Chapter Text
“What would stump the all-knowing progenitor of knowledge?”
A curious tone. Snarky. Beyond it all, there was a hint of passion. Each word, syllable, miniscule change in cellular position of the woman’s lips had been recorded already. Her heel shifted slowly, as she stood upon a ribbon, a ribbon stretching far and wide - in the empty void within the God.
The red glare pulsed, waves cluttering the human sense. An uncertain presence for sure, yet that single blaring light held heavy intent, locked behind the visage of an observer. Ultimately, there was still a veil of universes draped between the woman and the glare - and just as the tension was palpable, the woman felt her breath hitch as the air grew thin.
THEY were about to speak.
In a flash, the red glare erupted into a floodlight of crimson, glitch patterns appearing in the void. Those luminary ribbons of which the woman stood upon evaporated at boiling point, the woman in free fall. Yet there were no sounds, other than the methodical, yet mechanical clicks in the background of the scene. Nigh-imperceptible to the human ear. A hint too off-beat to be a constant of a clock. Just perfect for the woman to register.
Falling. Fall, fall, fall, fall, fall, fall, fall until you shatter your mind in the endless library.
Reading, read, read, read, read, read until your mind splits into simultaneous microcosmic dead cells without a cent of realisation.
Dying, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die until you erode in the memory of this world only to be left to the next as a fluttering leaf atop the tree.
Perhaps then you can witness the truth of this world in its entirety
Perhaps then you can realise these symbolic deaths are nothing
Perhaps then you can realise seeds from the tree are the branches
You’ll become a lasting footnote prior to the war between Gods.
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A gasp. A cry. Furniture clattering to the ground like dominoes. Gusts of peculiar energy disarraying the room. A grandfather clock’s ticking was interrupted as its glass shattered.
A return.
The woman jolted upwards from her sedentary position, eyes darting open to register her surroundings, before her shoulders dropped in serenity. She rubbed her eyelids, as the subtle off-red casting left from THEM slowly fading as she returned to reality. Sighing dejectedly, a unique cynicism from her larynx, the woman smiled - perhaps an uncommon occurrence for her.
Straightening an eccentric fabric tainted with magenta, the woman’s long fingers experimented along the tough fabric, shoulder rotating in slow action. The silence was approachable, yet suffocating, as the only sound resonating in the room would be one of the woman’s bones straightening and cracking with unhealthy clarity.
Lord of silence
The woman’s fingers gripped a bladed instrument. One clearly used and tainted, yet glimmering with all the stars in the night sky just as if it was its first day of being forged. A blade used to dissect, eviscerate, brutalise and put an end to all which sought to expand beyond their reach, who opposed the will of THEIR calculations.
Scalpel.
Fin.
The Reverie’s Bar in Reality. A large hall, narrow in some, wide in others as its walls were wainscotted with varnished boards amongst pristine stone. There were no patrons, especially at this hour. Every guest had either been in slumber or was indulging in the sweet dream. Bar one.
The bartender shook a glass of concocted liquid, colours swirling and converging like a rainbow of possibility. Their skillful shakes and rotations were deliberate yet measured, as they slowly poured the completed product into a shimmering glass, short yet large in diameter. Adorned by a miniscule yet noticeable slice of lime, she carefully slides the drink across the table to the one and only customer at this hour.
“Thanks.” A mutter; rough in origin yet laced with fatigue. Gloved fingers encapsulated the glass, bringing it to their bloated lip, relishing the rush of cool on her flesh. A slow sip. The sweet, tangy yet bitter drink flowed down their tongue. It was an explosion of flavour, crushed into a single mixture - a complicated, imploding sensation.
“This is good.”
“Don’t you say. Perhaps with this drink your troubles shall melt into the sweet dream. A Dream Within a Dream.” the bartender smiled, then tended to the rest of their responsibilities. A towel produced from invisibility wiped the residual liquids atop the table, as the bartender stepped from the counter and patted the generous patron on the shoulder.
“Happy drinking.”
A grunt was produced from the patron in response. Seeing the bartender leave, they were left in isolation. Pure isolation.
Yet, it was rather comforting.
Those gloved fingers caressed their own forehead, tracing the outline of their veins. It was a damn long day, and perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to indulge in some vices. Bringing the crystalline glass to their lips once again, they took a large sip, a loud gulp as the alcohol entered their body. Lightly humming, the patron took their drink, gripped it tightly, and stood up, moving from the bar counter to a table with a rather comfortable sofa. A light dizziness in their step, they put the glass on the table before falling onto the cushions, gasping and panting from a mere few steps. They grabbed the glass and guzzled down another large sip.
The drink was strong . Each sip seemed to make their mind flutter again and again. Perhaps, far too strong for the occasion. Intoxicating. Just enough intoxicating for the patron not to notice the presence behind her.
Yet, ‘notice’ was not the only weapon the Trailblazer held, in all her time.
A weapon - some sort of mix between a knife and a club - was brought down on the furniture, aimed directly for the seemingly oblivious Trailblazer. Yet, just upon connection, the image of Stelle disappeared. The intruder stopped their weapon from connecting, eyeing his surroundings with a slight hesitance. Where did she go ?
“Hey, bastard. I’m in a piss-poor mood right now. Fuck off.”
The intruder bolted its head to face the voice coming from behind him. However, Stelle first got a clear look of her assailant. A humanoid - in some sense, at least. Short, wavy hair protruded from its head, covered by a metallic mask with red light emitting from small openings. Its clothes were ragged, yet had some semblance of formality - the scraps of a dress shirt, the messy buttons of a suit, and ultimately its two hands were far too human.
That didn’t stop Stelle from bringing her trusty baseball bat right down on its skull.
