"Fuck you, Triclops!" Never before have I seen a more spiteful shaking of a fist. I think I hear soundwaves with each motion. This mad lad has a name, you know. It's Hattori Karasuki. Alas, he doesn't like to be called that, there's preferences sitting inside that cracked skull. Everyone calls him-
"Krow, look what I got!" Triclops, triple menace, triumvirate of douche, waves a brass sphere in his third hand. Krow's face goes red beneath a beaky raspirator. Bare for the world to see, is the empty, burnt eye socket where that sphere should be, snug like a thrumball in a slut.
"Give it back, or so else!"
"Or else, hwat?"
He's got you there.
It's a bluff, show him who's boss!
ᛗᚨᛄᚦᚥᛗᚳᚨᚾ
Krow's spelling is sudden, a streak of magenta shooting out of his mutant bird arm with reckless abandon. No anchors latched to his abjuration, no guidance from his currency, only pure pressure flowing out of his black talon. The streak of magentic harm flies magnetically into the river between the two men. Triclops laughs.
"Not wyrd enough, it seemth!"
"Curse you, three times for every extra you contain! A thousand curses upon the split hairs of your bumfucked existence! You will pay for your theft a hundredfold!"
Triclops scoffs at his outburst, and turns to leave. He taunts Krow with the brass ball, juggling it between three hands. Oh, there is that gritting of the teeth again. That cannot be good for your dental hygiene. Krow, please stop, it's like nails to a piece of chalk!
"Give it back, you-"
Triclops chucks the brass into the river. Krow gasps, his normal eye twitching behind the black magic lens.
I-
Wha-
I can't fucking EVEN right now!
Hurry, after it!
Before it is lost to us forever!
Sinking,
alone.
Barrage of hatred,
here we come.
Krow dives into the conjured deluge headfirst. He's going to his brazen eye's rescue, damn the consequences. Consequences like: The zaturated river slapping him silly,
slap,
slap,
slap,
and then throwing him to the bank he came from. Triclops is long gone by the time he regains his stance, although he seems a distant memory compared to the present indignity. Krow adjust his raspirator, aligning the beak with his face. Symmetry and looking cool is important, yet it does little to salve the hurt to Krow's ego.
If nerves could be strings on a harp, oh! I will pluck them, this scourge of reason has begun, I am an execution!
You have no musical ability to speak of.
What doth speech?
Krow points his gloved, wet index finger at the offending river, and let's loose a siege of harsh words. Brace yourself. This is going to get graphic.
"You wretched trickle of drops! Pathetic sand trap of little wet! Never before have I seen a shallower, thin river. I'd tell my friends about you, but I don't want them to know that I just swam in fucking sewage!
The river gasps.
Oh, did I touch a nerve? You pathetic puddle? I bet your drainage doesn't even go down into the nethers. Fucking driz-" Krow doesn't get to finish his sentence, as an angry tendril of animated water snaps him up and proceeds to slam him against both sand banks again and again,
Slam.
Slam.
Slam.
Lasso.
Slam.
Slam.
Slam.
Now for a final flourish of spite; it flings him several kilometers away in...let's see...north? North-west...ish. Anyway, Krow barrels through the air like a human cartwheel. Minutes later, he lands, shattering like a meteor upon impact.
Who killed the dinasaurs?
The fuck is a dinasaurs?
Reptiles are taking over, just ask the frogs!
...the fuck is a frog?!
With Krow out of the way (for now) the river can cry in peace, it's feelings thoroughly hurt by Krow's vicious verbal vandalism.
In the distance, Krow lands like a meteor into the blackened salt.
CRACK
OUCH
THUD
He lies there for a good time, pondering his next moves. They will be hard, as bones are broken. He tries to move his corvid hand. It’s his lucky day, for it is not broken!
ᚻᛣᛚᚦᛸᛉᚠᚥᛚ
Streaks of magenta slither out of black talons, winding their way all over his twisted body. Bones realign into their proper place, bruises fuck off, yet the empty eye socket remains vacant. A bloody tear squirts out of it, staining the black dust beneath the wyrlock.
That’s when Krow spots it. His vision is still blurry and lacks depth perception but in the distant distance, there is a corpse being feasted on by a scavengers.
I must know!
You don't.
I shall!
You fool!
