No Calm Before the Storm
Hedgeton, a bustling metropolis home to a little under five hundred thousand human beings, lies on the windswept coast of Oregon with its face to the tumultuous Pacific Ocean. To the east beyond the suburbs rise the extinct volcanoes of the Cascade Mountains, their feet shrouded by forests of bristling fir. On the inland side of the mountains sprawl miles of dense alpine forest broken only by the highway that winds through the Cascades, leading into the Oregon interior.
A lonely outcropping of rock stands vigil in Hedgeton Harbor, approximately fifteen miles off shore. It was a fierce little pinnacle of stone, mottled lichen clinging tenaciously to its jagged surface as the ocean roiled around it. Nestled at its heart was a squat structure wrought of crude masonry, more an organized heap of vaguely rectangular stones than a castle. The peculiar fortification bore no hints to the identity of its builders and had been dismissed by Hedgeton's inhabitants as a relic of antiquity. The only thing anyone seemed to know about the island was its name, passed down to the citizens of Hedgeton by the Native American tribes that preceded them.
For as long as anyone remembered it had been called Raven's Roost. A counterintuitive name if ever there was one; the rock was only home to the occasional gull, if even that.
Or so they all thought.
Madeline Frey eyed the Roost from the Hedgeton waterfront through a pair of binoculars, scrutinizing the seemingly lifeless rock for any sign of habitation in the dying light. Her olive green scarf fluttered on a dank sea breeze but a tan pea coat guarded her from its chill. She stood at the end of a wharf that was currently under construction, building materials scattered along its length but its builders absent for the night.
There hadn't been much to suggest that Raven's Roost was Raena's hideout, save for the name and the inexplicable series of violent killings that had troubled mainland Hedgeton over the past few months. But it had been Madeline's only lead after her duel with Victor in Egypt, so she chose to investigate it. The Death Scythe Meister wouldn't regret the decision.
Behind her, crumpled against a neat stack of steel girders, was the corpse of one of Raena's lupine monsters. Its chest had been crushed, utterly pulverized, but the rest of its body was deceptively intact.
Crouching next to the beast and peering curiously at its mashed insides was a girl. Perhaps eighteen, she wore well worn denim coveralls and a faded powder blue T-shirt, her feet clad in mix-matched black and red Converses. Her braided black hair was piled almost carelessly atop her head, her bright brown eyes peeking out from a smooth coffee colored face.
"I guess she's here, huh?" The girl asked. Madeline nodded, the hammer slung over her back shifting with the motion.
"She wouldn't have bothered to try and assassinate me if I wasn't dangerously close." She let the binoculars hang around her neck by their leather strap while her hands fled to the warmth of her coat pockets. "I don't understand why she only sent one of those things. She knows I'm a match for Victor, why bother making such a half-hearted effort to kill me?"
"I think she's just letting you know that you're being watched." She paused a moment, thinking. "Well, now that we know where she is, we should make our report to Lord Death. I'm sure he'd want to know."
"Can't." The Death Scythe Meister shook her head. "All personnel not involved with Operation Capture Baba Yaga's Castle have been instructed to maintain radio silence. Death needs all his mirrors to coordinate the battle in Brazil."
"Oh." Her companion poked at the dead monster's face, nose wrinkling at the odor of its mulched insides. "Kinda looks like a halfwarg. A really really messed up one."
Madeline snorted, watching the sun nod off as it slipped over the horizon. "Halfwargs hate humans. And no matter what the witches think, they're still human. I don't think any amount of magic could bend one of the wolfkin to their will."
The girl sighed, sitting down next to the mutilated creature. "Maybe it was Victor's idea to use them. What better way to spite gods than by turning their children against them?"
Halfwarg. The Three-Star Meister pursed her lips in thought. She hadn't heard that word uttered in years. It stirred up memories of past she was supposed to have left behind, of a conflict that should to have ended seventeen years ago. But these days no one let sleeping wolves lie.
Her eyes fell to the dark skinned girl sitting by the monster as she turned to face them. Despite their obvious age difference the younger of the two was in fact the Weapon of the elder, her Death Scythe.
"Victor's plan could work. Where we failed, a god might succeed. But Shinigami-sama can't leave Death City, and Kishin Asura won't act unless he's directly threatened." Madeline sighed wistfully. "Maybe we should just stand aside. More people will get hurt if we struggle."