The assailant, with surprising speed for such a precarious situation, swung its ‘knife’ around, catching the baseball bat nigh-perfectly. The two struggled for strength briefly, before the assailant kicked the dizzy Trailblazer in the stomach, sending her flying backwards with uncanny strength.
Stelle groggily stood back up, arms flailing in the air as she was still in a rather drunken state. The assailant rushed back in for another attack, using their more manoeuvrable weapon to attempt to slice Stelle’s skin, presumably drawing blood and accumulating attacks. However, each of his slashes were met by an invisible barrier - which, no matter how toughly he slashed, would not falter. They looked up to see Stelle held a different weapon in her hands - a crystalline lance, thick and carved from stone.
“The Preservation…” it muttered, their voice a cacophony of stutters and buzzes. Almost… robotic. It didn’t take long for Stelle to go on the offensive, though. With one fell swoop, she brought her lance into both hands and slammed it into the ground, releasing a pulse of molten energy that sent the assailant backwards like a ragdoll. The barrier seemingly dissipated.
“Hey. I told you, leave me alone.” Stelle shouted, swapping out her lance for the baseball bat yet again. She dashed with unperceivable swiftness, into the small crater left by the assailant’s impact against the wall. As they tried to claw their way out, Stelle brought her foot and stomped onto their torso. The assailant let out a bloody cough, gasping for air as the Trailblazer’s foot wriggled its way further in. “Now, who are you and what do you want from me?”
Just as the assailant began to cough again, Stelle paused. There was a third presence. And this time, it was far too late to avoid.
A slow rotation of her body.
Throwing her arm out to intercept.
Metal against blood.
Miasmic stench of torn flesh and bone.
A second assailant revealed themselves - adoring the same clothes, essentially, as the first. Its knife-weapon, instead of being held in their hand, was instead lodged deep within Stelle’s left brachialis. A torrent of blood surged forth, splattering crimson all across the floor of the Reverie. Not a good, or fitting, look.
Stelle winced in pain, stopping the urge to cry outright. The blood pooled around the blade, which punctured nearly across the entirety of Stelle’s arm. Yet, this was still the preferred outcome. One millisecond too short of a reaction, and that same blade would be lodged right into Stelle’s back, or worse, her neck.
“Didn’t know I had a second secret admirer.” She smirked, not losing her bravado. The second assailant grunted, and dislodged the blade before launching a roundhouse kick against Stelle, landing on her pelvis. She cried and rolled limp across the floor, the wound spurting blood along her path like a leaking faucet.
Slowly yet surely, she got back up to her feet, clutching her open wound and applying pressure using her jacket. The first assailant pushed itself off of the floor, regaining its sense of action. Stelle exploded forth, seizing the second assailant by the crook of its neck, riding him across the rough floor they had just fought on. The assailant had no time to react, as she drove her finger into the metal mask, sheer strength and adrenaline shattering the alloy to gouge her nail into its eyeball using her thumb.
Stelle gripped its short hair, bringing him up to him, then slamming its head into the floor again. However, in that position, the partially broken metal mask fell through, revealing the otherworldly jaw possessed by the second assailant using it, he drove his canine-like fangs into her wrist, making Stelle release her grip with a yelp.
“Son of a bitch!” She screamed, and taking advantage of the assailant’s position, she kicked him right across the mouth with all her might. She’s pretty sure she heard something crack, drawing some satisfaction from the sound. With one fell swoop, she brought the second assailant up by the head and flinged him around while still clutching his hair like a puppet - all part of her plan.
Because, the first assailant had been sneaking up on her this entire time, and seeked to double down on previous wounds by stabbing her pelvis. His knife, held close, jutted forward to the base of Stelle’s spinal cord.
Unfortunately, it went right into the opened, damaged jaw of his unfortunate friend.
“HAHHAHA! Yeah, rip his face open! Kick that bitch’s face off!” Stelle laughed maniacally, seeing the unexpected success of her plan. There seemed to be a real, visceral reaction from the first assailant, as his knife was still lodged in the face of his partner.
“Aw, what’s the matter? Rip it up, hon!” Stelle laughed, as she threw the mangled body of the second assailant into the hands of the first. The knife, still embedded near the upper lip of the second assailant’s head, fell out, clattering against the floor. A pool of not only blood, but the aqueous humour held in their eye, spilled out.
The first assailant did not seem happy. Its breathing was laboured, as it held the corpse of its partner in their long hands. Probably deciding to retreat, it made a break for the exit to the bar and back to the lobby. Stelle, panting and focusing herself on the position of the assailant, was not able to keep up.
The assailant ran and dashed, nearly making it to the door, with Stelle trailing behind, having to clutch her arm, making her significantly slower. There was almost the look of relief on the assailant’s face, until….
BANG BANG
Two gunshots.
One hit the assailant’s foot just as it took off for another bound, making them tumble in the air and letting go of its partner’s corpse.
Second struck the base of the assailant’s skull, going straight through the neck and seemingly burrowing a straight hole through the head of the assailant. Clean, decisive, and precise.
Meaning, it was really only one gun-wielder who could execute such an attack. And Stelle realised.
“Boothill?”
The Galaxy Ranger let out a metallic, strange laugh. He slid down the railing of the stairs from the upper floor and skipped over to Stelle, putting his steel fingers atop her shoulder. The cowboy still wore that hat with red highlights, as his torso of nigh-indestrucible metal gleamed in the faint light still present in the Reverie.
“Son of a nice lady, you sure made a mess here.” he laughed, as Stelle tried to chuckle along. “Never thought he would take matters into his own hands. I always thought he was a bit of a wuss.”
Stelle brought her eyes to the corpses of the assailants. “Sorry, who?”
“I’ll explain later. A little birdie let me know you were in trouble. It’s time to leave.”