Killing Time (Open)

[The Prowler]

[media]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LWz0JC7afNQ[/media]​

The wind blew lazily through ill moon lit cobblestone streets. Corner lights dimly illuminated the sidewalks, but still their was plenty room for things to lurk in the dark. The streets lay empty tonight except for a lone woman. She paced through narrow alleys, fear plain in her eyes. Something was following her. Something she'd never thought she'd see again. Someone she'd thought she'd condemned to hell. But, it seemed the demon had returned and this time with a vengeance. She wore a long red dress and her golden hair was layed in a bob. An angular heart shaped face framed pristine blue eyes and rosebud lips.

I can't wait to taste her. ​

He could tell she was running faster as the clicking of her heels grew more frequent. He hopped from roof top to roof top and watched her run for the pure amusement of it. She was dead already and she didn't even know it...

Her chest heaving heavily she turned down another corner tripping as she did so. She forced herself to stand despite her twisted ankle. Her lips opened in a groan of agony. It was like music to his ears. She ran forward through the dark alley and found she had run herself into a dead end. the sound of a dull thud announced his presence behind her and she spun round quickly to face the beast.

He seemed to phase in and out of existence. One moment there, the next here, all the while he didn't seem to move at all. She was prepared to scream when she felt something cold slide into her abdomen. She twitched as the taste of warmth and copper slid up her throat. She coughed once, twice, shuddered and convulsed, blood painting her lips a new shade of crimson. He pulled down his mask exposing sharp fangs, and gave her a silent kiss. The last of life fluttered from her eyes and his smoldering irises mimicked the smile splayed across his face, he hoped it was the last thing she saw.

The Prowler stepped away from his prey and let the body slide gently to the stone. She had been his lover once. But, she was as beautiful as she was manipulative. She was one of his many targets for the night. This city had betrayed him. Hung him on the gallows and buried him deep, but he had lived and now was returning the favor. He hadn't a clue how he had come back to life, but when he did it was with a vicarious hunger for blood. Without announcing his presence he fed in the dark. Watched silently as his prey went about their daily business. He stalked, he waited, and he killed. A man of perfect method. An assassin tried and true in life and death.

He withdrew a small disk and sifted through the names on the list. All were blinking red except for one. The Woman's new husband. Upon his reawakening the Dark Jedi had found small note. One that entailed a list of people complicit in his sham trial. Being an assassin he knew how to handle such a thing.

Kill them all.​

 

[Lark]

Lark looked at the ghastly scene with satisfaction.

It had been easy work, really. The girl he corrupted had been broken from the start, all she really needed was a nudge in the right direction, which Lark was more than happy to provide. She was only a few years younger than Lark, addicted to nearly a dozen drugs and determined to do whatever it took to get her fix. And so Lark did what he did best. He came to her in her time of need, and offered a solution to all of her problems. Small jobs at first, robberies and bribes and whatnot. When she did what Lark asked, he rewarded her. Over time, the jobs he asked her to do began to escalate. She'd hurt someone, maim someone. Eventually, she killed someone. But anyone could kill a stranger, Lark wanted to see how monstrous he could turn her.

Her father was a drunk, an abusive pile of filth. But her mother was as sweet as honey. Lark made her kill the father first, in his stupor he never saw the blade coming. When the mother walked in on her husband bleeding to death at her daughter's feet, she could only stand there in shock. Lark gave the command to kill her as well, and she did so without hesitation. The knife entered the mother's heart, but Lark was convinced that the mother's heart was broken before her only child's knife pierced it.

The girl knelt in her parent's blood, injecting chemicals into her veins. Lark's work was done. He had completed her transformation into a monster. She didn't truly know who he was, so he'd allow her to continue living. He let most of his projects live, knowing that they would unleash terror wherever it was they went. She'd get her fix elsewhere, or she'd kill herself. It made no difference to him.

Lark left the building, the final sound he heard was the girl's gleeful giggles as she shoved another needle in her arm. As he wandered the alleyways, he felt something sinister, something as dark as the home he just left. Curious, he followed the trail, and after a few turns he saw the source of the malevolent presence. A man stood over a woman's body, which was bloody and broken. The man was looking at something Lark couldn't quite see, and he couldn't tell whether or not the figure knew Lark was there.

There was a monster inside Lark, one that he normally kept in check. In truth, that beast had only ever come out once before. But now, it drew dangerously close to reemerging. Lark looked at the murdered woman with cold, passionless eyes. Perhaps there are now three monsters that haunt this city, Lark thought.

[member="The Prowler"]

 

[The Prowler]

The Night Stalker studied the list contemplatively. He cared not should a stranger happen by, for true, he would simply murder them too. The man his old wife had married after The Prowler's supposed 'death' was a new comer. His face not yet well known around town. Had the Prowler truly died his corpse would've still been fresh when she married again. But still The Prowler knew him. He felt a connection to the man that went beyond sharing the same women. It was as if he could sense him. Like they were dear family and yet, the Prowler had never even met this man.

He pondered on the curiosities of this for a moment before he smelled a peculiar scent. One he had grown accustomed to over the past few days. That of blood. Copious amounts of it. The hunger within him grew to a ferocious upheaval that he could scarcely contain. Drool seeped at the edge of his mouth and he had to wipe his chin to keep the torrent of saliva at bay. He turned to hunt for the source of substance, but as he cocked his head he spied another down the alley. The Prowler's black irises met smoldering amber's and for a moment he was at a loss.

This man's eyes glowered with hatred. He would see worlds burn, simply because he could. He would murder in the masses, if it meant he would be able to feel anything at all. He would destroy galaxies if it meant he might reach the void he so desperately sought. He and The Prowler were one and the same. Slowly he turned completely. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and ripped it free from the woman's body. Her body slid off the weapon with a wet slip and thud. Blood still dripping down his sword, drops of it still rolling down the corner of his lips he approached Lark. While The Prowler physically appeared a monster the man before him appeared polar opposite.

Yet when the Prowler reached out with the force he could feel the monster inside the man. Lurking, waiting to come out. He felt this man was kin to his ownself. Perhaps Demon's of different nature, but lords of hell all the same. The Prowler reached out with his free arm and extended pale hand towards his new companion. He sensed that while this man felt of family, it was not the same feeling he had towards his late wife's husband. The feeling he held towards that man was one of servitude, and he hadn't the faintest reason why.