Krow magically leaps to his feet, the motion looking like a dance move. It’s clumsy, but still manages to look graceful...if you pour bleach into your eyes.
"Away with you, I must know!"
The scavenging birds flutter away as Krow approaches, clearly intimidated by the flailing. Krow closes the final distance with a power slide, flinging sand into the open cavity of the dead man. The corpse is rotting, and Krow starts digging into the entrails, searching for answers.
"What is your wisdom? ANSWER ME!" Lifting up a piece of the digestion system, there's a squirt. A little "PEH" landing directly into Krow's empty eye socket. "Wait a minute..."Krow waits for an entire minute, frozen in thought.
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...the meaning is clear, isn't it?
ISN'T IT?!
Don't ask yourself, the brain will bleed.
I must know what must be done!
YOU CAN'T!
Think of the children!
Grody.
The minute has passed. Krow rips off his raspirator, a demonic grin replaced by a bearded, sweaty mouth. He sinks his real teeth into real entrails, squeezing it between his chompers. Bile pours out of the bloody mess, and on to the sand. He drops the offal, his corvid hand stained with gore and poop.
"I see. It's clear to me now...oh, that sucks." He puts his raspirator back on, and looks to the horizon, where the river should be. The ken he gained is not a pleasant one, nor is it convenient. He must, there is no other way. Even though his desire is to be the very thing his raspirator invokes, there is nothing he can do against the harsh fate consigned to his soul. His real eye twitches with indignation, a growl of frustation savaging his gut into a knot. Before he leaves, he ties the corpse's entrails into a knot, a nice bow. Standing up to leave, he channels some magenta to aid in his travels.
ᚨᛄᚨᛞᚱᚨᛋᚨᛚ
ᚠᛚᛇᚨᚹᛠᚾᛟᚹ
ᛚᚨᛋᚱᚨᛞᚨᛄᚨ
When Krow finishes the Feuerbach circle stave, a riff blares in the ambience. That's a bit concerning, not to be ignored. Hesitation consumes his motor functions. "Kithy getting overwhelmed, it seemth."
No turning back now. He feels wyrd course through his legs. He imitates the devilish grin on his raspirator, a wicked thought creating starlight inside his mind. He leaps from a standing position, the momentum created by magentic wyrd carrying his body across the swarthea as if he were launched from a catapult.
Krow lands on the precipice of a massive dune which overlooks that damned conjuration. The chromatic river that slapped him silly only a few hours before.
It’s gotten wider...or fatter, perhaps with tears?
Flaming tards, an invitation to mock I see?
Krow uses Runes to listen in on the river, to gain understanding of his foe. He hears it catching a shaky breath, like a child chewed up by consequences. Krow grins.
My lingo has razors.
Say it ain't so!
The vicious mockingbird lives.
The grinning demon.
Black Talon of Kazan.
This is not what they wanted.
It will give me an in.
Krow takes a deep breath, his raspirator making it sound metallic and...well, raspy. The glare of the sun does little to hide the devastation waiting for him below. An expanse of dark salt, yet...a single, unreal river runs across it. It has no source of its own. No lake to speak of. Neither will it ever find an ocean to intrude upon. A magentic contrast to the endless black, seeking nothing forever.
Damn it!
Krow feels irritation in his empty eye socket, travelling down scars that quest like the tendrils of lightning down his body. Itching dominates his flesh, and there is nothing he can do to stop it. He can only grin and bear it, the black talons of his left hand twitching with WANT.
May Hel’yr reopen before I settle for another brass ball.
Not in this socket!
Krow looks at his left hand, the corvid appendage shaking with anticipation. The Runes shiver when he clenches it. He looks at his right hand, fingerless gloves stained with dust and blood. The itch subsides after one trimester's pregnant pause. Deep breath, deep inhale, deep determination.
Round two, puddle!
With one fluid motion, Krow slides down the sandy dune like a cool guy. One of those fictional characters hardly found anymore.
Speak for yourself, horny rascal.
When he lands on the bottom, he fails the landing miserably and shits his pants.
No I don't!
And then a bunch of people materialize out of nowhere and laugh at him with pointy fingers. His protest falls on deaf ears, and then he continues towards the big bad river, grumbling with shit in his pants like the dumb, smelly asshole he is.
