| Celestic Town [Northern House] | Late Noon | Shaka ~ 41 -- Tsukiko ~ 22 ◊◊◊
~*~ Tsukiko ~*~
What a relief it was to her, to know that the shuppet decided to stay by her side. His choice makes her feel safer out here. After listening to her words, he nodded agreeably to her optimistic statement. He was still afraid of the brutal sounds fighting of their friends against the Undead, as was she. But he was brightened by some of the same positivity as her. The positivity that the others may and will win, and come out perfectly fine. “Yeah, I think they’ll be okay.... they seem really big and strong.
” She intently listened to him, showing a mild but unmistakably friendly smile as she did so. “The demons and monsters are often falling apart.... Some aren’t that smart either.... But they’re scary...
The response caused her smile to waver as she gave thought to it. What he said was all true; the Undead were frightening, and one of the few things more horrifying than them were the Infected. People who are still somewhat sane, who are forced to kill because the illness that afflicts them wants them to. Victims trapped within nightmare bodies. Her mind was falling into another place and her gaze began to drift over the town. The shuppet was continuing the conversation, and Tsukiko’s mind was still open to the conversation even as they both wandered into their own thoughts. “It’s alright though.... My sis protects me...
” His voice drifted mid-sentence, and she saw that he hovered lowerto the ground as if he was somewhat disheartened. “Mom and dad too I guess...
His sister protects him, as does his mother and father....
Once more, rare thoughts were seeping into a mind that had long forgotten them. Tsukiko remembered the gravestones of both her mother and her father, which were interred within the Pokémon Tower back in Kanto. Then there was the bullet wound marring the head of her adoptive Human, from which his blood flowed out onto the Hoenn earth.... In the moment of the situation she forgot she was keeping watch over the town. Her heart was hardened against the grievances of her past, but they stell felt as fresh as the corpses that are interred within her memory. These things were lost forever to her, and it disturbed her always and forever to know that she would never gain them back.
But the ghost’s ambition brought a smile to her face, as bittersweet as it was. Maybe her own father and mother were watching over her right now? “And I am sure my parents are watching over me, too.”
She said with a soft happiness, before looking to him.“Erm, by the way--I do not think I ever got your name.”
She stepped to face him. Her tail drooped a little from worry, as she faintly expected him to be offended or even shy away from her inferred question. But her tone conveyed a simple, innocent curiosity. “W-would you not mind me asking for such a thing?”
~*~ Shaka ~*~
Corpses continued to fall about the corridor as Shaka fought against the dark-winged horde. Their flesh was tender and their intelligence was dismal; with the more intelligent Golbats killed, the duller minded ones decided to simply charge forward without a plan. They were met by a murderous wall of electricity, a lethal iron tail, and an outmatching opponent. The few bats that did not suicidally charge in to attack him were brutally crushed by an awaiting Sade. A dazed golbat, kindly delivered to by Sade to Shaka, was met with a coiling iron tail. Its neck was bound tightly, and electricity ebbed through its frame which burned away the fragile flesh of its neck. The now headless corpse slides out of its binding, giving the whipping weapon the freedom to turn in front of Shaka and stab a Zubat straight through the mouth.
He heard Sade call out to him as the battle began to reach its climax. “Shaka how are you holding up?” “Too busy, kicking ass!”
He managed to hastily shout out as he grasped a charging Zubat by its face and electrocuted it to death. There were only a few bats left, and their deaths were inevitable. Shaka was heavily invested in their killing, as his mind was fully thrilled by his fighting passion. The blood of his Frostclaw Clan heritage was pulsing through him with a vigorous intensity. His expression was wrenched with aggressive fury, a wide eyed and glaring snarl on his face as each and every golbat that dared to attack him was slaughtered.
