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The following names are an intellectual of copyright of angelstarhikaru: Ezrien, Ivareth, Relanus, Zyirael, Acreiusand Eviaren. Thanks for letting me use them!
Vendetta
vendetta-n. A blood feud in which the family of a murdered person seeks vengeance on the murderer or the murderer's family
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“What do you mean, you didn’t get him!”
The assassin winced, his partner’s high pitched scream irritating his bruised ears. Siro Manebago sat on a crate, carefully tending his bruises. His Mr. Smiley mask was beside him. The other assassin, Yure Anas was pacing whatever floor he could cover in the basement store room. His own mask was hanging on his back.
“I mean,” Siro said irately as he tightened another makeshift bandage on his leg, “I didn’t get to eliminate target Kai or get his weapon. I was stopped by Captain—former Captain Vermilion. Ow…he really hates assassins, doesn’t he?”
Yure stooped pacing, only to stare aghast at Siro. “You didn’t get recognized, did you?
“‘Course not. Had my mask on. But he really wasted me. Damn!” he swore as he started on his left foot. “What’s his deal with sins, I wasn’t killing him any case.”
But Yure wasn’t paying any attention. “Good, good. It’s bad enough that we didn’t get the job done. Kitsune would be furious if we are discovered.”
“Chin up,” said Siro. He pointed to the wall where, hidden behind a crate, was a list of name written in blood of some of their victims. “We’ve got a lot of suspects so Zhang Kai won’t necessarily be one of those with the power to disrupt the Masked One’s plans.”
“Still,” Yure took his Mr. Scream mask and fiddled with it. “Kitsune told us to kill every one of them. The foxed-face one won’t be happy. And here we are, two assassins just off from our training. Whatcha’ dink so gonna happen no dat we’ve fail dis impowtant mish?” It was a sign of extreme stress that Yure’s pronunciation became less precise.
“Don’t be so gloomy, Yure Anas. We can still knock off Zhang Kai next time. Kitsune would never have to know that we were foiled this time.”
“Kitsune, who?” The assassins both looked up to the door. A young man with shades held the door open with one hand. The gold band gleamed from his wrist. He closed the door slowly, descending the stairs towards them. His black hair was spiky and combed to one side, waving at each careful step. He raised his other hand at them. “Kitsune, who?”
Siro clasped the Smiley mask to his face. “It’s him—Zhang Kai! We may be able to redeem ourselves now!”
The two wasted no time. Smiley leapt from the crate and lunged, taking advantage of the short distance between him and his target to ease pressure of his legs. Scream disappeared and reappeared seconds later behind Zhang Kai, raising a dagger to strike his back. Sparks flew as a whirlpool of gold deflected both weapons. The assassins were thrown backwards, watching in fascination as Zhang Kai stopped spinning and threw out his wrists which seemed to have sprouted wings. He crossed his hands protectively on his chest. The assassins lunged again, vanishing as they exchanged places, Siro wincing at the pain.
But in the hanging moments between the attacks, Zhang Kai poured out a battle cry...
“SERAPH IKM PASLANG!”
A sphere of raging winds of gold raced around the boy. The assassin shielded their eyes; the winds biting at them. It was painful but it was nothing to what the boy inside was feeling.
“Why did you attack me? I MUST HAVE YOUR BLOOD! I didn’t do anything wrong... PAYBACK FOOLS! But you tried to kill me...And for that... THAT! and the countless you will or might have killed…”
The assassins were bleeding from small cuts by the winds. Siro realized the torrent had stopped and instinctively set forward to attack but fell forward instead. His nerves flashed with pain then had the weird feeling that his legs weren’t there…
Yure gaped as the target dug a slim gold dagger into his partner’s legs and cut away them away. In quick flashes of gold, the dagger turned to shredding the legs into bite-sized flesh. Yure doubted that Siro felt the pain; he looked too much in shock.
