Sunday, July 1, 2012

Blood on the Blade

There's blood on his sword.

It trails the swing of the violet blade in an arc of droplets even as sound of metal against crystal rings out, echoing outwards and shattering the silence of the battlefield.

Adrian grunts as the two weapons grind against one another, edge against edge and he presses hard against the blade lock, only for the two weapons to fly apart like two positively-charged magnets and yet, a scant second later, they strike one another again and again as their wielders shout battle cries

Violet and silver streak the air around the two fighters, sparks flaring occasionally as the two blades glance off one another. Both men battle back and forth in a dance with death, every inch given feeling like a dozen feet, every minute an hour and yet they are only slightly aware of this as they fight.

Another cry of metal against crystal sounds and then becomes a continuous chime as the swords hit again and again and again until with a sharp clang, they lock for the countless time that battle.

The two warriors push against one another in the lock and Adrain's violet eyes narrow and meet the green eyes of his opponent, a man with a wicked grin, dirt mixed with blood smearing a cheek. "You can't stop us, boy. Even if you cut us all down, more will realize the truth and see the light. More will understand that the only thing people deserve is a swift death!"

Adrian's eyes narrow a bit. "I'll be glad to grant you yours, then." Then he breaks the lock, spinning around at the same he reverses his grip on Hoshikuzu and taking a step backwards as he thrusts.

The man gasps as Hoshikuzu's point emerges out his back with a small spray of blood drops while flecks of spittle and blood dot his lips as he jerks in shock and pain. "Hnnkkk..." A smirk stretches his lip. "You call this killing someone, boy? I can still feel my limbs..."

Then the man jerks a second time as the crystal blade is wrenched free and Adrian spins back on his heel with a sharp cry, his blade biting into the man's shoulder and slicing through as the Librarian continues the slashing motion, bisecting the man from shoulder to hip in one clean swipe.

Surprise shows itself in the man's eyes for a single moment and the light leaves them as and gravity takes hold, the man's top sliding off and hitting the ground with a wet 'thump!' blood and guts falling out as his legs just topple over backwards.

Adrian glances around at the dozens of bodies of men and woman, all of them weapons in their hands and all of them dead, laying in pools of their own blood. Then he glances up at the pentacle they had carved into the wall and painted in the blood of their human sacrifices in order summon their patron god to cleanse the Universe.

He turns and heads for the exist, stepping over the bodies as if they don't exist while his blade-point drags along the ground behind him, adding a off soundtrack of crystal on stone to his exit.

He found himself wishing that they had indeed summoned the god before he had gotten here.

There's blood on his sword.

And it wants more.


There blood on his sword.

It's dry, crusty and black, speckled like ash up and down the length of the weapon, save for a few larger blotches that are near the tip and the hilt. is

Feet propped up on the command console, Adrian leans back in the chair and hefts the weapon in one hand, grabbing a cloth in the other. He is shirtless, a myriad of battle scars covering his muscular chest and back. Violet eyes expertly eye the weapon up and down as he checks for nicks, cracks, chips or dents.

"Mmmmm..." A contented sigh sounds from behind as Phoenixia, clad in nothing but a bathrobe just barely belted shut enough for decency emerges from the Zord's living compartment. "That was amazing... it's good thing you found those spells, otherwise I don't think you'd have been able to keep up with me."

"Mmmhmmm." Adrian responds idly and gently runs the cloth the length of his sword's blade, wiping off the looser chunks of blood first. He runs it a little harder the second, frowning a bit when the blood isn't scraping off like it usually does.

"So, how did you get it that bloody this time?" The sentient computer program asks, hopping up to set on the console's edge. Outside the view port behind is an endless expanse of stars that are nowhere near unrecognizeable to Adrian at all. But he's not worried. Even as busy as they were earlier, he knew Phoenixia was always minutely adjusting the Zord's course and knew exactly where they were at all times.

He's come to trust her completely, something he'd thought he'd lost the ability to do. Of course, it probably helped that she was born from his mind- sort of. She was him, but wasn't him- kinda. Neither of them knew how she was created two months ago when she had saved his life and they didn't know now. Probably never would.

Adrian found he was comfortable with that.

"Like usual. It was a mission just(not) like any other." Adrian replied, as he rubbed the cloth hard against a group of blood specks, mentally willing them to come off and failing. "The Powers That Be told me someone was going to become a(father/husband/son/brother/lover) threat(in a thousand years) and so I took care of(killed/slaughtered/murdered) it."

