`How will they adapt to ruin? What means will they have to defy the story being spun for them? They ought to be heroes, galavant, and glimmering in holy beams of light. They have the chance to live in fervent exhilaration, but they resist. Instead of taking part as the protagonist of an epic they chose to fight the novel.
night before. The sun already hung high from the window, illuminating the room with its radiant rays, though the room held a somber tone for the boy. Last night was haunted, his sleep plagued with discomforting and morbid visions. He shakes his head, rubbing his eyes to chase away the last grips of sleep.
He starts to move, but hands constrict him. A moment of panic strikes him before he looks to his side. Wrapped around him are a pair of dainty, fair arms, though they hold an impressive strength. "Morning Marco," Star's voice rings, her tone suave, almost sultry. She grins and stands quickly out of bed.
Marco blushed deeply as he turns to look at the elated face. "Get up sleepy head, we have soooo much to do today," she gives a dopy grin. Her dress had shifted into something more sporty, apparently having abandoned the more conservative clothes. A pair of rather sheer jean shorts and a simple white top adorn her. A pair of dainty pink flats covers her feet, making her seem much shorter than she normally does in her platform boots.
Marco looks on, his mouth slightly open as he grasps for something to say. "M-morning Star," he stutters out weakly, "what happened to the dress you had yesterday?"
She giggles cutely, moving away from the bed. "It was just a stuffy dress, too restrictive for my tastes really. Besides, I think we should start to relax for a bit, we've been a bit too stressed I think." She leans in close, her face inches from his "besides, there are lots of ways for us to have fun." She straightens back up, leaving Marco's face beet red, "Anyway, Hannibal wanted a debriefing over the forest. Best get it over with so we can find something better to do."
With a wide smile, she starts to walk out the room with exaggerated steps. "See you in a minute cutie!" She calls before stepping out the room.
Marco stares for a moment at the empty doorframe, a flush face and confused eyes marking his features. "I, what?" He mutters to himself as he stands from the bed. He takes a deep breath as he dawns his coat, starting to button it slowly, though he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
He takes slow steps, the morning's grip chaining his energy. When he walks into the bright summer sun he has to cover his eyes to let them adjust. Alexander leans against the infirmary, his eyes wearily fallowing Star as she merrily bounds to the main building. "How did you get out of that forest?"
"We just ran." A half truth really, they mostly did just run. "Though I would like to know the same about you."
He nods, "I suppose you would, but lies beget lies. My question then is why do you have to lie to me? You don't trust me much, do you? Perhaps, though, that would be a wise course of action ."
"You aren't making much of a case for yourself," he says dryly.
"I'm not trying to." He heaves himself from the wall, transitioning into a brisk walk down the hard dirt path. "Though I can tell you that you ought to be more protective of your witch. General Hannibal might be willing to deal with her abilities, but the rest of this world is less sympathetic to the mystical. Though, to be fair, the mystical for them mostly consists of those searching for blood." He looks back at Marco, a knowing glint in his eyes, "at least she seems to be in a more jovial mood than last night." He takes his leave, meandering slowly over to the mess.
Marco watches the pale man, eyes locked on him. How exactly did he know so much, there was certainly more going on here than it first seemed. "Who is he?" Not wanting to dawdle any longer. He makes his way slowly, tired both physically and emotionally from the night before. The wooden fort felt cool compared the heat outside, the shade cooling him. He makes his way to the familiar door to Hannibal's office, which was slightly ajar, letting through the discussion on the inside.
"I heard as much from Alexander's report," he says with a somber tone, "but I need to know what went on after the group was separated."
"Well, we ran," Star says, her tone upbeat, "though that was a rather boring solution if you ask me. Thinking back I can think of a few better ways to handle it."
"Right," he says slowly, "what happened while you were running then? Anything unusual."
"Well, she chased, kind of like cat and mouse, though in the reverse to my preference. I'll admit, Alice was pretty strong, she was rather rude as well. Probably not a very well liked person; I'm thinking she needs to be a bit more personable really."
"Don't you think you're taking this whole thing a little too laxly?" He says.
"I don't really think so, I like to take every opportunity to enjoy my circumstance, well now, at least; I was getting tired of being so serious all the time."
"And this is new?"
"In a way, though it's always been there. I don't think it's unreasonable to try and enjoy yourself."
Hannibal nods, giving a weary response, "I suppose not, but such feelings dull with age and experience. Far be it from me to try and tell you otherwise, though, so long as you respect my authority."
