Post by Dresden Ravenskraft on Jun 28, 2017 23:53:10 GMT -5
The stillness of the night was broken by the low whine of a motorcycle, and a singular beam of light could be seen tracing its way through the forest. Like pale veins, the roads running from the heart of Düsseldorf transected the canvas of trees into limbs of thick, dark green. Frost clung to the heavy boughs. It was early March, and while the temperature typically averaged at around nine degrees, it had sunk to just above freezing.
The black Ducati, a classic model designed to mimic a vintage make, ignored the cold as it darted like a droning shadow through patches of condensed moonlight. Its rider guided it along the weaving roads, only slowing when he turned off sharply from the beaten pavement and hit dirt. The hardened mud cracked under the tires, and as he slowed as he continued deeper into the forest. The Ducati was borrowed. He had only come here on foot before, and thus made slow headway through the darkness. At last, as the access road came to an end, he pulled to a stop and shut off the engine. All sound was muffled around him, but in the back of his mind the constant, rushing pulse that something was terribly wrong threatened to overwhelm his senses.
The rider left the bike behind without a second thought. He sprinted towards a small, corrugated steel hut that was set far back from the road, nearly invisible behind a grove of pines. The lock on the door snapped open after he twisted the key, and he rushed inside. Formed of one piece of metal shaped into a half-cylinder, the hut more resembled a bunker or a bomb shelter than a shed. It was even equipped with narrow shelves lining the concave walls and a cot. Several metal boxes stored dehydrated food in case of emergency. A single incandescent bulb hung in the center of the room, but as electricity only ran on the generator he didn’t bother to use it.
Moving somewhat frantically, he opened a variety of cases and began setting out an array of Gintou capsules, which he quickly glanced over before shoving into the pockets of his jacket. He paused to check the magazine of the only weapon he had brought with him: a Luger PO8. Snapping the gun’s magazine back into place, he left the hut and resealed the door with both a physical lock and a spiritual seal. A thin film of Reishi glowed briefly over the entire structure before rapidly vanishing, invisible yet primed to react should someone try to enter. That done, he jogged back to the road.
The Quincy shut his eyes, breathing deeply to steady his pulse. He had lost track of his quarry’s Reiatsu while in-route to the forest. Earlier, when he had felt it become suddenly weak, he had left his late-night bartender’s shift in the Altstadt to follow the distant thread away from Düsseldorf. He had sensed that the target was somewhere in the nearby vicinity, but when the spiritual pressure had disappeared, snuffed out like a candle, he had become concerned. The Quincy he had been tracking was no longer just “in trouble”: he was either unconscious or dead. Time was running out, but the seconds continued to tick past without any indication that he would act. For what seemed like an eternity, the only movement was the steam formed by his breath in the frigid air.
Then, Dresden opened his eyes.
While he had not been able to pinpoint the location of the other Quincy, he had sensed other signatures around Düsseldorf, and they disturbed him. One was clearly a Hollow, and from what he could tell it was moving west towards the city. The other…
Shinigami?
Dresden could not be certain if there were one or more of them, nor could he tell if they had been fighting or not. But what he was certain of was the fact that he wanted to avoid them at all costs. Aiming for the area where he had last detected the Reiatsu, he then set off into the forest.
Careful to preserve his energy, Dresden used short, sporadic bursts of Hirenkyaku to carry him quickly over greater stretches of distance. However, after only a few steps of the technique, his limbs grew heavy and he found that it was difficult to move. As he had not been involved in a spiritual confrontation for a long, long time, manipulating the threads of Reishi running beneath his feet was extremely difficult. In fact, it was somewhat of a miracle that he was able to use Hirenkyaku at all. For the first time in over fifty years, Dresden began to curse his powerless state.
Approaching a break in the dense woods up ahead, Dresden slowed his pace. As he neared the clearing, he sensed the Hollow converging upon the same location from the opposite direction. Perhaps they had been drawn to the by the same weakened Reiatsu. Now, however, the pressure had almost disappeared entirely, and nothing seemed to be moving. Steeling himself for the worst, Dresden did his best to mask his spiritual presence. Then, he stepped out into the full moonlight.
Lying in the center of the open field in a dark pool of his own blood, was the body of Peter Winter.
Dresden threw caution to the wind as he rushed to the man’s side. “Peter,” he said in a hushed tone as he knelt down, pressing two fingers into the neck to check the pulse. But the corpse had already begun to cool, and Peter’s pale gray eyes stared emptily into the sky above. For a moment Dresden felt a pang of grief begin to well up in his chest, but he quickly distanced himself from his own emotions. He had only met Peter the day before, and three centuries of existence had long since taught him to harden his heart when necessary. Having come face to face with death countless times, it was the only way to survive. Still, Peter had died along with Dresden’s last connection to his past. The loss was irreparable, and for a moment Dresden thought of Jakob. His throat felt tight.
