~The Sunken Text
)0(
A Ranger’s Tale
The city of
Blomfeld had always been a byword for prosperity and bustle, a success story
inked by prudence and hard work. The soldiers stationed were strong, their
discipline untested yet. Soaring seagulls used to frequent above its fortified
walls, alas for their status usurped by cawing crows. An ill omen are these
carrion birds, whispered the common folks amongst themselves. Surely they are
ready to feast upon our children’s flesh and our fallen selves, wailed the
smallborne unto each other.
“No
please! I beg you!”
If there
was to be any response from her lover’s assailants, Tina received nary a word
for an answer. And why should they? Taunted by an inner voice dripping with
sarcasm, Tina could only try shutting herself away. The harsh reality greeting
her lover prone on the ground, the cold hard truth dictating life was never
fair… everything about this world was merely a mockery and lie worshiped by the
naïve. And Tina Wells indeed belonged to those girls fully grown, yet unwilling
to mature.
“What did Bren do? He only wanted
to return your lost pouch!”
“Shut up, bitch! Something
important went missing. We’re just wanting to teach this thief a lesson unless
you’re willing to offer yourself on his behalf.”
“O… o…
oh shit,” stammered one of the thugs in fear, “Sean, bugger’s not moving…”
If a
murderer was capable of guilt, Sean Reon chose not to make his shown.
Scratching his finely-groomed face nonchalantly, the wiry ringleader shrugged
with apathy. Tina then started fearing for the worst, ravens perched making
their restlessness heard.
No… Bren… don’t leave me behind.
O’ Holy Father above, let Your miracle show, please deliver me and Bren from
evil men…
“Okay,
let’s grab the girl and go run somewhere.”
Tina’s
world swiftly came crashing down, romantic ideals gleaned from written books
and minstrels’ songs at last caving in. Her heart utterly crushed, she could
only sense her empty soul cruelly raped as her body numbed was roughly groped.
)0(
“Damn,
she’s a tight one,” sneered a hulking brute, “Bitch’s gonna fetch a handsome
price, no?”
“I’ve
got fine taste in maids meant to be whores,” snorted Sean, “Me and my fellas
have enjoyed enough. Rest is up to you.”
A
violent gale promptly launched its attack on the trees, their swaying limbs
akin to dead people demanding redress. Sean knew that feeling, but he
nevertheless dismissed that chill penetrating his spine. Many a time, his gang
had committed the same act. Many a time, he was the only one playing scoffer.
Retribution my sorry ass. As if
tonight I will die.
There
were plenty of ways for justice served, underneath the shadows an assassin
lurked. One could never predict when and where a Ranger will strike, let alone
whether or not. Sean Reon might have picked a wonderful victim for his
senseless assault and a perfect prey, but nobody ever told him a wolf was ready
to lop his head off.
Flashing
silver and ice blue orbs hailed his horrified stare, gushing fountain red and
headless stump supplanted a living man. Fear seized every individual save for
one wholly broken, a monster dark and fearsome had his back facing them. A
longsword was baptised in blood, his hood let down. Beneath the twinkling stars
exposed his hair of purest frost, an act no better than brutal rape complimented
the night time sky.
“So
how?” mocked the brazen butcher with shoulders shrugged, his visage still
facing the opposite end, “Are you lot gonna let pass this chance to run?”
At last
breaking down, the craven quartet fled the scene. Two arcing slashes and one
forceful thrust later, the fertile soil finally drank its fill of freshest
blood. All were dead except one, the whore dealer quavering in terror with his
pants soiled.
“Tell me
where is he,” snarled the dusky Elf,
his features now contorted, “Either I show you mercy or living hell once I’m
done.”
“I… I…
don…”
“You
don’t know? You don’t fucking know who?”
Maniacal
laughter torn asunder the silent night, a wolf’s baleful howl heard from afar.
It was then when Marh Fres beheld a crimson stare burning bright, its promise
of agony and murder beckoning a sinful sheep.
)0(
Dawn had raised its
fiery banner, the morning larks serving as heralds. A cloudless sky greeted the
walls of Blomfeld, the ever loyal Red Lions keeping their vigil. At last hearing
the tolling bell ringing from a tower strong and tall, a squad of six arrived
to assume their shift. Bumping fists with their fellow fighters, only a fool
would say all is well.
“How’s…”
“Mad
Ian’s alright,” snorted Joes Mouriz, his expression that of amusement, “The
only thing he can’t do is to take a swig or two. If Moggray didn’t bail out,
that emotional bastard would have been much quieter. So what brings you here,
geezer?”
