Post by Deleted on Jun 7, 2021 12:08:15 GMT -5
  CHAPTER I - PRIMORDIUM < > denotes foreign language translation Everything is on fire. The night sky is obscured by billowing black smoke. Gunfire echoes across the charred landscape, only barely drowning out the cries of dying men... barely... for the most fleeting of moments before they resume, howling without harmony against the sound of crackling fire which threatens to consume them as it draws closer. Men of many nations shout across the ruins in different languages... mercenaries clad in camouflage and wearing ski masks or cobbled together rags to obscure their features. As if they have any shame to hide. They search the smoldering wreckage for survivors and every few moments, there's a cry for mercy followed by a crack of gunfire which grants it swiftly. One man lies awkwardly atop splintered wood and stone, warmed by nearby flames. Pinned to the earth by a wooden beam, he stares up at the black smoke which floats ominously where the sky should be. Clad in a red and gold ceremonial yoruba, the man of God clutches the golden crucifix hanging around his neck and prays, spittle flying from his mouth with each labored word, every desperate breath. He closes his eyes tightly, fully aware that the beam lying across his mid-section has shattered ribs and ruptured organs. He can taste the blood on his teeth... feel it lying in wait at the root of his tongue for the perfect moment to spill forth. He fights it. If only to finish his prayer. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Gravel and splintered wood pop beneath the tread of a mercenary's combat boots. The man ceases his prayer and opens his eyes, vision blurred by the heat, the smoke, the tears brought on by the pain... or the realization-- no, his thoughts are interrupted by the vision of the mercenary standing over him. Is the man really that tall... or is it because he's been brought so low by this savage attack? The monster of a man, clad in camouflage pants and a tactical vest, must be seven feet tall or more-- why is he the only one who isn't wearing a mask-- that's not important-- no, it isn't. He makes the decision then and there... he will not give his murderer the satisfaction of knowing his fear, tasting it... he stares back into his cold, dark eyes. He sees the sweat beading up on the man's brow and though he wishes it were from something more, he knows it is only because of the heat. The mercenary raises his automatic weapon. He closes his eyes and begins to pray aloud once again. He waits for the sound of thunder. He prepares with every word forced past teeth stained pink to be thrown into the arms of God... but it never comes. Breathing heavily, he opens his eyes and the mercenary is walking away, plodding back across the ruins with his weapon slung over his shoulder-- and before confusion can fully wash over him, the man's tired and pleading eyes fall upon the figure which has replaced the mercenary. Wrapped in bright purple and gold, the figure looks down at the man with a look of sorrow. CHIBUNDU: I should-- He coughs violently. CHIBUNDU: ...I should have known it was you... Uhaa. Uhaa's yoruba shimmers against the nearby flames, untouched by the smoke or fire. He appears immaculate, without even a hint of sweat on his brow. He takes a step closer and presses his hands together in front of him at waist-level. Uhaa's words carry a hint of sadness... but no remorse. UHAA: Do you t'ink me a monsta'? THEN - NIGERIA There's a rattle of gunfire in the distance.Uhaa can feel the earth's warmth through the sandals strapped to his feet. The charred terrain crunches beneath him with each step as he approaches Chibundu's bound and broken form. Still clutching the crucifix around his neck, Chibundu looks up at Uhaa and struggles with his emotions, fighting against anger and sadness and regret-- no. Never regret. Uhaa tilts his head as he takes in the vision of his former friend and mentor. His left eye twitches as he allows the corner of his mouth to turn upward into a pained smile that could easily be confused for a grimace... and maybe it is. CHIBUNDU: You... you are truly lost. Uhaa looks away from Chibundu and out across the battlefield-- no, not a battlefield... that would require a battle to have taken place. This... this was a massacre. A killing field. A glorified abattoir. UHAA: I h'was lost, yes. With flames dancing in his eyes, Uhaa looks down at Chibundu and smiles... and this one can not be mistaken for anything but. Uhaa beams with pride, separating his hands and holding them out at his sides, presenting himself to the world around him. UHAA: ...and yet, I find my way 'ome. CHIBUNDU: ...'dis... 