Longshot97

Hello, all. I promise I'm working on the epilogue posts. In any case, I've had this idea bouncing around my head for a while. The reveal of UFO has given me a few ideas. @Stormlightsong I'd appreciate your input on the UFO sections. Do I have a plausible interpretation of the organization as a whole? New character:

It was over. Eighth of the Eve stood dumbly in place. His ears still rang with the thunder of the cloaked man's weapon. He didn't move, merely stared after the man's flight. As he watched, the moon slowly faded from a bloody red to the purest white. Eza ran out the door, faster than Eighth could follow. He raised one hand after her, then slowly let it drop. She was already gone. Hopefully, she found help quickly. The dead outnumbered the living, staring sightlessly up at frantic faces and lost expressions. Precious few of the constables still stood. Vacant, dazed eyes looked out from pale faces and bloodless lips. They glanced about the room, seemingly at a loss. Slowly, all eyes focused on a single man. He was a rotund, aged man, with a bristling mustache and a heavily embroidered coat. He stared up through the opening in the roof after the cloaked man, working his jaw. An unlit smokepipe dangled between two fingers. Wait. An opening? In the roof? Surely that hadn't been there before. He was suddenly aware of the steady groan of overstressed timber and warping plaster. He turned slowly to the far wall. The wall where a constable's body hung embedded in the plaster. The site where he had tethered the rampaging Redeye, temporarily incapacitating him. The wall sagged alarmingly, bulging into the room itself. Only splintered remains lingered of the loadbearing beam. Before Eighth's eyes, cracks spiderwebbed across the wall's surface. The thunder, echoing throughout the halls, shaking the very building on its foundations. The persistent tremors throughout the night. The crater in the floor. The decimated walls. What little conversation there was ceased as all the constables followed Eighth's gaze. For single moment, silence reigned. The groan grew even louder, and a sharp crack split the air. Slowly, ponderously, the wall began to overturn. * * * Without pausing to consider, Eighth dashed forward and rammed his shoulder into place, arms spread wide across the plaster. Ever muscle in his body tensed, and his feet slid slowly across the floor. He gasped, fighting back a scream. The weight of what seemed to be the entire building bore down upon him. He bit down a scream as his tortured back took the strain. Through blurry eyes, he could just make out the constables, rooted in place. What are they waiting for? "Run!" Blood filled Eighth's mouth, and he coughed, spitting it in a stream to the side. "Grab the wounded, and run!" And suddenly, everything was moving. The ceiling cracked sharply. Fragments of timber rained down on the now-frantic constables. The grayhair was first out, assisting the officer with the shattered hip. The pale and sickly came next, color flooding their cheeks. One fell to the debris. Eighth could hear their skull caving in from where he stood. A crunch sounded next to him. Eighth turned to see the tear-stricken officer hefting a large timber, ramming it through the plaster and grounding it on the floor. Eighth cautiously backed away from the wall. It held. No time to waste. Eighth shoved the officer ahead of him, ramming his blade into its scabbard. The officer ran, pausing only to throw a legless constable over his shoulders. Panic must have flooded his blood, for he ran fast, far outstripping the remaining constables. Eighth knelt, cradling Seiju in one arm. One eye fluttered open, and she chirped questioningly. Eighth ignored her, forcing his legs forward. Time enough for that later. He was at the door before remembering his cousin. Eighth of the Eve halted, feet skidding across the floorboards. He turned, wild-eyed. There was the body, withered and shriveled, but not beyond recognition. Their chest was a bloody mess, and blood trickled from the hole, drilled neatly into their forehead. Eighth simply stood there, shoulders heaving. He stared, then looked down the hallway at the fleeing constables. Then back again. He was a monster. This was their doing. Let it be their tomb. It was only fitting. But... Is this what she would want? What anyone would want? What anyone deserves? What family deserves? Eighth ground his teeth together, then dashed back into the room. Siezing Asylum under one arm, he crouched and heaved, throwing them over one shoulder. The corpse was shockingly heavy, and Eighth staggered under its weight. A jagged shard of wood fell, splintering across the floor. Right where his head had been, mere moments ago. He turned towards the door. Time to run. Long past that, in fact. With a piercing crack, the ceiling caved in. A torrent of shattered planks and clay tiles rained over the doorway. Eighth