thisavrou_log | If God Was In Hell We Would All Be Dead [OPEN

Who: Who wants to kill some slavers? You do! Of course you do!
When: May 15th and onwards
Where: Slave trade outpost in the Runoff
What: The slavers that targeted the crew of the Moira in July are overdue for some justice. Chara breaks some regulations to make that happen. THIS IS A MINGLE LOG; anyone and everyone who wants to get in on this and kill some slavers is absolutely free to do so! Chara is relying on there being some chaos for this to work.
Warnings: PROBABLE DEATH. Probable references to slavery, trauma, and also death. Chara.

The Ingress opens to a spilling wash of gray and white, a monochrome cast of shadows and hard angles. The Runoff, it seems, is not a place of many colors; every inch of it is drab and washed out, cold and impersonal as the people who would employ such a place for their own twisted ends. A swirled nebula of stars glimmers overhead. It is night.

Knives are useful tools, but their reach is limited. A quiet transmission to the network, a select few messages delivered to a select few individuals, the hissing strike of a match igniting on the edge of a box. The place is angular and looks to be comprised of some sort of galactic equivalent of asphalt, likely inflammable. Still, it is entirely too dark. Too gray. Too poorly maintained. Tents and shabby establishments line the streets, places where, evidently, personal agency may be bought and sold on a whim.

It does not take long to find a structure of cloth and wood, and the whole of it soon emanates the rank, coppery tang of some interdimensional brand of gasoline.

Knives are useful tools. But they did not come with knives.

Or rather, they did not come only with knives.

One of the stalls is alight in a matter of moments. Red and gold tongues of flame gobbling the establishment whole, filling the place with both the color and light that it so lacked. Knobs of wood harvested from the wreckage form handy torches to set anything else aflame, to thoroughly raze the entire area to the ground, every stall and ship and vendor that supported and enabled the inflorescence of slave trafficking and slave keeping. Armed guards begin to converge on the disturbance at once. But small as said disturbance is, there is no guarantee that it will not come to grow.

That is, of course, where you come in.

One child alone cannot possibly take the entire place down, and flame can only take things so far. It is hardly enough when their aim is one of total destruction, however unrealistic an expectation that might be. They'll need help. Lots of it.

So won't you join the dance?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[To be fair, he's practiced fencing techniques since he was small and while this may be his first time using them in actual combat, Kurt doesn't exactly have a reason to hold back. So, maybe he's imagining a couple of the men he's slaughtered as the people that'd treated him poorly back in Berlin, but these men were not innocent of any wrongdoings either.

Slavers (of children, nonetheless) did not deserve to be treated kindly.

The guard's torso splits with ease, causing him to backpedal a few paces to avoid being sprayed by the carnage that unfolds before him. He stares, wrinkles his nose then averts his attention to another sentry that's headed toward them, his fingers gripping tighter around the handle of his weapon.]

It's your turn, [he breathes, ruby-tinted irises glinting with disdain as he leaps toward the approaching man.]

[Erik steps away again, in the direction of more of the slavers, coming on them. The line of them seems endless, but there must be an end somewhere. There is not an infinite number of their foes.

The knife flashes through the air a few more times, leaving more bodies behind it. One of the slavers gets too close to Erik, despite the knife, and goes flying through the air, knocking a pair of other slavers over as well.

He's hardly paying attention to Kurt's presence anymore.]

[Again, the blade glides with ease across another soldier's chest, slicing him open in a horizontal fashion all in one go. He falls and another rushes up in his place, only to be cut down by the blue boy, who's far quicker than many of these slavers can even react.

It should come as no surprise that Kurt's somewhat distracted, intrigued by the way Erik wields the knife with such grace and how smoothly he strikes down any of the enemies that get too close. He's envious, there's no doubt about that, but he's also frightened.

None of them stand a chance against Erik, himself included.

He returns to the task at hand just as one of the guards approaches, swinging the butt of his gun out and up into the side of Kurt's face. For a moment, he's stunned, although it doesn't take him too long to recover and make quick work of that man, too, before he gets the chance to shoot at them.]

[Another one comes, and another one after that, these creatures who enslave children, and they keep coming, with no end in sight, and Erik has forgotten why he came here in the first place, forgotten that Kurt is there, even forgotten where he is. All that matters is that there's a foe in front of him and it must be defeated.

The knife flashes through the air again and again as Erik makes his way through the mass, and the distance between him and Kurt increases.]

[And the increasing distance only becomes noticeable when one of the slavers manages creeping up behind Kurt to catch him off guard.

He pivots with sword in hand, readying to strike the person in front of him down again and is forced to the ground by the butt of a gun being rammed between his shoulder blades. Twisting around to see his attacker is no problem, but breaking his arm free from beneath the boot of the former slaver is harder than he'd expected.

Calling out to Erik is an option, yet not one he chooses. Alternatively, the length of his tail slithers around and up so he can grab the back of the gunman's collar to force him off-balance, which allows him enough leverage to lunge forward in a desperate grab onto another fistful of fabric. With surprising fluidity, he drags them both in the same direction and cracks their foreheads together, allowing himself a moment of recovery.

Once he's able, the sword is wrenched free and rammed into the abdomen of the first trafficker as he gets to his feet. Unabashed stupefaction comes across his face when the blood spurts onto his hand, causing him to yank the blade free with a cry, widened eyes watching his assailant stumble back in disbelief.

For the moment, Kurt is too stunned to remember they are still in battle and that the other man won't be dazed much longer.]

[Luckily for Kurt, Erik looks back at just the right point in time to see Kurt take out one of the attackers but just daze the other one. Also luckily for Kurt, Erik doesn't have to be within reach of someone to do them harm. The knife in his hand flashes through the air and buries itself in the base of the other man's neck. That's one hit that Erik won't be able to claim that maybe someone found them in time and saved them, but Erik's not all that torn up about it. If he regretted everything like this he'd ever done, he'd never make it out of bed in the morning.]

[A sickening shlik catches his attention and as he turns to look, his expression sobers almost instantaneously at the sight of the man with a knife perforating his neck. He watches him fall to his knees, takes a step back when he hits the ground and stares for entirely too long before returning his gaze to Erik with some reluctance.

This is only his second up close and personally killing, so it's still a bit alarming, but he re-steels himself, inclines his head in gratitude toward Erik then does a neat heel-turn to finish off their other attacker with a swift stab to the chest.

Although, this time, he shuts his eyes instead of watching him expire.]

[Erik seems to have no problem with all the killing going on around him, but then, when you watch your mother murdered before your eyes when you're only fourteen, and then are tortured until you're more weapon than person, that can happen. He hadn't had the chance to learn any other method of using his powers.

The crowd around them seems to be thinning a little, whether through injury or just because they're reluctant to engage the mutants he can't say.]

Can you handle this now?

[Heat seeps across his hands and Kurt doesn't need to look to know it's blood. He inhales deep, removes the blade from the corpse and finally opens his eyes, sparing a glance back toward the man questioning his ability to cope with their situation.

All he can manage is a brief nod before he gradually turns his attention to a slaver's retreating backside.]

I'm fine, [he responds with monotony.] We have to be.

[With that decided, the blue boy re-sheathes his weapon then fumbles with the edge of his shirt, attempting to wipe the crimson stains from his trembling fingers. Thankfully, he isn't facing Erik, so he's hoping it will be less noticeable.]

If God Was In Hell We Would All Be Dead [OPEN | MINGLE]

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