An Alliance Forged in Blood

[Strazio Rockwell]

Isaac frowned as the Dante’s Abyss finalist jogged off to go meet Ganondorf. He was certain that Strazio hadn’t taken what he had said to heart and was planning on cracking heads. It couldn’t be helped Isaac figured, someone as aggressive as that prime would find trouble no matter where he went. Still the crimson-cloaked secondary sighed at the thought of Strazio disrupting such a peaceful town. It wasn’t his job to reign in psychotic primes; he had other plans in mind. It wasn’t on a random whim that he had braved the treacherous dunes, no, it was a calculated decision. He had spent the last year of his stay in the Omniverse gathering information and hopefully his trip to The Town with No Name would provide him with everything he needed.

An old friend that he had met during his time serving the Empire had offered him a lead. An old lady who lived in a small hutch and sold beads and baubles supposedly endowed with mystical properties. Whoever she was she supposedly had the information that Isaac was after and his informant was trustworthy. Using his good arm he reached into the inner pockets of his red and black cloak. Inside was crumpled map that he did his best to flatten with his one hand. Even though he had grown used to missing his left arm over the years it still troubled him every now and then. The old biddy was around the corner and he made his way to her humble hovel.

The small storefront was nestled deep in an alleyway off the main streets of the town. A cracked wooden sign hung precariously over the doorway. The sign’s paint was chipped and read “Mystical Merca’s Market”. Isaac smirked at the simple alliteration and walked towards the sand-marked wooden door. Hesitantly Isaac pushed the creaky door open and was greeted by an array of multicolored lights and soft jazz playing in the background. He laughed slightly as he stepped into the tacky store. All manners of trinkets and charms lined the walls of the small establishment. Behind a weather counter was an even more weathered women with soft white hair.

“Greetings, welcome to Merca’s Mystical Market...” she furrowed her brow and waved her hand “er rather, welcome to Mystical Merca’s Market, I’m Mystical Merca.”

“Hello...” Isaac walked past a row of strange statues and peered past the counter to read the labels on old mason jars.

“So what brings you in today? Love potion, revenge potion, or just a good old fashion sleep potion?” she crooned excitedly.

Isaac smiled and lowered his hood “actually, no nothing like that. I was told you might be able to point me in the right direction. I’m trying to find Omni.”

Merca’s lithe frame shook as she laughed. Isaac frowned and asked “what?”

“Oh nothing, nothing. Just strange that someone would come to ol' Merca asking for directions. Yep, yep give me a moment lemme grab my book” she rushed off to a back room and left Isaac alone with a store full of oddities. Several minutes passed and he began to grow worried for the elderly lady. Carefully he peeked his head into the backroom and called for her. There was no response and his gut began to tie itself into a knot. Behind him the old creaky door swung open with such force that is was nearly ripped from the hinges. A large burly gentleman with dark skin and a mean disposition stalked forward. In his hands he carried a large scattergun, a familiar Empire weapon pattern. Behind him was a considerably smaller, but no less mean looking soldier. He wore combat gear and carried a small assault rifle. Neither of them looked like the kind of guy you’d want to go ten rounds with.

“Uh... Can I help you?” Isaac asked, knowing full well why they were here. His informant must have laid a goddamned trap for poor Isaac. Even the old lady was in on it he figured. Now the two dogs of the Empire were here to bring him back to his cage. The larger of the two pointed his shotgun at Isaac and spoke with a mean baritone voice.

“You’re coming with us Isaac, we can do this peacefully or I can blow your head off.”

Isaac raised his two arms, revealing his bandaged stump of a left arm. The two bounty hunters nodded to each other in silent agreement and moved to cuff their quarry. Isaac had to think fast, he wasn’t about to let his search for Omni end here. Slowly he took a step backwards and found himself backed against the counter. Blood started to soak the bandages wrapped around his stump. This was his power, he could control his blood and turn it into a macabre weapon. Unfortunately the two hunters were well aware of his power and they opened fire at the poor secondary. A bullet grazed his shoulder and he dove to the side, behind a cabinet of strange reagents.

“Come on out Blood Lance! We’ll play nice!” the smaller man taunted. They moved with military precision and get their eyes glued on Isaac’s hiding nook. It would be mere moments before they were upon him. Isaac hated spilling blood and he hated violence, but he wouldn’t allow two mooks of the Empire to stop his quest. Tendrils of blood whipped from his stump and crashed into he nearby cabinet. It was a gamble, but Isaac wasn’t afraid to take a risk. The glass jars and dry ingredients of the cabinet tumbled to the ground. The puddle of ingredients began to fizzle and fortunately they reacted explosively. A large shockwave rattled the small store and sent every onto their asses. It blasted a hole in the wall and Isaac wasted no time escaping through it. The two bounty hunters weren’t chumps and were soon chasing their quarry through the alleyways and backstreets of the Town with No Name.

[Gildarts]

THWUM-CLANK!

"Another."

"Are y'a sure ma'am? That's five in a row there, I wouldn't want you to get-"

His accent was cut down by her permanent lashing stare, "To get what? Drunk? That is what people pay for. Unfortunately for my wallet, it takes at least ten of these for me to feel even the slightest buzz."

"I.. Er.." The bartender pondered why as he trickled his trade into another glass.

"Curious are you?" The blonde's eyes narrowed cynically, "Let's just say I've built up quite the tolerance to bullshit in my day. And this-"

KABOOOOMMMMMM!

The shockwave shook the glasses in the saloon, as several inebriated cowboys readied the pistols from their holsters.

Christa immediately stood, the atmosphere around her shoulders crackled with the flash of her alert and icy eyes. "Looks like the they're here. This shouldn't take too long."

Christa expected this to be just like the last time she had had the foolish soldiers of the Empire sent to her, they always made a bloody mess of things... Or was that more of her own doing? It had been a while due to the scale of casualty rate that she had seen any. They had – for the most part – stopped sending men to their deaths. She admitted that even the enemy had to have some form of common sense.

The bartender stopped pouring her drink, eliciting a furious glare from her, "I'll be right back. And that better be filled to the brim when I return."

The wooden door slapped close behind her. The blinking bartender's jaw was still gaping as he took the glass the second she left and raised it to his own lips. Gulp.


A rain of rock cluttered the side of the building before streaming down in a cloud of dust, debris, and sand. The female launched herself toward the nearby destruction as she whipped out her artillery that would easily get the job done.

Answers filtered back from the traces and subtle clues of the setting before the questions could form in her mind. The instinct-driven warrior hurtled toward the sound of gunfire. Two different sources, she determined by the rhythmed pop and shower of bullets.

Her heels dug into the soft ground as she slid behind a cement-like mound. Caught in a crouch, she braced the end of her semi-automatic into her shoulder and her eye angled over the edge of wall before narrowing. A rather one-sided battle, it seemed, but even the people in this town knew how to pull the trigger of a shot gun. Something was happening behind the settling haze. Something was off. This raid felt like a war-zone and Christa couldn't exactly ask the bullet shells that her boots stomped who was fighting her prey.

The dense cover fell. Christa was able to catch a good look at the scum that trespassed in her terrain. Pretty armor, shiny guns, tasteless tact. They were unmistakable. And she leapt into their war.

It was just not a good enough angle for her to take the shot. The pair were approaching a space that seemed like it was just large enough to hold a body. It wasn't like Christa to announce her location, however, it wouldn't be right if she didn't give them at least a sliver of a chance at reacting. Such were the cheap, adrenaline-driven thrills she lived for.

"Oh, howdy boys. I thought I smelled some dirty mutts enter town."

She launched herself at the pair, careful to avoid the spin of their aim before they could even begin to turn.

One was faster than the other, he wore a cheesy shirt and some beige shorts. It seemed he recognized her voice as an enemy before he saw her face; his eyes widened. He had spun around with a resolute stance and his finger hung a hairline from the trigger. Just not quick enough.

A single pull of her reflex and out came the cry of her readied gun as his flesh was littered in hot lead.