'dis is not your 'ome, Uhaa. Smoke billows around them as flames draw closer. Uhaa takes the words of Chibundu on the chin, still staring off into the distance... still smiling with amusement. There's a sense of arrogance radiating off of the man clad in purple and gold. UHAA: Why is 'dat, Chibundu? His left eye twitches again. He scoffs. UHAA: ...because you exile me? Ah? Ha ha... His smile falters ever so slightly. UHAA: ...because you ridicule me? A scream. Gun shots. Peace washes over the features of Uhaa. UHAA: ...it is just us now. Chibundu knows exactly what Uhaa means by that remark... and he wishes he didn't. He grips the crucifix so tightly that he feels it cut into the flesh of his palm. Uhaa continues speaking, his voice echoing over the flames and sounds of chaos in the distance. Still, he never offers Chibundu a passing glance. UHAA: ...'dey call me monsta'... He takes a deep breath. UHAA: ...dictayta'... con-artist-- And then he finally allows his gaze to meet Chibundu's. UHAA: ...mad man. There's no more arrogance or humor in Uhaa's voice. Only the sound of a grown man wronged, pleading, genuinely seeking answers... whether he's willing to accept them or not. UHAA: H'why is that, ah? H'why is it mad for a man to love God so much dat he wish to stand next to him in all his glory? Is it mad to h'want to share dat power? Ah? Ah-ah... Uhaa do not t'ink so. Chibundu coughs and that blood which has waited for so long finally breaks free and he can feel it on his lips... and then his chin. He knows it won't be long. UHAA: I do not h'want dis powa' for evil, Chibundu... Uhaa is not evil man... 'dese item I collect... 'dey belong to God, do 'dey not? How do anyone steal treasure 'dat belong to God? Impossible, I say... is not what belong to him, belong to us all? Yeaaaaa', man. It is only to honor Him and bring Him closer to Uhaa... Uhaa raises an open hand and clenches it into a fist. UHAA: ...to harness His powa'... And then opens it, gesturing toward Chibundu. UHAA: ...not for evil, but for good! Chibundu hacks and coughs. He can feel the weight of the blood in his throat, in his stomach. He can feel the heat as the flames draw closer to where he lays. Still, he forces the words out as best he can. CHIBUNDU: You... you will neva' have 'dat powa', Uhaa. Uhaa shuts his eyes and looks down, away from Chibundu. CHIBUNDU: ...in 'dis life... His eyes bulge as he truly struggles to speak. CHIBUNDU: ...or de' nex-grgglllhhh-- Uhaa opens his eyes and watches as Chibundu chokes on his last words and goes limp only seconds before the flames reach the beam pinning him to the earth and spreading across it as though it were soaked with gasoline. Chibundu is gone long before the flames reach his ceremonial robe and engulf him entirely. Uhaa shakes his head and exhales deeply. UHAA: You selfish old fool. Footsteps. The sound of heavy equipment rattling. The seven foot tall mercenary, built like a brick wall, returns to where he previously stood. His uncovered face drips with sweat. He looks down at the burning body of Chibundu with no emotion. Uhaa turns his head slightly to the side, acknowledging the mercenary's presence with a gentle nod. UHAA: Yes, Ego? EGO: She has found it, Uhaa. Uhaa smiles... a warm, fatherly smile. UHAA: Of course. I neva' had any doubt. The flames dance in his eyes. He takes a step back from the row of candles. The room is dark, dimly lit solely by the candles scattered throughout. The walls are decorated with paintings from time gone by, ancient beauties worth untold fortunes. Shadows dance along the walls, beckoned one direction or another at the whim of every flicker and hitch of tiny flame. Uhaa walks around a heavy oak table in the center of the room, allowing his finger tips to trace along the intricately carved edges of it, and stops at the arm of what appears to be a Victorian-era couch, upholstered in red velvet and lined in gold. He rests his heavy hand on the shoulder of the woman seated there. Clad in all-black, draped in a cloak with red interior lining, the woman known as Shiori Shuko reaches up with one gloved hand and removes the black leather mask which covered the lower half of her face. Ruby red lipstick stands out in stark contrast to her porcelain skin... small crosses painted in gold rest beneath each eye. Thump. Thump. Thump. Another figure, dressed in black, stands in the corner of the room... facing the wall and lackadaisically bumping her head against it... hardly stiff enough to do damage, to her or the wall, but definitely loud enough to be noticeable. Her black attire is not to be compared with the black adorning Shiori Shuko... no, Emiko Wormwood's clothing is torn, dirty... not fit for someone of Shiori Shuko's