Have you ever had one of those days where you wake up and feel like doing nothing more exciting than flopping around in your bed like a lazy bum? Today was one of those days for me, unfortunately however I had to clean up after a party and go out and help some friends get ready to move. So, once again a bit later than I had originally planned for, here is chapter two. I may or may not be able to upload for a couple weeks as I am going on vacation and won't be back until around the 4th of July.
As such, I hope you enjoy.
And also, Nero is not mine. Neither are Nykyrian, Syn or Hauk though they don't make any more appearances for a little while.
Chapter Two: The Hunt.
The harsh beeping of the theft alarms drew the attention of a tiny, balding man named Mkayle. He had the illustrious task of keeping track of many of the small details of the life of Nero Scalera. It had taken a very trying interview process from the man his self before being hired on as a glorified butler, but over the long years of his service Mkayle had proven himself to be invaluable.
"Messere, there has been a report of one of your ships being stolen." He called, standing in the doorway of Nero's study, carrying a folder holding all of the information. Of course, his boss did nothing but continue to flip through the page of an old book. The only indication to his mood was the sudden pop and hiss of the landlink beside him, and the flicker of the lights.
"Is that so? And just who was the idiot who did that, do you know?" He asked lightly, still keeping his steel gray eyes on the printed pages. His thumb started to brush across the leather backing almost subconsciously, a habit when he was deep in thought.
"There is no identification as of yet, but the tracking beacons have been successfully deployed, and the thief was tracked to a small flat in Ritadaria." Mkayle answered, finally making the man lift his head.
"Well then… Mkayle, push aside all of my meetings for the next few days, I'm going hunting." Standing from his seat, Nero placed his book back on the shelf with meticulous care, making sure that it was perfectly straight and orderly before reaching over to shut off the desk lamp and grab his landlink from beside it. He didn't allow weapons in his study, because of the harm they could do to his books, and though many would think that foolish of him to leave himself undefended, it didn't matter. For, as a full-blooded Trisani male, he was never undefended. And God help the idiot who damaged even one page in this room… there was nothing he cared for more in his life than these books, save perhaps his friends, they were the ultimate luxury to him. As an escaped slave, he hadn't been allowed the knowledge of how to read while in servitude. For, if a slave started to read, they would start to think, and we couldn't have that.
Sneering, he left his study, closing and locking the door, before renewing the ward he kept around the door. A combination of both technology and Trisani protection, not even Syn could have gotten in there with his hacking skills. His next stop was to his bedroom, where several blasters and knives were waiting, along with his custom Armstitch uniform. Quickly changing, he kept his back to the mirror in the room, doing his best to avoid looking at the scars on his back. They were ugly reminders of a past that he couldn't afford to forget, and a past that was what drove him to pursue the career of a Tracker.
Tucking his knives into the sheathes that were hidden all over his body, he pulled on the light blue button-up shirt, and the pair of black slacks that were required. Fastening his blaster into the holster, he strapped the backup into his boot before looking around. Last but not least, he pulled on a pair of black sunglasses, heading next for his office. Unlike his study, his office was fully decked out in a technologic wonderland of security monitors and computers. Sitting down at the central mainframe, he pulled up the tracking codes he would need to activate the GPS chip that was installed secretly in each and every one of his ships. Each one belonging to a different make, model and categorized by docking area, it took only a minute or less for him to access the information on the black fighter that had been stolen.
Entering the tracking code, he watched as several points highlighted on the map of the universe, jumping around from planet to planet before it zoomed in on none other than Ritadaria. Hissing in annoyance, he watched as it zoomed into a street view of a set of slums, before landing on a lot numbered XE24009. A little text bubble appeared, giving him the street address and the apartment number—18C—along with the name of the person the apartment was registered to.
"Moyra Torsney huh? Well Miss Torsney, you have stolen from the wrong person." He mused, a ruthless smile on his face. Thieves were few and far between for him these days, and it was refreshing to get one, least of all one who was wanted in pretty much every system in the Ichidian universe. It was time to go hunting and lucky him he was feeling pretty well charged on his powers. The poor bitch wouldn't know what hit her until it was too late. Oh well, he was beyond sympathy now.