If there
was anyone capable of riling Fergie Malom, surely that person could only be the
Gaffer of Stamford Division. As head of the Red Lions, he was definitely the
oldest of the lot. The Red Lions comprised of aspiring smallborne youths, all
ten Gaffers were veterans choosing retreat over glory and honours. None of them
had ever said much to each other pertaining to their shrouded past, Moggray was
right in stating every hero’s demons are himself.
“The
reason why I am here is very simple: to keep watch over some problematic
assholes.”
“I hope
you don’t mean me, Fergie.”
“Bullshit,
Joes. I know the law equally well compared to whatever those bastards in the
Church profess to know. The Church’s writ is merely there to prevent shit from
happening, not disabling the local enforcers’ right to diffuse major shit.”
Laughing
with his much younger counterpart in spite of dire circumstances, the Gaffer of
Manchester Division felt a momentary surge of rejuvenation coursing through his
aging veins. This wasn’t some mystical art at work, but rather the defiance of mirth
displayed before looming shadows. He had never feared death, but a brief
reflection or two at his iron grey hair cropped and wrinkles lining a beardless
chin would always fill his heart with lamentations. He’s a soldier and soldiers
should be used to losses by now. Yet, memory of his family fractured due to
duty was all too fresh despite three decades passing by. The Red Lions were his
only family left now, a soldier’s worst death lies in departing with hopes
unfulfilled.
How I yearn to hear Tanee calling
me gramps once again…
)0(
“Have you ever wondered what lies
ahead of death?”
I look blankly at the girl, the
hot summer wind relaying her flowery scent.
“No.”
Her resultant laughter filled my
heart with a feeling all too unfamiliar, something my inner sense is trying to
warn me about. Or is it?
“Listen up, neku. The Wild One does
not grant life without a purpose, death is merely there to appraise the value
of our actions.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking
about.”
No sooner I gave my reply, a
dainty finger poked my forehead hard. I hate it when people do that. My father
always does that after having me on the ground during training.
“Don’t worry, you’ll understand
sooner or later.”
)0(
“Fuck
this dream. Why am I seeing this over and over again?”
Mocked
by images belonging to the past, Aeranath casually vented his frustration by
spitting. His antic caught the eye of a slumbering prisoner, the sole cellmate yammering
away. Caring not for incessant curses hailing from an incarcerated mutt, the
Ranger’s anger was only further compounded by a pointless question gnawing him
away inside.
Shit… what was her name?
Then he
felt a rough grip shaking him like some worthless cur, the True Apostle’s
patience finally fraying rapidly like rope above fire.
“Yar
larkee yer nut sum brown bitch! A’ll fark ye mouth, kunt and ass all ar’t
once!”
Bestial
fury promptly seized Aeranath like a wolf pouncing onto an unsuspecting lamb, its
jaws clamping down hard on his spine. Painless flare consumed his mind, the
only scene greeting a fiery pair of azure orbs being tragedy itself.
That of a Demon
raping the nameless girl with insatiable lust, her naked body barely alive and
spirited eyes days before already dead.
)0(
“WHAT?!”
Never
before had Fergie Malom experienced such raging anger, blazing ire unbridled
coursing throughout pulsating veins.
This was not only a challenge to the law, but a mockery directed against
his convictions. Bravery of arms and wit in battle was to be the only way to victory,
not some bloody sorcery unproven! Yet there it was, the cold hard truth
shattering his world.
“Imposs…”
“Describe
the scene once again, Coles Ashe. Don’t you dare miss even a stitch, get me?”
If
Fergie Malom was a picture of fluster, Joes Mouriz managed to paint himself a
portrait of stoicism and composure. Young Coles only knew too well what his
Gaffer’s face means, it took a silent string of long prayers to calm him down.
“Entire
cell got burnt. Only one person dead, but that’s because he’s the only one
apart from him in the cell.”
“Anything
else? Tell me more, boy!”
“Stop,
boss!” snapped Joes, his strong hand stopping Fergie’s iron grip from exacting
more damage unto Coles Ashe’s crumbling fortitude, “You’re only dishing out
retribution undue and chagrin unwarranted.”
“And can
you tell me the answer?” retorted Fergie.
“Conflagration
without apparent cause, you happy? Want a fight, don’t you dare fucking try
duelling any of my lads.”
