"Saltwater and Blood"

By The Sharra

Part One: The Origin of Storms

"It's the nexus of the crisis

And the origin of storms

Just the place to hopelessly

Encounter time

And then came me..."

-- Metallica, "Astronomy"

The wedding of Shirley and Belzac took place on a cold, crisp autumn morning, just outside the safety of the city gates. No doubt the sun was expected to shine brightly upon the citizens of Vellweb, but unfortunately, that wasn't the case.

Today really should have been perfect, absolutely and utterly perfect. The petite girl-woman raised her arm, palm facing upwards as if to catch a few droplets of the rain that would soon fall. She sighed. No one deserved happiness as much as Belzac and Shirley, and the dark clouds gathering on the horizon seemed to be an ill omen.

Belzac, too, was flicking wary eyes towards the sky, and she could see even from where she sat that his hands were shaking from nerves. She bit back a giggle as Shirley soothingly patted his shoulder.

"I don't think she'll mind, even if the entire sky pours down on her head," came the stuffy-sounding mumble from the man sitting next to her.

Damia smiled hesitantly at Syuveil before glancing down. "No, probably not," she agreed, turning her attention to her heavy blue skirts; she'd walked through the brook to get there, and the hemline was heavy with water and stained with mud. She smoothed them down half-heartedly. "But it's good she's happy."

The Jade Dragoon merely nodded and wrapped his robes more tightly about himself, turning his head to one side as he began to cough; his health had always been poor and the oncoming winter was already taking it's toll on him. His nose was runny, eyes watering, and he was frequently seized by a hacking cough. More and more often, the scholar had been seeking the healing of Shirley's Dragoon spirit, for what little relief it brought these days.

'We can't even take him to battle anymore. How can we use his powers if-'

Damia buried her hands in the folds of her skirt to hide her clenched, white-knuckled fists, hating herself for thinking that way but unable to ignore the realization nonetheless.

Why was she always thinking such things? This was meant to be a happy day; she shouldn't be brooding and feeling guilty while everyone else was smiling and laughing.

Even the standoffish Rose was smiling from ear to ear, her fingers laced tightly with that of her own fiancée. She leaned over and whispered something to Zieg, who in turn poked her playfully in the side.

A moment later, Rose's smile faded, her blue eyes colder now, and focused straight ahead. Damia followed her gaze curiously, unable to stop herself from sighing as she caught sight of the figure approaching.

Kanzas stormed and swaggered more than he actually walked, the ends of his wild red hair fluttering just slightly as he drew closer to the group. That in itself was strange, as he normally moved so quietly, as light and graceful on his feet as a cat. The short fighter nodded to Shirley as he passed by the wedding circle, making no apology for his lateness and flat out ignoring Belzac to boot.

"Typical," Rose muttered under her breath, the corners of her lips tilting downward. The blonde man sitting next to her winced and shook his head, reaching down to give her hand a quick squeeze. "Not today," he murmured, "okay, Rose?"

Damia looked down the long bench that dominated the clearing, at Rose, Zieg, Syuveil… and then at the one empty spot left next to her--

'Don't sit here, don't sit here…'

Kanzas met her eyes, and, almost as if he read her mind, scowled. The bench actually rocked back slightly as he plopped down on it.

"You did that on purpose!"

"Rose! Not now."

Kanzas raised one bright eyebrow at the Darkness Dragoon and smirked. "You really should watch that temper of yours. Don't you know your little outburst is disrupting my dear kinswoman's wedding?"

He was a man that brought storms with him wherever he went, rarely showing remorse for his actions or seeking approval. The common folk that dwelt in the lower depths of the city the refugees spoke of him in whispers and with fear in their eyes.

Perhaps the fear was well deserved, for Kanzas was the one Diaz sent to do the 'dirty work' the rest of them were unwilling to do. The Emperor denied the fact when Zieg had confronted him about it, but everyone knew the rumors…

And of all the people he could have been sitting next to, it had to be her. It wasn't that she disliked him so much-most of the time he just ignored her anyway-as it was that his presence set her on edge…. 'Like the storms do.'

The half-mermaid hugged herself tightly as Belzac led Shirley into the center of the woven circle of tree limbs, grasping the redhead's smaller hands in his own large ones. His boyish nervousness would have been funnier if she weren't so painfully aware of the presence of the oncoming rain, and the violent man now sitting next to her.

'Storms,' she thought yet again, closing her eyes at the low roll of thunder that rumbled through the sky.

"It'll be a good one," Kanzas said lowly, and smiled to himself.

"Yes. I'm sure it'll be a beautiful wedding."

