Soul Stealer [Backdated 11/6] [Action] [Semi-Open; ask if you wanna tag in]

[youfool]

"Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats."
-H.L. Mencken

Bounty hunting is complex business. Got to know where to look, who to talk to, whose hands to grease, and so on. Having a good memory helps. Yet when he read about Everglade's latest criminal, he couldn't remember if he'd ever heard of a bounty so atrocious. It was a new low. He barely believed it was possible, and yet the newspaper had a strange, almost prophetic correctness about these things. A dark fury overcame him; only in Everglade could something like this happen. He had to put a stop to it. Ted doesn't know what he's going to do to his quarry once he lays hold of him. But he had to find him first.

Ted didn't waste any time. The three-star uniform, the armor and the weapon he dreaded to show anyone, was on in an instant. As he ran through the cobblestone streets, heart pumping with anger and anxiety, all most would see was the black silhouette of a man. Pitch black, darker than deepest midnight. He had no room to be shy about something so ugly; the situation was worse. Much worse.

The one thing that may have eased him was Namur offering to go along. Good. The more the...well, merriment was a million miles away. But anything, any weapon he could bring to bear against this abominable wretch was welcome. But it was a mild comfort, easily washed away as Ted approached his first stop: "The Blushing Book."

A euphemistic name whose amusement wore off once one figured who met in it. It fooled Ted, for a while, thinking it housed professors and dons and other bores. Not quite. It was a true hole in the wall, difficult to hear about, let alone find. But rumors spread all the more easily among a superstitious and fearful populace, and soon enough, Ted learned the way in amidst his travels. To get past the hidden enchantment, walk past a certain streetlamp, run your fingers along the wall, then tap six times against an uneven brick. A regular who's who of dark wizards and other ne'er-do-wells. Even when Ted found out about it, he kept away. He didn't want to see his beloved city's warts when he could help it. He'd be tempted to arson, for one, and they had an eye for who was against them, and none more openly than Ted himself.

The time for polite ignorance was over. He knew how these cabalists kept company. One of them had to know the whereabouts of his prey. He wasn't sure how far he would go to get the information he needed; he hardly cared. He'd have to go past the bouncer, at any rate: a hulking brute as an added layer of defense. The giant of a man was decorated in various charms. He must have been, to deal with arcane patrons like that.

The two stood before each other: the bouncer and the black humanoid. "Beat it,"he growled, well aware that whoever this black man was, he wasn't on the guest list.

If it's a beating he wanted...

Comments

[om_nom_namur]

If it's a beating he wanted, Namur would provide. He slid out of the darkness himself and wasted no time in grabbing the man's arm, pulling him into an already flying uppercut. The bouncer's head snapped back as his jaw broke, and he grunted in pain. Namur let go of his arm, using the rebound of energy from the strike to twist and grab the man by the throat.

"Gonna let us in, an' y' ain't gonna bitch 'bout it, aye?" his voice was quiet, with a compulsory edge. He smiled broadly. "Wanna breathe ever 'gain, y'll be quick as a silverfish t' boot."

[youfool]

Always a bigger man, or fishman, in this case. The bouncer was hard-bitten, clearly weathered to all kinds of fear, bodily most of all. He kept silent, but he wasn't in a position to deny them entry either. A man of few words; grunts, mostly.

Ted, strangely, was quieter still. There were so many things he would have said, if only for chattiness. Objections to violence, maybe, or just talking about how to proceed. In another mood, he might have been disquieted about Namur's seemingly upbeat attitude. Did he hate this whole thing as much as he did, or just reveling in violence? He'd at least have thanked him for taking care of trouble.

But all those thoughts and feelings and words remained purely hypothetical. He was too single-minded to pay much mind to anything but the task at hand. He didn't even have courtesy enough to open the door, instead electing to put one palm on its handle, then tore it off its hinges, casting it aside.

The revelry of the now-exposed bar died down after that. Some of the jumpier patrons whipped out their wands and fetishes and whatever other mystic instruments they had, and let loose with a volley of curses and stunning spells. In response, Ted produced his hexproof cloak. Very handy for this kind of thing. Meanwhile, thread-like tendrils off his suit crept along the ground, inching deeper into the chaos.

[om_nom_namur]

Namur sighed. It's really such a waste when people don't do as they're told. Now, he had to crush this bastard's trachea, since he'd made Ted do all the work. Pity.

A little pinch later, the deed was done. Namur left the man gasping on the sidewalk, flopping like a fish on dry land. At least he'd turn a decent shade of purple before the end. He stepped up behind Ted just in time for a roomful of hexes to come flying at them, and dropped into a crouch behind the hexproof cloak, because shit. If Ted was using it as a shield, he could too.