Detecting
accurately that dangerous tilt in Joes’ stance, Fergie could only let go and
let live.
“Glad
that you managed to get my message. Sorry for being crude, boss.”
)0(
The crows were
unusually placid, the cawing of hunger muted and sporadic. Before the vast sea
erected two giant statues, a harbour fortified and more than sufficiently
manned situated in between. Oft it was sung that two warriors unnamed and blessed
by the Soldier kept their vigil spanning many a year, their souls remained
lingering still. This was Gemini, the sea port famed by merchants and daunting
to invaders.
“Ah,
that’s some fine wine you’ve got here,” beamed Lars, a rascally grin betraying
his mirth, “Tell me, my maddest Ser. Who’s the fine girl giving you her
pledge?”
“You
like it, you take it. ‘Tis no pledge and neither is it from a lady.”
Being no
stranger to awkward ambience, the Demon Hunter whistled a merry tune as a
gentle breeze caressed his golden bangs. Moments soon materialised into brief
eternity, Arondight’s stoic silence forming a vast contrast complimenting Lars
Alterfate’s mysterious optimism.
“Say,
have you got any girl in mind, most honourable Ser?”
“Shut
up.”
“Aww…
don’t be shy,” smirked the mischievous man-child, his teasing grating on
Arondight’s calm, “Tell me more about her. Like is she feisty? I happen to know
a girl like that and her name’s Lol… hey, that’s mine!”
If
Aeranath had any qualms in taunting an old friend turned foe, the True Apostle
only flashed nary an expression. Taking a deep swig, he trotted off back to the
gates.
“He
doesn’t seem happy, that Aera Darko,” mused a genuinely curious Lars, “One
thing being granted total immunity from the law, quite another…”
No regards
were given to Lars’ stinging jape, Arondight’s stiffened posture insinuated a
hostile intent. The carrion birds abruptly stayed silent, their feast
subsequently exchanging for flight. As the hulking knight strode past a dead
cat half-eaten, Lars made his move.
“Don’t
even try.”
The air
swiftly became stifling, balmy sea breeze mere seconds ago reduced to death’s
whisper. Pausing his steps, Arondight nevertheless chose not to return a
glance.
“He’s a
danger to all…”
“Not to
us, foolish Ser.”
“I can
sense something in him which shouldn’t even exist,” snarled the glowering
youth, Lars Alterfate refusing to back down nonetheless.
“And why
should you care? I know I don’t,” shaking his head, the Demon Hunter betrayed a
brief visage no one never seen before.
“Piss
off, Demon Hunter. I’m being kind here.”
“Stay
down then,” shrugged a frowning Lars Alterfate, “That is unless you’re truly
all alone in this world since a lonely person won’t mind dying once or a
thousand time.”
If only this world is able to
understand empathy…
Damning
words from a damning past rocked Arondight, a beautiful lady blessed with
auburn locks and most innocent smile at last forcing his hand.
Beastly
roar tearing through the clearest sky, a vengeful bellow calling for blood
shocking all the nearby guards. A lethal swipe of steel met its rising match, a
silver chain topped by keenest blade sending it flying and shattered.
“That’s
a deadly sword, Ser Arondight,” commented Lars, a fighter’s gaze incompatible
with a jester’s words, “I’m pretty sure your life isn’t just about one single
weapon.”
Suffocating
force then grabbed both Arondight and the watchers in entirety, the latter
audience passing out. Surely this is indeed the finest of knights and maddest
of men, noted the wary Demon Hunter. Any consideration given to the unconscious
thrown to the wind, all Lars Alterfate desired now was to prevent Arondight
from marching straight into the square and tearing up Blomfeld. If Sarel Aphros
gave the trio total freedom to act within self-discretion, it meant the Church
was content to be knowingly ignorant.
Then
came the moment where Lars Alterfate had to make his call, momentary tardiness
otherwise shall definitely spell utter destruction and chaos. Volatile force
unseen rippled through the walls of Gemini, its stifling pressure ten times
worse than the wake of a violent earthquake.
Crackling sound and golden sparks
the only signs, a sudden blast ruptured altogether the surroundings and loftiest
sky.
)0(
“This is an act of murder, O’
Grand Damsel.”
“No less heinous than auctioning
off innocent girls like cattle to slaughter, O’ Gaffer of Stamford.”
“Unfortunately, that manner of
victim you speak so fervently about is now dead. Butchered by your man, I
suppose.”
“That is
reality,” smiled a white haired girl, her beautiful features attracting lustful
eyes till no end.
