There is a character here that belongs to Scarlet Warhawk because Scarlet Warhawk helped me write this chapter of the story. Please read and review.
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Have you ever gazed into the woods and thought the trees were alive? Ever supposed that they might be spirits waiting to reach out and snatch at the hapless with long, bony fingers? It was a scary forest. The night was dark and thick with fog, and the ground was wet with mud and dead leaves. People would tell you to stay away from it, lest some terrible fate befall you. Such were the thoughts on the mind of one particular boy as Ian slowly made his way forward, twitching nervously with every loud 'squelch!' beneath his feet. The meister felt a shiver dance up and down his spine as he caught sight of the house ahead through the mist, looming and ominous. Ali trailed behind him, matching his cautious pace step-for-step, eyes scanning the trees that lined either side of the path for any hint of movement. A small part of Ian was aware that her snide remarks about his slow walking had ceased ever since they had entered the forest. Another part of him reasoned that any sane person would be on edge in the foreboding woods, air of casual indifference or not. Melinda had told them where she had first seen the werewolf; a clearing in the forest. After investigating, the two had discovered tracks leading ever deeper into the woods, and had chosen to follow them on a path that led them to the old building before them.
As they stepped onto the front porch, Ian made careful note of the wooden planking, which was in remarkably good repair, save for a series of long, ragged scratches that ran across the railing all the way to the door, which stood untouched. Ali moved forward cautiously to knock, but as she delivered the first light 'rap' to the oaken panel, the entire thing keeled backwards, hinges ripped off their bolts, to crash loudly to the floor. Instantly, both weapon and meister were on full alert, the former reaching for a knife, while the latter swung around to look behind them, their mounting unease quickening their heartbeat and sending beads of nervous sweat to trickle down their necks. Hearing nothing, the pair remained unmoving for another minute or two, before Ali mustered up the will to straighten up and move through the door, punching Ian lightly on the shoulder.
"Come on, wimp, let's get going," she taunted, making an effort not to let her trembling hands reveal themselves. Ian, for his part found it rather difficult to take his weapon's jibes to heart, remembering vividly how quick they both were to retreat to each other's backs, and nursing the small comfort the memory gave him as he stepped over the fallen door and into the house beyond.
XXX
" Lord Death!"
The Grim Reaper whirled around in surprise from the little tea table he was sitting at with Franken Stein as he heard the panicked voice of someone he hadn't expected to see for a while now.
"Tsubaki?" he asked, puzzled. "I thought you had left an hour ago? What happened?" Death's voice became incrementally more concerned as his gaze began to take in the small details, like the tears welling up around the girl's eyes, the worried hitch in her voice when she had called out his name, the red splotches on her clothes, and the lack of a certain blue-haired whirlwind of noise and energy that was her partner at her side. "What happened?" he repeated, completely serious this time, watching Tsubaki intently while the female demon weapon tried and failed to suppress the quiet sobs that welled up from her throat. She stepped to the side, revealing the shocking sight of Black*Star lying face-down and motionless on a stretcher, the back of his head of wild blue hair matted and dirtied with blood. The Grim Reaper was silent for a moment, taking in the situation, before turning to the veteran meister that sat next to him with a mask of stoic indifference etched into his face. "Assemble the staff here in the Death Room at once," he ordered sharply, all trace of the bouncy, fun-loving headmaster having vanished in an instant. Stein simply nodded and rose from his seat before, in a motion that seemed to fall drastically out of the oddball scientist's character, dashed down the hall of guillotines at a full sprint. Death turned once more to Tsubaki, who stood there, tear-stained and trembling, and spoke to the girl in a firm, but comforting tone. "There, now, child. Everything will be alright. Now, take young Black*Star to the infirmary, but then hurry back here as quickly as you can."
"...were were just leaving the academy," Tsubaki said in a quiet, strained voice, looking down at her feet as she spoke before the congregation of teachers, staff, and high-ranking weapon-and-meister pairs. "All I remember was Black*Star crying out, before I felt so much pain that I had to change back, and I saw the long stone steps rush up to meet me as I fell, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in a heap on the stairs, and looking down, and seeing Black*Star sprawled out at the bottom looking like... like..." She drew a deep, shuddering breath before continuing. I grabbed him and made my way as fast as I could to Lord Death, stopping only to grab a stretcher." Tsubaki broke off again, bottom lip trembling as she looked up to meet the crowd of concerned faces. She stood there hesitantly, unsure if she should leave or stay, before she felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up into the face of Death.
