Burger

⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

ａｎｄ　ｃａｓｅ　ｓｔｕｄｉｅｓ　ｏｎｅ　ａｎｄ　ｔｗｏ

The witch didn't have much to say about the others who stepped forwards.

The ardent one lost in confusion that seemed to find a fragment of direction as their feet curled into the ash. She was uninteresting. The witch had little interest in the thoughts of others. Though she would be interested if it was a condition of the mind.

The unresponsive one that stood at a distance was also uninteresting at this moment. Perhaps if she did a little jig or her arms fell off instead of standing slack-jawed would the witch deign a moment of thought towards her. Well, catatonia was also interesting. Of course, had the witch been facing the construction of faux-flesh and bone, she would have been considerably interested in such a marvel.

The one with two blades and closed-eyes was of more interest to the witch. Very obviously, he had some kind of ailment towards his eyes. She was at least thankful this one wasn't deep into theatrics like the one she had insulted.

Then came the bald girl. This one was manic beyond all belief. That was of some level of interest to the witch. Though, the witch knew that ailments of the mind weren't her domain. While she thought it would be interesting to look into this mania, it was only to sate some level of curiosity.

The short one in an ill-suited outfit was of little note beyond the strange noise she made.

The pale, less-human looking man didn't do much to grab the witch's attention either. Though his question did spark a few thoughts. Obviously, she couldn't remember her name. She knew what a name was yet nothing came to mind as to what she would refer herself as. She had the briefest inkling of something--a title that others would call her--but she could not yet recollect the word. Shaman, like how the blonde spearman said, felt similar but was too distant.

The noble-looking man wasn't of much interest. Even as he approached the spearmen armed with little more than a dagger and prose, the witch didn't pay much mind to him.

Now who was of interest? None other than the man with cavernous skull, a lack of lips, and burning flame. By all means, it didn't make much sense. Presuming he was human and not some flame possessing a corpse, his existence was already of intense interest to the witch.

"Some more broken than others," the witch mused as she rose to walk towards the man who seemed born to a woman and lantern.

"Were you born like that?" She asked the ironic question. "Not to mention, how did you make such a sound without lips?" She then extended her hand to the side of the man's head--still in the field of view of people who didn't typically have portions of their head replaced by cinders. "Can you tell me which two fingers are touching?"

Her impromptu session was cut short as the scaled spearman demanded silence, only to observe--rather, to not observe--how he shifted and moved to place the bald girl under threat of spear-tip.

The witch was tempted to dare either one of them to walk forward, though such planned incites were interrupted by the reappearance of the blonde alongside someone who could only be the shaman. Her admonishments were ignored as the witch hadn't touched the spears. She was too comfortable sitting on the ground to do so. The announcement of their location was noted. She didn't recognize the name. Of course, why would she? Beyond her sole memory of the bogs, she couldn't recollect anything besides concepts.

Though, the shaman's entrance was overshadowed by what the witch had noticed in the corner of her eye.

"Now that is curious." The witch's attention was focused on the short one as she observed the spear in her hand corrupt and alter her arm. Suddenly, the least interesting out of all of the strangers had become second only to a man missing half of his head.

"A phage or parasite? But that wouldn't progress as quickly. Magic? Possible, but I would hate to waive off such an event with a convenient explanation." She continued to mumble to herself. "But that does mean..."

She turned to face the man who had shoved multiple spears into his skull.

⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

<Snipped quote by TheMushroomLord>

The gods have rewritten all of your brains to speak the local language.

@Redacted

Darn. No Tekken vibes where people speak their native language and just understand each other with zero acknowledgement of this happening.

Hell on Earth: Supernatural & Demonic Detectives

There wasn't much danger that Kelly could surmise from the bar. It was just overly clean. Though, it was a little hard to focus when someone as brutalized as Sato was in front of him. He had some sort of punished charisma going on. Either that or his senses were still yelling out that there was a 50/50 chance that Sato would still hock the glass at him.

"Listen, I don't know shit about anything if you don't tell me what you're looking for," Sato frustratedly said before he took a sip of the drink in front of him.

He paused for a moment to think as if recollecting some memories from a hazy stupor.

