[CupcakeDolly]

City of Shadows

The great walled city of Atticus is cast in perpetual darkness. Were it not for the looming clock face of the Kingsford Tower, one might never have known that night had fallen. The lights at the center of the city illuminate the near constant revelry of the high gentry, the governors and nobles safely ensconced in their tower of pleasure and freedom.

In the slums along the outer ring of the city the common folk have retreated to the relative safety of their homes, barring the doors from the inside to discourage entry by the desperate and the unscrupulous. On the outside of the ramshackle houses are hung various trinkets believed to ward off the invisible and silent scourge that has claimed countless lives over the many years.

Unknown to the slumbering citizens, a more pressing danger has appeared within the walls of the city.

Stumbling and groggy, a common man makes his way home through the alleys, his face flushed and his vision blurry. The small amount of light cast by the moon above is suddenly obscured, and the man squints into the darkness, searching for the exit to the alley that was visible to him only a moment before. Realizing that the shadow obstructing his path is higher than he first though, he cranes his neck up, and up... Until he meets the cold, unfeeling gaze of the beast before him.

A scream pierces the quiet night, followed by the bone-rattling bellow the likes of which the frightened city has never heard.

What will you do now?

[CupcakeDolly]

The night had been colder than most, but it was nothing that a good pair of torn stockings couldn't guard against. The bodies littering the ground - some desiccated, most stabbed and stripped, some wide-eyed with the blight - were covered in a thin layer of frost and proved difficult to peel up from the dirt.

Ophe- Or rather, a girl named Amary dug her fingernails underneath the body of a woman who had gone stiff with rigor, working away the ice until her partner - an old man with a stooped back who was bundled in layer upon layer of cloth - could haul her up onto his rickety cart.

"That's a stubborn one," Ophe- Amary remarked, remembering her manners when she declined to point out to the old corpse collector that she had done most of the work for him. "You'd almost think she didn't want to go just yet." Her partner remained quiet and simply shuffled on down the street to the next body. The girl named Amary smiled, her bounding strides quickly allowing her to catch up with him. She'd grown fond of the man, as fond as if he were her own pet, and she'd even considered giving him a name. Naming something as beautiful and loyal as he was would take time though, and she was in no rush to think of -

Hold on, 'beautiful' wasn't quite the right word. How did she usually describe him?

Oh, right. Ugly. The old man was ugly as sin. That didn't matter to Oph- Amary. She was still quite fond of the ugly old man regardless, otherwise she wouldn't have appointed herself his apprentice.

The ground beneath them trembled, and the old ugly man clutched his cart with both of his frail hands in a vain attempt to keep it upright, but half a moment later a thunderous roar echoed through the streets and the cart fell onto its side, tipping out the pile of frozen corpses onto the ground.

The girl named Amary had crouched low to the ground, pointing her right ear toward the source of the noise. "Did you hear that as well?" she asked her unwilling mentor. Noticing the mess the old man had made by tipping over his own cart, Oph- Amary sighed and shook her head. "Look what you've done! I'm quite sure the first thing you taught me as your apprentice were the fundamentals of keeping those poor dead people neatly stacked and constantly mobile. Well, the student must become the teacher for the time being, it seems. I want you to have those stiffs stacked and ready to go by the time I return!" The girl named Amary wrapped her thin arms around the old man's bundled form and planted a kiss on the back of his head. "And don't you worry, I won't get myself into trouble while I'm gone! I remember what you always say to me. Nothing. You say nothing to me all the time, and it speaks volumes. I will keep your sage advice in my heart, and I'll be back shortly." Releasing the old man, Ophe- Amary skipped away into the darkness, scrambling up the nearest building and quickly disappearing into the shadows as she went off to find the source of the cacophony.

The old corpse collector shook his head and muttered, "Crazy bitch," before stooping to clean up the mess of bodies.

[Doctor Gabriel]

The savage, earth shattering howl of some foul creature roused King Gabriel from his slumber.

Gabriel's head howled in response.

The stench of refuse and decaying produce seemed far more alarming than the sound that had so rudely awoken him, though. He blinked until the sleep and haze had left his eyes only to see a pale moon above and garbage on every side of him.

"Huh..." The Vagrant King muttered to himself as he sat upright upon his magnificent throne of trash, "That's odd. I don't remember falling asleep in a dumpster..."