The second, donned in armor, evaded the scatter of bullets and had disappeared behind a bricked corner. The birdcage of her semi poked out over the corner as her back found its place flat against the wall. Her eye peeked next. She growled with disbelief. The man was preoccupied and seemed not even the slightest bit aware of the blaze of hell she had released into his friend.

Instead, Christa could see some sort of struggle happening. Held at gunpoint, an unfamiliar man had his back against the wall. He was cornered in the alley and the Empire scum seemed to be mocking his sense of direction.

Fucker.

Christa thought and was about to launch herself at the soldier to aid the innocent that had been caught up in this web. Though, if he got in her bullets' way, she wouldn't exactly complain. Her movements lurched, but she was not expecting to see such a large streak of red in the air.

Issac saw no choice, the only thing that had kept him alive was his assailant's willingness to talk, and while the gun's snout fixed too close to his head, he reluctantly executed his first line of defense. A stream of scarlet drove its way into his foe.

Christa saw the bending of blood melt in the air before it was used as a blade to strike into the enemy. Immediate collapse. Writhing with pain. But alive. Issac reflected on the action he had taken, and kept his eyes on the pain of his enemy. Christa saw the sharpened sheen of glittering silver before the old man did. Granted, the Empire soldier had done a nice job of hiding it beneath the blood of his non-fatal wound.

THUD THUD.

The blood rushed in her ears as the sound of clattering metal filled the stagnant quell. Christa reached the grounded foe just before he was able to aim his shot at the one-armed man. The gun was kicked away, and Christa scoffed at the armless man's carelessness before raising her sights on the fallen.

She would kill, as she had done many times before. The black snout of the gun raised on the enemy's forehead and her finger hung on the trigger.

[Strazio Rockwell]

Isaac grimaced at the sight his fallen foe’s blood. The man had left him no choice, and the Bloodlance had to strike back. Fortunately for his victim Isaac managed to avoid any vital organs. The small tendrils of crimson still danced around his missing limb, each whip of blood seemed eager to fight. Taking a few moments to compose himself Isaac willed the blood back into his veins. The woman who had stepped in to save him seemed none too impressed by his ability, but living in the Omniverse she had probably seen stranger. She kept the hot barrel of her rifle pressed against the bounty hunter’s skull. Her trigger finger seemed to twitch with anticipation.

“Thanks, for the help. Uhhh...” he stumbled his words, subtly begging for her name.

“Christa” she answered curtly, the barrel of her rifle stilled jammed against the man’s temple. Isaac stood up and raised his hand in a non-threatening manner.

“Right, I’m Isaac... Let’s get out of here before they send in backup” he saw the hatred for the soldier in her eyes. How many times had he seen those eyes? How many times had he felt the hatred that she felt?

Christa’s face contorted into a look of disbelief and contention“let the fuckers come, I’ll deal with them the same way I’m going to deal with this one.”

Isaac’s heart sank and his mind scrambled quickly trying to find a way to talk her down. She definitely wasn’t bullshitting and he was mere breaths away from watching her paint a mural of blood. Isaac took a step forward and tried to reason with her.

“Listen, this guy won’t be fucking with us any time soon” he addressed the incapacitated soldier “you’re not gonna come after us if we let you go right? And you’ll tell all your kennel-mates that we’re not to be messed with yeah? So let’s let him scurry back with his tail between his legs and we can go get a beer or something, my treat.”

The man shook his head in the affirmative and Isaac looked at Christa for approval. Her grip on the weapon seemed to loosen and she took a step back. The soldier sighed in relief believing that he had been granted a second chance at life. A slight grin formed on Isaac’s grizzled face, glad that he was able to spare a life.

*Bang* *Bang* *Bang*

With a sickening thud the bullet-riddled corpse crashed into the dusty ground. Isaac had seen countless corpses, but the sight of death never got any easier. His stomach twisted itself into knots as Christa turned away so nonchalantly. How could she just kill him without a second thought? She glanced over her shoulder and smirked slightly.

“You’re still buying me drinks. Think of it as payment for saving your dumb ass.”

“What?” Isaac found himself at a loss for words. Another human had been killed needlessly and all she could think about was Isaac buying her a drink. He knew how callous people could be, but it still astonished him. She snapped him from his stupor and shouted back at him.

“Come on, you don’t wanna be around when the authorities show up.”

She was right, he hated leaving this poor man in such a disrespectful manner, but he couldn’t risk being accosted by more Empire goons. The cocksure female fighter led the veteran down a series of alleys. He hated her methods, but something about her intrigued him. As much as he hated to admit it she reminded him of his younger self. It wouldn’t hurt to share a drink with her. The two made their way back to Christa’s watering hole and she shouted at the bartender.

“I’ll take a shot of bourbon. Put everything on this bastard’s tab” she smirked at Isaac and continued “hope you’ve got deep pockets.”

“You’re not a lightweight I take it?”

She scoffed at the mere thought of being unable to handle her liquor. Isaac knew her type, strong and confident and most importantly competitive. He ordered a shot of the same and sparked a silent competition between the two. They both down their shots and ordered another round. There was a moment of awkward silence between the two before they downed another fiery drink. It began, an unspoken contest of constitution.

“Why’d you kill those men?” Isaac broke the silence with a admittedly heavy topic.

The female warrior responded with an equally heavy answer “the dogs deserved it.”

“No one deserves to die...”

*Thwump*

Another shot, another exchange.

“What’s your fucking deal anyways? Why do you care about those bastards so much?”

Christa was starting to feel the buzz. Isaac felt it, but had a dirty trick up his sleeve. His mastery over his own blood stifled the liquor’s effects and it made him into one mean drinker. He took a moment to mull Christa’s question over and responded.

“I don’t but killing an already defeated adversary is just cruel and pointless.”

“They knew what they were getting into when they went after me.”

*Thwump*

Another shot, another exchange.

Isaac laughed and turned his empty shot glass upside down “they weren’t after you.”

“Bullshit” she shot back.

“No bullshit its true I’ve got a bounty on my head, you think they were chasing me for a cardio workout?”

Christa paused for a moment and glanced away before asking “what’d you do that netted you a bounty?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it” he gave her the cold shoulder and waved the bartender over again.

*Thwump*

Another shot, another exchange.

“Come on fucker, you can’t leave me hanging like that. Spill it.”

Isaac laughed, feigning his intoxication “alright alright. But first one more shot?”

“Deal.”

*Thwump*

Between the two they had polished off enough liquor to knock even the most hardened alcoholic on his ass. Even with Isaac cheating he was beginning to feel the buzzing numb feeling of intoxication. He was surprised at Christa’s resilience, she still seemed rather lucid.

“So?” she asked, prodding Isaac to spill his guts.

Reluctantly he answered her question with as little information as possible. “I used to work for them. Needless to say I don’t anymore, they... Well. Let’s just say we had a falling out and now they want to get back at me. What about you? You seem to have a story.”

[Gildarts]

A smirk. The bartender honestly didn't expect the woman to have returned so quickly. He had heard the shrill pecking of gunshots, and he tied the link of violence to the still-warm weapon slung on her back. Christa offered him a cocky and antagonizing smile as she downed the blazing shot that was left waiting for her. Steadily, she held his stupefied eye contact in her own cold gaze. When Christa declared a dare with the raising of her glass, it was like she was challenging the whole bar. Her glance swept the straggling strangers though she knew they would never keep up. To her, it was all about the sport.

The sheer number of drinks they both downed was impressive, better still, the old man seemed to be able to keep up with her own unnatural immunity. She would see just how far he could take it and hopefully drink the bastard under the table. They both had something to bond over, and she didn't mean the cheap booze, but that the admirably quantity it took to swirl her thoughts, was equal to that of Issac's.

They bartered a little on the information they would trade until it seemed as though it was her turn. Christa was a master at this game. Tactics, subterfuge, and outright war all littered her mind. He stunk of the experience he admitted to, and Christa felt little triumph that she had been able to get him to admit it. The past made for a good story, but that was about it.

