WHO: Silco & Others WHAT: 2025 Catch-all π WHERE: the world is our oyster WHEN: Day or night WARNINGS: blanket warning for drug references, other subjects will be warned for in threads
[ The small building that the ChΕ«kyΕ-ikka Kai gang had taken as their own was fairly easy to break into. Since the owner was off schmoozing out of town, it left the grunts to act as they would accordingly. It wasn't that they were necessarily lax without the boss here, but that they weren't quite as attentive as they could be, especially around the holidays. It meant that the person who was supposed to be looking at the camera was busy sharing a drink with their buddy, who'd received at the beginning of his shift a rather nice bottle of something delivered into his locker. How timely.
The door? Easy. They're with a quick swipe of a keycard at the door. Immediate.
Silco lets Vergilius lead, hanging back like a dark little ghost, dwarfed by the other man, and happy to stay behind him in the shadow. He's not without defense of course, but he didn't spend 100,000 kryptos just to do the work for him. (Or maybe, it was the fact that he wanted to watch the man work.) The entrance opens to a small foyer, with the door leading into the rest of the building opening up to a... large open floor, where much of the staff sat at long tables working. Some were counting pills, other sorting kaiju parts, and even others were working in that way that people did wiht implants. Sitting in a chair and staring straight forward with their implants flashing. Just a touch of the eerie.
The fellas in security stormed out when the door opened, stumbling into the main floor just as the two of them entered, and Silco smiled from behind Vergilius, happy to stay near the door. Just in case. ]
Good evening, did you both enjoy the gift I sent?
[ He'll let Vergilius do what he does best here, though, given that not only the security, but several of the workers all start pulling out guns, knives, whatever.
[The "gift he sent". It's probably in reference to the alcohol, but in a way, isn't his presence here also a "gift" in a horrible way? Here he is, in all his monstrous splendor. Here comes red-eyed death, to celebrate life, from Silco with all his love.]
[The look of the place feels so nostalgic as to be deja vu - these men with their weapons and implants could easily be Fixers or fellows from a Syndicate. But there's one major difference, he thinks, as he eyes them down.]
[They're not even half as strong as a lowly Grade 7 Fixer. The surgeries they have in the City can make the one LILITH offers look like child's play. One man comes at him, brandishing a large knife - and in seconds, and a single swipe, that arm is rolling on the floor. Another man, another blink, a vivid spray of red, and another man is gone.]
[And so it goes. The guns are vaguely novel - the City has its rules when it comes to them, and they aren't something he is used to fighting against regularly - but what does he care, when his muscles thrum like a car motor and he can move like a lightening bolt to stab through a chest? What does a bullet matter, then?]
[He gives no thought to Silco, not now. He moves like he's a machine. It's as automated as anything.]
[ The bodies fall, the blood goes flying, like he is an industrial wood chipper, ripping through men like wood, and Silco watches them all fall. It's almost unfair, isn't it? They don't stand a chance. Silco watches it all from behind him, like a long shadow, far enough away that he's tucked away where most won't notice, especially once Vergilius starts going, leaving long streaks of blood over the tables and scattered electronics and items all over.
Silco is used to watching these sorts of things, and normally it's merely... routine. Sevika is efficient and quick when she has to get involved directly (rarely) and it's even more rare that she pulls out her mechanical arm to fully rip someone limb from limb. It's always enjoyable to watch, because there is a moment at which they arrive there. The moment when a fellow Zaunite becomes too dangerous to allow to live. Here, of course, they don't have to worry about that.
The civilians here aren't their people after all. He can unleash Vergilius and watch him go, enjoy the sprays of blood, watch them lif their guns and β he rushes them faster than Silco can blink one of his eyes. It's interesting, and a part of him admits it's exciting.
Maybe it's because he now understands that there's practically engines that move his legs, make him so fast, or maybe it's because he's seen him in action so rarely since then. Maybe it's because Silco knows how to get the jump on him β or just maybe...
His eyes don't leave the man as he cuts a swath through the staff. People are coming from the backrooms, lured by the noise and stepping into the room Vergilius had started to... redecorate, using blood instead of paint. His face impassive, save for the slightest curl of his lips, even while blood flecked of from one of the next bodies, a few drops on his face.
He doesn't wipe them off, too focused on watching how he cuts through the whole lot of them.
[It reminds him of that painting from the auction. He still remembers Jumsoon's voice, talking about the gruesome fate of hundreds of people from that Syndicate, and the dying survivor who had painted that vicious, thorny canvas in her last moments. A canvas with two red splotches, like eyes from hell.]
[He knows this is what people see, right before he deprives them of life.]
[Silco doesn't have to worry about a thing. He cuts down people like trees, the sear of his gladius causing an acrid stench in the air. Sometimes, though, cauterization never happens. It simply reduces what it must, and the rest sprays across the room in its own dreadful canvas.]
