Chapter Seven: Point Insertion II

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The pair had faces brought only possible with intimate families, Much Ceron cared to discern regarding the general face blindness he associated towards most. "Bastard, arms up." The man spoke with confidence that defied his wavering eyes, "I don't know how you stand boy' but it's time for you to rest." Huffing, brutish man pulled away a hand from inside his jacket, it was a stained but still wet cleaver, in heft steps inched forward. The other involuntarily had taken a step back, his expression still reveling on 'how the hell,' and 'run' Apparently decapitated heads had a particular effect on people.

Ceron remained lax even as the man slashed sideways, predictable as a child. Hairbreadths Ceron arched his back not even stepping a foot, caught off-guard clasped the brute's hand using weight and momentum to push the man off the ground, toiling over in a thud. As the he landed, still clasping the man's hand Ceron pressed down trying to prey the cleaver free. Hairs rose, instinctively Ceron let go the man, dodging a boot knife- Like a spring board unlike his burly stature in a single stroke stood. Rolling backward Ceron grimaced, it wasn't enough to be quarreling with these scum; degenerates 'I feel like I'm walking with lead shoes' Shaking hands, this body un-familiar and running on fumes of energy not it's own. Cut short Ceron eyed the man dusting off his cloak, his still standing partner, looking beyond toward the hallway's end. There was no telling past the forked doorway's path this couldn't last much longer.

The man put on a odd face, was it a sliver of admiration? Not much that it mattered in the slightest, either-way the men posed a threat. Ceron deeply exhaled as he tried to quell the burning in his legs.

Again the brute dashed forward with force, plastering a wicked smile, threw his cleaver aiming for the gut. It teethed for it's mark still, Ceron hadn't faltered. It came just about to sever and disembowel but- Remained firm the handle struck in the palm of Ceron's hand. Already committed the man pulled his weight faster a highkick, only to be met with searing pain. The man screamed and Ceron cut deep at the underside of his knee and across to the upper thigh. His crimson blood littering the ground, more. Yet he hadn't stopped, despite his agony grabbed hold.

Taken back Ceron's breathing went ragged, as the man choked his neck. Thinking any and all profanity Ceron flushed red and bit down, quickly bringing the cleaver from his legs to the man's hands and particular wrist as it bore chopping it off in an instant. It's gushing muck splattered Ceron's sight, the tightened grip loosened slack with blood. A distant yell brought Ceron back as the man looked to his partner, tumbling back out of the neckhold- Without worry, Ceron sliced blade deep bastardizing the man's neck. The man wobbled with bloodshot eyes and profuse sweat. More gargle than yell the man put pressure on his neck artery' "The fuc-" In a desperate moment the man reared his fist' Which he met the ground first. Having a kicked in knee does that.

Like a log the man fell a loud indent and pilling blood filled; Ceron let a pained exhale, before bluish streaks of light dashed a inch from his eyes. Heat scorching his cheek Ceron flew back his head. The light struck past, missing and blasting the adjacent wall in a sizzle.

"You shouldn't have missed."

Muttered incantation, haggard breaths three more blue streaks flew past from fingertips fizzling out before even reaching halfway. A mind needed to be clear, precise. Something this fool most defiantly lacked. Ceron roared up from a grumble staring down the man. The scenery visibly darkened in Ceron's powering voice, vermilion-- Bright from within piercing gaze the air stood still. Bubbling out energy came all at once, a dead-like pallor flowed unto the small man as he stared to quiver. Only briefly had Ceron's vicious ire grazed him the man lost his will setting lose and wetting the floor.

Wanting to end this quick, Ceron reaffirmed his grip on the cleaver, walking towards the excuse for venting. 'Just maybe, ending this here and now would abate me.' Then tumbled. Barreling into the wall towards his side Ceron lost footing. World spinning, a wave of vertigo ran over, exhaustion leaked from every seam as Ceron panted leaning in sharp breaths..

