Khor Kosović - The Eel, Ezra Blackheart
War torn streets, Riverbend
In collaboration with @Estylwen
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Soon, Khor found herself in the back of a van entering Riverbend. The district was in ruins, smoke spewing into the air. She still wore her hospital gown, still had the pistol, the only addition being slippers on her feet.
Ezra sat across from her, arms crossed.
”Kill the monsters. Report back to the van.”Those were his instructions he had told her before they left.
The van came to a stop, and the back doors were flung open.
Khor just stood in the alley she’d been ditched in, looking like an escaped asylum patient and just about as confused. She only managed to find her voice as the van disappeared, shouting out after it. “What- Are you serious? What the hell does that even mean?”
She quickly scanned her surroundings. What the good goddamn was Erza talking about. The sounds of fire fights dying down or periodically kicking off echoed through the district but other than being in a warzone she had no idea what ‘kill the monsters’ meant. Did he mean the bad guys? Who were the bad guys here?
She kicked off the slippers. They’d be useless here, at best tripping her up in a vital moment. Maybe she could find someone who fell in the fight that had occurred prior, if she was lucky she’d find some body armour, boots that fit well enough, some ammo.
Shit ammo. She’d been so zealous to share a moment with Erza she’d ditched the magazine and only left herself with a single bullet. On that note what the hell was she thinking, share a moment with Erza. A moment of weakness to let the monster in, the only uncertainty being whether that monster was him or herself. She scratched her head with the tip of the pistol while muttering. “You know it’d probably make you smarter if you pulled the trigger. Blast all that bad meat out of your own head.
Idiot.”
The pistol went back to her side. A breath. By some miracle she was out and free. No point squandering yet another lease on life. Kill the monsters. Figure out whatever the hell that meant, get some gear, do some business, at least long enough to find a way back underground to disappear before they thought she was running away. That was the plan then. She could scorn herself for crumbling to her own demons later. Just need to survive. The simplicity was strangely calming.
Inspecting the alley found a man who’d bled out, complete with a helmet, knee and elbow pads and a vest containing undamaged ballistic plates. Checking his boots it seemed his size was close enough for her. Running would suck but it beat rubble and debris carving her feet up till she couldn’t even walk. Quickly kitting up she inspected the body for ammo. Not a bullet left. He went down screaming, without a doubt. The rifle rested empty but she picked it up too. Worst case it’d make a good club.
Now to find whatever the hell Erza was talking about. She walked carefully toward the end of the alley. Monsters. You’d think he could’ve been a little clearer. Hell if it meant putting an end to a fight she would’ve happily obliged. Seemed Erza was like most other cowboy speech rule the world types, speaking in metaphors rather than getting to the damn point-.
She looked by the corner. Erza’s words became clear. Kill the monsters. A broken body shambling just beside her exit with limbs pointing out in directions not thought possible. Each end a sharpened appendage of bone to shred whatever it struck. She found herself lost for a moment. He wasn’t wrong. That was a monster. An indescribable horror. As her mind failed to rationalize the sight it turned to lock its eyes on her.
She darted out. Monster’s scythe flying through where she was. Using the momentum the rifle swung out ready to strike. The monster seemed to brace itself. The rifle swung in. Butt stock one side. Wall the other. It’s head cracked and the monster fell, limbs still flailing. She swung again, the flailing now uncoordinated but more violent. Another. Spilt like a melon. The monster stopped.
She stood there breathing. What the hell was this thing? Looking up she spotted more. Four more. All locking eyes but frozen for the moment as if lost in shock. These creatures surely couldn’t feel such things. She couldn’t explain it but she readied herself regardless, rifle ready to swing. Voice growling. “Come on then. Come get some.”
The first two rushed in, the other two hesitant. The first met the rifle's swing sending it to the ground. The second stabbed its arms forward only to catch her follow through. Executing the first with a stomp it’s head gave way. These things were fragile, easy to break. The other two launched forward with wails. A roundhouse kick sent the first to the ground but the second found purchase. Arms wrapping her from behind trying to hold her still. The other got up again and rushed forward.
Khor balled up, coiling her legs. All her strength thrusted out to send the monster to the ground again before landing low on her feet. The monster holding her stumbled forward. She jumped, throwing her legs up. Her weight overwhelming its balance. Both falling flat she kicked out rolling to her feet. Bringing the rifle down like an axe, another monster went still. The other turned as if to run. She pulled the pistol and fired the sole bullet, putting it down quickly.
