Lazo

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

Sand frowned slightly as she eyed the pamphlet she had been given. She was not familiar with this version of football. It almost seemed likely that the professor had made it up in whatever mountain training pilgrimage he had been dragged out of.

She moved closer to the rest as the teams huddled, pausing only to blink at Trad’s waste of a good shirt and to ponder how he had done such a thing before concluding it was not worth the headache.

Instead, she joined the huddle, attention split between the pamphlet in front of her and the voices of the other students. As another student shared what they could do for the team, Sand found herself nodding. She might have been unfamiliar with this version of the sport in particular, but she thought he knew her strengths well enough to share.

“This is a bit different from what I’m used to, but I usually played defense. Tackling or intercepting passes tended to be my thing.”

Glancing up from the paper for once, she noted that the student that had been speaking before had also shed her upper garments. And here I thought the skin vs. shirts comment had been a joke.

As another girl spoke, Sand looked up with half-lidded eyes. She was not terribly surprised when a look at the one who’d spoken also showed more discarded sets of clothing.

A thought occurred to her, and she stifled a small smirk.

“I wonder about using Semblances in a PE class,” she offered matter-of-factly. “Might have to clear it with the professor. If we want a general strategy, though… I see. Dressing as distractingly as possible is certainly an option. It is good to lead by example, Trad.” Sand nodded, as though she had suddenly come across a great truth. She tilted her head slightly, giving the rest of the team a level stare. “Go on then, strip. Hurry.”

Despite her urging, her own arms remained notedly still before her, still holding on to her instructional pamphlet. As if anticipating protests, she added, “I’m playing defense, so it’s only natural that I’d have to camouflage myself like the shirts. Worry not, this is a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

In the back of her mind, Sand ignored the voice that told her she was making a questionable first impression on her new classmates.

@Awesomoman64@Norschtalen@Suku@Eklispe@harinezumikouken@SevenStormStyle@Forsythe@NarayanK@Krayzikk

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

Sand gave a slight nod at Trad’s assurances. She did not need to ask about his following comment. It had already become apparent in the short time since she had met the trio that the relationship between their other two teammates was anything but amicable. The stressful part was that as team leader, she would not be entirely surprised if she learned people expected her to somehow find a way to ease that conflict. At least for the time being she could sit back and see if removing Robert from a leadership position had done much of anything to improve Grane’s disposition.

Noting that the conversation had fallen into a small lull during her contemplation, Sand looked around, casting about for a new topic of conversation. Her eyes eventually fell over to the door, lazily following the newcomers that drifted into the room. One of the students in particular drew her eye, making all thoughts of conversation flee from her mind. It was a young man with dark hair and severe expression, a familiar face from Atlas Academy.

Sand forced herself not to stare as he approached another group of students by bringing her eyes back to the entrance, but the coincidental appearance of a classmate had surprised her.

Should I greet him? That seemed like the proper thing to do, but she found herself hesitating. She knew he belonged to team HJNS – its members had become rather popular amongst the rest of the student body since its formation – but she could not quite recall his name. They must have exchanged greetings at some point, and she vaguely recalled something to that effect, but when it came down to it, she had had very little actual contact with the man. I know he’s the ‘J’ but what did his teammates call him? Jer… Jeremy? Jerry? No, that’s horribly wrong.

Sand frowned, vaguely irritated by the turn her thoughts had taken. Doesn’t matter. We’re barely acquaintances as it is. Why bother when he might not recognize me in the first place?

Luckily for her, the next person to walk through the door drew enough of her attention to prevent her from dwelling on her lack of courtesy. The booming, jovial voice of what could only be their PE professor – the possibility that it was anything else was too bizarre to contemplate – brought her out of her previous reverie and right into a new one as the man marched in in all his prodigious humanity, announcing it was time to play ball.

“That’s a lot of meat in motion.”

The comment was followed by a self-conscious cough as she realized she had given voice to her thoughts. At least the conversation between some of the nearby students told her she was not the only one taken aback by this man’s exuberance.

At that point, it almost felt natural when the last arrival to the classroom clumsily slipped on his face before yelling out an apology for his tardiness.

“Huh.” Sand blinked, speaking in a low voice. “Guess that’s the tone for this class now.”

The Crucible - Winner Take All

The door to the tower groaned open in quiet complain to those who would intrude in it after its master had left, but for all of that, the pair walked in without fanfare.

Dew walked in first, carrying his signature weapon in his arms. Where that noon he had had trouble lifting it with his right hand after suffering an injury from Pithy’s rapier, the bandages and pain killers had done his arm more good than she had thought possible. Then again, she had learned in her bout with him that Dew himself could not be physically described as an average human.

He paused inside, and after a moment where nothing happened, Pithy joined him inside.

“No traps at the door,” he commented.

“The fireplace is still lit,” she added, nodding at the flame lighting the center of the room.

“Probably didn’t care enough to kill the fire. Or maybe he left in a hurry.”

“Perhaps he hasn't left at all.” Pithy felt the need to voice the possibility, though she felt little confidence in it. What would be the point of hiding from them inside the tower? Their quarry was long gone. “You head upstairs and look for something that might help us. I’ll search this room and see if there is anything in the basement.”

The man gave her a look she could not quite place. He opened his mouth, closed it, then finally turned away. “Fine.”

Pithy watched him ascend the stairs with a slight frown before she turned towards the door. Drawing her rapier from her hip, she pushed the tip against the wood. With a flourish and a flash of the weapon’s runes, she tapped at the frame, above and to the sides. At the last tap, there was a small spark and a breeze of cold air, signaling the boundary’s completion. It was a simple cantrip, similar to the ones she used when sleeping in unfamiliar places, but it would alert her if any crossed the threshold.

Satisfied that she would not be surprised by anyone coming from the outside, she turned to the spiraling steps that hugged the wall to her right.

Not long after she had began her descent, she summoned a wisp of light to hover over her head. Whereas the main entry was lit up by the fireplace’s glow, it seemed the rest of the building was draped in shadows.

When her light finally fell over the contents of the basement, Pithy felt her brow rise. Rows upon rows of barrels spread throughout the room, giving the space a scent of old, damp wood covering over the smell of fruit.

Taking a short glance towards the stairs to ensure this was indeed the tower’s lowest level, she approached one of the lowest barrels. A faucet was affixed to the side facing her, and turning it released a stream of reddish liquid. Pithy shut off the faucet and knelt, dragging a finger across the floor where the liquid had spilt. She sniffed, then licked it, savoring the taste of the wine.

It seemed the tower had a cellar under it. Had Nero been indulging himself while playing the announcer? It would explain his whimsical manner. Pithy ruefully shook her head. That was hopeful thinking. She was fairly certain the man had been completely sober when they had met. What she had seen then was the face he presented to everyone else in the world.

The woman stood, giving the room a searching glance. A quick search around the room turned up no hidden exits or trap doors, nor did the floor show signs that barrels had been moved around to conceal an escape.

Wouldn’t that be convenient? If I found a simple path to follow leading to the College’s doorstep? Alas, she knew the world was not that generous. If Nero had left, he had done it through the front door while she had been cluelessly playing decoy to draw out their target while Dew had been sleeping.

There is nothing for me here.

Wordlessly giving up on the cellar, Pithy began the climb to the tower’s peak, the long walk punctuated by the sound of her heavy footfalls bouncing against the stone walls. She found the trapdoors barring progress unlocked and opened, evidence of her ally’s passage.

She found her ally at the room where they had confronted the Crucible’s announcer, his face illuminated by the light coming from the screen in front of him. He glanced at her as she approached, eyes going to the orb of light following her before returning his attention to her.