"It's all going to be alright, Tsubaki..." he assured her, before turning to one of the assembled staff members. "Please escort miss Tsubaki to the infirmary—I think she could use a checkup and a rest after today." He was met with a nod of affirmation as the teacher wheeled the girl off down the hall, steering her gently as she tried to get herself under control. Death then turned back to address the group as a whole. Now that you have all heard the tale, I want all of your opinions on the attack." The first to speak up was another teacher.
"The Black*Star boy is one of our strongest students in terms of raw power," he began shakily. "To think that he could be defeated so easily..."
"It was a sneak attack from behind," argued another speaker, this one a senior weapon. "His strength would have meant nothing if he had no time to prepare."
One of the school nurses cut in, her voice harsh and her tone snappish. "Bullshit" she swore, drawing several raised eyebrows from the others. "I've treated that kid since he got here, and he's not going to be taken down by some wimpy little potshot." Her glare swept across the room, making sure she had gathered everyone's full attention before continuing. "The brat's tanked hits that would kill any normal person, and don't get me started on that suicidal exercising of his." She 'hmphed' and crossed her arms.
"Be that as it may," spoke up another voice, this time from one of the meisters. "The students here at Shibusen cannot truly be counted amongst the number of 'normal people'." He readjusted his glasses. "Indeed, such an attack would have, at the very best served to merely cripple a student, and likely not even permanently at that." This revelation was met with a few minutes' pause as that information sunk in, before one of the drill instructors spoke up, gruff voice brimming with concern.
"Hey, now... he's right; can't see any'un running onn'at kinda juice gunnin' fer one meister in particular 'n then not knowin' enough m'bout 'em to finish th' job..." The meister nodded in response, turning back to the rest of the group.
"Exactly. So we have to conclude that Black*Star was indeed the target, but, in fact, not the assailant's ultimate goal." He turned to the reaper. "Lord Death, if I may be so bold–what was Black*Star's current assignment?" The reaper paused, his blood running cold.
"Investigation and assistance of another team on the East Coast..." he replied, dreadful realization dawning on him. "But... you don't think...?" he trailed off, staring blankly into the distance, prompting Death the Kid to speak up from where he stood at his father's side, alarm coloring his voice.
"Hang on," he exclaimed, amber eyes looking from the meister to his father and back again. "Are you trying to say that Black*Star was targeted to get to Ian and Ali?!" The senior meister frowned and turned his gaze to the young reaper boy, pushing his glasses back up.
"That is the conclusion it would appear the facts of the matter point to—that Black*Star's assailant wishes those two to remain isolated," he replied with a hint of indignation, which Kid promptly ignored, turning to his father.
"Then someone has to help them!" he said determinedly as he started for the door. "I'll leave at once and travel on Beelzebub-"
"No," came a voice. Kid stopped abruptly and whirled around to see Professor Stein calmly lighting a cigarette, before making his way to where Death stood.
"What do you mean, 'no'?" the boy snapped, narrowing his eyes at the man as he moved to the Grim Reaper's scrying mirror, muttering something to the black-cloaked headmaster who then nodded back. "Do you expect us to just let two fellow students die?" Stein responded with the same level tone as before as he made a few motions to the scrying glass, back to the reaper's son.
"No, but if you went to go and help them, you'd only make yourself a target like Black*Star." Death the Kid gritted his teeth in frustration.
"But we can't just leave them there alone!" he burst out, a slight trace of hysteria worming it's way into his voice.
"And we won't." This final declaration came from Lord Death, spoken with the kind of firm decisiveness and absolute finality that only a God of Death could muster. "Stein," he called sharply, turning to face his subordinate, who was peering into the mirror intently. "Are there any active teams near Ian and Ali that have enough experience to be trusted in a situation like this?" The scientist squinted, before stepping back and facing the reaper.
"Just one," he replied. "They've just finished up an assignment, and are spending some of their leisure time before reporting back in." Kid spoke up, voice full of both curiosity and concern.
"Who is it?" Stein squinted into the mirror again, before replying.
"Blanc Alviéa and Blake Hazard."
