tampered | Log; Ongoing

When; Dec. 01 (evening)
Rating; PG-13 (violence, language)
Characters; open
Summary; and The Host arrives in the city square, refer to this for guidelines
Log;

Almost four hundred pounds of cyborg puppeteer was flung haphazardly into the brick wall, through the brick wall. She bounced along, meat and metal, every part of her throbbing with a maddening pain no other puppeteer could bear to fathom. Her fur was matted, marked by sweat and blood. Something felt dislocated. Her right foreleg was numbing. Despite the assurances of the advanced, top-of-the-line musculature melding that prevented most primitive projectile weapons from puncturing her vitals, she still could be mangled, like now. She wasn't sure how long she could last. Maybe she deserved this, could have foreseen this; she was stupid and headstrong enough to fight the beast bare hoofed. She should have brought a blade, a small projectile weapon, spent her free time trying to construct a basic harmful laser, something. Instead she had launched herself at the thing, over the gaping maw, between the two withered, leathery necks, trying to tear into its wrinkled back flesh with her clawed hooves. There was her enhanced strength, and then there was the creature's reflexes, how what was once its back leg was held like an Earth scorpion's. That was careless.

Unfertilized gametes still leaked out of the hole in her belly. It had tried to impregnate her, pumping her gut full of the slime while the other one that would assuredly turn her into a vessel of infection was held off with both sets of teeth. The other two prongs had been trying to tear her open. She got away then and had been running ever since. There was fear, and then there was the basic Fear that had gripped her people ever so tightly. Never had she been so scared for her (second) life.

It caught her. She fought back, but it was a futile attempt: It was insanely strong. Unbelievably strong. No creature could be that strong.

The sickening scent of ill puppeteer musk came closer. She could almost feel its horrid, humid breaths as it homed in with a slow, agonizing sureness; it knew where she was. Her remaining two legs uselessly swung against the crumbles and tile; she could not crouch away, her legs weren't built for it. A cornered herd beast, Guardian threw both heads back and gave a cry of alarm, an ancient noise of pained, panicked trumpets that carried a message that she begged was universal.

An oily voice. Low notes slithered through the air in her native tongue: "Yes... Sing for the humans you love to despise. They shall come to the beautiful sight of me crushing your proud Guardian bones. Let your demise mark my departure from your wretched, terrified race.

"Die in terror, disposable little Warrior."

The great shape could be seen crawling. Those teeth could be heard, clacking with an ill glee anticipating her battered body. Maybe it flickered gold. Golden tentacles. Many golden tentacles reaching for her, promising a second death.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Frantic blue snapped up with the voice, and when he said Kratos' name, unbelieving and relieved, it came out almost like a breathy laugh. But for the sound, he didn't look amused at all.

First Aid. Damn, he really needed to learn that spell.

Still, it couldn't be enough. His mana...

Wings fluttering, Yuan flattened his palm to Mithos' chest again. He bit down hard on his lower lip, focused, willed his own lifeforce into the boy.

Not this time, Mithos.

Mithos closed his eyes, not understanding why his the blue-haired half elf was helping him. He tried to lift his left arm, and winced, remembering the bullet that had struck it earlier, but nevertheless clutched at the renegade's arms.

"Don't... bother..." he hissed with difficulty and then cried. "Why... are... you bothering!?" he tried to yell though it came out in a breathy whisper and he dissolved into a fits of gags.

"I...." he paused. "I deserve this... for losing..." The fact that he had retaliated against Yuan and Kratos, instead of listen to their pathetic reasoning.... it was left unsaid, but it was there. His pride refused to let him say it.

While afraid of death, Mithos did not want their pity... no... and it could only be that.

Leaning over, Kratos bit his lip, uncaring when he tasted the sharp, tangy sting of blood as it seeped from the wound. Fingers fitted over Mithos'stomache, a hair's breath under Yuan's as he closed his eyes.

"First Aid," he grit out, not willing to show that slight shake in his voice, though both Yuan and Mithos could probably feel how his fingers shook against bloodied skin.

"I'm not letting you die...not again." It had been too much, the last time. Too much pain, too many things left unsaid. Too much he could have done. "I don't abandon you again!"

"Not this time, Mithos," Yuan hissed, voicing his thoughts. His own body quivered, stomach shuddering with nerves, anxiety. "Not this time."

It was almost a vow, more than anything. Eyes sharp, unsually bright. His back curled, arm shifting to support Mithos' head. Wings shuddering with effort, arching up (guardian angel) over the trio of them. Not enough, not enough.

He huffed out a breath, and his hand shifted, sliding down. He bumped Kratos, and without thinking, grabbed-- palm to palm, sides of their hands against torn shirt, stained skin-- and pushed harder.

Mithos closed his eyes, weak and unable to keep them open any longer though his body was healing and he was no longer so close to death. He was tired. And he didn't understand why they were doing this.

"Why...? Why... why don't you want me to die....?" he whispered quietly. "I'd.... I'd have left... both of you... to die.. in a similar... situation... and laughed.... so hard.... why are you doing this? I... I don't want your pity..."

He could feel it. The slow, so painfully slow knitting of tissue, the ebb and ease of mana righting itself. It still wasn't enough...but he was gonna be okay. He HAD to be.

"Because we're your <>friends...you idiot.!" And here came the breakdown. For the first time in decades, Kratos felt his eyes sting sharp from something other then sweat, and he bowed hus head to try and cover them. "How many times...do I have to tell you..?"

He was shaking now, shoulders shuddering, the vibration moving down his arms and into the two he connected with. A huff of breath, sweat-slicked cobalt falling forward. He hadn't looked away since he started, but he could hear, feel the tears welling in Kratos' voice. His grip tightened on the other man, vice-like.

"Not p-pity," He gasped, shuddered. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this up, but he had to try. "It.. n-never changed. W-Why do you th-think we stayed? N-Not fear."

He trailed off. Mana, the flow between them. He could feel Mithos' pain, the slowburn of healing. But they missed-- "K-Kratos, h-his... the bullet," He ground out, still not looking up.

Mithos didn't think he understood, but deep down, he knew that there could be no other explanation. Why else? Why else were they here worrying for him when he had already died once? Though afraid of death, he'd heard.... he'd heard nobody died in here.... and so this, this was idiocy.

"Fools..." he whispered, smiling slight, though whether it was a derisive smile or an amused one, nobody could tell. "...this... this is stupid... four thousand years.... should've been enough.... I knew it was....."

He closed his eyes and felt something warm trail down his left eye. "Why... why can't.... you... you just hate me?" It was easier that way. Now.. now, he didn't know what to think.

Fingers reached, pressing against the warm, bare skin of Mithos' shoulder. Bullets, he knew, could be extracted with healing magic, but only if you concentrated on the spot, only if you were REALLY careful. This would be tricky.

"I could never hate you." He whispered, bending until his forehead touched against the blonde's. "No matter what, I couldn't hate you."

Yuan's eyes lifted briefly, but immediately cut back away, down to the clasp of his hand to Kratos'. Intrusion. That intimacy... But this wasn't the time to worry about it.

There were more important issues at stake here.

But he was shaking so hard now. Kratos had to get the bullet, and he didn't want to throw the other man off. Yuan curled over, relaxed his grip on the other angel, and rested his forehead against Mithos' chest to keep contact. He closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and stayed silent.

Tired, Mithos let the darkness swallow him up and he slept, not quite worried anymore about waking up in that endless darkness.

He himself did not sit well with that kind of assurance but... it felt nice and he didn't... he didn't want to reject it.

Log; Ongoing

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