The last one on the ground seemed injured. Scuttling its limbs to try and get back to its feet but only pushing itself away from her. She flipped the pistol in her hand to hold it like a hammer. Coming down atop the monster the back of the pistol came crashing into its skull again, again and again. It stopped moving. She felt warm now, wet with gore. Ready for the fight. Looking further down the street she saw a countless horde dispersed about, just staring at what she was doing. Looks like Erza was getting what he wanted today.
Ezra watched from an unseen place, wholly satisfied with what he was seeing. See? She just needed the
right target.
It wasn't enough, though. There were still
monsters eligible to be decimated. For Khor to be truly transformed by this, she needed more. She needed to be thorough. She needed to leave no room for this to be simply chalked up to as a mistake.
So, he waited, anticipating.
Khor wasted no time. If the hoard were to swarm that would be that. Reflex replaced reasoning. Instinct overriding emotion. The only way out was through. Anything was a weapon. A brick. A pipe. A bottle. A knife. Occasionally the monsters carried firearms that were still loaded which were quickly emptied in Khor’s hands. The street was a haze of red. One insane effort to make it out alive but even that was fading. What replaced was a thirst for more.
More threats. More risk. More adrenaline. Slowly all that mattered was the rush. Riding the mirror's edge of survival. Nothing else compared to feeling so alive being so close to death. Actions became rhythmic. Exhaustion became irrelevant. So long as her blood pumped she could go on. Escape seemed a distraction now. The only objective at this point was turning beast bodies back into dead bodies. After minutes of madness the end of the street was nearing, the final groups remaining.
The cries of monsters were predictable, almost comforting. It was just a monster, wasn't it? This seemed to be an unwavering truth, until… Something strange happened to the noises they made. Changing pitch, then almost like they were changing frequency, until– pure, unadulterated horror of human voices cut through. Some very small…
And, before Khor’s eyes, the next thing to go was the veil over her eyes. The monsters quivered in their forms, before they lost their skins like waves of dust, and underneath?
People. Some were Order, yes. But the majority? Civilians. Mothers. Daughters.
Children.
Across the crimson-washed street, there were little shoes that fell off in one child's attempt to escape. A woman's purse. Mangled corpses no longer recognizable. The remaining groups of people stared in horror, before they continued to flee.
”M-monster!” A voice shrieked out.
And, standing silently by Khor, now revealed with his hands clasped behind his back, was Ezra, his abyssal gaze neutral.
”It's not your fault, you know? You can't help who you are.”Khor just stood still. The rush dissolved immediately to shock. She didn't turn to face him, fearful of glimpsing her path of carnage behind herself. She stood, mind surprisingly blank, contemplating what brought this to happen. She'd let her guard down to let him in, and he proceeded to take every liberty and more.
Despite her denial she knew deep down who she was to begin with. She knew to keep it tamed and unleash it only to fight through the madness of this city when required. But she still offered that moment of weakness. All just to feel accepted for a moment. To feel like she wasn’t alone. To feel ok.
This was what she asked for. There was no avoidance of blame. She opened up to share a moment. All Erza did was fulfill that request, and even now, a part of her pleaded to give up and fall into the comfort of someone who accepted her.
The only question was why.
Khor’s voice was soft and low, between a growl and a whimper. “Why? Why would you accept this? What part of you makes you think this is ok?”
Ezra quietly moved to stand in front of Khor, the sharp cut of his suit catching the little sun that made it through a weak break in the clouds, shining through. He placed a gentle hand on Khor’s head, like how a father might be affectionate to his daughter.
”The power to shape your world is nothing to be ashamed of, my dear. When I was much younger, I was buffeted by the winds of those who took, and took, and took.
“Then, one day, a man came to me, and said he could make it all go away. I was given a gyft. But more importantly, I was given the power to shape my own destiny.
“The man wanted gyfts to be put to an end. I agreed, they brought nothing but misery. And so I intend to do just that. But you, my dear, I wanted to save you. Not only that, but I wanted to release you from your inhibitions. No more of this hiding from yourself. You owe it to yourself. You owe it to all your moments of weakness, when you could have taken action.
