Post
by Zan » Tue Feb 13, 2007 6:55 pm
Within moments of his initial assault on Primal, Zan found himself quickly joined by the likes of Jinx, its pet, and Phoe on the tail end. Together they produced a rather impressive show against the boss, one attack flying forward when others retracted and so on and so forth. In its own way it became a sort of dance, a bob and weave of graceful movements that eventually had Primal releasing the captive Rayo. The Heavy Blade felt a shadow of a smile creep up on his face then, satisfaction at a victory over a goal he had set himself upon. Rayo had saved his ass plenty of times before this and, being one to repay debts (though whether or not the Wavemaster saw his deeds as debts didn't necessarily matter), the lycanthrope felt even. Zan was far from enjoying the company of everyone in the Freedom Fighters, but Rayo had made the short list of people that he didn't want to stab. The bonus in it all was that, though Zan had helped force Primal to throw up the fellow Freedom Fighter, there didn't seem to be any immediate consequence. The boss of the field seemed rather preoccupied with its own continuous defeat. That should have tipped the Lycan off. The monsters temporary distraction wasn't contemplation, but concentration. The thorn that soon sunk into Zan's flesh spelled it all out very, very clearly.
Though it was a touch difficult to put into words, Zan felt the chaos of noise and shuffled combat slide away and replace itself with a passionate peace. All the lycanthrope was able to hear was a distant ringing inside of his ear, something that seemed too far off to give much notice. Somewhere in the back of his head, Zan realized he was screaming. Was their really so much pain? The vague awareness of his writhing body on the forest floor told him yes, but it was such a hollow sensation. The Heavy Blade had never before experienced a pain that disembodied him, that made him feel this disconnected, but he was sure as hell glad that it had happened. It was only then that he realized the distant ringing was the wretched tear of his voice through the air as he bucked and spasmed on the ground. Even as the thorn pushed itself from his skin, something Zan registered as a bee stinger plucked from his skin, the peace continued. In his head, he was smiling, grinning like a child, the serenity of the perfect agony a soothing thing. Ironic. As the lycanthrope's vision began to fade around the edges, leaving him tunnel-visioned on the odd sky-ceiling above, he knew that there was no real smile upon his face. The joy of the attack was a way of his mind coping with it all, with the bombardment of his secondary virus and this new poisonous introduction to his metabolism. Smiling or not, his mind wasn't able to keep up the detachment for long, his pain suddenly slamming into him before he blacked out and found a new solitude.
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Though it was darkness that snatched him from his pain, it was a blinding light that he opened his eyes too. Zan, reflexively, wondered if he had died for real, if this was the cliché light that everyone was always telling their loved ones to avoid. Something in his brain told him to stopped being a dumbass and, reluctantly, he did. Choosing observation over wonderment, Zan closed his eyes, the light still mingling behind his lids. As an odd, steady beep began to tickle his eardrums, voices mingling along, the lycanthrope gained some perception of his location. He was lying flat on his back. Blinking his Siberian Husky blues open once again, he looked away from the bright overhead light, eyes coming to settle on the sterilized tile floor he was sprawled on. It was a step up from spazzing out in the forest, he supposed. His vision a touch blurry as he rose to his feet, wobbling a touch, Zan narrowed his eyes at the blobs of color around him, willing his eyes to fight away the fog. When they did just that, the scene before him solidified and painted a rather unsettling picture. The Heavy Blade suddenly wanted to be back with his friends and away from this, away from everything before him.
Three men clad in surgical outfits, one whom Zan recognized as the man who had wheeled Lowen away, stood around an operating table. Lowen was laid across it, a mask over her face and various diodes stuck to her body, monitoring her heart rate and whatever the hell else those damn things did. Her eyes were half-closed, half-open, the gas keeping her in a sort of mental limbo. Pulled up, blocking her view from her neck down, was a blue sheet of a material Zan couldn't identify. It didn't matter, really. What mattered was Marilyn's open flesh, her organs as displayed as the good doctors could get them without killing her in the process. They mumbled amongst themselves, none of it seemed to strike the Heavy Blade's hearing with any real accuracy. At first he thought they were speaking some sort of foreign language, but he knew that wasn't true. For one reason or another his mind was jumbling them up, refusing to hear whatever nonsense they were spouting. Choosing to give her a look over himself, seeing what their days of starvation had cost her, Zan couldn't keep the frown off his face. She looked as sickly and thin as he had when the PVM had first taken him over. Though she was far from skeletal, there was a notable tightened pull of her flesh here and there. Zan didn't care; he just wanted to know if she was okay.
