Mhaieiyu

Arc 2, Chapter 15

Showing Colours

Whereas Emris' clothes had crisped around the edges and Holly's fur singed with tiny embers, Meschae was left indifferent beside the occasional cut along his leg and torso. Slowly, he stepped out of the inferno and made himself known, and now that Holly wasn't a finger-pull from certain doom, the two could get a better look of him.

Meschae's appearance could best be described as an obnoxious clash between stylish and rowdy, with a half-buttoned white t-shirt covered by an unzipped, brown leather jacket. His trousers were a simple blue, though the 'accident' had given it a long tear from left hip to knee. His black hair was long, straight and combed down into a curve that prickled his neck. His hands were rough and worn, his loafers dusty and uncared for, and his twitching, small, black eyes were consumed by a long face with a double-chin that barely wrinkled.

Meschae was sure to make every drop of his shoes heard as he walked towards them. His shoulders were raised, arms wide, teeth showing. Emris turned to Holly with a dim look.

"Holly, sugar, ye can still run, right?"

The Lypin noted how serious he was, and how sweetly he still spoke to her. "Yeah, of course."

"Right. Well," he said, standing with a slouch, "I'll take care of this SOB. Run. Hide 'till I yell at ye."

Holly too stood, taking Emris' hand. "Alright, but Emris, I can——"

"VESSEL!" Meschae shouted, the blast of a jet engine echoing off the building walls as fire collected behind him.

"Go, sug," Em shooed, turning to face the man.

Holly hesitated for a moment, but with a slap on her own cheeks she sprinted toward the nearest evicted apartment she could take cover in; the better exit blocked off by Meschae and a wall of fire.

Emris' smile vanished when he set eyes on his target, and having confirmed Holly's absence, his face started to contort with anger.

"Meschae..." Emris said, his voice grisly and growing in volume with animalistic contempt. "I'll fuckin' kill ye."

"Ah, have ya palaver, I don't give a damn!" Meschae shouted back, grinning maniacally before casting the flame his way.

Emris didn't move. Instead, he bent a knee towards the incoming blast and put his hands forward. Before the fire could hit him, it collided against a wall of energy shaped like an arrowhead, splitting it into two and forcing the fiery winds to disperse around rather than against him.

Once the flame dissipated completely, the wall disappeared, and Emris tried not to fall over. He was sweaty, be it from exhaustion or the heat, but otherwise undamaged.

"Gracious fookin' God," Meschae bemoaned, arching his back. "Always a Guardian's job to waste some'in' beau'iful."

Emris heaved for a bit, swallowing saliva and uprighting himself. "Trip and snap, ye miserable Crimson pissant."

"Vexin', too." Meschae smirked with a shrug. "It's like all ya can really figure out is spittin' words, words and more wort'less words."

"I'll eat yer fuckin' face, heard?!" Emris boomed, smashing his boot through the pavement. "Nobody talks like that to the lass. Not without bein' made into dinner. She's barely a woman, ye rat bastard!"

Meschae's smirk disappeared, replaced by an unpleasant frown. "Oh, who gives a scrambled shite if she is?! She 'in't even ya girly. Slimy excuse of a step-in, is what ya are."

“Shut it, vermin!” Emris yelled back, driven by impulse.

The Guardian took a great stride forth, cutting out the space between them, with a mighty fist revved for murder; the wind it dragged distorted sight behind him. Meschae tensed up, taking a step back and throwing out his right hand in equal course, allowing a collision. The Crimson felt his feet skid on the floor but he kept his body upright as the kinetic energy of the attack was drawn into the confines of his silver ring, in which sat a small, ruby-like stone. As force continued to suck from the impact and into the ruby, it began to pulsate a red glow that shone and beat harsher and faster by the second. Once the full magnitude of the blow was spent, with no visible change on Meschae beside the sweat on his brow, the Red sent the hit right back to sender square in the jaw and with enough force to knock him off his boots and send him on a roll.

Emris let out a rough yell as he came to a stop, lifting himself with a hand. His cheek was purple and swollen from the hit, and his mouth had no doubt broken, for which he used his second hand to realign his jawbones.

Meschae blurted a triumphant chortle. “Bah! Hahah! Guess them drinks are seepin’ through ya skull, goldfish! Or are ya memories droppin’ in auld age?!”

Emris dragged himself back on his feet, getting his hands up just in time for another fireball to slam directly into his chest, forcing him against the ground again with a sizzle.

“Ah, ya makin’ this easy on me, Vessel?! Ain’t that just grand. Sit still, then.”

The feeling of an industrial oven turning flooded Emris’ senses as he brought himself to stand once more.

Then, to the flaming man’s surprise, something firm landed by his feet. When he looked down, he saw a square object he couldn’t discern. Then, another came, this time hitting him on the head. Meschae whipped around to see the Lypin throwing a stack of books his way. Two more managed to strike him before his anger overboiled his utter surprise.

