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    1. Kala 6 yrs ago

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Ahmicqui

Spring Valley Community Park



The ageless creature listened silently to the resolve that the proud former head expressed. It was not something greeted by his usual casual joy or marred by a superficial smirk. All he did was receive and consider it. Only when Kitorai finished his last word did Ahmicqui nod solemnly, accepting it. “So that is how you have chosen to pass on.. What your cycle shall be.” He released a long breath, only for his smile to return before looking upwards to the skies. “Very well.. We shall see if you are worthy if the last of you can buy what you seek to gain.. But I cannot say I dislike those kind of people.” Ahmicqui stared Kitorai straight in the eyes.

“I shall not insult you by denying it, I’ve lived a bit longer than most.. Someone has to water these lands after all.” He said with a fond and loving smile.

Ahmicqui turned his head towards the park proper, humming in contemplation before withdrawing the sunglasses from the pocket of his shirt. Obscuring his sickly amber eyes before raising a hand in parting, waving it behind him at Kitorai. “We shall speak another time.. I’ve been invited to play a bit with the boys.. Of course, you are welcome to join. You may just learn a little bit more.” Ahmicqui glanced over his shoulders to flash a grin at the aged mage lord before walking off.


A quick stroll brought him to the part of the park that was becoming ever more of a mess. Collections of scrap littered all about from a ruined car. The bronze-skinned man reached down, casually weighing a head-sized heap of metal before closing his fist around it, squeezing and crushing it into a sphere with the same ease one would make a ball out of paper. It was not good to let things go to waste after all, even if it was as useless as metal.

Raising one hand to his head, teeth sank into flesh and that dark essence of life dripped from his hand. Shifting the metal ball to his bleeding hand, he permitted his blood, part of his essence to seep into the ball. Turning it into a vessel of his own being, an extension from it and lending it shape before it could fade.

So

It

Stirred

Within

Ahmicqui could feel it, his other self calling out to him. A creature that he had never been able to name, yet their fates had been intertwined on the day of their birth. It was not something that was him, but it was also not something that was something else than him. In the end it was but a part of him, that proud owl. Or he was a part of it, the lines between them had long blurred, and perhaps its thoughts had bled into his own as even he could no longer tolerate the day.

“We shall feed soon, the night is long and we must be patient.” He thought to themselves in something that could only be felt as extreme fondness. Even as he feels that hunger stir within him, but it was only natural. Owls feed on mice, and Ahmicqui feeds on humans, that is how it was meant to be. Their eyes moved towards the man who danced with anger like a known lover, and they knew what had to be done.

Even the sunglasses of this ageless duo could not obscure the sickly amber glow of their eyes, for what rested behind them were no longer the eyes of a man, but the eyes of an owl, a predator, a creature of the night. They called out to the Soul Dyed In Red and it would know to no longer be speaking to merely a singular being, but also not something that was distinctly multiple things. “Allow me to introduce you to a sport home to this land.. One practiced to this very day.”

Form was everything, and thus they repeated the motions of it. Placing one leg back while stretching their arm with ball in hand behind them. Amber eyes focused and trained themselves on the shape of anger of Berserker. Hitting a servant as swift as this one was not an easy task, but it mattered little when one knew where it was going, as they could track Archer in more ways than just sight. Aiming not for where Berserker was, but aiming where he would be.

The rush of air was felt only an instant later.

The ball had been released, cast with the strength of something beyond human at the shape of Anger that was Berserker. Cast with a speed surpassing that of a bullet, but it was not the physical that was the threat. Ahmicqui no longer saw a ball, but an owl soar through the night, a creature that hunted with a single strike in the dark, with swiftness befitting it. A strike not to tear at flesh, but at the spirit itself. To tear and rip it from the spirit of Berserker. Such was the bounty of an emissary of the underworld.