gritted his teeth, then ran, huddling protectively over the Aviar in his arm. Reaching the rapidly-growing debris pile, he crouched and leapt with all his might. Pain blossomed across his back. Blinding, crippling pain. What felt like a chunk of pottery cracked him across the head. Stars swam in his vision. He staggered against the corridor. The plaster gave way under one hand like rotten wood. The entire building. Distant Father preserve us. The entire building is coming down. Yanking his arm free, Eighth of the Eve ran for his life. Seiju coughed weakly in his arms, and before him, the welcoming paths of her talent beckoned him. Eighth darted forth on light feet, the floor giving way just behind him. The roar of the constabulary's collapse was nearly deafening now. He turned a corner at speed, barely avoiding chunks of debris. One clipped him across the shoulder, nearly sending him sprawling to the ground. Grimacing, he forced himself to release his weightloss. His pace slowed, but his feet settled more heavily on the ground, and he bore up under the impacts. He tried to ignore the burning, seething pain of his back, only worsened by the debris. Tried to ignore the pounding in his head, struggling to see in the darkened hallways. Tried to ignore the throbbing across one hip, louder with every stride. Tried to ignore the searing agony in his shoulder, struggling to hold the only family left to him. Eighth rounded another corner and saw the last of the constables stagger out into the moonlight. More than one had collapsed to the street, clutching wounds old and new. In the distance, he thought he saw men. Glowing, radiant men, approaching at speed. Heart surging with hope, Eighth redoubled his speed. With a resounding crash, the nearest wall collapsed. Not even a second later, the roof followed suit. Cruel, jagged splinters flew as clay dust filled the air. Lines of fire carved their way across the right side of his body. Blood clouded his eye. His ear went numb. Eighth of the Eve screamed as half of his world disappeared in a red haze. His leg gave out beneath him, and his opposite hip followed suit with one final protest. His back seemed to go up in flames. Clawing at the floor, he dragged himself another inch. He managed to get one knee under him, pushing with his good arm. Then the floorboards gave way under his left hand, and his shoulder seemed to howl as his left arm went numb. He opened his mouth to scream again, and choking dust filled his lungs. Blood sprayed across the floor as he coughed, gasping for air. The moonlit night seemed so close. The opening had not even collapsed yet. Eighth of the Eve lay mere inches from safety, and could not move at all. He stared helplessly out at the massed crowd. Without warning, a fragment of tile plummeted from above. Eighth saw it in perfect detail as fell, drawing ever closer with unerring precision. Light vanished suddenly. He felt the midnight breeze - cool upon his skin - but even with his eyes open, there was darkness. Eighth released his breath. His right hand slid across the floor. Something sliced his palm, the ground now slick with blood. His fingers landed upon something tiny and warm. With one final effort, he drew his arm close, holding Seiju to him, curling his body protectively around her. Her tiny heart fluttered against his chest, and she huddled close, as though to hide from the world. Eighth of the Eve smiled. He imagined, as the world crumbled about him, that he felt small hands clasping his own. * * * Eighth lay still, alone in the dark. Visions swam half-formed before him. Deeds done and gone, tales long told and disbelieved, worlds never before and never again seen. People of all kinds. Familiar. Alien. Divine. Profane. There and gone, like the loving tumult of a waking dream. He sat up cautiously. No pain. How odd. So this was Ironeyes' domain. How very...peaceful. A picture caught his eye, and he whirled to stare after it. Already gone, but so vivid in his mind. Branded upon his vision. A vast, beautiful sea, scattered throughout with vibrant pockets of life. Colorful Aviar filled the air, flying in all directions. Formless shapes, majestic and enormous, were just visible below the waves That...that was home. He shifted his gaze to the vast array before him. A world of stone skies and endless tunnels. The burning fireworld of eternal flight. The endless night of the nightmare plains. The floating cities of a fallen world. The land of ash and mist. All the worlds he had seen, and countless others. All visited from here. From this place of dreams. "Did you want to die?" Eighth froze, heart pounding. That voice... Slowly, Eighth turned around. She stood before him. Slight of stature, striking in appearance, suffused with life. His unlikely star. His precious flame. The light that had drawn him, across worlds uncountable. "El?" he whispered. She cocked her head. "Elmina? No, I'm...oh. You