Arcadia: Making Enemies

[Funka Genocide]

A faint whisp of smoke from the hill top, a few errant burst of light. From the town below the melee seemed like a forest fire, no one payed much attention.

Police helicopters had been dispatched from the central Genokan Government building a few miles away, their orders were to maintain a safe distance until ordered otherwise.

Ocisi had the information relayed to him automatically, a brief moment of inhuman insight. His conscious and unconsdious minds had their hands full, at the moment.

The combabtants circled each other warily, no more witty remarks or boasts, just tension, dire consequences for any mistake, death hung from a string between the two of them.

Ocius recovered to a knee, shaking his head as if it the gesture would help. A few feet behind him was a wounded man in a slowly congealing pool of blood, his blade still stuck inside the man like a grotesque christmas candle.

Zinx could see Ocius getting up woozily from his position, he hurried to assess the damage dealt to his newfound companion, he stold as many glances of the two armored men as he could, trying to discern a pattern of weakness in stance, should he ever have to fight either of them.

Pistol drawn, Caleb made his way up the dark metallic steps towards the top of the control tower. Every breath was a conscious decision, every step was planned, he couldn't afford to slip up right now. He was a ghost still breathing. The top came into view.

Fae could feel the heat radiating from Annorals body, the wound was closing but not fast enough, she diverted her efforts from her own wound to assist her winged companion. "I'm not sure this whole thing was a good idea, but I'm happy nonetheless" she smiled warmly, a smile so alien in this place of death that Annoral felt a tear evaporate from his eye. The steam hissed for a brief second, the only indication of his emotion.

"I'm going to end this right now, whatever happens, get out of here alive."

and with that he stood.

A shot rang from behind him, atop the main complex the rifle screamed. In a motion as fluent as any dance choreography, he reached behind him without looking, plucking the speeding pellet from the air. He could taste the acrid flavor of fear coming from the rifleman, he looked at the bullet in his palm.

Though distorted, he could make out three small letters etched into the side of it.

F A E

And there was a flurry of wings, and a heat so fierce fae could smell her own hair burning, and Annoral was airborn.