“Did you find anything?” she asked. With a gesture, the magelight floated up to the ceiling, fully illuminating the room with its cold, bluish light.

“Nope.” He shook his head. “Thought we might use the computers at least, but when I came up here, the thing was shut off. I got it to turn on again, but it’s password protected.”

Pithy moved closer, looking over his shoulder to see the squarish white message stating “Enter Password:” sitting idly at the top left of a black background. She thought back to the machines she had come across when she had first arrived at the city and felt her meager hope plummeting.

“Have you no way of unlocking it? You are clearly more familiar with this machinery than I am.”

“I’m not a hacker, lady,” he drawled, though the word itself did not tell her much. “I’d rather not be doing this.”

Pithy gave him an irritated glare. “I’d rather not be rummaging through Nero’s things either, Dew, but we lost the chance to follow him out.” Because of you, she wanted to add, but she swallowed down her bitterness.

The man grunted, a conflicted frown on his face. “Unless he wrote the password down somewhere in here, best I can do is guess at it. I tried looking with my lighter, but I didn’t find anything I would call a password. Hell, we don’t even know if the thing is related to Nero at all. Without anything to go on we could sit here guessing at it for days and still not get in. At least it looks like it won’t lock us out entirely even if we keep getting it wrong.”

Pithy drew back, bringing a hand up to massage her temple. What were her options? If there were no clues leading her to Nero’s whereabouts and she could not operate the machinery tracking the contestants, would she be relegated to waiting for her opponents to come for her? Contrary to the message the competitors had received, it had already become painfully clear that no drone would come to guide her, likely the last insult Nero would deliver onto her before he left the stage. That left going on the offensive and searching for her next enemy out of the table.

A long, frustrated sigh escaped her. “Keep guessing. I’ll see if I can find any other clues.”

“Seems like a waste of time to me.”

“Shut up and do it, Dew,” she snapped.

The man gave her a dissatisfied grimace before wordlessly turning to the machine. The sound of sinking keys quickly arose from the workstation.

Pithy let out an irritated huff and marched towards the supply cabinet Nero had used to blockade the room’s door earlier that day. There were clear signs that Dew had rummaged through it recently, but Pithy was not in a state of mind to care. Instead, she began methodically poring over the contents.

She found food and water aplenty for the room’s occupant, along with a small assortment of medicinal supplies. There were also numerous writing utensils, some she recognized and some she did not, along with multiple white sheets of that parchment that was so plentiful in these city’s buildings. A few contained a few notes written over them, and these she passed on to Dew, to little success. She also came across a map of the city, identical to the one she had seen on the machine’s screen earlier that day, but seeing nothing special about it, she returned it to its resting spot.

Nothing for me here…

Searching other cabinets and shelves was similarly fruitless.

Nothing…

Neither did trying to make sense of the tangle of cables coming from Nero’s announcer machinery did her any good.

Nothing at all…

Her eye turned to the lonely cot in the room. Nothing under the mattress. Nothing under the sheets. Nothing under the pillow. She was not even certain what she was looking for anymore.

She had drawn one of her knives, intent on gutting the pillow in her hand when something stopped her. It was the sight of a small, blonde hair, barely visible on the white fabric by the sliver of cold light reflecting from it.

It gave her an idea so simple that she was baffled it had not already crossed her mind.

And yet at the same time, I know exactly why I never considered it and option.

Spells and curses that used a catalyst to bind to a target where as old as the practice of magic itself. Particularly for curses, discarded hair, nails, skin and blood were popular tools when it came to binding curses to a target, but what she had in mind was simpler than that. A tracking spell, using the connection between the residues she could gather from the bed and Nero himself.

Most magic users with her knowledge of the arts would be hard-pressed to botch the spell. That said, the affinity of most magic users would not restrict them to the degree that Pithy's aspect did to her. She had not attempted this kind of spell in years for that very reason.

But what else could she do? At the very least, she had nothing to lose by attempting it.

Taking a slow breath, Pithy shifted her grip on the knife and leaned over the bed, next to a pillow. Instead of using the knife to gouge into it as she had originally intended, she slid the blade along its surface, brushing what hairs she could into her waiting palm.

Once she had enough, she sheathed the knife and produced the badger’s phylactery. She wrapped the hair around the needle, then drew her rapier.

“What are you doing? I’m sure it must be someone’s fetish, but collecting someone’s bed hair is kind of gross.”

Pithy glanced behind her, suddenly realizing that the sound of tapping buttons had been absent for the last few minutes. Dew was leaning on the back of the chair, studying her with a curious look. The mage glanced at what she had been working on, choosing to ignore the man’s latter comment.

“I am working on a spell. If it works, this pendulum should tilt towards Nero, wherever he is, giving us a way to follow him.”

“Really? Should have done that from the start, then.”

I would have if I did not think it will be a waste of time, she wanted to tell him. Rather than admitting as much, she said, “Quiet. I need to concentrate,” instead.

Wrapping the phylactery’s chain around her hand, she brought the heart closer to her rapier’s glowing blade. The spell began to form in her mind, and she began to draw onto the power she needed to mold.

She found resistance almost immediately. The power struggled against the shape she wanted to impose, seeking to twist into the crystalline lattice the came so naturally to it. She imposed her will against it, forcing it to conform to the weave in her mind, and little by little, she felt the power yield to her designs.

A barely audible crack reached her ears. A thin band of ice had replaced the strands of hair wrapped around the phylactery, and as she watched, the ice fractured and dispersed into tiny crystals. Without its focus, the spell lost its cohesion, leaving the power to disperse.

Pithy unwrapped the phylactery and let it dangle from her hand. It simply swung back and forth, tethered only to gravity.

Only a few seconds had passed while she worked her magic, but to Pithy, it felt like it had been minutes. She keenly felt Dew’s eyes on her. He must have realized by then that she had failed, but, uncharacteristically enough, he had remained quiet. For that, at least, she felt a grateful.

Sighing, she returned her attention to the failing spell. She was not so incompatible with the magic that she was completely unable to cast it, of that she was sure, but it seemed the raw materials she had available would not be able to survive the casting. Worse than that, if that was the reaction that the spell brought about, even if she succeeded at first, whatever she used as a focus for the connection would likely be worn down and frozen after a few seconds. Minutes, at best. This meant that the idea of creating a lasting connection to follow was flawed in the first place.

If that was the case, continuously acquiring the relative direction of her target would be useless. If she could acquire more information that the heading in a single instant, however…

Her mind went to the map she had seen on the screen earlier that day, with the dots representing the Crucible’s competitors.

Drawing a sudden gasp, Pithy darted towards the cabinet and pulled the map she had found. She studied it carefully, ensuring it matched with what she knew of the city and and of the map she had seen that afternoon. If she wanted this to work, she would need a proper representation of the space her magic would search.

Nodding to herself, Pithy took a pencil from the cabinet and moved to the center of the room. There, she set the two items down. Next, she pointed her rapier at the ground. A thin sheet of ice began to form around the map, encircling it in a ring. Three outer rings joined the first, followed by a series of interlocking patterns that connected them. Several of the patterns had been taken from magical relics she had studied, and she knew that the power they shaped would serve to remove outside interference and filter out as much of the disruptive influence of her aspect as possible.

Once she was satisfied with the ritual circle, she turned towards the bed and once again gathered the raw materials for her magic. Once she thought she had enough, she walked towards the circle and sat cross-legged at its edge. She set her rapier over her lap. One hand she held against the blade and its faintly glowing runes, while the other, the one which held Nero’s hair, was held palm facing up, the back of the hand resting on the sword.

