Blood on my Hands, No Guilt on my Conscience
Apr 25, 2021 21:25:39 GMT -5
Khaos and jasonryan like this
Post by Arcana on Apr 25, 2021 21:25:39 GMT -5
TRIGGER WARNING: Blood, violence, suggestive to sexual assault
She sits quietly on the edge of a boulder, one of many that made a loose ring around the clearing. It was quiet now, everyone long since disappearing towards the comfort of their bed as the moon crested high in the sky. She slides one leg up, resting her chin on her knee as her arms wrap around it in a loose hug, letting her mind wander over the nights work.
The young acolytes were eager, always ready to dash forth with more enthusiasm than common sense, wanting to show they could do it too, instead of stopping to take the time, and do it correctly. This group seemed especially rambunctious, many would not make it to the inner sanctum of Cate’s order, they would get frustrated with having to pace themselves, learning control where they lacked it, earning things instead of having it handed to them and end up quitting.
She is reminded of another, not so long ago who she had not seen lasting long for those very reasons. But she had been wrong. The blue haired one, despite her waspish nature, had carried on, struggling to contain her dark tendencies that were so visible to Arcana. Under the guise of being a professional wrestler, she indulged some of her vicious delights, earning the nickname The Dark Vixen of Violence. There was more behind the scenes, something to do with the Left Hand of which she was a member, Arcana was sure of it.
So, she had followed her footsteps, learning under the one known as Syren, honing her talents, joining Revo instead of the fed the sapphire witch was at, but where the Left Hand also ran, wanting nothing more than to learn, to find a way to put a stop to the werebitch before she did anything that was irreparable.
However, she had found that she enjoyed what she was doing. The rush she had gotten while flying through the air, using her speed and agility to stay one step ahead of her opponent. Her mind racing at a million miles per hour to calculate what would happen next. It was like a game of chess in a way, except there was no time to ponder your next move, you had to make choices on the fly... and they would either make or break the match. It was almost as much of a high as controlling the magic.
She brings one hand out before her, and with the bare minimum of effort produces a lavender flame from her palm. She stares at it for a little bit, then with the soft shake of her hand, changes the color to the regular orange hue. She seems to get lost, transfixed within the dancing flame. Its glow reflects from her amber eyes as she curls into herself, remembering a time when the fire had control... before she had harnessed it.
Something had woken her up. Her eyes open, seeing nothing but the darkness of her bedroom, the vague outline of her belongings just visible in the shadowy moonlight. Her curtains billow softly with the breeze. She frowns. Maybe she had been hearing things.
A crash, and a tinkling of glass from downstairs.
Footsteps, heavy in the hall outside her door. Her father.
Shouting. Loud thuds. Another crash. Then silence reigns once more for a few moments, until softer footsteps pad by her closed bedroom door.
“Alan?” Her mother's voice, soft, questioning. “Alan, is everything alright?”
Silence.
Then a high-pitched scream, the sounds of a scuffle. A loud smacking noise. Then silence yet again.
She strains to hear, but no sounds reach her ears. She slips out of bed, her nightgown billowing about her knees as she creeps to the door and opens it, peering down the hallway where a soft glow comes from down the stairs. She can hear soft voices. Her parents must be talking about what the noise was. She longs to go to them, but something tells her not to.
Despite her unease, she finds herself tiptoeing down the hall to the stairs, carefully putting her feet where they would miss any creaky floorboards. She steps down a few stairs silently, before the scene below her finally registers, causing her body to freeze in place.
Three strangers. Two huddled together while another seems to be looking through pictures and knick-knacks on the mantle, a bat dragging from his left hand. Her parents, on the floor, just sitting there, motionless. The voices come, clearer now.
“Now what?! We did not plan for this!”
“Relax. We do what we came to do Black Swan.”
“And them?! If Wraith over there wasn’t so impatient...”
“You were taking too long.”
“So you break a fucking window?!”
“We are in, aren't we?”
Why weren't her parents saying anything? What were they talking about? Arcana slowly sinks down, resting on her haunches, on instinct trying to make herself as inconspicuous as she possibly can in her bright turquoise pajamas.
“Look, we go up the stairs and get her...”
A furious mumbling is heard as her father starts rocking back and forth. He jerks, fighting to his feet and it is then she sees the rope wrapped around his body. Before her mind can full process what this means, the man with the bat is on him, slamming it down onto her father's head with a mighty crack. He stiffens, then drops with a sickening thud.
She lets out a strangled gasp, her hand flying to her mouth to muffle the sound.
Too late.
Eyes swing in the direction of the small figure huddled on the stairs. She rises, turns to run.... Quicker than she can blink, the one with the bat is on her, grabbing her ankle. She flips, kicking out with her free leg, but he just yanks her unceremoniously down the steps, the back of her head thudding painfully off each one until she hits the bottom. He drags her to her feet and she tosses her head back and howls as loud as she can.