status. Ignoring the nuisance in the corner, Shuko's hand remains on the mask lying on the cushion next to her. Uhaa grips her shoulder tight. SAINT UHAA: The Project of Honor has summoned us. She grips the mask tightly in her gloved hand. SAINT UHAA: The time has come to collect. She speaks calmly, coldly, directly. Speaking in Japanese, arrogance drips off of every word. There's an obvious sense of importance and entitlement... and strength. SHIORI SHUKO: < They will try their best to stop me. > Uhaa nods solemnly, turning his gaze downward toward her. She tilts her head back slightly, staring down her nose. SHIORI SHUKO: < They will send their best. Warriors who have trained for their entire lives for this moment without ever realizing it... and they will fail. As a community, they have fallen away from the Lord's favor. > Her eyes narrow, her upper lip curls slightly. SHIORI SHUKO: < They have been forsaken. > Thump. Thump. Thump. SAINT UHAA: Forsaken, ah? Ha ha... no, no. I do not t'ink so, child. Uhaa releases his grip on Shiori's shoulder and raises a single finger, wagging it back and forth. He smiles a warm smile. SAINT UHAA: I prefer to call dem... chosen. NOW - UHAA PALACE He gestures outward with both hands, preaching to a congregation that is not there. SAINT UHAA: We were brought 'ere for a reason, Shiori Shuko. He holds both hands out in front of him, palms up. SAINT UHAA: De' gold which 'dey carry 'round 'deir waist, it is coveted, yes? Dey bleed 'n dey fight wit' every inch o' deir being, wit' every weapon at hand down to 'deir eye teeth! For 'dese men 'n women, 'dese CHOSEN PEOPLE, 'dis gold represent powa'... 'n strength! 'dat make 'de ring 'deir battleground... 'n 'dat battle ground? Ha ha... become sacred! She stands up, clutching the mask in front of her with both hands. Taking a step away from the couch, Uhaa's eyes follow her every move. Though he smiles, truly believing every word that exits his mouth, his bottom lip quivers ever so slightly for he knows how unpredictable his Collector can be. SAINT UHAA: ...'dey are indeed chosen, Shiori Shuko. He wipes away a bead of sweat which broke free from atop his head and made a break for the tip of his nose. He stares hard at the back of her head. His left eye twitches. He speaks again, more forceful than before. SAINT UHAA: We shall surely reap what 'dey have sown. There's a sound of two stagger-steps and a thud on the hard wood floor. Uhaa turns and sees Emiko on the floor, pushing herself up to all fours. Her face is dirty and dried blood is smeared across her mouth as though she were trying to put on lipstick while driving. She looks up at him, one eyeball completely black like a big marble, the other milky white with a single black dot in the center. She looks up at him, the very picture of innocence if she weren't so disgusting to look at. EMIKO: ...ha... ha... nnnn... Uhaa swiftly closes the distance between himself and Emiko, gripping both of her forearms and helping her to her feet. A strand of drool rolls off her bottom lip. Uhaa removes a purple handkerchief from his ceremonial robe and wipes her lip, ruining the fabric with blood and filth. SAINT UHAA: My poor Emiko. You must be careful, child. She looks at him, blinking, with a vacant look in her eyes. She smiles an empty smile and looks down at one of his hands still gripping her wrist. She leans down casually and attempts to bite him, causing him to shove her away and cringe in horror. SAINT UHAA: You fool! What have Uhaa told you, ah!? No bite! Emiko stumbles away and falls into a seated position against the wall, looking up at Uhaa with that same vacant gaze and empty smile. EMIKO: ...hah... Uhaa looks down at his wrist and sees the indention of teeth marks which did not break the skin. He shakes his hand and looks down at her with disgust. SAINT UHAA: You swine. Ignoring what is happening across the room, Shuko approaches a large window and pulls back the crimson red curtain, revealing the night sky. The swollen moon illuminates the yard below, giving it a haunting appearance. She begins speaking to no one in particular but Uhaa takes heed, listening with great interest. SHIORI SHUKO: < Chosen or forsaken, it does not matter. I have trained hard. I have strengthened my body until it is unbreakable like steel. As such, I have made a vow that is also unbreakable. I will not stop until the sacred gold of Project: Honor belongs to The Celestial Envoy. I will not stop until the women and men of Project: Honor have been purified. > She turns away from the window and allows the curtain to fall back into place. Only a few steps away, a wooden pedestal sits with a large book bound in white leather with gold trim. She stops