Jesus, The Japanese had terrible swords. Brooklyn's Scottish Claymore was cutting down these 'Samurai' like wheat in a field. Their 'katanas' bent and shattered against his swings, each opponent only getting a split second to realize what happened before they were cleaved in two - along with their armor, the man next to them, and anyone else that was unfortunate enough to get in the way.
But Brooklyn didn't keep count, he hadn't kept count in years.
He was stuck in Feudal Japan, an explosion of fire and the screams of fleeing soldiers echoed over the battlefield, (ha, 'Feudal' Japan, he got it) and was currently in a fight for his life. The damn Phoenix Gate had spat him out here about a week ago, smack dab in the middle of a civil war. Now he was fighting alongside a bunch of farmers, craftsmen, and peasants in a revolt against their king. Or, Daimyo, whatever the hell they called him.
An arrow missed his head by barely an inch, whistling past him and spearing a rebel square in the chest. Brooklyn responded by yanking a spear out of a dead soldier and javelining it with enough force to spear the archer a hundred feet away and pin him to the wall. Jeez, fighting humans was so much easier when you weren't stuck holding back.
"Ano akai kaibutsu wa uragirimonoda!" was shouted at him by a charging opponent, an opponent he bisected Head-to-groin with a downward arc.
"Sore wa ima made kiita koto ga arimasen" Brooklyn muttered out loud. The Phoenix Gate gifting him with omnilingualism a few years back had had its perks.
Brooklyn shouted out to his fellow fighters that were strangers to him less then a ten day ago "Push forward! I'll be back with the commander's head!" he bellowed, leaping up into the air, sinking a set of claws into the stone wall to propel himself up to the rooftops of the small village. He hacked and slashed his way through the faceless humans, just as he had any other day. Mass casualties, gore, and murder.
A few years ago, taking one life had traumatized him for months. But now? Killing a hundred people in one night? Eh, that was just tuesday.
Everything was just background noise now. Brooklyn didn't even see the actions before him as all that tangible anymore, really. Even when he leapt down into the horde of elite samurai guarding the commander, it played out like something in a video game. He mutely overpowered every swipe of their swords with his own, not even bothering to defend, his body just going through the motions. He didn't even really make much of an expression as their blood curdling screams pierced the night, they sounded more like stock sound bites to him, anyways.
With the elite guard dead, he disarmed the commander (literally) and yanked him up by the hair "Sorry pal, guess you're on the wrong side of history"
*Slash*
And off came the head, and down went the body.
Well, guess that took care of that. He clenched his bloody claymore in his teeth *Ew ew ew, think there's still guts stuck on this* he thought sourly. With one hand holding the head, and the other climbing back up to the rooftops, he took up a position in the moonlight where all could see.
Brooklyn took in a tired inhale and exhaled a bilabial through his lips like a sputtering horse, could tonight just be over? He cleared his throat into his fist, then let out an ear-splitting roar in true gargoyle fashion. All eyes from both sides were on him in a flash, just in time to see him hold the human's head high like a trophy.
As expected, the mercenary soldiers on the opposing side went into full retreat, while the rebels were emboldened. He tossed the head aside as the fighting turned into a race for escape against a race to slaughter as many as fleeing individuals as possible. Brooklyn could only snort at the sight "Ya just can't count on conscription these days, can y- OOMPHF!"
*KRACK!*
Something hit him, something strong. He was sent catapulting off the roof, across the alleyway, through the wall, through the other wall, and into a stack of crates at ground level that exploded into splinters.
"Fuckin'..." he groaned as he held his head, ears ringing as he stumbled to his feet "Who th- SHIT!"
Brooklyn barely had time to raise his sword in a block, a slash of a white blade came out from the darkness from whence he came. But for the first time since he got here, THIS Katana didn't shatter.
Brooklyn's face made the first visibly expression it had in a month.
A female gargoyle was his attacker.
Celestial blue skin, onyx hair as black as night, a beak like his own, a crude mix of leather and metal armor, and eyes so hatefully red - he thought she was Demona.
"TRAITOR!" she bellowed at him, Brooklyn sidestepping and clashing blades that sent up sparks "You've thrown in your lot with them!? These disloyal peasants!?"
Brooklyn grit his teeth, struggling to keep her blade at bay. He had heard from the rebels that the opposing lord had gargoyles for some reason, but- "WHOA! HEY! CHILL!"
