#Bite’s writing

[maliwarm]

Yield

@downwithwritersblock’s July prompts

Playing with a couple of Elfy’s OCs for something different. ;9

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Rocks and fragmented earth dug into Saborah’s back. The mild annoyance they presented intensified a smidge as the lither figure sitting astride him leaned forward to press more of his weight down. The muscular thighs around his ribs remained in place, maintaining a steady squeezing pressure. Nowhere near painful levels; simply firm to discourage squirming. Pleasant warmth, like that of the sun on a clear day, radiated against his skin from the contact.

And from the wickedly sharp ends of the star-tipped tail hovering at his throat.

Pointed teeth flashed down at Saborah in a wide grin. Orange eyes twinkled playfully down at him from the shadows dancing across the man’s face as his brilliant mane of glowing hair shifted around behind him, as if it possessed a life of its own.

“Looks like I win this round, Sabs.” De’ronja sounded pleased with this declaration. His broadening smile seemed to back this assumption. “Unless...”

The slighter framed djinn leaned forward even further, straight horns grazing against Saborah’s own, thicker and curving, set. His already bubbly tone took on a more playful lilt as the end of his tail traced a featherlight trail, warm and ticklish, across Saborah’s throat.

“... You’re having second thoughts about staying down?”

A hearty laugh burbled from Saborah’s chest. His own pearly white fangs were bared in grin of his own. Mischief leaked from every inch of his bearded face.

“Oh, De’ronja,” he cooed. His own, spade-ended, tail curled up to brush against the other djinn’s hip through the gap in his bodysuit. A pleasant tingling fizz began to spread throughout his body, shifting to gather primarily at his throat and mouth. A few tiny speckles of light trickled from between Saborah’s teeth, dancing in the air between the pair. “I don’t believe I ever once said that I’d yielded.”

De’ronja’s eyes widened. He reared back, attempting to flee, but it was too late.

Bearded cheeks puffing was the precursor to a cloud of glittering bubbles getting sprayed at his face. He yelped, palming at his eyes to clear his vision, but the barrage was relentless. In the confusion, his thighs had loosened their grip around Saborah’s ribs. A shove to the chest easily sent him toppling off. And all at once the tables had turned completely out of his favour.

The breath was crushed from De’ronja’s lungs with an audible woof as Saborah bodily flopped over the top of him. The larger djinn kept his body as limp as possible, ensuring the full effects of his weight were felt. De’ronja wiggled beneath him, bare chest rubbing against the thick patch of peach hair adorning the other djinn’s chest. Though his struggle was an ultimately fruitless effort. He was pinned. Furthermore, he’d lost.

Saborah’s tail arched lazily over his back, the full length easily stretching past his head like a scorpion’s. The tip entered his lidded vision, making De’ronja go crosseyed as it hovered between them. A small boop was delivered to the tip of his nose.

“I win,” Saborah declared, plush lips curving into a smirk. “Better luck next time, De’ronja.”

“Maaaan!” His head flopped against the earth, grinding against the crags and pebbles. It did nothing to stop his hair’s gravity defying tendencies. “You just couldn’t let me have it this one time, could you, you killjoy?”

“Nope.” Saborah hummed, the smile still not having left his face as he retracted his tail. A gentle pat was delivered to his fellow djinn’s sideburned cheek. “But chin up, my friend! You actually had me on the ropes for a second there.”

Though he huffed and puffed and pretended to pout, De’ronja ultimately couldn’t stay mad at his friend. These little tussles were all in the name of play, anyhow.

“One of these centuries I’ll get you, Saborah of the Sparkling Globules,” he promised, a fresh sunny grin alighting on his face.

“Looking forward to it, De’ronja of the Daunting Sun,” was the sing-songed reply.

[a-beast-of-prey]

Even the shield of a shut door couldn’t quite keep out the merriment-filled voices and the scent of Maxima’s cooking coming from the kitchen. Kula, as always, was the most prevalent presence. Though her voice wasn’t the only feminine one to grace the team’s apartment today; there were guests over, and they’d be here for the majority of the day. K’ could easily imagine what was going on outside the confines of his room. Presents, affection, and a hearty breakfast for Foxy and Diana, celebrating their roles in Kula’s life as matronly figures... Just like last year. And the year before. And the year before that.

He hadn’t moved from bed at all this morning, and didn’t have any plans to do so anytime soon. Instead he remained curled up under the duvet, curtains closed, his only company the warmth radiating from his own body and the small silver cross at his neck. This, he rubbed between his bare fingers absently, staring at nothing in particular in the confines of his darkened room. He tried not to think about anything, but the ache in his chest persisted regardless. Another day, another stark reminder of things he didn’t have; that NESTS had so cruelly stripped him of.

K’ buried his head under the duvet when fresh laughter pealed out. Unbidden, a new source of warmth, wet and stinging, crawled down his cheeks.

For Kula, this was a day of celebration for the two women who had essentially raised, and come to care for, her. For him? It was a lamentation of something - someone - he’d never even had the privilege to know about. Stolen young, and mind stripped to blankness, the most he could recall were fragments. The steady thud of a heart under his ear... A fistful of flowers yanked straight from the roots, clutched tightly in a tiny hand... Sea salt and what might have been lavender tickling at his nostrils...

Happy Mother’s Day.

The words - muffled by the barriers he’d erected, as they were - still made it into his ears, regardless.

K’ slapped a hand over his mouth. He didn’t want the others to hear the ugly, wrenching sob that was trying to claw free of his chest.

[a-beast-of-prey]

Excess

@buddhaarmed

-

This is stupid on so many levels, K’ thought as he watched the small camp from afar, hidden in a crouch behind a rocky outcropping. The night cycle was just starting, oranges and reds in the skyline darkening to more purple hues. The mismatched party of four he was scoping had already gotten a fire going, roasting an animal carcass on a makeshift spit. Even from this distance, their uproarious laughter and conversation carried to him. As did the scent of the cooking meat. It smelled good, especially after a couple of days of having eaten nothing, but his stomach turned. He hadn’t been able to keep down anything but water for the past couple of days, body violently expunging the contents from itself mere minutes after consumption. He’d stumbled upon this group by chance earlier today, and they’d just so happened to find a lucrative amount of the solution to his problem. The trouble was that sharing is caring didn’t really apply out here. If he wanted those eridium bricks, he’d have to make an attempt at snatching them and running.

Stealing from anyone was always a calculated risk; every bandit fuck and their skag had a gun in Pandora’s wastes, with twitchy trigger fingers and a fierce protectiveness of their loot to go with them. And that wasn’t even going into the eye for an eye vendettas they imposed over any sort of wrongdoing. But K’ was starting to get weak as the first signs of slag-deprived sickness crept in. And with that encroaching sickness came desperation. If he let it progress too far, he was done for. By the time Maxima returned from his share of merc work they’d split up to complete, he’d likely be in the stomach of some opportunistic form of wildlife or another, or a bandit - maybe both - because he’d grown too weak to move, let alone defend himself.

Shaky fingers scraped through his fringe, damp with sweat. A passing breeze brought a tiny form of respite, a brush of coolness against his fever-scorched skin. K’ squeezed his eyes shut against a swell of nausea, throat bobbing with a swallow. He’d already passed out a couple of times yesterday. Another day, two tops, and he’d be at that danger point.

The shadows deepened considerably as the minutes passed, the fire in the middle of the camp seemingly becoming a brighter and brighter beacon in compensation. This was when K’ decided to make his move. He slipped out, keeping low, and headed for another rock cluster closer to the camp. In his all black, he would be far harder to pick out. Not impossible, granted. But the few seconds it would take for one of those four to realise the darker shadow in the night wasn’t another part of the scenery, but a person, should give him a bit of a head start when it came time to bolt.

“I must be out of my fucking mind,” he mumbled under his breath, able to pick out more details of the group the closer he crept towards their camp, flitting between hiding spots. All four were armed, a few pistols at hips, and even larger and deadlier guns propped up within arms’ reach. He thought he spied a rocket launcher among them. Worse still, there was a massive skag curled up at the feet of the bulkiest of them. “Shit...”

Too late to back out now, though. And with how dry his search had turned up until now, his chances of survival weren’t any better if he tried raiding another camp, anyway. At least this one he knew for sure had eridium, all of it stacked into a pile amongst cash and other loot off to one relatively dark side of the camp. And if they caught him in the act, well... a quick bullets and flames death was preferable to being torn apart screaming to become something or someone’s dinner.

Closer and closer K’ crept towards his prize, his pace slowing and more care entering his movements as the distance was closed. Sound was one thing he was conscious of. Another was scent. He’d been downwind thus far, thankfully, but one inopportune breeze would stir that skag and get him mauled. Its split jaws opened before his eyes, putting an immediate halt to his progress and stilling his breath. But the creature was simply yawning and it settled back into its sleepy coil with a low whuff. Its hulking handler, whose face glinted with a metallic sheen in the twisting light cast by the fire, as well as from the green light of a single large optic, cooed in synthetic tones. An equally metallic looking hand rubbed between the plates of its spiny shoulder blades. It was lucky that they were the furthest away from the loot pile, or his odds of getting by undetected would have been virtually zero. Instead, he may have to deal with the old guy and the more heavyset of the two women.

Not if he was quick and sneaky enough, though.

He was bearing right on the pile now, the call of the purple bricks trying to tug him along faster, faster, faster to snatch them up. But he resisted that urge. Now, more than ever, he needed to be careful. Irregardless of his wishes, the sluggish shifting under his skin picked up, beginning to stir eagerly to match that siren song tone. It only served to make him more antsy, making his attempts to stay stealthy harder. His heart thudded loud in his ears, seeming to match every pulsing wink of the shimmering surface of the eridium. Fuel for the fire. More poison to keep his body going; a painfully ironic antidote for his ailment. His right hand, which had been stuffed into a pocket this entire time so the glint of firelight off metal didn’t give him away, began to slip out. Red-plated fingers stretched towards the pile, his arm throbbing in anticipation of the eridium it was about to absorb.

That was what got him caught. The glint he’d been trying so hard to hide until now was glimpsed by the woman, her head turning to address the old man to deliver another loud joke, and catching sight of him by happenstance. Their gazes met, ice on violet. Hers, initially widened in shock, hardened. K’ threw caution to the wind, lunging desperately for the loot stash, arm straining as he thrust it out as far as possible. Just one brick... If he could grab just one, the power it would grant him might just help him make it out of here and live to see another day.

There was the tiniest spark as the tips of his fingers brushed tauntingly across the smooth surface of a brick, its energy jumping through the metal to caress at the flesh below. At the living presence in his veins, flaring up in eagerness. Half the woman’s body lit up, brilliant blue shoving the darkness aside. And then the spark he felt fizzled to nothing. The connection was cut, something with an energy frequency that felt similar but also different latching to one of his ankles. Breath left K’’s lungs, wind rushing in his ears as he was yanked violently into the air, up and backwards.

For one pristine moment there was just that rush of wind, the coolness of it a balm for his scorching skin. And the stars above, numerous winking lights; distant and pretty and that he’d do anything to be among.

And then the unseen force that had a hold of him - radiating some unnamable feeling against his skin, even through the leather of his pants - flung him forward again. The ground rushed to meet his face. His nose gushed blood on impact, stars popping against the sudden pure darkness that had stolen his vision. He groaned, groggy and cross-eyed as he was lifted again. Just as violent as the last. But this time it was simply to hold him, dangling upside down, rather than flail him at the ground like a fleshy mace on a chain. Metal clicked against grit teeth as the silver cross at his throat flicked with the violent motion, radiating dull pain from a new region of his skull.

“You’re either stupid, or got some massive fucking balls to try stealing from Vault Hunters, kid.”

K’ blinked hard to clear his vision. Through a swimming and wavering lens, he saw the burly woman striding over, corded muscles rippling as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her form blurred and doubled, the glow of the marks crawling up her left arm stretching further, fuzzy fingers pushing out from her body like neon lights blurring by during a car ride. Confusion stirred. It made his head throb all the worse. Continuing to blink helped clear things up little by little. Enough to make out the other three members of the camp getting to their feet and grabbing their weapons. The skag stalked at the fringes, fully alert now. It growled, tri-split jaws peeling back enough to expose building strings of saliva. A rumbling growl carried to him.

“Now then...” Glowy took a few swaggering steps closer, not even bothering to hide the fact she was sizing him up. Violet eyes scoured him from snowy hair, to open-fronted leather jacket, to boots. He didn’t know what conclusion she’d come to, but he definitely didn’t like the glint in those eyes. “You don’t look like typical bandit fodder... So, assuming you’re sane enough, you wanna tell us why you were skulking around, trying to take our shit, or do I need to beat some answers outta you?”

K’ remained thin-lipped. He could taste the blood from his busted nose. It was pooling in his nostrils, threatening to choke him, but he maintained as cold and unrelenting a glare as possible.

“No? Alright.” The woman shrugged. Her arms unfolded, brought up so she could crack her knuckles. Judging by the slow purpose behind every loud crack, it was supposed to intimidate him. The accompanying smile she flashed, all teeth, added further stock to this assumption. “Guess I’m punching until you squeal or die of a cracked rib going through your lung; whichever comes first.”

A thick arm reeled back in preparation to deliver her first punch.

No time to think. Just to act. The dinky Tediore pistol he kept on hand for gunfights was yanked from its holster. K’ braced his flesh hand from the bottom with his metal-wrapped palm, lining up a shot at the first target he laid his upside down gaze on: the woman’s muscled stomach. Blue shimmered from his peripheral, stealing his attention for the barest fraction of a second. It had taken the form of a hand, massive finger curling against thumb in a flicking position. Which was exactly what it did; there was an accompanying dull jolt of pain, causing his grip to spasm, upon impact of ethereal finger against weapon. The gun was sent hurtling away, firing prematurely, though the bullet hit nothing but sand. And the gun’s detonation upon collision with the ground was equally ineffective. Undeterred, he was already reaching for his holster again, the signature chirp of digistruct technology informing him that the gun was in the midst of reforming for use.

“I don’t think so!”

The tingling crush of another there-but-not hand encased his arm, yanking it as far away from his body as it would physically stretch. K’ bit down on a short scream, bones creaking and straining with the threat of dislocation. When the same arm that had flicked him attempted to give his right arm the same treatment, he snarled in defiance. Flame burst to life around his hand, adrenaline and fury fuelling it even as lightheadedness swelled, distorting his sight as his dwindling reserves of energy were chewed through to keep the fire going. The scathing tongues lunged, ripping across the weird energy construct as eagerly as they would flesh. Surprisingly enough the woman yelped in pain. The hand recoiled, leaving his flaming arm free. He slashed it instinctively at something growling below him. The resulting pained yowl of the too-close skag that followed made his skull throb. He slashed again to send it skittering away.