Still frowning, he approached her side and ran his fingers along her cheek, stroking his thumb along the line of her cheekbone. Though the doctors couldn't see him, his link to Lowen sent small static jolts along his fingertips, a ghost of touch. Zan leaned back, eyeing her, almost praying for some sort of recognition. He wanted her to know that he was there, that he wanted to help. Sighing, pressing a kiss to her forehead, he prepared to attempt to will himself back into his body. The moment his lips touched her, however, a small waking groan sounded, her eyes fluttering. He wasn't worried that she'd feel the pain, knowing full well that the surgeons would be expecting her periodic returns to consciousness. Taking a step back, Zan felt that shadow smile find his face, one that grew as her eyes followed his motions. Taking a shot in the dark, the lycanthrope mouthed his love without sound, hoping in her stirring that she'd see it. Though her mouth didn't move, he felt her voice in his head like an angelic octave.
I love you too, Conner. Zan felt his heart skip a beat then, his mind finally forgetting Primal and all that had come before this moment. Which was when, of course, he woke.
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Zan's own stirring to consciousness was a begrudging thing, eyes sliding up like they were pushing against molasses. The inferno of pain that he had expected, something that had even surpassed the affliction Dien's seemingly one-time-only form, didn't greet him. Rather, it was an all-encompassing numbness, his body almost completely void of sensation. The lycanthrope didn't try to move, not then, fearing Primal's wrath should it find him not out of commission. How had this happened? Why wasn't he being eaten? What had happened during his little mind trip? What had---wait a minute. Was someone moving him? Was it Primal? Feeling lighter as he was hefted over someone's shoulder, a someone he came to realize was Phoenix, Zan tried to vocalize his contempt. He didn't need to be carried, damn it. Primal wouldn't have gone after him like this. Why the hell was he being moved? What tard formulated this plan? Zan wouldn't have minded being moved by a friend, or even a likable comrade, but him and Phoe had never gotten along. Or spoken, really. What should have been gratitude was only irritation, something that mounted with the words that came next.
"Zan, don’t leave from here until I give you the word otherwise or my bird will cook you. I’m going to help the others now."
Yea, okay, or not. Zan glanced from the walking Blademaster to his perched bird. Phoenix and a phoenix, clever shit. Only when the lycanthrope focused on one task, one movement at a time, did he find himself able to come to his feet. Each command he gave his body took several moments to be executed, like his brain was having a hard time getting the signals received. Not 'like', that was probably exactly the case. Glancing at the pet, Zan felt a laugh fall from his lips. If Phoenix was really going to be a fuckstick and sick his bird on Zan, on someone who could hardly move let alone defend himself, then so be it. The Heavy Blade would make damn sure to dent in Phoenix’s face later, should that be the case. If the Blademaster wasn't professional and focused on the real tasks ahead, Zan had plenty of ways to make him focus. Shaking his annoyance off, the Lycan flipped the bird to Suzaku, a bird for a bird. What should have been defiant was only partially so, his body too languid and uncooperative to move too far beyond the tree. But he did just the same, for the sheer sake of moving when someone commanded him not to, weakly and awkwardly making his way to a handful of trees closer before collapsing against one. Zan was, for all intents and purposes, his own alpha. No lesser cub was going to threaten him, not while he was conscious enough to do anything about it. The only other person he'd step down to was Nighthand and, as far as his lazy and partially malfunctioning senses told him, he wasn't here. The fellow Heavy Blade was in the belly of the beast, no doubt. An idea forming, he launched in his own Flashmail in the haze of the others.
Flashmail!
To: The Party
From: Zan
Subject: Idea
Since Primal seems to be taking damage equal to the hit points of the people it expels, I'm thinking we should find a way to maneuver Nall into his mouth. Nall, you're the strongest of us and, presumably, have the most HP to kick at this thing. If at all possible, try to angle yourself as its next victim when it throws up Nights.
-Zan
Flashmail! End
Zan could only hope the poison would clear from his system in time for him to help free his leader. His leader? Huh, looks like he did have some loyalties. The voice in the back of his head that whispered that his newest leader was actually Marionette, the person he found himself inadvertently working for, was ignored.
Psh, semantics.
Lv. 50 Heavy Blade
Wishlist
Special: Levels, GR Sendai, PL Sakai, Darklore.
W: Tonosama Sword, Mineuchi, Jundachi.
A: Samurai Helm, Able Hands, Rare Greaves.
I: Holy Sap, Treebane, Cooked Bile, Nightbane.
EX: Elemental Summon (Lv. 2), Overdrive (Lv.1), Elemental Attacks (Lv. 2), Enhance Dark, Elemental Breath (Lv. 2).