She nods, standing up from the seat with a quick motion. She stops outside, "hey Marco, you ready to talk to Hannibal now? I wouldn't, it was really rather dull."
"I think I'll be fine for a few minutes," he says with a joking jibe.
She gives a smiling nod, "I'll be entertaining myself then." She moves off with a joyful saunter. Marco frowns slightly (not before stopping himself from staring) as he watches her go, not able to shake the looming feeling of dread. He shakes his head, entering into the office of the general.
"Marco, right?" He says waving to the chair, his hands playing with a well-worn quill pen, "I'm hoping you can give a more complete picture of what happened in the forest."
Marco takes a seat, feeling rather small under the firm gaze of the older, bulkier man. "How much do you know?"
"Alexander filled me in up to the part where you were separated from him and how he managed to escape, the issue is that Alice disappeared soon after that, leaving him mostly alone. The issue is that I need to write a report on went on last night and file it. I have a feeling Alice is only the start of something."
Marco looks down, not particularly excited by the prospect of retelling the tale of the previous night. "She was strong, Star couldn't even touch her and I had even less hope of doing something. We ran through the forest, backtracking to find the plains, but she gave chase, I think. She was always ahead of us, taunting us. When she finally decided to fight it was a miracle that we got away." He breathes deeply.
"How did you get away?" He says, his hand having been scribbling down the excerpt as he gave it.
Marco shakes his head, "I'm not certain."
"Marco," Hannibal says calmly, "I need to know what happened, and I can tell you that nothing will come to harm Star."
He looks up, his eyes questioning the firm man, "what?"
"I'm already aware of what Star is," he says, "Alexander thought it was prudent to inform me after you arrived here yesterday evening. Folks here are unkind to those like her, it's a sorry state, though one born out of reasonable fears; most of those who are as abled as your friend are either beast blinded by rage or those who seek power at the expense of others." He leans back slightly into his chair, "So I need to know exactly what happened."
Marco nods. "Alright," he says wearily, "we were running, but Alice was able to stay in front of us. I-I think it was some sort of magic. Like she could move around the forest at will. She was strong too, physically I mean, much stronger than me, and even Star. Star used her magic to clear a path through the underbrush to let us run, but even then she was able to descend onto us. She only stopped pursuing after Star used her magic to attack her," Marco pauses, "I only remember her using a spell like it once before."
"A spell like what?"
"It was just an attack. She normally fights with fringe and with needless color, but this time, it was just an attack, I don't know how else to describe it, it took Alice's arm off. After that, she disappeared and left us alone."
The general nods, "I see. I'll ask you to avoid using such magics while in plain sight, people are discomforted by it at the very least and I might end up costing her if she's flippant with its use." He scribbles down a few more words onto the parchment before leaning back into his chair. "You're dismissed," he says flatly.
Marco nods, "I'm glad I could be of help."Standing, he makes his way out of the main building, scanning the fort's interior. His eyes draw to a sand pit where Star stands, wide-eyed, a wooden sword in her hand.
"Come on!" She says, giving a cheeky look to a rather battered looking brute at least twice her size, "A little friendly competition is good once in awhile." The group of men about her look to each other hesitantly, the sight setting a little grin on Marco's face.
The girl continues to give friendly jibes for about a minute until the to the interior hall opens up. Hannibal looks at the scene with an amused look. Another man scuttles out after him, lean and lanky. He doesn't take note of the girl, but simply rushes out to the fort gate, a document tube on his back.
"Well then," the general says, letting himself have a little fun, "it seems my men are afraid of a fourteen-year-old girl. I thought I trained you little shits better than that." He starts walking towards the sand pit, the soldiers making way out of a mix of respect, reverence, and fear, the sort of treatment you would have to a father. "Are you all just going to stand there and let this little girl intimidate you. If I knew you were all bottom bitches I would have requested for another base to lead!" He looks to a grouping of female soldiers, "and ladies afraid a barely post-pubescent girl would beat you! You all have been with me for a few years now, I know you're better than this." He puts out a hand, the most recent victim to the terror tossing him a wooden short sword. Stepping forward, a large grin on his face, he extends the faux blade. His eyes dart about, watching his soldier's reaction, the group having been uplifted on his theatrics.
"Quite a speech," she says with a grin, "let's see you back it up." She takes the first strike, the training weapon barreling towards the hardened general with a long side swipe. The air falls still as the surprise attack cracks against the wood of the general's blade.