“Quit messing around,” the accented bark of what sounded like the other woman carried to K’’s ears, grating and loud. Military type, he could tell by the tone alone. If not for his vision playing up, her attire would’ve added further stock to this. As it stood, she was mostly a coloured blur to him, brandishing a shape that barely registered as a long barrelled gun of some description. “Let’s just shoot him already.”

“Try it,” he hissed back, voice thick and nasally with the blood still spilling from his nose. His eyes struggled to find her face, settling in the general vicinity of her weirdly-shaped head. There was some sort of protrusion coming off of one side... part of a helmet, maybe? It was hard to think when he was so damn groggy, exhaustion weighing him down with every passing moment the fire danced around his hand, threatening to drag him into the realm of unconsciousness. Nausea returned when he poured more into the flames, strengthening them enough to stop their flickering. He had to stay strong here; attempt to find some sort of edge over them to escape. “I’ll send us all up in flames before you can, asshole.”

“The hell you will,” Glowy scoffed.

And with one final upwards motion by the unseen force still gripping him by the leg, ending with his face smacking against ground again, all of the bravado and fight K’ mustered was gone. As was much of his coherent thought, for that matter.

His eyes rolled, grip on consciousness tenuous at best, as he was slowly pulled back aloft for inspection. The fire around his hand had wisped away to nothing upon impact, gauntlet already cooling. He couldn’t have summoned more even if he tried. Concussion notwithstanding, he simply didn’t have the energy for it. Maintaining the fire alone had ate up enough as was, but his body had also worked to mend his nose this whole time, his accelerated healing expending the rest, leaving him to basically run on fumes. The remodifications to his body were a lifesaver on a good day. Tonight? They were a double edged sword.

Sound was the next sense to dull after sight, garbled words fading in and out of his ears as the camp of four approached him. Hands patted him down, systematically stripping him of his gun, echo, storage deck... everything presenting some form of danger or value. One set of palms pressed at his face and neck, neither rough nor gentle. Businesslike, if anything. K’ tried to look at their owner, but his body was uncooperative. He couldn’t see shit; just vaguely coloured darkness moving within darkness through barely open eyes.

“—rature is insane. Nothing short of a miracle he’s not dead, frankly.” Masculine voice. Equally as businesslike as the hands. Their owner, maybe? “Aside from that hand, he doesn’t seem to have any cybernetic modifications... which begs the question of how and why he’s running a temperature more fitting of a boiler tank than a human.”

“I’ll do you a question better.” Glowy again, but her tone was baffled this time. There was some sort of rattling noise. “What kind of weirdo carries around this many pairs of sunglasses? There were like twenty pairs in his jacket and there’s even more in his storage deck. Seriously, there’s no freaking end to ‘em!”

That was the last thing K’ was aware of before his final thin thread of consciousness failed him.

[maliwarm]

Jaundice

J is for: Jaundice

Mako kept telling herself she didn’t care.

This whole tournament mess aside, she couldn’t give one lick about NESTS because they had nothing to do with her anymore. It was a part of her life she’d buried and done her best to move on from, trying to focus on carving out a new, normal, life for herself since their downfall. And she’d been going so, so well until now, when the organisation had arisen from the ashes, rearing its ugly head. When that smug Yagami clone brat broke into her apartment and held an ultimatum over her head: join her in the newest King of Fighters tournament, and by extension help NESTS in their revival efforts, or have the entire building and the people inside get torched to ash. Everything after that was just more zombie hands rising from the grave. More reminders of things she’d been trying to forget.

I don’t care anymore, she kept telling herself; kept clinging desperately to the words like a life raft. But she was entering a storm and her grip was slipping. Now, forced into the presence of people she despised again, she was faced with the wrenching realisation that, deep down, she actually did care; that there were things she’d never gotten a shred of closure about that still needed answers. And the longer she spent among these people, the less she could ignore it.

Finally entering the tournament made it downright unbearable.

Cameras continued to flash all around, reporters clamouring over one another to interview the participants. Mako was deaf to the din, eyes trained solely on the latest team to sign in. All she could hear was the rush of blood in her ears - or was that her powers, churning like a whirlpool beneath her skin? - suddenly loud as she watched the trio head for the reception desk. The largest was more machine than man, everything from the neck down plated in shiny metal coloured in shades of greyscale and blues. Not only was he easily the bulkiest of the trio, he also handled the swarming crowd of people with a surprising amount of affability and politeness, in spite of turning them all away. She didn’t know much of, or care, about him. The guy in leather, on the other hand, incited burbling anger. Mako had to physically restrain herself from breaking rank from the rest of the team to attack him, and that caused some serious internal conflict.

I don’t care.

I never got to prove my capabilities.

It doesn’t matter.

I was made to destroy him.

She was starting to shake, fingers curling to fists at her sides. The ends of her hair rippled as though stirred by a faint breeze, blonde darkening to a more seaweed hue for the barest of moments. She was barely aware of it, or whatever Elliot and Isla were hissing from behind and at her side, respectively. The most she was aware of, if dimly, was that their tones were different. But she paid neither of them any mind, eyes still trained solely on snowy hair and a slouched posture. On him. The very reason she had been created. Him; the one who had destroyed NESTS, unknowingly freeing her of the cartel’s shackles and granting her a new life.

K’: NESTS cartel’s biggest traitor, and the one who had spelled their demise. The first artificial wielder of the Kusanagi flame; an imperfect product, but strong and dangerous enough in spite of it to warrant the creation of a living failsafe. Said failsafe being the Anti-K project: NESTS’ attempts at re-engineering the makeup of those flames nullify the renegade Project K. Started up somewhere between 1999 and 2000, it was a laborious project that bore all sorts of strange fruit. Mostly, it had resulted in a lot of scrapped products; failure upon failure to be terminated. Friends and family to Mako. Nothing but more bodies to dispose of for NESTS.

She’d been discarded somewhere towards the end of the project due to an unforeseen breakthrough. Though her powers, so fine-tuned and constantly growing in power, had ensured her a place, very much alive, as one of the cartel’s assassins. But it had left her unfulfilled; hollow and bitter. Every day was a painful reminder that she’d been rendered obsolete, her place as the final product snatched unfairly from her by another, younger, upstart. And by one with such an unfitting power.

She was here too, Mako realised with a jolt.

A purple suited arm hooked itself through one of K’’s, the beaming young girl attached to it chattering animatedly to him. She seemed totally unruffled by his lack of visible reaction to whatever she was talking about, plowing on ahead with gusto. The third member of K’ Team seemed so out of place, almost overbearingly bright and sunny, whereas the other two - even the cyborg playing to the crowd - seemed rather sober and all business. And visually, where the two men were all hard, sharp edges, she was soft and round; a porcelain doll among toy soldiers. Except she was anything but weak. Mako had seen the footage; she knew full well that this girl was capable of transforming the entire hotel and a good stretch of the surrounds into a frozen tundra in the blink of an eye. It was almost terrifying to think of the power behind those slender fingertips. Terrifying, but impressive. And NESTS had crafted her that way by using Mako herself as a building block. There was a drop of pride over that detail amongst the sea of bitterness.

And yet this girl, Kula Diamond, had failed in her purpose. She’d joined forces with the very person she’d been created to destroy. Regardless of whether that had been due to weakness or ineffectiveness, or any other factor, she wasn’t fit for the title of Anti-K. NESTS had made a massive mistake picking her over Mako.

It doesn’t matter. You don’t have to care about that nonsense anymore; you have a normal life now.

Except her programming said it did. And no matter how many customers she served or botched dates she went on, she could never quite escape it completely.

Mako’s knuckles were starting to turn white with how tight she was clenching her fists. At some point during this tournament, in the ring or not, she would fight this girl. And then, maybe, she could finally get the closure she so desperately sought on one front and move on with her life. Whatever the outcome of their battle may be - whether Kula’s ice trumped her, or Mako’s water triumphed - she’d be at peace with it. It would be one less shackle of her old life weighing her down, and she’d be all the happier for it.

She didn’t want to be a weapon anymore. She just wanted to be as normal as a girl with water powers could be. To say I don’t care and mean it one hundred percent.

[maliwarm]

Still

/-/-/

@writeblrs April prompts, day 18

/-/-/

“Hey, old man? Where do you think we should we go next?” Fragor ventured, voice quiet. “We’ve been to so many places these past two years, and to be honest, I wouldn’t mind returning to some of those places. Like, um... Greece. Greece was really pretty. And the food was good. What do you think?”

K’ didn’t move.

“Or... or we could go to Japan?” he offered, the smile he’d mustered beginning to falter. Metal clicked gently against metal as he fidgeted with his fingers in his lap, peering demurely through his fringe. “That’s where you lived most of your life, right? You’re always telling me about it - comparing cultures with everywhere else we’ve been - so I... I want to see it for myself, too.”

K’ didn’t blink.

“Okay....” Frag swallowed thickly. “Okay. We’ll sleep on it and, uh... decide in the morning, then.”

He curled up beside K’, pressing himself as close to his battered body as he could. It was a familiar practice, one that ensured they both got a decent night’s sleep; no nightmares for him, and no being rudely woken by said nightmares for the old man. His fingers curled into black leather, grip tight.

“G’night...” Frag whispered, eyes slipping shut.

The night was quiet; nothing stirred, save the wind outside. Yet sleep was elusive for Frag. Occasionally the warehouse groaned or wind rattled the window panes, startling him from any semblance of dozing he managed to slip into. His grip on K’ would tighten in turn, body shivering and pressing even closer against his for comfort. In spite of the contact, he wasn’t feeling any better. If anything, he felt uncomfortable and miserable. The concrete was freezing and hard beneath him, and no matter which position he tossed and turned into, there wasn’t even a shred of relief to be had. Throughout it all K’ didn’t stir. No irritable comment to stay the hell still, or anything. The silence was beginning to unnerve him.

Frag reached for his ear with shaking fingers. The only breaths he heard were his own, even when he cranked up his hearing aid up to the highest setting. No matter how hard he stared, the old man’s chest didn’t rise. And the smell of copper he’d become numb to until now was swelling into his nostrils, still as stark as when he’d first come in here.

Slowly, Frag shifted into a sit to peer down at the scruffy face.

Dull eyes and bloodied lips greeted him. K’’s expression hadn’t changed in the slightest, eyes directed at the ceiling but seeing nothing. The warmth of his skin, pleasant and comforting, that Frag never hesitated to take advantage of, regardless of his state of sleepiness, was absent. The blood seeping through the holes in his chest had started drying some as it, too, cooled, making the leather stiffen. The heart that pumped that blood hadn’t thudded against the boy’s damaged eardrums in all the time he’d rested his head against the old man’s side.

He couldn’t keep pretending anymore.

“You’re really not coming back,” Frag whispered. Fresh wetness spilled from his eyes, slithering down his cheeks in fat streams. Sniffles filled the otherwise silent air, joined shortly thereafter by soft hiccups. Fabric was scrubbed across his eyes, the sleeve of his jacket dampening more and more with every passing second. The tears just kept running. A particularly harsh sob tore itself free of his throat, ugly and loud, almost drowning out his words. “It’s so cold....”

Blood and leather invaded Fragor’s nostrils when his head found K’’s abdomen. Fresh tears and snot leaked out, staining the jacket that was muffling the increasingly hysterical sobs now wracking him. His shaking and shuddering kept jostling the body. The knowledge that it - that K’ - would never move again only incited more and louder wailing.

He’d never gotten the chance to tell K’ that he’d never seen him as just some nagging and crotchety geezer. That he’d been more than that; more than a mentor and a friend, too. There had never been a good time for it, every opportunity too awkward, or comments uttered from the man himself that had made the words shrivel and die on his tongue before he could vocalise them.

Can I call you dad?

[maliwarm]

Fearful

/-/-/

@writeblrs April prompts, day 16

/-/-/

“You need to eat,” Fragor insisted, mouth pressed into a thin line. He tried offering the steaming spoonful of store bought soup to K’ again. But, frustratingly, the old guy turned his head away. “You’re getting weak.”

“Not hungry,” he murmured, voice a croaky rasp.

“You’re always hungry, though,” Frag countered with a tinge of desperation. When K’ refused to move his head to accept the soup, he gave up. It and the spoon were set aside in favour of peering down at his mentor with obvious worry.

The bandages wrapped around his side were damp again. He’d been stabbed in a scuffle with some NESTS agents three days back but had been seemingly fine up until yesterday. One second he’d been getting up from the dining table to go get some water, the next, his knees had buckled and he’d started listing dangerously to the side. Thankfully, Fragor had been there to catch him before he hit the floor and promptly dragged him into bed. He’d been keeping a worried vigil ever since, barely leaving K’’s side in spite of his patchy consciousness and general bedridden state unless it was for something urgent.

“... You’re looking even more like shit than usual.” It was astounding and concerning that the full extent of the injury had been kept from him for so long; he wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or yell at the old idiot. Mostly he was just concerned. Gauntleted fingers curled tightly atop his lap. “Don’t you think it’s time to admit you’re not doing so good, you stubborn geezer?”

K’ twisted his head back his way. There was no sign of a scowl on his haggard face, just weariness. A fat bead of sweat slithered down his temple and traced the planes of a gaunt cheekbone. “‘M fine. Jus’ need to sleep it off...”

He kept saying that, but he wasn’t getting any better. If anything, he was getting worse. Last night he’d been thrashing and moaning in his sleep. And earlier today had borne fruit to far more concerning behaviour; he’d carried a one-way conversation with someone that wasn’t there - someone whose name he didn’t recognise, to boot - for a good few minutes, words slurred, before passing out again. He seemed lucid now, but how long would that last? Furthermore, he looked terrible; skin pale, but face blotched red. And eyes that were ordinarily so piercing were now dull and struggling to focus. He couldn’t keep going like this... Sooner or later that old body was going to give out. A serious intervention was necessary before things reached that point.

Fragor’s gauntlets creaked, clenching even tighter atop his lap. His throat clicked with a dry swallow. Every ounce of courage he could muster was summoned to bring up a proposal.

“I-I think you need to go to a hospital.” His voice, while still wavering and crackly, came out a bit stronger than his usual quiet volume to express his concerns. It raised another octave when he rushed to tack on, “I know you keep saying no, and that it’s dangerous for us, but the wound isn’t... the swelling and redness hasn’t gone away. And it’s... I’m starting to get really worried, sir.”

Fragor hurriedly ducked his head once he was done, thick fringe obscuring his face, in preparation for the scolding that would inevitably come. Bringing up a hospital trip alone always garnered a growled refusal. Or an argument if the matter wasn’t dropped. But referring to K’ as “sir” was a big no-no button. Fragor had never quite figured out why he was so adverse to being treated formally, but had gradually lessened his overly polite tendencies over the course of the year they’d been travelling together in order to comply with his wishes. Now he only really slipped up on rare occasions or if he was exceptionally concerned. Much like he was right now.

When naught but silence stretched on, Frag tilted his head up enough to peer through the shield of his hair.

K’ had fallen asleep again.

“Oi... Quit fooling around, old man, I’m being serious here.” He reached over, taking hold of a scarred shoulder to give it a hard shake. In spite of the content of the words themselves, there was no annoyance in his tone, just mounting dread. “Hey... Hey, wake up!”

No response. Not so much as a twitch, even when Frag’s shaking became more desperate, when usually the scruffy fucker jolted awake at the slightest intrusive touch or noise. His breathing was all off, too; laboured, shallow pants through parted lips.

“Sir— K’...”

Panic began to flare, heart rate spiking. He scrambled from the chair he’d pulled up beside the bed to get closer. One hand scraped K’’s shaggy fringe away from his forehead. The other dragged his own back, exposing craggy scars in the skin. Frag pressed his forehead against K’’s, just like he’d seen being practiced on tv the other week. Heat radiated from the old guy’s skin even before their foreheads made contact, and he had to bite back a yelp once they did. This wasn’t the soothing warmth he’d come to know; it was like touching an overheated engine on a hot day.

Frag pulled away with wide eyes.

What was he supposed to do? K’ was quite clearly sick, something he’d never dealt with before, and had no firsthand knowledge in. He’d never had to until today; so far as he was aware, short of being poisoned, clones and other artificial humans couldn’t get sick. Which meant he was out of his depth here. The most sensible course of action was hauling K’ to a hospital, right? But that wasn’t safe. Not for the both of them, nor for the doctors or patients when NESTS was still dogging them, intent on hauling them back or killing them on sight. Because while the cartel prioritised clean work, they certainly weren’t above causing catastrophic collateral damage to achieve their ends.

But if he didn’t do something, K’ might just die... And if he did die, then where would that leave him? Alone. No teacher to help him control his powers. No gruff awakenings for a not so balanced breakfast. No warm, protective embrace and softly murmured words to soothe him after vivid nightmares of disintegrating to dust at the hands of his own powers.

NESTS wouldn’t exactly welcome him back with open arms either if he tried crawling back to them. He expected severe corporal punishment at best, and termination at worst. Not that he ever wanted to go back to them; not after K’ had opened his eyes to all the freedom he’d been missing out on whilst under their thumb. No... he’d sooner die than go back to a life of servitude and pain.

Somehow, miraculously, Fragor managed to plant his rear back on the chair, rather than miss and hit the floor in a clumsy heap. Fingers found hair, fisting the snowy locks tightly as his stress mounted. He could hear his powers rumbling in his ears, demanding an outlet. The bridge of his nose sizzled, skin beginning to curl and peel away. He did his best to slam a lid on his emotions, but the turmoil was gradually reaching boiling point. His usual coping mechanism wasn’t working. Instead the sizzling got louder, prompting distressed whimpering.

“What am I supposed to do?” he whispered to the prone form across from him, voice cracking with the threat of tears. “I can’t.... I can’t do this without you, old man. Please don’t leave me. Please...!”

[maliwarm]

Claim

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@writeblrs April prompts, day 10

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The doorknob rattling prompted Frag to lift his head from the magazine he’d been flicking through. Moments later K’ slipped inside the dingy apartment they were using as their latest temporary base of operations, shaking rain from his hair in a most doglike fashion. Upon sighting the plastic bag being lugged in one hand, he dropped the magazine on the couch to investigate, ignorant and uncaring of the fact he’d left it wide open on a large spread of a woman with too little clothing on. He could go back to puzzling over why the old guy had something like this on hand, as well as what the appeal of looking at some poor impoverished soul who didn’t appear to be able to afford clothing was, later. For now, he just wanted to fill his gut.

He sat at one end of the tiny dining table, watching with rapt attention as K’ started unloading his haul. Two paper bags, then plastic container after plastic container were produced. Most of them were filled with thick liquid and chunks of meat, though there were also two packed to the brim with rice. One of the stew-looking dishes was a vibrant red with a bold L and a H, underlined, scrawled on the lid in black marker that snatched his attentions instantly.

Fragor slapped a gauntleted hand over that container to drag it closer. He maintained steady eye contact with the old geezer the entire time he reeled it in. “Mine.”

“Actually,” K’ growled, his own hand slapping atop the clone’s audibly, preventing it from inching away any further. His scarred face scrunched into a slowly deepening scowl. “It’s mine.”

Frag returned a mulish look of his own. “I don’t see your name on it.”

“You’re not looking hard enough then. It’s right... there.”

Frag yelped when metal fingers delivered a hard flick to his forehead. He snatched his hand back, pressing it against the throbbing area. A sulky look was shot at K’ through watery eyes, garnering a spectacular eye roll.

“It’s spicy, dumbass. You wouldn’t like it.” Two containers of differing shades of orange and a different red one, as well as one of the rice containers, were shoved across the table in exchange for the one he’d tried taking. “These are yours. Maybe wait before trying to snatch food next time so we don’t get a repeat of the pepper incident.”

Fragor flushed, giving his forehead one final soothing rub before pulling one of the orange containers closer.

“... You keep harping on about first come, first serve, though,” was the sulkily mumbled response uttered before he popped the lid. Something deliciously rich and fragrant swelled out to kiss his nostrils on a cloud of steam. It made him perk right back up again, nose sniffing a mile a minute. “What is this?”

“Mango chicken curry.” One of the paper bags was tossed by his elbow with a floppy thwack. “And that’s a naan. Don’t touch my shit while I get cutlery.”

Frag hummed absently, now focused on figuring out whatever this “naan” stuff was. Whatever it was, it sounded exotic, so he wasn’t sure what to expect. More tasty steam curled from a doughy disk when he ripped away the strip of tape keeping the bag closed. He slid it out, gently squishing the edges with his gauntleted fingers. It was pillowy soft, dimpling easily under every squeeze. The middle was where it was thickest, and didn’t rise much, if at all, after every squish.

Starving, and curiosity no longer containable, he tore away a generous mouthful of warm dough and set to work chewing. It felt as pleasantly soft in his mouth as it had looked squished between his metal-covered fingers, much to his pleasure. And, he was even more delighted to discover, it was stuffed full of some sort of cheese and garlic mixture. Seafoam eyes slitted with contentment, the beginnings of a small smile stretching at his food-stuffed cheeks. Yet another food from the outside world that was an instant hit.

He barely acknowledged K’’s return, marked by a light clatter of silverware by his elbow, and followed moments later by a quiet groan from the other end of the table as he settled into his chair. The naan was just too good...

“Dip it.”

Frag blinked. Mouth still full, he cocked his head in place of verbal questioning.

K’ pointed his spoon, already laden with a generous heap of curry, at the half-eaten food clutched in the boy’s hands. “The naan. Try eating it with the sauce.”

The spoon was then hastily jammed into his mouth before it could start dripping everywhere. Curry stains were an absolute pain in the ass to try getting out; experience had taught him this too many times to count. The heavily spiced meat and sauce was chewed up. Swallowed.

The now clean spoon gestured at Frag again. “Go on. Do it while it’s still warm.”

Frag squinted back. Despite the blunt tone, this wasn’t an order, he didn’t think. Just a suggestion. Not that K’ was fond of bossing him around outside of combat or running errands to begin with. And those were mere necessities that posed little or no danger to his wellbeing; he could decline if he wanted and there would be no repercussions. Perhaps, at most, he’d receive an eye roll or some comment with no real venom behind it. But no yelling or fists. Never either of those things.

What had happened, Frag wondered as he chewed slowly through his mouthful of food, that made Krizalid and K’ so different? Why did one devote himself to NESTS’ cause, letting its ideals twist him, while the other turned his head and spat on the those very same ideals? What about himself for that matter; why had he rebelled?

He still didn’t have a clear-cut answer for that. Perhaps he never would, either. But dunking the end of his naan into the fragrantly steaming container and biting into it - eyes widening with delight at the flavoursome sweetness intermingling with the garlic, cheese, and dough while K’ smirked his approval - made him feel better about the decision.

[maliwarm]

Orange

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@writeblrs April prompts, day 8

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The air drifting in through the cave was pleasantly cool compared to outside, bringing the scent of dust and heat with it as it brushed against the pair’s skin with gentle fingers. Original and clone were equally silent as they faced each other, stock still, in matching cross-legged sits. Eyes, glacial blue and oceanic green alike, were closed. All focus was directed internally, to the living presences in their blood; to the respective warmths shifting and rumbling below the skin.

Frag couldn’t stand another second if it.

Words spilled from his lips in a rush, brazen and loud with frustration that had finally reached its peak. “I can’t keep doing this.” He rose abruptly, fists clenching by his sides with audible grinding and clicking. A scowl alighted on his young features. “I want some real training, old man. Not this close your eyes, open your heart nonsense! It’s not doing shit!”

After a silence stretching on over several seconds, ice coloured eyes finally flicked open to regard him silently. K’’s expression was unreadable as those eyes bore into the clone’s own. Fragor did his best to refrain from shifting under the cool gaze. K’ may be scruffy and old, but there was this intense air about him that kind of cowed him. Even if wasn’t always obvious, considering he seemed so damn lazy otherwise, spending most of his time doing little but napping when he wasn’t eating or moving about from one destination to the next.

In spite of his misgivings, Frag made sure his posture was straight and firm, and that he didn’t let his usual shyness didn’t come into play to stray his gaze to the side. He was dead serious about this. K’ had promised to teach him control over his own powers about a week into their companionship, and while he trusted the old man’s judgement for the most part, he also felt that the current method wasn’t cutting it at all.

“You want something more hands on?” There was no change in expression, nor any notable emotion in K’’s tone when he deigned to speak. He received a single, firm, nod as a response. “Fine.”

Frag hurried to hop back a few steps, giving K’ room to rise. He dusted his rear off before jerking his head towards the bright entrance of the cave. “Let’s take it outside.”

He tried not to let the excitement burbling behind his breastbone explode out of hand. It was contained, barely, to a small pump of the fist and a giddy grin the moment K’ turned and started shuffling away. He trotted after him eagerly. Finally, he might start seeing some results!

Blistering afternoon heat bore down on them the moment they stepped out from the cool confines of the cave, the sun at its harshest. Neither seemed to be affected by this detail in the slightest, even in spite of donning heavy clothing. K’ took up a position in a relatively clear area a ways away from their hidey hole, arms folded across his chest. Frag scurried further away, fiddling with the aid in his ear. If he was going to be using his powers, he’d rather not burst his eardrums and destroy what little hearing he had left. A few rocky clusters were weaved through to take up a position across from K’. His heart thudded in his ears, loud enough that, had he not already turned his aid down low, it would have drowned out the occasional gust of wind sweeping through the little clearing and the cry of a hawk somewhere above the rocky walls encompassing them from all sides.

“I’m ready,” he called out, focus now quashing his excitement to a duller, more manageable, level.

K’ unfolded his arms. His left hand slipped into the pocket of his hoodie. The right was held away from his body, palm up. Sunlight made the battered red metal encompassing it glint blindingly. Frag’s gaze remained trained on it, body tense with anticipation. He hadn’t gotten a chance to see the old man in proper action in the fortnight they’d been travelling together. He’d only ever caught minor glimpses of the power at his source’s disposal; vicious and efficient hand to hand attacks and a generous smattering of his translocation skills. His fire on the other hand... that was something Frag had yet to see outside of being used as a light source or for cooking food. And it was that power that he desperately wanted to see.

Flame spilled from the scuffed and crag-ridden metal palm. The movement of it was smoother and more akin to molten liquid than the usual crackling flare. Rather than stand tall at attention, it slithered downwards like milk into a glass. It may just be his eyes tricking him, but Frag thought the flames also appeared to be denser, to the point of partial solidity. But that couldn’t be right, surely? Still the flames kept coming, even after they’d finally kissed the parched earth, puddling into messy coils that somehow didn’t tangle. The construct rippled and shivered, licks and sparks of orange breaking from the main body on occasion, even after it finally stopped lengthening. The end twitched about in such a way it reminded Frag of a curious snake’s head.

K’’s hand clenched. It was when he moved it, the flame construct slithering to follow his motions, that Frag realised what it was supposed to be; a bullwhip. It whoosh-crackled loudly when K’ gave it a testing lash off to the side, sparks bursting from the impact site. Apparently satisfied, he widened his stance.

He raised his gravelly voice to a holler so that Frag might actually hear him. “Gimme your best shot, kid.”

Ordinarily, Fragor would have placed more concern in K’’s state of wellbeing, because the way he saw it, not only was the old guy not fully recovered, but he looked like he was probably one wrong movement away from breaking his hip or something. But today? He’d been made to wait for this opportunity for far too long; there was only so much meditation and sitting still that he could take. The time for something more hands on was long past overdue. And thusly, he didn’t hesitate to rush forward and initiate an attack.

The perpetual warm rumbling under his skin was drawn out, building within both palms. A handful of sparks burst to the surface of the gold metal encasing them, fizzling and popping. Itchiness spread across his hands, the hidden skin fracturing and peeling away in preparation for the explosions about to be granted an outlet. His left hand lashed out as if to throw sand at K’’s face. Flame, blinding white swallowing up a tiny orange core, bloomed to life in his palm for barely half a second. It ate at itself, shrinking to a mere pinprick before violently expanding outwards; there was a flash and deafening bang, smoke and fire bursting forth. All things said and done, Frag prioritised K’’s frail health over all else, so he made sure to hold back. Thusly, the explosion wasn’t as big or damaging as those he usually doled out. Neither was the second, aimed at K’’s ribs when he danced backwards to avoid the first.

Left hand still lodged in pocket, K’ ground a foot into the cracked earth and shoved off, leaping to the side to avoid the second explosion. Using his momentum, he pivoted to get behind Fragor whilst the boy was still recovering from his rushdown. His lip curled into an unimpressed sneer.

“Piss weak.” A most undignified yelp was pulled from Frag when the fire whip lashed, sharp and quick, across his rear. He actually heard the crack of its impact, albeit muffled. “Step it up.”

He stumbled and straightened, red-faced. After a quick pat down to ensure there wasn’t a long hole burnt out of his pants (there wasn’t, thankfully; the heat was just intense enough to soak through the material and sear his skin, was all), he rushed back in for a second round. Mark his words, he would show the geezer that he was capable!

A few minutes in and it became clear that kiddie gloves weren’t going to cut it. None of his attacks were connecting; not even the sneaky ones. K’ dodged every single one with relative ease, delivering a retaliatory lash of the fire whip and a scathing comment in response. There were streaky scorch marks all over Frag’s clothing, but the old man barely seemed ruffled at all. He was starting to get frustrated by it, powers becoming more unruly with his growing agitation. And only became moreso when the whip lashed out, snapping at his palm whilst he was in the middle of gathering energy for another attack.

Frag cried out when his attack detonated prematurely, temporarily stealing his vision. Frantically, he tried blinking the whiteness away before K’’s next attack, bringing both hands up defensively in front of his face. Heat wrapped around an ankle instead. Too late, Frag realised his mistake, and all of a sudden he found himself on his back, prone and winded. His attempt to rise was met with a foot to the chest.

K’ was a blurry dark shadow against an equally blurred and darkened backdrop. The fire in his palm had shifted forms, the bullwhip now gone, the usual dancing tongues taking its place; a lone bright spot that hurt to look at. A few moments later they wisped away to nothing. The foot was removed, K’ shoving the gauntlet into his pocket. He didn’t look impressed.

“Don’t bother asking for another sparring match unless you’re serious from the get-go. You’re just wasting my time and energy otherwise.” He turned on his heel, stalking back towards the cave without a backwards glance. “Training’s over for the day; go make yourself useful and hunt me something to eat while I nap.”

Humiliated and pissed off, Frag picked himself up and stalked in the opposite direction to cool off, still squinting and blinking to clear his vision. Heat prickled behind his eyes, gathering moisture seeking to undo his progress. Stupid old man. Making a fool out of him when all he wanted to do was prove himself. Now his chance at moving on from the stupid meditation crap was wasted. He rubbed at his still smarting rear, sulking.

Thankfully for K’, he was so caught up in his bad mood he missed when he stumbled. Both hands had been yanked from his pockets to catch himself on a nearby chest high rock. Now he clutched it for dear life, eyes clenched shut, as dizziness and exhaustion assaulted him in merciless waves. The shifting under his skin had become sluggish and weak, further feeding into his general state of drainednes.

Thank Christ he’d been able to nip things in the bud when he had... Maintaining that whip any longer and he would have passed out; the kid already thought of him as a weak invalid as it was, so he’d rather not feed into that image. That manifestation burned up a ton of energy on a good day, and this was most definitely not a good day. In hindsight, he could’ve and should’ve schooled the little punk with something less strenuous. He’d definitely overestimated how much he’d recovered.

Groaning, he pushed away from the rock to stagger the last few metres into the cave. Beating himself up could wait until after a long, hard rest.

[maliwarm]

Floats

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@writeblrs April prompts, day 5

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The diner was leaning on the rundown side, with chips in the tabletops and patched-over holes in the upholstery of the booth seats, but it had a warm and friendly feel to it. Old but well-loved, rather than old and falling apart at the seams, like all the motels they kept bouncing between. Or like K’. But the old guy was in a category all of his own, honestly; Frag was still trying to figure out his deal. He was so weird... always saying they couldn’t do this or that because they needed to keep moving to stay safe, but then heel-face turning every so often to go and do those same things he’d keep shooting down. Speaking of...

Frag peeked over the lip of the menu in his hands to scrutinise his travelling companion. Both of K’’s arms were slung casually over the back of his booth chair like he owned it. Judging by the slouch, he probably had his legs spread wide open, like usual, under the table. Whether that was a dominance thing or simply to air out his sweaty old man crotch, Frag still couldn’t say. And didn’t care to pursue, for that matter. Stubbled chin had dipped to meet chest, snowy fringe thoroughly obscuring perpetually tired eyes, making it hard to determine whether he was taking a light catnap or covertly scrutinising their surrounds. Both were equally likely.

“If you’re going to stare, try and be less obvious about it.”

Heat crept into Fragor’s cheeks. Well that answered that particular question. “S-sorry...”

“Don’t be sorry. Learn.” K’ rolled his neck in a slow upwards half circle, bringing his face level with Frag’s own. His expression was set into the ever-popular neutral-bored, and the dark circles under his eyes added an air of general done-ness. “The sooner you learn some street smarts, the sooner I can ditch you.”

Indignation drew his brows down. Inside him, his powers rumbled lowly to reflect his soured mood. Always with the ditching talk... If it wasn’t for him, this scruffy hack would still be pickling away in vat fluid. Hell, he’d helped nurse the ungrateful prick’s ass back to some sort of semblance of health in the aftermath of their escape, stealing clothes, food, and money to achieve this end. A “thank you” or several was more than in order, he felt. But all he was getting was the cold shoulder. What the hell was his hangup on having company, anyway? And why, in spite of said hangup, did he still go out of his way to treat Fragor like this on rare occasions? What was the angle here?

“Then maybe I won’t learn at all so you can’t ditch me,” he gritted out, tossing the menu aside and scowling from the depths of his thick fringe.

“Guess I’m ditching you before you know how to hide in plain sight and pick pockets, then.” K’’s expression and tone remained unchanged, still coolly detached. It only served to infuriate Frag more. A hoodie-covered shoulder rose and fell a fraction in the faintest of shrugs. “No skin off my nose either way.”

Before another retort could be hurled or an explosion thrown into K’’s stupid scarred face, their waitress made an appearance with their drinks.

“Sorry for the wait, fellas.” A large takeaway coffee was set in front of K’, steam curling from the mouthpiece vent. A larger still glass was set in front of Fragor, bubbles clinging to the sides and the bottom of the ice cream resting at the very top. “You settled on meals yet, or do you need a little longer?”

Frag ogled the glass, all irritation momentarily benched in favour of curiosity. He held a particular fascination for the bright plastic straw peeking between the ice cream mounds, gently taking it between his fingers to move around. The impossible loops it was bent into remained solidly in place no matter which direction they were turned.

“Couple of works burgers - extra mustard on mine, extra bacon on both - and the largest serving of fries you’ve got,” K’ rattled off. His lips pursed with further consideration. “Basket of onion rings, too.“

“Some massive appetites to sate, I see.” Pen scratched gently against the small pad nestled in the palm of the woman’s hand. “Alrighty then. It’s a quiet day today, so it shouldn’t take too long.”

Neither of them acknowledged her taking of the menus, nor departure, instead reaching for their respective drinks almost in unison. K’ started chugging his coffee immediately, paying no heed whatsoever to the scalding temperature. The heat and caffeine made him feel a little less like a zombie, and the fire in his blood perked up along with him, increasing warmth spreading through his body with every gulp. Fragor was more subdued, dragging the glass closer to close his lips around the comical straw. A slow, cautious sip was taken, watching the brown liquid zip up, up, up through the coloured plastic until it finally hit his tastebuds.

He hadn’t known what to expect from K’’s beverage selection for him. Perhaps something as bitter as that coffee he was inhaling. Sweetness, however? Not so much. And he especially didn’t expect sharp pops to lash across his tongue.

Grunting in shock and physically jerking away from the drink, he flapped his hands near his mouth frantically, tongue still fizzing. He looked to K’, eyes wide with beseeching and cheeks puffed out with the liquid still trapped between them. He didn’t know what the hell was going on but it felt weird. Not painful, per se, but the similarity the sensation shared with his powers had him on edge, spurring worry that he’d blow up in the middle of the diner.

A snort met his panic. K’ tried, unsuccessfully, to hide a creeping grin behind his coffee. Though his mirth quickly morphed into panic of its own.

“Jesus, kid!” The coffee was set down hastily, the old guy fumbling over himself to unzip his hoodie. It soon sailed across the table and settled over Frag’s head, reducing everything to sweat-smelling darkness and the popping sensation still running rampant along his tongue. K’’s voice was an urgent hiss when he spoke again. “Hurry up and swallow that; you’re literally steaming from the goddamn ears!”

[maliwarm]

Back

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@writeblrs April prompts, day 4

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It was always like this with them... Copy and original, duking it out to the death. They had always been on close to even footing, with him barely coming out on top as the eventual victor each and every time, thanks in no small part to the assistance of others for many of those instances. But the playing field had started tipping more and more with every passing year. He was getting slower. But Krizalid only seemed to be getting faster.

A scream ripped from K’’s throat, almost drowning out the snap of bone. He writhed and thrashed from his pinned position, free hand clawing at metal floor. His nails might be bleeding from how hard he was scratching, he wasn’t sure, too preoccupied by the pure unbridled agony radiating from his other arm.

“You know,” Krizalid said conversationally, as though he were talking about the weather with an old friend, rather than slowly twisting K’’s mangled arm behind his back, drawing out fresh screeches. “It doesn’t matter anymore that I’m the copy. I’ve come to terms with it, and I’m fine with it.”

Tears blurred his vision. He could barely make out the pair of small, bloodied forms he’d been trying to protect through their glossy sheen. Asahi and Emi remained completely unmoving, thoroughly beaten to unconsciousness. They hadn’t been prepared for this. He hadn’t expected them to be prepared for this. Children of two of KoF’s longest standing veterans or no, eleven year olds weren’t supposed to fight a high level NESTS officer, let alone the one that had been cloned from him. K’ could only blame himself for the situation, even if Krizalid’s appearance was an event completely out of his control. Kyo and Benimaru had entrusted the safety of their children to him, trusting him to keep them safe, and he’d failed them. Now their young lives were in jeopardy.

“If being the original entails becoming so weak, I think I’m more than fine with being the fake.” White stole K’’s vision as his arm was violently wrenched upwards. He could feel the broken bone segments grinding against each other nauseatingly. He couldn’t even tell if he was still screaming or not; there was just the pain. Eventually, his abused limb was dropped, Krizalid scoffing while he tried to bite down on his whimpers. “Why, just look at you... You’re a pathetic shell of yourself, starting to fall apart at the seams. It’s hardly worth the effort exerting myself against you anymore.”

The line between consciousness and oblivion was straddled desperately. K’ tried to focus on his own breathing, choppy and thin, to keep himself awake. The kids. He had to protect them. He couldn’t do that if he blacked out.

Booted footsteps faded. Something metallic groaned then clanked loudly far away, echoing some in the dark space. He was barely aware of these things happening until the footsteps grew louder once more, prompting him to blink away the encroaching darkness with more vigour.

“It’s high time I put you out of your misery. I’d be doing the both of us a favour, really; I imagine you won’t be keen to reach the age where you vegetate and shit yourself, no? It would be an amusing fate to bear witness to, certainly. But one that is most ill befitting of you.” Something smacked meatily against Krizalid’s palm a few times. “No. I have something far better in mind...”

K’ wasn’t sure if he heard the blow or felt it first. Either way, there was a sickening squelch as something pierced through leather, skin, and muscle just below a shoulder blade. Whatever the object was, it was long, and had been driven through him with enough force to jam itself into the floor with a harsh screech, juddering inside him. However loud he’d been screaming beforehand couldn’t compare to the shriek that was now ripping from his throat.

He lay panting and choking soft sobs in the aftermath. Eyes screwed shut. The occasional tremor running through his body jiggled the metal slightly, drawing even more whimpers through tightly clenched teeth.

Charred fabric wafted into his nostrils on a small breeze, heavy fabric whispering. Warm breath puffed against his ear, though the accompanying tone was downright frigid in comparison. “I’m going to destroy what few things you care about that you have left, right before your eyes, before I kill you. I think I’ll start with those little eyesores.”

Blue eyes snapped open at that, just in time to watch the ends of Krizalid’s purple coat slide from view, the man himself rising back into a stand.

K’ began to struggle, seeking to rise, but only aggravating his injury. Pained mewls were choked out with every new lance of pain radiating from the stab site, but he only fought harder to rise. His unbroken arm trembled, straining against the floor to push himself upwards. To move. To help. To protect.

“Don’.... don’ tou— argh!” He could see some of what had been jammed into him now. Thin but sturdy piping, ripped clean from the base’s wall, the end having crumpled the steel floor inwards with the sheer force with which it had been jammed through him. A touch of translocation had probably aided in that. Blood slid down the surface of the pipe, oozing in more and thicker trickles the more he continued to struggle. “Get a-away from them... bastard...!”

Krizalid raised an arm. Crimson flame burst to life around it in an instant, snapping at the air hungrily. He didn’t turn at K’’s shouts, eyes trained solely on Asahi’s and Emi’s prone forms.

“Krizalid...” Icy fingers of dread clawed at his heart. The pipe slid nauseatingly through him as he shoved himself higher. But not by much. Not enough. Now panic was rearing its ugly head, edging into his words. “You stay the hell away from them. Y’hear me?!”

Asahi was a cocky little shithead, just like his dad. And Emi the complete opposite of hers, apart from that irritating need to stick her nose in others’ business. But they were good kids. More importantly, they didn’t have anything to do with the long running feud between clone and source.

“No... no, no, no...” His right arm kept throbbing like it had its own heartbeat, but it wouldn’t even twitch when he willed it to. His only method of channeling his powers, rendered completely useless. It was his worst fear come true. Without his fire he couldn’t do anything; couldn’t protect anyone. “Don’t you dare...!”

That arm slashed downwards, flames sweeping to follow in a flaring comet trail.

“NO!!!”

Cold metal closed around his shoulder. “H-hey, snap out of—“

K’’s eyes shot wide open. A backfisted swing was already on its way, clinging panic triggering his fight or flight response before he was fully awake.

There was a startled yelp before knuckles met metal, pain radiating from them all the way up to his forearm.

In an instant the image of the rundown NESTS base faded, drab greys and darkness traded in for sunlight and tacky, peeling wallpaper.

And Frag, staring down at him with wide eyes.

“Wh... what the fuck! You trying to kill me or something, you crazy geezer?!”