The slap that followed was completely unexpected. She'd endured far more devastating blows, but it sent her reeling nonetheless.
"Don't ever talk like that Madeline!" Her partner sputtered angrily. "Everyone else ran away, everyone but us! David, DeSoto, Victor, Gregory, they're all gone! They couldn't handle it, knowing tore them apart inside. But we're still here. And we'll stop Victor because we know there's a better way."
Madeline turned back towards the sea. Somewhere on that briny rock in Hedgeton Harbor was Raena, and with her Victor. They had to be stopped; the world order was fragile enough without them threatening to expose an evil that had been safely buried for seven hundred years.
"You're right." Madeline took a breath to steady herself before turning back to her Weapon with a grateful look. "Thank you Sasha."
It had been seventeen years since the Tibet Incident, and Sasha didn't look like she'd aged a day. That was, of course, because she hadn't. The girl keeping Madeline and the lifeless halfwarg company didn't exist. She was a figment of the Meister's imagination. An echo of a personality that had long ago ceased to exist as an individual entity, conjured up as a hallucination to help Madeline fend off the crushing loneliness that waited in the wings, ready to swoop down and consume her should she lower her guard for even a moment.
"That's the spirit." The hallucination placed a hand on her Meister's shoulder, offering a reassuring grin. "Come on; let's try contacting Shinigami-sama again. The sooner we make our report, the sooner this'll be over with. Maybe we'll get to see Roland afterwards, I know you wanna meet his Weapon."
"Yes… that'd be nice." Madeline smiled. Sasha disappeared as her Meister turned back towards the sea. "I'll stop you Victor. I won't let you hurt Roland again."
Kyla's breath came in shallow pants, her body slick with sweat, orange tank top clinging to her like a desperate lover. Eyes half-lidded she gyrated in time with the crush of humanity that pressed in around her, nostrils flaring to catch the scent of perspiration that hung over the dancing mass like a fog. She was completely in her element, the master of her domain. A predator. And everyone in the room was prey, vulnerable, completely subject to her will. Boy or girl, everyone was fair game. With the barest touch she claimed them for her own amusement and pleasure. Here only a truly staunch few were immune to her wiles. But they were all just playthings. A few minutes of heated intimate contact with strangers and acquaintances meant nothing for a single simple reason.
She was in love.
Her lover was approaching. The Hoop Meister's breath caught in her throat as the percussion faded to a lonely high pitched tone, the sound of a flat lining heart monitor. The sound of death. Everyone in the club, dancing or not, paused. For a few precious seconds they were all lifeless, communing with that breathless and unmoving state even while their hearts hammered barely restrained within their chests. This was the moment Kyla lived for. The lull, the quiet. Just as life is succeeded by death, music is succeeded by silence. But the nature of all things is cyclical. Death is followed by rebirth.
The bass dropped.
It was like riding rolling thunder. The percussion exploded into a furious, feverish beat, forcing life into the stilled dancers like a bolt of lightning. The bass throbbed like the heartbeat of an ancient god demanding that mere mortals move in its honor.
Fridays at Grindhouse, located in downtown Death City,were always grand affairs. The club played a wide variety of music but was at heart a dubstep/drums and bass institution. The bar was open to minors who bore Shibusen class IDs, so Grindhouse attracted a great number of the warrior-students once school got out for the weekend. Or, alternatively, when the academy closed so that Lord Death could coordinate sensitive operations without interruption.
And thus Kyla and company found themselves scattered around the crowded dance club.
Isabelle was sitting on a lonely bar stool sipping a brightly colored drink from a very dainty looking glass when Jackson stepped off of the dance floor, dazed with hair tasseled as he made his way over to his Meister. She gave him a raised eyebrow when he plopped into the seat next to her. The bartender sent a beer sliding his way, the Demon Axe catching the dark bottle with a swipe of his hand before giving Isabelle a goofy grin. She rolled her eyes. The music throbbed as the two took a moment to drink.
"So… you having a good time?"
"Yes." Isabelle gave her Weapon an appraising look. "Seems like you are too."
She sighed, resting her chin in her hand. "How many drinks have you had?" He held up three fingers. "Careful. Just because I can carry you home, doesn't mean I will."
