[color=gray][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/AS2MEph.png[/img]

[color=gold]Time:[/color] Evening, Ignis 2
[color=gold]Location:[/color] Tough Tavern
[center][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kw1-B9FGYTA&list=RDHTgP5NOfPmM&index=2[/youtube][/center]
[sub][@Tae][@CitrusArms][@Potter][@Lava Alckon][@Samreaper][@Tpartywithzombi][@ReusableSword][/sub]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/PsKHmMI.png[/img]
[color=#997657][h1]₱₳Ɽ₮ 5[/h1][/color]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/PsKHmMI.png[/img]
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Jory had already scrambled back up into the rafters after the bolt vanished from his hands like it had been snatched out of the air. His stomach still lurched every time he replayed it. 

He’d retreated on instinct, boots slipping on the beam as he hauled himself higher, breath coming too fast, fingers shaking so badly he nearly botched the latch on his crossbow.

From up there, the tavern looked chaotic. Then that woman with the strawberry hair was suddenly [i]there[/i], close enough that he could see the debris in her hair and the calm in her eyes that made him feel even smaller.

When the knife went between his shoulder blades, the pain hit like lightning. A sound tore out of him that he had never heard from himself before. She wrenched the crossbow away before he could even claw it back, and the humiliation landed right on top of the panic. His face went white.

Then Jory did what Jory always did when his fear outgrew his sense.

[color=peachpuff]“GARRAN—SHE’S UP HERE! SHE TOOK IT—”[/color] he screamed, voice cracking, eyes wild as he staggered backward along the beam. [color=peachpuff]“SHE’S GOT MY FUCKIN’—”[/color]

He scrabbled for the knife on his belt with shaking fingers, blade coming free in a jerky flash. Jory was [i]not[/i] brave enough to rush her. But also not calm enough to think straight. 

And instead of being smart, he went big(at least in his opinion)—he slashed at the nearest hanging chain on impulse, trying to swing a lantern between them like a moving threat. The lantern lurched, throwing wild light across the rafters as he backed away, blood already darkening the cloth at his shoulder.

Meanwhile, the older crossbowman hit the balcony below, air leaving his lungs in a grunt. For a second, he just lay there, cheek pressed to wood, vision pulsing at the edges while he tested his ribs and found at least one answering back with pain.

Then he rolled into a crouch. His eyes went up first, tracking the rafters, already hunting the blond idiot who’d stolen his weapon.

His crossbow was gone. That mattered more than the fall.

So he made the smartest choice left and slid behind the balcony rail, using it as cover, and drew a blade. He repositioned toward a thicker support post.

[color=wheat]“Rafters!”[/color] he called down. [color=wheat]“They’ve got my bow. Don’t look up—move!”[/color]

[hr]

Down below, Garran’s gaze had dropped to the head at his boots, and for a moment, he didn’t react at all. He just stared at it, letting the room keep screaming and scrambling around him while his eyes traced the slack mouth, the wet shine on the hair, the way it left a smear of blood where it had rolled.

Then his eyes lifted slowly to Kalliope, and the corner of his mouth tugged up in a smirk, faint and mean. He simply set his weight, drew his foot back, and kicked.

The head skidded across the slick boards with a sickening speed, spinning end over end as it went, hair dragging wetly along the floor. It shot straight toward Stratya’s shins.

Garran used the second that everyone’s eyes twitched toward it. He moved with purpose through the wreckage, weaving between chairs and scattered tankards like he’d been born in a room like this. His attention locked onto Ariella.

Then his hand slid into his coat, and when it came back out, the lamplight caught hard on iron as he revealed a pistol.

He then yanked Ariella toward him by that pretty red hair of hers. As he held her up, he pressed the barrel against her scalp and held it there. [color=#997657]“Nobody moves,”[/color] he said, and his voice didn’t rise, which somehow made it carry further. He let his eyes sweep—Roman near the pillar, Kalliope behind the bar, Olivia and Kazumin up on the rafters, Stratya already moving.

Garran’s aim never left Ariella while he counted them.

[color=#997657]“You breathe wrong, and I put a bullet through her skull,”[/color] he continued, calmly. [color=#997657]“You reach for steel, you take one step, you get heroic—[i]and you watch her die right here at her brother’s feet.[/i]”[/color]

The barrel pushed into her head. It wasn’t a threat meant to look scary, but a reminder that he could do it with a twitch.

[color=#997657]“Hands,”[/color] he barked then, [color=#997657]“flat. Back to the tables. Eyes down. I don’t care if you’re bleedin’ or prayin’—you keep your palms where I can see ’em.”[/color]

He cut his gaze toward Ox, who was moving toward them now, without moving his head much. [color=#997657]“Ox.”[/color]
[hr]

Ox had been at the pillar when the shockwave hit, but he had recovered fast, too big to stay down, hauling himself upright with a roll of his shoulders and a hard swallow of breath.

Then Stratya’s shout had come, and something flaming had been thrown in his direction.

Merrill hit the boards where Ox [i]had[/i] been a second earlier, a tangle of limbs and fire that burst brighter on impact. Heat shoved outward in a wave, that terrible sweet smell still wafting through the tavern. Merrill’s hands scrabbled in spilled ale that hissed under his palms as he tried to drag himself free, his scream collapsing into desperate gasps.