Staring intently at the map before her, she began to formulate the spell. Once again, she began to draw the swirling power from its wellspring, and once again she felt resistance. It was stronger than before, her spell more complex, it’s goal more ambitious, but still she set about enforcing her will. The patterns in the circle began crackled in response, and the ice began to spread ever so slowly between them as her magic’s influence steadily distorting the barriers she had created. It was not unexpected. While they remained, she could continue to mold the power to her needs.

Just as the spell was about to reach completion, Pithy felt a lurch in her stomach. That is… a disconnect. Something’s off. Pithy scowled, attempting to stave off her panic. If she dismissed the spell now, the leftover energy would destroy the map, but the same would happen if she tarried too long trying to cast her magic.

Only one ring was left untouched, so she closed her eyes in an attempt to better sense where the mistake had happened. She tuned out unnecessary information, letting the sounds of her breathing and heartbeat recede to the background. Then, one by one she identified the segments of the spell that had already been finalized properly.

It was then that she saw it, clear as day once all distractions had been removed. There was a problem with the representation of the spell’s sphere of influence. It’s the map, she thought. There’s something wrong with the map, like a spike was driven at its center, as though there’s supposed to be a… a hole.

That morning, there had been an explosion powerful enough to send shockwaves to the underground of the Justice Hub. It must have been large enough to significantly alter the terrain in part of the city. The good thing was the discrepancy in her magic told her exactly where.

Pithy opened her eyes. The last ring had been breached, and branches of ice spread over the floor, seeming to stretch like snakes trying to lunge at the map at their center. Pithy murmured a word and a circle of ice formed over the downtown area of the map, and this magic eager to take form at her command.

That was enough.

The ice stopped its spread, and Pithy felt the enchantment snap into place. There was only one step left. The mage looked down at her open palm. The bundle of hair and dead skin remained there, rigid and frozen. She knew the slightest movement would make them crumble. This time, it was as she intended.

Pithy leaned forward and blew over her open hand, and the bundle of residue fell apart like a sand castle. The particles flew out, making circles over the map until, one by one, they all landed over the same place in the map.

Rushing forward so quickly that her rapier clattered off to her side, Pithy took the pencil she had set beside the map and marked the spot with an ‘X’.

The woman paused. She stared at the mark she had drawn for a long time, as though it would disappear if she so much as blinked. Yet she closed and opened her eye, once, twice, thrice, and when the mark continued to stare back at her from the piece of parchment, finally, Pithy sat back.

She forced herself to take slow, deep breaths. She almost wanted to laugh. So much effort for such a simple cantrip. Had she not been certain that Dew knew little to nothing about the inner workings of magic in general, she would have been embarrassed.

That hardly mattered, of course. What mattered was that they had a lead now. One she had fashioned from the ether.

“Must have worked,” Dew said from his perch, a smile smug on his lips. “Never thought I’d see you smile like that.”

The remark made her expression harden, drawing a disappointed “Aw,” from her companion. Ignoring him, she drew forward and took the map. The section she had frozen split away with almost no resistance, remaining stuck on the floor at the center of a disk of crystal.

She handed the map to Dew. “The X loosely marks his current location,” she explained as she picked up her rapier and stood. “As large as this city is, I can’t be sure he is exactly where I marked him, and he might have left by the time we get there.”

The man frowned, considering, then shrugged. “Better than nothing, I guess. Let’s go see what the douchebag’s been up to.”

The Crucible - Winner Take All

Hidden from sight, at the very back of the room, Mountain Dew sat waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

He had taken a bunch of office chairs from the building he had holed himself up in and had arrayed them all around him. He was currently sitting atop one of them, resting his feet atop another. Dorito bags rested on the few chairs next to him. A few were already empty.

His sniper rifle was in his lap, and he would occasionally peek into the scope to peer into the window of the tower up ahead. Moving with his injured arm had been painful at first, but in the few hours since the battle, the pain had diminished considerably.

That said, every time he saw Nero sitting at his desk, looking into the screens. Occasionally, he could pick him out speaking into a microphone.

Pithy had given him a sphere of ice, instructing him to break it if he thought Nero had left his post and had then proceeded to leave him there. He had simply chucked it into his hammerspace. Last he had checked, the thing had still not began to melt, but with how things were going, by the time Nero decided to up and move, the crystal ball would probably be gone.

“This is so fucking monotonous I sometimes think I’ll look into the sights and find the ass flipping me off. Hell, that ice queen might as well be standing next to him doing the same thing. She would too, if she knew what it meant. What a bitch.”

No romance option for this one, like way back when Bioware had yet to fall to Electronic Arts evil schemes, that was for sure. The woman was more liable to freeze something off if approached the wrong way than anything else. He had held some hope when he was forced into her party, but he was only a few hours into the route and he already had a feeling he knew how this character would turn out.

“Doesn’t help that I actually have to put an effort into voicing my thoughts when the bitch is around. Manages to cheat in a tourney match and hexes me afterwards. Good thing it goes away when she’s not around. Let it out, man. Let it out before she comes back and you can’t tell her about how stupid those pointy ears look on her.”

He shifted and dug a hand into another bag of nacho cheese goodness and brought it to his mouth, relishing the flavor. This world needed more of that. A surefire way to tell that a world was superior was by the amount of tortilla chips in the universe, which surely marked his own universe as the best of all. Why, he wasn’t sure why he insisted on staying. It certainly wasn’t the sudden pain in his chest that accompanied the thought, as though something had gripped his heart and threatened to crush it like some curse in a weeabo show, no siree. Anyone who said that should be smacked with a hammer, yes siree.

Mountain grunted and looked into the scope again. Seeing no changes, he put down the sniper again, and brought the one thing that made this stakeout bearable. He breathed deep, feeling smoke fill his lungs, and then exhaled, letting out a sweet-smelling cloud. With a lop-sided smile, he looked at the rolled-up paper in his hand. Seeing as he expected he’d be there for a few hours, he had made sure to make it last.

“Been saving these for the right time, and what time is righter than this time to blaze it, ice queen be damned. Bitch told me to keep a look out for Nero, but she sure as hell didn’t mention I needed to be sober while I did it. Heh. Gottim.”

Leaning back in a relaxed position, he closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the syrupy buzz that had slowly begun to fill his head.

---

Jo could not say for how long she had been lying next to the freezing girl. Minutes, hours or days, the white landscape remained the same, the sourceless lighting that permeated the fog neither receding nor giving clues as to the time of day.

Neither had the state of the girl changed, the cold feeling of her bare skin as permanent a fixture to the scene as the light regardless of the badger’s attempts to warm her with her fur or the strange fire. The thought that nothing would happen if she waited had occurred to her, but she was not certain when it had become a certainty. Certainly long before she finally decided to leave the girl to her resting place.

The little badger stood, looking out at the white nothingness. There had to be something else out there. A town, or a settlement, with people that could help her find her way and take care of the girl she had found. It wasn’t possible for the two of them to be the only living beings in these freezing wastes, she told herself, but she could not help but feel a niggling doubt that.

Once the badger began walking again, it did not take long before a glance back revealed nothing but cloudy white, the girl and fire swallowed by the mist. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she was not doing the wrong thing by leaving the girl. Already her trail in the snow was disappearing behind her. Would she be able to find her again if she strayed too far?

The answer came back to her quickly and easily. The mysterious pyre still tugged at her gut, as though calling out to her when her thoughts turned towards it. Finding that fire would not be an issue, she realized, and so she continued.

