[youtube]aigkKwrdEmo[/youtube]
"I hate that woman." Crate wheezed out in pain as Kanako Moonweaver's face crossed his vision. Every step, every breath, sent pain spiderwebing through his body. His left hand clutched a rag to a bleeding stab wound in his side and his right arm hung limp, unable to move from the bullet now lodged in his shoulder.
The night had ended in a direction Crate had hoped it wouldn't.Â
Soon after Kanako had stormed the villa, their battle had begun in frightening earnest. The female had come at him like a machine with his death her only objective. Crate had known she was the better with steel but this had been something else. It had taken ever ounce of Crate's skill to just manage to stay alive against her whirling web of metal death.
And to further confound him, she had been in a sort of trance. His constant mocking and goading, which normally seemed to affect her with ease, had fallen on deaf horns. Finally, he'd been forced to just drop his major hint in a blunt manner and hoped that the thick-headed female had caught up on it. His plan did depend that she was able to relay the information dropped to other ears. Because if she didn't, there wasn't going to be another chance for Crate to just casually get out where he and Jin were headed, which would mean Jin would have a easy time reaching her goal; which was not in Crate' s plans at all.
Crate stumbled and fell to his knees. The impact sent more pain through his flesh. He hissed and gasped for breath to steady himself.
The fight had steadily gone downhill till she had lanced him through with her blade. He had turned to flee then as Rhyme came to his aid. But that remembrance drew a deep scowl across his features.
Rhyme, his companion for years now, was unreachable. The blond miqo'te couldn't sense him anymore. Whatever had happened when Hojo had come crashing in and the explosion Crate had heard outside the locked door, the result was an inability to reach his companion.
Crate had then leapt from a window and began running towards the exit of the courtyard and onto the road beyond but Kanako's accursed pistol shot had done his shoulder in. Thankfully, she had not come after him immediately for some reason and he had used that time to drag himself up and away.
Now he slogged down a hill in the welcoming embrace of the jungle.Â
But he was growing weak from loss of blood. He was feeling cold and chills ran down his spine as his body began to shiver to keep itself warm. But the act of shivering drained his energy even more. He came to a small foot bridge and paused. He began to sway, unsure of himself.
He gave a small chuckle of despair.
"Is this really how I die?" Crate whisper in a gravely voice as he stared at the bridge. "This is so..." he paused to swallow and flutter his eyelids. "not what I had in mind." He sunk to his knees again and tried to keep the bridge in focus as he swayed.Â
Rain dripped from the countless leaves of jungle vegetation around him, creating a sort of rhythmic melody that began to unfocus his brain. A trance began to overtake him. Lost in thought he began to drift into his own mind, and then fell sideways onto the soaked earth; red crimson spilling through his fingers and into the puddles around him.
He thought back. To the moment years ago he had ceased to be Zhi and become Crate.
A village. Their betrayal. His anger and promise for vengeance. Three years of planning and tainting his soul. Three years. And then, with his bandit allies, he'd butchered that village and set it to flame. The screams. The blood. The flames. The heat.
Heat.
Crate was starting to feel feverish as he lay in the muck, twitching. A smile, though, danced on his lips as he recalled the way burning villager smelled. And the way morals went up in smoke in everyone sooner or later. Even for knights.
"I hate that woman." Crate wheezed out in pain as Kanako Moonweaver's face crossed his vision. Every step, every breath, sent pain spiderwebing through his body. His left hand clutched a rag to a bleeding stab wound in his side and his right arm hung limp, unable to move from the bullet now lodged in his shoulder.
The night had ended in a direction Crate had hoped it wouldn't.Â
Soon after Kanako had stormed the villa, their battle had begun in frightening earnest. The female had come at him like a machine with his death her only objective. Crate had known she was the better with steel but this had been something else. It had taken ever ounce of Crate's skill to just manage to stay alive against her whirling web of metal death.
And to further confound him, she had been in a sort of trance. His constant mocking and goading, which normally seemed to affect her with ease, had fallen on deaf horns. Finally, he'd been forced to just drop his major hint in a blunt manner and hoped that the thick-headed female had caught up on it. His plan did depend that she was able to relay the information dropped to other ears. Because if she didn't, there wasn't going to be another chance for Crate to just casually get out where he and Jin were headed, which would mean Jin would have a easy time reaching her goal; which was not in Crate' s plans at all.
Crate stumbled and fell to his knees. The impact sent more pain through his flesh. He hissed and gasped for breath to steady himself.
The fight had steadily gone downhill till she had lanced him through with her blade. He had turned to flee then as Rhyme came to his aid. But that remembrance drew a deep scowl across his features.
Rhyme, his companion for years now, was unreachable. The blond miqo'te couldn't sense him anymore. Whatever had happened when Hojo had come crashing in and the explosion Crate had heard outside the locked door, the result was an inability to reach his companion.
Crate had then leapt from a window and began running towards the exit of the courtyard and onto the road beyond but Kanako's accursed pistol shot had done his shoulder in. Thankfully, she had not come after him immediately for some reason and he had used that time to drag himself up and away.
Now he slogged down a hill in the welcoming embrace of the jungle.Â
But he was growing weak from loss of blood. He was feeling cold and chills ran down his spine as his body began to shiver to keep itself warm. But the act of shivering drained his energy even more. He came to a small foot bridge and paused. He began to sway, unsure of himself.
He gave a small chuckle of despair.
"Is this really how I die?" Crate whisper in a gravely voice as he stared at the bridge. "This is so..." he paused to swallow and flutter his eyelids. "not what I had in mind." He sunk to his knees again and tried to keep the bridge in focus as he swayed.Â
Rain dripped from the countless leaves of jungle vegetation around him, creating a sort of rhythmic melody that began to unfocus his brain. A trance began to overtake him. Lost in thought he began to drift into his own mind, and then fell sideways onto the soaked earth; red crimson spilling through his fingers and into the puddles around him.
He thought back. To the moment years ago he had ceased to be Zhi and become Crate.
A village. Their betrayal. His anger and promise for vengeance. Three years of planning and tainting his soul. Three years. And then, with his bandit allies, he'd butchered that village and set it to flame. The screams. The blood. The flames. The heat.
Heat.
Crate was starting to feel feverish as he lay in the muck, twitching. A smile, though, danced on his lips as he recalled the way burning villager smelled. And the way morals went up in smoke in everyone sooner or later. Even for knights.
