(A/N: Kill time! Ruskin the nutter, this is for you! But please, I warn weak stomached people, things will get bloody, so get a barf bag ready…)
Roykman's marshmallow melted from the intense heat of the fire, going gooey on the inside while staying crispy on the outside. The item merchant removed his stick from the fire, happily popping the toasted sugary sweet in his mouth. Yes, this was the life. Wandering around, peddling his wares, meeting new and interesting people every single day, knowing that every sale made a difference, though tiny, to the world as a whole. What path could have been better than his? None, as he thought it.
Travis stoked the fire with an iron poker, embers tumbling from their arranged position. He was a long way from Little Twister and his hidden bazaar of rare and unusual items, but hell, he was enjoying this outing almost as much as his little brother, Roykman, was. They didn't get to see each other very often, as both of them had entirely different views on how a entrepreneur should act. Travis thought of the money and only the money, whilst Roykman valued the experience of travel above all else. They were very similar, and at the same time, totally the opposite. But, they were brothers and they loved each other, wasn't that enough?
"So, this is Westwood…" Said Travis, looking around the flat area. "Not a bad place, really." It was worth climbing his way across the separating ravine just to be here, in the solitude of nature. This place was much nicer than dusty Little Twister.
"Hmm, I thought you would appreciate it, big bro." Roykman replied, sitting with his legs crossed near the fire. "Thanks for taking time off to come stay with me for a while. Travelling is fun, but you miss your kin every so often…"
Travis nodded understandingly. "I would expect so. I guess mother and father up in Heaven must be glad to know I'm still looking after you, even with all your eccentricities."
The peddler laughed, "It is eccentricities that make life interesting! I would never forego them, even if I was forced to." He passed Travis the bag of marshmallows, the older brother fishing out a treat for himself.
He tapped his knee thoughtfully as he skewered the marshmallow with the iron poker, hovering it over the fire. "You know, that's what I admire about you. I don't see how you can just do what you want to do."
"It's not that hard to chase a dream, sure, some people will ridicule you, but what you gain is worth far more than what you lost." Said Roykman with pride, smiling at his brother.
"So, what have you gained?" Travis asked innocently. He wanted to know precisely what one would gain after years of wandering around like a vagrant.
Roykman smiled mysteriously. "The ability to perceive what I have gained."
Travis opened his mouth to reply to the blatant loophole in his brother's statement, but paused as a twig broke nearby, encouraging the two to look around for the source of the sound. They both stood up, brushing the dust from their trousers. Travis heard footsteps, and he vaguely saw the shape of a man in the shadows, the blackened silhouette standing just outside the warmth of their campfire. He was hunched slightly over, face staring at the ground, seeming to be breathing more heavily than normal, but to the two brothers who had the merriment of a reunion on their sides, they didn't notice this.
"Hello," Roykman greeted in high spirits, waving his marshmallow stick like a conductor's baton, "Are you from Claiborne? It's a nice night, isn't it?" The man did not say anything, nor did he move, which made their resolve waver somewhat. Roykman shot a look at his older brother, the owner of the Black Market scratching his head in awkwardness. "Um, would you like to stay with us for the night? We have a warm fire and everything…"
"We have plenty of food, too." Added Travis, they had stocked their portable pantry only yesterday, they were loaded up with all kind of good snacks. They couldn't just leave somebody alone in the wastelands in the middle of the night, whomever they may be.
"You can-" Roykman was about the add another contribution to their one-sided debate, before suddenly finding himself tongue-tied, fear replacing joviality and the colour draining from his face. The man lurched forward unsteadily into the light, lifting his head and leering steadily at the merchants. Red eyes glowed back at them, radiating a violent craving for blood. He was dressed as a human, but human he surely was not. Fur poked out from under his red trench coat, and his claws could slice bone just as easily as flesh.
Roykman's legs buckled underneath him, the man falling to his knees in utter terror, his voice frozen in his throat. Long and hooked fangs glinted in the firelight as the monster bared them, moving over to the peddler gradually, taking plenty of time to scare the man half to death. He growled out a threat, impossible to understand, but clearly sending the message of his intentions.
Travis was immediately in front of Roykman, spreading his arms out to block the monster from his little brother. "Don't you touch him!" He yelled, standing tall despite how he felt. He swore he would protect his little brother, and that was what he'd do, no matter what. He shook like a leaf, unarmed except for his iron poker.
But that one item was good enough for him. He swung it at the monster, who dived back down to all fours and dodged the attack, leaping away momentarily into the dark. Travis crouched down to his brother, the younger man on his knees and forcing his eyes shut, hands over his face. "Damn! What the hell was that?!" He mouthed, trying to shake Roykman out of his fit of fear.