For minutes, hours and days.

Once again, the white robbed her of her feeling of time. She tried counting her steps, but her short legs sunk into the snow, making it so that her gait was rough and uneven.

Instead she took to counting her breaths. One in, one out, focusing her mind on that so she would not have to think of the cold on her limbs or the exhaustion that had begun to assail her at a certain point in her journey.

No hunger or thirst, however, which made sense if she had died and turned into some kind of ghost, but then why did she feel so tired?

“Ah.”

Jo let out a small gasp. Something ahead had drawn her attention, and the little badger approached, the irregularity in her surroundings drawing clearer and clearer as she moved closer.

It was a grown person, lying on the snow face down. They must have collapsed recently, for the white particles had only just began accumulating over it. Most of the body was covered by dark hair and torn, vibrant blue mantle. The clothing filled her with familiarity.

Approaching the body, Jo turned it over.

At this point, she was not surprised to see the face of the one who had killed her, but the fact still confused her. Much as she remembered, a strange mask of ice covered half the woman’s face, and a single eye blue eye stared blankly up to the sky. It was undoubtedly the woman she had faced, though it seemed as though she had continued battling after she had defeated Jo. Her clothing was ragged, and there was a red splotch coating one of her pantlegs that had not been present when Jo had encountered her. She had no weapons on her. Pressing a paw against her neck revealed no pulse.

Dead.

Jo scowled, shaking her head. First the child and now this corpse? Why did she keep seeing her face? What had this woman done to her? Had killing her not been enough?

After a silent moment of brooding over the issue, the badger shook her head again and reached towards the woman’s neck, unclasping the cloak. Once she had pulled it out from under the corpse and wrapped it around herself, a relieved sigh escaped her lips. It was warm. She was not sure how, but it was warm.

There was no problem with her taking it, was there? After all, the woman had taken her gun after she had killed… her…

Jo frowned. It had been after, had it not? She could not recall the small necklace being pried from her neck before she electrocuted herself, so where had that thought come from?

She turned towards the body again, intending to give it a more thorough examination, but there was nothing there anymore. Suddenly wary, Jo glanced around, but saw only white around her. The wind was the only thing that moved.

Cursing under her breath, Jo moved away, deciding to continue her trek in the snow even as she threw occasional glances behind her, to where a corpse had once rested.

---

Minutes after the message left by the announcer had finished, Pithy heard the tell-tale sound of a firearm thundering in the distance.

She brought her hand to the device hanging from her neck on instinct. That was not a sound she wanted to hear.

“What are you doing, Dew?” she whispered to herself. Killing Nero had not been part of the plan. She had explicitly told him to keep watch for any movement and to alert her if the announcer left his post. Furthermore, she had explicitly given him a method to do as much that would not raise the alarm of everyone in the general area. What could have happened for him to fire his weapon?

A moment later, there was a prickling sensation at the back of her mind. The discomfort quickly lessened, replaced instead by a tug in the direction of the place she had left her ally. Pithy immediately set off, moving as quickly as she dared in the growing darkness. She found her eyes darting towards the darkness of allies and street corners, expecting something to jump out at her, drawn in by the announcement that had blared from her phylactery.

Already she had had an encounter with some of the local fauna when she had come across a small group of what she could only assume were a novice’s attempt at making chimeras. Creatures with bodies of mangy, street mutts and the enlarged heads of crows had jumped at her as she moved through the streets. They had died readily enough to her magic, and she had not seen any since then, but much like the bat creatures in the Justice Hub, she kept expecting to see the monsters when she rounded the corners of the increasingly dark city.

The feeling was not helped by the thought that had long since gripped her mind. There was something wrong.

Having reason to believe that Nero would not make a move until nighttime began to approach, Pithy had taken the chance to both plan and to replace some of the articles of clothing that had been enlarged beyond practicality after the mage had ‘mended’ them. Raiding a building singled out by Dew as a ‘clothing store’ had netted her a veritable mountain of apparel, and she had quickly found suitable replacements for her leggings and boots. Her dueling gloves, however, had been designed specifically for her, and as such had been discarded entirely.

Once she was no longer forced to wander in clothes meant for a person several times her own size, she returned to the vicinity of the tower. The first thing she had done had been to instruct Dew to go to a place where he could see into the announcer’s room, to alert her if the man left, and to continue tracking him after that. Since Nero could track her position, it made little sense for him to remain with her until he had been separated from the machines inside the tower.

For that same reason, she herself had to be the bait. Pithy had no doubt that Nero would know she was waiting for him, and would be looking for chances to slip by undetected. In that case, the best she could do was give him such a chance at her own discretion.

She had chosen a place where she could keep watch of the tower’s doors. Then, after she deemed enough time had gone past, she had moved away from her perch, taking a route that ensured she had no visibility of the announcer’s escape route, and found herself another place from which to keep watch. If Nero attempted to leave, he would have to do it while she was moving. When no signal came from her appointed lookout, she had simply repeated her ploy.

The chimeras had appeared on the second trip along with a nagging feeling that something was off. Grudgingly, she had chosen to trust the man she had defeated would follow her instructions, but when she had heard his weapon, her apprehension had come back at full force.

Finally, as she rounded a corner to follow the tugging feeling in her mind, she saw Mountain Dew emerge from a building. He turned at her approach, and she felt a pit form in her stomach at the way his expression twisted into a grimace when he saw her.

Pithy stopped a few paces away, suddenly losing her desire to come closer. “What happened?”

Dew brought a hand up, rubbing his neck in an awkward fashion. He stepped back, seeming to chew on the words before he spoke. “Alright, Pithy, don’t be mad.”

She felt her jaw set. How could one not grow irritated by that response? We lost Nero. The thought came unbidden, but there was no stopping it. There were few reasons why those words would come out of his mouth.

“About what, Dew?” and when he saw the way his eyes trailed away from her, as if trying to think, she added “Don’t you dare lie. Where’s Nero?”

“I don’t know.” He admitted, for a moment looking baffled by how easily the words had come out.

Pithy brought a fist to her forehead as Dew confirmed her fears. She closed her eye and took in a deep breath, trying to hold in her frustration, before uttering a single, accusatory word. “How?”

The silence that answered her was the last thing she wanted to hear.

Pithy opened her good, coolly regarding the man. “I do not wish to be cross with you, but you are making it difficult. Let’s start with something simpler, then. It was you I heard fire earlier, correct?”

“Yes. Seen any other snipers recently?” he answered, losing some of his previous sheepishness.

“Why?”

The man’s expression twisted. “A bit ago I noticed Nero was not sitting at his desk. Couldn’t see him anywhere, so I shot inside the room to see if I could spook him out of hiding.”

Pithy gave him a baffled look. “Why would you do that? I explicitly told you to call me if something like that happened.”

Dew’s brows furrowed. “I did. Smashed your little toy like you told me to.”

“That does not explain why you did that after you took a shot at the tower, nor why you aren’t up there tracking him.”

“That’s because I’m not sure when he left.”

The admission put a momentary halt to Pithy’s thoughts. How can he not know? He must have a general idea of when Nero left simply by knowing the last time he saw him. Unless… It was then that it dawned on her. She stepped closer. “Did you fall asleep?”

Mountain Dew drew back slightly, looking away from her. Was he ashamed? He well damn ought to be. Taking another step closer to him, she caught a whiff of a strangely sweet smell. It was not the only thing she noticed.

Suddenly, she grabbed his face in her hands, pulling him closer. Her thumbs roughly pulled at the skin on his cheeks.

