Chapter 45 Tempus Fugit - Pest Control.

Admittedly, I was kinda going at it half-cooked, here.

Oh, I was fairly certain no one was going to swoop by as I made my best impression of a Lady Inquisitor on some poor -criminal- schmuck, especially since I did a full sweep of the town after engaging them -as easy as dropping my meditative breathing pattern for a second- and nobody had been rushing right this instant toward my position, so I was kinda clear on that front.

Which, understandable, I've more or less thrown minor displays of Psyker powers constantly since I landed here, and not once I've been caught in the act.

So I could only infer that the town's wards equivalent weren't registering my particular out of context brand of bullshit.

And, right now?

Well, it suited me just fine.

"-entirely optional." I deadpan to the lowlife scared shitless in front of me as my hands snap on each sides of his head, and I pull, bioelectric displays of lightning trailing out of my fingers right inside his cranium-

"-sure about that? Sounds risky, Boss."

"Don't worry, they'll handle the aftermath, like usual. Someone just can't walk up to us and starts making demands-"

The sounds of quiet sobbing makes my heart clenches, but I steel my face.

"Eh, time to eat." I drawl, not really looking at them, and, even when I bother, the faces have started to blur together past a certain point.

"-new opportunities?"

"That's right." The Boss answers, not bothering to look back at his cadres from where he is staring through his windows, "I've made… an acquaintance, one who should allow us to diversify."

My body tenses and my jaw tightens.

We were already dipping our fingers in a lot of pies, and the risks were barely worth it most of the time, what with the ever tightening noose that was the police campaigns against like minded organizations like ours.

What the boss was talking about?

That could either be really good, or really, really bad.

"They have power. The kind that could allow us to put those bleak times behind us, if leveraged appropriately." The Boss carries on, his figure motionless and his hands clasped behind his broad shouldered back.

"There is an untapped market, and we're going to carve our name upon it. For starters-"

I reel back, as if slapped, as memories-not-my-own coalesce into a coherent picture, my hands jumping away from the lowlife's -Jotaro- head like it is burning my digits.

I hiss under my breath, the flat of one of my hands coming to press against my temple, barely remembering that I'm still in the open and really should do a sweep of the town-

-only to sigh quietly when I realize that I'm still in the clear, before paying a look around the vicinity.

Dumb -Ichi- and Dumber -Fat Kenta- are still out of order, and my mind-drained victim-

-is currently being busy bleeding from all his upper orifices, which, kinda oopsie?

…Or not.

The pictures, the memories, come back with a vengeance as my headache abates, and, around my mind-self, through my ever-present connection with the Empyrean, I can feel Rage and Hate gathering.

My fists tightens at the same time as my expression grows eerily flat-

-because there is a sex trafficking ring in my fucking city, his rotten bones be damned, and Happy-bubbly and I'm-so-perfect weren't doing shit about it.

I let out a slow, drawn out exhale, all the while looking at whatshisname -Jotaro- going all comatose in a damp, out of the way alleyway.

"...Time for some pest control, I guess." I mutter to myself as I gesture behind me, a crumpling body suddenly becoming two, then three, gathered in a pile by way of telekinetic might.

I take another deep, shuddering breath, momentarily letting go of the Hate and Rage rushing over and through me like an unending tide, intent on shifting my focus to something more appropriate.

I call upon unending maws, bottomless gulets, and let myself feel the most primal, bright yellow Hunger I can invoke, one hand raised unceremoniously toward the pile of would-be-corpses.

A little flicker of my fingers-

-and a torrent of eerie unwhite fire streams out of my outstretched hand, the rest of my focus trying to reduce the splash damage as the flames roar in a way which makes the soul flinch.

I count one, two, three, four, and, finally, five mississippi, before letting go of this ancient Hunger, the impromptu bonfire now properly lit and its victims already well on their way to get reduced to a pile of formless ashes-

-and I set myself heavily against the wall, arms crossed under my bust, forcing myself to channel as much Indifference as I can in an attempt to hide my deed until nothing's left, finding the task way fucking harder than usual as every variant of Anger, Wrath and Hate circle my mind-self like so many hungry piranhas, ready to fall on me the very moment I let go of my focus and gorge themselves on my sanity.

Usually, I would've said that I was going to fucking kill someone over this whole bullshit of a situation, but I already did.

Pretending that I am not in an absolutely thunderous mood as I cross my home's threshold would be a big fat lie.

More stomping than walking, I make a beeline toward the Basement, wrenching out the door open, Skully trilling a greeting my way.

"Not now." I grunt, a frown etched on my face as I snap a hand toward my sword.

I stumble a step back as the rather heavy arming sword lands in my open palm.

I let a few inches of it slide out of its scabbard, eyeing the blade for a beat while simultaneously letting a trickle of my power roam over it, the psy-matrice etched in its durasteel apparently still functional even after my growth in power.

Which, understandable, since I'm still the same, just more.

