[5-10] Flights of Fancy (Christa and Red)

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

Christa was on her feet in an instant, leaping from the bank into the shallow river, combat knife in hand. She had already reached the other side before Red could even react, the feline quickly bounding through the lethargic current after his jumpy comrade. As he reached the opposite bank, he quickly matched the woman’s pace, keeping close to the sniper’s side as they dashed into the forest. Though the short siesta had done little for the stinging pain in his overworked muscles, the crimson prime did not relent. It would seem that rest would have to wait for the time being. 

“Stay low,” the blonde huntress whispered urgently, ducking below a tree limb. Red obeyed without hesitation, falling to a prowling stance.

They slowed their pace as the relatively sparse coverage near the stream transitioned to much more dense foliage, the pair of predators brushing aside obnoxious low-hanging tree limbs and stepping over rotten trunks. Wherever trees did not grow close together, thick mats of tall grass and weeds took their place. Red briefly considered the possibility of ticks or small vermin as they trampled the grass, quickly shaking off the notion. Still, he wouldn’t have said ‘no’ to a flea collar.

Christa suddenly came to a stop, raising her hand, a single finger extended toward the canopy. Nanaki followed her gaze straight ahead, spying nothing but still more tree trunks. Despite the seemingly unremarkable backdrop, he watched as his companion sheathed her blade, instead pulling her heavy firearm gingerly from her back, doing her best to avoid needlessly disturbing her sling. She cracked the barrel, verifying it was indeed loaded before clumsily closing the mechanism with her good hand and bracing it against her shoulder. She glanced down at Red, jerking her head sharply in the direction of the trees. 

The fiery feline slipped silently between the trunks as Christa took her position behind her own. She could easily spot her comrade among the brush, the shock of red fur weaving its path through the foliage. As he neared, Nanaki cast a glance back at her, continuing forward at her signal. The weedy grass crunched beneath his heavy feet as he neared their mark, his amber optic slowly peering behind the sturdy oak. Red caught sight of a blur of brown shooting out from behind the tree, an audible CRACK indicating the discharge of Christa’s rifle. The feline watched as a small sparrow-sized bird flitted away, quickly escaping into the canopy overhead.

“Shit,” the sniper said, lowering her rifle. “I missed.” She cast a gaze down at her trussed limb, eyeing it with contempt. 

“At least it was only a bird,” Nanaki replied, stopping to shake off another spray of moisture from his coat. The mist had only thickened since they left the river. “And this fog didn’t help, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” Christa mumbled, her tone decidedly more annoyed than the word alone would indicate. 

“I didn’t sense it at all,” the feline muttered, casting his gaze around the forest. “I don’t know how that could be.”

His partner shrugged. “This island has all kinds of weird shit. Maybe it’s just a bird you haven’t smelled before.”

“It’s more than that,” Nanaki responded. “I can usually sense when there’s life around. I didn’t feel that bird at all, even when I was right next to it.”

The blonde could only shrug in response. Truthfully, it mattered little why such a thing had happened; it was far better to roll with the punches in a place like this than to waste energy worrying about what was causing it. Or, at least that’s what Red tried to convince himself.

As Christa shouldered her firearm and the two continued their trek, the crimson prime felt his heart begin to race. Despite fatigue, pain, blood loss, and hunger, his faculties had never dulled. Though upon entering the Omniverse he had found his abilities somewhat altered, one of the few things unchanged were his acute senses. If they were truly beginning to lose their edge, what could this mean for him; would his combat abilities suffer as well? The thought of being dead weight to an already injured comrade made the feline sick to his stomach. The notion that whatever ailment had fallen over him might rob him of his strength, of both his capacity to protect and his ability to fulfill his very purpose and his save his closest friend; it was more than he could bear. Perhaps for his own sanity, he banished the thought from his mind. 

“We’re getting close,” Christa muttered, staring down at the tablet. It was now chiming quite loudly, ringing sharply through the area. The blip on the radar indicating their target was near, causing the screen to flash rapidly and vibrantly. “Shut up!” she commanded, twisting the knob at random. Doing so seemed to only make the pinging louder, the noise now almost echoing. 

Red winced as the high-pitched tone assaulted his hearing. “Can you turn that down?”

Christa opened her mouth to respond, though another, far more aggressive and feral, voice answered for her. ”Kah la la bahkah tee kahbah!”

Nanaki let out a yelp as a heavy weight suddenly dropped upon his back, the stench of unwashed flesh and fetid meat smothering his nostrils just a beat before he felt something sharp and jagged tear into his his flank. He snarled as blood began to ooze from the shallow wound, the crimson liquid camouflaged by his ruddy pelt. The feline bucked against the mounted attacker, a final thrash managing to send the frenzied coward sprawling. Before he made to attack the downed fellow, Nanaki cast a gaze back at his comrade, sighting a pair of eyes peeking through the brush behind the blonde sniper.  “Christa!” the burgundy beast barked, ignoring his own target and bounding at once toward the woman.

Taking Nanaki’s queue, the huntress ducked at once. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted her assailant, a wild-looking man adorn in scraps of leather and fur. He hung effortlessly from a limb overhead, face smeared with dried blood, nostrils flaring, eyes wide with frenzied rage. He brandished a dagger, roughly hewn from what could only be bone. The savage’s strike missed its mark by inches, slashing harmlessly at the open air where Christa’s neck had once been. Gritting her teeth, the warrior woman pulled free her combat knife from its home, spinning in place to bring the knife across her attacker’s chest. The blade found purchase, carving a wide gash across the wild man’s chest as he cried out in the same foreign tongue. “Fuck you,” she spat, flicking the blood from the end of her blade.

The assailant tumbled from the treetop, vanishing into the brush. Her victory, however, was short lived. Before they could catch their breath, the sound of chanting and beating feet met their ears, the smell of burning flesh thick in the air.