[indent][b][u]January 1st, 10:02 PM
Corner of Fifth and Keele, Mealtide District, Bludhaven, NJ.[/u][/b][/indent]

[color=orangered][i]’Well, Fifth and Keele, just like Jericho said.’[/i][/color] Mal thought, a bit of a humm reverberating from his throat as he cast a glance down towards the street below, the glow of his eyes turning slightly lop-sided beneath his goggles as he raised his brow. [color=orangered][i]’Aaaand if I were a bettin’ man…’[/i][/color]

His eyes scanned a bit to the right from his perch on the water tower atop an old apartment complex before coming to rest on one building in the non-human bazaar below in particular.

One generating a whole fucking lot of heat and whose interior was painted with so many goddamn magical runes to hide it from any curious mages that it may as well have been a big neon sign attached to a speaker screaming ‘BAD GUYS HERE’, being the one structure for miles around that was actually completely opaque to his eyes.

[color=orangered][i]’Yeah, that’d probably be a good place to start.’[/i][/color]

Exhaling slightly and stretching, only to wince a little at the cut that [i]magic canniba[/i] (something he was still coming to terms with now apparently being added to his list of ‘Shit I’ve fought’) had put right through his vest an hour prior, the young half-hero, half-myth took stock of his situation.

That Sardinian lunatic had actually managed to give him a work out… but now he was about to break into [i]the fucking [b]fleshmarket—[/b] Not ‘a’, [b]THE—[/b][/i] where, if his eyes weren’t decieving him (and they rarely did), they’d be totally useless for his usual ambush tactics. So he had no way of knowing how many were in there, what exactly he’d be up against, where he was going or generally anything at all to even [i]begin[/i] scraping together a plan.

Bracing his elbows on his knees, the teenager allowed himself a double facepalm.

Because [i]somewhere[/i] in the midst of all that mess, there was a kid. And Mal had told Sasha he was gonna get him back. If not for his own, apparently [i]increasingly suicidal[/i] sense of right and wrong, then for the fact that the borderline-amazon flatly refused to tell him a word about [i]why[/i] the Aquila family and snatched the boy and tied her ass down to a chair in the first place until he did, even as she was apparently rounding up every clean cop she could find and even a few White Mages to get their asses down here for the party. 

A low sigh rumbled in the Hound’s throat as he pulled his mask halfway up to get some unrestricted air for the first time in a few hours.

[color=orangered][b]”...Fuck my life.”[/b][/color]

This was going to be a [i]shitshow.[/i]


[hr]

[img]https://i.postimg.cc/c1zyZkRj/abbatoir.jpg[/img]


To Mal’s surprise, breaking into the damned place wasn’t actually [i]that[/i] hard.

...Okay, well, the joy of John McClane-ing his way through vents had run out it’s novelty long before he’d ever actually [i]seen[/i] a Die Hard movie, when he was a twelve-year-old huddled up, half-asleep next to Mog on the shelter’s couch one Christmas… and maneuvering around all those magic wards stuck in awkward places around the inside of the ducts he very clearly recognized as the kind you could go out these days and buy in bulk from the hardware store on a big adhesive reel if your home was infested with [i]rats of unusual size[/i] made it a bit of a slow, tedious slog… and it was hot as [i]balls[/i] in that vent because it was fucking [i]winter[/i] and the heat was on full blast, but [i]still...[/i]

[i]Surprisingly easy.[/i]

Dropping out of that sauna-like vent into what seemed to be some kind of storeroom, judging by all the boxes, the flak-clad boy silently hugged himself against the wall alongside the sole opening into the room, pulling out his k-bar as he did so he could get a look at what was around the corner via it’s reflection.

What he found was a big damned hobgoblin— at least six goddamn feet tall— clothed in a leather apron, some ratty sweatpants and not much else as he sang along with (and absolutely [i]butchered[/i]) the tune of Bohemian Rhapsody coming over the radio with his fellows, who were in other parts of the room he couldn’t quite make out from where he was hiding, as he hacked away at what looked like what was once some poor guy’s upper thigh with a big damned-   

[color=orangered][i]’Oh, god[b]dammit.’[/b][/i][/color]

Mal grimaced. 

