Dark Smoke

The crackling of flint against lock resounded in unison before bullets boomed by, hitting more wood and stone than people, but some were struck. Though Soran had knocked over some tables to take cover, a few aristocratic folks that got caught in the gunfire were not as quick to act. One took it tougher than expected, but most that got hit squealed and fell to the floor in pain. However, it seemed nobody had dropped dead, yet.

"What in damnation are those!?" cried Monkey in surprise when the gunshots were fired. Soran had avoided the pellets, but Monkey had taken them head-on. Be it to the assailants' surprise, most had just bounced right off his body, and the few that had stuck dug no deeper than light bruises would; bruises that healed within mere moments. The butlers and maids stood still. Truth be told, they were no butlers or maids at all. Nay, for most of them were highly trained assassins specifically hired to finish the 'job' if it were to fail. Such a failsafe usually works, so long as your target isn't impervious to bullet fire.

Soran took this chance as he darted from cover and into the fray, kicking and punching in a flurry of moves, flying across the hall. Half a dozen of those assassins crashed into the floor or surrounding objects before struggling and failing to stand back up.

"We have to find Arthur!" cried Soran.

"Who!?" asked Monkey.

"Argh. The man who sat beside us! I won't abandon him and let him be eaten by snakes!"

The ones standing had finished reloading their clunky pistols in hurry and proceeded to aim at Soran. He barely had any time to react to their gunshots as he once again fled for cover, but turning around he bumped into one of the fleeing aristocrats who latched onto him as they both stumbled a bit. Soran tried ripping himself off of their grasp but they would not give, and now it was too late. He looked back and reached for his chains to try to reflect the bullets—a desperate attempt. A flash of light—but not from any weapon—and a gust of wind followed Monkey's inconceivably quick movement as he dashed in slicing at the incoming pellets, either breaking them into small shards that flew dangerously close to Soran and the aristocrat or simply bouncing them off in a haphazard direction.

"You're right, Soran, 'snakes'," laughed Monkey. "Go and collect your equipment. Looks like your anticipation was right. I'll handle this."

Soran gave a quick nod of affirmation and an "I'll be back shortly" before ushering the aristocrat next to him to run off before he himself ran off toward the foyer. The assassins that still had their chambers ready opened fire toward the running Soran, but Monkey did not let those bullets reach their mark.

"Your fight's with me. You should be honored," said Monkey before charging at the lot.

As Soran passed through the door back into the foyer, he could hear screams of plea from lesser men being beaten to a pulp behind him, and for some reason, he couldn't help but smile. He tried to forcefully keep it down—the situation should be regarded as dire and serious—but his false frown inevitably lost against his honest smile. But it was strange for Soran, considering he'd now become a wanted man to the degree of being the target for poisons such as the putrescence liquor, and to imagine that both Arthur and Gragas were both likely in insurmountable trouble, it was no laughing matter. And to top it off, he might never be able to return to River Valley lest the Jinho's dispersed! But hearing the howling of battle echo throughout the rooms and feeling the adrenalin rushing through his veins, knowing that this time his future was not one dedicated to money, but to perhaps something greater, Soran felt his heart flutter. His adventure had finally started!

"The storage room, where is the storage room..." muttered Soran on his breath trying to freshen up his memories. He looked around but saw no indication of storage anywhere. He picked a direction and went with it.

Past granite-floored corridors and randomly selected doors he went, searching with keen eyes for any possible place where belongings would be kept. Though, it became apparent that these intricate and luxurious rooms were far too well kept to house any sort of storage, so searching there seemed meaningless. Deciding to check out one last room—just in case he missed something—Soran opened up the finest-looking door so far. Its hinges were wrought silver, and the wooden frame glimmered like the floor beneath him.

Swinging the door open without much care, inside he saw an expansive lounge room decorated with silk chairs and sofas, an open fireplace, and a low glass table surrounded by four individuals. Three of them were standing, and the other one was sitting complacently with a wine glass balanced upon his fingers. He could hear them talking about something; a deed well done: "you've done your part well, quartermaster. When their deaths are confirmed, you shall be rewarded greatly-" Their conversation came to a halt, however, when Soran barged in.