[He sees the man's unseeing eye, meets it, sees that drop of blood.]
[He doesn't smile.]
[He simply moves forward to cut down more of the wave, as emotionless as ever, with eyes leaving streaks in his movement.]
[ His eyes streak through the room, and it reminds him so much of shimmer, streaks of violet that dart through the night when someone takes just the right dose, to allow them to rush through the fissures like creatures possessed.
He thinks Vergilius must be some kind of possessed too, moving through bodies like they are no more than water, waves parting to his gladius. Toppling like bloody dominos, leaving only their remains toppling to the ground, covered in blood and gore.
It is like a painting, artful violence spread out before him like a feast to take in with his eyes. Silco was not so blood-thirsty as to hunger for the death of random citizens, but there's a certain pleasure he takes in seeing an obstacle toppled, someone in his way getting taken out, like a peg in the overall structure. These bodies are pins in the plan, taken away to let others come to fruition. One thing down, so another can take its place. That it's being done for him makes this a feast. Paid and tendered, and every single krypto is worth it to watch. No matter how prickly the man was about it.
How many more are there? This is an organization, after all, but the numbers are dwindling.
Silco takes to walking the perimeter of the room, hands clasped.
Do any of them even look at him? Do they know that there is more than one threat in the room? Or are they only focused on the same thing Silco is? Could he blame them? They, at least, have a reason to be so worried about the man β monster β cutting a bloody gash through the room. ]
[This is what he's known for. This is the image that is conjured when people utter his title. He is admired and feared all at once. Colors are akin to forces of nature, at their most powerful. He may not have all his strength here, but its clear - these men that rush at him to their certain doom are akin to ants.]
[Silco, too, could be an ant. And yet, he's not. This is a man who's put a foot into his chest, metaphorically, and won over him. He won't be tamed. Not now, not ever in his lifetime. But Silco wants to have his leash, and tug it, too.]
[That image, and the deja vu from his massacre so many years ago, the first time he heard Lapis' name, make something cross his face - a burning anger. It's always there. He keeps it suppressed, and yet now, as he bisects a man before kicking another into the wall close to where Silco is standing, it oozes out of his aura.]
[Wrath is a familiar emotion to him. He wears it like a coat of blood, and it soaks him through and through.]
[ Silco is no stranger to wrath, to violence. To that beast, that thing, that lurked in the hearts of monsters masquerading as men. He recognizes it for what it is as soon as it crosses his face, that wrathful, hateful thing. Perhaps it says something, that he seeks out that burning red gaze as it moves throughout the space, perhaps it even says something that Silco sees this in his face, and he knows it for what it is.
He wonders, what brings this to the forefront of his mind. Anger. Before he had been so impassive, like it was merely a job. Now... it is not that he is enjoying it, and he is not impassive, it is like the beast is unleashed, snapping and hissing at everything around him.
A body bifurcated down the middle, another slammed next to him β the body hits the wall with a solid slap, skull cracking on the wall, where it started to slide down the wall, leaving a trail of blood. Some had made it out of the man's mouth when his head hit the wall, more blood everywhere. Silco knew some of it was on him β more than some at this point β but he couldn't be bothered to care.
The bodies are becoming fewer, aren't they? Vergilius is so much more than they are. Angry, he is even more. There's scant more than five, and they're mostly cowering. They'll need to be drug out, and executed.
The last to die would always be the cowards.
He hasn't seen him be this angry before. Filled with it, rage thrumming out of him like a palpable aura. Radiating off of him like a tempest, waves crashing violently against high stone cliffs. The only indication of anything from Silco is the sharp burst of air through his nose, watching this display, watching fury burn in his gaze, and it fuels the motions of his hand to slice through men like a knife through soft butter.
Does he know? How resplendent he looks, wreathed in anger like a mantle? ]
[There are a meager few. Vergilius see them cower, sees their eyes dart around for an exit. They ran into this mess to try to cut down the threat, and now their time has come.]
[One almost trips, trying to make a break for the backrooms on shaking feet, but he is intercepted in the blink of an eye. A red gaze is what meets him, as intense as a red sun. Vergilius punches the gladius through the chest, and that is that.]
[He also has seen this before. He has met with men at the top of it all who become reduced to blabbering children when they're about to die. He's heard the bribes, the begging, the offers, the appeal to the emotions of a beast to spare and give mercy.]
[Lapis's parent had uttered her name before their throat was slit. It feels like acid dropping through his throat to his belly. He rounds on thr next victim and cuts his throat before he can say anything and make it worse. The anger still burns like a fire that cannot be sated. And it is a wretched, awful fire that he wishes ever bitterly could have never existed. The City made this. It stoked it, coaxed it, and set it into the body of a man.]