He grins, the strike visibly moving his footing, "you're strong for someone your size." He steps forward with a rough jab, the petite girl side stepping it and returning with another swipe. Another crash fills the air, Hannibal nonchalantly deflecting it once again.
"And you're fast for someone so old."
Hannibal casts a downward strike, faster than the last, forcing a block which buckles Star's knees. He follows up with a kick, deftly dodged by the trained youngster.
And then they fight.
The dainty strike which would shake a normal person were mere precursors to the actual combat between a child prodigy and a titan. The sound of crashing wood fills the air, one given ground to the other only for it to be stolen back with interest. Hannibal worked with calm, poised motions, often left to the defensive, but gave a little ground. Star, conversely, acted with strength and fervor, almost always acting as the instigator when trading blows with the faux weapons. She keeps in motion around Hannibal, working his angles and flanks, forcing him to pivot in hopes of him losing his balance, but to little avail.
As fast as it started, the duel ends. Star makes one false step, her blade swinging in and her footing unsure and unbalance. Hannibal acts. He rams his own blade into the oncoming strike and leans his shoulder into Star. The stick flies from the girl's hand as she's tackled to the ground, the general's sword being leveled at her neck.
The crowd, enamored by the short, but grueling, brawl, burst into a roaring cheer, celebrating the decisive victory.
Hannibal holds out a hand, laying the fake sword to the side. "Good job," he says, a respecting smile on his face, "you're a wonderful swordswoman, but you need more time to refine the skills you have."
Star takes the hand, a grin on her face, "you were stronger than I expected. Not too many people can keep balance against me." Hoisting herself up, she dusts her clothes off.
Marco, only really see star fight with conviction a few times before, stands with his mouth agape in awe. As the crowd starts to disperse from the sand pit he comes up, listening to the conversation intently.
"Apparently," she says in a chipper tone, a wide grin on her face, "you were quite impressive yourself."
"Just remember," he says, bending over to pick up both the faux weapons, walking casually to place them on a small rack, "offense isn't everything. And, while you're certainly nimbler than me, you need to learn effective blocking techniques. In a real duel, it only takes a single strike to decide a victor."
"I'll keep that in mind."
The olive skinned master gives one final nod, the motion seeped in a sort of respect, before starting back to the inner house, Alexander coming beside him, speaking in a hushed whisper.
"That. Was. Awesome." The boy moves up to, a wide grin stretching across his face as his worries, at least for a moment, are caught up in the tempest of excitement the fight had stirred within him. "I didn't know you could fight like that, I've always just seen you use magic and fists."
She gives a light giggle, "I told you I was raised by the guard, didn't I? Well, they did a bit more than teach me hand to hand."
Marco stops, thinking for just a moment, "right, that makes sense, that also explains the weapon paraphernalia in your room?"
She gives a quizzical look, "Para-?"
"Kind of like hobby stuff," he says quickly with a little laugh.
"Oh, I get it." She quickly takes his hand in her's, "I could show you more of that sometimes, if you wanted." She leans in closer with the words, having a push herself up onto her toes to look eye to eye with him.
As suddenly as it came, the excitement he felt fled, rather suddenly changes to a tight sensation inside his chest. He stutters out a few disjointed consonant sounds before collecting himself, "right, yeah, another time." He takes a half step back, pulling his hand away in the most inconspicuous manner she could muster. "I actually need to go talk with someone right now." He steps back again, "be careful Star." He steps away, turning quickly on his heel and making his way with rigid steps.
The Star he leaves behind gives a small giggle in response.
Marco actively makes himself scarce for about an hour, spending most of his time in the infirmary (the only place he doubted Star would just walk into). He spent it sitting, pacing, tapping and fidgeting. His mind wanders from thought to thought, never sticking to one for more than ten minutes and deftly avoiding (unannounced to himself) the thoughts which were actually nagging him.
His internal dissertation on the current situation in this strange nation eventually gets pushed to the side by the entrance of a man. The man looks young, no older than thirty at the most, at least judging by his hair and overall build. His face tells a different story. Dark bags hang under his bloodshot eyes, his cheeks seeming to sag as if they were a half century older than the rest of him. He opens up the door, stepping in with slow, plodding steps, hand gripping the doorframe for continued support. Like most of the other people around his skin is an olive tone, his hair a dark brown, but the skin lacked the vibrancy he saw in the others as if tainted by a grey screen. His movement's, cumbersome and erratic while at the same time measured and paced, take him to an empty bed. He looks up, eying Marco with his deathly glare. "Where is Doctor Humors," he wheezes, the little exertion setting him into a coughing fit.
