PROLOGUE - SUYIN

[Komuna]

image [https://i.imgur.com/3xx0XvQ.png]

Vetala (cont.)

4-4-107 P.I. 4:33 PM

The speckled plains of the bank hall’s granite tiles had been transformed into a crimson swamp, the taste of iron and viscera wafting thick above the chunky streams of blood yet to reach and defile the remaining islands of untouched floor. Piercing uniform and flesh, small black holes, some still dripping steady with blood, littered the corpses. There seemed to be no more than two or three per body, although in their slumped heaps, it was impossible to tell for sure. Where bullets had struck bone, flecks of stained white scattered beyond the exit wounds. One guard in particular had a deep cavernous space where the back of his head had been blown out. Spongy gray matter and shards of skull were smeared across the forever shocked face of a second guard, he himself the victim of a bloody hole boring through his jugular.

From next to her, there was the distinct cracking of joints, and Suyin looked to see West flexing his neck one way, then the other.

BANG

Suyin screamed as she flinched away from the gunshot’s direction, colliding into the wall as the boom of the weapon was no longer obstructed by the office door. The hand on her shoulder squeezed tight, but West kept his focus on the bodies before them, his shoulders hunched, the tremble of his hand now a painful, nail-digging twitch. Coinciding with the heavy rise and fall of his chest, his black and white mask now emanated a constant, hair-raising hiss.

Suyin stole a worried glance of the vetala holding her hostage. Had the madness of his cursed mask already taken him?

Then, to her horror, down the hallway leading further into the bank and towards the source of the gunshot, a second vetala approached.

She was smaller, feminine in her proportions, her mask a bright ivy green and displaying the painted face of a horned demon. Two small duffle bags hung from her shoulders, the contents clattering inside as she hurried towards them with a brisk step. In her right hand—along with the strap of the bag she was carrying on that side—she held a pistol, with another holstered to her opposite hip. From head to toe, she was stained with the blood of the very bodies she skipped over.

The vetala-demon craned her neck as she approached, her unyielding fanged smile leaning in as she reached her compatriot. She was shorter than West, by about half a head, her dark hair visible beyond her mask tied up into a messy bun, its surface slick with grease and blood. With her arm angled awkwardly because of the bag, she pointed at Suyin with her pistol, the muzzle callously bouncing in the air as she threw her weight to one hip.

The ragged polyester of West’s shirt quickly blocked Suyin’s view, sandwiching her between the wall and his broad back. From under his arm, Suyin saw the demon’s head cock in response.

West abandoned his revolver in its holster as he pointed back to the door leading from the bank manager’s office.

Suyin’s gaze darted to his unsupervised weapon well within her reach.

Could I? the little voice wondered.

Suyin's heart jumped and she quietly thanked her ancestors for her temperance as the bloodied, green mask of the vetala-demon peered around West’s shoulder. Expression frozen, the female vetala stared Suyin down, her free hand twitching in the direction of her second pistol.

But it seemed that whatever West had told his counterpart had sufficed, and yet again, Suyin’s life would be spared… for now.

The demon-vetala shrugged, letting the strap of the bag on her right shoulder slip free before recatching it in her pistoled hand. The light, hollow rattle inside the bag made its contents abundantly clear.

Marko—thousands upon thousands of kuoho’s worth of marko. Easily enough to sustain a small group for over a month or buy whatever scraps the Lawless had to offer. The contents became even more apparent when the bag was tossed Suyin’s way. The many small, cylindrical pieces shifted with her touch beneath duffle bag’s fabric.

The demon-vetala didn’t give a second glance as she shoved her other bag into West’s arms before continuing through the massacred hallway and back towards the main entrance, head shaking as it hung from her shoulders.

The bag was troublesome to hold. The nature of the smooth round currency inside made it akin to a half empty sack of flour. The marko rolled around under her grasp as they did their best to free themselves as she fumbled.

Sweat dripping in her eye, Suyin’s attention flickered to West, then to his forgotten revolver hanging in its holster.

His bag was bulkier, its mysterious contents heavy and metallic in their rattle as if stuffed to the brim with loose gravel and lead pipe. Whether the bag was substantially heavier or not was impossible to tell as the vetala hoisted it over his shoulder as easily as one would an unneeded coat on a spring afternoon. Then, his hand returned to his firearm, letting it loosely rest on the exposed grip. His trembling had ceased for the time being, and he now stood tall with his shoulders rolled back. His mask’s corrupting madness seemed to have passed.

But for how long?

A sudden force took hold of Suyin’s ankle. Screaming, she tried to pull away from its grip, the sensation of fingers brushing her skin unmistakable as her fright bounced off the surrounding walls. A chilling gurgle travelled up from her feet, the pain of strained speech accompanying its persistent vice-like hold. Reaching for whatever was nearest, Suyin pulled with all her might as if trying to free herself from quicksand.

BANG

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

The force relaxed, but the phantom touch remained.

Without wasting a moment, West continued guiding her down the blood-soaked hallway as his waiting partner re-holstered her smoking gun. As they rounded the corner, Suyin caught a glimpse of a dead security guard where she’d been standing, his slumped outstretched hand left limp within the swamp of blood.

The main hall was a vast two-story room, its glass windows tall rectangular portals to the outside world lining either side of a revolving door. Marble lined the lower walls and pillars, with polished walnut boarding supplementing the gaps where sections of the ornate stone had been lost. The rest of the space was of similar patchwork design. Walls of concrete mended with stone. Rows of steel customer desks integrated with simple wooden legs, counters, and shelves. A quilt of old and new, the space was certainly of Lawless make, but one clothed in the highest level of prestige.

