The Murder Of Willowstream

Ch.29. The Bloodiest Fight

It was but a moment before the two voices came into view. Stepping down a set of stone stairs, was Micah Wallace. Fatigued and tired, he was leaning the weight of his body across the shoulders of a much bulkier figure wreathed in the matte-black armour they had all come to recognise so well. Still their features were shielded from view by a mask and hood that clouded all from view. Their body was agitated. Being carelessly rough with Micah who did not seem to mind at all. Some strength had returned to his steps and he held a sickeningly triumphant grin upon his face.

The Hunter led Micah over to a table and desk chair, where he upended Micah's weight onto the squeaky chair landing with an "oof".

"Oh come on. What's got you all in a tizzy for? This is what you wanted wasn't it? The big family purpose and all that?" Micah drawled, spinning on the chair to watch the Hunter approach the work table.

"Is it because that whole idea is just a weak excuse to play monster hunters? Or is it because of the magic? Because honestly; it is a lot more efficient than swinging that sword of yours around. Being grumpy about a pointless code of honour will get you nowhere."

The Hunter remained silent as he passed just below where Alaric was perched. Clinging to the wall he could feel his fangs slink into place as he gripped tighter into the stone. The Hunter had picked up the handgun that lay atop the cool surface. Seemingly beginning to inspect it lightly, and it suddenly dawned on Alaric that he had the weapons pair currently tucked into his waistband, causing his chest to sink.

Rhys and Marshal held their breath. Able to peek through the decorative slats in the armoire, which thankfully seemed to hide them from view enough while still enabling them to look out. Marshal didn't think his heart could beat so loudly. It took all his willpower to keep his breathing under control as he watched with fearful eyes, only somewhat comforted by the iron-like grip Rhys had on his hand. They were both clasped together and squeezing as hard as each could, until the knuckles were white, and the fingers red.

"Wait." Micah started, causing the Hunter to pause whatever he was doing, although Micah was very aware that he had not put the gun down. "I get it. It's because of the fish isn't it? That's why you're angry." There was an obvious tension that froze at the Hunter's shoulders. The muscles of their back strained against the armour and cloth of his clothing. Squeezing the leather that wrapped his hands. "Oh that is just precious!" Micah laughed, dramatically clutching at his stomach as he leaned back in the chair with his feet off the floor.

"Shut. Up." The Hunter commanded. His, evidently masculine, voice more of a jaw-clenched growl than eloquent speech.

"Oh cheer up, mate!" Micah replied, relaxing with a mischievous grin "What's the saying? There's plenty more fish in the sea?"

Micah's howls of cackling laughter were cut short as in one rapid movement, the Hunter had thrown down his hood and spun on his heels to face him with white hot anger.

"I loved him!" The tortured face of Mark was revealed. The sky-blue of his eyes burning with fury through the watery surface that caused them to glisten and prickle at the sides.

Before Marshal could stop himself, and before Rhys could clamp a hand over his mouth, Marshal let out an anguished cry; and with all the instinct of a warrior trained to kill at the smallest sign of a threat: Mark flicked the gun towards the armoire letting out a shot that rattled into the vintage wood.

Marshal's head snapped wickedly to the side, painting the back of the armoire and the glittering weapons with a spray of blood, and coating Rhys with its splash. His body immediately went limp, and in shock Rhys clasped onto him as tight as he could. Sending them both tumbling out of the armoire and onto the cobbled stone.