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The Dragon Head of the Wrathful Serpent

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The Dragon Head of the Wrathful Serpent Empty The Dragon Head of the Wrathful Serpent

Post by Eightball June 29th 2013, 10:14 pm


The
Dragon Head

of the
Wrathful Serpent

by Eightball and Inkblot


"一朝被蛇咬,十年怕井绳"
"One bitten by a snake for a snap dreads a rope for a decade."
-Chinese proverb

The Dragon Head of the Wrathful Serpent 2headqo

A barrage of lights reflected off of the dark, calm waters of the Huangpu River, unable to be followed by the intricate details of their skyscraper companions. A small ripple interrupted, blurring the already obscured reflection, as a caramel finger dropped a used cigarette into the picture, almost blaspheming the very image of it. Few were out tonight, and the ones who were only were there by routine, talking a routine albeit slow walk among the weathered wooden floorboards. A lone man stood against the railing, ignoring the little cache of trash that had accumulated near him. He inhaled, feeling the hot, humid air coupled with the hints of pollution that he had somehow adjusted to. He looked across the river, past the few ships that passed, some extravagant others very rustic, but to the other side. Puxi, the east side, decades older than the newer, fast-paced side of Pudong. Both heralded opportunity. This was one of the largest cities in the world. Twenty-three million lived in this place, almost a world of its own, of all races. Chinese, immigrants, minorities, expats, they all lived here.

Raphael figured that if he thought of it, his right-hand would, too. This was a gold mine of customers. The law was flexible, and corruption was not already unheard of. Crime ran rampant in the streets. What better than to throw drugs into the fray. The nightlife district was only a river crossing away. Raph had come here for a reason. He knew that if he was to find and kill the men who stole everything away from him, he would look here. Raphael lazily got off the rail and strode down from the wooden platform, and taking the nearest path into the street, and entered the deserted streets lit by a row of old incandescent street lights.

His rythmic footsteps felt the strange indents and raised areas on the stained cement, and the side of Raphael's mouth curved downward in agitation. He continued down towards the intersection, and stopped. He took a look down at his watch, which caused the toiled asphalt to pale in comparison to it's tainted gold look. It was 11:35 PM.

Raphael adjusted his cuffs, unchanged by the new revelation. Moments later, a click was heard behind his head, and he cracked a smile.


"And I was just wondering where you've gone."

"You're late, Raph. Where's the piece?"

Raphael twisted around, a grin still on his face.


"What piece?"

"I'm not in the mood for games, Raphael. Where is it?"

A glint from his watch shot up as his left hand grasped the other man's gun hand, much to his shock. He bent the wrist, and man's scared eyes only intensified the grunt of pain that crawled from his lips.

"My, my, Tomas. You've gone—"

His other hand he placed on the man's face, and a bright light emerged from his eye sockets and mouth. An agonizing scream escaped the tank of a man's mouth, enough to hurt the ears and alert anyone in the area. And then, suddenly, the earsplitting noise had stopped. The man collapsed, steam rising from his scorched face. There was nothing but blackened and burnt flesh from his eyes and mouth, all the way into his brain.

"—soft."


____________________________________________________________________________________________________________


The Dragon Head of the Wrathful Serpent YYqlNPM
—pfffbthfft. Apffffbthft. Apffffbthft. Apffffbt—

This tower, patched unevenly with black ivy, arose like a mutilated finger from among the fists of knuckled masonry and pointed blasphemously at heaven. At night the owls made of it an echoing throat; by day it stood voiceless and cast its long shadow.
Eightball
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The Dragon Head of the Wrathful Serpent Empty Re: The Dragon Head of the Wrathful Serpent

Post by Mr Wonton July 4th 2013, 11:04 am

Shadowy ripples danced across the skin of the river, the moon's silver reflection wavering and folding as a slender boat swiftly and silently tore through the Huangpu, it's two occupants elegantly composed together like shadowy puppets on an expansive stage. A windchime cried its lonesome ballad under the attention of the stars, the glittering orbs settled high above the sleeping neon city of Shanghai. A silent breeze gently urged the oars of the boat across the water, the sleek form cutting through the night kissed waters. Dainty porcelain fingers flitted atop the red warmth of incense and candles that lay in the middle of the little ship, spurring the sickly sweet heat to dance against the black winds of dusk and into the chilled air surrounding the little craft. A single female sat cross legged near the nose of the boat, facing the back of the boat as she lazily watched the elderly oarsman traverse the ancient river.