"This brown wolf bitch covered in scars came in a month ago asking about the Saniwa and the floating district. Said she was a concerned citizen and that whole spiel. I didn't tell her shit and couldn't because I've been rotting away here for years. Plus, I'm not some bullshit kumbaya unionist so I wouldn't tell her even if I did know. If she did something, I'm no part of it."

The sheep demon still didn't speak, though she nodded to affirm what Sato said.

⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

ａｎｄ　ｔｈｅ　ｎｅｗ　ｗｏｒｌｄ

It wasn't her sky. Or perhaps it was--her sole memory was of that moonlit night. It didn't take much to intuit why it was different. Despite not a single memory of it remaining, her body and mind could intuit the flame, smoke, and ash that littered the air. Flames that painted the sky an ominous sunrise. Perhaps it was the basal instincts born into all living beings that she knew what fire was. Perhaps her mind was deciphering base concepts on its own. Or perhaps she kept her knowledge but was simply unable to recollect concepts without proper impetus.

Whatever the case was, she knew that this place was an ill tiding.

No matter--she could remember to breath, move, think, and speak. For what use were the other things at this point in time? Though, she dare not move yet. She was quite comfortable sitting on the ground.

Unfortunately, with the ability to think and speak, she also had the ability to listen. And she had to listen to the blithering of two spearmen and a man equally as strange as her.

"Can you hear yourself speak?" Her voice rang though her sharp teeth as she targeted the esoteric speech of the equally strange man as he approached the spearmen. "Or do you just enjoy speaking in theatrics?"

Her voice was unexpectedly melodic in spite of her stature. If she stood, she would be half a hand over the taller of the two soldiers, not including any hat or headgear. Despite this size, her voice was as sweet as a siren's.

It was a shame that her first words were an insult.

⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

I'm a healer but...

???

Age of Death: — 70
Gender: — Female
Race: — Alopiidon
Psychology: — For someone unable to recognize their own name, the Alopiidon is a rather vain and prideful one. Though, perhaps her pride is born out of a misanthrophy--to see herself as greater than her peers. Of course, for someone who has such a brutish power, she has some innate level of excitement towards blood and viscera--both her own and other's. Beyond any of that is her desire to learn--as such, she's quite indifferent to the loss of her memories and is more infatuated with the concept of a new world.

⑇⑉What You Remember⑉⑈

^{Marshland Academia}
The cold night's air numbed her skin--though she dare not grasp herself in any attempt at warmth. She was no longer a pup. Her kith stood alongside her. Younglings of the same brood--though she would not admit such words. To do so would be to renounce her claim to adulthood. They watched as the elder dragged a human, one with various parts half-detached, across the water. Small bits of leaves covered his wounds, but could not stymie the flow of blood diffusing into the bogs. It was slow but meticulously fast--the elder dragged his body onto a stone altar in the bogs.

Observe, pups, those words rang out, of how to preserve life and, if that fails, to use its throes to learn.

⑴ To understand how to mend was ingrained in her kind. To weave flesh, marrow, and blood to reform the body--for what use was a styptic when one could naturally detoxify one's blood and put it back inside the body. Though, the prospects of one's flesh being forcibly contorted and woven is never one's first choice of [Asqkmxkirr•]

⑵ Of course, one cannot understand how to mend without knowing how one's internals functioned. What would a doctor be without practical experience? Just as easily as one can mend flesh can one rend flesh. Slowly, carefully--always to preserve the structure of lymphatic systems for greater learning and understanding.

⑇⑉What You Don’t ⑉⑈

^{[An End of Eras]}
Apostate. That was a new one. Though, it was probably wrong of them to say such words--she never believed in their metal gods. Such were the old ways of her kin--they had no gods or masters to worship. Though, any accusation was just pretense. Simply put, it was a purge to make way for a new era. Magi were no longer needed in a world of metal, pistons, and whale oil. No matter her ability, she couldn't take the weight of a nation-state bearing down on her. Though, she did try out of principle. Even her own death would serve for her learning--even if it was as simple as how many she could kill.

As their harpoons left her impaled and no longer able to see the light of the moon, she had only a single thought.

Oh, to continue my work. That would be just swell.

⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

I'm a healer but...

