A short chapter.
Nicolas felt his face grow cold and his mouth hang open as he watched from the side, uselessly, as his sister was rammed by a blot of black and white. As she was forced against a wall and through it, felt the blow as if it had been him in her place. His hand losing its grip and letting go of a man's face as he stood still, his head just catching up to what he had to do, but so did they. And like a pack of hyenas they came, like piranhas on a cow bleeding in the water they began to take bites off him.
"One less! Take him down!" Someone at the back screamed and they rushed him as he tried to make way, he had to go, had to protect her! Nicolas knew this situation was to his disadvantage, he was a bruiser, a tank, meant to control crowds and herd them with his bulk. His fist did nothing more than make some dumber than they were or make their eyes lose focus for a couple seconds, and usually that was enough, enough for Martina to hammer them with bullets. But not now. She wasn't here and the fact he was so badly outnumbered was concerning.
His arms flailed around as he backhanded and punched and gripped and smashed heads. People had their teeth blown off, their faces cut when they caught a knuckle, and their noses broke as they came near him, but this was part of life for them. This was just another day for them, and it couldn't be considered over without a scrap or five. Some had a full mouth of wood and silver after all, noses so bent and misshapen that they were stumps and skin so scarred it was an armour of hardened flesh.
And so, without fear of pain they swarmed him. They pushed at his chest and gut, clung to his arm in a vain effort of stopping him from braining the others and tried to tackle him to the ground. But he lifted them all, uprooted their barricades and stomped on the bodies of those that fell below this press of mad men. As he went, he bellowed, veins popped in his neck and temple as they tried to stop him. He had a mission!
"Move!" He screamed in their faces, a terrible sound joined by the sight of a mouth big as a gutter that made those closest to this scene lose their valour. But they were there simply there to delay him, to buy time and no more as the truly strong, the family's little giants, gathered behind this beast of a man.
But Nicolas was so focused in trampling the opposition that he didn't realize it, didn't notice the abrasions in his arms, the tightness in his abdomen nor the fact that he was slowing down. He simply pushed forwards, ever forward. Ignoring them until he reached down to pick a man by the neck and his hand failed to grasp him, stopped short by a long margin. The man smirked in triumph for a second before Nicolas heaved with effort and caught him by the head, the ropes that hung from his arm snapped back and so did the poor lad caught in his grip.
"He is fixed!" They celebrated as the multitude holding him back groaned with effort, some were red in the face just trying to make him stay in place.
"Someone get a rope ´round his legs. We need him on the floor," Another shouted over the masses as Nicolas reflexively tightened his fingers around the man's head as he tried to fight their binds, his screams and thrashing limbs had a sobering effect on everyone. No one wanted to get near him, blades slid off his skin like needles against iron and one wrong move would get your head crushed. That part had never been in anyone's life till now, your skull grasped by a hold of stone before being used as a shield in the press or as a hammer to nail the others. It wasn´t just pain there, it was desperation as your face was pressed flat against a sheet of callus and flesh. And just like a sickness fear was easily contagious, kept them in place as he fought.
He was getting desperate, his head a mess of worry, Martina was out there fighting some unknown on her own. And there was nothing he could do here bound to this place, why couldn't they let him go! He thought with anger. Pushed his arm forward trying to leverage some of them, ten men grit their teeth as their feet slid on the floor and when his strength was gone they retreated as one. The sudden pull took away his balance, his right foot went back more than expected and his knee crushed against the ground.
The thirty men on the ropes pulled again, all intent in pressing their advantage and bringing him down once and for all. They all wanted to finish this madness. But as it was, they couldn't move him, no matter which way they tried to bring him he wouldn't budge as his body turned into a statue the moment he fell. It was like trying to pull a keeled frigate upright, an impossible task.