"Assume y' know who yer lookin' for here, aye?" he asked softly. "These people don't seem to be very in the process a rippin' pups' souls out an' usin' 'em for... whatever. Bit itchy on the trigger fingers, sure, but y' did rip their shitty door down. 'S kinda rude, y' know?"

[youfool]

You know what they say about assuming. Ted had, per usual, gone off half-cocked, proceeding with only associations to guide him. This, he knew, was where were dark occultists gathered. Having stuck together for, presumably mutual dependence and mutual depravity, they'd know their fellow. And if not...well, there are worse ways to waste time than putting the fear of God into their type. Or at the very least, the fear of him.

Ted would answer, were he not busy concentrating. Moving the multitudinous threads to bind each and every one of their attackers was taxing on his mind, especially while weathering an arcane storm. The black strings crawled and found their way to the spell-slingers. They were so focused on their dark visitor that only the most astute were calm enough to notice the creeping threads. But by then, it was too late. They tightened, snapped, and gagged, arresting the wrists and curse-spewing mouths of his enemies. Now that the work was complete, he could stand up and come out from under the covers. He made a curt reply. "If anyone knows, they will. Try not to kill any." Not that he particularly cared for their lives, but even dry and bloodless principle still held for him, if faintly. He got into the center of his captive audience, the mood of the bar going deathly silent but for the crackling of the fireplace.

"You diabolists have much to answer for. Tell me where to find this Soul Stealer, and the door will be the only thing I break."

[om_nom_namur]

Namur silently facepalmed. Ted should have let Namur talk his way in, make a few friends...

But that could have taken hours and hell knew if that bastard was ripping some poor pup's soul out even as they searched. Shit.

Namur rubbed his face with his palm as Ted stood and stalked to the center of the room. He smelled confusion first and foremost under the sudden stench of fear, but not so much a what are you talking about kind but a which specific soul stealer in this instance, be more precise, please variety. Ted just as well be walking around Fishman Island asking to talk to the one that looks like a shark.

Well. Best not get in the way, then. Namur stood, and leaned himself against the door frame, arms folded across his chest. He put on a face of bemused indifference toward the bunch, casting his head from side to side as he took in the tastes in the air and the scents of everyone. When he caught someone nearby who was not transfixed on Ted, but on him, he shrugged in resignation.

"Some asshole took his baby," he said softly, by way of explanation. A bald lie, but maybe it'd help if the denizens knew they were looking for one dealing in children's souls. "Dude's like, beyond pissed." As if it needed saying.

[youfool]

They murmured. "Does he mean...?" "yeah, that guy" "should we tell?" "I don't think he made it" "what should we..."

Ted shouted through it, one thread whipping around and busting a hole in the wall. "Talk!"

Whether for his outburst, Namur's lie, or some slight decency they shared that felt a line even they wouldn't cross, one middle-aged man spoke up, trembling. He was trying to be brave.

"You can't just...barge in here! You can't prove anything. You think we'll just give up one of our own because you're a thug? The Guardian won't be happy when-"

Looks like he had a volunteer. Later on, Ted would sadly reflect that, of these miserable wretches, this man was probably the most decent among them. And he was the one Ted would leap on like a wild animal, breathing menace and fury.

"You think the Guardian will protect you? Like he protected those children? He has expressed *one* fear: Me. Purely for what I *might* do." He bore down on him with, emphasizing his imminent threat with is weight and voice. "See if I don't follow through! Give me an excuse to realize that nightmare!"

He gulped. Ted felt his captive's Adam's apple move with delicate fear. He panted, mortal terror gripping his heart. "All right, I'll talk." More murmurs crept through the crowd.

"i-i-it's...Digby you want. Digby's your man." A name. A lead. Finally. Ted loosened his grip, encouraging a looser tongue.

"Digby...isn't like us. He was aloof and...unsound. He didn't say much, and none of us got very close to him. He took on an apprentice, once, and we never saw them again. Last we heard, he was working on some kind of spell. He said that it would let him finally work in peace and solitude. Heh ,to be honest we're all a little glad he's gone-"

There wasn't time for biography. Ted cut to the quick. "Where is he?"

"He's past the river! At least, that's what he said. Said he was moving beyond the bridge. Please, that's all I know!" Ted let go, and stood up, looming over the splayed snitch. Then, he jerked his arm straight and made the man flinch, as though he were issuing some unseen spirit, or casting a spell of his own. If one looked closely, they'd see a strange blur of darkness pass between Ted's shadow and the man's.