"Help me in my endeavor?" He asked simply of the red haired man "Help me burn this town to the ground,"

[member="Lark"]

 

[Lark]

When Lark was a child, he burned his home to the ground. Thousands of lives were snuffed out overnight, and Lark had planned on joining all those souls in their fiery demise. It would have been a perfect suicide, all he ever would have been was a nameless monster. But he survived, taking on a new name, wandering around the seemingly endless cosmos. Since than, he had numerous side goals that his various personas sought. Some wanted to know what true peace felt like, some wanted to rise through the ranks of the Sith Empire, some wanted to seek out his brother and sister, the only remaining connections Lark had to his past life. Whether he'd kill or spare them, he truly didn't know. But the monster within him, Lark's true self, had only ever wanted one thing. He had seen a glimpse of that as he knelt in the fires of his home, as he remembered his mother slitting her throat because he asked her to.

Lark would be the last one standing when the world ended. He'd reduce the entire galaxy to ash and cinders, empires and civilizations would crumble into nothingness. And, with the passing of time, he and all that were once here would be forgotten. Lark would burn it all.

And, if the monster inside grew much larger, Lark knew that he could do it.

Looking at the man in front of him, Lark couldn't help but feel as though he was looking into a mirror. Hair as white as his skin, sable eyes glowing with infernal veins, scorching with the heat and hatred of a thousand supernovas. Like Lark, this man would bring ruination upon everything people held dear. Anarchy and madness followed them like a shadow. Lark had once believed that he was the most vile thing this galaxy had ever spit out, a heinous being that defied all logic and reason. Now that notion was thrown into question. For only a brief moment, he wondered whether or not this man was more horrible than he.

But perhaps their nature was beyond comparison. For the second time that Lark could remember, his true self, a nameless monster, emerged from the emptiness within his heart. The hands of two devils met, sealing this town's fate. "By morning, this city will be naught but embers."

[member="The Prowler"]

 

[The Prowler]

As the two made their pact the wind seemed to pick up to an almost deafening roar. Like hounds of hell baying in their infernal hunt it echoed throughout the town, carrying with it a foreboding message of things to come. The Prowler beckoned to his companion and they headed back to his shallow grave for torches. Upon arrival he found that more of the graves had been disturbed. Noting fresh dirt piled on graves buried weeks ago. He had not noticed before, but now it seemed rather peculiar. That's when he spied the eyes like a mirror reflection of his own regarding him from the forest. First their was the one pair then two, three, to many to count.

They emerged from the shadows and The Prowler realized that everyone he had killed hadn't died, but merely reanimated with his same affliction. Oddly enough they seemed not angry or even bothered by his presence rather they regarded him with smile and greeted him as if he was one of their own. They guided his confused figure towards his old house by the docks where he used to work and ushered him in. He immediately felt that familiar feeling of servitude wash over him.

Among the feeling of familiarity came one of nostalgia as he regarded his old dining room. The brown oak table, the various paintings of old sailing ships, and to top it all off he spied his old wife stiring tea like she used too make in the mornings before his shift. The whole while a figure sat at the table with his back turned to them. Slowly the figure stood and turned about to face them. The Prowler echoed one word as the figures face became clear and it seemed to mirror his own.

"Father?" He said stupidly.

"I returned when I heard how much like your old man you were... I found a way to live a very long time son, and it's my last gift to you,"

The Prowler could not believe his father had turned him into a Vampire and yet the man had admitted it himself. The Prowler had hated his father. The man was an abusive swine. He made him slaughter the livestock with him and when he wouldn't he got more beatings. He fed his pets to the dogs when food ran short. He made him into the monster he was today. He eyed the figure carefully. Did he think a longer life span of suffering made up for all the times he hurt him?

No. He wanted to make me stronger than him.

This was good for now he could kill the man himself and assume the psychotic mantle he was meant too. He charged his father with sword drawn. His old man simply grinned, even as he pierced his heart. The man died smiling which was more then he deserved. The Prowler's wife simply kept stirring the tea despite it spilling everywhere. He turned to her and realized these beings were simply thralls of his father and now his ownself. He marched outside and addressed his small mob of the undead. Speaking plainly as he did so.

"Rip them out of their holes, eat them alive and when your done, burn this town to cinders,"

When all was said and done he crossed the last name off the list then turned to his friend and regarded him with a genuine smile

"Let's not miss out on the fun, shall we?"

[member="Lark"]

 

[Priscilla Utorna]

Perhaps on another night, Priscilla would have joined the two men in their endeavors to see the quaint town be burned asunder, but the majesty of credits demanded otherwise. It took little time before somebody, anybody found the bodies and the broken girl that [member="Lark"] had left in the room, dripping in blood. And another, left in a dark alley. And yet more disturbances coming from a nearby graveyard. The emotions one might feel when taking up a contract like this were completely nullified, the only thing that mattered was the number of zeroes on the reward. At first it was three, but as the night went on the bounty was increased and increased. When it finally hit one she was satisfied with, she accepted it immediately, a soft grin appearing on her face for a few seconds.

Her eyes flickered as she scanned the town from a rooftop. Mentally, she had already pinpointed the places of the other bodies, visiting them to ensure this was no hoax. For now, the last place she was yet to visit was the place of the dead, or where they were supposed to be. It seemed the ground had been upturned, the only thing remaining the possessions that their loved ones once placed with them to protect them (which seemed to be ineffective).

A grappling hook extended from her gun, sending her soaring to another rooftop. From here, the quiet murmurs down a dimmed street drew her attention, and she made way. Eyeing the road below, a foul stench penetrated her nostrils, causing her to recoil slightly, though the pungent smell drew her ever closer to the actual locations of where she needed to be. With ease, she made a final leap, somersaulting onto a flat topped house and glaring downwards at what was more akin to a horde than a few dozen bodies. Though through it all, she made an educated guess whom the leader was, and within seconds she began aiming down her a scope and hovering the reticule over her target.

"How amusing..." the intonation of the woman's voice seemingly being complete flat.

Rather than attract what seemed to be hundreds of zombies to her location, she maintained her position and waited for her time to strike, the rifle seemingly never moving.