Not canon.
Fine. When he's close enough, he extends his arms in a mockingly friendly gesture, glittering with glee. "Hello puddle, did you miss me?"
The river responds with several, violent outbursts. Wet tendrils of magentic water fly towards Krow with malicious intent.
"I will not be moist this day!" he shouts, jumping in the air and flipping several times, dodging every single appendage with impossible agility. Once the onslaught subsides, he stays in the air, hovering in place. "That the best you can do, drizzle? I know clamped nozzles that squirt more water!"
Every tendril jabs forward from all directions, surrounding Krow in a watery pummel. However, the river didn't notice him subvocalize the following hex: ᛞᚱᛇᛟᚱᚨ
Krow has surrounded himself in an aura of Dry. The river has never felt pain like this before, its appendages evaporating like water in a scorching pan, hexadecimated! The tendrils have all become a misty memory in one searing flash! The river makes for the distant horizon, slithering away in a panic.
ᛗᚨᛉᚻᛚᛞᛚᛠᚲ
One feuerbach stave and it stops. Overkill if you ask me, a waste of power points. Thanks to Krow's hyper complicated spelling, it stops dead in its currents. However, this action has dire consequences. Krow has to quickly open the jaws of his raspirator to allow vomit to exit without resistance. Glowing magenta permeates his blue blood in agonized strings, trying desperately to escape their impending oblivion.
Damn you Triclops...a simple holding spell and I'm already...?
Krow scratches the infernal itch originating from the empty eye socket, which by now bleeds blue gore and magenta. An angry alarm blares from his wrist-mounted tulva.
+++ Warning: Terminal atrocity imminent.+++
Krow scoffs. The river is frozen in time, quivering in fear. It's ready to be invaded, and a certain brass ball needs to be retrieved.
Let's be a hero, eh?
Krow starts towards the river, and then swan dives directly into it. The river may be shallow, thin and barely above a puddle in mass...but the inside looks much bigger.
Krow has been to the Mosh several times in his immortal career. It's a hodge podge of horncore nonsense, sure. However, sometimes he feels that there is some logic to it. A method to the anarchy, hiding somewhere in the maddening mist.
Or maybe the sick riffs have addled you,
fool!
If wyrd didn't sway thee,
wouldst thou be one with them?
Right now, Krow is standing in an pleasant (albeit unreal) landscape. He can tell it's been tainted by chromatic forces. He has an eye for these things, even without his brazen ball. There are things that don't add up, things that have abandoned reason to know only repeat upon repeat.
A trauma loop...perfect -_-
It is, in fact, not perfect. Judging by Krow's frown, he is very unamused by the scene playing out before him.
A little girl plays on a swing. Next to her is a river. She seems far too big to be playing on this swing, meant for much younger children. She can't be more than nine years old.
Krow, reluctant and irritated, walks up to the child.
"Hello..." he grumbles, knowing full well where this loop is going. The girl smiles. She's missing both front teeth.
An inverse rabbit...I wonder if this memory remembers rabbits.
Somebody punched her in the face.
Daddy's home~
POW!
Right in the kisser!
Brutal.
"Hi...can you help me?" despite the smile staying on her face, there is a sadness evident on the rest of her features. Her messy blonde hair suddenly moves from a violent gust of wind blowing from the river.
It shouldn't have that power...
Careful!
There's shenanigans at work here...
"I can't cross the river, and my parents are getting worried,"
Translation: "Daddy will beat the shit out of me if I don't come home right now."
"can you help me cross it? It seems deep."
No it doesn't, but fuck it. I'll play. One thing first though...
"Where did the river come from?"
The girl ponders the question for a moment. After straining for an answer that might make sense to such an exotic looking person like Krow, she gives up and makes something up.
"Maybe it's lonely? It wasn't here yesterday."
"What were you doing yesterday?"
The girl suddenly blushes. "Nothing." she says abashedly.
Krow sighs. "Fine then. Let's cross the stupid river and be done with it."
Taken aback by Krow's sudden crude remark, the girl hesitantly accepts his gesture to piggy back. The strange, mutated corvid hand doesn't help, those talons are sharp! She sits on his shoulders, which surprises the wyrlock. She sure got up there fast!
Need to ask Omega what the fuck is going on.
I am unfamiliar with this feeling.