Phoenixia frowns at him a bit, knowing he's holding something back from, but decides not to press him further. For now. "Still, you're usually pretty meticulous about cleaning thing first chance you get after you use it. What made you wait until all the blood was dried?"

"I had a tough time getting out of there...after I completed the objective, I was ambushed and on the run for a while - didn't have time to summon a door out of there."

"So that's why you summoned me."


Silence reigns in the Zord's cockpit as the two sit and silence, Adrian still struggling to get the dried blood off his sword and Phoenixia watching him.

After several long minutes of Adrian's seemingly futile attempts to clean his weapon, she speaks up. "Would you like me to sing?"

Adrian pauses in his chore, glancing at his companion and then to the starry eternal vaccum outside, think about how far away they are from civilization, how that man gurgled and laughed as he died, Adrian's sword stabbed him, mocking the boy and saying that you can't be a hero by killing the villains before they make their move- that just makes you another villain. He thinks about the century of near-unnterupted loneliness he's had to endure and the sleepless night and the too vivid dreams and the constant feel of his sword clenched in his hand. "Please."

As she opens her mouth and begins to sing a soft calming, lullaby, Adrian resumes cleaning his sword, scrubbing hard and harder at it.

There is blood on his sword.

And it is not coming off.


There is blood on his sword.

It's fresh, bright red and from an innocent.

Adrian, somewhere in the back of his head, notes that it's the same color as the blood of the guilty splashed across his face.

It was as routine as his missions got. A simple assassination- the man has wreaked havoc across several dimensions and caused the death of millions before suddenly dissappearing out of the blue. Weeks spent tracking him, weeks spent trying to figure out why he left, weeks traveling and pumping, bribing, stealing, scaring information forwards.

Then, a hit.

A being matching the man's description has moved into the house on the edge of town and is very reclusive, driving away all visitors with laser pistols and traps and guard dogs.

Adrian sneaks up on the place, easily leaping clear of the fence, taking down the dogs with swift blows, moving stealthily towards the back, which he finds to surprisingly open.

The man is waiting for him, sitting in a rocking chair facing the door, hands clasped in his laps like he's waiting for a guest for tea. He invites Adrian in, tells him not to waste time spouting cliché lines. They both know why Adrian is there.

Adrian asks him why he left, when he had everything at his fingertips.

The man says it was boring and he wanted to retire anyway. So he did.

Adrian points that there's no point in killing him, since the man is retired and left - he's already old for his species, unable to fight anymore, barely able to see, unable to walk without aid of a cane.

The man laughs and says for him, retirement is just temporary, because he'll find a new body to transfer his mind into-robot,youth,a computer, whatever he fancies this time. Because he's done all this before and he's retired many a time. But it never lasts.

Because it's so damn fun, he tells Adrian, to play god, to cause mayhem, violence and chaos. To rule over beings so terrified of you that they won't even speak your name. To have the wealth of a thousand kinds and just toss it aside, treat it like it's common dirt. To have all the power of their might space fleets, magics and gods in the palm of your hand.

Adrian says that's not going to happen this, he'll kill him before it does.

The man laughs again and says he's heard that before - but none have been able to kill him. Because killing him would end the fun, you see. How can you be a hero if there's no villain to fight?"

Adrian shakes his head and tells him that he's not a hero. He's a monster.

The man's eyes widen as Adrian lunges. But not as the sword heading for his neck, not at Adrian's glaring eyes, but as the young form of his daughter shots a 'NO!' and leaps between the two of them.

The Librarian cannot stop himself in time and hears the girl's death rattle as his blade pierces her heart and out her backside, impaling itself into the old man's neck and a jet of blood arcs in the air as the edge nicks th the jugular.

Adrian stands there, blood coating one half of his face, his sword still stuck in the girl's body, as her blood trickles out the wound and runs down the length of the blade, down the hilt and off dripping off onto the floor.

There is blood on his sword.

And it should not be there.


There is blood on his sword.

In the dim, dim lighting providing by the glow panels embedded on the edges of the floor, Adrian can see the metal table beneath him, the shackles binding his ankles to the table, the blood and the sweat from screams and cuts and scars and marks and pricks that decorate his naked body, like several drunk tattoo artists got a hold of him.

