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Post by WIL CROFT on May 25, 2011 19:47:31 GMT -5
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Wil waited until one of the women who seemed to recognize the boy came over, then talked quietly to her for a moment before he was willing to hand the boy over. Maybe a little attached, that was part of it, but also not entirely ready to trust the civvies until he saw how they were behaving, was relatively confident that none of them were possessed or vampires or what have you. "Gimme a sec," he murmured, more to Raiden than to the townspeople, and he ducked back out to his car.
A few minutes later he came back with the cooler from his backseat. It wasn't a huge cooler, but it was well stocked and more to the point it was all Wil's standards of road food, which meant that it was high-protein, low fat stuff like string cheese, baby carrots, packets of deli turkey and sliced cheese. When you spend your whole life eating in diners and fast food places and you're trying to raise a reasonably healthy human kid you learn to take your nutrition where you can get it.
He was also carrying a shotgun and two boxes of shells that had been marked with Ag in black pen. He looked across the gathered women. "Who can use this?"
One of them came forward, she was younger than a lot of them, barely out of her teens. "I went skeet shooting with my grandfather a few times."
Wil nodded and ran her through the quick safely speech on a standard 12 gauge, made sure she knew how to load it. "You use this to put it down, and while it's down somebody else comes forward with the fire ax and takes the head off. You gotta destroy the spinal column, but don't try and do that with the gun. You aim for the center of the chest, if you go for a head shot you'll miss too often. Use these shells until you run out of 'em before going to any regular shells you got. Okay?"
The girl nodded, looking pale but game, and Wil clapped her on the shoulder before retrieving his bardiche and going back over to join Raiden. Pitching his voice not to be audible to the civvies he said, "These things aint acting right. Zombies and vamps fightin' side by side? Sharin' a nest? What's this town got itself into?"
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Post by raidenkile on May 25, 2011 19:59:39 GMT -5
Raiden put his hands in his pockets, shrugging with a wry almost bitter smile. "I'm fairly sure it's the work of a faerie. Those bloody things don't like to make sense. It fits the profile of some I've...encountered." Full-blooded faeries had always been curious about him. Some had tried to seduce him, tried to convince him to join their ranks and others thought he was worthless because of his half-human blood. They were always different, always a bit off in the head.
"One small dose of glamour and it could organize an army of whatever the hell it wanted. If it is one, I know a way to find the nest." He took one last glance at the women and children (and the small collection of men who had stayed behind) and smiled encouragingly at them. "We'll be back." He rasied his voice, keeping it steady and confident so that they wouldn't be worried.
Raiden nodded toward the door before leading the way and feeling a sort of gladness in his heart when the door shut and then was locked and bolted behind them again. "Give me a minute." He went over to his bike, settling it somewhere safer for the time being and got out a silver dagger from his pack. Since his encounter with the faeries before he had kept one just for his own protection at the very least.
He brought the blade up to his hand, not even thinking about how Wil would react to this whole mess, and sliced at his hand before immediately pushing his flat palm to the ground. The beat of music seemed to come alive for him. Raiden closed his eyes, focusing on the sound and where it was originating before pulling his hand up and wrapping it up in a bandage. It was a faerie and he knew exactly where it was. "Due north about a half hour. There'll be a warehouse." He had felt the cold stone hindering the vibrations, similar to that of a warehouse. If it wasn't a warehouse it was something similar.
The dull throbbing in his hand hurt but he could deal with that later. It was a small cut and wouldn't give him any life-threatening problems. If the numbness traveled up his arm he would get his spare silver dust out.
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Post by WIL CROFT on May 25, 2011 20:24:20 GMT -5
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Wil watched Raiden do his thing, nodding when he said he'd found it. "Yeah, okay." He popped open the back of his SUV again, lifted away the false bottom on the trunk that was supposed to be where the sixth and seventh seats were and which now concealed the most illegal of his weaponry.
Another shotgun, this one a SPAS-15 with aan expanded box mag, and he loaded it up with shells from boxes marked with Fe. Wil was always nervous about working with cold iron, he didn't react to it as badly as a fae would but it made him just a little edgy. But this was the time to man up and use it, and he slung the gun up onto his shoulder and then dug in a case until he found a heavy coarse Katzbalger wtih an iron blade. Cold iron didn't hold an edge terribly well, but the brutal sturdy arming sword didn't really need a sharp edge, just the willingness to stab it into things through brute force.
He slammed the trunk shut and turned back to Raiden, back to holding his polearm. "All right. I'm following you."
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Post by raidenkile on May 25, 2011 20:35:16 GMT -5
Raiden nodded. "Be prepared for anything. There might be more than just zombies and vamps there," And there could just as well be. There was definitely a faerie but what else? It was some horrid mixing of creatures that kept Raiden on-guard and wary. "That faerie might try to play some tricks too, so keep on your toes." He walked over back to his bike and put his stuff away before pulling out his cold iron, keeping his dagger in his pocket despite the way his skin felt an itch like it was trying to scream and stretch away from the iron. Raiden would definitely need all the help he could get though, so he dealt with the discomfort. The thing about the fey-they played dirty.
He made sure he had everything before nodding to Wil and leading the way. The beat of the drums still vibrated on his skin and though it wasn't as fresh as it had been when he was on the ground, it still stuck to his skin like a warm sweat. The nest was in the middle of nowhere. The town ended half way to it and Raiden tensed. Yes, less buildings for the damned creatures to hide in but also less coverage and a more enclosed space for a potential trap or ambush.
Raiden paused as they reached it. It looked abandoned but doing the same ritual to his hand as before with the cold-iron revealed that it was rife with activity. "Are you ready?" He questioned Wil, taking out his pistol and keeping his other hand gripped on his sword.
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Post by WIL CROFT on May 25, 2011 20:47:21 GMT -5
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Wil nodded, he had a moment's regret that he hadn't known ahead what he was going up against so that he could have stocked up on some eyebright, maybe St. John's Wort and iron filings. But there's no point crying over spilt milk and so he just nodded to Raiden and said, "I'm ready. You're leading." This was Raiden's story, Wil was just a supporting character. At least at the moment.
He fell in behind Raiden, the gun over his shoulder but hefting the polearm for the moment. The big axelike bardiche was an archaic weapon, more than one hunter had laughed when they saw it, but he'd never found a better tool for beheading cleanly and without getting hung up in the vertebrae, and he wielded the thing well. With zombies and vamps likely to be the first line of trouble they ran into, Wil wanted his big silly axe close to hand, thanks.
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Post by raidenkile on May 25, 2011 20:55:42 GMT -5
To say that Raiden was nervous was an understatement. All the anxiety and tense moments he thought he had left in the past so that he could get what he wanted were back in full force. The last time he had dealt with a faerie, he had almost died. They were fickle. Some didn't care for humans, some wanted them dead and some just played around for kicks. He had to keep himself moving despite his minds attempt to stop his body and keep him still. Fear wouldn't help him right now. It would just make him a bigger target.
Raiden held up his weapons, ready to strike and shoot as they entered the building. The stench of death met them and at least a dozen rotting corpses fell into view. Flies zipped and zoomed around the dead and Raiden grimaced. He could already identify at least half of the townsmen in that group alone. "We might be too late." He murmured to Wil but then was quiet, listening for any sound of movement. A flash and then they were surrounded and
Raiden let loose with all his firepower and then when he ran out of bullets he quickly put his gun away and worked on decapitating as many of the heads that came into view.
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Post by WIL CROFT on May 25, 2011 22:02:35 GMT -5
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If there'd been more time to talk, Wil might have told Raiden that it was never too late as long as the women and kids were still alive. But there wasn't time to get into it, for either of them, so he just got to the job of killing.
So he started tearing through the undead with that big axe of his, moving with graceless precision that probably looked like a clumsy kid playing Jedis in his back yard, all huge sweeps of motion and hard stops but was in fact tremendously effective because it was tireless and brutally accurate.