wouldn't know that. Ah...yes. Yes, I'm El." Eighth sank to his knees, overwhelmed. He reached out a trembling hand, but with a strange ripple, El was now too far away to touch. He leaned forward, suddenly desperate, but again, she was too far. Always too far. Unbidden, tears traced their way down his cheeks. She faced him with an open, avid curiosity. As though she had never quite seen him before. What is happening? "Did you want to die?" she repeated. "You just...gave up, in there. You stopped moving, stopped struggling. Stopped dreaming." She stepped forward, though she drew no closer. "Why?" Eighth stared at her a moment longer. Then his shoulders slumped, and he sat back heavily, arms about his legs. He may have escaped the pain, but he was as tired as ever. "My Father banished me," he said, choking on the words, "for my blasphemy. Patji has exiled me. And yet, here I am." Solitude. Solemnity. Sanctity. Silence. Self-control. "Every tenet of the trappers, I have betrayed." He choked, and for a long moment, there was silence. The half-formed dreams of countless worlds surrounded them. "Yet," Eighth said at last, "still I dare to carry on. My home may be lost. But my heart is not." El stared at him for a long moment. Then a sad smile creased her features. Slowly, she extended one elegant hand towards him. Eighth reached out, and at long last, their hands met. * * * Eighth of the Eve opened his eyes. Cool, sweet air filled his lungs. The stars danced overhead, and the moon shone pure over the city. For a blissful moment, the peace of that dreamworld lingered. He forgot about El. He forgot about Eza. He forgot about the long night's events. Sunlight now peeked over the horizon. The darkest part of the night was gone. Dawn was here. Like a crashing tide, the pain suddenly overwhelmed him. Not on inch of his body was spared. Cuts and bruises, breaks and fractures He tried to rise to his feet. Tried to roll over. Tried to lift his head. Tried to call out for help. Nothing. Helpless, Eighth laid there and waited to die. @Lunamor

Three things happened. Blood fountained through the air, and the Soulless's legs buckled. The corpse was tossed casually aside, breaking sickeningly apart upon the wall. The stream of quicksilver, nearly solid as it flew, struck the Redeye on the chest with enormous force, spraying off to the sides. And the demon's feet left the ground at speed, flinging it into the air. For a timeless moment it hung there, suspended helplessly. The lightline chaining its arm to the wall held for a brief moment, straining ever tighter. Then, with a crunch, the support beam was ripped from the wall, crashing down to the floorboards. Not a second later, the line tore from the Redeye's hand, a bloody strip of flesh flapping uselessly at its end. The Soulless landed flat on its back, hard enough to shake the floors. Eighth stumbled on trembling knees. The creature's legs faced him, bound together at the ankles. Blood trickled from its severed heels. Both hands were free, and it barely seemed stunned. Indeed, an amused smile stretched its face. Eza stood at the thing's side. It was a miracle it had not crushed her as it fell. But she was close. Too close. Eighth of the Eve turned and ran. Ordinarily, he would have had no hope of moving the Soulless even an inch. The creature towered over him, frame rippling with muscle. It must have weighed twenty stone or more. But the creature had landed on the quicksilver. His gloved hand flared with light. Without turning, without releasing his grip, Eighth reached out, urging the metal to coalesce fully beneath the Redeye and to flow. The start felt slow - agonizingly so. But he was moving. Building momentum. Eighth strained his legs, heaving with all the muscles of back and shoulder. They sped rapidly away from Eza. But Eighth's goal was not merely distance. Through blurry eyes, Eighth made out the crater through the floorboards. Desperately, he forced his legs to strike the ground faster. He bent low - ignoring the pain tearing through his rent back - and urged himself to even greater speed. The enormous hole drew closer, yawning before him. Eighth's foot touched down on the jagged floorboards, and he crouched at the very edge of the abyss, poised almost to topple over into the hole. Tapping his palm, Eighth released the lightline. And, legs snapping forward, Eighth opened himself to his weightloss. Mid-jump, he felt half of his mass drawn into the medallion. Eighth flew forward, clearing the edge easily, rising high over the gaping pit. One flailing hand caught a rafter, and he held on grimly, dangling in the open air. His other hand - the one with the lightline - he held outstretched before him, fingers splayed. Eighth twisted, watching the Soulless flying across the floor, borne on a plateau of rippling metal. Eighth reached out, only dimly aware of his glove glowing even brighter. The metal seemed