"I-Is it gone?" He stammered, trying to hold back his shakes.
"I think so- agh!" Travis was yanked back by the collar of his jacket by an incredible force, sharp nails digging deeply into his neck. He was spun around roughly to the face of the beast and had only a second before his last chance at escape disappeared forever. He missed it, a flash of razor-sharp claws flew diagonally up his chest, deep lesions left in their wake. Blood splashed up in a startling arc, splattering on both bodies and dripping it's crimson trails to the grass. Travis gasped, eyes going as wide as saucers as the delayed pain struck him brutally, too shocked even to scream.
But Roykman did scream, practically feeling his brother's pain. The iron poker fell out of Travis's grip, landing heavily and with finality. One hand moved to feel the slashes on his chest, scarcely believing that they were there. His hands became blood-slicked and Travis stared at them with horror, the impact leaving his mind with one simple message. He was going to die.
Something in his chest cracked and tore, caught and pulled under the force of the creature's tough claws. Here and there, a mangled peak or spike of a rib punctured through the flesh, shoved through skin and internal organ to peek it's way out of its natural moorings. A gurgle rose in Travis's mouth, twin streams of reddish ichor bubbling down his chin and seeping into the soft cloth of his ripped jacket. An aqueous wail sent frothy blood dripping in-between his feet, losing power of thought, and sound simply made in a mindless manner of loss.
Travis started to flail in desperate panic, but a pair of claws bit deeper into his skin and held him firmly, the beast leaning over his captive and sniffing the rich leaking liquid with fascination. He drew his tongue across the wound, cleaning it of its slowly coagulating blood. The merchant squirmed as he felt it through his pain, trying to kick the monster off him. All it did was just aggravate the creature more and he moved up to smell his neck and the pulsing blood it contained. His eyesight began to blur, the loss of his blood beginning to make some mark on the processing of his body.
Blood matted the fur of the creature into a red and grey pattern, he gazed down onto the prey he clutched between his claws, bleeding and dying, twitching as control of it's body lessened. Inquisitively, he pulled away at the strips of flesh ripped from the human's stomach, spilling down a torrent of more vital fluid mixed with chunky strands of innards. A claw brushed past the fractured imperfection of a rib, obligingly manipulating his claw-like hand to remove the bone fragment with a meaty slurp, snapping it away from where it once was anchored. More liquid sprinkled over the creature's trench coat, blending in with the vivacious crimson colour of the clothing and reaching an almost invisible status. It could still easily be smelt, and with the beast's unnatural sense of smell, it was electrifying.
The bone was smelled out, but tossed carelessly aside, who would need a bone when there was fresh meat to be had? Every breath Travis took was spent on borrowed time, losing feeling in his arms and legs, he gurgles weakly to a brother he can no longer see, clear droplets of tears mixing with the scarlet rain he leaked. "B-broth…er… Run…"
Roykman rocked himself back and forth, hands over his ears and eyes squeezed closed. His voice was merged with frantic hyperventilation, scarcely differentiating between the two. He called out to the Gods again and again, begging for it to stop. "Ohgodsohgodsohgodsohgods…"
He had toyed enough, he was much too hungry to let this game run for longer than needed. Reaching upwards, he dug one claw into the human's soft shoulder tissue, a depression of blood forming around the nails that bit acutely into the skin. He wrapped one arm around the back of the body to support it, sensing the rush of human adrenaline to quicken it's pulse. The merchant screamed one last broken cry as curved teeth sunk unyieldingly into his neck, clamping down on his windpipe and constricting his larynx to obliteration. His jugular vein was severed with the pressure, the blood used to keep his mind alive pouring out of the incision and down into the waiting throat of the monster, draining his prey of all life. Travis's hand curled with mindless defiance for one final time, held there for the briefest second, then going slack forever.
Travis's head lolled to one side, face molded from the intense pain of the last moments of life into a disturbing peace, arms going limp and swinging in the hold of the beast. The corpse is dumped on the ground, as no resistance or reason was met to keep it standing. It crumpled like a dropped raggedy Ann doll, rolling to the side and twisting at an abnormal angle. The flesh within it seems to liquefy, sagging from skeletal restraint and laying open the bare inner workings within. Eyes glazed over, staring at a sky that could no longer be seen. Blind.
The monster parted the rows of sinew winding the ribcage together, swinging both sides of the case open with a sickening snap. Odd bunched up series of pale tubular vital organs lay awash in the puddle of blood, he grabbed a fistful and tore them out, throwing them carelessly over his shoulder. The ribcage was not empty save for fillets of taut muscle, which were quickly removed and swallowed down greedily, soaked in the pooling life essence collected in the bottom of the morbid basin.