His hand slams over her mouth, and she bites down viciously, grinding her teeth in until the hot, metallic taste of blood fills her mouth. A loud swear. Then a sharp pain in her skull as she is lifted right off her feet, flying across the room to hit the wall. She slides to the floor, her ears still ringing from the blow.
“Did you have to do that?”
“The little bitch bit me Hollow Point! Besides, what does it matter? You know we are just going to ki...”
“Shh.”
“Come now, you think we can leave them too? After this?”
“He’s got a point.”
“Fuck.”
Her father lurches to his feet once more out of nowhere, eyes wild as he charges the one called Hollow Point, he slams into him, taking them both to the floor. In a flash Wraith is there, wielding his bat over and over again. The sound of it connecting to flesh and bone. Splatters of crimson flying, some spattering on the floor before her. Her father's head turning into a red, shapeless mass before her eyes.
Arcana’s mind starts to shut down, refusing to believe this is happening.
Her mother's muffled screams. They turn towards her next and she watches through the hot veil of tears stinging her eyes. She can hear the screams turning to sobs, strangled moans of pain. The female crouches by her, holding her hair and forcing her not to look away.
“That's going to be you next little one...” her voice hisses out, a perverse thread of pleasure running through it. Her tone so chipper it is nearly obscene.
The thuds once more, her mother’s groans rising to shrieks once more, until they stop. Arcana’s stomach flips, rebelling against the notion of what that meant. The two men's breathing was harsh in the small room. She feels herself being pulled, dragged, tossed forward until she lands in the sticky puddle of her mother's blood.
A heavy weight atop her, the one called Wraith. She lashes out, scratching whatever she can. A slap to the face splits her lip and busts her nose open. Another smack. Then another. And another. A sharp pain. Her body goes numb, shock washing through her system. A hand comes down on her throat and she gasps, spots dancing behind her eyes as the light begins to fade, darkness creeping in from all sides. Into the abyss.
And then there is a glow, heat, a crackling noise. She moans softly as she tries to roll, her body screaming in pain. She opens swollen eyes to see her mother staring back. Cracked lip's part. “Go.” barely audible. She looks around, the inferno blazing about her. She had to get help.
She crawls, painfully... somehow making it to the front door, pulling her body up and opening it, only to tumble agonizingly out onto the porch. Her hands dig into the ground, dragging her broken and battered body as far as they can, losing strength on the lawn. Her eyes roll wildly in her head as she watches the fire engulf her home. “Help!” she screams, only nothing but a squeak comes out. She keeps trying, eyes focused on those dancing flames, as they eat away at everything, she held dear.
Her fist closes over the flame. She wasn’t the meek, helpless little girl anymore. And she was going to prove it.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
“Nobody ever looks at the bigger picture. They stare at what stands before them... a small, seemingly frail woman, and scoff. What could she possibly do to me? How could someone so weak ever win over a person much stronger, larger, with more musculature? Their eyes take in only the obvious, failing to look beyond what sits right before their face.
They don’t see the wiry strength. They don’t see the agility. They miss the fierce determination hiding behind cloaked eyes. The heart that beats ferociously in the chest of the long shot. How the underdog has more fight in them, than anyone is willing to give them credit for.
And that was your fatal flaw, Jason Ryan. You didn’t even look at me. You were so busy looking beyond me at the future, and talking about yourself that you missed the panther stalking you, ready to take out your throat.
I did what I said I would, and beat you my first time out. Now, we meet again in this match... and you know what? Since you seem to have such a thing for red... I might make you bleed first.
To the rest of you, I don’t know you very well, but fear not. I am always studying. Learning. All of you, from Richard Dweck and the Narcoleptic Ninja... two who fail to inspire anything more than the occasional yawn all the way on up.
To Jalen Prince, Jin Min-Jun, and Sora Weaver... stronger competition. One who has shown up to fight, and won... two others, unknown and new. Hungry for a taste of bloodshed. They will find I am not so easy to subdue. One who will fight until there is nothing left in the tank, and still push on. Do not be fools. There will be blood on our hands my friends, but it will all be yours.
And last, but never least... Jessie Lee. I’m sure you didn’t get where you are by chance. You are someone that anybody would be a fool to sleep on. You have been on a roll, but that is about to hit a brick wall named Arcana.
I didn’t come here to make friends. I came here to make a point. I came here to test myself. Even if that means making seven other people bleed. I will make sure they do so, leaving beautiful scarlet drops all over the mat, rose petals at for the funeral of their hopes and dreams.
When the dust settles, the victory, and belt will be mine.”