to quicken at the mere touch of his thoughts. Clenching his fingers into a fist, Eighth yanked his hand back. And with a final burst of speed, the quicksilver flowed over the edge. And the Redeye, face yet twisted in with grotesque smile, fell into the darkness below. The impact was enough to shake the entire room. Dust billowed up from the pit. The sound of splintering wood and breaking bone reached Eighth. His grip finally slipped, and fell sprawling to the floor below. Those injuries, forgotten in the heat of battle, now clamored for his attention. He didn't even try shoving the pain aside, or keeping it from his face. He merely rolled over, features contorted with agony, and peered over the lip of the crater. The room below was dark and dusty. He made nothing out. Dimly, metal glinted below, and he stood up with a groan. The veins about his glove slowly brightened, and he reached out carefully. The quicksilver rose from the pit, twisting about in an ever-rising spire of liquid to meet his outstretched hand. The metal flowed up his arm, and he frowned idly. Was it lighter than it should have been? Slowly, he plodded around the hole. He stopped painfully to lift Seiju from the ground. The Aviar was still unconscious. Good. She will not want to be awake when I set that wing. Eighth stood up, stepping with deliberately slowness. Everything was shaking. His eyes sought Eza in the dim haze of settling dust. Where is she? He found her, still crouched as though to fight, bloody knife in hand. Her pupils were dilated in the flickering light, her knuckles white about her blade's grip. Silently, he stepped up to her side. For the moment, everything was still. And for the first time, he allowed himself to raise his head and look around them. The dead and dying littered the floor. Vile, pestilent cadavers lay next to officers lacking breath to scream. Blood was everywhere, and the contents of the room were in shambles. The Greeneye still hung, suspended in its trap. Only a few constables remained standing. So few. Some, scattered across the room, nursed injuries that would forever cripple them. Some cling to life despite mortal wounds. One man stood alone amidst the ruin. The dull steel of his eyes glinted through the haze. A gleaming weapon shone in his hand, the only true spot of light in this battlefield. His cloak shifted about his spindly frame, as though stirred in a strong breeze. But no wind touched these barren halls. @Koloss17 @Lunamor

Nothing urgent, I just thought of something funny and wanted to share it. My character carries a bunch of liquid mercury around (for one of his abilities). Recently, he's been doing so via a waterskin attached to his belt. While RP-ing, I was researching useful mercury facts, and discovered that two tablespoons of the stuff weighs a pound. A metric pound. That is 13.6 times the weight of water. So, naturally l, I blithely had my character hold up the full waterskin of the stuff for use as an Allomantic anchor. Then I started to wonder...just how heavy would that waterskin be? Could he actually have held it up with one arm? In fact, could he have even realistically been carrying it this whole time? So I did some digging. We don't know how much mercury Eighth of the Eve has, because he got that mercury from Reckoner-Earth, following the climax of book three, Calamity. In that book, we are introduced to this mercury in the form of the Rtich motivator - two "magical" gloves and a large jar of liquid mercury. That is all the description offered. Okay, large jar...not much to go off of, but better than nothing. Let's say a 64-ounce jar. It's a bit small, but let's go with that. A volume of water that size would weigh..four pounds, give or take. So, all of that means my character has been carrying around (drumroll please)... 54.4 pounds of liquid metal. At an underestimation of the amount of mercury. I find this ridiculously funny. So yeah, get out of here, assorted demigods, Twinborn of godly power, and vessels of eldritch monsters. My character's been lugging around more than the maximum weight allowed a suitcase on commercial flights on his belt (which I suppose is the real hero of this story). He's lifted it up one-handed without even thinking about it. Heck, he's tossed it around like a toy. I need to go spend hours internally justifying this. But I hope you found this at least half as funny as I did.

That's a fair explanation. I think that could fly, so long as the nature of the third spike remains mysterious. Another obstacle could be a lack of knowledge. Compounding is really non-intuitive, especially to non-Arcanists. It took a Sliver to fully realize the potential, and then a group of Inquisitors and extensive amount of time to finally crack the code. It is possible interacting with the DA would enlighten Kalel towards the possibility, but the presence of the third spike could still keep him from Compounding.

