Mystic Syn

Still had some fight left in her. She fought beautifully, even in her mortally wounded state; even her fighting style was reminiscent of the Angel’s. That grace and poise only came from years of relentless training, and just by watching her––even for a spare second––one could see that hard work being put to play, even though every single bit of movement was growing weaker and weaker with every passing moment. Truly the only one to be matched only to the Angel of Death, perhaps even Ko’ad Himself. Perfect. A large wave of flames roared toward him, desperate to eat anything in its path. Khaos slid easily out of the way, lifting his hand as he grasped the flamethrower man’s blood, then casting it aside into the wall where he’d come from. Despite his fruitless efforts, the man had the courage only a few could wish for. Perfect. Khaos stood tall, cracking his neck, then carefully and precisely parrying any weak strike made against him. His muscles fell back into the familiar rhythm of dueling once again, singing the songs of battle as Khaos could almost feel his blade and him becoming one into a sharp crimson blur. Lights, it felt good to be able to fight again. This was way better than any escort mission the stupid Pacis gave him. Missions like these kept him alive, light it. Feeling anything than the memories of his life before was a god-send, even if it meant a little bit of pain; that was a price he would pay any day to rid himself of the screams of the past, his mother’s empty gaze, the cruel smile his father gave him when he found Khaos out; anything. The blood around him bubbled furiously, the ends of the shards and blade becoming sharper and sharper. It pumped in the bodies all around him, filling his head with the all-too familiar white noise. More presences emerged in his radius, appearing out of nowhere, their blood screaming in his ears as the sight of their comrades being beaten. Perfect. The crimson storm heightened, taking all the bullets and fireballs thrown its way. It desperately wanted to go through with it, and Khaos made no attempts to stop it. A few brave dripping scarlet shards impaled themselves into the man with fireballs, targeting near his heart, quivering with excitement as more of thick red blood joined the storm. Khaos stepped to the side at the feeble attempt from the fireball man to stab him, raising an eyebrow at him before pushing him away with a flick of the wrist. Rebels these days… As he kept up the duel between Elya, a shard in his vicinity quivered, almost dropping back into a crimson puddle. His gaze flicked to the shard for half a second, studying it. Kicking and screaming… Crying… His mother’s blood strewn across the once beautiful room… Scarlet following as he was dragged out… His father’s iron grip… His cruel smile… His… No. Khaos pushed, the blood around him roaring with excitement at the sudden burst of energy. He continued with his duel, flicking anyone out of the way, pushing through that darkness. He may have gave in once, but not this time… Never. Again. . . . A drop of dark red fell from his finger, staining the dark wood below. Why did he do it? Another fell. Maybe it was better this way. Another. Maybe… Another. Ji forced himself to sit up. This was no way to think. Maybe it was. His entire frame slumped. Maybe it is how I think. Yet… He placed a hand on the back of the couch, hoisting himself up. They probably needed him… if they cared enough to remember him. She probably did. Hopefully she did. The floor swayed underneath him as Ji hobbled his way to the door, then stopped, taking in breath after breath as he looked to the mother of the household, feeling every muscle within him freeze as he met her unblinking gaze. “Go on,” she said, gesturing to the door. He stood there, breathing. “Ma-ma’am?” “You won’t get any rest if you keep thinking about them. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” The mother sipped her beverage. “Go.” Ji stared off, oblivious to the stream of scarlet dripping off his arm. Was she…? She was…? He cleared his throat, giving a nod to her as he fumbled with the doorknob and stumbled outside. Ji turned upstream, breathing for a second, then hobbled his way where he came from.

Yeahhhhh. I may be an artist, but I’m an artist on a budget.. like every other artist. Awwww, thanks! :)) I also like seeing the guidelines after I’m finished, cos I just like to look at it, even tho I’m perfectly fine with looking at the colored pieces. Take it easy. It’s just a drawing but i can understand, cos I just like what I did with the colors

“Kidnapping is so much fun!” (an actual quote from an irl friend)

He sidestepped Elya’s attack raising his blade to deflect most of the bullets, a couple embedding themselves into his skin, which made him grunt. Shards swooped in, enveloping the rest of them. Khaos rolled his eyes, loosely made a gesture, and sent John into the wall. He hovered his hand over his bullet wounds, the fragments spitting themselves out in his hand as the wounds immediately scabbed over. What a waste. Khaos turned to Elya and engaged.

