Cross Effects > Areas
Little Russia
Umbra of Chaos:
Uria
"So shiny," they chirped as they were dragged away by the demon. Going by the little wave they gave the bar's occupants, they seemed unbothered by the whole situation.
YOLF:
Lubei
Nexus Time 3:15 AM
The demon king shifted Uria to hang in the crook of his arm, carrying her on his side like a sack of vegetables. He didn't turn back when he slammed the door, or walked down the same street as before. Lubei just kept going, more erratic every couple of steps away from that annoying encounter. If anyone yelled after them, he'd ignore them. Luckily, as far as the concept could apply to him now, no one did, and he was left quiet with his detained child. The pace slowed momentarily so he could address her.
"There are things you shouldn't bother saying." As his shoulders wobbled, icy marks were left beneath his feet. "They're not worth the fallout, in some times and places."
And until he had some better idea of what inside-out corner of the nine hells he'd walked out of, Lubei wasn't going to risk the fallout of throwing a fit against these believers. Not even if you sold him a chunk of heaven could you convince him. The sooner they were away, the better, and he sped up until the buildings became sparse in the distance and even the road was bare of signs. Again, it was good it was so late. He didn't have to justify himself or worry for appearances, and he didn't owe them anything.
Wait. He hadn't paid for the food and drink.
A string of unformed curses rolled under his tongue, and he gave no second thoughts to his course towards an approaching expanse of water. Lubei's jog turned into a hop past the chain that cordoned off the edge, and touched down with a solid crack.
He continued the dash uninterrupted, a thin bridge stretching over the dark river as ice formed right ahead of the demon's legs.
Kotomine_Rin:
ZEKE
NEXUS TIME 9:00 AM
GM NOTE: THIS IS A NON CANON POST
[/b]
WRITER NOTE: WHAT A BOLD ASSUMPTION
Heavy boots stepped over the snowy fields. A dark, looming figure stood like a tower, casting a shadow over the cold fields of the land he had invaded oh so long ago. Or perhaps it wasn't so long ago, perhaps it was but yesterday. Oh well, while it was a different vessel and form, to him... it just felt like Tuesday. Looking at the people going about their lives, leaving their own little trails of snow... how should he put this...
He cared not one bit. He came here for one reason and one reason only after all. A dark shadow crept up his face as he smiled widely, his wrinkles shifting and folding like a devil's mask. Nothing good could come out of that evil smile. Nothing at all. After all-
"дядя Zeke!"
Despite her little feet, she darted faster than a squirrel. A little girl dashed like a bullet and pounced on the poor old man, knocking the living daylights and breath out of him with a bear hug to end all bear hugs!
"Prushka!" The old man grinned like a total fool and rubbed her fluffy head... or would have if she weren't wearing a military helmet! His niece was seriously cute today! Absolutely adorable!
"О, черт возьми, я так по тебе скучал!" Bottle of vodka in one hand, she proceeded to utterly suplex the massive man, smashing the ground and cracking it all over! The impact sent snow all over, while the rest of the kids marched in straight lines, just out of recess and back to class.
"Hahah! Oh, god, my lumbago!" He snickered and winced. Argh, his vessel was getting too old for this crap. His legs wrapped around her kiddie neck and he flipped her in a monstrous reversal, crushing her face straight into the asphalt. The two quickly rolled back, faced one another with a new fighting stance and...
Performed a super-secret awesome handshake!
"...Дядя, почему ты пахнешь водкой?" Her eyes seemed to almost eat his soul. He shivered and looked away in embarrassment.
"E-eh? Hmmm, great question! I do not know." He stuttered, paused, and shook his head. "Besides, so what if I had a few drinks! You're always hoarding that bottle to yourself! Hmph! A-anyways, you've gotten the paperwork done, right? Prayed to the great and wonderful tzaritza?"
He crossed his arms and pretended to be hurt, but it was clear he was having way too much fun.
"Ха ха ха ха ха! КОНЕЧНО!!"
They both immediately coordinated a super pumped up arm cross and puffed their chest, jumping high in the air.
"Very well! You know what day it is then! Guess what, I've gotten the paperwork done too! Sooooo...."
They both chanted in unison.
"IT'S BRING YOUR NIECE TO WORK DAY!"
"ЭТО ПРЕВЫШАЕТ ВАШУ ШЕЛКУЮ РАБОТУ!"
Continued in the Citadel
YOLF:
Lubei Sang
8:15 AM, Day 3, Nexus Time
Sentinels had told him to stop, and at least on one border someone had raised guns at him, but he refused to acquiesce. No effort had been made by the wounded demon king carrying a mutilated, barely breathing man to slip by unseen if it would divert his course. He was relying on memory addled by pain, and he couldn't risk any other distraction. The streets looked different enough under the pale, long rays of the morning, but where it promised a bright day under few, slothful clouds, Lubei felt little comfort. This was the only place he could turn to.
He left a struggling, ugly trail of kicked up snow up to the door of the establishment from which he had retreated that night with no intention of returning, and banged on the door merely once before shoving him and his burden inside. The demon yelled for the man who had attended the counter, that priest of stout and threatening voice, though the hours were not right for any customer to ask for anything.
Blood gurgled out of Lubei's mouth, and he wiped it away. The wailing of bone crunching back into place echoed up to his inner ears, alongside the burn of meat unswelling to its assigned shape, but in the frenzy to reach help, at least one rib had splintered and driven its jagged length into his lungs.
Impatiently, he leaned for support on a table, carefully hefting the prone Vanguard onto a bench.
SINIB:
--- Quote from: YOLF on April 18, 2020, 08:43:24 PM ---Lubei Sang
8:15 AM, Day 3, Nexus Time
Sentinels had told him to stop, and at least on one border someone had raised guns at him, but he refused to acquiesce. No effort had been made by the wounded demon king carrying a mutilated, barely breathing man to slip by unseen if it would divert his course. He was relying on memory addled by pain, and he couldn't risk any other distraction. The streets looked different enough under the pale, long rays of the morning, but where it promised a bright day under few, slothful clouds, Lubei felt little comfort. This was the only place he could turn to.
He left a struggling, ugly trail of kicked up snow up to the door of the establishment from which he had retreated that night with no intention of returning, and banged on the door merely once before shoving him and his burden inside. The demon yelled for the man who had attended the counter, that priest of stout and threatening voice, though the hours were not right for any customer to ask for anything.
Blood gurgled out of Lubei's mouth, and he wiped it away. The wailing of bone crunching back into place echoed up to his inner ears, alongside the burn of meat unswelling to its assigned shape, but in the frenzy to reach help, at least one rib had splintered and driven its jagged length into his lungs.
Impatiently, he leaned for support on a table, carefully hefting the prone Vanguard onto a bench.
--- End quote ---
The Propriator
"What happened to him?" The older man asked in alarm. "And what do you expect us to be able to do?"
Regardless, he opened his doors to Lubei, even helping him carry the dying man inside. She told them to help a stranger as if they were a friend. Even as the alarm and fear filled his mind, he just kept thinking back to her speeches and her sermons. It filled him with an inner peace which calmed his nerves, one which Lubei could tell was supernatural in origin.
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