Collector

Chapter 3 – Slave

Loki just watches in silence as his master gazes into the twisted world created, the same creation's birth that ripped his spirit from his body leaving him only as a shade. So little he could do now, once a legend, then an enslavement and now… simply ether.

Silence was all the Kalaldrei made with his voice, tempered by the fading clicks of his claws cuffing across the worn stone. His thoughts are erratic, thankful for not being trapped in a human form by prying eyes but furious at the fact he would have to go near there.

'The creator should have had their bleating organs torn out from the body and devoured with the utmost savorence as the body waned, not to have simply committed suicide as it did' He muses aloud, that angry flick still in both tails accompanied by a slight hiss before the beast corrected himself on manner sake and stopped.

Where he is truly from, another plain, there were psychical forms of a minority; creators that brought luck and irony amongst other things. However all were mortal and despite what made the occurrences happen from within their bodies still exist, the mind that once controlled the ability has since rotted in soil as their decaying flesh decomposed for dwellers to nourish their families.

One of them happened to kill themselves just before the finishing blow was struck by the currently angered Obsidian form.

'Loki,' he growls in a low tone, not even bothering to turn his head 'I expect that you will not go off and do anything without command, you never know what could possibly happen if the line was approached again' he sneers slightly in the last few words.

The spirit simply blinks vacantly, slow without care. It no longer had a concept for being, just obey, the heard words to the Rukario are simply empty as a void much like its physicality.

With a slight smirk, Arthus lifts his head and gazes around with simple movements of his head. There is simply nothing here anymore, just war torn land stretching only to this city's borders, the gnarled roots of death and fallen life piercing cracked ground to steal the last traces of existence from them.

You see, death isn't really black; it's a rich mix of the nova, scarlet and russet with fading azure of dead man's tears.

All this barren cause, a place transformed purely for demons was caused by such a simple fact, a line trodden over that purely exists for him since he is the only of his race to temper in forbidden arts. His rage caused an explosion, snuffing out the light of an existence, coiling round its throat and suffocating till it falls with a shattered spine.

Somethings were destroyed, they were lucky ones, others were transformed into monstrosities to reflect how he felt which turned on those left to die before their victims eyes could open to see what would be left of their former home.

And she is the cause, because she refused to be part of his collection, to stand amongst the rare and unique, too enthralled by life being wasted in normalcy.

Because of it, an entire town, generations, so many life chances to maybe make a breakthrough in medicine, become great authors, trainer, researchers, just nameless faces ground into the dirt under a heel and claw.

He snorts as he lets a hand run over the spine nubs under his jaw, his annoyance still fully evident in his twisted expression, his thoughts wanting to make her pay for ruining the efforts he had in place to keep his existence outside being a Leader quiet.

Despite this, he never really cared what happened to the local residents, the creatures he had enslaved from the odd Trainer and the stupid wanderers, he has no real ego in a human sense but known superiority over lesser beings as he is fully aware of what he is capable of. Few thoughts can be hidden, the land is left can give birth to varying Sengu, acting as servants for his chosen will at a mere flicker of one of his wings.

To say God amongst mortal wouldn't be that far from the truth, his blatant disregard after study constantly evident… even when study held little interest anymore. His passion in life and existence altered drastically to darker more ambitious aims.

He's not the conquest sort; world domination would never dare a glimmer across those dark orbs.

It's all about her

'Come Loki' he growls softly, already starting across the barrens without bothering to glance back, contain clutched tightly in one palm, plastic shredding to fine from the sheer hold his claws have embedded into the inanimate flesh.

Loki obeys plainly, his colour fading to dull death tabard as he chooses simply to float after seeing it an ill waste of energy to do otherwise, ignoring all but the simple command.

The ground feels foreign under toughened skin; it feels as solid as diamond yet… does not at the same. Its desert a as a main concoction mixed with failure and regret pumping through lifeless veins, memories, a former life lacking from the scarred burn of rawness gracing across in confident steps.

He doesn't notice the feeling treading across claw and pad, immune to the feeling with unfocused eyes staring ahead to destination anger notably bubbling fiercer across his hide with each drawn breath and huff, the moments closer to being anywhere near his one failure threatening to tar him asunder once more.

Sanity is barely intact already, instinct and need being the bar survivals in his psyche, the need to feel blood trickle, the burn for absolute revenge and come back.

And to that his eyes flicker a moment, his lost self barely prevented from drowning before it is cast back down into the oceans filled with empty and bleak.

His growl comes and fades rapidly as his form is forcibly changed into that of a regular human, his disgust evident as he pauses a moment to look at the fragility obvious in his free hand.

Before he simply put up with it in extended annoyance, after all it was hardly wanted to be noticed as the spices is and have constant human intervention so no study could be completed, aggravation causes stressed threads to wither after all.

Now as his eyes narrow to glare, the venom so clear, it disgusts him to look so pitiful, be like them, reduced to a level where he could barely use half the skills he should be able to, being the same as the pair that had cost him so bitterly.