'He's not talking about the wedding, Rose,' she thought absently, red eyes fixed on the couple standing in the middle of the low-woven ring of branches. The two of them looked so happy, and, in Belzac's case more than a little terrified. Damia forced back another small laugh as the man squared his broad shoulders and took a deep breath in an obvious attempt to steady himself. In spite of this, his hands shook and he fumbled with the length of cord in his hands, the knots he was working on coming out rather awkward and flimsy. His bride merely smiled; a calm, serene gesture, and helped him bind the cord, her small fingers nimble and quick as she tied first their left hands, then their right together. Shirley didn't even need to look at what she was doing, it seemed, for all the while she gazed up at him. When she spoke the words that would bind them as man and wife, her voice was clear and ringing, not a trace of doubt marring their meaning.

What must it be like to be to have such complete and utter faith in your future that you could speak with that sort of conviction?

"I am woman. Cherish me, for it is I who give life to all things…"

"I am-I am man. Honor me, for it is I who bring growth…"

At that very moment the skies opened up and poured rain upon the wedding party. Kanzas had been right about the weather, just as she'd known he would be. Shirley let out a startled yelp as her crown of wildflowers was swept from her head by a sharp gust of wind. The wreath rolled across the ground, a rather pathetic sight as one by one, the petals were torn from it. Damia's hair was whipped wildly about her face as the wind howled fiercely, its cry carrying with it stinging needles of rain and sharp little darts of ice.

"Bloody hell!"

'Now this is a storm', she couldn't help but think, watching the bright flicker of lightning that knifed through the dark skies. She could feel the power of it, humming just beneath her skin, and her whole being soared in response. "This is-" Terrible, really…

"-great, isn't it, cousin?" Kanzas' laugh sounded, brash and sharp over the whistling wind. "The perfect way to start off your marriage."

::::::

It could be said that the self-proclaimed Emperor Diaz was more than generous offering his personal estate to house the celebrants-not to mention the happy couple, but Kanzas had learned early on that men like Diaz were rarely as selfless as they liked to pretend. This celebration wasn't being held because the Emperor gave a damn about the Dragoons. It was being held to make Diaz look good, and to strengthen his weakening bonds with his seven ' greatest warriors.'

Kanzas found it more than a little funny the smoky, hazy room he stood in was nearly empty. 'Guess most of the 'normal' people didn't feel like braving the storm,' he thought nastily, and took a quick swig of wine from his goblet. It was good stuff, smooth going down but with a nice kick at the end. 'Does wine have a 'kick'?' The man wondered, licking a few of the red droplets from his lips.

"She'll be okay, you know," the blonde scholar sitting next to him said, an annoying, almost consoling note in his voice.

He stared at Syuveil wordlessly and downed the last of his wine. By Soa, he was so sick and tired of everyone assuming he was worried about Shirley. It wasn't like she was the little kid he'd once protected; she was a grown woman, more than able to take care of herself should Belzac turn out to be some kind of drunken whoremonger. "Course she will," he stated offhandedly, tossing the blown glass cup up into the air.

"Kanzas, that's real glass! If you drop it-"

Bony, calloused fingers caught the fine stem of the vessel, and he brandished it at him with a flourish. "Besides, if Belzac hurts her, I'll just cut his throat while he sleeps."

The Jade Dragoon shifted uncomfortably at the admission, feeling all the worse about hearing it because it was probably true. "I don't think it'll come t-" A strange expression flickered across his pale face, and he raised his hand slowly to cover his nose.

Kanzas merely blinked as Syuveil let out a loud, messy-sounding sneeze. "Go dry off before you swoon or something."

Syuveil frowned at him, wounded by the casual remark. His health was a sensitive issue; because of it, he hadn't seen much combat. Even Damia had slain more men in these past months than he had. No, instead he was reduced to researching the workings of the Air Cities and coming up with battle plans… "I won't swoon!" he bit out, then wiped his nose with the sleeve of his robe. "Soa, I'm a grown man. Stop mothering me."

"I don't mother."

"You do."

"Don't," Kanzas sneered.

"You d-oh, Soa, never mind." The other shrugged his shoulders in defeat, shaking

his head in a gesture of pure exasperation. The loud crackle of lightning caused him to jump, the brilliant flash reflecting off of the valuable glass windowpanes. 'That one must have hit right outside the city gates.'

"Heh." Kanzas rose from the bench and went to stand in front of one of the large, arched windows. As if in response to his words, another bolt streaked through the sky. He placed his palm on the cool surface and grinned in satisfaction. "Now this," he proclaimed, "is a storm."

Yet another flicker, another satisfying crash that illuminated the sky just long enough for him to see the circle of towers that loomed above Diaz' 'castle'. The smile faded from his face, leaving coldness and shadows in its wake. 'My cousin married to the half-Giganto. It's about time.'