Another magic fucking cleaver.

Evidently, he’d landed in the storeroom for the [i]kitchen.[/i] And was very suddenly [i]very[/i] grateful his eyes weren’t active when did so, even as he let out a soft, controlled exhale to steady himself.

[color=orangered][i]’Well... a whole lotta things just started making sense.’[/i][/color]

He didn’t have much time to ponder that one, however, as one of the swinging doors at the absolute corner of his line of sight were suddenly slammed open by another, slightly [i]larger[/i] hob dragging the limp form of a girl who couldn’t’ve been much older than ten clad in some kind of mage robes behind him by her long, pale hair.

Very suddenly, Mal didn’t need to concentrate on his breathing.

“Oi! Rocktongue! Found ‘is one tryin’ to ‘scape again. Be a sport an’ do sommin’ ‘bout it would ya?”

The boy’s grip on his knife went from front to reverse as he now actually poked his head around the corner, scanning the room for anything to even the odds in the increasingly likely event he’d have to charge in there like an absolute idiot and most likely get himself killed saving that fucking kid.

In his search for opportunities to inflict a bit of pain on the flesh traders, something distinctly [i]organic[/i] caught his eyes high in the rafters. Focusing, he could see clearly that it was a raven...or at least, it was [i]shaped[/i] like one.

His eyes crackled to life again at the sight of it, almost involuntarily.

[color=orangered][i]’What in the goddamn…’[/i][/color]

There was something very odd about—

“Wait... you smell ‘at?”

Aaaaand, back to reality he went, gaze snapping back down to the two hobgoblins again who were now… [i]sniffing at the air[/i] in an almost cartoonish fashion. And slowly turning their heads in his direction. 

Ducking his head behind cover again before he could be outright spotted, Mal took a minute to pause… and then pulled up his collar a bit and took a whiff.

Sweat and fried chicken.

[color=orangered][i]’...Oh.’[/i][/color]

Glancing around the corner again with the reflection of his knife all but confirmed what he’d already realized, as he now very clearly saw his two would-be adversaries now staring straight at him and looking more than a little bit pissed off, the larger one even just casually tossing the little girl off to the side like old trash just to give the hero the courtesy of his full attention, infact. It didn’t exactly help his odds any that the pair were promptly joined by yet [i]more[/i] hobgoblins who seemed to have much the same unspoken mindset as the first two as they all glared violent death in his general direction. Seven in total, from what he could see.

...The fact that the radio station was apparently on a Queen kick of sorts and started playing yet [i]another[/i] [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ctG-n-Sj2TY]song[/url] he was familiar with was a pretty nice bit of punctuation for the situation he found himself in now though, he’d admit. 

Letting out a long sigh, fingers dancing along the hilt of his knife in one hand as the other pulled on that nightstick he’d lifted off of Muller earlier, he resigned himself to what was to come.

[color=orangered][b]”Cowabunga it is.”[/b][/color]

And thusly, did the shit hit the fan.

Opting to push forward instead of lingering in one spot to be easy prey for the gaggle of hobgoblins who already knew he was there anyway, the Hound all but launched himself from his now-defunct hiding spot towards his foes, via toward the top of the counter in the centre of the room, bootfucking a heavy steel pot towards the face of one unlucky hob in particular as he charged ahead without stopping. Leaping off the other side and planting his knee directly into the face of another on the way down and whirling around to crack another upside the jaw with his nightstick as he landed.

For their part, the gaggle of somewhat surprised snaggle-toothed gobbers, were not idle. Quickly grabbing up whatever pots, pans and yes, [i]magic cleavers[/i] were in arm’s reach to take a swing at their unexpectedly aggressive intruder. One knife-wielding hob in particular managed to get a lucky swing in and carve straight through Mal’s freshly-acquired nightstick with his glowing man-chopper, letting out a shrill cry of victory at his success.

...For all of about three seconds before the now [i]irate[/i] teenager whirled on him in the midst of dodging a swing for his neck from another foe, and made a point to all but [i]flatten[/i] the creature’s hook nose with the handle. Knocking the creature back a good six feet, head over ass and into the side of a sink against the wall. Sending it’s weapon soaring vertically into the air, until it came back down with a neat little ‘Thunk!’ into a cutting board near where that first hob was still nursing it’s head after making it to first base with a cast-iron pot.