[member="The Prowler"] I [member="Lark"]

 

[Tiland Kortun]

Tiland's face was grim as he strode into the town, his usual gentle smile replaced by a deep frown that had etched itself into his face beneath his beard. This was grim news. Grim and it reeked of the Dark. But this was not the self-aggrandizing Dark of the Sith or calculating cold of the Ren. This was the Chaotic Dark, entropy embodied and twisted. For what purpose? As far as he could sense, nothing. Yet it had grown strong.

And so the Force had brought him here to bring an end to the menace. Perhaps others would join. Perhaps not. He'd already been in touch with the local authorities and they had put him in touch with a bounty hunter. Tiland adjusted the comlink before addressing [member="Priscilla Utorna"] in a message.

Bounty hunter, I am Jedi Master Tiland Kortun. There is more here than either of us can handle alone. We must work together.

With that, he strode towards where he could sense the madness growing, and his Anzati sense of smell twitch. He inhaled slightly, but no more. That was all he needed. Indeed, they had begun to reanimate the dead. It wouldn't be the first time, by any means. The One Sith and Sith Empire had done such things before. Interesting. Had there been a break from their ranks? A sorcerer who had fled the One Sith's destruction?

Or was it something else? Regardless, it made no difference .They needed to be stopped.

As he walked towards the small band of animated corpses, seeking out their dark master, the old Anzati made no sound except for the tapping of his staff on the street.

[member="The Prowler"] @Lark

 

[Kev'vazulan]

Ryder had arrived at the destination which suited his needs the most, according to the Zeltron he had been accompanying with for the past while. Spending about half of the credits he had earned whilst working at Zeltros, he was sent to a planet which had a famous - or should one say infamous - ship dock, which had a rather disturbing rumor. Whilst Ryder barely knew of the rumor in question, he was suggested this location because of one thing, and one thing only - he'd be able to get a hold of a ship for an extremely ship price, one to call his own.

The only thing he knew about the rumors were that the port-city was apparently renowned for a set of harrowing murders that occurred by the docks. Apparently a man went around and threw dead bodies into the ocean, the bodies mostly emptied of their blood, leaving little red in the blue waters. It caused the docks to be less populated out of fear of similar incidents occurring, and the rumors warned tourists to not approach, making their space-flight businesses far less profitable. That's why it'd be beneficial for him to come - this would be his means of travelling wherever he wanted to, whenever he wanted to...

.. Which is why he knew it wasn't going to be as easy as he originally thought, when he felt something strange not too far from the street he was in. He felt motions in the distace, caused by contractions and extractions in muscles. But he couldn't feel heartbeats. He couldn't feel active lungs. The vibrations in the air were faint in comparison to other species - living species. Ryder could, ofcourse, feel some people who were living. At least one was by this congregation of dead things, but one was at a short distance away, another beng atop of a roof, with a focused breathing.

Whatever the situation was, he knew it wouldn't be good - and it could ruin his chances of getting the good deal he was looking for.

His large, sturdy frame approached the scenery in question, not taking any approaches in stealth, given his lack of fear in the face of peril - Fear for himself, at the very least. His expression was calm and collected, which gave him an aura akin to someone who is professional... But it can also be interpreted as one who is ignorant and naive, given he wasn't carrying any form of weaponry. He looked no different from a common citizen who just happened to be at the wrong place at the right time, blissfully unaware of the chaos that could - and would probably - ensue.

---​

​

[member=Tiland Kortun] | [member=Priscilla Utorna] | [member=Lark] | [member=The Prowler]

 

[Lark]

Lark watched the masses of the undead emerge from the shadows, an army of specters bound to the Prowler's will. They led the duo towards a home, one that Lark's new companion seemed to be exceedingly familiar with. Together they walked into the house, and soon after entering it was revealed that the man who sat at the kitchen table was none other than the Prowler's father. Paying close attention to their confrontation, Lark wandered around the small room, curiously inspecting the paintings of ancient vessels and other familial belongings. He bent over by a dark bookshelf, picking out a small volume on the history of naval vessels. He hoped the Prowler didn't mind. Perhaps once the night was over, he'd give it a read. How much history is in this home, I wonder? How many meals of these three shared together, how many conversations were had over the crackling of the fireplace?

As the Prowler charged his father, Lark idly walked over to the woman in the room, he wasn't aware of her relation to the other two. He opened a nearby cabinet, and found a small cup. Offering it to the woman, she poured a small amount of tea into it, and together they watched Prowler's father die.

They left the residence, with Prowler now completely controlling this mob of the dead. He gave commands to the undead swarm, and Lark took a casual sip of the tea. He couldn't taste it, he couldn't taste anything when he was in this state of mind. It was well that they had a force they could use to bring ruin to this town, when Lark was a child he launched a number of gang wars that assisted him in his destruction. Finishing the tea, Lark set the painted cup down on a nearby grave, and held his hands behind his back with a manner of aloof serenity, a stark contrast to the emptiness within him. He smiled softly as they began their trek back to the town, and as they did Lark could sense a number of forces moving to counter them, although he couldn't quite pinpoint where any were. "They will try and stop us," Lark said to no one in particular. But one could not outrun death forever.

Whatever happened, this nightmare had only just begun.

[member="Tiland Kortun"] [member="Priscilla Utorna"] [member="The Prowler"] [member="Ryder Zeshatt"]

 

[The Prowler]

[media]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YFD2PPAqNbw[/media]​

The Prowler looked towards the port town before him and watched as the Undead rose from their trance at the issue of his command. They smiled and spoke with one another plainly. Chatter of how they couldn't wait to see their family again. How delightful it would be when they joined them in undeath. The Prowler cared not for these puppets, for true, when the town was but cinders, and all the people had been made monsters, he would simply order them to turn on one another. Slowly the sounds of the first screams began to arise as the Vampire's marched into homes.

Blissfully unawares, children answered the door at their mother or father's knocking, happy to see them again, and back so soon too. With a gentle pet on the cheek then a kiss at the nape of their neck, they'd sleep in heavenly peace. The first of the fires started at the edge of the town and only the foremost houses to the graveyard had been infected. But, the dead would march on, they lurked in the shadows, tapped windows silently and crept in on their entranced prey. The smoke began to rise as the first of the houses went up in flames. The town bells began to ring in warning and the men were marshaled, but still yet unknown was the invasion of the damned.