A sweep of her tail kicked Brooklyn's feet out from under him. He had to block and roll at the same time just to barely miss the katana that speared for his sternum. He kicked her away, sending her to the wall of the courtyard so he could have the split second necessary to stand up "I don't want to fight you!" one hand up, though the other still firmly grasping his claymore "Look look, let's just talk-"
She must have not been interested, because she had already chucked a chicken cage at him and was sprinting at him faster than even Lexington. More sparks were born from two blades clashing, each swung with the strength of two gargoyles stronger than twenty men. Her smaller blade raced down his blade's length to his handguard, closing the distance enough for her to crack a fist against his jaw.
Brooklyn stumbling backwards gave her the perfect opening to knee him in the stomach, then strike the back of his head with the pommel of her katana once he doubled over. He rolled over with a blind sweep of his sword. Her sword stabbed into the ground - more accurately, into the lower fabric of his loincloth. She had been three inches short from neutering him.
One hand planted his weight to the floor, and one red talon socked her square in the chest
"UGH!" she rasped out as she was sent flying back again.
Brooklyn's free hand snatched onto the handle of the katana that was still speared into the ground. He yanked it up, snapped to his feet, and twirled both weapons now in his hands.
"So! Finally got that out of your system?" he barked, still fully in his combat stance "I'm not here to fight! Now let's just talk this out, who are you?"
She drew the Wakizashi from her belt "The last thing you're going to see!" charging at him again.
Brooklyn snarled in frustration, but he now had TWO weapons that gave him the reach advantage - not to mention he was taller. His swipes kept her at bay, even keeping her movements caution, but she was a quick one…
"Will you just stop and listen to me!?" he growled "I'm not your enemy here! Whatever is going on i-"
She saw a tiny opening in his guard to his left side, she ducked beneath a swipe of the katana in his left hand and slashed her blade against the meat of his quad. Brooklyn roared in response, dropping the sword to cover the wound out of reflex to keep the blood in.
She caught the blade just before it hit the ground. The blue gargoyle swiped for his achilles, but Brooklyn's feet were already in the air. He swung down with the broad of his claymore, nailing her with the blunt side square into her back.
She cried out in pain, but Brooklyn didn't feel nearly enough pity to not do this:
WHAM*
He slammed his fist into her face while she was on all fours. His red arms snaked beneath her throat quick as a flash, and he gator rolled onto his back: he had her in a perfect rear-choke.
"LISTEN TO ME." he spat, flexing his bicep against her gullet to restrict the air to her lungs "Calm the hell down and LISTEN. I'm not your enemy, alright!? There's a lot going on I don't understand right now, but I DON'T fight fellow gargoyles if I don't know who they are!"
She squirmed in his grasp, but this was a textbook position that was borderline impossible to break out of "-So chill the heck out and just tell me who you are." he said, doing his best to lower his voice… which was kind of hard to do with the adrenaline pumping and the feral state in overdrive "Look, I'll start us off. I'm Brooklyn. I'm not from around here, I'm just helping some people who asked for my help."
There was a slight pause. Aside from the muffled sounds of battle on the other side of the enclosed courtyard, the only sound that could be heard was the pants of the two gargoyles who were close to their limits. But then that pause ended.
The blue gargoyle elbowed Brooklyn's vulnerable side, a perfect shot straight to his kidney. He bellowed in furious pain, loosening his grip just enough for her to crack the back of her head against his chin and roll out of it. She somersaulted forward and scooped up both her katana and wakizashi in a single move - just as Brooklyn spun to his feet with his Claymore in the same fashion.
It was a standoff. With chests heaving and sweat caking their bodies, they could really only stare each other down. After an hour of fighting beforehand, neither of them were really in any shape to go toe to toe with another gargoyle.
The distant trumpet of a victorious warhorn and the cheers of the rebel farmers echoed out. The female glanced behind her frantically, the rebels had taken the village and she was now about to be alone in enemy territory.
She grit her teeth and returned her glare to Brooklyn "...why are the dishonorable and the schemers always favored by the divines?" she hissed to herself. She pointed her katana at him "You, 'Brooklyn', you have betrayed our doctrine and our oath."
He shook his head with pure confusion "Oath? Girl, I already told you, I'm not from here!"
"ANYONE who dares disobey the will of our Daimyo, our MASTER, is filth!" she snarled. She sheathed the smaller of the two blades and leapt to the roof "You got lucky tonight, Brooklyn, but it shall be the last time." she flared her wings
"I am Katana, and you WILL die a traitor's death at my blade!"
She disappeared from his sight, for a split second as she fled, before the sound of leathery wings catching air was followed by her silhouette taking to the night sky. Her onyx hair was like silken waves in the moonlight, it only took a few moments for her to disappear completely.