Daji had finally returned home. After several tedious months of living in the shadow of the Crimson witch back in America the ageless princess of old had escaped back to her real home, the place where her heart truly belonged. She did not farewell her comrades of Shade nor make it publicly known that she was returning to China, the princess wasn't even entirely sure how long she was staying anyway. Daji was once more surrounded the masses of plebeians who remained ignorant to her real status, her real title as princess of China. Her simmering frustration had admittedly died over the years, her sense of purpose waning as the 21st century relentlessly continued scarring her attempts at returning to any form of royalty. She was just another pretty face, another daughter of the great dragon and a figure whose tormented life now only existed in fairy tales.

The petite princess wanted to be harken to her lust for power and the gnawing wrath that tore at the fragments if her soul, but she couldn't. It was as if every passing day gave her less motivation, less inspiration to continue searching for that futile position she once possessed all those centuries ago. Was she still a princess? Of course, but that title was more reliant on her self important arrogance and the manic to ensure that order was granted in her name. She had returned home to do some soul searching, although she wasn't entirely sure she had a soul left to search for.

"Old man, take me to the back of the city", Daji ordered, still playing with the candles underneath her fingertips as she briskly nodded in the direction of the rim of the great city. The kingdom she once knew no longer existed, it was nothing more than a fragmented tourist hotspot, the decaying remnants of what she once knew all but nonexistent except for within museums or galleries. Her past was a zoo for the peasants of today to ogle at. There was an artificial wonder to their obsession with the past, they knew not of the monstrosities that freely roamed the kingdom back then and Daji was probably one of the only beings left alive capable of returning such anguish and fear.

"Are you sure? Gangs run rampant in that area and a woman of your size, well any woman would not survive at this time of night...", the balding sailor croaked with his aged voice, the sincerity too much for Daji to ignore.

"A tiger doesn't fear wolves, no matter how many", the princess rebutted, raising a sleek black eyebrow as the lapping waves gently brushed the little boat forward, closing in on a well worn pier at the edge of the river.

"So be it...", the elderly male whispered, glancing to his left as he pushed the oars a little further into the water, hoping to make the drop off quick. "Just know that the wolves here are foolish creatures, even a tiger may fall prey to their rabid nature.", he uttered, shaking his head ever so slightly as he looked the dainty female up and down. Just who was this woman? She exuded a regal sharpness that cut into his very core and her fierce beauty was almost too supernatural to comprehend. Daji did not say why she was travelling to the outer rim of Shanghai, nor did she initiate conversation with the little boatsman during the length of their trip. It was a truly strange scenario for the elderly man, almost as if this porcelain skinned beauty was a lost ghost finding her way back to the afterlife, desperate to find the life she once had.

He wasn't half wrong either.

Brushing strands of inky black hair from out of her golden gaze the diminutive royal gracefully rose above the flickering lights of the candles and hopped onto the pier once the boat had drifted next to it. Without a word and little more than a brisk nod the woman set forth into the murky darkness of the Chinese underbelly, ignoring the worried gaze of the boatman who sat silent, watching her disappear into the night.

Daji's pace was lightfooted and silent, her petite feet barely touching the ground as she swiftly tip toed behind the masses of buildings and structures that outlined the great city. A beautifully embroidered black and crimson gown hung against her skin, stopping midway down her slender bare thighs like petals made of the finest silk. A sash was tied around her dainty waist and the folds of her outfit plunged down her neckline, giving her supple cleavage some breathing space in the cool night air. Daji cared not how traditionally dressed she was, this was her look and it was certainly a striking one. The soft pitter patter of her sandals barely ushered a sound as they stepped atop the oil stained cement alleyways. She was a princess amongst the grey labyrinth, a silent predator stepping through the murky skeleton of a place she once called home.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Daji / Daji's weapons

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The Dragon Head of the Wrathful Serpent Empty Re: The Dragon Head of the Wrathful Serpent

Post by Eightball July 5th 2013, 11:39 am

The slums of Shanghai weren't like some other cities. Other cities weren't nearly as big, and neither did they have as many people. Ghettos littered the city, literally a walk away from much higher class compounds and living complexes. Pudong heralded luxury, richer foreigners and Westernized influences streaming throughout the growing half of the city, pushing farther and farther from Puxi. Raphael did not look there. Puxi held the majority of the residential living space of common civillians, including the slums.