Marco looks back, thinking where the physician might have gone, briefly recalling he had left just a few minutes before. "He's gone out, but I'm certain he'll be back."
The coughing subsides, a small "thank you" given back in a hoarse tone. The man lays down onto the bed, propping pillows up so he can comfortably, or at least as comfortably as he could muster, with his legs stretched out and sitting up against the wooden headboard. He grabs a nearby cup, turning away and spitting into it. "I haven't seen ya' around," he says, his voice coming back with a fuller sound.
"I just arrived yesterday," Marco responds, trying not to stare at the man, "I came with a friend on the call of a bounty."
Gives a short laugh, which quickly turns to hacking and ends with him spitting once more into the cup. "So you're the poor sods Hannibal picked up then, his little death march apparently didn't work. Or maybe it worked better than he expected." The man had a tendency to hold his oft "a"s, giving him a bit of a drawn out sound.
"Neither," he says with a small shrug. "We got out alive, but just barely." A small shudder runs up his spine as he sees a flash of Alice's face in front of him. "We're, we were really lucky to make it out of that forest. It was more dangerous than I thought."
The soldier (at least Marco assumes he is a soldier) puts on the smile of a young man, contrasting oddly with his grave countenance. "Yes you are. Hannibal refused to send a crew on the grounds that he needed all hands on deck for the night raids, but I think he just wanted to keep us safe as he could. So he hired out the task, seeming ta think that is a few mercenaries bit it instead of a few of his men he could get the attention he needed from the council." He takes a deep breath, the conversation winding him, "he was rather frank about that part. Hannibal has always been pragmatic in his ways, the break a few eggs type, he jus' wanted it to be someone else's eggs if he could help it."
"You seem rather upbeat given your, uh, current condition."
"I try to keep spirits up. No use being ill and downtrodden. Rather be one or the other if I have ta chose. Truth be told it's been a," a throaty cough interrupts him, doubling him over to spit, once again, into the little tin cup. "Excuse me," he pants, "like I was saying this all came onto me rather suddenly. Just two days ago I was walking 'bout, just like any other day, but come sun up yesterday I was stricken with a stomach bug. Slept most of today, 'till a friend of mine woke me up. Had the damndest face on, l'ke he were starin' at teh dead. He shows me myself with a little bronze mirror and asked me to come here." He gives a grave chuckle, "Frankly I don't see the difference from my old ugly ass face, but 'cordin' to him I should see doctor Chuckles. Always found his name 'ronic, dead man have better humor than he does, as you cun see by me."
The door to the clinic opens, Humors carrying a small satchel in his hand, as he looks up he gives a start. "God damn it Jack," he exclaims, "what the hell happened to you?" He rushes over to his bedside, starting to look him over.
"Well Chuckles," he wheezes out, "I don't rightly know. Seems ta be teh reason why ah'm here in teh first place."
The doctor frowns, her bushy brows furrowing together. "Lift your shirt for me," he says leaning him forward, Jack complying. Humors places an ear to his back, "now breath, deep as you can." Once again Jack does as he's told, diving headlong into another fit of coughs and hacking. "Good God," he says, "I think you have pneumonia, but it's quite a bad case. Fluids are building up in your lungs, you see." He hurries over to his desk, pulling out drawers, "I don't have... Damn it." He stands up, "I can clean and dress wounds," he mumbles to himself, "but illness is the real killer. I'll bring someone in to keep an eye on you while I head to the market in town. See if they have what I need, but with Alice gone..." He looks to Jack, "I'll be back in two hours at the latest until then try and keep breathing."
Jack nods, "I'll do my best Chuckles," he says with a weak smile, "take more than this to kill me." Frowning the Doctor steps out, leaving Jack alone with Marco. Jack coughs hard, "might want to run along then kid. It's not much use to stare at the sick."
"I'll stay, least until whoever Humors is sending comes by," he says with a weak smile.
"Aw, that's sweet kid. Not really becoming of a bounty hunter, but sweet nonetheless." He grins, "but really, I'll be fine."
"I'm just curious," he says with slow thought, "who are you?"