Closing his eyes, the steel gray turned to dark red as he gathered his energies around him, focusing on the address listed below. He might just bring the girl in alive and have her tossed into jail for making him come to Ritadaria. It was by far one of his least favorite places to go, hell he would prefer Rook to that hellhole any day! He had bad memories on Ritadaria, and more than just a few people who wanted him dead on the planet.
Teleporting was… an interesting sensation to say the least, and it felt as if he were being forced into a little rubber tube. The compression made breathing all but impossible, and when that was finally over, it felt like he was being jabbed by pins and needles. Not at all a pleasant thing, but luckily it only lasted for a few moments. Even less pleasant than the experience of teleporting was the apartment he found himself in. It was bare, with basically the minimum necessities. A small kitchen that contained a small fridge, a sink and a stove. The two cabinets there were hung open on broken hinges revealing a cracked bowl and a dented tin cup, and a box of crackers. The tiles were worn and chipped, and the wallpaper might have been hideous if it weren't for the fact that it was so faded that the patterns couldn't even be seen.
Pathetic.
He might have considered just leaving at the sorry state of the place, but then he was never one to back down from a fight. The sound of muttering drew his attention to the door in the back of the kitchen and, straining his hearing, Nero picked up the faintest melody of rain hitting glass. Hand on his blaster; he crept to the hallway that led to the bedroom, steps lighter than the air. There was no lock on the door, which he had expected, and his hand lightly closed around the knob. It glowed red hot, instantly searing his hand and making the Trisani snatch it back. Eyes narrowed, he healed it with a passing thought before turning his attention fully on the offending handle. Even with his Trisani senses, he could not tell what it was that had made the handhold burn as it did, and that did not sit well with him.
In fact, upon closer inspection he realized that he could not pick up on the thoughts of any sort of life form in the room, though he was positive that there was someone in there. That effective mind blockage was something he'd only experienced a few times before, and that had been during his sparse interactions with his fellow species. An interesting development if this woman was Trisani, but now he just had to find out a way to get behind that door. It stood to reason that if there was some sort of ward on the doorknob then there would be one on the door. Pursing his lips, Nero studied the door for the briefest of seconds before holding his palm flat up, parallel to the pane of wood. Clenching his hand into a fist, the wood splintered and crushed, revealing a pitch black room. The natural melody of the thunderstorm rolled and crashed through the room, despite the clear night sky whose stars glittered through the closed window. Nero took his first, cautious step into the room, reaching out to the wall for a light switch. He could hear the sound of slow, even breathing, but the slightest sound of rustling fabric had his entire body tensing. When nothing more happened after a few minutes he relaxed his stance slightly and continued his search for the light switch.
It was strange how dark the room was, even to his own eyes, and he strained to dilate his pupils in order to take in more light. He should have been able to see in the dark, but it was like this room was a void of all light. The sheets shifted again, and a flash of blue iris was the only warning he had before a heavy, body sized force collided with him. There was the sound of cursing in a language he didn't know—which was strange considering he knew almost every language out there—and the lights turned on , illuminating the room and the woman who was poised on top of him.
He was floored by her beauty; she had a diamond shaped face topped with a wild mane of curly red hair. Her eyes were the right shade of blue to drive a man to insanity, and her lips promised pleasure every step of the way. He almost groaned when her little pink tongue darted out to moisten her upper lip, before she pressed the blade of her knife to a certain part of his anatomy that was currently developing a mind of his own. Especially considering the fact that she was dressed in nothing more than a sports bra and a pair of boxer shorts that exposed a tribal bear tattoo resting on her hip.
"Who are you?" She asked, her voice a husky contralto that made that knife press very uncomfortably against him.
"I could ask you the same thing, but I already know who you are; you're the broad who was stupid enough to steal from me." He growled, shoving her off of him with a blast of mental energy. He watched as she flew backwards, a surprised expression on her pretty face as he scrambled to his feet, eyes flashing their characteristic dark red.
"Ah, you're the owner of that pretty little Pritan fighter… well if you want it back I'm sure you can find the pieces scattered around here somewhere." She smirked, her own eyes flickering colors. Unlike his own however, they were a few shades brighter, which was something he was not used to. Trisani all had dark red eyes when they used their power, the color of dried blood, but hers reminded him of red hot metal.