He didn't care that he'd displaced for a new protector. It had only been a matter of time before she stopped hiding behind him; the minute their Master had brought the gigantic slave to their ramshackle farm, he'd known how things would be. None of it mattered. It was all right that she didn't need him anymore…

He was peachy-fucking-keen with the entire situation.

"The food smells wonderful." 'Ever the brilliant conversationalist, eh, Syuveil?' He knew Kanzas well enough to realize that he was about to drift into one of his moody, violent spells. Though he often tried to snap Kanzas out of it, he never really succeeded. Not even Shirley had that sort of hold on the Violet Dragoon.

Kanzas cast an idle glance over his shoulder at the long table. Piled high on the rough surface were platters of meats, sweet breads, braised lettuce--it was the kind of rich food that made his mouth water and his stomach growl, even if he wasn't hungry. "Now if only 'His Highness' would get here, so we can eat."

Zieg would be happy about that; the blonde man was practically draped over the table, leering down at a steaming eel pie. If it meant a good meal, even the stalwart Red-Eye Dragoon would sit down at a table with Diaz.

The others looked none-too-thrilled at the situation: Rose was frowning, constantly glancing over her shoulder at the arched doorway, while the half-blood, Damia…

She stood at the far end of the chamber, in that one spot every room seemed to have; the place no light touched. Her forehead was pressed against the glass, hands clasped almost primly around the stem of her goblet as she hummed softly under her breath.

'This stuff is really really… good,' the Blue Sea Dragoon thought to herself, smiling slightly. The sound of the rain pattering against the window was very soothing, and it would be all too easy to let herself be lost in the song of the water...

Damia couldn't call the rains like the rest of the Fideal could, but times like these made her wish that she could summon up storms whenever she liked. 'Or keep them away,' she admitted to herself, a bit guilty at her enjoyment of the storm that had made such a mess of the wedding.

'Wherever the merfolk wander, storms are sure to follow…'

It would be nice if that old myth were true; he was damned tired of the snow that always seemed to plague this time of year. Still, the thought of Damia, of all people understanding something like the rains… it was laughable. The chit couldn't even hold her own in battle without help.

He shifted his gaze over to Syuveil, who glared right back at him. The green-clad man opened his mouth to say something that would, in all likelihood be quite cranky-sounding, but never got the chance to speak.

The low, ominous creak of un-oiled hinges filled the room, and as the heavy clanking of armored feet met his ears, Kanzas scowled, cracking his knuckles absently and forgetting what it was he'd been about to say. "Dinnertime," he muttered under his breath.

Diaz was a tall, broad-shouldered man who dwarfed the bulky guards that flanked him on either side. In the dim light, his fading brown hair took on a drab, gray cast that well matched his pale skin. "Leave us."

The guards snatched up hasty bows and left the room as suddenly as they had arrived. All in all, Diaz' escorts were meant to be seen and not heard. 'Kind of stupid when you listen to that armor of theirs clang that way.'

"So."

'Nice try, Zieg.'

A moment of silence passed between the Dragoons and the aging, self-proclaimed 'Emperor', a cold, awkward kind of quiet that covered the room like an oppressive blanket. Diaz' flint-like eyes scanned each of them in turn, taking apparent note that Belzac and Shirley weren't there. Where they came from, it was tradition to consummate the union before attending any sort of celebration.

Until the act was done, they weren't truly… wed. Kanzas flinched at the memory of playing 'witness' for the two. He really could have done without seeing Belzac climb into bed with his cousin, the woman who was the equivalent of his little sister.

"Your generosity is as always…" Rose's smile was forced; not even the dimness of the room could hide the darkness on her pretty face.

'Poor, poor Rose. Always needing to believe in some sort of justice in this world. Of course, men like Diaz must have some goodness in them.' Unlikely. Maybe, out of all of them, she needed to believe in this war the most, and that Diaz' motivations for freeing the human race were unselfish ones.

Truth be told, Charle Frahma was the leader of the rebellion, the hand that jerked about the strings of the puppet named Emperor Diaz. He wondered if Rose knew just how deeply Zieg's foster mother was involved in the war… 'I know something you don't know…'

"It's… humbling, really."

'Liar.'

If Rose's grin was hesitant, then Diaz' was just a bit too open and friendly. "One must set a good example, milady," he remarked, inclining his head with a practiced motion that caused his dark beard to brush against his chest. The fine leather of the man's boots squeaked slightly as he strode over towards the table, and as he sat upon the large, throne-like chair that dominated one end of it, he leaned forward, steepling his fingers before him. "Sit with me, Dragon Knights, and we'll toast the union of two of our own."

Someone made a small noise of outrage. It was little more than a squeak, but nonetheless, Kanzas looked towards the petite half-mermaid. Feeling not so much surprised as amused by the complacent girl's outrage; he snickered.