The woman should have mentioned to Issac that it would take a lot of booze – and an impossibly large tab – to get her plastered, but he would eventually figure it out. The stifled bartender could hardly keep up with the two and had to nearly empty bottles ready in both of his hands. Smitty was relieved when Christa turned away from him and offered a candid stare to Issac.

Instead of speaking, as her hanging jaw and parted lips would have first implied, Christa pulled the rifle from its slung spot on her shoulder and cleaned out the chamber. A littering rain of bullets fell from the opened stock and made a chiming sound as the hollowed shells reached the wooden floor. She liked to have a weapon in her hands, without it, or a full glass, she felt uncomfortably exposed. It was, perhaps, her 'tell' in this game so much like poker. The soldier loaded the bullets one by one and began a curt, yet honest, choice of words.

"Hmph. Damn bastard. Yeah, me and those shits have a history. And I may be a little biased," her icy eyes offered a flare of aroused anger before continuing, "But I want their blood."

The quaking words resounded in the bar, receiving a very open reception among the bandits and outlaws. Cheers were drowned by the sips of whiskey that the husky cowboys eagerly guzzled. Cautiously, Issac remarked, "You imply that they want yours."

"Damn right. Fucking greedy ass bastards can't even leave a girl alone." Her strong gaze seemed to flicker for a fraction of a second, so swiftly that someone not akin to reading people wouldn't have noticed. Issac listened for her mystery with an angled ear.

THWUMP!

She pounded the glass on the table, forgetting her own strength though the glass did not break, but bounced high in the air before angling in Issac's direction, who caught it with a slight of hand.

Christa's eyes slid to his readied grip, fingers still grasping the miniature glass. Had Issac not caught it, it would have slammed into his right eye. Had Christa not intentionally 'slipped' it in his direction, she wouldn't have known any extent of his capabilities aside from what she had witnessed in the alley. This was a contest, she determined, where neither of them were bluffing and both still seemed quite sober. The girl was almost able to pull it off as a woozy mistake, but her hands weren't shivering, and Issac carefully set the glass down with his suspicious eyes on her.

"What'd you do to get them after you?" Subtle conviction ebbed in his voice.

"Honestly?" The perceptive woman tilted her chin, "Not a damn thing." She paused for a moment, reflecting, "But that doesn't exactly stop fuckers from trying to get what they want. I only partially blame myself, for not killing them when I had the chance." It was peculiar, then, when she offered him a timeframe, for it seemed irrelevant, and yet so much had been left unsaid and the consequence in the tone of her voice was unrivaled. "When they least expected it and first started after me. That's when I could'a taken the shot. Even if I ended up missing. It would've been worth it."

THWUMP!

"Yes, they.. Do tend to do that." Issac could see her reasoning, but that didn't mean he agreed with her methods. He disregarded her last comment, as it seemed a little out of context and was sure she would bite back with a nasty remark.

While the woman didn't exactly expect the old man and her to see eye to eye, neither did she really bother to explain herself to the strangers who paid for her drinks. With her bold personality and stinging cut of words, anyone could tell that the action she took was her way of getting her opinion through to people. And her bullets did a pretty good job of that.

"They made a bad gamble. And I plan on making them pay." Issac sniffed out the hateful taste of revenge in her words. Bloody, bloody revenge.

It wasn't even the end of the night, nor had they even scratched the surface of motives, but Issac could immediately tell Christa's reality was incredibly simple. In her world, survival meant:

Kill or be killed.

[Strazio Rockwell]

The girl was sharp, she was damned sharp. Be it through experience or a soldier’s keen instincts she managed to sniff out the fact that Isaac wasn’t playing their “game” fairly. His control over his blood kept the liquor from knocking him into a coma, but what kept her functioning? There was something strange about this warrior of a girl, there was something hidden underneath her aggressive facade. Absentmindedly he played with the shot glass, turning it over in his hand before setting it on the counter. She stated her piece and Isaac took a moment of silence to collect himself. Christa was no doubt a spitfire and one wrong choice of words would put you on the wrong end of her rifle.

“So what now Christa? You hope to take down the whole Empire by yourself?”

Surprisingly she stayed silent at Isaac’s question. Her eyes fixed on an imperceptible point on the horizon. He knew this stare too well. She seemed oblivious to everything around her, but she kept her hands fixed on her weapon. Finally after a moment she responded with a surprisingly level-headed comment.

“No... I suppose not, but that doesn’t mean I won’t rain hell on every Empire bastard I see.”

Isaac frowned and took a cursory scan of the bar. Several of the rougher patrons eyed the duo from across the room, and Isaac hoped they didn’t plan on testing their mettle. He had no qualms with running from a needless fight, but he wouldn’t put it past Christa to slay every one of them. He turned back to the bar, hoping she would follow in kind. Isaac hoped in vain as she took note of the aggressive looks. From the corner of his eye he watched her face twist into a sour grimace of disgust.

“All you bastards better put your fucking eyes on a dimmer, cause I won’t hesitate to fuck you up” she returned every glare in kind, daring everyone in the bar to make a move. The firecracker certainly was ferocious and even the toughest thugs glanced away as her withering glare met theirs. After all was said and done she turned back to the bar and smirked slightly.

Isaac sighed “you sure know how to make friends don’t you.”

“Yeahp” she seemed almost proud of her work “you gotta put these bastards in their place sometimes.”

“I see” Isaac ordered another shot for both of them “cheers, to new-found friendship.”

She grabbed the glass and eyed Isaac’s offer carefully. Her sharp eyes scanned his weathered face for signs of deception. He offered no trickery and instead gave her a soft smile. Reluctantly she clinked her glass against his and they downed their respective booze. Isaac finally felt the kick of the liquor and tapped his hand on the counter. “Alright, you win. I’m at my limit” he lied. Even after the incredible amount of alcohol he consumed the Bloodlance could have kept going, but he could tell Christa wanted the victory more than him.
She laughed at him and patted him on the back “what’s wrong old man? Can’t keep up?”

Isaac shrugged and raised his hand in surrender “I guess not.”

“That’s alright, I’ve yet to meet anyone that can keep up with me” she boasted.

With their contest over the two warriors found themselves at a loss for conversation. The late night crowd had rolled into the bar and the two found themselves surrounded by hushed whispers and rumors. Isaac figured Christa’s outburst had gained the attention of the tougher folks and he felt that a confrontation was inevitable. She was either oblivious to the attention they garnered or she simply didn’t care. He figured it was probably the latter. She followed her boast up with a very serious question.

“So what about you? You just going to run from the Empire and spend your life hiding like some coward?”

Isaac shrugged “I’m not going to go looking for trouble if that’s what you mean, though trouble sure has a good way of finding me.”

“I don’t understand how you could be such a coward.”

“I’m not a coward just because I don’t go around killing people like you do” he snapped back at her slightly. She sensed the hostility in his voice and shot back.

“You make me out like I’m some kind of psychopathic murderer.”

“You did kill two men in broad daylight” the Bloodlance knew he was stepping on her buttons, but he pressed the issue.

“Oh spare me your high and mighty bullshit, they were going to kill you if I didn’t step in. You should be thanking me not fucking scolding me.”

Isaac turned away, as much as he hated to admit it she did have a point. He would most likely have been in the ground by now if she hadn’t stepped in. Even still he hated the fact that two more men were dead because of him. As cavalier of an attitude that Christa had she kept true to her beliefs and Isaac could respect that. Reluctantly he tapped his hand against the bar and turned back to her.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scold you or insult you” he shook his head and laughed a bit “but, for the record I’m not running. I’m searching.”

Christa paused for a moment, taken aback by Isaac’s sudden apology. He smirked a bit at his honesty and begged the question “what’re you searching for then?”

He pointed up towards the roof “the big guy, Omni, I’m sure you’ve heard the primes talk about him. Mysterious white figure, they say he was the one that created this place and brought the primes here. I’m hoping he can help me.”

“Help you with what?”