[What a monster I am, he thinks, even as he steps over to another trying to vainly hide in the midst of all this gore to dispatch him with a swift strike. That dying survivor from the Syndicate, he still remembers her wide eyes, her trembling mouth.]
[The boss's password is Lapis.]
[And as thanks for the information, he had said, as a monster does, he let her die a slow death. She had painted that canvas at the end, and perished. His beastlike mercy, for all to see.]
[He doesn't even feel inside his own body as he finishes up his job, his mind here and there and everywhere at once. And he is still angry.]
[He should be angry at Silco. Technically, he always is. The man stares at him as if lovesick, as if seeing a masterful painting on a wall of a creature from hell.]
[But he is angry at himself. He always is. As the last body collapses, Vergilius heaves heavy breaths as his eyes continue to burn with hatred that he wishes could burn him up, too.]
[Unfortunately, it doesn't.]
[He will still persist like the shade he is, adding more souls to his blood-red sea.]
[ The last body falls, squelching and sick sounding as it dropped onto the ground amongst the rest of the bodies, the pile of suits and limbs, blood streaked across the floors and spattered across the desks and walls, a shoal of blood on the ground. His blade had cut wildly, through limb, bone, organ, everything. Parts are slipping out, the wild slashes leaving organs to slide to the ground, to join with the rest of the blood. At least where they didn't cauterize.
The smell of burning flesh fills the room. He considers lighting a cigar, but doesn't quite pull it out. ]
Quite thorough, aren't you?
[ He says it as he steps forward, from the edges of the room. Around the limb bent at an odd angle, that had fallen to the ground. His steps are idling, because as angry as Vergilius looks, this has put Silco in a good mood. The anger makes him think of the monster he knows is in there, the one he's been trying to draw out. To see it in full...
Vergilius had told him, once, that he was a sinner, that he felt guilt, that he hated this thing that he was. He wonders if that fire in his face is for Silco himself, for putting him toward doing this β or if it was for himself, for holding the blade. Did it matter, to him, that these men were no better than any other criminal? That they knew what life they were in? It wasn't as if a raid was unusual, and it wasn't as if they had done anything more than shortened an already short life. Silco felt nothing for these men, nothing like remorse. Hell, he barely thought of them at all.
They were already corpses from the moment he'd sent that money to the orphanage.
Vergilius, too, has spatters of blood on him, on his hands, his coat, his face, Silco looked him up and down, though he doesn't smile now. He feels as if he can sense the taste of his anger, as it burns like an aura, emanating out from the man. He fears it, because part of him is still instinct, but it draws him close too. Like a moth to a flame. He can do nothing but close in, in the middle of his bloody carnage. ]
Somehow, I think you downplayed your capabilities.
[ He admitted, stopping near him, looking up at him, taking stock of the blood on his face. ]
[He takes it in - and somehow also doesn't. The viscera, blood, bodies, and general gore seem to all blend into one. There's people here, but there are no people at all. Just remnants. This is what a Color does. They raze people like a farmer taking a scythe to wheat.]
[Silco steps forward through the mess of it all. He sees that he hasn't been spared, either, his face spotted with blood. He can't help but fixate on it, somehow, though he can't blame vampirism for it anymore.]
[The man's observation comes with a scoff, and he raises a hand to brush back through his bloody bangs and over his head.]
In the City, these "capabilities" come baked into the title of Color.
[His gaze flits down, fiery red and angry, always angry. This fucking bastard. He himself is a bastard, too.]
[ He notes, eyes slid from his face, from bloody bangs, and then down to the bodies at his feet. Really, truly, he'd said he was powerful, but watching him was something else. He could see then, why he had fans, when he moved like that. Mowing through them like they were nothing β they were nothing β and Silco had once, very, very foolishly, gotten the jump on him.
Did it sting, he wondered? To know that this man who could do none of this had slid underneath that armor, and managed to get attack him, months ago in the castle? Did he hate him for it? He supposed he must, of course. Silco didn't mind that, because all men hated him in the end. It was an expectation he was long-used to. He still... still, he was here. He'd accepted the contract.
Maybe it wasn't just hate. ]
I've never seen anyone move like you do, even on shimmer.
[ Even a world away. This was fluid and fast, and it was like watching death reach out its hand, and artfully dance through bodies like nothing. Silco had never really seen dancers on stage, but he imagined it would be something like that.
He wonders what it would do to him, even still. He can't help himself. ]
You have a bit of blood β
[ A bit, he says, with a quirk of his lips. He is so angry, but Silco doesn't mind that. He is too, always, always angry. He reached up, and brushed some of it off of his cheek. It mostly left a smudge.