“Oh you… Oh you…” Shaking his fist and extending a palm her way, he shouted, “Listen here ya li’l bitch! Just who the hell do ya think ya’re——”

Thwack. A fourth book hit him.

“Oh that is it! Cook, hare!” With teeth clenched, he summoned a new ball of flame and prepared to send it her way when the gnarly and fierce shout reminded him that anger was a liability.

Emris threw himself into a sprint towards him, catching him off guard and forcing him to unleash his spells prematurely. For the first lot of heat, Emris threw up his shield and continued his dash. Once the push became too strong for his legs, he rolled, allowed the spell to dissipate and ran through the clumsy flames with a warcry.

“Sh—Shite!” Meschae mumbled before feeling the fury of a man-turned-rhinoceros tackle into his torso; lifting him briefly before slamming him down on the concrete — the Guardian locking his limbs around his body.

The Crimsoneer gave a goblin’s fuss as he struggled to fight against the stronger Brigadier’s grip. With the panic of danger setting in and depleted of options, he whistled loudly into the air, so close to Em’s ear that it forced his grip to loosen. In that instant, Meschae kicked at his abdomen and forced the heavier man off of him, rolling to his feet about as quick as he did.

The two assumed defensive positions, though Meschae showed inexperience with hand-to-hand combat. Emris dove in without a word, ducking under the infernal man’s swing to deliver a kick to his side, bludgeoning him out of posture.

“Koh, fook me…!” Meschae groaned, using his arms to stop an occasional punch and try to dish back at his opponent; ending up with far more bruises than Emris.

At this close of a range, Meschae was severely handicapped. Emris could count on his Guardian's spells to block incoming blows, was physically superior and possessed more sophisticated martial arts. All Meschae had over him was the possibility of redirecting a hit his way, but it came at a cost. He used one of these spells to push him back enough to then project backwards with a speedy thrust of his blazes. The constant use of such magic had brought about a hellfire to engulf the perimeter, burning waxed wood surfaces, smashing windows, weakening mortar and causing some walls to crumble — all bringing about chaos in the area. With the exception of one or two more hardened Cryptids, civilians once curious started to flee the scene in a frenzy. Everyone was gone by the time Emris proclaimed this was a Crimsoneer. Nobody, not even the lion-like Lyonae would dare interfere with a Red’s affairs. It had less to do with power scaling and more so the consequences of failure. Like barbarians, Crimsoneers had developed a less-than-pleasant reputation regarding captives and victims. Above all else, they were deemed as too crazy to meddle with, regardless of whether or not that was true.

Once enough distance had been made between them, and with Emris standing still to stare him down, Meschae’s wicked smile returned as he gave two short whistles. Emris raised a foot to step forward, but then, a blurry shadow dashed into him from a building at enough speed to knock bones out of place. The middle-aged veteran managed to catch the speeding body and throw it elsewhere, but when a second figure smashed into him, he could only endure it, rolling on the floor and ripping its teeth from his arm, and with a crushing blow, he swiftly dispatched it.

Emris took a step back and breathed sharply, holding his wound. The saliva of the beast mixed with his injury and singed his nerves like white metal. Emris tripped and fell on his backside, kicking himself back. Once the burn subsided, he took a look at the animal that had just assaulted him, and his eyes widened in realisation.

“Crawlers!” he shouted, stumbling back on his feet and running towards where his Lypin daughter had taken cover. “Holly, get movin’, fast!”

Before he could reach the broken-in door, his body was projected from the shockwave of an explosion beside him into and through the window. Holly jumped into a corner of the room as Emris smashed through the glass and fell on the shards with a heavy thud.

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“Damn it, Em! You almost took my head off there!” Holly said, crawling up to help him despite the broken glass.

“Shite, he’s gotten tougher…” he said with a groan. “Keep yer head down.”

“I’ve got it,” she said, tucking an arm under his shoulder to help him sit up.

“There’s Crawlers, sug. They’ve reached us already. They’ll be all over us soon,” Emris said, giving her a worried look.

A ball of flame flew through the open window and exploded against the furthest wall. The jets of hot air were unpleasant, but the fire was far enough away not to burn them.

“We best get moving then,” Holly said with a groan as she pushed Emris to his knees.

“Aye, lass. Did ye throw… Were those books?”

“Libraries don’t usually have guns in them.”

“Ye’re gettin’ too brave!”

Before the building’s structure would start caving in on them, Holly took Emris’ hand and tugged him along to a second exit which led to a separate, equally dim alleyway. The walls shook as they absorbed the fury of the bombing flames, and as they ran, Holly insisted on running faster than he could catch up, leaving him to trip and teeter behind her. Despite him slowing her down, she wouldn’t let go of his hand, and when she came by another alley’s entrance, she yanked him into it, much to his confusion.