"Yeah." He laughed, running a hand through his rust colored hair and taking a swig of beer. "All right, I'm pretty buzzed, so I'm just gonna cut right to the chase here."
Jackson rested his elbows on the bar top. "Why did you kiss me at the Battle for BREW?"
A few moments of silence passed as Isabelle ran a finger along the rim of her glass, looking thoughtfully at its contents. Jackson kept his eyes glued to the counter as his Meister muttered a few delicate words.
"I know that sometimes my emotions get the better of me, I know that I can be stubborn and unreasonable. And I'm sure that a lot of people don't see me as much more than an up-tight hypocrite with anger issues. But Jackson," She laid a hand on his elbow, forcing the Demon Axe's eyes to hers with the gentle touch. "You're always there to stop me from losing control." Their noses were bare inches from touching, Jackson silently cursing the amber eyes that held him enthralled. "You keep me… grounded."
Her Weapon's cheeks flushed. "That… um… doesn't really answer my question."
She pulled away, taking a sip of her drink. "You were talking too much and I couldn't get at you with my hands. So I improvised."
"Oh." Jackson's face fell. "I see."
Isabelle shot him a concerned look. "Is something wrong?"
The Demon Axe gave his Meister a forced smile and a tired laugh. "Nope." He offered her his bottle. "Hey, cheers huh?"
"To what?"
He shrugged. "Your pick."
"All right." Eyes glittering, she raised her own glass with a small grin. "To friends and lovers."
Goddamnit Isabelle. Jackson's cheeks darkened as their glasses met in a tinkling kiss. Contradictory messages are contradictory.
Meanwhile, as the pair drank in warm confused silence, Roland found himself washed up against the bar like a piece of water logged wood drifting ashore from a stormy sea. He leaned back against the counter, catching his breath, watching a bank of multi-colored strobe lights paint the dancing mass before him a cacophony of gaudy shades. Somewhere in that tangled mass of tired limbs and sweaty bodies was Sonya.
A smile played across his lips. Clubs weren't really his scene as he wasn't much of a dancer and his taste in music was less than conventional, but he was enjoying the excursion nonetheless. Dancing with Sonya had been pleasant. She wasn't as bold as her Meister (though he doubted anyone was) but her tentativeness suited him.
Of course he was painfully sober while everyone else in the group was at least pleasantly tipsy, including Chris and Isabelle of all people. Hating the taste of alcohol came as a sort of mixed blessing in situations like this; he would remember the night with crystal clarity but probably wouldn't have done anything worth remembering. But that was fine by Roland. He'd come to relax, drama was not on his to-do list.
However, nothing ever goes as planned when all your friends are drunk.
A familiar head of blood red hair separated itself from the dance floor, weaving through the idle crowd towards the swordsmen. Alexa took her place by Roland's side, sidling up to the swordsmen with a sly smile and nudging him with her hip.
"Hey." She purred.
He gave her a sideways glance. "Hey yourself."
The Demon Sword gave his sleeve a playful tug. "Why aren't you wearing your new coat?"
"I don't think wearing a concealing trench coat in a crowded building full of sweaty teenage girls would be a good idea."
She collapsed into a fit of giggles, crumpling against her Meister and clinging to his arm to stay upright. Roland rolled his eyes. Someone's inebriated.
After a moment she regained her composure, straightening with a happy sigh. "Our resonance needs a new name."
"I don't think you can just rename a resonance technique." He said dryly.
"Aw c'mon!" Alexa puffed her lower lip out in a pout. "It's way too literal. There's no deeper meaning!"
Roland shrugged. The numbing bass of the current song faded and Roland breathed a sigh of relief. A man could only take so much dubstep in one night. But he wasn't expecting the strums of ukulele that rose to fill the silence. Alexa's face brightened at the sound.
"Oh I love this band!" Her fingers caught the swordsman's wrist. "Come on, let's dance."
"I don't know…" Roland stood rooted in place, giving his entrapped wrist a curious look.
She shot him an exasperated scowl. "You'll cross a hundred miles of desert to rescue me from witches, but you won't dance with me?" There wasn't much he could say to that.
So, with some reservation, Roland allowed Alexa to lead him onto the dance floor. They found a few square feet of unoccupied space smack-dab in the middle of the thinning crowd. Roland allowed himself a mental grimace when he saw that the remaining dancers had all separated into enamored, drunken couples. His Weapon placed her hands on his shoulders, raising the hairs on the back of his neck with a playful jolt of electricity and a disarming smile.