“Your hands are cold!” he protested.

“Why are your eyes so red?” Now that she was this close, the stench was almost overbearing. At once, she realized what it was. Her eyes widened, her anger overshadowed only by her awe at this man’s stupidity. “Are you drugged? Did you drug yourself?”

The man tried to pull away, but Pithy’s nails pressed on his skin, making him wince. “Jeez, I know you’re the medieval fantasy lady but talking to you like this is a pain in the ass. It’s high, baked or stoned, thank you very much. Okay, maybe it didn’t mix too well with the painkillers.”

Pithy loosened her grip on Dew’s face, dumbstruck. Her fingers slowly traced down, and for a moment, Pithy found herself entertaining the notion of wrapping her hands around the fool’s neck and throttling him. Instead, her hands continued to move down, until they held a tight grip on his shirt.

“He eluded us. Because of you…” She had lost the one lead that they had into the designs of those who sought to meddle with the Crucible. Despite her making it clear just how important this matter was to her. She could have understood it had the man been distracted or outsmarted by the mage in the tower, but to willingly impair his faculties and fall asleep while she needed him to keep a careful eye out fell outside what she was willing to believe. And yet she had no choice but to do so. Her voice sounded hoarse to her ears as she spoke. “I put my trust in you. I thought you could handle this one task. Damn you, Dew, if Nero really intends to do something while the tournament is still underway your slip might cost me my life.”

“Pfft. Don’t feed me that crap.” The man rolled his eyes. “Nero might’ve bought your convenient sob story back in the tower, but I bet you just told him that so he’d do what you said.”

Pithy felt her blood go cold, strength leaving her grip on the man’s clothes. She did not stop him when he pulled away. “Oh?” she said softly, feigning disinterest even as she felt a horrendous headache come over her. “And what might my wish be, Dew, since you know me so well?”

“Unlimited power or something like that wouldn’t surprise me one bit,” he answered, irritably. “You got the villain shtick going for you even if you try to play it off. You even have what might as well be a demonic red hand sticking right out of your face. Cure gone wrong my ass, I bet that came from an insane experiment.”

The answer was so dreadfully predictable, she had not truly expected it to come from the man’s mouth. But why not? Many a sorcerer lived for their art, seeking to refine it until all its mysteries laid bare before them. Why, a conjurer that reached such mastery over their own element would be nothing short of a god, and what was unlimited power but the power to do whatever one wished? The idea stole a laugh from her, bitter and filled with loathing.

“I see, I see. So that is how you see the one who bested you. Why not?” she agreed with a dark glint in her eye. “I have never given you reason to think differently.” Indeed, the idea was attractive. So attractive, in fact, that in a moment of passion she could have grasped at that power even if it had no ability to save her. After all, if she could use such a thing, everything would become fair. Death was the ultimate equalizer for all things.

If only things had been fair to start with. She could not understand why things had begun as they had. She was so frustrated that she could not understand it.

“I don’t understand” she found herself saying it out loud, and then she was unable to stop. “It is something I have seen all my life, and yet I still can’t make sense of it. I have given so much… I have broken traditions and laws, been cut off from my roots and put my life on the line so many times only to earn myself the right that so many take for granted, to have at least a chance at living as one of one’s own kind would. Yet every time I share this burden, I am met with disbelief, pity, and even disdain, but never action, never aid.” She did not know when she had done it, but she was face to face with the man again. Her hands were balled in his clothing, trembling, and she had pushed him against the wall. She felt something warm and wet under her good eye, and she could not bear to think of what it might be—that feeling her schemes and chances crumbling in such an absurd way could have awakened such helplessness inside her.

“Every time, it is people like you,” she told him in a hoary whisper, accentuating the last syllable as though speaking a curse. “It is always people like you who act as if the right they were freely given at birth was something I am supposed to earn. Well, I am trying. Some do not even get the chance, so what kind of scum would I be if I didn’t? I have been trying for decades without rest, because every time I let my guard down and allow routine to set in, every time I allow myself to catch a glimpse of the life I am fighting for, years go by in the blink of an eye and I realize yet again that I cannot keep up with the speed your kind goes through life. No, I am tired beyond words of trying to keep up, but I must. The alternative is death.” She gritted her teeth. “Once upon a time, I might well have done as you said, if only so that I might have gained the ability to wipe everyone like you off the face of existence. Stars know I gave it my best attempt in another life.”

“So?” Dew met her gaze. “What changed since then?”

“I finally realized that you are not worth the effort.” This she spouted with all her venom, putting behind the words the weight of a century-old grudge in the making. “And as for why I won’t kill you specifically…” She pushed herself away, letting Dew steady himself. Pithy herself turned away, taking the chance to rub her sleeve against her cheek, to replace the armor that had, for a moment, cracked. “You are my only ally. Even if it is against your will. Even if you despise me for it. I will have you fulfill that duty until I have achieved my goal, or died trying.

“Now follow.” With that, she began to walk.

“Wait!” he called out. “What are you doing?”

“We head for the tower. If there are any leads to be found, that is where we’ll find them.”

The Three Realms War [A DMC, Bayonetta and Darksiders RP]

Fenn’s lips pulled back, displaying his teeth at the change in the little lord’s disposition. He had recognized the bird from their previous assault on an angel stronghold, though at that time the angel had only managed to deliver a warning threat before he was led away by a certain witch that had been following him and the imp.

Whether this change in attitude had been borne of recognition or from pride, the disdain Fenn felt in the words would have been enough for him to jump at the angel’s throat in different circumstances. It was because circumstances were as they were that his irritation at the little lord’s threat was overshadowed by his amazement of the angel’s short-sightedness, and his disappointment for the Nephilim half-breed for throwing his lot with them.

“Your master is a damned fool,” the hound growled, addressing the angel champion flanking the smaller one. “You should stab his head on a pike, before he visits that fate on the lot of you.”

“Watch your tongue, mutt,” he answered. “You are not being spoken to.”

The hound snorted rudely, returning his attention to the little lord. “You were not present for the sundering of the first seal, where in their zealousness to prevent its destruction, two groups sharing the same goals confronted each other in a meaningless battle and furnished the enemy with the tools they required for its destruction. And now, because we refuse to repeat the latter mistake, you wish to pursue the former?” Even through the hound’s lupine features, his disgust at the smaller angel was palpable. His eyes turned to regard Lily and he commented, loud enough for all to hear. “It would seem we must trade one mistake for another, Imp. Mayhaps we would be better served by leaving and allowing these fools to do as they please. Perhaps then they shall have none to blame but themselves for their failings.”

“Now, now, Fenn. Let us not be hasty,” Lily chimed in with a chilly smile. She stepped into his periphery, eyeing him shortly before turning her attention to the angel, smile vanishing. “I do not appreciate you threatening those I care for, Kushiel. Not now. Not ever, especially not when there are far bigger fish out there than you or I.” Her brows furrowed and she took half a step forward, just enough to put herself in between her companions and Kushiel. ”Sevrin is out there. He destroyed the first Seal, stole the Yamato, and he is on his way here.

“The snake has been here. We had best hope he has not left.”

Lily ignored Fenn save a brief glance, letting him know that she knew. “If you are still incapable of thinking past your own ego and insist on attacking us, then I will gladly kill every single one of you to keep your war from engulfing this realm.”

