fistsofjustice | @makehistoria

@makehistoria

Ever since she was old enough to feed herself, Amelia only went after humans who deserved it. They are pitiful creatures, her father said, and that is why you must always be righteous. Killing innocent humans was frowned upon like humans frowned upon kicking small, helpless animals; there was no justice in that.

Hunters were a favored target, as were priests who spoke ill of the Fog God. She wouldn’t usually interfere in human-on-human conflict, unless the crime was especially heinous - sometimes one had to put down a rabid sheep.

Such was her recent prey. A Bavan native, notorious for taking any job, no matter how gruesome. Amelia swooped down on him and carried him all the way back to her nest beyond Lager Woods, on the cliffs by the north-western shore. She put him on a rock ledge where no human could reach without special equipment, plucked his eyes out and left him there to starve, though she gave him water once a day. Amelia always made sure they regretted their crimes before taking their lives.

It’s been a week now, and he wasn’t screaming as much. If he doesn’t throw himself on the rocks soon (like some did. Others would beg her for release) she’ll have to do it herself.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It takes Stocke a while to notice, in truth. Though he doesn't always take souls, especially when dealing with monsters, there's very little else humans can offer him - his business is thorough, vicious, arguably quality work (if that's the kind of thing you want to praise...) but doesn't often lead to repeat customers. And he has slow and fast periods as anyone else does.

Breaking an arranged deal off is another thing altogether. To do it Amelia would've had to interrupt a human already on the way, and Stocke in a slow time of business grows quickly curious about any delays.

Which means the shade's just in time to overhear Amelia bargaining.

For a moment Stocke's frozen in place; if he expected to ever hear from the harpy again, it wasn't something like this. His impression of Amelia was of someone far more likely to be direct in her anger. But then - then he's furious in return.

He can respect someone's urge to balance out a grudge, shade or not. But here's the second thing about vengeance, the reason he gets people selling to him: you have to be strong enough to carry the retribution out and get away with it. The shade's confident (cocky) enough to believe that Amelia isn't.

There's a rattling static snarl from the dark of the street. It's the only warning Amelia will get before she's interrupted mid-sentence by a roiling shadowy mass - a shade on the warpath shifts new limb after new limb as fast as a panicked heartbeat.

Amelia sales pitch is rather convincing. The human won't have to give her life, and the harpy will show her proof that justice was served – she's even willing to let the woman participate if she wishes. Stocke makes his appearance just before the woman's trembling hands bring the knife to her ear.

The sound of static makes Amelia's feathers stand, and she clicks her tongue in annoyance. She wanted him to notice, wanted to confront him eventually, but not at this moment.

The woman shrieks, grip tightening on the knife's hilt like it can help her, and stumbles until her back hits a wall. Amelia holds up a hand as if to calm her down and steps in front of her. It's a useless gesture if the shade decides to just run through her, but she doesn't intend to let him get so close. She knew they'd confront at night, and this time she came prepared.

"Step back! There's nothing for you here now."

Amelia pulls out the flashlight hidden in her belt, aims it right at Stocke and flicks it on. It's a quality flashlight, producing bright white light.

The shade flinches back immediately, several extra limbs puffing into smoke - then his snarl takes on a different edge. He stalks forward again, against the light.

He's moving slower, and he's obviously not enjoying himself. The flashlight pales in comparison to sunlight or fire, isn't enough to damage him quickly, but it's plenty bright enough to hurt. On the other hand: Stocke's nothing if not stubborn.

"You're here." Stocke's beyond playing fair - Amelia will feel a sharp jerk on her hand, the flashlight being yanked to the side with telekinesis. At the same moment the shade springs at her, shifting claws to tear and rend like the harpy's talons; if he's lucky the light will be out of play, whether flung out of Amelia's fingers or twisted to point away, but he's not picky.

(He pays no attention to the human woman - they never finished their deal. What she's done is annoying, but she's not Amelia.)

Amelia gasps and clamps her other hand on the flashlight before it slips out of her grasp, but it does move away from the shade. She shouldn't be surprised – of course he has no honor.