Before Isaac could respond their conversation was rudely interrupted. Several large thugs had surrounded the duo and they looked none too friendly. Each of them members of a local gang and each of them meaner than the last. The bartender scowled and took a few steps back, knowing that his bar was about to be turned into a warzone. The chief knuckle-dragger placed his meaty palm on the back of Isaac’s crimson cloak.

“We heard you an’ your girlyfriend here were causin’ some trouble, bad-mouthing our boys and such.”

“Sorry, we didn’t mean to offend anyone” Isaac, rolled over hoping that they would leave him alone if he played their game.

“That so? Do you think I look like a fuckin’ idiot?” the man slammed his fist onto the counter next to Isaac. The Bloodlance didn’t flinch, but instead reached into the inner pockets of his cloak. He produced a small bag, containing a decent amount of Omnilium. From the corner of his eye he saw Christa slowly inch towards her weapon, getting ready to strike.

“Is it money you want? I’m telling you we meant no harm, here have some cash and let us on our way.”

The brute forcefully spun Isaac around and glared at the old man “some things you can’t buy partner, like respect.”

“Very well” Isaac frowned and tossed the bag of money to the bartender “this should cover our drinks and the repairs.”

“Repairs?” the thug asked absentmindedly.

“Yeah!” Christa swung the boot of her weapon into the thug’s chest, knocking him off balance “because we’re about to fuck this place up!”

[Gildarts]

Christa gave a lasting look to the honorable man, she had only ever heard of them in legends, or stories passed by word of mouth, and each were quite laden with exaggeration and woven with lies. Never had she met one. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion at the thought, but she kept them fixed only on her empty glass until she heard the spurred footsteps behind her and saw a shadowed reflection in her glass. What, can't even finish my damned drink?

Soon, Issac would get another glimpse at the way Christa demonstrated her bloody "honor." Up to this point it had proved to be the distance between her rifle and its bullet. A method so simple. But, after all, c'est la vie – that's life – and this translated to the warrior by means of deadly action.

And there was only one direction to pull the trigger.

The silence crawled on, as though Smitty the bartender was absorbing the foreshadowed massacre that would soon become of his shop, he took the pouch before understanding the bargain. Issac's eyes flashed to the girl, only to see her lithe leg swing upward as she spun her entire body forward from the barstool.

"RESPECT THIS!" The top flat of her shoe collided with the man's jawbone and the momentum only carried him down into the hollowed wooden floorboards.

THUMP!

Empty like the sound of an already guzzled glass as the man's dense body shuddered on impact. Issac hadn't expected such speed from an already lethal fighter, yet there was no denying her strategy had been to catch her pursuer on the fly; he was too close ranged for her to battle with her masterful bullets and not risk the chance of an accidental discharge. As he fell in the air, she was able to scoop his weapon, it had been held out and well-aimed at her torso with his smutty, grime covered hands. Her eyes flickered with rage as the loudmouth woman freshly held the cold steel in her hands. And stay down. Her bloodthirsty eyes seemed to speak before the place was lit with sound of gunpowder and bullets, while the shells soon followed clanging like tolling bells upon the floor.

Christa had been quicker on the draw, and hadn't even pulled her own revolver from its holster. The rifle she held was long range and would have served her only as a hard metal bat. For now, it hung at her waist with an idle strap, though she had plenty to swing at.

If the next one, closest to Issac thought he would get one over on the armless man, the attacker was dead wrong. Well, not dead, but certainly bleeding. A whip that blazed faster than fire streamed at the man's gun as it flew in the air and skittered underneath the saloon's half door. With a slammed elbow brought down on the rogue's skull, Issac made quick work to silence his assailant.

Christa didn't have time to remind Issac – who was now on her left – that the bandit's gun was loaded. She was too busy trying her best to dodge the hot bullets whizzing too close to her cheeks and hair. Close range, closer calls, and these men were damn good shots. It didn't take long for her to open fire as she shot down a hanging ceiling accessory so they could take immediate cover. The bar would have been the best choice, and surely she wouldn't have hesitated to roll right over it. But alas, they had been flanked by these yellow bellied bastards on both sides.

Click click. With a scowl she threw the empty chambered revolver away and pulled out her favorite Beretta. It would soon be news to them just how full her clip was. She shot through a parting of the tender wooden bar rack as her shoulder became adjacent to the wood and her head dipped out of sight. With a little guesswork, Chrisra could survive yet another bar brawl. And these cowboys were much more fun to shoot at. The torched bullets danced in the southern-themed air.

Issac had taken his own initiative and ducked beneath the wooden covering. His whip had stained the floor with blood, not his own, as he only after realized that his aim had been skewed just a bit by the speed of violent action. He was been so sure his fluid blood had been well aimed, yet, there was the bandit's hand laying on the ground, staring him in the face. The roar of gunfire sounded in his ears, not as rapid as the automatics the empire hounds had used, but still just as effective. And there was a stranger's hand.

He heard her shouts through the blaring ringing in his ears. Someone had grazed the tip of his cartilage, and with the sudden fire that scalded his ear, telling him of injury, he doubted it would grow back.

Two, four, six, eight... Steadily she pounded off fifteen rounds before she exchanged a fresh clip. Issac looked in his hand as he too found a gun. Christa had to presume that his aim would be good enough though he seemed to favor some other scarlet and obscure method, Christa was keen on her own reliability. It seemed she trusted the gun to find its target and persisted the notion even if he only had one arm to stabilize it. One finger was enough to get the job done. Meanwhile, Issac's aim moved faster than his mind, and his bullets found their mark on the non-vital areas that would still drop his gun-crazed, cutthroat enemies.

In the carnage, the level headed Christa burst off round after bloodied round. Shards of glass hung in the air all around her, if the goons couldn't see where to hit her, they probably assumed they could rock her concentration by the rupture of bottles from the bar above her, and in consequence, her aim.

Broken glass just wasn't the sort of thing to stop the girl. The rate of fire from her bewildered enemy slowed, and with every gentle pull of her trigger, a bullet flashed from her gun with a babies kick. Issac found himself increasingly bothered, but he knew the best way to stop her without directly challenging her was to end this battle with the least fatalities. This meant he had to beat her bullet. He would shoot better. And he shot faster than she could keep track of.

Christa scoffed at his disillusioned mercy. She could tell by the way he aimed his weapon he was a capable man with good aim but the pained groans that followed each blast seemed to be enough to tell her that their survival was his intention. Shot after surgical shot. He beat her to her targets, executing his careful bullet and leaving her trailing behind just by a hair. And these stray bulletholes painted the chipping walls. Her head didn't bother to move to the side as she was about to shout something of an order to the man before a whiskey bottle hit its mark and crashed on her head with a rupturing impact. She bit her lip and a pained curse was shouted through the break of gunfire.

"Hey, I hit 'er boss!" One seemed to be celebrating, she would end it quickly and used the man's voice to pinpoint his location through the intense rumble of fire. Her head swung to the side and she felt her face flinch with a grimace of sheer agony. Her hand grew numb, and the trigger wouldn't squeeze when she called it to. Issac pulled the woman back from her peering spot that was the corner of their cover. Christa was jolted back, behind and into safety just as chunks of wood were obliterated by a sighted stream of bullets.

There were two Issac's now, though she knew the cause as her head spun. While she didn't strain herself to muffle a thanks to the old bloodlance, they both knew he had saved her ass. With a dizzy head, scraped shoulder, and skimmed bloody side; she braced her palm against the ground before fumbling for her rifle. She would fire through the bar's panels and secure for them a place to retreat to and end those positioned far in the corner. Slying them ensured their victory.

It was hard to believe at the start of it, Christa and Issac had been outnumbered, two to at least twenty, but that had steadily decreased with their ample firepower and the band of rogues only feed into her kill count. How many remained? She would find out as her high-caliber rifle made quick work and scorched a rapid line through the wood. Christa didn't hesitate to dive behind as Issac covered her flank.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

The remaining bodies fell to the ground as corpses, and Issac shook his head as he crawled around the corner. His eyes met the shivering bartender's, who – to the bloodlance's surprise – Christa had surprisingly spared.

