An Alliance Forged in Blood

[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.