K’ blinked, slow and confused, until comprehension dawned. What he’d seen had already happened; a dream of events past. Asahi and Emi were fine; they’d made it out of that base alive thanks to a last minute appearance of their fathers and subsequent chasing off of Krizalid. It had been a close shave, but they were all alive here and now, scars healed, a good six-odd years later. They were probably in the middle of school or training or something right this moment. And he... he was on his stomach on the bed of a motel he barely remembered checking into last night, freshly woken by his young clone.

Slowly, his fist was retracted, knuckles still throbbing, but paid no heed.

“Jesus, kid...” He smeared that palm down his face to hide how badly it was shaking. “Don’t do that again. ‘S not safe; I could’ve broken your nose.”

Or killed him on accident.

“Well sorry for caring about you,” Frag snapped, bristling. He straightened abruptly, turning on his heel and storming away. Though he paused briefly in the doorway to shoot him a filthy look over his shoulder. “Next time you start crying in your sleep, don’t expect me to snap you out of it, asshole.”

The door was slammed, leaving K’ alone to his thoughts and the sight of shitty wallpaper.

[maliwarm]

Leaps

/-/-/

@writeblrs April prompts, day 3

/-/-/

His lungs burned, every breath a sharp gasp that didn’t quite sate him. His body ached, muscles screaming, scars throbbing dully, and a stitch stabbing at his side. Sweat slid down his body by the bucketful, wet and gross, making his stolen clothes cling in mildly uncomfortable ways. It all just spurred him to keep going, stubbornness and spite forcing his feet to keep pounding against dirt and rock even as his battered body cried out for rest.

Screw that. He needed to get himself back into shape pronto. Stagnating in that tank for months had weakened him considerably. He’d always been built pretty lanky, but the lack of activity and IV-only diet had certainly done him no favours, only serving to thin him further. Muscle mass he couldn’t afford to lose had wasted away, and with his lifestyle being what it was - always on the run, never knowing when his next meal would be - he likely wouldn’t ever gain it back to the level it once was. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t stop trying, though.

Feet left the ground, the rush of wind now battling for dominance with the rapid thumping of his heart in his ears. K’ sailed through the air, nothing but a yawning, fathomless ravine beneath him. He was pretty sure there was a river right at the very bottom, but he wouldn’t live to see it if he didn’t stick his landing. But that wasn’t going to be a problem in this instance.

Stolen sneakers slammed back against solid ground, sending twin jolts up his legs, then he was running again. Sweat stung at his eyes and plastered his hair to his forehead. The stitch was worse, making breathing an even more difficult endeavour. He kept running, regardless. Just one more jump, he decided, then he’d rest. Because while he was all for pushing himself, he was still in the thick of his recovery period. Age had wisened him up enough to be more sensible with his body than he was in his teens. Remodified human or not, he didn’t heal nearly as well as he used to. His myriad of aching scars, all stark and ugly, were a testament to that.

And they might just spell his doom.

A sudden spike of pain in his abdomen caused a misstep, foot touching air rather than rock, and all at once K’ found himself plummeting rather than soaring. It was always - always! - that particular old wound causing him grief. How ironic that the aftermath of Maxima’s last ditch effort to save him was what was hurting him most. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think the muttonchopped bastard was spiting him from beyond the grave. Probably as revenge for for all the shit he used to put him through. If the afterlife existed, he was going to give the big idiot a piece of mind once he made the transition from bloody smear to spirit.

K’ closed his eyes, more than ready to accept his fate... Only to choke out a breathless shout of pain as his arm was damn near almost wrenched from its socket.

The hell?

Eyes drifted from his feet, dangling over jagged rocks and darkness, upwards. Fragor stared back with wide eyes and grit teeth, clutching his wrist in a veritable death grip. He grunted, straining to haul K’ back up to safety, but made no leeway. Instead, more of the clone’s torso was slipping over the edge, in turn making him dip lower to his death. Stupid kid was going to get them both killed.

Just let me go, he wanted to tell Frag. But he still didn’t have the necessary air in his lungs for anything other than more jagged gasps and wheezes.

The kid’s jaw clenched stubbornly, almost as if he’d read his thoughts. His shoulders were tensing, and the grip on K’’s wrist strengthening. He uttered a short yell that was lost to a sudden explosion, and suddenly K’ found himself hurtling up and backwards. The pair collided, tumbling over each other in a grunting and yelping sprawl of limbs for a good few meters before eventually coming to a stop.

Fragor was almost panting as much as K’ was. And his heart was thudding a frenetic tempo beneath his ear, the arms that had moved to snake protectively around him during their tumble ensuring he was pressed close enough to his chest to hear every beat clear as a bell. Though they were quick to slacken and remove themselves once K’ started shifting, graciously allowing him to roll off and onto his back. Harsh afternoon sun beat down on his face as he lay, gasping raggedly. He was sore, sweaty, and exhausted... But very much alive.

Shadow fell over him as Fragor rose into a sit, peering down at him. There were lingering tension lines around his jaw, though his eyes read relief. “Are you okay, old man? I didn’t break any bones, did I?”

Metal clanked against metal harshly as an encroaching hand was slapped away.

“Back off,” K’ hissed. “Just.... get away from me.”

He wasn’t sure if this sudden flare of rage was from humiliation at needing to be rescued, rubbing further salt into the wound that he was weak and old, or for being denied the chance to reunite with his dead best friend.

[maliwarm]

Bird

/-/-/

@writeblrs April prompts, day 2

/-/-/

Animal musk buffeted Frag’s nostrils in a wave the moment he crossed the threshold into the store. He peered around, catching sight of a bunch of shelves lined with various bottled and bagged products. And one entire wall showcasing row upon row of tanks of water, tiny colourful bodies darting about within their confines. A cheerful woman manning a counter off to one side called a greeting. He was too intrigued by the other sights within to respond until someone bumped his shoulder, breaking him from his stupor.

Hands stuffed into his pockets, K’ strode past him at his usual gait, lazy but carrying a certain air of confidence. “We head off again in fifteen. Go nuts until then.”

He blinked, humming an affirmative before trotting towards the wall of tanks to investigate.

It was rare that the pair ever paused in their travels, let alone for something frivolous, but Fragor tried not to question it. He instead endeavoured to enjoy these short-lived pleasures while he could, keeping the memories of such ventures and the warm feelings they spawned close to his heart. One day, K’ had promised him, they’d destroy NESTS for good and he could indulge in all the casual, normal, activities like this that he wanted. The prospect of such a future excited him, pumping him up during training to become better and better so he could make it a reality faster.

The creatures behind the glass - fish, he knew, in spite of never having seen one in the flesh until today - drifted through the water languidly. They gave off an air of elegance, all bright, jewel like colouration and rippling fins. Frag watched, fascinated even as they did little but circle the confines of their tanks or flit through plants and decorative ornaments. In all honesty he found it soothing to witness; if not for the time constraint, he could’ve sat there all afternoon watching them do their thing. But there were other creatures in this store to see that he might never get a chance to again, so he soon left the fish wall to seek them out.

Interspersed throughout shelf upon shelf of pet accessories and food were gerbils of all sorts, reptiles, and even live insects. There was also a small pen of puppies set up in a more open space that K’ seemed to have made himself comfortable in. Frag took a moment to observe that particular scene from a distance. Call him crazy, but he thought he saw the gruff old fart smiling as several little fat bodies clamoured over each other, whining and yipping, to get into his lap. Maybe that was just his imagination though...

Some unholy screech tore him away from his observation, amplified to near painful levels by the aid in his ear. Fragor startled, head whipping about every which way to find the source. Did they unwittingly lead NESTS here, and was that the sounds of the first collateral casualty? He looked back at K’ for direction. However, surprisingly, the old guy was still relaxed, scratching at one of the puppies’ tummies with his bare left hand. There was no way he hadn’t heard that... Not when his ears were perfectly functional. Did that mean there was nothing to worry about? A second screech elicited another jolt. He flushed when he realised K’ still wasn’t paying the noise any mind whatsoever. So he was getting jumpy over nothing... Great.

Frag slunk away to investigate the source of the disturbance all by his lonesome, embarrassed as all hell, but his curiosity piqued by just what sort of creature could be making such an awful noise.

It wasn’t a particularly hard or long journey thanks to the occasional screech or strange clicking acting as a guide. And soon he was greeted by the sight of a large white bird tethered by an ankle to a perch. Beady eyes were turned on Fragor, big beak grinding in the midst of fluffed cheek feathers. It had a funny swoop of brilliant yellow feathers slicking from the top of its head that reminded him of hair. This crest rose, fanning out into a mohawk of sorts, as the bird fluffed itself up further, looking rather fat and soft, as it continued sizing him up. Clawed feet strutted across the thick wooden perch, bringing to bird up closer and more personal until they were practically eye to eye.

“... Hi, birdie,” Frag murmured, rather awestruck at the sheer size of it. The largest birds he’d seen until this point were pigeons, and this fellow was easily two or three times that size.

The feathery head cocked, fathomless black eyes blinking at him. “Hello, pretty boy.”

Fragor gasped. It could talk! He didn’t know animals could do that! “O-oh! Um. Hi there. I’m Frag. Do you... do you have a name?”

“Pretty, pretty birdie.” It started to bob in place, making that odd clicking noise a few times. “Who’s a good boy? Hello hi!”

His brow scrunched with confusion. None of that was a name. Just the sort of messily chopped together sentences one would expect of a toddler learning to speak. He must have overestimated how intelligent it was... A faint wave of disappointment swept through him, though it didn’t dampen his wonder; this was still quite the phenomenon to him.

“You’re silly,” he informed the bird, lips tugging into the beginnings of a smile as it continued its bobbing antics. Almost without realising it, he was beginning to mirror the movement, enticing the bird to become more enthusiastic. “I like you.”

“Good pretty boy,” the bird concurred, crest bobbing wildly.

“... The hell are you doing, kid?”

Fragor paused in the midst of his impromptu dance off, torso twisting to address K’. He had both brows raised and arms folded. Evidently, he was done petting the puppies. “I made a friend.”

K’’s glacial eyes slid from him to the bird.

It ceased bobbing to peer back, feathers flattening then refluffing. “Hello, birdie!”

“His name is Mustard,” Frag proclaimed. His chest puffed some, proud at the name he’d bestowed on his screeching new friend.

“That so?”

He nodded once, firm and assertive.

K’ hummed, low and slow. “Right... Well. that’s nice and all, but time’s up. Say goodbye to Mustard, kid; we’re hitting the road again.”

All at once Frag deflated. He had known this was coming, but that didn’t make him feel any less sad. He’d just discovered the novelty of a talking bird and already he had to leave it behind... Such was the life of a renegade NESTS creation, unfortunately.

Gold-plated fingers wiggled half-heartedly in parting to the bird before he followed after K’.

[maliwarm]

Caged

/-/-/

@writeblrs April prompts, day 1

/-/-/

Everything was heavy, at odds with the distinct floating sensation that had enveloped him. Quiet, cotton-filled darkness had him ensnared, consciousness always brushing teasingly at the very fringe of what little awareness he managed to gather, allowing him only the vaguest occasional glimpses of the outside world before nothingness ensnared him once more. During such brief periods voices, muffled and indistinct, would reach his ears from time to time. Of them, there was only one he recognised, and it summoned anger and the faintest touch of fear. The tone was almost always gloating or an irate hiss from that bastard. Fucking coward should let him out of here and kill him already like he kept proclaiming he would. K’ might just welcome it wholeheartedly; it would be a mercy at this point. He was just so, so tired...

A voice tickled at his foggy awareness, younger and quieter than any other he usually picked up on. The speaker was still unfamiliar, though he’d seen them before a good handful of times; an infrequent visiter to his little clear prison. But this one didn’t gloat. The tone was always soft, laced with curiosity.

He grappled harder for consciousness, eyes scrunching. Prying them open was a monumental effort that took much time. And when they finally did, fluttering and drooping, everything was a vague, green tinted blur. Every sluggish blink to sharpen his focus was a gamble, the cottony darkness of the heavy sedatives in his system threatening to drag him back under again for another indeterminate stretch of unconsciousness. But he was winning so far, now able to pick out a figure on the other side of the glass. A mirror of his own face - younger, without all the scars and the scruff - peered back through a thick mop of white hair. Through the haze of green and the occasional bubble floating by, he watched the boy’s expression light up a tad.

Oh. It was that clone again.

His lips were moving, but the content of the words was lost to K’; he was too quiet, the thick glass between them, and the vat fluid he was afloat in, only serving to muffle the boy’s voice further. He strained his ears anyway, hoping to pick up even one word over the shifting of the artificial current around him. If he wasn’t so damn groggy he might have been able to attempt lip reading. As it stood, all he could do was keep blinking slowly, keeping the creeping darkness at bay as best he could, and watching the clone carry on a one-sided conversation.

Christ, he felt like some sort of zoo display; a tiger staring through the glass cage for the masses to point at and coo or jeer over. Being rendered unable to talk back fed into that image, his jaw obscured by an oxygen mask, and too damn heavy to move properly anyway. It was frustrating. Dehumanising. But he wasn’t even afforded the luxury to dwell on his festering hatred for NESTS and their methods as, inevitably, the next dose of drugs was depressed into his system like clockwork.

A panel set off to the side of the tank lit up, and the shackle-like contraption around his neck chirped in response. The needles within stabbed at him, making him jolt visibly, which in turn startled the clone. Coldness washed through him, quashing the flames in his blood from a rankling buzz under his skin to aimless, sluggish static. Though uncoordinated as all hell and fading fast, he managed to curl his right hand into a fist and slam the scuffed metal plating against the glass. It thunked dully, sending a larger cluster of bubbles flurrying to the top of the tank. K’ could feel himself slipping again, the cotton smothering his brain. The face on the other side of the tank blurred to an incomprehensible smear. Black slithered in through the corners of his vision, eating up the boy bit by bit.

Not.... again.......

/-/-/

“Ah...!” Fragor hurried up to the glass, gauntleted palms clicking as they were pressed against it. But it was no use. The scruffy old guy on the other side had gone limp again, eyes closed.

He bit down on his lip in disappointment. This had been the first time in a while his source had woken up. The last time - and the first he’d ever witnessed it - he’d been far more lively, and Frag had hoped to see him as such again. He also wanted to know more about him; to figure out what about this battered human being was so enamouring that he kept sneaking into this lab. Then again, how could he get such answers if the man behind the glass was forced into a drugged slumber every hour of every day?

