deep and sudden pain. Maximos had caused it enough times to recognize it. He recognized it so deeply that it was almost as if he himself had caused it. As if it were a memory not a present thing. He paused, and immediately checked either bank of the stream and yet there was nothing. No one. But when he stepped forward again he found the water sloshing around the height of his knees. In the night, the trickling stream had become deep and dark enough to almost appear black and bottomless. It was as if Maximos was walking through a liquid void, a positively unsettling thing to say the least. He took his next few steps with his eyes in the mire, watching the pitch liquid glide cooly around and through his pant legs, and waiting for something to move or reveal itself beneath the surface. And then...

"YOU!" The voice was pained and rageful, it came out with a dry rasp and a bent sort of warble. Maximos' eyes snapped up to see someone pointing and shouting from the river bank. There was a man standing on the edge of the rocky slope, he was dressed in black romanesque armor of white and gold which glimmered in the unseen light source. His arms were muscled and fit and tanned, his hair was bright golden sort of blonde, and his head was dangling violently sideways in a brutal way that no living creature could survive. What was worse, Maximos knew him. He didnt know his name or anything about him, but just look at the pained death mask on his face he could remember the feel of the man's windpipe snapping. The quite reverberation along his forearm as he wrenched his head into that terrible pose.

"YOU KILLED ME!" The man screeched, the broken meat of his neck clearly giving his voice a morbid warp. His words were sounded through a numb and cold face that barely moved when he spoke. But Maximos couldnt fight the truth that yes, he did indeed do that. That horrible thing. It wasnt just any kill, it was his first. Looking back at it was like comparing childish sketches to the Mona Lisa. He couldnt help but see how his killing talents had grown, he couldnt help but remember the gut sickening guilt of that first kill. How he threw up beside the body. How he never wanted to be that...and then the comparison to who he was today. The monster... Maximos' hands fell down at this side limp, he didnt even notice how the water had risen high enough to touch his fingertips now.

"I was so young...I'm--" A shrill voice cut him off.

"MONSTER!" The voice came out wet and garbled. A woman in her early years, barely 20 stood at the opposite bank of the river. What appeared to be jagged edges of broken pots, pans, and clay wears were stabbed through her body in random painful places. The obstructions made her lope forward, letting light shine on the wet half of a plate protruding from the front of her neck and out the back. In a moment, Maximos knew her. The Destroyer's first victim, a woman selling wares. The man before was Maxine's killer, a Light warrior during a Shadow land raid.

"I'm sorry..." The words fell, lifeless out of his mouth. He stepped forward toward her and felt wetness around his wrists and forearms. He might have reached for her, but somewhere in his mind he was sure his hands were wet with their spilled blood and he couldnt bare to see it. All at once the trees on either side of the stream broke into a roar of sound. Yells, screams, cries, but most importantly, accusations. People rushed from between branches and crawled out from bushes. People missing pieces, people moving haphazardly, people with faces contorted in unspeakable pain and hatred. With wide sword gashes ripping them to shreds, or moving with limbs and flesh attached by strands. People massacred and mutilated. People with injuries that no one could survive, and people who didnt survive. They were not zombies. Their hearts beat, their pain was real and their wounds bled in fountains down the angled slopes of the stream banks.

"No, no, NO! I take it back! It wasnt supposed to be like that!" Maximos pleaded, looking side to side, splashing the water with his violent turns and desperate protests. He yelled until his voice was drowned out by their voices. By the creative deaths that had granted him his medical knowledge, people missing single organs, skinned, poisoned, bloated and drowned. By the Reaper targets, all who felt deserving of life. Little children. Monsters. Immortals. Maximos hands slapped to either side of his face, covering his ears, squeezing his head and thrashing side to side. The chill of the water was washed over his soaked shirt, pressing the cold to his chest and yet he felt nothing inside. A hollow nothing that stretched on forever and ever. He no longer thrashed or fought, but clamped his head between his hands and repeated his apologies like a mantra. A chant. A plea no one would listen to.

Lost in a wet and frozen world of apology, Maximos didnt even notice that while he was no long moving, the water was being splashes, rippled, and stirred. The voices were closer, close enough he could feel body heat surrounding him. He opened his eyes and released his head just in time to feel the first hands grab him and tug him one way. Then another way. Then another. Countless people were sliding down the river banks, falling, rolling, and thrashing at him. Pulling him this way and that until some poor soul missing its lower half and crawling along the stream floor jerked his ankle out from under him and down Maximos went. Pulled under, pulled over, scratched and clawed.

Soon all there was were splashes of pink water, which was progressively becoming more and more scarlet and screams. Their screams, his screams, screams to tear the silent night to pieces and drown him away as surely as the water.

--

"Oh good. Good." V said. The smoke peeled away from Izzy's throat like so much tape off of an arm. It let her breath, and then V's thighs followed suit, parting just enough to let air through without giving a view of what lied beneath her skirt.

Izzy would be able to see the wisps and curls of thick grey stuff swirl upwards and forward and then begin to coalesce into a sort of shape. From withing the fog of smoke and soot, were suddenly V's arms. They looked as if they were steaming, lines and curls of white wafting off of them, then wafting into them, until V looked just as normal as she did when this all began. Only clearly now, she was not. She reached a hand out and sensually rubbed it down the Punker's manly chin.

"I'd really hate to have to kill you. You seem like so much fun!" And she giggled.

"But I'm sick and tired of working for a deadbeat demon with an immortality complex." V lost all flair and seemed to spit the words. And then, she paused, long enough to reach into her cleavage and pull out a Izzy's cigarette box, and a lighter, light it. And take a long and easy drag. "So you and your neat little friend their are going to a job for me. And then I'm going to kill you. Easy enough? Still with me Mr. Lady?"

The bodyguard let out a big booming laugh. "Oh man! When he's done he's gonna be nuts! I hope y'dont need your friend to do much thinkin'!"

A dark doorway appeared at the end of an alleyway only a block south of the Aekea central library.



Samantha stepped through the portal before she answered, there were no surprises on the other side... no sudden drops from 500 feet, there wasn't even any garbage in the alley!

"Loki's priest set a trap for her in an attempt to recapture me while I was still feeling sorry for myself. Hono'o spent almost a week trapped in a sealed pit before he let her out to try and persuade her to be a good little girl... now she can';t help but to worry that every portal has a trap spell set in it just for her." sweatdrop

Sam nodded slowly even as she raised her left hand in a simple gesture that would have wiped away several of the runes on the door frame back in Latent... the gesture worked just fine from this side, the portal's outline breaking up and then disappearing as the energies were sent back to their ordinary flows. "He will no longer trouble anyone... and that, is the story of how Hono'o truly became and orphan." sweatdrop

Not wanting to stand around in an alleyway all day Sam turned and headed towards the street where all manner of vehicles were whipping past at dangerous speeds. "The library is this way, just the next block over... it is best not to linger in the alley, or a sweeper might get you!" wink

Samantha stopped and turned to look at John, wondering to herself why the big man was dawdling... perhaps his headache was distracting him.

Slowly she turned and walked back to him, looking up at his blue eyes as her white hair drifted lazily around her on the wind of the passing cars. "Do you need me to hail a cab? I forgot that you are feeling unwell, please accept my apologies."