“I cannot break what’s already broken.” Khaos’ eyebrow pointed upward. “You, of all people, should know this.” He held his blade at his side. “Come at me with all you can muster, Pherish.”

“If that’s how you want to view it. Highness only does as he pleases.” Khaos’ gaze flicked to John, scowling slightly as his small movements. He turned his body a bit, keeping an eye on both of them as he spoke. “Is there any last requests before you meet Mors?” he asked her, tightening his grip on his blade.

“Tsk tsk, you misunderstand, Pherish, my sweet.” Khaos shook his head. “He was never a part of the Pacis; never has and never will. The woman in charge of the Pacis has no relations to Highness; never even spoken with the man.”

“You’re mistaken,” he said, the shards hanging in the air. “If he actually wanted you back, you wouldn’t be talking to me right now. That rat, Ji, wouldn’t be… well, he probably would be. Lose-lose for you. Besides the point.” Khaos stared into her. “Highness was never a part of the Pacis.”

He turned to her, everyone’s blood dripping off his… everywhere: Face, arms, hands, clothes, blade, everything. Khaos rolled his head back, listening to the screams and carnage for a moment before settling his gaze back on Elya again; this time, he focused more on her eyes. Focused. Determined. Desperate. And… He blinked. Well… That cleared some things up. No matter. She was about to meet him anyway. His blade shimmered in crimson, small droplets flinging around as Khaos flicked the blade. “Are you quite finished?” he asked, watching her closely. . . . Ji walked out of the bathroom with his somewhat damp clothes under his arm, tugging his long sleeve to stay down. It stung, but everything did once in a while. It would fade like everything else. Besides, it was something he deserved; the least of what he deserved. All he had to do was bear through this small and insignificant pain; that’s it. It was something he deserved, anyway. He hobbled into the living area, passing by a muttering Ysola. “So many… how can a man…” Ysola continued her muttering, avoiding eye contact with Ji, blushing harder. Ji’s expression didn’t change. She was the least of his worries. He continued forward, making his way to the door–– “And where do you think you’re going?” Ji spun around––already feeling dizzy from the sudden movement––seeing the mother looking at him in disapproval. Very reminiscent of his own mother, which only made his inside hurt more. “I’m-I’m just––” he stammered, feeling like a small child “––just going to––” The mother held him gently by the shoulders, steering him to the couch. “No, you’re not.” “Yes, I do!” Ji protested, a sting of pain shooting up his arm. “There are people that need me right now and––” “Can’t help them if you feel sick just by turning around now, can you?” Ji clamped his mouth shut, letting himself be sat down by the mother. “Rest,” she said sternly. “Yes, ma’am,” he answered immediately, leaning back a bit, watching her leave him. Suppose she’s right. Ji placed his clothes beside him. Can’t really do anything right now. Not that I ever could.

He cursed softly, wriggling underneath the man’s grip. Lightn’ people being so lightn’... The blood within the man raced in his veins. Khaos reached out with his power——the shards slowing for a second——then threw John into the wall like a ragdoll. Didn’t have to come to that, but it is what it is. He glanced to Elya, the shards invigorated with life, a portion slicing to the man while the others remained hacking away at her.

He parried left and right, understanding her timing and getting in a few slices here and there. The shards riled up, feeding on the excitement as they kept hacking and slashing. How was she even alive? Woman had more willpower than that rat——Naito——will ever have. The Angel hadn’t been exaggerating when she told him how well-trained she was; Pherish could probably go toe-to-toe with the Angel herself. Khaos started by slowing her movements, his expression turning frigid. The shards sharpened with any blood spilt by either him, her, or that other man, cutting into his opponents.