A jaded taxi sporting a mustard coating rolled up on the reddish streets choked of neon salvation. The wretched odor momentarily wafted out of the opened door as Raphael dropped a crumpled red a hundred quai on the front seat.


" 找零你那走吧。 * " came his broken Chinese. He left the smelly vehicle with a cigarette in hand. Lighting it, he took in a deep breath of the nicotine. The similar indented sidewalk was back, but in place of tall skyscrapers instead lower two-to-three story buildings resided among the area. Many of them were residential, others fledgling businesses among the poor. He approached a nearby restaurant, the Peking Duck, and entered through the decrepit wooden door. The smell of roasted duck drowned out the others. It was deserted, save for the presence of multiple employees cleaning up and two suspicious men standing near a door.

"Am I too late?" Raphael said enthusiastically, holding his hands out before him in surprise. "I was really hoping on getting some famous Peking Duck today." One of the men guarding the door replied with a heavy Chinese accent. "We are closed."

"That's too bad." His feet gracefully took some steps forward, and the Chinese men drew their firearms. "Go home, owner has a meeting."

"Since when did employees have guns?" The guards held up their weapons. And Raphael devilishly smiled.

"Since metahuman destroy New York."

And they open fired, loud bangs reverberating throughout the restaurant. Smoke crawled from holes on Raphael's face, his arms, and his torso, his grin still plastered to his face. Bullets clattered to the floor, expelled from his body like futile attempts to touch a god. The wounds repaired themselves, quickly erasing the traces that they ever existed. Employees drew their weapons, some with uzis.


"You found my secret."

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________


The Dragon Head of the Wrathful Serpent YYqlNPM
—pfffbthfft. Apffffbthft. Apffffbthft. Apffffbt—

This tower, patched unevenly with black ivy, arose like a mutilated finger from among the fists of knuckled masonry and pointed blasphemously at heaven. At night the owls made of it an echoing throat; by day it stood voiceless and cast its long shadow.
Eightball
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The Dragon Head of the Wrathful Serpent Empty Re: The Dragon Head of the Wrathful Serpent

Post by Mr Wonton July 9th 2013, 11:05 am

The night brought a comfortable silence, the distant moan of traffic nothing more than a monotonous hum. A radio crackled from within a darkened bedroom, it's window open to let the crisp breeze in. No one stirred, nor should they. The only beings awake at this hour were deviants and fools, those seeking excitement under the shadowy blanket of night. Daji was more than comfortable prancing across the stained cement and underneath the chipped and worn verandah's that burst out above the street. Dhe was but a flitting shadow, a swift spectre under the pale face of the moon. The soft pitter patter of her feet provided a delicate melody, something to keep her mind occupied as she continued her quiet advance throughout the rim of the city.

"47 Quan road...47 Quan road...", the porcelain skinned warrior repeated under hushed breaths, glancing around vaguely as she turned a corner in the direction of where she assumed her destination lay. It was highly unlikely that the location where the princess was headed had relocated, why relocate when you were so close to the lake, and the hub of Shanghai? Her thoughts of property placement were a silly musing, a laughable internal conversation that kept her momentarily entertained as she continued her brisk descent into a more seedier part of town.

Street lights were either broken or handicapped, the harsh fluorescent lights sputtering with choking breaths of energy. The place smelt of stale water and incense, the lingering scent of car fumes wafting into her senses like an invisible smog. If there was one thing she loathed about humanity it was their love for industry, the mechanised nightmares that tainted the environment and poisoned the air. The stench was highly unpleasant. Daji craved the fresh crisp taste of a winter's breeze, not the second hand exhaust from the traffic of the day. China needed help, it was becoming a dump.

