Dew of Blood

The pavement was blisteringly hot beneath his feet. Only 10-years-old and holding his younger sister's hand, dragging her along behind him as she wailed sorrowfully, Joshua McClain did not look down at her feet, so he didn't know that they are bleeding, the soles cut open on the hot stone. All he could see was her face, red and swollen with exhaustion and fear, and he kept trying to tell her that things were going to be okay.

It was a stupid idea, going to the shore, away from their parents; it was stupid because he thought he would be able to remember the way back, and yet he was famous for not paying attention, everyone said so, especially his dad. He was 10-years-old, and, hand in hand with his baby sister, he was running up and down the pavement, looking for his parents, a circus that passes through for the empty streets, a bird that continues to collide with the window of a conservatory.

Her hand in his, he became conscious of her cries, and yet he could not bring himself to look back at her, again, could not turn to face her sad eyes and ash white hair, all he could focus on was the path beneath his feet, the swirling fog around him, and the haunting sound of the monstrous amphibian abomination that chased them both through the empty world beyond the shore. If he looked back, he would see that creature, that impossible monster, the kind his parents had told him did not exist, the kind that obviously did exist.

It was then that he caught glimpse of the sudden doorway fashioned of shifting silver ahead, it was then that he became aware of its movement on the horizon, shifting closer and closer. He was unable to stop, his feet refusing to slow. Behind him he heard the bellowing of the creature, and then, in alarm, felt a terrible wrenching, his young sister torn from his side.

He stumbled, toppling forwards into the doorway of shimmering mercury, and, turning too late, was just in time to see the young girl now in the clutches of the mutant monster, blood pouring down into her eyes.

x

The magenta and white armour reformed in a moment, and, in less than a second, was supplanted by the guise of another, his suit fashioned of silver and red tartan, armour clunky and boxy, a rectangular visor decorated along the line where his eyes would have been.

'Armoured Hero Ota,' the mechanism within his belt called out with mechanical bravado.

Snapping open two light-blades, orange and yellow, he rushed forward, hammering the blades in vast colourful arcs against McClain's staff and then tossing them upwards above him.

'Tiger!' the belt announced in the same bleating mechanical voice used by the K-R-A 2 armour.

The tartan of his armour transformed to tiger print, a cloak unfurling from his back, the head of the noble beast appearing atop his helm, forepaws draped over his shoulders.

Snatching the light-blades from the air as they turned green and blue, he twisted, cutting terrible slashes against McClain's chest as he lunged forward, breastplate exploding outwards in smoke and flame.

With one hand, he took hold of both blades, his hand twisting the buckle again.

'Fire!' the belt cried as the cloak vanished in a flash of white light.

Both blades and armour ignited in a pyre of flame, the armoured hero spinning on the spot before striking the other with a wave of fire, both swords still held in one hand as he switched the buckle anew.

'Cyber!' the machine voice called out as his armour expanded, a further layer emerging from godspace and appending itself to his suit in a flurry of flashing LEDs and thick wires and circuitry.

Tossing the right-hand blade to his free hand as the colour of the swords turned red and purple, he drove both weapons down into the boy's chest, leaving both buried there as he dropped to one knee, a distorted groan from regret stirring behind the silver mask.

Orion turned the buckle a third time.

'Fiber!'

Transforming into a flat, paper-thin version of his self, he sailed off, slashing back and forth across the armour of his enemy with a thousand lethal paper cuts and sending the armoured soldier staggering backwards in the dirt, collapsing into the sand, her chest heaving heavily.

Landing on his feet, three dimensional once more, Orion flicked the buckle once again.

'Diver!'

His armoured boots turned into flippers, a heavy oxygen tank appearing on his back and a scuba mask over his visor as he turned towards McClain and opened up the flat of his palms, spewing out streams of ocean water with such force that he was slammed further into the dirt.

Turning the buckle again, the voice called out:

'Viber!'

The scuba gear vanished, replaced by a pair of massive tartan headphones decorated with large white stars as he plucked free the two swords, the colours of the blades flashing red, green, yellow, orange, blue and purple, pounding electropop beats and saccharine sweet teenage voices blasting from the headphones with such volume that Josh McClain was thrown backwards into the wall of the warehouse, his golden visor shattering, revealing one hazel coloured eye.

"Jya Jya!" the hero bellowed as he lashed out in a flurry of blows, the other's armour cracked open and revealing the rest of the wounded boy's face.

Slowly, Orion lowered his weapons and turned, the Ota armour fading away, defaulting again to the magenta of his inherited suit.

"You're not the first to try," he smirked, "don't feel bad about getting beat."

From behind his broken visor, McClain glowered at the boy.

"You idiot," he snarled, pulling himself up, one hand still grasping his staff, "you don't understand what your presence here is doing."

"Oh," Orion smirked, "and how would you know?"

"Because I'm from the future!" McClain snapped. "Your presence here is destabilising this place and when it goes boom, it's going to cause direct feedback into the world you got pulled from. By destroying this place, you'll destroy your own world."

