by Nayt on Sat Sep 25, 2010 12:17 am
On a blood soaked street, a man walked barefoot with only the smallest regard for his environment. He was tall and thin, muscular but proportional. He had shaggy, chin length black hair and a thick goatee. All that covered him was an obsidian robe, a flowing garb that seemed to only loosely cling to his form. It was not made for modesty, but this young man had no need for modesty. Even half-nude, he appeared more like an artist's rendition of a man than he did a living, breathing person. His feet settled upon angelic blood and found purchase upon a displaced fraction of rib.
He knelt down to examine it closer, only to look up to see the upper half of the corpse's torso fallen with its frame-- split from the middle of its chest and up --between a still burning building and the street. Unlike the others, this one's head was in tact. The young man frowned.
"I really hate these things," he remarked disapprovingly-- yet even still, he didn't seem at all too put off. Even in the presence of something that so clearly disgusted him, the man was relaxed to an almost surreal extent. There wasn't a single tensed muscle in his body.
"I know," called a monotonous voice from above.
The young man glanced up. A rooftop adjacent to the burning structure contained another man, this one much more clothed than the first. He was short and had a partially scrawny build to him. His hair was a silver-white tone and fell down inches below his shoulder. It appeared as if his eyes were completely covered by a long blindfold, one that had the image of an eye stitched in gold within the middle. He wore a long coat of black leather, though it had no sleeves. He also seemed to have a Cizokian blade sheathed at his hip.
The first young man addressed him with a smirk, before he stood up straight and held his hand out for the barely scathed skull of the fallen angel. There was only the briefest flash of light from his hand, before the image of a musical instrument appeared with a low and resonating pitch. It was a long instrument, thin bodied, and appeared to have only four thick strings. It looked as if it were made of red mahogany. The man held it by the neck, and the very bottom of it stopped just inches before the fallen angel's face. With the thumb the clutched the instrument, he rubbed the largest string, and a reverberating drop D made short work of the angel's remains.
"How many more you think're in this sector?" the young man asked as he flicked his hand-- and the instrument --away. In another flash, it was gone.
"Another dozen incoming," said the other.
The young man stood and looked northward. He frowned in disappointment.
"Guess I'll play the bait this time," he sighed.
"No need," the other shook his head. "I tire of these Synthetics. I propose we cease the frivolities of competition and quell this sector immediately."
"Well . . ." the young man rolled his shoulders, "If you insist."