He wishes it was that simple.

He cannot see her in the lighting, just her vague outline the shadows and the occasional flash of light off the blood-painted blade of Hoshikuzu.

"You are mine," she says to him, whispery soft. He doesn't know who she is, where she came from, what she looks like, just that she wants him. "You belong to me... mind, body, soul... I own you..."

It always starts like this, she telling him that. And then he's supposed to defy her, fight back. .Adrian is unaware of how many days have passed since he woke up here, how man times she and he had played the game, how many screams of pain he's given out at her touches, her teasing, her cutting.

But every time, it gets harder to fight, to play the game, to keep up the charade. This time, he doesn't feel the urge and so simply nods and stares up the ceiling.

There's a pause and then she speaks, sounding a little confused. "You do not wish to deny it? You acknowledge that I own you?"

Adrian nods again, still staring at the ceiling.

Then a scream tears it's way out of his throat as she drives Hoshikuzu into his lower leg. "That is not acceptable - no one wants a yes-pet... you need to be punished!"

She wrenches the weapon free and drags it lightly up his chest, the tip nipping open a long, small scar to mark it's path as the Librarian jerks and heaves against his restraints, panting in pain and anger and more pain. "That's better..."

Though he cannot see her, Adrian can feel her grin. "Now we can really have fun.."

There is blood on his sword.

And he does not know how much he has left.


There is blood on his sword.

It comes from the gash in his arm, running down his forearm to trail down the hilt and then the blade, leaving a trail of blood dots long the floor as the tip scraps against the wood.

Adrian staggers, stumbles down one of the Library's hallways. He's not sure which one it is, his vision is blurry and fading in and out a bit, as exhaustion, wounds and pain threaten to overwhelm him. The tatters that had once been his trenchcoat fall away from him with each forced, lumbering step, drifting down slowly behind like a twisted parody of feathers, burnt and blood-soaked. The scraps of cloth that had been the right arm of his shirt dangle limply from it, while the arm itself is a mess of cuts with bits of broken stone and scales in it. And he's not sure of it, but Adrian thinks he might have a lost a boot somewhere. If only his feet would send him proper signals...

He vaguely remembers the fight and vaguely remembers summoning a door to the Library, dashing for it blindly charging for it, something grabbing him from behind and dragging him back...

He turns a corner... or maybe it was a doorway, he can't be sure. He's not really sure where's he's going, either, just that he needs to keep making himself move - if he stops and falls down, he might not get up again.

His kitty ears, twitch as they picks up sounds - voices, maybe - alarmed and excited. He sees two blurry small figures rush to him, calling his name.

"I'm... I'm..." He can barely manage the words before feeling like his chest would explode with pain and he erupts into a coughing fit.

As the fit subsides, he feels a pair of hands pushing gently on his back another pair pull at his arm and then he realizes that it's Aster and Chrys helping him.

They guide him to a couch and sit him down- he can can't really see or hear them, but Chrys is a bit panicky and her arms fail widlly as she talks to Aster, the fae somehow managing to remain calm and quickly gives her friend instructions. He faintly makes out 'Valerie' and "Tash' along with 'Immediately' before the blurry blob that is Chrys darts down the hallway, pulling out Adrian assumes to her communicator, shouting into it.

It's only after a few seconds that he realizes someone is tugging on his hand or more precisely, his sword. "Wha...?"

"Let go, Adrian-kun." Aster's voice is soft and gentle as she pulls at Hoshikuzu. "You don't need to hold onto it. Let go..."

"Oh... right..." Adrian does so and blinks his eyes, wiping with at them with his hands. When's done, his vision is clearer and he sees Aster gently leaning Hoshikuzu against a wall, inadvertantly smearing her hands with the blood that decorates the blade.

There is blood on his sword.

And now he got it on the innocent.


Adrian spins and twirls through a complex pattern of moves, blade flashing in the light from the training room.

Completing a spinning move that twirls the blade overhead and brings it slashing down, he pauses and hold his weapon up to head-level, studying the violet crystal blade and how it warps the light.

Tentatively, he runs his fingertips across the flat of the blade and up it's length, enjoying the smooth sensation that is the crystal that makes the blade up. Then he winces and sticks his fingertip in his mouth, sucking on it as he watches the single droplet of blood roll down the flat of the blade slowly.

There is blood on his sword.

There always is.

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