Zackery Orion hesitated.

"So?" he said, trying to sound as if he was indifferent to such a prospect.

"So you'll be responsible for the death of the solar system," McClain shouted, lifting his staff once more, "and that's why I can't let you beat me so easily."

Orion tensed, ready for the next fight, yet there was already doubt in his movements. Could what this new challenger said really be true? Could he really be responsible for destroying not just this realm but the very world he came from?

No chance, he thought, he was the hero of this story, right? The only things he destroyed were inherently evil.

"It's a weak argument," he smirked, "I don't care for it."

Before McClain could react, his hand was on the hilt of his gun once more, a fresh card loaded in, the trigger pulled.

There was a blur of primary colours shifting into physical shape, and suddenly a new figure was between them, electricity sparking between the antennae of his overly large helmet with its tinted black glass visor, a cruel yellow and black Taser hooked to his canary yellow utility belt.

"Cyclone Ranger!" the puppet called out, lifting his fists.

Abruptly, from the open doorway of the warehouse, a monstrous beast lurched forward, lunging towards Cyclone Ranger.

With fear, Zackery Orion's eyes grew wide.

x

The first thing Senkai became aware of in the moments after that deafening blast was someone shouting, and, slowly, he looked down to see Punk Rocket cradling the remnants of his friend's ruined form and seemingly rooting about in the gore and viscera, a frenzied look upon his face.

In his throat, he felt bile rising up, and he was plagued suddenly by the notion that he was going to throw up and would have to live like that, the smell of it under his nose in the mask he was too scared to take off. But the satellite wasn't necessary, right? That was what Atsumi had said, and if ever there was a time to test those other keys, then surely, with his former foe down on the ground before him and the masked rider once more in his horrific black armour, then surely now was the time to test them.

With a flick of his wrist, he pulled another key free from his belt, a rich green and silver in colour. His thumb depressed the button on its side and it flicked open, lowered to his waist, sliding with ease into the belt's mechanism.

'Creeper Weed,' the belt called out.

Wait, where had he heard that before?

'Authorise!'

"Oh, shit," he mouthed softly.

From his belt, vines exploded outwards and then recalled, wrapping themselves around him, engulfing his armour, consuming him completely, transforming him into the likeness of that creature he had glimpsed on the horizon when first he had approached Kazama and Rocket.

He recalled with sudden panic the words of the girl he had met on the path, the girl with the question mark button badge who had instructed him to seek out Kurogane Weiss:

'This world makes monsters of heroes, boy. Be careful out there.'

She had been smiling, he realised—she had been smiling when she said this!

Its voice trembling, from beneath the new flesh of his being, the belt whispered one last time:

'This plant consumes all that surrounds it. Try not to get snared.'

Everything after that was darkness.

x

The monstrous shape of the locust closed the distance in no time, its hands swiftly wrapping about the puppet's throat, choking the life out of it, the suit reaching out and eating it in moments, the shape of the armour swelling and shifting.

Josh McClain cried out in alarm, jumping back a step or two as Heuschrecke howled in fury, and, dimly he became aware of the man who had so recently defeated him calling out, shouting some kind of warning about the shape of their new enemy.

He watched as Orion feinted and dodged, as the gun he used to produce his puppets sailed through the air, and, slowly, he began to understand, reaching out and snatching the gun, aiming it at the monster's back. This was a truce, he realised, this was confirmation of what he already knew, of what Saturn had already told him, that despite the presence of the Destroyer, there were other evils here, other monsters that he would need to defeat.

He thought back on the last moments of his time here, so long ago now, the shape of that crocodile, his sister's hand slipping from his. She was dead, he knew that, there was no way he could change that, and yet maybe, he thought, just maybe, if he defeated the Destroyer, he could revert the world, reset it, stop any of them from ever having been brought here.

Beneath his armour, he felt a bead of cold sweat running down his back. He held the Destroyer's gun, the other had trusted him with it, and, surely, such a weapon as this would be enough to put an end to that other as well as the creature they now faced?

He adjusted his aim even as Orion struggled with the locust, wrestling it, batting back the exploratory tendrils of flesh that sneaked out from its form; he turned the gun from the monster towards Orion, taking aim, lining up the sights with the other's head.

If he pulled the trigger now, he would be sure to blow Orion's head off, to spatter his brains across the ground, and yet the Destroyer had trusted him, despite everything, he had trusted him.

Ahead of him, Orion grappled with the creature, his armoured helm smashing forwards again and again in a succession of head-butts that smashed the likeness of the locust.

McClain felt a roar of confusion and anger rising up in him as he pulled the trigger, turning the gun away at the last moment from his former opponent and spattering fire against the locust creature's back, its armour exploding, chunks of flesh flying from it as the Destroyer delivered a devastating punch to the revealed face of the man beneath the mask.

Again, Heuschrecke dropped to his knees, confusion on his face, blood streaming from a gash upon his forehead.

"Who are you?" he whispered, looking up at Orion with confusion and hurt.