With the wind still howling embers threatened to spread, so a larger then usual force was mustered. The Fire fighters would soon find themselves fighting more than flames as the dead would march upon them. Their was no hope for saving the town, but perhaps it's people might be spared a fate worse then death. If only one could chop the head off the serpent in time... Or stop the army of dead in their tracks... Evacuate the civilians.. Marshal the men into a fighting force... Something, anything.

As almost the last of The Prowler's servants marched to do his bidding he studied the tome in Lark's hand. A book of seafaring demons. Truly a grand one, supposedly collected by an ancient relative, but now given his father's undead nature, The Prowler doubted even that to be true. Even his familial sword he now carried wreaked of ancient magics that he now suspected held Sith heritage. All of it mattered little to the Prowler. He was now alone with Lark and his belated wife. Her red dress stained at the abdomen a deep indigo. He looked to Lark and spoke

"Yes, I sense them now. They shall not succeed,"

His eyes darted from the man to a roof top in the distance. He could smell the woman's blood as she hoped to catch her prey off guard, but now the prey would become the hunter.

"Wife, dearest, won't you kill that gun toting savage for me?" He asked, his voice a sweet lovely lullaby as he pointed directly at [member="Priscilla Utorna"] .

His wife nodded in assent and planted a single kiss upon his cheek, it left a red stained imprint of blood and he licked at it hungrily. She charged off to do his bidding faster then one would've thought possible.

Finally truly leaving Lark and The Prowler alone.

"Tis a good book," He said simply whilst still staring at the woman upon the roof top. "One of pirating demons who used to rule this watery planet," The Prowler could almost laugh at the Irony of it.

He thought of his father as one of these ancient buccaneers and smiled. The thought was truly a silly one. Marching back to his old grave The Prowler removed a torch. He lit it on the abrasive surface of his own tombstone. Then turning back towards his house he threw it in the center of the place. He imagined his father roasting corpse and the thought brought an even grander smile to his face.

[member="Lark"]
[member="Ryder Zeshatt"]
[member="Tiland Kortun"]

 

[Priscilla Utorna]

The buzz from her comlink forced a sigh of frustration as she was forced to lower her rifle slightly, and move her right arm to the lower portion of her face. She listened intently, though the expression on her face could have suggested otherwise in the Anzati was in a position to eye the Chiss.

"I won't ask what idiot gave you my contact details..." sighing once more. Her voice suggested that she was bored, uninterested even, never changing in tone or tempo and at a constant, monotonous rate. "There is one piece of information someone of your kind could give me though. Would destroying whoever conjured these beings cause them to lose whatever essence is controlling them?" Admittedly, while Priscilla was well read in other subjects, her expertise in the force was rather lacking. With how rare it was for someone to place a bounty on a force sensitive, there was no need. While other hunters may consider the jobs to be more difficult, the payout was always higher than taking out some innocent civilian or a hotshot that thinks firing a blaster once makes them a marksman.

While the scope was lowered, she never removed her eye from the scene for more than a few seconds, instead observing elsewhere. While her species did indeed have some form of night vision available to them, the lifeless corpses seemingly displayed no heat signatures at all, and the man at the front of the pack was in a similar position, almost like he himself wasn't alive. Scrying to her left, she spotted some civilians foolishly gathering to see the commotion. Her regard for their safety was naught, as she was only hired to dispatch of the sociopaths threatening the town's destruction, not save its inhabitants. To the right, there were less. Perhaps the Jedi is amongst them? Though even knowing there was a master close by, she could sense within her gut that there was yet another powerful figure joining the scene, but their exact location and alignment left clouded in mystery.

The stillness of her observation was broken though, a flurry of motion sent the horde to their various areas, and Priscilla could see that they were not only gathered here, but elsewhere. The rooftops were set ablaze and a thick smog obscured her vision. On the streets below, she spotted the shamblers moving on an innocent bystander, which she quickly sighed at. "How underprepared these incompetents are..." the rifle rang out three shots, piercing the heads of the beasts. The bystander quickly ran off, seeing more coming down the street. Her eye peered to her comlink again, inputting contact number from the contract.

"I don't know who you are, but I suggest you inform the firehouse to stop sending people out and the law enforcement to evacuate the civilians by boat; that is just a suggestion after all, take it or leave it."

The transmission ended almost immediately, and afterwards Priscilla fired precisely 6 shots blindly at the position of the necromancer, for no other reason than to release her frustration. Within an instant, the grappling hook was deployed again, sending the hunter twirling in the air as if she was dancing and then landing with moves one might associate with a gymnast, several houses to the right. The smog intensified, irritating her lungs and causing the woman to cough under the choking smell, but she retained some form of posture and attempted to find her targets once more, standing upright and focusing as intently as she could.

[member="The Prowler"] I [member="Lark"] I [member="Ryder Zeshatt"] I [member="Tiland Kortun"]

 

[Kev'vazulan]

Whilst Ryder had no means of using the Force, that didn't prohibit him from performing actions that could be seen as impossible by natural means. He felt the vibrations in the air as a voice spoke, percieving the words from a distance which would normally require attentive ears. "Wife, dearest, won't you kill that gun toting savage for me?" The motions of lips was reciprocated by a lifeless figure rushing towards the direction of an index finger, that being the signature he percieved on top of a building.

He wasn't going to let any living being get hurt as long as he had the ability to prevent it. His body crouched and his palms shifted in order to touch the cobbled ground that covered the streets of this city. His acuity took note of how long it'd get for the lifeless entity to reach the woman before springing into action. His body sprinted from the position he held, his body's natural strength also providing him an inhuman speed. Taking about eight steps forward, he used the momentum to spring up into the air, followed by his arms moving in a circular motion.

His body reached heights akin to a Force user, using the natural physical prowess of the Gen'Dai to achieve such a feat. He was easily able to reach the height needed in order to get to the sniper, and to intercept the zombie in question. The motions of his limbs were to keep his body upright in the air, acting as a form of gyroscope. Only a professional would consciously make these motions, as the angular momentum vector wouldn't change with the gyroscope-like motions - but Ryder was simply doing it on instinct.

His landing wasn't smooth, in fact it caused several cracks at the impact point on the roof. It caused the roof to give off a small tremor, enough to alert her of his presence. If she shot him by pure instinct, he wouldn't really care - his violetblue eyes were settled upon one thing, and one thing only - nothing else mattered. His body motioned towards her with four heavy-legged strides, followed by his left arm being raised upwards. The left arm moved surprisingly delicate, an open palm pointing at something right ahead of him. His other arm was behind of his head, forceful and stiff in contrast to his left - as if he was about to punch something.