She raised her hand and the air started to shift and shimmer as if heating up. A crack split the silence following her words, a long, black spear, cracked with crimson lines from butt to the dark-metal blade materialized in her hand. She slammed the weapon into the ground hard enough to crack the stone underneath. “Our job is to stop him from destroying the seal, and I will do anything to stop that from happening. So I give you this, Kushiel. Leave your petty animosity by the wayside and help us find Sevrin. Or don’t, let him destroy the seal, and come one step closer to see everything we’ve all worked for come undone.”

The Crucible - Winner Take All

@LugubriousBeen busy with homework and exams. I expect this weekend I'll have some time to properly sit down and finish my post.

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

Not long after she had taken her seats, the rest of the students began to file into the classroom. Sand gave them curious, cursory glances as they passed by the door until one of them met her eyes and began walking in her direction.

She straightened herself from her slouch as one of the few people she was acquainted with in Beacon approached her. Trad leaned himself against the barbell behind her, looking for all intents and purposes like he had just come from running a marathon.

“Need a spotter?”

After a moment of looking pensively at the weights, Sand shrugged. “Maybe in a minute,” she answered seriously to Trad’s teasing tone, pausing to take in his disheveled state. He must have seen the question in her eyes, for he quickly produced an explanation.

“A Dioanea,” she repeated. She knew of the monster, but had never had a chance to see one in person. Dryly, she added, “That is a Reisen. It’s reassuring to know Grimm Studies professors are unreasonable no matter the continent.”

She thought she had heard the other students mention the Grimm in passing, and even though the more rational side of her felt a measure of relief that she had been spared from facing a Reisen on her first day of class since transferring, Sand found herself wishing she had not been delayed that morning. An encounter against a giant Grimm would have been a prime opportunity to stretch her limbs and see what was expected of Beacon students in her year. The thought only grew stronger when Trad mentioned how he and Robert had struggled with the beast.

For all the talk of impromptu decapitation Trad seemed no worse for the wear where it counted, but Robert was not around for her to examine. With the redhead’s track record in mind, a thought occurred to her. Could it be that he’s not here because…

Trad’s second question headed her off, and she found herself mildly irritated by the memory of the last few hours. In all honesty, her morning had been a bore and was completely unworthy of discussion.

“Something like that. I don’t think I’ll be missing any more classes because of it, at least,” she assured. Sand waved a hand dismissively, not wanting to bore someone else with the details of her enrollment and continued, her mind coming back to her previous concern. “On the topic of classes, where are the others? Don’t tell me Robert managed to land himself in the infirmary again.”

@Awesomoman64

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

Sand slowed as she neared what she thought was the PE classroom. She produced her Scroll in one hand, ensuring that the room number above the door was the same as the one marked in her schedule, and leaned in past the frame. Her peeking revealed the training equipment she had been expecting, along with a few students already inside, but no professor.

She supposed that was good. Must have meant she was not late, and she’d have some time to herself before the class started.

Readjusting the strap on her duffel bag, she strode into the room, beelining towards one of the empty benches. She took her seat there, setting her bag down next to herself. Seeing as she had missed the Grimm Studies class, some of the bulk inside like the extra change of clothes she had packed would likely go unused, but that detail was hardly worth thinking about at that point.

Instead, she glanced at the other students in the room, listening to the few snippets of their conversation that reached her. Seeing them together, she found herself wondering if any of her teammates was enrolled in this class.

She frowned slightly.

Perhaps I should have made more of an effort to learn their schedules. Sharing class could have been a good excuse to learn more about them. Or everyone could focus on their own tasks and not share a word. Hard to say without knowing how the class is taught.

Sand hummed and gave the barbell behind her a searching glance, wondering if she should simply start training on her own while she waited, but quickly discarded the idea. She was not so terribly impatient that she could not wait a few minutes for their professor.

Instead, she leaned forwards, resting her arms against her knees in a relaxed posture while she continued to idly eavesdrop on the other students.

Heroes of Beacon - Contest of Champions

Well, it's not a particularly silly or creative change, but I've had this other version of my character in my head for a while now, so let me cobble up a quick bio.

Sand Vespa (civilian)

Name: Sand Vespa
Age: 19
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Appearance:
Sand stands at 5’9’’, with a lean body maintained largely through work. This is particularly apparent when one looks at the muscles on her arms. Her skin has a dark, bronze hue, complimented by her inky black hair. She typically wears her hair pulled back into a small, messy pony tail, but when letting it down, Sand often parts it at the center, letting the slick, shoulder length locks frame the sides of her face. Her narrow, coffee colored eyes would give her a permanently tired, displeased expression were it not for the remnants of baby fat that soften her features.

When at work, it is not rare to see her wearing dark overalls over a gray T-shirt a size too big for her, but When not on duty, she typically favors jeans and shirts with subdued colors such as gray or dull greens.

Weapon: Sand is not a combatant in any real sense of the word, and so she does not own weapons in the same sense as Huntsmen and Huntresses. That said, if asked about her weapons, her mind would typically go to the tools of her trade. Woe be to whoever angers her while she’s working with a wrench.

Semblance: Sand has never been trained to fight or use her aura, and as such, whatever Semblance she might possess is a mystery to her. However, she takes great pride in her driving skills, to the point where she has been known to handle any vehicle she has sat in like a professional only minutes after seeing the controls.

A friend of the neighborhood calls this her Riding A skill, but refuses to explain the joke when asked.

Personality: Sand has a largely introverted personality, shunning crowds in favor of solitude or small gatherings. Small talk is not her forte, and she is more than willing to let other people carry out the conversation for her, only letting out short questions or hums indicating the other may continue when it is appropriate of her. The more people join the conversation, the more content she is to sit back and listen. This, combined with interests that often made her the odd one out compared to other girls in her age bracket, made it so that while growing up she cultivated some polite, cordial relationships but very few close, lasting friendships.

That said, people she is comfortable with often know her as a sarcastic woman with a penchant for theatrics. Those who manage to fluster her are often treated to a brusque, stand-offish personality that is a far cry from the usually calm and collected Sand.

History:

Sand was the single daughter of a family of Hunters with roots in Vacuo. Both her parents were born and trained in the desert kingdom, working as Hunters in the same team until Sand was conceived. Soon after learning about the incoming baby, the pair moved to Vale and retired from active duty to take care of their daughter. For a time, they enrolled in a nearby Combat School as instructors.

As can be expected, Sand’s recollections of that time are hazy at best, though to her combined amusement and bafflement, she recalls being infuriatingly fussy, stubborn and capricious when she was little.

When Sand was around 5 years old, her parents made the decision to return to their duties as Huntsmen, and would often leave Sand under the care of a friend of the family who worked as a car mechanic while they were gone. One year later, catastrophe struck. An accident befell a team of hunters out in the field. Sand’s parents numbered among the casualties. She remembers a lot of crying, and disbelief at the idea that her parents would not return to her.

It was later discovered that her parents, knowing the dangers of their profession, had drafted a will leaving all their possessions to her. Since neither her father nor mother had any family in Vale, the mechanic, whose name was Allen, was nominated as her legal guardian.

Allen provided her with a home and, once Sand began to recover from the shock of her loss, a surrogate father figure. Soon enough, she began taking interest in the things he did, and the man was eager to show her some tricks of the trade. However, the man had no significant other at that point in life, meaning that he had to take on both the role of a mother and father in Sand’s eyes. Later, once Sand was older, he told her that one of his worries while raising her was the fact that she only had men around her at home while growing up.

As she grew up, Sand toyed with the idea of joining a combat school and following in her late parents’ footsteps. It was Allen’s warnings, as well as her intimate knowledge of what end would most likely await her if she followed that path, that ultimately dissuaded her. Instead, she received a common education, with additional instruction from Allen when she told him she wanted to learn more about his business.