It was only then that Ahmicqui made itself known, laughing in a fiendishly playful way, more befitting of one who teased a friend by throwing a ball at them rather than a monster throwing a heap of death at someone. “I hope we do not intervene, I wanted to show a bit off for the red one.” Ahmicqui waved at the Red Archer as if greeting a friend.
Ahmicqui

Las Vegas Strip



The crowd barely registered in the mind of the ageless monster, their features and the cycles they followed had become but mere fixtures on the background of his world. Barely thinking of them except at the times when they broke from the conventional, at times like these where for the time being a single of these creatures broke away from the background. Or perhaps he simply had pulled this old man to the main stage of his world. Whether he belonged there was another question, but at least he was a threat.

“Hoh.. a life of struggle, a life of danger.. But that is not unusual for those of us who dwell in this moon-lit world.”

“...”

“Good. Yet this war must be your last, to have one such as you pass on merely through time.. Would simply be too sad.”

He said not in a brash tone, or one of arrogance even. It was strangely respectful, laced with a certain sorrow. One quickly brushed away by his smile, as Kitorai’s grasp was matched by Ahmicqui’s own, though restraining his own power as to not crush the man’s bones and squeeze the magus’s wrist into pulp.

“You may ask as many as you like.”

The bronze-skinned master said with palpable delight. Drawing the elderly master in with a tug, nothing too harmful. Before mounting Kitorai on his back. Holding onto the old master’s legs before starting to move at a leisurely pace.

“What emotion, what feeling drove you to this war. Was it greed, ambition, curiosity, or something different?”

A simple question, enough to offer a hint on one’s motivations without revealing too much. Or perhaps for Ahmicqui it was an easier way to pierce to the heart of the matter without needing to decipher logic.

Once the crowd was cleared, that leisurely pace transformed into a sprint and that same momentum soon became an absurd leap as in a matter of seconds the two of them were leaping from roof to roof. The wind whipped fiercely at them, howling in their ears, as both masters knew they were drawing closer to the park where their servants had decided to bring their battle to.

The way the ageless creature swayed and almost drifted in the air, it almost seemed like he belonged more in the skies than he did locked to the ground. A truth seeming to edged into his very soul, carved into stone from the moment of his birth. Kitorai was permitted to enter that world of the skies, and perhaps the closest one could come to inviting an enemy into their home during a war in a distant land.


Las Vegas Strip -> Spring Valley Community Park


After several minutes, the two departed from the moon-lit world of the skies and returned to the soil upon which man dwelled. In this case arriving at the very edge of the park, whether it was out of caution or courtesy of that battle of legends was a puzzle for Kitorai to ponder upon as he was returned to the ground and released with proper respect. Ahmicqui taking a few steps forward, permitting time for Kitorai to compose himself before turning around.

“And here we are.. As promised. I have no desire to fight you just yet, so ask anything you like.. Unless you seek to test your strength against mine. If not, let us find some front row seats for the spectacle to unfold.”
Ahmicqui

Las Vegas Strip




“That master.. That man. He has seen death, that much his eyes tell me. Yet he has chosen to come here, to this war.”

Ahmicqui relayed over his mental bond to Archer. There was much that he learned from just looking at the man, but too much of it were just hunches, speculation and instinct. The only thing as a warrior of the battlefield could be certain of was to know when standing before someone who had stared death in the eyes and knew it to be death. Perhaps there was some promise in this war, perhaps he had been right to participate.

Watching the fight between two legends unfolds was truly a sight to behold. It made him think back of those final days, before -that- had revealed itself. When it seemed like god waged war against men, such was what it felt like to stare at those two servants just exchanging what came down to practice and measurement. Testing the limits of another in countless ways that they likely were not aware of, simply verifying it on an instinctual level.

It took a moment too long to register that the two were leaving. He had considered to perhaps lend a hand, but he simply had been in awe, captivated by beauty and now it had vanished as quickly as the life of a butterfly. A soft breath rolled from his lips, taking a moment to collect himself before the ageless creature turned his gaze to the master that had been left behind. Raising a hand to lift the bridge of his sunglasses, sickly amber eyes peering from beneath it at the man.