That does seem to be the norm. And we have precedent - Marsh can still Compound via both of his Atium spikes, despite living past the Catacendre. This must be because he gained his Hemalurgic spikes before Harmony's Ascension.

A few notes I thought prudent to mention: 1. It seems to me that, by the timeline you've set forth, Kalel should be able to Compound Feruchemical speed. Post-Era 1, Metalborn cannot Compound with abilities granted by Hemalurgic spikes, thanks to something Marsh calls "identity taint" I believe. However, Kalel was born pre-Catacendre, and indeed, pre-Final Empire. Nothing is stopping him from Compounding (unless he doesn't know about Compounding, which is fair). Even with an injured leg, I personally think this could prove problematic. Though depending on how blind he is, this could be a non-issue. 2. How does his sister fit into his backstory? Did he leave her in the North? Did she join him in the street gang? Was she also abducted by Inquisitors? 3. Very complex personality. Not a criticism - I'm just genuinely impressed. If you manage to accurately encompass all his character traits as you roleplay, I think this character would have a lot to offer.

Eighth watched both his friends tumble through the air. Eza's eyes were wide, alight with anger. Her limbs flailed furiously about her, even as she spared across the room. Even from where he stood, Eighth heard the snap of Seiju's wing as clear as day. The limb took the brunt of the force - thank the Father - but he would have sworn he saw her delicate torso deform around the Soulless's hand. Her little eyes rolled up into her head, and she spiraled gracelessly towards the ground. He froze only a moment before racing after Seiju. Only one of them was conscious. Besides, what would I do? Catch a young woman out of the air? Even in this he was too slow. He was forced to dive, stretching his body to full extension, just to get his hands under his old friend. Eighth snatched his arms in, curling his body around the Aviar, and closed his eyes. An enormous blow seemed to land across his shoulders. Desperately, Eighth went rigid, holding a tiny pocket of space up around the limp bird. His back took the brunt of the next impact, and then the world was a blur of color and agony and tangled limbs. He eventually came to a stop hunched on his side. Slowly, painstakingly, he unfolded himself, rolling to his back and letting his limbs flop down. Every bit of him was screaming pain and fiery burns. He simply lay there, on hand over Seiju, still and silent on his chest. With an effort, he proved his fingers along her torso. No breaks, no swelling. She will live. Patji be praised, she will live. For the first time in what seemed forever, Eighth of the Eve simply relaxed. Then a loud, grinding roar hit him, and his eyes snapped painfully open. “I am going to clobber you!” The Redeye. A corpse flew across the room, directly over Eighth's head. For a split second, those unseeing eyes seemed to meet Eighth's, boring into his very soul as only a dead man's gaze could. Then it was gone, and a bodily thump reached him, followed by a cry and a sickening crunch. Eighth moved to rise, but his arms refused his commands, his torso barely shifting. His head lolled, and he saw the many-weaponed officer knocked off his feet, weapons falling from his hands. The limp body drove into his sternum, blowing him back into the wall. A cloud of pulverized plaster billowed from the impact. Eighth rolled himself to his chest, brushing Seiju gently to the floor. His legs braced, his arms strained, and slowly, painfully, he lifted himself from the floor. The obscuring dust finally parted, and Eighth froze. The constable lay embedded sideways within the wall, back arched unnaturally. The deep brown of a loadbearing beam was visible above his abdomen, and blood dripped from exposed ribs. His chest did not rise. His eyes stared sightless into Eighth's. No. He pushed himself shakily to one knee. A shout reached reached him, and he twisted, just in time to see the large-weaponed officer lose his weapon, the fingers of his right hand snapping audibly with a spray of blood. The weapon hit the floor with the outflung corpse. Eighth staggered to his feet, mouth opened to shout a warning. But a grunt reached him, and another body slammed into the officer's ribcage. The corpse deformed around the constable, breaking before his body, but the force threw him from his feet. The constable was driven to the ground. One arm hit the ground trapped between body and floor, and the arm held for just a moment before rupturing messily at the elbow. The man's head flew back, snapping down onto his own weapon. Thunder split the air, and the entire right side of the constable's abdomen was vaporized. His scream filled the air. No! The Redeye now strained at the end of its tether to snatch a corpse's