Syuveil's cloak swished about him, the slim man rising with a half-hearted shrug to join the others already assembling around the banquet table. He caught Damia's elbow in a fatherly gesture as she passed by, guiding the girl, who was by now, slightly weaving on her feet.

'Such a gentleman.'

One by one, the Dragon Knights joined Diaz at his feast until only Kanzas remained.

'Oh,' Damia thought dizzily, gulping back another mouthful of the smooth, thick wine. There were only three chairs left-that one on Diaz' right, and then the two side-by-side that were meant for Belzac and Shirley. 'At least he won't be sitting next to me this time…' Kanzas always sat next to Diaz at celebrations, which made sense as he'd all but been proclaimed the emperor's right hand.

Diaz cleared his throat meaningfully at the wiry figure by the window.

The glance slanted in his direction was warm, though not in a pleasant way. Kanzas' eyes were as burning embers, a hateful fire smoldering within that threatened to fan itself into an inferno at any moment. "Did you need something?"

Damia couldn't help it; she guffawed, and though the drunken laugh was quickly cut off by Syuveil's elbow jabbing into her side, the damage had been done. The stares of reproach everyone aimed at her should have been embarrassing; should have caused her to slouch down and try to make herself as small and unnoticeable as possible. 'Should have, but isn't,' she noted, a smug sort of realization dawning. How nice, not to care about what other people thought of her…

Rose watched disapprovingly as the redhead prowled over to Diaz. There was no other way to describe the way he walked; there were times like these when just the sight of him moving was enough to send chills running down her spine. 'You drift about like-' Like a dragon, in some strange way. 'Soa, Father of All, you're just like Michael.' He'd laughed at her the last time she'd told him that.

The emperor didn't bat an eyelash as Kanzas plunked down into the high-backed chair alongside him. The wooden legs scraped over polished planks with a sharp grating noise that caused the black-haired woman to sigh. Dark wine sloshed over the rim of the glass, splattering over his forearm. 'Heh, you just hate it when I do that, don't you, Rosie'? he thought to himself. He gave her a tight little smile, placing his goblet on the table. Then, leaning back in his seat, he raised the dripping arm to his mouth-and ran his tongue over it, licking the red droplets away from his skin.

Her lips tightened into a thin, white line, but to his disappointment, the woman remained silent, tearing a chunk of thick, hot bread away from the loaf Zieg offered to her. This was neither the time nor place to play one of Kanzas' games. Bad enough that she'd reacted that way at Shirley and Belzac's wedding. Something would have to be done to make it up to them-

A sudden, short gasp from Kanzas drew her attention from her meal, and Rose looked up at him speculatively. The sharp features of his face had gone tight and pale, his jaw tightly clenched. Lips pulled back to expose teeth, twisting into an expression that vaguely resembled a sneer.

'Fuckfuckfuckfuck-' Those words repeated themselves in his mind, a constant litany as that familiar shock of agony shot up his arm and seized hold of the rest of his body. 'Gods… damn you, Diaz.' One gloved hand slipped beneath the table. Feeling Rose's eyes burning into him, he turned his twisted sneer on her. Shaking fingers closed tightly about the small square of parchment the Emperor slipped into his hand.

"If you want to act like one of my hounds, Kanzas, then perhaps you should go outside and dine with them."

Syuveil let out a soft hiss in response to Damia's latest snort of laughter. He leaned over to the side, silently pleading with Kanzas to keep quiet until this sham of a party was over. "Damia," he whispered lowly, "I think you've had enough to drink for one night." As he reached out for her glass she frowned, scooting her chair to the side. The scholar made a mental note to keep her from drinking the next time she had the opportunity. It was strange that she never drank alcohol, what with Vellweb's water being so foul, but she did tend to keep odd habits.

Another gulp of wine, followed by a sulky little pout as she turned her face to one side, deliberately moving the glass out of his reach. She was fifteen years old. Why did they always have to treat her like such a child, anyway?

Things were getting very tense, very quickly, and the half-mermaid swaying and complaining about this and that was only making matters worse. He flicked a green-eyed glance over those gathered around the long table, his free hand absently lifting to shield his mouth. The cough rasped itself free of his throat, causing his lungs to burn and his shoulders to ache.

"Was that really necessary?" Zieg's voice was like steel, and he set the turkey leg he was gnawing on back down with a force that caused his plate to clatter. He knew neither of the men would welcome his interference, but that really wasn't the point. At any rate, he was used to Kanzas' sullen glares by now. Beside him, his fiancée let out a quiet sigh. Well, now it was his turn to stir up a bit of trouble-- she'd just have to deal with it.