“Rest well,” he whispered as he closed Peter’s unseeing eyes. Examining the body more carefully, he saw that the fatal blow had been struck to his lungs, as he had been impaled through the chest. The entry and exit point of the puncture was clean, and it was likely that Peter had struggled to cling to life for some time before finally succumbing to the trauma. It was difficult to determine whether the cause of death had been from suffocation or blood loss, but Dresden was more concerned with the distinctive nature of the wound. The Hollow he had sensed nearby was only just now making its way towards the field, and at any rate the injury did not fit an animalistic predator’s typical mode of operation. There was no shredded flesh, no claw marks or slashes, and in fact very little sign of a struggle at all. If Dresden had to make a guess, he would have described it as more akin to an assassin’s handiwork.
Then, he thought of the Shinigami he had sensed earlier, and doubt crept into his mind.
He recalled what Peter had told him earlier regarding the Order. If what he had said about the new Queen was true, Dresden was certain that it would not be long before the Gotei attempted to interfere in the affairs of the Quincy. By “interfere” his mind immediately jumped to the worst possible scenario: another purge. That the Shinigami had begun their offensive discreetly, with infiltrations and subtle assassinations, suggested they were acting with caution but acting nonetheless.
Dresden frowned. The last thing he wanted to do was to take part in a battle against the spiritual realm. But if they were already attacking first…
He pondered the corpse of Peter Winter that lay at his feet. There was no guarantee that he would fare any better, but as Dresden considered the fact that the Shinigami’s Reiatsu was presumably still somewhere in the vicinity, a bitter taste entered his mouth. The expression on Dresden’s face hardened, with his brow furrowing and his mouth drawing into a firm line.
In this case, revenge would be justified.
But before he could act on that determination, something burst through the trees at the edge of the field. Dresden drew the pistol from its holster and turned in one fluid movement, but by that time the only thing he saw was a shadow darting from the corner of his peripheral vision.
A Hollow’s Reiatsu permeated the clearing, and as Dresden glanced about him, careful not to make any sudden movements, he suddenly felt icy fingers of pressure run down his spine.
Looking up, he saw the gaping wide maw of a white mask and a veil of black feathers. The Hollow had spread its gargantuan wings, like a hellish cross between a moth and a vulture, and it descended upon him with an ear-splitting scream. Dresden’s eyes widened. For a split-second he felt his breath stall in his lungs as he raised his pistol and took aim.
Then he pulled the trigger.
1544 words
The black Ducati, a classic model designed to mimic a vintage make, ignored the cold as it darted like a droning shadow through patches of condensed moonlight. Its rider guided it along the weaving roads, only slowing when he turned off sharply from the beaten pavement and hit dirt. The hardened mud cracked under the tires, and as he slowed as he continued deeper into the forest. The Ducati was borrowed. He had only come here on foot before, and thus made slow headway through the darkness. At last, as the access road came to an end, he pulled to a stop and shut off the engine. All sound was muffled around him, but in the back of his mind the constant, rushing pulse that something was terribly wrong threatened to overwhelm his senses.
The rider left the bike behind without a second thought. He sprinted towards a small, corrugated steel hut that was set far back from the road, nearly invisible behind a grove of pines. The lock on the door snapped open after he twisted the key, and he rushed inside. Formed of one piece of metal shaped into a half-cylinder, the hut more resembled a bunker or a bomb shelter than a shed. It was even equipped with narrow shelves lining the concave walls and a cot. Several metal boxes stored dehydrated food in case of emergency. A single incandescent bulb hung in the center of the room, but as electricity only ran on the generator he didn’t bother to use it.
Moving somewhat frantically, he opened a variety of cases and began setting out an array of Gintou capsules, which he quickly glanced over before shoving into the pockets of his jacket. He paused to check the magazine of the only weapon he had brought with him: a Luger PO8. Snapping the gun’s magazine back into place, he left the hut and resealed the door with both a physical lock and a spiritual seal. A thin film of Reishi glowed briefly over the entire structure before rapidly vanishing, invisible yet primed to react should someone try to enter. That done, he jogged back to the road.
The Quincy shut his eyes, breathing deeply to steady his pulse. He had lost track of his quarry’s Reiatsu while in-route to the forest. Earlier, when he had felt it become suddenly weak, he had left his late-night bartender’s shift in the Altstadt to follow the distant thread away from Düsseldorf. He had sensed that the target was somewhere in the nearby vicinity, but when the spiritual pressure had disappeared, snuffed out like a candle, he had become concerned. The Quincy he had been tracking was no longer just “in trouble”: he was either unconscious or dead. Time was running out, but the seconds continued to tick past without any indication that he would act. For what seemed like an eternity, the only movement was the steam formed by his breath in the frigid air.