[Of course it stings. He wasn't proud of his power, necessarily - only as much as a weapon could be proud of its own strength - but Silco worming his way in had always been a surprise. Then again, was it a surprise? He, who had let this man in practically by opening the door, holding his hand, coming back to him again and again?]
[Is it simply hate?]
[The compliment seems to slide into him, feeling like acid coming up his throat. He's never been good with them, never known how to react. He doesn't feel he deserves it. Good words aren't made to be given to a monster, a nightmare.]
[He wants to tell Silco to stop looking at him the way he does. Wouldn't it be so easy, to not have a heart, and be done with the man once and for all?]
[His employer reaches up - his thin thumb brushes against a sallow, stained cheekbone. It's useless. It only makes it worse.]
[He reaches up with his free hand to capture that wrist, but he doesn't yank it away, he doesn't put it aside. Simply holds it, unsure what to do.]
...Are you happy?
[He breathes, a rattle in his chest. He did a good job, didn't he? Did Silco take pleasure in it?]
[ It's a soft note, almost half-surprised, but he doesn't tug his hand away, does he? Silco's almost surprised by that, almost. It's always a guess with the man, whether he'll try to pull away, or allow Silco to reach out, and sink his thin fingers into him like hooks. Right now, he feels suspended between the two, the man looking down at him with those too-red eyes, and Silco's lips quirked into a brief, thin smile. ]
Oh, your work was exemplary.
[ He can hardly complain, can he? Not a man escaped, drawing them all in? He hadn't even had to worry about one of them reaching out to try and shoot him instead.
He is a monster, but Silco was one too, wasn't he? To enjoy this. ]
I'm quite pleased.
[ His thumb still rests against his cheek. He doesn't try to pull it away, he only brushes against Vergilius with it absently. It smears the blood, what a mess of it. ]
[ Once the Imugi is gone, destroyed, there is the aftermath. Yes, the base is destroyed. Yes, of course, there will be cleanup. Silco isn't really all that interested in that part, beyond his own few belongings β he carries all the important ones with him because he knows better than to leave something of great import behind, he has already nearly lost something once, he knows better β but that means there are other duties to tend to.
Not that Silco does, of course. Perform for LILITH like a yapping poro whose been trained to entertain? Absolutely not. Although, perhaps one could easily mistake him for... "helping", with the way he was hunched over a part of the creature that's been blown off from a wayward attack. It's a long spine with fin still attached. Silco's fingers are tapping at it, as if he's trying to assess it for edibility, or perhaps for its use. He is no expert, but that doesn't mean that he hasn't started to develop a sense for these things. It's fairly large, though given that it's about the length of Silco's arm, that's not surprising. The Imugi was large, and Silco was relatively small. Really, this was large enough that he thinks the muscle could do well.
He's holding it up, considering. ]
Hm.
[ He says, thoughtful.
It sure would be a shame if someone were to... ruin his day. ]
[ likewise, hunter keeps almost everything important to him on his person. the only things he hasn't brough with him are his precious gifts, such as his wolf plush and wolf books. luckily, they'd been undamaged, but he had stashed them in a relatively safe spot, worried to lose them ]
[ hunter, naturally, has been part of the salvaging and cleanup effort, unlike silco. he'd already dug up a few prized possessions and found a few animals, with some of his attention being paid to the parts of the kaiju left behind. he's more concerned about the people ]
[ well. speaking of people -- there's silco, with a part of the kaiju. and while hunter has no issue working with silco, even to take down gangsters and black market dealers, he's not ignorant to what silco's plotting to do on the side. ]
[ so, in a flash of golden light, hunter teleports next to silco..... and slaps the part out of his hand ]
[ Hunter is fast, and compared to Silco, who although he has nanites β perhaps foolishly he'd accepted them β can't even hope to compete with preternatural abilities. Hunter's hands are quick to slap it out of his hand, and his fingers snap back immediately, not out of shame, or fear.
But because he's so close all of the sudden.
He sniffed, and brushed his hands together before he started fishing into his vest. ]
Think about what, precisely? I had just found it, boy.
I know you're planning to sell this on the black market.
[ he doesn't actually know that, he's just assuming the worst because it's silco. he grips his staff, watching silco reach into his vest -- and likewise assuming the worst, that he's taking out a weapon of sorts ]
[ he also shifts so he's between silco and the now slapped down kaiju bits ]
However, it should be noted, that this doesn't mean that's where it wouldn't have ended up, because Silco wouldn't have sold it. He'd already sent a few pings through his connections to pick up more of the Imugi parts, to get into the black market. More of them for the masses to purchase.
Silco was keeping his hands blissfully clean. ]
I was inspecting it, if you must know. To understand where it belonged on the creature.