Who, of course, shook itself to clear it’s head and went for it.

And, of course, had his hand abruptly pinned to the counter by Mal’s knife. Being accorded a good half-second to scream for help before the boy’s hand came back down in an axe-fist to slam it’s face into the hard surface as well. The one hob that [i]did[/i] try to respond, lunging forward in a spear-tackle at the last possible moment?

He got a frying pan to the face.

As did the one who came after him… well, not before breaking his hand on it and taking a steeltoe’d boot to the balls first.

One of them, the big guy who was dragging around a child earlier, and incidentally, [i]the last one standing,[/i] did manage to find an opening, however. Slashing at the boy’s back and clean through his flak vest with his cleaver before tackling and pinning him to the ground with enough force to knock a few things, including the radio off the counter as he spun around.

And perhaps more importantly pressing down on the Hound’s armoured chest with his cleaver with [i]all of his strength and weight.[/i] Something that Mal, still just a sixteen-year-old, mind you, was having just a bit of trouble fighting back against; tired as he was from the night’s exertions, wounded now on his back [i]and[/i] his front, and still sore from what he got up to the night [i]before,[/i] there wasn’t a whole lot he could do to stop the damned thing from [i]slowly[/i] sliding through the layers of his flak vest and starting into his flesh but let out a pained hiss.

But salvation has a funny way of showing up at the weirdest times.

“And that was Queen’s [i]’Don’t Stop Me Now!’”[/i]

Mal’s eyes snapped to his right, locking in onto the radio he hadn’t noticed land by his head in all the commotion.

“Coming up next, [i]’Work that Fur’,[/i] by Karen Hernandez! Only on 102.1 the Wacky Mix, [i]Playing whatever the [b]hell[/b] we wa-!”[/i]

And that was about when the lad picked up the damned thing and broke it over his attacker’s head, knocking the creature clean off of him and giving him a moment to just lay there and finally [i]breathe.[/i]

Which he spent proclaiming one thing to the world with all the vindication he could possibly muster between coughing sucking in all the air he could into his lungs—

[color=orangered]”I… am not dying… to that... [i][b]fucking song.”[/b][/i][/color]

That bit of vanity aside, Mal [i]did[/i] manage to get himself to his feet again after a solid minute or two of just trying to remember how to breathe, the pain of three separate [i]chaotic wounds to the torso[/i] making the endeavour a whole lot less easy than it sounded. Wincing as he went. 

He had priorities, after all, and now that there wasn’t a bunch of [i]’Non-Human Terrans’[/i] (as was apparently the proper term) trying to carve up and most likely [i]devour[/i] him, he also had a job to do.

Namely, checking to see if that kid from earlier was alright.    

He didn’t have to go far, it seemed, as she apparently hadn’t moved an inch from where that hobgoblin he’d beat over the head with a radio had tossed her. To his relief however, one quick glance and a flicker of light from his eyes told him that she was alive, though bruised, battered and sporting an ankle that was broken in at [i]least[/i] three places.

Also that she was awake and just pretending to be dead because she was scared [i]absolutely shitless.[/i]

That... made Mal pause mid-step. Head cocking to the side slightly as if not entirely sure how to proceed, fist clenching and unclenching in the only indication of some kind of personal turmoil.

Whatever was going on in his head, it elicited… something rare from the young man.

He pulled his mask up clear of his mouth. 

He slowly knelt down, gently placing a hand on her shoulder.

And, in an act that’d absolutely [i]floor[/i] anyone who actually knew him… [i]he spoke softly.[/i]

[color=orangered]”Hey… are you okay?”[/color]

To his relief, a single eye, bright pink in colour, cracked open slightly to stare right back up at him from underneath the mess of pale hair covering her face.

“Hilthyri… Ysannaech gaemal thacht, [i]qrovan tacq…”[/i]

And there Mal went pausing again. This time for a whole lot of [i]different[/i] reasons.

[color=orangered]”...Come again?”[/color]

He didn’t have much time to ponder that one further, however, as he suddenly became aware of a periodic shaking coming from the floor, with a rhythm that could only be the cadence of footsteps. And they were only getting [i]stronger.[/i]

The hairs on his neck stood up as one.