Yure had killed in the past but he couldn’t stand to look at this one: his friend and partner, Siro, looking wide-eyed in shock, the lips quivering wordlessly. The golden dagger…two of them, know that Yure dared to look closely...were-were...drinking in the blood! And they were not daggers either—how could they be? If they are still attached to the golden band of the target’s wrist. There were several smaller gold blades, descending from the longest to shortest. The blood splattered on them were slowly crawling upwards and vanishing. Along with the movement was a soft hiss. Yes, everything matched…this Zhang Kai really had the Wings.
He turned to him, blue highlights swimming across his shades. Yure Anas, the Scream Assassin, had no choice now. He could not win against a superior assassin. If he should die, it would by fighting, not just gaping or worse, begging. With one foot, he traced he placed one foot forward, and shot ahead. To an outsider, they were both moving at a high speed. Yure, however, could see a flash of gold, and twin searing pains crossing his neck, back and finally legs. The Scream Assassin clutched his dagger and stabbed himself in the stomach, trailing it up to his heart. The pain...but he smiled as blood spurt from his mouth. Struck by the Wings but killed by himself. That’s how he wanted to go. The corpse of Yure had a contented smile as it hit the ground.
Zhang Kai turned on him and sent a golden wave thorough the body, splitting it into two. The bloods on the blades were edging themselves backward. He pointed one hand to the body with the Smiley mask on and a blade shot out, embedding itself into the torso. It slit the assassin’s body, drinking the blood it contacted.
“Hate...resentment...so much of it in this assassin...” The lights flashed along Zhang Kai’s shades and on the weapons on his wrists. “Power is flowing into me.”
He grunted and aimed his palms at the crates. They exploded, spilling powder, sugar that wasn’t sugar, clothes and some jewels. And as the splinters rained in around him, he spotted it: the blood writing on the wall. The blade had finished cutting through the brain and reattached itself onto Zhang Kai’s band. The boy knelt down in front of the wall, hands clad in tight black cloth scraping against the blood splattered wall. He read the names in his mind, tracing them with a black finger.
Magnus Morsvelle
Tamaka Gona
Aster Harsch
Laos Lias
The Whites
These were crossed out with thin scratches, made from a katar. Except for the names The Whites and Tamaka Gona, which were painted with a bloody X. Zhang Kai assumed that these ‘suspects’ were found to be carrying nothing. But why were those two crossed with blood? Were they killed as the masked assassins with him? Zhang Kai found his name and continued on.
Ezrien (There was a light cross)
Kalikasan Divina
Ivareth Santofiles
Relanus Acreius (And another cross out.)
Laffordia Harsch
Freyr Gardez
Zhang Kai
He paused, smiling at his own name. He tipped the longest blade on it and circled. His smile faded as he saw the next name.
Annika Lee
He waited and waited but she never came. Everything was draped in red and all were staring at him. He felt rather that she have worn white, the color of mourning. Because he was dying inside.
Annie never came. She had promised but she never came.
‘Don’t you understand, I never wanted to be part of your stupid family!’
Lee, Lee, Lee, Lee...the name echoed in his head. The point scratching its surface spurted and dug into the wall. It filled him with rage; power was flickering in his hands and body. The Wings glowered with red-gold energy, surrounding the boy known as Zhang Kai.
Lee...that damn family was still alive? Hadn’t they died…hadn’t he made sure of that? He furiously slashed the name, obliterating it from the wall. Kill, kill, kill! He had sacrificed his family for this, happily destroying them if it meant those wretched traitors were eradicated as well. What, have they been living while the last descendant of the Kai walked the earth?
Energy crackled at his hands, the Wings expanded to twice its length, piercing into Zhang Kai’s body, arms and even legs. The reddish tinge flowed from it and into him while his blood fed it.
“I...will...” He raised his head, the glasses falling off. Even then, he did not open his eyes. His wounds slowly closed and the blades faded, returning to gold bands. His hands reached for the glasses and he put them back. There was something wrong with his movements. They seemed lifeless and clumsy, like those controlled by a puppeteer. That changed quickly, as he leapt gracefully to the stairs. There was quickness in his steps, a rushing for the door. He did not slam it but closed quietly, sealing the carnage, at least for a few hours.