???

Age of Death: — 70
Gender: — Female
Race: — Alopiidon
Psychology: — For someone unable to recognize their own name, the Alopiidon is a rather vain and prideful one. Though, perhaps her pride is born out of a misanthrophy--to see herself as greater than her peers. Of course, for someone who has such a brutish power, she has some innate level of excitement towards blood and viscera--both her own and other's. Beyond any of that is her desire to learn--as such, she's quite indifferent to the loss of her memories and is more infatuated with the concept of a new world.

⑇⑉What You Remember⑉⑈

^{Marshland Academia}
The cold night's air numbed her skin--though she dare not grasp herself in any attempt at warmth. She was no longer a pup. Her kith stood alongside her. Younglings of the same brood--though she would not admit such words. To do so would be to renounce her claim to adulthood. They watched as the elder dragged a human, one with various parts half-detached, across the water. Small bits of leaves covered his wounds, but could not stymie the flow of blood diffusing into the bogs. It was slow but meticulously fast--the elder dragged his body onto a stone altar in the bogs.

Observe, pups, those words rang out, of how to preserve life and, if that fails, to use its throes to learn.

⑴ To understand how to mend was ingrained in her kind. To weave flesh, marrow, and blood to reform the body--for what use was a styptic when one could naturally detoxify one's blood and put it back inside the body. Though, the prospects of one's flesh being forcibly contorted and woven is never one's first choice of healing.

⑵ Of course, one cannot understand how to mend without knowing how one's internals functioned. What would a doctor be without practical experience? Just as easily as one can mend flesh can one rend flesh. Slowly, carefully--always to preserve the structure of lymphatic systems for greater learning and understanding.

⑇⑉What You Don’t ⑉⑈

^{[Dying Wish/or Grudge]}
Apostate. That was a new one. Though, it was probably wrong of them to say such words--she never believed in their metal gods. Such were the old ways of her kin--they had no gods or masters to worship. Though, any accusation was just pretense. Simply put, it was a purge to make way for a new era. Magi were no longer needed in a world of metal, pistons, and whale oil. No matter her ability, she couldn't take the weight of a nation-state bearing down on her. Though, she did try out of principle. Even her own death would serve for her learning--even if it was as simple as how many she could kill.

As their harpoons her impaled and no longer able to see the light of the moon, she had only a single thought.

Oh, to continue my work. That would be just swell.

Hell on Earth: Supernatural & Demonic Detectives

@SilverPaw@Bartimaeus

Sato didn't instantly throw his glass at Al. That was a start. He didn't initially respond either--instead choosing to stare down the anxious psychometrist for an uncomfortably long time. That was less conducive to their investigation.

"I don't know anything about anyone." Sato finally said in a dismissive tone. In fact, neither Alphard and Kelly could immediately ascertain anything beyond this dismissal. In fact, the two detectives had troubles ascertaining anything here. They could very clearly see the bar. But what was unusual was how sterile things felt. Despite being in a run-down part of town, the place didn't smell of much. There was no tinge of cleaning product. There was no hint of ages old grime. He couldn't even smell the spirits in front of the heir. After all, it was only a few hours since the massacre happened. It wouldn't be unheard of if someone like Sato didn't know and this was a dead end.

The demon by his side remained silent and in a polite stance.

Dark Fantasy Isekai

I've got my eye on this.

Hell on Earth: Supernatural & Demonic Detectives

@Bartimaeus@SilverPaw

The drive to the bar was uneventful. No matter how much he could pimp his ride--a vehicle truly worthy of a dog bounty hunter--it could not beat the most fundamental force of the city: traffic. Unless he lifted his truck enough to crush every car in his way, he was still only as fast as the eldest of drivers. In fact, the drive was probably a few minutes slower, judging by how many people in the city wanted to tailgate and cut off his crime on wheels in spite of the very one-sided damage that would occur from any collision.

Thankfully, the cops were restrained enough to not do anything in a moment of road rage.

11:10 AM, Ricky's.

The bar certainly wasn't a looker. Then again, neither was the entire neighbourhood. The destitute were openly resting in the streets. Most other parts of the city kept such people out of view. But this was a hovel of those without means. A set of streets of no value. It was a place of zero interest to any party, be they bureau, gangster, or businessman.