His entire body rotated in order to deliver a brutal strike straight ahead of himself, about a meter above her. The smog didn't inhibit his ability to spot the target, that was just about to collapse on the sniper. Rather than attempting to chomp her into pieces, the zombie was instead struck with a strike that caused its entire body to practically shatter. The torso erupted from the punch, causing the entire body to propel backwards and downwards toward the surface. Small pieces of cloth that had previously covered the corpse's torso flew in all directions from the pure force, the smog twirling and dancing around the corpse, away from the two. If there were any signs of fire previously, it was bound to have been suffocated by the carbon dioxide in the air being rushing forth.

The wind settled shortly after the delivered blow, and Ryder came to his senses. The tunnelvision which inhibited his ability to see whatever else was going on around him was gone, and he momentarily gazed upon the woman in question, who he was looming over due to his broad stature. His direct intention was to simply make sure she wasn't harmed, which he succeeded with - but he also indirectly rid the smog from her being, which would let her continue her work. His violetblue eyes were piercing during the dark, but they currently showed no real emotion. His frame wandered towards the edge of the roof, shifting his eyes from the Chiss and down towards the perpetrators. Ryder's voice had a masculine, raspy tone to it, though it sounded rather monotone. "Getting frustrated at a time like this is bad news. Aim at the ugliest one, while you're at it."

His gaze wandered back at the woman, his facial expression quite disturbing to those who couldn't stomach reality. He had the look of a stone-cold killer that showed no signs of empathy - his intent to protect the others were overwritten with an intent to simply be rid of the perpetrators. They're meddling with things that should stay dead.

I won't let them leave this planet alive.

---​

[member=Priscilla Utorna] | [member=Lark] | [member=The Prowler] | [member=Tiland Kortun]

 

[Lark]

Ash began to fall as the city continued to burn. Older buildings would be the first to go, they weren't as structurally sound as the more modern buildings. Once they collapsed in on themselves, they'd serve as kindling to keep the blaze alive. The fires would kill many, the undead perhaps even more. They would slaughter indiscriminately, the charred streets would run red with blood by the time this nightmare concluded. There were those who would attempt to stop the massacre, to save as many lives as they possibly could. In time, Lark would stop them. But before he did, there was something he wanted to check on.

When he arrived to this city, he had no intention on being the origin of its destruction. Lark would select a target, and see whether or not he could break them, to see if he could draw out the monster that lurked within them. Everyone has dark intentions that they try so hard to repress, and it was Lark's mission to make the world realize how horrible its inhabitants truly were.

Noting the two figures on the nearby rooftop, Lark casually walked back into town, and a small hail of gunfire ravaged the tomb he had been standing near moments ago. Most firefighters had all but abandoned any hope of putting out all of the flames, instead focusing on containing what was already burning and making sure the fires didn't spread. Other officers led people towards evacuation zones, although with all the surrounding anarchy it was difficult for any coherent course of action to take shape. Stampedes of families bolted out of their homes, dodging collapsing structures and undead forces. It truly was every man for themselves. Cries of help went unnoticed or ignored, those who didn't move quick enough were trampled over, left behind to be devoured. The worst of mankind was on full display.

Lark walked into the burning home of the drug addict he met with earlier. She was still alive, surprisingly, but her parents corpses had begun to melt. The girl leaned against a wall, syringes by her feet, her veins were nearly pitch black, and her tan skin was purple in several places. Both from her father's beatings and the drugs. Slowly, she turned her head, meeting Lark's eyes. "You've come to save me," she said, sliding to the ground. In truth, Lark didn't know what he would do with her. She might overdose before the flames even consumed her. He wouldn't feel anything if he left her here to die, if he heard her screams of anguish trailing after him as he turned to walk away. But he had spent a great deal of time molding her into what she was now, it would be a waste for her to die here.

So he slowly walked over, picking up her limp form. She was barely conscious, the smog and whatever chemicals were in that syringe had taken their toll. Walking back out to the streets, he called over a nearby officer, whose steadfastness was convenient, if not futile. Lark handed the officer the girl, maybe he'd be able to get her to a safer zone. Or perhaps the extra body would over-encumber him, and together they'd both be devoured. It made no difference. If the girl did make it, she would be a wolf blending in with sheep. Her parents murder would likely never be traced back to her, seeing as the corpses of her parents would perish along with the city. That monster would escape to kill again.

But now it was time to face the ones from before. He peacefully strolled through the hellscape, the undead that terrorized the place ignored him, perhaps at the whim of the Prowler. But instead of ascending the rooftop to confront his opposition directly, he would let them come to him. They would have to chose what threat to confront. The fires destroying the city? The dead who feasted on escaping residents? Lark and The Prowler? What will they do, I wonder?

The docks, Lark knew, was where a large congregation of people awaited their evacuation. Lark made his way there, drawing his enchanted Sith sword. Masses of people parted to let him pass, once he was close enough to the boats he cut their engines clean off, cutting off these evacuation efforts until more airborne vessels could break through the smog.

[member="Ryder Zeshatt"] [member="Priscilla Utorna"] [member="The Prowler"] [member="Tiland Kortun"]

 

[The Prowler]

[media]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SKbOlXxHwT4[/media]​

The Prowler watched as his companion went about to do whatever business he had come for. Perhaps he'd relish in the slaughter. Perhaps he had come for something more sinister then even that. Whatever his objectives were Prowler had no idea, and cared little. He knew his companion to be a man of wanton destruction and he would not leave till the town was crisps. The Prowler could sense his puppets at work. They charged the fleeing masses infecting people with lustful bites. Those who escaped being eaten alive would travel amongst the living blissfully unawares they carried the very disease in which infected their new master.

With a thought he could feel the pathogen spreading through their veins. A war within their bodies.The virus injecting blood cells and causing them to die, only to reanimate as something even more horrific. By the time it reached their heart they'd have fallen into a deep slumber. But, once the heart stopped completely they'd reawaken. Black eyes with molten veins would see the world in a new light, one of clarity. Some would question how, what, or why, but all would have a vicarious hunger for flesh and blood. They'd charge the civilians they were among for just one taste of the delicious morsel that was flesh. The ambrosia that was warm blood.

They lived for the feast.