Ox didn’t catch him. He stepped just barely aside and left him there, burning on the ground.

And when Garran called his name, Ox didn’t hesitate. He came forward with that same blunt inevitability, boots thudding, jaw set—

—and his hand closed around Drake’s throat, squeezing tight enough to make the man’s breath hitch.

[hr]

Meanwhile, Paul's back struck the stairs with a crack that rattled up the rail, and for a second, his eyes went glassy as she practically barreled him down, her palms braced on either side of his shoulders, her weight pinned him just for a moment. Then his hand shot to her forearm, fingers clamping it, and he bucked his hips hard while twisting his shoulders sideways. The stairs did the rest, turning the scramble into a roll. The world snapped sideways as he used Charlotte's momentum against her. 

In a blink, she was the one slammed into the step, her spine biting wood. He came down over her, forearm braced across her chest as he crowded her space. 

Charlotte tried to bring her knee up, but he had already found what he wanted. His fingers snagged a fistful of her dress near the collar, yanking her just enough to expose the line of her throat. The knife came out quickly, and he drove it in close and pressed the flat of the blade to her neck.  The edge kissed the skin in a manner that made her whole body tense. [color=gray]“Don’t.”[/color] He warned low, as his eyes flicked over to the room then dropped back to her face with a pleased look. [color=gray]“You want to be brave? I’ll make you brave [i]in pieces.[/i]”[/color] He leaned closer, the knife never leaving her throat. [color=gray]“Open your mouth...Do anything clever…And I’ll paint these steps with you.”[/color]

[hr]

Marius had been lightly anchored to the pillar when Merrill hit the hearth.

The scream that came out of Merrill hadn’t sounded like a man. It had turned animal as the flames caught and kept catching.  Marius’s eyes gleamed as the skin blistered, as the cloth shrank and blackened. The first laugh came out of him when Merrill clawed at the ground and skidded in his own panic, dragging himself through more heat every time he tried to escape it.

While others had gagged at the smell, Marius had inhaled as much as he could with a smile of delight. His head then tipped curiously, watching Merrill thrash like it was a puppet show staged just for him. He pointed with two blood-smeared fingers, almost delighted, as if he’d just spotted a joke no one else could understand. [color=#99546F]“Look,”[/color] he giggled, voice bright and cracked with glee. [color=#99546F]“He’s tryin’ to crawl out!”[/color] He laughed harder at that, shoulders shaking. His eyes shone, pupils blown wide, the sound of it crawling over the screams like a second fire.

[color=#99546F]“Go on,”[/color] he crooned to Merrill, as if cheering a friend. [color=#99546F]“Do it. Do it fast. You’ll be ash before you hit the floor.”[/color]

Then he noticed Stratya, the beautiful brunette who had been holding his little redhead just earlier. Marius’s gaze slid to her. He watched the golden light in her eyes, the flagon’s swing, the bolt snapping into her hand. He watched her drive it to Winston’s body.

Winston’s yowl tore out of him, the fury evident in his roar. And Marius nearly folded at the sound. He laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d heard all night. His mouth fell open, and the giggles came in choking bursts, his shoulders rattling as he clung to the pillar. [color=#99546F]“Oh—[i]oh[/i]!”[/color] he wheezed. He pressed his forehead to the wood for a second like he couldn’t hold himself upright, then lifted his face again, still grinning, still watching Stratya with that hungry interest, following her with his eyes as she threw Merrill toward that big wall of a man.

The moment Roman’s darkness swelled, Marius’s whole face changed. It was as if something inside him had been called by name. All those shapes clawing out of the black like a nightmare trying to be born… [i]It delighted him.[/i]



As the shadow-mass thickened overhead, he stared up at it with that same blown-pupil wonder. [color=#99546F]“Oh,”[/color] he murmured in a reverent manner, and his eyes slid toward where Roman had vanished. [color=#99546F]“That’s yours.”[/color] 

His grin widened slowly. [color=#99546F]“You don’t even know, do you?”[/color] He tilted his head, listening to the screams. [color=#99546F]“Shadows have always reached for me. They always—”[/color] His voice softened into intimacy. [color=#99546F]“—reached for me.”[/color]

But for that brief second, he was distracted enough to forget the rest. He didn’t notice when Kalliope moved nor when she sent the tray flying.

Marius didn’t see it until the last instant, and his laugh hitched. He turned just enough to register the blur before it slammed into him brutally. For a second, all the air left him at once, pain blooming through his chest where the iron edge caught.  The impact snapped him sideways. 

He made a choking sound, spit thick in his mouth as the room spun. His body lagged behind his mind in a way that made him furious. But he stayed there just long enough to taste it—to let the pain soak in, to let it remind him he was still alive.

Then his eyes found the bar. Moira and Maelen’s bodies were down on the wooden floor. His gaze skipped over the mess like it couldn’t decide where to land, and he spun fast, chain clinking, pupils huge, and that’s when he saw it: the head by Garran’s boots. He watched as Garran’s foot drew back, as the head went skidding toward Stratya.