foot. Straightening, it whirled the body about its head like a grotesque sling, eyes unerringly seeking out the tear-stricken officer. The constable flung his hand out before him, and light flashed briefly as spouts of blood flew from the Soulless's massive chest. It merely laughed. Somebody's family stood there. Someone's lover, perhaps. A son certainly stood there, in the shadow of an abomination. A brother, or perhaps an uncle. Someone's cousin, perhaps. Or someone's husband. "No!" Eighth felt something in his throat tear apart. He stumbled forward on unsteady legs. Sickening despair turned his stomach, seething and frothing into boiling rage. "No more!" Slick, coppery blood coated the back of his tongue. His stumbling gait sped up to a shambling sprint. Eighth kicked a piece of rubble into the air, slapping his wrist against it. He spun, light on his feet, spooling a line of light out before him, then tapped his palm, halting the cord's extension. The makeshift bludgeon swung with him at knee level, circling ever faster, building speed. With a bloody scream, Eighth dug his heels into the floor, arresting his movement and flinging his arm wide. The chunk of wood circled one last time, uncoiling on its line with tremendous force before flying forward. It sailed past the Redeye's legs, the lightline striking and sticking at its shins. The weight pulled suddenly taut, blurring forward in a circle about the Soulless's legs. Eighth threw his other hand high, and a solid stream of quicksilver flew at the creature's chest. Eighth dropped low to one hand, setting his heels firmly to the planks below. He released his weightloss, gritted his teeth, and heaved on the line with all his might. @Koloss17 @Lunamor

Eighth of the Eve pounded forth on too-light feet. His small army followed closely behind him. The remaining constables, strewn bloody and broken across the floor, could only watch. A few tried to get to their feet, only to fall once more. But Eighth barely spared a thought for them. The Redeye held his focus. The creature now held Eza aloft, like a child holding a ragdoll. She had fought viciously, it seemed. The creature was only just staggering to its feet, and blood trickled down its arm. Its eyes burned with fury, and it shook Eza, like a hunter snapping a quarry's neck. A cold, quiet focus settled on Eighth. No time for panic, and no time for fury. The officer was right. They needed a plan to survive. Eza was depending on them. "Stand back and shoot!" Eighth shouted. "Hurt the creature, but avoid myself and the girl!" He paused. "And the Aviar!" Two of the officers fell back. One hefted a thunderhand large enough to boggle the mind. An enormous hunk of oddly shaped metal, which the officer began ratcheting menacingly. The other brandished a smaller, sleeker weapon. Many more lay strewn across his person, belted in place. Yet the tear-stricken officer stopped too, tossing away his sword and snatching something from the ground. Eighth was past him in a second. What? Was that...was that a beltpouch? And Eighth was within the towering creature's reach. An enormous fist descended, splitting the air itself. Eighth hurled himself to the left, nearly gliding across the floor. He slashed at the bloody leg, but the creature stepped easily aside. The first came arcing back, faster than Eighth had expected. He threw himself back. Too slow. The blow rushed towards his unprotected head. He would- Harsh, resounding cracks filled the air. The creature staggered, spouts of blood blossoming from its shoulder. The arm fell limply to its side, and the Soulless turned on the officers with a roar of pain. The officer held a weapon in each hand, smoke wafting gently to the ceiling. Even now, he dropped his weapons carelessly to the floor, withdrawing a fresh set from his belts. The Redeye growled, stepping towards the officer. Then thunder filled the air, and a full section of the creature's hip exploded into red mist. It fell to one knee, bracing itself on its now-healed arm. The free hand landing hard enough to actually penetrate the floor. The second constable grimly worked his weapon, hefting the mass of metal casually in one hand. Bits of metal clattered to the floor beneath his busy fingers. The Soulless rumbled. The floor splintered under his grip, and the creature tore up a section of the flooring, as easily as Eighth might a hunk from a loaf of bread. It raised its hand, poised to hurl the missile at the officer. Without warning, chunks of flesh were ripped from the monster's hand and arm. A finger sailed past Eighth, and the would-be-projectile clattered to the floor amid blood and bone. The tear-stricken officer stood, leather pouch in one hand, the other flung before him, as though having thrown something. Eighth blinked. How on Patji - no. No time for that. Even now, the creature's wounds were sealed shut, and it began laboriously