His Majesty nimbly leapt down from his filthy throne and stretched the stiffness from his muscles. He reached into his long golden coat and stuck a cigarette in his frowning mouth.

Based on the throbbing in his head, he began to deduce as he lit his deathstick, he'd most likely found a local establishment in which to get Royally shitfaced, for Gabriel did everything Royally, and try to find a pretty girl's bed to share for the night. That was how he usually found shelter after all, so the waking up in the garbage either meant there hadn't been any girls up to snuff at said establishment or he'd made too much of a scene and gotten himself kicked out.

That explained how he'd spent the evening, but in no way accounted for the bizarre roar that had awakened him.

Or, more importantly, he realized as he puffed smoke into the cold night air...

"...Where the fuck am I?"

Fortunately, he didn't have to dwell on that uncomfortable thought for long, as the sound of clattering across a nearby rooftop gave him a much needed distraction. It's source, to our dear King's delight, appeared to be a girl, who was scrambling across the shops and homes of whatever city this was like a thin, oversized squirrel.

The Vagrant King smiled and flicked his cigarette onto the cold dirt at his feet.

"Well lucky me, looks like it's a good thing I woke up early," he chuckled to the pair of swords sheathed on his back, "Come on, girls. Let's go see if she's worth chasing after."

At worst, he could at least figure out where he was and what that sound was. But, there was also the possibility that she was cute and in need of a dashing male companion. And, for our Beloved King, that was all the motivation needed.

Gabriel didn't really care what the outcome might be. He bounded up a nearby fire escape and leapt across to the rooftop he'd seen her on a moment ago.

When you got down to it, there was only one thing that The Vagrant King Gabriel detested above all else and that was boredom.

So he gave chase across the roofs of a city he didn't recognize after a girl he'd never met. Simply because, it was better than being bored.

[Suzerain of Sheol]

The near-perfect silence of his vigil, poring yet once more over the delirious, tortured scrawlings of the grimoire, is disturbed by a high-pitched yawn from the other side of the room. The shifting of considerable canine weight.

"Oh, hmmhmmm ymmymmymm, I dare say it's time for dinner. What's on the menu tonight?"

But his concentration is not so easily broken. Laurent feels on the cusp, upon the very precipice of the abyss hidden within the eldritch language of the text. As if by staring at the tumescent runes for long enough, under the right circumstances, he could somehow learn to unsee them, and from thence descend into the mysteries between. Invisible fires burning up the channels of his brain, leaving the ashes of thought behind, phoenix-like, to transcend the strictures time and consequence...

"Aw come on, Sic, I haven't eaten since yestereve and it's already dark out! I don't think you're going to break the seals of the cosmos in the next 10 minutes, be a dear, won't you?"

He wasn't entirely sure why he did this, any of it. The concept of a goal seemed antithetical to the nature of his research. Perhaps he merely assumed the end he sought would reveal itself when the time came -- the question was not germane.

Marking his page, Laurentian carefully closes the grimoire, pausing to retrieve the ventilated blown-glass jar to his left, carefully unscrewing the lid. The pestis populi frog hops obliviously out into his gloved palm, over which he promptly cups his other hand, slowly applying pressure to coax the creature into a state panic, eliciting the toxic mucus the black-and-yellow creature is known for. That accomplished, the assassin braces his body and takes a practiced lick of the creature's back, reflexively slapping it back into its jar before the convulsions strike him. Even with his built-up immunity, the initial effects of the paralytic are... animated.

He comes to his senses a moment later, his nerves sufficiently calmed.

"Are you quite finished? I've half a mind to eat your little pet there if you keep me waiting much longer. Gods know, one day I might not be able to help myself, take a nibble out of your thigh while you're delighting in your spasms. Dogs have been known to do such things, what would the constable do, hang me on the gallows? Not bloody likely, and you know it!"

A slithering breath, and a crawling sigh. "We will dine, Mansfield."

Laurent rises, gathering his things, only to be stopped by the sound of an unearthly roar breaking across the city. The cause for great consideration on his part.

"Aw, now what the Devil's that all about? Oh! Oh no you don't, Sic! You are not going to run off on me when it's past time for dinner!"

Putting on his armor, his coat, his weapon belts and drug pouches. "Eat the dead, they are sure to be in abundance. We're leaving."