His mouth curled into a grin so quick it looked involuntary. He hoped Stratya’s attention would be taken by the incoming head for a split second, and Marius surged forward out of nowhere, laughing again as he closed the distance. He came in low, slipping under the angle of her guard, and he didn’t reach for her blade arm as a sane man would. He reached for her hair.

He fisted it hard at the base, yanked her head back just enough to steal her balance, and drove himself into her space with a feral sound. His chain rattled as he tried to wrap it up and over her shoulder like a leash. [color=#99546F]“Found you,”[/color] he whispered, his breath in her ear, and then he pulled, trying to drag her into him. With her hair still trapped in his fist, Marius used the pull to force her posture open, driving his shoulder into her ribs like a bully in an alley. 



He then threaded his chain behind her neck and laughed right against her ear, and he yanked again, trying to drag her down onto the ground covered in spilled ale and blood. [color=#99546F]“Stay,”[/color] he murmured, voice sickly pleased, like he was talking to a dog he’d finally gotten a leash on.

[hr]

It had all gone to Garran’s wish.

He let his eyes roam, pistol still on Ariella’s head, as if he was taking inventory. [color=#997657]“Listen close,”[/color] he said, calm as anything. 

[color=#997657]“You’ve got a gun on her head.”[/color] His free hand tipped, indicating the stairs without looking. [color=#997657]“A blade on another.”[/color] 

He let that sit, the meaning spreading through the room.[color=#997657]“You all had your bit of fun, but it's over.”[/color] His eyes flicked, counting: Charlotte pinned on the steps, Stratya tangled, Drake already in Ox’s grip. [color=#997657]“This isn't a game any more. I'll kill Lady Edwards first. Then the Vikena girl. Then that captain. And Lord Edwards. If I have to, I'll keep killing until there's no one left.”[/color] 

The barrel nudged Ariella’s scalp almost intimately, [color=#997657]“And you up in the rafters? You're probably scrambling together some kind of plan right this very second. But I'm warning you... Do not make me prove myself—[i]Don’t make me kill your friends.[/i]”[/color]

That was when a laugh began reverberate through the tavern.

 It wasn’t loud at first; it was a sweet—almost saccharine voice. Feminine. Even [i]dainty[/i]. It made Garran’s mouth tug into a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. It had come from the barmaid, who had still been curled over the barrel where she had been sobbing this whole time. Her face had been hidden in her hands, and her shoulders had been shaking with sobs. 

However, the shaking wasn’t from her crying anymore. 

As she slowly peeled her palms away from her face, it became ever so clear that she was no longer crying. The smile she revealed didn’t belong on anyone human. And then she regarded them with completely blackened eyes; no irises, no pupils… Just [i]darkness[/i]. 

With patient movements, she got to her feet and allowed her arms to drift outward from her sides and then her heels lifted as she rose into the airt. Dark energy begin to form and gather in her hands in slow, deliberate coils, and her white hair began to rise on its own as well, strands lifting as if they were being pulled by invisible puppet strings 

Then her gaze found Kalliope and she started whispering. . [color=slategray]“Umbrae Tendere, Constringere, et Frangere.”[/color] 

The darkness answered immediately.

Tendrils snapped out across the space between them and coiled around Kalliope’s middle and shoulder in a brutal grip. There was no time to brace. Kalliope was yanked off her feet and hurled sideways.

Her body struck the wall with a crack that made nearby bottles jump on their shelves. Wood shuddered. Glass rattled. She was pinned there by the shadow itself, suspended off the floor like she had been turned into a wall decoration.

The barmaid turned her head slowly toward Roman next.  Another small lift of her hand and the darkness obeyed again, snapping across the tavern in a second violent lash. It hooked into Roman’s side and shoulder like a giant hand closing around him, and then it [i]threw[/i].

He went airborne just long enough for the room to register what was happening before the force slammed him into the opposite side with a brutal impact that rattled the rail and knocked dust loose from the beams. 

The barmaid hovered there, smiling wider, the dark energy in her hands still curling and hungry, as if she’d only just begun to warm up.

Her laugh returned and she tipped her head, eyes still nothing but void. Black branches begin to grow on her limbs, veins darkening as if ink had been poured into her blood and told to climb. It crawled up her wrists, along her forearms, and kept going, slowly, claiming more of her with every heartbeat.

For a moment, it looked like it hurt and her breath hitched. Her shoulders tensed. And then she smiled wider.

The darkness reached her throat, and the laugh turned steadier and more [i]pleased.[/i]

The kitchen door behind the bar opened suddenly in that moment. It cut through the tavern and brought the attention of many. For a moment, the doorway framed nothing but darkness. Then the men poured out, knives in hands and clubs heavy over their shoulders. They wore nasty grins on their faces, as if they had finally been given permission they had been seeking to emerge.

But as they spilled into the room, the hearth died in a single instant. The flames didn’t sputter or fade—they simply went out, as if someone had reached in and pinched them between two fingers. Smoke curled up in a ribbon.

For the first time tonight, Garran’s face changed.

The smirk drained away completely. His jaw set as his gaze slowly slid toward the front door.





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