Still, her eyes skimmed over Smitty, the coward, with bitter distaste. Blood pooled around him and she almost smirked as the unworthy became submerged in the thickening puddle.

The bodies bled. Sticky, warm, and smearing on her clothes, Christa readied her gun once more and on the count of three both their weapons propped above the wood. Christa peppered the area the best she could with the semi automatic, while Issac tried to anticipate her aim and could not stop the endless pouring of gore.

Issac dipped out of sight to reload and caught a glimpse of the shadow in the arch of the doorway, behind the unlikely pair. A swift gusting whip struck down the enemy, who had raised a gun to the back of Christa's head. The warrior was alerted to the danger by the cry of pain behind her. No panic breached her serene expression as she turned to neutralize the threat that he had already struck down. With Issac's cautionary glance, she carefully retrieved the gun and only the gun, as she passed it to him, seeming how he was convienently out of bullets.

Issac had gotten a good look a the speckles of shiny crystals embedded in the scarlet that glittered in her skull anime the sharpshooter carelessly tossed him the gun without a second glance. The enemy were down to two, but they seemed to be trying to disguise their numbers. Through their next reload, Christa challenged them in that graceful way that only she was capable.

"What's the matter boys? Can't handle a few bullets?"

Issac saw what she was going, playing to their pride and drawing out their ego. One, he assumed the stupider of the bunch, shouted back in annoyance, "SAY THAT TO MY FACE YOU F-"

Whatever his sentence would have formed, it was cut back by her clean shot into his throat. Issac followed through by beating Christa to the last one, and hitting the Stetson wearing man in the gut. No internal organs, though, he could only guess that the agony would be unrivaled.

Christa's glance flicked to Issac, and asked, "Now why'd you go and do that?" Though it wasn't clear whether she meant this about him stealing her kill, or him not finishing the job. The man bellowed with suffering and her glance held on Issac saying wordlessly, You aren't doing them any favors.

There was no silence here as there was at the end of war. Only familiar groans of groggy men filled the fated bar.

Muddled thoughts tainted Christa's battle-sore mind, as she came down from her steadied adrenaline, but did not drop her pistol from it's angle on the wounded. There were too many to count. She smirked realizing by the minutely lighter weight of her clip that she was out of bullets.

Speak of the devil... One gripped her ankle in a weak cry for help. She kicked it away and spoke to the dying, "You know what you did." As far as the girl was concerned, be truly knew his choice meant his death, or in this case, at least foreboding agony. Mercy had a different meaning out here.

"You're a bad shot." Christa couldn't resist as she felt her head cock toward to him, Issac, and her eyes turn to steel.

"That just depends what you are aiming for." He caught his breath, set down the metal, heavy in his hand, and met her gaze. But it wasn't over..

Though the rain of fire had ended, the endless bullets never seemed to stop flying around her.

To Issac's horror next well-aimed bullet seemed to find itself aimed at an innocent.

Christa threw herself to the ground in a skidding effort to reach for a gun as the last yellow bellied bastard picked a revolver up and held it up to a woman who, during the sobbing silence, had crept down the vintage wooden stairs.

The stetson-wearing bandit's greedy arms smothered her as the scavenged silver revolver brushed the side of her head. "I'll kill her!" He shouted, Issac's eyes widened, he was convinced the lady's life was in peril but before his lips would open to persuade the man differently, he was interrupted by his favorite abrasive soldier.

"Oh yeah?" Christa didn't hesitate from her freshly spot on the ground to test his conviction. "Go. Fucking. Head." She reached underneath the half-door from her position on the ground and quickly spin around as she heard it. Her incentive to fire.

The silent click of his empty chamber.

BANG.

Her improvised gun responded with a flash and lit the gunpowder in the barrel. The man remained suspended in the air before he fell hard onto the ground, bringing with him only the silence of still air.

The girl in his arms shrieked as she saw the mass of blood and brains that littered even her pretty and frilled pink dress. The hostage had gotten the closest look at Christa's marksmanship, too bad the innocent civilian was screaming too much to appreciate her perfect headshot.

For a moment, Issac's eyes fell to the side and landed on Christa with pronounced shock, he caught a fleeting glimpse of morality in her eyes, or perhaps, it was was something akin to disappointment.

"You didn't have to kill him."

The voice of reason. What a surprise. Her lips persed into a chiding "Tsk." As she rose from her fallen position and didn't bother to wipe off the accumulated dust, splinters, and drying blood. Her blue eyes had clouded some, but if anything was on her mind, she didn't speak a word of it to Issac.

Christa ventured over to the corpse to marvel at her own work, before beckoning the shaking Smitty over to help the freshly fainted lady. "See to it she gets her fair share of whiskey." That sentence was as close as Christa got to compassion. The shaken bartender just nodded and helped the blood-splattered southern gal to a stand.

Issac looked down at the bloody consequence, and then at the girl was alive and breathing, then to the woman holding an empty rifle, the grasp of cold metal familiar in her hands. Well, Christa was more of a machine than a woman, but she had helped the lady donned in pink up when she had fallen. He wondered if it counted for anything as he watched Christa who was still hovering over the corpse. The both recovered in their own ways from the blood and chaos that had ensued around them. Issac was left wondering what was going through her mind under that careful steel visage.

Cold eyes fell with a vacant sense of mourning. It was a pity, she had even told him where she would fire and he still hadn't proved to be much of a challenge. Her boot's sole pressed against the swelled cheek as she kicked the stetson man's bloodied head and looked at his not-so-fatal bullet wound to the gut. "Fucking zombies."

[Strazio Rockwell]

The scene of carnage was a brutal one. The bar was reduced to splinters,blood, and bodies. Gang members and thugs were strewn about the place, some were injured others were less fortunate. Isaac’s head spun at the thought of such destruction, Christa seemed un-phased. Between the two of them they had seen more combat than an entire platoon, they coped in their own ways but the sight of death never got any easier. Isaac comforted the would-be hostage and helped her over to the bartender who offered her a shot of liquor which she eagerly gulped down.

Isaac stepped over a body and looked outside the saloon, their little display had drawn the attention of the town and more thugs would be there shortly. He looked over at Christa who was stalking around the bar, daring any of her downed foes to try and stand back up. The Bloodlance sighed, he had been quick enough to stop Christa from slaying the entire lot, but she still had managed to kill her fair share of grunts. He turned to face her new ally and spoke matter-of-factly.

“We should leave befo-”

*Bang*

The thunderclap of a gun hung in the air.

A flash of red and a yelp of pain.

One of the surviving gangsters had fired at the poor Bloodlance, piercing his left shoulder and sending him to the ground. Christa spat a string of profanities and fired several shots into the chest of Isaac’s assailant. She ran over to her fallen comrade and helped him to his feet. Thanks to Isaac’s unique powers he was able to staunch the bleeding, but the pain was still immense. He grit his teeth and leaned against his friend, he had gotten sloppy and paid the price.

“You dumb bastard, you just had to let them live didn’t ya?” she berated him.

Isaac ignored her taunting and pushed away from her. He could stand despite the searing pain. The bullet had gone clean through, leaving a dime sized hole through Isaac’s shoulder. He had been shot before, but the pain was never easy to endure.

“We... We should leave” the Bloodlance spoke through gritted teeth.

Chista nodded in agreement “I’ve got a hideout not far from here, we’ll have to take the back alleys. You gonna be able to keep up old man?”

Normally Isaac would welcome the friendly competition, but the hole in his shoulder put a damper on Christa’s ribbing. He threw away the pistol that Christa had handed him, he did not care for such a lethal weapon. Without a word the two left through the saloon’s backdoor and into the sun’s heat. He followed the soldier through the twisting back alleys and hidden routs of the town. The heat from the sun mixed with the pain from his wound and formed a brutal cocktail. His vision blurred slightly and he fought against the pulsing pain, refusing to let the wound get the better of him. Christa’s demeanor had shifted, she moved with purpose keeping one eye on Isaac and one on the trail ahead. Her instincts had kicked in, Isaac was an injured comrade and it was her duty to keep him safe.