In the center of the bank’s hall stood a single man—another vetala.

He was shorter than West, but not by much, and despite his equally disheveled clothing he appeared to be well kept. Or at least better so by comparison. Shirt tucked within his trousers, brown shoes spared from mud and blood, his hair was of the same color as that of the demon-vetala’s, if only slightly curlier. Short in length, although greasy, it lay combed and pulled back, allowing for his owl-like mask to be seen without obstruction.

Those who had been smart enough to follow the vetala’s demands now laid belly flat against the floor, hands held behind their backs. Intermixed between the hostages, the bodies of the remaining guards, or those foolish enough to resist, lay wide-eyed and colorless amongst the whimpering living.

As soon as the owl-man looked their way, he began angrily waving his arm in Suyin’s direction. The demon-vetala gestured in turn, pointing back over her shoulder with her thumb to West, all the while sidestepping to allow those carrying bags to pass through the hostage-packed hall.

West’s hand remained fixed on Suyin’s shoulder as they made their way over the field of frightened stares. Once standing before the shorter owl-man, a swift but light backhand tapped the forehead of West’s mask.

The owl-man’s head tilted as his subordinate nodded in agreement.

For a while longer, none of them moved as the owl-man began to pace. He looked out the front windows of the bank to the people cowering beneath him. He looked down the hallway and to its bloody corpses. He looked to the demon-vetala, who he also lightly hit on the back of her head as he passed by. Then, finally, his attention returned to West and Suyin as his brief jaunt around the room brought him back to where he’d started.

Once before them, he stood motionless as he looked down at her, only checking his watch twice with the slightest of movements to his head and wrist.

Then, a prolonged hiss escaped his mask as his shoulders rose then fell. Lifting a hand to his face, he gripped and removed the beak-like lower portion that popped off with the sound of escaping air. The beard of a dark-skinned man, the same color of his hair, greeted Suyin with a smile, white teeth crooked yet oddly clean—at least by Lawless standards.

Then, a performative authoritative voice spoke.

“Greetings, dear beviri,” the owl-man bowed, both hands placed over the center of his chest. “My name is North, and I happen to be the one in charge of this little operation. It is unfortunate we meet this way as I had not been informed that someone such as yourself would be working here today. As things stand, however, I am afraid my fravivi and I simply cannot allow someone as valuable as yourself to be left here with the other hostages. Wouldn’t do for good business, you see. So, for the time being, I shall be promoting you to honorary member of our little group here.”

The owl-man tilted his head, first to West, then to the demon-vetala, as his shoulders rose and fell once more with a sigh.

“You’ve already become acquainted with West and East. They, as now will you, Miss Suyin, go by my rule. I tell you to walk, you walk. I tell you to shit, you squat, there and then. I don’t care who you are, what you want, or what you believe in. Your life is mine now and making sure I still have use for it by the end of this mess shall now be your only concern. Understand? Do that, and maybe—”

KABOOM

Mists of red shot from North’s shoulder as the ear ringing boom erupted throughout the hall and buck shot sprayed the wall beside him. Immediately, the vetala crumpled to the floor, grasping his arm with West rushing after him. At the same time, the hostages broke out into screams amidst the chaos, Suyin among them, as she had felt the splatter of North’s warm blood on her face.

BANG BANG BANG

In quick succession after the first, three more gunshots rang out. They were closer and of smaller caliber, but equally terrifying.

In an instant, the perpetrator laying against the conjoined counters—shotgun still in hand—collapsed to the floor. His brain scattered behind him, squirts of blood spurting out from his jugular with the last agonal pulse.

It was the bodyguard.

Bloody footprints trailed away from where he had stood, back into the hallways and leading to the dead Bankmaster’s office. The side of his shirt was soaked in his own innards, what was left of his squat face now a limp mess.

West attended to North, his hands nimble as he stripped the downed man’s coat. Using wads of loose cloth pulled from his pockets, he hastily bandaged the wounded arm. The demon-vetala walked over to the fallen bodyguard’s corpse, both pistols now drawn as she erratically pointed them toward the hostages who had dared to move.

To Suyin’s surprise, the sight of the oaf of a bodyguard had given her hope. Not an hour prior, she had loathed his company. Now, her eyes darted from his remains to the chaos of the stirring hostages, then to the vetala, bags forsaken on the floor, their attentions divided and elsewhere.

There had to be something she could do!

West’s revolver poked from its holster, its handle stretching out in Suyin’s direction, unguarded and free for the taking. He may have been a strange vetala, but he was a vetala nonetheless, and he would suffer the same fate as all those who had worn his mask before him.

And Suyin was Lawless.

She’d taken a life before.

She could do it again.

Suyin dove for the revolver. What difference did it make if she were to be shot now or later? What honor was there in dying like a dog that had lost its bite? She was Hu Suyin! She was Lawless! And if destined to do so, she’d die like one.

The gun’s handle met her fingertips.

Suyin ripped the revolver from its holster as its rough surface met the smoothness of her palm.

There wasn’t time to think.

She aimed for the nearest vetala.

She aimed for West.

Click

The revolver was empty.

You are going to die.

____________________________________

Marko: The smallest denomination of the kuoho currency, equating to half a kuoho in value.

Beviri: Komuna for a beautiful woman.

Fravivi: Common slag, deriving from the combination of words for brother and survive. The term was used to show recognition of the strife all Lawless inhabitants endured as well as that which united them through their shared perseverance.