This stalemate lasted until one of them, tired and bruised at the palms from rope burns, let go and picked up the maul at his hips. He came quiet as a mouse from behind, working the handle of his weapon until one hand was choking the head and the other was by the tip, and just like a miner he brought the hammer up and behind his back and swung it back down nice and hard. The spiked, metal head hit him squarely in the crown, a blow so perfect it could have killed any kind of cattle right where it stood. A blow he had used to kill sharks and a whale that had beached some years ago, and every time it was the sound of a wet plank snapping, a little splatter in the face, and all problems turned cold and white.
Except this time.
Not this time, not by a large margin. When the steel met the head, it gave a dull bonk, like a knuckle rapped against a wall, and that bald piece of a rock simply bobbed a little in response. Suddenly everyone went quiet, the man with the hammer felt his mouth dry in a second and gripped his weapon ever so tightly. His hands white upon it. And then it turned red, veins like strings popped on his temples and one eye like a needle stared at him from under a clean slab of a forehead. He tried to swallow as their captive rose and opened that great hole of a mouth and, to everyone's dismay, bit down on the ropes around his shoulder. With a great pull of his neck he ripped it to strings and got one arm free, spat a knot of frayed cords and pulled a neat little knife off his belt and set to cut every restraint upon him.
They all stared as Nicolas freed himself, feet rooted in the ground as his [Veteran's Aura] was released in a strong, steady flow. Unlike the times he had used it to spar, this time he exerted no control over it, it spread everywhere like winter and took hold of all in its chilling grasp. He could feel his head pounding as he cut through the ropes that were thick as fingers and braided, but at least there were no more attacks and no more opposition. That let him have a moment to reign himself, to put his emotions under control if even by a smidgen.
And when he was free he turned around, his Aura set on drowning the man that had brained him with a hammer so similar to a butcher's maul and bent over to look at him in the eye, put his hands on his shoulders and spoke low and careful. The voice he used on his sister when she stepped over the line, the only sound he could make without cursing and breaking his word with his mom. He couldn't let one of the last strings that tied him with his parents to be cut like that, and so his message was short.
"You hurt me," The hammerman winced and teared up as Nicolas whispered the words right in front of him, like an animal breathing down on his face and having to look at those too sharp and too big a tooth. He felt claws digging into his shoulders, muscle moved painfully out the way and he was pressed down until his knees gave way and he could already feel his life draining. It was all followed by his joints almost being ripped out of their sockets, the air pushed out of his chest and a feeling of lightness only felt when jumping off a high place. When he opened his eyes he watched the chandelier pass by his face and be replaced by the chain and then the rafters and even when his head failed to catch up to the events his body moved with a purpose. His hands latched onto one the beams just by the skin of his fingers, looking down his eyes crossed the animal's and his hands were clenched even harder. He was safe now, he was safe here.
With his face red, he clenched his teeth as he let go of a breath of boiling air, his chest shivering as he held back. His head hurt like all hells, like a nail had been driven in. Looked up at the man holding onto dear life and belched another breath of anger. His sister needed him, there was no time for this.
"Move," he said in a quiet voice that was in the edge of his patience. The people were silent now, looking at him as if he was a monster, keeping their grips tight and hurtful on their weapons but they didn't move to stop him. There was only one man with a chain in his hands and he squawked and let it go when Nicolas felt his eye twitch at the sight of it. As he trounced through the opening the attacker had left, he reeled in his Skill, the smog of his Aura cleansed from the area.
And if he shouldered and tore another piece of the wall as he walked off, well who cared about it.
[O.o]
"We should have stopped him," someone spoke after the icy air left with the man, most everyone looked at him and one showed him the way with his arm as he said.
"He went that way and you are welcomed to try," his tone mocking as he put a hand on his chest, "as for me I am not going near a fucking fishman,"
"That wasn't a fishman, loudmouth. Just another man. A big one just that," a woman nursing a rifle said as she eyed their guy in the ceiling. She estimated they might need a real big ladder to get him down, or two tied together.