It was pretty obvious from the outside that it was a mixed business and residential--even if it wasn't zoned for habitation. Where as the city typically used bright neon and light panels for signage, Ricky's instead had the name painted above the door--not well, of course. It seemed to have been painted with whatever paint could be acquired. Dozens of layers on top of each other with whatever brush could be found.

Judging by the sign hanging on the door, the bar was closed. Considering the dust that had been gathering on the sign, it hadn't been flipped in some time. But when did a sign have any authority? The lights were on and the doors were unlocked. Kelly and Al could let themselves in.

The inside was clean, at least.

There was no bartender behind the bar. The only two people in the building were a human and a demon beside each other. The human sat on a bar stool with a glass of spirits in front of him--in spite of his condition. He was missing a leg, half an arm, an eye, and a few fingers. Scars covered his face. Though, he wasn't saying much beyond the stare at the two detectives who had let themselves in. Kelly knew that this was Sato Kurodoji--the last heir to his family.

Beside him was a small sheep-like demon that looked at the detectives with a significantly less accusatory look. Her style seemed different for the city, especially from this haunt. It was considerably more reserved and expensive. While the man had been covered in some level of oil and filth, the sheep-like demon was an almost unnatural level of a cleanly white. Though rather than porcelain or feathers, the two detectives felt the white was more akin to bone. Beyond anything else, she seemed polite--a far cry from the battered man who seemed ready to whip a glass if they stepped to close.

"Fuck d'you want?" Sato said.

The sheep demon remained still at his side, unperturbed by his language.

---

11:02 AM, The Paradise.

@Mcmolly@BurningCold

The Paradise was a nightclub just outside of the Floating District. Just like its location, the place was just one step away from all of the connotations of a red-light district. It was not a place where the good-hearted nightlife went. Like all gang-controlled nightclubs, the place was half fortress and half place of business. Thankfully, the fact that they came near noon meant that was only two things inside: janitors and gangsters. They wouldn't have to deal with any drunken ravers. Unfortunately, that meant they were going to be beset by a locked door that seemed nigh indestructible.

Or that's what they would have seen if they had arrived thirty minutes earlier.

Immediately outside the entrance, the concrete sidewalk had been shattered as if a heavy weight had been dropped from the sky. The impenetrable front door and its associated door frame was missing, a door-sized hole in its place.

Inside the nightclub was as expected. There were probably two dozen gangsters inside, all some varying degree of injured. Despite this, they were cleaning up the mess inside. Plastic plants were smashed, fake dirt spilling across the floor. Light fixtures were detached and embedded into walls. Railings had noticeable gaps as if something had been thrown through them. Bar stools that had been bolted down were torn out of the floor. The door sat in the middle of the lobby, a miracle there was no squashed gangster underneath.

"Feckoff," a battered man wearing a purple suit said as the two entered. His eye was black and swollen from whatever took place. An underling wrapped up his hand, his shaking arm making it difficult.

"First that bitch shows up, now you two?"

While it looked like they wanted a fight, it was apparent that they were apprehensive to do so.

SPIRITUM

Justice

Justice couldn't really be angry at this point. Whatever happened from here on out was going to be a mess. Really, she should have just accepted it. Live and revel in the chaos. But that would be to ignore every consequence in the aftermath. They weren't blinded by the flashbangs and that was enough for now, Justice would suppose. It was really the only thing stopping her from breaking down in a fit of violence, really.

Thankfully, a cold wave of wind washed over her. It was the mist coming back. That brief moment of unnerving peace across her skin slowly faded as whatever they used ran out.

She took an airborne rifle and some spare magazines. It would be good enough.

"I know I said anything, but don't try to kill them." Justice said as she had a brief moment to collect herself in the chaos. "I don't want to file paperwork when this is all over."

She thought to herself for a brief moment as she recognized the basics. Of course, if they took the fall for a diplomatic crisis, then that would be the most troublesome. There was no way they weren't going to take the fall for whatever was happening. Might as well disrupt their plans and just figure out what to do after.

"It should be simple. Stay alive, get the princess, and get Dirk to ask him a few questions"