in front of it, tracing the golden cross on the cover with one gloved finger. Staring down at the book, almost entranced by it, she continues speaking. SHIORI SHUKO: < The only thing more pure than combat is the Father's love. One by one, they will be baptized in blood. They will see their truth laid bare and they will become one with our congregation. They will know your power, Saint Uhaa... by experiencing mine. > Scrape. Thump. Scrape. EMIKO: ...hnnnn. Emiko raises her arm and plants her hand on the wall, a violent slap that leaves murky residue behind as her hand slides down and falls limp to her side. EMIKO: ...huh... nnn... Emiko uses the wall to pull herself back to her feet, groaning and exhaling deeply through her nose. Pink saliva rolls over her lip once again and pools on the floor. She looks down at it and remains still for a moment... before grabbing a lit candle with both hands and trying to force the burning end into her mouth. Uhaa snatches her wrists and struggles with her a moment before getting it away from her. Blowing out the candle and tossing it onto the oak table, he maintains his grip on her and ushers her toward the nearest closet, shoving her inside and sliding the latch into place, trapping her. There's a dull thump and a groan before he's comforted by the sound of her sliding down the door, followed by another thud as she lands in a seated position. Pressing his forehead to the door, he sighs. SAINT UHAA: Rest now, child. With the festivities at a rest, Shuko directs her gaze from the book and back up to Saint Uhaa. With a hint of disinterest in her voice, she questions him further about their calling. SHIORI SHUKO: < Has the first to fall been given a name? > Uhaa slowly turns away from the closet door and picks the candle up from the oak table. He places it back inside its holder and strikes a match plucked from his robe. It burns with newly placed pink fingerprints around it. SAINT UHAA: Of course, Shiori Shuko. He smiles ear to ear, his teeth shimmering in the candlelight. SAINT UHAA: De' warrior known only as Guy, who brings barely a name to de' battlefield. Little is known 'bout him, yes? When de' story of what happen 'ere is written, it will say 'dat our conquest began wit'... whimper, ratha' 'dan bang, ah? SHIORI SHUKO: < They do not appreciate the gift they have been given. We are not respected. > SAINT UHAA: Perhaps not. Perhaps pride will be 'deir downfall. The corner of her mouth twitches, almost forming a smile... but it doesn't. SHIORI SHUKO: < I will show them the error of their ways. > SAINT UHAA: You will, Shiori Shuko. By de' grace o'-- There's a rumble from above. UHAA: --God, you have found it! Shiori Shuko, younger then, dressed in drab brown cargo pants and a black t-shirt, mouse brown hair hidden beneath a brown bucket hat, carries a large horn in both hands. Uhaa places his hands upon it, openly weeping at the beauty of the object. Two holy men in orange robes lie against the cave wall, resting next to a stone pedestal where the horn once remained. Their throats lay open like wide, childish grins spilling fruit punch down their bare chests. Standing over them, his blade now sheathed, one of Ego's captains named Obi. Ego nudges one of them with his boot, confirming the kills. He looks at Obi and then to Uhaa. EGO: It is time to go, Uhaa. THEN - NIGERIA Shiori covers the horn in a black shroud and secures it to her shoulder with a strap. Uhaa's eyes follow the item until he's shaken from his stupor by the mighty grip of Ego. The gargantuan mercenary guides Uhaa toward the cave entrance, proving his size deceptive by how swiftly he moves. Several steps behind them, Shiori Shuko speaks in Japanese, just above the rumble of the cave. SHIORI SHUKO: < This place is cursed! It wishes to keep us here for all time! > Eyes locked on the entrance, what feels like miles ahead, Ego does not look back. He sees the light of nearby flames illuminating the mouth of the cave. EGO: Huh-h'what did she say?! Gripped so tightly by Ego that he's almost unable to breathe, Uhaa forces the words out, foam and spittle flying from his mouth. UHAA: Just go, man! Ah!? Uhaa and Ego escape and fall to their knees outside the cave just as the entrance collapses. The scent of burning wood and burning flesh wafts toward them. Uhaa, gasping for air, surveys what remains of the monastery he once called home and then realization strikes him like a lightning bolt. UHAA: SHUKO! He turns and sees the cave sealed shut with no sign of Shiori Shuko or Obi. He rushes to the cave entrance and begins pulling rocks free, throwing them aside with both hands. Ego grabs him by the shoulder and whips him around, holding him tightly against the rocks