The other did not respond.

What difference would it make, Zackery Orion asked himself; he was already going to destroy this world, what difference would it make if he killed the old soldier now before he became the monster again, before he had time to grow, to eat others, to end up like the savage creature he had faced only moments ago.

With gloved hands, he reached out, and, in his mind's eye, all he could see was his hands about the other's throat, throttling him as readily as he had done to the summoned ghost of Cyclone Ranger.

Instead, he took hold of the man and pulled him up from the ground.

"Get up," he snarled, turning away, "we'll need your strength if we're going to escape this place."

Beneath the mask, his gaze turned towards McClain, still brandishing the smoking gun.

"All three of us," he said with intent, and reached down for his belt, the armour fading away once more.

x

They had circled back to get Genki's bike, Merlin hotwiring one of the varied abandoned motorcycles that littered the abandoned streets. There were a lot of bikes out here, Genki thought to himself, an inordinate amount. It was like this world had been populated by motorbike riders, and, at the same time, as if someone had gone through the lot of them, thinning them out, weeding out the weak from the strong.

As they tore down the empty streets, ploughing through the fog, the shape of the landscape seemed to change, the old industrial warehouses reasserting their shapes on the landscape.

The wind howled, gathering up around them and pushing back against them as they moved, almost as if it was opposed to their journey, as if it was against any sort of resolution to their situation.

It was impossible for Genki to read Merlin in this situation, if the blustering wind had not made conversation impossible then the journey itself would have, both men confined within their private thoughts, hunched over the handlebars of their individual bikes. There was obviously a lot of history between Merlin and Joan, though Genki didn't really care to speculate as to what that history was. When first he had met her, he had thought she was just a kid, now he was beginning to understand that she was anything other than a child—and that scared him.

Perhaps Joan Smith wasn't so innocent, he thought.

Ahead of them, in the swirling fog, he suddenly caught sight of something hideous, something like a crocodile stumbling about on two legs, its physiology almost human but for the texture of its body, the shape of its head—and the twin barrels of the cannon strapped to its back!

The tires of Merlin's 'borrowed' bike screeched against the road as he swung it around, slamming a shoe down to the ground and reaching for his belt buckle.

Coming to a stop just ahead of him, Genki leapt from his bike, reaching into his back pocket and pulling free the tuning fork that would, like Kazama, allow him to assume his armoured form.

Dismounting, Merlin swept back his jacket, revealing the buckle of his belt, a black hand trimmed with silver, dotted with silver stars.

"We've been set up," he snarled, slipping a silver ring onto the second finger of his left hand. "That witch set us up."

Genki tapped the fork against the side of his bike.

"You don't know that," he protested weakly, "we already know this place is dangerous."

Before them, the crocodile monster threw its head back in a howl, beating its chest with scaly claws.

"Don't be an idiot," Merlin snapped, his expression one of barely contained anger, "Nimue set us up, she told us in what direction we should travel and she knew exactly what we would find."

"You can't be sure of that," Genki answered, even though doubt crept steadily into his voice.

"Of course, I can!" the other shouted. "It's in her nature, it's—"

"Shut up!" a third voice suddenly called, cutting through their argument, and wide-eyed, Genki turned to see another man standing beside him, a wild expression, dressed in a white shirt and an unflattering black and white windbreaker.

"Shut up," he said again, the rhythm of his words staccato, his gestures sharp and frantic. "Who cares about the details? Let's go, everyone!"

Genki turned to look at Merlin with confusion.

"Who's that?" he asked.

"I said it doesn't matter!" the stranger gestured frantically. "Don't worry about the little things!"

Again, the crocodile-monster ahead of them bellowed with rage.

"He's right," Merlin growled, passing the ring over the buckle of the belt. "Let's deal with this."

With a snap of his fingers and a shimmer of light, he extended his arm, an ancient sigil blistering into existence at the contact between belt and ring.

'Leviathan,' the aged buckle called out, and, for a moment, Merlin Seno stood superimposed upon that arcane symbol before the shape of it consumed him, drowning him in its mystical glow.

When he emerged, he was hidden completely, blue accents in the lenses of the mask and upon the breastplate, a hood that connected to a billowing cloak covering most of the helm.

With a twist of his hand, he moved the ring over the buckle again.

'Excite!' it announced with enthusiasm, and, before either Genki or the stranger could transform, he launched into movement, his boots thundering against the ground, his legs moving at impossible speed.

Incapable of avoiding the attack, the crocodile-monster's chest erupted in wounds.


A/N: Genki Tamashii created by Rider09 ~ u/1938693

Punk Rocket and Ryunosuke "Ryan" Kazama created by Kamen Rider Chrome ~ u/676659

Zackery Masayoshi Orion created by Lewamus Prime 2019 ~ u/6878339

Merlin Seno created by Timelordkid ~ u/4006703

Mashuto Senkai created by Kamen Rider Yokai ~ u/4133255

Josh McClain created by dannyrockon122 ~ u/5185539