He reacted before he heard her cry, flashing his blade out to deflect the girl’s feeble attempt at ending his life. The dripping shards sliced through the air, cutting through her and the other man. Why couldn’t she just get the message? It was plain and simple like the nose on his face. Did everything had to be told to her bluntly? Khaos twirled his blade, any remaining blood attaching itself to the edge of his blade, becoming sharper with every single drop. He stood taller, stared Elya straight in the eye with the slightest hint of sorrow, then drove the sharpened blade into John.

Another column of flames. A growl erupted from his throat. Khaos rolled out of the way, his eyes flicking down to the man’s hands, willing them to stop. The blood from the ground rose into more shards, a few of them joining to the cloud attacking Elya, the rest driving themselves into any of John’s exposed flesh.

Khaos leapt out of the way of the column of fire, feeling the man’s blood roar within him. A few of the blood shard zipped their way towards the man, impaling themselves into his torso, his blood adding onto the blood shards. He ground his teeth together, exercising his power on the man, slowing him to a stop.

He closed his eyes. “A hero’s death it is, then.” The shards of crimson blood perked with newfound life and started to cut away at the dying figure.

“Truces in oculis interfectorem,” Khaos continued the quote, meeting her stare, gripping his blade tighter, “ultio venit.” The blood around Elya bubbled, swirling up around her into many tiny, thin sharp blades of their own. They hung all around Elya, waiting for the singular command, any stray drops falling for a moment before being pulled back up with the rest of the blades. Didn’t have much left in her. Perhaps she wants to die a hero’s death, considering her history. If that was what she wanted… Perfect.

His hand lowered to his blade, fingers twitching around the hilt. . . . His head swam. Every mental effort he tried to put into getting up and out of the bathroom went to waste. His damp clothes hung in front of him, drying slowly in the barely warm enough air. Ragged breath in. Why couldn’t have I just died? Ragged breath out. A salty breeze picked up from the ajar window, other scents of the lower market flowing in. Ragged breath in. I shouldn’t be here. Ragged breath out. Glowing blue lines traced down his body where his veins were. A small thin blade materialized in front of him, a breath away from his wrist. Ragged breath in… I should be dead. Ragged breath…

And how shall we trade of the arts?

Khaos perked. A new presence? Their blood raced in their veins, then started to slow and calm itself. Were they…? BANG The bullet met the silver blade with a harsh clang, splitting clean in half and onto the ground. He looked down, frowning at the two halves of a thing that would have most surely killed him if he hadn’t acted. The presence rushed down, fleeing. Khaos stood still as he felt the presence leave his vicinity. He couldn’t waste time on people like that; there was more at stake here. Not to mention that Pherish still moved underneath him, which could lead to a whole string of problems if she was still alive. He took a step back, leaning against the wall while he listened to her blood.

Keep forgetting to post these here lolll.

A flash of silver whipped out, deflecting the bullet to the wall beside him. His eyes flicked from the quivering figures. Perfect. Khaos exhaled, tightening his mental grip on the flamethrower man while maintaining grips on the others, twisting the man’s limbs enough to incapacitate him as he calmly slid his blade back in his sheathe. But what of the other ones? The Angel said that they all had come out to him, but not all were here.

Khaos quickly sheathed his blade, jumping out of the way––the best he could, at least––of the fire, leaving a small part of his bodysuit on fire a bit. Swiftly, he fell to the ground, rolling as the fire went out, patting out any remaining embers. The Transporter’s blood was racing now. Seeing him catch fire must’ve been a sight for them. Perfect. Khaos willed the blood in the Transporter to come to a halt, bending them to cease their portals. He flicked his gazed over to the flamethrower man, and did the same.

Before the fire reached him, Khaos shot forward and plunged it into her gut, right below the ribcage, feeling her blood soak through her jacket and stain his blade. He leaned in close to her ear, walking two fingers up her shoulder and neck. “Vale, dulcis princeps,” he quoted quietly in her ear, whispering in the old tongue. “Sit amans te invenies.” A presence moved from that portal, clicking something on. Perfect. Khaos slid the blade from her gut, hopping out of the way for Elya to take, holding her there for a little while longer as he brushed off his singed bodysuit. “I assume you’re with her,” he said, spinning his blade, flicking droplets of blood on himself and the area around him.