[ hunter narrows his eyes suspiciously, wanting to argue back. but since silco doesn't pull a weapon on him, he takes a step back, looking between silco and the kaiju part. it's likely a tendon of sorts, attached to the smashed remains of a scale. ]
Why does that matter to you?
[ wowow, silco clearly just wants to study the creature's anatomy and hunter is out here being the nosy police ]
[ He says, as if he is taking in how curious that is.
He is, in his own way. Absorbing the information. Though it isn't to learn about the kaiju to defeat them. he's making a map, putting together the types of pieces. What value they have. What is useful.
Was this? Not very. Little value beyond aesthetic. ]
So not particularly useful as a small part, is it? [ Well, maybe Laios could use it for stock. ]
[ hunter will continue staring at silco in that suspicious way as he talks and hems and haws, as if trying to figure out his angle, but does answer, at least. ]
Useful for what? Armor?
[ or weapons... but hunter is inclined to agree, there's not much a tendon can be used for ]
The scale could be used to fortify something. But otherwise, no.... it's not useful.
[ He shrugged. ] Though their fins didn't seem to be used for flight, did they?
[ he's still trying to play it off, obviously. Maybe someone would want it for decor, but is that really something he cares about? Not beyond the money. He'd use it for that, but if Hunter wants to stop him, then maybe... just maybe.
He'll let him.
Give the kid a win for once. ]
I don't really know what LILITH does with so much of this. Half the time it seems to end up on the Black Market, doesn't it?
[ he wants to continue being VERY SUSPICIOUS!!!! but silco has come upon one of his weaknesses: being a fucking nerd. so some of the suspicion melts away, just because he's thinking about the biology of the imugi ]
No, I don't think so. It's got to be something else part of their bodies, or just some part of their biology. The rift enhanced the female, as well.
[ laois might know ]
I suppose they'd conducting their own experiments. But it wouldn't surprise me if they were sending parts to the black market. [ since there's so much in circulation ]
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β₯ Vergilius [cw: violence, blood]
The door? Easy. They're with a quick swipe of a keycard at the door. Immediate.
Silco lets Vergilius lead, hanging back like a dark little ghost, dwarfed by the other man, and happy to stay behind him in the shadow. He's not without defense of course, but he didn't spend 100,000 kryptos just to do the work for him. (Or maybe, it was the fact that he wanted to watch the man work.) The entrance opens to a small foyer, with the door leading into the rest of the building opening up to a... large open floor, where much of the staff sat at long tables working. Some were counting pills, other sorting kaiju parts, and even others were working in that way that people did wiht implants. Sitting in a chair and staring straight forward with their implants flashing. Just a touch of the eerie.
The fellas in security stormed out when the door opened, stumbling into the main floor just as the two of them entered, and Silco smiled from behind Vergilius, happy to stay near the door. Just in case. ]
Good evening, did you both enjoy the gift I sent?
[ He'll let Vergilius do what he does best here, though, given that not only the security, but several of the workers all start pulling out guns, knives, whatever.
Hey, at least they're all career criminals. ]
no subject
[The look of the place feels so nostalgic as to be deja vu - these men with their weapons and implants could easily be Fixers or fellows from a Syndicate. But there's one major difference, he thinks, as he eyes them down.]
[They're not even half as strong as a lowly Grade 7 Fixer. The surgeries they have in the City can make the one LILITH offers look like child's play. One man comes at him, brandishing a large knife - and in seconds, and a single swipe, that arm is rolling on the floor. Another man, another blink, a vivid spray of red, and another man is gone.]
[And so it goes. The guns are vaguely novel - the City has its rules when it comes to them, and they aren't something he is used to fighting against regularly - but what does he care, when his muscles thrum like a car motor and he can move like a lightening bolt to stab through a chest? What does a bullet matter, then?]
[He gives no thought to Silco, not now. He moves like he's a machine. It's as automated as anything.]
no subject
Silco is used to watching these sorts of things, and normally it's merely... routine. Sevika is efficient and quick when she has to get involved directly (rarely) and it's even more rare that she pulls out her mechanical arm to fully rip someone limb from limb. It's always enjoyable to watch, because there is a moment at which they arrive there. The moment when a fellow Zaunite becomes too dangerous to allow to live. Here, of course, they don't have to worry about that.
The civilians here aren't their people after all. He can unleash Vergilius and watch him go, enjoy the sprays of blood, watch them lif their guns and β he rushes them faster than Silco can blink one of his eyes. It's interesting, and a part of him admits it's exciting.
Maybe it's because he now understands that there's practically engines that move his legs, make him so fast, or maybe it's because he's seen him in action so rarely since then. Maybe it's because Silco knows how to get the jump on him β or just maybe...
His eyes don't leave the man as he cuts a swath through the staff. People are coming from the backrooms, lured by the noise and stepping into the room Vergilius had started to... redecorate, using blood instead of paint. His face impassive, save for the slightest curl of his lips, even while blood flecked of from one of the next bodies, a few drops on his face.