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It was sort of funny, I couldn't describe it.. It was something nameless, indescribable more than just a feeling. Lodged between this wall and the inching floor. Trickles of whatever muck and sweat deepened all around me, like a snap of a branch it had reminded me. Perhaps something that shouldn't be thought or said, to oneself, but I didn't want to believe it no matter how much it was true... My sight grew distant as the world started to recede to darkness- Damn, passing out here would mean death.' Still gripping the cleaver I had to slit the other's throat to tie this up.

Taking steps towards the man my feet felt like tons, as if an invisible swamp battled every move. Straining eyesight I could visibly see the remnants of my energy fade' I had used too much. Nothing I could do to stop from passing out at this point, my body needed rest... Maybe this vessel wasn't some kind damsel and these men were righteous hero's. Buggard, If ever was such a case- But, it didn't matter. Not in the least, this body's past was important but so was snuffing out those who wish to harm it. So I smiled, as you often do and not one you mistake as real it wasn't a fake greeting. No, it was genuine laced with all pleasantries a six inch blade could give.

I flung the butcher's tool' it was crude but it did the job. In a pang it struck, in the same stroke the man had gone limp, quiet just as death is. It was often misunderstood that death or well the act of it, regardless of the screaming- Thrashing or any futility everyone passed the same. There was no memorable cry or burned expression in this man just silence like a deflated whimper. Red trickled from his neck and that's all I needed. Only then had I let out a exhausted sigh, my body, not just throat and head were throbbing. I wanted to lie down and sleep, but I resisted my body's demand.

Much was needed to be done before sleeping. Hell all- Regardless how my body willed it, I had been sealed for how long' a few more steps wont hurt. Using the former living, now occupation corpse's cloak as a washcloth wiped the muck from my arm and face.. There wasn't much on these two men besides a set of keys, bashing each skull of the three's made it harder for any novice witch or death weaver to tell of what happened exactly, not without saying seeing the caved skull of the man who had the gal' the sheer stupidity of an idea to put fingers on my neck was satisfying. There was a reason why a caved in head for pretty much everything remained dead.

With blade in hand and a few alterations to the arrangement of the bodies it was time to move.

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Crept in shadow at edges of sight, the hall scurried to the left the opposite side blocked by piled stone there was a single door past the vacant corridors and void rooms. Ceron approached half expecting the door to swing open comrades and all of the past lying deceased behind him- But there was only silence. Drainpipes leaked flowing down the sloped hallway, past the door lead above, 'outside?' A soft fragrance of roses accompanied the wind as Ceron fit the doors' lock.

What was the difference between incessant caution and abject wariness? Well for one, the foolhardy only had a chance or two at most. Leaning under the threaded wire light caught my eye, cast from under doorside at the room's edge side the obscured darkness and scattered shelves I had no time to dally with, nothing garnered interest. That was- Till I saw the wooden desk, almost welcoming me a purple azure shined back a crystal. Normally it would be a herring in the unknown but sometimes ' I'm just a fortunate bastard' I could tell the faint cracks and density at a glance, unused but unmistakably fragile.

The sign of mana deprivation, tingling and an uncontrollable shake the first symptom and the body's warning Ceron heeded it much as cattle does the slaughter house. Remaining forcefully ignorant till the pain he'd experience as if just to stall the thought coming soon reality. Another empty hallway turned, but the abundance of dry wood and burnable oil stored itched a devious craving, at any other time the pyromaniac sprite would let loose burning cinder this grudge of a place. Fire was many things, subtle not while it burned many traces, it also incurred many variables seen by whom and effecting the obscured force that manned this torture suite?

Well, was the thought as Ceron walked to the end of the hallway a breeze swiping past his hair and the set of matches between his fingers dangerously meddled about by lying barrels and lantern oil. The thought of 'fuck it, and these assholes probably deserved it anyway' flared just as the match went off with Ceron opening the door.

..

Mind raced with possibility Ceron stood struck, staring toward the skyline. The match falling by his feet.

It was unmistakable, riding the currents of wind past clouds and visions of beyond.

It rose toward the sky, past clouds and sight. That tower.. It was mine.