Brooklyn rested his claymore on his shoulder "...Stupid name." he snorted.
=0000ooooo00000ooooo0000=
Brooklyn rested his back on the support beam of the rooftop.
The rebellion had taken the village completely now, and after a quick sweep through all the buildings to check for straggling soldiers, it was deemed safe enough to make it their bivouac site. Now dinners were served, campfires were lit, the first aid stations were set up, and the place was safe enough to bed down for the night.
Brooklyn had already eaten his fill of pork and rice… so was not too keen to join in any of the festivities down there. He really didn't feel like going through the camp, learning everyone's name and story… then having to explain his OWN story for what was easily a couple hundred times now.
The first few dozen times he had time jumped, he could stomach repeating the exact same thing over and over again… even after the first two hundred times, he could do it… but now?
Brooklyn closed his eyes and exhaled through his nostrils, he leaned back and let the back of his head hit the wooden beam.
Eight years.
Eight fucking years he had been doing this.
This wasn't Hell. Hell would have been better than this.
He was stuck in a perpetual cycle that was always the same and always different at the same time. It didn't matter WHERE the Phoenix Gate spat him out without rhyme or reason, he'd never return to where or when he had once been.
Countless times…. LITERALLY Countless times he had been thrown into a pivotal moment of history - wars, famine, genocide, and worse. Once in a lifetime, historical tragedies were his every day, and everytime he had to witness things that would make even the hardest of veterans go insane.
And in those hardships, invincible bonds were forged. Bleeding on the battlefields with humans and gargoyles alike. Struggling at the brink of death with someone who had gone from stranger to comrade as his only rock. Such irreplaceable bonds made with others…
Only for the Phoenix Gate to laugh in his face and yank him away from it all, never to see any of them again.
He was a slave.
A slave here to do the Phoenix's bidding. When Brooklyn was speared through the stomach, poisoned by an assailant, convulsing on the ground from hunger, or suffering at death's door for a million other reasons, the Phoenix did nothing. It just sat silent and invisible, picking its talons, barely able to summon up the energy to care.
But when Brooklyn, after well and faithfully spending anytime from a few hours to a few MONTHS, just wanted to stay in whatever timeline he was in - to just finally enjoy the company of others now that the threat was over? The damn bird never once hesitated to rip him away from it all, never to be seen again.
Friends, Families…. Lovers…
And they were time and space away.
So what reason did he have to go down to those campfires and attempt to ebb the loneliness that had consumed him? He'd just have to suffer the pain of being yanked away from absolutely EVERYTHING all over again. All those bonds and friendships ripping even more pieces from him while they stayed behind… pretty soon, there'd be nothing left of him.
Especially when he had no idea when he'd be ripped away next. He could be here for months, he could be here for days, he could only be here for a few more minutes?
It was the stress of never knowing.
… and who the hell could possibly understand? The sheer, fucking, LONELINESS.
Brooklyn had given up on returning to New York and his first family years ago (Yeah, he didn't even bother to call them his 'real family' anymore, he had made so many others over the years… and lost them all the same). If the Devil himself wanted the Phoenix Gate, Brooklyn would have gladly handed it over without hesitation. All he wanted was to be free from this hell… one way or another.
He couldn't help but wish that arrow earlier had just been a few inches to the left…
At this point, that seemed to be the only permanent salvation from this curse; both the loss… and the memories.
Brooklyn pulled out his Kiseru, it was the first thing he had asked for from a local when he had gotten to this time. He reclined back against the rooftop, his dead eyes locked on the lowering moon… while also stuffing the bowl with as much shredded tobacco as it could handle.
That blue gargoyle had been the first gargoyle he had seen in… a year? Two maybe?
He ignited the end on a lantern that hung nearby, puffing a few times to get the airflow going… God, he yearned for the stronger stuff that could be found in later parts of the timeline.
He held the pipe and took a heavy drag.
Brooklyn held his hands over a medieval soldier's sucking chest wound to try and keep the blood in.
Brooklyn, his face unable to fit in a gas mask, convulsed in agony as a Mustard Gas attack filled the World War 1 trench.
Brooklyn watched helplessly as persecuted Christians were nailed to crosses by Roman Legionaries.
He clutched his stomach as he starved in a cage, courtesy of the Holodomor.
He covered his nostrils with a cloth, trying to avoid the stench of the Black Death currently eviscerating London.
Gunshots rang out, but Brooklyn physically couldn't stop so many gunmen as millions were slaughtered in the Rwandan Genocide.
Brooklyn exhaled.
His lips prickled up into a sarcastic smile.
Well, tomorrow was a brand new day!