He doesn't wipe them off, too focused on watching how he cuts through the whole lot of them.
Messy, messy. ]
no subject
[He knows this is what people see, right before he deprives them of life.]
[Silco doesn't have to worry about a thing. He cuts down people like trees, the sear of his gladius causing an acrid stench in the air. Sometimes, though, cauterization never happens. It simply reduces what it must, and the rest sprays across the room in its own dreadful canvas.]
[He sees the man's unseeing eye, meets it, sees that drop of blood.]
[He doesn't smile.]
[He simply moves forward to cut down more of the wave, as emotionless as ever, with eyes leaving streaks in his movement.]
no subject
He thinks Vergilius must be some kind of possessed too, moving through bodies like they are no more than water, waves parting to his gladius. Toppling like bloody dominos, leaving only their remains toppling to the ground, covered in blood and gore.
It is like a painting, artful violence spread out before him like a feast to take in with his eyes. Silco was not so blood-thirsty as to hunger for the death of random citizens, but there's a certain pleasure he takes in seeing an obstacle toppled, someone in his way getting taken out, like a peg in the overall structure. These bodies are pins in the plan, taken away to let others come to fruition. One thing down, so another can take its place. That it's being done for him makes this a feast. Paid and tendered, and every single krypto is worth it to watch. No matter how prickly the man was about it.
How many more are there? This is an organization, after all, but the numbers are dwindling.
Silco takes to walking the perimeter of the room, hands clasped.
Do any of them even look at him? Do they know that there is more than one threat in the room? Or are they only focused on the same thing Silco is? Could he blame them? They, at least, have a reason to be so worried about the man β monster β cutting a bloody gash through the room. ]
no subject
[Silco, too, could be an ant. And yet, he's not. This is a man who's put a foot into his chest, metaphorically, and won over him. He won't be tamed. Not now, not ever in his lifetime. But Silco wants to have his leash, and tug it, too.]
[That image, and the deja vu from his massacre so many years ago, the first time he heard Lapis' name, make something cross his face - a burning anger. It's always there. He keeps it suppressed, and yet now, as he bisects a man before kicking another into the wall close to where Silco is standing, it oozes out of his aura.]
[Wrath is a familiar emotion to him. He wears it like a coat of blood, and it soaks him through and through.]
no subject
He wonders, what brings this to the forefront of his mind. Anger. Before he had been so impassive, like it was merely a job. Now... it is not that he is enjoying it, and he is not impassive, it is like the beast is unleashed, snapping and hissing at everything around him.
A body bifurcated down the middle, another slammed next to him β the body hits the wall with a solid slap, skull cracking on the wall, where it started to slide down the wall, leaving a trail of blood. Some had made it out of the man's mouth when his head hit the wall, more blood everywhere. Silco knew some of it was on him β more than some at this point β but he couldn't be bothered to care.
The bodies are becoming fewer, aren't they? Vergilius is so much more than they are. Angry, he is even more. There's scant more than five, and they're mostly cowering. They'll need to be drug out, and executed.
The last to die would always be the cowards.
He hasn't seen him be this angry before. Filled with it, rage thrumming out of him like a palpable aura. Radiating off of him like a tempest, waves crashing violently against high stone cliffs. The only indication of anything from Silco is the sharp burst of air through his nose, watching this display, watching fury burn in his gaze, and it fuels the motions of his hand to slice through men like a knife through soft butter.
Does he know? How resplendent he looks, wreathed in anger like a mantle? ]
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[One almost trips, trying to make a break for the backrooms on shaking feet, but he is intercepted in the blink of an eye. A red gaze is what meets him, as intense as a red sun. Vergilius punches the gladius through the chest, and that is that.]
[He also has seen this before. He has met with men at the top of it all who become reduced to blabbering children when they're about to die. He's heard the bribes, the begging, the offers, the appeal to the emotions of a beast to spare and give mercy.]
[Lapis's parent had uttered her name before their throat was slit. It feels like acid dropping through his throat to his belly. He rounds on thr next victim and cuts his throat before he can say anything and make it worse. The anger still burns like a fire that cannot be sated. And it is a wretched, awful fire that he wishes ever bitterly could have never existed. The City made this. It stoked it, coaxed it, and set it into the body of a man.]
[What a monster I am, he thinks, even as he steps over to another trying to vainly hide in the midst of all this gore to dispatch him with a swift strike. That dying survivor from the Syndicate, he still remembers her wide eyes, her trembling mouth.]
[The boss's password is Lapis.]
[And as thanks for the information, he had said, as a monster does, he let her die a slow death. She had painted that canvas at the end, and perished. His beastlike mercy, for all to see.]