Her frustrated thoughts were only broken when the nearby clattering of gunfire shattered the atmosphere, the resounding echo painfully alerting the dainty royal that the night was a time for miscreants. She did not fear guns. Far from it actually, they were decrepit items though, ugly tools that never touched the intimacy of a blade or the horror of slow burning poison. Guns were another toy mankind needed to get rid of, and if it took the frustrated and overly annoyed attempts of a supernaturally powered princess then so be it.

"Fools..., she muttered, furrowing her brow as she crept alongside a corner, peaking her head around to see what the fuss was. Glinting golden eyes caught sight of a warm light, and the smoke from automatic weapons. A restaurant. Open at this hour? Strange, even by Asian standards. It was definitely a gang enterprise and although she had no part with the squabbling peasants Daji simply could help but watch. Seeing men fight was awfully tragic and exceedingly funny so the idea that she may get a good show lingered in the forefront of her mind. Gazing up at a nearby street light, deceased with no light, the dainty warrior gauged her current position.

Han street, otherwise known as restaurant road by the locals.

Quan road was not far from here, two blocks away and when she silently slinked forward her feline gaze caught sight of another interesting scene. A man, clearly not from around here, was the one to provoke the gunfire. Silly tourists messing around with the silly peasants. The thought gave her a momentary chuckle and before she could set another foot into the shadow of a nearby bakery she heard a shrill click of a trigger.

"A whore roaming these streets? Whose your boss? Mr. Lin or the Feng brothers? Answer me wench! Before I take you right here right now!", cried an insolent voice, a thick accent clinging to his chinese. It was a male, shrouded by the darkness in a murky little alleyway connected to the back of the Peking Duck restaurant. He was young, clearly overconfident and an idiot. An idiot who didn't have long to live. Daji slowly swivelled on the balls of her feet, her jaw clenched as a simmering flash of anger shot through her heart. No one called her whore, ever. It was clear times had changed and now even the feral rungs of humanity thought it fun to provoke powers well out of their control.

"Hmm strange. I don't remember the locals being this rude, or even this ugly", Daji uttered, her crimson lips curling into a predatory snarl as she took a step forward, her piercing golden eyes never leaving the young man's silhouette. "I work for no man so there's my answer. Now it's my turn to take you right here...right now..". There was no warning, no vicious battle cry or scream of rage, her body simply shot through the gap between their bodies, as silent as a shadow. The last he saw was a twisted grin, a cruel grin.

And then he screamed.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Daji / Daji's weapons

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The Dragon Head of the Wrathful Serpent Empty Re: The Dragon Head of the Wrathful Serpent

Post by Eightball July 16th 2013, 2:16 pm

Barks of a dog echoed through the alleys as the smell of death crawled from its depths. A mangled pile of bodies were at rest, smoking holes in their bodies leaking into pools of blood. A guard lay fallen on the ground, a shocked expression on his face as blood streamed from his neck and collected on the floor. He tried to speak but all he could say were slight moaning sounds that broke within his throat like an impaired musical peace. A near mockery of their earlier facade, a cruel irony for their death. The doors were left agape, and walls left to ruin. The dark demon that had come to haunt them had no mercy, a demon unable to be killed, unable to be defeated. Raphael observed the gun he had taken with interest and wiped a couple specks of blood that had graced his face.

An ear-splitting scream shattered his thoughts with mild surprise, and Raphael thought of what it could be. It was a scream worthy of the supernatural, the abnormal. Beastly instincts ignited within him, and he knew that there could be a chance he was being hunted. He sighed with laziness, such violence would mean he would have to pick up his pace. He picked up a magazine from the floor and reloaded his gun with a satisfying click.

He burst through the door as a Chinese man scrambled to cover and his remaining guards lifted their weapons in surprise. Raph sidestepped and grabbed the nearest bodyguard's head whilst shooting the others. He yelled in pain as blood exploded onto the wall from the back of his head, and the others soon fell from Raphael's expert aiming. He touched his ear delicately as if to comfort it from the sounds of gunfire. It wasn't a well-lit room, only one yellowish light-bulb held suspended in the air.


"Shen Qing, right?"

The stout man cowered from behind his upturned desk, shivering in fear. Raphael rolled his eyes as he heard his small whimpers. He played with his gun a little bit, waiting for his reply. He'd expect a gang member to be more self-controlled than this. His eyes told it all. This guy was a pussy.