“You are aware.. Painfully aware of me. Some would feel such tense caution is weakness. But I disagree..”

Ahmicqui said in a friendly tone, raising his sunglasses from his face and instead neatly folding them up before planting them in the front pocket of his shirt. Taking a few steps closer to Kitorai at a leisurely pace to be in a more conservational distance. “You see it, don’t you.. All possibilities, every move that can be made.. And every move you must make it. I want to see it, that chessboard in your mind.”

The bronze-skinned master stretched an arm out, offering his hand.

“I’ll bring you to -them-. It will be a lot faster. My toll is but a trifle, just a -single- question.”
Ahmicqui

Las Vegas Strip



A little patience had paid off, already could he feel more and more figures drawing closer to their position. Ahmicqui found that he could not stop smiling as already the war was starting to become interesting for them. He chuckled with mirth, turning his head towards Archer to regard him.

“We are not surrounded by cowards after all. We have tasted of the modern world, but let us now taste an experience that has prevailed through all of history.”

Blood, and the spilling of it. An expression of love unmatched even now. Two to meet and one to leave, a test of one’s talents and fortune. An opportunity to know love and to offer it in return. It had been rare to ever battle in his new life, at least something that resembled one rather than an one-sided slaughter.

Archer of course had already departed, and he did not blame him. Instead by the time the ageless master caught up, he came with two drinks in his hands. Both poured in eiffel-tower shaped cups, a pair of straws trapped between his lips as he lazily sucked down his drinks at the same time. Plop.

“Oh ho? Hello there.. Hello to you. On a beautiful night do we meet, the most auspicious of signs is it not..” He snickered with delight while he made his way to stand next to the red Archer. The bronze-skinned man inspecting Lancer, though even if his sunglasses made it harder to see his eyes, it was clear there was a palpable curiosity spilling from his being.

He turned his attention towards Archer once more. “‘Tis my dearest hope I need not utter it, but do not go all out.. This is a war I wish to savour.”
Ahmicqui

Las Vegas Strip - Eiffel Tower (Arc Bar)



Ahmicqui paid little thought as he financed Archer’s banquet from one stand to the other. Catching on quickly enough to purchase anything in bulk before the hulking servant could make his servant known. At times making recommendations for curiosities that Archer had yet to experience. The ageless creature tried to maintain some knowledge of human society, even if it had changed so much from the time he had been human.

“Even if your endurance fails, no doubt the rush of battle will clear your head soon enough.”

Though he questioned if the servant could even get drunk, but that thought was left unspoken for the time being. Ahmicqui made a study of the City of Sin, this would perhaps be the last day in which its flow would remain as it always had been, soon the war would no doubt come to alter it, influence it and eventually redirect it.

He raised an eyebrow at Archer’s question, chuckling softly with a hint of amusement as he contemplated the question with an audible hum. “Who can say what whims we are subjected to in the capital of fortune, but I would say one endowed with speed.. They should be the first to reach us should fortune remain impartial.” He said, leaving his personal bet on what would be considered fortunate unknown.

The Dead Apostle had to raise his sunglasses for a moment, looking with disbelief at the bent shape of the metal tower. Yet that quickly transformed into something of amusement as he laughed with joy. “Now! You are already proving to be an interesting one. Archer.” With a skip to his step, he started to make his way to the twisted spire, to the very foot of it. For the first time in a long time he felt something, excitement, anticipation and a hint of dread. What would they be like, would they be worthy of love? First things first however.

“Can I have one of those cups? Yes, that one.. Give me the biggest one you got.”

Turning away from the sidewalk bar built in the very foot of the metal tower, he offered Archer a plastic cup shaped in the likeness of the tower, its interior hollowed out to contain a milky beverage that was in equal parts sweet and strong with the scent of alcohol. “A memento, for a promising start.” The master flashed a wide grin at the servant before taking a seat at one of the tables.