Diaz pulled his hand away from his servant's, the note slipping easily from his own fingers. The dark look he aimed at Zieg seemed almost out of place on his aging, handsome face. "Haven't we had this conversation before? Though your display of loyalty is to be commended, it seems he'd be all too willing to leave you for the carrion to feast on." He studied Kanzas for a moment, somehow making that critical look seem like nothing more than a passing glance.

The Violet Dragoon blew out a breath of air between clenched teeth, his entire body sagging as the agony sparked one last time before vanishing. 'Wingly-lover, I need no help from the likes of you,' he thought darkly, slipping the note into his worn belt pouch. The anger swelled and then tightened into an icy ball of irritation in his chest-- right where his heart would be, if he even had one anymore. "Keep flapping that tongue so freely and I'll cut it from your head," he snapped, resisting the urge to wipe the sheen of sweat from his face.

A slight shrug from Zieg was followed by, "I'd really like to see you try one of these days."

Syuveil resisted the urge to groan as Kanzas slammed his fist down onto the table, the lean warrior already rising from his chair. The small woman sitting next to him tilted her head to the side, tousled teal curls sliding down her shoulder at the motion. "If I'm old enough to be a Dragoon, then I should be able to drink at my friends' wedding. You're always-" He made another swipe at Damia's goblet, protesting that she would make herself sick, that perhaps she should wait-just a little while before drinking the rest of it.

'Kanzas, please control yourself just a little longer.' This whole blasted mess was his fault. Diaz hadn't been the one to insist Kanzas 'celebrate' with the rest of them. It had been Syuveil who had pushed the other man into it, although he'd known it would end up causing some sort of trouble. Any second now, his friend would say or do something to lessen him in the eyes of those who should rightfully be kindred spirits.

"Let the man-eater have her drink, scholar." Damia was nothing if not an easy target, and he'd be damned if it didn't feel good to lash out at someone he knew he could hurt. His lips curled into a vicious snarl of satisfaction as she tensed up, turning bright red. "Has to have fun while she can, eh? After all, it's not like as if she'll survive the war."

Syuveil didn't have to worry about Damia's alcohol consumption much longer. She set the goblet down suddenly, ducking her head low. The casual cruelty with which he spoke caused her stomach to twist. 'Oh. He said it like it was nothing…'

Or like it was true…

'Don't you cry in front of him. Don't you dare-'

"Kanzas! Don't you even think of walking out that door-come back here!"

But that would mean he'd actually have to listen to one of them, wouldn't it? She folded her hands primly in her lap, remaining absolutely silent as Syuveil doubled over in another fit of coughing. That was all right, because she didn't really want to hear him tell her that things were 'just fine' and 'not to pay any attention to him.'

That was easier said than done, wasn't it? As the door slammed shut, Rose settled back down in her chair, muttering a few choice words under her breath as she stretched her arm across the table, attempting to brush her fingers against Damia's hand. She leaned forward again, trying to bridge the distance between them, and as Damia watched the Darkness Dragoon, she saw her cool features were soft with pity. However, the table was just too wide, and pale fingers merely brushed against the tips of Damia's.

Even if they did treat her like a child, at least they cared. 'Rose and the others are so kind to me.' So very kind to one who had no right to be a Dragoon. It hurt her to admit it, but that horrible man's words were true. Her mother was Fideal- a Flesh-Eater, and Damia carried the taint of that legacy.

/'Fear not, child, for I give my life to you. My soul. Use them well.' /

Delicately folded hands tightened into fists as the cool, sonorous voice of the Divine Water Dragon washed over her mind. Six months later, the memory of the dragon's sacrifice was still as sharp and stinging as sea air.

/'Strike true-' /

'You chose wrong, Divine Dragon, and everyone knows it.'

It was good that they didn't all rush to comfort her at once- it would be too humiliating. There was only one thing she hated more than being alone, and that was being seen as an object of pity. She didn't know how long she sat there, half-heartedly participating in the awkward conversation that followed Kanzas' departure, but when she rose to her feet, they all turned to look at her.

"Damia-"

A thin little smile tugged at her lips and she shook her head, holding up her hand in a polite attempt to interrupt Rose. To her relief, it worked, the other woman letting out a faint little sigh. "The rain will clear my head." Being drunk wasn't all that amusing anymore. If anything, she now felt childish, stupid and just a bit… angry. 'I felt so very grown-up, too. Silly of me…'

Her hand hovered above the doorknob for a moment, and she twisted about to study her quiet, unhappy friends. 'It's good that Belzac and Shirley didn't come here.' "Don't worry," she added, "I'll stay away from the bridges for a while."

With that, she tottered out of the room and into the cold, damp corridor that would eventually lead her outside, into the cool embrace of the rain, leaving the Dragoons to their conversation and the suddenly silent emperor to his meal.

