Chapter V: Mer Des Bleus
Blah blah. Don't own anything. * denotes thoughts and ~ denotes voices in someone's head. Thanks for the reviews, everyone!
A gnarled and twisted form of life lay sprawled about on the chilling, cemented seaside border of the dreary Ganymede. Such acrid weather was never beheld nor wished for upon the peaceful fishing metropolis; and with the harsh slam and slap of the agonizing sheets of pale white, the sea groaned and molded aimlessly with its force.
Near skeletal fingers shakily gripped the erected ledge before the shore. Whilst staggering and slamming down sporadically, an inauspicious and sputtering figure brought itself up to lay upon the edge of land. Solid gray skies held the unfavorable air about him as his pupils darted about hastily, as if in immeasurable pain. The icy blankets had caused his already wolf-gray hair to become even more eerie and conspicuously long.
*I have been branded.. Branded as a servant; a religious omen to these mongrels..* As the rain lingered and trilled about his fingers, he spread his lips in a foremost attempt to lose all threads of sanity that laced his self control. Vicious he was, and he was utterly raped of all dignity. Deep and everlasting scars of his so called absolution stung his very senses from upon his thin arms. Upon his pale and sharp back were branded the imprints of two deterring crucifixes, which would take no leave from his body.
He had risen once more from the pools of indignity and drew his scarlet tainted katana. He extended it away from his vision and into the gray waters The unruly waves formed about it gladly, and he set off, lifeless and barefooted down the icily chilled walkway. Ere he was done, smiles of petty sanity flew past his expression from time to time.
As if letting off a large burden, scarlet ripples billowed from the blade. The rain calmed drastically with this, thought it was still present. From within his defeated mind, Vicious heard naught but the splashing of his abused feet. From within their repugnant sockets, his deep gray pupils shook. *So often am I faced with dire situations. May this truly be the end.* This thought seemed to be on a marquee as he stared lifelessly into the sky, which was crackling with silent bolts of lightning. From the edge of his sight leapt a deep crimson monstrosity that charged at a bull's pace. He was ready. He quickly slashed the blade from the water, and its droplets shimmered as they passed his clammy visage.
In a desperate defensive position he stood, and thoughts of his past attempted to slay him then and there..
~Even defense is flawed.. You'll die, just like her..maybe at my hands, perhaps.. Or the hands of a friend you once cherished..but aren't they so rare with you?~
Solid eyes stared forth in the stretching darkness of a haunted room. Fingers without strength slid to the keys of a piano without thought. Tormented shivers pulsed through his body as he began to play a hymn of devilry slowly. Drops of scarlet came from the crevices of the keys and embraced his fingers as he went on. Bloody eyes shone straight above his shoulder as his pupils wandered to the dead world behind him; he saw all that once was precious and powerful; all influences of hope had diminished. His abode was now stained with the blood of many.
The memory shattered before him as the red ship slashed violently at his neck as it darted past. Instincts of a murderer sent him into a somersault in which he flipped his blade vertically; the ship met the end of its potential last flight as it slammed down into a traffic light, sparking from the deep and urgent gash. Smoke erupted from the cockpit as the glass covering upon it shattered; from the long embracement of smoke flipped an agile figure who was as fast as he was tall. With his eyes' sight stuck on the river-like cement, he stood to full height, and with a sigh, drew a pack of damaged cigarettes slowly.
Specks of tobacco flew past his nose as his attention shot upward; his cigarettes were cut asunder as the loathsome figure of a demon stood before him, or he thought it was; a well-crafted blade was extended and touched the tip of his nose; at this, Spike smirked indignantly. The quality and skill of a cowboy became present as he twirled a pistol between his bruised fingers, and its thin barrel pressed against Vicious' neck.
Vicious's left eye was blanketed by his flowing hair, and the only movement between the two contenders was the swift and increasingly powerful rain. The situation all seemed too ironic and humorously idiotic that he could not help but smirk himself.
Vicious's eyes traversed and scanned the figure thoroughly; his vision set upon his bandaged and blood-stained knee. With that he took two frightened steps backward, lowering his katana gradually as he stared intensely into the red eyes of Spike, whose face faulted slightly.
"Hm. You stick that sword in my face, and then you back off? Talk about rude greetings," Spike uttered softly as he pocketed the glistening pistol. Shocked feelings mingled with exasperation flowed over Vicious like a wave as he attempted to speak.
"Do you have any idea what you look like right now?" Spike said rudely as he hopelessly searched for more cigarettes.
"..what?"
"A ravenous beast who wanders in search of blood, endlessly. Weird, eh? That just kind of floated through my mind. Heh."