XXX
The night was a fulfilled one in the sleepy little town. Smoke drifted from dozens of chimneys cozily, keeping all the households and those dwelling merrily inside of them warm and comfortable as they prepared for their suppers of meats and pickled fruits and grilled vegetables and spices and herbs and a hundred other things that tickled the imagination just to consider. All was peaceful and content, save for one lone soul.
Perched atop the peak of a roof, grinning at one such chimney as it billowed smoke that smelled of charcoal and cooked meat and all that home could provide was a hunchbacked figure, squat and rounded, with pudgy features that might have made him seem spirited and endearing with the wide grin that split his face, if not for the drool that dripped from one corner of his mouth, down to his chin, and the deep-set red eyes that burned with a deep, hungry glow like angry coals, wanting to burn and consume and feast upon all the wonderful foods. The figure shifted, nearly giving in to the tempting scents that wafted up through the chimney to be spirited away on the breeze, but keeping itself in check before he could descend.
'No.' it thought to himself, keeping him in check as it turned it's attention back to what it say below it, showing him the real prize as he remembered and hummed in agreement. 'We have tasted wine far sweeter...'
Far below, shining even through the wood and masonry of the roof and ceiling were three brilliant blue glows that shone with an internal light. Grinning it reached into his small pouch with pudgy fingers like fat sausages as it drew out a spool of thin, metal cord that glinted wickedly in the light of the waning moon. Looping it thrice around his hand, Kevin 'The Strangler' Parks hopped it's fat little body with eerie grace to land on the very edge of the roof, flicking it's metal cord expertly as he prepared to descend and feast.
Then, a blur of motion at the edge of his sight caught it's eye. It leaped to the side just as a violent roundhouse came tearing through the air where he had stood before, foot locking at the highest point of the kick, before slowly dropping back down to rest on the side of the roof, where it's owner rested his weight on it heavily.
Kevin turned his gaze upwards, looking the newcomer up and down as it readied his wire. Black sneakers led up to loose tan pants, a black sleeveless shirt with a blue-and-grey short-sleeved jacket draped over it, topped with a rough, wild face framed with dark brown hair spiked up into a crest. The prekishin snarled at the interferer, baring it's teeth as it flicked the metal whip menacingly. The boy appeared unimpressed, only shooting the murderer a contemptuous sneer in response. A voice called out from behind the boy, soft and weary, but filled with a spark–something halfway between mirth and amusement, but laced with a kind of idle cunning that both Kevin and the demon could agree was unsettling...
"Do you have to rush into everything?"
Something sparked in the man's memory, from the part before the monster. A word, perhaps... or a name...? He couldn't quite recall what it was as the monster screeched that it was unimportant and that he (it) was hungry, and that all that was important, (to it) was more food (power). Still, though, he struggled, digging deeper through the sound as he caught a brief glimmer of something... a memory of children that hunted in pairs and demons and reapers, but as soon as it came, it was gone again and he was it, and it was hungry. Bellowing in rage, it saw that the first child had been joined by another, this one furred (clothed) in shades of hideousness (the white was gentle, white gentlewhitelight). It lashed out, the whip curling around the throat of the first boy as a loop hooked around it's finger. A wide, sharp-toothed grin cleaved his face in two; he had only to twitch and the boy's face would turn such lovely hues as blue and purple. Despite this, he vaguely realized neither boy had moved; the overbright one even going so far as to smile knowingly at him. The first spoke, voice slightly strangled, but still recognizable.
"Big... mistake... pal..." there was a flash, and the boy's body began to glow with a white light, his shape wavering and flickering, and even as the prekishin yanked on the cord, too late realizing his mistake, he felt it give way beneath him, the lack of resistance sending him toppling backwards along the sloped roof to crash into an alleyway amongst the garbage and the discarded scraps. Looking up, he saw only one figure atop the roof, and clutched in his hand, gleaming hungrily in the starlight as white clouds danced and drifted across the moon, was an instrument of death. Tossing the heavy metal blade into the air like a feather, the boy cloaked in shades of death leaped silently into the air, snatching the flashing silver blade from where it spun, before it's weight brought him crashing down without mercy upon the hapless demon.