and staring him in the eyes. EGO: She is gone, Uhaa. Save your strength. UHAA: Tell your men to dig! EGO: 'dere is no h'way she survive. I have lost men today, too. Our job is done. We go home now. Ego turns to walk away and Uhaa falls to his knees, grabbing two handfuls of earth and gripping them tightly, so tightly that dirt seeps between his finger and falls back to the ground. He speaks through gritted teeth. UHAA: ...coward. Ego stops in his tracks and looks over his shoulder. Though his voice is gentle, it carries over the cracking and popping of nearby fire, and the rumble of the cave behind them. EGO: Because you are grieving, I will let that slide. Pause. EGO: ...'n because ya' money is good. He continues walking away, making it an entire three steps before-- UHAA: COWARD! Ego turns around and clears the distance between them before Uhaa even realizes he's been punched twice. Dropped to all fours with his lips split and nose smeared across his cheek, he falls to his side and raises his fist at Ego. Ego looks down at him, seething, sweat pouring from his face. EGO: All o' dis for some horn... a trinket, man. Uhaa's fist trembles. UHAA: ...'dis about more 'dan any trinket... Uhaa shuts his eyes tightly and tears cut trails through the dirt and blood on his cheeks. Forcing his eyes open, glaring at Ego in such a way that if looks could kill-- UHAA: No money... not one red cent-- EGO: You dare back out on our deal?! I should kill you-- UHAA: --tell your men to dig! EGO: De' girl is dead! De' horn is surely destroyed! Uhaa pounds his fist on the earth, shouting over the chaos. UHAA: 'den bring me her body! Bring me de' pieces o' de' horn! He pushes himself up to all fours and then onto his feet, looking up into the eyes of the mercenary-for-hire. UHAA: ...or you walk away from all o' dis... wit' nothing! Ego looks down at Uhaa, trembling with anger. EGO: My men will dig. 'Dey will find de' girl 'n whateva' is left o' your trinket. I just hope I can keep 'dem from killing you before payment is received. Uhaa averts his gaze, looking down at the earth between them. UHAA: Just dig, you swine. And they did. Taking turns, Ego's mercenaries moved stone after stone, threw hand and shovels full of-- Dirt. Dirt and blood and bone. Flesh. Flesh. Flesh. Flesh. bLoOd. thump. drag. hnnnn. dirt and flesh and blood and bone and bugs and blood and flesh. NOW - THE CLOSET Emiko doesn't like the closet. It's quiet and confined and there's no food and she's so, so hungry. Without even enough room to stretch out her legs, she writhes erratically and her head thumps on the closet door. She can hear murmurs outside but she can't make out the full words. She wouldn't understand them if she could. EMIKO: ...hnnn. She finds her knees beneath her and presses her forehead to the door, grinding it there. She places her hands on the door at either side of her face and claws downward. One of her ragged black fingernails pulls free and falls to the floor. Without hesitation, she snatches it up from the floor and puts it in her mouth, chewing, crunching, tasty. Not enough. Writhing about until she finds herself with her back to the door, her head lolls about her shoulders like it's full of ball bearings, seeing nothing but darkness, the candles outside not producing enough light to shed any beneath the door. scrrrtch. A match ignites, filling the closet with light. Emiko's eyes widen when she sees the Japanese man kneeling in front of her. If she were of sound mind, she would be unnerved by his pale complexion or the fact that it seems like she can see... through him. Dressed in a gray suit, the man appears to be in his forties. He has dark, thinning hair and a beard flecked with gray. He looks polite... kind, even. There is significant bruising around his neck. The match burns without burning down. She has no impulse to attack him. He shouldn't even be here. Is he? OTANI: < My name is Otani. They call you Emiko, yes? I heard the purple man call you that. I am a good listener. > She tilts her head to the side and drool falls from the corner of her mouth. He shows no sign of revulsion, he just holds the match and smiles warmly. OTANI: < You do not have to be afraid of me. We have met before. Do you remember me? > Emiko doesn't answer, simply staring at him with her discolored eyes. OTANI: < No? That is fine. I would like to talk, if that is okay. My family says that I talk too much. I could really use a friend. > EMIKO: ...ha...nnn... OTANI: < Great! > He uses the match to light a candle that wasn't there before. OTANI: < Let's start at the beginning. I will tell you about myself and then you can tell me your story. What fun that will be! > What fun that will be. What fun. |