[Salone]

Through the void of dark Emmanuel Shaw commanded his airship, gliding along through the pressing night. Sure, the registration may say Bastable Air, but this bird was his. The propellers grumbled just barely over the rustle of the wind as the engines turned. A moonless sky revealed every star above, and all was right with the world as he gazed upon them...even if he was nearing Atticus. Blasted town. Walls protecting dying rot. If he never set foot there, he would be okay with that. He would stay long enough to tether and drop cargo, and then he would be gone. Back to the sky. Back where he belonged.

A thunderous quake destroyed the serenity of the captain, sending the airship rocking. Shaw and the crewman on the bridge were knocked to their feet as the vessel swung wildly.

"Hard rudder left! Damage report!"

Shaw wrenched himself upwards, capstan in his now unshakable grip as the rest of the crew roused themselves. The bridge was thrown in to chaos as it swayed back and forth. Shaw leaned slightly as the bridge began to pitch backwards. One of the engineers shouted back towards him, his face ghostly in the dim light.

"Hull breach in the gas bag, we're losing pressure fast! Starboard engines unresponsive sir, losing altitude!"

Emmanuel nodded, holding the capstan even harder for support as the bridge encroached in to a much harsher angle. His stomach took on the sickening feeling of a body descending faster than it should. "Release fore sandbags, release cargo hold, full power to port engines, hard left seventy degrees!"

There was the chatter of acknowledgement of orders. Then there was the roar. The ship rocked again, pitching wildly through the air. The bridge became a cage of confusion as everyone was launched in to the air. Nothing could be done. The ship fell, disappearing in to the clouds below. There were shouts as bodies collided in to bodies, kicking out wildly in the black confusion. The forest surrounding Atticus rose up to consume them in the enclosing shroud of night, the tips of trees clawing desperately at the wounded ship. The frame screeched and wailed as it bent and collapsed, tearing itself open as it fell. But above all as the mass of steel and fabric fell, there was the roar.

The roar...


Emmanuel Shaw awoke. He had had the dream again. That same dream that he woke from every time he was taken from blissful sleep. The same nightmare, relived. The same haunting memory that had left him stranded in this decaying city. That horrid sound that woke him every single time.

The roar came again. This time he heard it with his own ears. This roar was the same, but...different. It chilled him. It wormed and slunk its way in to his very being, tendrils reaching through him to induce an involuntary shudder at trauma revisited. Inside his tiny hovel, the former 'Captain' Emmanuel Shaw clutched an empty bottle of the most rancid, cheapest liquor as his only friend and companion. The drink had not been enough tonight. Not enough to keep him asleep until day.

He heard it again. That bestial challenge to the night. It chilled him, but the alcohol still poisoning his system reminded him that whatever may be out there was the reason he was here. And come what may, anything would be better than Atticus. Even death.

Reaching about him in the darkness, Shaw let go of the bottle and found his spanner. Clutching it in his grasp, he gathered himself and his thoughts.

He would never fly again. To be stuck to this damned earth was a death sentence. To wait this long for that sentence to be carried out was too much for him. With grim determination, he steadied himself in to an upright position, and shambled his way unsteadily in to the biting darkness that was night of Atticus.

[CupcakeDolly]

Someone in the distance was making themselves very easy to track down. Pained, desperate screams filled the air, and the girl named Amary imagined she could see their sounds like tendrils of colored smoke. She crawled, scuttled, and leapt across the rooftops, the holes in the bottoms of her stockings allowing the bottoms of her feet to deftly grasp-

Whoops, slipped on a roof tile. The girl named Amary cringed at the clatter it made, but pressed on. The screaming had stopped, but she wasn't far from its source. She hesitated at the edge of a two-story dwelling, crouched like a small gargoyle.

Gaslights had appeared in the windows of the homes lining the streets below. Their inhabitants were plainly curious about the ruckus, but just as plainly unwilling to step outside and put themselves in harm's way. The girl named Amary shook her head. Were these common folk so numbed to the perils of life that they wouldn't even seek to satisfy their own morbid curiosity? It was almost indecent, this caution they were exhibiting. The girl would have none of it. She felt she owed it to the screaming and roaring creatures to witness their most likely grisly fates.

And there, just across the street, was evidence of such. A trail of blood - dark red in the faint light from the moon - painted a complex mosaic through the cracks in the cobblestone as it made its way toward a sewer grate in the street. The scene in the alley beyond was cast in darkness, and the girl named Amary decided that she would need to get closer to properly witness it.

