Illian Tales: Doomsday Clock

Marauders I: Lifetime

This was his life. This was his time.

He stood there, at the top of that tall spire. This city always seemed the most alive at nighttime, when the darkness hid away all the dirt and grime that had accumulated over the last few centuries. Instead, there were nothing more than twinkling lights. A few of the grander designed homes within the Violet District had maintained usage of old fashioned torches, but most got with the times, not able to afford to replace such things every single week. He knew from experience the vast majority focused on using unique crystals that collected sunlight during the day and glowed brightly at night. The architecture was definitely oriental, with several roofs brightly patterned and the curved lips at the end, the signature portion of pagodas. Even where he stood, the roofing pattern remained, although much slimmer and far closer to being a ledge than an actual roof.

Those silver eyes of his narrowed slightly as they took in the sight in front of him. This was always the difficult portion of his job. Not the seeing things at night part, but having to determine which activities were harmless and which weren’t. Several men surrounding a single one had tones of going either way, since they were all smiling. Well, most of them were smiling now, given the fact the guy in the center stopped, and started backing away; definitely not harmless.

He sighed, taking a moment to tuck back a few strands of multitonal hair, some giving way to a definitive silver streak. It was definitely time to get to work. Leaning forward, he kept boing until his body maintained an impossible angle, his body and the side of the building forming a slightly misshapened seven. The man pushed off with his knees, and quickly went plummeting downward. Despite the job, this part he loved, the rush of the wind in his ears and streaming along the leather coat he wore. A few times it slid into the metal plating on his torso or flipped just a bit, revealing a flash of violet underneath. Even with his gloves, he felt he could catch part of the wind itself. And even at this descent, he was careful to move just far enough from the building that his boots wouldn’t drag into it as he plummeted.

The man’s course was quite clear, and as he pushed himself to fall a little faster, he saw the man from before now on the ground. The victim bloody, bruised to the point only one eye fully opened. From what he saw, it appeared he may only have sight for only so long. The victim’s eye widened as he definitely saw the man plummeting down from a tall building behind the attackers. At the last moment, though, this distraction disappeared, as the falling man seemed to sharply turn to the left and disappear around another building. The timing was near perfect, as one of the attackers turned his head, as if he felt something.

The gang crowded around the fallen man seemed to close in, one of them raising a metal bar in anticipation of finally ending this little dance, and introducing the victim to a final vision of his life. A sickening, sharp, and loud crack prevented that final vision though; loud enough that the metal bar’s clanging to the ground didn’t even register fully.

The man in leather had fell a grand total of twenty-seven stories, using that to accelerate himself, and put all of that accumulated force behind his elbow. The looping around a building had been used for nothing more than a bit of extra momentum and stealth. It was easy to see why one of the attackers appeared as if his head had been split like a watermelon in the back.

“I guess you boys never learned to play fairly, huh?” He idly cracked his knuckles underneath the gloves.

“Who the fuck are you?” A gruff, graveled voice spoke to him. A large man, owned it, his arms bared and crisscrossed with scars, some brighter and larger than others. His comrades had taken to holding the victim hostage. He, like his comrades, wore clothes that were tattered. Tattered being the nicest word for them, as the various holes seemed to do more than just provide free air flow. Unlike his men, though, he had forgone sleeves entirely, and lacked any decent patches to make up for some of the holes.