“I will...kill her.”
“Mister Kai! Don’t give on us up now! Don’t give in to the vendetta!” The strong voice was calling for him, one that called with holy power.
“Zhanggy! If you die, I’m going to your funeral just to kick your stupid corpse! Know why? Because you went back on your promise…you promised me that you wouldn’t kill for blood again…” The rest of the words were choked back. The girlish voice was now busy, sobbing but trying hard not to.
Friends, thought Zhang Kai as he drifted in the crimson liquid. Who thought he’d be able to have friends. He had always traveled around; bear this hardship on his own.
“Kai!”
“Moron!”
They were calling out for him…but should he listen? It was easier to sink into darkness and vengeance. And all the energy was robbed from him.
“F-forgive me…”
There was frantic shouting, this time from the first voice while the second voice had gone from sobbing to an ear-splitting shriek.
The shriek emanated from Annika’s lips. Right now the priestess was stomping down the streets, venting out her frustration. Even now, the events of yesterday chafed at her mind like a pair of used underpants. Not the best of moods (or description, if I might add). Right now, she set her spleen on the thief.
“How dare he imply that I am not worthy in anyway. I am a priestess, vital part of any party, chosen servant of God! And if God does not see it fit for me to be a priestess then may lightning strike me!”
Almost immediately, a bolt of lightning raced from the streets and fried Annika. She still retained her defiant pose as she fell downward, twitching from the burns.
“I told you should watch where you aim your Jupitel Thunder!”
A harried looking wizard holding on to his hat and his novice companion looking sullen raced up to the figure of the lying priestess.
“Miss?” The man bent and peered closer to her, eyebrows creased. “Are you all right?”
A priest snapped one hand to his neck and ferociously dragged him up. Annika was completely without the burns, thanks to her healing spells, and overall looked all right. Now if only for that bloodlust expression that screamed vengeance…
“Oh, I’m fine. But you won’t be!” She threw back her arm, gathering her pent up anger in one solid punch. The novice made no move except to shout.
“I told you should watch where you aim your spells!”
A pair of rude hands shoved between her and wizard. An inquisitive and worried face with dark grey hair took the space between them as it looked at the novice. “Eviaren?”
The novice stared back bewildered.
The intruder sighed wearily. ‘You’re not him either. Sorry.” And he began walking away.
Annika turned her energies on the rude intruder while the wizard and the novice were making a silent get-away. “Oh no, you don’t! Just who do you think you are, you busybody!”
He pried her arm off, showing a tired face. He was an alchemist and he had those tiny glasses that alchemist sometimes wear. “I didn’t mean to, priestess, I was just looking for my novice charge.”
“Well, didn’t my about to punch the wizard pose tip you not to shove your nose in! Speaking of which, where did the wizard go?” She turned to look for him but this time it was the alchemist who clamped onto her arm.
“Let them be. As for you, priestess, you are supposed to help people, not mindlessly pummel them for who-knows-what.”
In one powerful upswing, Annika freed her arm and almost hit the alchemist. Too bad. “There you go again, minding your NOT business! Just because I’m a priestess does not give you any right to stereotype me!”
He narrowed his eyes. “But there are given roles for every job. And a suitable and acceptable standard for demeanor. A priest or priestess’s role is to heal and protect. Not to hurt.”
Annika lowered her gaze and smiled sardonically. “Says you. Don’t pummel them for who-knows-what, eh? What if I tell you that, four years ago, that very same wizard raped me and left me to die? That I was a mere acolyte then, that the only reason I continued to live was to find vengeance. And now because of your meddling, four years of bitter, hard work is wasted. What do you say to that?”
“Oh my...I am so terribly sorry...” His green eyes watered and he reached out for her shoulder.