"You're going to pay for that bitch. I'm taking you in." He sneered, switching his blaster to stun before aiming it dead center at her chest. To his surprise, the woman simply smirked, running a hand through her hair before resting it on her bare hip. Nero had to fight to keep his eyes from trailing down her almost nude body, his gaze locked on hers. Of course his imagination had no problems filling the blanks in for his mind.
Don't go there idiot… this one is a very dangerous enemy. He thought savagely, mentally berating himself.
"You're going to need a lot more than that cute little toy to take me in sweetheart." She grinned, inspecting her hand nonchalantly. Nero frowned at her blasé tone, instantly turning a suspicious eye to her as his finger tightened around the trigger ever so slightly.
"And what makes you think you can stop me?" He demanded, eyes flicking to the window for just a second. He had thought he'd seen a shadow move, but it must have just been his imagination.
"Easy," the smirk on her face had spread from arrogant to demented as her slender fingers curved into claws. "I can do this."
In the cradle of her palm a ball of blue flames burst into being, lapping at her fingers as it grew in intensity. She pulled her hand back as if to throw it, and Nero saw an unmistakable movement outside the window. After that, a few things happened at once.
Just as the criminal prepared to strike with her flame—and he was still having a hard time figuring out that little nugget—Nero pulled the trigger of his blaster, sending a blue line of stunning fire straight at her. It hit it's mark, but no sooner had she hit the ground than someone crashed through the window, sending shards of glass everywhere. He was dressed from head to toe in black, with a full facial mask that only revealed a set of fiery red eyes that were even lighter than Torsney's. The next thing he noticed was that on the chest of the man's suit a phoenix was painted in swirling red, it's feather's curling around a symbol of a flame.
"Who the fuck are you?" He demanded, an annoyed expression on his face. He didn't know who the newcomer was, but judging by the way he was dressed Nero's money was on an assassin.
"Do not concern yourself with this, coimhthíoch. This one is wanted for greater crimes than you could ever understand. If you interfere, your life will be forfeit." The mysterious stranger answered, his voice rough, and slightly hoarse.
"You're not taking her, this is my mark!" Growling, Nero switched his blaster to kill as his temper flared.
"I am warning you now coimhthíoch, let me pass in peace." The man pulled out a long, wickedly curved knife that flashed with flecks of blue as he tossed it from hand to hand. Nero rolled his eyes in irritation before opening fire. The assassin managed to dodge most of the attacks, but one hit him full on in the chest, burning a hole in the thin material of his suit. When the flames died down however, the Trisani was surprised to find that there wasn't even a red spot on his skin.
"What in the—" He never had the opportunity to finish the sentence because at that moment the assassin let loose a volley of small fireballs that required his immediate attention. Throwing up a shield, he watched as the flames slammed against them, causing several scorch marks in the room. Watching his enemy with a critical eye, he assessed the man's movements as they circled each other. The assassin seemed to be favoring his left leg more than his right, suggesting a previous injury that was ripe for exploiting.
Keeping the shield around himself, Nero started firing off some rapid shots, doing his best to keep his opponent distracted. With a slight flick of the wrist that was imperceptible to the human eye, he sent a crippling blow of telekinetic energy against his right leg. Rewarded with seeing his opponent crumple to the ground with an agonized screech, he ruthlessly thrust his fist into the man's chest, crushing his still beating heart with his bare hand.
"I don't like it when people get in my way." He whispered, ripping his now bloody hand out and kicking the body to the side. Wiping the blood off on the theif's threadbare sheet, he went over to inspect her unconscious form. She was thin from far too many nights without food and the way her hair spread out around her face it was as if she were wreathed in a halo of fire. The image was broken by the trickle of blood that was running from her split lip, and Nero remembered with disgust just why he was here.
"You have some questions to answer." Tossing her onto the bed, he tied her ankles to the bed, before lifting a strange set of cuffs off of the corpse at his feet. They appeared to be made out of gold, but the metal was far stronger than gold could ever be, and there were runes etched into the surface in what looked like blue stone. Shrugging, he snapped the cuffs around her wrists, before picking up the blade that had would have been used to kill him no doubt. It was silver this time, and the edge was lined with the same, glittering blue material with different runes stamped into them. Frowning, Nero set the knife down well away from where she could reach and went in search of a chair he could sit in while he waited for her to regain consciousness.
Coimhthíoch: Outsider.