“Vicks, where’re we goin’, hop?!” he shouted, still bearing injuries.

“I know this place! Just… Just catch up!” she yelled back.

“Know this place? We’re in the middle of fuck-all! We’ll be stuck in a maze if we don’t——”

“No! I do know this place!” Holly turned back to face him. “I used to run by these parts when I got stressed. There’s a pub up here even Faith doesn’t know about!"

Emris shot her a double-take. “A pub?! Ye’re goin’ to bars now? Shite…”

Holly rolled her eyes. “Oh, keep moaning! I’m an adult now!”

“Oy, sure… Eyes forward, sug!”

“Right! Hah… So, it’s about five minutes from here walking. If we’re running, we’ll get there in no——” Holly was cut short as the ground shook violently enough to crash them aground. By the time they could lift their heads, their passage had been blocked by a plentitude of black, lanky, quadrupedal beasts with no eyes gripped to the walls around them. “...time.”

Emris looked up with tiny green slits for pupils and the black beasts blared a growl akin to ocelots on the prowl. To their creaking and gurgling throats the Guardian too bared his teeth and returned the gesture; reducing his complexion to that of an animal’s as he stood tall before his daughter like a wall with fangs. Holly stayed low, wishing not attract the hungry jaws to her delicate meat. She confirmed that even the passage behind them had been sealed with the threats.

Then, with a sequence of low bangs, a wall of concrete crumbled and ash erupted, and from within, the man engulfed in blazes emerged, standing before the Brigadier with inquietude and diminishing patience.

“Ya missed some’ing,” Meschae said, spitting into the fire where his saliva vanished.

Emris narrowed his eyes and scoffed. “Aye, a whole pile of dogshite.”

Meschae took a step forward and pleaded with an aggressive shake of his arms. “For God’s sake, Em. Will ya fight us off forever?”

“If that’s what it takes, aye,” Emris said.

“Ya’ve better things to do I’d bet.”

“Mm, ye’re in the way.”

The man on fire clicked his tongue and uprighted himself, letting his head fall against the wall opposite the one he totalled. He exhaled. “This’s gone on and on and it ain’t ever stoppin’. Shite, Em, what’ve ya really to lose?”

“My life?” Emris growled.

“Ya don’t even want that, ya bipolar braindead!”

“Her’s.”

“She ain’t even ya girlie…”

“She is to me.” The Guardian withdrew the pistol from his holster.

Meschae looked at him, then down at Holly, who looked far less intimidated than she maybe should. “...Fookin’ Lord. All ya’ve to do is pray to a different name. Dyin’s just a suggestion af’er that. I mean, shite, how long do ya fookers intend to prolong this? It’s just ‘istory over and over again. It’s like ya never learn.”

Emris raised the barrel of his pistol up to Meschae’s eyeline.

Meschae moaned a piteous groan. “Ya aren’t winnin’, ya’re just dialing the time back on the oven. If ya wanna save yaself and the girl, let ‘er ding already!”

“Oi, Meschae.”

“Say.”

With a snort and a spit of viscous phleghm, he took off the gun’s safety and put his finger on the trigger. “Fuck you.”

And then, the trigger was pulled. What followed was the firing of a cannon compressed into a handgun of considerably enormous proportions. One of those silhouette-black felines shot off the wall to take the bullet, but it barely slowed it down, going right through the featureless beast and then through Meschae’s abdomen.

“Mortses——!”

“FUCK you, Meschae! Ye fuckin' RAT!” Emris roared as the creatures bounced off the surfaces to assail him.

One by one, twos in twos, threes and more, Emris pushed back at the Crawlers’ advances. He’d take one and throw it against the other hard enough to break both of them; he’d kick them off or grip them with his teeth; with a well-timed thwack, Emris crushed their jaws sideways.

“Talkin’ to me — me on how I should go about givin’ my lassie a life!”

They were small Cryptids, thankfully, and their weight felt redundant, but their bites were harsh enough to tear biceps apart. One nicked his stomach well enough to pull a rope of intestines out of his flesh. To his surprise, Holly was the one to kick the sucker square in the gnasher, casting it off to rebound against another wall.

Emris breathed ragged breaths. “Her name, is Holly! And she is…”

A ball of fire erupted from Meschae’s side. Interrupting his efforts, Emris put his foot forward, bent an arm and raised a barrier of energy that was destroyed to take the blunt of the spell.

“My precious… fuckin’... GIRL!” Emris finished, his breathing reduced to a mess. The Crawlers stopped moving as Meschae ceased his commands, waiting patiently and thoughtlessly for instruction. The Crimson was gobsmacked at Emris’ ruthless display of devotion, despite becoming mangled by the minute. The Guardian knew the bite marks would almost certainly scar, but he showed not an ounce of hesitation. Unlike his day-to-day, where he, Emris, felt immortal, he was truly in danger now.