Something [i]big[/i] was on it’s way. 

Slowly, [i]wearily,[/i] his head and eyes trailed to the doorway behind him, and he got to his feet. Unholstering his gun for the first time that night and disengaging the safety, letting a long, slow breath to collect his bearings and get his shit squared away for whatever the hell [i]that[/i] was.

Which was ironic, because that was the next thing he noticed about it. Just how [i]loud[/i] it’s breathing was, which started off yet more alarm bells in the back of the boy’s head as his brain began subconsciously running what he was hearing through his memory and comparing it to anything he’d experienced before. Coming up with one particularly succinct, yet also incredibly worrying observation.

[color=orangered]’Bigger than an ogre.’[/color]

Which also meant longer gait… probably strong enough to plow clean through walls, and, more importantly, [i]something he was not going to outrun in a confined space, in his current state, while also [b]protecting a kid.[/b][/i]   

It was getting close now, he racked the slide of his pistol and took aim.

And not soon after that, he finally [i]saw[/i] the damned thing- Casually strolling around the corner, eyes bloodshot and wrenched open by some strange apparatus latched onto the back of it’s head, festooned with a myriad of narrow drills pointed directly down toward it’s own skull at the end of transparent tubes leading toward some big metallic contraption strapped to it’s back. At least eleven feet tall. Probably around eight hundred or so pounds of pure muscle. Holding a club covered in chaotic runes and spikes that was longer than Mal would be standing on his own shoulders.

[i]A red goddamn Oni.[/i]

Specifically, as the drills suddenly came to life, boring into it’s skull and delivering a constant stream of scarlet fluid via the tubes from it’s back directly into it’s brain, prompting the colossal creature to let out primal howl of pure fury as magical fire roared into existence from the pores of it’s skin, somehow not burning it… one that was on a metric [i]fuckton[/i] of red dust. And had the magical talent to survive it.

Faced with this, Mal could only summon up one response;

[color=orangered]”Nuts.”[/color] 

The Red Oni stormed towards Mal, each step of its ponderous feet sending subtle vibrations through the floor that foreshadowed the strength that it would soon bring to bare against its diminutive opponent. Drawing back its massive club as if it were a mere baseball bat, he prepared paint the walls with the blood of the Hound.

[color=#5566db][b]“CAW!”[/b][/color]

The Oni stopped in its tracks, its bones rattling within its towering and muscled form. It was not alone, for the windows now clattered violently in their frames, the floor trembling with a rhythm far more steady than the footsteps of the creature had produced. Reverberating off the walls and filling the slaughterhouse, it was a power that demanded attention.

[color=orangered]”...What.”[/color]

And it had sprang from the beak of the raven perched above them both, its black eyes now trained upon the Oni.

Turning its gaze on the tiny pest that had dared to give it such a start, the Oni screamed, swinging its club at the bird instead of the dog-themed superhero.

The raven did not retreat, instead raising its feathered wing to intercept the club in a bizarre block that stopped the overpowering attack dead in its tracks--until the rafter it was sitting upon began to buckle beneath the Oni’s strength.

[color=orangered][b]”What.”[/b][/color]

Before the rafter could fully collapse, the raven pushed back against the club and took to the air, landing somewhere behind the oni. The great beast turned, apparently having seen where it landed, yet its bulk blocked this information from the Hound, who could not see through the seemingly endless rivers of Chaotic magic that coursed through its veins.

The oni then paused, as if it had seen something even it had not expected. This did not last long, however, for it then charged at what was presumably the raven with its club held overhead in both of its powerful hands.

It would never make the swing.

Glistening like a crystalline cavern, the great red oni had, in the breadth of a second, been completely encased in ice.

[color=orangered][b][i]”What.”[/i][/b][/color]

That was… just about the only real response the boy could offer to what he’s just witnessed, really, as his arm and the weapon clenched in it fell limply to his side. As he just [i]stared[/i] at the miniature iceberg before him, so dense in magic it took a hammer to damn near everything he knew about arcanum and left him just standing there, jaw hanging comically slack.