assuming its feet. Effective though the constables were proving, they were vulnerable. Dangerously so. Eighth had seen similar marksmen torn to shreds by the rampaging Redeye. He had to do something. Eighth of the Eve dove. But not for the Soulless. For its free hand, mangled and bloody at its side. Eighth slapped his wrist against the creature's hand. He continued his dive, landing clumsily into a roll. Halfway through, his back convulsed, and he buckled, tumbling heavily across the floor. Eighth slapped his wrist against the wall, then tapped his palm, backpedaling furiously. A lightline now stretched from the creature's fist, anchored to the wall. But not just the wall. A loadbearing beam, visible even through the plaster, bore the glowing cord. Eighth's eyes tightened in satisfaction, and he staggered painfully to one knee. Let us see you break that. Thunder filled the air once more, and chunks of flesh flew from the Soulless's body. One hand was now anchored soundly, and the constables smartly arranged themselves out of the creature's reach. The Redeye retained its footing, however, and still held Eza firmly in one hand. Lurching to his feet, Eighth raised his blowpipes, sighting carefully on the creature's unleashed hand. His grip centered on the forearm. Any closer, and he risked striking Eza instead. Without shifting his gaze, he whistled, high and sharp. Two ascending notes. Attack. Seiju leapt from Eza's shoulder, fluttering clumsily into the Soulless's face. Feathers flew and blood rose as she pecked and clawed and gouged at the creature's eyes. Eighth pulled the trigger, and a single dart flew, lodging itself in the inner tendons leading to the fingers. Releasing the trigger, Eighth crouched low to the floor, ready to run for his life. His, and Eza's. @Koloss17 @Lunamor

The Greeneye flew across the room, dragged by his head, faster than Eighth of the Eve had anticipated. He leapt to the side - narrowly ducking a sword tumbling through the air - and lashed out with the piece of rubble anchored to his wrist. The weighted line swung with all the force of a hammer, arcing through the air to crash against the creature's legs. The sound of fracturing bone reached Eighth, and nearby, a still-standing constable arched with pain, collapsing to the ground. But Eighth's goal was not to harm. No soldier could wound these creatures. And he was no soldier. He was a trapper. The Greeneye's legs now adhered to the lightline spooled about the piece of wood. As surely as spidersilk, the glowing cords caught at the abomination's clothes and skin, holding fast. Eighth whipped a few coils of line about it's ankles, then tore off his bracelet, fast enough to abrade the skin from his wrist. No time to unlatch it. He tossed the device one-handed, up and over the ceiling rafters. The cord pulled taught, the device just out of reach. And Eighth of the Eve leapt, stomping down on his grounded blade for a little more lift. He reached, straining his arm upwards... And caught the bracelet. Eighth released his weightloss. He felt himself settle more heavily, his full ten stone or so now pulling him to the floor. His fingers strained around metal disk, but he hung on. The Soulless's legs flew straight into the air, attached soundly to Eighth's tether. As sure as any noose, it hailed the creature upwards, like a preybeast, ripe for the slaughter. And then the demon stopped, chest still on the floor. Eighth's eyes narrowed, then widened with realization. Of course the bloated, heavyset creature outweighed him. It has been an officer, once, and muscle weighed heavier than mere flesh. But that wasn't all. Eighth flung his fingers wide, his glove flaring with light. The quicksilver ran fluidly form the Greeneye's mouth, and Eighth heard it sputter and cough. Quickly now. He curled his fingers. The solvent silver flowed across the floor, pooling where the tip of Eighth's foot just grazed the ground. It reached the toe of his sandal, and flowed up, along the length of his body. Immediately, Eighth fell heavily to the floor. The creature was hoisted high, its head dangling a good few cubits from the floor. Its throat was clearing, however. The cough was subsiding, the creature drawing ragged breaths. Eighth shoved his hand through the bracelet - more skin tore - and slapped his wrist against the floor. The line anchored securely to the floorboards. Eighth hesitated, then spooled a few lines across the board, securing it from rupturing. That done, he turned. And found the demon's eyes facing him, mouth opened wide to attack. Eighth threw his hand forward. The quicksilver flew between them, though the Soulless had a hand upraised to block entry. But that was not Eighth's plan. The liquid metal struck, heavier by far than water, and swung the demon back, legs still tethered firmly to the ceiling. Toxic fumes began to billow from its