"Let's get to the point. I don't have all night, so if play your cards right, you might just walk away with your life."

He raised his gun, carefully so that it may be illuminated by the light.

"I know about your dealings with Alejandro."—his voice raised in an aggressive and loud tone—"Where do I find him?!"

The Chinese man immediately sputtered his bad English. "I-I don't know. But I know contact. He at Grand Hotel, Quan road. His name Marcus. Please spare life."

Satisfied, he lowered his gun and walked past the desk to the back door. Opening it, he turned for a second and dropped the gun.
"For those shady characters, out there." He then exited, dissolving back into the night and back on the hunt. Quan road, it wasn't too far away. To the Grand Hotel.


____________________________________________________________________________________________________________


The Dragon Head of the Wrathful Serpent YYqlNPM
—pfffbthfft. Apffffbthft. Apffffbthft. Apffffbt—

This tower, patched unevenly with black ivy, arose like a mutilated finger from among the fists of knuckled masonry and pointed blasphemously at heaven. At night the owls made of it an echoing throat; by day it stood voiceless and cast its long shadow.
Eightball
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The Dragon Head of the Wrathful Serpent Empty Re: The Dragon Head of the Wrathful Serpent

Post by Mr Wonton July 21st 2013, 3:59 am

The bloody gurgles that forced their way out of the young man's windpipes created a macabre symphony of sound, leaking into the air like a bubbling tap. His throat had been torn out, the dripping slab of meat that was his oesophagus now snagged onto Daji's fan. His face was contorted in pain and horror, the last image before his soul departed was that of the particularly pretty woman, her gleaming golden eyes piercing his own as his life gradually slipped away. Daji's porcelain face was speckled with the young man's crimson blood, a fact that somewhat disgusted her considering the fact that he was clearly a smoker. Didn't want any tainted peasant blood getting on her.

Flicking her weapon away from the remains of his tattered pale flesh, the princess allowed his body to slump up against the corner of a drainpipe in the gloomy alleyway. Shaking her ornate weapon of the man's blood was but a chore, an annoying task that reminded her just how low she had shrunk. Killing ignorant gangsters was not something she prided herself in, she demanded the world; not the decrepit pieces of trash that roamed the slums of Shanghai. In all honesty, the kill had not sated her lingering bloodlust, there was no excitement. Just frustration, both at herself and the stupid young man. What was her purpose? Where had the shrill joy of desecrating lives disappeared to? Daji's mind rummaged through such thoughts and by the time she had snapped back to attention she was already a block away from the blood soaked corpse.

"Stupid kids...", the Royal whispered to herself, wiping a silk sleeve against her cheek to rid the last traces of blood off her supple visage.

Her pace had slowed down to a stray pace, her feet still barely making a noise above the whispery rhythm of her quick steps. Stray lanterns from a celebration past still hung high above her head, the eerie hum of a generator flooding her senses with a monotonous chorus. The chatter of gunfire had disappeared into the night, anyone roused by such a thing more than likely returning to sleep. Gangland trifles did not concern the masses, such things were but normal occurrences in these decrepit ghettos. No one was going to worry about a murdured street kid or some shot up restaurant, nor would they question why some dainty female was roaming the streets at this time of night.

Quan road was all it was cracked up to be, twice as large as the other streets and a bit more tidy, if such a thing could be attributed to it. Compared to the dingy alleyways from before, Shanghai's authorities placed more focus on business and industry in the winding road. Neon lights buzzed into the night and a nearby strip joint pulsated with raunchy electro music. This was a whole new China, one she was having to get used to. Building 47 was but a two minute walk down the road, opposite a Buddhist temple and next to the Grand Hotel. It was a early 20th century structure, charred bricks and wounded steel framework adding a rustic flair to the worn building. It was here that the princess had come to visit, or break into rather. Building 47 was one of the chief historical safe keeps and museums in the area and someone of her age found it particularly exciting.

With stealth like a panther and the agility of a chimp Daji bounded up the face of the building with ease, her lithe body barely making a sound as she trawled across the bruised paint. She was slim and flexible enough to slip through an open window, her porcelain skin melting into the interior of the old museum.