Timing her movements, the girl half-slid and half-fell from the roof, tumbling to the ground below and skittering along the ground beneath a large shadow cast by a cloud which briefly obscured the moon. The curious window-watchers would see nothing in such a short instant, and if they had they might convince themselves that it was only a stray cat darting across the street and up the wall to the rooftops.

Perhaps the girl named Amary might even have shaken off the person who was so obviously following her a moment before.

From her new perch on the roof overlooking the bloodstained alley, the girl blinked slowly and carefully, daring her eyes to show her something different from what they insisted on seeing. No evidence of the person who had been screaming remained - unless you counted the chunks of gore strewn along the ground - and the only thing left in the area to account for the thunderous noise was a... gigantic, fluffy golden ball of fur.

Ophelia tilted her head to the side as she regarded the thing. Aside from the bloodstains in its fur, it was quite cute, actually.

[Doctor Gabriel]

There was a soft thud as King Gabriel nimbly landed just behind the girl he'd been pursuing. Despite his rapid acrobatics across the skyline of the city, he seemed unnaturally composed and calm.

The strike and fizz of a match being lit on the heel of his boot was his only greeting and then His Majesty was squatting next to the strange girl. He rested his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands as he surveyed the beast and carnage before him, with a weary and out of place smile.

"So what exactly are we looking at here?" The Vagrant King let out a cloud of smoke as he asked his fellow spectator in a tone of mixed curiosity and mild amusement.

[CupcakeDolly]

The girl kept her wide eyes fixed on the ball of fur, which was perhaps six feet in diameter. It remained completely still aside from when the slight breeze ruffled its fine, soft hair. Ophelia felt a sense of unease, as if she had seen this thing before, but she had no idea how that could be possible...

A cloud of smoke partially obscured the girl's vision and she coughed gently and irritably waved the intruder away from her face. Damnable stuff! Why was the air in the city always so clogged with smoke? Smoke, and fog, and steam. Wasn't it already difficult enough for these people to clearly see what was happening in this miserable place?

The cloud of smoke began to speak, and Ophelia's brows furrowed. "Shhhh!" she hissed at it, her eyes never leaving the familiar strange thing below them. "Shh! Shush, cloud! I..." she laughed a bit, though she wasn't sure why. "I don't think it would be a good idea to rouse it."

[Doctor Gabriel]

...

Did this bitch just call me a cloud?

King Gabriel's shoulders slumped in disappointment and he took a defeated drag from his cigarette. It seemed he wouldn't be getting any answers from this young lady until the mass of gold fur was either taken care of or somehow made less interesting.

"Alright then," he sighed, rising from his haunches and cracking his neck.

He reached over his shoulders and pulled the triggers on his swords. With the whir of gears and the hiss of steam both blades shot from their scabbards like a pair of missiles. His Majesty plucked them from the air effortlessly and twirled them like a pair of batons in a cocky bit of showmanship for his non-existent audience. He clicked their triggers again and the distinct sound of the black and white sabers teeth roared to life.

"WEEP AND DESPAIR, FOUL BEAST," he bellowed at the giant ball of fur below him, "FOR YOU NOW STAND BEFORE THE VAGRANT KING, LORD GABRIEL! AND NO ONE STANDS BEFORE ME..."

His Highness leapt toward the yet unidentified creature with both automated blades poised to rend flesh.

"THEY KNEEL!"

The end of his ostentatious introduction was punctuated by, what he assumed to be an appendage of some kind, smashing him through the wall of the building he'd moments ago been standing on top of.

[CupcakeDolly]

Snikt!
Crash!

A long, segmented appendage had appeared from the side of the ball of fur and stuck itself into the brick wall inches away from the vagrant's torso. The creature shook itself awake with a low rumble, and if it had been more alert, the long hooked claw at the end of its leg might have stuck its target instead of dealing him a glancing blow.

Five more carapaced legs slid from the hairy beast, all spaced evenly around its body, along with a slender neck and head which slowly unfurled until the monster was more than twice its original size. Its eyes, each the size of a fist and unnervingly human in shape, blearily scanned the area in search of the disturbance which had awoken it. When its gaze settled on the crumbling hole in the wall it slowly opened its jaw - from which two pairs of pointed tusks could be seen - and began to crane its long neck forward in search of its prey.


The thin girl on the rooftops leaned forward for a better view, waving dust from the crumbling brick away from her face. She was fairly sure that a person had just appeared and made a big fuss before being crushed by that strange monster. Her face split into a wide grin.