There was no pause, no mercy or hesitation, he just killed and killed and killed and when the bodies piled too deep he just advanced a few yards and started over again. This, for Wil, was what hunting was. It was getting up close and personal and taking out the things that normal people shouldn't have to see. He didn't glamorize what he did, didn't see that there was anything pretty or exciting about it. It was grim and dutiful and unflinching and he wouldn't ever let himself fall into the trap of thinking he was special just because he could kill.
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Post by raidenkile on May 25, 2011 22:16:55 GMT -5
Raiden hacked and slashed, until he was just covered in sweat and his hands were already getting sore from the strain on his weapons. He fought like he was in a frenzy, like he was not only killing for others but surviving for his life. He hit the floor with a thud, being consumed by the enemy before getting right back up to kill.
Everything was dead. They had finished up the last of the wave, and Raiden was a bit disoriented. It felt like he killed hundreds of the bastards but it was only the first wave. There had been no other attacks and that worried him. "There's got to be more," Raiden murmured just loud enough for Wil to hear. "The men I talked to spoke about hundreds and hundreds of them consuming the city." There were no other hunters in this area, as far as he could tell, so he wondered where the others were waiting. Another ambush being set up perhaps?
"How are you holding up?" Raiden looked over at Wil, wanting to asses his condition before they went further down into the fray. He sheathed his sword briefly to rub the sweat off his brow.
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Post by WIL CROFT on May 25, 2011 22:33:18 GMT -5
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"I'm fine." He was, unnaturally so. Inhumanly so. Wil wasn't bothering to try to play human with Raiden, not because of their history but because there was too much to do here to keep part of his attention on deception. He needed everything he had for the fight.
Again he used a corpse's clothes to wipe his blade, checked his gun and the iron short sword to make sure they hadn't been damaged. "How about you? Any of 'em get a chunk?" He shook out his arms and wiped his hands dry on his pant legs, then got the bardiche back up onto his shoulder. It didn't do him any good down there on the ground.
He had a sudden fierce desire to text Tish. Tell her he loved her, get back one of her semi-comprehensible textspeak answers. Instead he concentrated on the little boy with the sticky face, clutching the bottle of apple juice. This wasn't pointless, this was worth doing. This could be done.
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Post by raidenkile on May 25, 2011 22:44:12 GMT -5
Raiden laughed, a bit dryly but still a laugh nonetheless. "I'm fine. As long as I don't run into any cold iron I should be good." The iron dagger in his pocket was an annoyance but at least it reminded him to be careful and not to screw up. He clenched and unclenched his fists. "There have to be more..." Raiden felt confused, not sure why they weren't any continued attacks thus far. This group of creatures really was organized strangely.
To tell the truth Raiden was a bit jealous of Wil's abilities. It would be nice to not have such an obvious weakness that could kill him even with a small cut. His hand started to tingle but he ignored it. Not the time yet. He had more time.
Raiden crouched down again to put his hand on the ground. The ground wasn't vibrating with the sound and feel of the faerie drums any longer. There was an eerie silence, the same that followed them to this place. Something wasn't right... "Wil..."
He looked up suddenly but growled out in surprise as the air crackled and tensed. He immediately snarled in the direction of the presence, the faerie who had organized all of this coming into the room with an inhuman grace. She was long and lean and looked like she belonged in the trees with unsurpassing beauty. Raiden tried running at her but was pushed to the side by a gust of wind and the faerie smiled wickedly. "Now, now, don't play rough with mummy, dearest?"
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Post by WIL CROFT on May 25, 2011 23:09:55 GMT -5
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It's possible that this moment was a turning point in Raiden's life. It's possible that the elf's words weren't hyperbole, that she was actually his mother or some other near female relative. It's possible that this was the second, the exact crucial point in time when Raiden would have learned everything he'd needed to know about his heritage and his past, about his bloodline and how to use it and how to survive it whole and sane.
It's possible that this was the turning point of Raiden's entire life.