Once she graduated, she continued working in the repair shop as his apprentice.

I also wrote a little one-off with the character a few days ago after the contest idea came up in discord, so I might as well leave it here.

Bonus - Sandy Driver

“You could help me, you know.”

Sounds of metal clicking and clattering occasionally rose came from under the car, occasionally interrupted by a feminine voice.

The other occupant in the room hummed as if in agreement, but he made no move to rise from his chair, engrossed as must have been by that day’s newspaper.

“You told Mr. Akers we’d have his car fixed by this afternoon, but it’s me who’s been slaving away under the damned thing for the whole weekend.”

There was a sound of shifting paper, signaling that the man’s reading material had been put down, and his voice reached under the car. “It took you longer than I expected, honestly. And here I thought I’d taught you better.”

The woman under the vehicle grunted and shifted, sliding her way out and sitting up. Sand’s coffee colored eyes met the man sitting by the wall. He was pale and heavy-set, his ginger-colored hair and beard streaked throughout by gray strands.

“You didn’t even look at this mess before you foisted it on me,” she groused, wiping her hands on the pants of her dark overalls before wiping the sweat on her brow with the back of her hand. The way the corner of Allen’s lips twitched as he looked at her told her she must have been sporting a dark streak on her forehead at that point. She sniffed and glanced at the newspaper resting atop the nearby tool bench. “Anything interesting in there?”

“I was looking at a recent article. Apparently, a team of students from Beacon Academy ran into trouble in a mission.”

“Trouble?” she prodded out of habit, letting the man carry the conversation. Truth be told, she was not terribly interested in the topic. Speaking of Huntsmen and Grimm tended to leave her in a foul mood, after all. Perhaps more now than it had some years ago, when she had seriously considered training as a Huntress herself.

“One dead, another in critical condition.”

“You reap what you sow,” she said. What other end could people in that profession expect, after all? This was something she knew well. Nonetheless, Sand winced inwardly when she replayed the words in her mind. She ignored the pointed look Allen was throwing her way as she stood. “Car should be fine now,” she told him.

“Great.” A pleased smile replaced the man’s frown, and he pulled a key from his pocket. “We’re cutting it close, but we should probably give it a test ride.”

“You mean I should give it a test ride,” she corrected him, putting on airs of offense as she took the key from him. Even though they both knew she would have it no other way after taking the order by herself. Not to mention that the man’s driving was apt to leave the vehicle in a worse condition than when it had been handed to them.

“If you insist,” he said with a wry smile. “But don’t take too long. Akers will be back in a couple of hours.”

---

She did not leave immediately, first taking a chance to wash her hands and face and to exchange her dirty overalls with a pair of jeans, but soon enough she was driving down the streets of Vale.

Though at first she remained close to the shop, running the usual circuit around the block in case the thing somehow broke down and she was forced to push it, she quickly gained in confidence. The car took her direction well, the breaks responding with no issues and the clattering noises that had come from under the hood when they had first received the vehicle all but gone.

Sand took a moment to adjust the rear-view mirror, her gaze lingering on the black hair she had tied into a simple tail. A few years ago, she had taken to dying it blonde, liking the contrast it created against her darker skin, but since she had begun regularly working in the repair shop, the frequency with which she needed to wash her hair simply to get the scent of exhaust and grease off it had made dying it too much of a hassle. Even then her hair had acquired an oily slickness, making it seem as though it was permanently wet.

Luckily, the purring of the engine was enough to ease her slight irritation. Letting out a pleased hum, she turned on the following street, driving further away. She still had time before the owner of the car would pick it up. It was largely an excuse to while some time away in the unfamiliar vehicle, but she thought it would be a good chance to get some groceries while she was at it.

The market she chose was farther than the one she usually frequented, but then again, reaching her destination had not really been the point of the journey. Even then the drive felt much too short as she pulled over on the opposite side of the street.

Sand straightened on her seat, engaging the handbrake and turning off the ignition, but just as she was about to take the keys, when a sound like thunder swept past the closed windows. She froze, looking at the building she had parked in front of. She saw a bank, as she knew she would. Part of the reason she sometimes went to this marketplace was that there were readily available ATMs right on the other side of the street, but it wasn’t these that had drawn her attention.

Inside, she could see people in suits moving about. Masked people, with carrying duffle bags and holding something dark and squarish in their free hands. Alarm bells going off in her mind, Sand lowered her head so she could not be easily seen from the car windows. She swore under her breath. A damned bank robbery. Of all things, she’d somehow parked next to a bank robbery. What was she supposed to do? In the background, she heard a car start up and drive past her, and what a smart choice that was.

Do I just leave? She could do it. No one had seen her, and she hadn’t seen anything that would make the robbers go after her. The thought sparked a seed of self-loathing inside her. Some Huntress I would have made, she told herself bitterly, but the thought brought something else to mind.

Struggling to keep her hands from shaking, she pulled out her scroll and dialed a number. When the other side picked up, she didn’t bother waiting to be greeted before she spoke into the device. “I ran into a bank robbery.”

“Could you repeat that, Ma’am?”

She had to keep herself from snapping at the phone. Instead, she explained “I parked in front of a bank, and saw people with guns. The address is— ” When she looked up to see the building number, she saw three men running out of the bank, duffel bags filled to the brim in their hands and what must have been halloween skull masks covering their faces.

“Where the hell’s Ronald!?” one of them shouted. Sand swore, putting her phone back into her jeans’ pockets.

The sound of police sirens began filtering into her ears. It seemed an alarm had been tripped, or someone had already notified the authorities. I should’ve just left, dammit!

“Idiot probably heard the shots and bolted. I told you we shouldn’t have brought him along!”

Sand belatedly realized that the car she had heard leaving a few moments ago must have been this crew’s getaway driver leaving the scene. She did not have a lot of time to think about it before one of the men his face towards her. She did not need to see his eyes through the mask to know he was looking straight at her.

“You!”

“Nononono…” she mouthed, the car’s engine coming to life as she twisted the ignition, but before she had a chance to flee, the man had reached the window on the passenger’s side and slammed his weapon against it.

The window burst open, making her wince, and the man pointed the pistol at her. “Hands in the air, lady.”

Sand obliged, finding she had no desire to get shot in that particular day. She looked at the barrel of the weapon with wide eyes, realizing that it had never crossed her mind that she might one day end up on the business end of a firearm. The sirens sounded a lot closer now, though she wasn’t sure that was because she about to be saved or because the window was gone.

“Good. Now get out and leave the keys. We’re taking the car.”

Of course they’re taking the car. Why else did I spend my week fixing it than to have it become the get-away car of a bank robbery!? her thoughts fumed, but her now openly shaking hands went to work on the seatbelt. Extremely clumsily. Her fingers kept slipping when she pushed on the release.

“Hurry up!” The man crowding her with the pistol urged.

“I’m trying, dammit!” Her frustration momentarily overriding her fear as she failed to release the damned strap. Is it stuck? The thing’s supposed to keep me alive, not get me killed!

“Dude, just shoot her!” the second man called. “We don’t have time for this!”

“And make things even worse for ourselves?” the third one shouted back.

The first one hanged his head, giving Sand the distinct impression that his eyes were closed in thought. A moment later, he unlocked the front door and forced his way into the passenger seat. “Alright. You drive.”

Sand was too shocked to register the other two men breaking into the back seats. “W-what!?”

“Either you drive, or I shoot you and take the car! Now go!”

Sand sent a pleading look at the rearview mirror, seeing the red and blue lights beginning to peak around the corner, but the black cylinder pressed against her cheek proved to be a superb motivator.