"I put my shadow to you. If you are telling the truth, you have helped save the lives of innocent children." Ted spoke with a grave gratitude.

"But if you are lying, or wasting my time...you'll wish you'd never been born." In a flash, every thread retreated and collapsed back into his form. They were free; the Blushing's Book's nightmare, for now, was over. Some wave of relief washed over the patrons; yet a fear still lingered. Was it Ted they were still worried about? Namur? Or perhaps the retaliation they feared from Digby, their mysterious magician who unnerved even their foul ranks? Maybe it was both; the night seemed to only deepen and darken.

Ted had transferred Gengar to him, confident the ghost could handle his charge. Partly because he wished to follow-up if the lead didn't pan out. Partly because Gengar, naughty though he was, still bore some innocence. He didn't want that sullied in the events to come. Wordlessly, he walked through the door, expecting Namur to follow.

The bridge. The conneting link between the city and its abandoned past, where the living dare not tread. Some claimed to have gone and returned in one piece, but they were just rumors. Ted, as curious as he was, hardly ever went there. Even someone as insensate as him could feel the spiritual oppression in the atmosphere beyond the river. And this Digby he was so eager to catch...he was confident enough to make a home there? Maybe the patrons are right; there's a chance he's dead already.

Might as well make sure.

[om_nom_namur]

Namur gave the room a nod and a sloppy salute, then did the poor gasping bastard a favor and drug him partway into the door with his foot. All those magic types in there, at least one of them ought to know a spell to uncrush a crushed windpipe. He trotted along after Ted, less bothering to look around for danger and instead relying on haki and smell. This way, he knew if there were people in buildings, who had been along that way recently, and to some extent, who might be coming. At one point he reached out and stuffed Ted into an alleyway, then stood broadly in front of him, idly cleaning his nails until such time as a certain undead bloke with a particularly feisty vendetta against humans passed by. Namur gave him a friendly nod as he passed, waited another minute for the bloke to turn a corner, then sauntered back out into the street as if nothing had happened at all.

Of course, Namur had heard a thing or two about the bridge. Most of it, he figured, was people shooting air out their blowhole. But as they neared, Namur could feel the change. Life in all it's forms, be it truly living or simply hanging on to some spark of consciousness after death, simply ceased beyond the river. It was a black hole, even as his eyes showed him shriveled grasses and the skeletons of old bushes and trees. He gaped for a moment, then closed his eyes and breathed deep. There had to be a trail. There had to be something. Eyes shut, he put his hands on the railing, and stepped out onto the bridge, casting his head from side to side.

And then he caught it, just a faint gleam of some spirited child who refused to go easy. Maybe the little shit bit the guy or stomped on his foot, hell if Namur knew. But that last tiny act of willful rebellion was enough to illuminate the pup's soul before it got ripped away, and Namur leapt over the rest of the bridge and darted into the dead forest, quick as the flash of sunlight on fishscales.

[youfool]

Were it not for the horrible gasping of the purple-faced bouncer, Ted might have entirely forgotten about him. But his principles nagged at him till he, with vexed reluctance, retrieved him. "We don't have time for this," he muttered angrily. He had no idea what those warlocks might do to revive him, but he couldn't take any chances. He tossed a thread to stick to Namur. "Head towards the bridge. I'll catch up." He took the man in his arms, put him inside his form, then bounded over buildings towards Konoka's Omyoudo shop. She may be a magician too, but he trusted her relatively benign magic over these freaks.

A few minutes passed before Ted arose out of the thread, traversing the folded void-space the black string connected. He made no comment on the re-entrance.

An angry "What!" was the comment when Namur deemed it fit to halt their progress just to avoid a villainous pedestrian. What on earth is he worried about? There's no time! Ted was confident he could snuff out any trouble in seconds. They're avoiding, what, cultural tension? Now, of all times? Ted didn't even look human. And at that, he faltered just a little. There was definitely an inhuman air about all this.

He seethed, yet patiently waited until it were time to keep running towards the target. Along the way, a curious flickering of street lights punctuated their progress. Rumor has it those lamps only did that when danger was nearby; it was a handy, telltale sign Ted always investigated when he was on patrol, or out looking for trouble. But this...what did it signify? Were they the trouble? Or was the looming threat so expansive that it effected them far beyond its point of origin?

No time to think; had to keep running and jumping and loosing more threads to cover the distance. The only thing that arrested that reckless run was the atmosphere beyond the muddy rivers underfoot. There was life here, or at least...activity. Everglade, as degenerate as it was, found the haunts beyond too much to live with. He felt why. As he followed Namur into the faint and faded greenery, he felt a wroth, numinous presence. Something wanted them gone.