: : : : :

The stone of the wall was cool, and slightly damp against his back, the condensation seeping through the fabric of his shirt just slightly. He fingered the small, scrap of parchment Diaz had placed in his hand, squinting in the darkness in an attempt to make out the sign that had been scrawled on the surface. 'Who becomes one of the dolls tonight, 'milord'?'

A soft curse escaped his lips as a flash of lightning illuminated the note and the name upon it. 'You absolute bastard. Not taking any chances, are you?' He whistled out a breath through his front teeth. 'At least you get good use out of your 'hound.'

Forcing back the swell of anger caused by Diaz and this damned stupid day in general, Kanzas shook the goblet in his hand carefully, noting in dismay how little of the red stuff was swishing at the bottom of it. Huh! Almost empty. Pity that; he really should have taken a bottle before he'd gone…

Soft slippers rustled over the sweet-smelling rushes spread over the floor, and he shifted his eyes to the side to take in mud-stained skirts and mussed teal hair. His lip curled at the sight of the half-blooded girl, mouth curving into something that bordered on a sneer.

Damia quietly pulled the door shut behind her, scuffing her feet absently over the floor as the worn brass hinges creaked. 'It's so quiet out here that everything sounds so much louder…'

Including the sudden, somehow mocking sound of another person clicking their tongue against the bottom of their mouth. Click. Click. Click. She winced reflexively as she turned around, not at all surprised to find Kanzas leaning against the wall at the far end of the corridor.

He crumpled the piece of paper he was holding in his hand and popped it into his mouth. She couldn't help but stare, feeling herself tense at the cold little smirk on his face. For some reason, she thought of a tightly coiled spring-barely controlled, tense and ready to snap forward at any moment.

Diaz' message was washed down with a bit of wine, the now-pulpy ball scratching uncomfortably at his throat as it went down. "Head for the bridges," he rasped out at her as she uncertainly started toward the opposite end of the corridor, "maybe you'll fall and do Vellweb a favor."

He was gratified to see the newest Dragoon stiffen and recoil as if struck. 'You just never fight back, do you? Fine. You deserve whatever you get, then.'

'Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.' The words rang as a litany in her mind, and the closer she drew to him, the more rapidly the chant repeated itself. 'Shut up. Shut up. Shut up shut up shutupshutupshutup-'

Kanzas followed her with his eyes as she moved to pass him. The skin of his thumb slid along the warm glass stem of the goblet and the smirk on his face widened as he clucked his tongue one final time.

Click.

"Shut up!" She spun about, tottering dangerously on her feet as she lashed out with one small fist.

Though startled, Kanzas easily sidestepped the blow, feeling the slight rush of cool air as her punch flew by his face. 'I'll be damned.' He pushed himself away from the wall with one foot, "What is it you want, you little twit? Wanted to show off the shiny new spine you're growing?"

"You were horrible to say those things," she whispered. Her pale hand fell back to her side, a slight tremor running through it. The anger twisted in her belly, a cold, heavy sort of fury that Damia couldn't fight off.

One bright eyebrow arched and as he lifted the wine glass back to his lips, he snorted, causing a little of the liquid to spray over the rim of it. What she called 'horrible', he called truth. Everyone knew the stories about the merfolk and just what it implied about Damia's 'tastes'. "How drunk are you, half-breed?" A quick swallow, a trail of warmth burning in his gut, and the wine was gone.

Apparently, the Blue Sea Dragoon was quite, quite drunk, as she leaned forward and poked him in the chest hard enough that he winced. "Drunk enough," she whispered tightly, eyes glistening with tears, "that I'm not afraid of Diaz' pet hound!"

The storm was running through her body, and though she'd been humiliated just minutes ago, she still felt more daring than she ever could have without it. 'I'm not afraid of him,' she realized, an undercurrent of smugness running just beneath the surface of her angry thoughts. 'He can't do anything to me because… I'm a Dragoon, too.' Right or wrong, she was one of them. 'The others won't let him.'

His expression was carefully blank, the way it always did when someone mentioned the emperor's name, but she could see flashes of lightning within his eyes and she almost laughed, laughed at his reaction, because she was right and-

Pain stabbed through his hand and wicked up his arm as he quite literally crushed the goblet he was holding. This wasn't his night... He hissed suddenly, allowing the broken remains to fall from his hand and to the floor, where the glass shattered further.

'Oh, there's blood,' was her horrified realization, eyes widening until they were as round as saucers.

"Miranda, Mother of All," he grit out, hunching forward to pick at the shards embedded in his hand.