A ghastly yelp of pain cut through the atmosphere, the beast crushed over the dead body by the dense brunt and force of an iron poker smashed across his back. Roykman fought back the bile rising in his throat, almost fainting from panic. Yet, a solid foundation of the need for revenge supported and steadied his hand, giving him to incentive to fight back. Everything had been so perfect, they were having fun, but then…
"You killed my big bro, you fucking bastard! Son of a fucking bitch, die, dammit!" Roykman howled, aiming again for another hit, this time at the creature's face.
He did not anticipate the beast whirling around and biting down with a vice-like grip on the length of the poker, wrenching it out of his hands. Roykman stumbled back, empty-handed and without any defensive tactics. But now he had the creature's attention, and food was no longer it's top priority, paying him back for the blow was. He spat out the poker, sending it into the fire where it could no longer be of any use.
Not bothering to rise again up to two feet, the beast simply pushed off from his back legs and slammed himself into the chest of the shaking human, using all his weight to flatten Roykman to the ground. Lying with his back against the soft grass and eyes forced to watch the tiny pinpoints of stars surround a giant white moon, the travelling merchant had a clawed hand pressed up against his throat, shutting off the flow of air to his brain. Roykman's hands flew to grapple with the strong arm holding him down, fighting a losing battle. Things became dreamy-like, and he found himself not caring about what had happened, or the fact that he was slowly asphyxiating. He could see through the sky, beyond, to a Heaven, most likely where his parents and Travis were waiting for him to come home. Assuring himself of this, he let go, not just of his grip on the werewolf, but on himself as well.
Roykman died as he watched the stars.
xxx
He was probably the only person in the entire town who actually enjoyed working overtime. He wasn't really paid much more, either way, but he loved his work and always tried his best to excel at it. The horses were kind and loving, his work mates were kind and loving, he always had dinner ready when he wandered back to the inn, and a beautiful girl to deliver it to him. What more could Pike want? He had definitely not made any mistakes when he had decided to come here for employment, that's for sure.
It was past midnight, and even the thought of the lateness of the night compelled Pike to yawn and blink his eyes sleepily, he knew his tiredness was just psychosomatic and that he should soldier on. The gentle muffled whinnies of a cadre of sleeping horses calmed his nerves, as it oddly always did, and he continued his job, mixing up a new blend of oats that would maximize the output and stamina for all of Dessinsey's horses.
He had tried lots of times to come up with something great, and had failed too many times to count. This did not upset him, it merely inspired him to try harder, working with the new memories he had from all the old failures. He was sure that he would crack the code, someday.
Pike packed away the different brands of grain diligently into their outside storehouse, each bag having it's own special place. He ran a hand through his grass-green hair, the sweat from his day of working keeping the strands back. All he had to do was pack all this up, check on the horses one last time and take a nice long sleep.
Just as he used all his weight to heave a sack of barley into a waiting corner, he faintly heard the sound of glass breaking in the stables, a sharp crack followed by faint tinkling. Pike raised an eyebrow, was Dessinsey in the stables? No, maybe one of the horses had disturbed a lamp or something. In any case, Pike went to go and check it out.
xxx
"So anyway, wha' was I sayin'?"
Volks laughed drunkenly. "Sumthin' about your horsies."
"Oh yes! My horsies are th' best, ya know. Heheh, all the tea in Ballack Rise couldn't compare to my horsies, I should make im' race and get me a fortune!" Both men spent the rest of their gella at the Horse Theft Inn happy hour, regaling each other with stories nobody really even seemed to care about. Mileux smiled prettily as two of her best customers ordered another round, playing a game where the person who could no longer take another drink had to pay for the entire evening's worth of liquor. Volks and Dessinsey were determined not to lose.
Otto was at another table, enjoying a cup of coffee and drawing up blueprints for another new ARM modification design. He had most of his best ideas at night, so he acted upon them as soon as they were formed.
"Jockeys."
"Wha?"
"You'd need jockeys to race horsies." Slurred Volks, shifting his crutch from one hand to the other. "An' they'd hafta be real light to do so."
"Goblins!" Exploded Dessinsey in a burst of revelation, "We could, you an' I, we could tame a buncha goblins ta race them horsies!"
Volks rubbed his chin. "That's a good idea. I wonder if-"
Then they heard the scream. A light peal of a tenor voice pierced the eardrums of the drunken company, shaking them from their conversation. It seemed to come from next door, the stables.
Otto jumped to his feet, spilling his coffee on the floorboards. "What the?!"
The scream managed to sober the men up a little bit, they looked around for the sound's source. Volks pushed himself up with his crutch, his lack of sobriety not helping him set his peg leg on the floor. "Is Pike still workin' at the stables?" He asked.