“Psych!” Annika looked up with a smirk on her face. “Can’t believe you fell for that. How’s that for who-knows-what?”
The alchemist was twitching his eyes. She laughed at him. “Maybe that will teach you something. When somebody does thing something, she might have reasons!”
“So never assume anything?” said the alchemist.
“Right!” Annika felt better, getting one over him.
“Assume...Ass...ume... As far as I can see, the only ass here is u!” The alchemist swept his cape upward, in attempt to be intimidating. “Lying, over violence, blatant disregard for others, insensitivity...I’m surprised that whatever parish allowed you to be a priestess, haven’t stripped you of your robes!” Annika’s eyes blinked at the figure of speech but she said nothing. “So, priestess, if you’ve nothing else to say...I’ve got a lost novice to find.”
But the alchemist had gone no more than three steps when he heard a crisp voice say: “You wouldn’t happen to be Sala Gona, would you?”
“Yeah, what about it—” Sala keeled over: a sharp rap on his neck, a forceful hit on his stomach and he hit the ground, unconscious.
-
There was great agitation in his voice. So the mean things spouting from his mouth were probably due to stress. She could tell, she’d been there. So rather than chucking a shoe like she’d originally planned, Annika, in her great wisdom, decided to let him be. Plus, she was dead tired, being angry sucked out energy from a soul. At a moment after the alchemist turned to leave, so did she. But she heard a cry of pain and the body falling. She whipped herself around to find a blacksmith looking over the alchemist, a viciously satisfied smile on his face.
“Of all the days to forget my ax. Well.” The blacksmith stood up and purred like cat having trapped a prey. “I better go get it. No time like the present.” He caught Annika’s eye. “Hello.”
“Uh...hello.” Annika said cautiously.
“Please don’t heal this guy or anything. I owe this guy a lot of hurt.” The blacksmith was humming a little tune. The funeral song...
“Don’t worry about that. I’ve got no business with him.” Well, must be the guy’s karma for messing with her, heh.
“Oh, then could you watch him so while I get my ax?”
The blacksmith did not wait for her reply and had already turned back to the streets when suddenly... A grand, colorful and shiny pecopeco was raced down the streets. It had a crazed gleam in its eyes and it flapped its shiny feathers, snorted wildly and tried to bite anyone in its way. But more surprising was its rider. She didn’t seem to want to ride on it at all. The knight was sprawled sideward on saddle, like she had been haphazardly thrown there and she clutched whatever feathers she could. But instead of scared, she had more of a worried face. Like a mother anxious about leaving a child.
“Kaze!” she shouted.
More amazing was what followed. A whole horde of what seemed to assassins in masks was leaping and chasing the peco. But traveling in a group somewhat impaired their movement. Annika wondered about this strange formation. Waiitt... Assassins in masks? Gasp! It’s none of her business.
The blacksmith followed the peco’s movement with his mouth open. He ran towards, all thought about his ax, the alchemist or the priestess forgotten.
“KALIIII!”
Seconds later, the peace resumed. Annika looked to the direction of the peco, knight, blacksmith and assassins, then looked at the alchemist and finally her hands. She shrugged and raised her hands, reviving the alchemist. By the time he got up, she had already left.
“You don’t see these stuff everyday.” She tilted her head and yawned. She was sleepy, maybe after a nap she would know what to do. Annika settled into a bench and settled her head on her hands, proceeding to snooze. A little ball of white fluff nosed her shoes on the ground.
“Shhh...Ratty,” said a soft voice. A pair of gloved hands scooped the Tarou. “Don’t disturb the priestess.”
The novice and his Tarou settled to the adjacent bench, resuming their wait to be found.
"YOU! YEAH, YOU! READ AND REVIEW'GODHAND'! It's nearing it's ending so don't miss it. Oh, and drink milk and eat your vegetables. READ!
The second person I'd like to thank is Zhang Kai for his...er, what's the right word...informative e-mails. I had great fun communicating with you. Send memail if you justwanna Chapter Six (Or whenever)!
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