Her right hand left the belt and removed the handbrake before settling over the stick and pushing it to ‘drive’. A part of her mind groaned at the fact that she had been stuck in this situation with an automatic. She let out a slight chuckle as the absurdity of the thought caught up to her.

“What are you laughing at?”

“It’s either that or crying.”

Then, as if something had taken over her, she floored the pedal.

The car shot forward and away from the curb just as police cars began to file into her mirrors, the light dancing irritatingly over her eyes. She pushed the discomfort away, understanding she could not dwell on the feelings while she had a gun pointed at her.

A siren rang from the upcoming intersection and she was forced to swerve violently as a police car suddenly appeared from her left. Her car skidded, nearly sending her crashing against the red light at the corner, but a violent wrench of the wheel straightened them out. In her rearview mirror, she could see the car join the horde of pursuers on her tail. She felt a sinking pit on her stomach and forced herself to look ahead.

After flooring the pedal for a few blocks, even bringing the car up to the sidewalk at times to get past busy intersections, she realized she was not making a dent in her pursuers’ numbers. Even when she left some behind, others kept streaming in through side streets.

I’m not outrunning them in a straight race, and it’s only a matter of time before they trap me. she realized after a moment. It left her with only a handful of options she would much rather have ignored.

Instead, in the next intersection, she turned towards the incoming cars. The other occupants let out a surprised cry as she narrowly avoided an incoming truck, dodging past the incoming vehicles with a manic gleam in her eyes. She barely registered the sounds of frightened honking and screeching wheels around her as she tried to maneuver her way out of sight of the police.

“Holy hell! Mark! Get her under control!”

“Shut up!” the man next to her screamed to the back, before turning to her. “What the hell are you doing!?”

“What you told me to!” she snarled back in a tone somewhere between fury and panic. Her eyes narrowed as she caught more patrols heading directly in her direction. “Belts!”

“What?”

“Belts!” she shouted again, taking a sharp turn into an alley. The man next to her slammed against the side of his door, his mask coming loose and flying out the window. Trash bags exploded as she charged past, and she turned on the wipers to deal with the banana peels and dirty diapers that momentarily obscured her view past the windshields.

It was a good thing she knew this area as well as she did, or she would have been surprised when the alley ended in a small series of steps. The car soared for a moment, a loud yelp coming from the back seat as they hit the ground with a loud crash that shook the vehicle’s interior.

Another violent wrench of the wheel set them straight on the street’s path and Sand sped off in the direction she thought she did not hear sirens. Slowly, as the sound of their pursuers began to recede into the distance and no more flashing red and blue lights made themselves known, she began to slow the vehicle, trying to blend in with the other drivers. It was a difficult thing to do, with her heart beating at her throat and adrenaline pumping through her.

Eventually, either through skill or by sheer, amazing luck, the sounds of sirens bled away entirely into the distance.

Sand let out a trembling breath, tension leaving her body as she realized she was somehow in the clear. Behind her, the people in the back seats let out a cheer, coming to the same realization she had. The one next to her, however, leaned closer.

“The overpass right there,” he said, pointing at an empty lot where the columns for the highway stood, casting shadows over it. Rather than look at it, however, she studied the man’s face. His features were sharp and clean-shaven, his skin pale, and his hair a frizzy and short. He couldn’t have been much older than herself.

His mask was gone. It happened during the chase, right? It was difficult to recall the details of what had happened inside the car at that time, so focused had she been on the road, but she had a distinct impression that it had flown out the window at some point.

“Park us over there.” She was suddenly very aware that the man was still holding onto his gun.

Sand followed his instructions, leaving them in the desolated shadow of the overpass, away from prying eyes. The moment she stopped the car, the two on the backseat exited. “Out of the car,” said the one next to her, before he unlatched her seatbelt for her.

No excuses now, huh.

She slowly stepped out, lifting her hands over her head. The unmasked robber stepped out from his side, closing the door with an air of finality. Walking over to her side, he pushed her away from the vehicle until she had been cornered against a column. The others followed, leaving Sand to keenly feel the stares the three criminals were levelling her way.

Criminals. As if I didn’t just play the get-away driver.

“What do we do with her?” spoke one of them. Sand thought she recognized his voice as the one that had suggested they shoot her when the whole mess had started.

“Can’t we just let her go?” said another, nervously.

“Easy for you to say. She didn’t see your face or hear your name. If I get picked out because of this one I’m snitching on all of you.”

“I guess we kill her, then.”

“K-kill me?” She hated herself for the tremor that slipped into her voice, but she did not like the way things were going. She needed to get a word in edge-wise. “I was your get-away. Least I deserve is a c-cut.”

“A cut?” the first one laughed. “Listen to this one!”

The unmasked man shook his head. “Sorry, lady. No reason to trust you.”

“Hold on,” she insisted, trying to make a placating gesture even with her hands above her head. Her eyes shifting nervously from the two skulls to the scowling face of the one she had started to think of as their ringleader. “Let’s talk it out. Robbing a bank is one thing, but if a body shows up, things won’t get any easier for you.”

“She’s right!” said one of the skulls. “We can’t just off her!”

The other skull turned to his twin. “What do you suggest we do, then? God, you’re such a chickenshit. Why’d we even bring you?”

As the bickering continued, none of the robbers noticed the shadow that dropped in behind them from above the overpass. The ringleader, however, noticed Sand’s gaze lingering past his shoulder, and turned.

By then, it was too late. Something metallic struck the heads of the skulls like a club. The ringleader had barely started to raise his weapon when the shadow stepped up to him and struck his gut. The man fell to his knees. A vicious kick to the face sent him sprawling, unconscious.

It had happened so fast, she feared she would have missed it had she blinked.

Sand gaped at her would be rescuer. The man was a little taller than her, wearing a trench coat and what looked like a cowboy hat. But rather than his attire, what truly drew her eyes were the weapons in his hands, what she had first taken to be clubs. Long, squarish pistols much larger than the one that had been shoved in his face were held in a sure, practiced grip. These were clearly meant for larger prey, she realized. She’d run into a Huntsman.

“So, you’re the driver, huh?”

It took her a moment for what he had said to register, but when it did, she lowered her hands. “You can’t be saying what I think you’re saying.”

“You mean you didn’t try to lose a group of police patrols, swerved into oncoming traffic, and caused multiple accidents Malcolm Avenue?”

“I…” Yes. As a matter of fact, yes she had. “What was I supposed to do?” she asked, growing increasingly frustrated. “They held me at gunpoint!”

“I know.”

She paused. “You do?”

“Check your scroll,” the man drawled. “How’d you think I found you?”

Sand frowned and produced the device from her pants. Belatedly, she realized that her call to emergency services was still connected. Whoever was on the other side must have been able to hear at least some of what had happened. Not to mention they could have tracked her. Slipping away felt too easy. Maybe the patrols backed off so that I’d stop somewhere.

Sand rubbed at her temple, trying to whittle away at the headache she knew was coming. Glancing to the side, she gave the car she had driven a forlorn look. She had just finished fixing it that morning, and now there were large dents on the sides to go with a missing window. She doubted the owner would understand if she told him the car had been a part of a police chase.

The sad part was that that was likely the least of her worries.

“So? What now?” she asked drearily.

“Honestly? You’re lucky to be alive, kid, but I’m afraid I still have to bring you in.”

“...I thought as much.” Sand sighed.

How am I going to explain this one to Allen?

Heroes of Beacon - Contest of Champions

Edit: My bad. Wrong place.