"Yep, he's a good kid." Answered Dessinsey, then it all hit them simultaneously. "Ack! The stables! Pike!"
Otto assumed a leadership position, as he was the only man there who could think straight. He pulled his ARM from it's holster and left Mileux with her payment for his coffee. "Right! Let's go and see what's wrong!" He pointed to the doorway before exiting, the two drunken men bringing up the rear.
Mileux cleaned up the spillage on the floor, simply glad to be back home with her daughter. She hoped Pike was okay, sometimes that boy just worked too hard. She guessed that was just one of the things her daughter Martina loved about him.
Yes, Pike would make a good son one day.
xxx
The temperature increased dramatically in his repose, and Clive found himself with both feet planted firmly on the ground in a dungeon-like setting. Molten lava bubbled on the smooth flagstones and the stench of sulphurous fumes floated around in the air. He was in a circular chamber, the floor inscribed with an arcane symbol whose meaning was lost on him. Clive suddenly realised he was looking at the world from tinted glass, and he was wearing a helmet made of light metal. He felt taller and sturdier than usual, but when he tried to move, he remained frozen to the spot in a unbending position, arms folded over his chest. An oriental-style gi hugged his body, defensive plates of armour clasped in certain locations adding extra protection to his garb. He did not breathe, and that was when Clive understood the truth.
He was dreaming.
This was a new experience for him, he had never entered a dream aware that it was a dream before. But it felt different to all those flights of fancy that so often occupied his sleep. This felt more like a memory than anything else. So, he would play this out and see what happens. Clive was not really concerned with this reality, as those in a dream world would usually do.
In the centre of the room, panting and gurgling through the blood and drool running out of his sharp jagged jaws, sat a green reptilian demon in great pain, sprawled out and marked with countless bullet holes and burns of magic. It's large flail mace was broken beside him, the chain that held the spiked ball to the handle severed by a well-aimed sword stroke. The demon was dressed punkishly, purple bandanna slipping off his mottled bulbous forehead. He rumbled away to himself, unaware that Clive stood quietly nearby. Clive let him bemoan his bad luck for a few moments, an irritating whine mixed with anger and frustration. Not knowing where he got the feeling from, Clive immediately disliked this creature.
But, where was he? All his dreams always took place in a place he recognised, this was something new. A word popped into his head, Volcannon Trap.
Clive stepped forward, he could not control his body but it appeared that somebody else could. In this dream, all he could be was a spectator. Under his mask, his lips curled back into a revolted sneer, spitting out words with a voice that was not his own. It was deeper and more resounding, creating an ominous echo. "How pitiful!" He boomed with disgust, "You used all your powers and you still lost…"
The demon jerked up at the sound of Clive's voice, holding an arm across his chest to keep his guts from falling out. His eyes flicked around anxiously to pinpoint Clive's location, but from the hidden place he stood and the reverberation of his voice, it cloaked him wonderfully.
Clive shook his head, dismayed at the weakness of a fellow demon. "And against humans of all things…" He continued, stepping into the reptile's field of vision. It was time he showed himself.
"Who was that?" The demon garbled before tensing suddenly as Clive appeared before him. Clive hid a smirk under his helmet, amused at the surprised look the creature shot him. "No way… You're not even a council member!"
Oh, that would change soon, thought the person controlling Clive's body. The demon snorted with discontent, taking on a rather snotty air because of his higher rank. "Give me a hand, gather my body parts and take me back to the Photosphere!" He ordered, squirming around to try and stand up. Clive raised a hand, assured of the fact that this was not his body, his skin had a much darker tone than to when he was awake.
A tool that looked remarkably similar to one of Jet's was clasped in his palm, the edges of the metallic boomerang as sharp as a surgical knife. The reptile could not see Clive's smile, but it was a good thing he didn't, as it would have frightened the toughest of men. "I have no hand to give to a loser…" He replied calmly, briefly running a finger down the side of his blade.
The weapon cut like a scalpel through the scaly flash of the reptile, so sharp that it did not even draw blood. The demon did not properly grasp his predicament as he fell into two separate halves, bone and green jelly-like muscle evaporating upon the death of the monster. He vanished, returning to the nothing from whence he came. The boomerang returned faithfully to his hand as it was expected, caught with nonchalant air from the only other demon left alive in the dungeon.
Clive crouched to his knees near the middle of the room where the demon had lain, pressing his hand to the centre of the arcane pattern. The power generators had been destroyed, but there was no reason to let the three humans go without a farewell gift. He discharged energy into the floor, causing power to spread and run up the walls, quivering as it's foundation shook. Fire bubbled up around the lava, reacting with the gas and causing violent explosions. Clive experienced a weird tugging sensation, losing the grip on this body and becoming nothing but an intangible entity. The dream had ended.