mouth. Eighth lunged, opening himself to his weightloss, and fairly flew across the floor. Seizing the Greeneye's head by the hair, he levered it up, such that his chin pointed straight at the ground. And drove it - and its deadly mouth - directly into the wall. Right where he had carved an opening. A massive blow clouted him across the hip. Eighth found himself airborne, the world spinning about him. Panicking, he reached up, slapping his wrist against the nearest surface he could find. His arm wrenched painfully, and then everything slowed about him. Eighth opened his eyes blearily. He hung, swinging gently by his arm, from the ceiling. His left hip smarted, but the angle had been awkward. He could move his legs just fine. He raised his head. The Soulless dangled before him, arms thrashing furiously. Its legs dangled from the roof, trussed securely together. Its torso arched precariously, neck straining under its weight. And its head was only barely visible, its face wedged into the hole Eighth had opened in the wall. Eighth watched it set a hand against the wall, saw the elbow tremble with strain. But the angle was awkward. Worse, the flesh just above the creature's neck was pressed firmly against a looped lightline surrounding the trap. Eighth tapped his palm, dismissing his own lightline. He fell from the roof, landing lightly on his feet. Or, at least trying to. His hip flared with pain, and his left leg buckled, sending him to one knee. Eighth grimaced, but rose to his feet. He lunged for one flailing arm, attaching another lightline to it, and, pulling it taught, anchored the line against the floor. He secured the floorboards - just in case - and repeated the process the other arm. Then he stepped back. The Soulless hung before him, every limb splayed wide, face pressed harmlessly away. A few constables looked on in disbelief. One, sprawled across the floor, laughed weakly. Another raised a sword. "No!" Eighth slapped the man's wrist sharply sway. The weapon fell, striking the floor with a clang. "We cannot kill it," Eighth said, words tumbling from his mouth. Loud. Loud enough for all to hear. "It heals. Besides. Sever an limb, and you have freed it from its trap. Sever it's head, and imagine if that healed." Eighth held the man's gaze firmly until the rage receded. Not completely, but enough for him to nod reluctantly. Eighth relaxed. The floor shook suddenly, sending them all to their knees. Eighth threw up his hand against a blinding cloud of dust and debris. Hacking and wheezing, he stumbled to his feet. An enormous hole suddenly gapes through the floor on the far side of the room. Eighth searched wildly, but the cloaked man was far away. In fact, he seemed just as dumbfounded as anyone else. The Yelloweye was gone. Eighth searched frantically, even checking the ceiling rafters, but the creature was nowhere to be seen. Eighth paused, and his eyes drifted back to the hole. Who...who had done that? A booming voice suddenly filled the air. The first time that voice had spoken. That voice... That voice was a scream of rage. A cry of agony. A sob of terror. A thunder of fury. A rally of courage. It was pain and death and broken bone and spilt blood and all things primal and old. It was the tide of battle, flinging men against each other. "This will be fun, tiny one." Eighth whirled to see the creature shake constables from its enormous body, thundering forth against its opponent. A young woman, tiny and frail. And a flash of colored feathers. No. Eighth lunged forward, only to find himself hauled back. The tear-stricken officer, hand on his shoulder. "Are you mad?" he shouted. He shook Eighth wildly. "Do you even have a plan?" Eighth stood, eyes wide, breath heaving in and out of him. Not her. Not them! The officer shook him again. "You did this!" he shouted, waving at the Greeneye. He gestured to his comrades. "Tell us what to do! We'll listen! Just keep your rusting head!" Eighth ground his teeth, then relaxed his stance. The officer released him, backing away. Fine. "You and you!" Eighth called, pointing to two officers. One held a small thunderhand, the other a heavy sword. "Stay here, and do not let it escape." He gestured at the others, then paused. Only three...but better than just me. "All of you," he said. "Protect the girl! She is our only chance at surviving!" He felt a slight pang at the lie. But he would not lose her. Besides... His eyes widened. It might actually be true. "With me!" Eighth roared. Snatching up his blade, he turned, quicksilver streaming at his feet. And ran for his life. @Koloss17 @Lunamor

Can I suggest darts not unlike a plumbata, or perhaps a blow dart, with the fletching Awakened to "Bend and Seek Target?" All you're doing is articulating the feathers to guide the projectile's flight. Also please believe me when I say this isn't necro-ing this is still relevant I swear ;-;