"Where could it be...?", she murmured to herself, slinking over security lasers and crawling under a well placed tripwire. This was just the beginning of her little excursion.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Daji / Daji's weapons

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The Dragon Head of the Wrathful Serpent Empty Re: The Dragon Head of the Wrathful Serpent

Post by Eightball July 23rd 2013, 10:33 am

Amaranthine lights cut through the shadows, exposing the predator as he blended among the city. A tower lay in his midst, a great figure of voracious height, irradiating a violaceous hue upon the halycon streets. There he sauntered, walking among mere mortals unbeknownst of their own inferiority, drinking idly in their vulnerable, broken lives. He watched the streets of men and women stricken with age slowly limped through the streets, foolish in habit and deprived of true activity. He took a breath of his cigarette, a nicotine menace that could not influence him. He, a creation of nature and science, mocked the very dangers that tobacco presented, its blackened fingers shredded before touching his perfect health condition. It was this that began to shape him and define him, as a being not human tainted with the stains of plague, but something greater.

A flicker of interest signaled for his attention, and a lascivious glance portended flowing silk and a feminine figure of mercurial skill. Her illumination wavered and his glance arrested, he turned upon the building, gently climbing the granite steps, the personage forgotten. The Grand was a well-crafted building, a silver example to the city's amphistylar creations, of clear metropolitan design. So strange was it that the elements of poor and rich could blend with such proximity, Quan road not but two blocks from a ghetto. A single Asian man stood before him at the door, clad in sable uniform and plastered with a curve of a compulsory smile. He spoke, English that was much more accomplished than any that Raphael had encountered. It came as comfort and relief to his grieved ears.


"Welcome to the Grand Hotel."


He walked through the glass entry now swung ajar onto marble, scanning the lobby in search for his lost prey. A character caught his attention, his complexion dark and ethnicity Latin. It dawned on him, a clear sign. This must be Marcus. Raphael carefully neared the unsuspecting figure, which looked up with surprise. Marcus immediately threw the newspaper that was in his hand towards Raph and fled. Raphael battered it away in agitation and followed suit, the squeak of their shoes against the polished floor attracting attention. He shouted as Marcus breached through the egress, surprising it’s companion, dashing across the street.

The Latino slowed near the doorman, irritated by the chase and too reserved to race afterward. He searched the shadows on either side of the hotel, annoyed that he might delay the inevitable.

“He went that way.” The man said, pointing a pale finger down the street. Raphael turned, seeing a fleeing shadow go towards the run-down museum. He groaned and ambled in his trail, towards the less magnificent building stricken with age. He followed him down into the alleyway separating the two buildings, and watched as he ran down around the corner to another alleyway behind the hotel and the musuem. He took his time, pacing down the walls filled with graffiti that reeked of a terrible stench. The side of Raphael's mouth curved downward in disgust as he smelled old urine staining the damp, dirty floor. Garbage and other trash was littered with it, and he tossed his cigarette to join it.

As he reached the corner, he turned to a cowering form of Marcus, who seemed especially frightened by the sight of Raphael. He lay pressed up against a wall, his arms outstretched and almost desperate. He had reached a dead end.


"You're quite the runner, aren't you? Piece of advice, if you're gonna run, you need to know where you're going."

Raphael held his hand up and moved his fingers enthusiastically.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

Something appeared off about him. Raphael had interrogated his fair share of people, hell, he'd interrogated a Chinese gangster, and he still made people shiver to the bone. But this fear almost seemed forced. Raphael slowly began to take a couple steps closer.

"Where is Alejandro?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Raphael sprung forward and compressed his forehead with his fingers. He abruptly began to squirm as he yelled out in pain.

"Don't play games with me, I know you work for him. Where is he?"

"I don't know an Alejandro, please, just let me go!"

Something about what he said seemed truthful, the way he had said it didn't seem like it was acted like everything else he had did. The vast fear. The run for his life. But this had to be Marcus, for he fit the description. Raphael paused as he heard a slow footsteps behind him, and his grip began to loosen as he heard it get louder and closer. A flash of light emitted from his palm and 'Marcus' collapsed on the ground with a small thud, blood oozing from the back of his head. A slow clap sounded in the alleyway as the person slowly gave him a mocking applause.

"A delightful performance, Raphael, well done."