"I knew that was a bad idea."

A soft glow at the edge of the rooftop caught her attention. It seemed the sudden person had dropped his smoke stick before being thrown into that wall. Ophelia gingerly picked it up and called, "Sir, I believe this is yours," before dropping it down toward the ground below.

[Suzerain of Sheol]

"Oh, well there you go, leaving me behind again, just up up up the ladder, must be nice to have opposable thumbs!"

Laurentian pauses in his ascent, looks down at the agitated mutt. In the lowest voice that will still carry, "If you must complain, kindly do so away from my position. You'll bring the creature down on us both, at this rate."

Mansfield gives as close to an exasperated sigh as his flapping jowls will allow, more of a sneeze, really, and trots off down the alley, muttering to himself. "Can't ever just go for bloody walk... well, I suppose that's all we ever do, come to think of it."

Now perched atop the slatted iron fire escape of the tenement house across the street from where the beast seems to be active, going by the commotion, Laurentian adjusts the monocular scope fitted above his functioning eye, waiting for the dust to clear.

He must admit, he has never seen such a creature. He will require a sample of its organs and tissue to take back to his laboratory.

Pausing to push up his sleeve, he tightens the strap around his bicep until the veins begin to bulge below. With careful movements, the assassin retrieves his vial of lynx adrenaline and a fresh syringe, precisely filling two milliliters of the viscous fluid before stopping up the vial once more. It takes him barely any effort to find the vein, depressing the injector with methodical patience. Tapered thus, the adrenaline heightens his awareness, drowning out the noise of the surrounding city, the distraction of moonlight on slate cobbles. Leaving only the beast, every quiver of its muscle distinct in his new sight.

Laurent retrieves his crossbow, the ribless, mechanized weapon fitting smoothly in a holster at his hip. He winds the spring inside and selects a quarrel -- brass-barbed and likewise spring-loaded, the blades expandable -- neglecting to employ a poison lest he damage the creature's humors.

He checks his monocular one final time and draws in as much air as his lungs will hold. Exhales. Aims for its presumable throat at the end of the searching neck. Pulls the trigger.

[Lawtan]

From a high rise, a cloak weighted by the organized pockets – fishhooks, cartridges, jerky and staple – fluttered with a higher wind. From that cloak pointed three things. Lowest was the muzzle of a high-caliber repeating rifle, semi-relaxed. Above, a hand held a pair of binoculars. As the reflective magnifying lenses focused the scene below into a crystal clear image, a cold chuckle left the cloak.

“My, what an impetuous puppy. From time it took the gloryhound to fall, he seems near 68.4 kilograms. Decent weight, but not enough to prove a concern. The silly bark!”

A second hand appeared from under the cloak, letting loose a white feather to float in the breeze. After a few moments, the Huntress again relaxed. Such a joy for one to see estimated values confirmed. However, she – for indeed, the methodical mind was female – soon tensed at the sight of what appeared to be an arm of chitin bash the golden-haired man into a wall, like swatting at a blood-fly.

“Merda! Were that hound mine, I’d behead him for rashness! Heroes are useless before my brothers in Death. If he survives, that pup will need a proper leash.”

Godia, “Goliath” the huntress – self declared kin of Death – pushed aside the idea of seeing the head of the one to wake her prey splattered against the wall – to collect his gifted dead eyes – and the muzzle of the rifle moved to focus on the golden creature. It would be a greater annoyance for her bretheren prey to flee and her to reposition in response.
Reasoned skill, not recklessness, was what made an honorable hunt, and her golden brother deserved honor before returning to Father Death.

The winds poured from above to below alongside the principles of convection, carrying a near-invisible scent - the iron tang of skinned deer and minced fish. To not mask her scent was a rookie mistake that could frighten the beast.

Weighing in the wind and air resistance, a finger moved. Smoke left the muzzle. Seven times, metal pierced flesh. Too far to hear the satisfying crunch, Godia focused on reloading the rifle.

____________

Earlier:

Goliath returned with a smirk to the dirt roads and worn houses. Outside one house with opened windows, a man garbed in leathers hung the skins of goats and cattle out and coated them with lyme. Goliath approached, sadly without the benefit of stealth. The bodies of great stags were difficult to both drag and keep silent.

The man was used to dealing with Goliath, and though he knew she saw him as little more than a convenient machine ready to unplug, she provided more unique skins. The meats and other parts would go to exotic places that survived only because Lords paid a small fortune to once or twice a year eat like peasants.