Not yet; not till they got what they came for. He looked around, head turning this way and that, looking for any hint of Digby. If there were children here, they couldn't possibly last, soul-stealer or not. Time was precious. Eventually, Ted would find something that notified they were close. An explosion.

Ted, in haste, had tripped a faint sketch of a magical fire rune, detonating him in a pillar of conflagration. The life-fiber uniform didn't take well to fire, as he shot like a flare into the night sky before landing on the ground, rolling and trying to douse himself. They had gotten close to their target, and it was clear he did not wish to be disturbed.

[om_nom_namur]

Well an explosion was definitely one way to catch someone's attention. Namur skidded to a stop, and without thinking, whipped his hand out toward Ted, palm down. He spoke a single, foreign word.

And nothing happened.

Namur scowled at his hand as he pulled it back, grunting as he bounded over to help put out the flames. "Damn it, Ted! Now ain't the time for a buncha shitty fireworks!" He scooped up handfuls of dirt to slap on whatever still burned.

[youfool]

"I'm not the one to worry for!"

[Ted would secrete water or some other flame retardant chemical through the pores in his suit. He appreciates the aid, really, but he's become completely single-minded. Only now, he couldn't afford to be. The evening had been accommodating enough, so far, giving plenty of air and empty rooftops to bound across. Not anymore; Digby clearly had the place lousy with magical traps spanning unknown yards. Ted's progress was arrested, and he was forced to think, lest he get himself killed barreling into another mystic noose.

This was indeed Everglade's historical site. A few houses were scattered around the grounds, most choked with ivy. It was clear they hadn't had much in the way of upkeep for years, if not decades. He just had to find which one their target was in. But then, it is a magician. Goodness knows if he hasn't got an invisible house or something equally bizarre. Ted's train of thought was arrested itself when a wraith appeared from the mist.]

"Go away; I want to be alone. Stay and you'll die or be used."

[Used as part of their quarry's necromancy, no doubt. This red-eyed, black-billowed specter was acting as a medium for their target. Kind of him to issue a warning, at least.]

[om_nom_namur]

[Ted... that's definitely weird. And it makes Namur's skin crawl again. He pulls back quickly and scratches the back of his head. How does Toady Ted sound? Catchy? Or kinda trying too hard?

Hm.

Namur turns a moment before the wraith arrives, narrowing his eyes in the darkness.]

If y' wanna be 'lone how come y' nabbed all them pups, dumbass?

[He stalks forward, his foot glancing off the side of another fire rune. Ted's little display made him wary, so he'd been ready for an explosion, both in terms of disposition and with Armament Haki as a shield, because he rather likes having all his limbs intact, thank you. As the rune explodes, Namur steps back and kicks the column of flame at the wraith, which seems that much darker and larger with a bit of light flickering around it. The rune flies right through, the wraith continues unharmed. With a grunt Namur charges, magical fire bombs be damned. He takes a few steps to get up speed and then leaps high, fist pulled back, a faint purplish glow beginning to form around his body. As he releases his punch, the glow instantly flashes, becoming brighter as it focuses around Namur's fist and shoots forward into the wraith in a blast of energy that enhances the force of the blunt strike. On contact, Namur feels a bit of Life sucked out of him, but even so, the haki infused punch more than overwhelms the wraith, which dissipates quicker than the light's afterimage. Namur hits the ground in a crouch.]

Bastard. Least send out someone worth fightin' if yer gonna make someone else throw shade for y'.

[youfool]

[Namur, this is no time to be thinking about nicknames. And this is coming from him.

Foremost on Ted's mind is, once again, the most expedient path towards the enemy. Did that wraith have any clues in or about it that would point towards Digby's location? Or did they just have to keep triggering traps until they hit pay dirt?

It was quite the light show, both with the other triggered rune and...whatever it was Namur just did. Well, thank goodness punching ghosts came naturally to him. Ted had to buy a special powder for that. The other recourse is using Gengar, who's a ghost-puncher par excellence. Alas, he had left him in the shadow of the snitch.

"...Do you smell him? Anything at all?"

[Ted would've scoured the ground for hours, but he couldn't bare to think what would happen if they wasted time. Still, he thought Namur's nose would know the way. It's the only lead he has in this sinister and spiritual land, growing heavier with gravity by the minute.

To that end, he extends a thread with a drape hung over it: the hexproof cloak. It would stuff any magic it came into contact with, including--Ted supposed--the arcane traps they'd rather avoid. Using that, they could clear a path through this mystic minefield and find their mark all the quicker.

That's the idea, anyway. If not...well, one more fire rune wouldn't kill them.]