And i'm back to writing. Things have gotten a little hectic in my world, but i also find myself with an excess of spare time, so I should be uploading more chapters.
Prologue-2: Drunken Whaler
Fitzgerald was drunk. Again.
Somewhere, in a dark, dingy alley with nothing to be heard but the sounds of industrialized poverty, three figures in faded uniforms stood, unaware of the presence watching them.
The first man grabbed the third, the gasmask on his belt rattled against his sheathed blade.
"Fitz, we need to get back home. Now. We don't have time to get in drunken bar fights all night and you know that damn well."
The man's voice was calm, and monotone, with only a hint of worry showing.
"Oh come on, Conrad! Nothing's gonna happen! Take a break for a job well done!"
The third figure spoke up, in a woman's voice this time. Her uniform was a dark red, contrasting the faded brown of the other two men.
"Fitz, you know this is against the rules. You can't stay out here like this!"
Velvet Scarlatina. Such a sensitive soul for the path she'd chosen.
"You know what? Screw you guys! I don't need you to have a good time!" Fitzgerald slurred angrily at the two.
Fitzgerald, in a daze, stumbled off into the filthy alleyway. For a moment, Velvet reached out to stop him, about to say something in protest, but just as she opened her mouth to speak, she felt Conrad's hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Conrad slowly shake his head at her, and with that gesture, the two turned, if somewhat reluctantly, and walked out of the ally.
As he moved down the alleyway, Fitzgerald felt a slight movement nudge his against his boot, he looked down to see a rat, black as the night with beady, dark red eyes. The rodent was gnawing on his boot.
With a grunt, Fitz kicked the rat down the alleyway, and after continuing to stumble down the alleyway, he turned around to realize he was completely alone in the silence of the flooded district. He quickly stumbled backwards to retreat from the isolated area, only to trip on a weight just in front of his foot.
He fell to the cold floor as he felt several small forms squirm out from under him. Quickly rolling onto his back, whipping his head around to see a dozen rats surrounding him. Each one half the size of his foot, identical to the one he kicked moments ago.
More rats began to approach him as the ones that were already there began climbing onto his legs, viciously digging their plague ridden teeth into his pants. He quickly began to thrash backwards, out of the alleyway as he watched the rodents pull hundreds of tiny shreds of clothing off his pants. Spinning his head around, there were now too many rats to count.
A quick glint of light flew through the air from above him, and he felt a sharp, immense pain rattle through his body. Staring down in horror as his leg, a steel bolt sticking out of his now shattered knee.
He began to scream in agony as he pulled his body backwards. The rats had now torn most of his pants off and were digging at his skin. He could feel as every bite drew more blood to the surface of his body. He screamed in agony, desperately pulling his arms across the stone to any form of escape. When a second bolt pinned his arm against a worn patch of stone.
He flailed his body against the increasing amount of rats piling onto his body, tearing increasingly large amounts of flesh from his body. He looked up to see a dark figure in the faded red uniform standing over him, her face immediately recognizable.
"Blake! Blake please! help! Get these damned things off me!"
In response, the figure simply raised the back of her left hand towards him. Fitzgerald watched in agony as the ancient, infamous mark burned alight on the skin of the woman. He felt more rats explode from the ground all around him, the increasing weight of the rodents all over him as he was slowly devoured by the horde.
As his eyes glazed over with the approaching death, his last sight was his leader twist her hand around to reveal the wrist-bow, armed and about to fire.