"Do not attempt to pettily see into the windows of my tormented past, wretch."
As that was said, Spike's cool expression became troubled. Vicious knelt down slowly, as if cowering, and locked stares with the perturbed Spike.
Breaking the long silence, Spike yawned as he shifted his vision lazily. His shining red eyes followed a sleek truck that was shooting through the rain; upon its bed was a large pile of odds and ends that were covered in a light blue tarp. His eyes widened as a menacing double-barrel shotgun erected itself from the window; Spike leapt forward and rolled along the ground as a flurry of shells passed his face and embedded themselves into the ground before Vicious, who remained silent.
Hoping his aim would be true, Spike let fly two bullets. Their shells clinked to the ground and Spike shot off again; going straight for the truck, he sent himself about four feet into the air, dodging handgun blasts. A single shot from his own barrel brought the truck to an end, and the driver's head jerked and convulsed, until at last it slammed into the steering wheel; the truck lurched frantically and burst into flames as it collided with a building. The tarp flew into the wind, and up shot hundreds of red vials that glowed ominously as they ascended.
Naught was said as the vials came down with the rain; they all shattered simultaneously upon the blacktop of a parking lot, spreading their scarlet fluids everywhere. From them arose a foul scent that wavered in the surrounding radius. Spike, who was now frantic, pressed his hand to his face and covered his eyes and nose as he hid himself within the rubble of the building.
Vicious was caught unawares as the scents gripped him; all forms of restraint on his own actions fleeted. His eyes became blood shot. The world before him shook crazily and became smothered in redness, and all that he aught see was slowed down. His sense overflowed with power as he gripped the katana close.
"Oh great, cronies," Spike said with annoyance on his tongue. From the dust and debris shot many men clad in black. Upon all of their suits was painted a crude sai that dripped blood. All of them drew like weapons; sais. Their sunglasses glinted, yet clashed with the surroundings. All of them saw Vicious as the perpetrator, and thusly they engaged him as more filed from the rubble.
Blades cut close to his cheek as assailants closed in tightly; his head made corresponding movements and hasty dashes, his hair leaping from his forehead slightly as he did this. Black was now mingling with the everlasting red he had to behold, and he seemed to see all; about thirty, burly men had challenged him. They all seemed shocked as they saw bouts of insanity rise from Vicious, who shot into the rain ridden skies like an acrobat.
As he descended, he sliced down at an extended sai, knocking it aside and smashing his heel into the man's chin. A fist flew by his cheek, and he dropped aside, impaling the foe through the abdomen as he did so. A tight form grasped his back, but he twisted violently and gyrated with the extended katana. The man slammed down into a puddle, staining it with scarlet as he was nearly dismembered. The battle hungry katana met an airborne kunai, sending it astray; with ninja-like speed, he took off at a dire run through the ranks of men. Another kunai darted past, and with a skillful dodge, it met the neck of an enemy behind him. Soon, he came face to face with the kunai thrower, and with one liquid movement, his foot made the man breathless, and the katana finished him with a slice to the jugular.
Vicious flipped upon his hands and feet and went airborne again, kicking and breaking the arm of a fist that nearly shattered his jaw. He landed upon one heel and twisted like a hurricane in the bloody rain, amputating one and decapitating another. Scarlet rained about him, and he smiled with madness as blood dripped to his face.
Yet another sai sliced beside his ear, and he jumped forth, grabbing the arm of his assailant. With the arm gripped in his cold embracement, he drove his katana through the man's chest and swiftly withdrew it, thereafter sending the man's head askew. Desperate and anger ridden arms attempted to throttle him from the mist in front of him, but he found himself leaning upon the blade's hilt and smashing his feet instantly into the man's neck; when he fell, Vicious twisted in mid-air and brought his blade down behind him, cutting a deep gash into his foe's chest.
And so there he stood, looking triumphantly insane. He laughed as he placed his bloody heel upon the corpse of a boisterous foe. All pure water about his feet was now completely painted with scarlet as he looked up at the clouds, slowly tracing his bloody fingers over his face.
An utterly frightened Spike slowly stepped forth from the shadows, fretfully dodging corpses. The remaining men ran down the only pure path as quickly as they could. Vicious made a truly fierce attempt to immediately give chase, but Spike's hands caught Vicious's arms. His now cold, red eyes peered into Vicious's soul.
Putting an end to the drama, Spike merely grinned, chuckled, and released.
"Either save that energy or use it on me," he said pompously, holding out the golden rose. The clouds parted gradually, and soft beams of light emitted from the crevices of the clouds. Vicious stared with red eyes at the rose, but ever and anon felt comfort as a soft breeze passed briskly.