The clear sound of glass striking stone snapped Damia out of her dazed shock. She blinked a few times, lunging forward to grasp at his wrist. "I'm sorry-I didn't mean to!" she cried, tightening her fingers about his arm about his arm as he attempted to jerk it away. A dangerous little voice whispered in the back of her mind to be careful, about how easily this could go wrong. 'You know, you know what you might do-' "Let me see it. Kanzas, I-"

"Don't fucking touch it," he snarled, casting a surreptitious glance toward the door of the dining hall. Oh, it would be quite easy to hit her, but he didn't hold with that sort of thing. Not to mention that it would be likely to make her cry. If they got much louder, then one of them would wander out here to investigate and that was the last thing he wanted.

Surprisingly sharp fingernails gripped one of the larger slivers, attempting to work it from the flesh of his palm. The man growled low in his throat, jerking his head in a short nod to indicate that she could continue-at least for now.

Damia bit her lip and tossed the splinter aside, forcing herself to ignore the cruel, savage pull of the blood and the emotion whispering through it. 'I'm not like the others!' she reminded herself, the rising panic replacing the anger and regret surging through her veins. It was usually easier for her to ignore, even on the battlefield the magic of flesh and blood didn't tear at her this way. She couldn't focus-she was too upset, too dizzy.

'Too damn drunk,' she understood, too late.

A single droplet of red rolled down his hand to splatter on the floor. It left a dark smear on the skin and she studied it in fascination as she grasped at another bit of glass.

Everything about her was… off, suddenly. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen blood before, or killed men in battle. The woman kept leaning closer to his hand, absently mumbling something about not being able to see well in the darkness.

"What, are you blind?" Kanzas snapped, his gaze drifting over the flickering torches illuminating the darkness of the corridor. "It's brighter than th-" His harsh words were cut off by his own startled gasp as her sharp fingernails pierced his skin. All he could think at that moment was 'predator', the slight figure lurching forward even while trying to shove his arm away from her. Her tongue fell upon his hand, feeling like warm rain as it trailed over the blood-smeared skin. 'Holy hell.'

'Hate them all, none of them understand, Shirley's gone, who am I? Murderer's hands, I was the first of them, first of the Dragoons, Diaz's dog, animal, child-killer-'

The intensity of Kanzas' emotions caused her knees to buckle, and she swayed forward against him, barely even noticing that he failed to push her away.

'Such pain', that distant, rational part of Damia thought-the human part of her. She could 'hear' his heart through the almost imperceptible pulsing of his blood. It sounded like the drums of her mother's people, so fierce and strong that she couldn't help but sink her blunt teeth into the flesh of his arm.

His neck arched back reflexively at the raw pain and he grit his teeth to keep from screaming. The teal-haired half-breed made a strange sound low in her throat, almost a keen. 'Flesh-eaters,' he thought crazily, 'they really are-' "Get back," he rasped out in an odd, strangled sort of voice. He pulled away the arm he had reflexively used to catch her; tangling his fingers in the unkempt strands of her hair and using them try and yank her away. "Dragoon or no, I'll break your neck if you don't stop."

How funny that he'd never noticed her eyes were the very color of blood. She gazed up at him, her human teeth scraping away bits of skin as he quite literally tore her mouth from his arm. The pale, sad face had taken on a decidedly eerie, knowing slant and he could see even in the torchlight that her teeth were tinted pinkish-red. She moved her lips a few times as if she were trying and failing to form words.

Damia skittered away from him as suddenly as she had 'attacked', covering her mouth with both hands. A pathetic little whimper escaped the Blue Sea Dragoon and she shook her head violently, staring at the damage she'd done. 'Oh, Soa, oh, Soa, oh, no.' He would tell the others and then they would know just how much she was like the Fideal who had earned the wrath of the dragons. "I didn't mean to," she choked. "Kanzas, I'm sorry!"

Kanzas had passed through a village years before the war where the humans within were slowly starving to death. They'd grasped at his master's cloak, pleading and begging for food. Looking at her, he was suddenly reminded of those humans. 'Starving.' "You keep repeating yourself," the man stated vaguely, smoothing his palm down the wound she'd made.

"Please don't tell," she whispered from behind her hands.

Before he could respond, she began moving backwards down the hallway, a slight figure clothed in blue and bathed in red, a rustle of skirts that suddenly bolted for the door and flung it open. With a backward, pleading glance at him, she darted out into the fiercely raging storm, heedless of the wind and rain that stung her face.

The rain pattered on the cold stone floor and the heavy slab of wood she'd left open swung slightly back and forth, creaking.

He lifted his arm up to allow the light of the torches to bathe the small furrows gouged into his arm by blunt teeth. "She bit me," he murmured disbelievingly. "That bitch bit me…"

: : : : :

The quill scratched over the rough surface of the parchment, a head sparsely covered with snowy white hair bowing over the lines he wrote. The tangled length of the old man's beard brushed against his knees, as pale as the rough scholar's robe he wore.