[He doesn't even feel inside his own body as he finishes up his job, his mind here and there and everywhere at once. And he is still angry.]
[He should be angry at Silco. Technically, he always is. The man stares at him as if lovesick, as if seeing a masterful painting on a wall of a creature from hell.]
[But he is angry at himself. He always is. As the last body collapses, Vergilius heaves heavy breaths as his eyes continue to burn with hatred that he wishes could burn him up, too.]
[Unfortunately, it doesn't.]
[He will still persist like the shade he is, adding more souls to his blood-red sea.]
....It's done.
cw: some gore 8)
The smell of burning flesh fills the room. He considers lighting a cigar, but doesn't quite pull it out. ]
Quite thorough, aren't you?
[ He says it as he steps forward, from the edges of the room. Around the limb bent at an odd angle, that had fallen to the ground. His steps are idling, because as angry as Vergilius looks, this has put Silco in a good mood. The anger makes him think of the monster he knows is in there, the one he's been trying to draw out. To see it in full...
Vergilius had told him, once, that he was a sinner, that he felt guilt, that he hated this thing that he was. He wonders if that fire in his face is for Silco himself, for putting him toward doing this β or if it was for himself, for holding the blade. Did it matter, to him, that these men were no better than any other criminal? That they knew what life they were in? It wasn't as if a raid was unusual, and it wasn't as if they had done anything more than shortened an already short life. Silco felt nothing for these men, nothing like remorse. Hell, he barely thought of them at all.
They were already corpses from the moment he'd sent that money to the orphanage.
Vergilius, too, has spatters of blood on him, on his hands, his coat, his face, Silco looked him up and down, though he doesn't smile now. He feels as if he can sense the taste of his anger, as it burns like an aura, emanating out from the man. He fears it, because part of him is still instinct, but it draws him close too. Like a moth to a flame. He can do nothing but close in, in the middle of his bloody carnage. ]
Somehow, I think you downplayed your capabilities.
[ He admitted, stopping near him, looking up at him, taking stock of the blood on his face. ]
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[Silco steps forward through the mess of it all. He sees that he hasn't been spared, either, his face spotted with blood. He can't help but fixate on it, somehow, though he can't blame vampirism for it anymore.]
[The man's observation comes with a scoff, and he raises a hand to brush back through his bloody bangs and over his head.]
In the City, these "capabilities" come baked into the title of Color.
[His gaze flits down, fiery red and angry, always angry. This fucking bastard. He himself is a bastard, too.]
So I don't usually have to...spell it out.
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[ He notes, eyes slid from his face, from bloody bangs, and then down to the bodies at his feet. Really, truly, he'd said he was powerful, but watching him was something else. He could see then, why he had fans, when he moved like that. Mowing through them like they were nothing β they were nothing β and Silco had once, very, very foolishly, gotten the jump on him.
Did it sting, he wondered? To know that this man who could do none of this had slid underneath that armor, and managed to get attack him, months ago in the castle? Did he hate him for it? He supposed he must, of course. Silco didn't mind that, because all men hated him in the end. It was an expectation he was long-used to. He still... still, he was here. He'd accepted the contract.
Maybe it wasn't just hate. ]
I've never seen anyone move like you do, even on shimmer.
[ Even a world away. This was fluid and fast, and it was like watching death reach out its hand, and artfully dance through bodies like nothing. Silco had never really seen dancers on stage, but he imagined it would be something like that.
He wonders what it would do to him, even still. He can't help himself. ]
You have a bit of blood β
[ A bit, he says, with a quirk of his lips. He is so angry, but Silco doesn't mind that. He is too, always, always angry. He reached up, and brushed some of it off of his cheek. It mostly left a smudge.
Ah, well. ]
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[Is it simply hate?]
[The compliment seems to slide into him, feeling like acid coming up his throat. He's never been good with them, never known how to react. He doesn't feel he deserves it. Good words aren't made to be given to a monster, a nightmare.]
[He wants to tell Silco to stop looking at him the way he does. Wouldn't it be so easy, to not have a heart, and be done with the man once and for all?]
[His employer reaches up - his thin thumb brushes against a sallow, stained cheekbone. It's useless. It only makes it worse.]
[He reaches up with his free hand to capture that wrist, but he doesn't yank it away, he doesn't put it aside. Simply holds it, unsure what to do.]
...Are you happy?
[He breathes, a rattle in his chest. He did a good job, didn't he? Did Silco take pleasure in it?]
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[ It's a soft note, almost half-surprised, but he doesn't tug his hand away, does he? Silco's almost surprised by that, almost. It's always a guess with the man, whether he'll try to pull away, or allow Silco to reach out, and sink his thin fingers into him like hooks. Right now, he feels suspended between the two, the man looking down at him with those too-red eyes, and Silco's lips quirked into a brief, thin smile. ]
Oh, your work was exemplary.