Perhaps someone would come if they waited long enough, and if none came, that too would serve him in its own way, if not a disappointing one.
Ahmicqui

“Hooooh.. It is so much more than that..” The bronze-skinned man chuckled in response to the servant’s inquiry. Taking a bold step forward to match and then surpass the pace of the arched dyed in red. For a creature whose life was to be measured in centuries, not years, he certainly did not look the part. Even with his youth preserved, his sense of taste had certainly not endured if it was ever there. Clad in a flamboyant loose shirt, adorned with a pattern of colourful parrots, monkeys and butterflies frolicking amongst flowers, leafs and vines. A man of many contrasts when the entire range of colours was likely to be present on his shirt. His shorts seemed to match his shirt, seeming to be an extension of the print of his shirt. A cheap white sun visor obscured his forehead, while a pair of wide-rimmed sunglasses veiled his sickly yellow eyes.

The drag of his sandals marking his step before the ageless creature spun before Archer, spreading his arms wide as if to draw in his attention. “‘Tis only natural that you already enjoy yourself, for we stand upon the battlefield of the modern age. Your keen instinct is whispering hidden truths in moments that demanded years of mine to grasp.” And in an almost practiced way he spun to stand side by side with the servant, slinging an arm over Archer’s shoulder, leaning his head forward, lowering his voice as if to draw the heroic spirit in for a secret. “In this age, all men are alchemists, capable of transmuting blood into coin. Endowing it with their life and time. Sacrificing them to purchase hope, to acquire greater value.. To become more than what they were before.”

The ageless creature cocked his head, canting it while raising an eyebrow before humming with approval. “Of course.. My dear friend. Who would I be to deny one such as yourself the simple pleasures of being man. Reap the tastes from this land they call Paradise, and know the way of modern man.” Patting the servant on the back before withdrawing his arm. “No.. wait.” The humour of his voice seared away, replaced with a low and more grave tone. “We should go together, it is only proper to do so.” And just as quickly his voice returned to its usual calm but pleased tone.

Ahmicqui’s gaze rarely wandered from his red companion, seeming more tempered in comparison to Archer. The mark of a practiced city-dweller, so accustomed to its pace and sights that they grow invisible to the dweller. “There is honesty in this city, for all know the truth and yet many permit themselves to be blinded by the light. Yet it cannot be denied that this city will cease to be when the altars of its vaults run dry of wealth. To return to becoming a wasteland once more, just like the world will, once the soil has forgotten the taste of blood.”

“But it is as you say, as long the strong draw their kindred, the soil shall always remain damp.. And I welcome it. May we be given the opportunity to garden this land to linger a little longer. Yet let us not be too hasty, for there is much to consider... and courtesies to be exchanged.” He licked his lips, for the first time the ageless creature’s gaze did not linger on the man he holds as his companion.

His eyes narrowed, before a split second offered a hearty but still controlled burst of laughter at the servant’s inquiry. “You surely do not hold back.. Nevertheless, I shall indulge you.. Not with an answer, but an invitation.” Ahmicqui snickered wickedly while a grin lingered on his lips for a touch longer. “No, I do insist.. It is rare that I get to sit and eat with one who consumes the food of humans not out of compulsion.. But mere curiosity.” He finished with a pleasant lilt to his voice.

Ahmicqui made a show looking around the streets of the City of Sin, narrowing his eyes before exclaiming with an dramatized “Ah! Now that might just suit my purpose.” The place the master had chosen was not some upscale restaurant, or even some local establishment. Rather it was a typical brand burger joint, one they would have likely already had the chance of crossing a half dozen of its other local branch counterparts. In a matter of minutes, the servant returned with two plastic platters of the usual suspects, including a thick juicy burger. “You have seen, heard, felt and smelled the new world.. But you have yet to taste it. So indulge.. I do insist.”