“And I will stop at nothin’. Nothin’...” Emris continued his rant, casting a brief look behind him to see Holly tearing the life out of one of the ‘animals’. With a smirk lining up to the corners of his cheeks, he faced the still Meschae with a look full of satisfaction. “Not one… little thing… is good enough for my buttercup.”

Meschae’s eyes narrowed to see what his opponent had devised. By the time he got to see it, Emris had already leapt forth with a thundering jolt, his body fizzling in and out of existence; each time appearing closer until he penetrated the gale of fire the Crimson built around him. His arm was whipped away from his wound and his chest was rammed into so badly it threw him out of the protective gleam of his conjury.

Before he could bring his eyes to open, Emris had already landed atop him, pinned him underneath, grabbed his arms tightly and unhinged that horrific, shark-toothed maw of his. The way it crept open reminded Meschae of the eating practices of a snake — his teeth curling inwards and his mouth shuddering wider and wider like a monster. The pestilence within was indescribable.

“Mortos above! Em, piss off, ya freak! Shite! Oh, shite!”

Even as Meschae kicked with his legs and tried to crawl backwards, Emris grabbed his shoulders and pulled him closer, locking him in place. With no options left and his whole head on the line, Meschae jabbed his forearm into the gaping, shuddering doors to hell and felt it clamp down on and rip through skin, muscle, tendons and only stopping halfway through bone. Meschae hollered out in agony as a mindless Emris produced animalistic groans and bit harder. The Crimson could feel his humerus crack; his radius and ulna having snapped instantly on the second clamp of his jaws. He couldn’t focus on commanding his entourage of Crawlers, who remained idle and unmoving gripped to the walls. The smell of Meschae’s own blood began to waft in the air, and once his only guard had been chewed through, his skull would surely meet a similar fate.

This continued for fifteen seconds until finally, Emris’ head was grabbed. His neck shook as he tried to resist being pulled off the screaming Red, but with a couple yanks and a kick, Holly pried the Guardian off his prey, ripping flesh from the destroyed arm. The Lypin’s sweat was hidden by her fur as she grit her teeth, employing all of her strong leg muscles into lifting Emris and putting him aside, taking him into a chokehold to restrain him from latching back on to the man.

With a foaming mouth and daggers in his eyes, Emris seethed, “Holly! What’re ye doin’! I’m killin’ the bastard!”

“Not… like this…!” Holly’s eyes bulged as she tried to push against him. Their strength was completely mismatched, but Emris reduced himself in the presence of his daughter, not wanting to risk injuring her. Slowly, his force dwindled to spasming muscles, his eyes watering from frustration — his fangs on full display.

“Why the fuck’re ye…?!”

“I’m not about to sit here and let you eat someone for my sake, okay?! We have to go!” she shouted, pushing as hard as she could.

Meschae balled himself up and moaned angered groans and pants, trying to suppress the pain. His arm had been completely shredded, now a limp appendage that barely held itself together; his essence bathing him as he bit his lip, cauterising the limb from the shoulder.

Emris tensed up, thumping a fist into his chest and pointing at Meschae with his opposite hand. “That fuckin’ numbskull said——!”

“He said, she said, they all said! I’ve heard things a million times worse, Em! Stop acting like a kid and get a grip!”

Emris reeled back, stunned, his head yanked sideways with a furious punch from the rabbit he cherished. He looked at her in bewilderment, holding his swollen cheek. Nobody moved. The beasts were still without orders, Meschae still succumbed to his wounds, and Holly stood taller, breaths ragged, than he on his knees. Emris saw then the look of concern in her eyes. She had just unleashed a frustration deeper than this scene alone.

“Now come on,” she said, heaving a breath. “Put yourself together and use your head for once.”

Emris' head shook from side to side, his eyes flickering from Meschae to the floor and back up to Holly.

"Holly, sweetie, I…" Emris said, struggling to speak.

The Lypin’s pupils shrunk when she caught sight of something loitering near his hip. "Oh… Vicks, Em, you're——!"

Her shock pushed her backwards in disbelief as a scaly, dark coal tendril snaked around Emris' abdomen and shone its harpoon-like end, glistening with the blood of the Crimson Shepherd.

"Aye, I know. Holly…" he said, trying to stand but succumbing to weakness. “It’s the King. Corv said he’d seen——”

The Guardian’s pseudo-daughter shook away her fears, brought herself opposite of the snake-like appendage erupting from his back and tried her hardest to take his weight over her shoulder.

"Forget it. Don't think about it. Just run," she said hurriedly, watching the faceless Crawlers hiss at her.

As the two limped off as fast as they could to the nearest open street, the mangled Red left behind’s voice exploded with sizzling saliva.

"EEEMRIIIS!"