They moved quickly, despite his injury and before long Christa led him to a shabby-looking apartment complex. She led her injured friend up several flights of stairs and finally to room 348, her apartment. The apartment was kept clean and except for a few empty cans of beer it was damn near spotless.

“Take a seat, I think I’ve got a medkit in the bathroom”

Christa scurried off to find her medical provisions and Isaac found a seat on the only couch in the entire apartment. Dark-green and ancient the couch creaked under Isaac’s weight. Absentmindedly he rubbed his wound, making sure that he kept his blood inside his body. It was fortunate in a way that he had such a macabre ability, if he was a normal human he most certainly would’ve bled out by now. It was ironic he thought, that an ability created through the sacrifice of others kept him alive for so long.

[Gildarts]

Few papers had scrawled upon the floor of Christa's literal bunk-and-duffle room. Posted upon the dusted walls was but one thing and the focal point of the room.

An expansive map with more than a few markings. Upon even a glance, it could be determined that the entire Omniverse had been mapped out in extensive detail, the dividers of the verses were crimson lines, and many colored arrows were pointed at the not-so-random places of interests. Few in the dunes, which was the most unremarkable verse on the topography etched map; still there was one that pointed to their very location.

The verses that held the most interest, or were marked with the most 'red flags' were that of The Pale Moors, which was painted in shades of black had a few stickies on it. The largest and most noticeable location was marked on a definitive landmark near the corner of the verse boundary. One word in large capital letters labeled this distinguished flash of color, "The Necromancer."

The next verse was the Tangled Green, which was layered in so many leads it looked like a forest of paper stuck to that entire section of the wall. Christa's gaze did not fall on her sole objective as she entered the room, and instead, her expression lined with determination. She always felt something for the fallen.

Little of Issac's blood dripped and dribbled onto the floor. Christa had soon discovered that his blood weapon was also a helpful power. And it's limitless extent of use was worth thinking about later, because quite simply, it was a threatening skill that she could use.

The woman was frowning because his agonized exertion may keep up for hours, the blood wouldn't clot because of their drinking game earlier. Issac pressed against the wound, a clean one – no jagged tearing – which had gone straight through. Both soldiers knew this was fortunate, but such facts did nothing to take the immense pain away from the hole in his shoulder.

Never a woman to bother with pitiless questions, Christa's gaze swept over him without the interrogative words, 'Are you alright?' Why make him lie? Or why should she make him feel more than the pain already was? The concern was there in her eyes, and that would have to be enough. Such inevitable questions took away from the acknowledgement of the sensation, once the pain was fully realized, she found, it always receded. The unrivaled merely awaited the contorting expression on the veteran's face to relax.

Maybe some morphine would help? She thought as she shook out a few half-full orange bottles as she sifted through the cabinet in addition to the clear box with a large crimson cross on it and then made a swift course for the place that she had set the man down.

The muscles in his face continued to cringe with a fresh flush of pallid color, but the good news was his eyelids weren't drooping. Pros and cons, Christa figured, that his own body couldn't pass out from the pain. Her still bloodied hand slid the medicine cabinet closed again as she caught sight of her own reflection. A picture worth a thousand words.

Her iced eyes lingered on her pallid skin before moving to her battle ruffled hair and blood splattered cheeks. A despaired blink and she swiftly dug her heels into the floor. The exchange in the mirror showed Christa something she didn't want to see. She hadn't always been this way. A cold-blooded huntress, haunting the dark with fire. And get her still hot Beretta on her side spoke differently. Soon her quick pace brought her to Issac.

The warrior's eyes touched just over the lightly saturated wound. Only a small stain came from his shoulders. It was curious, he wasn't exactly bullet proof, but on the other hand, he wasn't far from it. A flickered glance from Christa as she tried to determine his vulnerabilities, she was an inherent tactician and the theorist couldn't help deciding that his arm had been taken before he had gotten his abilities. That, or there was a trick to his immortality. Not that it mattered, she reminded herself, and had no desire to make her newly acquired friend an enemy. They were in this boat together, and the two were against the many who had spontaneously decided to lance the Bloodlance.

Both had their wounds, his just proved much more fatal. To the girl's credit, her still bloodied hands didn't fumble on the box for a second as she opened up and prepared the set of gauss. "I trust you've had your fair share or this." She held up the marshmallow colored cotton and offered a more than knowing smile to him. She heard him wince before she sterilized the wound. And after the inferno that pained strict through him, none of her follow-up prodding seemed to bother him as he was plucked a few times and sutured up. Her hands had worked with complete finesse around the muddled cartilage and muscle. As she finished, her eyes didn't bother to look at his face. Perhaps she couldn't bare his still-weary expression. Or perhaps she just didn't give a damn. Some time passed and she downed her reserve stores of whiskey, straight from the bottle. An eyebrow raised to him as she 'politely' passed the bottle.

Issac took a refreshingly pain-quenching sip as his eyes wandered the desolate southern room. Wooden floors, a pristine bed with a checkered comforter and sheets, and a cleaned part of the otherwise dust covered ground right below. "So how long have you been sleeping on the floor?" Issac asked. It seemed he had struck a personal nerve as she looked to the freshly fluffed pillow and realized that hotel-style way of doing things had given her away. Was she sleepless? Or perhaps..

"Oh yeah Ear-y? Well I never found a use for pillows." The woman kept her game face, finding his words to be a challenge, rather than what they really had been meant to be. Issac's fatigued eyes wandered as Christa tore off her own blood soaked shirt and revealed a couple close calls. The ribbons of blood were more like lacerations than full on deep set wounds and he had experienced. Still the woman scowled at him when he realized and quickly looked away at the sight of her bra strapped covered shoulder blade . "You'll be eyeless too if you peek."

He had been examining her wounds, but hadn't gotten a very good look before he complied with her wishes and looked away to the main attraction. The sight of the map had originally surprised the wounded man, probably because the fire-filled Christa didn't seem like much of a planner to him.

The sterile bite at her wounds caused not even a trace of convulsing pain. Her eyes were distant, and soon enough her wounds were wrapped. Christa thought of her sister, Katia, as she bent down and scoured her duffle for a shirt. Primes never had to worry about this. Christa thought as her hands fondled the bag thoroughly enough to find a shirt crumpled into a ball. As she held it up, it was quite evident that there was an obscured bloodstain located on its center. "Not mine, of course." She meant the blood, and probably the shirt too. But it would have to make due.

Christa slipped it over her head and took another swig off the bottle before braiding her hair so it stayed out of her way. The warrior almost looked like a girl if it wasn't for the beretta in her hands. And she seemed to be in a better mood because she had replaced it with a fresh clip.

"You know, for a man in your position, you might find the bed more comfortable. You know, since I don't use pillows anyway." Any protest he could have made was shot down by her glare. And there was the girl's mindful kindness again. Her eyes still skewered him as he slowly stood from the hardened chair and made his way over to the heavenly bed. He sat on it as though it were a freshly fluffed cloud. Pristine, clean, and hadn't been slept in. The girl exhaled a breath and suited up, equipping herself with knives - which he was told not to look at where she was placing them on her person - and her eyes fell on her wall. Her objective. She took another swig of whiskey as she looked prepared for either a night-raid, or as though she planned to keep guard.

From his enjoyably propped position he had a great view of the wall. And upon a closer look, he could see a little shack in the town they were in. It was hard to miss and was the same one he had strolled into. There wasn't much else in the dunes, and identifying the old woman's bead shop was a sticky note. One word written on it.

"Trap!"

"Well I'll be damned."

[Strazio Rockwell]

Isaac’s weary mind kicked into overdrive as he tried to commit every scrap of information Christa had to memory. He traced maps and documents in his mind, trying to etch every word and contour into his subconscious. This girl had informants, or was damn good at hunting down information. Hell, probably a healthy mixture of the two. The two sat in silence for quite some time. They seemed to have quite a bit in common, even though their methods differed drastically. Isaac hated death and violence, despite having seen more than his fair share of both. She seemed to thrive on confrontation, taking everything as a challenge and every bullet was fired with the intent to cause destruction. Still, despite her harsh demeanor and fierce persona she showed a more tender side when she had patched up Isaac. Something unspoken had clicked between the two, an alliance of two warriors forged by blood in the heat of battle. A simple smile found its way onto Isaac’s weathered mug, he hadn’t shaved in a few days and his face looked scraggly and ancient.