Sanguine fluttered around playfully, colourful feathers trapped in the thrall of the whimsical wind as the beat of hastened foot steps rang through the narrow streets and alleyways of Silver Spear. Glistening rubies gazed through a shroud of bone towards the dance of lights surging through the streets, taking in the gleaming joy and mirth from a people secluded in a sanctuary of peace amidst an ocean of turmoil. Confusion and caution had taken root in the thin slits of the helmet shaped out of bone, barely standing out amongst the sprawl of masks and helmets portraying the most vile of beasts known within the reaches of the Wolf-Haunted Kingdom. The scarlet shade of cloth and bone listened to the howls of man, to find what they hunted in their reveries. Steps quickened as glistening eyes never strayed far from the pinnacle of the great silver city, Watching the dark twisted arches and the elaborate web of glass grow ever more refined and detailed as the shadow of the cathedral drowned out the shadow of the creature of red and white.

The swirl of cloth came to an end, sanguine cloaks hanging fallow as the thing of masks stood motionless before the swarm of beasts, completely idle, settled on every perch and arch of the sepulcher. Cloth parting briefly to bare a swelling chest, heaving slowly with a deep inhale of precious air. The head of bone angled upwards, horns angled downwards as the shapeless form managed to tense up regardless, a palpable tension felt from the very fiber of its being. Time not measured in the march of its hands, or the even smaller measures of words and grains of sands. But rather in violent beats of a black heart, pounding and pumping with searing hot blood. Laughter from afar broke the spell placed upon the creature of crimson, finally stirring, tension melting like snow on a summer day. In a complete contrast to its earlier demeanor, a humble door of wood gave way to its desires, protesting with only a silent creek drowned out by reverend song and mirth of thousands.

A new shadow joined the many others within the halls of faith, candlelight and moonlight being the only guide offered to the furtive creature, as it made its way deeper inside. Pale digits tracing along the edges of the caliginous edifice, curving along the detailed and elaborate stone features, known to the love of far more gentle and caring fingers that had given it shape and purpose within these hallowed halls. A journey of touch that came to an end once one moving shadow swelled to number eight, belonging to those who did not belong, not within the home of the silver god or amongst the realms of man. Strangers to reason, to the natural order of things and perhaps even to peace itself. Soft snickering laughter spilled past the unmoving jaws of the bestial skull mounted upon the head of the shade of scarlet.

Yet that expression of amusement could not overshadow the faint but powerful throb of life, pounding at a slow and almost deathless pace. Every beat of a heart resonating through the halls of the sanctum wrapped in silence. It came directly from the scarlet shade, from amongst the many layers of cloth draping over its true form. Its pale arm parted from the wall, sliding back into sanguine veil shrouding the creature of bone and blood. Briefly exposing the simple shirt found beneath along with the wreath of blessings hanging from her neck. Small pouches holding blessed stones, hair clippings of saints, leafs and twigs from everlasting trees. Each promising golden fortune and prosperity, yet easily discernible as gilded blessings offered by soothsayers and silver-tongued peddlers rather than true sages and druids.

“Fifty-Seven” A feminine voice spoke from beneath the abominable skull, tilted towards the visage of the raven-haired aristocrat. Crimson eyes turned towards the scholar of gray and chaos. “Fifty-Eight.” She declared in a firm voice, yet not one aimed towards the collective of sinners within the hallowed halls of the Cathedral. “Fifty-Ni- “ She spoke as she gazed at the reflection within the mirror presented by the raven-haired aristocrat, canting her head to peer over her shoulder towards the only place where the pale reflection of the woman could have come from, only to find nothing. “Fifty-Eight” she amended her count, resuming onwards to include the remaining five strangers in her count. “...Sixty-Four.” Her voice rang through the skull. “Fifty-Seven beasts shaped from stone.. Seven from flesh. But I have come here for those of Ash.” The Orphan of Anshu departed as swiftly she had joined the eight-pointed star, parting with her end of it to make way to the passage that held the greatest promise to lead to the undercroft beneath the Cathedral. The languid beating of the black heart slowly fading from the halls of Verimos, unless she were to be halted in her descent.
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