"'Tain't to many people who'd care to know, save for the people who already do." He chuckles, weakly, "Names Jack, was a debtor, now I'm a soldier. Can't say I can complain too much, get three square here and the commander's a respectable man, fair. So soldering certainly beats the squalor I used to live in 'specialy given it's a peacetime." He looks Marco over, "how 'bout you? Part of a guild?"
"No, just wondering with a friend of mine, got a little stuck." He shifts a little, his mind finding itself considering Star.
"Heh, I know the feeling," he stops, starting to cough roughly. He clutches his chest, coughing up splats of blood over his leg. Marco moves over to him in a start, not having anything to do besides standing with Jack. The color drains out from him, his olive skin turning white as snow as he coughs, and hacks, black sludge, and blood falling out of his mouth.
Then, it subsides, but Jack wasn't there.
His body felt loose as it lays back against the headboard, his labored breath becoming surer, the whites of his eyes clearing of blood. "Jack?" Marco says with a mix of fear and concern.
"There is no good to come from looking at the dead," he said dangerously, "carries about it a certain danger." He smiles madly, hand darting out to grip Marco by the collar of his shirt. He turns about in his bed, placing his bare feet on the dirt floor. Drawing Marco in close, their noses touching. "You aren't my enemy, but I'll need you to get out of my way." With a swift motion, he turns to the door, pitching Marco through it with a crash of splinters, his body rolling through the grass, coming to a stop with a rather pitiful whimper.
Jack, or at least what was Jack, steps outside into the sun, the various activities around the yard having been abruptly ended. "You are all my friends," he says in a loud, commanding tone, "and so long as you do not hinder me no harm shall come to you. My foes are the council, not there footmen."
Alexander and Hannibal both burst out of the main house, the former cold and analytical, the later fuming and enraged. Jack's eyes narrow, "No, not just the council, if I kill them more will just step up, more like them. Like you, commander. You always complain about the injustices of the council, but you do nothing." His pale body seems to radiate blackness, shimmering nothingness. "Stand back all of you," he shouts, the other soldiers recoiling from the booming command. "You always were a wonderful duelist, Hannibal, how many times have you beaten me?" He outstretched a hand to his side, a single sided, curved blade, about a meter in length, black as pitch materializes itself in his hand. For a long moment, one where an eternity could play in a blink of an eye, the two glared at each other.
With a start Jack moves, faster than a human should have been able, sword aimed to plunge through the General's gullet. It finds flesh, but not the flesh it wished to find. Alexander gives a piercing cry, the man impaled, hand gripping the blade with incredible strength to prevent it from reaching the general just an inch behind him. "You are dead, Jack, your body no longer holds the mind it once did," he pants out, red stains flowing onto his black cloak. "All of you!" He shouts definitely, Jack vainly trying to pull his sword from the leith, sickly looking man, "Run, evacuate the town."
"That's an order," Hannibal shouts after, stepping out from behind his friend, drawing his blade.
Star watches from the sidelines, the camp starting to move out with impressive speed and order.
"Hannibal," Jack growls, letting go of the blade, it evaporating, sending Alexander falling backward. "Always hiding behind your friends. I'll kill anybody who thinks to stop me." He starts a swing, an identical blade forming mid-strike, only to be stopped by steel, inches from Hannibal's face.
"Jack, this isn't you," he growls, forcing his blade to the side. He retaliates, but the man Keeps just out of his reach with light, almost floating steps. "You've gone mad."
"No old man, I've been released, my inhibitions lifted, tools given to me. You're!" He strikes hard, turning the fight around immediately, placing Hannibal on the defensive again,
"Just!" He slams his sword around, the clatter of steel defending, "In!" Again, each word punctuated with a clash of steel and a loss of hope, "The!" Once more the sound comes out, Hannibal's knees buckling from a downward strike, pushing him to kneel, "WAY!"
Star watches, almost uninterested in the events playing out before her, merely enjoying the contentions, she was uninvolved after all. "Stop," wheezes Marco, standing up on shaky ground, "what are you doing, isn't he your friend? The way you talked about him in the clinic, it was reverent of him."
Hannibal gives the boy a dangerous look, struggling to keep the blade from digging into his flesh. "Stand down one, this is your fight."
"I..." He pants, unable to put together his thoughts through the haze of pain encasing his body.
"You wish to make an enemy of me then," he says raising a hand to his direction, "then I'll be happy to end your pitiful life."