Blah blah. Don't own anything. * denotes thoughts and ~ denotes voices in someone's head. Thanks for the reviews, everyone!
A gnarled and twisted form of life lay sprawled about on the chilling, cemented seaside border of the dreary Ganymede. Such acrid weather was never beheld nor wished for upon the peaceful fishing metropolis; and with the harsh slam and slap of the agonizing sheets of pale white, the sea groaned and molded aimlessly with its force.
Near skeletal fingers shakily gripped the erected ledge before the shore. Whilst staggering and slamming down sporadically, an inauspicious and sputtering figure brought itself up to lay upon the edge of land. Solid gray skies held the unfavorable air about him as his pupils darted about hastily, as if in immeasurable pain. The icy blankets had caused his already wolf-gray hair to become even more eerie and conspicuously long.
*I have been branded.. Branded as a servant; a religious omen to these mongrels..* As the rain lingered and trilled about his fingers, he spread his lips in a foremost attempt to lose all threads of sanity that laced his self control. Vicious he was, and he was utterly raped of all dignity. Deep and everlasting scars of his so called absolution stung his very senses from upon his thin arms. Upon his pale and sharp back were branded the imprints of two deterring crucifixes, which would take no leave from his body.
He had risen once more from the pools of indignity and drew his scarlet tainted katana. He extended it away from his vision and into the gray waters The unruly waves formed about it gladly, and he set off, lifeless and barefooted down the icily chilled walkway. Ere he was done, smiles of petty sanity flew past his expression from time to time.
As if letting off a large burden, scarlet ripples billowed from the blade. The rain calmed drastically with this, thought it was still present. From within his defeated mind, Vicious heard naught but the splashing of his abused feet. From within their repugnant sockets, his deep gray pupils shook. *So often am I faced with dire situations. May this truly be the end.* This thought seemed to be on a marquee as he stared lifelessly into the sky, which was crackling with silent bolts of lightning. From the edge of his sight leapt a deep crimson monstrosity that charged at a bull's pace. He was ready. He quickly slashed the blade from the water, and its droplets shimmered as they passed his clammy visage.
In a desperate defensive position he stood, and thoughts of his past attempted to slay him then and there..
~Even defense is flawed.. You'll die, just like her..maybe at my hands, perhaps.. Or the hands of a friend you once cherished..but aren't they so rare with you?~
Solid eyes stared forth in the stretching darkness of a haunted room. Fingers without strength slid to the keys of a piano without thought. Tormented shivers pulsed through his body as he began to play a hymn of devilry slowly. Drops of scarlet came from the crevices of the keys and embraced his fingers as he went on. Bloody eyes shone straight above his shoulder as his pupils wandered to the dead world behind him; he saw all that once was precious and powerful; all influences of hope had diminished. His abode was now stained with the blood of many.
The memory shattered before him as the red ship slashed violently at his neck as it darted past. Instincts of a murderer sent him into a somersault in which he flipped his blade vertically; the ship met the end of its potential last flight as it slammed down into a traffic light, sparking from the deep and urgent gash. Smoke erupted from the cockpit as the glass covering upon it shattered; from the long embracement of smoke flipped an agile figure who was as fast as he was tall. With his eyes' sight stuck on the river-like cement, he stood to full height, and with a sigh, drew a pack of damaged cigarettes slowly.
Specks of tobacco flew past his nose as his attention shot upward; his cigarettes were cut asunder as the loathsome figure of a demon stood before him, or he thought it was; a well-crafted blade was extended and touched the tip of his nose; at this, Spike smirked indignantly. The quality and skill of a cowboy became present as he twirled a pistol between his bruised fingers, and its thin barrel pressed against Vicious' neck.
Vicious's left eye was blanketed by his flowing hair, and the only movement between the two contenders was the swift and increasingly powerful rain. The situation all seemed too ironic and humorously idiotic that he could not help but smirk himself.
Vicious's eyes traversed and scanned the figure thoroughly; his vision set upon his bandaged and blood-stained knee. With that he took two frightened steps backward, lowering his katana gradually as he stared intensely into the red eyes of Spike, whose face faulted slightly.
"Hm. You stick that sword in my face, and then you back off? Talk about rude greetings," Spike uttered softly as he pocketed the glistening pistol. Shocked feelings mingled with exasperation flowed over Vicious like a wave as he attempted to speak.
"Do you have any idea what you look like right now?" Spike said rudely as he hopelessly searched for more cigarettes.
"..what?"
"A ravenous beast who wanders in search of blood, endlessly. Weird, eh? That just kind of floated through my mind. Heh."