Raphael sighed. The English was pretty good, after all, but it still had a certain ring to it that made it very unmistakeable as Asian.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________


The Dragon Head of the Wrathful Serpent YYqlNPM
—pfffbthfft. Apffffbthft. Apffffbthft. Apffffbt—

This tower, patched unevenly with black ivy, arose like a mutilated finger from among the fists of knuckled masonry and pointed blasphemously at heaven. At night the owls made of it an echoing throat; by day it stood voiceless and cast its long shadow.
Eightball
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Post by Mr Wonton August 5th 2013, 8:37 am

Streaming flickers of silver moonlight were filtered through the drawn curtains of the grand museum, work with age but granted with an ethereal glow because of the pale light from outside. The embrace of night held the building tightly, almost intimately, like a yearning mother cradling a sickly child against her breast. Everything about the structure whispered a forgotten ballad, creaky tunes from its glory days. Scarred timber flooring, warm with a thick coat of reddened veneer, creaked with the movement of the wind, the scuttling of rodents chattering into the atmosphere like the dance of spirits. Along the beige walls of the museum's skeleton were several prices of memorabilia and miscellany from ages gone past. Moments of grand victory and horrid defeat were plastered on the walls like tattoos, images and artefacts that belonged to another era, an epoch unlike that of the unfortunate modern age.

Daji's movements were silent and graceful, her porcelain body stalking the shadows that creeped across the floorboards like a tiger on a hunt. The princess was a flicker of red and white, a ghost wandering the halls of a past that the masses clung onto. The woman knew all the legends, the great battles of the emperors and the romance of the three kingdoms during the Han dynasty. It was all relevant, but still, they were just obsolete chapters to never see life again. Fate saw to it that the warring factions and the culture of the time be frozen forever, never to break the static moment in history it was tacked on to. In the mind of the princess there was no use mourning over the murder of her world and the power she possessed, everything happened for a reason and maybe Karma had just caught up with her.

Her lightfooted steps brought her past an array of armour from the Lin dynasty and the scrolls of the eunuchs from her own time. The idiots with no balls were still being granted respect even in this age, how stupid. Letting a stream of hot air blow past her crimson lips, the dainty female slinked onwards, aiming for the storerooms located towards the back. That was where her treasure lay, an object that could finally put her mind to rest. "Someone needs to hire a new cleaner..", she whistled to herself, hopping over a rat chewing on a leftover dumpling that some idiot tourist must've left behind. The rodent did not even budge, the content little critter could not have noticed the elegant predator stalking through the museums.

Silence coiled around the woman as she tip toed across the floorboards, her golden eyes darting along the interior just in case there happened to be an obstacle. Who knows, maybe they had security guards? It seemed unlikely considering the time and the sheer laziness of the workers here but there was no harm in staying wary. Such a thing was proven when the muffled voices of a stranger broke her clarity of mind.

The sudden intrusion into her hearing actually forced her to flinch, her body recoiling from the voice on the other side of the dry wall. It was a man's voice, smug and dripping with conviction. The was also another, one which shuddered in the one emotion Daji craved to witness. Fear. Two men trapped in the murky blackness of the alleyway behind the museum, what were they doing there? The princess shouldn't have cared, let alone waste her time listening in on the conversation of two feeble primates and their silly problems. But a strand of her soul reached out to the voice, her mind locking onto the strange twang of English and before she knew it she had quietly hopped over to the edge of the window, her gleaming gaze piercing the glass like a beast cloaked in the dark. She knew the body language, the quick and terrified tossing of words and the collected threats that chilled the air around her.

"Men...", she bitterly mumbled to herself, wrinkling her nose as she continued to observe. What a surprise that brought. In a space of several seconds a third individual had sauntered into the alleyway and the supposed victim had fallen prey to some deadly power. The flash of light instinctively arose a feral growl to rumble deep within her slender neck. More powers, just perfect.

The princess remained as still as an alabaster gargoyle, her petite frame hidden behind the window frame. She was a spectating spectre, curious to see how the two men who square off. A fight perhaps? Or another coldblooded murder? Who knows, Daji simply could not tear her gaze away...at least it distracted her from the looming existential crisis.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Daji / Daji's weapons

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