He was… [i]dumbfounded.[/i] Something he hadn’t felt in a long while now.

The kid behind him? Less so, apparently. Something he discovered when he felt a slight tugging and his ankle and cast his eyes back to find her huddled behind him, trembling and, more importantly, [i]trying to use him as a shield.[/i]

Though to be fair, if he’d seen all of [i]that[/i] at her age, he might be a little spooked, too.

Well, [i]maybe.[/i] Them’s were dark days.

Still, reengaging the safety on his weapon and holstering it with one quick motion he glanced back toward this brand new piece of winter art before him, trying to think about what exactly he was going to [i]do[/i] about the [i]magic murder bird[/i] that had just saved his ass. Or whether it had even [i]meant[/i] to do so in the first place.

At the very least he found some small, fleeting comfort in the fact that one way or another, if that thing had wanted him dead, he’d’ve been so already.

Still, for lack of literally [i]any[/i] better course of action, he went to the very first thing that came to mind—

[color=orangered]”Err… [i]thanks?”[/i][/color]

As if in response, a shadow appeared atop the oni--not a bird, but a cloaked woman. Her features obscured by both clothing and distance, she planted a foot on the broad shoulders of the creature and stared down at the room. [color=#5566db]”You’re--”[/color]

Her voice rose into a startled yelp as she lost her footing, sliding down the back of the great beast she had just frozen in place, only to manage to land firmly on her feet between its legs. Standing as if nothing had happened, she returned to staring down at the room. [color=#5566db]”--welcome, mortal!”[/color]

If Mal was dumbfounded before, now he was just… [i]confused.[/i]

The fact that just as when he first laid eyes on the raven earlier, there was an odd crackling in his eyes that forced him to put actual [i]effort[/i] into winding them back down again wasn’t helping. Nor was what they were actually [i]showing[/i] him; Features, not as obscured to him by the hood as they would be to anyone else, that appeared almost… [i]mathematically calculated and [b]designed[/b][/i] to look appealing. Not to mention the swirling vortices of [i]both[/i] arcanum and chaos, that flowed through her body to the tune of her pulse, propelled by no less than [i]three[/i] goddamn hearts.

And he couldn’t be certain, but he started to suspect that it had something to do with how the kid behind was now clinging to him even tighter while mumbling hurried words in native tongue.

So focused on all this was he, that he almost missed what she had actually said. 

[i]...Almost.[/i]

[color=orangered]”Wait… [b]’mortal’?”[/b][/color]

Benefits of having a brain like his, you could fit a whole [i]hell[/i] of a lot of thought in the time it takes to say one word. And hot [i]damn[/i] did the implications of that particular statement bring him hauling back to reality, and allowed him to finally reign in his vision.

[color=orangered]”Not to pry, or potentially piss off the woman who just saved my bacon and single-handedly… [i]did all of [b]that.”[/b][/i][/color] He said, indicating toward the big block of frozen, drug-fueled Japanese fury behind her. [color=orangered]”But, err… what exactly do ya mean by that?”[/color]

[color=#5566db]“You’re not a mage, are you?”[/color] she asked, yet didn’t let him answer for himself. [color=#5566db]“No, of course you’re not! Oh, but that girl behind you…”[/color]

Aelia leaned to her side, smiling warmly to the child. [color=#5566db]”Hello, little one! Do not be afraid, I have come to rescue you from these foul creatures.”[/color]

The woman’s words, if the child even understood, just made her grip onto her human shield even [i]tighter now.[/i] 

For his part, said human shield just levelled a blank stare at the woman before him that could be felt even through his mask and goggles.

[color=orangered]”When I came outta that vent, you were already here.”[/color] He pointed out, tone becoming increasingly dry as he cocked his head to the side a little and folded his arms. [color=orangered]”What exactly were ya waiting on, [i]Mage?”[/i][/color]
  
And on came the glowing eyes again. The light behind his goggles shifting from her, back to the fancy ice-sculpture she’d made in the middle of the kitchen and back to her again, clearly raising a brow at her with how lopsided they became. 

He knew for a fact just by looking at her that this woman was no simple mage, but he kept himself from outright saying it.
 
He wanted to see where this was going.