Every muscle burned with exhaustion and his bones creaked as he crawled into Christa’s unused bed. It wasn’t night quite yet, but dusk was fast approaching. Isaac closed his eyes and rubbed his severed arm, he still felt it. His arm had been gone for over a year now and he could still feel it there. Every now and again he would reach for something only to realize that his limb was still missing. It was indeed a surreal experience and one that he did not care much for. Sleep came easy for him, even in the foreign room. Despite having just met Christa he felt like he could trust her with his life and in fact she did a great job trying to preserve it.

Isaac's Dream

[spoiler]“Come on Carter, fight me! Fight me you coward!” Romearo yelled across the brightly lit arena. His bright yellow eyes and ferocious fang-filled grin were backlit by several rows of spotlights. Isaac held a defensive position, crouched on one knee and holding up his arm in a defensive posture. A shell of blood covered Isaac, almost creating a sphere around him. Sweat poured from his brow and he was breathing heavily, Romearo had spent the better part of the last thirty minutes trying to crack through Isaac’s defenses and it was beginning to tire the Bloodlance. Above them large sheets of reinforced glass protected observers from collateral damage. They were being watched, or rather studied, with the assumed purpose of developing super soldiers. This was what Sector 8, Isaac’s special operations unit, had been reduced to. They were now merely rats trapped in a cage and forced to fight each other for the amusement of sadistic scientists.

“I don’t want to fight you!” Isaac called out and pleaded with his friend “Romearo, we don’t have to fight. We can escape! We can use these powers to escape!”

Romearo flourished his wrist and from a small hole in his palm a crackling whip of yellow energy arced forth and slapped against the ground. With a flick of his wrist the whip crashed into Isaac’s shield, filling the air with the metallic smell of burnt blood. His friend attacked with reckless abandon, trying to find a chink in Isaac’s hemoglobin shield.

“Come on Isaac, we both know how this ends. Neither of us are going to survive, this all ends in blood Isaac.”

“Damnit Romearo! Listen to yourself, we’re fucking Sector 8 man we can do anything!”

Romearo laughed and lashed out several more times, splattering blood against the pristine floor. “Your precious Sector 8? They’re all dead, all of them except for you and me. They all tore each other apart, the second they were thrown in this ring they knew it was kill or be killed and they all ripped each other to ribbons!”

This hit Isaac hard. His friends, no, his family killed each other in cold blood. This momentary lapse of concentration proved to be Isaac’s undoing. His shield had loosened in his moment of weakness and Romearo struck out. The crackling yellow whip sliced through the blood with ease and wrapped itself around Isaac’s elbow. It was pulled tight and Isaac stumbled forward and fell to the ground. His arm twisted at an odd angle as the cable of energy was brought tight and he felt bone and sinew snap and twist. The shield of blood reacted quickly and wrapped itself around the crackling whip. Feverishly Isaac willed his blood to try and break Romearo’s grip. A fresh surge of electricity jumped through the whip and vaporized any blood that touched it.

The Bloodlance screamed in pain as his arm was ripped from his body. It was accompanied by a sickening squelching and snapping noise as the muscle and tendons were ripped in half. Tears streamed down the hardened warrior’s face as he curled into a fetal position. The pain was unbearable and he was so lost in the agony that he hadn’t even noticed Romearo’s approach. Without words, without ceremony his companion wrapped a rope of energy around Isaac’s neck. He hoisted the Bloodlance to his knees and the two met eyes.

“I’m sorry Isaac, I really am.”

“Me too” Isaac sputtered through the cable wrapped around his throat. A massive spike of blood drove itself through Romearo, carving a massive hole through the former Sector 8 member.[/spoiler]

Isaac woke in a cold sweat and feverishly glanced around the room. Christa sat in the middle, with a stacks of papers surrounding her. She glanced over at Isaac and raised her eyebrows.

“You were talking in your sleep” she spoke nonchalantly.

Isaac gulped down a lump in his throat and asked “what did I say?”

“Nothing much, talking about someone named Romeo. He a friend of yours?”

Isaac stayed silent and looked away “his name was Romearo, he was an old battle buddy of mine.” He stood to go drink from the tap in the other room, he felt dehydrated. Christa’s bed was soaked with his sweat and he felt a bit embarrassed about ruining her sheets. Christa didn’t seem very concerned, and turned back to her papers. Isaac removed his shirt and kept his head under the tap. The cold water felt good against his burning skin and his racing mind began to calm down. After a few moments he shut the water off and dried his head with his shirt and walked back into Christa’s room. His body was aged and weathered, but was still in shape. A octagon was tattooed onto his right pec and seven tally marks were etched inside the polygon.

“Christa” he began, not sure where to start.

She turned and looked at him.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush. I want to find Omni. From your notes I can tell you probably want to do the same. While I don’t agree with your methods, you’re damn skilled and I need help. After that little debacle at the bead store I’m fresh out of leads and I’ve got no more informants, at this point I’m basically blind.”

[Gildarts]

The girl eyed the one-armed warrior to check the status of his injury. It hadn't healed completely and suspicion rose in her eye as her passive glance swept over him. Isaac's face was weathered and wilted, his skin wilted from the arid dust that coated the dry air, while his cheeks poked out from his gauntly gray skin. As he crept along to the bathroom, following the close of the door a waterfall from the squeaked-on faucet, her gaze followed the messy mound of sheets and covers that were tainted with few dried stains of blood. Her eyes flashed to her kneecaps before her hands continued to play with the gun in her grasp. The cold-steel grip was nice compared to the sweltering heat. Some time had passed, plenty to rest, but Isaac was no prime and he certainly was not as young as he used to be. Still.. There was something curious about him, the same thing that had made her stay and keep watch over him, rather than ditch out on him in his slumber.

Tired eyes had fallen on her as the man spoke his mind and his heavy boots clunked closer. The whites of his bloodshot eyes flashed in the dim light, darkening his gaze. Christa had closed the shutters to block out the heat, and to conceal their location from anyone in the town whose stray glance happened to see a well-known and wanted criminal through the window. Lighting the room, almost ominously, was dull flicker of an orange flame. Little light seeped through the cracks of the door, and even less noise wove through the walls. Christa had been as motionless as a marble statue during his slumber, she hadn't readjusted her posture or even scratched an itch.

Isaac mused his thoughts to her, eyes drifting to the wall composed of every lead she had ever recorded. She smirked at his interest, sadistically keen on emphasizing her own priorities and acutely scoffing at his own. Boldly the girl interrogated the man, "Oh? And why is it you want to meet him?" Christa didn't exactly want walking dead-meat accompanying her on her life's mission.

Aggressively and subtly, she challenged the man's drive. It seemed Isaac picked up on this, for his answer was clear. "I'm tired Christa, tired of the Omniverse. Tired of fighting, tired of everything. I just want to set things right and not have to fight anymore."

"You may die, or worse."

His stern gaze held her, she saw the fire reflect in his pale blue eyes with an unmistakable determination to end the war he had lived so long.

"Understood." She said in a low tone to the veteran, as a curt, satisfied smile was weaved onto her lips. "But don't hold me back. Your injury has had enough time to heal, we have been here a while and another day of travel should rest it just enough. I-"

Her eyelids livened with shock and her stance rose to meet an untold challenge as her attention darted swiftly on the door. The soundless echo of a creaky floorboard could not be heard by someone with human ears. Isaac responded to her unannounced action with an expression of halved curiosity as Christa's gaze slinked back to meet his with a narrowed threat. It read, You move, you die.

Her gun raised from her hip and instead of angling her sights towoard the door, the girl shot three rounds out of the closest boarded-up window. Round holes burst through shattered wood and pinpricks of dusk light streamed in.