“K-20575.9e,” a cold voice growled from somewhere behind him. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

He jolted away from the cloning vat as though he’d been shocked by it, hurriedly folding his hands behind his back as he turned in place to face the speaker. Scarred eyes glaring from the lip of a heavy, feather-shouldered coat greeted him. His heart dropped into his gut even as he stood at rigid attention. As he’d feared, Lord Krizalid had caught him in the act.

“S-sir. I was...”

“Save the excuses.” A claw-tipped glove sliced the air in irate dismissal. Fragor’s mouth immediately clicked back shut, gaze straying to his feet. “Rest assured we will be having words about this later. For now, however, I want you in training room Delta within the next ten minutes.”

Fragor knew better by now than to question why this was. Instead, he bowed to Krizalid, deep and polite, before scurrying past him and into the hall beyond. Training room Delta was a good distance away, so every second counted to ensure he arrived punctually.

The deeper into the base he ventured, the more he saw friendly faces passing by. But even exchanging quick greetings with his fellow clones couldn’t lift the strange dark cloud that had settled over him.

When had the familiar walls and halls started feeling so constricted?

[maliwarm]

Break Free

/-/-/

They left you in the middle of your very own room, displayed in a vat of liquid like some sort of rare insect. Stripped of all but the barest form of modesty so wires, tubing and electrodes could be attached, unencumbered, all over you. It seemed some form of perverse gloating over them having captured you. You, their most dangerous creation; the one that had spelled their downfall, forcing them to rebuild from the ashes and rubble.

This is your source, we’d been told, do not become a failure like him.

Even sedated heavily, to the point of total blackout unconsciousness for extended periods of time, you looked restless. Muscles twitching or brows furrowing just when one would start to assume you were simply a floating corpse in that green liquid. The red metal strapped to your hand would wink behind the glass, almost as lively. It was a relic, so damaged it was a wonder it was even holding together at all. But stubbornly doing so in spite of it all. Just like you, come to think of it. Old and worn down. A gaunt, scar covered mess. But still stubbornly continuing to function; too spiteful to die just yet.

I don’t know what was so enamouring about you - some washed up, scruffy piece of shit with one foot in the grave - but whatever it was it made me keep coming back into that room. Just to stand and watch the same snowy hair that greeted me in the mirror every morning, and in the halls and mess from a hundred other copies, sway in the artificial current and get lost in my own thoughts. Some of those thoughts, I would gradually come to realise over the months in which you were captive, weren’t mine, but yours; foggy and struggling to raise to the surface initially, but clearer the more I placed focus on them. I didn’t put much thought into them until the day I witnessed you wake up.

Nothing much about that day was different from any other. Just that your eyes had flickered open. Such a small thing, but such a big change it had made. They were the exact same size, shape, and colour as my own, but your gaze was haggard and bleary, clouded with whatever crap they kept pumping into you. It took several dozen slow blinks and a weakly lolling head for our eyes to eventually meet and when they did, mingled confusion and panic began to enter yours. Maybe this was when I’d really started giving a shit about you. When the enigmatic man behind the glass actually started moving with a surprising amount of vigour for someone severely drugged up.

When thrashing ensued and fists of flesh and metal pounded against the glass, trying to bust the clear cage open and escape. When a panel off to the side beeped and flashed, pumping a fresh dose of drugs directly into your bloodstream via the shackle-like ring around your neck. When your struggles became more frantic before petering out with your growing sluggishness, but the defiance in your eyes never died. Not even when they dulled and started rolling up, heavy lids slipping to cover them again. And then you were limp and still once more. Maybe that was the spark that made me want to follow a similar path; to break free of the mould they’d set out for me and become my own person.

I don’t know if it was the echoes of your emotions or purely my own that spurred me to come back to that room again and again, further festering a hatred at the sight of a human life being toyed with so carelessly. But it all led up to this day, this moment. My palm pressed against the glass, ticking down the seconds between when the next dose of sedative would be pumped into you like clockwork. Pressure building under my skin, making it itch, as my powers gather in readiness. Your brow begins to scrunch, lids twitching. Unfocused blue finds laser focused blue. A strip of skin flakes from my peripheral, curling up and peeling away like a bandaid.

Brightness and sound engulf that tiny, dull room, glass shards flying.

You drain out along with the green liquid, clumsily clawing away the oxygen mask to breathe in air not being directly funnelled into your lungs. You’re too greedy and it makes you choke, but the defiance-driven fire behind your eyes is burning all the stronger. Electrodes are yanked off and tubing out, leaving little leaking holes all over your arms. I have to help with the neckpiece, skin peeling from my finger with a careful, well placed explosion right at the hinge. And with dragging your sorry uncoordinated ass out of the room and through most of the compound so we can make a break for freedom; for daylight.

The screams of my brothers as we reduce them to ash are haunting. But the first brush of heat against skin from the bright sun above is amazing.

[maliwarm]

Something small from last year. My thotfriend, Elfy, has been running a KoF DND, of which I’m a part of. Me and my girl Mako are part of a team consisting of two of our friends and their own characters: Sonia’s stinky girl Isla, and Quart’s shitlord Elliot. Their characters have Orochi blood - Isla due to being an Iori clone, and Elliot thanks to lineage - while Mako is a rogue Anti-K prototype.

This was a hypothetical angst scenario Quart and I discussed during the downtime between sessions. She reminded me of this sucker last week and I still like it, even if I want to add more, so I figured I’d share.

[maliwarm]

Early Winter

A monster drabble and huge thanks to @shellalana for donating to my Ko-Fi! ♡ 

A cacophony of sound floated through the streets of the Detritus Ring; streets once drab, but now lined with bright lanterns and strings of lights of all colours, giving them an abundance of vibrancy and colour. Yet more colour flowed through the streets like trickles from a river in the form of dancers clad in exotic finery. They glided through the crowd, movements a mixture of elegance and the typical raunchiness many associated with the Ring’s denizens; clothes flowing where they weren’t form fitting, and jewellery jangling with every gesture. Chatter from many mouths and upbeat, drum-heavy, music blended into a singular murmuring din. It was loud, but the exciting, infectious sort of loudness that one couldn’t help but be swept up in. A myriad of scents swept from the marketplace, carried by the wind. Meats and spices of all varieties, sweetness and floral fragrances, gunpowder and animal musk. The people living here celebrated loud and proud, temporarily stripping away their constant worries regarding the fate of the universe to simply have fun and revel in the fact that they were still here, still alive.

Three figures observed the festivities from a distant rooftop, the din and brightness dulled to far more bearable levels from their position. The elder pair stood tall and solemn, each with a rapier by their side. The hilt of that belonging to the woman in blue was carved into an ornate butterfly, matching the tattoo above her hip. The hilt of the woman in red’s sported a more simple, but no less elegant, design of twin curled protrusions akin to a bumblebee’s antennae. Accompanying them sat a young girl on the very edge of the roof, contentedly sucking on the lollipop lodged in her mouth, kicking her legs to and fro above the yawning void between her and the ground without a care in the world. She harboured a passing curiosity for the bustle below, having never seen such a lively place before. Compared to the base, this looked, heard, and smelled much nicer. 

“Everything looks so small from here,” she exclaimed, beaming around her treat. “The people look like little ants! Don’t you think, Foxy? Diana?”

“Focus,” Foxy - the woman in red - said, voice soft but tone firm. She obeyed, wide eyes swivelling away from the marketplace and onto the pair to give them her undivided attention. She received a brief smile and praise before Foxy’s expression and tone both became sober again. “Good girl. You have two targets tonight.”

“Two?”

The other woman who could only be Diana nodded, taking the reigns of the briefing. Her open skirt swished quietly as she turned to address the girl, arms folding across her chest.

 “Both of them are massive thorns in our organisation’s side, severely disrupting our plans to bring a new order to what remains of the universe. The first is Reyna Valeria, otherwise known as the Valkyrie. While her efforts to make this lawless cesspit a more liveable space are admirable and have borne some fruit, the people within - herself included - are dangerous. If left unchecked, the combined might of those living on the surrounding asteroids may rally under her call and very well make an attempt to kill everyone in our organisation.” 

As of right now, the Valkyrie had only managed to hit a few of their more minor bases. But it was still too much damage for their liking. Even without accounting for her ability to gather a sizeable army, she knew far too much and needed to be silenced. NESTS wasn’t ready to be dragged completely into the light just yet. When they were, it would be on their own terms, not on the whim of some nosy pirate.

“The second is the traitor, K’.” The girl’s obliviously happy sucking of the candy in her mouth ceased, her magenta gaze sharpening. That name was one she knew almost as well as her own. Any lingering interest in the marketplace was now lost entirely. All of her focus was trained solely on Diana and her words. “The one you were created to nullify.” 

Foxy nodded. “That’s right, We’ve finally tracked him down. And as luck would have it, he and the Valkyrie have been sighted together numerous times. In fact, we’re led to believe that they’re working together closely.”

“Which brings us to the reason we’re here in the first place. Look over there.” The girl’s eyes followed the direction of a blue gloved finger, eventually homing in on a rather unique pair, even amongst the odd characters that comprised the Ring’s denizens. There was a short woman with a spike-studded jacket and bright red crest of hair that reminded her of a chicken, carrying herself with an air of complete confidence. And there was a boy by her side; much taller, and wrapped in all black leather, with hair the colour of snow. He tilted his head, responding to something the woman said, lips ticked up into a lopsided smirk as his shoulder was given a playful slap. His was a visage she recognised. It was one that stirred the beginnings of anger. Hate. “Can you see them?”

She nodded once, eyes still trained on the pair, drinking in every gesture and movement of their lips.

“Good. Your orders are simple: kill them both.”

The lollipop crunched audibly. 

The girl stood, dragging the now bare plastic stick between her teeth. It slipped from loose fingers and tumbled over the edge of the roof, quickly lost to darkness. A puff of frigid air rolled off of her slender body, hair gusting outwards with it. Blue swept through it in a wave, erasing and replacing all traces of the natural strawberry blonde. 

“Understood,” the Anti-K intoned, voice and eyes now emotionless.

-

“Hey,” Reyna whispered, nudging K’ in the ribs. A massive grin was slowly stretching across her face. “The boy at the art booth’s eyeballing you.”

He paused, the greasy, bacon covered, meat on a stick he’d been gnawing on hovering near his lips for another bite, to frown back at her. “What? He looking to fight or something?”

She noticed his shoulders squaring. His jaw clench. Uh oh. 

The necklace she’d been admiring was dropped back into the stall owner’s waiting hands. With her own now free, a hasty palm snagged K’ by the arm before he could move, a disbelieving little laugh escaping her. Jesus, her son was either way too dense or just itching for a fistfight. Probably both. She should have grown used to it by now, but it was honestly unbelievable how stunted he was in terms of human interaction in general, let alone romance. She and Maxi would have to sit him down and educate him properly sometime; finally acclimate him towards living and acting like a normal freaking teenager instead of continually indulging in this prickly recluse nonsense. 

“No, musclehead! He’s looking at you like a lovesick puppy.”

A silver brow arched. K’ twisted his head, eyes sweeping the booths until he found the one in question. Amongst the haphazardly placed array of sketches and paintings decorating the booth proper was a pair of warm brown eyes framed between a shock of messy hair barely kept back by a sweatband. There was a large sketch pad held up to the other boy’s nose, one arm moving with hasty pencil strokes. When he glanced up, realising K’ had caught on to the fact he’d been staring, he visibly jolted. He stopped sketching to pull the pad up higher, shielding his face. It didn’t hide how red his ears were. K’ blinked. Huh.

Shaking to his shoulder pulled his attention towards Reyna once more. That grin was back in place. “He’s cute. Why don’t you try talking to him?”

“Mmn,” was the halfhearted mumble of a response as he went back to tearing through the last of his skewer, seemingly disinterested in the prospect. She was right, that guy was kind of cute... but it would be too weird to try hitting it off when he knew his damned mother would be watching, drinking up every moment. Plus, he was still awful at flirting; he’d botch things for sure.

She must have sensed his train of thought. Or at least the first part. The hand around his arm slackened, falling back to rest on her hip. Brows were raised in question. “I could leave you on your own for a while if you want?”

K’ shook his head, walking in the opposite direction of the art booth. Reyna fell into step after a couple of beats, sighing her disappointment. She glanced over her shoulder at the boy at the art booth. He’d lowered the sketch pad shield to reveal his distraught. She offered him a pitying look and a helpless little hand gesture before turning back to focus on what was in front of her. 

“Maybe later. I wanna look around some more first.”

Her lip twisted wryly. “You mean find that jerky booth Pendles mentioned?” 

“... Maybe.”

“Figures.” Orange eyes rolled towards the heavens. This boy and his stomach...

“Whatever.” He gave her an eye roll of his own, licking his now meatless skewer clean. It then found a home in a nearby trashcan with one of those trademark lazy wrist flicks he usually employed when throwing his shades at people. His tongue went to work at his fingers next, lapping up whatever grease had dripped onto them. “Why are you so insistent on playing matchmaker all of a sudden anyway? Biological clock screaming for you to get grandkids already or something?” 

He sniggered when her fist found his shoulder, smirking down at her. She actually looked somewhat miffed by his words. It felt nice to be the one doing the playful needling to get a rise rather than the one on the receiving end for a change.

“Hilarious. But no. Figured it might do you some good to talk to someone not living on the Favour for a change; maybe even make some friends that aren’t a walking tank twenty years your senior.”

“Closer to ten, actually,” K’ corrected, swiping his grubby fingers on his chaps. From the corner of his eye he could see her jaw unhinge with disbelief, mouthing what the fuck. The corner of his lips twitched upwards. The big guy sitting right on the cusp of being thirty must not have been a topic these two discussed during all their gossiping. “He’s not actually as old as he looks and acts; ask him when we get back if you don’t believe me.”

Reyna shook off her astonishment, brows furrowing further. She made a mental note to interrogate Maxima sometime; unravel some of the secrets of this enigma of a man who said much but gave away little. “Ten years then. Whatever. Point is, you really need to get out and talk to more people your age.” 

That garnered an abrupt mood change. His nostrils flared with a loud sigh. 

“That’s a nice sentiment and all, mom, but what would I even talk about? I don’t know shit about whatever’s popular, or trendy, or whatever; I can’t connect with them on that level. I could talk about how to kill someone with just your fists, but that’s more liable to scare them off.” K’ scoffed, turning his head to the side to spit disdainfully after his mini tirade, temper flaring as it usually did whenever he brushed upon the subject of his years in NESTS’ clutches. “Just forget it. I’m not normal, I can’t-“ 

A sudden sense of danger made his flames rankle beneath his skin. His head jolted up in time to witness something glistening slicing through the air straight towards them.