His fist slams into rock, struck out without a flinch in his expression to the fragments embedded into his skin, the blood trickling down his balled hand is ignored the taste left to be unsavoured in utter rarity.

He can't feel it; the withering arcane has spared him for now.

His hand wavers a moment, flicking the blood to the ground where it is quickly dissipated before being finally allowed to fall to his side where the bruising wound continues to ooze at his ignorance's cost. He just walks on, utterly silent eyes fixed on the human guard with eyes able to tear a soul from its body with a simple notion if willed.

Loki continues to follow; his gait has since slipped to a mixture of psychical and natural. He had glanced around as they tread, noticing the odd stretches of barren invading into natural place, etched in a crude line as the pair try to co-exist. He hadn't been past the line in any time since his "re-death" and an inkling of former curiosity ebbed because of it.

And for a moment there is a mind, feebly tries to calculate why the forest is gone, one of few remaining, why there is no trace.

Then the thought is lost, his posture partly slouched as the human in uniform draws closer and a simple word etches across the dulled russet orbs.

Victim

Arthus snorts with distaste as the human raises a hand and demands he halt, however he does stop without a word, his eyes narrowed with furrowed brow.

'What are you doing coming from this way kid? Back there's No Man's Land, going through is suicide.' He grunts, face solemn and judging but it was notable that despite how hard he tried he avoided eye contact. Arthus just holds up a hand little, ignoring the obvious gun being aimed right at him, the humans were obviously suspicious of anything coming from this way.

'One, I'm not a child so don't chide me with obvious details, two, what about a Miss Erika? She came this way' his reply comes in a rather stagnant tone, he wasn't impressed by the pitiful weapon held, just a thought and the guard would drop it, cringing on the ground in convulsions.

'She has higher rights than you kid, there is a Gym there I'm told, one that wasn't corresponding to rules though why anybody would living that nut house let alone run anything there is beyond me, must be ready to be locked up in a padded cell… Hey, what's that you're holding?'

Arthus grins darkly; the human notably shivers slightly as the expression was hardly possible by human standards, not that extremely.

'A present from the dear miss Erika and you think I'm insane do you?' he whispers softly, innocent yet still rippling with malice as he walks up to the guard whose eyes widened in fear partly from the control of fear being forcibly removed.

'It's not a nut house there human, it's a second home where trespassers pay with their life just like she did' he continues to whisper, his eyes narrowing fraction as he clutches the Guard's throat as he forces him down to his knees like a common dog.

'And I don't like being denied common right, you are just flesh after all, he hisses darkly, the shift had altered where it shouldn't have been possible, allowing the hand clutching the man's throat to embed claw into the muscle as the ripple effect slowly creeps across the rest of him.

The device despite having no morality or understanding had decided just for once, to fall to his anger burning across his hide to let him be, not something else.

'And I'm not' he hisses with a sick twisted expression on his face, forked tongue flickering as his four eyes bore into the guy's skull.

The guard is driven by pure fear and horror now, words unable to form, skin a shade of pale with eyes bulged slightly as ragged breath barely is drawn.

Imagine his shock when he is simply let go making his head thud into the dirt, to arise blinking away dirt to not see a demon, but a human he saw before with eyes that down right terrified him.

'Here's the deal… John Mosaki, You no longer forbid anybody to leave or come from my area, you never speak ill-ly again of either the area or of me, you encourage them to come down, trainers more so, call it there ultimate chance for glory.'

The Guard just nods dumbly as Arthus absently tastes the blood on his finger tips, half closing his eyes in contentment at the taste, soothing his anger enough before gazing back to the fallen.

'You will also send report to me on regular basis of people asking, word spoken, whatever I don't really care I just wish to know. I will ensure that you may cross the Wasteland without harm you will be left unharmed. However unless I get these and I shall know if you have even tried to speak of this and what you have said with a simple glance… a little accident might just happen to little Judie and we wouldn't want that now would we?'

Eyes widen again as the man holds his hands together in prayer and plead.

'Ple-e-ee-ease I'l I'll do anything just please don't hurt my daughter!' he garbles; tears and panic slipping down his face.

A simple smirk is the response, this is how all humans should be, grovelling pitifully like animals which they are barely above.

'Good boy… now on your feet and pull yourself together before somebody notices, remember nothing here happened as far as anybody else should know, the marks on your throat are from an out of control beast that came out you from nowhere…. a Mightyena perhaps' he muses ignoring the human shakily standing to his feet, gun back in holster and cap looking out of place on the sweating mess before him.

'I expect the first report within hours of when you next see me; your shifts are simple enough to work into. Just note one thing when you come down south, never lock eyes with a beast, glance away fast… they don't always listen to word when food is involved.'

A feared nod is the response, words still unable to form, fear for his little girl who is partially deaf, the thoughts being enjoyed by the twisted individual in front of him.

'Come Loki' is the last thing he says before passing the guard, acting as nothing happened as the spirit follows him, oblivious to the man barely holding himself together.

'Eyes… those eyes' he mumbles barely coherent as is hand trails to his neck, shaking as it is held in front of his face.

Those e-eyes….