It's gross!
Take it away!
GRODY!
Krow wades through the river, his shoulders barely rising above the waters at their deepest point. The girl suddenly slaps her tiny hands on his helmet in order to get his attention. "Hey mister, what's that?"
Krow's eye is confronted by a boy standing on the overlooking cliff, water drizzling from his outstretched hands like twin waterfalls. Like a prankster caught in the act, the boy panics and increases the output to deluge proportions, threatening to drown both Krow and the girl.
ᚦᛟᛉᛚᛏᛚᛋᛸᛏ
With this hasty spelling, Krow uses the last of his strength to toss the girl far away from the oncoming tide of water. When the flood strikes him, his body endures a beating that makes the previous pummelling seem like a lovetap.
ULTRA SLAM
He washes up on the opposite bank, contorted into hilarious angles. In his tortured state, he witnesses a conversation between the girl and the boy, much to his eternal regret, for there is no escape for him now.
"Hey."
"Hi. You're the boy from yesterday, right?"
"Please...kill me."
"Yeah."
"Did you make that river?"
"Ragnalon is calling, let me pass on..."
"Yeah..."
"So you're a wyrlock? That's so cool!"
"So am I, I'll show you a cool trick if you FUCKING KILL ME!"
"You think so?"
"Yeah! Hey, wanna be my boyfriend?"
The cringe...please, this is inhumane!
"Uhm, sure!"
"Yay!"
Then they hold hands, and skip off towards the dimming sun, it's slumber not far off. The tainted dreamscape bleeds away, leaving Krow alone to ponder what he just witnessed. After a few moments of contemplation, only one question pops up in his mind.
I wonder what Ylva is cooking tonight...hopefully I'll respawn before it gets cold.
Before drubbing away into the nearest shub, Krow sees a brass ball roll into his field of vision. He reaches out to grab it, but to no avail. His hand is bent at a ninety degree angle, the pain alone stops the attempt. He laughs sardonically, despair taking over.
"Fuck me..."
Another death claims Krow, and off he goes to the copper city.
The streets of Ragnalon open up before me, wide as usual. Countless souls tremble over busy streets, blood spilling with every step.
The old keepers did a shitty job, but it has to be good enough.
Fools!
Some of them try to stop me.
They want to climb, up the tower towards the Reel again.
I burn them.
Burn them all.
None of them deserve to live.
They gave up.
So where did all of that will to survive come from all of a sudden?
I thought you fuckers wanted to end it all?
I guess the lizard brain took exception to demise.
Ragnalon...what an awful place.
Hastily built, all for what?
Regeneration?
We're coming back.
The ghoul's work is almost done.
Did we taste good?
Not all three of us.
Some of us are fools.
FOOL!
Oh hey, here we go.
Back to the reel.
Krow's rebirth into the world is as routine as it is painful. His naked body plops down on the cold, wet floor of the Whiplash. Behind him is one of the kongulo's dozen shubs, the artificial wombs he's come to know so personally over the centuries pulsating, undulating...throbbing. It seals itself back up, and undulates itself ready for the next respawn.
"Welcome back, birdy."
Standing in the room are Omega and Hasta, the former holding a trolley containing Krow's recovered gear.
"Did they-" Krow starts, but Omega cuts him off by showing off his brazen eye. Krow leaps up and grabs it with is corvid talons, spitting on it and wiping it.
"Our ghast really outdid themselves. Make sure to thank them, yeah?" Krow shoves the brass ball back into his eye socket. He feels confidence surge through him again, his soul vibrating with the power of ego.
"Of course, but first...what is for dinner tonite?"
Omega steps back, opens the wall-tulva and contacts a certain psychomancer for answers. The screen fills with the pale-skinned, white haired woman known as-
"Ylva, what are ya cooking for dinnah?"
"Salted tyling tenderloins. Is Krow back already?"
Omega nods, and the call ends. The wyrlock has put all of his gear back on his magical body, satisfied with the food plans. Hasta takes the chance to satiate his curiosity as they leave the shubbery. "What happened, old chumza?"
Krow slams the wall as they walk. "Triclops, and a lake."
"Ah."
Right before they enter the messy, Krow turns to look at both of them, making sure their attention is grabbed. He needs them to know something before they go and wait for dinner with the others.