I nod decisively to myself while sheathing the blade back, before giving a serious look at the rest of my gear, weighting the pros and cons.

Pros: I was going to reap a bloody path through some baselines, true, but baselines routinely killed Psykers off their rockers in the original setting, and I wasn't really willing to give them any chances-

-plus, it'd possibly give me a modicum of anonymity if some supernaturals got wind of what I am doing before I'm done.

Cons: I had to wear the damn thing, and putting it on was going to be a pain.

So, no cons worthy of note.

Scowling even harder, I stomp my way toward the coat hanger on which my Storm Witch's Regalia has quietly laid gathering dust, having seen no actions-

-until tonight, that is.

By the time I had finally managed to put on the damn thing -So. Many. Fucking. Straps- and stalked my way to the correct place, blasting out an Indifference I still wasn't feeling through my aura, night had long fallen over Kuoh.

Standing atop a nearby building, I was doing my better Batman impression as I looked over the gathering place -a nightclub, talk about fucking cliche- of the Yakuza ring I had discovered.

I scowl under my mask.

No, fucking scratch that, there was nothing deserving of the name Yakuza about a sex trafficking ring with a -probably supernatural- backer greasing the wheels for them when they messed up.

There was no honor, no protection of the community.

Those men, no, those monsters, were just taking, taking, and taking until nothing was left.

I loosen white-knuckled grip on my sword a notch while exhaling deeply, the false leather of my gloves creaking slightly, as I try my hardest to get my feelings under control.

I exhale once more, letting go of the leash on my empathy as I forego my breathing pattern another time too many in the same day, my eyes closed-

-and I take a peek at what happens behind the curtain, behind the closed door of their front.

If anything, my mood sours even more.

Above ground, nothing really stands out, the current party goers having the time of their life and the personnel monotonously doing their assigned tasks.

But, below ground, in what I know due to the memories I grabbed to be the sublevel, the grayish-black of Despair and Hopelessness rubs shoulders with nuances of the whitish Indifference I routinely uses for sneaking around, and, to my utter disgust, with shades of pink and purple I simply refuse to expand upon.

I repress a shiver of disgust as my stupid brain juxtapose the disquieting contrast between this and the usual context during which I'm generally feeling those emotions firsthand, before my eyes snap open once more.

Right.

Got the right place, with the certainty that I got the right people.

"Pest control it is." I grunt to myself, before making my way to the back entrance across rooftops via a helpful channeling of Strength through my body, the reddish hues of darker emotions still hanging close by, unabated.

I don't even have to wait, the door opening right the instant I find myself in position, two men crossing the threshold, still trailing purplish hues behind them like a prize.

Under my mask, my jaw sets into a snarl, and I let, for the first time since this whole debacle started, the whole of my Hatred coalesce into a well known form.

Instantly, as if snapping to attention, blood-tipped cyan-colored constructs starts to form around my left forearm -the one with which I will not be swinging a sword, obviously- and one becomes two, two becomes four, four becomes eight-

-eight becomes sixteen, sixteen becomes thirty-two, thirty-two becomes sixty-four-

-and I lose counts as the constructs keeps materializing, more numerous, reality almost crackling around my arms as they start to migrate over my arm, my shoulder, over and above my back-

-until it ends, just as early as it started and I snap back to attention, the constructs, no, the crystalline wing of Hate-tipped Retribution stretches with an eerie, tinkling sound.

I lock eyes through my mask with the two goons, their cigarettes long fallen from limp hands as they stare in unmitigated horror at my crouched form atop the building.

I jump down, my sword crackling with eldritch energy as I draw it in the motion, blueish lights dancing over the blade, the part of my mind not focused on my Wing drawing deep from the Warp, settling on what feels right and natural.

They want to show me purple?

I'll show them purple.

I imbibe myself as deep as I can with Haste, right before I land.

I stomp on the ground, not even feeling the impact, my body other just the right way for me to be able to fall three stories without any danger-

-and I'm right in the middle of them, the two mooks not even having the time to blink before my sword arm and my wing both lashes out, my upper body strength allowing me to part meat, sinew and bones with decidedly startling ease, the wounds already cauterized as Mr. Right gets bissected from the hip to the shoulder, Mr. Left not sharing his luck as the Wing quite literally shreds him apart, gore and blood trailing the motion.

The two bodies barely have the time to fall as I kick the door open, and I idly notice that I may have lost my grip on my aura at some point for them to have frozen like two deers caught in headlight that way.

A part of my brain wonders how they feel, the other is too angry to care.

I kick open the door leading to the basement.

The carnage begins.

[AN: Double chapter, because I'm feeling generous or some shit.

As you may have noticed, Prima has a tiny little problem with sex traffickers.

Enough of a problem, in fact, for going at it close and personal instead of using the trusted and true 'Scry & Fry' method.

Eh, at least, it muddles the trail or something.

Hope you enjoy, xoxo]