"Are you blind or didn't you see how he bit right through that rope?" He quipped and walked up to the mess of cords that looked to have been grated down to straws, "you can tie two ships with this, and they couldn't snap it. He bit it and tore it like my dog through a good cut of meat, that's a fishman or half of one if I ever seen one," there were mutters of agreement here and there, small nods of approval.
"Might be just a hungry man," she answered as the lad's grip faltered and he plummeted down, past her spot in the first floor and no one made to catch him as he crashed against the floor. He groaned and someone gave him a bottle to kill the pain.
She eyed the hole they had all gone through and passed her finger over the gun's sight, she hoped everything could be wrapped nice and tight tonight and quickly too. It was still early enough that she could get a story or two in for her children, maybe even cook something. Her eyes went back to the hole in the bloody wall and sighed, no way those two would go down quickly. Perhaps the big lad, if Miss Diena heard her prayers, but she wouldn't bet a belly on that.
[O.o]
Coltello stalked the alleys as he nursed the words of the man he had come to call uncle, more a father than anything if he was perfectly honest, that he was watching only half the picture. That violence was but half of their business, but then what was the other half? What was left after you took the knuckles and blades from a Family, money perhaps? People would be his answer if he had had a glass too much of wine, if he thought his uncle was feeling particularly sentimental. No chance of that happening, but there were only so many venues he could take his words in, and sometimes the least transited ones were the answer.
The sound of his Den-Den brought him away from that rail of thought and he patted his vest until he found the little snail right next to his pocket watch.
"Purupurupuru~ Purupurupuru…Gacha. Boss Coltello, Sir?" Said the transponder after putting on a pair of small sunglasses and hiding one of its teeth.
"Coltello here. What is it Petro?" He asked tiredly and hoped it wasn't more damned problems, the seas knew he had enough as it was.
"We have a situation at the canteen, Sir. A man and a woman just wrecked the place and Officer Orillas had to intervene and take one out, the other one escaped. Someone is tracking him and Officer Diena was called," Concise and to the point were the words he would use to describe Petro, a man uninterested in small talk and details. So it fell on his shoulders to ask for a more complete report every time, it was exhausting to repeat himself but he would have more luck pulling money from a fish's gut than changing Petro.
"Do me a favour and describe them for me Petro," And as the pieces started to fall upon his ears so did they in his head, a lad that was one and a half men tall with a massive gut and a head shaved clean like a marble with two little eyes sitting on top of a nose like a nail. And together with him was a tall woman fierce as fire with a mane of golden hair, eyes big and shining as a cat's and a button nose that was always creased by a big smile.
They were still here! And were wrecking his people's bar! Coltello felt indignant, irate, that they would come back after what they had done to his men. That breaking a man's arm wouldn't be enough to sate them when their crime was overstepping his boundaries, the fact that they wished to hurt him made his blood boil before his head brought him an idea. The fact that they were attacking them meant they were enemies, and not even his father knows if this was their idea from the begging, if their early meeting was but plain coincidence. Then he would be crime free, it wouldn't have been a kidnapping it would have been investigation of suspicious behaviour. She had been looking at him from the moment he stepped in, had locked onto him in a second. But why? And his mind flashed to the little chest he had appropriated not two week ago from that cargo ship, were they the owners? Were they here to get it back, to get that thing back?
By how much it was worth there was no doubt about their objective, his face took a cold disposition as he put the Den-Den closer so that they wouldn't be heard.
"Petro, listen to me right now and pay more attention than ever," The snail's eye stalks bobbed in a nod and he kept talking, "I want you to go find Merol and ask him about those two, then proceed like in Shin Shine Island. Understood?"
"Yes,"
"And send a message to get the slave home. We might need a hard fist to crack the big guy," And with that he closed the transponder's shell with a smart little click and walked his way home with a satisfied smile on his face.
Somebody tell me they have read Record of Ragnarok... It has my blood pumping like crazy!