"Do not attempt to pettily see into the windows of my tormented past, wretch."
As that was said, Spike's cool expression became troubled. Vicious knelt down slowly, as if cowering, and locked stares with the perturbed Spike.
Breaking the long silence, Spike yawned as he shifted his vision lazily. His shining red eyes followed a sleek truck that was shooting through the rain; upon its bed was a large pile of odds and ends that were covered in a light blue tarp. His eyes widened as a menacing double-barrel shotgun erected itself from the window; Spike leapt forward and rolled along the ground as a flurry of shells passed his face and embedded themselves into the ground before Vicious, who remained silent.
Hoping his aim would be true, Spike let fly two bullets. Their shells clinked to the ground and Spike shot off again; going straight for the truck, he sent himself about four feet into the air, dodging handgun blasts. A single shot from his own barrel brought the truck to an end, and the driver's head jerked and convulsed, until at last it slammed into the steering wheel; the truck lurched frantically and burst into flames as it collided with a building. The tarp flew into the wind, and up shot hundreds of red vials that glowed ominously as they ascended.
Naught was said as the vials came down with the rain; they all shattered simultaneously upon the blacktop of a parking lot, spreading their scarlet fluids everywhere. From them arose a foul scent that wavered in the surrounding radius. Spike, who was now frantic, pressed his hand to his face and covered his eyes and nose as he hid himself within the rubble of the building.
Vicious was caught unawares as the scents gripped him; all forms of restraint on his own actions fleeted. His eyes became blood shot. The world before him shook crazily and became smothered in redness, and all that he aught see was slowed down. His sense overflowed with power as he gripped the katana close.
"Oh great, cronies," Spike said with annoyance on his tongue. From the dust and debris shot many men clad in black. Upon all of their suits was painted a crude sai that dripped blood. All of them drew like weapons; sais. Their sunglasses glinted, yet clashed with the surroundings. All of them saw Vicious as the perpetrator, and thusly they engaged him as more filed from the rubble.
Blades cut close to his cheek as assailants closed in tightly; his head made corresponding movements and hasty dashes, his hair leaping from his forehead slightly as he did this. Black was now mingling with the everlasting red he had to behold, and he seemed to see all; about thirty, burly men had challenged him. They all seemed shocked as they saw bouts of insanity rise from Vicious, who shot into the rain ridden skies like an acrobat.
As he descended, he sliced down at an extended sai, knocking it aside and smashing his heel into the man's chin. A fist flew by his cheek, and he dropped aside, impaling the foe through the abdomen as he did so. A tight form grasped his back, but he twisted violently and gyrated with the extended katana. The man slammed down into a puddle, staining it with scarlet as he was nearly dismembered. The battle hungry katana met an airborne kunai, sending it astray; with ninja-like speed, he took off at a dire run through the ranks of men. Another kunai darted past, and with a skillful dodge, it met the neck of an enemy behind him. Soon, he came face to face with the kunai thrower, and with one liquid movement, his foot made the man breathless, and the katana finished him with a slice to the jugular.
Vicious flipped upon his hands and feet and went airborne again, kicking and breaking the arm of a fist that nearly shattered his jaw. He landed upon one heel and twisted like a hurricane in the bloody rain, amputating one and decapitating another. Scarlet rained about him, and he smiled with madness as blood dripped to his face.
Yet another sai sliced beside his ear, and he jumped forth, grabbing the arm of his assailant. With the arm gripped in his cold embracement, he drove his katana through the man's chest and swiftly withdrew it, thereafter sending the man's head askew. Desperate and anger ridden arms attempted to throttle him from the mist in front of him, but he found himself leaning upon the blade's hilt and smashing his feet instantly into the man's neck; when he fell, Vicious twisted in mid-air and brought his blade down behind him, cutting a deep gash into his foe's chest.
And so there he stood, looking triumphantly insane. He laughed as he placed his bloody heel upon the corpse of a boisterous foe. All pure water about his feet was now completely painted with scarlet as he looked up at the clouds, slowly tracing his bloody fingers over his face.
An utterly frightened Spike slowly stepped forth from the shadows, fretfully dodging corpses. The remaining men ran down the only pure path as quickly as they could. Vicious made a truly fierce attempt to immediately give chase, but Spike's hands caught Vicious's arms. His now cold, red eyes peered into Vicious's soul.
Putting an end to the drama, Spike merely grinned, chuckled, and released.
"Either save that energy or use it on me," he said pompously, holding out the golden rose. The clouds parted gradually, and soft beams of light emitted from the crevices of the clouds. Vicious stared with red eyes at the rose, but ever and anon felt comfort as a soft breeze passed briskly.