“Hey,
pretty lass!” accosted a fit young lad, his features well chiselled and comely,
“You alone?”
“So what
if I am?”
“Care
for a night? How much do you charge?”
Sarel
Aphros chuckled softly, the opportunist in her counterpart taking the cue.
“Excuse
me, I am looking for a certain Sally the Fair Haired. Is she around?”
“Huh?
What the fuck you’re babbling about?”
Quite
obviously riled by interruption unwanted, the youth grabbed a young boy of
olive complexion and who happened to have bad teeth by his collar. Shaking his
quarry like some rag doll without value, the bully finally threw his victim
down.
“Wow,
his breath stinks like latrine,” mocked the arrogant lad, a derisive wave of
the hand in front of his nose bringing forth laughter and cheering, “Moral of
the story: If someone is stronger than you, it means you should just either
ignore or shut up.”
“Are you
okay?” smiled Sarel as she handed the hapless boy a silken handkerchief, a
finger placed upon her dainty lips, “The fool is never defined by strength, for
cowardice to them means power.”
Then it
all happened in a blink of an eye, a flare of crimson red begetting a dead man
whose corpse retained whole. Silence and terror gripped every watcher’s heart,
this was the same boaster bereft of naught save for his life.
“Witch!”
blabbered the bartender, “A witch killed somebody! Help! Guards, guards!”
“QUIET!”
The
speaker’s voice hailed not from a girl, but a man fully grown. A Sudhlit stood
lazily before the patrons’ widened gaze, his visage wearing nary but a frown.
“Let me
get this clear across to you all unless you’re not retarded enough,” gesturing
to his audience first, the dark handsome youth then pointed to a smirking Sarel
Aphros, “If a witch desires to kill someone, that person would have been dead.
Understand me?”
“Is that
a threat?!” squeaked a timid serving wench, her fearful eyes betraying only a
fervent wish to survive.
“Thankfully
not,” beamed the Sudlhit abruptly, after which he turned towards the boy no
longer shaken, “Little boy, the next time anybody says you deserve to get it,
gut him alive. Get me?”
Horrified
gasps unveiling disbelief disrupted the deathly silence enforced mere seconds
ago, the Sudhlit clucked his tongue in reply.
“What I
spoke just now is a threat, the other statement a fact.”
)0(
“Don’t
worry, Milady,” sighed Tristan Ajax while wearing a relaxed grin, “The Ranger
is currently confirmed alive and fighting fit, our other two friends as well.”
“You do
not have to tell me that, Sniper,” reciprocated Sarel in like, “I know enough
to tell me all this.”
“What
about that kid then?”
“Give no
pursuit,” answered a sombre Grand Damsel, “To stage a hunt for an assassin
under the Serpent’s gold is folly, for Eliador de Lioncourt understands best
those he bought.”
“Ah
well, at least we didn’t get a gutted swine,” whistled Tristan casually.
“That
pretty boy is too handsome to be from some sow’s womb.”
“A
gutted dog then,” shrugged the Sudhlit bowman nonchalantly, “Men and dogs
switching places has always been a common sight.”
)0(
Gazing
impassively at the mirror of a lake before him, the First True Apostle betrayed
a knowing smile. Here he was witnessing a scene taken place somewhere within
the waters of time, the crackling blade that was Fragarach penetrating both
hostage and taker alike.
“One more step and the bitch
dies! You see my knife against her throat?”
“Tell me who sealed the Geis with
you.”
“You don’t understand what I’m
saying?”
“Fine then. Go fuck her in hell
and don’t ever come back again.”
“Wait… we ca…”
“Negotiate? I don’t do that with
dead people or those who are going to anyway.”
Exact
sequence of images looping endlessly, Aor finally decided enough was enough.
Not because of the innocent dead but rather an understanding on what he had
done. With a whisper, the master of Avalon walked away with swirling white
petals following his trail.
“How the Alpha yearns to see the
Omega once again, yet the cub still remains as one. Little wonder why mere
mortals will always choose to grasp the heel belonging to themselves.”
)0(
Background notes
Background notes
Miss(ing) a stitch: The act of missing out any detail, no matter how minor.
Alpha: A wolf with its own marked territory.
Omega: A homeless wolf spending its entire life seeking out any Alpha wolf's territory.
A/N-Omega wolves are not to be confused with normal wolves (otherwise known as a Gamma) which seek out any unclaimed territory as the top priority.
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