XXX
Ali was beginning to lose her patience. As if the old house itself, with all the creaking and groaning it did as she and her meister searched it, wasn't bad enough as it was, they still had yet to find anything conclusive: all that their exploration had uncovered so far were signs of recent habitation, and more of the same destruction they had encountered outside. Claw marks on the walls and floor, furniture broken, and the contents of cabinets gutted and strewn all around. And to make matters worse, Ian seemed to be cycling between various phases of trembling fear while he mumbled prayers under his shaking breath, to abrupt bursts of rationality and apparent calm, (and the weapon wasn't sure which she found more annoying, (and maybe, if she was being honest with herself–even a little bit reassuring) Either way, after a thorough sweep of the building from top to bottom, going from room to mangled room, it had become clear that the only place that remained to check was the last place Ali wanted to be: the basement. Her dread of the inevitable was realized when her Meister cleared his throat nervously, interrupting her attempts to avoid the elephant in—or rather under—the room by stalling under the guise of sifting through the wreckage of what must have been the once-grand parlor.
"Erm, Ali?" the boy began cautiously. "D'you think... we should get around to checking the basement?" Ali swallowed, then nodded, not trusting her voice not to tremble, as she set off (very slowly, mind you) towards the side door that led down to the old cellar, before she froze abruptly. "Ali-" Ian began, vaguely puzzled before his weapon partner gestured for him to be quiet. Seeing the fear-tinged seriousness in the girl's eyes, he fell silent, pausing to listen.
Their ears were met with the small, barely audible sound of claws scratching away at stone. Ian's gaze flashed to Ali's and their eyes met, the religious boy tilting his head sharply towards the cellar door, all trace of childish apprehension and blubbered prayers having vanished, with only nervous determination remaining. Turning to the stairs, Ali felt a twinge of respect and maybe something else that she couldn't quite place as she led the way downwards, finally shoving those thoughts aside to focus on the task at hand. As they emerged into the pitch-black basement, she whispered to Ian, eyes focused on the rough, uneven steps to keep herself from taking a nasty tumble.
"So what now?" He didn't respond. She waited a few seconds then whispered back with a hint of annoyance, "Well?" Ian's reply came in a normal, if somewhat quiet voice, tone absolutely level.
"Ali," he said, and she hissed back at him.
"Keep your voice down!"
"Ali." This time, his voice was joined by the presence of the meister's hand on her shoulder. She stopped, turning back to glance at him.
"What?" she snapped, half-ready to punch him for touching her unexpectedly, but was met with the sight of Ian's hazel-colored eyes wide with panic as he gazed into the inky darkness. Ali palmed a kunai and whirled around, eyes scanning across the basement before landing on the object of Ian's fear, her hand falling to her side and knife dangling from limp fingers as, through the gloomy, tiny trickles of moonlight that filtered through a crack in the basement ceiling, she saw an enormous something—a monstrous silhouette that regarded her with two tiny pinpricks of orange that she realized were eyes.
"Oh..." she breathed, voice strangled with terror. The figure moved, eyes swaying as it approached–on all fours, she dimly realized—and then something impacted the stone staircase beneath their feet with enough force to send both meister and weapon flying, crashing through the wooden floor of the parlor along with a hail of shattered masonry and other debris, before slamming into the walls, the rotted planking giving slightly from the impact. Both Ian and Ali made their way to their feet unsteadily, the latter snatching up her kunai from where it lay on the floor, just in time to witness the hulking mass of ragged brown fur and muscle leap through the newly-formed hole in the floor and land in front of them in a crouch with unsettling grace given it's size. The beast then let loose a savage, roaring how, that tore through the air and made the aged house shake under the sheer animalistic fury of the sound.
Ian gasped and felt his heart skip several beats in terror as he reached out and used the wall to steady himself and stared, horror-stricken at the creature before him. The werewolf was easily three meters tall–through probably more, hunched over as it was—and had a lean, powerful build with layers of what must have been solid muscle, if it's speed and terrifying strength was anything to judge by. The beast's fur was a deep, rich brown that looked as if it might have been proud and full, if not for it's ragged, matted quality that made it look like a feral dog's. It's claws were short, but wickedly sharp–from what Ian realized must have been meticulous sharpening on stone, which he and Ali had heard earlier–but it's maw was another matter; the enormous head which was definitely more lupine than human sported long, pearly-white fangs that looked entirely capable of tearing into, and ripping apart, skin, flesh, muscle, and bone with a single bite. Ian shuddered as his imagination conjured up violent images of what those teeth might look like descending upon him, and he dimly wondered if the sight of those fangs sinking into his flesh might be the last he ever saw. He was snapped out of his musings by Ali's voice screaming at him, and he ducked–not a moment too soon—beneath as swipe that would have taken his head off. Unfortunately, the werewolf reacted faster than he could have imagined, and, twisting around so fast it was almost a blur, slammed a vicious kick into the boy's chest, sending the child smashing through the wall by the front door, which promptly collapsed an left an even bigger hole in the side of the house. Ian went skidding through the mud before tumbling to a stunned, winded stop a hundred feet away.