Then, Dresden opened his eyes.
While he had not been able to pinpoint the location of the other Quincy, he had sensed other signatures around Düsseldorf, and they disturbed him. One was clearly a Hollow, and from what he could tell it was moving west towards the city. The other…
Shinigami?
Dresden could not be certain if there were one or more of them, nor could he tell if they had been fighting or not. But what he was certain of was the fact that he wanted to avoid them at all costs. Aiming for the area where he had last detected the Reiatsu, he then set off into the forest.
Careful to preserve his energy, Dresden used short, sporadic bursts of Hirenkyaku to carry him quickly over greater stretches of distance. However, after only a few steps of the technique, his limbs grew heavy and he found that it was difficult to move. As he had not been involved in a spiritual confrontation for a long, long time, manipulating the threads of Reishi running beneath his feet was extremely difficult. In fact, it was somewhat of a miracle that he was able to use Hirenkyaku at all. For the first time in over fifty years, Dresden began to curse his powerless state.
Approaching a break in the dense woods up ahead, Dresden slowed his pace. As he neared the clearing, he sensed the Hollow converging upon the same location from the opposite direction. Perhaps they had been drawn to the by the same weakened Reiatsu. Now, however, the pressure had almost disappeared entirely, and nothing seemed to be moving. Steeling himself for the worst, Dresden did his best to mask his spiritual presence. Then, he stepped out into the full moonlight.
Lying in the center of the open field in a dark pool of his own blood, was the body of Peter Winter.
Dresden threw caution to the wind as he rushed to the man’s side. “Peter,” he said in a hushed tone as he knelt down, pressing two fingers into the neck to check the pulse. But the corpse had already begun to cool, and Peter’s pale gray eyes stared emptily into the sky above. For a moment Dresden felt a pang of grief begin to well up in his chest, but he quickly distanced himself from his own emotions. He had only met Peter the day before, and three centuries of existence had long since taught him to harden his heart when necessary. Having come face to face with death countless times, it was the only way to survive. Still, Peter had died along with Dresden’s last connection to his past. The loss was irreparable, and for a moment Dresden thought of Jakob. His throat felt tight.
“Rest well,” he whispered as he closed Peter’s unseeing eyes. Examining the body more carefully, he saw that the fatal blow had been struck to his lungs, as he had been impaled through the chest. The entry and exit point of the puncture was clean, and it was likely that Peter had struggled to cling to life for some time before finally succumbing to the trauma. It was difficult to determine whether the cause of death had been from suffocation or blood loss, but Dresden was more concerned with the distinctive nature of the wound. The Hollow he had sensed nearby was only just now making its way towards the field, and at any rate the injury did not fit an animalistic predator’s typical mode of operation. There was no shredded flesh, no claw marks or slashes, and in fact very little sign of a struggle at all. If Dresden had to make a guess, he would have described it as more akin to an assassin’s handiwork.
Then, he thought of the Shinigami he had sensed earlier, and doubt crept into his mind.
He recalled what Peter had told him earlier regarding the Order. If what he had said about the new Queen was true, Dresden was certain that it would not be long before the Gotei attempted to interfere in the affairs of the Quincy. By “interfere” his mind immediately jumped to the worst possible scenario: another purge. That the Shinigami had begun their offensive discreetly, with infiltrations and subtle assassinations, suggested they were acting with caution but acting nonetheless.
Dresden frowned. The last thing he wanted to do was to take part in a battle against the spiritual realm. But if they were already attacking first…
He pondered the corpse of Peter Winter that lay at his feet. There was no guarantee that he would fare any better, but as Dresden considered the fact that the Shinigami’s Reiatsu was presumably still somewhere in the vicinity, a bitter taste entered his mouth. The expression on Dresden’s face hardened, with his brow furrowing and his mouth drawing into a firm line.
In this case, revenge would be justified.
But before he could act on that determination, something burst through the trees at the edge of the field. Dresden drew the pistol from its holster and turned in one fluid movement, but by that time the only thing he saw was a shadow darting from the corner of his peripheral vision.
A Hollow’s Reiatsu permeated the clearing, and as Dresden glanced about him, careful not to make any sudden movements, he suddenly felt icy fingers of pressure run down his spine.
Looking up, he saw the gaping wide maw of a white mask and a veil of black feathers. The Hollow had spread its gargantuan wings, like a hellish cross between a moth and a vulture, and it descended upon him with an ear-splitting scream. Dresden’s eyes widened. For a split-second he felt his breath stall in his lungs as he raised his pistol and took aim.
Then he pulled the trigger.
1544 words