"You're cute when you're drunk."
"I am not drunk." Roland snorted as his hands found Alexa's waist.
Her cheeks darkened to match her hair. "Oh."
The swordsman blinked. Did she just call me cute?
The question was lost as the vocals began, the haunting voice of a young man rising over the ukulele and the hushed din of the crowd.
"If I was young, I'd flee this town
I'd bury my dreams underground
As did I, we drink to die, we drink tonight"
Weapon and Meister swayed in unison as an accordion joined the melody. Something in Roland's chest clenched at the dreamy look Alexa was giving him. Here, after everything they'd been through in the past few months, she was content just to be near him. No violence, no fighting. Just them and the music, their arms limp bridges binding them together across empty space.
"Far from home, elephant gun
Let's take them down one by one
We'll lay it down, it's not been found, it's not around"
With a flex of will Roland focused his wavelength into the palms of his hands, Alexa's breath catching as her Meister's soul pulsed gently against hers.
"Let the seasons begin – it rolls right on
Let the seasons begin – take the big king down"
Her breathing deepened, her face softened, her gleaming blue eyes held his and her brows furrowed in a moment of concentration. A tingling sensation probed the muscles around his neck, and the swordsman shuddered as the gentle electric caress undid knots of stress he didn't even know were there.
"Let the seasons begin – it rolls right on
Let the seasons begin – take the big king down"
"Alexa you're," A look of patient, content expectation made him stumble. The fleshy glow of the lights turned her hair a brilliant red and painted her cheeks the color of roses. When did she get so… pretty? Notes of longing rose from a trumpet, accompanied by the slow percussion of a drum and tambourine
"And it rips through the silence of our camp at night
And it rips through the night"
A small smile urged him onwards. "I'm what?"
"And it rips through the silence of our camp at night
And it rips through the silence, all that is left is all that I hide"
"Really something."
Victor remembered this smell. Hidden behind the metal folds of his face plate, nostrils flared to take their drought of the familiar scent. Pale lips cracked into an invisible smile, a parched voice rasped to no one in particular.
"It's been a long time."
His quiet words resounded in the stone hallway. For a few moments the Knight waited for a response. There was none.
Armor hissing in time with his steps the hulking swordsman started off down the hall, each plated footfall thundering in the cramped passage. He moved like a giant trapped in a subway tube; greedily filling all the available space with his immense armored form and his torn black cloak, the towering shape of his zweihander threatening to touch the ceiling in places.
Torch lit wooden doors passed at regular intervals but no one emerged to challenge the intruder, even though he made no effort to mask his presence. There was no doubt in his mind that someone had noticed his entrance but the time it would take to mount a response was all he needed. Familiar hallways offered no resistance as the Knight advanced like a wraith towards his target.
A twelve year old Victor trembled as the Death God towered over him, pale blonde hair matted from his walk in the rain. His clothes all seemed too big, a T-shirt hanging off one deathly pale shoulder as milky blue eyes sought those of the cloaked deity. But they were hidden behind an ivory skull mask; the solace young Victor sought from the gold ringed orbs of the reaper was nowhere to be found. The faceless god's voice was thick with sympathy.
"I'm sorry we had to meet like this Victor. No one should have to lose their parents at such a tender age. No one should be helpless."
Tears threatened. Victor hated this world and its chaos, its madness. He hated the monster that had gutted his parents like fish. He hated how it laughed and laughed and laughed, like it was all just some sick joke. He hated all this senseless violence.
"But you don't have to be helpless." Death bent and poked at Victor's chest with an angular white finger. "I can feel the good bottled up inside you. You can make the monsters go away. You can stop this from happening to anybody else." Little wet lines ran down the boy's cheeks as he quivered. "You can be a hero."
Despite himself, excitement began to rise in the Knight's belly like wispy smoke. He was so close, his goal just a hundred steps away. Nothing short of Death himself could keep him from claiming his destiny. But Victor suppressed the feeling, stifling the butterflies in his stomach as if with poison gas. He would not become giddy, he was not a child. He was not helpless.
The wall beside him cracked as his soul stirred, an armored hand closing into a fist.
He was anything but helpless. He was a warrior, a killer. He'd felt life slip between his fingers in syrupy red rivers, seen it run along his blade like a lover's tears. Ninety-nine human souls and one witch soul had disappeared into his Weapon's maw, each once bound to a living body rendered lifeless. No, he was not helpless. He was a wolf among sheep too blind so see the danger in their midst.
Torch lit wooden door pressed flush against his back, a sixteen year old Victor coughed to hide his blushing cheeks. A girl about his age with sandy brown hair and freckles stood before him, her olive colored scarf limp in the windless hall. She was smiling.
"You did great on that last mission Victor. Me and Sasha really owe you and Gregory for saving our butts back in Dublin."
"It's okay Madeline." Victor cleared his throat, pinching his thumb and middle finger together anxiously. "Besides, David helped too. If he hadn't hamstringed that pre-Kishin I don't think I would've been able to finish it off."
"Don't be so modest." Madeline laughed, a pretty tinkling sound.
"I don't know." Victor heaved a dejected sigh. "Without you and David I'd probably be dead ten times over."
The girl gave a little pout. Then, before he could react, she leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek. Victor blushed furiously as Madeline stepped back smiling.
"You're stronger than you know."
Victor stopped, his armor settling with a clank. Before him were two statues facing each other from their niches in the wall. Each was a squat, jagged figure with two blocky hands and a face carved into the three toothed caricature of a skull. Busts of the Death God himself, they stood as silent sentinels in the stony bowels of his academy.
The Knight brushed by them, their hollow eyes following him as he passed. Soon he came to a large iron-wrought door embellished with dozens of small Shinigami masks. Sitting on a metal folding chair nearby was a solitary guard, wearing a black flack jacket with a Shinigami skull emblazoned on its breast and an urban camouflage uniform underneath. Upon seeing Victor he rose from his seat with one hand held out for him to stop, the other hovering above the sidearm strapped to his hip.
"This is a restricted area, present identification verifying that you have proper clearance to continue."
A grim smile played across Victor's hidden lips. This was a Shibusen Ops agent, a human who was neither Weapon nor Meister but had pledged their service to Lord Death and Shibusen. They were drawn from a myriad of professions, Army Rangers to structural engineers and accountants, all united by the cause of preserving peace and order without national boundaries. And they played an important role in Death's organization. Only ten percent of the student population at the DWMA was in the EAT class, and only a rare few of those students ever became Death Scythes or Three Star Meisters. Death had a whole world to protect; he needed all the help he could get.
But this was only one man. The security detail normally assigned to Shinigami's vault had been conveniently diverted to Operation Capture Baba Yaga's Castle in Brazil. Victor passed him, bracing his armored hands against the door to open it. The Ops agent reacted without hesitation, 9mm pistol leaving its holster in a blur. The bark of gunshots echoed in the enclosed space, followed by eerie silence.
The vault doors creaked in protest as they opened.
Hand fumbling for his radio the Ops agent stumbled backwards, eyes fixed on the flattened bullets scattered about the Knight's feet.
"The vault has been breached! I repeat: the vault has been breached! Send backup!"
An eighteen year old Victor tried desperately to level his breathing, leaning on his immense sword for support. Across from him knelt Madeline, Demon Hammer resting on her shoulder. They were in a large cave with thick roots weaving through walls of damp stone, the air thick with moisture. Panting near the entrance to the cavern crouched a boy, his dark brown hair a singed mess, a long kunai dagger gripped tightly in his right hand.
The three tensed as a shrieking cry sundered the silence, a thundering screech accented by the beat of flapping wings. An earthen roar sounded in response, like a yawning mountain, followed by a terrible ripping like someone had torn a huge bloody piece of paper down the middle.
"We're in way over our heads. Death said there was a disturbance, but this…" The boy with the kunai hissed, edging back towards his companions. "This is fucking crazy. We need backup."
"David's right." Victor nodded with a ragged cough. "The Einherjar's defenses are barely holding together against just one of the Trinity. Defeat will be certain if we don't receive reinforcements before the other two arrive."
"Just shut up and let me think!" Madeline hissed, squeezing her eyes shut as another fanfare of screeching roars echoed through their shelter. David grimaced and squatted before his fellow Death Scythe Meister, his teammate. His lover.
Victor snorted and averted his eyes as David leaned in and laid a tender kiss against Madeline's lips. She whimpered as they separated, Victor's gut churning as David whispered quiet words of comfort into her ear.
Victor's eyes hesitantly returned to the pair at the sound of Madeline's voice
"Hey, where'd those come from?"
Clenched in David's left hand was a bundle of brightly colored green and blue feathers.
"I must've pulled them off during the fight." The kunai wielding Meister laughed dryly. "Hey, they'll make for good souvenirs when we get back huh?"
Madeline smiled. "Sure. We just have to get out of here first."
A yawning groan resounded from the depths of the cavern. Madeline steeled her eyes and stood. "Come on. We've still got a mission to complete."
Her companions nodded and the trio turned to face the source of the most recent inhuman noise.
The entire back of the cave was dominated by an immense door, a gargantuan slab of interlaced wood and stone. Forming a small mound against it were the dead husks of hundreds of plate sized crustaceans, reminiscent of horseshoe crabs. The claw marks above their resting place seemed to indicate that they'd died trying to get into the sealed vault.
Victor's face became grim.
Though it was barely visible in the poor light of the cave, further obscured by the dried out crabs laying against the foot of the door in pungent heaps, what Victor saw confirmed Death's gravest fears.
The door was open.
Victor loomed over the pedestal that held the Eye of Vengeance and Omni-Resonator. He'd ignored every other artifact in the vault; the pages from the Book of Eibon and the countless other Magic Tools Shinigami's vault contained held no appeal for the determined Knight. His quarry disappeared into the sack at his waist just as the shuffle of boots announced the arrival of the vault's defenders.
"HALT!" Victor turned, finding himself staring down the barrels of a dozen Heckler & Koch UMPs. Each mean looking submachine gun was nestled in the steely grip of a Shibusen Ops agent, every one of them a bona fide killer clad in gray camo and Kevlar. None of them wavered as Victor drew his zweihander.
"Make me."
Twelve trigger fingers contracted in unison, the thunder of their guns deafening in the stone chamber. Spent casing fell about their booted feet like brass rain. A few ricocheting bullets kicked up splinters of stone as they glanced off the Knight's armor at oblique angles. Shredded pieces of black cloth scattered into the air as the barrage continued, muzzle flashes painting jagged shadows against the wall. Ten long seconds passed before the sound of gunfire was replaced with the distinct hollow clicks of dry firing weapons. Their magazines spent, the Ops agents lowered their submachine guns to survey the damage.
The Knight had dropped into a protective crouch, his sword held across his body as he twisted to shield the bag holding the Magic Tools from harm. His dark cloak had been reduced to a few mangled scraps of fabric, but other than that he'd sustained no visible damage. Hundreds of flattened bullets laid dumbfounded at his feet, denied their target by his enchanted armor.
One of the agents threw down his gun and rushed forward, drawing a combat knife and jamming it between the plates of Victor's cuirass. A few rivulets of blood spilled over the inky metal, and the Knight placed a hand on the agent's shoulder as if to support himself.
"Most say that courage is an enviable trait. I would disagree." The man spasmed and fell to his knees as Victor struck him with his wavelength. "A dog can be courageous but dogs are also invariably stupid, only able to follow the simplest of commands."
The others hurried to reload as the Knight raised his sword. "And a bad dog must be put down."
A/N: The lyrics in the dance scene were from Beirut's Elephant Gun.
Victor and Raena have recaptured the Magic Tools, just when Roland and co. thought things were cooling down. Luckily for them, Madeline has found the Raven Witch's secret base. A few snippets of Victor's past reveal a tantalizing glimpse into the events of the Tibet Incident, raising more questions than have been answered. Who are the Einherjar and the Trinity? What's on the other side of the earthen door? What happened to Madeline, David, and Victor? And more importantly, what does all of this have to do with DEADE?
Next chapter, Shibusen rushes to prepare for the inevitable clash with Raena and her forces. The line has been drawn, but it remains to be seen who will emerge victorious and what malevolent forces are at work behind the scenes.
Prepare yourselves readers. There will be blood.
All of you who have reviewed so far are awesome. A special thanks to Brave Soul for an especially inspiring review.
If you haven't reviewed, I encourage you to do so. If you have, I encourage you to do so. Tell me what you think!
-TheManInTheHat
