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

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

With the return of their questionable comrade, Nanaki had fallen silent. Whilst Christa and Took played their human game of ‘hide-the-meaning’, the feline concerned himself with the limp lagomorph that had been deposited before him. Though the average person might chide the man for his savagery in bringing back the still-kicking animal and allowing it to expire within his grasp, Red couldn’t find it in himself to complain about such a fresh meal. He dug in without hesitation, turning away from the conversing duo as he enjoyed his fill. The taste of the fresh game on his tongue was heaven after such a long day, the subtle savory notes working wonders on the hunger pangs in his gut and the ache in his brainpan. He ate every scrap of the unfortunate rabbit, leaving him a good deal further from starvation.

Kssshhht

“What was that?” Christa asked, turning her attention toward the odd noise. Her answer came a moment later at the noise returned, this time an octave louder. “Static?”

Red’s ears perked up. “Downstairs?” He cleverly hid his lack of technological knowledge behind curiosity. The crimson Prime didn’t know what to call any of the flashy machines on the lower level, though he hoped that Christa had some idea.

“Wh-” Took began to speak, unable to get even a single word through his lips before the sniper got shakily to her feet and hastened to the trapdoor. 

“Stay up here, I’ll be back,” the woman commanded, sloppily descending the ladder and disappearing from sight. Nanaki briefly wondered how she was managing that act with a single working arm.

“Alright,” their guide spoke, taking a seat on a nearby crate. A hint of annoyance was buried in his tone, though he tried to keep it hidden. As he took his perch he caught the beast’s sight, his gaze hovering for a moment before turning to a smaller crate at his feet. He pawed through the container, emptying out the various cans and containers within. To Nanaki’s surprise, he didn’t seem very interested in the labeling.

“Not hungry?” Red inquired, licking the remainder of the rabbit’s juices from his lips. Though he hadn’t quite mastered the intricacies of human banter, he was grasping snark quite well. 

“I prefer my meals a little more...fresh,” Took responded, lips twisted into a frown. He returned the cans to the case one-by-one, his motions practiced and precise. Somehow, even while organizing, the man unnerved him.

“Sorry, I should have left you some,” the fiery feline replied, trying as he might to keep his attitude under control. Starting a fist fight with the man the very second Christa left wouldn’t earn him any favors.

Before he could respond to Nanaki’s mocking words, Christa’s head reappeared from below the trap door. Despite the struggle of hauling herself back up the ladder with but one functioning arm, Red thought he could spy a twinkle in her eye as she shut the trap door and reclaimed her seat on the bed. “We should get some rest,” she said, swinging her feet onto the bed. “We’ll head toward town as soon as we can.”

---

The fiery feline awoke to dawn breaking, the early morning sun peeking through the dirty windows of the shack and rousing him from his rest much sooner than anticipated. As he raised himself to stand, his eyes fell upon the splotch of blood that marked his last meal, the scarlet ichor having stained the wood permanently. He lifted his head and noted that the sniper and their mysterious guide were conspicuously absent. Had they gone to search the area while Nanaki soaked up the extra few minutes of slumber? He felt anxiety rising in his throat as he considered the blonde woman wandering around alone with Took.

Following a brief search of the rest of the hut, Red stepped out of the building, leaving the door wide open behind him. He was fairly certain the previous owned wouldn’t have been too offended. The feline took a deep breath, the cool air doing nothing to calm his nerves.

CRASH

Nanaki at once turned his attention toward the commotion, his lone working eye darting to examine the treeline. Somewhere, out of sight, he thought he could make out a familiar energy signature. His keen nose took in the scent, though it served to only complicate the conclusion. The scent was most definitely familiar, yet also alien in some way. Without stopping to consider the implication further, the burgundy beast took off toward the trees at a sprint, clearing downed logs and stumps effortlessly. Red found his thoughts wandering to Took and Christa; had the man assaulted her, or perhaps they had encountered another hellish construct?

CRASH

The scent had gotten stronger, completely overriding his other senses as he tried to make sense of the stimulus. He knew the smell, yet he could not place it. And then there was the other scent; not Took, nor Christa. All at once, it came to him; this energy signature and scent could only belong to one man. Red’s heart was in his throat as he concentrated hard on the attempt to hone in on where the pair of scents were heading; they were moving, and fast. 

CRASH

The noise was only getting closer. With renewed vigor, Red cast himself though the trees once more. He had done it; Karl had been hiding the secret from the beginning. Where he had been kept was anyone’s guess, though it didn’t matter. The burgundy beast bounded headlong through the dense foliage, a single thought in his mind. His heart began to race as he heard the sound of gunshots, one-two-three. The sounds of a struggle. They were near. He made chase, hastening toward the hubbub as fast as his limbs could carry him. Red’s heart was hammering now, his furious pace disallowing adequate breathing and robbing his brain of clarity. With reckless abandon, he crashed through the underbrush, coming to a stop against a sturdy elm tree. 

BANG. BANG.

The crimson Prime turned to see the solemn face of Vincent Valentine, not three meters from where he stood. His cloak and mantle were dirtied and torn, exposing the tattered remains of his leather bodysuit. He look haggard, barely clinging to consciousness. The man’s eyes were skyward, his triple-barreled revolver trained at something well above Nanaki, hidden within the foliage. The feline opened his mouth to speak, though nothing came out. Instead, a fearsome roar split his eardrums as a blur of crimson descended from above. Vincent let out a single shot, taking a chunk out of the bark above the Prime. He had missed.

“Vincent!” Nanaki found his words, calling to the now downed gunslinger. Just a single word could escape his throat before he was muted once more. 

The hulking beast from the treetops stood atop the pale man’s fallen form, letting out horrific noises as he tore into him. All at once the smell met Red’s nose again, bile rising in his esophagus as realization dawned on him. His veins pumped ice, his limbs stock-still. His keen eyes told no lies, watching as a tattooed feline shredded the flesh of his best friend. As Vincent’s flailing limbs stopped cold, the assailant turned to face his audience. A single golden eye stared back at him, madness etched in his countenance. He watched as his own lips twisted into a snarl, Vincent’s blood dripping from his fangs. Red felt consciousness drain from him, the beast’s savage, unfocused stare burned into his mind.

Darkness.

Awakening on the cold, hard wooden floor of the shack, Nanaki peered out into the moonless night. Only darkness.

2358 words, both posts.