"Bastard!" Ali screamed as she watched her partner get sent flying like a ragdoll. The small part of her that was still rational realized that she was already sprinting towards the creature–frozen by terror no longer. Anger was a more effective motivator than fear, that small voice remarked as she moved on autopilot, watching herself as she flung the knife at the werewolf, then leaped up high to come down on the beast's skull with a spinning kick, drunk on rage and adrenaline as she brought her leg forward...
...only to feel the werewolf's claws close around he outstretched ankle before it swung her sideways, slamming her into the floor with such force the wooden planks splintered. The pain snapped her back to her senses as she felt the air rush from her lungs, leaving winded and struggling to catch her breath before the next moment found her being dragged across the wooden floor with such speed that splinters dug their way into the flesh of her back. The girl would have screamed had she any voice to do so with as her skin was ripped raw, she felt herself traveling upwards and forwards, and then the world crashed to a halt. She felt something cool and wet seep across her screaming back, and she felt something soft brush her cheek, a figure looming up over her, but she couldn't muster up the energy to fight back. It seemed as if all of the strength in her limbs had seeped away, and left her to drift down into the depths of sleep, her own name ringing in her ears...
XXX
"Ali? Ali! You have to wake up! Stay with me!" Ian's voice had risen in hysteria as he tried futilely to rouse the unconscious girl who's broken and battered body he cradled in his arms. "Ali..." he choked out past barely-controlled sobs. "Come on..." A loud thump sounded out somewhere to the right. He raised his eyes and saw, through the film of tears that had formed in his eyes, the hulking form of the werewolf as it lumbered towards them, one massive paw dripping with what Ian could identify clearly in the cold, pre-dawn light that filtered weakly through the fog as the same deep ruby that trickled and twisted in little rivers down his own hands. The meister gritted his teeth and choked back a horrified yell as he realized the twisted irony.
Both his and the monster's hands were dyed red with Ali's blood.
Something snapped deep inside of Ian; and it wasn't like before. His mind now wasn't stained with lust and greed as it had been the first time. No. Now there was only mindless, endless, insatiable wrath.
Resting Ali's head down with gentle care and a kind of deep tenderness, the boy then rose to his feet, leveling his gaze at the still-approaching figure, eyes no longer their usual brown, but instead a murderous crimson.
"COME ON, THEN!" the monster roared. "FINISH THE JOB THEN!" Unsettled by the sudden ferocity, the boy froze in it's advances, eyeing the creature with confusion, and no small measure of unsettlement, either, as those twin burning orbs bore holes into the boy.
It wouldn't be for another hour that Ian realized that, in his head, he had gotten the names mixed up, and before the dawning day was through, he would come to wonder if he really had.
Ian felt the strength leaving his body as swiftly as it had come, and he dropped to his knees, sobbing silently.
"Please..." he choked out.
Suddenly, without warning, another form appeared, seemingly materializing from the silvery mist behind Ian. In a blur of white it soared forward like a phantom, reaching the werewolf in a flashing arc of silver. The beast howled, not in fury this time, but in pain-and fear. As if it could somehow sense that this new threat was greater even then the boy-with-eyes-like-blood. Ian watched in bewilderment, peering though the mist to where the werewolf leaped back, now nursing a long, bloody cut on it's shoulder.
Ian heard a soft laugh from somewhere beside him, and he looked up weakly. His eyes landed on the form of a boy who couldn't have been more than his own age–perhaps younger, even–and was garbed in loose-fitting white and grey clothing. His eyes were a light, cloudy blue, and his hair was white and somewhat messy, and when added to his playful little smile might have made him look endearing in a sleepy sort of way, if not for the five-foot-long, three-handed-hilt base sword that rested lazily on his shoulder, blade glinting in the freezing rays of light, the reflection taking the shape of a brown-haired wild-looking boy, who spoke out, voice echoing from the metal.
" Why don't you come play with us?"