The gluttonous creatures found rapture in the taste.

And even as the police marshaled a somewhat scattered force they found the dead were already in the crowd, and they hadn't even noticed. With no one to lead an effective counter attack it became every man for himself. The seafaring vessels that would've delivered them to safety were now destroyed. The people were in panic. They dove into the ocean, they charged flight vessels already at max capacity. They cried for their children. But, didn't they know? They'd all be united in death.

The Prowler watched as his wife was eviscerated by a man of strange nature. He snarled as his puppet was so easily disposed of and felt he would need to deal with the two rooftop dwellers himself. He didn't want a single survivor. He wanted them all to die, to burn, cast them to the abyss where they may never find peace. He wanted to hear the lamentation of their very souls, and when all was said and done he'd join them in their torment...

His anger grew and with his frustrations he could feel the force swell within him. Gun shots flew around him inciting his anger to a tumultuous rage. In the book Lark carried was the history of this world. How the seafaring Demons had been brought to heel by a brutal Sith conqueror. Throwing hands to sky he cried to the heavens for this man, if it could even be called a man anymore, to aid him. He knew not whether the spirit would answer his call, but he felt in his very bones that with the power and the rage he had he could break apart the afterlife itself.

"Darth Sion, lend your power to me, in exchange I grant you my ever living soul and the souls of my thralls!"

The Prowler used the collective force gained from his puppets to reeve this spirit from the hell it dwelled in. If it would not come to him willingly he would force it too. The winds howling became an almost deafening roar as it began to swirl around the lich, crackling with visible manifestations of power. Red electricity racked the Prowler's body. His eyes glew a deep crimson and he began to feel true power. True pain. But, as the Prowler called to the Sith lord the undead began to decay at an accelerated rate. If ever their was a time to turn the tide of the vampires now was it.

[member="Lark"]
[member="Ryder Zeshatt"]
[member="Priscilla Utorna"]
[member="Tiland Kortun"]

 

[Priscilla Utorna]

Perhaps in the moment, Priscilla's natural instincts to defend herself were lost among her disappointment in the town's militia to defend anybody. Maybe that was the reason why the necromancer's wife would have killed her if it were not for the Gen'dai. Well, that's what she told herself internally. She refused to admit any mistake on her own part and simply put it down to dumb luck that a zombie - a mindless being suffering from muscular atrophy - nearly bested an esteemed bounty hunter. Instinctively, as her angel rose from the punishment he had delivered to the undead, she raised her rifle as if to threaten him. Though at this range, her skills were minimized anyway, and she simply lowered it once more, speaking into a thick cloud of almost poisonous gases.

"I assume you're not one of them, even if your brutish strength would make me believe as much." sighing and attempting to peer back down towards the tombs. "I'm just here to collect a contract. The fate of this town is of little importance to me, but if you assist me I'll be wi-.." she was cut off by the sounds of screams to the east of the town. Here, the shrieks of the civilians as they realized the boats had been disabled was now just coming to pass. The mysterious red haired man that had done this drew attention, but no doubt the untrained men and women vying to protect their home town would be no match for his expertise with a sword. An even more peculiar sound forced its way into her skull; that being the howling demonic echoes being summoned forth by [member="The Prowler"].

"We'll discuss payment options later." shortly afterwards, the woman began to scale the small building; which by now the internal structural support was crumbling under the sheer might of [member="Ryder Zeshatt"]. The only thing which guided her was a vague map which was inscribed into her head from earlier, a rough sense of direction and a crudely poor idea of the positions of the structures on the road. Stumbling forth, she eventually reached a stone wall, crouching below it and listening to the demonic chanting of the vampire.

He's lost his mind.

She waited no longer, not even for a coordinated attack as the red sparks of electricity began to emanate from his being. Not because she was impatient, but because she had a rough idea of the man's position now. The scope peered over the stone wall, followed by the azure body raising after it. Her finger was on the trigger... but the chamber just simply clicked. It seemed that she had used the remaining sniper rounds in the magazine chamber. Hastily, the mode was swapped to the automatic rounds and she released a bullet storm on where she assumed the man to be, savoring in the idea that every bullet that penetrated his corpse would add even more to her credit total.

Of course, there was a reason she had attempted to use the much more accurate mode, as the repeated recoil was simply unnatural for her to handle, and many of the shots struck the concrete graves of those now wandering the streets. Though still some were on a direct course with the man.

[member="Lark"] I [member="Ryder Zeshatt"] I [member="The Prowler"]

 

[Kev'vazulan]

Ryder exhaled through his nose as he could feel her body's response to what had just happened. She could keep her thoughts to herself, and he wouldn't know exactly what she was thinking, but her body's instinctual tension would still be there, followed by the relaxation of 'being saved'. He didn't know if he should pity her attempts at a calm demeanor, being preoccupied with the things that were going on down the streets. His body crouched once more, grabbing onto the ledge of the structure, not bothering responding to her comments. He was just waiting.

Waiting for her to aim at the 'ugly one'.

The platform he was on was clearly unstable, so he didn't blame her for finding a more suitable vantage point, but it was more beneficial for him to stay here. He was monitoring her heartbeat as she found the right point, and he could feel her palms directing her weapon in order to aim at the chanting villain. He jumped from his position at that specific moment, deciding to strike the same opponent that she was going for. He reached a high altitude, and eventually gravity clutched a hold of his ankles, pulling him down towards the cobbled surface - right above him.

He felt the mechanical process of her rifle entering an automatic mode about halfway down his descent. It gave him an understanding that she wasn't about to shoot with precision, rather she would be sending a cluster of bullets in his direction. Whilst unlikely to hit, it's perfect at keeping an opponent in one place - suppression-fire. Ryder, not having the fear of getting shot, allowed his mind to embrace the fact that he was about to get injured in the next few seconds.

Ryder landed about a meter away from the man's back, causing large cracks on the cobbled surface due to his sheer strength and velocity caused from the gravity. It'd cause a lack of balance on his opponent's part - allowing the bounty hunter to begin firing on The Prowler before he had the chance to find cover. Ryder's legs ached from the impact, but he took a step towards his foe, deciding not to let this opportunity go to waste.