Five Golbats left. Four Golbats. Three Golbats. Back of neck sliced open; wings torn off and skull electrocuted; death by overcharge. Two Golbats. And now only one. These things were too weak, a pitiful replacement for true opponents. Their flesh tore like water and their spines snapped like sticks. Shaka’s nostrils were flaring, even as the disgusting miasma of rot cluttered his sensitive nose. After the battle, he stood there sighing heavily. His head was filled with engrossing adrenaline. His firm limbs did not quaver with weakness, and his body looked as if it was going to leap and attack something else in its battle-lust. When he noticed nothing was left moving around him, when the only echo to be heard was the sound of retreat, he calmed down. His fur smoothed out gradually, and he hovered down onto the ground, onto all fours. But his peace was interrupted when he felt the distinct sensation of a pair of two-clawed feet grasping at at his back. A particularly clever golbat had managed to grip onto his coat from behind. Apparently it was too frail to break through the thick fabric, though. Shaka felt his coat sliding up and from his back, as the bat used all of its strength to attempt to carry him off with it. His arms slid out from the sleeves, and he fell onto all fours upon the ground. When he realized his precious coat was no longer upon him, a slight change came over him. He felt the very realization of his coat absent from his back, the comforting strange energies that flowed through it disconnected from his very soul and his fur naked to a cold wind drifting through the house.
Shaka’s leer dragged its way down the bloody, corpse-filled hallway, towards the large room where the Golbat horde once lived. And there it was--fluttering in the dappled light of a window flew the golbat who had dared to steal his precious coat. The coat of his father, the only thing left to his possession other than his flesh and blood. And his heart was filled with fury once more, his cheeks sparking with energy.
He leapt out of the ring of corpses and chased after his enemy on foot. He ran through a hall of destroyed bodies, and leapt into a wide room with mouldy old carpeting and worn wooden furniture. The golbat’s body and the cloak it was toting were silhouetted by a broken window. It wanted to flee. Shaka’s limbs launched him forward with incredible speed. In its small mind, the golbat saw the window as its only remaining chance of survival. It was so fixated upon its desitation that it remained horribly oblivious of how valuable the item that it carried in its claws was. That it was holding an item which marked it for a horrible death.
The cloak was just within Shaka’s reach now. The window was close. Kicking up powerfully and rising magnetically, he latched onto the golbat’s upper back with his clawed hands, his sharp back feet planting into its lower back. The golbat loses altitude and smashes into the windowsill, with Shaka safely cushioned from the impact. The bat fell onto the shaggy floor. It flailed beneath him, but Shaka held its swinging wings tight. His cheeks were primed with energy, and he discharged massive amounts of it into his flailing victim. The bat squeaked as its body was lit up with power, as its innards were roasted. The golbat was so heavily electrified by the attack that it continued to live even after its body began to burn from the static. Its body was convulsing violently and its screeching was convulsing. Its flesh was beginning to turn a bloody black. Shaka was using far more electricity than was necessary. As soon as his cheeks began to hurt from the massive discharge, he stopped. He took the cloak from the roasted corpse’s talons, and hovered up to see it in the window sunlight.
There was nothing wrong with it. He gripped the cloak tightly to his chest, like a Human would do to a long-lost lover. For a moment he forgot the constant threat of Sade, and of the intense battle that had just happened. Shaka just levitated there in the dusty air of the room, framed by the window’s light, gripping his cloak. He was so happy it was safe. He saw the blood that marred it from the battle, knowing that its nigh-unstainable fabric would not be permanent. A good wash-up would remove the taint. The ghostly energy that lived within the cloak returned into him, a surge of reassuring power to his distressed heart. Even as he breathed in calm fatigue from the battle he let a small smile slip on his face. A possessive peace returned to his distressed mind. The battle had triggered a strange emotional spell in Shaka, when his euphoric fighting high mixed with reactions too fast for his mind to control.
Shaka was defying the very principles of instinct he worked so hard to follow. His back--no, his whole attention--was turned away from the threat of Sade.
((OOC -- Sorry for the long wait ;w; Been very busy lately.))