[ He can hardly complain, can he? Not a man escaped, drawing them all in? He hadn't even had to worry about one of them reaching out to try and shoot him instead.
He is a monster, but Silco was one too, wasn't he? To enjoy this. ]
I'm quite pleased.
[ His thumb still rests against his cheek. He doesn't try to pull it away, he only brushes against Vergilius with it absently. It smears the blood, what a mess of it. ]
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π nsfw...............
hate them
RATTLES THEM!!!
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i close my eyes
crying
why in the FUCk are they
me exploding silco and verg with my mind.gif
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π
β₯ Hunter [ KAIJU FIGHT #6 AFTERMATH ]
Not that Silco does, of course. Perform for LILITH like a yapping poro whose been trained to entertain? Absolutely not. Although, perhaps one could easily mistake him for... "helping", with the way he was hunched over a part of the creature that's been blown off from a wayward attack. It's a long spine with fin still attached. Silco's fingers are tapping at it, as if he's trying to assess it for edibility, or perhaps for its use. He is no expert, but that doesn't mean that he hasn't started to develop a sense for these things. It's fairly large, though given that it's about the length of Silco's arm, that's not surprising. The Imugi was large, and Silco was relatively small. Really, this was large enough that he thinks the muscle could do well.
He's holding it up, considering. ]
Hm.
[ He says, thoughtful.
It sure would be a shame if someone were to... ruin his day. ]
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[ hunter, naturally, has been part of the salvaging and cleanup effort, unlike silco. he'd already dug up a few prized possessions and found a few animals, with some of his attention being paid to the parts of the kaiju left behind. he's more concerned about the people ]
[ well. speaking of people -- there's silco, with a part of the kaiju. and while hunter has no issue working with silco, even to take down gangsters and black market dealers, he's not ignorant to what silco's plotting to do on the side. ]
[ so, in a flash of golden light, hunter teleports next to silco..... and slaps the part out of his hand ]
Don't even think about it.
[ hi, hello, how are you, etc ]
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But because he's so close all of the sudden.
He sniffed, and brushed his hands together before he started fishing into his vest. ]
Think about what, precisely? I had just found it, boy.
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[ he doesn't actually know that, he's just assuming the worst because it's silco. he grips his staff, watching silco reach into his vest -- and likewise assuming the worst, that he's taking out a weapon of sorts ]
[ he also shifts so he's between silco and the now slapped down kaiju bits ]
Am I wrong?
[ a challenging tone ]
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[ So yeah, Hunter, you are wrong.
However, it should be noted, that this doesn't mean that's where it wouldn't have ended up, because Silco wouldn't have sold it. He'd already sent a few pings through his connections to pick up more of the Imugi parts, to get into the black market. More of them for the masses to purchase.
Silco was keeping his hands blissfully clean. ]
I was inspecting it, if you must know. To understand where it belonged on the creature.
[ Silco could care LESS ]
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Why does that matter to you?
[ wowow, silco clearly just wants to study the creature's anatomy and hunter is out here being the nosy police ]
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[ He says it simply, blithely. ]
Why would it matter? When we're trying to understand the creatures we're fighting.
[ He leveled a look at Hunter, as if to ask: 'Did you think it was something shady?'
It was, but ]
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Are you really trying to understand it?
[ hunter picks it up in his gloves, now holding it ]
It's part of a tendon, with the scale attached. Or what's left of it.
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[ He says, as if he is taking in how curious that is.
He is, in his own way. Absorbing the information. Though it isn't to learn about the kaiju to defeat them. he's making a map, putting together the types of pieces. What value they have. What is useful.
Was this? Not very. Little value beyond aesthetic. ]
So not particularly useful as a small part, is it? [ Well, maybe Laios could use it for stock. ]
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Useful for what? Armor?
[ or weapons... but hunter is inclined to agree, there's not much a tendon can be used for ]
The scale could be used to fortify something. But otherwise, no.... it's not useful.
[ hunter would eat kaiju... ]
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[ He shrugged. ] Though their fins didn't seem to be used for flight, did they?
[ he's still trying to play it off, obviously. Maybe someone would want it for decor, but is that really something he cares about? Not beyond the money. He'd use it for that, but if Hunter wants to stop him, then maybe... just maybe.
He'll let him.
Give the kid a win for once. ]
I don't really know what LILITH does with so much of this. Half the time it seems to end up on the Black Market, doesn't it?
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No, I don't think so. It's got to be something else part of their bodies, or just some part of their biology. The rift enhanced the female, as well.
[ laois might know ]
I suppose they'd conducting their own experiments. But it wouldn't surprise me if they were sending parts to the black market. [ since there's so much in circulation ]
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