THWUMP!

A choked groan could be heard just before the soft crash of a dense body fell a distance to the ground. Next the girl's movements flowed to the doorway, and instead of opening it with her hand, suddenly the sole of her foot stomped on the plank of the freshly off-hinged wood and one bullet landed in head of the unexperienced man. Whoever it was had gravely underestimated her, until she realized as the weakling grew limp in her hands. "Damien? Shit." Christa cursed from the hallway as still-wounded Isaac grew near and the girl seemed to recognize the dead man she held up against the wall.

Her teeth clenched and it seemed her 'Kill first, ask questions later' mentality had blown up in her face, at least until she turned to the slightly hobbling Isaac and shoved the corpse that 'Damien' had used as bait, to the ground. He had sent in the weaklings to confirm they were there. It was so typical. "Looks like he's on my trail. We have to burn it. Burn everything."

Surely Christa couldn't mean the map that looked like it had weeks if not months of accumulated data on it. Isaac seemed surprised, before he could respond the girl intercepted his expression with the subtle shake of her head. "No, not the map." There was a twinkle in her eye. "It's removable. But he doesn't know that."

The malleable paper rolled as a scroll in her hands before she stowed it away in her army-green weapons bag and tossed it over her shoulder. Also stashed in the bag was a med-kit, and a few days worth of food. With a mourning expression, "Such a waste," she held up a bottle of booze and drizzled the amber whiskey along the wood of the walls before shattering the bottle into the ground with one last splash of glass. Her expression seemed weighed down with unwept tears, as though someone close to her had died in a devastating sacrifice. Meanwhile the strong scent of alcohol reeked in the air and she growled to him, "What are you waiting for? Get going, the jeep is out front."

He followed her advice, but not without a fraction of a second's thought. Christa didn't seem like the martyr type, so she must've had a plan. The keys were thrown with a jingle into his hand, yet Isaac was still obligated to ask, "And you?"

She smirked, "I'll be taking the more scenic route." Footsteps tromped the hallway as Isaac found his way down the back staircase and out a vacant entrance. It seemed all the bloodied action had been proved correct by Christa's assumption. She had intercepted the enemy along her path, and this was confirmed by the still-blasting bullets with an erupting sound that cascaded into his ears as it passed through the hollow walls.

The engine revved at the the gentle press of his fingertips and he was latched onto the gray vehicle that lacked a roof. In fact, it wasn't originally a convertible, he observed that the shredded metal had been literally ripped off by some sort of three-clawed beast. The paint scratches aside and she ran great. A few problems arose as he noticed it would be difficult to defend himself and drive at the same time. A thorough sweep to the area confirmed no one was around and the rubber tires squealed as they turned up clouds of dust that filled the empty streets.

Already he could smell the smoke from the fire. But the building's warm flame lit the night. He hoped the hotel had insurance, because surely it would burn to the ground after Christa was done with it. A grenade sounded and the entirety of the building's walls shook as the fireplace crashed too close to the roofless car. A brick dented the hood to remind him his luck wouldn't allow him to so easily skate through it all. Another grenade followed by the ground-quaking shockwave and suddenly Isaac was prompted to hit the gas. Ten-feet away, and twenty-feet high was the bold girl, as she erupted through a scorched, charcoal-kissed wall and Isaac had barely made it in time before she rolled from air and landed in the fast-moving seat with near perfect aim. The back seat had a few military-rationed sized barrels of water, and while Christa had a bruised rib from the impact, she seemed to be enjoying the thrill as she tossed away the added weight of her duffle and freed her hands.

"Nice catch." Cha-Chick! She refilled her next magazine before Isaac clutched the throttle and they headed off once more.

"To Tangled." She muttered directions and Isaac easily coasted north. Saccharine plumes of dust covered their tracks, but if either of them thought a few mounds of dune would stop their assailant, they were wrong.

With the town fading on the horizon, the hum of another car soon approached and breached the mounds of sand as though it were the a crest of wave. "He's coming, the bastard." Suddenly water trickled in a puddle at Isaac's feet. "Lucky for you, long range is my specialty. Unfortunately for us, he knows it."

A wistfully cast glance affirmed the marksman's words as the pursuing car was intentionally staying just out of reach of her scope and riding with the cover of the ebbing mountains; they even used their own spewing dirt as an effective cloak. Christa tossed out a few grenades and Isaac kept on the steering wheel, the best a one-armed bullet-holed bandit could. The erratic movements occasionally jostled her aim as rounds were fired one after the next, throbbing in both of their ears shrieked with the few varied grenades exploding back at the enemy to keep them from growing any closer.

Eventually, after five minutes of constant rounds and the only-slightly reassuring cover of night, Christa propped herself up against the backseat with her rifle carefully perched in hand. As if reading his mind, she spoke to answer Isaac's unasked question, his wound still throbbed but his tightly wrapped bandage kept it from tearing open with the rapid and straining movement it would take to shift the wheel.

"So, as you can tell, Damien is a friend of mine. And we go way back." She joked with an unamused tone. The crescent moon lit their path on the shimmering waves of sand and occasionally she checked her compass. It wouldn't be long until they reached the gate, but the real question that remained was whether or not they would make it before Damien's bounty-hunting legion of men caught up with them.

The soft skittering of their slowly-draining gas tank left a dribbled trail behind them, masked beneath their noses by the tossed up sand that kicked behind the swirl of their treading wheels.

[Strazio Rockwell]

The Jeep chugged through the dense cover of night. Its age combined with the harsh terrain put a strain on every component of the machine. Isaac could feel the sluggish choppiness of the engine as it was pushed to the limit. Their pursuer kept just out of sight, using the rocky terrain and clouds of dust as cover from Christa’s rifle. Sand began to clog the radiator and overheat their jeep, the temperature gauge threatened to redline. Isaac groaned, but kept pressure on the accelerator. One moment of weakness was all Damien needed to catch the duo.

“Come on Christa, we can’t keep this pace up” Isaac reported to Christa.

The girl fired a shot and missed, she swore and snapped back at the Bloodlance “I fucking know that!”

Adrenaline pumped through Isaac’s veins, this was a bad situation and both soldiers knew it. His intestines tied themselves in knots while his heart tried to jump from his chest. A bullet whistled past his head and cracked through the windshield, creating a spiderweb of almost shattered glass. This wasn’t the first time he found himself in a dicey situation, but experience did little to ease his worry. Another bullet tore after them, this time shattering the windshield entirely. The sheet of glass erupted into a million tiny chunks, covering them in small bits of harmless safety glass. Christa ducked to avoid another fusillade of machinegun fire, the red-hot tracers cutting a line of death above the two soldiers.

“Fuck, your friend is an asshole” Isaac quipped.

Christa ignored him and took a deep breath. Her eyes focused and the world seemed to slow down as she took aim. Their hunter’s vehicle came into view for only a moment and a moment was all she needed. A burst of three shots ripped forth from the muzzle of her rifle. Each bullet peppered the pursuer and forced him to swerve and skid in the sand. Another pull of the trigger sent another three bullets at their foe, cutting through his engine block. Coolant and fluids poured from the holes and placed him on a timer. He only had a few minutes to catch the two before his vehicle would become inoperable.

“Good shot” the Bloodlance complimented his friend.

Damien had decided to cut his losses and turn around. He didn’t want to become stranded in the middle of the desert at night. Christa laughed and sat back down in her seat, she loved the thrill that a good chase provided. Isaac slowed down to a more manageable speed, giving the old jeep a chance to recover. He looked over at Christa and grinned, a silent celebration of their escape. The two had managed to survive quite a bit of strife in the past day and this only strengthened their alliance in the crucible of battle. These two, despite being quite different found kindred spirits in one another. They both were soldiers, not only accustomed to danger, but also to sacrifice. The Omniverse had taken from them their peace and now they were going to take it back. Their next stop would be The Tangled Green, quite a different change of pace from the sandy Dunes.

Whether they would survive would be up to the gods of fate to decide.