Cai Morin had been a citizen of Vellweb for thirty-one years. He'd traveled from the Life City with his young son shortly after Charle Frahma and the Human chieftain named Diaz had founded the settlement.

When the Wingly ruler and her Human lover had sought the aid of the Divine Dragons in protecting Diaz's enslaved race, Cai himself had scribed the man's speech to the growing colony.

He'd witnessed the ascension of the first Dragon Knight when the newcomer Kanzas had struck the killing blow against the traitorous Divine Thunder Dragon, and he'd been there when the Winglies had declared war on the Human race.

Yes, Cai Morin had seen many things in his seventy-four years of life, including the gradual corruption of Emperor Diaz himself. 'This will be more than a war between Human and Wingly when all is said and done,' the old man realized sadly, reaching over to dip the quill's tip into the inkwell by his arm.

Lightning crackled through the air suddenly and Cai looked up, watching the slight shadow of pattering raindrops on the oiled sheet of parchment that covered his window. Not everyone, it seemed, had expensive glass sent to them from Ulara.

Tomorrow, he would go forth and give another speech against Diaz. He had done so the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that… So he would continue until others realized what Cai himself had.

Diaz… That man had been so much more in the past. There had been fire in his eyes and the desire to give his people a place to live in freedom.

Power corrupted over time, as it was wont to do-as it had done with the Fideal, the Winglies. The man that ruled over Vellweb was rapidly becoming no more than a tyrant, attempting to bend others to his will. 'It didn't used to be like this.' When had that determined young man become such a cold, manipulative politician? Somewhere along the line, Diaz had changed, and it had taken Cai Morin far too long to accept that fact.

It was only a matter of time before the people began to rise up against their ruler. He didn't know when, or what the last straw would be; all he understood was that it would happen. The question was, whom would the Dragon Knights stand with? 'I know where Kanzas' allegiance lies. Soa only knows what the others will choose to do.'

Cai Morin, former scribe to Emperor Diaz and the Lady Charle Frahma finished penning his speech and sat back, closing his eyes wearily. 'This night was meant for celebration, old fool.' The rest of the city was likely toasting the union of Lord Belzac and Lady Shirley and here he sat, alone in his home with naught but his dark thoughts for company.

Dear Seela had been lost five winters ago, and their sole child was now a soldier for Gloriano. Fort Magrad wasn't so very far away, yet on nights like these, Philip might as well be on the other side of the continent.

He capped the quill using a bit of old wax and rose to his feet. One hand reached behind him to rub at his stooped back as it creaked. His joints pained him terribly when it rained…

'Tomorrow is another day.' The light of his candle shrouded the room in a soft glow, flickering shadows dancing along the walls as the aging scribe crossed the short distance from his desk to the tiny, rumpled bed in the corner. 'Another day to try…' He blew out the small stub of candle he held, placing it on the crudely carved nightstand by his bed.

It didn't take long for him to drift off.

Perhaps it was a merciful thing that Cai Morin slept so heavily that night. When his door swung gently open to reveal the hooded figure clad in tattered peasant clothing, he didn't stir.

'Mayfil waits for you, old man,' the assassin thought to himself. He moved with a cat-like sort of grace and his boots made nary a sound as he crept across the hard-packed dirt floor. The occasional flicker of light caused by the storm outside lifted the veil of darkness that might have been a hindrance, otherwise.

Though the killer didn't hesitate, his hands were strangely gentle as he pressed the elder's face into the feathery pillow. 'Not just for you…'

When some unfortunate friend happened to pay Cai a visit, they would realize he'd died painlessly in his sleep. 'It was a blessing in disguise,' they would say, 'he was getting so very old.' That's what they would think; no one need know that another had given him a gentle nudge to the gates of the Death City.

The killer returned to his home mere minutes after arriving at his target's small hut, knowing friends and family would be none the wiser about his dark deed. He knelt in the dark, unwelcoming shadows that filled the windowless tower and there he whispered the truth to a room full of bloodstained dolls.

It would be their little secret, theirs to hold and cherish until the yawning blackness of hell came to claim him for his sins…

Oof, let's get these obligatory story notes out of the way! I used the name 'Fideal' for Damia's people. The fideal was a fairy who wanders about lakeshores, yes, seducing men and then drowning them. It seemed fitting, with the frequency mermaids pop up in game. The 'Fideal' in this fanfic are the strongest of the mermaids, driven to near extinction by the Divine Dragons. In the present 'game', the stuff you face happens to be fodder. Nothin' all that powerful there.

As for the whole spin on mermaids being cannibalistic, I read on that some mermaids were known to drink blood. I just went a step further with that and, er, there you go.