“You think of yourself alone, don't you? That no one understand you? This honest form of yourself.”His hand shifted, nudging Khor’s chin up to look at him.
”I see you. And I accept you. No matter what anyone says, you're perfect. And I will be here, waiting, until you fully realize this for yourself.”And with that, he simply left. Calmly pacing through the scattering crowd as if on a morning stroll. Khor didn’t track him, still lost in his words. He said so little but it carried so much, too much to digest in the shock of the moment. The only thought looping in her mind was that she wished Akir or Adel were here to make sense of everything Erza just said. Outside of that the consequences of her actions bore down upon her. If they had any right mind about them, they’d never see her again.
Erza was right from the start, or at least he was now. She had no friends, not anymore, not after this. All she could do now was accept what she had done and what she truly was. Mind turning further to static, a whirlpool of frantic denial giving way to grim acceptance, she slowly turned to take in her work. Before coming to a conclusion on her new identity she saw two people standing where she began, looking over the aftermath as she did. An Akula and another. Blinking away the disbelief she recognized Puddle and Rada.
Rada just stared at Khor, unable to process that this was the work of her friend. Puddle’s eyes wandered the street, analytical in scanning the carnage like he was just trying to attain a body count. It took a few seconds before he collected and concluded on what everything in front of him meant. Eyes locked on Khor’s bloodstained body, his expression burned through her with calm, righteous fury. Even over the chaos she heard him slam the bolt in the gun. Even over the dissipating screams of those who fled, she heard his words as his rifle raised, gun sights silhouetting her.
Puddle spoke clearly. “
Śmierć przed tyranią.”
His finger curled around the trigger. Rada wrenched Puddle’s arm. A crack.
Khor stumbled back. Dropping to her left knee. She tried to move her left arm. All that responded was twitching. The bullet tore through muscle. Flesh wound, but bad. The pain brought Khor back to the moment as she looked back to the two down the street, Rada yelling. “It’s Khor! What are you doing!?” Puddle threw Rada off, fury taking hold of his mind, rifle raised again, finding no other words but to repeat himself. “
Śmierć przed tyranią!”
Khor dove aside. Another bullet ripped through the air. She sighted a subway entry and broke into a run. Stumbling as another bullet cracked by her. Rada could be heard pleading for them both to stop but neither Puddle nor Khor had the mental capacity to comply or acknowledge.
Her injuries were taking their toll. On a good day Puddle stood no chance, but in her state it was only a matter of time before he caught up. Trying to stay on her feet she tumbled over a turnstile. She wasn’t sure why she was fleeing or where she was going. She only knew primal instinct, and that was to run, to flee, to be anywhere but here. Why she even wanted to keep fighting, to keep living was a mystery but she fought on for instinct’s sake alone.
Puddle could be heard clomping along behind, keeping better pace than herself, following the trail of her victims and her own blood denying her escape. Darting down service tunnels she descended further swinging round stairs as Puddle's breathing could be heard above. Soon Khor burst through a final door to find herself on a landing next to a raging waterway beneath the streets. Eyes wild found no other exit. Turning found Puddle. Rifle raised.
Puddle left the rifle hanging in her face as he slowly stepped closer. The distance inevitably closing with every minute step.
Puddle spat through clenched teeth. “Khor Kosavić. By my word, held as the highest truth, on the lives of my brothers and sisters. Under charge of tyranny, I challenge your title to trial of branding. Affirm status or accept the omega pact.”
Rada stepped through the doorway heaving, finding words through panic. “Puddle it’s Khor! It’s Eel!” Rada slowly approached Puddle. Hands raised. “Just put the gun down. Let her talk. This isn’t her. Someone else did this.” Rada’s eyes shot to Khor. “Tell him, tell him you wouldn’t. Tell him you couldn’t. Tell him what really happened. Please.”
Khor’s eyes drifted off the gun and onto Rada. Khor wanted nothing more than to lie, to tell Rada that this was just a bad dream or someone else's mess, but it just wasn’t her nature. She’d lived a life of fearless accountability, one that left her without regret. She always took responsibility for her actions so she’d be the champion of her own destiny, and now was no different. She looked at Rada one last time with a weak smile. She wouldn’t accept dishonor or death at Puddle’s or anyone else's hands, but she’d take both on her own terms.
She fell backward. Feet slipping off the landing. Rada shrieked. Puddle dove forward.
Then the water took her.
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