[color=#5566db]”Why, I was waiting on [i]you,[/i] mortal!”[/color] she said, extending a gloved hand towards him in a dramatic gesture. She then spun towards both him and the girl like a stage performer, though never actually came within arms reach. [color=#5566db]“You see, I have been observing your activities in the fine example of urban decay you call a home for some time!”[/color]

Dancing and pirouetting about the room as she spoke, the woman continued. [color=#5566db]”I wished to see you engage in fisticuffs for one last time before I made you aware of my presence! But this dreadful creature behind me seemed to pose a grossly unfair challenge and so I, to borrow a mortal phrase, had to put him on ice!”[/color]

[color=orangered]”Riiiiiight…”[/color] Was just about the only sane response the young man could give the, admittedly, very eloquent, very [i]lively[/i] woman as she literally [i]danced[/i] about the room and outright admitted she’d been [i]stalking him.[/i] [color=orangered]”That’s not… just a little [i]unsettling.”[/i][/color]

Somewhat at a loss, he cast a glance back down at the child clinging to his waist, who seemed to meet him with a look of her own that was [i]just[/i] as incredulous.

 “T’vanaeth para draan.” She explained with a whisper. He had no idea what that meant, but he agreed, giving her a little pat on the shoulder.

[color=orangered]”...Dare I ask [i]why?”[/i][/color]

Before Aelia responded to him, her eyes once again returned to the child. She seemed surprised by the words she had whispered, having apparently heard them perfectly well despite the distance between them. [color=#5566db]”O’nath, fala amanura tho Yisi! Kaleena mona kvara pesh.”[/color]

She turned her gaze on Malcolm, offering him a reserved yet cheerful smile. [color=#5566db]“Because you, mortal, fascinate me!”[/color]

Extending a hand towards him suddenly, as if to cut him off, she placed a trio of fingers against her face, turning her eyes to the floor. [color=#5566db]”Now, now, I know! That’s a great deal to accept! That I, Aelia Marcella Lumena have had her eye captured by your heroic quest to vanquish the unjust! But it is true. Breath, it shall be alright, my good...”[/color]

She tipped forward on her heel, as if she were performing ballet. This continues until she is inches from his face. [color=#5566db]”...Malcolm.”[/color]

Malcolm, for his part, just froze. Face going visibly pale from what could be seen of it from his still slightly pulled-up mask. Something the woman obviously saw, considering they were currently in eskimo-kissing distance.

[color=orangered][i]’...Shit.’[/i][/color]  


[color=orangered]”I’m, uhh… sure I’ll find a way to manage. But-”[/color] The lad finally managed to get out, pulling his mask back down. Pausing for a moment as he felt a slight tugging at his sleeve, looking back down at the child still clinging to his waist, slightly less so for protection now and more to keep herself upright on her one good leg.

“Mael’Kohm. Tava raachad vos gaeth.” She said flatly, pointing to the iron collar around her neck. 

The fact that she’d apparently picked up on his name from that little exchange despite not speaking a word of English was not lost on him, though he chose to stow that. For the moment at least, instead focusing on [i]what[/i] exactly she was pointing at… and feeling another pang of irritation.  

Namely at the fact that, for the umpteenth time today, he was [i]clearly[/i] looking at—

[color=orangered][i]’More scartech. [b]great.’[/b][/i][/color]

And he had a pretty good idea what that was for, though not the foggiest idea how to deal with it while it was attached to a little girl’s throat, opting instead to lift the girl up onto the counter so she could have a seat at least… before he turned to his ludicrously powerful, admittedly ludicrously [i]beautiful,[/i] stupidly powerful, magical stalker who was sometimes a bird and for whom his life was apparently pure entertainment.

[color=orangered]”Not to... [i]disappoint[/i] you, Aelia, but magitech’s a bit beyond my expertise.”[/color] He said, slightly uneven and still not entirely sure how to take this… [i]very unique individual.[/i] [color=orangered]”...Can I get a hand here?”[/color] 

A crimson bolt of energy struck the girl in the throat, and the collar shattered into pieces with a crack that was reminiscent of a cannon backfiring. 

[color=orangered]”...Please tell me you have something a little more [i]gentle[/i] for her ankle.”[/color]