“G’day, Goliath. Stag today, huh? Rather plain for your normal hunts.”

Goliath looked at the man as if measuring the electricity in his mind, then gave a false smile – a corner held the confidence of superiority. She knew that to play this game with people was useful – it allowed her to pursue her Purpose. It also set even those who knew her nature at ease.

“Quite so, old friend. I fear that the beasts have become more cunning in hiding from us hunters, and I’ve been missing one of my maps. Not to worry, though – I’ll get you some of the better skins and furs soon enough. One way or another, you don’t have to worry. So, how is the family?”

“They’re doing fine – well fine for this place anyway.” The man chuckled.
Goliath suddenly stopped with the smiles for a moment. Her face grew stern – an attempt of looking concerned.

“Ahh…I hear your nephew is interested in the filching business. Nasty business that. Never quite know when one will steal from the wrong sort,” she commented, then grinned, “Anyway, I wish him well. I have routes to rechart.”

For a moment there was silence. Then, the cries of the victims sounded, causing Goliath to shoot her head up in the direction. Cries of a challenge – cries of a hunt. Goliath, Godia to her self, smiled a true smile.

“You know, forget the map. Hold my funds for the skin. I’ll bring you back another.”
With that, Godia was off.

[CupcakeDolly]

Clang!

The creature's head lurched back, and it blinked its massive eyes as a crossbow bolt clattered to the ground in front of it. It seemed to sway for a moment until it remembered what it had been doing, and its head rolled around once more to face its quarry in the hole that had been made in the brick wall.

Clang! Clang clang clang!

Following the quick blows to its body, the monster fell back, its many legs flailing in the air before it rolled to a stop with a loud Thumpf! against the wall behind it. Debris rained down onto its prone form, momentarily turning its fur the same white color as the walls of the building it had nearly brought down upon it. Carefully, its legs stretched out again, bringing it back to its full height. The creature's head, however, was inverted now, its hazel eyes shining from beneath its massive jaw, which it now unhinged in order to let out a deafening roar.

Hunkered down on her perch, Ophelia clapped her hands over her ears, waiting for the noise to cease. She watched the upside-down creature shake debris from its furry thorax and rolled her eyes. The girl cupped her hands around her mouth and directed her annoyance at the projectiles which had served only to enrage the beast when she shouted: "It's got armor, you stupid bullets!"

[Doctor Gabriel]

Harriet and George Stoutman had just settled into bed for the evening. The outer ring of Atticus was certainly not the ideal place to spend one's winter years, but they'd been able to toil their way into this cozy little dwelling by working honest jobs long and smartly over the years.

They had gotten married young and had never fallen out of love, even now cozied up close to one another snuggly and sharing a novel held between them, lit by the candle on the night stand.

The racket outside couldn't ruin there pleasant evening, there was always some sort of hullabaloo out there anyway. So even with the strange noises, they felt safe and warm in their cozy little bed in their humbly furnished room.