Soran could not quite see who they were at first glance, but soon it became clear. Two of the standing individuals he recognized from outside Ursula Hall: the two gate butlers that greeted them when they first arrived. The third standing one was a maid on the shorter side of short, and she seemed to be quite inconsequential to their meeting. At first, he thought the man in the chair was unrecognizable to him, but as the group's attention turned to Soran, standing there like a stricken deer, he noticed the familiar features that formed the man's face. He thought it impossible. After all, the man was dressed in fine silk, sitting in a silken chair inside a luxurious lounge, so the fact that it was none other than Gragas felt inconceivable. Reality-defying. Soran's mind couldn't even wrap around the concept. He was at a complete loss for words, even thoughts for that matter. His frozen expression morphed suddenly into a furious frown. His gaze darkened to the point where you'd think his eyes burned red.

"When their deaths are confirmed, huh..." murmured Soran as he clenched his fist and strode forward.

"Henchmen, d-, dispose of that man!" shivered Gragas. He dropped his glass, spilling its red content onto the floor.

These butlers might as well have been part of the assassins, for their steeled gazes pointed at it, though, they were not a part of the assassination itself, so perhaps not. Nevertheless, Soran could tell that they were on a different level from the rest. In fact, their eyes shone something fiercer: less assassin, more predator.

One of the butlers tightened his white waiter gloves as he approached Soran. Without a word, he dashed forth, shuffling his feet and shooting punches from varying angles. A martial artist, a rarity to say the least. Soran had now seen more martial artists today alone than he had in the past two years. The butler's style was a common one: window boxing, they called it. It opens with a gust of wind and closes with a slam, and when it remains closed there are no openings for attack.

"What a joke," said Soran, leaping quickly into range, giving the butler no opportunity to back off and therein no choice but to counter-attack. The butler's hands were quick—he threw three punches in the span of a second, all aiming for vital areas—but Soran had already dodged out of the way with a soul-crushing kick to the butler's side, launching him across the lounge room, completely debilitating him; the same technique he used in his battle with Monkey.

"Windows break at the toss of a stone," said Soran as he turned his attention to the other butler. "You're next."

He didn't want to look at Gragas. Not yet. His fury would envelop him. Betrayal is the worst sin, and greed is the catalyst.

"I hope you're not as amateurish as your friend over there," said Soran pointing with his thumb to the other butler who lay collapsed on the ground as he approached.

"I'm no martial artist, sir," pronounced the remaining butler. "I told him 'twas a foolish path, and now you shall witness why." And with that came the sparking of blue and white light emanating from the tip of the butler's fingers, channeling lightning between his two palms.

"Yes! Yes! That will defeat him! He has no power over magic, that fool!" cheered Gragas. Though his voice carried triumph, his quivering lip and sweating brow did not.

Soran cursed under his breath as he dashed for cover, but noticing a small blue dot form above him, he realized that this was not the kind he could hide from. The sound of electric thunder boomed as blue light flickered in the room. Three bolts of lightning snakes erupted from the point and danced erratically toward Soran who with evasive leaps dodged the first and the second, but the third bolt came down too fast for any mortal to avoid. His veins lit up purple as the electricity fluxed into his body and his movement came to a jerking halt before he slammed hard into the parquet floor. He twitched once or twice as the volts exited his body, then he quickly regained his composure to notice the butler channeling another spell. The butler was just about to release arcane from his fingers when Soran who had managed to quickly reach for his bandoliers threw something onto the floor before the surrounding area promptly exploded into dark smoke. The smoke stilled, and so came a fleeting silence.

"You have your ways, martial artist." The butler's muffled and calm voice resonated like ice throughout the smoke, making it seem as if it came from all around. "But what is flesh to fire?"

A line of fire began enveloping the floor as it licked outward in a cone toward where Soran was last seen. The dark smoke turned orange and violent as flaming energy sent it into spirals.

"Face the power of the dragons of old, foolish wielder of the fist!" cried the butler who trusted that victory was all but assured. However, just then, his neck became entangled in dark chain as Soran split the smoke from above. With a twist and a heave as he came down, Soran flung the butler by the neck, sending him crashing into the fireplace. One measly half-squawk managed to sound before the butler's body slammed into the hearth. Though he clearly died of his neck breaking, to Soran at this time, it seemed appropriate to surmise 'death by fire'.

From Gragas' perspective, Soran's frame was half-covered in smoke and licking flames. His gaze was dark, and his smoldering eyes finally met Gragas'.

"G-good Soran sir, please" began Gragas as he pleaded, but Soran was quickly atop him.

"I invited you to my mother's funeral, you traitorous bastard!" roared Soran before plunging his fists into the face of the quartermaster. His fury channeled into his blows, summoning what looked like a storm of hazy crimson petals, and each time those powerful fists came down, something could be heard cracking and sloshing. The sobs of pain were muffled by pure force and rage.

