Crow's Legacy

Deadman Wonderland

Crow's Legacy

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Chatter skittered from wall to wall like an echo, faintly adhering to his ears. They twitched slightly, tensing up before relaxing again. To breathe in a body that wasn't already on its way out felt good - too good. That old hobble of a man may have had a hefty Branch to stand on; may have been the former Director of Wonderland; may have been many things. What he didn't have was durability. Power. Speed.

Insurance.

Now that was behind him. He had this body of a man who once went undefeated and unhindered in the Carnival Corpse, cracking skulls left and right, covering every single millimeter of his Branch as possible. Carnage was and still is a word pertaining to his legacy.

But, ah, the bonus round killed him. He couldn't handle the demon stalking the shadows of Wonderland. It tore him in two, quite literally.

Not to say, y'know, that he didn't leave his mark. It wasn't a clean cut, perfect match on the demon's end; it lost an arm to his Branch. This man, this once-proud officer of the law, pierced the eye of the storm and injured the hurricane, so to speak.

That was then and this is now. There's work to be done now that his previous generation was wiped away by the demon, the Wretched Egg.

"Ahhh," he took in a deep breath as he entered the workout room, cracking his knuckles on each hand and sliding his neck to the sides, "let's see how well you fare, 'Kiyomasa Senji.'" Staring back at him in the large wall-span mirror was his current body of choice: Crow himself.

His skin was pale as ivory, a side effect of "coming back" from the "dead." The hard set eyes of his were glazed over still. Tendons bulged beneath the long-sleeved white jacket that covered his torso, barely concealing the condition the body was left in. Muscles flexed all around as he tensed up, wanting to be one-hundred-and-ten percent sure that this body lacked fragility. Black jeans covered his legs, where the demon had left another mark, hewing the legs from the calves.

Crow placed his hand on his abdomen, fingers tracing along the scar running from the hipbone to his left breast. It stung a little, as though the slightest bit of irritation would cause it to burst open.

"You're the last thing from fragile," he murmured, moving the same hand towards the mirror. "I can't take any chances with you dying on me." Within a second's notice, crimson oozed from the pores of his palm, lengthening into a blade as wide and long as his arm.

It slid through the glass easily, wobbling between the frame and the wall. Huffing, the man flicked his arm to the left. The blade followed, leaving spiderweb cracks in the mirror as it followed the trajectory. Over and over it went, until it hit the end of the glass.

"Heh." he chuckled. This Branch was powerful, no doubt, and fast to boot. It retracted into his palm about as fast as it formed, leaving no trace behind other than the trail of destruction emblazoned in the mirror. "Well goddamn. I made the right choice in picking you."

Light footfalls caught his attention. Another bird was coming; he wondered which one it could be.

A soft gasp touched his ears. Crow turned around, catching sight of the lively boy who once knew him.

"C-Crow-kun." He tilted his head to the side, bemused at the stutter and lad's features. That light blue hair, those bright golden eyes and soft mellow flesh. There was no doubt about it; Mockingbird had arrived.

"Nice to see you too, Mockingbird." And so it began.