His arms raised and performed a combination of three different strike, each intricate in their own right. Knowing that his opponent was recieving a large amount of sensations, from his own chanting, to the bullet-rain of the woman, to the ground being unstable and creating a poor footwork for him, it'd be difficult for him to react to another fast-paced action. Ryder went for a jab with his left fist, striking towards the nose of his opponent. It was to make his fist cover the eyes for a brief moment, allowing his hips to shift to the right. His right palm came for a cross to his hip, the force intended to dislocate it - plausible due to his poor footwork not giving him a stable posture, but not guaranteed depending on The Prowler's endurance. The third strike came in the form of his left arm pulling back from his face, and struck towards the solar plexus. Ryder didn't know if he could feel the sensation of pain, but he knew his body could feel and respond to sensations. Striking the solar plexus with enough force would cause a body to enter a momentary state of shock - Ryder's strength would amplify it considerably, intending on incapacitating his motor functions, even if it would only be for a minute.

All the while, Ryder could hear the bullets wheezing past him, and into his own body. Arms and legs were both pierced through by the bullets, since he had no protective gear in the slightest. Blood doused his clothes and dripped into the cracks of the cobbled path. They were injuries that'd cause his own body to freeze up for a few moments in pure pain, knowing that his muscles would refuse to relax right away. But he knew that, if he got shot, no doubt this foe would suffer the same fate. He was reckless to say the least - something which is scary to face off against. After the three strikes, his body stumbled backwards, close to tripping if it weren't for a wall behind of him. Whether or not he would succeed, he had intended on making an equal exchange - his body would be incapacitated for a bit, in exchange for The Prowler being in the same predicament. His body slid down the wall into a seated position on the ground, looking almost lifeless since a human's not meant to survive several bulletwounds. He was weak and susceptible for a few moments. Maybe the other freakshow would do something whilst his arms couldn't move, and his legs refused to listen to him.

For now, all he could do was hope that the bounty hunter could somehow keep the foe incapacitated.

---​

​

[member=Priscilla Utorna] | [member=The Prowler] | [member=Lark]

 

[Kahlil Noble]

"Oh dear. Oh my. Oh no oh my oh dear." The humming voice came from beside [member="Ryder Zeshatt"] after he slumped against the wall. The large and lanky figure of Dubiety seemed to appear beside him, crouched down so his monstrous height didn't keep him too far above the civilian. [member="The Prowler"] had been a good ally of this young Sith, a friend of sorts when times were dire. Yet the man had brought upon himself the task of destroying this city with scores of undead. An almost suicidal wish without the necessary allies to watch his back.

Dubiety was no such ally.

He kept to the background, watching and listening as his stronger ally continued to show off his strength. The Epicanthix was studying The Prowler for his weaknesses and perhaps an opening to take him out. To remove a rival before he wised up enough to know this young Sith had no such loyalty to him, only convenience. But such an opening was taken by another. His focus on the ritual a pair of bounty hunters took their shot, literally, to take him out before he summoned a being too strong for him to control. [member="Priscilla Utorna"] and her ally were smart to do as they did.

Now, however, one of those assailants was incapacitated. Broken, dying. Or was he? While the Acolyte studied him the back of his mind screamed something odd was going to happen soon. So he held out a hand, poking the center of the man's forehead, releasing a blast of lightning as if to test his reliance.

"You should be dying, shouldn't you? We can't have that, can we."

 

[Kev'vazulan]

Ryder's senses were of little use at a position like this. He could barely percieve his own surroundings, the only vibrations he felt would come from the constant exertion of his muscles, and his heart beating rapidly. The sound that came with every thud was overbearing, and his vision was foggy as a result of sustaining what could be considered serious injury. One of his big strengths also serve as the greatest weak spot to him, and it came in the form of pain. His nervous system was far more fragile than a regular being, so it was safe to say that these wounds had a sharp pain akin to a rancor's claws sinking into one's leg. It was mind-numbingly painful, which is why his perception of time and place took a complete 180.

But he heard one thing, which sounded distorted and wavey, as if someone at a party was mixturing with the audio of a song. He couldn't decipher where it came from, since it felt like nothing remained in one place, including his own body. The only thing Ryder could confirmw as that the voice was surely close to his frame, disturbingly close. Was it a friend or foe? Since when did they get here? How much time has passed? Is it already over? The thoughts were racing in his mind ,but he could answer none as each one was disturbed by the vertigo he was currently feeling.

He could feel the breathing of the man, whomever it was. Their lung capacity was clearly greater than the average, meaning they were either extremely tall or extremely well trained. The breathing sounded like it went through something, like a mask or a cupped palm in front of the nostrils and lips. Even if it was only for a second, he felt extremely unsettled, but was quickly drowned by the sensation of droplets skidding down his arms. The only thing he was certain was that it wasn't raining.

Then, he felt it. At first, the skin of a fingertip felt delicate, like a comfort in the midst of a chaotic situation. Something human in the midst of hellish abnormalities. Something... normal. But the sensation ended up becoming the pure opposite, as he felt something surging down his entire spine and down to his legs, the lightning produced by the force hurt him incredibly - but it was... familiar. The pain was purely physical, but it was at about an equal footing to the emotional pains he endured during his childhood years. Even though this pain was very brief, it had the same intensity as the events which sparked a deep-seated anxiety within him.

Should he experience more of this, no doubt he would crumble, just in a different way from back then.

His eyes opened wide as his body was rejuvenated anew, the jolt of lightning causing a spasm which allowed his muscles to finally relax. The gaze was settled upon the masked man right away, and his otherwise violetblue gaze was shown to be completely purple, with a slight gleam to it. The man's foresight, his intuition, was answered - something weird was indeed going to happen, and he was the one who triggered it. The left arm of Ryder's lifted itself upwards, slow yet determined, until his index was pointing a mere three inches away from the mask.

That's when the man could feel the Force in a way which he couldn't comprehend it, but at the same time had a slight understanding of the sheer volume. Ryder's subconscious uses of the Force occurred during times of anxiety, anxiety which derived from the pain and horror of seeing things he shouldn't ever have witnessed. This pain that was delivered onto him, a pain of high intensity, caused the subconscious implementation of the Force once more, but in a hostile manner.