Acting on pure instinct, his gauntleted hand snapped out, snagging the projectile midair with some slight aid from translocation’s syrupy blanket settling over him. His grip shuddered at the moment of impact; a testament to the strength and speed behind whoever had thrown it. Unease stirred at the sight of an icicle - long and wickedly pointed - clenched between his red plated fingers, stopped mere inches from spearing through the lens of Reyna’s eyepatch. 

It didn’t snow on this chunk. 

Reyna went cross-eyed looking at that pointed tip until K’ crushed the icicle to fragments with a harsh squeeze. A shiver ran through her body, unbidden, at the near death experience. If he had been a fraction of a second too slow, she would’ve had a sizeable hole in her eye and brain right now...

“Th’ fuck was...” she trailed off, eye sliding to peer at something - someone - approaching beyond K’s shoulder. His own eyes followed suit.

Both of them could see a lone girl, young and beautiful in a doll like way, brushing past the now panicking festival goers. There was something downright ethereal about her appearance. Slender, with skin that was alabaster pale. Eyes wide and magenta, childlike, yet distinctly lacking emotion. And her hair... It was a soft, light blue and seemed to be moving of its own volition, fanning out then settling across her back at regular intervals. Tiny diamonds with no known source glittered around her body at random, winking in and out of existence. 

No, not diamonds, Reyna realised. Ice crystals.

There was no time to puzzle over the phenomena, nor the girl herself, when she slammed a platformed heel against the ground. In the same instant, that strange blue hair snapped out like peacock feathers. A sudden gust of sheer cold air swept through the marketplace, forcing mother and son to shield their faces from the gale or else become blinded. Ice bloomed in the wake of it, swallowing everything in a crystalline coat. Buildings, stalls, people... it didn’t discriminate, encasing everything it touched. The only ones spared such a fate were the two of them and the girl. Slowly, they both lowered their arms, taking in the sudden winterised landscape, peppered with people-shaped sculptures.

“Jilted girlfriend?” Reyna quipped, already sliding her pistol from its holster.

K’ shook his head, straightening into his fighting stance. “Never seen her before in my life.” Her appearance did make him frown, however. Dismissing the colours, the girl’s choice in clothing seemed somewhat similar to his own. That struck him as odd. It also fed a little more into his general unease, though he couldn’t place why he was feeling as such. “But with powers like that, I don’t doubt she’s one of NESTS’ lackeys.”

“Heh. I was wondering when they’d finally take the fight to us.” Reyna’s grin was all teeth. The pistol was loud in the suddenly dead quiet space when she primed it, aiming it at the girl. Finally it seemed like her efforts in rooting the bastards out were paying off. If she kept it up maybe the head of it all would finally reveal themselves and she could cut it off; finally give her son some piece of mind and the chance to move on with his life. Her voice raised and hardened to address their new foe. “Your organisation picked the wrong person to fuck with, kiddo. I don’t take kindly to anyone who thinks it’s fun to mess with my home or my people.”

Her words weren’t acknowledged. Instead, the girl took several long, quick strides forward. Her gait gradually evolved with every step, becoming longer and smoother until a gentle shushing noise reached the pair’s ears. Skating, they realised, now noticing the blades that had appeared beneath her boots, helping her to glide along the frozen ground, straight for them. It seemed she was intent on a fight. 

K’ clicked his tongue, taking three long strides of his own forward. Pitting ice against fire was stupid; the winner here was pretty clear cut in his eyes. Had NESTS lost the plot, or was there more to this girl than met the eye? Never mind that; there would be time to puzzle it later. For the meantime, his right fist rose in a sharp upwards motion, brilliant burning scarlet bursting to life around it in a thick coat. Briefly, the flames hung in the air when he removed his hand, packed together densely, before a spinning kick sent them careening towards the girl like some dangerous sort of football. 

In an unprecedented turn of events, rather than dodge, her skates left the icy ground in a jump. Arms raised, she twirled with all the grace of a professional figure skater, long hair swirling. The blades at her feet sliced K’s flames to harmless ribbons. She landed perfectly, matching his shocked expression with that same blank one she’d sported since her appearance. Not a single hair on her head was singed. 

One leg snapped up high in a kick of her own as she allowed her own momentum to continue pushing her forward. A jagged hunk of ice bloomed at the apex of the kick and was sent hurtling towards K’. Swearing, he threw up his right arm protectively, bidding more flames into existence. They adopted the form of a messy sort of shield. Most of the ice melted upon contact with it. His cheek, however, was sheared by one of the outermost spiky protrusions before it, too, melted into water and steam. 

Unnoticed until now, Reyna had crept towards the side of the clashing kids, waiting for the best opportunity to strike. While the girl was rebalancing after that kick was as good an opening as any, she figured; it’d be stupid not to seize it. Gunfire rang out, the pistol’s familiar thrumming jolting her arm straight to the bone with each successive shot. Powers or no, this kid was sure to bleed like any other when hit by a bullet - K’ had unintentionally proven that to her on a few past missions gone awry. And the faster they took her down, the faster they could interrogate her about the people she worked for. With that in mind, most of her shots were aimed at her limbs and mostly non-vital spots around the torso.

The girl hadn’t fully set her other foot back on the ground again when she raised a palm in Reyna’s direction the moment she heard the gunfire. A thin, translucent pane of ice materialised moments before the bullets’ impact. Every single one hit it with a dull click and fell, ends flattened notably, then bounced across the ground, useless. She let the shield dissipate to twinkling powder, putting on a fresh burst of speed to avoid the continuing onslaught of bullets, still making a direct beeline towards K’. He stopped thumbing at the gash on his cheek and widened his stance, arms up, intent on meeting her head on. Except she turned sharply at the last possible second, skates screeching and flinging shredded ice into his eyes. While she left him in the dust cursing and clearing his vision, she kept her new target firmly within her sights. The bullets were slalomed past, or another of those thin ice shields created to take the blow when she miscalculated where one was being fired next. 

There wasn’t a spare moment for Reyna to reload her now empty clip. The girl cruised by her harmlessly after she dived to the side to avoid an icy dagger to the chest. One of the frozen festival goers was on the receiving end instead, audibly shattering into bloody shards upon impact of the weapon. Reyna grit her teeth. The first unnecessary casualty... She rolled upon landing with a grunt but couldn’t get up, instead slipping and sliding uncontrollably along the ice until her back hit one of the stalls. 

She’d barely found her feet and was planning on reloading when the girl was in the midst of skating over for round two. Reyna sucked in a harsh breath, leaning backwards to avoid a high upwards kick that went above the girl’s head - flexible little shit; just like her son - and was tipped with those wicked looking skates. The blades were as clear blue as the surroundings and sharp as all hell. One of the collar flaps of her jacket split cleanly in the wake of their path, the rent in the leather a sizeable one. That leg came down again like a slender axe and Reyna was only barely successful at dodging it, too. She was all too aware of her uncertain footing; that one misstep would mean her doom. Evidently, so was the girl, as her assault didn’t stop for even a moment. A hand stretched for Reyna’s face, clad in a yellow copy of K’s own gauntlet, but far less scuffed. Biting cold billowed out from the palm, the magnifier within her eyepatch picking up tiny snowflakes forming within it. She didn’t have enough room or time to dodge this attack

“Shi-!“ Something dark blurred by, snarling, and the girl yelped, high and shrill; the first noise she’d uttered since this encounter. Reyna only barely caught sight of black leather smearing by before the girl was violently hurtled to the side.

She and K’ tumbled gracelessly, shoulders and hips smacking the ice hard enough to bruise as they struggled against one another. Their hands grappled at each other, squeezing hard when they connected and clawing wildly at faces when they didn’t. Using his weight to his advantage, K’ kept her firmly pinned beneath him. Though she struggled valiantly, she couldn’t gain an inch of freedom. Her movements became increasingly more panicked when he started shoving their connected hands closer towards her face, his flaring to life with flame. In another first, there was now emotion in the girl’s eyes, the dancing tongues of his powers reflected in their magenta depths: fear. She inhaled sharply. Then exhaled a cloud of frigid air directly into his face. K’ yelled out in surprise, flames sputtering. He released her hand to palm blindly at his face. His eyelashes felt frosted shut; he couldn’t fight like this! 

Capitalising on his weakness, the girl grabbed him by the shoulders and in a surprising show of strength, managed to flip him over so now he was the one pinned. Her knees squeezed against his ribs to keep herself in place. Crackling filled the air as a fresh icicle formed in her hands, as wickedly long and sharp as the one she’d thrown to announce her presence. She raised it above her head, eyes locked onto her target: the open front of his jacket.

Hands of flesh and steel clapped just above the tip. K’ grunted, squinting through barely open eyes and straining to keep the construct from closing those final few inches to pierce his chest. The girl strained back, shoving down harder. There was a determined knit between her blue brows. The tip wavered between them, but ultimately kept inching downwards. It prodded his pectoral. A tiny bead of red swelled up to kiss it. His heart hammered wildly beneath his breastbone, blue eyes widening at this turn of events. Unprecedented as it was, he was losing this battle of strength. 

Desperate, K’ clamped down harder and shoved the icicle sideways. Caught off guard, the girl’s grip around it fumbled. As did her knees at his ribs. K’ bucked until she was dislodged, squeaking in pain at the collision of her chin against the hard ground. He planted a boot against her side to shove her fully off, rolling onto his stomach to try and crawl back onto his feet. He could see Reyna aiming an evidently reloaded pistol and increased his efforts to rise so he could be out of the way, giving her a clear shot. He’d managed to tentatively find his knees when a hand snagged him by the belt. His teeth clicked together painfully as he was yanked back down, grunting and sprawling flat on his stomach across the icy ground. He looked over his shoulder in time to see an icy dagger sink into his ribs from the side.

At first there was just the sharp pain from the initial moment of impact. But then she shoved the weapon in deeper, until her fist touched his jacketed side. That was when the coldness began to invade his body, sudden and biting, as she used the ice dagger as a conduit to channel her powers directly into his bloodstream. He couldn’t even fight back, too startled and too overwhelmed by just how freezing it was to gather his own powers to counter hers. All he could manage was a few thin gasps and wounded noises as his vision darkened and body slackened. A full body shiver swept through him. He didn’t like it. So cold. Too cold. Like being shot with several dozen overdoses worth of the suppressant in his gauntlet. The blood seeping through his jacket exacerbated it; less frigid, but still a source of cold. Still bad. Had to move. Had to get away. 

A gargantuan effort was expended trying to drag himself forward, hoping to get close enough for his mother to assist him. But he couldn’t get a decent grasp on the smooth ground, and the girl still latched onto him was extra weight dragging him down, so he ultimately went nowhere. Gauntleted fingers twitched weakly. Things were slowing - thoughts, breaths, heartbeat - and the surrounds were darkening. A gunshot sounded, duller then it should have been, followed by the harsh ping of metal hitting metal. The girl yelped and the hand at his side left. Her weight keeping him pinned followed suit as more bullets tracked her. No more ice slithered into his body, but the damage was done. He tried to focus on that bobbing crest of red growing larger with Reyna’s hasty approach. But in the end he gave in to the dark and the cold, eyes flickering shut as she slid towards him on her knees.

The girl skipped across the ice to avoid Reyna’s bullets, somewhat less graceful than before. Clearly, she’d been caught off guard, but she spared no gloating thoughts for that detail, and only stopped firing when Little Miss Frost was a decent distance away. Teeth found one of the fingers of her glove, yanking it off with one swift motion. Her hand shook as pressed her fingers against K’s neck, eyes straying from the girl - dangerous as that was - to gauge his condition. His pallor was off, pale with hints of blue at the lips. The usual elevated temperature of his skin was completely absent, more akin to a cooling campfire than the living heater she’d come to know over this past year. She couldn’t feel anything but that cold radiating off him. Already it was starting to numb her own fingers, making her question if there had been a faint flutter of a heartbeat just now or if it was a mere product of wishful thinking. Teeth found her lip, biting down just shy of being hard enough to break the skin and draw blood. 

“Come on, starburst...” she hissed, words wavering. “Don’t do this to me.”

Blue in her peripheral grabbed her attention in an instant; jolting the gun up, eyes moving for a clearer view. She fired. Frozen shards and diamond dust exploded in the air a few feet away. Already, more was gathering in the girl’s hands. Reyna grit her teeth, removing her hand from K’s neck and pushing to her feet. Damn this fucking kid... damn the people she worked for! She tugged her glove back on then palmed blindly at her communicator, already on the move. Her current location flashed on-screen, the coordinates pinged to her Rogues with no other message. They’d all come running to her aid in a heartbeat, it was simply a matter of fending off the ice doll long enough for the arrival of whoever was closest at hand. Whoever it was, she hoped they were fast; there might still be enough time to save her son. 

Using that thought as fuel to keep her going, Reyna widened her steps, pushing them outwards and allowing her boots to slide along the ice rather than go against it, in such a manner it mimicked roller skating. It was awkward initially and probably made her look a right fool, but using this bastardised skating method, she was able to move along the ice with considerable more ease and speed than before. She was already bearing down on Miss Frosty, her scowl letting the brat know that any scrap of kiddie gloves she’d been wearing up until now were well and truly off. She meant business. Small and broken as it was nobody - nobody - was allowed to mess with her family again!

That same blank stare matched her glare. Yellow-clad hands slammed against the ground. A few feet away, a jagged lance burst from the icy ground. More followed in a line, erupting upwards in much the same manner. Reyna dropped low, a gloved palm smacking the ground to help make a hasty turning manoeuvre to avoid them. Frigid air kissed her cheek in passing. Sharp tips bloomed to life from the corner of her eye, growing to stretch for her face, but falling short as she slid off to the side and out of reach. The pillars didn’t track her progress, instead marching on in a straight path. 

She wobbled back to her feet, leaning in with her momentum and to the side to speed back up again and go for a wide, gradual turn. Once the brat was back in line with her sights, she resumed her improvised skating gait. The next time those gauntleted hands rose, the pistol did too. A bullet pinged off the planting of the glove harmlessly, but it made the girl flinch all the same, the concentration for whatever attack she’d been planning broken. She actually began to retreat when Reyna’s assault didn’t stop, more bullets ringing against the metal protecting her hands. The plan was to hit something vital in those gauntlets and see if her powers went haywire like K’s did without that (assumed) suppression method in pristine working order. But it was difficult when the more vulnerable parts of it - the black, ribbed underglove peeking through all the yellow segments to allow joint movement - were so small. And moving targets to boot.

The second empty clip of this encounter was ejected. She didn’t have many left on her person, having not expected what was supposed to be a peaceful night turn out this terribly. Her expectation of things going awry during this festival was a gang war or something similar; a cryokinetic had never factored into the equation. She was overwhelmingly ill equipped to deal with this situation, especially with her son - her best bet at keeping the playing ground even - reduced to a bleeding, maybe even dead, popsicle.

Rather than reload, Reyna reeled her hand back during the final stretch of her approach. She lashed out, pistol whipping, the moment she was within arms’ reach of the ice doll. Swears tumbled from her mouth, grip on the gun almost lost, when it jarred against one of those protective thin panes rather than that pretty skull. For something so flimsy looking it was durable as all hell. She slid on by, rubbing the soreness from her arm. When no retaliatory attack occurred, she twisted awkwardly and was met by the sight of the girl’s retreating back. Brows furrowed. Why would she leave now? Even with her gun, they both knew Reyna’s chances of prevailing in this battle were slim to none; she was the slower, weaker one in this tussle, it made no sense to...

K’ was still laying prone in the middle of the plaza.

Sure enough, he seemed to be her target, every glided stride towards him long and full of purpose. Was he the true target of this assault then?

“Sonnova...!” Out of habitual reflex Reyna raised her left arm, going to fire off a protective shield of purple to cover him. 

Except nothing happened. She hadn’t brought her shield booster along, figuring the pistol and her walking blowtorch son would be enough protection. Stupid! Frantic hands fumbled around her jacket for another clip. Only two left... And her Rogues were still no shows. Shit.

After a few jittery attempts that failed miserably, the gun was reloaded. She spun in place and lined it up, using the tech in her eyepatch to focus on her target. Inhale. Focus. Aim steady...

The girl fell flat on her face, crying out. One of her skates burst into twinkling shards, leaving a useless, jagged protrusion sticking out from the sole of her boot. She hadn’t expected it to actually be made of ice too... but the end result was still good, regardless; she’d fallen short of K’, tumbling gracelessly, and was turning back in her direction, rubbing her nose. A thin trickle of red oozed a slow path to her upper lip.

“That’s right,” Reyna growled. “Eyes on me, you damn squirt. Gotta finish your dinner before you get dessert; you ain’t done with me yet by half.”

Irritation drew the ice doll’s brows down. Her cheeks puffed. The useless skate crumbled to twinkling powder and a fresh one took its place, ice slipping through a previously unseen slit in the bottom of the boot and taking shape, equally as sharp as its predecessor. She took a moment to swipe away the tears that had gathered at her eyes as a result of her fall, and smear the bloody nose onto her sleeve, pushing back into a stand. Reyna readied herself as the gentle shushing of skates filled the air once again. In her pocket, the comm device continued its intermittent flashing. She turned, intent on leading the ice doll further away. Orange eyes darted about the frigid surrounds. The only people shapes she could pick out were sculptures frozen mid movement; all blue, without a trace of steel or orange to be found. Time... she needed to buy more of it.

-

Awareness bled in slowly for K’. With it came the cold, making him shiver and moan. Pins and needles popped beneath his skin, flames sluggish, but not snuffed. A bloom of heat was amassing in his core, gradually melting away the lingering ice in his system and bringing an iota more strength with every second that passed. It felt like he was full of lead, every breath shallow and laboured. His left pinkie twitched. Feeling was returning, though the numbness persisted around his chest and one cheek. 

Bad. Don’t like that. 

Greedily, he clung to the spreading heat - that felt nicer; good.... better... - relishing in it even as he continued to be wracked by shivers. He drifted in and out to the sounds of gunfire and some strange cracking that made his hackles raise, even while in this semi-conscious state. The cold lingered, but it didn’t seem as biting with every new stirring of awareness. With its retreat, more feeling returned, and with sensation came pain; various dull aches and one particularly sharp, insistent spot on his torso that throbbed steadily. Silver brows furrowed, mouth twisting into a grimace. It was annoying, making it harder to indulge in the comforting darkness creeping back in.

A scream made him grapple harder for consciousness rather than fight it. It was a voice he knew but couldn’t place right this second, thoughts still too hazy in regards to anything that wasn’t pain or cold. 

With a monumental effort, he eventually managed to force his eyes open. Clear blue. Red. Fuzzy. Swimming in and out of focus. The red moved when he forced his fingers to curl. Darken... Blink, sharpen. Steam drifted from his lips in time with every breath. His eyes, half lidded, rolled up. More blue. More shapes. People? Blink, sharpen. Red on the blue, faraway streaks and dribbles in nonsensical patterns. More blue, brighter and opaque, chasing brown with a tiny beacon of red on top. Blink, blink, sharpen, chasing away another wave of darkness. A harsh bark of gunfire, silver muzzle flashing in time with it. Bullets and ice, clashing in a deadly dance, the ricocheting harsh in the otherwise still air. Blink, sharpen. A crest of dyed hair, bedraggled from sweat and combat. That trademark jacket sporting sizeable tears, red seeping through the largest gash in the front. 

His head swam, everything shifting dizzily as he forced himself to move; to push up onto trembling hands and knees with growing urgency. His side continued its angry throbbing, pulsing in time with every heartbeat. His teeth wouldn’t stop clicking together. Continual shivers made it difficult to move. 

This is nothing. You’ve been through worse. Move. 

He planted a foot against the ice. Then a second. The dizziness heightened. He swayed but didn’t fall. Every heavy step was more of a stagger that threatened to devolve into a fall. He didn’t. Somehow. But even if he did, he would have forced himself up again. His eyes remained trained on the blood trails, doggedly following their path to their source.

-

Reyna couldn’t move any further. There was a wall at her back and the alley entrance blocked, preventing any plans of escape. From this distance, the girl looked like little more than a strange tendril-heavy shadow blocking the light every time her hair did that eerie fanning out movement. She kept a hand pressed against her chest, stemming the flow from a sizeable cut as she tracked her adversary’s slow approach. There were more, but smaller, welts, and what felt like developing bruises all over her body. For such a skinny thing, Miss Frost certainly packed a mean punch. 

Skates grinding echoed through the small passage, the lithe little grim reaper clearly eager to finish her off. Reyna didn’t raise her gun. Why bother? It was useless now, the last of her bullets lost trying to cover her retreat into this unfortunate dead end. It hadn’t exactly helped her much to begin with, anyways, the only thing to show for her efforts a few minor dents in those yellow metal gloves. No perforations nor blood, save her own, unfortunately.

Twin icy daggers materialised in the girl’s hands, frost crackling as they took shape. Those magenta eyes weren’t so blank now. Reyna felt some small sense of accomplishment at having cracked that cold exterior, making irritation bleed through, even if she still wasn’t certain which, exactly, of her words or actions had prompted it. Her grip on the pistol tightened, coolly holding the girl’s gaze. She wondered if she could get one last hit in before she bit the dust... Maybe break that pretty little nose... Hopefully her Rogues would have more luck. Assuming they arrived on the scene in time. Reyna’s arm tensed, drawing back in preparation to strike for what may just be the final time in her life...

And then K’ blurred into view a few feet in front of her. 

Joy at seeing him alive and moving switched to worry when he stumbled. He still looked worse for wear, panting raggedly, skin pale, and shivering noticeably. Yet he managed to catch himself before his face could kiss the concrete. Boots planted stubbornly, pivoting him in place to face the still encroaching threat. He thrust his right hand up, palm extended. The left grasped his forearm bracingly. His shoulders tensed, orange wisps flickering between his fingers. Those magenta eyes widened, the girl attempting to backpedal. They both knew the attempt would be futile. K’ reached deep inside himself, gathering every scrap of energy he had left, forcing the twisting warm presence within him together into one large mass and then diverting it all towards his arm. It began to tremble as the pressure within mounted. The red metal encompassing his hand turned redder still, the air around it warping. 

A scream tore from his throat - not so much one of his fierce battle cries as it was of pain - as flame roared out in a rolling blanket, large and blistering hot as a dragon’s breath. He caught a brief flash of blue-white before the alley was completely filled with his fire, ice rapidly growing into a thick protective dome over the girl mere milliseconds before the flames’ impact. He’d also seen her manage to finally skid to a stop and crouch, arms protectively thrown over her head, before the ice swallowed her up. A second scream filled the air, competing with his own and the deafening crackled snarls of his flames; high with terror and slightly echoed.

Steam billowed, filling the alley and spilling outwards in a dense cloud, as fire and ice struggled against one another. Reyna shielded her face, squinting through the cracks of the protective barrier of her arms. It was difficult to see anything beyond the steam and the living wall of angry roiling crimson. But peering between the gap of K’s arms, looking right at the centre of where the fire was being directed, she could catch slivers of blue amongst all the red and orange. It was some sort of ice cocoon or dome, she thought. At least from what little of its form she could make out. It shifted as much as the fire, rapidly melting in on itself under the heat, then hastily growing another thick sheet to patch the area over for fortification. Frankly, it was impressive that it was holding up at all, and it spoke volumes of just how extensive the ice doll’s strength and control over her abilities must be. But Reyna had to wonder just how long she could keep it up. She wasn’t even in the line of fire - was in the coolest, safest possible spot in the alley - and the heat was still oppressive as all hell. Holed up in an igloo or not, that girl was sure to cook.

A small eternity passed - seconds? Minutes? - before the impasse came to an end. 

Flames ceased pouring from K’s hand, as abruptly as if a tap had been turned off. The thick collection of tongues still in the air lingered for a few seconds before eventually wisping away, leaving only lingering heat and a sparse handful of tiny, but stubborn, fires licking at the cement and brickwork. The ice dome, now fully in view through the thinning steam, was still intact. But only barely; it was a misshapen mess, sagging in places and melting heavily. Slowly, Reyna lowered her arms. The girl, if she was still alive, didn’t emerge from her crumpling shelter at all. K’ also didn’t move from where he was standing, still keeping his hand outstretched and braced by the other. Though another tremble ran through his entire body and he began to list to one side the longer she watched, his knees buckling.

Reyna was by his side in a heartbeat, jamming her useless gun into its holster on the way there, barely managing to catch him around the waist before he fell. His lanky body leaned against her heavily, barely able to support itself. The gash on her chest complained but she ignored it; compartmentalised it to deal with later. “Jesus, Kay!” 

She fussed, swiping his sweaty fringe away and cupping his face to assess his state. A tiny noise that could have been a protest croaked from his mouth between uneven gasps but he didn’t shove her away; couldn’t, rather. He grit his teeth, eyes squeezing shut. Trembling fingers rose, attempting to claw at his chest but fell short, dropping weakly by his side. She wasn’t too sure what was wrong, but he’d obviously messed himself up seriously pulling a strenuous stunt like that after being severely hypothermic and out of commission only minutes earlier. 

“You idiot fucking kid... Hey. Hey, look at me.” She had to tilt his head to grab his attention, and even then his focus was skewed. When he forced his eyes open the pupils were dilated, his stare hazy. “Just hang on okay? Stay awake; that’s an order.” She knew he hated those with a passion; with any luck his temper would help him stay conscious.

Reyna readjusted her grip, slinging one of his jacketed arms across her shoulders. He bit out a small moan as his injured side was pressed against her, the blood-tacky leather sticking unpleasantly. Gentle assurances were murmured, the arm at his waist pushing forward insistently to get him to move alongside her, even as her own injured chest shrieked its grievances. Every one of his steps was heavy and uncoordinated, threatening to send them both crashing into the pavement if she wasn’t vigilant. They began to edge around the sweating ice dome to exit the alley, Reyna sparing a nervous peek over her shoulder once it was behind them.

The girl was alive. Unburnt. But she remained curled up and trembling, hands wrapped protectively over her head with her back to them. Her shoulders hitched with sobs, just loud enough to be echoed in her dilapidated shelter and carry to Reyna’s ears. Her chest twisted hearing it. Jesus... for all that power, she really was just a kid in the end. Not for the first time, she couldn’t believe just how messed up NESTS was. Child freaking soldiers... Her grip on K’ tightened. 

Reyna marched on, resolute, leaving the girl to cower.

-

Spurred into action by the screaming, Diana and Foxy had ceased surveying immediately and charged into action. Rooftops were vaulted without so much as a pause in their stride until they dropped into the alley the noises originated from, boots thumping against the cement. They were quick to rise, taking hasty strides towards the sweating lump of ice. The pinching in their expressions relaxed some when the body within was still very much alive. Though the state of her was worrying. Blue skirts and red cape pooled around their ankles when the pair crouched by the open mouth of the ice construct.

“Kula,” Diana called out softly. There was a brief pause in the shaking shoulders. “It’s okay. We’re here now.”

Slowly, hands were lowered from head. A pale cheek peeked over a shoulder. Tears freely ran from the girl’s eyes, leaving tracks on her skin that began to frost over during their downward journey. She choked out a sob. The ice around her crumbled, shards of all sizes clattering against the cement. On hands and knees she scrambled over, hurling herself into outstretched arms and burying her face into the crook of the woman’s neck. Diana murmured gently, rubbing soothing circles against her back. Kula’s trembling began anew, more and louder sobs ripping from her throat.

“He,” she choked out, fingers fisting the back of Diana’s top. Snot joined the tears, wetting her shoulder, though she didn’t complain, still holding Kula close. “Sc-scary. He was so scary! It was so hot! I-“

“Ssh. I’ve got you.” Diana pressed a kiss into the soft blue locks, pressing the girl closer against her. She continued to snivel, trembling and whimpering. “You’re safe now.”

Foxy chewed her lip, eyes shifting from Kula’s trembling frame to catch her fellow’s. “Shall I catch them?” she inquired softly. At Diana’s nod, she rose. Two steps and she was by the huddled pair’s sides. She stooped, pressing a kiss of her own into Kula’s hair. “Good girl... You did very well.”

A fresh sob made her heart squeeze. By her side, her fists clenched, watching those slender shoulder shake harder. She was going to make that pair pay for every single one of those tears being shed. Foxy’s coat flared with her abrupt rise and turn. 

“I’m off,” she announced brusquely, jaw squared.

“See you at the rendezvous.” Diana watched her departure through lidded eyes. Come back safe they seemed to say.

Gloved fingers dragged across her bare shoulder in parting and promise. Then Foxy was gone, blurring away to begin her pursuit.