If it was? Wil totally and completely ruined it. Because even as the faerie woman was using gusts of wind to change reality and filling the world around her with glamor and wonder, Wil was raising up a deeply illegal, viciously modded Italian semiautomatic military combat shotgun and firing three cold iron triple-ought slug shot rounds a second directly at Galadriel's head.
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Post by raidenkile on May 25, 2011 23:20:51 GMT -5
Raiden coughed out blood, managing to dodge out of the way of Wil's bullets just in time. He was still hit but it wasn't a fatal wound. "You can't kill me that easily." The faerie giggled, having used Raiden as a sort of human shield. Granted he was half faerie but the concept was still the same. And this was the same move she had used on him last time.
"You never change, do you, bitch?" Raiden growled out, still sneering. It was as if his faerie instincts at perked up, and he was reacting the same way a wild dog would. This was the enemy. He could smell the stench of betrayal and hate all over her. He tried moving out of the way swiftly, faster than a human but not fast enough to get out of the way completely. Raiden tumbled, trying to rip the cold iron bullets out of his body. They had only grazed his side, one hitting him just shy of a rib but none of his organs were hit. It bit his skin nonetheless and instantly his body was on fire with excruciating pain. He pulled out his knife, so desperate to get the iron off of him that he was willing to butcher himself a bit.
The faerie put a finger to her lips, eyeing Wil and ignoring Raiden's presence completely now. "Hmmm, what are you boy? You don't smell of human. Something else, something deliciously dangerous." She laughed, dark and deep.
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Post by WIL CROFT on May 25, 2011 23:36:30 GMT -5
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He'd never really been into bantering with the baddies. They never had anything good to say and the chances of learning something that would fuck up your lie was just too high. So he just slung his gun and drew the iron-etched katzbalger and said, "Something way the fuck harder to kill than you are." He started circling around her, working to either get her to turn and track him so that Raiden could take her out or get around behind her so that he could cut her in half. Hopefully this time Raiden would manage to, you know, dodge. He wasn't entirely counting on it, but he was hoping so.
Though honestly? The truth was that if he absolutely had to kill Raiden to take this bitch out, he'd do it. He wouldn't like it, but the other hunter knew what he was getting into when he took the job and when you weighed out the evil that a thing like this could do, was doing to the world around her against the good that any one hunter did, it wasn't any contest. He didn't exclude himself from that equation--how could he?--but he'd do what needed to be done. He always did.
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Post by WIL CROFT on May 26, 2011 0:16:47 GMT -5
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Finally the opening appeared. Raiden drew her attention, got the bitch to focus down on him long enough for Wil to dart forward and strike. He didn't mess around, went straight for a decaptitating swing. One thing that was almost universal (but only almost, worse luck) was that if you take the head off, it dies. Just in case though, he skipped forward as soon as the body fell and took the heart, quick and messy but he felt a lot better once he'd pulled the heart, dropped it to the floor, and then pumped a cold iron round into it to turn it into widely-scattered pulp.
As soon as that was done he was over at Raiden's side, checking on him. "You all right?" He didn't have powdered silver on him, but he could probably figure something out if he carried Raiden out to his car. This was getting to be a tradition. Like an annual holiday of sorts. Raiden Gets Iron-Seared Day. First there's powdered silver and sexual tension, then everyone has cake. Or, if he recalled correctly, a whole lot of mid-grade scotch.
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Post by WIL CROFT on May 26, 2011 0:34:29 GMT -5
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Oh God, Raiden was having his Elf Period again. Wil managed, with a little bit of effort, not to roll his eyes or start flinging barbs about junior high school girls this time, but instead asked, he thought fairly gently, "Are you sure you're up for going off on your own?" He didn't add anything about not wanting to have to go chase Raiden down after he passed out and carry him out to the car because he was, at least in theory, an adult.
Instead he took a moment to clean his blade, resheathed it, and found the polearm again. Just because the guiding force was dead it didn't mean all the zombies and vamps were gone, just that they wouldn't be moving in any organized fashion. Better, but not exactly a walk in the park. Still, if Raiden was really hurt he'd rather the other man went out and waited in the car while he cleared the area. It was safer for both of them, by a lot.
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