He couldn't see the phenomenon which occurred in front of him, but he could feel that it was all of the Force Ryder could possibly muster. But, for a brief moment, he could visualise what Ryder was capable of seeing at the current moment of time, it being his intuition screaming to him once more. It looked like a ripple in space and time itself, barely scraping the finger which he had extended. The crack was reminiscent to seeing flaws in a window, and it covered the majority of the Sith's frame. The crack surrounded a shard, the center of it being focused on the fingertip. The shard was revealing an opening in time;

Where Ryder could simply place his fingers on either side of the mask, and clench, in order to kill him. It was as if the head of the Epicanthix had lost its resilience, akin to butter. It was as if the Force showed him that his resolve to get rid of The Prowler left him susceptible to those who he could consider using as tools for the task, should he be reckless - it was a shatterpoint in his silhouette, a weakness in his strength.

But before that vision could be become true, the hand looked like it was stuck in stasis. It was merely pointing at the mask, and the eyes turned to their normal shade. The imminent danger that existed around them was gone just as quick as it had arrived, as if the calm happens after the storm instead of before. Ryder's body had been too weak to capitalise on the moment the Force had given him, and he would not get to see one again. Not here. Most likely, it won't be the Epicanthix again either.

For now, all that Ryder could do was stare at the Sith with a tinge of distaste in the color of the violetblue iris. One that, after the reveal of the shatterpoint, would certainly be discomforting to look at. One that fit the evil intent of the dark.

---​

​

[member=Dubiety] | [member=The Prowler] | [member=Priscilla Utorna] | [member=Lark]

OOC: Posted this before the respond to the attack since the outcome of Ryder being against the wall will occur regardless of whether he succeeds or not and the exchange is technically no more than a minute long. Won't be counting this as an IC minute for him to heal, especially due to the Force Lightning involved. This doesn't affect the fight itself.

 

[The Prowler]

Whilst the others moved into action so too did the Prowler. Whilst they leaped from roof tops his ritual continued. The dead turned to piles of ashes. Leaving the living half of the town to deal with the flames. But, he was no longer concerned with them, he was now in a wrestling match for his very life. Darth Sion had come. The Lich's body floated in the air amidst the vortex and at the center sat Sion's ever decaying form. The devil's floated towards one another and with hands extended, they met above even the roof tops.

Fingers collided and the Prowler felt torment. Pain. Agony. All of it spreading through his body, his very being, it was borderline maddening. He cried out in a horrific sound that echoed not one but two voices. Then came crashing to the ground. The Lich felt himself begin to decay, his body falling apart all around him. The gunshots wracked his body as his arms cradled his head. Three pierced his decrepit form. He flew to the earth at the Gen'dai's landing and lay dying. But in his time of need Darth Sion would grant him a gift. That of more excruciating suffering. The Darth spoke to the Lich in a horrendous voice

"Embrace the pain or die! Take my power and with it my everlasting legacy,"

His vision began to fade and it was at this moment the Prowler saw hell in all it's glory. Flying beings in their pure essence forms lorded over a thousand lamenting souls who reached to their gods only to be consumed again and again. Here the Prowler split, his ethereal being and his earthly one. His soul turned his back on him and mounted a mantle beneath the spirit that was Darth Sion's, forever to serve him in the afterlife, only to be consumed when the Darth was through with it. He gazed into the maw of death itself and found rapture in it's vice.

He saw his father and the man smiled at him. He saw his wife and she shook her head at him. He saw all the victims of his corruption and they all cried in horror as Darth Sion consumed them with a single extended hand. The Prowler's vision came back to him and through the pain, he found truth. Rage. He held his broken form together through sheer force of will. He stood at a sickening angle, then with the force his body contorted to it's correct form. The bullets sat within his leg, abdomen, and collarbone. He looked to his bleeding shoulder and with a hand he dug deep within his shoulder and withdrew fragments of the metal.

Large exit holes could be seen where the bullets had penetrated through his frame and yet still he stood. The Pain was the source of his power. He relished in it. He savored it like a delightful wine.He worshiped it with a zealots fervor. Looking from his shoulder he could see the Gen'dai begin to move and he raised his left hand and a storm of red lightning shot forth and if it connected it would surely melt the alien to a puddle. Then with his other hand extended he looked towards the Chiss and sought to choke the very life out of her, whilst bringing her towards him at the same time.

[member="Ryder Zeshatt"]
[member="Dubiety"]
[member="Priscilla Utorna"]
[member="Lark"]

 

[Lark]

With no one to stop him, Lark cut through the boats one by one, completely isolating the survivors, in this section of the city at least. He had killed a few men who attempted to stop him, sending the message that no one were to stop him. Soon, the masses of the undead would be attracted to what might have been the largest population of survivors in the city, and the fire too would spread this way. In a few hours time, there might very well be no survivors.

The similarities to Lark's childhood were uncanny, although it seemed as this attack happened more on a whim than anything else. ​He burned his town to the ground as a mere child, starting gang wars across the city that tore his home apart. Thousands of people lost their lives, Lark being the only survivor. As a result no one would ever know who he truly was, save for perhaps his sister and brother, who were likely either dead or unaware of what Lark had done. His real name wasn't Lark, whatever it had been was lost in the flames. He went by Lark more often than not, but in truth he'd die nameless.

What would have happened if I hadn't met the Prowler? Would this madness still be occurring, or would I find myself facing off against these monsters instead? As far as Lark knew it was himself, Prowler, and the dead versus a small handful of admittedly capable resistance fighters.

With the boats destroyed, it was time to assist Prowler. The dead would devour and needed help to do so, but Lark was unsure if his accomplice could hold his own against the forces that sought to stop him. And if Prowler fell, Lark was uncertain what would become of the zombies. Would they continue their rampage, or would they perish, leaving Lark to fend off whoever was left on his own? If that did happen Lark could slip away unseen, even the drugged girl didn't know much about him.

Lark ascended the rooftop where the two figures had been earlier, only to find that they were no longer there. He could easily trace where they likely were, following the howls of the wind and the tempest of red lightning that erupted nearby. He could see silhouettes of several people, the Prowler and two much larger figures stood towards the center of the storm. Another being was farther away, taking aim and unleashing a hail of gunfire at the Prowler.

He would have to assume that from within the storm, Prowler could handle whatever threats he faced. Lark wasn't sure he could risk getting close enough to help, lest he be inadvertently injured. Instead Lark drew his Sith sword, and leapt off the roof, falling towards the bounty hunter, unleashing his own chain of lightning towards her.

[member="The Prowler"] [member="Ryder Zeshatt"] [member="Dubiety"] [member="Priscilla Utorna"]