"I respected you! I trusted you! You were valley-folk!" cried Soran to a bloodied and beaten man who could barely respond. "And now you conspire to kill me!?"

A measly "please!" managed to escape through Gragas' broken teeth before being shut up once more.

"You're too late for please now, 'quartermaster'! You throw away your honor! You toss away your pride! You taint our hometown! And for what!?" cried Soran as he kept up his barrage. "FOR WHAT!?"

"Please..." sloshed Gragas in a broken voice.

Soran retreated his onslaught for a moment to catch his breath, before continuing.

"We'll see who kills who, traitor."

Soran's hand like a blade pierced toward Gragas who couldn't even cry out in fear of his death, but Soran's hand was stopped mid-way by a firm grip. He looked back to see Monkey standing there, his eyes bright and golden, but his brow was tightened.

"If you are to kill him, don't do it in anger. His death will curse you, whether you think it justified or not. Come, leave him. We have more important matters to attend to, don't we? Let us go find that Arthur fellow."

"This is not your matter to dictate," said Soran as he snatched back his arm and turned to deliver the killing blow. However, his hand softened as he looked at his prey. There was so much blood that he could just barely see his own crooked reflection. He flew back up on his feet and backed up in dismay.

"I was not to become like this," he muttered as he stepped backward, before bumping into something short and soft behind him. Turning around quickly he saw the maid who held a gun in her hands, but the dismayed Soran could not react in time. The maid moved her hands up, gun in hand, as she took a step back but unduly tripped backward onto her bottom. Though, it didn't seem to foil her plans, for her hands shot upward not to aim her weapon, but rather to surrender, as she declared:

"I am not your enemy! Don't kill me as well!" Her voice shrieked in terror. Fire, blood, and smoke were not hospitable by any stretch of the word.

Even Monkey hadn't noticed the girl up until now. He and Soran both looked at her confused.

"I, I'm with Arthur! I heard that you're searching for him, right?" she said as she clambered back onto her feet. At this point, the smoke had almost been entirely cleared.

Soran looked at Monkey, and Monkey looked at Soran, before Soran looked back at the maid.

"What, who are-" he said before realizing that she had indeed stood among them. "You're with Arthur? Really? I'm not in the mood for any more deceit tonight. Prove it, or else."

The maid frantically looked around as if she was going to find something that could prove her allegiance, but it seemed fruitless. She began stumbling over filler words to buy her time, but she suddenly saw her opportunity when the bloodied Gragas groaned in pain. Soran froze as he heard the groaning. He didn't dare look back again. His dark past existed in that reflection. But before he could fret any longer, the maid pointed her gun at Gragas and fired without hesitation. The crackling of the gunshot boomed throughout the lounge, followed by the smell of gunsmoke, and there the groaning came to a sudden stop.

"See!" she exclaimed with a wide smile on her face.

Monkey and Soran stood there like two seagulls on a fence post. They were silent, for they had no words to convey what they felt at this time. Monkey did not know if he should be impressed or creeped out, and Soran did not know if this girl was mentally well enough to be trusted in the first place. Though, conversely, he felt almost at ease knowing he no longer had anyone to direct his fury at.

"Did she pass the test?" asked Monkey.

"I, I think she did," said Soran, not really wanting to see what else she would do to prove herself. "So then, where is Arthur? Show us the way."

"Actually," she began hesitantly. "I'm not exactly sure where he is."

"What?" said Soran.

"Please don't kill me! Please!" she pleaded.

"Why would I kill you?" sighed Soran, but the maid looked at the now charred corpse in the fire, the bloodied and beaten man, and a collapsed butler off in the corner of the lounge.

"I see her point," said Monkey.

"I'm pretty sure that the gentleman over there is still alive. Pretty sure," said Soran gesturing at the collapsed butler.

"Well, if you're not going to kill me, I'd be very happy to help you find out where they took him! Us workers had been told to jail him were it to be ordered by Sir Hennes, but I was not there when he was taken. I am assuming that he was taken because you wouldn't be here otherwise, right?" said the maid.

"Come with us. I did not even realize he was to be jailed. That's the type of information we need right now," answered Soran, and the maid complied as she let out a sigh of relief.

"Soran, what about that business partner you mentioned? Should we look for him too?" asked Monkey who just remembered the things Soran said about keeping a low profile and such (which he had totally forgotten during his stupor).

Soran with heavy steps pointed backward with his thumb at the bloody mess as he walked toward the exit.

"I see," said Monkey simply, before following along.