Then a man in a golden coat came crashing through the wall and smashed their Bureau to splinters in a cloud of dust and debris.

~~~~~

King Gabriel made a noise that was some mixture of a grunt and a groan, a groant if you will, as his back smashed through a brick wall, a wooden dresser, and then finally stopped against a second wall.

He sat gasping for a moment, hoping to get the wind knocked back into him, then began coughing through the cloud of collateral damage surrounding him. He wasn't surprised at all to see the blood that came out of his mouth with every other the cough, he was lucky a touch of internal bleeding seemed the worst the beast at done to him.

Well, not lucky so much as unnaturally difficult to kill.

"Okay..." he spat in annoyance, wiping the blood and spittle from his lips, "Ow."

He rose to his feet with the aid of his swords and was pleased to find that he felt fine, despite a touch of dizziness and the beginnings of one hell of a bruise on his back.

It was just about then he noticed the horrified elderly couple staring at him as they clutched each other for dear life in their little bed and trembled as if they were in the presence of Death itself.

"Oh... Uh, sorry about that..." Lord Gabriel blushed and scratched the back of his head with a tinge of guilt before smiling at them reassuringly, "But worry not! It'll take more than that to kill a King! And your King will find a way to make this up to you! ...Eventually!"

His Majesty returned his attention to the bizarre "Bumblraffe," as he'd decided to call it. It was staring right at him for a moment until a number crossbow bolts clanged against its carapace and sent the creature careening backwards into the building opposite our King almost cartoonishly. As if that wasn't enough, Lord Gabriel actually snickered upon seeing the creature emerge from the rubble with it's head upside down.

He grinned almost maniacally and pressed the triggers on his Chainswords twice, in rapid succession. The black and white twins of rotating metal teeth accelerated to an almost unseeable speed and steam began gushing out of the little vents on the sides of their hilts to compensate for the strain on the mechanism.

"Alright, Fuzzy" The King muttered under a deep breath, "Let's try this again."

With that he dove the blades into floor and sped toward the gaping hole he'd created. The whirring chains carried him along like the treads of some terminal velocity tank and pulled him behind them, making the man look like a skier being dragged by his poles.

"OI!" The Vagrant King bellowed at the furry beast, "DINNER'S OVER HERE, SHITHEAD!"

The Bumblraffe, turned its gargantuan wrongside up head toward the sound, it's unnervingly human eyes now distinctly enraged and fixated directly on the lunatic speeding toward it. It's head shot towards him, overhead jaws spread wide to catch the prey offering itself so willingly, right as His Highness's blades met the bit of wall he'd left standing.

With only centimeters between Our Good King and fluffy, smashy death, he used the jarring stop of the blades meeting the wall to catapult himself over the beast's fury yellow head. With inhuman grace, King Gabriel about spun like golden propeller in the cold night air and landed with a thump on the Bumbleraffe's head.

The Vagrant King stabbed the tips of his swords into the creatures fuzzy yellow shell and angled them to allow the chains to begin working away at it. The Bumbleraffe thrashed and attempted to dislodged His Highness, but the swords and given him a decent hold, even if they hadn't yet found their mark. Finally, there was the satisfying snap of the last bit of shell and the euphoric wet sound of tearing flesh.

The creature reared and screeched as he dashed down along it's spine, assuming it had one, and trailed his blades behind him, leaving parallel trails of rent chitin and black, sludgy blood in his wake.

The monster's end reached, King Gabriel sprung from its back and onto a nearby roof. Spun around and twirled the Chainswords again victoriously.

"HOW'D YA LIKE ME NOW, BITCH?!" The honorable and excessively humble Lord Gabriel taunted smugly before dodging another of the creature's strikes and avoiding a bit of unnecessary deja vu.

[Suzerain of Sheol]

His perfect concentration is shattered by the peal of a rifle somewhere nearby, and quickly, the rattling of the impotent rounds against the beast's armor, as effectless as his own projectile had been.

Laurent must take a moment to still his frantic heart, the thought of the havoc those high-caliber bullets would wreak on the beast's innards, spilling bile and acid into valuable tissues, enough to nearly drive him into a fit. With shuddering hands, he retrieves a bottle of sedatives from his belt, swallowing several without counting. Hopefully he won't be requiring any stimulants in the future; even his conditioned body has its limits.

Waiting for the tremors to fade, Laurent observes a new calamity at the site of the monster -- he has yet to spare a further thought on what precisely to do about it -- the brash one from before attacking with renewed fervor, butchering the beast with his mechanical swords. Laurent is now too sedated to care.

He fights like I do after imbibing the were-marrow. What an abject lunatic. Now where has Mansfield gotten off to? We will attribute this night's expedition a failure.

[CupcakeDolly]

"Poor Mr. Monster..."

Ophelia watched with eyes that had begun to glisten with tears as the monster shuddered and spasmed in its final moments. Its roaring had turned into a pitiful mewling, and its legs were drawn up to its body as it finally fell still. Its thorax was still oozing liquid from within, leaving ankle-deep puddles in the alleyway. The thick pieces of its carapace began to crack and flake away around the places where the loud man had cut into it.

Having spotted something, Ophelia immediately jumped from the rooftop and rolled along the ground to soften the fall, effectively covering herself in the monster's viscous blood. She leapt up and straddled the beast's long neck and stuck her hands into crack in its shell, plunging in until her arms had nearly disappeared inside of the thing, and when she brought them back out she held a pair of very human-looking legs in her hands.

The legs themselves were attached to a body that remained quite human in shape, up until her neck. Everything above that point was a mess of deformed tissue and complex mechanical innards, all connected to the inside of the creature's head.

"Poor, poor thing," Ophelia gently held the unmoving body's small, feminine hand in her own. "I thought I recognized you. I very much doubt you wanted to be a monster at all."