"Go – " She manages to order the human before Stocke leaps at her (though the woman is already starting to run before Amelia speaks, which is just rude if you ask her). She takes off with the explosive sound of magic and compressed air, aiming for the sky where she has advantage, but the shade collides into her before she can gain altitude.

Amelia shrieks in pain and anger when the shadow claws rip into her. Still airborne, she flaps her wings wildly, determined to keep ascending, angry shade or not. He may be stubborn, but so is she. Her hand still grips the flashlight tightly, Amelia uses her legs to swipe at him. If he's solid enough to hurt her, hopefully she can return the favor.

Stocke clings even as Amelia's legs rip into him, leaving long, gaping gashes down his arms and sides - they spout dark smoke in billows. The shade ignores them to start dragging his way up Amelia's body, using three or four arms instead of two where it suits. He's fallen eerily silent even while his tendrils lash wildly.

One of the arms gets high enough to reach Amelia's hand, holding the flashlight; it shifts a jagged mouth on the end and chomps, trying to clamp down on the harpy's wrist. Stocke hasn't bothered shifting extra arms on the end, though - that makes things far too complicated - and he's aiming half-blind. The magic-tossed wind snaps in his face.

The teeth sink into her forearm, and Amelia is forced to drop the flashlight. She tucked another one in her belt for backup, safely hidden in the feathers just above her tail, but for now she can't reach it. She yanks her trapped arm wildly and swipes with her other hand at the shade's face, claws aiming for his eyes, trying to push it down before he reaches higher, to her wings.

"Get off, don't touch me!"

Whirlwinds lashes out at Stocke, cold and merciless. Amelia dives and soars, flies around in quick circles and unstable zigzags, all in an attempt to shake him off. But it's hard to maneuver between buildings in the dark with him clawing at her – with Stocke attached or without him, she ends up crash landing on a roof.

Stocke continues to hold on, grimly. Shades are known for their tenacity in going after grudges; the only difference in Stocke is that he's more impatient, willing to risk more damage rather than following until the perfect opportunity presents itself. Perhaps it comes of being one of the youngest shades around.

He doesn't make a noise even when Amelia scores across his eyes, though the immediate reaction is a flinch. What's not clawed across snaps shut; the shade grits the teeth holding Amelia's arm in retaliation.

Then they slam into the roof and his grip finally loosens. Stocke dissolves into shadows and rolls away, righting himself. The winds blow him further as he tries to reform - he ends up crouching on the roof, claws on hands and feet digging into the tile.

Amelia lands in a feathery heap. It's a relief to escape the shade's clutches. Beyond the pain, the weight of his solid form was almost suffocating, and she can see more clearly without his shadows filling her vision.

The smartest thing is to take off to find her human while he's still recovering. She'll fly her somewhere safe to complete their deal and Stocke will never find her before morning. Even if he comes to her nest again, Amelia will have ample time to prepare. She just has to fly away.

But much like shades, harpies are known for their stubbornness and for their almost compulsive need to have the last word. Not just be right, but have others acknowledge their rightness, rub their victory in. Crouched on the ledge with her good hand around the backup flashlight, ready for takeoff, Amelia snaps:

"Lash out all you want, that deal is still mine. You lost."

"Perhaps." A chilly tone, impersonal as a machine. "So I'm making sure you aren't around to divert any more."

He's... genuinely trying to kill the harpy now, isn't he?

The shade's getting nowhere staying solid, with the harpy's magic beating at him. He melts away more deliberately this time, springing forward as soon as the wind's whistling through him instead of against. Aiming for Amelia's soul.

Uh oh. Amelia wouldn't grasp the shade's intentions if it wasn't for the change in the wind pattern - an incorporeal attack can only mean one thing. She adjusts the wind and leaps off the ledge in a weird backwards glide, too afraid to take her eyes off the shade. Like before, she whips the flashlight out and lights it in Stocke's face. Just a moment to stall, that's all she needs...

Amelia's in luck. With the shade incorporeal, the flashlight has a far greater effect on him; he snarls and falls back, dropping to the roof again.

After a moment he ducks around the flashlight's beam, springing off the edge to hover after the harpy from another direction - but he can't go any higher, can only lose ground. As long as Amelia's quick to circle up she'll be out of reach.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

@makehistoria

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject