To End the Harvest

[Nayt]

The ruins were monochrome. Gray gave way to shades of black, and a dark shading colored every corner of every stone, every inch of the man's face, and the dead earth on which he stood. Specks of gray flooded the blackness in static falls, like rain without moisture, providing only the thickness of stale, slate air, and the weight of a crushing world. Crenelations surrounded him on every side, all within a ruin that had neither entrance nor exit. The only way out was up. The jagged ruins, however, extended far too high for him to reach; only a very select few could climb their way out, and he was not one of them. Truth be told, however, he'd no intentions of it to begin with.

In the center of the jagged, fallen ruins, there was a circle. It was the remains of a fountain, empty now, dried even in the world of the living, and crushed into dust.

With the End, some parts of Purgatory succumbed to a numbing darkness. Gray faded to black, and it caused problems all around. In these lands, not even the color of souls permeated; they were dulled and mixed with shades of black, until theirs were little more than silhouettes in the dark atmosphere, like living shadows gifted with specks of color here and there.

Here, Scott Thompson was barely more than an outline of himself, a literal silhouette in an overcoat and brimmed hat. The features of his face were barely illuminated by the orange glow of a cigarette. He stood with his hands buried deep within the confines of his coat pockets, his hazy gray eyes watching the dust of the old fountain. Scott paced to it with casual lethargy.

"Circe, Myrria," Scott Thompson whispered their names between a drag.

A grin quickly spread across his face. The End made his job harder at first; he had to adapt to new routines and talents, but he had. Now, in its own right, his job was vastly more entertaining--and in the same right, so was life itself. The social structure of the Dirige was all but collapsed, but who needed social structure when you could drag a spirit to one locale, from any place in the world? The looks on their faces was always priceless. They were always in the middle of something, and then . . . poof. There they were. It became like something of a necessary practical joke.

He could've always contacted the Reapers beforehand, and he often did, but he hadn't the time to spare exactly. Scott withdrew his right hand from his pocket. He pointed his index finger at--but not into--the dust, and trailed across the air with expert precision. Dust parted at his beckon, and before long there set an intricate design within the dust. It was impossible to follow, a circle with offshoots and curves and curls, a glyph or a rune or something in-between. Scott stepped several paces to the right and traced a similar image into the dust. Only then did he back away from the lost fountain.

"This is gonna hurt. Brace yourselves, 'kay?" Scott whispered. He stepped back, snapped his fingers, and took a drag of his cigarette as, if only briefly, an azure light filled this dark part of the world . . .

[Paroxysm]

The sound of running water had nearly put her to sleep; her eyes were barely open, the steam and humidity were comforting, and finally, after several days of being covered in blood, mud, and things she didn’t even want to think about, she was nearly to the point of acceptable cleanliness.

It was just great; it told her that life was alright, even after everything had went to hell, and that some things just did not change, like taking a shower. There was nothing out of the ordinary that was going to happen while one showered, no spirit thieves to chase down, or anything like that; she thought, life was good, and she couldn't help but smile to herself.

Feeling adequately cleansed of her previous job’s mess, the water to the shower was turned off, brass knobs attached to a faucet turned until the constant stream of water became an occasional drip, and she made to step out of the bath, grabbing a towel and wrapping it tightly around herself, tucking the loose end of the material underneath the top of the wrap.

“Fuck,” she cursed to herself, instinctively, and fell face forwards; there was no build up to it, she hadn’t even expected it until she felt herself slipping, she was always a quick one about that, but there was little she could do to stop it, regardless.

It was like having the life sucked out of one‘s self, semi-conscious as she already was, it was an even stranger experience, but it was one she’d never forget; it was highly doubtful anybody could forget it, but at least it would allow her to relate a bit more to the souls she often guided; still, it wasn’t yet her time to join them on that pilgrimage, and so her experience was a far less permanent one.

“That wasn’t funny,” a silhouetted figure, detailed only by feminine curves and rust colored eyes, appeared within one of the circles that had been drawn at range by the equally silhouetted man, but the manner in which she stood was of obvious anger, whereas his most likely was not. “If you weren’t already dead,” she growled and crossed her arms against her chest.

“What do you want, Scott?”

[Zach Kaiser]

It didn't matter where she was; it didn't matter what she was there for. Even if the world ended (and some said it had) it still wouldn't matter. Myrria, formerly of the Shahara clan, now ostensibly part of the "clan" called the Dirige, was going to keep her skills sharp. She was a warrior, and even in stretches where there was little to fight she couldn't afford to stop practicing.

The movements where somewhere between battle steps and dance steps...and indeed her culture had not always made a distinction between them. Graceful movement was graceful movement, whether it was used to impress onlookers or to avoid sharp steel.

She felt the lurch in her stomach even before her vision blurred. The old way, with machines of some kind, hardly phased her but she had yet to get used to the new method of transportation which was, somehow, worse. On one foot in mid pivot, she threw her other foot down as quickly as she could to stop her movement.

Her blade stopped just inches from Scott Thompson.

"...Next time, you should warn me," she stated coolly as she sheathed her curved shortswords.

[Nayt]

Scott Thompson didn't flinch, not at the arrival of Circe nor the potentially violent appearance of Myrria. She could have cut his head off, but Scott didn't seem too concerned about it at all. By the time the two women appeared, Scott had already put both hands into his coat pockets. In all honesty, he found it a bit funny. Whenever this happened, whether someone was prepared for it or not, it always ended in near illness and upset. Sometimes, when someone wasn't prepared, they arrived in a sort of embarrassing circumstance--like Circe, who was mostly nude, though such indecencies were guised by the darkness. The three of them were little more than well defined silhouettes, with scant few details of color--eye color and the orange glow of Scott's cigarette, for example--being all that could be seen of them. Were it not the case, Scott would've had a field day picking on Circe.

Since he'd been placed in areas just like this one, Scott's sense of humor had become more and more twisted--though, in its own right, it made sense: in a place so dark, he sought humor in every little thing he could. He'd have lost all grasp on reality long ago if he hadn't such opportunities for a laugh at another person's expense.

"No time for it, girls," Scott replied to their mutual statements, "Bit too important to waste the time talking to you both individually. Sorry for the inconvenience."

His last statement there was wholly sarcastic. Truth be told, he only cared so much for their inconvenience. They were out living their lives and he was here, dead, in this dark part of the world, with little more to do than Reaper work, and the only folk to talk to that actually had the time and willingness to talk to someone who just wasn't there. They could've had a lot worse of an inconvenience . . .

"Hope you ladies didn't have plans, though," he declared, short and to the point, "'Cause we got ourselves a problem in the sand-pit."

[Paroxysm]

“I’m sure you are,” she said with a shrug and instead re-directed her gaze to Myrria, “and nice to meet you,” Circe smiled and bowed her head, just slightly.

“M-hm, sand-pit? Xexoria?”

Great, she thought; that meant there was going to be desert; and desert meant there was going to be sand and she hated sand, it got everywhere and into everything!

“Guessing something big is going on,” she observed with a small, probably unseen gesture toward Myrria, “because I doubt you’d need both of us for something easy, right?”

In fact, even if it was a combat oriented mission, he wouldn’t have needed both of them, not for anything small, at least, and that presented itself pretty readily to the young woman, Circe.

Of course, that was also pointing out the obvious...

[Zach Kaiser]

Myrria frowned slightly at the rather insulting way Scott referred to her home country; at least, that was the only country she could assume he was referring to. Xexoria was the only country she knew of with enough desert to be considered a defining trait. But if she going to be fighting in her home again, she couldn't be too upset. There more than anywhere, she'd have an advantage.

While she wasn't one to question the judgment of a superior (and while she had likely been in the Dirige longer than Scott, she was still expected to obey operators), she couldn't help but point something out.

"You know the risks of sending someone with me, I assume." It was no slight on Circe herself; anyone, no matter how experienced or strong, would be in danger if they fought alongside her and the battle got too intense. She'd feel no guilt if she ended up cutting the girl down--the mission came first--but that didn't mean she didn't want to avoid it if possible.

[Nayt]

"Right on both parts, ladies," Scott replied.

Before he got to briefing them, though, there was something else he needed to do. This was the most important part, actually--and Myrria's reasoning was exactly what brought it up. Scott knew the risk, but Circe did not. Myrria also didn't know Circe well, thus had no basis in mind for her, either. For two people to work together, they needed to know what they were mutually capable of. They needed to know strengths, weaknesses, and what to avoid saying or doing in each other's presence. Scott would've called a pair in for this that were more accustomed to working as a team, but he felt the risk to be worth it. If Reapers never got experience like this--well, they'd be at a loss when it was needed beyond all other things.

This was an important situation, though, so Scott didn't at all call upon any weak entry-level Reapers. These two were some of the most capable. One of them simply needed more experience, but she'd all the potential to be truly dangerous on the field. Scott set his fingers to his lips, took a long drag from his cigarette, and pulled it away to let out a puff of smoke.

"First, lemme introduce you two. You're gonna be partners for this, so best you get to know each other early," Scott began. He held an open hand to Myrria. "This here's Myrria of Shahara. Specialist. One'o Death's first choices when he started organizing what we know as the Dirige. Way she fights, she steals Qi from Purgatory as she gets more and more into the battle; the more Qi she's got, the harder she's hitting and the more hits she's just shruggin' off. Drawback is she'll sometime stop acknowledgin' friend and foe."

Which was a problem Myrria needed to get over somewhat. Ten to fifteen hadn't done the job yet, but these circumstances might inspire her to be more mindful. Scott had very specific reasons for choosing these two.

Scott held an open hand out to Circe, the orange tip of his cigarette pointed to her. "And this here's Circe Brandt; Myrria, you know her parents well. Osamu and Emily Brandt. Long time Reapers. To put it blunt, she's got all the potential as that Tsukimono kid: the spiritual control, the fighting skill, and some of the most destructive potential we got to swing around. To top it off, she's not twelve brands of pansy like Tsukimono; she won't hesitate like he will. Drawback is she's still got a lot more fights ahead of her 'til she's got the same tenure as that kid."

He brought the cigarette back to his lips. "I'm sure you two'll make great partners."

[Paroxysm]

“Yoroshiku onegaishimasu,” she bowed a bit more formally this time, though still not quite so low as to be considered a true greeting, but enough; it was still taking some getting used to, Cizok’s greetings and customs.

Circe couldn’t help but flinch at her parent’s mention, it probably needed to be said, but it still caused a bit of problems when she had just met someone, especially a veteran agent; however, Myirria didn’t look like she’d care too much, in the end.

“I shouldn’t get in your way,” her small smile from before returned and she spoke with warmth; she really did believe that their little team-up wouldn’t be a cause for concern, at least. “The warning’s nice, though.”

In any case, Myrria would eventually find Circe’s dedication to the mission to be just as strong as hers, if not stronger, and that if either of the two agents had to step over the other’s body, then so be it.

“Are you really comparing me to Tsukimono, of all people? I saw him in an arena once, I think; he fights like a girl.”

[Zach Kaiser]

Myrria grimaced at the mention of her weakness. While she'd managed to increase the limit of what it took to put her into that state, she had yet to entirely conquer it. As best as the experts she worked with could discern, drawing on Qi like she did affected her mind as well as her body, essentially putting her into a similar state as she in that fight after she'd died--basically making her like an Voleur d'ame in terms of mentality. Short of not using Qi, she supposed, there was no way to entirely avoid it. But as a specialist, any opponent that could be beaten without Qi wasn't one she'd be facing.

She did give an appreciative nod to the girl's parentage, though, and her greeting; anyone who lived long enough to be considered a veteran in the Dirige deserved respect. An offspring of two veterans no doubt had some potential power. At the very least, she wasn't worried about the girl getting in her way, and gave her all the more reason to want to avoid accidentally cutting her down during the mission.

As far as Tsukimono went, she only knew him by reputation. He'd made quite a few waves in the last few months--many complained, as Circe did, about the boy's lack of will. But he was still alive, and as Thompson implied had survived quite a few missions already--and from what she heard many of them were far from easy. Still, she didn't trust rumors one way or another--she'd withhold her own judgment until she met him, and saw him fight firsthand.

"So, what did you find that's so bad you're sending two of us?" she asked. Even normal Reapers usually worked alone--teams like Circe's parents were exceptions rather than rules. And for a specialist to be working together with someone was virtually unheard of.

[Nayt]

"Heh," Scott smirked at Circe. She didn't much appreciate being compared with Eldridge Tsukimono--and that was just tough luck, really. Most Reapers found him to be a coward with moral extremes that just made him outright annoying to be around sometimes, but being compared to him as far as combat went . . . well, there were many a Reaper out there that'd be outright flattered. "Kid, I'll tell you 'bout Memoria someday. It'll blow your mind."

But that was besides the point. Had Scott the time to tell that story, he would, and he made a mental note that if Circe were to survive this coming mission, that he'd have to sit down with her over coffee and smokes, and tell her a story that'd give her a whole new respect for Eldridge Tsukimono's fighting prowess. Of course, there was a guarantee that she'd be disgusted with him as a human being by the end of it, but there was no escaping how impressive some of his combat victories were during the conflict in question.

Scott got to the point, though. He hadn't the time to dawdle. He took one final drag from his cigarette and tossed it away. Myrria asked her question, and a now much darker Scott nodded.

"You got it," he said to Myrria, "Got a guy in the sand-pit. Stirrin' up all kinds of trouble."

He recalled exactly what he was told and what he, himself, saw from a vague and brief vision into the desert. Truth be told, they were actually quite late on the uptake with this man. With the loss of their utilities before the End arose many an inefficiency.

"Soul eater," Scott remarked, "Got five known victims. Probably more. Currently workin' on a new one. Seems to gain powers with each soul. We don't know a thing 'bout the guy, only that he's real goddamn ambitious with this goal of his. Seems he's after a new soul every day . . ."

[Paroxysm]

“Well that was expected,” she snapped with a shrug, “but are you sure we don’t know a thing about him? Other than having a couple ‘dozen victims, I mean.”

What Circe really wanted to know was what kind of opposition they were facing, just something, anything, that gave them an idea of how strong the enemy was, or how they should prepare for the mission. While taking one soul eater down, even as he gained power, was entirely possible, if that guy had an army, like certain other soul eaters in the world, then things were considerably more complicated, but a mission was a mission…

“Eh, whatever. I guess we’ll probably have to scout it out ourselves,” she acknowledged with a sigh, “do you have anything else for us, or is that it?”

[Zach Kaiser]

A soul eater... The thought made her frown. There were a few different reasons that someone or thing might be designated as a Voleur d'ame, and soul eaters tended to be the worst. In the eyes of the Dirige there was nothing more abhorrent than consuming, absorbing, or doing anything to souls that resulted in their permanent destruction.

"Do we know how he eats souls?" she asked, adding to Circe's inquiry about what all they knew. The especially dangerous thing about soul eaters was that if a Reaper fought one and was defeated, they would most likely be consumed, and thus the enemy would grow even stronger. And Reapers more often than not had much stronger souls than the average person.

It was no wonder they were sending two of them, at least. Scott didn't say anything, but she had little doubt that in the eyes of whomever put the mission together it was worth the risk of she or Circe dying if it meant stopping a soul eater.

[Nayt]

"Heh, you girls gotta let me finish, y'know?" Scott replied.

"Truth is, we don't know everythin' this guy can do," this information would've been out there for Circe's disappointment had Scott not continued: "But we know of some. Obviously, he can assimilate souls of the dead."

Which answered Myrria's concerns. Assimilation and outright devouring were two mostly similar concepts, but worked in completely different ways. First and foremost, devouring could mostly be done with or without the death of the body. Assimilation, on the other hand, literally required the death of the body and the departure of the soul. Devouring souls was much more violent and, in some respects, easier than assimilation. It didn't require the death of the body and could simply happen all at once. The drawback to ingesting a spirit, however, was that the individual rarely ever got much more out of it than a significant boost to his or her current abilities--and mostly the physical ones. Assimilation, though a more difficult process, was exactly that: the individual took upon his or herself the entire lexicon of abilities and strengths of the absorbed.

"Thing is, though, he's assimilated a lot of folk," Scott noted, "We only have a few documented powers. We've seen this guy throwin' water around; a few other elements, too, but he seems best with water; necromancy's another big one; and a friend of mine tells me he documented this guy changin' form. You know, shapeshifting and the like. Unfortunately, he's probably got much more than that goin' for him. Even if you think at some point that you got a trump card to top all trump cards, proceed with caution. If you're not careful, he will kill you and he will absorb your soul. You've got backup waiting if need be, but we all know assimilation just takes a matter of seconds."

[Paroxysm]

Circe would take in the rest of Scott’s explanation in silence, realizing that she had probably gotten ahead of herself, and ahead of the briefing, as well.

“Normally? Yeah, I suppose it does only take a few seconds,” she replied, “but I’m hoping he isn’t quite to that extreme yet, ‘know what I’m saying? It’d be bad if even we’re fully prepared and still can’t resist his pull,” she elaborated.

The young woman nodded to herself, agreeing with herself, even, but she most definitely would be careful; she was in no hurry to throw her life away, after all.

At any rate, it was a little worrisome that their target was already displaying a multitude of abilities, she was pretty adaptable when it came to manipulating Qi, but that was only an advantage when the opponent was more specialized, not to mention any other opposition they might face.

At least she had taken up some strict training after the world ended.

“Well, let’s hope we won’t need that backup, and that we both come back, huh? I‘d hate to imagine what would happen if he managed to absorb one or both of us; the collateral would be absurd, too.”

[Zach Kaiser]

"So long we have our bodies, he won't be able to absorb us," Myrria corrected mildly. Even though she'd died once before, she had her body again--which meant that in order for their opponent to absorb them, he'd need to separate their soul from their body, and the easiest way was to kill them. Which meant she had to be extra conscious of Circe, since accidentally killing the girl in these circumstances would have much graver consequences than usual.

She considered the abilities Scott told them; they might not be all their target had, but they were still worth taking into account. Water manipulation wasn't something she was worried about it, as there was precious little of it in Xexoria. The ability to change form depended entirely on what form he might take; fighting a hulking brute would be easy enough, but if he transformed into something small and fast it would put the two of them at a disadvantage.

But it was the other skill Thompson mentioned that she was really concerned about. "We'll have to watch out for his necromancy, then," Myrria noted. "A lot of bones have been buried in the sands over the years."